Heartbreaks & Half-truths: 22 Stories of Mystery & Suspense: A Superior Shores Anthology, #2

Heartbreaks & Half-truths

22 Stories of Mystery & Suspense

Edited by

Judy Penz Sheluk

Praise for Heartbreaks & Half-truths

22 Stories of Mystery & Suspense

This book is a real orthopedic workout. There are stories that will shiver your spine, tickle your funny bone, and, in a few cases, drop your jaw.—Robert Lopresti, author of Shanks on Crime and winner of the Derringer and Black Orchid Novella Awards.

A stellar collection of short stories where the reader is in constant quandary. Insofar as you wish to linger on the ending of one delightful gem of a tale there is also the urge to dive into the next and to stay up into the small hours. I stayed up.—Kevin Thornton, seven-time Arthur Ellis Awards finalist

A memorable collection. If you like short crime fiction with the impact of a shiv's thrust or the attention-grab of a loaded .38, this collection is right up your (very dark) alley. Yes, there’s heartbreak, but those half-truths will get you every time.—Crime Fiction Lover

Who hasn't had their heart broken at some point? And wasn’t there always an element of deception involved? Here 22 writers explore the theme and deliver 22 strikingly different viewpoints. Prepare yourself for an entertaining journey. A satisfying literary adventure awaits.— J. R. Lindermuth, author of The Bartered Body. 

Heartaches come in all shapes and sizes with truths, half-truths, or no truths at all, but are they filled with good intentions or mired in felonious revenge? However it is served, these 22 stories are always entertaining.—Kathleen Costa, Kings River Life Magazine

Praise for The Best Laid Plans

21 Stories of Mystery & Suspense

An entertaining collection of tales that deliver in all aspects. Much like buying a lottery ticket, these characters are dreaming up ways to permanently solve problems.—Kevin Tipple, Kevin’s Corner

Sometimes the best laid plans just don’t go quite as expected. And sometimes, they go exactly as hoped for. A dazzling collection of twenty-one short tales of mayhem, leaving both the reader and the corpses breathless. A five-star read that you will never forget.—Kate Thornton, Derringer-nominated short story author

Even the best laid plans can go awry, and with these well-thought out mysteries and ‘I didn’t see that coming!’ short stories, you get to enjoy it twenty-one times. Different styles, different settings, different murderous intentions, but all are entertaining, intriguing, and just plain fun.—Kathleen Costa, Kings River Life Magazine

"Crime doesn’t pay, especially for criminals who think they’ve found a loophole…The Best Laid Plans should be read by anyone who loves this genre." —Long and Short Reviews

Delicious! That word best describes the yummy bites of well written, crafty crime stories. Murder for hire, money, sibling rivalry, envy, infidelity. Murder of the wrong person. Killer acting and get-rich schemes…the clever twists are endless. A feast of delicious short bites that adds up to a very satisfying literary meal.—Catherine Astolfo, bestselling author and two-time winner of the Arthur Ellis Award for Best Crime Short Story

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, and events described herein are products of the authors’ imagination, or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Heartbreaks & Half-truths: 22 Stories of Mystery & Suspense

Compilation Copyright © 2020 Judy Penz Sheluk

Story Copyrights © 2020 by Individual Authors:

Sharon Hart Addy

Paula Gail Benson

James Blakey

*Gustavo Bondoni

Susan Daly

Buzz Dixon

*Rhonda Eikamp

Christine Eskilson

Tracy Falenwolfe

Kate Flora

*John M. Floyd

J.A. Henderson

Blair Keetch

Steve Liskow

Edward Lodi

*Judy Penz Sheluk

KM Rockwood

Peggy Rothschild

Joseph S. Walker

*James Lincoln Warren

Chris Wheatley

Robb T. White

*‘Checkmate Charlie’ by Gustavo Bondoni was originally published in Robotica (2015).

*‘In the Halls of Mercy’ by Rhonda Eikamp was originally published in Fictionvale Magazine, Episode 5 (Of Magic And Mayhem).

*‘Blackjack Road’ by John M. Floyd was originally published in The Strand Magazine (June-September 2012) and reprinted in Deception (Dogwood Press, October 2013).

*‘Goulaigans’ by Judy Penz Sheluk was originally published in The Whole She-Bang 3 (Sisters in Crime Toronto, 2016).

*‘The Short Answer’ by James Lincoln Warren was originally published in Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine (July/August 2017)

Excerpt from ‘Hard Song’ by Barry Dempster (Love Outlandish, Brick Books, 2009) used with permission.

Excerpt from ‘Cleopatra Slippers’ by Judy Penz Sheluk (THEMA, Spring 2005; Unhappy Endings, 2016) used with permission.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Compiled and Edited by Judy Penz Sheluk, www.judypenzsheluk.com

Proofreading and editorial assistance by Victoria Gladwish, Gladwish on Demand Editing, www.vickigladwish.com

Cover Design by Hunter Martin

Cover Illustration by S.A. Hadi hasan

Published by Superior Shores Press

ISBN Trade Paperback: 978-1-989495-22-3

ISBN Kindle: 978-1-989495-23-0

ISBN ePub: 978-1-989495-24-7

ISBN Kobo: 978-1-989495-25-4

First Edition: June 2020 / Second Edition: July 2020

It’s the crack in his heart

where the melody lingers, the hiss

of an old 45. How can I help

but sing along, hard, hard song,

unconditional illusion.

— Barry Dempster, ‘Hard Song’

Contents

Introduction

KM Rockwood

Burning Desire

Peggy Rothschild

The Devil’s Club

John M. Floyd

Blackjack Road

James Blakey

The Greatest Secret

Edward Lodi

So Long

Kate Flora

Afterlife

Buzz Dixon

Tongor of the Elephants

J A Henderson

The God Complex

Christine Eskilson

For Elizabeth

Robb T. White

See You In Court

Rhonda Eikamp

In the Halls of Mercy

Sharon Hart Addy

Near Warrenton

Tracy Falenwolfe

Exposure

Paula Gail Benson

Living One’s Own Truth

Susan Daly

Deep Freeze in Suburbia

Chris Wheatley

The Angel of Maastricht

Joseph S. Walker

Pink Hearts Pierced By Arrows

Blair Keetch

Deadly Cargo

Steve Liskow

Ugly Fat

Gustavo Bondoni

Checkmate Charlie

James Lincoln Warren

The Short Answer

Judy Penz Sheluk

Goulaigans

The Lineup

Introduction

I was fifteen the first time a boy broke my heart. With shoulder-length hair, the bottom of his blue jeans frayed to perfection, and a history of changing schools, albeit not entirely by choice, he was the bad boy to my good girl.

And, of course, I fell madly, passionately in love with him.

Years later, he would get an honorable mention in my first published short story, Cleopatra Slippers:

My boyfriend of the moment had dropped me off at the corner. I wasn’t allowed in his car, an ancient blue Volkswagen bug. But there was no way that I’d make curfew walking the mile home from school. It was embarrassing, the early curfews and the no-car rules, but he was pretty good-natured about it. We wouldn’t last, not many relationships do at that age, but I didn’t know that then.

What I didn’t mention in Cleopatra Slippers was the way the boy dumped me without warning.

By phone.

On Valentine’s Day.

For a blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl he’d been seeing behind my back. A girl with experience.

I wonder, sometimes, if the boy even remembers my name, let alone the lies he told me. My guess is, probably not.

And that got me thinking about the theme for the second anthology under the Superior Shores Press umbrella: heartbreaks and half-truths. Would the theme resonate with writers? I didn’t know, but I was willing to give it a try.

As was the case with The Best Laid Plans, once again, I need not have worried. In all, 105 submissions were received, representing authors from Argentina, Australia, France, Germany, Scotland, the UK, US, and Canada. Their interpretations of the theme, from settings to solutions, went far beyond anything I could have imagined.

Culling those down to a manageable number was a daunting task, but the end result is a diverse collection of mystery fiction in which one common thread emerges: Behind every broken heart lies a half-truth.

And behind every half-truth lies a secret.

Judy Penz Sheluk

KM Rockwood

KM Rockwood draws on a diverse background for her stories, including working as a laborer in a steel fabrication factory and supervising an inmate work crew in a large state prison. Since she retired from working as a special education teacher in correctional facilities, inner city schools, and alternative schools, she has devoted her time to writing and caring for her family and pets. Her published works include the Jesse Damon Crime Novel series (Wildside Press) and numerous short stories. A repeat offender, KM’s short story, ‘Frozen Daiquiris,’ appears in The Best Laid Plans: 21 Stories of Mystery & Suspense. KM is a member of Sisters in Crime National, Chesapeake, and Guppy Chapters.

Find her at kmrockwood.com.

Burning Desire

KM Rockwood

My cousin Sophia leaned in close, her boozy breath assailing my nostrils. Such a lovely party, Roger. Aunt Regina thought you might be pretty much down in the dumps right now, what with the wedding called off and all. She thought a party for your fiftieth birthday would be just the thing to cheer you up.

Champagne glass in hand, I maintained my plastic smile. Kind of her.

Sophia giggled. And she asked all of us to contribute to your gift.

How very generous.

Annoying as Sophia was, I couldn’t afford to alienate anyone in my family just now. The cancelled nuptials meant I would not be marrying Daphne Hillard Jenkins, heiress to the Jenkins pet supplies fortune.

Which meant I had lost the opportunity to access the Jenkins pet supplies fortune.

Which meant I would have difficulty paying my outstanding debts.

The syndicate that had loaned me money found that out, and decided they could wait no longer for me to begin making payments on what I owed. They demanded a payment of ten thousand dollars by midnight tonight. Or else.

I didn’t have ten thousand dollars. Truth be told, I didn’t have ten dollars.

When Aunt Regina proposed the party, my first reaction was horror. The entire family? In my house?

This mansion was the old family home, but I was the one who had inherited it. The costly upkeep was one of the reasons I was always short of money. Of course, the gambling had something to do with that, too. And once I began borrowing from the syndicate, I realized I was in way over my head. Marriage to Daphne was the best way I saw to resolve my financial problems.

It was not to be.

But I reflected that many members of my extended family had the means to bail me out. I had to be careful about how I approached them. If there was an extravagant birthday party, could they be persuaded to come up with gifts of cash? Possibly.

So instead of replying in the negative, I said, A party sounds lovely, Aunt Regina. And I appreciate the gesture. But I have to confess that I’m in the midst of—how shall I say this—a temporary embarrassment. I could not fund a party right now.

Oh? Aunt Regina had raised her eyebrows.

Yes. You saw Daphne’s engagement ring. I overspent on it, as well as the matching wedding ring. She has not returned it. I have no way of knowing if she will. And I certainly will not stoop to asking for it.

In reality, the ring sported a huge cubic zirconium. I intended to have it replaced with a diamond when I could afford it, and the poor girl would never be the wiser. I should have realized her father would insist she take it to a jeweler to be appraised for insurance purposes.

Was that the reason she had called off the wedding?

Or had she found someone new, someone closer to her own age? I couldn’t imagine that. Daphne was only in her early twenties, but she was homely and shrill. I’d assured her I found her mismatched eyes and crooked chin endearing, that my vast worldly experience had led me to the conclusion outward appearances were of minimal importance compared to inner beauty. I could blather on like that all day.

I did have some concerns about how long I could endure her nasal, high-pitched screeching day in and day out. She spoke that way even when she was happy. Especially when she was happy. Then she’d add that irritating giggle to everything she said.

Roger? Aunt Regina had evidently still been talking.

I’m sorry. I shook my head. I find, with the shock, that my mind wanders and I have trouble concentrating.

I said I’d take care of all the arrangements. You shouldn’t have to shoulder the cost of your own fiftieth birthday party.

That meant she’d need access to the house. I grimaced inwardly at the invasion of my privacy.

She added, I’m sure, if I put the word out, people will want to help you address this ‘temporary embarrassment’ and your quite understandable disappointment.

With financial gifts, I hoped. Thank you, Aunt Regina. So thoughtful of you. I would like that very much.

The party ebbed and flowed around me.

So far, no one had offered any gifts, monetary or otherwise.

Aunt Regina had pointed out an odd party decoration in the den. Sitting on my desk (oh, the violation…why had she felt it necessary to invade my most private area, the den?) was a huge eyesore of a flower arrangement.

Except they weren’t actually flowers, but rather an assortment of origami nestled in greenery. Golden cranes, stubby silver stars, odd little green flowers. And folded slips of paper on picks.

It took up almost the entire surface of the desk. The phone was crowded into a corner. Heaven only knows where my pen set and pictures were.

As Aunt Regina showed it to me, I turned to face the flickering fireplace to hide my grimace and rolling eyes. When I got my facial features back under control, I forced a smile, turned to look at it, and professed admiration for the monstrosity.

I’ve recently taken up origami as a hobby. Aunt Regina gave a self-satisfied nod. And this struck me as the perfect opportunity to exercise my new skills.

You made all those? Very impressive.

She gave me a withering look. Several of us spent the entire afternoon yesterday creating this masterpiece. It’s your fiftieth birthday, so there are fifty of each.

Reaching into the midst of the display, she pulled out one of the slips of paper. These are affirmations. You will want to take your time and read them thoughtfully. This one says, ‘We can always depend upon Roger to mediate family squabbles diplomatically and unemotionally.’ How true.

I raised my eyebrows. What nonsense. The vast majority of family squabbles had to do with inheritances and trust funds. All one had to do was read the relevant paperwork to clarify facts. Which I did, and explained the terms to all parties involved.

Emotions had nothing to do with any of it.

She refolded the paper and inserted it back among the greenery. The cranes are for health. The stars are for luck. And the flowers, of course, for prosperity.

Prosperity, yes. I could use some prosperity right now.

As the evening wore on, some of the guests began to depart.

My stomach tightened in alarm. Surely affirmations and folded paper doodads were not the entirety of the gifts I could expect.

Was Aunt Regina planning to call everyone together and announce a gift-giving? She liked that kind of dramatic gesture.

It would, of course, be unforgivably rude for me to bring it up. But I needed that ten thousand by midnight. Several unsympathetic and very large men would be showing up then, seeking the money. I was hoping for cash gifts, but if I could show them checks that added up to ten thousand, they would probably be willing to settle in for the night and accompany me to the bank in the morning. Not ideal, but it would do.

The caterers began to pack up. Guests left in droves.

I stood hopefully by the front door, bidding people good-bye. No one offered so much as a greeting card.

Unnerved, I went to fill my glass one more time.

When I returned, Aunt Regina herself had left.

Soon I was alone. I thought about locking and double locking the front door. But that would never keep the men from the syndicate out. They would merely break the expensive and hard-to-replace door down, leaving me with yet another bill I couldn’t pay.

If, by then, I was in any shape to worry about it.

Whiskey in hand, I went into the den and stared at the origami travesty.

What was I to do? The men from the syndicate didn’t fool around.

I took another gulp of my whiskey. The intricate arrangement was apparently the only gift I was to receive.

A ridiculous image of me handing the absurd composition over to the collectors when they arrived ran through my mind.

Rage and despair in a wave washed over me. I picked it up and heaved it into the fireplace. Flames flared up.

The phone rang. I answered it.

Roger. It was Aunt Regina. I’m so sorry I didn’t get to say goodbye. My ride was leaving and I didn’t see you. Did you enjoy the party?

No point in making things worse. If I were lucky, I would be needing help with medical bills. If I were unlucky, it would be funeral expenses. Not that I would care at that point.

Yes, Aunt Regina. Thank you.

She laughed. I hope you enjoyed your gift! We had such trouble finding enough crisp hundred-dollar bills to fold into flowers for the arrangement. It takes three for each flower, and we had to make fifty of them. The teller at the bank was scrambling to find them for us.

Alarmed, I swung around to stare at the fireplace.

Flames were licking over the remains of the arrangement. I dropped the phone and reached for the fire tongs. I managed to extract a small portion including one of the little green flowers. I smothered the flames with my bare hands.

The edges of the flower were singed, but I ripped the petals apart. Each was a bill, with a 100 in the corners.

I heard the front door open. Heavy footsteps crossed the living room and approached the den.

Peggy Rothschild

Peggy Rothschild grew up in Los Angeles. Always a mystery-lover, she embraced the tales of Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys before graduating to the adult section of the library. An English major in high school, she switched to art—her other passion—in college. A repeat offender, Peggy’s short story, ‘The Cookie Crumbles,’ appears in The Best Laid Plans: 21 Stories of Mystery & Suspense. Peggy has also authored two adult mysteries, Clementine’s Shadow and Erasing Ramona, and one Young Adult adventure, Punishment Summer. Peggy is a member of Sisters in Crime National and Los Angeles chapter, as well as the Short Mystery Fiction Society.

Find her at peggyrothschild.net.

The Devil’s Club

Peggy Rothschild

There were two things Jessie Mayhew hated: visitors and talking about the past. The man standing on her front stoop was a problem on both counts. Unwelcome, unshaven and underdressed for the weather, he stood in that familiar cocky way, gloved hands on hips.

Jesus, Jess. Thought I was gonna break my fist pounding on the door. Living out here at the ass-end of the world makes me think you’re trying to avoid me. That true? Frost clung to this knit cap, mustache, and wool peacoat. A shiver shook his tall frame.

What do you want?

No ‘Great to see you?’ No ‘How you been, Al?’

Jessie ground her teeth and gazed past him at the charcoal sky. What do you want?

It’s snowing out here. Why don’t you ask me in?

It’s sleet, not snow.

Sleet, snow. Who the hell cares? Whatever it is, it’s damn cold. You gonna let me in?

Dampness darkened his jeans all the way to his knees. His feet must be halfway to frozen. Surprising he wasn’t shivering more violently. But Al had always acted the tough guy. Too bad she’d figured out too late he hadn’t been playing. You walk here?

Neither your damn drive or the road are plowed. Had to find a turnout and leave my car up on the highway.

She knew the spot. Al had trekked at least a quarter-mile to her narrow road and another ten minutes to reach her door. Fists clenched, Jessie stepped aside and waited for him to enter.

Not much of an invite, but I’ll take it. He stamped his black high-tops against the worn linoleum, leaving clumps of snow to melt and puddle. Rubbing his stubbly jaw, he studied the knotty pine ceiling and walls. You’re a hard woman to find. Gotta say, I never expected you to wind up living someplace like this.

She closed the front door and glared at the man who, four years ago, had stomped the life from her already bruised and broken heart. What do you want?

Give a man a chance to settle in. Maybe ask him to sit down or something.

If you want to sit, sit. Jessie moved to the wood stove. Though the fire was still going, she opened the front and peered inside. It gave her an excuse to look away from him. She knew why he was here. The question was: What was she going to do about it?

The orange and gold flames reminded her of sunsets they’d once shared on the beach. Shoving away the memory, she added a couple pieces of kindling, then straightened.

She wouldn’t let him hurt her again.

Behind her, a kitchen chair scraped across the linoleum. The creak of wood told her Al had sat.

You’ve changed. His voice sounded both gruff and surprised.

She set the kettle on top of the stove, then retrieved a mug from the cupboard. What? You expected me to still be the starry-eyed idiot you once knew? That girl’s long gone. Thanks to you.

Whoa. Don’t go pointing any fingers at me. Running away was your choice.

Jessie moved to the shallow pantry and opened two jars, then packed a mix of leaves and berries into a stainless steel diffuser. Dropping the diffuser into the mug, she turned and walked to the stove. What do you want?

Money. Of course. Al grinned and scanned the narrow kitchen again. Doesn’t look like you’ve spent much of your share.

My share? I wasn’t your partner. You… She shook her head, then stared at the kettle, willing the water to boil.

Doesn’t matter. I still got the videos of us in bed. I guarantee those’ll set the cops’ heads spinning. Give them the final piece of the puzzle—show the reason why you hired someone to kill Tyler.

You bas-

"Don’t know why you’re so fussed. Tyler was coiled tighter than a rattlesnake on a cold night and twice as mean. How many