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    Something Borrowed, Something Blue
    Something Borrowed, Something Blue
    Something Borrowed, Something Blue
    Ebook45 pages36 minutes

    Something Borrowed, Something Blue

    By DeAnna Knippling

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    About this ebook

    Can't drink the water, can't drive around the potholes, can't sleep for gunshots at night, can't trust the locks on your doors. But you can trust the creepy white van that's been parking around your neighborhood at night.

    On the side, someone spray painted:

    "Something borrowed, something blue, something terrible will happen to you."

    The neighborhood is under siege. The defense is holding but the war is taking its toll. Not just on the streets but on the sanity of the people who are fighting it.

    Dark shapes stalk the shadows between the abandoned houses, growing closer...

    Just another day, in a nameless suburb of Detroit.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherWonderland Press
    Release dateNov 18, 2019
    ISBN9781393873945
    Something Borrowed, Something Blue
    Author

    DeAnna Knippling

    DeAnna Knippling writes eclectic crime, mystery, romance, and other stories with characters whose sense of justice gives them a bittersweet view of life. Her hobbies are cooking, taking long walks on Florida beaches, digging into the realm of open-source intelligence, fangirling over history, science, and psychology-and reading lots of fiction, graphic novels, and web comics while her tea goes cold. Author of the Sweet Granadilla and Dark & Cozy mystery series, you can find her at WonderlandPress.com.

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      Book preview

      Something Borrowed, Something Blue - DeAnna Knippling

      Copyright Information

      Something Borrowed, Something Blue

      Copyright © 2016 by DeAnna Knippling

      Cover image copyright © Nina Tuzankina | Dreamstime.com

      Cover design copyright © 2016 by DeAnna Knippling

      Interior design copyright © 2016 by DeAnna Knippling

      Published by Wonderland Press

      All rights reserved. This books, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission from the author. Discover more by this author at www.Wonderlandpress.com.

      Something Borrowed, Something Blue

      Something borrowed, something blue. Something terrible will happen to you.

      Someone had gotten the rhyme all wrong, but I didn’t feel like correcting it. Instead I slurped my coffee and pretended that goosebumps hadn’t risen all along my arms. The side of the white van parked across the street had been painted with bright blue spray paint on the side facing my house. The paint had been sprayed slowly and carefully, which meant that there were blue drips all along the bottoms of the letters. It was like looking at blue blood splatter.

      I didn’t like it.

      I hadn’t built my home into a fortress because it made me happy. I wasn’t some kind of pathological doom-prepper. It was just that the bad parts of Detroit had crept up on me. So I did what I had to do: bars over the windows, an alarm system, security doors, and a couple of other surprises, like a loaded shotgun just inside the front and back doors.

      I was on the neighborhood watch, I helped clear out squatters from abandoned homes, I worked my rotation at the soup kitchen. I might have set a fire or two so the city would pull a couple of places down.

      I lived on a couple of blocks that were an island of sanity behind the lines.

      And now this.

      The driver-side and front windows were tinted pure black. Not legal in Michigan, I knew that much. And as for a side mirror, forget about it. There was nothing but a couple of trailing wires where it had been—and a nasty scrape down the side of the driver’s door.

      I couldn’t tell whether there was a shape in the driver’s seat or not. Might have been. Might have just been the silhouette of the driver’s seat. Some of those seats have head rests that reach up over your head, even.

      It didn’t feel like kids.

      It felt like, I don’t know. A serial killer or something. It felt like any second now, one or both of the side doors were going to slide on open and a clown with sharp teeth was going to step out.

      The coffee was no good. It landed like a mouthful of grounds in my stomach. I could feel bowling balls rolling around down there, grinding it up.

      I spat off my front porch and went back into the house. The newspaper was lying at the bottom of four cement steps in the bright sunlight.

      It could wait.

      · · ·

      I’m supposed to be retired now. I used to be an electrical engineer, worked at

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