Serialization

I'm posting one of my short stories in serial form. 

The title is: Wanted - Dead or Deader

Here's the prologue:

These are the reports of a most interesting man—Walter London, Private Investigator. His was a one-man operation from start to finish, with a career that spanned four decades. When he passed away, there was no one to carry on, so the firm closed.

Grandma Elisabeth cared for him throughout his last illness. After he passed, she must’ve felt her duty was over because she joined him three months later.

We discovered all his case notes sealed in boxes in the basement when Dad and I cleared out the house. Grandpa had kept meticulous records. No dry details in his reports, no pesky record of times and locations. Instead he’d written in a sarcastic yet laid-back style. A very private person, Grandpa Walt never violated a client’s trust.

Reading through his reports, I learned a lot about my grandfather and decided to share some of the more tantalizing cases rather than have them lost forever. The players in these stories are either dead and gone; or I’ve changed their names.

Respectfully submitted,

Jane London Munroe

Be sure to check out my other stories...

A letter from Santa

I know it's January, but here's a Christmas poem...

Twas the night before Christmas and throughout the North Pole,

All the planning was done—everything under control.

I sat at the table, enjoying a warm, hearty stew,

Getting ready to brave the cold on my planned rendezvous.

When out by the barn, there arose such a clatter,

I pushed back from the table, to see what was the matter.

Three elves burst inside and yelled “Santa come quick.”

“Our security’s been breached by a raving lunatic!”

The countdown had started for my long journey ahead,

All but ruined with their words, “Prancer’s missing—presumed dead.”

Standing by the stove, Mrs. Claus frowned at an elf,

As I raced out the door to see for myself.

We passed by the sleigh, all loaded with gifts,

The GPS primed to avoid pesky snowdrifts.

We crunched through the blizzard to the side of the house,

Under the watchful eyes of my jolly, old spouse.

My eyes narrowed and focused on a terrifying scene,

The Christmas holiday ruined if I didn’t intervene.

I drank in the sight—my thoughts quite profane,

There in a huddle lay some butchered remains.

A hoof and some antlers all lying askew,

Amidst bloodspatter and gore—with nary a clue.

A headcount confirmed Prancer was nowhere in sight,

But by the looks of the bloodshed, he’d put up a helluva fight.

If I called 911, there’d be quite a delay,

I considered the situation with heightened dismay.

“Let’s keep it quiet,” the elves all protested,

“‘Cause you know the cops will have us arrested.”

Not fulfilling my duties would ruin my career,

So I adjusted the lineup with seven reindeer.

Guiding the sleigh in a trance, I sorted fact from fiction,

The aha! moment putting me in a bad position.

So I’m writing this letter to Attorney John Smith, Esquire,

Just in case something goes wrong and I should expire.

My lovely missus would be arrested if I shared what I knew,

I’d just figured out the special ingredient in her homemade stew!

Reading Challenges

REPORTER'S CHALLENGE 2019

It's only January 1 and already 37 readers (including myself) have signed up for my challenge.

Head over to Good Reads and join in the fun!