mystery
-
Cigar smoke and wet wool, the court room air was heavier than lead. Ingmar rubbed his moist palms on his best suit. That’s when he noticed the chalk on his suit jacket sleeve. Brushing hastily, Ingmar looked around to see if anyone noticed. Mary had worked so hard to black his shoes, iron his suit,
-
“We’re a nice town, the type of place where everyone knows everyone,” said Sheriff Tank Adolphus. “Nothing ever happened here. Nothing until the outsiders came.” Agent Tess Morganna turned from the view outside the passenger window and gave the policeman serious side eye. “Don’t give me that look. You think I’m being racist. I’m not
-
The waitress set a brimming tray of fresh tortillas, salsa, guacamole, and gobs of melted cheese. Penny cheered their appetizer and did a chair tango. “I mean she’s nice, really nice, but I don’t know. Maybe I’m making too much of it but I never met anyone who tells you their whole life story but
-
Born in a fine red brick house in the right part of townher father’s hands still rough from hard laborBehind the lace curtains of his bow front windowsher father’s hands folded in a well tailored suitShe learned to be a good daughter a leading light in all of the colored ladies clubshis smooth hand grazed
-
The front door banged open. With armfuls of groceries, Natty hurried inside and nudged the door closed with her right foot. Pyewacket threaded between her legs as she unloaded her milk, bread, and eggs.“This isn’t helping me go faster,” Natty said as she took off her raincoat and searched her pockets and purse for her
-
I wasn’t sorry when Evi left home. I mean I was ,but I wasn’t going to let her know it. I don’t remember Mama; she went away with baby Ferenc after the spring rains. But Evi left school to care for Papa and me. She was a little mother. Papa was angry at first. He
-
I don’t like Mr. Boule. I’m in the minority here. Everybody adores the new English teacher. He took over Old Lady Lictenstein’s AP English and immediately started a zine with the AP nerds and the Business English ‘tards. He started a monthly poetry slam. Thet is always on my ass to join Boule’s graphic novel
-
Snow thick as marshmallow fluff crunched satisfyingly beneath our boots. Our breaths came in white ghosts. Sneaking looks at me under the brim of his Phillies cap, Taylor was about to say something. I silenced him with an arched eyebrow. We are at the wrought iron gates. I remember Mr. Levin saying how on Sundays
-
There have always been signs. Ever since there have been have and have nots, beggars, derelicts, people currently without housing, those in need have communicated with others of their ilk to eat, to get help, to protect themselves. A small pile of stones hidden meant shelter. A coarse cross scratched on a doorstep meant a
circular staircase 