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    Winter Wonderland
    Winter Wonderland
    Winter Wonderland
    Ebook76 pages1 hour

    Winter Wonderland

    By T. Lee Harris

    ()

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    About this ebook

    Winter has Louisville in its grip and former FBI agent, Dallas Powell, has his hands full with car trouble, cat trouble and trying to keep the Derby City branch of Trueblood Investigations and Security, Inc. solvent. When a juicy insurance job comes his way, he jumps at it, but the discovery of a decades-old murder spawns a veritable blizzard of violence and Dallas finds himself right in its path.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherPer Bastet Publications LLC
    Release dateSep 23, 2014
    ISBN9780989971171
    Winter Wonderland
    Author

    T. Lee Harris

    T. Lee Harris is a scribbler of the lowest order. Not only does she pen lies about people who don't exist, but she draws pictures of them as well. Harris has also been known to aid and abet others by putting their scribblings into book form and even going so far as to devise covers for these publications. She claims she went to school to learn these things, but that shouldn't be held against anyone. Harris is, in turn, aided and abetted by others in her assaults against literature. Among these accomplices are Untreed Reads, who have promulgated her lies about a retired spy who keeps getting mixed up in other people's business, and the Southern Indiana Writers' Group -- possibly the worst offenders of all -- who have repeatedly permitted her to commit her acts of literary vandalism with their Indian Creek Anthology Series. Most recently, Per Bastet Publications who, not content to shamelessly publish her untruths about an ancient Egyptian scribe and a magic temple cat, have put forth her prevarications about a vampire turned law enforcement agent in the novels Chicago Blues and New York Nights. There are suspicions that Harris is committing yet another novel or two, but this has not been confirmed.

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      Book preview

      Winter Wonderland - T. Lee Harris

      Author

      Winter Wonderland

      T. Lee Harris

      Winter Wonderland

      Electronic Edition

      Copyright © 2014 T. Lee Harris

      ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

      This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold, reproduced or transmitted by any means in any form or given away to other people without specific permission from the author and/or publisher. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please return to your ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author and artist.

      Published by Per Bastet Publications LLC, P.O. Box 3023 Corydon, IN 47112

      Book designed by T. Lee Harris

      ISBN 978-0-9899711-7-1

      Cover Art and design by T. Lee Harris

      This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used for literary purpose and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, are entirely coincidental. The names of actual locations and products are used solely for literary effect and should neither be taken as endorsement nor as a challenge to any associated trademarks.

      One

      It was damned cold. I had no idea just how cold that was. The electric company's digital roadside thermometer was on the fritz, as usual, and the electronic boards spanning the highway blinked between time and road information. The current temperature field was dark which told me something in itself. The software that pushed the boards had a funky little bug in it that made it blow the whole shebang if the mercury dipped below zero degrees Celsius. That was OK. I didn't really want to know. Damned cold worked -- which was more than could be said for my car's heater. The heater core crapped out the day before, so I was tooling toward Louisville wearing the mega-layered look with windows down to keep the windshield from fogging up. I couldn't wait to cross the river. The nice, windy river.

      Memories of my warm bed tried to seduce me into turning around, but I didn't have that option. I was the head of the Louisville branch of Trueblood Investigation and Security and it was the second Wednesday of the month. That meant the regular meeting with the regional manager. The guy's name was O'Malley, he was a dead ringer for Joseph Stalin and he didn't like me much. The feeling was mutual, but that was too bad. Twenty plus years with the FBI gave me lots of practice fielding bureaucratic wonks. Having a group of home-grown terrorists drop a building on me taught me that there are worse things than being scowled at.

      Most mornings, I'm the first into the office and this one was no different. I flipped on the lights, spun the thermostat off night heat and made a beeline for the closet that had delusions of kitchenhood. The pseudo-kitchen had two things to recommend it: the coffee maker and the louvered alcove where the furnace lived. I kicked the louvers open and started a pot of Kona blend.

      The telephone rang just as the first fragrant stream of coffee hit the carafe. I debated answering it. Hot coffee versus cold responsibility. Hard call. Turned out I didn't have to. My receptionist, Wanda Aiken showed up like the cavalry in a puffy pink coat.

      I got it, Dallas! she sang out.

      Suited me. Coffee was kicking the crap out of responsibility and there was finally enough in the carafe for a mugful. I poured it off and drank deep. It was strong and almost too hot, but that suited me, too. I backed up against the heating vent and let the warmth from inside and out defrost me as I listened to the murmur of Wanda's telephone voice. Before long she peeked at me around the door facing. She was wearing her oooooo I don't want to tell you this look. Instead of telling me, she jammed a little yellow call slip in my hand and high-tailed it back to her desk. I looked at the name she'd scribbled at the top and understood. Lt. Ray Levitz of the Louisville police department, homicide division, wanted me to meet him over at the Burgess Insurance Tower construction site ASAP.

      I groaned, topped off my elixir of warmth and leaned around the door. Did you tell him about O'Malley?

      She looked up from carefully threading a hanger into her coat. Mmmmmm, yeah. But . . . ummmm . . . he said to get your . . . ummmmm . . . backside over there, anyway.

      I cleared my throat to kill a laugh. Levitz damn well didn't say backside, but Wanda just couldn't bring herself to say the word ass. Wanda belonged in another century.

      Wanda also couldn't deal with the answering machine, call waiting, the fax machine or the built-in scanner. Why she was comfortable with the computer was anyone's guess. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that she liked Solitaire. Slow as business had been, she'd gotten in a lot of Solitaire practice.

      I was still pondering this when my assistant, Sandy Beech, blew in. Yes, that really is his name. I've never met his parents, but they must be truly warped; he has two sisters named Virginia and Myrtle. Sandy stomped and puffed in an effort to warm up. It was surprising he was even chilled given the long woolen coat

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