Beverle Graves Myers mystery writer
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Sometimes writing a novel feels like swimming the English Channel, or even the Atlantic Ocean. With every plot twist, the final shore seems farther away. When I want a break, I take the literary equivalent of a dip in the pool--I write a short story. Here's some links to some of my stories that can be read online.
"Wacky, funny and most delightful"
WHO DIED IN HERE? contains 25  stories of crime and bathrooms, including Bev's "Sweet Smell of Success," a Derringer Award nominee. Edited by Pat Dennis.
My first published story-- "A Baroque Phantom" at Fables--an opera house ghost turns sleuth.
Murder and mayhem sweep the field at Kentucky 's greatest horse race. LOW DOWN AND DERBY includes Bev's "The True Story of the Whirlaway Cafe." Compiled by Sandra Leonard.
"Haven City" at Spinetingler--mother and son fight to survive the aftermath of a destructive rogue virus--named a Notable Story of 2006 by the Million Writers Award.
DERBY ROTTEN SCOUNDRELS
F
irst Derby anthology from the members of Sisters in Crime--ORV. Contains 2 stories from Bev: "Dead Heat with a Pale Horse" and "Walking Around Money." Edited by Jeffrey Marks.



"Head Case" at Orchard Press Mysteries--homeless man catches  serial killer.
Bev also writes a series of short stories featuring Nicco Ziani, a "Baroque" P.I. who solves problems for the anxious and desperate among Venice's faltering nobility. Nicco's most recent case, "The Bookworm's Demise," is in the December 2007 issue of Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine and was nominated for a Derringer Award
MYSTERY MUSES (non-fiction)
100 top mystery writers discuss the works that inspire them. Bev writes about The Name of the Rose. Edited by Jim Huang and Austin Lugar.
Winner of the Anthony and MacCavity awards.
                                    Bev's Shortest Shorts

                                         
The Golden Years

Rocking on the porch at Clifftop Villa, gazing over the valley below, John whispers through curls of cigarette smoke, "Maybe we shouldn't, Ray."

His friend takes a bracing gulp of coffee. "We've earned the right. Retirement should be peaceful."

"Watch it. Here comes the granola police."

Flashing a determined smile, the new nurse snatches John's cigarette and drowns it in Ray's mug. "Naughty, naughty, boys. Smoking will kill you, and herbal tea is so much healthier than coffee."

As she moves toward her next victim, John sighs. "Okay, I'm in."

Ray nods and grins. "Tomorrow 's headline--second nurse's body found at foot of cliff."

                                              
Mother's Day Quandry

Wearing a Mother's Day rose was a sweet, old Southern tradition that Mama highly approved of. Red to honor a mother who's living, white for a mother who'd passed

I'd bought a pair of roses as fiery as the scarlet sun setting behind the pines, while Sis had chosen blossoms the color of the rising moon.

"Which ones?" Her voice quavered. "Mama will be here any minute."

Behind us, a rusty gate creaked.

I grabbed the white roses and raked their thorns over my flesh. Ruby droplets streamed over pale petals.

"There," I whispered, turning toward the shadowy figure emerging from the family crypt. "These should please her."