Whenever I start a restoration project, I take before-photos, and when I finish, I take after-shots . . .
Tag: Mondays Are Murder
Detective Mercer wasn’t all that sure the man he had bound in the trunk of his cruiser was the right guy, but he was sure enough that he’d risk his badge over it . . .
Brigid Quinlan clutched the corduroy sleeve of Russell Townsend’s blazer and sneered at the herd of journalists being restrained by two burly policemen. She smiled smugly as she and Townsend breezed past them. “Fuck you all,” she whispered under her breath . . .
Marlowe felt his life crumbling around him. He had recently been called before the Privy Counsel, a combination grand jury, federal prosecutor and Supreme Court. His friend and roommate, the playwright Thomas Kyd, had been arrested for treason . . .
Soaking rain had stopped, typical of an August afternoon. It hadn’t cooled things off, only made the air more steamy and humid . . .
Daryl pressed my back against the cold iron railing on the crumbling steps beside the Shelton Auto Body. His kiss was even colder, but only because he was in a rush . . .
When the sun sets, the dogs come out in Tikiwin. You can’t hear them, not at first . . .
The light dripping out of the few remaining lit windows coagulated in the humidity. From the playground, Rachael watched as the houses went dark. The small bag at her feet didn’t move at all and shadows turned to wax against everything they touched. Unlit porches and the bricks buckled in the sidewalks like crowded teeth and the weatherworn all shined with night . . .