New Release!

Paper Bullets webI’m thrilled to announce the release of the latest Abby Maxon mystery novel, Paper Bullets.

This novel’s been a couple of years in the making, but it’s really been a labor of love. Abby’s back, along with police detective Kyle Beecham, daughter Samantha, ex-husband Ryan, and attorney Norton Greenburger. This time around Abby’s on the trail of a stalker.  Here’s the official description:

One simple favor for her ex plunges private investigator Abby Maxon into a deadly game of cat and mouse.

The job seems easy enough: find the man who’s been stalking her ex-husband’s girlfriend. Even though the last thing Abby wants to do is spend her day tailing pretty fitness trainer Melody Hartwell, no woman should have to put up with a stalker. Not even the woman Abby’s ex dumped her for.

The easy job turns tough when Abby discovers more than one potential stalker. The tough job turns deadly when someone torches Melody’s car while she’s still inside.

With the official police investigation focusing on Abby’s ex, she sets out to track down the real killer–a deadly opponent determined to leave no loose ends behind.

The book’s currently available for purchase on Amazon and will be available shortly at other major e-book outlets.  A trade paper edition will be released in May.

Free Fiction Thursday – Here, Kitty Kitty

Kitty Kitty webPrivate investigator Dee and her gorgeous but grumpy elf partner Diz find missing people for a living. Tracking down a fairy’s missing ceramic cat should be a snap, right?

Dee should have known any case involving one of the fey would lead to disaster. Much less an angry little fairy who hurls weapons at her head and yells at her in Japanese.

To save her skull and find the kitty, Dee and her partner plunge headlong into the world of manga, anime, and cosplay. Diz might never be the same again.

This story is available for purchase on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, iTunes, Kobo, and Smashwords.

Here, Kitty Kitty

Annie Reed

I dove behind my desk as my miniature Zen garden went whizzing past me. The garden’s stone base slammed into the wall right about where my head had been a split second ago, sand rained down into my hair, and I wondered what else I’d left lying around the front office that the little fairy might decide to throw at me.

My name’s Dee, and I’m a private investigator. Clients usually don’t show up at my office and launch deadly weapons at me. Along with my partner, Diz, I run D & D Investigations. People—and by that I’m loosely referring to elves, leprechauns, Greek gods, and my family—hire us to find loved ones who’ve gone missing.

We rent office space in a shabby building on the inland side of Moretown Bay. The neighborhood’s seen better times, but I like it. A masseuse with a unique flair for marketing and questionable taste in aromatics has a shop across the street, and there’s an Asian store next to the office run by a very nice lady who two days ago introduced me to the little fairy currently hovering over my desk and yelling at me in Japanese.

I don’t speak Japanese. I think my dog might since his usual Golden Retriever grin was dialed up to a near giggle.

“Want to let me in on the joke?” I asked him as I crouched behind my desk clutching my battered executive chair like it was a shield.

Dog didn’t say anything. He only speaks to me in my visions. And yes, that’s his name until he tells me otherwise.

We’d been having a nice afternoon at the office, Dog and I, up until the fairy barged through the door. Diz was off doing whatever tall, grumpy, gorgeous elves do—by themselves—after they crack a case with their partner. Dog had been curled up asleep in a small patch of actual sunshine coming through the front windows. I didn’t blame him. Clouds, rain, and mist are the norm in Moretown Bay. Rare slices of sunshine should always be celebrated with a good nap. My cat was probably doing the same thing in my upstairs apartment unless she was still pouting. She hasn’t quite forgiven me for allowing a dog to invade her life.

Faced with an office full of sleeping animals and no cases to work on, I’d been trying to distract myself from obsessing over my terminally single state, this time with Zen meditation. Diz told me recently that I should learn to live in the moment and enjoy the process instead of focusing so hard on the results. He thinks that might help me control my visions. I’m not an elf or a fairy or any other brand of magical folk. Vanilla human, that’s me, only with a seriously unreliable touch of precognition. Since I suck at living in the moment, I thought learning Zen meditation might help, hence the little desk-top sand garden I’d purchased at the Asian market two days ago.

I’d been sitting at my desk raking lines in that stupid little plot of sand for what seemed like hours, trying to stop thinking about my partner’s pointy ears and the one time I’d witnessed the tantalizing curve of his towel-covered derriere and just be in the moment, when our latest supposedly happy client flew in the door, picked up the Zen garden, and threw it at my head. I ducked just in time. She’s got quite an arm for someone only ten inches tall.

“Okay, okay!” I said from behind the safety of my desk. Which, let’s face it, isn’t all that safe when the fairy hurling weapons at your head can fly just about anywhere she wants to. “I get that you’re angry. Want to let me in on why?”

(end of sample)

# # #

“Here, Kitty Kitty” previously appeared in Fiction River #1: Unnatural Worlds

Copyright © 2014 Annie Reed

Published by Thunder Valley Press

Free Fiction Thursday – Long, Slow Suicide

LS Suicide web

Eli Goshen loves his wife. He has for over fifty years. He’s always taken care of her, but when she takes an unexpected gambling trip to Reno and fails to return, he has no choice but to hire a private detective to find her.

A detective who’s been around gambling all her life.

A detective who knows how fast a big win can turn into the biggest loss of all.

(This story is no longer available to read for free, but it can be purchased at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, iTunes, Kobo, and Smashwords.)

Long, Slow Suicide

Annie Reed

I usually meet clients in my office.

It’s not much of an office, little more than a closet with a desk and file cabinet the last tenant left in lieu of rent, and a couple of chairs I rescued from a mortgage company’s going out of business sale. But I like my clients to see I’m legit. Not some schmuck working out of her apartment who cobbled together a one-page website featuring a generic shot of the downtown Reno skyline with the words Detective, Reasonable and Discrete Photoshopped on top. I have an actual office.

Okay. So my website only has two pages. I also advertise on Craigslist. Shoot me. I have to eat like everyone else.

My new client, Eli Goshen, didn’t want to come to my office. He wanted to meet me in a casino.

Reno’s lousy with casinos. Vegas gets the splash and the notoriety, but we have more than our fair share up north. From the massive Silver Legacy, with its ridiculous, huge bowling ball of a dome, to the latest trend—mini strip mall casinos nestled next to the neighborhood Subway or Payless Shoes. If you want to shovel your paycheck in the mouth of a slot machine, you don’t have to go far in this town to find one.

I never understood the allure.

Gambling aside, breathing the air in a casino is like mainlining a rancid cocktail of secondhand smoke and alcohol fumes directly into your bloodstream. The gaming areas are one huge, windowless cave lit by enough neon and flashing lights to give an epileptic seizures. Heaven forbid the gamblers might notice the sun’s come up (or gone down) while they’ve been plunking silver dollars into a slot machine’s maw.

The carpets are loud, the games are loud, and the whole thing’s tarnished with a none too subtle sense of desperation.

Casinos sell the ultimate get rich quick version of the American Dream, but I grew up here. Casinos aren’t built because they lose money. They don’t need any of mine.

I tried to talk Goshen into meeting me anywhere else. He told me he was staying at the Downtowner and would meet me in the coffee shop in a half hour.

That brief phone call told me two things about my new client. One, he was cheap.

Casino food’s the best deal in town if you can stomach the atmosphere. Casinos can afford to lose money in their restaurants because they more than make up for it with gaming revenue. Most casinos have some kind of all-you-can-eat buffet for those who want to pig out, plus a coffee shop for those who don’t. Goshen was of the non-pig out variety.

The second thing that phone call told me was that Goshen was old.

(end sample)


Free Fiction Thursday – My Cousin, the Rabbit

Happy Thursday, everyone!

This weekend marks the second year I’ll be spending Easter at Sakura-Con in Seattle. Last year’s con experience had a direct influence on the brand new Diz and Dee story, “Here, Kitty Kitty,”  I wrote for Fiction River # 1 – Unnatural Worlds.  Who knows what kind of mayhem this year’s con will inspire. 🙂

You’ll be able to purchase Unnatural Worlds beginning next month. I’ve seen the rest of the stories in this volume, and trust me, they’re all kickass. I’m thrilled to be a part of the Fiction River family, and I’ll have some more cool announcements along that line as the year progresses. As they used to say in television land, “stay tuned.”

In the meantime, in honor of the holiday, this week’s Free Fiction Thursday story finds Diz and Dee tracking down Dee’s missing cousin Harold, who has a unique problem with the Easter season. I hope you enjoy “My Cousin, the Rabbit.”

my cousin cover art

My Cousin, The Rabbit

Annie Reed

Published by Thunder Valley Press

Copyright 2013 by Annie Reed

I was balancing my morning coffee and a bag of donuts in one hand and fumbling with the key to my office with the other when my cell phone rang.

I’m not a morning person.  I’m also not the world’s greatest cook.  Even though I live in the apartment upstairs from my office, I go out most mornings for coffee and something my mother would not approve of as breakfast food.  So when I recognized the ring tone I’d assigned to my mother — a snazzy little number that sounded like the music from Psycho right about the time Anthony Perkins goes gonzo on Janet Leigh with a knife in the shower — my first reaction was to drop the bag of donuts like a hot potato.

What?  Donuts?  Not me, mom.  I’m going upstairs to fix myself sprouts and granola right this minute.

Not that I had sprouts and granola in my apartment.  I barely had enough food for my cat.

The bag split open when it hit the sidewalk, spilling all that sugary goodness on the wet concrete.  So much for breakfast.  At least I still had my coffee.

I managed to get the office door unlocked and my cell phone out of my pocket before the call rang over to voicemail.

“Your cousin’s missing,” my mother said before I could even croak out a hello.

(read the rest of the story here)

Free Fiction Thursday – Omens and Oracles and Eros, Oh My

Happy Thursday, everyone!

You should know by now that I’m a big fan of The Big Bang Theory. A couple of years back when they introduced Amy Farrah Fowler as Sheldon’s girlfriend, I was skeptical. Sheldon Cooper with a girl? Sheldon was, as the characters themselves sometimes put it, a man of science, only unlike the other characters, he had absolutely no interest in girls.

Well, as it turns out, I think Amy was a great addition to the cast, as was Bernadette. The show is, at heart, a romantic comedy. Romantic comedies come complete with romantic entanglements of one version or another for their characters.  While Sheldon is still a man of science, now he has an equally odd woman of science to spend his time with, complete with relationship agreement.

All this talk about relationships leads me to this week’s free story, which finds Cupid, the God of Love, hiring our intrepid detectives Diz and Dee to find his missing daughter. I hope you enjoy “Omens and Oracles and Eros, Oh My.”

omens cover

Omens and Oracles and Eros, Oh My

Annie Reed

Copyright 2011 by Annie Reed

It’s not every day a Greek god walks through a girl’s front door.

My partner and I run a detective agency out of an old storefront half a mile from the ferry landing on the mainland side of Moretown Bay.  The neighborhood is rundown urban with a touch of whimsical eclectic.  The shop next door sells everything Asian, from manga to anime to imported CD soundtracks side by side with things like shrimp chips and lichee jellies.  The masseuse across the street has her front door decorated with purple glitter and glow in the dark stars.  Every time one of her customers opens that door, enough aromatherapy candle smoke escapes to engulf the neighborhood in a cloud of calm.  Or passion.  I’m pretty sure on those days she provides more than a simple massage.  I don’t intend to find out.  She seems like a nice enough woman, but I’m not that starved for affection.  Not yet.

I didn’t recognize the guy who walked in my office like he owned the place, not right away, anyway.  Who’d have thought you’d find a god wandering around a neighborhood like this?  The sidewalk in front of our office looks like concrete accordion pleats, and I’m pretty sure a family of four is living in the panel van permanently parked at the back of the municipal lot at the end of the block.

Plus, the guy wasn’t dressed in a diaper and carting a bow and arrows. Even a detective needs at least a couple clues.

“You find lost people?” he asked, his tone more than a little upper crust.

“We do.”  I resisted the urge to look at the plate glass window at the front of the office.  The name on that window was D & D Investigations, and underneath:  Missing Persons Are Our Specialty.

I’m Dee, one half of D & D.  Diz, short for Dizzy G, is the other half.  Diz is an elf.  I’m not.  I get along with most people.  He glowers.  He’s also built like The Rock, and that makes him more than a little intimidating.  Which is why I’m the one who meets with potential clients.  If I let Diz do the meet and greet, we’d both be begging the police department for our old jobs back.

“I need you to find someone,” the guy said.

I smiled my most competent, professional detective smile.  “Have a seat.”

(read the rest of the story here)

Free Fiction Thursday – Thief

Good morning, everyone!  Happy July 5th.  For those in the U.S., I hope you (and your pets) survived the holiday and all the associated fireworks.

On this first Thursday in July, I’m happy to announce that my publisher Thunder Valley Press is participating in a month-long promotion over at Smashwords.  What does that mean for my readers?  Half-price novels and story collections!

To celebrate, this week’s free fiction Thursday story is from my brand new collection IT’S A CRIME.  “Thief” marks the first appearance of private detective Abby Maxon back when she was still Abby Preston, college student.  If you enjoy “Thief,” you might also enjoy my novel PRETTY LITTLE HORSES, the first in my Abby Maxon Mystery series.

Happy reading!


Annie Reed

Published by Thunder Valley Press

Cover art Copyright © Gualtiero Boffi |

Cover and layout Copyright © 2012 Thunder Valley Press

The Frisbee missed the top of Abby Preston’s head by a mere inch, if that.  She ducked, even though by the time her head moved, the Frisbee was already skimming the green grass of the quad behind where she sat trying to concentrate on her Sociology 101 assignment.

“Hey!”  She looked up at Ryan in mock annoyance.  “Watch where you’re throwing that thing.”

Ryan leaned down and kissed the top of Abby’s head.  “That’s not what you said last night,” he murmured just loud enough for her to hear.

Abby felt the heat rise in her cheeks.  She’d only been dating Ryan for a month and sleeping with him for two weeks, and she wasn’t quite comfortable yet with the newness of their relationship.  College life was tough enough without complicating it by throwing a boyfriend into the mix.  Then, of course, there was the whole “don’t worry, dear, you’ll find someone to settle down with in college” thing from her mother.  That, more than anything else, was why she’d resisted Ryan Maxon’s attempts to flirt with her for as long as she had.  The last thing Abby wanted to do was fulfill her mother’s expectations.

“Are you going to make out with your girlfriend or play Frisbee?”

The question came from Jimmy Fisher, Ryan’s best friend.  Abby’s cheeks grew warmer.  That was another thing.  Dating Ryan didn’t mean just hanging out with Ryan.  It meant tagging along with Ryan and Jimmy while they did their ex-high school jock thing.  In their case, it meant watching them try to beat each other at whatever sport happened to catch their fancy. Today it was tossing a Frisbee around the University of Nevada – Reno quad.  The afternoon before, it had been killer tennis on the university courts.  The day before that, touch football with some guys from one of the frats.

“Both, of course,” Ryan said.

(read the rest of the story here)

Free Fiction Thursday – The Case of the Missing Elf

Happy Thursday, everyone!

Can you believe it’s December 1st already? Wow. This year has just flown by. Pretty soon I’ll be annoying my co-workers with holiday music — I’m already annoying my family with a holiday CD in the car — and it will be time to put up the Christmas tree and see how the new cats and the tree cope with each other. To celebrate this first day of the holiday season, this week’s free story is a Diz & Dee holiday mystery – THE CASE OF THE MISSING ELF. Enjoy!

The Case of the Missing Elf

Annie Reed

Published by Thunder Valley Press

Copyright 2010 by Annie Reed


I was having a non-argument argument with my partner about whether we should get a Christmas tree for the office when the front door opened and a whole passel of elves piled in.

Up front, I should tell you that my partner is an elf.  A tall one.  Broad shouldered, pointy-eared, strong jawed, and with the most drop dead gorgeous blue eyes I’ve ever seen.  You might be thinking Legolas from those movies, but Diz is more The Rock than Orlando Bloom.  He even has The Rock’s glower.  The cinnamon and marshmallow-colored mullet, though — that’s all Diz’s own.

Yeah, I know.  A mullet.  But considering how great the rest of him looks, who am I to complain?

Together, Diz and I run a private detective agency called D & D Investigations out of a former bakery in a rundown neighborhood on the mainland side of Moretown Bay.  I’m Dee, the other D in D & D.  I’m not an elf.  Or a dwarf.  Or a fairy, or any one of a hundred other kinds of magic folk who call the area around the Bay home.  I’m a plain old vanilla human with curly brown hair that tends to frizz when it’s humid, which is just about all the time.  I also have a touch of precognition I’ve yet to learn how to control any better than my hair.

“You find missing people?” the nearest elf in the pack said.

I looked down at him.  Unlike Diz, who’s a good foot taller than my medium height, these elves were all way shorter than I am.  I counted seven of the mini elves.  They all wore variations of the same outfit: forest green pants, red and green shirts that were more tunic than shirt, and red, green, or white scarves.  The elf who asked me whether we find missing people had curly salt and pepper hair peeking out from beneath a red knit hat with a white pom-pom on top.  They made the office look like a seasonal munchkin convention.

“Uh, yeah,” I said.  I resisted the urge to point to the lettering beneath the agency name on the plate glass window of our office — Missing Persons Are Our Specialty.  We’d paid extra for that, but no one ever seemed to read it.

The elf behind the guy with the red knit hat elbowed him.  “I don’t care what you say, this can’t be the right place,” he said in a stage whisper I could hear fine even though his voice sounded like he’d just taken a hit of helium.  “Just look at it.”

The rest of the elves nodded and muttered among themselves.  Except for the elf with the red hat, they all sounded like helium addicts.

I glanced over at Diz, expecting to see his everyday glower amped up to a killer scowl.  My partner and patience aren’t even on a handshake basis.  Diz was born without that sense of serenity that’s second nature to most wood elves.  Stuff gets to him.  He left his clan’s home on Marlette Island years before I was even born.  Life among the trees probably drove him batty.  Lord knows why he puts up with me, not that I’d complain about that either.  I know when I’ve got a good thing going. 

One of the things Diz can’t stand is a client who won’t get to the point.  Between the scowl and the lack of patience and the elfly strength, Diz can be flat out intimidating.  That’s what made him such a kickass interrogator when we were both with the cops.  Now that we’re detecting on our own and can’t afford to scare potential clients away, I do most of the initial interviews.  I can be kind of a smartass, but at least I’m nice about it.

Most of the time.

But now, instead of having to deflect Diz from going into full scowl mode, I caught him in a near-grin. 

“You’re smiling,” I said to him.

The grin disappeared.  “Am not.”

I lifted an eyebrow. I’m not sure why my partner doesn’t like to admit when he’s having a good time, but far be it for me to let him get away with it.

“Right,” I said.  “And I’m Santa.”

Immediately, all the pint-sized elves in the office went quiet.

“What?” I said to the group who were all giving me the evil eye.

(read the rest of the story here)

Free Fiction Thursday – My Cousin, the Rabbit

Good morning, internets! How about we celebrate the Thursday before Easter with a brand new Diz and Dee mystery?

This time around our heroes are looking for Dee’s missing cousin, Harold. The Easter season’s been tough on Harold ever since a high school bully and budding wizard turned fifteen-year-old Harold into a six-foot tall white rabbit. The spell only lasted for a week, but the experience left shy, introverted Harold scarred for life.

Is Harold simply hiding out from an overload of bunny-themed holiday advertising? Or does someone have it in for the former rabbit? Someone who could turn Harold into the Easter Bunny for life.

My Cousin, The Rabbit

Annie Reed

Published by Thunder Valley Press

Copyright 2011 by Annie Reed

Cover art Copyright 2010 by Ljupco at


I was balancing my morning coffee and a bag of donuts in one hand and fumbling with the key to my office with the other when my cell phone rang.

I’m not a morning person.  I’m also not the world’s greatest cook.  Even though I live in the apartment upstairs from my office, I go out most mornings for coffee and something my mother would not approve of as breakfast food.  So when I recognized the ring tone I’d assigned to my mother — a snazzy little number that sounded like the music from Psycho right about the time Anthony Perkins goes gonzo on Janet Leigh with a knife in the shower — my first reaction was to drop the bag of donuts like a hot potato.

What?  Donuts?  Not me, mom.  I’m going upstairs to fix myself sprouts and granola right this minute.

Not that I had sprouts and granola in my apartment.  I barely had enough food for my cat.

The bag split open when it hit the sidewalk, spilling all that sugary goodness on the wet concrete.  So much for breakfast.  At least I still had my coffee.

I managed to get the office door unlocked and my cell phone out of my pocket before the call rang over to voicemail.

“Your cousin’s missing,” my mother said before I could even croak out a hello.

No wonder she was calling me at this ungodly hour.  Along with my partner, I run D & D Investigations, and as the sign on our front window says, Missing Persons Are Our Specialty.  Since my mother was calling me and not the police, I knew which cousin had to be missing.

Unlike a lot of people, I only have two cousins.  My cousin Stacy lives with her perfect husband and two perfect children in a perfect little house in an exclusive — and very expensive — neighborhood on the south end of Marlette Island.  I live across the bay in a dinky one-bedroom apartment on the second floor of my office building, which happens to be located in a not-very-exclusive neighborhood on the mainland side of Moretown Bay.  If perfect Stacy had gone missing, my mother wouldn’t be calling me.  She’d have called out the National Guard.

That left only one cousin.

“Harold?” I asked.

“Harold,” my mother said.  “Gloria’s a mess.”

Gloria is my aunt, my mom’s older sister.  Harold is Aunt Gloria’s son.  He’s ten years older than I am, single like me, but unlike me, he still lives with his mother.

I sighed and settled into my semi-battered executive chair behind my battered wooden desk.  D & D Investigations manages to keep its doors open — barely — but our furnishings are strictly second-hand, garage sale rejects.  Not that I’m complaining.  My chair may have seen better days, but it’s darn comfortable.

I peeled the plastic lid off my coffee and inhaled the aroma, trying not to think about the donuts melting into a gooey mess on the sidewalk thanks to this morning’s misty rain.  Our office building used to house a bakery, and it still smells sugary sweet when it’s damp, like this morning.  Well, like nearly every morning in Moretown Bay.  There’s a reason my hair frizzes more than curls.  Right now the ghostly smell of croissants past was making my stomach grumble, and coffee alone wasn’t going to cut it.

Not if my day was going to be spent chasing my missing cousin.

“Want to tell me what happened?” I asked my mother.

“He didn’t come home from work last night, so Gloria called Mr. Fistler.”

Of Fistler’s Fine Furnishings, where I’d bought my semi-battered executive chair.  The furnishings Frederick Fistler sold weren’t fine in the sense of rare or unique, but more in the sense of they’ll do fine in a pinch.  Old man Fistler had given Harold a job when no one else would, so that made him more than okay in my book.

“Mr. Fistler told Gloria that Harold left at noon yesterday,” my mother said.  “Harold said he had some errands to run and he’d be back late, only he never came back.  Gloria spent the night calling all Harold’s friends, only none of them had seen him all day and no one had any idea what kind of errands he was running.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose.  My mother and my Aunt Gloria tried to maintain the impression that Harold was just fine, that he had friends and a regular social life and ran errands like everyone else.  I knew better.  If Harold had more friends than I could count on the fingers of one hand, I was an elf.

I’m not an elf, by the way.  The elfly half of D & D Investigations is my partner, Diz, and a gorgeous elf at that, if in a grouchy, The Rock kind of way.  I’m a regular old mortal like my mom and my Aunt Gloria and poor, missing Harold.  Well, maybe not exactly like the rest of my family.

“Can’t you do that thing?” my mother asked.

That’s why she was really calling me.  “That thing,” as my mother calls it, is the bit of magic sight that sometimes lets me catch a glimpse of things that are about to happen.  My mother doesn’t have any great confidence in my abilities as a hit-the-streets, work-the-clues kind of detective.  She does, however, think I have a crystal ball inside my skull that lets me see the future.  She believes my ability to predict what’s going to happen as much as she believes in the spiritual advice she gets from her neighbor who reads tarot cards for all the women in Merlin Heights, the subdivision where my mother and father have lived for the last forty years.

No matter how many times I’ve told my mother that my precog ability doesn’t work that way, she still insists on telling people I’m her little fortune teller.

“I’ll make some calls,” I said just as Diz opened the front door.

He raised a cinnamon-hued eyebrow at me.   I mouthed my mother and pointed at my cell phone.  He placed a white paper bag on my desk and tiptoed into the back office.

Not that Diz has to tiptoe, precisely.  For a guy with a bodybuilder’s physique, he’s light on his feet like all elves I’ve ever met.  I’d threaten to make him wear a bell around his neck like the one my cat has on her collar, but have I mentioned that Diz is one strong elf?  I’m not sure why he puts up with me, but the last thing I want to do is rock the boat.  One of the perks of running my own detective agency, besides not having to wear a uniform like I did when I first starting working as a cop, is that Diz is my partner.

“You don’t think… ”  My mother left the rest of the thought unspoken, but I knew what she meant.  While Harold didn’t have many friends, he did have one enemy.

“I’ll check that out, too,” I said.  “Tell Aunt Gloria she should try not to worry.”

My mother let out a humorous laugh.  “What’s to worry about, right?  It’s probably just the time of year.  Harold never did like Easter.”

I suppose if I’d been turned into a six-foot tall white rabbit when I was fifteen years old, I might not like Easter too much either.

(read the rest of the story here)