Yellow Mama Archives II

Karen Bayly

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.
Bates, Greta T.
Bayly, Karen
Beckman, Paul
Bellani, Arnaav
Berriozabal, Luis Cuauhtemoc
Beveridge, Robert
Blakey, James
Booth, Brenton
Bracken, Michael
Burke, Wayne F.
Burnwell, Otto
Campbell, J. J.
Cancel, Charlie
Capshaw, Ron
Carr, Steve
Carrabis, Joseph
Cartwright, Steve
Centorbi, David Calogero
Cherches, Peter
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.
Dinsmoor, Robert
Dominguez, Diana
Dorman, Roy
Doughty, Brandon
Doyle, John
Dunham, T. Fox
Ebel, Pamela
Fagan, Brian Peter
Fillion, Tom
Fortier, M. L.
Fowler, Michael
Galef, David
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, Bernard
Holtzman, Bernice
Holtzman, Rebecca
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
Kirchner, Craig
Kitcher, William
Kompany, James
Kondek, Charlie
Koperwas, Tom
Kreuiter, Victor
Larsen, Ted R.
Le Due, Richard
Leotta, Joan
Lester, Louella
Lubaczewski, Paul
Lucas, Gregory E.
Luer, Ken
Lukas, Anthony
Lyon, Hillary
Mannone, John C.
Margel, Abe
Martinez, Richard
McConnell, Logan
McQuiston, Rick
Middleton, Bradford
Milam, Chris
Miller, Dawn L. C.
Mladinic, Peter
Mobili, Juan
Mullins, Ian
Myers, Beverle Graves
Myers, Jen
Newell, Ben
Nielsen, Ayaz Daryl
Nielsen, Judith
Onken, Bernard
Owen, Deidre J.
Park, Jon
Parker, Becky
Pettus, Robert
Plath, Rob
Potter, John R. C.
Prusky, Steve
Radcliffe, Paul
Reddick, Niles M.
Reedman, Maree
Reutter, G. Emil
Riekki, Ron
Robson, Merrilee
Rockwood, KM
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
Simpson, Henry
Slota, Richelle Lee
Smith, Elena E.
Snell, Cheryl
Snethen, Daniel G.
Steven, Michael
Stoler, Cathi
Stoll, Don
Surkiewicz, Joe
Swartz, Justin
Taylor, J. M.
Temples. Phillip
Tobin, Tim
Traverso Jr., Dionisio "Don"
Turner, Lamont A.
Tustin, John
Tyrer, DJ
Varghese, Davis
Verlaine, Rp
Viola, Saira
Waldman, Dr. Mel
Al Wassif, Amirah
Weibezahl, Robert
Weil, Lester L.
Weisfeld, Victoria
Weld, Charles
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

Hearts and Honey


by Karen Bayly



Jack Rosen, Private Detective, rubbed the gingery stubble on his chin and eyeballed the heart-shaped box in front of him. He’d already glimpsed inside and was in no hurry to take another peek. Bloody human hearts did not rank amongst his favorite things, and the Valentine’s Day cupcake sent by his wife, Lola, now danced a fandango in his stomach.

Across from him, a pair of lovely baby blues pleaded. “So, you’ll take the case, Mr. Rosen?”

“Call me Jack.”

“And you must call me Honey.”

Honey Sommers presented the perfect distraction for his hematophobia. Drop-dead gorgeous, her pink latex dress hugged her body in all the right places. The white gloves and veiled hat came across as over-the-top, but Jack could make out her features well enough to know she ticked all his boxes.

She smiled at him, and he wondered what else those glossy red lips could do and whether she’d let him find out. Maybe later.

“So, Honey. Tell me again what the message said.”

“Just ‘Call the cops and you’re dead.’ Sorry. I shouldn’t have put the note in with the heart.”

Yeah, you stupid broad, he thought. He barely refrained from saying it out loud.

She stood and leaned over the box to inspect the contents. Jack’s gaze flicked straight to the generous curve of her cleavage.

“Hmm, it’s not entirely illegible.” She moved closer. “Enjoying the view, hon?”

He shrugged. “A lot of women like you come through those doors. You’re not so special.”

“Oh, you already made that clear.”

Jack’s forehead wrinkled in puzzlement. Those blue eyes. Oddly familiar.

“Do I know you?”

“You don’t recognize me? I’m disappointed. But I guess that’s the downside of using a mob-recommended surgeon.”

An uneasy sensation snaked up Jack’s spine.

“Helen? Helen Merrick?”

She struck a pose. “Ta-da!”

“But why?”

“Helen Merrick was a loser. Walked over by her sexist schmuck of a boss … Oh, yeah. You. You treated her like trash.”

“I never

“Spare me. You took credit for her breakthroughs. Shared her bed when you had nothing better on offer. She let you because she truly believed you’d fall in love with her one day.”

“C’mon. You’re too smart for this crap.”

“True. Why pine over a dumbass who married a showgirl called Lola? Sweet Jesus, Jack, what a cliché!”

Jack tried to focus, but the room spun while two Honeys fought for dominance in his vision. He rose and plopped right back down again.

“Not feeling well, babe? No wonder. The cupcake was a killer. I counted on a sugar addict like you stuffing his face ASAP. You won’t suffer long, though. According to my calculations, you’ll be dead in, oh, about five minutes. Tops.”

“W-what have you done?” He slumped forward, gasping, head turned to one side.

She draped herself over the desk, her eyes level with his. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll stay until you’re done.”

“My wife . . . she’ll be here soon.”

She giggled. “Lola’s already here, hon.”

Dipping her hand in the box, she pulled out the bloodied heart and held it in front of his face.

“Last week, she gave you her hand in marriage. Figuratively. Today, she gives you her heart. Literally.”

Tears welled in Jack’s eyes.

“You bitch. You goddamn bitch.”

“Aw, don’t be a sore loser, Rosey-posey.”

Helpless, he stared as she removed her blood-soaked gloves and the latex ones beneath, slipped them into a ziplock bag, then into her handbag. He blinked when she pulled on a fresh pair of latex gloves and wiped down any surfaces she may have touched.

Smirking, she plucked a strand from her wig and placed it on his jacket. His lips moved, but no sound emerged.

“What’s that, baby? No, the hair is not mine. And the note is from an unsolved case we handled a few years ago. Forensics will find nothing to link either to me.”

He answered with a rattling sigh.

“Done already, Jack? Figures. You always popped off quickly.”

She blew him a kiss.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, baby.”

For once, Jack had no comeback.



Karen Bayly’s passion for writing began as a child when she wrote soap operas for her dolls to perform. Her short stories and poems have appeared in Yellow Mama Webzine, Black Petals Magazine, Voluted Tales, Every Day Fiction, and anthologies from Black Beacon Books, Black Hare Press, and Crystal Lake Publishing. She has published one novel, Fortitude, a steampunk- inspired science fantasy. She lives in Sydney, Australia with two cats, a guitar, and a ukulele.

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