[Written at Laurie King’s request for The Arvon Book of Crime and Thriller Writing, 2012.] Those “Eureka!” moments Writing successfully is sweat equity. Butt in the chair, hour after hour, grinding out sentences and paragraphs and pages, none of which, one is grimly aware, may make the final cut when it comes time to edit. That…
A seven-foot Jayco popup camper perched unsteadily in the back of a Ford F250 truck is not the best of all possible beds for a six-foot-two-inch man. Even sleeping corner to corner, Liam’s feet still stuck over the edge, there was no toilet, no shower and no place to hang his clothes, in particular his…
Liam squinted at her through his one good eye. “You didn’t say Donohoe had somebody with him.” “He didn’t.” Liam sighed and shifted carefully in a tentative attempt to sit upright. His head didn’t fall off so he was more patient than he might have been. “Look, Prince, you’ve obviously discovered some new evidence that…
Read more His head didn’t fall off so he was more patient than he might have been.
The window was open and that damn raven was sitting on the branch of a mountain ash right outside the window, looking as if he had been carved from a single piece of the darkest obsidian. Liam didn’t really know anything about obsidian except that it was a rock of some kind that was black…
The Bay Rover speeded up. Forgetting where he was, Liam yelled, “Faster!” “We’re almost up on the step as it is,” Prince yelled back. “We go any faster we’ll take off, and there’s no room!” Larsgaard looked over his shoulder, saw the Cessna bearing down on his port stern and pointed the bow of the…
They landed in Kulukak and taxied the float plane to the dock. The place was still shrouded in what seemed to be its perpetual cloak of mist. No one was there to greet them, but then Liam hadn’t called to say they were coming. He had confirmed with Charlene that there was no fishing period…
There wasn’t enough room for both sets of long legs beneath the tiny galley table, so he sat on the bunk and sipped his coffee. She shifted her feet out of his way, looking at the imprints her shoes left behind in the carpet. “Uh, sir–you do know that the floor is wet in here?”…
Read more “Yes, I do know the floor is wet in here. This boat is sinking.”
Joan Dunaway was a reporter for the News, and had been one since she and Wy had returned from Europe the year they graduated from the University of Alaska, Fairbanks, Wy with a degree in education and Jo with a degree in journalism. She’d built up a reputation over the years for ferreting out bad…
“Dad,” Liam said. “Son,” Charles said. He held out a hand. Liam took it. His father’s grip was warm and strong and didn’t linger. “How have you been?” “Swell,” Liam said. One dark eyebrow went up, but all his father said was, “I was sorry I couldn’t make it back in time for the funeral.”…
Read more “I was sorry I couldn’t make it back in time for the funeral.”
“You suicidal son of a bitch!” Wy said, eyes blazing. “That is the last time you go up in a plane with me, I don’t care how much the frigging state is paying! You could have been hurt! You could have been killed!” She wound up and hit him again, this time her clenched fist…