Hamlet on a Budget

A Hamlet Mystery Series Short Story

www.kmcconnellbooks.com

kmcconnell@kmcconnellbooks.com

The author would like to acknowledge and thank the citizens and businesses of Hamlet for their financial support (in exchange for advertising space) in the production of this short story. Without such support (and their quirky nature) this short story and the entire Hamlet Mystery Series would not be possible.

1

“Why are you here?” Renee asked, walking down the bar to where I was just climbing on to a stool.

“Uh…thirst.” I suggested. “It’s…a bar.”

Renee shook her head. Her short black hair swirled slightly. “No, you’re supposed to be writing.”

I shrugged. “Just taking a break.”

Renee wiped the bar off with a towel, though there wasn’t anything there to wipe. I suspected it was just habit from years of working at the Hamlet Pub.

“Writer’s block.” Renee said sadly. “I hear it happens to the best of them.”

“Well, that would exempt me then.” I said. “Anyway, I don’t have writer’s block. Actually, there isn’t such a thing. It’s just an excuse.”

Harry, the owner appeared from somewhere in the back. “Hey, Sammy. How are you doing? Oh, wait, you’re here.” Harry shook his head sadly. “Writer’s block, eh?”

I opened my mouth to say something, but Renee set a beer in front of me and leaned over the bar.

“Did you hear?” She asked.

I looked at her for a moment. I waved a hand towards Harry. “He’s standing right here. How could I not hear? And, for the last time, I don’t have–”

Renee waved off my protest. “No, the town council’s big announcement.”

I took a drink of beer. “No, but I really don’t–”

“They say that they have made arrangements to solve the problem with stray dogs and cats.” Renee said.

I shrugged. “I didn’t know there was a problem with strays.”

Renee nodded. “Oh yeah. They’re everywhere. But at least they aren’t emus.”

“Ugh.” Harry said with a nod. “Emus.”

“Emus?” I stared at the two of them.

Renee shook her as she swiped at another nonexistent stain on the bar. “Tom Crawley. Owns an old farm north of town. Was raising emus. Bad idea.”

Harry pulled a rack of glasses out of the dishwasher. “It was pretty exciting at first, you know for the kids and all. Kept them entertained for while.”

I nodded. “Parents taking their kids out to see them.”

Harry shook his head. “No. The older kids. They do like challenges. You know you can’t just go out and tip emus like you can cows.”

“Uh…I suppose not.” I said.

Renee nodded in agreement. “They don’t like that much. And they can be very ornery.”

“Anyway,” Harry continued, “kind of fun at first, but, later, well, who knew those things could jump a fence.”

I thought about it for a moment. “How high was the fence?”

Harry shrugged as he jammed glasses under the bar. “You know. Just regular fence. Cow pasture fence.”

I looked skeptical. “What is that, about 3 or 4 feet? An emu is like 6 feet tall.”

Harry waved a hand. “There you go. Who knew they could jump. Pretty fast buggers too.”

“So what happened to them?” I asked, despite the fact that a voice in the back of my head implored me not to ask.

“Well, we couldn’t catch ‘em. Too fast. So, we had to declare them in season.” Harry explained.

“In season?” I asked, still ignoring that voice. “You have an emu season?”

“Ha!” Renee said. “We have a season for everything.”

I started to say something, but Harry cut me off.

“Naturally. How do you know what might wander thru? You need to be ready.”

“It’s Michigan.” I said. “Other than being overrun with deer, there’s not much in the way of exotic animals to hunt here.”

“You’d be surprised.” Harry said.

“Definitely.” Renee agreed.

I was tempted to ask more about that, but, for the sake of my mental health, I left it alone.

“So…hunters shot them all.”

Harry nodded. “Most of them. Not just hunters. Everybody. It was kind of a festival. A lot of fun. Except for the property damage. Lot of that. Not everyone here is a good shot. Actually, hardly anybody is.”

“Most of them?” I asked.

“Well, there was the road kill.” Renee chipped in.

“Ugh. That. They don’t make good roadkill. Very messy.” Harry said, nodding solemnly.

I tried picturing something, anything that looked good as roadkill. Nothing came to mind.

“So you hunted them all down?” I asked.

Harry shrugged. “Maybe. Hard to be sure. Anyway, they’re not in season now. Sure was a great festival. Couldn’t stand another piece of emu if you paid me, though. That stuff gets old after a couple weeks of eating it.” He stuffed the glasses rack behind the bar somewhere and headed over to the cash register.

“Anyway,” Renee said, “the town council’s taking care of the stray dog and cat issue.”

I nodded. “They do tackle the big issues.”

“Well they, wait, was that sarcasm?” Renee said frowning at me.

I pointed to my beer. “Is that beer?”

Renee looked at me as if I was speaking a foreign language. “Yes. Of course it is.”

We stared at each other for a moment.

I thought she might catch on that we were both asking a question with an obvious answer. I gave up. “Yes. That was sarcasm.”

Renee shook her head. “Sammy, you should take more interest in the town you live in.”

“I don’t live here. I’m just house sitting. As soon as my gypsy parents return they can have their house back and I will be on my merry way.” I said, emphatically.

Renee drew another beer and slid it over to Ben Sterling, a fixture in the bar. He once owned a print shop next door to the bar, but now only seemed to own a bar stool.

“Nonsense.” Renee said.

I sighed. “So, what is this ‘arrangement’?”

“Don’t know.” Renee replied. “They didn’t say.”

Ben mumbled something. His speech was sufficiently slurred that only Renee seemed capable of understanding him.

Renee flashed him a look and turned to me. “He says he doesn’t read your stories because they’re…horror stories.”

“I don’t write horror stories.” I said glancing over at Ben.

Ben started to say something more, but Renee reached out and slid his beer away from him. He shut up and she slid it back.

Harry looked up from the cash register. “Oh, Sammy, I was supposed to tell you that Becky wants you to meet her here at 6:30.”

I nodded.

Renee smiled. “Another reason you’re not going anywhere.”

I started to say something, but Ben mumbled something to Renee.

“I know the difference between horror and horrible. Behave yourself.” Renee whispered harshly at Ben.

I sighed, took a drink and headed for the door.

“Don’t forget. 6:30.” Renee called after me.

I waved over my shoulder. “6:30.”

2

“You’re luscious.”

I was half way across the parking lot. I stopped and turned. Billy Fallon. A ten year old pain in the–

“What?” I asked.

“My mom says you’re luscious.” Billy said.

“Uh, well, that’s very kind of her, but I don’t really know your mother.” I said.

Billy shook his head. “I don’t think she meant it to be nice. She says all people who drink are luscious.”

“You mean lushes.”

Billy studied me. It was obvious he thought I was an idiot. “That’s what I said. People like you are luscious.”

A couple walked past and stared at the two of us, obviously overhearing the conversation. I didn’t recognize them. If they were tourists and here in Hamlet, they were clearly lost.

I shook my head. “I am not a lush.”

“Everyone that goes in there are luscious. My mom says.” Billy said firmly.

“Whatever.” I said and started to walk past Billy.

“My mom says that drunks are luscious.” Billy said as I passed him.

“I am not a drunk.” I said over my shoulder.

“She says God doesn’t like drunks. God thinks they are luscious too. God probably thinks you’re luscious.” Billy said nodding.

I stopped and turned slightly back towards Billy. “Well, God probably has many thoughts about me, but ‘luscious’ I’m sure is not one of them.”

I climbed into my car and pulled out of the parking lot.

The Hamlet Pub hung on the side of a hill overlooking two sets of railroad tracks separated by a slow flowing creek. Between the two tracks the main road crossed the creek via a small bridge. At the bottom of the hill leading to the tracks on the left a vague gravel path ran parallel to the first set of tracks.

As I reached the bottom of the hill something caught my eye. A sad suggestion of a truck was parked down along the gravel path. I recognized the truck, with a slight cringe. Wilson Daggot. An old scraggly jack-of-no-trades. If there was a buck to be made at something Wilson Daggot was willing, but probably not very able.

I spotted Wilson down along the bank of the creek. I couldn’t tell exactly what he was doing, but, with Wilson, it was likely to be of a questionable nature. I hesitated, but the stupid side of my brain, which seemingly has far too much control over my actions, caused me to swerve down the gravel lane.

I climbed out of the car and walked over to Wilson at the edge of the creek.

“Its mine.” Wilson said defensively.

“What’s yours?” I asked, not really wanting to know the answer, but unable to regain control of myself from the stupid side of my brain.

“Its mine. I saw it first.” Wilson was trying pull something out of the water just below the bank. He had a long stick and was repeatedly pulling the object closer, but it kept slipping off the end of the stick before he could lift it out of the water.

“What are you talking about?” I said leaning out over the bank a little. I spotted what looked like a suitcase tentatively dangling at the end of Wilson’s stick.

“I don’t know, but its mine.” Wilson said firmly.

He was about to lose it off the end of the stick again for what seemed like the tenth time in the minute I had been standing there. Without thinking, a behavior I was gifted at, I stepped down into the creek and grabbed the handle of what was indeed a small suitcase and dragged it up on to the bank.

Wilson quickly grabbed it up and held it close to his chest. I shook my leg as I pulled it out of the creek.

“Well, open it up. Let’s see if we can figure out who it belongs to.” I said.

Wilson stared at me. “It’s mine. I found it.”

I shook my head. “It belongs to someone. Open it up.”

Reluctantly Wilson set the suitcase down on the ground. He reached for the latches, then stopped.

“What?” I asked, impatiently. My soggy pant leg, sock and shoe was souring my typically cheery personality.

“What if there’s a bomb inside?” Wilson’s hands shook a little. He eased himself back away from the suitcase. His greasy wild hair giving him a more pronounced fearful look.

I sighed. “And what exactly would someone be bombing in Hamlet? Though, I could think of a number of places here that…well, anyway…” For a moment I considered the possibility of a bomb inside. Hmm, where was Billy Fallon when you needed him. Reluctantly, I shrugged off the idea.

I turned the suitcase around towards me. There were days since I had come back to Hamlet to house sit for my parents while they were on what seemed like a never ending vacation that I probably would have wished this suitcase did contain a bomb. I was approaching that feeling once again. Without hesitating I flipped the latches and opened the suitcase.

We both stared at the contents for a quiet moment.

“Mine…” Wilson whispered, slowly rubbing the gray stubble that always covered his face.

I sat quietly staring at the only thing in the suitcase. Bundles of cash. Only one thought twirled around in my head: Trouble.

3

“Sammy, that’s mine!” Wilson whined as we stood in the garage of my parent’s house.

I turned back to face him. “I have been over this already. Sooner or later someone is going to come looking for this money and I have a strong feeling they are not going to be happy when they can’t find it.”

“Then they’ll just go away.” Wilson said with a smile.

“Not likely.” I said. I headed towards the basement door.

“But, Sammy!”

“Wilson, stop. I am going to hide this until we can find out where it comes from. Until then–don’t tell anyone. Understood?” I stared back at him.

Wilson pouted, but nodded silently.

“Besides,” I said, “we should be taking this to Russell, but I will sit on it for the moment.” I wasn’t completely confident that Hamlet’s finest, its one and only, would know what to do with it. While Russell Crane was fine for settling the endless onslaught of Hamlet’s typical crime, bar fights and missing livestock, real crime and its inherent investigation was not his strength.

“If no one comes looking for it,” I continued, “and we don’t determine it belongs to anyone, then you can have it.”

“How long will that take?” Wilson asked anxiously.

I shrugged. “I have no idea. We’ll just have to see.”

Wilson’s shoulders slumped slightly.

I glanced at my watch. 6:40. Crap. Even bigger trouble. Becky.

“I need to go.” I said and lugged the suitcase into the house. 20 minutes, a dry pair of pants, socks and shoes later I pulled into the parking lot of the Hamlet Pub. Becky was standing outside the front door. She didn’t look happy.

“I know. I know.” I said in reply to Becky’s steady stare as I walked up. “But I have a good reason for being late.”

Becky shook her head. Her blonde pony tail waved back and forth. It suddenly conjured up an image to Sam of a scorpion’s tail. “No, you don’t.”

I started to say something and changed my mind. “Well, it’s kind of a good reason.” I explained to her Wilson’s find and my plan for quietly sitting on the money.

“So, you’re just helping Wilson out? Is that it?” Becky looked at me.

I nodded. “Yeah, just helping him out. That’s all.”

Becky nodded once. “And anytime you help someone out…?”

I thought about that for a moment. I gave a lame shrug. “Well, yeah, but this time…” My voice trailed off. Yeah, these things never went well for me.

“Where are we going to eat?” Becky asked, kindly letting me off the hook for the moment.

“I…was thinking of pizza.” I said casually.

“Oh, my, what surprise.” Becky sarcastically feigned shock.

We climbed into the car and headed through the heart of town–which took all of one minute. I turned the car into the Hamlet Pizza House parking lot. Dennis, the owner greeted us at the door and seated us.

Dennis was tall and lanky with sandy blonde hair. “Can I start you guys off with a salad?” He asked with a smile.

I gave Dennis a look of disapproval. “If I wanted to eat healthy I wouldn’t be having pizza.” Or eating here, I thought. Or eating in Hamlet.

Becky waved me off. “A salad sounds fine. Thank you.”

“Would you like to try our new red vinaigrette dressing?” Dennis asked her.

“Red vinaigrette? That’s a little high brow for Hamlet, don’t you think?” I asked.

“Hush.” Becky said.

“I’m trying to class up the place a bit.” Dennis replied.

If that’s the case you need to buy it by the barrel, I thought. I was sure Becky was reading my thoughts.

“Be quiet.” She said.

I shrugged. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Yes, you did.” Becky turned to Dennis. “Yes, I’ll try it, thank you.” She said.

Dennis scuttled off to the kitchen.

“So, you’re just going to sit on this money and wait until someone shows up looking for it?” Becky asked, clearly indicating she didn’t think very highly of the idea.

I half shrugged. “Something like that.”

Becky shook her. “That kind of money always has guns or lawyers attached to it.”

I agreed with her with a slight nod. “I know.”

“So, once again, you’re going to stand there and wave your hands in the air and say ‘Hey, trouble, here I am’.” Becky stared at me.

“Honestly, Becky, I think, in this town, if went home and locked myself in the bathroom trouble would find me.”

Becky sighed. “Probably, but you don’t need to help it.”

It was my turn to sigh. “And if there is trouble following that money how long do you think Wilson would last stumbling around Hamlet with a fist full of cash. It’s not like he’s the most discreet individual in this town.”

Becky gave me a look and, for a moment, we were sharing the same thought: a world without Wilson Daggot. Not much further down that line of thinking were dancing unicorns and rainbows.

Becky’s salad came out, followed closely by our pizza.

I had just finished a slice of pizza and was trying to figure out what seemed odd when Dennis appeared at the table.

“How is everything?” Dennis asked.

“OK…something seems different…” I said slowly.

“Oh, that’s the pepperoni. It’s new. I make it myself now. What do you think?” Dennis said with a nod.

“Not sure.” I said, honestly. “You make it yourself?”

Dennis nodded. “Yeah. Made fresh. I’ve got a new meat supplier. Barnard Weekes, you know, the town councilman, suggested it. Anyway, enjoy. Plenty more where that came from.” Dennis headed back to the kitchen.

I got about half way through the next slice before a terrible thought crept into my head. A Hamlet town councilman with a new idea. That, in and of itself, was newsworthy, but I had already heard about something new coming from the town council and I didn’t like the creepy connection my thoughts were making.

“What? You’re full? You haven’t even eaten two pieces yet?” Becky asked, staring across at me.

I was staring down at the pizza. I could swear some of the pepperonis were sadly staring back at me.

“You don’t like the new pepperoni?” Becky asked.

Without lifting my eyes from the pizza I answered her. “I am afraid I may know some of them.”

“What?”

4

I parked the car next to what appeared to be an old church. It was, in fact, the township hall and, yes, it was an old church. If the sacred law of separation of church and state didn’t drive any remnants of a deity out of the building then the quirky day to day activities that now went on there surely would.

I walked in and approached the iron gates, or what seemed like iron gates, that was the front counter. It was manned by the inscrutable and formidable force that was Jessie, the township clerk. She turned to face me holding several file folders and, besides her gray and black hair, pulled back in a severe look, she was wearing the same look of hearty disapproval she always graced me with when I appeared in the hallowed halls of the township. I walked up to the counter and we stared at each other for a moment. I was pointlessly waiting for her to ask me what I wanted, but, knowing she didn’t really care, that was never going to happen.

“So…is Russell in?” I asked.

Jessie hesitated for moment. “Russell cannot be bothered right now. He…is in an important meeting.”

I glanced over at the door to Russell’s office. It was open. No sounds could be heard coming from the his office. “When do you think he might be finished with his meeting?”

“I don’t know.” Jessie said, not moving.

We stared at each other for a moment.

“Jessie, there’s no paper in here again!” Russell’s voice came from down the hall. The general location and the hollow echoing nature of his voice told me exactly where Russell was.

Another long moment passed as Jessie and I stared at each other.

“OK!” Jessie shouted without moving anything except her mouth.

Another long pause of staring.

“So, he’ll be done with his meeting soon then?” I asked.

Jessie gave a trace of a nod. “Seems like it.”

I waited while Jessie retreated down the hall towards the back. Minutes passed and I heard a toilet flush. Another minute passed and Russell appeared. He glanced at me and went into his office. Jessie was not as yet back at her guard station so I took advantage of the situation to skirt the front counter and slip into Russell’s office.

Russell looked up from his desk. “Sammy.”

“Russell.”

“Well, what? With you, it’s always something and right now I don’t have time for anything of yours.” Russell said.

“Trouble?” I asked. Like someone missing a large amount of cash? That’s what I really wanted to ask.

“Huh.” Russell grunted. “You mean like people not letting me do my damn job?”

“Me?” I asked innocently.

Russell hesitated answering me. “Mrs. Stottlemire. Seems she is missing her Persian cat. She’s calling every councilman on the board complaining I’m not doing my job. You know, I’ve got more important things to deal with than a missing cat.”

“Oh?” I asked. “Something going on?”

Russell looked at me. His bulky frame leaning forward slightly and his short red hair in a frazzled wavy state. “Why are you asking me that? For that matter, why are you here? You only ever show up here if there’s trouble of some kind? What have you done now?”

“Nothing.” I said, sounding as innocent as possible. Even I had to admit, though, that I couldn’t pull off innocent very well.

Russell continued staring at me.

“Really. Nothing. Nothing going on. You just seemed stressed. I thought maybe something was going on.” I said shaking my head. “Nope. Everything here’s just fine.”

Russell stared at me for a moment longer before looking down at the scattering of papers around his desk. “Well,” he said, “just the usual crap. Those people in Hamlet Acres are all up in arms.”

“Hamlet Acres?” I asked. “Oh, that trailer park behind the restaurants.”

“Just a steady stream of complaints from them.” Russell said, tossing a couple of sheets into the trash can.

I nodded, in full agreement. “Ah. The smell.”

Russell glanced up at me. “Smell? No. They’re complaining about the noise.”

“Noise?”

Russell nodded slightly. “All kinds yowling or some kind of animal sounds. Probably trying to get into the dumpsters back there.”

I nodded again. Then thought about Dennis’ pizza place along there. “Was…it a sad animal sound or a hopeful animal sound?”

Russell stared at me for a long moment. “Now, how in the hell would I know? Why does that even matter?”

I sighed as my stomach quivered a little. “You might be surprised how important that is.” I said, in almost a whisper.

“So, why are you here?” Russell asked again.

“No reason.” I said. “Just stopping by.”

I got up and walked to the door. “You’ll let me know about those animal sounds, right?” I asked.

Russell just stared at me.

“Right.” I said and left.

5

As the car reached the top of the hill I saw Wilson’s truck just pulling out of the gravel road next to creek. What was he up to now? Searching the creek again for more trouble? If he found something more I needed to know what it was. I figured I would follow him and see what he was up to.

As Wilson crossed the small bridge over the creek a brown Cadillac pulled out of the gravel access road that ran alongside the other railroad track. It might have been nothing, but my gut told me something was up. I followed a short distance behind the Cadillac.

Wilson was heading south out of town. I could guess where he was going and when he passed Cherry Hill road and then turned left on the next road towards Hamlet Lake I knew I was right. The Cadillac diligently followed along. I drove past the road. I didn’t like processions and three cars turning down a quiet hardly used dirt road that led nowhere was more than suspicious.

I drove a quarter mile further and turned around in someone’s driveway. I wasn’t worried about losing them. I knew where Wilson’s shack was. I returned to the road down to the lake and slowly turned down it. I saw only a little dust still settling. I crept along. Another quarter mile and an even more rutted dirt road angled off. I eased down it a short distance and stopped. Wilson’s shack was just ahead around a bend.

Rounding the bend on foot I saw the shabby shack Wilson called home. It comprised of a variety of lumber cobbled together into four walls with a corrugated aluminum roof. The roof was clearly constructed from scraps that Wilson picked up here and there. Some of the roof pieces seemed to be only held in place by strategically placed bricks. Around the house, among the knee high weeds, was a wild array of piles of junk. The term “junk” was probably flattery for what some of the piles appeared to be. There were recognizable piles of lumber and metal and some that were not recognizable except at a much closer inspection–something I was not inclined to do.

I weaved around a couple of piles and stopped. I could hear voices.

“You know what I mean. The suitcase. Where is it? I’m not asking you again.”

I peeked around a jumbled of wooden planks. Brown suit coat, brown pants, dark blue shirt, dull brown hair–and a nice black gun. The gun was pointed at a visibly shaking Wilson. They stood on the covered front porch of Wilson’s shack. The guy was mostly facing away from where I stood.

“I…I don’t have it. My friend has it. Sammy.” Wilson stammered.

Nice, I thought. Thanks, Wilson. When it came to negotiating a fee for his services Wilson Daggot could lie straight faced with the best of them. He picked this time to be honest.

“And where does this Sammy guy live?” the guy asked.

Wilson waved off in a direction. “Back up the road we came here. I can show you.” Wilson said, much too eagerly.

Even better, I thought. You are quite a piece of work Wilson Daggot. I glanced around for something useful and spied what appeared to be the spindly leg of a dining room chair that had long since been freed from the rest of the chair. I scooped it up and slowly crept out from behind the pile. I moved slowly, quietly, keeping behind the guy.

After only a couple of steps Wilson spotted me. His features visibly changed–something not lost to the guy with the gun. The guy spun around and faced me. I was still a dozen feet away.

“Well, well, who is this? I suppose your name might be Sammy, huh?” The guy asked.

“Uh, Sam will do.” I said, politely. I was always polite when facing the business end of a gun.

“Where is the suitcase?” The man stared at me.

I hesitated. The suitcase wasn’t mine. It wasn’t Wilson’s. The money didn’t belong to either of us. For all I knew it might be perfectly legal and truly belong to this guy, but my gut told me that wasn’t likely the case. More than that, I really didn’t like people pointing guns at me. It made me very uncooperative.

“I need that suitcase and I will kill to get it back.” The guy made a slight gesture with the gun.

“If you kill me, you will never find the suitcase.” I said, knowing that was a complete lie. I had slid the suitcase under the bed in my parents house. It would take all of about 10 minutes to find it.

Now it was the guy’s turn to hesitate. I could see the wheels in his head turning. Finally, he seemed to come to some decision.

“Look,” the guy said, his expression softened slightly, “I’m just a businessman. I made a mistake. I…borrowed some money from the company I work for. I…knew the money wasn’t clean so the owners couldn’t report it stolen. I thought I had gotten away with it, but they figured it out. If I don’t get this money back to them…well, I’m a dead man. So, you see, I gotta have that money back. It ain’t yours and I gotta have it. You’re right, I can’t kill you. I don’t have time to go searching for it. My time’s about up to get it back to them, but maybe, just maybe, I could shoot you without killing you and you just might be willing to tell where my money is.”

He took a couple of steps closer to me, stepping off the porch and changed the angle of his gun down towards my legs. I didn’t like where this was headed.

There was a scuffle behind the guy as Wilson scrambled off the far side of the porch and ducked around a corner of the shack. The guy twisted around to look back at Wilson. Perhaps he was thinking Wilson was coming up behind him to save me. Clearly he didn’t know Wilson Daggot.

With the guy’s eyes off of me for a moment I tried jumping to the left over a pile of rusting pipes of all shapes and sizes. As usual, I grossly overestimated my athletic prowess. Most of me clearly the pile, but I just ended up rolling down the far side of the pile. I scrambled to get on my feet as pipes of various sizes continued to pummel me in a tangled mess.

The guy casually circled the pile and stood watching me. In a last ditch effort I slung a small pipe at the guy in a futile attempt to knock him out. My aim was high and left. The guy simply watched it sail past. I heard the pipe whack into the post of the porch.

“Enough!” The guy yelled. “Let’s go. Take me to the money now or I will start putting holes in you.”

Without needing to stop and count, I knew I had all the holes in me that my basic needs required. More would have been unnecessary and, well, probably not a good idea.

As I slowly climbed to my feet I heard an odd scraping sound coming from somewhere. I glanced over at the guy. He had only half turned his head to listen behind him. He was keeping his eyes on me. By now it was apparent he didn’t think Wilson was any kind of threat to him and he was right.

I looked at the guy, trying not to twist my ankle on pipes all around my feet, a motion caught my eye. I lifted my gaze just in time to see a brick slide off the roof of Wilson’s shack. Some kind of instinct was triggered in the guy and at the last moment and he turned around in time to catch the brick square in the forehead. For a full two seconds after the brick thumped to the ground the guy seemed to freeze, motionless. I could see his knees wobble slightly and then he gently sagged to the ground.

I stood there staring at the heap the guy made on the ground. He was out cold and the only thought that I could summon up was: “Wow.”

I guess sometimes it was better to be just stupid lucky.

6

I glanced around. Wilson was long gone. It was just me and the unconscious guy–and his distinctly unfriendly gun. I decided enough was enough. So long as this money was floating around Wilson and I weren’t going to be safe from this guy or, potentially, the real owners of the money. Money is nice, but it’s not worth a bullet. I would retrieve the money and leave it here for the guy when he woke up. Then, hopefully, we would done with this mess.

In fifteen minutes I was back at Wilson’s shack with the suitcase in tow. I stood over the guy’s still slumbering form. Maybe I could just make a pillow out of the suitcase for the guy. Odds are that even the slowest of individuals could find that. Still, if Wilson showed back up and saw the suitcase…better not.

I went over and tossed the suitcase into the trunk of the guy’s car. And if he didn’t look in his trunk? Better be sure. I went back to my car and rummaged around. I found a marker and wrote across the guy’s forehead: TRUNK. There. Shouldn’t take too long for him to figure that out.

I went back to my car. I had parked it up around the corner again. I was about to start it up and go when another car drove by. It pulled up next to the guy’s car. I sat and watched. Who could this be?

A big guy eased out of the car. He walked over to the prone guy. He glanced over at the other guy’s car. I guessed he was capable of reading foreheads. He stood up, walked over and popped the trunk of the car. Not surprisingly he lifted the suitcase out.

I had a feeling this guy was specifically looking for the money, but how he knew where to find us was a mystery. I could only guess something on the guy, the car or the money was tagged for GPS. Didn’t matter now, the money was back with its ‘rightful’ owners and I was out of it.

I watched the guy walk back over to the prone man. Suddenly, there was a gun and an instant later a shot. Should have seen that coming. This guy cleaned up loose ends. The guy started walking back to his car when it happened. That black cloud of crappy luck that seemed to perpetually hang over me made its appearance. The guy, glancing casually about spotted me through some brush just sitting in my car, watching him.

The guy turned and started walking calmly towards me. I started the car and with that the guy veered back towards his own car at a run. I slammed the car into gear, did a fast three point turn around and spit gravel all over the place in my wake.

By the time I reached the main road I thought the guy was too far back to know where I was going, but as I hit the pavement I caught a glimpse of him closing fast. I was barely a quarter mile away when I saw the guy’s car tear out on to the pavement behind me. I had a sneaking suspicion that this guy was probably better at this kind of driving than I was. I thought about taking our little race straight into town. There was a reasonable chance that Russell would be around there somewhere, but, in my gut, I didn’t think Russell was much of a match for this guy. It would be best if I could just lose him. The only advantage I had was knowing the roads of Hamlet.

I jerked the wheel right and swung down Cherry Hill road. In this direction Cherry Hill road only went for about a mile before ending at Hill road. That didn’t help at all, but I knew before the end of Cherry Hill I could turn off on to an unnamed dirt track that ran along the railroad tracks. The dirt track curved along for about ¾ of a mile before it stopped dead where the railroad tracks turned and cut in front of it. On the dirt track it was only possible to see for a short distance ahead because of the high brush on both sides and the steady curvature of the road.

I gunned the car down Cherry Hill and gained a little distance on the guy. Spotting the dirt track I spun the wheel and squealed my way on to it. This would be suicide to drive down a dead end, but I knew there was an out. Near the end of the dirt track was an even smaller grassy track that actually doubled back, almost invisibly, to Cherry Hill road. If you didn’t know the grassy path was there it would be nearly impossible to spot it.

I sped down the dirt track listening to the lovely sound of crunching gravel and the melodic tune of a hub cap flying off somewhere. I needed to make sure I maintained enough distance so when I ducked on to the grassy path I wasn’t visible to my pursuer. As time slowed and moments passed I realized that spotting the grassy path at this speed, even if I knew roughly where it was, would be a feat. Then I saw it and slammed the car left and into it. I immediate slowed down and crept along the path in the brush listening now to a variety of plant life scratch the crap out of the side of the car.

A moment passed and I heard the roar of gravel flying behind me. There was no slowing down. Another moment passed and I knew the guy had driven past the grassy path. I sped up and got back to Cherry Hill road. Glancing about there was no sign of the guy. I sped back to my parents house, pulled in the garage and closed the garage door.

I stood watching the main road through Hamlet from the living room window. I was on my second beer before I saw the guy drive slowly past, hunting for me.

7

I pulled into a parking spot at the township offices the following morning and glided into the building. Jessie stood guard, as usual, at the front counter. She looked up as I walked in and went right back to whatever paperwork she was shuffling through. I was never a welcome visitor here.

“Morning Jessie.” I got a grunt in response. “I don’t suppose…”

A weathered slightly stooped man, mostly bald except for some white wisps circling his head, shuffled from the hallway that led back to some offices. I knew I had seen him before, but it had been a long time ago. After a moment it came back to me. Barnard Weekes. I had gone to high school with his son.

“You’re Barnard Weekes.” I said.

The man looked up from some papers in his hands. He stared at me for a moment in confusion. He looked over at Jessie. “I already know that, don’t I?”

Jessie sighed. “Yes, Councilman Weekes, you already know your name is Barnard Weekes.”

Weekes nodded firmly in my direction. “I know who I am.”

I sighed. “I just meant…nevermind. You were the one that came up with the plan for eliminating strays in Hamlet, correct?”

Weekes glanced at Jessie. She nodded.

Weekes nodded again at me. “That was me.”

“I was just wondering what the plan…” I started.

“Hey, you’re that writer guy that just up and moved here, aren’t you?” Weekes asked.

“Well, yes, but I grew up here.” A cringed passed through me as I spoke the words. “I didn’t actually move back here. I’m just house sitting at my parents house.”

“Of course you’re house sitting at someone’s house. You can’t house sit in an empty field now can you?” Weekes shook his head and looked over at Jessie. “I just don’t get young people today. They just don’t make any sense.”

“I just wanted to ask about the stray animals.” I said, regretting I had even started the conversation.

“The stray animals? Oh, yeah.” Weekes hesitated. “You know, our problem with strays started after you moved here.”

“Sounds about right.” i said, nodding her head knowingly.

I stared at both of them. I thought about checking my watch to see if this was some kind of record. The earliest in the day someone had said something so totally and incredibly stupid that I was struck speechless. However, this was Hamlet and that record was sure to be very, very early in the day.

“Yes, well I’m breeding great hordes of stray animals in my basement. I plan to conquer the world with them.” I said.

Jessie and Weekes stared at me.

I stared back at them.

“Well,” Weekes said, clearing his throat, “I’m pretty sure you’ll need a permit for that.”

I shook my head slowly and sadly. “I was being…”

“You’ll need to see Mr. Bailey about permits. I don’t handle those things.” Weekes said dropping the papers he was carrying on the desk in front of Jessie and shuffled back down the hallway.

Jessie continued to stare at me disapprovingly.

“Is Russell in?” I asked.

“Russell doesn’t handle permits.” Jessie said coldly.

“I don’t need a permit.” I said.

“You do if you are going to breed stray animals out of season.” Jessie replied.

“Out of season? Wait, never mind, I don’t want to know. I am not breeding any animals. Now or whenever they might be in season.” I said firmly.

“Well, you’ll still have to file a form if you are declaring your intent to conquer the world.” Jessie said as she mixed Weekes papers into the pile in front of her.

“What?”

Jessie nodded. “The town council passed an ordinance three years ago. If you are living within the township and intend on taking over the world you have to file a form.”

I stared at her.

“The form covers some tax issues and liability waivers.” Jessie said. She stared back at me.

Wow, I thought. Twice in one morning. Speechless.

Russell’s office door burst open and he came out slipping his hat on–a sure indication that he was headed out to some serious police business.

“Hey, Russell,” I said, “I need to talk to you about something.”

Russell waved me off. “Can’t talk Sammy. Gotta go.”

“Russell, this is something serious.”

“Sammy, someone just found a body in a car south of town. It’ll have to wait.” Russell was almost to the door.

“Russell, wait. What color was the car?” I asked.

Russell hesitated and stared at me. “What kind of question is that? Why does it matter?”

“Was it Brown?” I asked.

Russell studied me. “I want to talk to you when I get back.” Russell ducked out the door.

Well, I thought, that answered my question.

8

I parked the car in the garage with the intention of closing the garage door again just in case the big guy was still hunting for me. Before I could start the door closing, a battered hulk of metal that functioned as something like a truck pulled in.

It was Wilson. I wasn’t pleased. Not only did he run out on me at his shack, which I should have expected, but the big guy with the gun probably had seen Wilson’s truck as well. I felt like the truck was a big red flag waving in front of the house calling out to the big guy: “Hey, I’m right here. Come and shoot me.”

Wilson got out and shambled over to me as I stood at the entrance to the garage.

“Sammy, you got away too, huh?” Wilson asked anxiously.

“It seems to me the answer to that question should be exceedingly obvious.” I said sarcastically.

“Right.” Wilson nodded. “Right. So Sammy…about the money…you didn’t…”

“Forget about the money.” I said. “It’s gone. I tried to give it back to the guy, but that didn’t work out.”

Wilson fretted. “Gone? What do you mean…? Sammy, that money was mine. I found it. What do you mean that it didn’t work out? Where’s my money?”

“First, it was never really your money. It was always somebody else’s money. You just happened to come across it. Second, that money someone was willing to kill for and did. That guy at your shack was killed by the real owner of the money–or some very dangerous representative of theirs.”

“But Sammy, where’s my money?” Wilson shifted restlessly.

“Forget the money! It’s gone. The killer has the money.” I said disgustedly.

“Gone? It can’t be gone.” Wilson wailed. “My money!”

“Yes, it’s gone. Now you better get out of here. The killer is looking for me and if he shows up here he’s liable to kill you too.”

Wilson twisted around to glance back at the street. “He’s coming here?”

“Yeah, I invited him over so we could discuss the best way to shoot me.” I said, the sarcasm unmistakably spilling forth.

Wilson looked back at me. “Sammy, are you sure that was a good idea?”

I was quiet for a moment. “I am beginning to think it would have been.”

“Well,” Wilson said nervously glancing about, “I guess I better get back to work.” He did a quick shuffle back to his truck.

Wilson had just pulled out and I had started pulling the garage door down when another vehicle pulled into the drive. Reluctantly, I pushed the door back up to see who it was. It could have been the killer, but, at this point, I might have welcomed him with open arms.

Becky pulled her car up to within a foot of where I was standing and got out.

“I thought for a moment you were going to run me over.” I said in greeting.

“The thought has occurred to me once or twice before.” She said with a smile.

“Yeah.” I replied, unsure if she was being completely sarcastic or not.

“Wasn’t that Wilson I just saw leaving?” Becky asked.

I nodded. “It was.”

“What did he want? Wait, don’t tell me, he wanted you to give him the money back.”

I told her where the money ended up–leaving out some of the more dramatic parts.

“So, I assume Wilson cried like a baby.” Becky said, laughing.

I nodded again. “Pretty much, yeah.”

“I was thinking you might like to get something to eat.” Becky said

I hesitated. “Here? In Hamlet?”

“Of course here. Or were you thinking you wanted to be a big spender and travel to the glamorous city of Ann Arbor?”

I hesitated again.

“What? What’s the problem?” Becky asked eyeing me.

“It’s just that…well…I’m a little unclear about the supply chain right now.” I said with a shrug.

“With the supply…oh, please. Will you stop imagining things?” Becky put her hands on her hips.

“I…” Was all I could say.

“Well, you better figure it out or you’ll never be able to eat in Hamlet again.” Becky shook her head.

I thought about that for a moment. “And the downside would be…?”

“I thought we could get something to eat before I went to work, but I’ll just get something at the Pub.” Becky got back into her car and left.

I watched her go. She was probably right, but I couldn’t help picturing someone running through the streets of Hamlet yelling: “Hey everyone, Soylent Green is kittens!”

I made a deal with myself. I would stake out the back of the string of restaurants along the main road of Hamlet this evening. If nothing odd or suspicious turned up I would put all thoughts of being forced into becoming a petavore (a new category I had recently decided should exist) out of my head. Or, at least, I would try.

9

This is just stupid, I thought. Becky was right. I’m just being paranoid and I am wasting my time here. Still, I didn’t move. I just sat in the car along the gravel road that ran along the back of the restaurants.

It was dark and I could see very little. I had rolled my window down to listen. Across the gravel road from the restaurants was a grassy field and a symphony of crickets filled the air. I waited, silently cursing and swatting the mosquitoes.

Then I heard it. A cat. It meowed from somewhere along the back of the restaurants. I slipped out of the car and crept up to the buildings. There was dumpster behind the Chinese restaurant. I moved up next to that and peeked around it. Sure enough, a black and white cat meandered along the backside of Dennis’ pizza place.

This was it. Dennis would suddenly appear, snatch the cat and, voila, fresh pepperoni. I moved closer. There was a pile of trash bags stacked up a short distance from the back door of Dennis’ restaurant. I squatted next to the pile watching the scene.

Right on cue the door of Dennis’ restaurant swung open and I was ready to catch Dennis in the act.

Instead, I caught a bag of trash in the ribs and fell back into the pile of other trash bags. The cat scampered off. The door of Dennis’ place slammed shut.

I lay there wondering if this was a new low for me. It was hard to say. There were so many contenders for that position.

The back door of the Chinese restaurant opened and the bus boy stepped out with a bag of trash. He headed for the dumpster and spotted me on the way.

He shook his head as he deposited the bag into the dumpster. “That’s a damn shame. Throwing away a perfectly good customer like that.” He walked back into the restaurant.

I climbed to my feet and started back towards my car. Another car came down the gravel road. It stopped just behind mine. The headlights made it impossible for me to see the car. The driver’s door opened and the dome light lit up the driver.

Oh, happy day. The big guy with the gun. I stopped. He stared at me for a moment.

“There you are.” He said. “Been looking for you.”

“I don’t think that was a good idea.” I said, trying to sound tough and confident while peeling a used napkin off my forehead.

“Oh? And why is that?” The guy said as he closed the car door and took a step closer.

I glanced around for some means of escape. I knew the light was dim enough he couldn’t see my thinly veiled panic.

“I have already talked to the police about you.” I said. “They already have your description and a description of the car you’re driving. Killing me now will only make it worse for you when they catch up with you.”

“Funny,” the guy replied, “I was listening to the Police band and there’s nothing about me on it. You know what? I don’t think you’ve told anyone about me and I don’t think you will be.” He pointed a gun in my general direction.

I thought about trying to duck into the Chinese restaurant, but I wasn’t sure if the door was locked or not. If it was, I would be an easy target up against a block wall. I made a typically quick and rash decision. I dove to my right and into the tall grass of the field. I crouched down, but I knew my head still bobbed up over the top of the grass.

Shots popped from behind me. Wasn’t sure how many or how close, but I kept going in the direction of the Hamlet Hills trailer park. From the zipping sound in the air I got the sinking feeling that the guy was a pretty good shot and he was zeroing in on me. Glancing forward at the distance between myself and the split rail fence that separated the trailer park from the grassy field it looked like the guy would find his mark before I could get there.

A bullet zinged very close and I flinched. Suddenly from right in front of me there was a wild commotion. It happened so fast in the dim light I couldn’t tell what was going on.

With an odd squawk and a flapping noise something loomed up right next to me. An emu. I don’t know who was more shocked, the bird or me. The moment didn’t last long. A dull thud silenced the bird. I face planted into the grass and another bullet whacked into the split rail fence just ahead of me.

“Hey, what the hell’s going on out there?” Someone yelled from the trailer park. That was followed by the distinct boom of a shotgun.

Suddenly it was quiet and there was an odd flickering of light. I peeked up over the top of the grass back towards the restaurants.

Russell’s cruiser had pulled in behind the big guy’s car. I didn’t like that. I was pretty sure that the big guy was better shot than Russell was. I didn’t think this would go well.

I stood up with the stupid idea of distracting the big guy and maybe giving Russell a second or two of time. I was about to call out when events moved on without me.

The big guy turned as Russell jumped out of his car. He aimed at Russell, but the gun just clicked. Empty. Russell had his gun out and was holding it steadily on the guy. They stared at each other for moment before the big guy dropped his gun and held his hands out where Russell could see them.

Behind me I could hear someone from the trailer park approaching. I ignored a question from the person and walked back towards Russell. I stepped out of the grass and on to the gravel road. Russell glanced over at me as he handcuffed the big guy.

“Well, that makes perfect sense. Every time there is trouble around here nowadays you seem to be involved in it somehow. Sometimes, I think I should just follow you around. It would make my job a lot easier.” Russell said.

I nodded. “It would probably make my life a lot easier as well.”

Russell pushed the guy into the back of the cruiser. Then he turned to me.

“So, mind explaining what’s going on?” Russell stared at me.

“Well…” There was a cry from a cat behind me. I spun around and caught a glimpse of the door of Dennis’ place slamming shut.

“What was that? Did you see that?” I asked.

“What?” Russell looked puzzled. “What was what?”

“The cat. What happened to it? Did you see?” I asked, anxiously staring back at the restaurants.

“What the hell are you talking about? It was a cat. Someone chased it off. The damned things are all around the trash. Don’t change the subject. You’ve got some explaining to do.” Russell was working himself into a good fit.

I sighed. Maybe. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that cat was soon to be adorned with mushrooms and cheese.

10

I stared at the slice of pizza. I didn’t move and I was trying to convince myself there was no reason to expect it to.

“Just eat it.” Becky said staring at me. We sat on the deck which was essentially the top of the garage of my parents house.

“I will. I will.” I said. “Just thought I saw a piece of fur.”

“What?” Becky asked.

“Nothing.” I said.

Becky took a bite. “You know everyone is impressed with what you did.” She said as she chewed.

“You mean how I managed to not get myself killed by a professional killer. Like, by eluding his shots and forcing him to use up his bullets thus making it a much safer capture on the part of Russell?” I asked, quite proud of myself–despite knowing it was incredible dumb luck.

Becky shook her head. “No. The way you found that emu and got that guy to shoot it.”

I sighed. “Yes, well, that’s the important thing.”

Becky patted my hand. “Oh, everyone is happy it was the emu and not you.”

“Only because most of them would find the emu tastier.”

“Oh, you’re just being ridiculous…” Becky’s voice trailed off. “…well, most of them, anyway.”

The crunch of gravel told me someone was pulling into the driveway. I got up from my deck chair and walked to the railing that overlooked the front of the garage.

It was Wilson. I stood at the railing with a piece of pizza in hand and waited for him to climb down from his truck.

“Sammy.”

“Wilson.”

Wilson shuffled his feet. He seemed to be waiting for me to say something.

“So…you just stopped by to verify our names?”

“I…was kind of wondering…well, if Russell, well, returned the money?” Wilson asked.

I sighed. “Wilson, the money is gone. It’s evidence in both a murder investigation and an embezzlement case. That money will be tied up in court cases for years and I have no idea where it will ultimately end up. Just forget about it.”

Wilson stood silent for a moment. “Well, what about a reward for finding it?”

I shook my head. “There’s no reward for it. The only reward for that money was a bullet hole. Be thankful you didn’t get that.”

Without thinking I lifted the slice of pizza up and started to bite into it. Suddenly there was a loud yelp. I yanked the slice away from my mouth and stared at it.

“Quiet!” Wilson yelled.

“Yeah!” I said still staring at the pizza slice.

“That came from Wilson’s truck.” Becky said, appearing next to me.

I looked down at Wilson. “What have you got in the back of your truck?”

Wilson waved back towards the truck. It was an old flat bed truck with wooden sides and a tarp covering the top. “A couple of stray dogs. The town council is paying for every stray animal I find.”

I pictured Wilson’s truck quietly parking behind the Dennis’ pizza place at midnight and unloading the goods.

Becky slapped me in the arm.

“What?” I asked, surprised.

“I know that look. It involves a truck, a dark night and a pizza place.” She said.

“I…” It was all I could say.

“What do you do with the animals?” Becky asked looking down at Wilson.

Wilson pointed off into the distance. “Tom Crawley has volunteered to let me release them out into his pasture land. He says they can be free range pets.”

“Free range?” I asked. “Uh, you know that generally refers to…”

“Stop. Stop right there.” Becky said. “Just let it go.”

Wilson shuffled back to his truck with a sad wave and drove off.

Becky and I sat back down. I stared at the piece of pizza still dangling from my hand.

“Fine.” Becky said. “If you’re going to be like that then go up to the grocery store. Emu steaks are on sale right now.”

I studied the pizza some more. I didn’t know if I would enjoy emu steaks so I resolved that I would either eat the pizza or adopt it.

K McConnell

For more information about other stories, including more free stories to download, please visit www.kmcconnellbooks.com

Also, if you enjoyed this story, please feel free to send any thoughts or comments to kmcconnell@kmcconnellbooks.com

Other books and stories by K McConnell

The Hamlet Mysteries series…

To Not Be In Hamlet

Sam MacNeil, part time mystery writer, has returned to his hometown to house sit for his parents as they start a lengthy vacation. What Sam has forgotten while away is the quirky weirdness of the little town of Hamlet. With expectations that he would quietly do his time in Hamlet the discovery of a dead body, clearly murdered, changes everything. Now Sam finds, much to his chagrin, the residents of Hamlet are expecting him to solve the murder. Not only does Sam not want to be involved in it, but the authroities have made it clear his help is not wanted. Was it the angry businessman from Detroit? Was it the shifty handyman the victim worked with? Sam doesn’t know, but when killers from Detroit show up the situation is taking a serious and deadly turn. And then there’s Becky. An old friend who clearly has more than friendship on her mind. Murder, killers and romance…this is not how this brief stay in Hamlet was supposed to go.

The Art of Hamlet

An old family friend asks Sam to look into a break in at her house. She is an art collector and critic, but nothing has been stolen and the only thing disturbed are some small statues. While it is a puzzling incident Sam doesn’t think it is a serious issue, but when a neighbor is murdered and found bobbing in a nearby lake the story is once again taking a dark turn. As usual Sam is not inclined to get involved in a murder investigation, but somehow he seems to be sliding in that direction anyway. In addition, the County Detective seems to have recognized that Sam might be of some use–regardless of the consequences for Sam. And what of Sam’s old classmate, who is now a seemingly crazy hermit, ranting on about terrorists in Hamlet? Is that actually possible? To complicate things even further something is happening between Sam and Becky. Love and Death seem to be chasing Sam through the wacky streets of Hamlet.

Ophelia’s Hunt

Sam’s women troubles have seemingly tripled. There is Becky and the relationship that Sam has found himself in with her. However, suddenly, there is Callie. Sam’s wealthy and wild ex-fiance who has appeared in Hamlet. Is she here to get Sam back? Everyone thinks so–including Becky. Then there’s the beautiful woman named Misty. She seems to have a particular interest in Sam as well. And, of course, there’s murder in Hamlet once again. Questions abound. Is the lovely Misty a suspect or a new love interest? Who are the men stalking Callie? How is Sam going explain all of this to an increasingly angry Becky? Why is the County Detective actually soliciting Sam’s help? Should Sam be flattered or very careful? With love and murder swirling around Sam how is he going to survive this?

The Ghosts of Hamlet

Sam MacNeil, part time writer, is house sitting for his parents in his hometown of Hamlet. The people of Hamlet are far more quirky than Sam remembers from his childhood and he is keen on leaving them behind and getting his life back, but it’s those dead bodies that are the real problem. They just keep showing up. Murder in the small town of Hamlet has taken a noticeable uptick since Sam has returned and the residents have taken notice. Sam claims it has nothing to do with him and yet…Now, even worse, the residents are seeing ghosts and they blame Sam for that as well.

Sam may get his chance to escape Hamlet now that his parents are heading home, but can he really walk away without solving the mystery of the ghosts? Will he get away before the “gangsters” from Detroit catch up with him and turn him into a ghost? And what about Becky? He really wasn’t planning on a romantic entanglement to muddle things up.

So what do ghosts, gangsters, girlfriends, musk ox and talking cans of beans all have in common? Sam MacNeil and the quirky town of Hamlet, of course.

The Play of Hamlet

It is finally here. The Founder’s Day festival in Hamlet. A gala event highlighted by a play depicting the bizarre founding of Hamlet. Sam is not only the star of the play, but also a target for Scanlon and his killers from Detroit. They are determined to finish him off once and for all. But Sam knows they are coming and, with the help of the quirky residents of Hamlet, he has his own plans in the works. What Sam doesn’t know is that Scanlon isn’t the only killer from Sam’s past that is out to get him. Could the biggest day of the year in Hamlet be Sam’s last?

The King of Hamlet

The sixth story in the Hamlet Mystery series starts out where most of the stories end up…with a dead body. The trouble is Sam is found standing over the dead body and refusing to explain what has happened. He seems willing to take the fall for the guy’s murder, but he is clearly hiding something. His friends are sure he didn’t commit murder, but who is he protecting and why? What Sam is not telling anyone is that he is playing a more dangerous game than any of them can imagine. As bodies begin piling up around Sam he is increasingly wondering if he has a guardian angel or has become an unwilling accomplice to the Angel of Death. Once again women and murder are causing headaches for Sam.

The Graves of Hamlet

As if the town of Hamlet didn’t have enough trouble with dead bodies now, it appears, someone is digging them up in the cemetary. The quirky residents of Hamlet are sure this has something to do with Sam. As usual Sam doesn’t really want anything to do with whatever is going on, but when someone tries to make the cemetary Sam’s premanent home one dark night it would seem that Sam will need to sort this out–if only to save himself. To add to the confusion, with Becky out of town, Sam must also figure out who the half naked woman is that keeps showing up on his deck sun bathing. Oh, and who are these other guys that just showed up in Hamlet? The grandson of the recently deceased retired cop who is lying about his real identity and the suspicious looking guy casually asking questions around town about the same dead cop…?

Polonius’ Plight

Here’s a surprise…there’s been a murder in Hamlet–again. This time, however, Sam is very much intentionally involved. It’s the suspects. The guy was found with a gaping shotgun blast to the chest. Like the one in the trunk of Renee’s car. Of course the last person to be seen with the murder victim was Jen–and she seems to have disappeared. And why is Reese, the County Detective looking for Becky and her grandfather’s .38? Sam is sure none of his friends are murderers, but to keep any and all of them out of jail he needs to find out who the killer is and fast. To make matters worse, while Sam is trying to solve a murder and hide his friends the Town Council of Hamlet has had enough of Sam and the murders that seem to follow him around. They passed yet another of their many bizarre ordinances. Sam has been ordered to leave Hamlet.

The Office of Scientific Operations

With the conclusion of the traumatic events in 1933 surrounding the shocking affair involving the city of New York and a beast commonly referred to as “King Kong”, the president of the United States, Franklin Roosevelt, established the Office of Scientific Operations (OSO). The purpose of the OSO was to monitor and evaluate the level of risk and assist in any manner the mitigation of danger of any and all scientific operations and anomalies. With the rapid pace of scientific discovery this office was given the highest priority and clearance to investigate any potential threats or consequences to the interests of the United States of America.

What follows are the real stories behind the cinematic cover-ups presented to the general public…

Release #1

from the declassified files of the

Office of Scientific Operations…

From 1953…

File #153 (commonly referred to by the public as “The Beast from 20,000 Fathoms”)

OSO agents Elliot Simms and Robbie Regan, while observing an atomic test in the Arctic, are unwittingly caught up in the release of prehistoric beasts from millions of years of suspended animation in the ice. Now they must help in stopping this new terror as it moves steadily down the east coast destroying anything in it’s path.

From 1954…

File #157 (commonly referred to by the public as “Them”)

OSO agents Simms and Regan investigate the odd circumstances surrounding a missing FBI agent only to stumble upon a horror in the New Mexico desert and if they cannot find a way to stop it there is a very good chance this could be the end of humanity.

Release #2

from the declassified files of the

Office of Scientific Operations…

From 1954…

File #159 (commonly referred to by the public as “Terror in the Jungle”)

OSO agent Jonathon Wyatt is pulled off vacation to an island in Indonesia to investigate sightings of pteranodons. The island is not far from the island known infamously as Z Land. It was once the headquarters of Dr. Zeitner whose experiments in genetically manipulating prehistoric monsters terrorized the world in the 1930s before the OSO put a stop to it. Wyatt’s job is to determine if these are indeed Dr. Zeitner’s creatures, but what he finds is much more deadly. This is no way to spend a vacation–trying not to get eaten.

Release #3

from the declassified files of the

Office of Scientific Operations…

From 1954…

File #161 (commonly referred to by the public as “Revenge of the Creature”)

After the capture of an unknown species of half man half fish is brought back to a Florida marine institute, OSO agents Wayne and Wyatt must determine the risk to the American people it poses. When the creature escapes and begins terrorizing the citizens of Florida the risk becomes all too real. Now they must hunt it down and stop it’s killing spree, if they can.

From 1955…

File #165 (commonly referred to by the public as “It Came From Beneath the Sea”)

OSO agents Simms and Regan are sent out to Pearl Harbor to investigate damage to one of the Navy’s most advanced atomic submarines by some kind of giant creature. While the Navy has a hard time believing it, the OSO knows such creatures are real. It soon becomes apparent by the large number of ships being lost that something dangerous is hunting throughout the Pacific. Now, with the creature openly attacking the west coast of the United States Simms and Regan join the fight to stop this thing before the entire Pacific is destroyed by it.

Release #4

from the declassified files of the

Office of Scientific Operations…

From 1954…

File #163 (commonly referred to by the public as “The DC Creeper”)

On a break from hunting monsters for the Office of Scientific Operations, OSO Agent Wyatt is trying to adjust to a more crowded domestic life. As brutally murdered bodies begin showing up in the nation’s capitol, though, this doesn’t seem like it is going to be much of a break. The newspapers have dubbed the hulking killer “The Creeper” and it looks like Wyatt is going to have to hunt him down and stop him before Wyatt becomes the next victim.

Release #5

from the declassified files of the

Office of Scientific Operations…

From 1956…

File #166 (commonly referred to by the public as “Tarantula”)

Agents Simms and Regan from the Office of Scientific Operations, the OSO, returning from the Pacific Coast having just finished dealing with yet another monster threatening the United States are redirected to a small town in Arizona to verify that a large tarantula that has been terrorizing the local inhabitants has been destroyed by the Air Force. With Beka, a woman who insists on tagging along with the intrepid agents–a clear violation of official regulations–in tow, they quickly discover that the threat of the giant spiders in the Arizona desert are not over just yet.

From 1956…

File #171 (commonly referred to by the public as “Invasion of the Body Snatchers”)

The Office of Scientific Operations, the OSO, has sent agents Wayne and Wyatt out to the small California city of Santa Mira to locate a missing Air Force major, sent to investigate the impact of some meteors, and to understand the meaning of his last cryptic message to Washington. What they find is that, while the city of Santa Mira may look like a quaint place to visit it soon becomes apparent that a missing Air Force major is the least of Wayne and Wyatt’s problems. There is something very strange and deadly going on in Santa Mira. Something that seems…alien?

The New Sheriff

Travis Ames, somehow, has developed super powers. Exactly what these powers entail he’s not sure. He’s still learning how to control his powers, but he’s already decided that he should use this new found power to fight crime. And…if he made a little profit along the way, well, that wouldn’t be so bad either. But reality has a way of altering the best laid plans. He has quickly figured out he has no idea how to go about crime fighting. And, to make matters worse, he has learned the hard way, his new powers won’t protect him from getting hurt or, quite possibly, killed. Can he survive long enough to learn how to use his powers? Can he get an aging detective to teach him how to fight crime? Can he prevent Aubrey, the new girl, and everyone else at work from figuring out what he can do? How long can he keep this up before he makes that one small mistake and ends up dead?