Friday, January 23, 2026

Verdie and the Mushrooms


 

 

Once upon a time there was a tiny little village deep in the mountain forest called Peat Haven. It was a very special village because it was home to forest mosslings, tiny people grown from the very bark and moss that carpets the floor of the deep woods. Mosslings were shy, magical creatures. Their magic, which was not as broad and powerful as that of their close cousins, the mountain fairies, was limited, only able to transform the basic elements of the earth. Mosslings used this magical ability to break down the rocks in the forest into lush minerals and dirt so that the thousands of flowers in the forest can grow tall and strong. The flowers in and around the village of Peat Haven were among the most beautiful in all the world.

 

The Mosslings’ magic, however, was the envy of the Grogs, a cruel and harsh group of cave-dwelling ogres who lived beneath the mountain. Grogs craved all things sparkling and shiny and desired to enslave the Mosslings. They desired to use the Mossling magic to transform cave rocks into shiny precious jewels.

 

Fortunately, the queen of the forest fairies, Queen Angelica, loved her near-cousins and the beautiful flowers they produced. Mossling flowers were used as decorations all across Queen Angelica’s kingdom. To protect the Mosslings from the Grogs, the fairy queen placed a powerful magic barrier around Peat Haven and the surrounding flower fields. Only those who knew the magic password could penetrate the barrier. Speak the password once and the barrier came down, allowing safe travel out of or into Peat Haven. Speak it again, and the boundary returned, protecting Peat Haven once more. All young Mosslings were taught this password and were warned to protect it with their very lives, but they were also taught to be very careful, because when the barrier came down, Peat Haven was vulnerable to attack. For this reason, the Mosslings mostly stayed within the safety of the barrier.

 

There was a mischievous young Mossling in Peat Haven named Verdie. Verdie, like most Mosslings, loved mushrooms. Verdie, however, loved mushrooms so much that he would go out every day, searching far and wide throughout Peat Haven, looking for the largest and plumpest mushrooms he could find. Often he would go near the edge of the magical boundary, because many mushrooms grew there. 

 

After a time, however, Verdie began to notice the mushrooms outside the boundary. There, Verdie saw mushrooms growing all across the forest floor. To him, the mushrooms on the other side of the barrier looked larger, plumper, and more luscious than those in Peat Haven. Oh, how much he wanted to leave the safety of his village to gather those mushrooms, but he knew that would be very dangerous. One day, he approached the boundary, looking longingly at the mushrooms on the other side. 

 

“It would only take me a moment,” he thought to himself. 

 

Convinced he could gather the mushrooms safely, he spoke the password to lower the magic barrier and dashed quickly through. Grabbing a small handful of mushrooms, he ran back across the boundary as quickly as possible to the safety of his home. Once across, he spoke the password again, returning the magic barrier. “That wasn’t so bad,” he said. 

 

Unbeknownst to Verdie, a young Grog named Kerr was also in the area exploring the forest, looking for shiny stones and gems. He saw Verdie, and watched with curiosity as he lowered and raised the magic barrier. 

 

The next day, Verdie came back and did it again. Then again after that. Each day, Kerr watched from a distance. On the fourth day, Kerr devised an evil plan to trick Verdie into revealing the magic password. When Verdie approached the magical boundary that day, Kerr was standing there waiting. Verdie stopped dead, and his eyes went wide like saucers when he saw the young ogre.

 

“Don’t be afraid,” said Kerr, “I’ve been watching you, and I want to help you pick mushrooms. Come on out and we can do it together.”

 

“No, no,” said Verdie, and he ran away.

 

Poor Verdie knew he should look for mushrooms somewhere else, but the call of the delicious mushrooms across the boundary was too great. The next day Verdie crept slowly to the boundary, approaching with caution, hoping perhaps that Kerr would not be there. This time, however, not only was Kerr there, but he was holding a large basket of mushrooms that he had picked just for Verdie.

 

“See,” said Kerr, “I’ve already picked them for you. All you have to do is tell me the password so I can give you the mushrooms.”

 

“No, no”, said Verdie, and he ran away.

 

Day after day he came back to the boundary, looking longingly at the mushrooms that Kerr had picked. They were so plump and lush. He wanted them so badly. Then one day, he came to the boundary. As he did each day, Kerr said, “Just tell me the password and I will give you the mushrooms.” Except on this day, Kerr added, “I won’t tell anyone the password. It will be our secret.”

 

Verdie hesitated. Grogs couldn’t be trusted – unless perhaps it was a promise. To Mosslings, a promise was the highest form of covenant. One must never break a promise. To do so would mean disgrace before your people.

 

“You promise?” he asked. “You won’t tell anyone?”

 

“I give you my word that I won’t tell a single soul.”


Convinced that Kerr would keep his word, he spoke the password and took the basket of mushrooms.


“See,” said Kerr, “that wasn’t so bad. We can be friends now, right?”

 

“I don’t know,” said Verdie. “Maybe you should go… but come back tomorrow and we can talk about it then.”

 

Kerr left, and Verdie put the boundary back up. He sighed in relief and headed back to his village, convinced that all was well in Peat Haven. What Verdie did not know, however, was that Grogs had no soul. Kerr could tell the password to as many Grogs as he wanted and never break his promise to Verdie, which is exactly what he did.

 

Later that evening, after the sun had gone down, Verdie was wandering in the woods, contemplating whether Kerr, the sworn enemy of the Mosslings, could possibly be a new friend. Suddenly, alarms and cries rang out, echoing through the woods. Verdie rushed towards his village to see what was the matter, but as he approached, he could see hundreds of Grogs tramping through the woods. They were catching Mosslings and stuffing them into rucksacks they carried on their backs. 

 

“Oh no,” he thought, “what have I done?”

 

Verdie hid himself under a pile of leaves and watched as his entire village was captured and carried away to the Grog caves. They were all gone – doomed to work for the Grog in their rock pits, turning stones into gems –and it was all his fault. He sobbed all night long, but for fear of getting caught, he stayed hidden under the leaves.

 

The next morning Verdie emerged from his leafy hiding place. 

 

“I’m so sorry,” he said to no one. “I never meant for this to happen.”

 

He repeated this over and over as he wandered through the empty village, wondering how he could make this right. As he reached the center of town, he came to a small wooden statue of Queen Angelica that his village had carved in her honor. He sat down beside the statue and began to sob.

 

“What am I going to do?” he asked the statue. “How can I fix this?”

 

As he sat there crying, a winged figure appeared before him, hovering silently, waiting for him to notice her presence. She was beautiful, with golden hair that sparkled in the morning sun. Her wings were delicate, glittering as they flapped rapidly to keep her hovering in place. She wore a pale blue dress that came down to her knees, and she held a tiny scepter in her hand. All around her was the aurora of fairy magic. At the moment, that aurora was a soft, almost powdery, pale pink – like a cherry blossom. Verdie startled and jumped up when he saw her.

 

“Your Majesty!" he exclaimed, for every Mossling knew the fairy queen by sight.

 

“What is the matter, young one?” asked Queen Angelica. Her voice was felt more than heard, like a whisper of music floating on the gentle morning breeze.

 

“Oh, Your Majesty,” cried Verdie, falling to his knees, clasping his hands in front of him, “I have done a terrible thing.”

 

“Tell me,” she said.

 

Verdie stood up and began his tale. As he spoke, the queen looked around at the empty village, her pink aurora darkening subtly to a light rose. Slowly, she lowered herself until her petite feet touched the ground and her delicate wings folded up on her back. Before Verdie could finish, she interrupted him.

 

“You revealed the secret password,” she said, “and now everyone has been captured by the Grogs.” 

 

Verdi looked at the queen with meekness, his hands still clasped in front of him, but he swung them back and forth in a sheepish fashion. “He…he… promised, and I just wanted those mushrooms so badly. I’m so sorry.” Verdi then lowered his head and eyes.

 

The queen’s aurora brightened again as she waved her magic wand. Magic dust swirled in the air, and two plump mushrooms appeared before Verdi at the foot of her statue.

 

“Which of these two is better?” She asked, pointing to them with her scepter. “Pick the one that is superior.”

 

Verdi looked at them for a moment and said, “I can’t tell the difference. They are both the same.”

 

“Precisely,” she said, “one came from inside Peak Haven and the other from outside. They are the same. Sometimes, something looks more desirable simply because we cannot have it.” Once again, her aurora darkened, this time to a darker, dusty rose. “You’ve made a terrible mistake, young Mossling, and the consequences are dire.”

 

Queen Angelica paused, waiting to see how Verdie would respond. Verdie fell to his knees again, this time grasping at her tiny feet.

 

“Oh, Your Majesty, isn’t there anything you can do?”

 

Suddenly, her aurora darkened even more – to a deep fuchsia. “To bring back the Mosslings,” she said in a low, serious tone, “would require very much magic — all that I have — perhaps more than I have. Would you have me place the whole kingdom at risk to undo your mistake?”

 

“Please, oh please. They did nothing wrong. This was all my fault. I will do anything. You can even take my magic if that will help!”

 

Queen Angelica was surprised at the bravery young Verdie displayed, for Mosslings, being made from magic, cannot survive without it.

 

“Are you sure, Verdie, because if I take your magic, you will fade back into the elements from which you were made.”

 

“Please, Your Majesty, do it, please. I have to make this right. I cannot bear to live knowing my village has been enslaved because of my mistake.”

 

The queen’s aurora turned dark purple as she waved her sceptre in circles around Verdie’s head. 

 

“Once done, this cannot be undone,” she said. Verdie nodded for her to continue.

 

Slowly, the aurora around Queen Angelica turned from purple to green as she took Verdie’s magic from him. Slowly, all around them, Mosslings began to appear, having been transported by Verdie’s magic essence from the Gorg caves back to Peat Haven. Verdie, however, was fading away, returning to his base elements. By the time all the villagers had been returned, Verdie was nothing more than a blanket of moss hanging across the base of Queen Angelica’s statue. The queen put the barrier back in place, reset the magic password, and spoke to the Mosslings.

 

“Verdie made a terrible mistake. His poor judgment caused you to be enslaved by the Grog, but he learned his lesson and sacrificed himself for your safe return. Remember him well,” she added as she flew up into the air, trailing soft pink magic aurora behind her.

 

Now, whenever the Mosslings pass by the queen’s statue and see the moss growing there, they are reminded that the mushrooms are never plumper on the other side, and they honor the sacrifice Verdie made to learn that lesson.


Sunday, December 14, 2025

Bunkmore’s Christmas Wonderland

 



     Fizzbit Flutterbun was certainly not one of the popular elves at the North Pole. He never really mastered the art of elven magic. Every time he tried, something dreadful happened — like the time he accidentally turned off Rudolph’s nose. It took twelve of the most senior elf masters to figure out exactly how he managed that so they could reverse it. Rudolph did not speak to Fizzy for two months. The other elves were kind to him, but whenever he tried to use his magic, they usually scattered for their own protection.

It is no surprise, therefore, that after a bit too much egg nog at the pre-Christmas elf party, Fizzy accidentally transported himself somewhere across the globe to who knows where. Unable to see in the darkness of the wee morning hours,  he risked a bit of light magic, one of the few things he could do without… consequences. Looking around, he saw that he was in a bakery of some kind. Racks and racks of cooking sheets stacked ceiling high just waiting to be filled with fresh baked goodies. Three different baking ovens lined the outer walls, and through the glass door of a large cooler he saw several very large bundles of rising dough.


With only three days until Christmas, Fizzy knew he just had to get back to the North Pole as soon as possible. He would need to pull off a transport spell — on purpose this time — to make it back in time for Christmas. 


Just then he heard the door rattling as the baker arrived to make the day’s treats. Fizzy waved his hands around quickly in the pattern for the transport spell and then clapped them together quickly. Expecting to find himself back in the Toy Shop, he fell backwards instead, as an explosive burst of elf dust filled the room. The dust twinkled in shades of gold, green, red, and blue before settling to the ground and flickering out.


The baker walked into the room just as the elf dust began fading away, but he saw enough of the light spectacle to be astonished, wondering at its origin — or its meaning. He looked around to see what may have caused the display, but Fizzy managed to quickly hide himself behind the large stacked bags of flour. Seeing nothing, the baker shrugged and went about his morning business.


Unlike humans, who can only see the initial burst of elf dust, elves like Fizzy are able to see the dust well past its shining time. Fizzy could see that the whole room was covered with the residue of his botched spell. He watched in horrified angst as the baker began to make cookies, sweet rolls, and bread with items contaminated by his mistake. Fearing the worst, Fizzy could do nothing but sit back and watch.




Bailey’s Bakery was renowned for its sweets, especially during Christmas. Mr. Bailey proudly made all the kids’ favorites, including powdered sugar covered Christmas cookies, miniature Christmas tree cakes, and pumpkin spice doughnuts. When the doors opened at 7 am, several of the kids from the small town of Bunkmore were already waiting. Only Mr. Bailey’s fresh made treats would get them out this early on a Saturday morning.


Becky Grant was first through the door, and she quickly put down her six bits for a Christmas cookie. The price for the cookie was $1.25, but this was Christmas, and Mr. Bailey was not about to begrudge the small red-head her Christmas treat.


Becky quickly took a bite and let out a satisfying, “Mmmmm, mmmummmy”, but as she did so, she accidentally inhaled a bit of powdered sugar and sneezed.  As soon as she did, it immediately started snowing - inside the store!  All the kids — as well as Mr. Bailey — let out a gasp of astonishment. Fizzy could do nothing but watch in horror from his hiding place.


“Do it again,” said Jimmy Camden. 


“I can’t just sneeze on command,” she answered.


“Get her some pepper - and let’s try it outside!” exclaimed Jenny Marshal.


Curious as to the outcome of this experiment, Mr. Bailey gave them some pepper. The three kids ran outside, and within two minutes, snow was falling all around the town square.


Bobby Carmichael, determined to not be outdone by Becky’s discovery, stayed in the shop. While the others were frolicking in the new fallen snow, he ordered a miniature Christmas tree cake. He quickly scarfed down several bites, expecting something amazing to happen, but it did not. He even sniffed a little pepper to sneeze… still nothing. Disappointed, he took the last bite of his cake and was about to order his own Christmas cookie when suddenly he choked on the cake, erupting into a massive coughing spell, and spitting the half masticated piece of cake out onto the ground.


Fizzy shook his head in disbelief as he watched the result of the event. As soon as the piece of cake hit the ground it grew and transformed into a fully decorated and lighted Christmas tree, growing right there in the middle of the bakery.


“Hey guys,” Bobby yelled, running outside, “come check this out.”


Mr. Bailey scratched his head in astonishment. Fizzy just shank further behind the stacks of flour, wringing his hands and wondering how he could fix this.


The other kids ran back inside and gasped at the sight of the tree. Outside, other kids, drawn by the snow, which was only falling in the town square, were starting to emerge from their homes.


“Let’s try another,” said Jimmy as he ordered a pumpkin spice doughnut and a cola.


“You know those make you burp,” said Jenny, her hands firmly planted on her hips.


“I know,” said Jimmy with a smile as he ate his doughnut. 


Becky sneezed again and snow once more started falling in the bakery.


“Oh my,” said Mr. Bailey. What more could he say? Short of shutting down the shop, he didn’t know what to do other than watch his bakery transform before his eyes.


When nothing happened after he ate his doughnut, Jimmy took a big swig of cola.


“Here it comes!” he said, holding his belly and preparing for a huge belch. But when he opened his mouth, instead of a carbonation-induced, rumbling burp, out came Jingle Bells — not Jimmy singing Jingle Bells, but the dubiously melodic sound of Jimmy burping to the tune of Jingle Bells!


“Wow,” said the kids in unison, who immediately started laughing uncontrollably — except for Jenny, who found the whole thing disgusting.



     Very quickly, word got out about Mr. Bailey’s special batch of Christmas goodies. Before anyone could list the names of Santa’s reindeer, the whole town was filled with snow, newly grown (and fully decorated) Christmas trees, and the joyous sound of belching Christmas Carols.




“What have you done?”


Fizzy recognized the voice. He turned to see Wendell Moonfoot, one of the senior elves.


“I’m so sorry, I don’t know what happened. I was just trying to get back to the Toy Shop. How did you find me?”


“We could sense the rogue use of magic all the way to the North Pole. This is an absolute disaster. It will surely go down as one of the biggest elf blunders in history. Congratulations, Flutterbun, you might become the most infamous elf in North Pole history.”


Fizzy dropped his head in shame. “What can we do?” he asked.


“We? We do nothing. You go home; and tonight, after the baker closes shop, we will clean up this mess.”


“Yes, sir,” said Fizzy sadly.


Wendell waved his hands, and magical lights swirled around Fizzy as he vanished into thin air, transported back to the North Pole. Wendell turned to watch the spectacle unfolding in Bunkmore. To him, it was the worst elven disaster in history. He just shook his head. Nightfall could not come any faster.




Mr. Bailey watched the kids running around town. After the first few kids came through and were so excited, he just couldn’t help himself. He started giving the treats away for free. He had never seen so much joy and happiness in the kids of Bunkmore. Sure, there were some inconveniences, and more than a few adults were not happy with all the trees popping up all over town — not to mention old Mrs. Farley, who was running around trying to stop the boys from belching out Christmas Carols.  After all, that was just rude. To Mr. Bailey, however, watching the angelic faces of the kids frolicking in the snow was worth it all. Even Jenny had given in and ordered a pumpkin spice doughnut and a cola! Mr. Bailey didn’t know how it happened, but for one very special Saturday, his Christmas treats had turned the normally boring town of Bunkmore into a Christmas Wonderland.

Friday, November 14, 2025

 FOR ALICE

A Short Story




    Thomas Mays reached up with his gloved hand and wiped the mixture of salt water and sand from his goggles. He was close on the tail of his old friend and rival, Artie Walker, when Artie hit a slick spot in the sand and swerved into the surf. The resulting splash covered the open cockpit of his Hudson Super Six. As a result, Thomas had to slow and swerve to the right to avoid crashing into him. Two competitors passed them in their cars as a result. Artie’s Dusenberg was likely out of the race unless he could get it out of the water.

    The 20-mile speed race was an Ormond Beach staple, and had been a fan favorite since its inception five years ago in 1919.  According to rumors, the organizers were considering moving the race up to Daytona, so this might be the last time Thomas raced this particular stretch of beach. Ormond beach itself was about twenty five miles long, so this race was a straight shot down the coastline. On Thomas’s left, the Atlantic Ocean raced by. On his right, spectators found whatever locations they could to observe the spectacle. The beach itself was as wide as 500 feet, making it a perfect raceway.

    Thomas looked down at the picture taped to his dashboard. She was out there, somewhere amongst the spectators with her mom, Mary.  Alice was six, and the prize money from this race would help pay for the treatment she needed. 

    Artie’s misstep set Thomas back. Thomas placed spotters every five miles along the beach to give him key information he needed. He was coming up on the five mile marker, and he could see his man with a sign that said, “Eight”.  He was in eighth position. There was work to do, but there was plenty of time to do it.

    Thomas’s bright red Super Six, Reilly, was a good car. Yes, she had a name. Thomas named the car after his maternal grandmother — a spry and feisty woman that had always been there when he needed her. Thomas cared for the Hudson like it was a family member, pampering her to the point that Mary often called Reilly his mistress. He tuned the engine himself, boring out the cylinders to maximize top speed. 

    Thomas quickly downshifted, causing the engine to scream in protest, but she faithfully accelerated at his command. He looked down at the tachometer… just a little more… then shifted back into high gear. “Yes,” he thought. He was travelling at an astounding 89 MPH. Most of the racers out here today had a top speed of 80-85 MPH. Those new mods were definitely going to give him an advantage.

    Thomas recently read that some of the new Buchattis could reach 100 MPH even on the beach, but none of these new racers had shown up here yet. He doubted Reilly could ever hit that speed, but today he was pushing her to her absolute limit. There were several of the older Buchatti Type 35s in this race. They could reach 90 MPH on pavement, but not in the sand. They were likely his biggest challengers — those and one or two custom Milton-Durants.

    He quickly overcame the two cars that had flown by when Artie slowed him down, and he was closing in on one of those custom jobs — a deep blue Milton-Durant. It was the #18 car. He knew the driver of that car as well. Jackson Grady drove dirty. Nobody liked him, but he had a great car that was well maintained and engineered.

    As he approached the rear of the Milton-Durant, Thomas decided to play it safe and pass on the high side, away from the water. He nudged Reilly to the right, but Jackson, seeing his move, cut him off. He backed off and tried again, but Jackson anticipated his move, and he was once again cut off. He may play dirty at times, but right now Jackson was just doing exactly what any good driver would do. Say what you wanted about the man, but you couldn’t deny that he was a great driver.

    Thomas backed off one more time, but this time he feigned his move to the right. As soon as Jackson made his blocking move, he quickly braked, downshifted, and swerved left towards the surf. Reilly once again screamed in agony as he skirted the surf’s edge. It was a dangerous and bold move, but Reilly leaped forward like a war horse charging into battle. Jackson swerved back to the left in an attempt to block Thomas again, but he was too late. Thomas and Reilly were already alongside him and advancing. Thomas gave Jackson a quick salute as he pulled past into fourth place.

    Thomas turned his attention forward. The three lead cars were all fast. It would be a grind to catch them before the end of the race, but he knew Reilly could do it. Suddenly, up ahead, he saw a puff of white smoke — a blown tire. In this case, it was the lead car. He watched helplessly as the front-runner lost control and began serving uncontrollably. This was the most dangerous moment in racing. Every driver feared it, because there was no way to predict where a car with a blown tire would go.

    It happened so fast that Thomas did not even realize what happened. The lead car — a  Buchatti 35 — careened first to the right, then to the left.  The two cars in second and third place — a Hudson Super Six and a Buchatti 35 — each swerved — into each other. The lead Buchatti ended up in the surf. The crash between the Hudson and the other Buchatti resulted in the Hudson flipping end over end.

    Thomas reacted instinctively, swerving quickly to the left, into the surf, to miss the crash. In the process, however, Reilly lost her grip in the wet sand and began to spin. Water went everywhere, especially into the open cockpit. The force of the water ripped the picture of Alice off the dashboard, and it raced past his head out toward the surf. He let go of the steering wheel with one hand, grasping at the picture, but he could not catch it. Alice’s picture was gone.

    Reilly sat still in the shallow surf, steam rolling from under the hood from where the water stalled her engine. Thomas looked back over his shoulder at the wreck. He saw three drivers emerging from their vehicles. They were okay, but Thomas also watched as three other cars zoomed past them, with several others quickly approaching.

    Thomas couldn’t lose this race. He needed the money. He hit the ignition switch. Reilly’s engine turned over but didn’t fire. He thought of the moment Alice was born — the joy on his face holding his baby girl for the first time. He hit the switch again. Reilly’s starter groaned, but her spark plugs still didn’t fire. He thought of the day he taught her to ride a bike. She fell and skinned her knee. Alice wanted to quit and go home, but he had told her not to give up. She didn’t give up and she conquered the bike.  “Don’t give up!” he said as he hit the ignition again.  Still nothing. Two more cars passed by. Thomas slammed his fist down on the dashboard. “Come on!” he screamed.

    He sighed and took a breath. He then thought of the day the doctors told him and Mary that Alice had polio. The news devastated him, but his grandmother had been there to support them.

    “Thomas,” she had said, “this is probably the most devastating news you could ever imagine receiving.” Nana Reilly was not wrong. “But,” she continued, “that child needs you to be strong. She needs you to be there during her darkest days. She needs you to be her fortress. She needs you to be her rock.”

    Nana Reilly was the strongest woman he had ever known, and so was her namesake. Thomas gently caressed the steering wheel. “Come on, girl. You can do it. I didn’t mean to hit you, but I need you to shake it off and start.” He said a quick prayer and hit the ignition switch one more time.

    Reilly’s ignition groaned, and then with a loud backfire, the engine roared back to life. “Yes!” he screamed as he threw the car into gear.

    Wet sand filled the sky as Thomas spun the car around and back onto the course.  He knew many cars had passed him, but he didn’t know how many. They were almost to the ten mile mark, and when he got there, he got the bad news. The sign held by his spotter said, “Eleven”. Eleventh place with half the race to go.

    Ten miles. Ten cars. Reilly was strong and fast. She could do this. Thomas shifted into high gear and raced after the car directly in front of him. “One at a time,” he said out loud to no one.

    The wind roared in his ears as he passed the first car and headed for the second. Soon, he passed that one as well. Unfortunately, the next grouping of cars were much farther down the beach. He squeezed the steering wheel and floored the accelerator. Slowly he began advancing on them.

    As he watched, two of the cars swerved. At this distance he could not immediately not tell why, but it took only seconds for that mystery to be revealed. They were avoiding a wreck that happened in front of them. One car was overturned just inside surf.  Another had crashed into the dunes to the right. The crowds gathered around the vehicle, attempting to help the driver. A third car was on its side right in the middle of the packed sand track. As Thomas raced by, he saw that the driver was attempting to right the fallen Dusenberg to get back into the race. Poor Artie, he had managed to make it back into the hunt only to face another disappointing setback. He wondered if Jackson had something to do with this. He was still up there somewhere — but not for long.

    Thomas raced past his spotter holding a sign that said, “Six”.  Five miles left. Five cars to pass. Thomas downshifted. Reilly protested, the pitch of her engine rising high as the tachometer crossed the red line.


    “Hold on, girl.”


    He shifted back into high gear. 92 MPH. Reilly had never gone this fast. She was an amazing car. As he passed the next car, he looked down at the temperature gauge. Reilly was starting to overheat. He needed to do something. He couldn’t slow down now, but if he didn’t cool the engine, she wouldn’t make it to the finish line. He looked to the surf on the left.  Could he risk it? There were only a few miles left. He decided to take the chance and eased over into the edge of the surf. The water slowed him down slightly, but the splash cooled the engine just enough to lower the gauge below the red line.

    With about two miles left, Thomas and Reilly had managed to maneuver into second place and was hot on the tail of the leading car—the blue #18 Milton-Durant.

    

    “Jackson Grady,” said Thomas, sotto voce.


    Jackson and his modified Milton-Durant had the advantage of position, and Reilly was feeling the strain of the race. She was riding dangerously close to the red line.

    “Let’s go girl,” he said, stroking the dashboard. “We can’t let him have this race.”

    Thomas eased up behind the Milton, noticing the landmarks along the edge of the beach. He only had one mile to the finish line. 

    Forty five seconds, give or take at this speed. That’s all the time he had to make his move, and Jackson would not make it easy for him. He weaved and dodged a few times until he managed to work his way up beside Jackson on the outside. 

    Jackson looked over at him. They were, at most, four feet from one another. If they so desired, they could probably reach out and shake hands. Thomas had no such desire. 

    Jackson downshifted, and his Milton screamed in pain. Despite its protests, it lurched forward about half a car length and was starting to pull away.  

    Thomas looked at the temperature gauge, which was right on the red line, then looked ahead at the finish line. Three hundred yards is all that stood between him and victory.

    He downshifted. Reilly’s engine roared. The tachometer redlined. The temperature gauge began to ease above the red line, and a small stream of steam emerged from the radiator. Reilly was overheating, but he could feel the acceleration as she regained the lost ground.

    With less than 100 yards left, he shifted back into high gear.

    

    “This is for Alice, girl. Can you do it?”


    He looked down at the speedometer, ignoring the steam coming from the radiator. 94 MPH. Oh how he loved this car!

    He looked over at the finish line. It was approaching rapidly, and the crowds were jumping up and down cheering — but were they cheering for him — or Jackson? 

    With only a few feet to the finish line, he looked over at Jackson. As they passed the line, the Milton-Durant’s front end was six inches short of his own. He crossed the finish line first!

    “YES!”  he cheered as he let off the accelerator.  When he did, though, a loud clunking sound began coming from Reilly’s engine. Smoke billowed from under the hood. Suddenly, the engine seized, Reilly lost power, and the car slowly rolled to a halt.  

    Thomas let out a deep breath of relief as the crowds rushed towards the two of them. He won the 1924 Ormond Beach 20-mile speed run… but it had cost him Reilly.  

    Ignoring the crowds he jumped out of the car and threw open the hood. The hot smoke burned his hand as the white clouds billowed into the sky. He jerked back in pain, but quickly returned to examine the damage. 


    “For Alice…” he whispered, “… and for Nana”.   


    Vowing to rebuild her, Thomas turned to face the crowd and celebrate their victory.  




Saturday, December 28, 2024

Moral Conflict: Excerpt #1

 



The following is an excerpt from Moral Conflict: A Springville Murder Mystery - Book 2.

Please see following the excerpt for information on how to order this book or Conflict of Interest: A Springville Murder Mystery (Book 1)


James walked into Sam’s house just as Jeanne and Julia were setting out the food for Sunday lunch—pot roast cooked slowly in a crock pot with carrot and potatoes, his favorite. Sam and Kelly were at the kitchen counter filling glasses with sweet tea. Everyone was laughing and enjoying themselves—they were a family. Even though Julia only came to visit every other weekend, James felt more at ease with this small group of people than he had in a very long time. He simply did not want to believe that six months ago, on the night of the big arrest, Jeanne had stolen gold coins from the Washington Valley Hunting Club. Even though it was only a small fraction of the coins taken into evidence, and even though the treasure itself was the fruit of ill-gotten bootlegging gain from fifty-four years ago, and even though if anyone deserved to get a little help and boost in life, it was Jeanne and Kelly, it would still be a crime. James simply did not know how long he could go before he would have no choice but to act on his suspicions.

Today, though, like yesterday and every day before that for the last six months, he made the intentional choice that he would not pursue his intuition. Today he would eat pot roast with his family, enjoy the rest of the day with his daughter, and maybe crawl around Sam’s attic looking for some torn out pages from a notebook—pages that might just explain why Matt and Julia were killed fifteen years ago.

 

Three hours later, everyone but Sam was dirty and sweaty, sitting out on the back deck drinking what was left of the sweet tea they had made at lunch. Their efforts crawling around the attic had been all but fruitless, finding no trace of the torn-out pages. The only thing they had found was an old yearbook from Sam’s eighth grade year. Unfortunately, it was not the right year to help their investigation. Kelly and Julia, however, had a wonderful time looking through it and making fun of all the old pictures.

“Well, Cuz, I guess we stick to the plan we came up with yesterday?” asked Sam.

“I don’t know what else to do,” replied James. “Unfortunately, unless the mayor punts this murder to the county investigator, I have an investigation to start in earnest tomorrow. Either way, I will try to drop the list off by the museum. Maybe they can help us.”

“Oh yeah, I heard about the murder. I guess this one is not as sexy as a buried treasure. There has not been much gossip about it on social media today.”

“It’s still pretty serious, Sam. A man was killed at the park.”

“I didn’t mean…yeah...sorry, I shouldn’t have made light of it.”

Jeanne perked up at the talk of the murder investigation. “Any good leads?”

“Not much. We’ll see tomorrow when I speak to the team, I guess.”

Just then, James’ cell phone rang. The caller ID said Mayor.

“Speak of the devil,” he said with a wry smile, “it’s like he was listening to us.”

“Go for Hardy,” he said, answering the phone.

Hey, James, it’s Harvey.

“Yes, sir, what can I do for you?”

Looks like we have another situation, doesn’t it?

“It does, yes, sir. I was just thinking about it and wondering whether we were going to investigate it ourselves or turn it over to the county investigator.”

That’s why I’m calling, James. County said they could take it if we wanted them to, but they were a little bit overloaded this month and said they would be fine—probably even prefer it—if we could keep it ourselves. So, if we want it, we can have it.

“If you are asking, then yes, we want to keep it,” replied James.

Then it’s ours. Good luck, James. Solve it fast.

“We will do our best.”

James hung up and turned back to Sam. “Well, that settles that. It looks like we are investigating the murder.”

“Congratulations? I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say here,” replied Sam with a smile.

“Just wish me luck, Sam.”

James and Sam rejoined the rest of the family, who were still looking through Sam’s old yearbook and making fun of how awkward he looked at that age. James continued to be amazed at just how comfortable and ‘at home’ everyone seemed. If they hadn’t been all dirty and sweaty, it might have been a picture suitable for Norman Rockwell.

The Sunday afternoon scene continued in its pleasant progression, including having pizza delivered for dinner. After finishing the pizza, Julia interrupted the conversation.

“Well, I hate to say this, but I need to head back to Hoover. Mom will be expecting me home before eight, and I have school tomorrow.”

Getting up, she made her rounds giving everyone hugs and saying goodbyes. James did the same and the two walked out together. Out in the driveway, Julia prodded her dad just a bit.

“You know, Dad, Mom is going to ask me about you when I get home.”

“Yeah? Really? What are you going to tell her?”

“That’s not the point. The point is, she still cares about you…”

“I know. I still care about her, too.”

“…and she’s not seeing anyone.” Julia got into the driver’s seat of her sub-compact sedan and rolled down the window. “You should call her, Dad.”

“Yeah. I probably should.”

James watched his baby girl pull out of the driveway and head for home and his heart sank, as it did every time he watched her drive away. He was the reason they were not together every day. He sighed deeply then he walked across the street to his own house—the house he grew up in.

Standing at the front door, he looked around at the rows and rows of houses that had been constructed on the property that used to be his family farm. Then he turned around and looked across the street at the construction of houses taking place on what used to be Sam’s family farm. In only a few months, nearly a dozen houses had been built with some of them already occupied. All that was left of both family farms were the small lots containing their respective homesteads. All that remained of a once proud family business were two older, 20th-century style houses standing guard before a small army of new, postage stamp, pre-designed modern homes.

James sighed deeply again, realizing that it would never again be the Springville of his childhood memories. In some ways, that was a good thing, but in other ways…James just shook his head in sorrow.

“The world has changed, James,” he said to himself. “The world has changed. You can either change with it or be consumed by it.”

Then he went inside.

 

 

For more on Chief James Hardy, Jr. and the Springville Murder Mysteries, please click on one of the following links


For Conflict of Interest (Book 1)

Amazon ebook Link: https://a.co/d/9N8WYdQ

Amazon Paperback Link: https://a.co/d/d4rKHoQ


For Moral Conflict (Book 2)

Amazon ebook link: https://a.co/d/cTm5nHk

Amazon paperback link: https://a.co/d/j2loVjc


For Final Conflict (Book 3)

Amazon ebook link: https://a.co/d/bIQBfIK

Amazon paperback link: https://a.co/d/c6GhQrc


For The Bookeeper (Book 4)

Amazon ebook link: https://a.co/d/8JWFZT5

Amazon paperback link: https://a.co/d/34OGRnJ