Happy Thursday, everyone!
I’m back home after a marvelous — and productive — week on the Oregon coast. Lots of fun with writer and editor friends, I discovered exactly how awesome the BBC’s Sherlock is, and I even have some exciting publishing news that I can’t really talk about yet, some of which involves our intrepid heroes from this week’s story. Woot!
In honor of the upcoming Saint Patrick’s Day holiday, this week’s Free Fiction Thursday story features my urban fantasy detectives Diz and Dee, a leprechaun, a pot of gold, and the missing love of the wee man’s life. I hope you enjoy “Just My Luck.”
Just My Luck
Published by Thunder Valley Press
Copyright © 2013 by Annie Reed
I’d just kicked back in my chair with my feet up on my desk, the first cup of coffee of the morning steaming a wonderful, fresh-brewed aroma, when a snazzy little man in a kelly green suit opened the door to my office.
When I say little, I mean this guy was little. No more than three feet tall, he was perfectly proportioned, from tiny feet encased in black leather loafers to the top of his wee, curly-haired head. He had chubby cheeks and coppery red hair, and a full beard to match. Brilliant green eyes peered out at me from behind wire-rimmed, rectangular spectacles.
He shut the door firmly behind him then turned to face me. He held a green fedora that matched his suit in hands that looked far stronger than their diminutive size implied.
“I’m wondering,” he said, his voice surprisingly deep for someone so small. “Do you think you can help me, miss? I’ve come about someone gone missing.”
That’s what I do. I help people find other people. I’m Dee, one half of D & D Investigations, and as the sign says on the glass window in the front office, Missing Persons Are Our Specialty.
However, just because someone’s polite enough to call me “Miss” doesn’t mean I’m a pushover.
I dropped my feet on the floor, sat up straight, and narrowed my eyes at my potential client. Except for his size and his red hair, this guy bore more than a passing resemblance to Cupid… er, Eros. I’ve already helped one member of the God of Love’s huge family, and instead of a “thank you” for my trouble, I got a box of bad-tasting Valentine’s Day chocolates and a tantalizing yet all too brief glimpse of my partner’s towel-clad physique.
“You’re not related to Eros, are you?” I asked.
The little man blinked. “Not that I’m aware of.”
“And you’re not an elf?”
He blinked again. “No.”
Don’t get me wrong. I have nothing against elves. My partner’s an elf. A tall one. Diz, the other half of D & D, is built like The Rock back when The Rock was still The Rock and not Dwayne Johnson, movie star. Trust me. I’ve seen nearly all of Diz, and when I say he’s built, he’s really built. Diz also has The Rock’s glower, without the raised eyebrow thing The Rock used to do, and about as much patience as I can fit in the tip of my little finger. But Diz and I had a whole passel of dinky little elves for clients right before Christmas, and let me tell you, I’d give just about anything for a normal client right about now.
Not that I was going to get it.
“I’m a leprechaun,” the little man said.
(read the rest of the story here)