The blessed coffee cup is almost to my lips when the call comes.
“Linda, 10-91a. Fifth and Columbus.”
Carla. She’s one of the few cops open-minded enough to take me and my work seriously. 10-91a is the code for “stray animal.” In my case, though, it means something different. Carla leaves her mic on
A whinny echoed across the hills and drifted through Sonora’s window. The sound settled around her, giving her goose bumps as she huddled deeper under her blankets.
With each wheezing breath, the bones rattled within her chest as she pushed herself up in bed on shaking arms and glanced out the cottage’s window.
“My Sam.” Aba strode in waving pieces of paper. “Look!”
I peered up from my desk. Being such a slow day, not a new case to be had, I longed for an excuse to stop shuffling papers and paying bills. My hubby was the best possible distraction. “What, love?” I stood up to kiss him,
She had always been imprisoned inside the stone walls of the tower. She did not know why. It was just how it was—the way it had always been. The darkness of the place was part of her now.
Her favorite place was the windowsill. She loved to sit with her back pressed
Always last to everything.
Jonah is the last of his class to change, both physically and developmentally.
He hears the cries from out in the hallway. The scuffling playfights, the macho name-calling. Everything he seeks to avoid as he slinks from the dressing room into the whitewashed cubicle, towel tight around his waist,
My eyes are transfixed by the rhythmic pulse of the red blinking light. On. Off. On. Off. On. Off.
It calls out to me, signaling me to press the button. Daring me. Taunting me. But I can’t. Not yet.
The weight on my chest stills my breath and my hand.
Doyle glanced around and nudged the fishmonger.
“Do you have the… goods?”
The fishmonger nodded. “Aye.” He slipped Doyle a parcel wrapped crudely in brown paper. “And, there’s a fine whiting,” he bellowed, pointing to a large, white fish lying on the table.
Did the man have to be so obvious?
“Final meal choice, Dunbar. What do you want?”
Vic Dunbar lifted his head. He’d thought long and hard, trying to decide between steak and spaghetti. “Got anyone who can cook a good steak?” Nothing beat Lady Love’s cooking, but beggars couldn’t be too picky.
Kate, his prison guard, narrowed her eyes at him.
Darkness hangs around me in the twelve-by-twelve-foot room like the sour coating of lemon on my tongue.
“Can you tell us who did it?”
Detective Smith motions toward the glass pane, the only source of light flooding the room. A chalky film grits against my teeth.
I lick my lips and assess the five men
Abe could feel the waitress’s eyes creeping toward the case notes as she hovered over the booth.
“Milk or sugar?” she offered.
“Just the coffee.” Abe snapped the folder shut in an aggressive motion. He had long since lost any patience for nosy onlookers and saw no need to treat them with tact.
The conservatory would be positively majestic if not for the body lying in the center.
Mr. Jerome Arkwright had noticed a peculiar aroma as he stepped into the conservatory that morning. Usually, he could smell the imported orchids as soon as he entered the wispy glass room, but an acrid odor masked their fragrance.
My radio buzzed. A body had been discovered in the gray sector. Hopefully it would be a quick study since my shift ended in an hour.
“Officer Toki!” An elf, his face partially obscured by dark hair, flagged me down as I reached my squad car. “Wait up!”
“I’ve got a call.”
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