Showing posts with label Rene C. Clayton. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Rene C. Clayton. Show all posts

Friday, December 6, 2013

A Rene C. Clayton Mystery Story: Surveillance Most Boring


Chapter 31
Surveillance Most Boring
(A Fake Excerpt) 
Nobody saw me climb the fence.  Bertha, my little buggy was parked at a safe distance from the road.  And, I was operating under a thin layer of dusk, wearing Fall colors.  Just to blend in.  I made my way around the side of the house and settled in the bushes.  Ask anybody, detective work ain’t always pretty or glamorous.  Especially for the amateur, un-paying kind.  I think I sat there for a couple of hours playing games on my phone.  Volume: off --- of course.  Periodically, I checked my email, voicemail and texts.  No calls from Mr. Cutie Pie Harrison.  Not even a text.  Wonder what I would have to do to get him to send me a “selfie.”  Hmph.  Think I actually know what I’d have to do.  Not doing that.  Well, maybe.  Oh, yeah.  Battery usage.  I might end up having to call for help.  Couldn’t very well do that with a dead phone.

Too late.

Dagnabit.

My phone blipped off and I was stuck sitting there holding the tiniest, most expensive piece of modern day technology that was now useless to me.  Nobody said surveillance was easy.  Now, I would have to entertain myself.  Maybe I needed to rattle off the list of suspects in my head again.  I had my suspicions about who might turn up to take the bait.  It’s a good thing everybody thought I was a nobody.  If they hadn’t, nobody would have started talking, inadvertently supplying me with all those handy little things called “clues.”  Clues add up and sometimes they point directly to a suspect.

And, that’s how I ended up trespassing on an exclusive estate.  Spying on some bitter old queen --- who obviously knew how to make a decent cocktail, I might add.  A car pulled up in the distance.  A very expensive car with a missing tail light.  My breath caught and my heart fluttered with excitement.  I moved forward, parted a couple of branches and watched this mystery come together.

Damn, I’m good.

Thursday, July 18, 2013

A Rene C. Clayton Mystery Story: The Handsomest Threat

Chapter 7
The Handsomest Threat
(A Fake Excerpt)
     Wow.  A Cosmopolitan.  ("Cosmo" for short.)  Who knew you could marry vodka, cranberry,  lime juice and Tripe Sec into such a perfect union?
     A curly twist of lemon rind would have been gross sitting on a pile of garbage.  But, clinging to the side of a martini glass, unused and uneatable, was just too darned cute.  My newfound necatr came in a glass with a wide brim and thin stem, which I had a little difficulty balancing at first.  But, the faster I drank, the easier it got.  I'm not the classiest guy, but whoever decided that drinks needed to be served in distinct, dedicated glasses was onto something.  A tumbler made me feel rugged and male.  A beer stein made me wanna be crass and belchy.  But, a Martini glass made me feel pink and a little bit glamorous.  (Yes, I said "glamorous."  And, I also said "pink.")  No more Screwdrivers for me.  Any APE could make a Screwdriver.  But, a Cosmo?  That required the work of the gods!
     I was supposed to be working the room, ducking in and out of party conversations.  Picking up clues.  Keeping my suspects off balance with bits of subtle, yet probing subterfuge.  Digging for information without being obvious.  Instead of working their business, I was working the cocktails.  And, this cute little drink was going straight to my head.
     There was a man watching me.  He broke away from a group of minglers and crossed the room, his eyes glued to me.  A smile played at the corners of his mouth, his eyes looking me up and down.  Was it my imagination or did he just lick his lips?  I stopped mid-sip, my lips at the edge of the glass.  My eyes went wide and my lips went into a perfect blow-up doll "O."
     That was one good looking man.
     "I was thinking about our earlier conversation," he said.
     "And?"  I took a sip.  Damn, this was a good drink.  And, I think I looked cute sipping it.
     "Cute boys can get hurt, too."  He turned and walked away.
     'Cute?'  Wow.
     What the hell?  Did he just threaten me?