Tag: murder

Polly Wants… by Kou K. Nelson

Jealousy — the catalyst for many a crime story. Usually the characters are all human, though.

“Good morning, Polly,” the lady said as she walked into the room.

She flung open the drapes, illuminating the small office.

“Good morning,” the parrot said, bobbing its grey head, shuffling its feet back and forth on her perch.

“Polly want an apple?” the lady asked.

She opened the cage and offered the bird a slice of apple as the bird stepped into the door frame.

“Apple,” the bird said, reaching for the fruit, but nipping the woman’s finger.

The fruit fell to the floor.… Read the rest

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Interview Room C by Josh MacLeod

A high-profile murder case. A hot-shot cop on the rise. The wrong kind of killer.

“It’s strange. Sitting here is all strange. I suppose I should say I never thought I would get caught, but everyone who says that is caught. Still, I would have thought Internal Affairs would have more important things to do: I gave the press what they wanted. I was already a hero before that case. I suppose sleeping with Shapiro’s wife started your investigation, eh? No, no, don’t bother to answer. It’s not as if you people investigate yourselves.

“Am I bitter? Of course I’m bitter.… Read the rest

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A Week Abroad by Tom Ward

The south of France, a beautiful woman, obsession, murder. What more could a man want from a quick jaunt across the Channel?

He raised the cup to his lips and took a sip of the rich coffee. He held the cup there a moment and looked at her over the rim, like a spy looking over the top of a newspaper. She sat a few tables along, half hidden in the shade of the parasol. Where the sun hit her it lit her up like dynamite. He lowered the cup. That’s right, she was dynamite. He looked over again, trying to only move his eyes, not his head too.… Read the rest

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The Way to a Man’s Heart by Gary Cahill

Enjoy this sneak preview of the first story on Plan B, here in its entirety for your reading pleasure. It is a tale of felonies, fishermen and foodies, not for the faint of heart. Of course, the faint of heart wouldn’t be here in the first place.

Diver Joe slipped and slithered and stumbled through the pre-dawn dank, between the lobster pots. Less than an hour to sunrise, running way late, riding the edge the way binge drinking makes you—sure, one more, plenty of time. Until the clock runs out.

Rockport had been a dry town forever; archetypical, right down to the de rigueur liquor store just across the city line, decked out like a Christmas tree; winking, beckoning.… Read the rest

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