by MarktheAuthor | Feb 24, 2026 | Fiction, Novels, Private Investigator, Process, Serialized, Writing
Crap Shoot “That’s free money. That’s free money. I didn’t even know about craps, but I could tell, that’s free money.” Energy rippled through his wiry frame. Five foot five, a buck and a quarter at best, he strung words out like dynamite fuse. “With craps there’s a...
by MarktheAuthor | Feb 21, 2026 | Fiction, Novels, Private Investigator, Process, Serialized, Writing
Sequestered Love I reached for the landline phone on the nightstand, its faded beige pigment blending in with the drab walls of my room at the Nickelback motel. Its mylar heft added solidarity the Nokia couldn’t provide. The Nickelback’s neon sign glowed through the...
by MarktheAuthor | Feb 18, 2026 | Fiction, Novels, Private Investigator, Process, Serialized, Writing
Mad Mystery The cool porcelain toilet seat was doing nothing to warm my ass when Deputy Stan Spiesz showed up. I sat there, with the lid down, to remain as close as possible to the evidence. In case my attacker returned to lay claim to it. “You all right, Mr. Pierce?”...
by MarktheAuthor | Feb 16, 2026 | Fiction, Novels, Private Investigator, Process, Serialized, Writing
Into Dark Every inch I put between me and Lorna Peale’s tantalizing snare rattled me more. It was that kind of forbidden opportunity, rooted in adolescent fantasy, and fueled by tenacious images from the girlie magazines of puberty, that fired my belly with irrational...
by MarktheAuthor | Feb 14, 2026 | Fiction, Novels, Private Investigator, Process, Serialized, Writing
Steamy Towel Goddess Lorna met me at the door with steam rolling off her hair. The towel she’d wrapped herself in must have been her daughter’s. She arched like a goddess, misty fog of her own creation surrounding her, the makeshift garment revealing the soft curves...
by MarktheAuthor | Feb 12, 2026 | Fiction, Novels, Private Investigator, Process, Serialized, Writing
Ollie Wise I spent a few minutes cooling my jets in the Tacoma, watching shadows float to and fro behind the living room window. Lorna’s demeanor bothered me. The way she’d dismissed Kayla’s trauma, hawking over her like a jail guard. What did she fear? The...
