Yewday - Fox 25th
Central Federal Region - Dúnfort Cruachan
It was halfway into the afternoon watch when the carriage, that King Ríoghán had loaned Máiréad the day after she had traveled down to Fort Gabhrán from Fortress Béarra and had taken to the citadel and then on to Fort Árainn, rolled into the ward at the citadel and pulled up next to Faolan’s round tower. However, the coach had been repainted jet-black; and, the driver and footman were attired in that same color.
As the four-member military escort from the Security Forces of the Northern Shires walked their mounts over to the stables, the footman hopped down from the back of the carriage and opened the door, offering a helping hand to one of its occupants.
Accepting the assist, the Revered Máiréad stepped down from the coach and approached the small reception committee waiting for her.
Whether influenced by the outfit favored by the young Princess Fionnuala, or having come up with it independently, the journeyman wizard wore deerskin breeches, a knee-length tunic, and knee-high, high-heeled boots, all dyed pitch-black. The only item of color was her blue mantle, and that was partially covered by a black ruana, edged with another shade of black unending knotwork.
Pádraig, standing there with Faolan, Fergal, and Ríoghán, let out an audible gasp at the sight of Máiréad’s hair. Gone were the beautiful flaming-red tresses, which always used to cascade down over her shoulders. Instead, her locks had been shorn short and dyed a raven-black.
Although as surprised by her appearance as had been Pádraig, the others were better able to maintain control over their reactions.
“Your Majesty, Most Venerable Sir, Venerable Sirs,” Máiréad said with a slight bow, but with absolutely no emotion.
“Lady Máiréad,” the Arch-Wizard replied, gesturing her into his round tower. “I trust you had a good trip.”
“The weather was fine and we ran into no delays whatsoever, thank you.”
As the king and other wizards followed, Aednat, Máiréad’s lady’s maid, directed the coachman and footman over to the keep with the luggage.
Once in the reception hall, Ríoghán took a seat at the head of the long table, leaving the details of the consecration ceremony to the master wizards.
As had been done for Pádraig, all the late Odhran’s belongings, as well as the new black mantle and cloak were laid out on the long table.
Because Pádraig had only brought Odhran’s book of spells and red stone to Faolan, Ríoghán had had to send a rider hastily up to Fortress Béarra to retrieve the late master wizard’s staff.
* * *
The ceremony mirrored Pádraig’s. The young wizard had initially asked to skip the service and be appointed as the designated survivor, but Coinneach had vetoed the request, telling him that he had to face Máiréad sooner or later, and that it might just as well be sooner. Instead, the Master of the Academy fulfilled that role himself, remaining on Blessed Island.
* * *
At the laying-on-of-hands portion of the ritual, Pádraig joined the other two master wizards as all three placed their hands on Máiréad’s head, and Faolan said, “Receive the spirit of An Fearglas. May His peace and love abound in you.”
With his mental connection to Máiréad still intact, Pádraig detected the warmth envelope her entire body, as it had during his own consecration. However, instead of the tranquility he had experienced, he sensed an insatiable craving for power. The feeling brought back a memory of some ten years before, when, as teenagers, Máiréad and Liam had argued at Fox pond about what they planned on doing with their future lives:
“I intend to be the most powerful wizard in Cruachan,” Máiréad had said to the prince, “and all the kings, you included, will be beseeching me for my services.”
Wow! Pádraig thought, as all three wizards removed their hands from Máiréad’s head and everyone made the ritual act of submission. At the time, I considered it to be just typical youthful exuberance and boasting. Did she really know back then?
Unfortunately, the mental connection between the two former soul friends ran in both directions. Máiréad perceived Pádraig picking up on her feelings and she briefly glanced over at him. The glare in her green eyes carried an unmistakable message: ‘Stay out of my thoughts!’
All of a sudden, a chill of dread swathed Pádraig like a shroud. Wow! he once again thought, as the small hairs on the back of his neck stood straight up on end.
Oakday - Fox 64th
Callainn Shire - Ráth Callainn
The peal of a single bell had just died out, marking the first half-hour into the evening watch on this Mid-Spring Eve.
Atop Fort Callainn’s keep, a captain with the Security Forces of the Northern Shires stood on the western rampart, staring off into the Sea of the Evening, its gentle waves illuminated by a full Golden Owl and a first-quarter Silver Nightingale. He had a look of contentment on his face, as the smoke from his clay pipe swirled in the mild spring breeze.
Per the Articles of Capitulation, this day had been the final one for the Reconciliation Commissions to have completed their functions throughout the Northern Shires. In a ceremony at midday, the captain of the Cruachanian Defense Forces, overseeing Callainn Shire during the reconciliation process, had returned control of the garrison at Ráth Callainn to him, and control of the shire to Garbhán, its chieftain.
After a satisfied sigh, the security forces captain smiled. It was good to be back in command again. He turned his head at the sound of footfalls coming toward him on the ramparts. A section leader and squad leader whom he knew very well approached.
No words were spoken for a few moments. The newcomers joined the captain in gazing out at the moonlit sea.
Finally, the section leader broke the silence. “Thinking about what might have been, sir?”
The captain took one more drag on the pipe and, in a billow of smoke, replied, “No. What might yet be.”
The squad leader let out a wry chuckle. “I guess we can dream, sir, but I’m afraid that currach has sailed. An insurrection put down almost before it began.”
“But what did you learn?” the captain asked.
“That we should have disposed of that meddlesome wizard, Pádraig, when we had the chance, rather than just sending him into the middle of nowhere and hoping he’d stay out of our way.”
“Perhaps. But what else?”
“Sir?” the squad leader asked, not understanding the question.
Instead, the captain turned to the section leader. “And you? What did you learn?”
“That the Northmen turned out to be a most unreliable ally. Up at North Head, from what I heard, their fleet turned tail and ran.”
“Up at North Head, from what I heard from my sources,” the captain said, “the fleet commander assessed the situation and rightly decided that the cause had already been lost; and, that there was no point in wasting any more of his men needlessly.”
Both section leader and squad leader stood there dumbfounded.
“But, sir—” the section leader began.
“But, nothing,” the captain cut him off. “If you had been paying attention you would have come to the same conclusion as the Northman commander. However, in the process, you also would have been taking names on who, as it turned out, we could trust and who we shouldn’t have. Don’t consider our failed insurrection as a loss, gentlemen. Think of it as a dry-run. Now, tell me, who’s who on the list of people whom we shouldn’t trust in the future?”
“Neasán and Labhrás, to be sure. But at the top of that list is still Pádraig,” the section leader pointed out. “And now he’s a master wizard, more powerful than before.”
“Isn’t that fortuitous,” the captain replied, a smile on his face.
“Fortuitous?” both his subordinates spoke out simultaneously.
“Oh, yes. Fortuitous. As Court Wizard of the Kingdom of the Western Shires, Pádraig is now tethered down there and not free to roam about the country snooping into the a
ffairs of others.”
The squad leader spoke up with a challenge to that logic. “But what of the Lady Máiréad? She was just as instrumental as Pádraig in crushing the revolution. And not only has she claimed the chieftainship of Árainn Shire, but now is also a master wizard and the Court Wizard of the Kingdom of the Northern Shires. She may also be tethered, as you say, but tethered here, where she can keep tabs on everything that happens in the north.”
“In addition,” the section leader interjected, “she’s named that traitorous weasel, Labhrás, as Steward of Árainn Shire.”
“Don’t be too quick to judge the Lady Máiréad,” the captain told him. “Remember, she also suffered significant wounds in our short-lived rebellion. Her da is dead. Her ma is dead. Her mentor is dead. And her betrothal to Prince Liam was yanked from her and sacrificed on the altar of politics. You’re both veterans of the battlefield. What are the possible outcomes of wounds sustained in combat?”
The squad leader replied, “Most of the time, they result in death.”
“Others heal with time,” the section leader added.
“Or,” the captain pointed out, “they can often fester with time. Let us withhold judgment about the Lady Máiréad until we see what happens with her wounds over the next few years. And the same can be said about the wizards who have been demoted. Will they recover from their current despondency, or will they slip into a quiet, seething anger?” He raised an eyebrow at his subordinates.
After a few moments, the squad leader and section leader nodded.
Looking around cautiously, the squad leader suppressed the urge to raise his right arm straight up in the air with a closed fist, as he would have done had they been somewhere more private, and simply whispered, “Long live the Northern Alliance!”
The section leader, also in a soft voice, repeated the phrase, “Long live the Alliance!”
“May it one day rise again,” the captain added.
- E-N-D -
The Ed McAvoy Mystery Series
Even with a left leg shattered by a drug dealer's bullet and a medical retirement from the Detroit Police Force, former homicide captain Ed McAvoy feels he’s too young to be put out to pasture.
With the slower pace in the Catskills, being Chief of Police in Peekamoose Heights will be sort of like running a country club, or so he thinks. After all, how much crime can there be?
McAvoy soon discovers that his skills as a homicide detective will not atrophy from lack of use in Peekamoose Heights. Murder, as it turns out, is an equal-opportunity crime that not only resides in large bustling cities like Detroit, but in sleepy little Catskill villages like Peekamoose Heights as well.
Sample chapters of the Ed McAvoy Mysteries
may be downloaded at www.billstackhouse.com
Stream of Death
ISBN: 978-1-533-30054-6
Printed by CreateSpace
In the closing days of WWII in Sicily, the famed Isabela Pendant disappears amid a hail of machine-pistol bullets. When it temporarily resurfaces in Detroit after fifty-some years, six people are murdered. Now, four years later, a dog has dug it up in the woods near McAvoy's peaceful Catskill village of Peekamoose Heights.
“Stream of Death is an enjoyable regional mystery that links events over five decades apart. The well-written story line works because the minor subplots bring depth to the cast, making the key players seem genuine. In his debut novel, Bill Stackhouse writes like an old pro stacking his chances for success with this phenomenal police procedural that combines a hard-boiled investigation with that of a regional cozy.”
Harriet Klausner—BookBrowser Review
“Bill Stackhouse’s Stream of Death is an excellent and original debut novel which blends the hard-boiled and softer elements of the crime fiction genre. ...The field of crime literature is already indebted to Bill Stackhouse for introducing Chief Ed McAvoy.”
Andrew McAleer—A Crimestalker Casebook Book Review
“... Well-written and engrossing to read. ... Keeps the reader intrigued to the end of the book.”
Sally Fellows—Mystery News
Hickory, Dickory
ISBN: 978-1-534-90419-4
Printed by CreateSpace
In this exciting sequel to Stream of Death, McAvoy's friend Sam Douglas has bought a Queen Anne tall-case clock at auction—at a bargain price. Trading it to Kate Winthrop for her lesser-quality Massachusetts clock and then selling the Massachusetts to a third party sight unseen seems to bode well for the Catskill antique dealer—until the third party winds up dead and, in her dying breath, identifies Sam as her attacker.
“With its small town atmosphere and characters, which include McAvoy's police force and the locals, the story resembles a village version of an 87th Precinct police procedural with a little bit of Agatha Christie thrown in. I very much enjoyed Hickory, Dickory and await the release of Bill Stackhouse's next book!”
Peter K. Ackerman—I Love a Mystery Newsletter
“… the outlandish, oddball, rural characters that populate Stackhouse's stories are likable and believable. The plot is well thought out and unique with lots of action. There are twists and turns and an ending that catches you by surprise. Okay, Bill, I'm ready for the next Ed McAvoy mystery!”
Beverly J. Rowe—MyShelf.com
“… the book is a pleasure. Stackhouse has a sly sense of humor, a good feeling for characters, and a decent sense of plot. Future books by him are anticipated, while the current one is recommended.”
Mary A. Axford—Reviewing The Evidence
Encore to Murder
ISBN: 978-1-534-90506-1
Printed by CreateSpace
In this suspenseful prequel to Stream of Death, a former fashion model runs her car off a cliff at the Ashokan Pass on the outskirts of Peekamoose Heights in New York’s Catskills—or has it been made to look that way? What McAvoy suspects and what he can prove are two different things. But the retired big-city homicide detective, and now newly hired village Chief of Police, has a few tricks up his sleeve that may lead him to that proof.
“Encore to Murder is a story full of mystery, suspense, and with a cast of characters that keep the story moving fast. ... I recommend that you go out and purchase Encore to Murder, get comfortable in a cozy chair, and just sit back and enjoy. It certainly is a wonderful way to spend a cold and blustery winter night.”
Sue Hartigan—All About Murder
“... this is an enjoyable read and a great introduction to the Ed McAvoy Series. Stackhouse draws on his playwriting background to create a fun, flowing mystery with a twist at the end that will surprise readers and appeal to lovers of both classic mysteries and police procedurals.”
Cynthia Chow—The No Name Book Review Corner
“Encore to Murder isn’t quite a cozy, but it’s close. ... The characterizations of small mountain towns rings true, and if you like puzzlers, you really should enjoy this read, curled up safely in front of your own fireplace. I did!”
Vicki Ball—Books ‘n’ Bytes
Wash and Wear
ISBN: 978-1-534-90898-7
Printed by CreateSpace
In the fourth book of the series, a bank teller and owner of a small Catskill print shop is killed by a known mob hit-man who, in turn, is killed by Heather Larrabee, a Peekamoose Heights Police Officer. Now Heather's house and car have been searched, as well as the teller's aunt's house. McAvoy must find what the mob is looking for before someone else gets killed in the process.
“Bill Stackhouse writes, quite simply, a mean mystery. His characters are so credible they just about jump off of the page, which is scary when we are reading about the mob. His action is non-stop ... Wash and Wear is a mystery with lots of twists and turns, which keeps the reader glued. Stackhouse could teach a class on how to write one heckuva tale. ... I was so engrossed, I didn't want it to end...the mark of a murder most excellent!”
Shelley Glodowski—Midwest Book Review
“... first rate ... subp
lots are satisfyingly intricate ... Ed McAvoy and the other residents of Peekamoose Heights, as well as the victims of the various crimes, are well drawn characters that you enjoy getting to know ... A very enjoyable read.”
Sally Powers—ILoveAMysteryNewsletter.com
“The humor, especially that of Ed McAvoy, is witty, dry, and at times results in laugh-out-loud moments. ... Stackhouse continues this winning series with a mystery that should hopefully ensure many future adventures in Peekamoose Heights and with its residents.”
Cynthia Chow—The No Name Cafe Book Review Corner
Candle Snuffer
ISBN: 978-1-535-14925-9
Printed by CreateSpace
In the fifth book of the series, the ex-wife of a prominent U.S. Senator, her Country/Western singer lover, and the driver of the limousine in which they had been riding are all killed in a tragic traffic accident while trying to shake off a cadre of reporters and photographers. The sole survivor, the singer’s bodyguard Darren Corbett, has been left with total amnesia about the crash and the events leading up to it. But Darren’s memory is starting to return in disjointed bits and pieces, and attempts have been made on his life. Even when he visits his old Air Force buddy Porky Jarvis in Peekamoose Heights in an effort to escape from public view, the attempts continue. Now it’s up to McAvoy to try and discover who wants Darren dead, and why..
The Embers are Fanned in Cruachan (The Chronicles of Pádraig Book 2) Page 43
