The bell above the door jingled. Clark Tennyson looked up and smiled. “Hello Mrs. Hanniford, good to see you again. What’ll it be today?” he asked.
Tag: Mondays Are Murder
I brew a pot of coffee and try not to think of the corpse in the basement.
She sat on the bench and watched the sun drip into the ocean. Barefoot couples stood on the beach and clicked their wine glasses in a toast to another beautiful day . . .
I grit my teeth as I press my hand tighter against the hole in my stomach . . .
“Tickets! Tickets, please! Thanks, miss. Change at Long Branch.”
Detective Mark Wheeler lay on the grass. The ground chilled his bones as the fog rolled in.
This smell was different. This smell was not like before.
“In Eyre Square the boy Victor waited, watching the front entrance of the Great Southern Hotel. The bells of the Abbey church struck 2:00 am in the rain-solaced silence.”