D. A. Ratliff
Bio
A Southerner with saltwater in her veins, Deborah lives in the Florida sun and writes murder mysteries. She is published in several anthologies and her first novel, Crescent City Lies, is scheduled for release in 2024.
Stories (68/0)
Among Us
Among Us Part one: The Bamboo Tomb D. A. Ratliff Heavy gray skies hovered over the Kansai International Airport as the plane dropped out of the clouds only seconds before it landed. As if my nerves were not already raw, landing on a runway the length of the island did little to help. The pilot managed to stop the plane short of dropping us into Osaka Bay. Only then did I breathe.
By D. A. Ratliff8 days ago in Fiction
Faces in the Crowd
Faces in the Crowd D. A. Ratliff A Detective Elijah Boone Mystery Fireworks exploded over the city, lighting the sky with multicolored embers. My ears rang from the concussion as the sound waves pummeled my eardrums. My partner, Hank Guidry, stood a few feet from me, stoic, as he gazed at the crowd, his eyes slowly scanning the faces watching the fireworks. We had images of our perps, but finding them in this mass of Fourth of July celebrants was daunting.
By D. A. Ratliff24 days ago in Fiction
Night Visitor
Night Visitor D. A. Ratliff There were moments when I regretted volunteering to monitor the experiments overnight. The bio-science building, bustling with techs during the day, became an eerie tomb at night. There might be a few people in the main building, but my lab was in the restricted area where government contracts fueled the research. Cue the men in black suits, lapel buttons, and sunglasses lurking in the dead of night. I'm not saying it was aliens—but it was aliens.
By D. A. Ratliffabout a month ago in Fiction
Under the Pines
Under the Pines D. A. Ratliff A Detective Elijah Boone Mystery The tall, majestic Eastern white pine trees stood like sentinels, overlooking the backyard. My grandfather, Poppa, had planted a tree upon the births of his grandchildren—a tree for my cousins Matt and Ronnie, my sister Naomi, and me. How fitting that a dead body lay under the tree bearing my name.
By D. A. Ratliff2 months ago in Fiction
- Top Story - February 2024
Author, Read ThyselfTop Story - February 2024
Author, Read Thyself D. A. Ratliff I grew up in the South, where “little white lies” were uttered daily. The “My, you look lovely today—love that color on you.” Or “I swear, that’s the best shrimp and grits I ever ate.” Or my favorite, “It’s so good to see you.”
By D. A. Ratliff2 months ago in Writers
A Quiet Cafe
A Quiet Café D. A. Ratliff I approached the café where we were meeting and rehearsed what I wanted to say. At least, what he expected me to say. Would it be the truth? No. That wasn’t part of the game we were playing—only he didn’t know it was a game.
By D. A. Ratliff2 months ago in Fiction
Courier to Paris
Courier to Paris D. A. Ratliff I leaned against a storefront, its awning shielding me from the heavy snowfall, my eyes glued to the antique bookshop across the street. In the warmly lit interior, an older man stood behind a counter talking to a younger woman. The man slipped three books into a kraft paper shopping bag and handed it to her. She nodded and left the shop.
By D. A. Ratliff3 months ago in Fiction
Flowers for Her
Flowers for Her D. A. Ratliff A Detective Elijah Boone Mystery I came home to an unexpected vase of flowers, and my hands trembled as I opened the attached note. This wasn’t the first time that flowers had arrived at my door. Each time I received flowers, another young woman died.
By D. A. Ratliff3 months ago in Fiction
Danny Boy
Danny Boy D. A. Ratliff Westward Ho! I chuckled. As a boy, having watched American cowboy shows on television, I loved to go to the westernmost tip of England, look toward America, and yell those two words, convinced that someday I would go westward to America.
By D. A. Ratliff3 months ago in Fiction
- Top Story - January 2024
The Dowager’s PearlsTop Story - January 2024
The Dowager’s Pearls D. A. Ratliff A Detective Elijah Boone Mystery She preferred everyone to call her Dowager Estelle Montmorency, a title befitting her status, at least in her mind, as New Orleans nobility. As of this morning, however, she would be known as the late Dowager Montmorency. A blow to the back of her skull changed her status rather quickly.
By D. A. Ratliff3 months ago in Fiction
