Norm’s Top Of The TBR Pile: Vendetta by James A. Moore
Norm Rubenstein
A happy 2009 to you all. I don’t know how you all spent your New Year’s holiday this year, but I spent a nice portion of mine reading an incredible new book that’s about to be released by the Morning Star imprint of Larry Roberts’ Bloodletting Press. The book in question is James A Moore’s Vendetta.
Those who have actually seen, or better yet, actually held a copy of Morning Star’s inaugural release, Greg Gifune’s Judas Goat, know how unique and stunning the design, layout, and actual physical book produced by this young imprint are. A look at the dazzling cover art for Vendetta by the gifted Alan M. Clark is sufficient evidence that this forthcoming book will maintain the exceedingly high standards that Larry Roberts originated with Morning Star’s initial release. Vendetta is listed as being a novella, but at one hundred and thirty five action-packed pages, the book could easily be considered a short novel.
What is so exciting about Vendetta is that not only is it a new book by the ultra-talented author James A. Moore – and not only is it a new Jonathan Crowley book by James A. Moore (part of the BLP/Morning Star “Jonathan Crowley Library”) - but that it is the book where Jonathan Crowley, to borrow an apt phrase from the film NETWORK’s Howard Beale (as brilliantly written by the Academy Award winning Paddy Chayefsky), finally decides that he is “mad as hell, and not going to take it anymore” and really lets loose!
For those unfamiliar with author Moore’s brilliant creation, Jonathan Crowley, he is one of the Horror Genre’s most unforgettable, original, and compelling characters. Jonathan Crowley could be said to appear to be a man with short brown hair and wearing rimless glasses, a man not yet into middle age – a … man, and nothing more. But, take a bit of a closer look, or be unlucky enough to actually, personally encounter Jonathan Crowley yourself and you’ll soon learn that first looks really can be most deceiving. Crowley is a lot older than he appears, and far, far more dangerous.
Jonathan Crowley possesses certain supernatural powers, including a mystical automobile that makes Knight Rider’s “Kitt” seem like nothing more than an overgrown Tonka-toy. Crowley also possesses a great deal of arcane knowledge, which serves him well in his “profession”. A bit similar to F. Paul Wilson’s Repairman Jack, Jonathan Crowley “helps” people in serious trouble; serious trouble with the supernatural. He is known as “The Hunter” – and heaven help you if you are the one he is looking for! He hunts … Evil.
Author Moore’s stories featuring Jonathan Crowley have all been exciting, breathless, edge-of-your-seat adventures of the best kind, and superbly entertaining. Vendetta somehow manages to take things up even another notch. It is a stand-alone novella, in that you need not have read any of the previous Crowley adventures in order to enjoy Vendetta in full, and is thus a rousing introduction to the character and his history.
Crowley is normally one of the most levelheaded, detached, and unemotional persons in existence. Crowley’s impassivity and pragmatism are normally some of his strong points, and both help him stay alive and give him an important edge when dealing with such creatures as ghosts and demons. However, Crowley is still human … well, at least in large part. He once had a loving wife, Elizabeth, and three young children, Jeremy, Wendy, and Theresa. All were horribly tortured to death in front of him, while he was helpless, tortured and crucified himself, and could only watch in impotent horror, forty-one years ago. (Told you he is older than he seems!) Now, even back some forty-one years ago, Jonathan Crowley was a formidable and fearsome foe, Thus, whatever could render him harmless and force him to watch as those he loved more dearly than his own life were hideously tortured and murdered must be an awesome power. Indeed, the entity that did this is a very powerful demon who had met and been thwarted by Crowley twice previously. Crowley had twice defeated this demon and banished it back to Hell, but the demon had sworn to get revenge upon The Hunter, and in their third meeting, after five long years of planning, did so, at great cost to Crowley. Jonathan Crowley has been searching for this particular demon throughout the intervening four-plus decades relentlessly, but without success.
In Vendetta, author Moore shows us what happens when Crowley, who is enmeshed in working upon two different (and most interesting) cases, suddenly is given a clue that leads him to a fourth and final showdown with his nemesis, the murderer of his family. Suddenly, Crowley’s detachment disappears and the white-hot, molten emotion of revenge takes hold of The Hunter. However, in a brilliant twist of author Moore’s, in the intervening years, the demon has given up a portion of its power to become mortal – and being mortal, being able to actually experience human emotions - has changed the creature, now primarily human, and who now has his own loving wife and children. Has the change been substantial enough that the demon has now become a real human being with a conscience and soul, and will Crowley’s need for revenge transform him onto the very kind of soulless monster that he has fought against all these years?
The novella grabs you on its first page and never lets the reader go, or even catch his/her breath. There are intriguing sub-plots involving the actual cases Crowley has been called in to investigate. One involves the ghost of Tim Daniels, who Crowley had helped four years ago when he had been murdered at age ten. This young ghost suddenly, and inconveniently, starts to contact Jonathan to ask him to help his poor surviving mother, who he claims is in danger of coming to harm via a malevolent supernatural force that has taken up residence in the family home. Crowley, who has far more personal and pressing business elsewhere, gets pulled into investigating this incident as well, and as is usual when Crowley becomes involved, things are never as they seem. The writing in Vendetta is consistently great and the characters are complex, variegated, and interesting persons that hold your attention. Author Moore is also accomplished at resolving all the various strands that he introduces and manages to bring multiple storylines to satisfying resolutions by the end of the novella.
Here we are, only one week into 2009, and Vendetta is certainly going to be heading my list of “favorite” and “best of” novellas for 2009. This is truly a “must-read” book. Indeed, I’ve a message for the collectors among us who buy a copy of these limited edition books merely to keep them, unopened, in their collections (and you all know who you are!): This is one novella that you better decide to open and read – or buy a second copy to act as your “reading copy” as it is just too good of a book to consider not reading.
Truly, Vendetta is the very first book of 2009 that makes my recommendation – buy this book and make sure to place it on the very top of your TBR Pile!
Rating: five stars
Saturday, January 10, 2009
Thursday, January 1, 2009
Merry Christmas, Mr. Crowley
Jonathan Crowley's Christmas came and went this week, courtesy of Cemetery Dance Publications, who asked me for a holiday short story on very short notice. What they got was "Home for the Holidays," a cheerful tale of Crowley, a miserably lonely man and the ghosts said gentleman summoned every year. Chronologically, the tale would settle nicely between "Little Boy Blue" and "Vendetta."
Cover art for the digital download (free from CD) was provided by my buddy Glenn Chadbourne, who remains one of the absolute best.
If you caught it, I hope you enjoyed the show.
Happy New Year, may 2009 see you happy, healthy and prosperous!
Jim Moore
Cover art for the digital download (free from CD) was provided by my buddy Glenn Chadbourne, who remains one of the absolute best.
If you caught it, I hope you enjoyed the show.
Happy New Year, may 2009 see you happy, healthy and prosperous!
Jim Moore
Saturday, December 20, 2008
Just for grins, here's a blog for fans of Jonathan Crowley. Not the writer, though he's quite good at what he does, but the Hunter. Well, and alkso a Blog to let you know what his creator, James A. Moore is up to of late.
Your patience is asked for, because, really, I've never done this before.
But as soon as I can, I'll post news and information regarding upcoming projects.
Just as an example, I'll let you know a little something about Vendetta, the latest story about the talented Mr. Crowley. Most fo the time the creatures he hunts, the people he interacts with, they're just people and beasts. He doesn;t much care to get involved with the details as they only get in the way of taking care of business. But there are exceptions, aren't there? There are a few people in his world who matter, whether or not he likes the idea.
It was hinted to in the past, and now tjhe secrets get told. Jonathan Crowley had a family once. He had a wife, he had children and he felt loved and at peace. Then something came along and took that from him.
And now, half a lifetime later, he finds a name and a location on the creature that took his family away and made him watch as they died.
Want to know more?
Well, for starters, there's a limited number of copies available for Vendetta. Like, 300 maximum. It's a signed, limited edition and while it'll probably come out later as a mass market, for now, it's only available on this format.
It's also available for preorder right here: https://www.horror-mall.com/VENDETTA-by-James-A.-Moore-Limited-Edition-p-18601.html
For those interested, here's a liitle teaser: the prelude to the story:
VENDETTA
The rain fell in a light, annoying mist. Just enough to get you wet, but not enough to soak you. Jonathan Crowley hadn’t brought an umbrella. Not that he much cared.
Despite the chilly, damp weather, there was a very large crowd at the funeral of Vernon Dunlow. Not a surprise, really, when one considered how much the man was worth. In his lifetime Dunlow had amassed a fortune worthy of kings. He’d done it slowly, methodically, and with a little help from the supernatural.
Not that long ago, Crowley reckoned, Dunlow had been a very powerful demonologist. He’d summoned the dark spirits for power, for wealth, and even to bring his dying daughter back to life. He’d screwed up on the last one. She was alive, but hardly mortal anymore.
Luckily for her, she normally behaved herself.
That was why he was standing in the rain at a funeral. Not to mourn the loss of Vernon Dunlow—though despite the demon issues he was a good enough man—but because of Amelia Dunlow. He was here to pay his respects and to check up on her.
Oh, and to get those last few books Vernon had been stupid enough to hide from him the last time he’d been to see the family.
Amelia stood near the hole in the ground where her father would soon be interred. She was, without doubt, the most beautiful woman Crowley had ever seen. Hardly a challenge under the circumstances. She’d had a little help as it were.
Every man in the area and a few of the women as well would have probably loved to be with her in a sexual relationship. Some would have gleefully sold their souls. Most of them would never get the chance.
The man standing beside her on the other hand, Mike Blake, was probably with her regularly. Crowley was a little surprised to see Blake at her side, especially at the funeral. The last time he’d seen the man he was still warring over whether he would go to be with Amelia or sit in his living room and get numbingly drunk. Alcoholics almost always face that sort of decision. His estimation of the man went up a notch. He’d felt absolutely certain that Blake would fall back into the bottle.
Amelia was dressed in black; a veil covered part of her face and her long, elegant form leaned against Mike. He was also in black, a suit that cost more than he’d been making a year when he met Amelia. Blake held an umbrella over Amelia, defending her from the rain that drizzled down and wetted the side of his face and the growing bald spot on the top of his head. There were no other mourners standing close to the two of them. There was no other family to consider. Amelia was alone in the world, except for Blake.
Crowley cast his eyes over the crowd. Most of them were obvious business associates of Vernon Dunlow. A few of them were likely close friends of the family. The Dunlows had a lot of friends. They were honest people and generous with their wealth. It hadn’t been all that long ago that Fortune Magazine had done an article on the Dunlow family and their policies concerning benefits for their employees. Despite the climate of looking out for the top dollar and cutting benefits that dominated corporate America, the Dunlows had kept up with good retirement packages, excellent health benefits, and even stock option bonuses for their staff.
They had remarkably little turnover in their ten thousand plus employees, which came as no surprise.
Every person there would likely miss Vernon Dunlow as the years passed; even the ones who’d never really known him very well. That was a fine testament to the man’s memory.
Crowley waited until the mourners began cycling in front of the lowered coffin before he started moving forward. Amelia hadn’t seen him yet. Neither had Blake. He’d have bet money neither of them was actually expecting him, either. Jonathan Crowley was not known for making social visits.
Amelia listened to the condolences of the people in front of him and nodded her head, answering each well-wisher automatically. Mike did the same, but he held himself like a man trying to avoid getting confrontational. That much hadn’t changed. He was desperate to keep Amelia safe at all times. Good, Crowley mused. That’s good. The more he wants her safe, the easier it is for me to ignore her existence.
The procession moved with slow, steady speed. Crowley looked at the people ahead of him and spotted one who seemed familiar. He was a stocky man, not fat, but heavyset, with a silvery crew cut and a black suit that was perfectly tailored to fit him. He was exactly the sort of man who looked like he’d be comfortable knocking back cheap beer at a local bar or sipping champagne with royalty. Crowley recognized him immediately and felt the smile try to grow on his face. He forced the expression back. There’d be time enough for that later.
Mike saw him first. The man’s eyes flew wide for a moment and then lowered to half-mast, as if he were expecting trouble. Considering how well they’d gotten along previously, Crowley wasn't shocked by that. Then again, something about Blake pissed Crowley off and always had.
Amelia spotted him and despite the circumstances, he saw the excitement in her eyes. She lowered her head to hide the expression and Crowley took two more steps forward.
The gray haired man stopped before the two mourners and offered his condolences. Mike shook his hand and thanked him for showing up. He spoke to the man with respect and Crowley bit his tongue to stop from making a scene. He had no intention of causing problems at the funeral.
There would be time for dealing with the man later, after the services.
Amelia saw the man and spoke more formally. She understood just how dangerous the stranger was, and how powerful his influence could be. That made her the exception, not the rule.
Albert Miles, for his part, was the very image of kindness. That was his way. He spoke softly and genuinely. Crowley had no doubt in his mind that every word the man spoke was completely sincere.
Another few paces forward and it was his turn to say hello.
Mike managed a weak smile. It was probably the best he could offer.
“Mike. I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you, Jonathan. It’s good of you to come. I know Amelia appreciates it.”
“The least I could do, I’m sure. Vernon was a good man.”
“Yes, he was. He’ll be missed.” Oh, he could tell how much Mike Blake disliked him, and all that knowledge did was increase his amusement.
Instead of saying anything else, he nodded again and moved over to say hello to Amelia. Up close her beauty was even more evident. Eyes that could capture a man’s soul, lips that could, he felt certain, drive a man to extreme acts with only a few whispered words. She was physical perfection from head to toe, not a single flaw to be found.
“Hello, Amelia. I’m sorry.”
Amelia barely looked at him. “We’ll talk later, if that’s okay, Jonathan.” Her lips trembled, her shoulders hitched slightly.
“Of course. I’ll see you in a little while.”
He took her hands in his and held them for the briefest moment; just long enough to feel her fingers twitch, to hear her intake of breath, and then he moved on.
The funeral was ending, so he moved toward the parking lot and his car.
A quick glimpse showed him that Albert Miles was heading for his own vehicle, a glossy black Rolls Royce.
He quickened his pace and stepped closer to the man, placing a hand on his shoulder.
“I remember you.” The words were purred into Miles’ ear. “I remember you very well, indeed.”
Most people, Crowley knew from experience, would prefer not to be remembered by him. It was almost always an indication of bad things to come.
Albert Miles turned toward him and smiled as pleasantly as if he were seeing an old friend. “Mister Crowley. What a delightful surprise.”
“Hasn’t been long enough in my book, Mr. Miles, but then, I believe we have unfinished business between us.”
“Really? What sort of business?”
“Something to do with you killing Serenity Falls.”
“Nonsense, my good man. The town is still there, isn’t it? I visited it only a few weeks ago.”
“I’m sure you did.” Crowley smiled. Ten feet away from him, one of the mourners looking in their direction suddenly remembered that he had better things to do and scrambled for his car keys.
“Have you been back there, to Serenity Falls, Mr. Crowley? I think they’re making delightful progress. You’d barely be able to tell there was ever a disaster in the town.”
“Let’s keep it that way, Mr. Miles. I think the people there have suffered enough.”
“Oh, really! I hardly have the time to consider the past anymore, Mr. Crowley. I have other matters to attend to.”
Crowley’s smile grew larger still, wide enough now to make his jaws ache.
Miles looked at him with eyes almost the same color as his hair and smiled back, a cheerful, familiar expression. He would, Crowley suspected, have used the exact same smile if he were telling grandchildren tales of Santa Claus, or if he were in the process of cutting a bound man into shreds of raw meat.
“Now is not the time to discuss what you have in mind for other people and places, Mr. Miles. But rest assured, we will be discussing matters in the near future.”
Miles laughed politely. “Is this the point where I should give you another distraction, a chance for me to escape from your attention for a time?” His voice was rich and jovial.
“Now is the time for you to put your affairs in order, Mr. Miles. I still haven’t quite forgiven you for what you did.”
“Oh, Mr. Crowley, I’d be disappointed if you had.”
The man looked at his watch and tsked. “I’m afraid we will have to have this discussion another time. I have a plane to catch.” He put his hand out for shaking and Crowley gripped it firmly. There was a piece of paper there, folded exactly twice and no larger than an index card. “I’ve a gift for you, Mr. Crowley. I believe you’ve been looking for the man on that paper for a very long time.”
“Why would you give me a gift, Mr. Miles?”
“I can appreciate your reasons for looking, Mr. Crowley. I lost a wife, too, as you might well recall.”
Crowley felt his stomach fall away into an abyss.
“What did you say?” His voice was barely a whisper.
“I said it was lovely seeing you again, Mr. Crowley. I look forward to having a proper chat sometime soon.” There was mischief in his eyes. “Don’t worry. I won’t warn him that you’re coming. That would ruin the fun. Besides, I no longer have any need for associating with that particular individual. He’s become…a hindrance, if you will.”
Crowley stood perfectly still as Albert Miles climbed into the Silver Cloud. He was still standing there five minutes later when the vehicle drove out of sight.
Finally, he looked at the paper as Amelia and Mike were escorted to the limousine that would drive them back to her home.
The writing was neat and precise. A single name and address to go with it were all that were written on the paper.
Really, they were all that was needed. Crowley folded the paper and slipped it into his jacket pocket.
He tried to ignore the fact that his hands were trembling with suppressed rage.
He still had to deal with Amelia and the books her father had hidden away.
More news soon, all the best,
James A. Moore
Your patience is asked for, because, really, I've never done this before.
But as soon as I can, I'll post news and information regarding upcoming projects.
Just as an example, I'll let you know a little something about Vendetta, the latest story about the talented Mr. Crowley. Most fo the time the creatures he hunts, the people he interacts with, they're just people and beasts. He doesn;t much care to get involved with the details as they only get in the way of taking care of business. But there are exceptions, aren't there? There are a few people in his world who matter, whether or not he likes the idea.
It was hinted to in the past, and now tjhe secrets get told. Jonathan Crowley had a family once. He had a wife, he had children and he felt loved and at peace. Then something came along and took that from him.
And now, half a lifetime later, he finds a name and a location on the creature that took his family away and made him watch as they died.
Want to know more?
Well, for starters, there's a limited number of copies available for Vendetta. Like, 300 maximum. It's a signed, limited edition and while it'll probably come out later as a mass market, for now, it's only available on this format.
It's also available for preorder right here: https://www.horror-mall.com/VENDETTA-by-James-A.-Moore-Limited-Edition-p-18601.html
For those interested, here's a liitle teaser: the prelude to the story:
VENDETTA
The rain fell in a light, annoying mist. Just enough to get you wet, but not enough to soak you. Jonathan Crowley hadn’t brought an umbrella. Not that he much cared.
Despite the chilly, damp weather, there was a very large crowd at the funeral of Vernon Dunlow. Not a surprise, really, when one considered how much the man was worth. In his lifetime Dunlow had amassed a fortune worthy of kings. He’d done it slowly, methodically, and with a little help from the supernatural.
Not that long ago, Crowley reckoned, Dunlow had been a very powerful demonologist. He’d summoned the dark spirits for power, for wealth, and even to bring his dying daughter back to life. He’d screwed up on the last one. She was alive, but hardly mortal anymore.
Luckily for her, she normally behaved herself.
That was why he was standing in the rain at a funeral. Not to mourn the loss of Vernon Dunlow—though despite the demon issues he was a good enough man—but because of Amelia Dunlow. He was here to pay his respects and to check up on her.
Oh, and to get those last few books Vernon had been stupid enough to hide from him the last time he’d been to see the family.
Amelia stood near the hole in the ground where her father would soon be interred. She was, without doubt, the most beautiful woman Crowley had ever seen. Hardly a challenge under the circumstances. She’d had a little help as it were.
Every man in the area and a few of the women as well would have probably loved to be with her in a sexual relationship. Some would have gleefully sold their souls. Most of them would never get the chance.
The man standing beside her on the other hand, Mike Blake, was probably with her regularly. Crowley was a little surprised to see Blake at her side, especially at the funeral. The last time he’d seen the man he was still warring over whether he would go to be with Amelia or sit in his living room and get numbingly drunk. Alcoholics almost always face that sort of decision. His estimation of the man went up a notch. He’d felt absolutely certain that Blake would fall back into the bottle.
Amelia was dressed in black; a veil covered part of her face and her long, elegant form leaned against Mike. He was also in black, a suit that cost more than he’d been making a year when he met Amelia. Blake held an umbrella over Amelia, defending her from the rain that drizzled down and wetted the side of his face and the growing bald spot on the top of his head. There were no other mourners standing close to the two of them. There was no other family to consider. Amelia was alone in the world, except for Blake.
Crowley cast his eyes over the crowd. Most of them were obvious business associates of Vernon Dunlow. A few of them were likely close friends of the family. The Dunlows had a lot of friends. They were honest people and generous with their wealth. It hadn’t been all that long ago that Fortune Magazine had done an article on the Dunlow family and their policies concerning benefits for their employees. Despite the climate of looking out for the top dollar and cutting benefits that dominated corporate America, the Dunlows had kept up with good retirement packages, excellent health benefits, and even stock option bonuses for their staff.
They had remarkably little turnover in their ten thousand plus employees, which came as no surprise.
Every person there would likely miss Vernon Dunlow as the years passed; even the ones who’d never really known him very well. That was a fine testament to the man’s memory.
Crowley waited until the mourners began cycling in front of the lowered coffin before he started moving forward. Amelia hadn’t seen him yet. Neither had Blake. He’d have bet money neither of them was actually expecting him, either. Jonathan Crowley was not known for making social visits.
Amelia listened to the condolences of the people in front of him and nodded her head, answering each well-wisher automatically. Mike did the same, but he held himself like a man trying to avoid getting confrontational. That much hadn’t changed. He was desperate to keep Amelia safe at all times. Good, Crowley mused. That’s good. The more he wants her safe, the easier it is for me to ignore her existence.
The procession moved with slow, steady speed. Crowley looked at the people ahead of him and spotted one who seemed familiar. He was a stocky man, not fat, but heavyset, with a silvery crew cut and a black suit that was perfectly tailored to fit him. He was exactly the sort of man who looked like he’d be comfortable knocking back cheap beer at a local bar or sipping champagne with royalty. Crowley recognized him immediately and felt the smile try to grow on his face. He forced the expression back. There’d be time enough for that later.
Mike saw him first. The man’s eyes flew wide for a moment and then lowered to half-mast, as if he were expecting trouble. Considering how well they’d gotten along previously, Crowley wasn't shocked by that. Then again, something about Blake pissed Crowley off and always had.
Amelia spotted him and despite the circumstances, he saw the excitement in her eyes. She lowered her head to hide the expression and Crowley took two more steps forward.
The gray haired man stopped before the two mourners and offered his condolences. Mike shook his hand and thanked him for showing up. He spoke to the man with respect and Crowley bit his tongue to stop from making a scene. He had no intention of causing problems at the funeral.
There would be time for dealing with the man later, after the services.
Amelia saw the man and spoke more formally. She understood just how dangerous the stranger was, and how powerful his influence could be. That made her the exception, not the rule.
Albert Miles, for his part, was the very image of kindness. That was his way. He spoke softly and genuinely. Crowley had no doubt in his mind that every word the man spoke was completely sincere.
Another few paces forward and it was his turn to say hello.
Mike managed a weak smile. It was probably the best he could offer.
“Mike. I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you, Jonathan. It’s good of you to come. I know Amelia appreciates it.”
“The least I could do, I’m sure. Vernon was a good man.”
“Yes, he was. He’ll be missed.” Oh, he could tell how much Mike Blake disliked him, and all that knowledge did was increase his amusement.
Instead of saying anything else, he nodded again and moved over to say hello to Amelia. Up close her beauty was even more evident. Eyes that could capture a man’s soul, lips that could, he felt certain, drive a man to extreme acts with only a few whispered words. She was physical perfection from head to toe, not a single flaw to be found.
“Hello, Amelia. I’m sorry.”
Amelia barely looked at him. “We’ll talk later, if that’s okay, Jonathan.” Her lips trembled, her shoulders hitched slightly.
“Of course. I’ll see you in a little while.”
He took her hands in his and held them for the briefest moment; just long enough to feel her fingers twitch, to hear her intake of breath, and then he moved on.
The funeral was ending, so he moved toward the parking lot and his car.
A quick glimpse showed him that Albert Miles was heading for his own vehicle, a glossy black Rolls Royce.
He quickened his pace and stepped closer to the man, placing a hand on his shoulder.
“I remember you.” The words were purred into Miles’ ear. “I remember you very well, indeed.”
Most people, Crowley knew from experience, would prefer not to be remembered by him. It was almost always an indication of bad things to come.
Albert Miles turned toward him and smiled as pleasantly as if he were seeing an old friend. “Mister Crowley. What a delightful surprise.”
“Hasn’t been long enough in my book, Mr. Miles, but then, I believe we have unfinished business between us.”
“Really? What sort of business?”
“Something to do with you killing Serenity Falls.”
“Nonsense, my good man. The town is still there, isn’t it? I visited it only a few weeks ago.”
“I’m sure you did.” Crowley smiled. Ten feet away from him, one of the mourners looking in their direction suddenly remembered that he had better things to do and scrambled for his car keys.
“Have you been back there, to Serenity Falls, Mr. Crowley? I think they’re making delightful progress. You’d barely be able to tell there was ever a disaster in the town.”
“Let’s keep it that way, Mr. Miles. I think the people there have suffered enough.”
“Oh, really! I hardly have the time to consider the past anymore, Mr. Crowley. I have other matters to attend to.”
Crowley’s smile grew larger still, wide enough now to make his jaws ache.
Miles looked at him with eyes almost the same color as his hair and smiled back, a cheerful, familiar expression. He would, Crowley suspected, have used the exact same smile if he were telling grandchildren tales of Santa Claus, or if he were in the process of cutting a bound man into shreds of raw meat.
“Now is not the time to discuss what you have in mind for other people and places, Mr. Miles. But rest assured, we will be discussing matters in the near future.”
Miles laughed politely. “Is this the point where I should give you another distraction, a chance for me to escape from your attention for a time?” His voice was rich and jovial.
“Now is the time for you to put your affairs in order, Mr. Miles. I still haven’t quite forgiven you for what you did.”
“Oh, Mr. Crowley, I’d be disappointed if you had.”
The man looked at his watch and tsked. “I’m afraid we will have to have this discussion another time. I have a plane to catch.” He put his hand out for shaking and Crowley gripped it firmly. There was a piece of paper there, folded exactly twice and no larger than an index card. “I’ve a gift for you, Mr. Crowley. I believe you’ve been looking for the man on that paper for a very long time.”
“Why would you give me a gift, Mr. Miles?”
“I can appreciate your reasons for looking, Mr. Crowley. I lost a wife, too, as you might well recall.”
Crowley felt his stomach fall away into an abyss.
“What did you say?” His voice was barely a whisper.
“I said it was lovely seeing you again, Mr. Crowley. I look forward to having a proper chat sometime soon.” There was mischief in his eyes. “Don’t worry. I won’t warn him that you’re coming. That would ruin the fun. Besides, I no longer have any need for associating with that particular individual. He’s become…a hindrance, if you will.”
Crowley stood perfectly still as Albert Miles climbed into the Silver Cloud. He was still standing there five minutes later when the vehicle drove out of sight.
Finally, he looked at the paper as Amelia and Mike were escorted to the limousine that would drive them back to her home.
The writing was neat and precise. A single name and address to go with it were all that were written on the paper.
Really, they were all that was needed. Crowley folded the paper and slipped it into his jacket pocket.
He tried to ignore the fact that his hands were trembling with suppressed rage.
He still had to deal with Amelia and the books her father had hidden away.
More news soon, all the best,
James A. Moore
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