A Serial Short Story Series
There's so much positive energy emanating from all of us in the Hive and it has spurred me into doing something long over due: start posting my stories. I have written stories throughout my entire life, yet I have never published or attempted to publish any of them. Heck, up until last September I had never actually finished any of my writings with the exception of a dragon and unicorn tale in the fourth grade and love story written during the Fall of Liege for American History class. Eee, that was a while ago.
Anyway, with the rise of the #POSH initiative and the push to get more engagement through quality content and post commentary, I felt like it was time for me to take a leap too. So here its is, my first leap into serialized fiction, The Ptarmigan Cove Mysteries.
My plan with this series is to write a bunch of short story mini mysteries to introduce my readers to my world, characters and writing style, culminating in an actual cozy murder mystery set in Ptarmigan Cove, a fictional Alaskan town. Long time readers of my blog will notice some of the slang terms that I have utilized over the years (hooktender anyone?), and I am hoping that at least some of you will enjoy my efforts at entertaining through prose.
Can you tell yet that I have no idea what I am doing?
But that's the beauty of it isn't it? I am just going to go for it, learn, and try to make something worth consuming, which is a large part of what Hive is, providing quality content for those who seek it and rewarding those who create it.
The Ptarmigan Cove Mysteries: Book One
The boat exploded into flames. The bright inferno blinded its lighter and for a moment nothing could be heard above the roar of the flames save the ragged gasps of breath coming from the arsonist’s chest. The Aurora Borealis danced overhead as the flames engulfed the interior of the aluminum skiff. Gasoline fumes intermingled with the salt-tinged coastal Alaskan air, and the arsonist suddenly burst into hushed coughing that resulted in splashes of fuel scattering onto the smooth stones of the beach. Had anyone been in the vicinity of the crime, they would have seen a figure clad completely in black, obviously, someone who had watched a lot of older detective tv shows, for the flame happy figure had a black balaclava completely obscuring their face.
One by one the arsonist quickly lit each of the six skiffs lining the pebble-strewn beach on fire. After igniting the final boat, the figure strode to the bow of the first burning vessel and dropped an item onto the beach. The flame birthing shadow in black then turned and trod down the rounded rocks to a lone beached skiff. The crackling of the flames as they roared camouflaged the scraping sound the bottom of the small craft emitted as it slid out into the bay. As the first skiff’s engine exploded the arsonist fired up their getaway skiff’s engine and glided out into the bay under a fire and northern light backlit sky.
“Fester! Where are my keys?”
Regard Temple, while possessing full admiration for her pet ermine, wasn’t in the mood for a game of hide and seek that morning. She had a truckload of tongue and groove 1X4 yellow cedar boards to deliver to the Turnagain Lodge today, and as much as she had misgivings about the job, it was going to provide a boatload of cash for her family's perpetually empty coffers.
“Balls on a heifer! What’s that spawn of the devil stolen this time?”
“At ease disease, it’s not your blood pressure medicine, so why don’t you take a breath and lower yours.” Regard bellowed in return as she righted the overturned kindling tin that she had just searched through. As she reached around the 75mm shell that sat next to their wood stove, a memoir from her uncle’s time in the war, a little squeak made her turn her head to the left.
Sitting on the yellow cedar bookshelf that her father had crafted out of her first batch of milled wood sat Fester, her pet ermine. Sleek as an otter and wily as a weasel, her little pet regarded her with all the seriousness and mirth that an ermine can muster. Spring was coming and he was starting to turn brown, so his current coat color was that of coffee that had just had a touch of cream dumped in, yet to be swirled.
“So that’s where you hid it, you little carbuncle.” Regard uttered as she reached behind a hand-carved box of Chinese origin that had up until recently held her uncle’s ashes. Her calloused fingertips brushed against the cold steel horseshoe that held her truck keys, and she found herself chuckling as she withdrew them.
Fester responded by leaping off the bookshelf onto Regard’s shoulder and rubbing against her cheekbone. Regard found herself smiling and reached up to stroke her little paragon of a pet.
“Dad, I’m going to go drop off that load of lumber now, ya need anything?” Regard called.
*“A new leg and a hooktender would be nice.” He replied.
“Not on the menu. How bout I bring you a bacon cheeseburger and some beer-battered fries instead?” Regard returned.
Her father just grunted, but it was an affectionate grunt, and Regard’s smile grew as she went out to her truck. Regard’s father, Bud, was a *busheler of the old guard. His disability and subsequent retirement a few years back didn’t do much to improve his already crusty disposition, but at least he was speaking today.
She walked up to a blue one-ton Ford pickup. Its dump bed was loaded with a sling of tongue and grooved yellow cedar boards, soon to be adorning the interior walls of the newly expanded Turnagain Arm Lodge.
“Okay Babe, let’s roll.” She said as she stuck the key into the ignition.
Regard had named her big blue truck after Paul Bunyan’s big blue ox, she figured they both made the same amount of noise and had similar appetites for massive amounts of comestibles. As she fired up Babe, Fester chose that moment to do an ermine burnout on her shoulder whilst simultaneously grabbing her bandanna.
“What is your malfunction today?” Regard screeched as she flipped down the visor and retied her black and white bandanna. Once her long black hair was again contained, she took a moment and glanced at her reflection. Turquoise green eyes stared back at her. She had her dad’s eyes, for the same corona of flame-red danced around her irises that bedecked her father’s eyes.
“Ugh!” she exhaled as she slapped the visor up and shifted Babe into gear. Regard and Bud lived on the edge of Ptarmigan Cove, a logging camp that had grown into a logging town. The logging industry was on the decline and the town was currently in the middle of an economic and demographic transition. As Regard drove down the hill toward the road that headed out on the Turnagain Arm she saw the signs of change everywhere. Due to a decline in timber sales and log purchases, the mill’s workforce was dwindling, and there were for sale signs everywhere. Ptarmigan Cove’s roads were all gravel, complete with log lined sidewalks, and everywhere you looked there was a lack of people.
She reached the bottom of the hill and turned on the stereo. ZZtop’s La Grande drifted into her ears as she made a left turn at the bay and drove through downtown. The town dock drifted by, and she waved at Hank Portfile, who was on his way to the local bar and grill for breakfast and a beer. The Ornery Otter was a town institution.
“Institution all right, Fester, half of the clientele of that establishment should be institutionalized.” Regard murmured.
She bounced down the bayside road past the church, the post office, and the grocery store. The main street ended at the grocery store, and she turned onto a winding road that went out to Turnagain Arm. The road was a relatively new addition. Two miles down the road was the Turnagain Arm Lodge. Once an old school fishing lodge only accessible by boat, it had been reborn into an upscale fishing and hunting charter lodge for the wealthy. The lodge’s proprietor, Spencer Hartwright had spent a lot of money putting in the road to his outdoor tourist mecca.
Regard turned the radio up, blasting Smoke On The Water. The road was a beautiful drive, winding along the arm with views of the beauty that was Ptarmigan Cove. Nestled on the leeward side of Prince Of Wales Island the bay that was home to her hometown was a picturesque setting of glasslike water, jagged rock beaches, and scrubby evergreens. She breathed in the Alaskan sea air and felt content down to the end of her *Xtra Tuf clad toes.
The contentment evaporated as she pulled into the Lodge.
“What the…” she gasped.
On the beach sat six smoking skiffs. They were new aluminum models, available for lodge guests to take out into the bay and fish from or leisurely cruise in. Standing next to the watercraft carnage was Ptarmigan Cove’s Village Public Safety Officer Soren Beare.
“Morning Soren.” Regard said as she strode up to the VPSO.
The big man emitted an irritated sigh.
“What are you doing here, Temple?”
“Ah, you know us Temple’s, some people start their days off with coffee, we start ours with pissing people off.” Regard replied.
“Regard, it’s good to see you. I would say good morning, but as you can see it’s anything but.” Spencer said.
“Morning Spence.” Regard normally would rib Spencer a bit but thought the occasion called for some restraint.
“So you got any ideas who did this?” she asked.
Fester slithered down her left side to the ground and scampered over to the still smoking skiffs.
“Why do you let that rat slink around on you?” Spencer uttered in disgust.
Regard’s restraint evaporated like the morning dew.
“You let lots of things slink around on you, we just have different preferences in pets.” Regard replied with a grin that didn’t reach her eyes.
“Hey Buddy threatened to ‘burn me down’ at the Otter last night. Didn’t think he’d actually do it.” Spencer responded.
“Hey Buddy wouldn’t hurt anyone like this. It’s not his style.” Regard emitted.
“Well, you would know,” Spencer replied with no small amount of vehemence.
Regard turned toward him, her pupils retracting in the pale spring daylight, the corona of red around them flaring, “Where would you like your wood placed, Spence?” she growled.
“Next to the deck on the west side of the lodge.” He replied as he took a step toward her.
Regard’s chest felt tight as she stared into Spencer’s grey eyes. Like in some cheesy romance movies, time slowed.
“Temple! Come here.” Soren yelled.
“I’ll stick the invoice in your office.” Regard said to Spencer through clenched teeth, her eyes never leaving his, and spinning on her heel, walked toward VPSO Beare.
“Look what your little rodent found,” Soren said.
Next to the bow of the first skiff sat Fester. He was perched on his haunches holding a lighter. Anyone in Ptarmigan Cove would know the owner of the obscene bit of fire ignition. It was in the shape of a stocking-clad woman’s leg, and it belonged to none other than John“Hey Buddy” Derby.
Check back soon for Chapter 2!
Hooktender: Someone who engages in the world's oldest profession.
Busheler: A timber faller, cutter of trees, slasher of coniferous and deciduous growth
Xtra Tuf: Also known as the Alaskan Tennis Shoe, Xtra Tufs are brown rubber boots of waterproof awesomeness and most Alaskan's own and wear their pair on a daily basis.
Regarding the images in this post, my book cover art was commissioned and designed by my super talented friend Tabi, AKA The Scarlett Queen. Check out her work on Instagram
The little ermine image came from Pixabay