by MarktheAuthor | Dec 26, 2025 | Fiction, Novels, Private Investigator, Process, Serialized, Writing
Junkyard Peale The walls of the room felt too close together. I unzipped my small duffel, planning to store the bits and pieces of clothing I’d brought along in the tiny bureau drawers. Thoughts of Aidan Peale’s potential menace raced around like barn mice in my...
by MarktheAuthor | Dec 24, 2025 | Fiction, Novels, Private Investigator, Process, Serialized, Writing
Nickelback Motel On Faye’s advice, I checked into the Nickelback Motel. She’d told me the owner, Oliver, held a wealth of information about the area. She spoke with a wink, a mischievous glint in her eye, which left me to ponder his potential for exaggerating local...
by MarktheAuthor | Dec 19, 2025 | Fiction, Novels, Private Investigator, Process, Serialized, Writing
Girl’s Gone The drive to the Peale home revealed a small-scale, picturesque town surrounded by mountains. Its valley location made for short days covered in a soft layer of darkness at a quarter of seven in the morning. Crisp air carried a hint of wood smoke. Bright...
by MarktheAuthor | Dec 18, 2025 | Fiction, Novels, Private Investigator, Process, Serialized, Writing
Eureka “Slow morning?” I asked the bespectacled, middle-aged Pippi Longstocking-type behind the counter. I’d settled on a stool at The Daily Diner in Eureka, Montana, after the grueling drive through the mountains. I was ready for a hot cup of joe and a fattening...
by MarktheAuthor | Dec 12, 2025 | Fiction, Novels, Private Investigator, Process, Serialized, Writing
Long Haul I was on the road again by one a.m., merging the Tacoma onto the empty highway four days before Thanksgiving. The asphalt stretched out like a deserted runway, devoid of slow-moving tourists or farm tractors. Abandoned rest stops flew by with picnic tables...
by MarktheAuthor | Dec 10, 2025 | Fiction, Novels, Private Investigator, Process, Serialized, Writing
The 600 Double-Cross The jangle of the 600 Café doorbell harmonized with the raucous clatter of dishes. A hum of neighborly chatter and the comforting aroma of brewing coffee chipped away at the chill of disgrace that lingered from an afternoon in the slammer. I’d...
