Co-Winners Selected for Magna Cum Murder Sisters in Crime Flash Fiction Contest

Ted Hertel and Marian Allen were co-winners of the Annual Speed City Sisters in Crime Flash Fiction contest at Magna Cum Murder in Indianapolis. The theme for the contest was “Merry Christmas Music.”

Marian’s co-winning entry was “Sing a Song of Murder.”  Ted’s co-winning entry was “Slay Bells Ring.”  Both winning entries are set out below. Ted and Marian both won memberships in the Speed City Chapter of Sisters in Crime.

Sing a Song of Murder

By Marion Allen

“We don’t get many murders around here” the sheriff complained.  “None that are mysteries, anyway.”

His sister, barista at the coffee shop, handed him a jumbo cup of black-two-sugars.

“How is this a mystery?”

He used the cup to point to the scene.  “One set of footprints in the snow. Paul’s corpse at the end. Bloody tire iron beside it.”

“Saul never got over Paul’s being five minutes older.”

“And he’d be my first choice. But how?”

She reached up and patted his shoulder. “You’d have got it, eventually.”

He squinted at her over the rim of his cup, steam fogging his glasses. “Okay, what?”

She put a hand to her ear and pointed to the library clock as it chimed a carol.

“Last verse, first line,” she said.  “Twins.”

The clock began another verse of Good King Wenceslas and the siblings sang, “In his master’s step he trod.”

Slay Bells Ring

By Ted Hertel

Blinky, Santa’s favorite elf, lay on a carpet of red at the base of the tall Christmas tree.  Standing over him the fat man in  red held a gun. “Here comes Santa Claus” played over the loudspeakers.

“Shut that off,” Santa growled. “Play something somber.”

“Silent Night” immediately filled the glass dome covering the workshop. On this holiest of nights, the moon shone through, hitting Santa in the eye like a big pizza pie, as the song goes.

The other elves stood around, sobbing. Mikey, Winky, Janey, Morey and Bob, all heads of different departments, professed their love for Binky, sorrowful at his loss.

Santa looked around. “Who did this?” he asked. No one responded, but Santa knew each had a grudge against Blinky, no matter how they protested.

Finally, Santa pointed at the elf he knew was the killer. The others stood back in shock. “How did you know it was him?”

“It was easy,” Santa said.

“Where the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie, that’s a Morey.”

Flash Fiction Contest for Magna Cum Murder

For those attending the popular Magna Cum Murder this weekend at the Columbia Club in Indianapolis, don't forget to enter the Flash Fiction Contest sponsored by Speed City Sisters in Crime.

Magna Cum Murder is an annual event for mystery writers and fans. This year's event is being held from Friday October 20 through Sunday October 22.  The event is hosted by Ball State University.

Here are the Rules for Speed City Sisters in Crime Flash Fiction contest:

• Submitted entries must be the original work of the contestant.
• Only one entry per contestant. May be typed or hand written. Submitted by 6:00 pm, 10/21/2017.
• Stories must be written in English. (And put your name on the submission!)
• Maximum length: 250 Words.
• Submitted stories must fall within a mystery genre AND contain a complete story arc.
• Stories must contain, at minimum:  1) a murder.  2) a dead body must be moved from where the death took place.
• Stories will be judged by a panel of Speed City SinC members.  Stories will be judged on originality, ability to convey the theme, readability, and mystery elements.  The decision of the judges is final.

Winner will receive a free one-year membership in Sisters in Crime (Nat’l and Speed City chapter) plus books written by Speed City authors.

Magna Cum Murder: Flash Fiction Contest Honorable Mention by Andrew Welsh-Huggins

Speed City Sisters in Crime again sponsored the Flash Fiction Contest at this year's Magna Cum Murder in Indianapolis, one of the nation's best mystery conferences. Here is the second Honorable Mention Flash Fiction Contest winner. 

A Question of Aesthetics

By Andrew Welsh-Huggins

Spofforth eyed the artist at his multi-hued canvas, a coffee cup in one hand, a paint brush in the other.

“I understand the how, Jacobson,” Spofforth said. “I’ll give you this – it was clever.”

Jacobson nodded, acknowledging the compliment. “If you’ll forgive the pun, I knew it would take someone with your palette of experience to catch me.”

Spofforth nodded in return. Only as he climbed the stairs to the studio a few minutes earlier, alone, had he allowed himself a self-congratulatory moment. Three detectives had failed to solve the mystery of the young woman’s stabbing death before they’d called him in from retirement.

“But why?” Spofforth said. “I’ll, well confess you have me there.”

“And if I tell you?” Jacobson said.

“It changes nothing. Motive, as you know, is not required for conviction. Did she spur you advances?”

“Hardly.”

“Owe you money? Or vice versa?”

“Please.”

“A secret, then. Something she threatened to expose?”

“Perhaps in her imagination. Time is short. May I explain?”

I’d welcome it.”

“The solution is in the painting, and the nuances it requires, “ Spofforth said.

“Nuances?”

“I value a particular shade of red that’s hard to come by,” Jacobson said, reversing the brush to reveal a gleaming blade at the tip. He leaped forward and plunged it into Spofforth’s chest before the retired detective could move.

“Simple aesthetics,” Jacobson said, using the coffee cup to collect the gushing blood. “She – and you- helped color my imagination.”

Magna Cum Murder: Flash Fiction Contest Honorable Mention by Donna Moore

Speed City Sisters in Crime again sponsored the Flash Fiction Contest at the recent Magna Cum Murder, one of the nation's best mystery conferences. The winner was published on this blog earlier. Here is the runner up, an untitled work by Donna Moore.

Flash Fiction Honorable Mention

Untitled Work by Donna Moore

Being a PI in 3000 BC really sucked. Of course, we didn’t call it 3000 BC – we called it The Year the Woolly Mammoth Ate My Brother. Things were slow at Stone Investigations. The PI game in prehistoric Britain was as slow as a Diplodocus with a limp and I was just about to call it a day when the door opened and in sashayed the local beauty, her buttocks looking like a pair of baby brontosauri fighting in a sack.

“Mr. Stone,” she purred. “I need your help. It’s my boyfriend, James.”

I snorted. I knew who she meant, of course. What self-respecting cavewoman calls her son James? Whistler’s Mother, that’s who.

“What’s he done now?” James Whistler was always getting himself into trouble with the local cops, graffit-ing the walls of the local caves, daubing nonsense images of dinosaurs everywhere.

“He’s dead, Mr. Stone. Someone’s murdered him.”

So, ten minutes later, there I was, looking down at the dead body of James, a sharpened paintbrush thrust into his chest. On the wall of the cave was a half-finished portrait of the weeping woman standing next to me. Only, in the portrait, she had this mysterious half smile on her face. I nodded towards the painting. “You got another admirer, doll?” She sniffed and nodded. “da Vinci?”

She put a hand to her mouth. “You don’t think Leo would do this, surely, Mr. Stone. “I’m only his model, not his girlfriend.”

“Mon, Mon, Mona: them artists are always the worst.”