Smith's Monthly #59: Smith's Monthly, #59

By WMG Publishing

This 59th issue of Smith's Monthly contains more than eighty thousand words of original fiction from USA Today bestselling writer Dean Wesley Smith, including the entire six-story collection The End Might Be Interesting After All and the entire six-story collection called Fantasy Love.

Also included are five new short stories in some of Dean's most popular series: "The Curious Reasons for Death: A Mary Jo Assassin Story," "Trail Guns Meet: A Thunder Mountain Story," "The Beauty in a Puzzling Case: A Sky Tate Story," "Death and Life in a Long Hot Day: A Marble Grant Story," "A Home for the Books: A Bryant Street Story."

A whole lot of great reading awaits!

• Language: English
• Publisher: WMG Publishing
• Release date: Mar 31, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201569365

Book preview

Smith’s Monthly Issue #59

SMITH’S MONTHLY ISSUE #59

DEAN WESLEY SMITH

WMG Publishing, Inc.

CONTENTS

Introduction

The Curious Reason For Death

Introduction

The Curious Reason For Death

Trail Guns Meet

Introduction

Trail Guns Meet

The End Might Be Interesting After All

Introduction

Introduction

Playing in the Street

Introduction

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Peter the Hermit

Introduction

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Luck be a Lady

Introduction

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Mom’s Paradox

Introduction

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Let’s Dance

Introduction

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Shadow in the City

Introduction

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Fantasy Love

Introduction

Introduction

The Call of the Track Ahead

Introduction

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

The Keeper of the Morals

Introduction

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Remembering the Last Laugh

Introduction

Remembering the Last Laugh

Squatter’s Rights on the Street of the Broken Man

Introduction

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

The Romance Novel Challenge

Introduction

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

In the Shade of the Slowboat Man

Introduction

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

The Beauty in a Puzzling Case

Introduction

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Death and Life in a Long Hot Day

Introduction

Death and Life in a Long Hot Day

A Home for the Books

Introduction

A Home For The Books

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About the Author

INTRODUCTION

Introduction to Issue #58

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SOMETHING DIFFERENT

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As I mentioned in last month’s introduction, I am doing a challenge to write a story per day. And I am still having a lot of fun at it, and still going strong into March.

I also had about four of the short stories from late January and early February turn into a brand-new Seeders Universe Novel called Rescue Two.

I had originally planned on putting that novel in this issue, but them we decided to do a Kickstarter campaign for the Seeders books, and that would have pushed this issue back into April, and I didn’t want to be late.

So Rescue Two will be the anchor novel in the April 2022 issue.

I have been wanting to do a short fiction only issue for some time, so I took five of the brand-new stories from the challenge and also two six-story collections I did last fall, and combined them all into this issue.

A totally short-story-only issue, the first one in fifty-nine issues of this magazine.

Seventeen short stories in one issue.

That’s as big as an issue of Pulphouse Fiction Magazine, only I wrote them all.

Or as big as a major anthology out of New York publisher.

This issue includes the entire six-story collection The End Might Be Interesting After All and the entire six-story collection called Fantasy Love.

I can tell you, this is fun to have my own magazine that as circumstances come up I can change the format and the structure.

So I sure hope you enjoy these stories. Five original ones, twelve older stories that you might not have read yet.

I sure enjoyed putting this issue together.

Thanks,

—Dean Wesley Smith

February 2022

INTRODUCTION

To Mary Jo and to her partner and lover, Jean, nothing made sense about the contract to kill a regular housewife in a normal subdivision.

Especially since the target was so easy and had no connection to the person paying millions for the assassination.

No obvious connections.

A very twisted Mary Jo Assassin story.

THE CURIOUS REASON FOR DEATH

A Mary Jo Assassin Story

Mary Jo took a long sip of her vodka and orange juice and placed the glass back on the end table, making sure to use the cartoon-cat coaster her host had provided. The orange juice tasted fresh and the vodka seemed to be a higher-level without the back taste, so all good. Even the ice seemed to be from a modern icemaker in a fridge.

Too bad the woman had to die. Anyone who could make that good of a drink on a moment’s notice had to have other good qualities about her.

The woman named Nancy fit her living room perfectly. Middle aged, Nancy had clearly been pretty in a 1990s cheerleader way before the age and the creeping fat and having two kids had won the battle on her body. She was short, about Mary Jo’s height at not much over five foot, had a warm smile and blue eyes that didn’t seem to hide any emotion.

Having Mary Jo here puzzled her, that much was certain. But Mary Jo saw no fear.

The living room of the ranch home in a nondescript subdivision of Portland, Oregon, was well-kept in fairly modern, but twenty-year-old style. The room and the entire house that Mary Jo could see was clean, yet cluttered and slightly worn around the edges. Only the big flat-screen television on one wall opposite the huge front picture window looked completely modern.

The couch Mary Jo sat on facing Nancy across the room had its back to the big window, as if the beautiful fall day and the entire world outside on the suburban street and matching homes didn’t matter. More than likely, to Nancy it didn’t.

Family pictures of the two grown kids with clearly their spouses filled a few small tables in one corner, set up almost like a shrine to days gone by, or life being lived somewhere else.

No picture of a husband or partner. No pictures of parents or grandkids. Just a shrine to the kids.

Why would anyone spend Mary Jo’s very large fee of over three million to have this woman killed? That was why Mary Jo was here. She wanted to find out why and so far Mary Jo was still just as puzzled as the moment she got the contract.

A very rich and powerful woman by the name of Hannover had paid for the contract. She came from deep family wealth and as far as Mary Jo and Jean, Mary Jo’s partner and lover, could find out, there was no connection between Nancy and Hannover.

At least no obvious connection.

Jean was in a van outside, listening and watching everything while continuing computer searches. They had just found nothing.

And both Mary Jo and Jean were very, very good at finding things.

Mary Jo didn’t mind killing. She had done it for money for over a thousand years as a member of the Assassin’s Guild. But these days she needed to know why. There was nothing normal about this contract and before she could do the job, she had to understand why this Hannover person wanted Nancy dead.

When asked, all Hannover had said was I have my reasons.

So Mary Jo decided to just go talk with her target. Not that unusual. Over the years, she had even married numbers of her targets to get close to them.

But so far meeting Nancy in person wasn’t helping.

And Jean hadn’t spotted anything off either.

Nancy was just about as down-the-middle normal as a woman in the suburbs could be. Widowed six years ago just as her last child graduated from college. Husband managed a chain of fast-food restaurants and Mary Jo could imagine he had come home every night smelling of fried chicken and grease.

But his salary and Nancy’s part-time teaching had been enough to put two kids through college and his life insurance had set her up solidly into the future and paid off the last of their mortgage.

He died from a fast-moving cancer. Nothing unusual at all in his death, except that from diagnosis to death was only four months.

His parents were already gone, as were hers. Seemed tough on the family, but Nancy and the kids seemed to have gotten through it.

Mary Jo had searched for deep connections between Hannover and the dead husband. Nothing.

Hannover and a connection to either child or spouse. Nothing.

Mary Jo was starting to think that Hannover had given the wrong target. And this connection today with Nancy was seeming to prove that. Just no reason to kill an ordinary suburban woman.

Mary Jo had shown up under a fake name and with a pretend job as a recruiter for a special school. That was the only way Nancy had agreed to talk with her. Jean had built a background for the fake name that would hold up against a surface search.

After Mary Jo watched Nancy take a sip of what smelled like a rich coffee blend from a Star Wars mug, Nancy said, So you are really not here to talk with me about a possible job. Has my cover been blown?

Now, of all the things Nancy could have asked, that was not expected. Not in the slightest. So Mary Jo figured the only way to really get to the bottom of this was to be truthful.

I do not know what your cover might have been, and for what organization or government, but I was hired to kill you.

Nancy didn’t even flinch. She didn’t even blink.

After a moment she nodded and took another sip of coffee before setting the mug on a coaster.

Mary Jo was impressed. That was assassin-level training with the guild. And suddenly a lot more of this made sense to Mary Jo.

Nancy then smiled. I have to admit I will be relieved to have this charade over. Nancy waved her arm around at the house. Really come to hate this place. Five years stuck like this.

Mary Jo said nothing, but felt shocked because the deep cover for Nancy went back generations, pictures of her marriage, kids being born, everything anyone would expect when looking at a housewife like this.

And that was the key. The background gave Mary Jo and Jean every detail they had expected. A little too perfect.

Are you with the guild? Nancy asked.

Mary Jo nodded.

And let me guess, Nancy said. A woman by the name of Hannover hired you?

Mary Jo nodded. Made no sense. Could find no connection at all and neither could my partner. That’s why I came to talk with you.

Appreciate that, Nancy said. And I have heard of a few guild members now working as teams. You must be Mary Jo and your partner, Jean, must be outside. You are the only team working around this area of the world.

Mary Jo nodded and said nothing. For the first time, in her ear, Jean spoke up. Holy shit.

It was the guild that helped me set up this cover, actually, Nancy said. Mind if I go get out of this disguise and we can go somewhere safe to talk?

First give me your guild name. Mary Jo said.

Sorcha, the woman said.

Oh, shit, Jean once again said in Mary Jo’s ear. On it.

Mary Jo nodded and then sat on the couch ready to move instantly at any sign of aggression from either inside the house or outside the big picture window behind her as Nancy, aka Sorcha, got up and headed into the back rooms.

Sorcha was one of the oldest and most famous of all the guild assassins. Mary Jo had not heard that name mentioned in a hundred years. Mary Jo had been around for thousands of years. Sorcha was far, far older. To Mary Jo’s memory, she had never met Sorcha since assassins for centuries had always worked alone.

After three minutes of intense silence, Jean came back in Mary Jo’s ear. The guild confirms Sorcha is active and under cover.

Mary Jo pushed a spot on her right little finger to confirm to Jean that she understood.

A moment later Sorcha came back in, only nothing but the eyes of Nancy remained. She had styled black hair that must have been under the Nancy wig and she was short, without an obvious ounce of fat on her. She had the same body shape and size as Mary Jo and Jean.

The shape of an assassin.

Sorcha had on jeans and a white blouse, a light jacket, and carried a backpack like a student. She could pass as a college student easily. Stunning considering how old she really was.

Mind if I ride with you and your partner, Sorcha said. I’ll hire someone to come back here and deal with all this.

No problem, Jean said in Mary Jo’s ear as Mary Jo stood and indicated that Sorcha should lead the way. I’ll pull up the van.

Twenty minutes later they were sitting at a table on a back patio of a local bakery and coffee shop. No one else was close. A perfect day to sit outside with the blue sky and soft breeze.

Both Jean and Sorcha set up sound-blocking devices on their laptops to make sure no one could listen to their conversation.

Thanks for not killing me, Sorcha said after they had ordered.

Assassins don’t kill assassins, Mary Jo said. At least I don’t.

Never have either, Sorcha said. But it sure would have been an easy kill for you to take. I was set up there like a target on a range.

Nothing felt right, Mary Jo said. But wow was your cover good.

Had some years to fine tune it, Sorcha said, laughing a soft laugh that relaxed Mary Jo and got Jean smiling.

So why the cover? Jean asked.

To vanish from Hannover. Sorcha said. I killed her husband under contract about ten years ago. Then I killed both of her sons when they came after me. She has a real reason to be angry at me.

With that Sorcha shrugged.

How did she even find you in the first place? Mary Jo asked. After her husband was killed.

That I do not know, Sorcha said. And no one at the guild seems to know either, but somehow she did. And it cost her two sons. Stepsons, actually. So until we could figure out where the leak was in the guild, the only logical conclusion any of us could come up with, I went into hiding and waiting. Clearly the leak is still there.

Holy shit, Jean said.

Mary Jo agreed. Mary Jo seldom reported anything to the guild, and seldom talked with anyone at the extremely secretive guild. Jean did a little more regularly.

But Mary Jo’s first instinct was that this Hannover woman got her information from somewhere else. And her second instinct was that Hannover had used Mary Jo and Jean as a way to flush out Sorcha and they had just done that.

Hannover is coming for you and us, now that we are out in the open, Mary Jo said.

Both Jean and Sorcha nodded as the coffee was delivered and again the waiter left.

Silence.

None of them touched their coffee.

So we need to take her out before she gets to us, Jean said.

Sorcha nodded. Logical.

Mary Jo agreed.

All three of them knew that Hannover owned a massive condo complex just off the Strip in Vegas. She had the top two floors and a security force that rivaled any leader around the world.

But it wasn’t the security force that worried Mary Jo. It was Hannover’s ability to get information. That just scared her more than she wanted to admit.

Then Mary Jo thought of something. Can we get a picture of Hannover? Or numbers of pictures?

Jean raised a finger and worked on her laptop and within a minute had a dozen pictures of Hannover from before she married her husband to last year at some charity benefit.

Hannover was short, looked very athletic, and didn’t seem to have aged much over the years.

Mary Jo turned to Sorcha. Who hired you to kill Hannover’s husband?

It came through the guild, Sorcha said. Seven million, above my normal fee.

Jean glanced at Mary Jo, then smiled and turned to Sorcha. How easy was it to kill the two stepsons?

They gave me no choice, Sorcha said.

Mary Jo nodded, then said, Hannover is an assassin.

I’ll wager she wants to meet you, Jean said. More than likely buy you a drink.

I agree, Mary Jo said to the surprised look on Sorcha’s face as the pieces started to fall into place.

I’ll book us a private plane to Vegas, Jean said.

Sorcha just looked even more surprised and puzzled and Mary Jo was about to explain when a short, intense-looking waitress came out from the main restaurant and started toward them.

Both Mary Jo and Jean went on guard.

Sorcha hadn’t seen her yet.

No need for the plane, Jean, the waitress said, smiling. I’m Kenyon, Hannover’s partner. I have our private jet waiting at the airport.

Both of you are assassins with the guild? Mary Jo asked, realizing that the waitress also had the traditional assassin look.

Kenyon beamed a smile that filled her face and then nodded. We want to throw Sorcha a thank-you party if you wouldn’t mind joining us. Hannover says she owes you so much, Sorcha.

After you paid to have me killed? Sorcha asked.

We knew that Mary Jo and Jean would never kill another assassin. But Mary Jo would bring you out. None of us would kill a guild member. I think it might even be written in guild rules somewhere.

Mary Jo turned to Sorcha. When you killed the stepsons, you freed Hannover to completely to take over all her husband’s family money.

And his companies, Kenyon said. One of which invents and distributes cutting-edge spyware, which allowed me, while being blocked by both of you, to still listen to your conversation.

Can we get that? Jean asked as if she were a child asking for a Christmas present.

Kenyon smiled and said, That and so much more to help you going forward.

So why let me rot for all those years in that house? Sorcha asked.

For all the investigations to calm down, Kenyon said. That was why the guild helped you set it all up.

Mary Jo was starting to relax just a little. So may I ask what Hannover’s guild name is?

Kenyon smiled at Mary Jo, then looked at Sorcha. Hannover tells me you know her, but would not recognize her in her Hannover disguise. Back in the days right after Atlantis, you two were lovers and worked together for a few hundred years.

Sorcha shook her head slowly and then looked at pictures of Hannover she pulled up on her open laptop.

Everyone just waited, letting the sounds of the city wash around them.

Then slowly Mary Jo could see the memories from all those centuries before came back on Sorcha’s face as she stared at the pictures.

Suadela?

Kenyon nodded. And she is very much looking forward to seeing you again.

Oh, shit, Jean said once again.

Mary Jo just nodded. Suadela was even more of a legend in the guild than Sorcha.

Sorcha just kept staring at the images on her computer as around them the beautiful fall day covered them with a slight breeze and the sounds of city traffic in the distance.

Then Sorcha looked up at Mary Jo, then at Kenyon and smiled.

Seems we have a plane to catch, Sorcha said.

Kenyon clapped her hands in applause.

Oh, boy, Jean said, closing her laptop. I love a party.

Mary Jo did as well.

And this party in Vegas promised to be epic.

INTRODUCTION

Carson Clark, a historian and traveler from the future, rides upon two guns tossed on a trail in the remote area of Central Idaho.

No reason for them to be there except as a trap, and that made no sense.

But the real reason those guns filled the trail turned into a meet-cute like no other in romance.

TRAIL GUNS MEET

A Thunder Mountain Story

Twenty yards ahead, a Winchester lever-action saddle rifle cut the middle of the hardpack trail like a knife, and a Colt 45 pistol seemed carelessly tossed beside it in the short grass on the upper side of the trail. Both caught the light of the afternoon sun coming through the high-mountain pine like a sharp light from a match struck in a dark night.

It took Carson Clark a few moments riding forward before his mind understood what he was seeing.

And in an instant the guns felt to him like a trap.

Clark eased his horse Baby off to the right of the trail uphill from Stephen’s Creek that roared over rocks below. He dismounted, pulling out his saddle rifle as he did. It was the early summer of 1914, half a decade after Roosevelt went underwater not far up the Monumental drainage from here.

The mining in this area had pretty much been depleted and he seldom saw anyone along these trails anymore. But he never saw guns, especially cleaned and well-maintained guns, just scattered on a trail.

Clark made sure that Baby was tied off securely to a small tree, then carefully and almost silently put a shell in the chamber of his lever-action rifle that looked very similar to the one on the trail in front of him.

Nothing seemed to be moving, but the sounds of the rushing water below echoing in the steep-walled canyon would cover most anything. He took a deep breath and then, staying low and to the inside of the trail, he eased toward the guns.

This kind of thing was not normal for him. He was a writer, a researcher from the Historical Institute in Boise. He had been traveling back in time from the year 2023 for hundreds of years and knew these trails and who lived along them.

In fact, he planned this entire summer to research about those who chose to live alone in the mountains of Central Idaho. He felt he almost had enough research done to head back to 2023 and hole up in his condo and write the book.

He eased closer to the two guns. They were clearly well cared for and he could see no reason at all they would be at this point in the trail. On his left side was a steep bank going upward toward rocks and brush above, far, far too difficult to climb.

And on the right side of the trail was an almost vertical drop down into the rushing waters of Stephen’s Creek, swollen with the snowmelt from the high peaks of this Central Idaho area.

He eased up to the guns and studied them for a moment before moving past them and on down the trail a hundred paces.

No sign of anyone, or any kind of trap. And he couldn’t imagine using guns as bait for a trap. Just like he was, it would put anyone on guard.

Made no sense at all.

He moved back to where the rifle lay across the trail and making sure nothing was connected to it, he picked it up. It felt surprisingly like the one he held in his hand, only slightly lighter.

And from the smell of the barrel, it had been fired very recently.

He left the pistol where it lay and first looked up the hill, then moved over and looked off the edge of the trail toward the creek.

What he saw shocked him.

A brown mare, clearly dead from a shot through the head, hung limp from a massive tree branch of an old pine. It looked like the horse had been thrashing before it was shot.

No surprise.

And next to the mare, tangled in the reins from the horse and somehow not falling to her death into the raging stream below was a woman. She was in a woman-of-means riding clothes, and had her dark hair pulled back and tied. More than likely, before the fall off the trail, she had been wearing a hat.

From the looks of the situation, she had shot