July in Provincetown


Provincetown dunes


Early morning sunshine lit their bedroom. Husbanded and wife lay in each other’s arms and lust borne beads of perspiration vanished in a window’s breeze.

Norm, a police detective, sat up, “I’ll fix breakfast, Honey. Then, I’m going to drag that old anchor we found in the sand yesterday back to the cottage.”

Three hours later, Norm’s dune buggy rumbled to the cottage and stopped. Someone with a bloody face and wearing a neon-green mini skirt was behind the wheel. Peg rushed down the steps toward the machine. “That’s my husband’s buggy, where is he?”

The driver groaned, moved away from the vehicle, and stepped toward Peg. “He’s okay dear, he let me borrow the car. I need to get back to town.”

Visible only to Peg, Norm jogged over a dune behind the driver and raised a driftwood truncheon.

The length of wood slammed against the driver’s skull and he crumpled in a heap. Norm, still breathing heavily from his run, stared at his captive. That’s Conrad Malloy nicknamed the sailor. He’s ben on our wanted list for five years.”

Peg knelt beside the unconscious man and pointed. “He’s fashion oriented. Check out the green thong.”

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