A rough-edged cop becomes introspective after he is forced to kill a stalker and becomes haunted by her.

An Inn in the Ivy

The hardest case I never solved was the Pam Fischer murder. There are, it is said, two types of murder mysteries: the whodunit and the whydunit.

This is neither.

It’s even disingenuous to say I never solved it, if I’m limited to those two types. I solved whodnit and whydunit before she was even murdered.

I dunit. I dunit because if I hadn’t dunit she would’ve dunit to me.

I still have questions for her.  I’ll probably spend the rest of my life asking them.

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A therapist recalls the small town funeral that set her life in motion. (A story of abuse.)

Hear me in the Hollows

I come from a land of withered souls.  The Hollows was one of those placeless, useless, tiny towns which, if you’ve ever travelled by bus, can serve to elongate into weariness an already tedious journey.  From the bus’s heavy green windows you can look out at a small cluster of those two-bedroom boxes of sadness which huddle anonymously about FM road 7681 just north of the county seat.  There’s a store there, with a tiny Western Union sign tucked in the corner of a window and a painted Greyhound bench in front, and not much else.  No one ever gets off there; occasionally, a bedraggled, hopeful youth with too much carry-on luggage will board.  Those that leave never go back and those that remain close in a little tighter.

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A man suspected of being inhabited by a hostile alien race must undergo an infallible (so far) test to determine if he is human.

Pop Quiz

Willie sat in the small room behind the small table. He jumped just a hair when the door opened.  A man in the wrinkled suit and tie carried a large sheet of laminated text.

“Good evening, sir. I am sub-ambassador Darren Dolen, Municipal-class authority. I understand you have been arrested on suspicion of Stypean conspiracy, a war crime even in a time of cease-fire. If you are inhabited, I remind you that certain alien words cannot be pronounced by human tongues, and ask that your occupants please take no offense at our official approximate pronunciation. I am compelled by treaty to read you the following:

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Never pay a blackmailer. Kill them instead.

To the Smallest Detail

It’s better to kill a blackmailer than to pay them. Everyone knows once you start paying a blackmailer, it never stops. You can’t go to the police. He wouldn’t be blackmailing you unless he knew you couldn’t, or more likely thought you couldn’t. Either make payments for the rest of your life, or go to the police. Whichever option you choose, you have to look at it as just the cost of doing business. Not everyone knows that, but that’s what it comes down to. This situation will continue until the cost of doing business becomes too high.

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