The Picnic by John Coultas

This is a scene from Tripping Over Murder

Dan drove up past the old lighthouse, an abandoned cider mill and then into a parking area adjoining a meadow. He took Janean's picnic basket from the trunk, the detective leading the way along a trail through the knee high grasses and yellow sun flowers. He stopped, "This is the spot." Grabbing the ground blanket from his date he flung it out letting it settle onto the green stalks. She took in the setting, listened to the distant ocean and the calls of the seabirds.

Smiling at Dan she asked, "How is it you knew of this place?"

Taking on his professional face he imparted, "Many a time it was necessary to come up here to rescue an underage lover."

"Ah, so you brought me to a place where young women are known to be debauched." She feigned innocence for his benefit. "Some date this is." this

"One can only hope." He replyed with a shrug.

Janeane laid back on the blanket, staring at the fleeced clouds passing above. “Librarians are a lot like detectives,” She began her well rehearsed quest for details on Detective Kane’s investigations. “We need to be aware of the territory, what went before, what may be coming down the road.” Sitting up she looked at the seascape spread out to the east, pulling for elements to add to her waning train of thought. Her head nodded, deep in thought. “We need to look below the surface…” The tranquility of place, the grass, the bay below, the cloud dappled sky washed away her designs.

“And?” He asked.

Her head bobbed along with the fishing boat, her point of focus. “Hmm.”

“And?” His query came again.

“Oh, where was I?” She looked at Dan, surprised at her lapse in thought.

“I’m not sure where you were going; you were talking about looking deep, like below the surface; at what I am not sure.”

“Now I remember. Librarians deal with a vast amount of information, we sift through it, determine what is and isn’t relevant, and voila, the answer is found.”

“But you are searching for someone else, a customer. The customer asks the question and you find what they want, they determine the truth in a sense.”

“Truth, interesting, I never thought of it in that sense.” Her chin wrested on arms crossed at her knees, her eyes back on the bobbing fishing boat. “Hmm, truth is the answer…librarian think in terms or right or wrong, correct or incorrect…funny how truth carries such a strong, noble sound. Truth, justice,” Her head began the rhythmic bob, “They demand a lot of a person, of a system.” She looked at Dan who was rolling a stalk of grass between finger and thumb. He nodded.

“I try,” Was his somber response. “I work for the chief and the county prosecutor, they are my customers, they evaluate what I come up with.” He looked at the picnic hamper, “All these deep thoughts are making me hungry, how about lunch?”



Dan helped Janeane, putting the remains of their lunch into the hamper, a crust of hard bread, the last of the wine, and pieces of cheese rind. "I can’t imagine a more wonderful picnic,” She inhaled the ocean air, giving the officer-of-the- law a satisfied smile. He leaned to her, kissing her neck. Gasping she fell backwards and he on top. He rolled to her side, kissing her mouth, to which she pushed away. “No, not here. You never know who might pass by.” She sat up, and looked toward the parking lot.

“Are all librarians like this, so concerned with looking prim and proper?” Dan brushed grass from his slacks

“It’s just so public here; I mean someone could drive by.” She again stared at the road. “I don’t care for it, having to be circumspect, but it comes with the job. It feels hypocritical. Teachers and librarians are held to high moral standards.” She stood, “Help me with the blanket, and you can come back to my apartment, we will draw the curtains tight, finish off the wine, and what you started here.”

Dan offered a lascivious leer as he grabbed one edge of the blanket, “I think I can live with that.”



Janeane’s apartment was dark; she sat in the corner of the couch with Dan. He had returned to where he had begun, exploring her neck with his lips, moving on to her mouth; their arms and legs were entangled as the level of heat built between the two. She relaxed allowing the emotions to wash over her. “I’m going to be in need of help here.” He suggested. How could he need help, his practiced fingers lightly strummed her body?

“How is that?”

“I’ve never done it…you know…with a librarian.” He said. She couldn’t see his face but she could sense the wide grin.

“Well I have all the parts that other women have, and I hope they respond as they should.”

“They are,” He purred, “Oh, how they are.” His hands groped and her body arched and ached in kind.

“Oh Dan, I have never been stimulated like this before. Oh Dan, do it. Don’t stop.” Her body rose and fell against his.

“No! No!” Dan seemed to be losing control, “Damn!” His hands went to his pockets, Janine fell back panting; wanting more, not wanting the moment to end.

“Why did you stop it was so good, you were just…”

He pulled the cell phone from his pocket, “It was on vibrate.”

He scowled at the device, opened the clam shell and growled, “Kane!”

Barbarian Invasion by John Coultas

A scene from my Tripping Over Murder story

The nose of the skateboard skimmed along inches above the sidewalk, Grunge the navigator shot across the curb into Main Street traffic, avoiding collision with irate soccer moms and cautious seniors. There was the squealing of brakes and shouted epithets from startled drivers. At the opposite curb he jumped his board high in the air, spun and gave a flourish of the hand and a bow as he landed for the benefit of the not so amused motorists.

“Grunge!” Flyman called out, “Cool spin, and did you see that old broad flip you off, thought she was going to have one of those stroke things.” He snorted as he laughed.

Grunge flipped his board in the air, caught it with one hand and swiped at the hair hanging in his face. “That was Mrs. Egan, lives on my block, I'll hear about it from my Mom.”

“Not so cool dude.” Flyman offered. “Hey, there's Tops.”

Tops approached, and leaned back on his board bringing it to a stop, “What's going Dudes?” He mumbled, he was not a man of many words. “The cops chased me off Main Street, The big guy.”

“Officer Dan, he’s okay, didn’t write you up did he. I heard he knew how to raise hell in his day. He knows what it’s like.” Grunge informed, “That new librarian starts work today. I talked to her at the Burger Barn the other night, kind’a cute for a librarian I guess, lot nicer than those old ladies that work there now.” He shot out with his board, “Let’s go see what she’s doing over there, might be cool.” Flyman and Tops shrugged and followed.

They shouted, jumped and spun their way to the old Carnegie building. Stopping at the front, they eyed the eight steps leading up to the entrance. “What do you think, can we do it.” Grunge asked. Tops and Flyman thought it over looked out to the street and down the sidewalk.

“Don’t see that Officer Dan guy,” Was Flyman’s thought on the subject.

“Dude, don’t be such a weenie,” Tops didn’t care about cops; he had a reputation to maintain. They spread their legs wide on the boards and began a much practiced walk up the steps, shifting, twisting, and lifting the nose then the tail. It would have been quicker walking, but this demonstrated to the world who they were, and what they could do.


Miss Morrissey was behind the counter sorting cards. She took great pride in her work, for over sixty years she interfiled cards into the libraries catalog. Some would have considered such an assignment, “Cruel and Unusual Punishment.” The frail senior made of it an art form, not to mention it gave her lifetime job security. No other staff member could be convinced it was not a mind deadening occupation. Just as she was considering her next card, the broad oak paneled door was flung open. Standing in the door way, back lit by the afternoon sun were three imposing silhouettes. Boards in hand, gladiator-like figures stepped forward. Morrissey’s birdlike body shook, her quivering hands went to her face,” They’re here, oh my god they're here!” A trilling gasp could be heard reverberating around the sacrosanct reading room.

”Were here for the young librarian,” Tops proclaimed, his voice rumbling in his chest.

“Yeah dude, that cute one.” Grunge added giving a melodramatic effect.

Morrissey’s body verged on shaking its self to pieces, her lips formed words but nothing came out. At last she gained control of her mouth, “Rape, murder,” She screamed.

Miss Morrissey ran from the counter, past the parting boarders, screaming her way out the front door. At the top step, in front of Somerset’s venerable library the octogenarian shouted, “Murder, help, crazed murderers.”