Published Fiction
I mean it. I will invent any sandwich a story demands.
Coming in 2025!
Black Cat Mystery Magazine
“Gravity Hill”
A not-so-motivated bartender tries his Nashville date move on a out-of-his-league woman who somehow seems to fall for it.
July 2024
Smoking Guns: A Tennessee SinC Anthology
“Bet You’re Wrong”
Nashville proper was getting played out, so for a change I rotated down to McMinnville. Just as I was hurrying from a Food City with a fine brisket and bag of tots, it occurred to me I might’ve innovated some on location, but no way could pulling my usual routine count as metaphysical progress.
March 2024
Mystery Magazine
“Someone Went and Killed Tickly Thomason”
The Captain benched S.R. pending her no longer wanting to pitch him under a bus. For a week S.R. filed paperwork and re-checked the clip in his stapler. This, while the Action News bemoaned the passing of Tickly Thomason, widower gone at eighty-three, no autopsy performed or requested, what with Tickly on a mess of beta blockers and blood thinners, nothing to suggest other than his race was run. To the lazy of eye.
February 2024
Sleuthsayers Anthology #1:, Murder Neat
“Noble Rot”
This was Teca’s conjuring, how Freilich stood freezing his keister off, how Luana whispered that Squirt was only seducing her for a free surgical consult and, anyway, he’d passed out before his blue pill kicked in. Teca, how a deputy badge eased from a now-parked cruiser with its radio squawking away, Freilich thinking, I only ever wanted to be around music.
Kevin’s Corner called the collection “highly entertaining” and each story “intoxicating.”
October 2023
Alfred Hitchcok’s Mystery Magazine
“Know Thyself”
The guy picked at his Falls City label. Dried mud flecked his boots. This inattention to beer identification and basic cleanliness was not helping him with me. I texted Janey my position and that I had our target acquired. That I had his truck plates and a known South End haunt.
Janey texted back wait, what??? Where did you go?
Behind the story. And more at Trace Evidence.
June 2023
Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine
“Spirits Along the One North Road”
On second glance, her broad shoulders covered her seatback and part of his. An axe swinger’s shoulders. To listen to Bernard, true Quebecers were loggers or had it in their blood, logging or hunting or trapping. Longshoring, if longshoring was what it frigging took.
Behind the story. And more at Trace Evidence.
April 2023
On the Premises, Issue #41 — Second Place Finisher
“Vinny Two Snacks”
Unfair, this constant hounding by snoop reporters and bruisers and an arbitrary rule that people only ate snacks once per while. Humans were meant to graze every hour or so. It was nutritional science, but cardiologists and crime lords had to ruin it for everyone.
May 2022
Mystery Magazine
“Flour-Dusted and Pan Glossed”
I have always been a bright sider. As a kid, I’d sat on our dock and befriended any animal that came along. Cats, raccoons, a gator who to this day greeted me a hello snort. It’d been sharing my gar sandwich that won him over. I didn’t get along with mosquitoes, no one did, but I also hadn’t caught malaria or Lyme Disease or such. Things fell in place, like how I’d never kept a job long and I was this one moment away from beachfront living.
Behind the story at Sleuthsayers.
April 2022
Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine
“Crossing the Line, Twice”
Gunnar had damn well better be headed north with my other eleven barrels lashed to her foredeck. North for the equator, or else I would haunt the crap out of him, wronged spirit-style. Finished aquavit demanded the squall and tide rhythms of two equator crossings. Two, and we’d almost made the second. Morfar had said that linje aquavit was alchemy finished by ocean waves and oak over two equator crossings, the only magic remaining in this world. Everything else depended on craftsmanship.
Behind the story at Trace Evidence.
August 2021
Mystery Magazine’s Die Laughing
“Pandora, Haunted (Or, in Which Natalia Hartlowe Bids on a Delacroix)”
Weird, how I hadn’t found mention of this auction on-line, especially with its Delacroix rumored but never before confirmed. A forerunner to more ambitious subjects, or so Natalia claimed. There should’ve been beaucoup press, a fancy catalogue. “It’s not that sort of auction, Clio dear,” Natalia had said.
April 2021
Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine
“Scratch”
Some people said Scratch brandished that crowbar. Others swore he held a sledge primed for swinging. That he had hair so blond it shone or was bald as a yard globe. I assured folks that, while cunning and shrewd, Scratch didn’t seem likely to apply his genius to raiding sheds. Didn’t matter. When it turned full dark, Lupe sent me over to Holt Porter’s, who swore on his mother’s grave that Scratch came around at sundown posing as a substitute FedEx driver. This was despite the FedEx email telling Holt his azalea food would arrive that night around dinner. “He expects I’m expecting that nitrogen,” Holt said. “No way I’m signing for it. It’s like inviting in a vampire.”
March 2021
Lowestoft Chronicle
“No Entiendo”
Serpientes. Rafael, the resort guy, said, “las serpientes.” I knew zero Spanish besides hola and single-digit numbers, but serpent was a word that slithered past language barriers. I hoped against hope Rafael stopped us on the drenched trail to stress his careful lengths devised to avoid snakes entirely. I was here at Punta Papagayo installing a hospitality-grade printing and scanning solution with in-room network capabilities. No way, no how did I sign on for serpiente-by-night Costa Rica.
Anthologized in An Adventurous Spirit, 2022.
November 2020
Mystery Weekly Magazine
“Handed, on a Gold Plate”
Next, the procedures have everyone sign the cage maintenance log, Wade too. Okay, this isn’t a television gig exactly. It’s internet live stream. It’s where a star auditor ride gets launched intro flash by intro flash if the auditor is poised enough, debonair enough, the public assured enough. Between the genuine wool suit plus tailoring and grooming supplies, he’s in debt so deep that the credit card people are sending urgent notices. It won’t matter when he’s banking star coin.
October 2020
Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine
“On Loan From the Artist”
So that was that. But it wasn’t, entirely. A distinct lack of customers left me all afternoon for spare glances at that sculpture. I couldn’t take so much charged quiet, or so much worrying if maybe that metal jumble loomed out closer. The whirls hinted at a method or meaning to it. A detailed inspection didn’t win me any insight, but I did find Sam’s initials peeking through rust on the bottom loop. Etched there above it was the word Bold.
Behind the story at Trace Evidence and Sleuthsayers.
June 2020
Akashic Books’ Mondays Are Murder series
“Over Before It Started”
2021 Derringer Award Finalist
The coyote pups have got bold, come right beside the porch near sundown. Gives me someone to talk to, I suppose. Someone to help watch the road. Nights I sit out here, music on the radio, whiskey for sipping. Their mama has made a den of the corn crib, what’s left of it. More power to her. At least this scrap of land is getting some use.
March 2020
Lowestoft Chronicle
“The Montparnasse Moon Shot”
“He wore black,” Pop always started off. It would be Saturday pinball in the garage, me on a pile of Air Force Times, Chuck the Labradoodle at my feet, Pop in that bomber’s jacket Mom buried him in and talking his usual bangbacks and flip traps. Pop went at his pinball hard, about dry-humping a machine until it broke or tilted. “Hairiest bastard on this green earth. Tall, wiry as fuel cable. It’s like he appeared out of the mist from the cemetery way, shoes clack-clack-clacking down Rue Daguerre.”
February 2020
Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine
“Lord, Spare the Bottom Feeders”
2021 Derringer Award Finalist
On the juke box a lady singer bemoaned autotuned slick about her godforsaken luck. Apropos, Vernon thought. Here was where his lawyering streak ended, a whimper drenched in well whiskey and techno twang. A tealess, tonicless world, its ice cubes laced with heretofore filtered-out poisons.
November 2019
Mystery Weekly Magazine
“Murder on the First Night’s Feast”
The impending charge against Vicomte Montvaste was murder of that scoundrel food critic, and it threatened to wreck the ’32 season. On our first night, no less. Now the Vicomte was in custody, that critic Bale found bobbing face-down in the Loire shallows. Bale. What should have launched a fortnight of the highest cuisine risked blazing out faster than the traditional cherries flambee.
February 2019
Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine
“Star of Zoe”
Aunt Judith blocking the viewing parlor and giving me a sermon hadn’t the least notion how much nerve I had, or how much I leaned on it up to this very hour. Two years now I’d kept the faith since Zoe had filed the papers and booted me from her life. It wasn’t right, getting shut out from her death, too.
September 2018
The Forge Literary Magazine
“Snap Bam Boom”
This rogue wave of gators spoiled my beer buzz entirely, and it risked upsetting Brooke’s hormonal tightrope and concern for what she’d termed our nest time. In my head me and a generic beer and my possible boy-child were stuck on that jet ski dead-in-the-water at twilight, twelve-foot gators with eyes aglow circling us.
September 2018
Mystery Weekly Magazine
“Problems Aren’t Stop Signs”
“Remember that go-getter Victoria?” these boys at Tate’s should’ve been saying. These boys should’ve backslapped each other, claim they’d had flirtations and hook-ups with me, the Gossamer girl struck gold. Dream on, boys. I would be living large in Pensacola, a condo with Spanish balconies and a walk-in closet for shoes and a bigger one for my jewelry and beads.
Behind the story. Little Big Crimes named it Story of the Week.
June 2018
Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine
“Book of Hours”
Captured there on parchment, in a garden overrun with acanthus and ivy, a courtly knight gave the full on-bended-knee treatment to a fair and regal blonde. The slightest of beatific smiles crossed her face, and she held her hands clasped tight to her flowing gown, which meant she kept the dagger tucked up her sleeve.
March 2018
Mystery Weekly Magazine
“Queen and Country”
I stroked my trademark stubble, the preeminent stubble in arachnology by any independent measure. The move flashed my chronograph–a thousand quid on New Bond Street, should Amalie ask–which rounded out the Nick Torthwaite-in-the-field look. Stubble, chronograph, safari vest and poplin slacks, I cut a dashing if stocky figure, the famed scientist after his quarry.
Behind the story. Little Big Crimes says “practically in Wodehouse territory.”
November 2017
Lowestoft Chronicle
“La Tomatina”
A gaze out at the sierras and olive groves hid my evil smile. Tomorrow I’d plop a fat tomato square on Elliott’s kisser, and he would plop one on mine, with a gusto that shattered his academic’s cool.
Behind the story. Anthologized in Steadfast Trekkers, 2018.
June 2017
Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine
“Let It Burn”
Chicken Wing Doultrie never would let on what he put in his hot paste, but with repeated exposure I’d gotten the gist: three parts lard, a jolt of garlic and some old-time religion’s worth of cayenne. I snatched another bite of his chicken, and the heat of better angels radiated through me. Wing’s Glaze of Glory, good for the soul. In a scouring way.
May 2016
Mysterical-e
“Happiness Is a Choice”
Talie held her tongue, sure International Happiness Month would burn up on its own as dumb ideas surely must, like worms did crossing a hot sidewalk. Then August could slow-broil on by, everyone buried under claim forms.
April 2016
Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine
“The Cumberland Package”
2017 Derringer Award Finalist
Heady on luck, Vernon daubed on the cologne and aimed high in seeking companionship: Farah-or-Felisha, hair lustrous in the argon light, husky voice cat-tongue coarse. Vernon ordered her another melontini, with Stoli. “Lawyer or judge?” was all she had said.
November 2015
Lowestoft Chronicle
“What Settles After the Stars”
I coughed a brandied cough. I’d been particularly proud of that column, deeming some new champagne vintage as yet another French prostitute: a high-priced headache, and she and your cash were gone come morning.
Behind the story. Anthologized in Grand Departures, 2016.
September 2015
Murder Under the Oaks, 2016 Anthony Award winner for Best Crime Fiction Collection
“Crack-Up at Waycross”
The simple math said making off with Old Mrs. Whitlock’s pecans a lunch cooler per theft would yield me one bushel a week, a ton in nine months, and a fifty-ton truckload by the time I cashed my first Social Security check. A genius, though, would boost fifty tons in one brilliant swoop.
Behind the story. Art Taylor dishes on the collection here.
April 2015
Kings River Life
“First Rodeo”
Caleb shook me awake at sunrise. Didn’t matter the kid knew I’d be on a three-alarm hangover till noon. Didn’t matter it was already hot enough out the good hens of Crump might lay omelets. It was rodeo day, Caleb’s first one.
April 2015
Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine
“Two Bad Hamiltons and a Hirsute Jackson”
I had issues with that: one, he had delivered the sixth most unwanted come-on in my life; two, Brownsboro was a mile off his direct route to Mellwood; three, unlike Agent Wiggins, the threats to our nation’s full faith and credit didn’t clock out.
Behind the story. With First Two Pages on the opening. Little Big Crimes liked it.
August 2014
Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine
“Aix to Grind”
1800 hours, blustery in Provence, an unseasonable cold. The wind carried snippets of carols from the Christmas market up to our rooftop. Sirens too, what with our bomb threat over by the Roman springs. I was like Santa Claus in reverse, taking presents with the help of my elf Gus, if a 250 pound bruiser in a ski mask could come off as an elf.
Behind the story. Little Big Crimes digs “Aix” here.
August 2014
Mysterical-e
“Death or Taxes”
As if summoned, out from the back sauntered an older guy in a blazer and cheap slacks. He was mid-fifties, weathered but fit, a measured calm about him as if he had stared down the whole catalogue of trouble.
April 2014
MWA Presents Ice Cold: Tales of Intrigue from the Cold War
“Sparks to the Bear’s Hide”
A man in police uniform appeared with my coat over his arm. He had a callow face and crooked teeth. I extended my hand for him, but the callow man did not take it. Instead he tossed me the coat and turned on his heel. That I was to follow went unspoken, both the order and the threat.
Behind the story. Bookreporter.com: “…a must-have volume for your bookshelf….”. Reader’s Digest, Best Short Stories To Read Right Now. Monsters and Critics here. The Gazette here.
March 2014
Lowestoft Chronicle
“Uprisings at Cap d’Antibes”
Across the harbor the cliffs of Cap d’Antibes bulged out into the aquamarine sea. Hailey and I were supposed to be up there, enjoying a tour of the villa, goggling at movie stars, and generally connecting through extreme savoir vivre. Instead she might undergo a communist brainwashing.
Behind the story. Anthologized in Other Places, 2015.
February 2014
The Oddville Press
“Whorling”
Whether he had fired that Glock or not, Marie understood this much: Colin Cathcart had the most stunning fingerprints.
September 2013
Not So Fast: An Anthology of Southern Fiction
“Dark Days for the Professor”
Here Amanda came, young and raven-haired, with mocha skin and legs to steam off the Duck River. I buttoned my sport coat. On one hand, my banker was a knockout armed with shot glasses and a fifth of bourbon. On the other, this sort of encounter had direct bearing on why I was on my third wife, and unlike the others, Esperanza knew how to work cutting tools.
June 2013
Pure Slush: Catherine Refracted
“First of a Fine Spectacle”
We debated the matter. La Harpe considered helping Katerina along an honor, and I felt it a prison sentence to be shunted into a ghost-writer’s closet. In that sense I won the argument when imperial guardsmen hauled me away.
May 2013
Swamp Biscuits and Tea
“The Carcassonne Dream”
Even rookie husbands knew to keep our mouths shut while amassing evidence. I said nothing when the hotel had no pastry at breakfast. I said nothing when out in the blustering wind we watched bakers in aprons hurry toward their cars and all walks of life stop each other to murmur and point.
March 2013
On the Premises
“The Transcendence of Pi”
Contest winner
She was sleeping with him of course, but in a pro forma sort of way, as if because nothing good was on television. He suspected other men shared her favors. The absurdity of it drove him wild. Jon Applewhit, Nobel winner and definitive word on pi, was to Izaka not worth minimal effort put into their fling.
February 2013
Lowestoft Chronicle
“La Upsell”
He pushed my euro back at me. “Purchase now and I give you voucher for unlimited cocktails. There are good people in Club Première Vue, Monsieur. Beautiful people.” He tacked on a smile with a twist. “Perhaps you make a new friend.”
Behind the story. “High farce,” says the Lancashire Evening Post. Anthologized in Intrepid Travelers, 2013.
September 2012
One Title Magazine
“The Food Acquisition Breakdown”
She modeled her shopping pattern after crime scene techs, working each aisle end-to-end in a grid, left and right, up and down, keeping a sharp eye because the food companies always screwed around with shelf position. Then came the climax–checkout, and its seductive melody of beeps.
Stories