Monday, 29 September 2014

Over and Doubt - Crime Detective Mystery

...Leave it!’ I commanded peremptorily but kindly. ‘It’s nothing, nothing at all. Masters and Joseph will set it all to rights in no time. Shall we go into the drawing-room?’, and when I led the way, the company had no choice but to follow me. Tristram, however, delayed a few seconds to set upright a bottle of wine that was gently putting forth its contents on to the dining-room floor, and he moved quickly to draw back the curtains over the French windows which the alcoholic tide threatened to discolour irremediably. A movement in the late Mr Trentham’s garden attracted his attention. He caught a glimpse of a figure disappearing through the back gate in the museum garden wall, which was always kept bolted. He found it impossible to say with certainty whether the figure was male or female, although he inclined to the former. Thinking that the museum had perhaps been burgled, he ran into our garden and peered over the fence that divided us from the late Ralph Trentham’s premises. He saw on the lawn a shape that looked suspiciously like a body. Wasting no time on going round to Solomon Fothergill’s, he scaled the fence, approached the shape and, with a gasp …

Thursday, 25 September 2014

To Know the Road: Chapter Six - The Road North

To Know the Road | Historical Fiction / Romance
by Annie Coyle Martin

Victoria’s thoughts raced. What would happen? Would she be called down one day and told a husband had been found for her? Would she ever get out of this bedroom, where the walls leaned in over her? From her window she could see three houses opposite and the short lane down to the sea. The house faced east and on one side she could see a lime tree in the neighbour’s garden, on the other side, the street. The late summer had wound wearily away and finally it was September. Every day she checked the calendar, heard the bells of the Catholic Church ring at eight, at midday, and at six; on Sundays she heard the Protestant bell. She listened always for the sounds of the house, but saw no one but Kathleen who brought her meals. She read and reread the same books from her shelf, Jane Austen, Stevenson, Dickens. She was appalled at how accustomed she had become to her prison. Sunny afternoons she watched for a black cat with a white spot on its breast to step delicately round the corner of the house opposite and settle in the sun. She looked at the larch tree in the garden on the other side of the street and saw the edges of its leaves had become dried and crinkled. When the sun moved round to the back of the house and dusk shadowed her room, another day was ending. When rain washed down the window, obscuring the view, she was unbearably sad. At night, she awoke drowned in sweat and with a strange metal taste in her mouth, as if she sucked a copper coin; and she thought they were trying to poison her.

Paperback | Waterstones | Amazon UK

Friday, 19 September 2014

A Genuine Fake - Chapter One

A Genuine Fake | Fiction: Thriller / Suspense
by Fred Maddox

Tracy was oblivious to the dozen or so people gathered around the frozen earth of the graveside. Or of Father James’ words as he conducted the burial service, his voice nothing more than a faraway drone. She stared vacantly at the solitary old oak tree, just beyond the moss covered dry stone wall which marked the ancient churchyard’s boundary. Its thick, gnarled trunk, scarred from the scores of lovers carving their undying love for each other into its weather beaten bark, giving testament to its decades of claiming that lone position as its own. Its bare misshapen branches creaked and groaned as the chilling north east wind whistled through them. What tales this mighty oak could tell, of the many christenings and weddings and funerals it had witnessed, and indeed, it would be more than likely this magnificent tree had witnessed all three services for the same person.

Tuesday, 16 September 2014

The Other Daddy: A World Away - Chapter Two

The Other Daddy – A World Away | Fiction: Suspense / Supernatural thriller
by Claire Louise Voet

…`You two again,’ he groaned.
`May we come in?’ McEwen asked, placing his right foot inside the door.
`Do I have a choice?’ Angus retorted, looking down at McEwen’s foot.
He turned and walked off in the direction of the kitchen, leaving McEwen and Kavanagh to follow.
The kitchen, although spacious, appeared small owing to the clutter and mess that had accumulated over the past week or so. The sink was full of dirty plates and dishes, and the work-tops littered with rubbish: empty soup-tins, cartons of take-away food and beer-cans strewn all over the place. Kavanagh and McEwen exchanged a glance of disgust as they stood in the doorway.

Friday, 12 September 2014

Sharks that Walk on Land - Chapter One

Sharks that Walk on Land | Fiction: Historical
by Ron Palmer

Monday, 8th February 1779
The summer had been unusually hot. The old people were claiming that they had known nothing like it in living memory. For weeks now, the temperatures had been extremely high during the day with precious little relief at night. There hadn’t been a cloud in the sky for more than two weeks and the air was so clear and still as to allow the sounds of the farm workers harvesting the corn to be carried for great distances across the fields. Hot it might be but as country folk often do, they could see the advantages as well as the downside in these matters. In this particular case, the harvest could be brought in and stacked. The weather was ideal for that at least. After the harvest, the rain and the cooler weather would be welcome.

Tuesday, 9 September 2014

The Spider’s Banquet - Chapter Two

The Spider’s Banquet | Crime Detective Mystery
by Julius Falconer

…‘Well, gentlemen,’ he said, ‘it does not require the brains of St Thomas Aquinas to guess what you have called about.  I shall be happy to help, but I don’t know that there is anything I can add to what you probably already know from the missing woman’s sister.’  He spoke in a quiet, measured tone of voice, the voice of a man of study and meditation.
‘No, maybe not,’ I replied, ‘but I need to start somewhere, and you are the obvious starting-point, as superior of this monastery.  We could hardly begin elsewhere without grave offence to protocol.’
He acknowledged my little joke with a nod of the head.
‘What would you like to know?’
‘Tell us, if you would, exactly what happened on Saturday, in so far as you have been able to piece it together.  It doesn’t matter at all if you repeat what we know already.’