In celebration, here's an excerpt. Our gallant crew of screwba— Ahem. Robbie's trying to solve his aunt's murder, and here he's reconstructing the crime with his niece Lindsay and his commanding officer, Colonel "Sherlock" Holmes.
“You play the role of Edith Hunter,” Sherlock told her. “When I’m in position, you jump for the door of the gallery. Remember, you’re in danger, you’re afraid, and the only way you can reach safety is if you beat me to that door and push the button to attract the attention of the people indoors. Get it?”
Lindsay nodded. “Got it.”
“Good. Robbie, you seem frozen up on those steps anyways, you play the roles of Trés and the security guard. Sometime after Lindsay starts moving, you make like you’re stepping out the door. Get it?”
I grinned. “Yes, boss, I’ve got it.”
“Double good.” He stepped around to the passenger side of the Toyota, nearest the gallery, and stood with his back to me and Trés’ human zoo. “Go, Lindsay!”
She jumped like a greyhound from the starting gate, scrabbled around the rear of the Toyota, leapt for the stairs. I caught a glimpse of her intense face as her honey-toned hair flew out behind her; her entire heart was in the effort.
Sherlock paused. He went through the motion of opening a car door, then jumped to follow.
Time slowed to freeze-frames. It was so real: her twisted astonished face, fingernails clawing his arm, his implacable hooded stare. He didn’t blink. His right hand mimed a gun in the classic game of cops and robbers. It aimed right at me. The eyes behind the childish gesture were those of a lethal predator sighting its natural prey.
I froze, too shocked to move, and waited for the bullet.
“Bang.” His voice was flat.
In the split second of silence that followed his silly word, I felt Trés’ body fall through where I stood and collapse onto the steps. Before I could react, Sherlock’s arm and pointing finger swung to my right. I knew it aligned on the door, where the nonexistent security guard had just stepped out and turned his back to lock the gallery. The sound from the silenced gun hadn’t been loud enough to attract his attention.
“Bang,” Sherlock said again, and the guard dropped without ever seeing what hit him.
“Bang. Bang. Bang.”
For the second time I witnessed the murder I had not seen. Bullets slammed into the small, shadowy form and drove her against the brick wall. Blood sprayed. Her hair jerked loose and her shoe dropped off. Her fading echoed through me like a dwindling ghost as she collapsed onto her back, legs bent, glassy eyes staring up, and then she was gone and Lindsay stood alone on the unstained sidewalk. Her head was thrown back and her eyes were wide. But still she showed no fear.
“That’s how it happened.” Her voice was breathless, as if she’d run a mile rather than around one small car. “Isn’t it?”
I turned and leaned onto the railing, eyes squeezed tight, trying to keep lunch in its appropriate location. She didn’t even know enough to be afraid.
Trophies is available wherever fine ebooks are sold, including Smashwords, Apple, and Amazon. And look out, 'cause next month we're re-releasing Deal with the Devil. Have you seen that new cover?
Here's the link back to Sweet Saturday Samples. There are some really good excerpts this week from authors sweet, clean, and otherwise, so dive in and happy reading.