Shortly after finishing Lost Chance, I turned my attention to the final tale for the NaNoWriMo shortened month. The benefit of this story was that I got to craft a suspense narrative. Then I looked through all my previous posts and realized how little I’ve done in this field. Thumbing through the posts on my website I found the only other foray into this genre there, The Grave Countdown. I published that story back in January of this year. That tale featured an inspector called Ryan Graves, and after re-reading it, I was eager to explore the inspector’s personality more.
With my character selected, I needed a few more pieces of information to write the story. The first and most straightforward to get was the prompt. A short hop skip and a jump later, I had the bare bones in place, and I focused on coming up with a crisis that my good inspector could overcome. While this is sometimes hard to drum up, this time, it jumped right to the forefront of my mind. With everything collected, I started writing Ryan Graves’s latest escapade. Come and delve into the tale that took place in a pottery studio and involved a shovel.
After one of Mayor Reese’s aides finds a threatening note on an online forum, the authorities task Inspector Graves to protect her…
“Thank you for coming with me,” Becky said to Ryan as she wrapped her fingers around the doorknob. “I know you all question the sincerity of the danger.”
“Unlike some of my colleagues, I don’t doubt the veracity of any threat.”
She tightened her grip on the handle, resting her head on the wooden panel leading to the private studio. “That’s why I’m glad you’re here.” With a quick jerk she opened the door and eased into the doorway, saying, “Hello, Gretchen.”
The woman inside the small room smiled and rose from her chair. “You’re a little late, Mayor Powers.”
“There’s no need to be that formal, call me Becky,” the politician replied as she placed a hand over her chest. “Out there, I’m the mayor.” She paused while she pointed at the potter’s wheel and concluded, “But in this studio, I am just your student.”
“Please come in, Becky,” Gretchen said, gesturing at the free chair.
Becky walked into the room and tried to close the door, but Ryan’s foot kept it open.
He leaned in and whispered, “With the threat, I need to stay with you, ma’am.”
.
.
.
To continue reading head over to my Patreon page and become a patron, $2 a month will give you access to this and other flash fiction stories.