Mystery
jack of diamonds
i Ten days after Reggie’s died, Artie was on the train for London. It’d been a difficult time for him—all the dealing with lawyers and the estate—but between the two of them, Claire sorted things out enough to realize Reggie actually owned the property. The more Artie looked into things, the more he realized Reggie had planned very carefully for his future by documenting everything. That came as something of a surprise, considering what he knew about his friend. There was the will, leaving everything to Claire outright, adding that it was for her to do with as she felt inclined—and those were the actual words he’d used—while the lawyer suggested she sell the property right away. He told her that as a woman it was too much for her to take on, and Claire told him she’d have to think about it. He made the mistake of telling her she had two days to make up her mind; she told him he’d be lucky if he had two days before she fired him.
By ben woestenburg4 years ago in Fiction
The Great Alaskan Baking Show
The Great Alaskan Baking Show Hester Buckland owned a bakery in Anchorage, and she was selected to be one of the presenters on The Great Alaskan Baking Show. They were down to five bakers at the end of yesterday’s show, and this morning she seemed to have lost one of her “chicks.” This was “showstopper” day, and only four bakers were standing by their well-provisioned kitchens, carefully assembled in the Bayshore Clubhouse in Anchorage, a beautiful event space with skylights that let in plenty of natural light. Hester had been disappointed not to see the trademark baking show white tents, but it’s Alaska. Going out to the countryside and building gas hookups and electrical outlets in the wilderness, while possible, was expensive and the weather held more severe possibilities than the gentle rains of England.
By Nancy Brisson4 years ago in Fiction
The hedge had eyes
The hedge had eyes. A casual observer By Peter Rose The men walked along the narrow lane in single file, they were about ten feet apart all silent and watchful. There were six of them all about the same age, twenty five as a guess, all over six feet tall, athletic in build. They walked with easy practised paces. They all carried rucksacks. They wore a variety of casual country style clothes, at first glance they would have merged into any group of young people out for a stroll. Look closer and although no weapons showed but they were military. The signs were obvious if you knew what you were looking for. I was walking my dog in the opposite direction when I first saw them, they each nodded a greeting as I passed but only the lead walker had given me a serious looking at, checking me out to establish if I was a face he should know and then if I was carrying anything concealed. Satisfied on both counts he nodded and the rest followed his appraisal.
By Peter Rose4 years ago in Fiction
Comes A Horseman
On a night as black as pitch comes the Horseman. It is said that all through-out history man has been tormented by the constant struggle between good and evil. Where good intentions are swept away by selfish desires. These selfish desires are now embedded in the conscious thoughts of man coursed by the temptations that the Horseman offers.
By Dr. Williams4 years ago in Fiction
North Dakota Grannies Knitting Circle
Six elderly women, all carrying large knitting bags, five walking and wearing pink parkas, the last in line pushing a wheelchair with the sixth in a blue parka, filed out of the Senior Center restaurant. They passed by the tax preparer’s office and turned into the closed quilting store beside it. The store was closed, but open for them every other Sunday.
By Sjan Evardsson4 years ago in Fiction
Menabilly, My Love - Part One: 'Into the Woods'
‘I edged my way onto the lawn, and there she stood. My house of secrets. My elusive Menabilly… The windows were shuttered fast, white and barred. Ivy covered the grey walls and threw tendrils round the windows. The house, like the world, was sleeping too. But later, when the sun was high, there would come no wreath of smoke from the chimneys. The shutters would not be thrown back, or the doors unfastened. No voices would sound within those darkened rooms. Menabilly would sleep on, like the sleeping beauty of the fairy tale, until someone should come to wake her.’ (from ‘The House of Secrets’, ‘Rebecca Notebook’, Daphne du Maurier)
By Seraphina Michelina Aurelia Bogomolova-Huotelin4 years ago in Fiction
Menabilly, My Love... Part Three: 'An Appalling Tragedy'
'‘An appalling tragedy,’ she was saying, ‘the papers were full of it of course. They say he never talks about it, never mentions her name. She was drowned you know, in the bay near Manderley…’’ (‘Rebecca’ by Daphne du Maurier)
By Seraphina Michelina Aurelia Bogomolova-Huotelin4 years ago in Fiction
Menabilly, My Love... Part Two: A Glimpse Inside
Looking at the interiors of a house is like looking into someone’s soul, catching a glimpse of the character and personality of the owner, feeling the emotions and atmosphere residing inside.
By Seraphina Michelina Aurelia Bogomolova-Huotelin4 years ago in Fiction
Menabilly, My Love… Part Five: ‘The Cottage in the Woods’
‘The sea was glass. The air was soft and misty warm and the only other creature out of bed was a fisherman hauling crab pots at the harbour mouth. It gave me a fine feeling of conceit to be up before the world. My feet in sand shoes seemed like wings. I came down to Pridmouth Bay, passing the solitary cottage by the lake, and, opening a small gate hard by, I saw a narrow path leading to the woods.’ (‘The Rebecca Notebook’, by Daphne du Maurier)
By Seraphina Michelina Aurelia Bogomolova-Huotelin4 years ago in Fiction
