Don't Write What You Know;
Write What You Care About -- Passionately!
A Harry Mickey Shorts Mystery
- Rich Kisielewski
Harry Mickey Shorts gets a call from M. Randle Trundle, a New York business tycoon, who is in need of Harry’s help. Without a thought, Harry drops what he is doing and races off to help his benefactor, and friend.
Trundle is a part owner in Board Room Farms, a horse racing stable, run by his brother, Danny Trundle. He informs Harry the stable’s prize breeding stallion was found dead in his stall and Trundle feels something is wrong. Harry agrees to help Trundle with the case and does what he does best by going undercover and digging into the world of thoroughbred horse racing. Having bet on more than a few nags in his lifetime, Harry is comfortable around the track and blends in very smoothly.
During his investigation, Harry forms an alliance with the ranch’s female vet - in more ways than one. She agrees to provide needed intelligence on the current and prior goings-on at Board Room Farms. Along the way, she becomes a serious love interest in Harry’s life. Unfortunately, that conflicts with Harry’s renewed part-time interest in his ex-wife that may prove to be a “pick one” dilemma, sooner, rather than later. His love for, and continued attempt to become part of his two children’s lives, remains paramount in Harry’s thinking.
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Eighteen years old. Eighteen frisky years old. Million dollar yearling at the Keeneland Sales grows up to be a Triple Crown winner and two-time Horse of the Year before being retired to stud at the age of five. Syndicated for seventy-five million dollars, he goes on to produce over thirty stakes winners including two Kentucky Derby champions. Top stud stallion commanding top dollar in the world six years running. All of it don’t mean shit when he’s found dead in his stall the morning he’s due to service the top mare from Ireland.
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“Harry, Ms. Timmons here. Mister Trundle needs your help.”
“Ms. Timmons, you can tell him I’ll be standing at his door before he knows it.”
Maybe I should jump back a few steps and let you in on what’s going on here. My name is Harry, because I’m told an aunt promised to lay some bread on me if my mom named me Harold. I don’t believe it one little bit because I didn’t see a single dime and, to my knowledge, neither did my moms.
Oh yeah, it’s Harry, or should I say Harold Mickey Shorts, which wasn’t my given name when I was ushered into this wonderful world of ours. My original name didn’t cut it in my eyes and the Mick, Mr. Mantle, is my all-time favorite ballplayer courtesy of my dad. Plus, my original last name was way too long. Wearing tee shirts and shorts is how God intended us to dress, so that’s how I came up with my new and improved name, “Shorts”, which just happens to be a great conversation topic for the ladies.
By trade, I guess you would call me a private investigator, but not your ordinary, run-of-the-mill, every day private dick. Kizmet Incorporated is what my card would say if I had one. Mr. M. Randal Trundle, CEO of a major New York conglomerate, entrusted me with a very personal problem a short while ago and I am now indebted to him forever. When he asks for help, you best jump back because I’m coming through to do anything in my power to mend what needs mending.
And so the story begins…