When most people think of comic books, they think of spandex-wearing superheroes. Villains wearing some kind of ridiculous outfit perpetrate most of the crimes committed in those books. There is very little examination of what happened, or why. These books focus mostly on costumes, powers, and super-human efforts.
Sheriff Morrison couldn’t remember a spring to match this one. It had started ahead of the calendar, in February, on top of a heavy blanket of snow. The temperature soared, the crocuses bloomed, the river rose, the weather turned unbelievably mild and beautiful for a few days, and then the rains began—and went on and on and on. Always a major topic of conversation in the small town on the slope of the Cascades, the weather had now virtually become its exclusive concern. “I’m growing webs between my toes.” “Could’ve sworn I saw the sun yesterday.” “Never thought I’d be able to paddle a canoe right there in my front yard.”
Never in a million years would I have believed that such a crime could happen in my little hometown.
But it did. Two days ago.
A kidnapping.
Or technically, a cat-napping.
Celeste did her cool-down exercises after the ballet class, dressed, quickly pulled on her cowboy boots and rushed to her car.
She’d make it in time for her night class in economics if there wasn’t a delay on the freeway. With one hand, she rummaged around in her voluminous shoulder bag through books and the other paraphernalia of her life, searching for an energy bar she knew would probably be squashed beyond recognition by now.
After six weeks Walter Barnstone was sick to death of it! Six damn weeks of listening to Sir John play Hamlet at the St. James. Six more weeks to go! No! He couldn’t take it. If he had a minor job in the company—a minor role—if he was a stage hand, it would be different.
“Slide, Josh, slide.” Lisa Andrews made a megaphone of her hands, yelling encouragement from the dugout.
No good. The ball smacked the catcher’s mitt a split second before the stumbling runner touched home plate. That made the Comets’ third out, but Lisa couldn’t blame Josh. With yellow crime scene tape all over the wooded area behind the ball field, the kids on both teams were as rattled as the parents cheering them on.
When I entered the kitchen my wife was sitting at the table in her bathrobe, arms crossed and face set. “Last night I dreamt I was the private investigator. I was standing outside a seedy motel taking pictures of you having sex with a redhead.”
Daniel J. Bishop is a writer, artist, and co-owner of Golden City Comics. Visit his website at www.goldencitycomics.com, or drop him a line at Daniel@goldencitycomics.com.
Homepage: http://www.fictionwritings.com
Born in Cambridge Mass in 1924. AB Harvard ‘49. MA and Ph.D. University of Washington. College teacher for 20 years. Several articles published. Reviewer: non-fiction for Bibliophilos; mystery/suspense books for I Love a Mystery; books and videotapes for The American Association for The Advancement of Science. Over two hundred short stories sold and published.
Books:
MANA. Pulsar Books. ISBN 1-58697-206-5 (print) and ISBN 1-58697-892-4-2 (electronic).
DEATH OF THE TIN MAN’S WIFE. Coffee Cup Press. ISBN 0-9713660-2-0.
THE LEFT HAND OF DEATH. Coffee Cup Press. ISBN 0-9713660-5-5.
DEATH OF A DEVELOPER. HandHeld Crime. ISBN 0-9713660-7-1.
A METHOD TO MURDER. HandHeld Crime. ISBN 0-9713660-9-8
“FIFTY-MINUTES” FLAHERTY Boson Books–sample at http://www.bosonbooks.com/boson/fiction/ ISBN 0-917990-86-2.
MURDER AT MILLTOWN JUNIOR COLLEGE. Boson Books–to be announced.
C. A. TOURNEY, ATTORNEY-AT-LAW. PublishAmerica–to be announced, www.PublishAmerica.com
Michelle Giles has sold 70 short stories, with mysteries published in Woman’s World, Murderous Intent, Mystery Time, Mysterybooks, Without A Clue, The Villager, Mini Mystery Magazine, and several other magazines. She is a member of Mystery Writers of America and Sisters in Crime. She is also working on a suspense novel.