Fiction River: Fantastic Detectives

By Fiction River

Fantastic detectives come in many forms, from dogs to elves to eggs. (Yes, eggs.) And fantastic detective stories come in all mystery subgenres, from cozy to hard-boiled. (Remember. Eggs.) All of these forms and subgenres combine to create one of the most delightful additions to the Fiction River anthology series. With stories featuring New York Times bestseller Kevin J. Anderson’s popular zombie detective Dan Shamble and USA Today bestseller Dean Wesley Smith’s most beloved character, Poker Boy, Fantastic Detectives provides Fiction River’s most creative volume yet!

“[Fiction River] is one of the best and most exciting publications in the field today.”
—Adventures Fantastic

“Fiction River: Fantastic Detectives is a great choice for anyone who loves it when genres are swirled together. It’s nominally more heavily influenced by mystery conventions and tropes, but the science fiction and fantasy elements in it are almost as strong.”
—Long and Short Reviews on Fiction River: Fantastic Detectives

“Fiction River: Fantastic Detectives is a great read if you like to blend mystery with your fantasy. Check it out.”
—Keith West, Amazing Stories

Fiction River is an original anthology series. Initially, based on the anthology series of old—Universe, Orbit, Pulphouse—Fiction River rapidly evolved into its own entity. Fiction River publishes stories in many genres from all kinds of writers, with New York Times bestselling authors published alongside some of the best new voices in fiction. Fiction River also goes where no anthology series has gone before, with regular audio editions, produced in-house, and ebook and trade paperback volumes that never go out of print. And Fiction River is available in English worldwide.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WMG Publishing
• Release date: Sep 25, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311254689

Fiction River

Dean Wesley Smith and Kristine Kathryn Rusch return to editing with a new anthology series featuring volumes that appear every two months. Each volume will have a different theme or genre, and often will have a different editor. Smith and Rusch will be the overall series editors, approving content. Fiction River will showcase some of the best fiction around, and will keep that standards that made their previous editing projects—Pulphouse Publishing and The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction—the award-winning and genre-bending works that fans still discuss twenty years later.

Book preview

Copyright Information

Fiction River: Fantastic Detectives

Copyright © 2014 by WMG Publishing

Published by WMG Publishing

Cover and Layout copyright © 2014 by WMG Publishing

Editing and other written material copyright © 2014 by Kristine Kathryn Rusch

Cover art copyright © Xneo/Dreamstime, Milosluz/Dreamstime

Cover design by Allyson Longueira/WMG Publishing

Foreword: Just Great Stories Copyright © 2014 by Dean Wesley Smith

Introduction: Fantastic Writers Copyright © 2014 by Kristine Kathryn Rusch

Case Cracked Copyright © 2014 by Joe Cron

Living with the Past Copyright © 2014 by Dayle A. Dermatis

All She Can Be Copyright © 2014 by Karen L. Abrahamson

Under Oregon Copyright © 2014 by Kara Legend

Role Model Copyright © 2014 by Kevin J. Anderson

Death in Hathaway Tower Copyright © 2014 by Ryan M. Williams

Trouble Aboard the Flying Scotsman Copyright © 2014 by Alistair Kimble

Containing Patient Zero Copyright © 2014 by Paul Eckheart

Canine Agent Rocky Arnold vs. The Evil Alliance Copyright © 2014 by Juliet Nordeen

An Incursion of Mice Copyright © 2014 by Kristine Kathryn Rusch

They’re Back! Copyright © 2014 by Dean Wesley Smith

Smashwords Edition

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental. This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

Table of Contents

Foreword: Just Great Stories

Dean Wesley Smith

Introduction: Fantastic Writers

Kristine Kathryn Rusch

Case Cracked

Joe Cron

Living with the Past

Dayle A. Dermatis

All She Can Be

Karen L. Abrahamson

Under Oregon

Kara Legend

Role Model

Kevin J. Anderson

Death in Hathaway Tower

Ryan M. Williams

Trouble Aboard the Flying Scotsman

Alistair Kimble

Containing Patient Zero

Paul Eckheart

Canine Agent Rocky Arnold vs. The Evil Alliance

Juliet Nordeen

An Incursion of Mice

Kristine Kathryn Rusch

They’re Back!

Dean Wesley Smith

About the Editor

Copyright Information

Foreword

Just Great Stories

Dean Wesley Smith

As a mystery writer, I loved the idea of Fantastic Detectives when it got attached to a volume of Fiction River back in the planning stages of this series. Just the idea excited me, and then Kris, the editor of this volume, pointed out to me that one of my major series characters under my own name, Poker Boy, was in essence a fantastic detective.

No wonder I liked the idea.

And she told me she wanted a Poker Boy story from me for the volume. No way could I ever say no to an editor (who is also my wife). So in these pages there is a Poker Boy adventure.

As a professional writer, I know a smash-up of two areas like detective fiction and fantastic fiction takes some practice and a weird mind-set to pull off at any level, let alone at the level of craft that Kris would demand for this volume. She won a Hugo Award, after all, for her professional editing because of her demand for quality fiction in anything she edited.

When writers focus on such things like writing a detective story with a fantastic element or writing a fantastic story with a detective character, the writer often forgets that a good story and entertainment for the reader must come first.

So I was a little worried Kris would find stories for this volume.

It turned out that I didn’t need to worry. She pulled it off, found the stories, and even wrote a fun one herself for the volume, since she is also an Edgar Award-nominated mystery writer under various names.

I also liked this idea for a Fiction River volume because of the very title: Fantastic Detectives. That title fits everything Fiction River is about for me. This series of volumes does not allow genre lines or false marketing lines to hold back the writers or the editors.

From volume to volume, Fiction River plays with genre lines, either purposely breaking them, or more often just ignoring them. Each story stays true to the title of the volume, but not some genre limitation. The only requirement: A quality story.

Kris and I have both been writers known for crossing genre lines. Sometimes we would change names when we did, other times we would focus a story slightly one side of the line or the other.

In publishing of ten years ago, that was difficult because of marketing. But in this new world, readers are starting to like more blurring of genre lines. And Kris and I love that.

We know that by having that as a focus for this series of volumes, and allowing editors and writers to move freely across genre lines when a story demands it, some readers will be surprised by some stories in a volume. Readers often like being surprised. Other reader’s personal tastes won’t allow them to like every story in an issue. We figure that’s fine as well. In fact, we figure only the editor of the volume will like every story in a volume.

But no matter what, every story will be a quality story, told well, by a professional storyteller.

And we know this focus is working because after a year now, Fiction River has more subscribers and sells more copies online and in local bookstores than ever. And the sales and subscribers keep growing every month. So something about the focus on quality fiction with no restrictions is working.

So I hope you enjoy this volume of Fiction River. I sure did. Some of the stories in here are dark, some are light, some are wild, and some are just great stories. All are mystery detective stories in one form or another. And all have a fantastic element to them.

No genre lines.

Just great stories.

—Dean Wesley Smith

February 6, 2014

Lincoln City, Oregon

Introduction

Fantastic Writers

Kristine Kathryn Rusch

Here’s what I knew when we started planning Year Two of Fiction River. I knew I would ask my good friend Kevin J. Anderson for one of his Dan Shamble Zombie stories. I also knew that Kevin, who always does the work of 85 people in the time it takes one to eat dinner, needed to work the story into his massive schedule.

Dan Shamble is light urban fantasy. So I figured we’d do an urban fantasy issue of Fiction River, but I kept dithering. Urban Fantasy seemed too broad. Zombie stories would kill me (pun intended). Only a handful of people ever write zombies well. Kevin is one of them—um, that is, the people who write good zombie stories; he’s not a real zombie. Not even close.

So, fast forward to May of 2013, when WMG Publishing’s mighty publisher, Allyson Longueira, started demanding that I commit to a title for Fiction River #9. I was staring down the barrel of an upcoming workshop on the mystery genre in June, and so I said, Fantastic Detectives.

And now for a little history. Dean Wesley Smith and I have taught workshops for professional writers since the 1990s. Throughout all the workshops, we’ve given assignments based on possible anthologies. Sometimes the anthologies were real. (There are many Tekno Books anthologies, published by DAW and edited by folks like Denise Little, Loren L. Coleman, and John Helfers, that originated at our workshops.) Sometimes, those anthologies were just gleams in Teacher Rusch’s eye.

At a couple of workshops, Dean assigned some fantasy/mystery stories, and those stories tanked. Writers who had Hugo-nominations and literary awards, bestsellers and fan favorites, who attended the workshop somehow couldn’t write about a mystery and a fantastic creature at the same time. (I think the worst one was some kind of Elf Noir, or something.)

So when I said, Fantastic Detectives, and thought of assigning the anthology to my upcoming mystery workshop, I figured I’d get maybe one story out of the entire project. Maybe. One. And I wasn’t even sure about that.

The final story of the workshop (they had four) was to write a fantastic detective story. And something clicked for these folks. Because I could have used each and every story written. I asked for them, and asked to consider them for Fiction River.

Some folks forwarded their stories to me. Others sent their stories to markets that I suggested. As I mentioned in the introduction to Fiction River: Fantasy Adrift, I get conflicted between my desires for this publication and my desire to support my writers. If the writer had a story that looked like the start of a great series, I urged them to send elsewhere. Because we’re never sure what genre we have coming up in Fiction River, and I couldn’t guarantee that we’d be able to support a short story series.

Not every story in the volume came from the mystery workshop. Some, like the tales by Fiction River regular Dayle A. Dermatis and by Writers of the Future winner Paul Eckheart were stories I’d seen elsewhere and wanted. And when I asked Kevin for a Dan Shamble story, I knew it had to be paired with one of Dean’s Poker Boy stories.

In fact, I envisioned the anthology starting with Dan Shamble and ending with Poker Boy. But the best laid plans of Mice and Editors went awry, because Joe Cron blew me away with Case Cracked. I think it’s one of the best stories I’ve read. It’s certainly one of the most memorable.

I had to start with Joe’s Frank Dumpty, which meant shuffling everything around.

I’d given myself quite a challenge. I think the reason I’d initially balked at calling this an urban fantasy anthology is because as both a writer and an editor, I rarely stick to one genre. And true to form, I didn’t stick here. Nor did I stick to one tone.

Some stories are lighthearted. Ryan M. Williams’ Death in Hathaway Tower is a traditional cozy complete with lemon custard, a murder in the library, and—elves. You know, like Agatha Christie used to do. Joe Cron’s story is hard-boiled. Literally.

Other stories are quite dark. Kara Legend’s Under Oregon deals with the sinister side of family history. Paul Eckheart’s Containing Patient Zero deals with a public health crisis that feels incredibly real.

Several stories mix the dark and the light, like Juliet Nordeen’s Canine Agent Rocky Arnold vs. The Evil Alliance. Yes, our viewpoint character is (for the most part) our canine friend, but the problems at the heart of this tale are not easy ones.

As I’ve done in previous Fiction Rivers, I ease you through the mood changes. Read this volume in order, and I promise, you’ll slide from light to dark and back again. But read out of order, and you get dealer’s choice—and not just because Poker Boy has graced these pages again.

When Fantastic Detectives was just a glimmer in my editorial eye, I had no idea how wonderful this volume would turn out. I couldn’t imagine the breadth and depth of the stories I’d find.

I love sharing good fiction with you folks. That’s what Fiction River is all about.

And our ninth volume is filled with fantastic fiction. Not just because of the out-of-this-world characters and settings, but because of the great writers who’ve shared their imaginations with us.

I hope you enjoy reading this volume as much as I did.

—Kristine Kathryn Rusch

February 4, 2014

Lincoln City, Oregon

Introduction to Case Cracked

Fantastic Detectives begins with the ultimate hard-boiled detective story. And the ultimate hard-boiled hero.

Case Cracked comes from the wild imagination of Joe Cron. Joe, like many writers, has held a variety of jobs. He calls them professional creative endeavors, because they’re all one and the same to him. He’s written several novels and many short stories. He has performed on the piano in all types of bands, combos, and orchestras. He’s acted onstage in over fifty theatrical productions. He’s written for the theater as well.

All of those skills coalesced into this little story about a dark and stormy night on the rain-slicked city streets. A murder, a detective—and the beginning of our fantastic trip into the unknown…

Case Cracked

Joe Cron

The pavement gleamed with the oily sheen of avarice. Streetlights fashioned a weary column down the block, struggling in their losing battle against the dusky haze. The drowsy drips from the gray-worn awning of the nearby diner set the rhythm of the evening. Each waft of the light breeze brought the faint odor of wet greed. This was Magic City.

My ambling gait broke abruptly when my foot splashed and soaked my sagging black socks. I stepped in a puddle. Couldn’t see it; there was a middle-aged gut in the way. Nothing to do about that when you’re an egg.

The name’s Dumpty. Frank Dumpty. I’m with MCPD.

I’ve been a detective a long time. Maybe too long. I’ve seen ugly things in this town. One of the ugliest was two years ago when my kid brother bought the farm. He was on the force, too. Name was Stu, but he had a nickname from making the rounds with a lot of dames. What can I say; Stu was a player.

Jake Spout, captain at the precinct, kept me out of it. Said I was too close. We argued, but deep down I knew it was the right move by Jake, and with a gargoyle, especially your boss, you pick your battles carefully. Still, I never believed the malarkey in the cover report. The one that hit the press. They said he fell. Yeah, right. Stu was a lot of things, but he was agile as a cat. If he was sitting on a wall in the first place—and I have my doubts—losing his balance was out of the question. And if the king sent any horses or men, I’ll eat my hat. I tried to get my hands on the real file, but it came up conveniently missing. All I ever dug up was that the doctors tried to get him together again, but there was a piece missing. A big chest piece, about a foot across. No patching that. Not even with magic.

Magic is hard to come by, and expensive. Never mind the name of the city. Magic is what drives this place crazy. When people decide they need it, they’ll do anything to get it. That’s where the problems start.

Just now, I was making my way to a troll’s place. Nasty part of town, but then it’s a nasty town. Sure, the society types—the elves, nymphs, fairies—have their fancy digs, but the money comes from the backs of the have-nots, and that makes it all nasty to my way.

The street was an endless string of slums, all in slate gray. Trolls, goblins, ogres. None of them had what you’d call a sense of color. Each door was short and wide, like the tenants, and they all had a single, round window above it. One in five of the windows had glass; the rest were open air. Lots of these folks preferred it that way. The exterior walls were simple panels. No layered siding or shingles or bricks. In the daytime, it was ugly. After dark, even with the streetlamps, it was like trudging through a cave. I’d been here earlier in the day, but finding the same place again was like picking a rock out of a cobblestone road.

I was in the only outfit I ever wore: black pants, white shirt, brown trench coat, blue fedora. My socks and shoes were plain, black, and now, wet. I had a pistol strapped to my hip. Cops weren’t allowed to use magic. Go figure. Didn’t matter much to me; magic could be unpredictable. I felt safer with a dozen hollowpoints in my Glock.

The house I was looking for was a crime scene a few hours ago. A troll, Andy Bridgeman, got himself splattered all over his nest. It’s the kind of case that fades away for most cops, almost as fast as it pops up. No forensic evidence, no apparent motive. No leads. It didn’t feel right to me, though. The wife. She kept saying she had no idea how this would happen, but it didn’t make sense. Who needs to off a troll in the slum? In his home? She knew something she wasn’t saying, and she was too nervous to spit it out. Maybe somebody had her scared. Maybe if I could talk to her without so many uniforms around, she’d spill it.

I chose a door and knocked. It creaked and swung, and behind it was Marge Bridgeman, Andy’s wife. She was about five-two, stocky. Greenish complexion and Neanderthal features, with a unibrow you could use to clean the grill. Not bad for a troll, but she wasn’t my type. She was in a simple, one-piece burlap dress, long enough that I didn’t see much but bare feet.

Oh, hello, Detective Dumpty, she said weakly, stepping back a little from the door. Won’t you come in? She used English for my sake, but with a thick accent of Mountain Troll. She sounded like she was coughing on every word, through a mouthful of pea soup. It didn’t help that she’d been crying. I could tell by all the snot coating her chin and the bodice of her dress.

I stepped inside. It was a typical troll place. Dirt floor. Stench like a combination of dead fish and more dead fish. In the middle of the room, a firepit with a metal rod suspended across it for hanging a pot or roasting. Mostly rocks and small plants along the walls around it, except for one of the back corners, where there was a large, round, flat pile of straw and small sticks. The nest. At the moment, most of the sticks were stained red.

Marge waved a gnarled, hairy hand at one of the larger rocks. Have a seat, she said.

No thanks, I’ll stand, I said.

Marge swung the door closed and stood near it, wringing her hands. What can I help you with? She was a trooper. With all she’d just been through, she was still polite and putting up a collected front.

I’ll get to the point, I said. I know you were nervous when we talked earlier. I get it. Lots of cops around, the shock of finding your husband that way. But people don’t get shot up for no reason. If he was just a working stiff like you say—um, sorry about the ‘stiff’ thing, I didn’t mean to—anyway, nobody stands to gain from killing him. Are you sure there isn’t something you didn’t tell us?

Marge was staring at the bloody nest. Not at all. I told you everything I know. That’s what she said, but the shakiness was still there, and it wasn’t just from grief. She was still plenty nervous to talk about it.

I cut to the chase. They threatened you, didn’t they?

She looked down and shifted her weight. I can’t …

Trust me, I said. I know the bad guys are scary. I can help you, but I need you to help me. Give me something here.

But … they said …

I know, I know, I said, but I can stop this. I can keep it from happening to others like your husband. Give me the chance.

Marge looked up into my eyes.

You were here, weren’t you, I said.

Yes, she answered. I said I found him, but that’s not true. They did it … she started tearing up, and her voice waivered. It was hard enough to understand her without that, and now it was nearly impossible.

They did it right in front of me, she said. They said he was too far behind, and they don’t like people getting behind. They said if I told anybody, the same would happen to me.

Who’s ‘they’?

Two goblins, said Marge. I knew one of them. Billy Buckmiser. He’s no good, Detective. He’s nothing but a magic shark. Andy … She trailed off. I could tell she felt guilty for her husband.

It’s OK, I said. I knew of Billy Buckmiser. He was small-time. Liked to act tough. Sometimes he got nasty enough to set an example, and Andy was it, but Billy wasn’t the top of the food chain. He was a thug.

Believe me, Mrs. Bridgeman, I said, whatever your husband got sucked into, I understand. That’s the truth. This damn city—hell, the whole kingdom—drove people down. If you weren’t born with a silver spoon, getting one was not in the cards. It made people do desperate things to get ahead. I’d never tell the Captain this, but I actually admired seeing folks with the guts to twist their situation and try to fight a system stacked against them. Black market magic was one of those twists. Sure, the law said buying it was illegal, but to me, the criminals were the pushers. Billy Buckmiser and whoever was pulling his strings.

Marge began crying a little heavier. It was for our son. It was just for our boy.

It’s OK, Mrs. Bridgeman.

She continued. All we did was turn some lead into gold. We just wanted him to have a chance. Get an education. Get out of this hell hole. We had to have magic to turn lead into gold. But we couldn’t pay it back fast enough, and …

Listen, I said. You don’t need to give me the details. You’ve been through enough. I know what Billy does, and I know what he did to your husband. I’ll take it from here. You don’t have to worry about this anymore. I promise you that. And thank you, Mrs. Bridgeman. You’re doing the right thing. That was very brave.

***

It wasn’t far to Billy’s. Once I’d pressured a couple stoolies who still owed me, I found the place. Goblins live better than trolls, and Billy lived better than a lot of goblins. Crime pays. For a while. Until somebody skims the scum. Billy was on the edge of the slums, right where he didn’t have to feel it all around him but was within easy striking distance of his victims. The house had brown siding, and windows with glass, on the first floor. There was even some space, about five feet, between his house and the buildings on either side. Of course, the space was filled with rusting trash, but it was space just the same. A luxury not many had here.

I held up when I got close enough to scout the place for a second before I moved in, but whatever muscle Billy was using wasn’t outside. Not surprising. Customers were too scared of him to begin with, and the beat cops were likely on the take. If Billy was feeling comfortable, that would work in my favor.

I made my way smoothly to the front door. This was