She wondered if she was anything more to him than part of the house. If he, as vigilantly observant as he was, noticed her. When she thought about how long it took him to become aware of her presence in the house, even after she started appearing on the main floors, she thought he would never really see her.

Sometimes, right after Father had gone, she would wonder if she was a ghost. If she wasn’t real. He wasn’t even the one who noticed her first, it was Proctor. Dear, old Proctor. Her only friend beyond Aloysius, and she doubted very much if Proctor thought of her as a friend.

“Good evening, Constance.”

Her heart leaped, and she spun around to watch Aloysius glide into the den. She smoothed her modest green dress, and walked over to his side. He leaned over and kissed her. She tried to keep a prim face...   read more »

She screamed, screamed bloody murder.

No.

She screamed, her hands flying to her mouth to try to

No!

She screamed, unable to stop the

NO!

She screamed.

Maybe.

She screamed. Jeff’s face turned a shade of red thatohbullshitbullshitbullshit

Lee stood up, stretching. Enough for today. It just couldn’t be forced. It was like sex that way, it either worked or it didn’t, and if it didn’t, no amount of pretending would make it right. Time to do something physical, work the kinks out. She decided to pull some weeds. At least it would get her out into the spring sunshine and fresh air before the rain they’d been calling for all week started. She’d made her preparations for the rain and waited for it for four days; it was beginning to appear that the weathermen had all graduated from the same lousy correspondence school of weather prognostication.

She looked down at her denim cutoffs and green tank and figured...   read more »

Proctor was not surprised when he heard his name called from the vicinity of the library. He finished putting away the dishes he held in his hand and then walked down the dark hall. The door to the library was ajar, and he pushed it all the way open and stepped in. “Yes?” He did not use the title “Sir” ever when speaking with his employer, an idiosyncrasy left over from his employer’s days in Special Ops and his own days in Special Forces. The simple, automatic use of the word “sir” could have destroyed one’s cover and out of sheer habit was not used in the Pendergast household.

Pendergast sat behind his desk, long pale fingers steepled beneath his chin, and he looked up at the other’s entrance. “Proctor, what is this?” He raised one brow to indicate the small, brown-wrapped package on the desk.

“It came by special courier...   read more »

Proctor heard his name called as he was walking back toward the kitchen, and promptly turned in his tracks. The voice, quiet as always, came from the study. But there was just the slightest tone in that voice. Revealing none of the misgivings that had risen in the short distance between the rooms, Proctor pushed the door open and entered. “Yes?”

His employer sat at his desk, idly twirling a dry sprig of mistletoe between his long, pale index finger and thumb, occasionally brushing it thoughtfully against his chin. His eyes, normally a blue so faint as to almost appear silver, had a darker cast about them. “Proctor, do you remember the woman who gave me this mistletoe last December?”

“Of course.”

“Describe her to me.”

“Medium height. Athletic build. Dark brown hair, thick, worn loose but tucked behind her ears. Bright brown eyes. A scarf in shades of green and gold about her...   read more »

Rick Mathies surveyed the crime scene with a sinking feeling. “Crime scene” seemed a mild description for what lay before him. This was not some run-of-the-mill homicide, two drunks knifing each other in a bar or a hunting “accident” as was expected in a place like Winstead. This was insanity.

Mathies watched Charlie Quinn, his deputy sheriff and acting crime scene tech, photograph the bodies of the victims. Quinn was a veteran of a NYPD crime scene unit who had moved to Winstead to “escape the horrors” of big city crime and to enjoy “semi-retirement” with a small town police force. Mathies doubted he was enjoying anything at the moment.

Mathies’ radio crackled to life. He heard the rather subdued voice of Ed Brandt, the deputy guarding the entrance to the property.

“Rick, the coroner is here.”

“He’s going to have wait just a few more minutes, Ed. Charlie is still processing the...   read more »

The battered green farm truck sputtered and died just as it arrived at the end of a long gravel driveway. The driver, a teenage girl, swore under her breath and tried to restart it without success.

Damn thing. I told Mom and Dad it wasn’t running right. Now it’s gone and died on me. Perfect, just perfect.

She looked at the bags of groceries in the passenger seat and sighed. She grabbed them, opened the door and exited the truck, stopping to smack the steering wheel one more time for good measure. She divided the bags evenly between both hands and started walking up the driveway towards her house. During the course of her half-mile walk, she thought about the events of the past day and a half. First, there was the fight with her boyfriend. Well, not really a fight. She hadn’t even been able to respond to his statements...   read more »

Lady M sat down at her mahogany desk and gestured for her favorite client to do the same. After just a moment’s hesitation, he folded himself into the armchair opposite her, crossing his long legs and folding his hands in his lap. With the severe black suit and the tightly knotted tie, he looked as if he could be selling her a cemetery plot. His pale coloring and absolute stillness when he sat added to the image. She knew better. “Sherry,” she said, indicated the cut crystal glass before him. “We have not seen you in some little while, Mr. — Hammett, is it? This time?”

A small smile creased the impassive face before her. “That is correct. This time.”

She nodded. “I had assumed you wanted the usual arrangements. The tower suite is yours for the night. Fully stocked bar, two appetizer trays, cotton instead of silk sheets, and your...   read more »

Charles watched him sleep.

Aloysius lay curled up tightly beside him; face as expressionless as always, even in sleep. But he still looked peaceful. His back was to the wall and he was painfully vulnerable, Charles didn’t dare touch him; Aloysius had reflexes like a viper. And he was significantly more dangerous. But he wouldn’t be waking up anytime soon, the doctors had given him something for the pain and something else to help him sleep.

I should change the bandage... Charles...   read more »