D. A. Ratliff
Bio
A Southerner with saltwater in her veins, Deborah lives in the Florida sun and writes murder mysteries. She is published in several anthologies and her first novel, Crescent City Lies, is scheduled for release in the winter of 2025.
Achievements (1)
Stories (102)
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Night Visitor
Night Visitor D. A. Ratliff There were moments when I regretted volunteering to monitor the experiments overnight. The bio-science building, bustling with techs during the day, became an eerie tomb at night. There might be a few people in the main building, but my lab was in the restricted area where government contracts fueled the research. Cue the men in black suits, lapel buttons, and sunglasses lurking in the dead of night. I'm not saying it was aliens—but it was aliens.
By D. A. Ratliff2 years ago in Fiction
Under the Pines
Under the Pines D. A. Ratliff A Detective Elijah Boone Mystery The tall, majestic Eastern white pine trees stood like sentinels, overlooking the backyard. My grandfather, Poppa, had planted a tree upon the births of his grandchildren—a tree for my cousins Matt and Ronnie, my sister Naomi, and me. How fitting that a dead body lay under the tree bearing my name.
By D. A. Ratliff2 years ago in Fiction
Author, Read Thyself. Top Story - February 2024.
Author, Read Thyself D. A. Ratliff I grew up in the South, where “little white lies” were uttered daily. The “My, you look lovely today—love that color on you.” Or “I swear, that’s the best shrimp and grits I ever ate.” Or my favorite, “It’s so good to see you.”
By D. A. Ratliff2 years ago in Writers
A Quiet Cafe
A Quiet Café D. A. Ratliff I approached the café where we were meeting and rehearsed what I wanted to say. At least, what he expected me to say. Would it be the truth? No. That wasn’t part of the game we were playing—only he didn’t know it was a game.
By D. A. Ratliff2 years ago in Fiction
Courier to Paris
Courier to Paris D. A. Ratliff I leaned against a storefront, its awning shielding me from the heavy snowfall, my eyes glued to the antique bookshop across the street. In the warmly lit interior, an older man stood behind a counter talking to a younger woman. The man slipped three books into a kraft paper shopping bag and handed it to her. She nodded and left the shop.
By D. A. Ratliff2 years ago in Fiction
Flowers for Her
Flowers for Her D. A. Ratliff A Detective Elijah Boone Mystery I came home to an unexpected vase of flowers, and my hands trembled as I opened the attached note. This wasn’t the first time that flowers had arrived at my door. Each time I received flowers, another young woman died.
By D. A. Ratliff2 years ago in Fiction
Danny Boy
Danny Boy D. A. Ratliff Westward Ho! I chuckled. As a boy, having watched American cowboy shows on television, I loved to go to the westernmost tip of England, look toward America, and yell those two words, convinced that someday I would go westward to America.
By D. A. Ratliff2 years ago in Fiction
The Dowager’s Pearls. Top Story - January 2024.
The Dowager’s Pearls D. A. Ratliff A Detective Elijah Boone Mystery She preferred everyone to call her Dowager Estelle Montmorency, a title befitting her status, at least in her mind, as New Orleans nobility. As of this morning, however, she would be known as the late Dowager Montmorency. A blow to the back of her skull changed her status rather quickly.
By D. A. Ratliff2 years ago in Fiction
The Tool
The Tool D. A. Ratliff “Twas the night before Christmas, my ass. More like the nightmare before Christmas,” Jason Bartow lamented softly to himself to not wake anyone. He sat cross-legged on the living room floor, bits and pieces of toys and an unassembled bicycle spread across the floor. Dropping his head in his hands, he sighed. “My kingdom for a screwdriver.”
By D. A. Ratliff2 years ago in Fiction
Flames in the Fire
The Fireplace D. A. Ratliff No one ever claimed that Burlington, Vermont, wasn’t cold in the winter. I can attest to that. Three days before Christmas, the temperature was downright frigid. Temptation almost got the better of me, but I resisted bolting onto the plane to return to Los Angeles. It was downright balmy there.
By D. A. Ratliff2 years ago in Fiction
