Enjoy twenty-one servings of New York attitude in Fresh Slices, written by local members of the New York / Tri-State chapter of Sisters in Crime! Second in the Murder New York Style series, this mystery anthology features tales from the most ethnically diverse and densely populated city in America. By turns funny, tough, and somber, the authors reveal slices of life beyond the tourist’s eye view, in rich and poor neighborhoods where old-timers desperately protect their secrets and brand-new arrivals indulge dangerous appetites. There is as much variety in the tones, settings, and approaches as in the city itself. And yet, each of these crime stories also reflects Gotham’s most infectious and unifying principle, that special combination of adaptability and assertiveness dished out more often than any pizza or street meat.
“Tear Down” by Anita Page
TO Delilah, in the back seat of a taxi parked across the street, the house looked exposed, like a woman caught with her buttons undone.
“The Doorman Building” by Anne-Marie Sutton
SECRETLY, she had wanted Will to live in a basement apartment like the ones in Hollywood movies, where the neighbors were all lovable eccentrics, and an Italian restaurant with red-checkered tablecloths and straw baskets of Chianti stood on the corner.
“The Sneaker Tree” by Terrie Farley Moran
THAT day was the end of anyone outside the family remembering that my mother had died.
“Taking the High Line” by Fran Bannigan Cox
IN our special spot, two stories above Washington Street between Little West Twelfth and Gansevoort Street, screened by choke cherry trees, we would be alone, floating above the roar of yellow cabs rushing beneath our feet.
“The Brighton Beach Mermaid” by Lina Zeldovich
TANYA Kremin, once a respected Moscow lawyer and now a reluctant American call girl, walked into a dilapidated motel on Brighton Beach Avenue, the Russian enclave of New York City.
“Justice for All” by Catherine Maiorisi
WOW. Seeing was believing. People really did live on boats in Manhattan.
“A Morbid Case of Identity Theft” by Clare Toohey
I FELT as if I were sneaking into an explorer’s most private, strangest trophy room, or breaking into Houdini’s prop closet.
“Only People Kill People” by Laura K. Curtis
SAM and I worked at Goldmark Jewelers, in the diamond district of New York City, where most of what glitters is compressed carbon, and the rest is platinum.
“The Greenmarket Violinist” by Triss Stein
LIKE any New Yorker, I reflexively registered the wild gleam in his eyes and the clothes that might have come from a Dumpster, and just as reflexively, classified him as someone to avoid.
“The Understudy” by Lois Karlin
THEY shared Alphabet City with junkies and artists who came for the same reason they had: to live cheap in a place the rest of the world had forgotten.
“Murder on the Side Street” by Stephanie Wilson-Flaherty
I PARKED my butt into my front parlor chair, got out my binoculars, and settled in until the new neighbor showed up.
“Out of Luck” by Cathi Stoler
JOHNNY was pacing the length of the coffee shop that fronted onto Fortieth Street and sweating enough to make the polo shirt he was wearing stick to the small roll of fat that was slowly building around his middle.
“Tell Me About Your Day” by Lynne Lederman
HE looked at the lighter and for once, instead of conjuring up some incoherent reminiscence, he pictured a little girl’s coat.
“He’s the One” by Cynthia Benjamin
HENRY was writing in his black notebook, when the girl with the silver-blonde hair sat next to him in the crowded coffee shop near Union Square.
“A Vampire in Brooklyn” by Leigh Neely
I LOOKED good for a thirty-year old woman who had been killed by a psychopath in 1971.
“Remember You Will Die” by Susan Chalfin
I KNEW Melissa was puzzled by my deathbed conversion to Tibetan mysticism.
“A Countdown to Death” by Deirdre Verne
HE did have a choice, and after much discussion, Mr. Rudkus helped me understand his need to live each and every day with humility and grace.
“A Poet’s Justice” by Eileen Dunbaugh
TOGETHER, they sifted through the pictures in the box, Senida helping Maddie to hold each one, as she tried to recall who it was and where it had been taken.
“That Summer” by Joan Tuohy
IN the summer of forty-four, the whole block and the schoolyard―in fact all of upper Manhattan and the Bronx―was my country idyll.
“Death Will Tank Your Fish” by Elizabeth Zelvin
NEIL was probably the only alcoholic in town whose story about hitting bottom involved stumbling home in a blackout and crash-landing in a tankful of guppies.
“North on Clinton” by k.j.a. Wishnia
THEY don’t know about towns like Roosevelt, the subprime foreclosure capital of Nassau County, or Wyandanch, where the public schools are full of ratty old textbooks telling you that JFK’s still the president, or Brentwood, where a murder vic can lie out in the street all night before the detectives decide to drop by and get to work.
Crime that whets your appetite for more!