Stories

Mystery stories by N. J. Lindquist:

1- a Manziuk and Ryan Mystery – somewhat lighthearted.

Marilou Cannelli, a reasonably attractive woman in her late twenties, dressed to match the thousands of other professional women in Toronto, strode purposefully along Danforth Avenue, briefcase in her left hand.

Suddenly she felt a sneeze coming.

After suffering from allergies for many years, covering her mouth while sneezing was a reflex action for Marilou. But as she raised her right hand, a knife thrown from a near-by alleyway embedded itself in the fleshy part of her forearm.

Marilou Cannelli was fortunate. If not for her good manners while sneezing, the knife point would have penetrated her heart.

While there was a lot of blood, the pitch and intensity of Marilou’s screams proved to anyone within several blocks that she was still very much alive.

Passers-by came to her aid. A former nurse grabbed a proffered gym towel and applied pressure to the wound: a few people offered suit jackets for warmth in case of shock: several pulled out cell-phones to alert ambulance and police: a few bravely ran down the alley-way in search of the assailant. They found no one suspicious.

*      *      *

Detective-Inspector Paul Manziuk was, as usual, working overtime. And, as usual, he was tired. Too many late nights. Too much work, period. Worst of all, he was writing reports.

Despite the specially-designed chair, his six-foot-five, 235 pound body never felt comfortable in a seated position, perhaps because he detested writing anything. He could still remember school teachers telling him he had to keep practicing to make his handwriting legible. And while he appreciated the marvels of computers, he was all thumbs when he had to use one.   

The call came through. Attempted murder.

He leapt from his chair.

As he passed Detective-Constable Jacqueline Ryan’s desk, he made a quick hand motion. With a sigh, she closed her computer program, reached for her purse, and caught up with him at the elevator door.

“What’s up?” Ryan asked as they went down.

He told her all he knew, which wasn’t much.

Ryan didn’t say anything more until they were in the car. As usual, Manziuk drove. And as usual, Ryan was annoyed. It was normal for the junior officer to drive. But not with Manziuk. He claimed it wasn’t that he didn’t want a woman to drive him, but that driving was less stressful for him than sitting while someone else drove. Just another little annoyance she had to put up with.   

Of course, being twenty-eight years old and a brand new female member of the homicide squad, not to mention a woman of color, meant lots of annoyances, and more than a few challenges.

“Women are at men’s mercy,” Ryan said. “You know that? It’s amazing to me that more women aren’t killed.”

“You’re prejudging the case.”

“Just going with the statistics.”

Manziuk didn’t answer. Listening to Ryan was about as useful as listening to round-table talk shows. The people could say anything they liked, but it was all idle speculation. All sound and fury, signifying nothing….

Read the rest of "The Case of the Sneezing Accountant"

2. "The Day Time Stood Still" – A real estate agent finds something unexpected when she visits a house she's agreed to sell – a little bit noir.

June 13, 1989: The car belonging to prominent real estate agent Francis Chapelle was found yesterday afternoon submerged in a lake only a few miles from her summer cottage. Ms Chapelle was reported missing three months ago. It is presumed that she was driving the car when it went off the road. Local residents have for years been calling that particular turn a safety hazard…

March, 12, 1989 – Francis Chapelle maneuvered her Cadillac over the weed-mottled pavement of the circular drive and parked as close as she dared to the front door. Getting out of the car, she paused as if rethinking her intentions. The house looked the way one might expect the set of a Hollywood movie from the forties to look–unused, uninhabited, unwanted. But this particular house, on this quiet street, surrounded by flowing elms and warm-hued maples and new monster homes, was no set.

With a small shake of short blonde waves (gray banished courtesy of her appointment at the hair stylist earlier in the morning), Francis carefully climbed the steps, taking no chances with unruly weeds or rotted wood. The grey, paintless porch seemed sturdy enough. But as she unlocked the front door, she paused again. Was it really necessary to go inside?

Resolutely squaring her shoulders under her ivory leather coat, she told herself to stop being foolish. It was another empty house. Nothing more.

She pushed open the heavy door. It needed oiling. She stepped over the threshold into a dim hallway. Boards creaked and she stopped, preparing to turn back. All morning, just the thought of entering the ghostly old house had caused intangible little devils to run up and down her spine.

An acrid stench of stale smoke infused her nostrils. Someone else had been here, then. Not too long ago. She felt inexplicable relief.

She also felt like shaking herself. She wasn't a child entering a neighborhood haunted house….

Read the rest of "The Day Time Stood Still"

3. "Revenge So Sweet" – a wife discovers her husband has cheated on her, and decides to get revenge – a little bit noir. 

Beth Dalton slipped her gloved right hand under the seat of the old black Ford sedan and pulled out a Colt .38. Squaring her shoulders, she opened the car door.

At 4:00 A.M., the street was deserted. Not that anyone would have recognized her. Her wavy blond mid-length hair was covered by a black wig done in a page-boy reminiscent of oriental women in 1940’s movies. A black jacket and baggy long black skirt hid her attractive figure.

The .38 was hidden in the folds of her skirt as she went through the door of the large condominium. She rang three apartment numbers at random before getting a response. A woman’s voice answered sleepily.

“Telegram delivery,” Beth said in a husky voice.

“This time of night?” the woman asked. But she buzzed the door.

Beth walked to the elevators and pressed the “up” button. Within seconds, a door opened. Beth hit floor 22. The only sound other than the soft purr of the elevator was the wild thumping of her heart. But when the elevator stopped, she walked out and turned left. She passed several doors until she came to 224. Taking a deep breath, she pressed the buzzer.

After a brief wait, she heard movement. Then the sound of the bolt’s being released. The door opened a foot. A man in his early forties stood there. Short brown hair went in every direction. Face puffy. Eyes barely open. Bare torso, with blue-striped pajama bottoms. Nothing to hide the growing paunch of the middle-aged business man.
“You know what time it is?” he growled.

“I know,” Beth said softly.

The door opened wider. The man squinted at her, puzzled. “What—?”

A loud blast shook the air. The man staggered backward, hands clutching his chest, astonishment etched on his face….

Read the rest of "Revenge So Sweet"

Mystery Novels by N. J. Lindquist 

Read Chapter 1 of Shaded Light

Read Chapter 1 of Glitter of Diamonds