"The Hammer Falls - A Detective Lara Hammer Story - Book 1" by A.L. Steen (Short Story)

Genre:  Women's Mystery, Supernatural

Type of Short Story:  Short Story

Summary:  The rough and rogue Detective Lara Hammer takes on the Ghoul King in Book One of this action packed short story adventure. Lara is a joke to her comrades and a secret asset to her Captain. Her methods are anything but subtle and Lara can, at times, be harsh, but she follows her own path. Most of the time, that path leads to great results when it comes to bringing down the scum of the city. This time, however, Detective Hammer may have overstepped in her enthusiasm to bring down the most powerful man around.

Excerpt:

Lara stared with wide eyes at the spot where her partner had stood only a few seconds before. A surprisingly small pile of grayish white ash on the hard cement floor marked his passing.

The demonic lawyer's eyes were still glowing with the murderous flames. He belched loudly, expelling smoke in a wispy black cloud. Then Kelvin Ashar, the blood thirsty piece of shit, smiled at her. Lara allowed the traumatized chill that ran across her warm porcelain skin to run its course.

"Now, Detective," the monster oozed, "shall we try this again? I'm not at all certain that your partner understood the terms of our agreement."

Lara took a staggering step forward.

"You slithering slimeball. You hellacious eel," she blurted.

Ashar's eyes flickered. He brought his fist to his mouth and coughed into it. When he opened his hand a writhing ball of fire sat in the palm. He casually rolled it around.

"Tsk, tsk, Lara. Is that any way to speak to your only friend in the world right now," he asked with a greasy smile creeping across his grizzled face.

"You just incinerated my lover," she screamed.

Kelvin snuffed out the fireball and covered his mouth in mock surprise.

"Oh dear," he exclaimed, not sounding in the least sincere. "When you said, partner, I assumed you meant in law enforcement. My bad. Here, let me make it all better," he slimed.

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"Stranger In The House" by Chris Vaughn (Novella)

Genre:  Mystery, Thriller

Type of Short Story:  Novella

Summary:  Ashley Steele is coming home. Casie Steele knows because her lawyer told her so. 

It has been seven years since he was recruited to work in a post-9/11 Middle East, six years since the letters quit coming. But the man who walks into their house is not Ashley Steele.

They were newlyweds when Ashley chose duty over love, but Casie knows the difference between her husband and a stranger. It's his face, his body, but not his soul. She's on her own--to everyone else he's same old Ashley.

Casie’s sanity, safety, and Ashley’s inheritance is at risk… everything changes when a stranger is in the house.

Excerpt:

Chapter 1

Casie's hand trembled so much she couldn't hold the tea cup. It slipped out of her hand, like so many things had slipped lately. The tea cup bounced once off the floor before it shattered on the solid oak floor. The few drops of tea that had been in the cup would be easy for her maid Maria to clean up. She looked around with panic to see if any had gotten on the photo album. Rarely today did families have a big old coffee table photo album--the type of an album that held the black and white pictures and professional pictures to store family memories. Casie only had a few of Ashley when he was a child. Some families take pictures to store the memories, some didn't; Ashley's family was the latter.

The few pictures she had of Ashley as a young boy seemed ancient, not having seen his face in so many years. There were the few she had of their marriage and then no more. It seemed it was all she had left of Ashley. She stared at the wedding portrait of him and her. It seemed to be all that was left of him.

Six years was a long time to look at the same pictures. She rearranged the photos and the furniture to give the house a different look. They didn't share many nights together in the house and then he was gone. Casie kept the yellow bow on the porch pillar in new condition, and made public how she had planned his welcome home party for the day he walked through the door. She checked the mail every day looking for a letter or official notification. She checked several times a day. The pressure had started to show in her actions, and face.

She looked down at the broken cup, and joined her hands together to stop them from shaking.

"Mrs. The phone is for you. It's Richard." Maria handed Casie the phone.

"Hello Richard." Richard, a friend of Ashley, and their family attorney, called often to check on Casie.

"Casie, how are you? You didn't look good last night."

"I'm all right. Just nerves."

"Seven years is a long time to wait."

"I know. If they'd just tell me something... Couldn't they just let me know if he's alive or dead? If's he is dead, I'll take it hard, but at least I'll know."

"Casie, there are lots of families like you now. War is hell, especially for the families at home. I want to make sure. I care for you, Casie, and you need to take better care of yourself. You need to make some decisions, and Casie, it's time to consider moving on." His voice was soft.

"Richard, I'll make the decisions I need to, when I have to."

"It's almost seven years now, Casie. Your must moment is almost here."

"Richard please! This is hard for me." Her voice sounded frustrated. Richard had constantly prodded her lately to make decisions and move on with life.

"I'm sorry. I care for you and don't want to see you hurt. Six long years, and the seventh anniversary is almost here." Richard was the family lawyer and understood the legal hurdles that would come in the next few months.

Richard spoke softer to her, "Casie, you can't move on with life until Ashely had been declared dead. I know it's hard but not only am I a friend, I want to be more. But I'm your lawyer, and business comes first for me. It's been almost seven years, and there are some things that have to be talked about, and soon."

"All right, Richard, what?"

"Like I've been reminding you, it's been almost seven years now. In a couple of months it will be seven years, and Ashley will be declared legally dead. There is the family inheritance, the home, etc. When he is declared legally dead, according to the will, you being his wife, the estate and inheritance go to you."

"Why do you have to keep reminding me of the will? The estate. Money! Money! Money! That's all you ever bring up."

"Because it has to be dealt with, and an estate and inheritance worth 170 million dollars has to be handled correctly to take care of you in the future. Those things must be addressed. There are things that haven't been dealt with since he is not here, and the authority isn't given to you, or me, or anyone to execute those particulars, until he returns or is declared legally dead."

"All I care about is getting him home alive and well. Every time we talk lately you bring this up." Her hand held the phone, and it shook. Like a feeble old woman, she grabbed the phone with both hands. "Richard, I'm done with this now. It's not a good time for me."

"Can I come over later to check on you?"

"That will be fine. Let me go."

"Until then, Casie."

She hung the phone up and called out to Maria. "Maria, please come clean this broken cup, and bring me another cup of tea."

Maria had anticipated her wanting more tea, and was already preparing a fresh cup.

"Mrs. Casie, do you want just tea?" This routine had been repeated many times over the years, and more so in the last few months.

"No, Casie, you know how I want it. It's early but I need it. I need something to calm my nerves."

Six years was a long time not to know whether your husband was coming home. Every day had become a day to wonder if she'd find out he was alive or dead. Patriotism was good trait in Ashley, but he'd volunteered so quickly it had cost her a husband, as well as a family--a whirlwind romance of several months, followed by less than a year of marriage before he had left. At least they had enjoyed a great honeymoon, and some good months where they travelled abroad through Europe and the Middle East. Casie held those memories tight, but memories didn't keep her warm at night, or fill her house with a future or children.

Right after 9-11, calls had come in for Ashley. He was recruited due to his family connections in the Middle East. He knew people, and the language, and he knew people who knew people. Those connections were a family life line of resources for his father's business. He knew it would be a perfect cover and offered his services. He had traveled overseas with his parents most of his life, and when the State Department agreed, Ashley was on his way.

Ashley knew the landscape and the people of the Middle East like he had grown up there. He'd been taught the customs and protocols of the culture and, better still, his family had known the people who made things happen.

Their honeymoon had been a magic carpet ride of romance and excitement for them. In late June of that year they had married. July was spent in Europe, followed by August in Jordan. The world made sense then, but all the world made sense in August of 2011 until terror and confusion became the norm.

Who'd have expected Ashley Steele had been anything important? Someone must have. Radical groups? Islamist fundamentalists? They may have discovered who he was, and why he was there. Maybe his disappearance had nothing to do with his work for the Agency, but more than likely it had.

Casie had gone to sleep at night wondering if she'd hear news that he had died a violent death at the hands of a thief or been tortured in the desert. Torments like those had been in her mind every night for years.

The State Department had never given her hope that he was alive. Then again, the State Department never would confirm his death, or the fact he was working for them. Ashley had reminded her before he left that nothing was on the record and nothing would be spoken off the record. Complete silence had been the only sound of Ashley she had grown used to. Silence growled a cruel torment for those who waited at home for the knowledge of what had happened.

Casie had finished her tea, and her hand was shaking again. She used both hands to place the cup back on the saucer on the coffee table.

"Maria, I'm going for a walk. I've got to clear my head, and steady my nerves."

"That would be good for you, Mrs. Casie. You should sit in the garden? Don't give up hope, Mrs. Casie. Every day brings something new."

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"Space Case" by Dan Fiorella (Novella)

Genre:  Fantasy, Humor, Detective

Type of Short Story:  Novella

Summary:  Nick Flebber, a PI with a knack for landing unusual cases, gets hired to follow a husband suspected of cheating. Instead of finding a mistress, he winds up dealing with corporate espionage, street crazies and very illegal aliens.

Excerpt:

4:37 PM, Offices of Flebber Investigations

Frankly, business had suffered an uptick as of late; I had just finished up the DesRoches affair. Man claimed someone had stolen his wife’s identity. Wanted me to find that person and stop her. Found her and brought her in. Mr. Desroches decides she makes a better Mrs. DesRoches than his wife, so they ran off together. He actually skipped out on me but I still had his Social Security number and bank information, so I just wired myself my fee.

Then there was the Cariello business. A movie studio called me in to track down some internet troll called “The Spoiler.” Kept posting reports on their latest movies to the web and giving away the endings. Was really cutting into their receipts. Had to do a lot of leg work and check a lot of mothers’ basements before I found him and presented him with a “Cease & Desist” knuckle sandwich. Heard he’s now pushing language courses online, offering studies in Nigerian to better communicate with spammers. This is the kind of work I do. My name’s Nick Flebber and I’m a private eye.

Things were getting busy and I lost a lot of my “me time.” Since your more upscale (read “successful” and/or “reputable”) private investigator firms have a “staff” of “employees” who keep an eye on “things” while the detectives went out and detected stuff, it was decided I had to go and hire myself a secretary what doubled as a receptionist and visa-versa.

Yeah, yeah, it’s not what you think. Now that I was in a mainly monogamous match-up, I wasn’t about to hire some professional party girl. Not with my dear Sandra Claus and her uncanny ability to know when I’m sleeping and know when I’m awake. Not to mention that whole naughty/nice paradigm. She gets that from her dad, a Christmas icon whom I met on a case not so long ago. Yeah, I managed to rescue him from a crazed retailer. Got me in good with the lassie. Sandra’s a wonderful gal but she still lives with her folks up north. But she’s a wonderful gal. So there would be no femme fatales lurking about on her watch. Anyway, that’s what Sandra told me on her last visit down.

“How many people applied for the job, Nick?” Sandra asked.

“A lot more than I thought would.” I knew times were tough, but I didn’t think they were so tough that people were looking to hook up with a one-horse detective agency.

Sandra worked her way through a pile of resumes and cover letters. “Why do some of these include head shots?”

“I think I posted the job on the wrong Craig’s List. Some of them might think it’s an audition for an acting job.”

“That might explain why this resume says she’s willing to work au naturale.”

“It might be.”

Sandra began gathering her stuff together. “I have to get going, Nick, or I’m going to miss the 5:20 sleigh.”

“You brought the sleigh??”

She gave me a hug and a peck on the cheek. “For a hard-boiled P.I. you are so gullible. No, I didn’t take the sleigh. But I have to get back. Now then, you have that list of names?”

I nodded. Again.

“Good. Vader needs them checked.”

“Vader?”

“Vader Kersfees.”

“Who calls him that? Luke Skywalker?”

“South Africans. As I was saying regarding the list; apparently there are a couple of border line cases and he’s trying to cut back on the coal. You know, improve his carbon footprint.”

“I’ll check ‘em. Twice.”

“As per usual,” she smiled back.

We both had our jobs to do: Her back home, me down in the states. Talk about your long distance relationships. I did miss her (and frankly, I still couldn’t fully comprehend our relationship: she’s a Scandinavian sweetie, and I’m a rough-hewn mug who resembles an extra in an old Warner Bros. gangster movie), but there were a lot of people that needed my help here. Not to mention that the Big Guy liked having a pair of boots on the ground points south. We shared one last kiss and she headed out.

A nanosecond later I heard voices in the small reception area I was preparing. Peeking out, I saw that a woman had entered. The term that leapt to mind was “hausfrau” as I was in a rather continental mood. Not exactly the type you normally found in this part of town. She had timidly approached Sandra, clutching her cloth coat to her neck and keeping her pocketbook tight in her armpit. She looked out of place and out of sorts.

“May I help you?” Sandra asked her.

“I need to hire a private investigator. Are you a private investigator?”

Even I could make out the lines of worry etch-a-sketched across her brow. “Not I, but we have one. A very good one. He’s in his office,” Sandra responded. “Is everything all right?”

That’s when the woman started weeping. “I don’t know. That’s why I need to talk to a private investigator.”

Sandra turned and called, “Nick!”

I was out before she could finish the syllable.

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"Confessions of the Cuckold" by J. David Core (Novelette)

Genre:  Noir, Mystery 

Type of Short Story:  Novelette

Summary:  The last person Eric Dadjov would have expected to confide in was the bounty hunter sent to take him to court, but his wife has betrayed him leaving his life in shambles. A careless moment purging his anger has led to formal charges, so when he learns that he might have more in common with the forlorn bounty hunter than he thinks, a frustrated Eric just begins venting.Gradually, the details of Dadjov’s story begin to suggest that he has a sinister plan for revenge brewing. Is the bounty hunter complicit, a dupe, or is he the next victim of the cuckold?

Excerpt:

When I first met Eric Dadjov he was thin and his eyes, set back in his skull, were rimmed in dark rings. His hair was overgrown and unkempt. His pants were dirty and his hands shook. If I hadn’t known why he was being taken into custody, I might have assumed it was drug related. As it was, he had simply missed a court date on a charge of vandalism.

I walked up on the porch and knocked on the door. Eric said, “Hello,” when he saw me with none of the usual suspicion that normally greeted my presence.

“Eric Dadjov?”

“Yes,” he said.

“I’ll need you to come with me. You missed your court date, and I’ve been contracted to make sure you appear before the judge this afternoon.” I turned so that he could see the weapon I had holstered on my hip.

“Are you going to handcuff me?”

“Should I?”

“You may as well. That way my humiliation will be just about complete.”

We drove in relative silence for the first several blocks. It was not until we had left his neighborhood that he began loosening up. “I know you probably don’t care, but I didn’t skip court because I was trying to run.”

“That’s pretty obvious,” I said. “I assume you were just too embarrassed to go in. That happens a lot.”
“It just bothers me that I am going to have to make restitutions to that asshole.”

“You smashed his car window, right?”

“Yup.”

“Then why shouldn’t you have to make restitutions?”

“Because I have no legal recourse to demand the restitutions he owes me.”

“Sure you do. I mean if he destroyed something of yours …”

“He destroyed everything of mine.” Eric said as tears filled his sunken eyes. “He destroyed my life. He broke my future, so I broke his windshield. I shouldn’t have to pay for that.”

“This is beginning to sound like a domestic …”

“That’s exactly what it is. Let me ask you something, if somebody stole your wife, wouldn’t you feel justified in smashing his car window?”

“I’d probably feel justified in smashing his knees, but the law …”

“Of course the law; I understand that. But if I’m justified in smashing his window, shouldn’t he just man up and pay for it?”

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"The Silver Shawl: A Mrs. Meade Mystery" by Elisabeth Grace Foley (Novelette)

Genre:  Mystery, Historical Fiction

Type of Short Story:  Novelette

Summary: In a small town in turn-of-the-century Colorado, a young woman has disappeared from the boarding-house where she lives. Her distraught fiancé is certain that she must have been kidnapped. But the case takes a new turn when a city detective appears on the scene, looking for a woman who matches the description of the missing girl. Was Charity really kidnapped, or did she have a reason to flee? Mrs. Meade, a gentle but shrewd widow lady who lives across the hall in the boarding-house, feels that there is something wrong with the story of Charity’s disappearance…but can she unravel the mystery before it is too late?

Excerpt:

In about the time it takes for a fine horse to travel half a block, Sheriff Andrew Royal was surprised in his office and in the middle of his breakfast by a distraught young man who demanded that Sour Springs be turned upside down and vigorously shaken. Sheriff Royal, once he had got down the half a biscuit with honey which had prevented his interrupting sooner, made routine answer. He told Randall for Pete’s sake to calm down, said that yes, he was aware that Randall didn’t know where Charity was, but it didn’t follow that nobody else did, and reached for his hat to lend some credence to his assurances that yes, he’d ask around if anybody’d seen her. As Randall showed signs of giving vent to a burst of outrage at this innocuous understatement, Royal gave him (in an annoyed voice) a list of very good reasons why harm should not befall a respectable young woman in a town like Sour Springs, then jammed his hat over his bushy eyebrows and stalked out to prove it.

But by midday, a reasoned anxiety was not only possible, but excusable. After questioning her few closer friends or acquaintances provided no clue to her whereabouts, a general alarm was spread that Charity Bradford was missing, and when it had traveled around the town, the result was that no one had seen her that day.

Royal, once roused, though in no better mood, was persistent. His efforts at length turned up two witnesses. One was a small boy who rightly judged that his being an important witness in the case of a missing young lady would render insignificant the fact that he had been sneaking back into the house at a time he was not supposed to be out of it when he saw her. He had seen Miss Bradford walking along the street after dark, but hadn’t gotten close enough to see anything more because he had hidden to avoid her seeing him.

The second witness was an old man, rather shaky to begin with, whose closest friends were rather doubtful about his testimony because they knew he was in the habit of taking a nip of something on chilly evenings. But he was more specific, and more insistent. He had stepped out on his porch for a moment that evening, and had seen a young lady with dark hair walking on the other side of the street. She had on a light dress and a hat and a shimmery shawl of some kind. He was too far away to see her face, but yes, he thought it had been Miss Bradford. She was the right height and she’d been wearing what they said she had on that night. Sheriff Royal repeatedly cross-questioned him as though with a perverse desire to find some flaw in his story, but the old man stubbornly held on to every detail, chilly evening or no. She was wearing a light-colored dress—yes, it might have been green, but he wouldn’t say for sure; his eyes weren’t that good—and a silver shawl. Well, not a silver shawl, he admitted when Royal pounced on him, but a silvery one, or shimmery one—something light like that. That’s what he’d seen and that’s all he could say. No other girl had admitted she was walking up Main Street at that hour, had she? So who else could it be? Royal gave him up in disgust.
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"Affairs of The Heart” by Borislava Borissova (Novellas)

Genre:  Romantic Suspense, Mystery

Type of Short Story:  Two Novellas

Summary:  In "A Love In Time of War" first they faced the war... the love followed later. Peace was somewhere in between. One day he could have killed her on the other side of the front, on the next day he fell in love and what would happen in the day after it? All efforts to remain enemies appeared to be in vain. The borderline between their ability to hate or to love appeared a thin one.

The war became past, the past became history and through the years only love is still alive in a very beautiful tale to remember.

In "The Last Secrets of The Ancient Island" series of mishaps in an old town casts suspicion on a number of residents, provoking changes in an adopted practice of the underground world of relics. Ralph, a young graduate of a university proves the last mysteries of ancient National Park sites are yet unexplored by historians and archaeologists and discovers the personal secret of his older brother Michael. An unknown driver has a tragic motivation to take his life and that of another.

We were born alone, we die alone, but life is our chance to live in love.

Excerpt:

From The Last Secrets of The Ancient Island:

“I wanted to see the face, to look into the eyes of the dangerous driver who scared us with his crazy driving, caused a series of collisions and accidents on our streets and placing the life of each of us in danger and uncertainty. I still remember the squeal of the high-speed tires and the sense of an evil menace and I wanted to rage at him, to strike him. I expected…” Michael sighed sadly and, forgetting everything and everyone around him, he lapsed into the memory of that time.

“In the hospital, I ran up the stairs and I looked in the room to peer over medic’s shoulder. There were a multitude of tubes and wires. The intravenous system and respirator were attached to the body in the bed, to keep the driver alive. I saw the ashen skin, dark rings around the eyes, fragile hands—they were already powerless to hold the wheel. The body was worn, similar to a shadow. It was a young woman who wanted to die, who searched for death on the road as fast as the car would go. And to take another life with hers so she wouldn’t be alone when she drew her last breath.”

From A Love In Time of War:

After a while, the older white-haired man repeated in amazement, “Let’s clear this up. You fought to the death in the Balkan War against her father, her brother and her country. And she served as a nurse to Bulgarian soldiers, among blood, wounded, dead, and the smell of formaldehyde on the opposite side of the borderline. Does it mean you are coming to ask for the hand of your enemy’s daughter? The Bulgarian general, who personally led his army from the front line against the Ottoman divisions?”

“Yes. First there was the war… the love followed later. Peace was somewhere in between.”

“Yesterday, you could have killed her on the other side of the front, today you are in love and what about tomorrow?”

“She feels the same way. All our efforts to remain enemies appeared to be in vain. The border line between our ability to hate or to love appears a thin one.”

His fellow traveler shook his head distrustfully. “Your story sounds crazy. Most probably, her father will not allow her to marry you. Hmm... Kidnap her instead. Escape together as others have done many times on the Balkans.”

“Who would easily marry a Muslim man and a Christian woman in secret? If not, what would she be in my life without a legal marriage? A mistress? The woman who was born to be my wife? I cannot make a political scandal between our countries. The general is respectful and popular.”

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"The Sobek Affair: Eye of the Crocodile" by Aubrey Bennet (Novelette)

Genre:  Romantic mystery adventure

Type of Short Story:  Novelette

Summary:  In this first part of the Sobek Affair trilogy, anthropologist Sophie St. James just wants to finish her PhD in peace. However, the mysterious arrival of an ancient Egyptian scroll quickly pulls Sophie into a dangerous game of cat and mouse. In an effort to uncover the scroll's secrets, Sophie's friend and advisor, Dr. Preminger disappears. To save her, Sophie must team up with Dr. Preminger's handsome and incorrigible nephew, Peter. With a dangerous cult fast on their heels, Sophie must decide who to trust if she is going to make it to graduation alive. As the mystery of the scroll unfolds, Sophie finds that the Eye of the Crocodile is upon her.

Excerpt:

Sophie studied the unconscious man in her living room. Mr. Goldstein and Mrs. Treebler had been right. He was one of the most handsome men she had ever seen. At least six feet tall and athletically built, he had a strong jaw and broad forehead. The masculinity of these features was tempered by his generous mouth and long, pale eyelashes. His hair was thick, sandy blonde and well cut. Sophie found herself resisting the urge to run her fingers through it.

She had, after much struggling, managed to move the unconscious man onto the sofa. She bound his hands and feet with duct tape and checked his pockets for possible weapons. She hadn’t found any, which she thought somewhat comforting. Whatever his intentions, they did not appear violent. Taking a deep breath, Sophie flung the cup of cold water she held into the intruders face.

The man coughed and sputtered, then groaned. He tried to move his right arm, most likely to feel his head- which must have been throbbing- but found his hands bound tightly. He opened his eyes and Sophie felt her breath catch. The eyes that studied her were an intense, dark blue with an almost black ring around the irises.

“Bloody hell! What did you hit me with? A commuter train?” His voice was deep and rumbling and had a smooth British accent that screamed good breeding and pricey prep schools. In short, it was intensely attractive. Sophie gave herself a mental slap. The man was stalking her! He had broken into her office and her home! Handsome or not, he was most definitely a bad guy.

“A walking stick, actually.” Sophie replied in answer to his question. “Now who are you and what are you doing in my apartment? Why are you following me?”

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