In Crime Under The Sun, the second anthology offered by Partners in Crime, the San Diego chapter of Sisters in Crime, fifteen stories capture the hopes and dreams of characters trying to live the idyllic SoCal life.

Here are the opening lines from each story.

“SHOOTING FOR THE STARS” by Michelle Rodenborn
The trailer door swung open, the noonday sun laying bare the shuttered room.
Freddy Rollins squinted in the glare as Jenny sashayed in. Red hair blazing. Miles of
leg. Tanzanite eyes skewering his.
“You.” He bit his cheek. “You were supposed to stay gone.”
She slammed the door shut. “We got unfinished business.”

“GHOSTS OF CHARACTERS PAST” by Kathy Krevat
Someone sat on my bed, humming.
That wouldn’t be so surprising except that I had a single room at the lodge. With a
lock. My heart raced.
“I know you’re awake.” A woman’s voice sounded amused. “You stopped snoring.”

“FOURTEEN YEARS” by Axel Milens
I was returning home from walking my dog, Barbie Number 3, when I noticed the neighbor’s fence being painted. I adjusted my sweater vest, which has a propensity to bunch up above my stomach, and, peering above my bifocals, asked the painter if he’d be available to do my fence later.
Not because it needed it—the redwood is riddled with termite holes and should be replaced—but because, other than my dog, I hadn’t talked to anyone in more than ten days and I felt the need for some human interaction.

“PEST CONTROL” by Kathy Kingston
All of my bouquets had sold except one. I’d had a good day. Pedestrians were few and far between, and the setting sun was casting a pink glow over the streets of downtown Los Angeles. Time to go.
And then that icy sensation traveled down my spine, and my head snapped up. Oh, shit. He’s back. I knew even before my cat hissed. Goddammit.

“THE CASE OF THE ICE CREAM BLONDE” by A.P. Jamison
The Paradise studio executive assistant exhaled, got up from his immaculate Hollywood desk and said, “Come with me,” like this was the last thing he wanted to do. He smelled of too many stale cigarettes and too much cologne, and a touch of too little empathy.
I looked at my aunt, Miss Lemon Meringue Pie, and she nodded that it was okay to go with him. My golden retriever Marshmallow and I followed him to another office. The dang room was almost as big as the state of Texas.

“OVERHEATED” by B.J. Graf
Cat Gutierrez pressed her Nike-clad foot down on the accelerator of the silver Toyota Prius as she hugged the curves on Malibu Canyon. It was 7:15 p.m. on a hot, humid Friday of the Memorial Day weekend and she was heading east toward the 101. Cat’s last job had taken a little too much time, so she’d had to book the red-eye from LAX with two stops to Cabo. Her family was gathering in Mexico to celebrate her father’s sixtieth birthday. Cat hadn’t seen her dad since COVID shut everything down, and she could not miss the flight.

“THE BODY IN THE BARREL” by Kathy Norris
Ned Jenkins steadied himself as he walked the rim of the hip-high wall around Lake Henshaw Dam. It was 8:00 a.m. on a…what day was it today? Wednesday? Thursday? He took a swig from his twenty-five-ounce can of Bud, the aluminum cool against his sweaty palm. His vintage Playboy baseball cap shaded his seventy-two-year-old eyes from the sun, but his flip-flops were so hot they scorched his feet.
What day was it, again? He swayed slightly, almost losing his balance as the hot breeze ruffled his Hawaiian shirt and Bermuda shorts. He’d retired eight months ago and hadn’t been able to keep track of the days since.

“THE REGULAR” by James Thorpe
Palm Springs, 1967
Ray listened to the ice tinkling in his glass as he swirled the amber fluid around and around, the frozen cubes glinting in the glow from the candelabra. He leaned his elbows on the drink-stained grand piano, feeling the thrum of the hammers striking strings beneath the closed lid, beating out a tattoo of “Moon River.” Why did that song always make him so sad? And just what the hell was a “huckleberry friend,” anyway?
“Two bits for your thoughts.”

“THE FAMILY PLOT” by Sarah Bresniker
It was the flash of color among the headstones that caught my eye. I only ran through the old Pacific Grove cemetery when the coastal trail was overwhelmed with tourists. It was scruffy and rundown, but peaceful. There were more weeds than flowers, and even the weeds didn’t get enough water to stay green for long.
The bright blue was a dress, worn by a woman lying on the dusty top of a grave, motionless. I veered off the path and ran toward her. As I approached, she popped up to a seated position and looked at me. When she moved, I screamed, and was immediately embarrassed.

YOUR 10th BOND IS FREE! by Wendall Thomas
P.T. Barnum had nothing on my dad.
Of course, our suckers were specialized, but my father’s belief that there was “a felon born every minute” kept us in Cheerios and chicken pot pies for my entire childhood. It had also supplied the mortgage on our bungalow with the arched doorways, fake fireplace, non-working heating vents, and built-in kitchen table, where I currently sat with my face buried in the fedora Bogie wore in The Big Sleep. It smelled like Brylcreem, Lucky Strikes, and old dollar bills.

“THE DEVIL LIKED BASEBALL” by John Edward Mullen
I picked up my detective partner, Buddha, outside his two-story house in Mira Mesa. Our unmarked sedan listed to starboard as he dropped his weight onto the passenger seat.
“How was your vacation?” I asked.
He emitted a low growl through clamped lips. “I finished Nancy’s honey-do list yesterday—just before dinner.”
“That explains why I didn’t see you at the Padres game yesterday afternoon.”
Buddha’s tiny, brown, x-ray eyes gave me the once over. “Jesus.”
“What?” I said.
“You’ve got your Sir Lancelot look about you this morning: dark rings around the eyes, unshaven, and,” he sniffed the air three times, wrinkling his nose like a rabbit, “you’re wearing your favorite brand of cologne: Yesterday’s Sweaty Shirt.”

“THE ONE WHO WAS GOOD” by Lynne Bronstein
Four girls, three stories. Transcribed from the Youth Correctional Officer’s interviews:
LORI: You want to know how it happened? It happened because we were bored! We were off from school for the summer and had nothing to do. And that’s all I’m going to say. Lock me up, what do I care?
DOREEN: It was Marla’s idea. She gave us the assignments. They were nothing much at first. Like “I will lie,” “I will steal something from my parents.” Then it got worse. Marla was crazy. I never did like her that much. We were friends but I was scared of her.

“THE WRITING ON THE WALL: A MODERN RETELLING” by Shelley Burbank
Seated at a back table in the banquet room, Danielle Cunningham wondered if she could sneak away without anyone noticing. Dinner was almost over. The vaulted-ceilinged room of the newly opened Gaslamp Quarter hotel gleamed with gilded chairs, heavy purple draperies, and gold-and-glass chandeliers worthy of Louis XIV. At round tables squished into the room, two-hundred upper- and middle-level managers of The Felicity Organization and their companions finished off a heavy meal with a dessert course and coffee.
As desperate as she was to leave, she couldn’t. The annual corporate party was compulsory, and if she left, some suck-up was sure to report it.

“CHILI CHEESE DOG” by Wrona Gall
Lenny climbed out of the ’67 red Corvette, wincing behind his Ray Bans. He liked his tan from a salon, not the August sun. Swiping the sweat from his forehead, he opened the steel-barred door and walked into Flash Cash. Every pawn shop smelled the same. Stale sweat and musty dirt overlaid with desperation. Lenny ignored this stench and focused on the cash that would soon fill his wallet. He ambled around the aisles to suggest an air of indifference. This casual attitude often raised his cut. When he felt the owner calculating his status as buyer or seller, he flashed the old Lenny grin that communicated both integrity and vulnerability.

“LIFE ON THE RANCH, SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA STYLE” by C.C. Guthrie
It was distrust at first sight between OB MacMartin and Captain Jason Westover. The blazing sun and heat only added to the tension. Westover sported half-moon underarm sweat stains on his summer shirt. The standard-issue sheriff’s uniform was more suited to his previous post in the urban part of the county.
In our precinct to the east, four-wheel drives with heavy-duty winches on the front and snakebite kits in the back were necessities. Deputies out here sneered at colleagues who patrolled the beaches and parks on bicycles and called it “Southern California Riviera” duty.

Crime Under The Sun edited by Matt Coyle, Naomi Hirahara, & Tammy Kaehler, from Down & Out Books, released July 3, 2023.

Southern California. Home to sandy beaches, waving palm trees, balmy weather. Also home to the rich and famous, those barely hanging on, and everyone else.

Add in murder, embezzlement, stalking, burglary, and every crime under the sun.

In Crime Under The Sun, the second anthology offered by Partners in Crime, the San Diego chapter of Sisters in Crime, fifteen stories capture the hopes and dreams of characters trying to live the idyllic SoCal life. Instead, they bump up against greed, treachery, corruption, and death. These stories will thrill readers with unexpected twists and turns and surprise endings.

In the words of Catriona McPherson in our foreword, “…the best mystery anthologies should embrace the whole of our beloved genre and Crime Under The Sun has nailed it.”

Welcome to the seamy underbelly of Southern California.

Edited by Matt Coyle, Naomi Hirahara and Tammy Kaehler with stories by Sarah Bresniker, Lynne Bronstein, Shelley Burbank, Wrona Gall, B.J. Graf, C.C. Guthrie, A.P. Jamison, Kathy Kingson, Kathy Krevat, Axel Milens, John Edward Mullen, Kathy Norris, Michelle Rodenborn, Wendall Thomas, and James Thorpe.

Purchase Link