Yellow Mama Archives II

E. E. Williams

Acuff, Gale
Ahern, Edward
Allen, R. A.
Alleyne, Chris
Andes, Tom
Arnold, Sandra
Aronoff, Mikki
Ayers, Tony
Baber, Bill
Baird, Meg
Baker, J. D.
Balaz, Joe
Barker, Adelaide
Barker, Tom
Barnett, Brian
Barry, Tina
Bartlett, Daniel C.
Bayly, Karen
Beckman, Paul
Bellani, Arnaav
Berriozabal, Luis Cuauhtemoc
Beveridge, Robert
Blakey, James
Burke, Wayne F.
Burnwell, Otto
Campbell, J. J.
Cancel, Charlie
Capshaw, Ron
Carr, Steve
Carrabis, Joseph
Centorbi, David Calogero
Christensen, Jan
Clifton, Gary
Cody, Bethany
Costello, Bruce
Coverly, Harris
Crist, Kenneth James
Cumming, Scott
Davie, Andrew
Davis, Michael D.
Degani, Gay
De Neve, M. A.
Dillon, John J.
Dominguez, Diana
Dorman, Roy
Doughty, Brandon
Doyle, John
Dunham, T. Fox
Ebel, Pamela
Fagan, Brian Peter
Fillion, Tom
Fortier, M. L.
Fowler, Michael
Garnet, George
Garrett, Jack
Graysol, Jacob
Grech, Amy
Greenberg, KJ Hannah
Grey, John
Hagerty, David
Hardin, Scott
Held, Shari
Hicks, Darryl
Hivner, Christopher
Hoerner, Keith
Hohmann, Kurt
Holt, M. J.
Holtzman, Bernice
Hopson, Kevin
Hubbs, Damon
Irwin, Daniel S.
Jabaut, Mark
Jermin, Wayne
Jeschonek, Robert
Johns. Roger
Kanner, Mike
Karl, Frank S.
Kempe, Lucinda
Kennedy, Cecilia
Keshigian, Michael
Kitcher, William
Kompany, James
Koperwas, Tom
Larsen, Ted R.
Le Due, Richard
Leotta, Joan
Lester, Louella
Lubaczewski, Paul
Lucas, Gregory E.
Luer, Ken
Lukas, Anthony
Lyon, Hillary
Mannone, John C.
Martinez, Richard
McConnell, Logan
McQuiston, Rick
Middleton, Bradford
Milam, Chris
Mladinic, Peter
Mobili, Juan
Mullins, Ian
Myers, Jen
Nielsen, Ayaz Daryl
Nielsen, Judith
Onken, Bernard
Owen, Deidre J.
Park, Jon
Parker, Becky
Pettus, Robert
Plath, Rob
Prusky, Steve
Radcliffe, Paul
Reddick, Niles M.
Reutter, G. Emil
Robson, Merrilee
Rollins, Janna
Rose, Brad
Rosmus, Cindy
Ross, Gary Earl
Rowland, C. A.
Saier, Monique
Sarkar, Partha
Scharhag, Lauren
Schauber, Karen
Schildgen, Bob
Schmitt, Di
Sesling, Zvi E.
Short, John
Slota, Richelle Lee
Smith, Elena E.
Snethen, Daniel G.
Steven, Michael
Stoler, Cathi
Stoll, Don
Surkiewicz, Joe
Swartz, Justin
Taylor, J. M.
Temples. Phillip
Traverso Jr., Dionisio "Don"
Turner, Lamont A.
Tustin, John
Tyrer, DJ
Varghese, Davis
Verlaine, Rp
Viola, Saira
Waldman, Dr. Mel
Weibezahl, Robert
Weil, Lester L.
White, Robb
Wilhide, Zachary
Williams, E. E.
Williams, K. A.
Wilsky, Jim
Wiseman-Rose, Sophia
Woods, Jonathan
Young, Mark
Zackel, Fred
Zelvin, Elizabeth
Zeigler, Martin
Zimmerman, Thomas
Zumpe, Lee Clark


By E. E. Williams


The time on the clock read 3:45 a.m. when the alarm sounded. Bill was up in a flash to turn it off. He hadn’t been sleeping anyway.

Susan turned over and groaned. “Too early,” she whispered, and went back to sleep.

Bill stared down at her and thought, You won’t have to worry about it much longer.

He got up from the bed, went into the bathroom and dressed in the clothes he’d laid out the night before. Boots, insulated pants, camo shirt and jacket. Back in the bedroom, he removed his Browning Maxus shotgun from the closet. Cradling the weapon in his arms, he took a long, last look at his sleeping wife. His mouth curled into a tight, mirthless smile.

“See you soon,” he said.

She didn’t respond.

Bill made his way out of the room and down the stairs to the front foyer. Before opening the door, he grabbed his hat and earmuffs. It was cold outside.

He examined himself in the full-length mirror Susan had insisted he hang by the door so she could check herself before going out. How many times, he wondered, had she checked herself before seeing … him?

Bill left the house and walked down the driveway to where a white Honda Pilot, belching exhaust in the frigid morning air, waited for him. He climbed inside.

“Terry,” he said brusquely.

“Bill,” Terry said with a solemn nod.

Terry and his wife Trudy had moved into the neighborhood just a few months after Bill and Susan and in the six years since, the four had become fast friends. The women got together often for coffee in the mornings to discuss the things they couldn’t, or wouldn’t, share with their husbands, while the men hung out watching football, drinking beer, bowling, or, as they were doing this morning, duck hunting.

Bill thought both he and Terry looked ridiculous decked out in their camo gear, like they were off to war or something, but where they were going only the birds would notice so what did it matter. Together, the men had built a blind on an inlet of the lake where no other hunters ventured. Once there, they would be totally alone.

Which suited Bill just fine.

Terry parked the car, and the men silently slogged their way to the blind. Beyond their initial greeting, they hadn’t spoken, each man seemingly lost in his own thoughts.

Once settled into the blind, Bill said, “Quiet this morning.”

“You, too,” Terry said. “Something up?”

“Well, now that you ask, an anonymous someone sent me a picture last night.”


“Yeah. Real pornographic.”


“Yeah. Hardcore stuff.”


“You don’t seem surprised.”

“Why should I be surprised?”

“Don’t know. Your best friend tells you someone sent him some porn and all you got to say is, ‘Huh.’”

“Maybe that’s because someone sent me some pictures, too.”


“Show you mine if you show me yours,” Terry said.

Bill reached into pocket, pulled out his phone. Terry did the same. Each fiddled with their devices, held them up for the other to see.

On Bill’s phone was a picture of Susan, naked and legs spread, and between them, Terry. Terry’s phone showed an equally nude Trudy straddling Bill.

Terry leveled his Syren XL R5 Waterfowler at Bill and shouted “You sonavabi …” Bill didn’t let him finish but pulled the trigger on the Browning. As Terry was blown back by the buckshot hitting and shredding his chest, his finger reflexively yanked the Syren’s trigger. The blast removed much of Bill’s face and painted the side wall of the blind in a red mist.

The twin booms reverberated across the lake but were heard only by the V formation of ducks flying overhead.

Later that morning, Trudy and Susan sat in Susan’s kitchen, drinking coffee.

“Did you call Terry?” Susan asked.

“Yes. He didn’t answer. You?”

Susan nodded. “Bill didn’t answer, either.”

They smiled at one another.

“You think it worked?” Trudy asked, fingering one of the tight coils of the auburn hair that bunched at her shoulders. “Are they both dead?”

“I do, and yes,” Susan said. “I’ve gotten pretty good at Photoshop. I could have put a donkey in those pictures, and you wouldn’t be able to tell.”

“What if …”

“… one of them is still alive? He’ll be spending the rest of his days in prison for murder.”

“The police?”

“What about them? We weren’t there.”

“The pictures?”

“Already wiped. I’ve also gotten pretty good at hacking phones. It's amazing what you can learn on the Internet.”

Trudy leaned across the breakfast table, gently tucked back a stray strand of Susan’s blonde mane, and softly kissed her lips.

“That’s why I love you, baby.”

“Need to shut down that fake email account, though,” Susan said. “Just to be on the safe side.”

Trudy stood and began unbuttoning her blouse.

“Later,” she said. “Let’s go upstairs and take some more pictures.”


E. E. Williams is a former journalist who worked at some of the country’s largest and best newspapers, including the New York Daily News, the Cleveland Plain Dealer, and the Fresno Bee. At his last two newspapers—The Muncie Star Press and Cherry Hill Courier Post—he was both Executive Editor and General Manager.

During his 42-year career, he won numerous national and regional awards for his writing and editing. His first two Noah Greene mystery novels were published by a small North Carolina independent publisher that has since gone out of business. (Not his fault, we don’t think.) The third book in the series was published on the Amazon Kindle platform.

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