LITMIR.BIZ

The barn turned out to be a spaceship in disguise, and that was only the beginning. Before his strange adventure ended, young Paul Asher found himself going around in circles—very peculiar circles indeed!

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The little house pet from Venus didn’t like New York, so New York had to change.

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It was a race between the tortoise and the hare. But this hare was using some dirty tricks to make sure the ending would be different....

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They wanted to go home—back to the planet they’d known. But even the stars had changed. Did the fate of all creation hinge upon an empty bottle?

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It is the early 1980s, a time when air travel was uncomplicated, when people still smoked in offices, restaurants and bars. 'February Heat,' set on St. Ursula, a British Caribbean island very near to the American and British Virgin Islands, is the first novel in a trilogy featuring Frank James, poet and private detective. In this tale, Frank finds his calm and secure life on St. Ursula in jeopardy when he receives a phone call from Liz Ford, a woman he briefly met when returning home on the ferry from St. Thomas. Awakened by her 2:36 am call telling him someone had just tried to kill her and asking for his help, Frank and his friend, Chance agree to help her. After a shoot-out on a beach, they find they must accompany her to Philadelphia where they find her physician husband has been murdered. Before they can safely return to St. Ursula Frank and Chance break into the offices of a mysterious New Hampshire college with connections to Liz's husband's medical practice and the drug ring with which the doctors are involved. Frank's situation is complicated by his troubled relationships with Howard Penn, the island's Chief Inspector of Police, who despises expatriate Americans, and L. Arthur Parker, St. Ursula's Prime Minster, who will do anything, and use anyone in any way he can, to assure his continuance in office.

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"As I sit down to write here amidst the shadows of vine-leaves under the blue sky of southern Italy, it comes to me with a certain quality of astonishment that my participation in these amazing adventures of Mr. Cavor was, after all, the outcome of the purest accident. It might have been any one. I fell into these things at a time when I thought myself removed from the slightest possibility of disturbing experiences. I had gone to Lympne because I had imagined it the most uneventful place in the world. «Here, at any rate,» said I, «I shall find peace and a chance to work!» And this book is the sequel. So utterly at variance is destiny with all the little plans of men. I may perhaps mention here that very recently I had come an ugly cropper in certain business enterprises. Sitting now surrounded by all the circumstances of wealth, there is a luxury in admitting my extremity. I can admit, even, that to a certain extent my disasters were conceivably of my own making. It may be there are directions in which I have some capacity, but the conduct of business operations is not among these. But in those days I was young, and my youth among other objectionable forms took that of a pride in my capacity for affairs. I am young still in years, but the things that have happened to me have rubbed something of the youth from my mind. Whether they have brought any wisdom to light below it is a more doubtful matter." This Rediscovered edition also features the illustrations prepared for the first edition of this book, by Claude Allin Shepperson.

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I hear a gang of buffalo hunters got together recently in a saloon in Dodge City to discuss ways and means of keeping their sculps onto their heads whilst collecting pelts, and purty soon one of 'em riz and said, «You mavericks make me sick. For the last hour you been chawin' wind about the soldiers tryin' to keep us north of the Cimarron, and belly-achin' about the Comanches, Kiowas and Apaches which yearns for our hair. You've took up all that time jawin' about sech triflin' hazards, and plannin' steps to take agen 'em, but you ain't makin' no efforts whatsoever to pertect yoreselves agen the biggest menace they is to the entire buffalo-huntin' clan–which is Breckinridge Elkins!»

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Breckenridge heads out to Lonesome Lizard to deal with rustlers the only way Breckenridge knows how. But can this conquerin’ hero of the Humbolts get the girl?

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I led my party into Morrisey's private box in the grand stand of the Chicago American League grounds. We had come to see the Rube's break into fast company. My great pitcher, Whittaker Hurtle, the Rube, as we called him, had won the Eastern League Pennant for me that season, and Morrisey, the Chicago magnate, had bought him.

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The Rube has lost his magic touch. Something is taking his mind away from the game. What could be that important?

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