A collection of five interconnected tales of
intrigue, mystery and death

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> A bereaved man whose brother knew deadly secrets in Dusty Death.

> In Terminal a hit-man himself becomes the target of a hit.

> A kidnapping is more than it appears in Revenge is not Sweet.

> Family matters could be deadly for The Red-Headed Girl.

> And Sin of the Father reveals a parent’s confession.

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‍About the Author

Jack Shortman was born in Shropshire, England in 1937 and was brought up by an uncle and aunt.

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At 18 he enlisted in the Household Cavalry as a National Serviceman.  After his de-mob he met and married his wife, Mary.  In 1960 he re-enlisted in his regiment and, after serving two years in Knightsbridge, he re-joined his mechanized regiment in Windsor and served in Cyprus, completed two tours of Germany and a tour in Canada.  After his final de-mob in 1978 he worked in the MOD as an administration officer until he was medically discharged.

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Jack’s family persuaded him to write a book about his army career which he self-published under the title Memoirs of a Soldier in the Household Cavalry.  This was well received and, finding that he enjoyed writing very much, Jack went on to pen Strange Tales.

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Now a widower, Jack lives alone in Shropshire surrounded by his family and spends much of his time horse and carriage driving.

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Excerpt from The Red-Headed Girl

The rain was lashing down as I drove into town after having delivered a wayward daughter back to her very rich parent.  My name is Jack Spead, Private Investigator – at least that’s what is says on my office door.  I was on a high as a very fat cheque nestled in my wallet, so I decided to celebrate at my local.  I parked the car, locked it and made my way to the pub entrance.  Even with my trench coat and felt hat on I could feel the rain trickling down my neck.  I entered the bar; it was unusually empty except for a couple in the far corner and a lone girl sitting at the bar.  The couple didn’t even look up as I entered and the girl only just glanced up then resumed her vigil with the glass in front of her.  I ordered a large whisky and took a large gulp which seemed to do wonders for the damp feeling I had.  The girl at the end of the bar downed her drink and waved the barman for a refill.  Ted, the barman, shook his head, “I think you have had enough lady, besides you can’t pay, you had the last one on the house.”

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“If I can’t have a drink can I stay till closing, maybe the rain will have stopped?”

Ted nodded, “OK, but only till I shout last orders.”

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Ted came over to me and shook his head.  “She’s been here since I opened, and she’s had too much.”

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I grinned.  “Don’t give me your excuses, Ted, you’re just a softy really.”

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He grinned back, “Well perhaps I am.”

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We were interrupted by the door opening and a rush of cold damp air rushed in.  The man that entered was tall and beefy and somehow oozed power.   He was expensively dressed in a dark lounge suit and matching tie under his tip coat.  He sported a thin black moustache and his hair was slicked down with a greasy looking gel.  He glanced around until he spotted the redhead.  He walked over and grabbed her by the arm.

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“Well now, you are hard to find young lady!  Now the old lady wants to see you pronto.”

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