Rod Kackley's Blog: St. Isidore Collection , page 3

A Wicked Plan: Book 1 From the St. Isidore Collection

                        A serial killer finds true love?Guess again. That's all part of Bree's Wicked Plan.
                   

                         Click here. Read all about it now!

The Case of the Cop Who Shot His Daughter, Crime Thriller by Rod Kackley

Photo by Richard Jaimes on Unsplash
Amanda Petrocelli appeared before St. Isidore County District Judge Raymond Brown with her greasy, blonde hair tied in a ragged ponytail, wearing prison orange, and sporting a gruesome scar that ran from nearly the left side of her nose, across her formerly smooth white cheek, down to her jawbone.She’d been shot in the face by her father, yet it was Amanda who faced criminal charges. ~Living in a Las Vegas motel with her husband, David, Amanda had had enough. She could no longer spend a day without her children. Her babies had been taken from her after Amanda and David had been busted for cooking crystal meth in a motel room that was their home back in Michigan.It had been Amanda’s idea. She’d had dropped the kids off with her parents before running from Michigan with David Petrocelli to Vegas where they were married by an Elvis impersonator. This latest bust made them both three-time losers. Amanda knew she and David were looking at life in prison and the court would take the kids anyway, “So why not just drop them off with Mom and Dad and leave,” she asked David.And leave they did. Stopping only long enough to steal the occasional car and rob a gas station or two along they way when they needed money, Amanda and David found their way to Las Vegas.But even when a mother is a criminal and a drug addict; a mother can’t live without her babies. Amanda wanted her children.She left first in the couple’s car. The idea was to get to her parents’ home in Northern Michigan and wait for David. When he arrived, they would pull guns on Amanda’s father and mother and make off with the kids.David would need a ride. A few days after Amanda left, rather than hot-wiring a car, which was getting increasingly difficult with the new anti-theft computer systems, David placed an online ad for a gay lover.Within a few hours, David received a response. Two nights later, a man looking for a few hours of passion lay dead in David and Amanda’s former motel room, and David was on his way to Michigan.~James Bradford was expecting trouble. After thirty-five years in the St. Isidore Police Department, he had made many friends in law enforcement and was owed more than a few favors. One of his old cop-shop buddies had been keeping an eye on Amanda and David for James in Las Vegas. After more than three decades as a police officer, James was trained to expect the worst in people. He was hardly ever disappointed. So he wasn’t surprised that a few days after Amanda showed up on his doorstep his buddy in Vegas called with the news that David was wanted for the murder of a man and the theft of the victim’s car.“David was last seen heading east,” his cop buddy said. “They lost him in northern Illinois. He might have switched to another car, we don’t know.”“But, I’ll bet he’s coming  my way,” James said.He could have called the St. Isidore Police Department for backup. James was still a hero to the seven guys and two women who kept the peace in this small city. But he had always been a man who handled trouble on his own, especially family trouble.So this night James waited in his bedroom, sitting on the bed where Amanda was conceived. His grandchildren, two boys, were asleep. His wife was sleeping soundly in the bed where Amanda had been conceived.  Amanda was in her old bedroom.James was in the basement rec room watching TV.  His gun safe was just a few feet away.Ever since he had heard David might be heading his way, James had kept the key to the safe in his pocket. When he heard a knock at the door, James pulled the key from his pocket and walked to the gun safe, too out two pistols — a .45 caliber and a .380 — and walked up the stairs to the living room.~The first shot rang out as James opened the wooden door to the kitchen. Instinctively he dropped into a combat position and returned first. David’s shot missed him by a foot. James returned fire and didn’t miss. David’s shirt was covered with blood. James pointed a gun in the direction of the sound of the hammer of a revolver being cocked to his left.It was Amanda. She was pointed a .38 caliber revolver at him. The hammer was cocked. Amanda held the gun with two hands. Her finger was on the trigger. ~St. Isidore wasn’t the kind of town where cops pulled their guns in self-defense. They never had to go that far to keep the peace. James’ service weapon had only been removed from its holster on the firing range. James had never once squeezed the trigger.But this night he had to fire twice before Amanda fell. The first slug ripped into his little girl’s face. The second hit the hand that held the revolver.~Amanda pleaded guilty to a charge of assault with intent to murder. James was sure that with her record, she’d be sentenced to life without parole, and she was. The St. Isidore County Prosecutor ruled that James had fired his weapon in self-defense. No charges would be filed.Still, James knew he had sentenced himself to a lifetime of regret.
He had shot his little girl.
The Case of the Cop Who Shot His Daughter is only one of the crime thrillers based on shocking true crime stories that you will find in Stories of St. Isidore by Rod Kackley.

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The Case of the Heroic Bank Guard, St. Isidore Collection Crime Fiction by Rod Kackley

Photo by vadim kaipov on Unsplash
Larry Turner was about as high as he had ever been when he put one in the chamber of his Glock 9. Larry stashed the gun inside the back of his Levis as he got out of his mother’s Hyundai Santa Fe. He walked quickly to the front door of First Community Bank of St. Isidore, turning his back to the security camera, clicking the safety on his 9 off and rolling his ski mask down over his face just before he opened the big glass front door.It was 9:02 a.m. Not a customer in the place, but Larry was sure the tellers’ drawers were stuffed with cash. This was the score he needed.Larry had done four robberies in the last six days — a liquor store, a check-chasing place, and two gas stations — none of them much more than smash-and-grabs that yielded little other than pocket change. The real money at all of those places went right into floor safes. He hadn’t counted on that. The cashiers never had more than $100 in their registers. The hold-ups were hardly worth the effort, and certainly not worth the risk.But First Community Bank should be loaded with cash. Larry was positive this was the job he needed to blow this backwater town, his miserable life, and his nagging mother.He was confident he could get in and out in less than five minutes, and then Larry’d see nothing but St. Isidore in his rear view.His smartphone rang. “Damn, everything but..” Larry muttered as he turned from the door. Ski mask in place, one in the chamber, safety off on the 9, but he forgot to click his phone off.A phone number popped up on the screen. “Mom! I am busy,” Larry said.“What?”Fuck! Larry had forgotten to roll the ski mask up past his mouth.“I said, ‘I’m busy!”“Where’s my car?”“Your what?”“You heard me boy.”Oh for Christ sakes, Larry thought as he slowly walked back to the Hyundai. His back, and the Glock in his jeans was to the bank’s security camera, but his leather jacket should cover the butt of the pistol, Larry reassured himself.“Mom, I needed the car to apply for that job at Radio Shack I told you about last night.”“Uh, huh.”“And I didn't want to wake you up.”“Just be sure you put gas in it and…”Larry clicked off. He had no time for this. He had no intention of bringing the car back. The plan was to peel rubber out of the bank’s parking lot, and drive like hell to the old water tower beside the high school. Mary Beth would be waiting for him there in her old man’s ’68 Camaro.They were going to take off together. Larry had a couple hundred dollars from his other robberies, not much, but enough with the thousands he figured on getting from the back, to start a life together with Mary Beth.“Maybe it wasn’t perfect,” he told Mary Beth the night before last. “But at least it is a fucking plan. That’s more than we’ve had in the past two years since you graduated and I dropped out.”He tossed the smartphone on the front seat of his mom’s Hyundai. The last thing Larry needed was to have her call during the stickup.It was time. This was it. There was no sense waiting. The bank parking lot was empty except for Larry. He had to move now.This fucking ski mask, Larry thought. It was all bunched up on top of his head. If my fucking mother hadn’t called me, I’d be on the road to Mary Beth by now.“Ah, fuck it,” Larry said as he pulled the ski mask off his head, wadded it up and tossed it away.Larry pulled the hood of his sweatshirt down over his head. It would have to do. “I’ll be in and put so fast, it won’t make any difference,” he muttered.And fuck the idea of putting the gun in the back of his jeans. Larry pulled it out, made sure the safety was off and there was one in the chamber and marched right up to the bank. He pulled the first door open so hard Larry as afraid it would fly off its hinges. He kind of skipped the next five or six feet through the foyer to the next door and pulled it open.“Robbery, motherfuckers,” Larry shouted, hopping as he ran, pointing the Glock at the ceiling and firing off three shots. “Everybody down, now!”Larry heard one of the tellers, a woman, screaming. That was good. He saw both of their heads ducking below the counter. Larry did a quick 360-degree turn to make sure no one was behind him and spun around to face the tellers’ windows, firing two more shots just too make sure they knew he was serious.Both of the tellers were hiding. But Stan Grabowski was not. A retired St. Isidore County deputy who was picking up some part-time money working at the bank had his Glock pointed at Larry’s face.Out in the Hyundai, Larry’s smartphone was buzzing. It was his mom, again.Ninety days later, the county prosecutor called Stan to tell him personally the grand jury had found the shooting to be a justifiable case of self-defense.The bank gave him a medal.
Stan decided he’d rather than stay home than go back to work. He never touched his Glock, again.

Serial Killers, Kidnappers, Homicidal Maniacs, and other Villains.
The Case of The Heroic Bank Guard is just one of the gripping crime fiction stories you'll find in Stories of St. Isidore from the St. Isidore Collection.
Click here and order your signed paperback now!

Arrest Me, Please -- Flash Crime Fiction by Rod Kackley

Photo by Igor Rand on Unsplash
Danny Ryan waited in the lobby of First Community Bank of St. Isidore with $2,185 in his pocket. He was a patient man. Danny didn’t mind cooling his heels for a few minutes. It was better than being at home.

That’s what he told the St. Isidore police when they were pulling his arms behind his back for the handcuffs.

“It’s better than being at home. I can’t stand that bitch, anymore.”
“Danny, you’re going to jail. That’s better?”
“Yeah, it’s the only way I can get away from her,” Danny said.

He had tried to get away from Gladys before. But either she always found him, or he always came home with is tail between his legs.

Jail was, as Danny saw it, his last, best option.

Two months later, after growing accustomed to his jail cell, Danny's case finall went to trial. The judge agreed he needed to be punished.

“Six years, house arrest,” Judge Sullivan said. “Next case.”

(And yes, this is based on a shocking true crime story. I've changed the names to protect Danny and Gladys -- Rod)

Arrest Me, Please is just one of the flash crime fiction stories you'll find in Stories of St. Isidore by Rod Kackley

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Coming Soon! The Undertaker's Son

What would you do if you discovered an appalling, even criminal, secret from your father's past after you buried him? That's what Bradford Glasscock faces. The son of St. Isidore's only mortician is gay, lonely, and faces a new problem in The Undertaker's Son.

One



Bradford Glasscock dreaded Saturday. It was then that the nine-year-old and his seven-year-old brother Samuel would have their hair cut by their father, who was St. Isidore's lone mortician.It wasn’t so bad being the undertaker’s son. Bradford and Sam enjoyed a measure of respect because of it at St. Isidore Elementary. After all, how many other kids had dead bodies delivered to the back doors of their homes?Bradford and Sam were also the only kids at school who slept every night two floors over dead people. Ethan Glasscock’s customers spent their final days on Earth in the four-story building that housed the Glasscock family, the Glasscock Funeral Home and the Glasscock family’s customers.“The ambulance is here,” Bradford whispered to Sam as both stood on their beds in their pajamas to see out to the driveway.“Another delivery,” Sam said.“Wonder who died tonight?”“And how?”“Was it murder, or a traffic accident?”“I don’t think so. We would have heard the police calls on the scanner.”“True.”“They probably just had a heart attack and died.”“Crap.”Bradford and Sam never missed a crime in St. Isidore. The family’s police scanner, which alerted them to tragedies that necessitated the transport of either the living or the dead, sometimes both, was never turned off. It provided critical communication for the business. And for the Glasscock's, death was all business.Glasscock Inc. included two companies: the Glasscock Funeral Home and the Glasscock Ambulance Company.Everyone in St.Isidore wound up in the Glasscock family home one way or another. They were either invited for dinner, or they were not. “If you die, you ride in our ambulance,” Bradford told a new kid in school.“And if you are hurt you ride in our hearse,” said Sam.“Either way, you’re coming over to our house,” said Bradford.“Yeah,” said Sam. “Dead or alive, everyone comes over to our house.”On the playground, that was usually enough to stop any new kid on the block from making fun of their last name.
Ethan Glasscock made a good living as an undertaker, as did his father before him, and his father’s father before them both.However, Ethan still had a problem with money. It’s not that he didn’t have it. It’s just that he hated to spend it, like his father before him and his father’s father before them both.And, that’s why Bradford and Samuel hated Saturday, every Saturday.Ethan couldn’t tolerate spending money to send his sons to Al the barber, not when Ethan cut the hair of his customers every day. He cut male hair and styled female hair.Why should he pay Al to cut his kids’ hair?So every Saturday, Ethan trimmed the hair of the younger  Glasscock’s, Bradford and Samuel. “We always hated it,” Bradford explained and Samuel nodded in agreement on the day they prepared their father for his final resting place, in the basement of the Glasscock Funeral Home.“We didn’t mind getting our hair cut by our father,” said Bradford to a reporter for the St. Isidore Gazette.
“It was just that we always had to lay on our backs on the kitchen table while Dad cut our hair,” said Sam, “because none of his customers ever sat up.”
***
There you have the first chapter of  The Undertaker's Son, a short story that I have decided to expand into a full-length novel. My plan is to release this book in the first quarter of 2018, but I will be showing you chapters, as I write them.
Thanks for reading, and as always....Welcome to St. Isidore!

Rod

The Suicide Forest: Where The World Goes To Die & Demons Live Forever

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Horror. Demons. Supernatural. Murder.
The Suicide Forest: Where the World Goes To Die & Demons Live Forever
Caleb could've kept Kali out of the Suicide Forest if he’d been thinking with his brain. But of course, he wasn’t. Now Kali’s missing and Caleb is lost, wandering in the Suicide Forest, trapped with people dying all around him. What did Caleb expect? Whether it’s paranormal, evil, criminal, or all of the above, this is the Suicide Forest.Kali was new in town. She didn't know how evil the Suicide Forest could be. Or did she?
One thing is certain. Caleb and Kali are going to learn the lesson that nobody gets out of this life, alive, especially when they decide to spend a night in the Suicide Forest. 
The Forest never gives up its dead.
Caleb and Kali run into pure evil in the form of the paranormal ghosts and spirits of the dearly departed who have wound up hanging from a tree branch with their necks snapped. Others are simply demons looking for revenge.Caleb and Kali meet people who think they are ready to die, others who were lured by the mass murderers and serial killers who relish their pain and suffering; and teenagers playing the game "Beth and Bree" that always claims at least one victim, sometimes more.
The demons and paranormal evil of the Suicide Forest could mean the end of Caleb and Kali. Or will the paranormal demons and ghosts of the Forest show them a new way and lead them to a new life? Caleb and Kali are in a battle for their lives. It’s an adventure they never dreamed of, an adventure they may not survive. After all, they are lost in the horror of the Suicide Forest. Caleb may have a chance for true love — Kali’s love — but only if he can defeat the evil inside the Suicide Forest, and maybe even the evil inside himself.
The Suicide Forest: A Crime and Suspense Thriller by Rod Kackley, From the St. Isidore Collection.


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Welcome to the Suicide Forest, where the world goes to die and demons live forever.

The Fin Domme & The Politician by Rod Kackley

Photo by Timothy Paul Smith on Unsplash
Steven Goodwell, Mayor of St. Isidore, hooked up with a fin domme. It seemed like the craziest thing in the world when he found the young woman online while he was alone in a New York hotel room. Steven was in the Big Apple representing St.Isidore at a national conference of small-town mayors. After a day of meetings, he found himself alone and bored in his hotel room. Staring out the window at the vibrant streets of NYC entertained him for only so long. 

Steven found himself drawn to his MacBook Air.

Going to New York without his wife, Mary Alice had seemed like an excellent idea, at the time. Steven would play. Steven would party. Steven would enjoy himself like he hadn’t since college.
But he wasn’t a twenty-year-old anymore. Steven tired quickly, and he missed Mary Alice. Steven was lonely. So he started fooling around with his city-issued laptop. 

That’s how he found Allyson, a fin domme. As the name might suggest to anyone but the most vanilla, she dominated men, financially.

Here was Allyson's offer: She would enslave Steven, virtually, or online, and he would send her money, buy her gifts, and give her direct access to his checking account.
In return, she sent him photos of herself the first night and talked to him online the second night.

He found it exciting and kept it going when he got home.

That was a month ago, a very long, exciting, month ago. But now the flame had died out.
Steven found himself in a hotel room in St. Isidore. Allyson, a fin domme turned blackmailer, threatened to release all of their emails and financial transactions if he didn’t pay her $100,00. Steven knew the first check would only be the beginning. She had her claws in him; there was no doubt about that. Steven had made a huge mistake. But no more. He decided to call her bluff. But it was no bluff. Allyson had done her homework and emailed all the info to city hall and more importantly, his wife, Mary Alice.

Now Steven was sitting in the St. Isidore Inn holding a revolver; a six-shot, snub-nose .32 that fit in the palm of his hand as perfectly as the last pack of cigarettes he'd smoked before kicking the habit. The gun had been his father’s. Steven thought about how disappointed Dad would be. 
“If he could only see me know,” Steven said to himself before putting the barrel of the gun into his mouth.

Steven was about ready to end it all when he heard a CNN newsreader on the TV say a young woman had been found dead in her dorm room at Central Michigan University, in the town of Mt. Pleasant, Michigan.

Steven glanced at the TV and saw the dead girl’s photo. It was Allyson. He turned up the volume and heard the girl was strangled and smashed over the head with what the cops called "a blunt object. 

Steven's city-owned cell phone rang. It was St. Isidore Police Chief Lumpy Doolan. 
“Steven? Lumpy.” 
Oh great, Steven thought. Police Chief Lumpy Doolan. What the heck could he want?
Steven looked at the gun in his hand.
“Yeah?”
“How ya doin', Mayor?”
“Sarcasm is not what I need right now, Lumpy.”
“Sorry.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Stop being a pissant. You aren’t the first hometown boy in Swinging Izzy to fuck-up, you know,” Lumpy said. 
Asshole, Steven thought.
“And I’m afraid I’ve got more bad news,” Lumpy said.
Steven took a deep breath, choked back a sob and picked up the handgun. He pressed the barrel against his temple. Would serve Lumpy right if I blew my brains out right in his ear, Steven thought.
“What now?”
“I just got off the phone one of my police buddies, a cop in Mt. Pleasant, and you are not going to believe what he told me.”
Steven pressed the gun harder against his temple and put his finger on the trigger.
“Mt. Pleasant cops just arrested your Mary Alice. You aren’t going to believe what they say she did…”



Sex. Jealousy. Greed. Murder.
Bree is a teenage girl so sick, so twisted, so ready to kill, that she might become the most famous, wealthiest kid in the world. At least that’s her wicked plan.
Bree learned early in life how to manipulate people; young and old, male and female. Bree discovered the secret of getting what she wanted. And now, Bree wants it all; fame, fortune and freedom, and it doesn’t matter whom she has to murder to make her dreams come true.
Her girlfriend, Beth, is ready to help. So is Bree’s high school biology teacher, Mr. Sheldon. Bree thinks he is disgusting, but she also knows he wants her. That is the key to getting what she wants. So she uses it.
What Bree doesn’t know is that (1)Mr. Sheldon loves her and (2) he’ll do anything to keep her. And, there is one more thing. Mr. Sheldon has been killing girls, and boys, who didn’t love him back since he was a teenager.
So, just how is Bree going to use a serial killer and dump him without getting herself killed?
Bree’s going to need a plan for that too.
A Wicked Plan: Book One From the St. Isidore Collection is a riveting crime and suspense thriller that will introduce you to the suburban mysteries of the community of St. Isidore. 
You’ll explore the psychology of teenagers willing to kill for what they want; look into the dark psychology of serial killers; and even expose the failings of atrocious cable TV news.
If at the end of this noir tale of murder, sex, and greed; you feel sorry for the serial killer, you won’t be alone. 
A Wicked Plan will leave you wondering; just who is the hero in this book?
A Wicked Plan: Book One From the St. Isidore Collection is available wherever books are sold including Amazon, Barnes & Noble, iBooks, Kobo, and Rod Kackley's Crime Stories Book Store.

New in the St. Isidore Collection! The Coffee Shoppe Killer by Rod Kackley

The Coffee Shoppe Killer by Rod Kackley is a fascinating, gripping, psychological thriller, inspired by a shocking true crime story, of a woman who found true love, too late.

Mary Eileen Sullivan is a beautiful, successful woman with a thriving business and an ex-husband who refuses to leave. The ink on their divorce papers is dry as dust and still, he won't budge.

How is she going to get rid of David?

What happens if Mary Eileen decides the last resort might be her best option?
Will her next lover be any better? And what if he isn't? The basement under the Coffee Shoppe could get mighty crowded.

The Coffee Shoppe Killer, another crime fiction story from St. Isidore, the most dysfunctional community on the planet, and the home of the Suicide Forest is available wherever books are sold including Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Apple, and Kobo.

For more crime stories, books from the St. Isidore Collection, the Crime Stories app, and Shocking True Crime Stories go to www.rodkackley.com. 

Discovering the Suicide Forest: Part One by Rod Kackley

People from around the world go to the Suicide Forest to die. Others go to find the dead. Still more people go to celebrate the death. Yet, one thing is certain: The Suicide Forest never gives up its dead.

Yet, after decades of despair, the Suicide Forest has also turned into a gold mine for St. Isidore. And the town has a rookie cop to thank for discovering the Suicide Forest -- a rookie cop and his dog, Buckwheat, who were walking one day......



John Sheldon had only been on the job for two months and was already wondering if being a cop was really what he wanted to do as he walked his dog in St. Isidore Forest. 

The leaves on the ground were the golden brown and fiery red colors that were normal for this time of the year. The trees were bare. He could almost smell winter in the air.

In a metaphorical moment, John realized that he and his dog were walking on grass carpeted with leaves that had outlived their usefulness just like the overweight, doughnut scarfing, dinosaur that he was stuck with as a partner.

John was not in a good mood. He was more than a little hungover. 

This is a hangover that could kill a horse, he thought, mentally cursing his decision to spend the night with other department rookies playing poker.

“My money is gone. My headache won’t leave,” he told the dog. “What was I thinking?”

The dog looked up at him like he couldn’t figure out the answer either.

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Caleb and Kali decided to spend a night in the Suicide Forest. Caleb knew better. If he had been thinking with his brain....well, he wasn't. So now Caleb and Kali are running for their lives, trying to escape the death of the Suicide Forest.
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"Two People Have Been Shot..." by Rod Kackey

New from the St. Isidore Collection of Crime Fiction



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