Archives: Free Fiction Fridays

72 Hours in Savannah (Part 3)

72 Hours in Savannah (Part 3)

From the Quick Baseball Mysteries (Short Stories Collection) 

(If you missed Part 1 and want to start at the beginning, click here)

Long before Google, there was Mueller —as in Mike Mueller. When it comes to trophies and medals, I’ll take Mueller over an internet search engine any day. With search, I type in keywords and out comes a sea of images and whatnot to sort through. Sometimes I get what I need right away, sometimes I lose an hour or two online. With Mueller, I simply make one call. He does the work and I spend that hour or two watching a game or engaging in other leisure activities. Of course, this does come with a few minutes of listening to Mueller bitch about how bad the Reds are at that particular moment of the season, but it’s worth it.

“It’s one in the morning, what the hell do you want?”

I thought I would start with something positive. “The Reds bullpen really got them out of a jam today.”

“Yes, but if they don’t start hitting, they will never catch Chicago. Why are we talking baseball at 1 in the morning, Quick? My wife is giving me the evil eye.”

“Turn the light back off and leave the bedroom so we can talk.”

“The light is off.”

“Then how do you know she is giving you the evil eye?”

“When you’ve been married for 27 years, you will know when you’re getting the evil eye. You don’t even have to be in the same state to know somewhere out there, she’s giving you the evil eye. And right now she’s knodding her head yes while giving me the evil eye. I can’t see it. But I know it’s happening.”

“So go to the kitchen or something.”

“All right, all right. What’s this about? You’re usually not the type to be working this late.”

“I’ve got a friend in trouble and I need to find out about a trophy.”

“What kind of trouble?”


“Your friend the corpse or the accused?”

“The accused.”

“Good for him. What’s this have to do with a trophy?”

“They found a trophy sticking out of the dead guy’s body.”

“And you want me to tell you what it looked like before all the blood and guts?”

“No, I want you to send me a picture of the 1937 Southern League Championship trophy. It was stolen when the murder was committed.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

“Yes, it was. Scott, my friend in trouble, said he walked by it every day at work. He said that was the one that was missing.”

“Then your friend Scott wasn’t very observant. The team championship trophy is sitting in the private collection of a man named Barnes. Lives in Charlotte, last I recall. What your friend walked by every day was a smaller trophy that was given out to the players.”

See what I mean? Google wouldn’t have told me that. “So, do you have a picture of it? And any idea which player it might have belonged to?”

“Ivey. Lance Ivey was his name. I’ve seen that trophy myself. His family gave it to the team when he passed. He played a week or two in Triple-A ball, but mostly toiled in the low minors. I probably have a picture, somewhere.”

“Thanks, I really appreciate it.”

“Hey, did the trophy sticking out of the body have an art deco type of shape?”

“It was still in him when I saw it, so I can’t say. I identified it by the base.”

“What year and league was it?”

“Southern League, 1941.”

“That’s interesting.”


“It’s the same basic shape as the one you’re looking for. These were pretty common, had a wooden Art Deco shape and a bronze plated figure on top. The engraving plate would have been brass. In total, about 15 and a half inches high.”

“Based on what I could see, that sounds about right.”

“So, in essence, the killer rammed an identical trophy into the body as the one he stole.”

“He just wasn’t counting on somebody noticing from the plate that it wasn’t the same one.”

“Yeah, what’s one dusty old trophy from the next except for guys like you and me.”

“Only one problem.”

“What’s that?”

“What makes a dusty old trophy worth killing for?”

“Got me, Quick. You’re on your own to figure that out.”

“I usually am,” I answered.

Carry on, Citizens! 

Free Fiction Friday: Old Ballplayers

Free Fiction Friday: Old Ballplayers

The following is an excerpt from Old Ballplayers, A Quick Baseball Mystery.

Eddie Sloan buttoned the front of his 1969 Kansas City Royals jersey and put on his cap. The jersey was snug around the waste, since he had put on weight since he last wore it in a game. I say wore it in a game, because this was no Mitchell & Ness reproduction of a vintage jersey (Although they do exquisite work).

This was a real game-used jersey as were the pants, and cleats he was wearing. He checked himself one last time in the mirror and reached for a small wooden box on the bed. Eddie opened the lid, pulled out a revolver and shot himself in the head.

Free Fiction Friday: (Running The Wrong Way)

Free Fiction Friday: (Running The Wrong Way)

Below is an excerpt from an upcoming E-book about the KRAP League. Fans of the book Kansaska have asked for more about the league itself and I’ve done countless hours of research into the history of league where for one season, the baserunners ran in the opposite direction. Of course, you won’t find the history of this league in the Baseball Hall of Fame library. Or any library for that matter. But you can download the ebook for free when it’s finished. If you want to know when it’s available, click here to sign up for my newsletter.

The Original Six

Americans have been playing baseball in some form since 1839. They have been paying money to watch since 1880’s. Since that time, a hierarchy evolved that distinguished the best of the best from the not-so-great. Those good enough to be paid for their talents played in the major leagues, AAA, AA, and all the way down to A. Those that didn’t make the cut could still get paid to play the game. From the late 1800’s through the 1950’s, semi-pro leagues sprung up all across the country. Americans couldn’t get enough baseball and since there were fewer Major League teams and no television to watch them, semi-pro teams gave people their baseball fix. 

Free Fiction Friday: Forks

Free Fiction Friday: Forks

international_silver_queen_s_fancy_stainless_satin_black_accent_fork_P0000043228S0052T2Claudia Marie and Eleanor Grace surveyed the damage below them. Chairs were broken. Dishes were shattered. A butler sobbed as he pulled a silver fork from his left buttock. Where only ten minutes before sat thirty dinner guests, now only the injured butler remained. He was surrounded by unrecognizable puddles of sauces, chunks of meat (from a variety of animals) and of course, blood. The cause of this unseemly madness and the subsequent end of the dinner party was the handiwork of  the two smartly dressed and deliciously wicked women who now gazed down upon the mess.

“Did I see the Ambassador plunge his steak knife into the General from France?” asked Eleanor.

Claudia beamed with pride. “Yes, you did. If fate smiles upon us, their countries will be at war within a fortnight.”

“Do you think so?”

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