Good Cheer Holiday Bundle!

I’m in a great new Storybundle just in time for the holiday season – the Good Cheer Holiday Bundle!

My contribution is the Diz and Dee Holiday Mysteries, which includes a Thanksgiving mystery you won’t find anywhere else.

This bundle was put together by Dean Wesley Smith. He has fantastic things to say about the ten books in this bundle here, but I want to point out this part:

“And then finally, the best of the best of the best. The Santa Claus Stories by L. Frank Baum. (Yes, the Wizard of Oz L. Frank Baum.) This was edited, with all the original art, by James Romag and somehow published by Wordfire Press and guided by Kevin J. Anderson. A massive task and a book that you should not miss.

“Santa Claus and many of our Christmas traditions came from these stories. Of course, lots of sources before these stories contributed, and Coke ads after these stories refined what we think of Santa Claus in looks. But the L. Frank Baum stories were the center of it all. And James Romag, in his introduction, lays it all out for you.

“This book is an amazing treat to read this holiday.” — Dean Wesley Smith

You can get The Santa Claus Stories along with the other nine book in this bundle for as little as $15 plus you can contribute to AbleGamers, our fantastic charity!

Because this is a special holiday bundle, and we probably all need a little extra holiday cheer this year, this bundle’s available for a longer period of time — another twenty-eight days.

The Good Cheer Holiday Bundle will not only make a great gift to yourself, but also a great gift to give to the readers in your life.

Free Fiction Thursday – The Case of the Missing Elf

Missing Elf webThe Case of the Missing Elf

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.

(end of sample)


# # #

The Case of the Missing Elf

Copyright © 2014 Annie Reed

This story can be purchased at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, iTunes, Kobo, and Smashwords.

If you liked The Case of the Missing Elf, check out these other Diz and Dee Mysteries!

Free Fiction Thursday – The Snow Queen

Just in time for the holidays, this story will be free to read for two weeks!

Snow Queen web


Gunther missed snow.

Back home when he’d been a kid, come the first of November, more often than not he’d wake to big, fat, fluffy flakes sailing down from the sky like soft little pieces of cotton candy.

Put enough of those flakes together and he could build a silly snowman, complete with his big sister’s favorite knitted scarf, because what else were little brothers for than to torment their older sisters?

By the first of December, enough snow would have fallen to turn the hillside behind his family’s farm into the perfect place for sledding. Gunther and his sister took turns swooshing down the hill on his dad’s old sled, avoiding the oak trees and rocky outcroppings that dotted the hill. They didn’t stop even when their noses turned red from the cold and their feet got numb, but just kept right on sledding until it got too dark to see.

Snow days started with steaming mugs of his mother’s hot chocolate and his father’s special omelets filled with home-smoked bacon and sharp cheddar and ended with everyone warming frosty fingers and toes before a roaring fireplace after an enthusiastic snowball fight or two. Even as he got older and strong coffee replaced hot chocolate and an apartment in the city replaced his parents’ farm, Gunther still got a thrill every morning when he’d wake up to falling snow.

Snow softened harsh noises. Snow took the rough edges off things. Snow made November feel like winter and made December feel magical, frosting strings of twinkling Christmas lights into blurry little stars of red and green and blue.

That had been December in the Midwest.

December in Moretown Bay, a coastal city smack dab in the middle of the Pacific Northwest, was nothing but dull and gray and dreary.

Icy rain pelted the shoulders of Gunther’s heavy winter coat and ran down the sides of his neck as he bent to unlock the iron security gate at Chocolatapus, a specialty candy store located in a trendy waterfront marketplace complete with cobblestone streets and an open-air craft market during the summer.

Unlike the used bookstore and curio shop next door run by a curmudgeonly old wizard who only opened the place to the public for an hour a day on the second and third Tuesdays of every other month (most of the wizard’s customers shopped by appointment only), Chocolatapus was open seven days a week, ten hours a day.

As the store’s manager, Gunther worked most of those days and hours, but to tell the truth, he didn’t mind. It wasn’t like he did much with his time off anyway, and besides, working at Chocolatapus had turned into the best job Gunther had ever had since he’d left home nearly ten years ago. Not that being the manager of a candy store was exactly where he saw himself ending up after all the time, not to mention money, he’d spent earning a college degree.

He might even like Moretown Bay if only it didn’t rain so much in the winter. Which made winter seem like spring and summer and fall, only a little colder. And which today made him miss his family and home and snow days all the more.

As for Chocolatapus, the store was pretty nearly perfect. It sold milk chocolate and exotic dark chocolate and every kind of chocolate in between, along with silky caramels and chewy taffy, salty-sweet kettle corn and crunchy almond brittle. In December, the store also stocked Gunther’s favorite: swirly peppermint sticks that reminded him of the candy canes that always appeared as if by magic on his family’s Christmas tree on Christmas morning. With long glass display cases filled with sweet treats lining both side of the narrow shop, the store felt warm and cozy and smelled like his mother’s hot chocolate mixed with all the best memories of his childhood.

After Gunther pushed the heavy iron security gate away from the front door, he murmured the words of the spell that would disable the wards around the front door.

Gunther didn’t have any magic of his own—no one in his family did—but more magic folk than Gunther had ever seen anywhere else lived in Moretown Bay. Spells that could be used by regular old humans were available for purchase from licensed witches and wizards pretty much anywhere in the city. For all he knew, the curmudgeonly old wizard who owned the shop next door sold spells on the side.

Of course, spells could also be reversed for the right price.

(end of sample)


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

Be sure to check out the other stories in the Uncollected Anthology series!

Free Fiction – The New Year that Almost Wasn’t

Welcome to the special holiday edition of Free Fiction Thurs… er, Saturday. *g*

Thanks to the fine folks at Thunder Valley Press, who’ve been more than patient with me while I’ve been crunching this deadline, I’m happy to announce a brand new Diz & Dee holiday mystery, “The New Year that Almost Wasn’t.”  This time around, Diz and Dee are hired on Christmas Eve to find the missing and very pregnant mother of the next Baby New Year.

“The New Year that Almost Wasn’t” will be free to read throughout the holidays.  I hope you enjoy it!  Merry Christmas, everyone.

baby new year cover ebook small


The New Year That Almost Wasn’t

 Annie Reed

Published by Thunder Valley Press

© Copyright 2012 Annie Reed

Cover Art © Nadezda Postolit |


The last person I expected to see walk through my office door on Christmas Eve was one of Santa’s elves.

Merry was all of three foot nothing tall.  She had green eyes and a cute button nose, and her brown curls had grown out since the last time I’d seen her.  When we first met, I hadn’t realized she was a girl, but there was no mistaking her for a boy this time around.  In my defense, back then she’d worn one of the unisex tunics like the rest of the elves wore.  Today she was dressed in a sleeveless red frock and a red Santa hat, and she had cute little gold earrings in her ears.

Merry had been one of a group of elves from the North Pole who’d hired D & D Investigations to find Santa’s missing stand-in, Norman. I’m Dee, the human half of D & D Investigations.  My partner Diz, the other D in D & D, was out buying a Christmas present for my cat. Diz and I had agreed not to buy presents for each other this year since the agency was barely staying afloat, and besides, I had no idea what to get a grumpy elf who had everything and always refused to give me a wish list.

“You’ve got to help me,” Merry said in her high-pitched, helium-addict voice. “I’m in big-time trouble.”

“Don’t tell me Norman’s missing again,” I said. We’d found Norman easily enough the last time.  Finding missing persons was, after all, our specialty, like it said on the sign on our office window, but I had a feeling that if Santa’s stand-in had decided to take a powder – again – he’d  make himself really scarce this time.

“No.” Merry’s mouth turned down in a sad little pout. “Baby New Year’s mother.”

Baby who’s what?

(read the rest of the story here)

Free Fiction Thursday – Essy and the Christmas Kitten

Happy Thursday, everyone!

It’s officially Christmas season. Yes, I know it’s still November (thank goodness; I’m not quite done with my NaNoWriMo novel yet), but we’ve already survived the day after Thanksgiving shopping frenzy, Cyber Monday (and about a bazillion other shopping gimics) and we still have twenty-six more shopping days to go. I’ve started playing Christmas music in the car and at my desk at work, and I have a collection of Christmas stories all set on my Kindle.

To kick the Free Fiction Thursday holiday season off with style, this week we have “Essy and the Christmas Kitten,” a story about a lonely, broken woman who receives a most unexpected Christmas gift. Enjoy!


Essy and the Christmas Kitten

Annie Reed

Published by Thunder Valley Press

Copyright 2011 by Annie Reed

Image licensed by Verstova

The kitten looked like a cross between a drowned rat and one of those scary-looking bats with huge, radar ears.

Essy had been on her way out to scrape the latest accumulation of heavy, wet snow off her ten-year-old Toyota, a car that hadn’t tried — yet — to kill her by deciding all on its own to set a new land speed record, when she saw the kitten huddling beneath the prickly holly bush at the corner of her house.  Its grey fur was sopping wet.  Even without bending over to get a closer look, Essy could see it shivering as each new flake settled on its skinny body.

What in the world was a kitten doing out here all by itself?  At the end of November?

Essy didn’t exactly live at the edge of civilization, but her house was the last on the block.  Beyond her fence, the land rose up into the first of the rugged foothills that separated her subdivision from the newest cookie-cutter shopping center in the valley a mile away.  People didn’t usually dump unwanted animals on her street.  It was a dead end, which had suited Essy just fine when she bought her little house.

She supposed someone could have tossed the kitten out of a car and driven away.  Or a coyote could have gotten its mother, even though a kitten seemed like easier pickings.

Essy had no pets.  The days of pets and kids and a husband and work were long gone.  But she couldn’t leave a kitten out in the snow to freeze to death.

She crouched down in front of the bush, her knees protesting.  The kitten backed a couple of steps away, crying at her, all wide blue eyes and pointy baby teeth.  It couldn’t have been more than eight weeks old, if that.

Essy’s daughter had brought a baby kitten home one day from school.  Six weeks old, and little more than a fuzzy black fur ball on spindly legs.  “Mommy, can I keep her?”  Essy and her husband had never been able to say no, not when their daughter had her heart set on something, so the kitten had joined their family.  It was gone now, too.

“Come here, sweetheart,” Essy said to the sopping wet kitten.  “Where’s your momma, baby?”  She took off one leather glove and held her fingers out, hoping to entice it, but it backed away one more step, still crying.

(read the rest of the story here)