Mark hated mass tourism. My boyfriend was a zealous backpacker. He preferred the French word routard, because it implied roads less traveled and adventure under the soles of his hiking boots. We’d been in Indonesia ten days, traveling by bus and train, sleeping in modest guest houses, eating street food, and avoiding selfie snappers.
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Watching the one-yen coin tumbling seemingly endlessly midair, Ren Izumi said,
“Winner gets to update the signal tower’s hardware down on the planet. Fresh air after three months, ah! The loser has to stay here and overhaul the ship’s decrepit ventilation system. I call one.”
Himari Tanaka smiled. “Is that Toshiko-san’s lucky coin?”
Ty watched his wife pause beneath the ferns, face tilted toward the leafy canopy above. After taking a selfie in front of Blarney Castle, Beth had been more interested in exploring the surrounding gardens than standing in line to kiss the Blarney Stone. After all, who knew how many people had kissed that rock?
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Terrific. They spotted me.
Rebecca floored the accelerator as the car in front of her rounded a corner. Fortunately, most of Athens’ boulevards stretched straight a considerable distance, allowing her to race forward. And at one a.m., she didn’t have to contend with traffic.
Rebecca’s electric-blue Ford Puma jumped to one-hundred-twenty kilometers per hour.
“You know, you’ve got this all wrong.” Aloysia glared at her unwanted visitor, who’d just burst into her tiny cabin in the heart of Germany’s Black Forest and announced his intention to “rescue” her.
The knight in shining armor stood in front of the twelve-year-old girl, his jaw slack, eyes bulging.
Honestly.
The ghosts are out in full force tonight at Chetham Library—the oldest public library in Great Britain. They like to wander up and down the sleek, black stacks, rattling the cabinets that hold their books. The sounds echo around the vaulted ceilings, dark wood reflecting the moonlight and my torch as I run
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The resort’s lookout tower reached above the tree line, simmering under the South African sun. Dave peered through his binoculars into the distance. From this vantage point, he had a great view of the savanna grasslands and wild foliage. A quick movement caught his eye, but he was too slow, only peeking a tail.
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In northern Tanzania, almost to the border of Kenya, lies a lake shrouded in mountains and mystery. Petrified birds stand on our shores as silent witness—a warning to all who would enter.
Grass plains surround our lethal lake, a place where rivers come to die, their only escape through evaporation. With water temperatures
Great colleagues are worth fighting for.
My partner and I have been looking for a case to solve for weeks, and I’ve finally stumbled upon something. “Constable Yo-yo, have you seen the mummified crocodile for sale?”
“Maaah,” bleats the constable.
When initially partnered with a rove goat two months ago I asked,
“A blue scarab!”
I glanced over at the spectacled woman currently interested in my daughter’s new… pet. While I wasn’t a big fan of bugs in general, our metro had been delayed twice already, and the beetle had kept Zahra occupied. Since an insect crawling across Zahra’s arm was more preferable than…
I linger in the shadows of the antechamber door. Of all the places a lady should never be, a dank, dark, and—I wrinkle my nose—malodorous cave tops the list.
You’ll chicken out. The mysterious peddler’s voice haunts me. Turn and run like the spoiled princess you are.
I clench my fist…
She swept into town like the swirls of dust that haunted the desert plains, a lonely traveler like a bounding weed, and struck out to seek what was lost.
The town, its decrepit buildings leaning into the incessant south winds, swiftly spread the name of Mellie Rembrandt. Nobody forgot a name like Rembrandt…
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