Havok Publishing

Tag - professional sleuth

Samara Spade and the Curse of the Menatari Falcon

I steadied myself against the dash as the car leaned into the cliff. “You really need to go so fast?”
The rusty green Yugo that Aba had rented shifted down. “Sam, I told you to stay home.” He plunged the accelerator into the floor. “But you say that you’re family now and must come with.

Read it now

The Case of the Serial Burglar

Tony took a long drag from the cigarette as he glared at the tattered sign on his office door. “Private ye.” He exhaled, and a cloud of gray smoke blocked the letters from his vision. He stared at the smoldering cigarette butt before rubbing it onto blank space

Read it now


I pulled the handcuffs from my belt and turned to the drug dealer, whom my partner held at gun point. The guy had somewhere in the area of twenty-seven arms and depending on what family he was from might have another—usually with a gun—hiding up one of his noses. I groaned.

Read it now

The Encantado

Eamon pressed his back against the stairwell’s cold cement wall, an icy chill brushing between his shoulder blades.
Of all the other spawn-filled dredge pits in Chicago, why did this particular sceallóg have to spirit Lorna away to the fae market?
Reaching inside his leather coat, he fingered the grip of the handgun

Read it now

Mr. Samara Spade and the Case of the Spurious Spouse

This, this so not my job. This what Sam do, and I maybe help a little. I drive the car.
Still, there’s no one else. I need my Samara. And if I don’t find her, no one will.
I back up. Explain. We were supposed to meet at airport for our honeymoon. Sam said she had some last-minute details to fix.

Read it now

Glisent and Hooke

Intoxicating notes floated through the air as I quietly opened the door. I took a deep breath and entered.
My former detective partner had her back to me and clearly hadn’t heard me enter. I hesitated before clearing my throat to announce my presence.
She stopped and set the violin down. “Isaiah Glisent.”

Read it now

The Face In The Ring

“You have to admit, Ramses, this round of The Demigods of Demolition was awesome. Watching Hercules pin Nessus the Centaur in three rounds was amazing,” Bernie said.
We were waiting for a taxi and hiding from the varied rush of people and creatures leaving Asterian Arena, home to the Alliance of Legends Wrestling Federation. I’d never seen my partner so animated.

Read it now

Samara Spade and the Case of the Mystified Misfit

Aba was gone.
I massaged my temples to clear my thoughts. He’d be back in a week from the old country after clearing up some marriage paperwork. I had to keep busy.
I picked up my purse to leave when a man stumbled in.
He was as unkempt and golden as my Aba was groomed and dark. His long, greasy tresses draped across his shoulders. His clothes, ripped and dirty, barely hung on his gaunt frame

Read it now
Mystery Monday featured image (season 2)

Twelve Princesses of ’Frisco

The call from steel magnate Charles Weldon interrupted my plans to spend a pea-souper of a morning with two fingers of Jack Daniels and a newspaper. But I knew I wouldn’t regret it when I stepped into the tycoon’s home office. Whatever made one of the richest men in California this jumpy was bound to pay well.

Read it now
Mystery Monday featured image (season 2)

Samara Spade and the Case of the Doubtful Dowry

“You want to marry me?”
Aba gave me a sad little smile. “Aye, my beauty detective. Want, but cannot.”
The first set of words I’d longed to hear since I’d laid eyes on him nearly six months ago. The second set made me want to strangle him.

Read it now
Fantasy Friday featured image (season 2)

Fool’s End

Wisps of charcoal gray wafted on the wind. The smog gave the illusion of ghosts preceding me to the alley. Perhaps it was ghosts, the three murdered souls beckoning me to their killer. I suspected the victims, each desperate for a miracle, were lured here for their money.
A steam-powered carriage careened around the corner,

Read it now
Mystery Monday featured image (season 2)

Getting Jitters

It was 7:00 p.m. on a muggy summer Sunday—a time when any sane man would’ve been at home with a cold one, but there’d been word that the gangster known as Jitters was bringing in a shipment that night—and I was at the station, trying to find somebody who knew something.

Read it now