The Sizzle

by Jill Hand

About the Author: Jill Hand is a member of International Thriller Writers and the Horror Writers Association. Her work has appeared in many anthologies. Her Southern Gothic Thriller, White Oaks, is available from Black Rose Writing.

Excerpt

After it was over, the police asked me how much I knew about what Uncle Everett was up to. First the local police, then the state police, and finally the FBI. They all wanted to know if I realized something funny was going on. When I said no, they stared at me, open-mouthed in astonishment, as if they couldn’t believe anybody could be so stupid.

I wasn’t stupid, just inexperienced. I grew up in Mexico. By that I mean the little town in western Maine, not the country of Mexico. Maine’s got towns called Sweden, Denmark, Norway, Peru and China. It’s got towns called Paris and Frankfort and Naples. Maybe the original settlers came from those places, although I have my doubts about China. We do have Chinese people in Maine, but I don’t think a boatload of them came over and started a town, although I could be wrong.

I graduated from high school that June and didn’t have many options for earning money, other than continuing to work at the Kone Zone. I worked there after school and in summers ever since I turned fifteen. The Kone Zone was an ice cream stand that Vernal Mosher opened after he came back from what he simply called “the war.”

“Which war?” I asked him one time. Vern looked like he could be either a well-preserved ninety or a weather-beaten seventy, depending on whether or not he was wearing his dentures.

“The Spanish-American War, missy,” he replied, looking at me over the top of his bifocals. “I was the second man up San Juan Hill, right behind Teddy Roosevelt.”

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