Death Fits Like A Glove: Billie Bly Series, #2

By Don Weston

Someone is stealing pets in P.I. Billie Bly's Northwest Portland neighborhood and one of her critical neighbors begs her to find her lost dog. 

Billie is a hard-boiled female P.I., who normally wouldn't give the plea a tumble. But she allows herself to be coerced into helping because she thinks it might smooth ruffled feathers with her neighbors after her garage blew up during a recent case. 

A young boy with unruly red hair adopts her and asks to help solve her case. But the boy displays some disturbing behaviors and may be more hindrance than help. If she wasn't so good at her job this could be a case with a happy ending, but when she gets wind of something bigger, a sinister figure plans to put an end to Billie Bly.

Maybe she was better off with her neighbors hating her.

This short story is 11,800 words.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Turpin Publishing
• Release date: Nov 1, 2012
• ISBN: 9781393168638

Don Weston

I am the author of the Billie Bly Mystery series, a collection of four short books and four regular books featuring P.I. Billie Bly, a hard boiled ex-cop eased out of the Portland Police Bureau for what she terms unnecessary roughness. I recently moved to Albuquerque, New Mexico after living in Portland, Oregon most of my life. After retirement, my wife persuaded me it was time for an adventure and she packed me up with all of our belongings and spirited me away to New Mexico. If I make it sound like I had no choice, although a bit reluctant at first, I love New Mexico. My characters and books will begin making the transition as well. There are many exotic and interesting locales here to stimulate my plot ideas. My Billie Bly P.I. series has been centered in Portland, most likely known as of late as the location for TV shows Stumptown, Portlandia, Grimm, and Leverage. My new home in Albuquerque is known tor talented authors such as mystery icon, Tony Hillerman, and the fan-favorite T.V. show, Breaking Bad.  Recently I visited Madrid, New Mexico, and the Diner where Wild Hogs was filmed. It now sells motorcycle memorabilia and Wild Hogs movie-related  items instead of food. There is an old writing idiom which suggests you should write what you know so I will continue to utilize my diverse set of work experiences in my new location. I graduated from Idaho State University with a degree in Journalism and worked as news and sports reporter on several newspapers, including The Oregonian, The Gresham Outlook, and The Idaho Statesman. I've also been a Realtor and the head of a 6,000-member union representing health care and janitorial workers. I like to spend time with my family and grandchildren and do some fishing when I'm not writing.

Book preview

Death Fits Like A Glove

Most of my neighbors know me and not because of the sign hanging from my porch featuring the portrait of a woman in an overcoat and the inscription, Billie Bly, Private Investigator .  I’m the only person on the block whose garage has exploded.

So when Louise Parker paused on the sidewalk recently after a curt good morning as I sipped coffee sitting on my front porch’s wooden steps, I naturally assumed she wanted something. Otherwise, she would have continued her brisk walk and not looked back.

Likely, she was still peeved about my garage going up in flames. I don’t understand why. She lived safely two houses away, and the firefighters kept the wind-whipped flames from reaching her house.

I returned to my newspaper and a news item about another missing woman, this one from Forest Park, a 5,000-acre recreational area near our neighborhood, stretching along most of the West Hills of Portland. She was the fourth woman to go missing from a Portland hiking trail in the past year.

I snuck a peek over the top of my paper and Louise stood in the same spot, talking to herself. In her hands was a sheaf of color flyers. She wore a loosely buttoned green raincoat although at the moment the May sun shone through charcoal clouds. A typical spring day in Portland, Oregon.

She walked deliberately to my stoop and managed a grim smile as if the sun was in her eyes. She wore her blonde hair in a tight bun, and I noticed her green eyes were red and puffy. She sorted through the handful of papers, trying to tidy them by squaring the corners.

Did you want something? I asked.

I . . . I’m sorry for the way I’ve been acting, she said. I guess I thought you were a menace to our neighborhood. I never thought much about how you must help people.

I sipped my coffee. Most of the houses on my street start at a million dollars. An uncle left me my home in his will and not much else, and I’ve struggled each year to pay the property taxes.  I always felt my neighbors looked down their noses at me because I didn’t have money.

It’s just ever since you’ve moved in some strange things have happened, she said. Drive-by shootings, your car blowing up in your garage, police stakeouts, and seedy people wandering through.

What are you trying to say?

Well, I guess I never thought about the people you help, Louise said. I’m sure you don’t go out and intentionally antagonize people into trying to kill you . . . do you?

I had to think about it. Yes and no. You see, I start out trying to help clients, as you said. But sometimes it means pissing people off. And pissed off people tend to react poorly. Especially the guilty ones.

I guess I can understand that, Louise said. You don’t intentionally pi—uh, upset them.

Sometimes I do. To get respect.  Some people think because I’m blonde, I’m ditzy. Men think because I’m a woman, they can walk all over me. Now and then they will even make passes at me.

Really? she said. I don’t mean you aren’t pretty, but you have a demeanor which I would think puts men off.

Did you want something, Louise?

I’m sorry. She winced. I guess I have a way of putting people off too. It’s about Georgie. She took one of