What Do We Do Now

Cosmo here. Master has been home all week, and I don’t understand why. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve enjoyed having him home so I can come and go into our home as I please. He continues giving me loves and food, which I require all the time. I’ve discovered, though tasty, mice aren’t very filling, and it takes a lot of work out for me to eat one measly little rodent that’s amazingly fast. 

I’ve forgotten about the girl that had me. She was nice and pretty for a human, but she didn’t seem to want me anymore. Master here, I guess the other humans call him Jerry, he has bent over backward to obey my every whim. He even cleans my litter box every time I use it. She never did that for me. Then that human boyfriend of hers always complained I smelled. I’m a cat, we don’t smell! 

So now he’s home clacking away on his thing called a keyboard appearing busy. I’m lying on the couch. My eyes are closed but I hear everything. Even that bird’s preening I can hear that too. 

“Talking to me?” She asks me. Of course humans aren’t trained to hear our thoughts like other animals can. It’s one of their weaknesses of having an unusually large brain. 

I opened my eyes and watched her. Master calls her Elsa, among other things. I call her a snack and trouble. She isn’t supposed to be the aggressor, yet she refuses to back down when I’m trying to pounce upon her and have her for dinner. Or breakfast. Or snack between the two. No, she attacks me and gives me that ‘don’t mess with the queen’ expression. “As a matter of fact I’m wondering why master hasn’t gone to that place he calls work.” 

“It’s because he is on something called a vacation, dumb ass.” 

“Why do you insult me so?” 

“Because you are a dumb ass!” 

“So, what do we do while he is on this vacation?” 

“We let him do whatever he wants. It’s not like he understands what it is we do when he’s not around.” 

“Why do you suppose that is?” 

“Humans, you got to love them, are just gullible creatures who see a pretty face or cutesy mannerism, like you playing inside a box, and they get enamored with us. They think we are entertaining and for that we get a place to live and eat all we want without worry of being eaten by a predator or starving to death.” 

“But, yet they claim to be the superior species,” I pointed out to her. 

“No, we animals allow them to believe that. Remember we adopted them, not the other way around.” 

“Well, I was tricked into that cage and…” 

Because you are a dumb ass,” Elsa countered. She then let out a laugh. That always grates against me, her ability to actually talk like a human, or even laugh like one as she just did. I closed my eyes. 

“You can kiss my dumb ass then.” 

May 23, 2025

My loyal readers the date is important because that’s the date I’m launching my second printing of Edge of Darkness Four Seasons Book One. As you all recall I self-published the first edition through Amazon Kindle in 2018.  

The sales were mostly through me and some through the local bookstores in Spokane area. I also had a signing done at Aunties, an independent bookstore in downtown Spokane. Sales were probably average considering that I wasn’t reaching out to a broader audience. 

I’m announcing this now so you, my loyal readers can preorder it and be ahead of the game, so to speak. Now the gist of the storyline. 

Mark Marteau has dreams of doing something useful with his life other than doing grunt work for a landfill scavenger. He becomes the unwitting witness to the murder of Old Joe Murdock and convinces the city detective, Tracy Dickerson, to let him be an informant to find the person responsible. 

In the second story of this ongoing series, Mark’s lifelong friend Dave is assassinated in front of his wife and four-year-old son, Dylan. It comes to Mark’s attention that the murder was retribution for the Murdock case ten years prior. Mark is now a bounty hunter, and he has been given an assignment to go after a man from a drug cartel out of Totos Santos, Mexico. 

Book Two will hopefully be available soon. The idea was to create a series of short stories with a running plot that takes Marteau and his partner through until the actual puppet master is discovered and apprehended, or not. That’s called Search for Justice.  

Evil that Men Do will feature the women partners of this series, though Mark won’t know this until later. Book Four is called Road to Nowhere. Clockmaker and Red Widow features the two antagonists of the series, who are just following orders in book five. And book six, Desperado, will be with Dylan as the lead protagonist helping to finally achieve retribution for the murders of his parents. 

I hope I live long enough to see all six books published. Whether I make a decent amount in royalties is another matter altogether. So far each book I’ve written has cost me thousand of dollars to publish, and since I wasn’t fortunate enough to be born with a silver spoon in my mouth, I have to work extra hard to make this dream of mine come true

Mystery Solved

You awoke just as the sun arose over the hill near your house. “What is that smell?” You ask yourself as you slowly, methodically pull yourself up from the bed and looked about you, trying to remember, remember. 

“What am I supposed to do today? That lady should know, but I haven’t seen her in days. Did she leave? Maybe she went to get groceries. “Mia was a good and pretty woman. I wonder what happened to her? 

“What the hell is that smell?” You grab your cane and pull yourself up from the bed. It’s an effort and yet you finally managed, standing tall on your spindly legs. “Did I eat last night?” 

You go outside the bedroom and see someone in the bathroom asleep. “Oh, there you are!” 

You look at her, but the shadows play tricks on you. “Are you taking a nap? At least that blasted dog finally stopped barking. I could hardly get any sleep with that racket. I’ll let you be. I’ll go and find something to eat in the kitchen.” 

You stepped away from the prostrate form and meander into the kitchen. On the table you see a plate of crackers and dried up looking cheese. The dim light of the morning  only shows part of the problem, and you are having a hard enough time focusing with your elderly eyes that seemed cloudy.  

You find a glass in the sink and turn on the faucet. You sit at the table, drinking the water and eating the crackers that tasted stale and unappetizing. “Why don’t my friends ever come over and visit. I surely do miss Warren. Santa Fe, yes that’s where I live now. Perhaps my wife will invite them over. Where is she? Honey? Honey? No answer. She needs to investigate where that odor is coming from!” 

You finished eating the last remaining crackers and cheese on the plate. You then get up from the chair and go into another room. There were coats and boots in here. “I know this place. What is it called? Mud room, that’s it. What did I come here for? What do I need in here?” 

You suddenly felt dizzy, and you lost your balance, falling heavily upon the cement floor. You looked about. The dizziness hasn’t passed. The room continued to spin seemingly out of control. “Am I having a heart attack? But my pacemaker.” You feel your chest. Your eyes closed and the end came without fanfare or final last words before an audience. 

Nothing Like A Cozy Mystery

I’ve enjoyed creating great stories of mystery, suspense, and intrigue. But as the old saying goes, “Life sometimes is stranger than fiction.” 

This is especially true after the latest news that came out about Gene Hackman. So far, no foul play was involved, so far. Though Mr. Hackman was over 95 years old, his wife, Betsy Arakawa, though, was only in her sixties, and by all appearances was extremely healthy. 

As the weeks and months come into play, the autopsy results, the toxicology tests, and any other pathological or forensic evidence will obviously come into play here, revealing how they died, and if it was a “murder most foul,” the person or persons responsible will be found and face justice. 

I really liked Hackman and the roles that he portrayed. Like the news reporter stated in her piece, he put himself 100 percent into any role he did, be it hero or villain. I remember him playing both types of characters in the French Connection and Hoosiers and Unforgiven and Lex Luthor in the Superman series. 

What I think I liked best about Hackman was his ability to keep his private life private. I think the fact he wasn’t a drop-dead gorgeous hunk of burning love had a lot to do with it. The tabloids tend to ignore actors such as him, focusing more on the Redfords, Cruises and DiCaprios of the world.  

If indeed this is a case of murder for the sake of celebrity, it would be incredibly sad for his memory and his legacy as a superb actor and human being. 

Another Positive Review 

This week I received another positive review for I Albert Peabody, Confessions of a Serial Killer. 

“I carry in my satchel many secrets I wish to reveal between now and when he will make his confession known to me.”

Albert’s decision to take a life was made with intended malice. A doctor couldn’t save his daughter’s life, so the pain that Albert experienced needed to be felt by the doctor. He targeted the doctor’s daughter and snuffed out her life with no remorse. Years removed from this premeditated act, Albert Peabody is living out his golden years in a psychiatric hospital where he is confessing his past crimes to his doctor. As Albert reveals his pathological nature to the doctor in painstaking detail, the doctor has questions of his own about what drove Albert to these heinous acts. Albert’s crimes have been concentrated for decades, and his cunning mind has helped him elude capture. However, now Albert is being held accountable for his nefarious deeds.

A voyage into the sinister mind of a killer proves both disturbing and illuminating in this mystery/thriller narrative. Albert’s disclosures reveal a detestable human being who whitewashes his ghastly crimes due to grievances, real or perceived, with either the victim or the victim’s kin. Albert’s doctor believes he can see through Albert and that Albert’s motives may not be as clear as Albert has conveyed. The question of Albert serving as an unreliable narrator surfaces from time to time, conjuring a comparison to American Psycho and where Albert’s confession will ultimately lead. The mind games played between the killer and his doctor form the dramatic dynamic in this story and propel the plot forward to a fulfilling conclusion. This story is intended to leave the reader unsettled and succeeds on multiple levels.
Book review by Philip Zozzaro
RECOMMENDED by the US Review

As with the Kirkus Review done in November 2023. It’s well received and got a “recommended” from the critic. 

“A fascinating and relentlessly dour peek into an evil mind.“

In Schellhammer’s novel, an elderly serial killer chronicles an alarming string of murders he’s committed over the course of decades.
Albert Peabody sits in a Washington State mental hospital. Authorities suspect the 85-year-old of killing 10 people whose remains were left in urns stashed inside a mausoleum. Albert writes out his confession to Dr. Schwartz: He’d been a POW in the Korean War, then he returned to Spokane, his hometown, and married his high-school sweetheart. Their daughter got sick, and when a doctor failed to save her life, Albert took revenge on the doctor’s child. He confesses to multiple murders spanning the 1960s to the 1980s, mostly committed as responses to what he perceived as slights. He freely admits to other shocking atrocities as well. While Albert acknowledges he’s a monster, he doesn’t think he’s crazy. Schwartz reads pages and pages of descriptions of the man’s crimes but is certain that Albert is keeping something to himself, regarding an apparent deathbed confession of Albert’s father’s. Schellhammer maintains a consistent tone throughout these writings of a narcissistic serial killer—Albert continually addresses Schwartz as “Herr Doctor” and takes unmistakable joy in recounting every awful thing he’s done. While the author avoids graphic details, the killer’s myriad deeds and cold indifference make for a mercilessly dark tale. Beneath Albert’s playful narration, readers get glimpses into his psyche, as when particular questions from Schwartz infuriate him. The killer, on occasion, seemingly contradicts himself, but he’s very clearly not the most reliable narrator, and at least some of these contradictions make sense as the story progresses. There are a few surprises awaiting readers in the final act (some more convincing than others), leading to a gratifying ending. A fascinating and relentlessly dour peek into an evil mind.

I hope that many of you my loyal readers have already bought my book and enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Thanks for all of your support and I’m looking forward to writing more to you. 

I’m A.L.I.C.E.

Now that I’m of an age to get social security and still work full time, I have lived by shoestring budgets, prayers I have a job when I come to work the following day and hope I don’t become ill or be in an accident where I would be homeless or without the means to rebound. 

I was a lucky man when I suffered my stroke in 2002 because I was living with my parents at the time. Without them to keep me fed, clothed and housed, I doubt very much I could have survived on my own. 

But I know many people at the casino I work for who are in that mode. They work but their means are limited. They live in apartments that are in poorer parts of town. They can’t afford a car. If they have a car, it’s nickel and diming them because fuel, parts that need replacement, registration and insurance saps their budgets. Many have to work two or more jobs to survive. 

A.L.IC.E. that stands for Asset Limited, Income Constrained, Employed is how many if not most families in Spokane and Coer d’Alene have lived since I can remember since moving here myself in 1998. It’s a form of poverty I’m very much aware of from my own experiences living in the Tri Cities. If my experiences are an example, many of these people have other issues that go hand in hand with their predicament. That was drug and alcohol dependency issues. I can’t for certain say all are in that category, but it seems to make sense that these issues or problems would become a constant. There are other reasons of course that includes lack of formal education, immigration status and plain bad luck defines the overwhelming reasons these people struggle. 

ALICE families are above the poverty line, but that isn’t very comforting when you have to decide what bills can be paid or rent or groceries. I soon discovered a creditor’s patience was limited when it came to paying bills or utilities. They’re understanding to a point, but then they too expect payment in full eventually. 

What’s the solution? It’s complicated, made more so now there is a very conservative government in power now, who see anything smelling of social help as somehow smacking of socialism. In the view of rich conservatives, people need to pull up their boots and make do with what they have and be happy about it.  

Ideally the solution is simple; raise the poverty standard to allow limited aid to these families. But as I stated above, a very conservative electorate and government insists otherwise, hence the conflict will undoubtedly continue for the near future. In the meantime, families will continue to struggle though they are gainfully employed. 

An Uncle of Mine

Last Saturday I received the news from my cousin that Uncle Hal was passing. The next morning I received word that his spirit went to Heaven. He was ninety, a veteran of the United States Army serving in both Korea and Vietnam. 

But that wasn’t all that he was. He was a husband and father then doting grand and great grandfather. He worked hard. He lived a decent and moral life setting the example for others to follow. Besides being my uncle he also became a good friend and confidant. He went out of his way to call me and talk with me following my mother’s tragic car accident, weeks and months following.  

He didn’t have to do that. After all, none of his other brothers or sisters took the time to call and talk to me. He did it I believe because he genuinely liked me as a person more than as a mere nephew. That was apparent two years ago when I visited him at his home in Moore, Oklahoma. He took the time confiding in me the family he and Mom grew up with. There were of course the hard times. After all, he and Mom were of thirteen siblings, whose father struggled during the Great Depression as a tenant farmer, got a break working the Boeing plant in Wichita Falls, but squandered it by his alcoholism and abusiveness. 

He told me about himself, how he made the decision of his young life to make the Army his career when he returned to Texas just before his four-year hitch was up. He didn’t want to be a farmer. It was a decision that had positive consequences in his life that included meeting his future wife and siring three children. 

Hal, you inspired me to be all I could be, just to borrow from the U.S. Army marketing slogan. From when I first met you at Grandma’s in 1969 to your inspiring words whenever I called you while I was in Basic training at Fort Sil. You lend an ear to my own grief. I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you when you called to say your beloved wife had passed. I am proud that you took the time to send me cards on birthdays and at Christmas. I’ll miss you dearly my uncle.

An Exercise in Practicality

Like many of you my loyal readers know that I am a fairly frugal person. I look at something hard and make a final decision based in part on cost and on how practical this is. Buying a car is no different. 

Before I had my present car I bought a PT Cruiser that was reliable and gave me great driving pleasure. The Charger I had was also a very solid running car with good performance for a six-cylinder engine. 

This past week I was looking at a couple cars—looking mind you. I found a car and at first I thought it was a typo. A 2023 Dodge Charger with only 3,000 miles on the odometer. It’s a purple GT with a V-6, like my silver tone Charger that I bought used in 2019. I had to investigate further. 

The cost of course was a bit out of my price range. If I got the approval I wanted some of my credit card debt brought down. I decided to do the preapproval application and to my surprise had approval. The dealership invited me over for a test drive and I went there yesterday after work. 

At any rate I haggled with them until I got what I felt was a decent and fair deal for both the dealer and me. I informed my son-in-law what I was up to, and he surprised me by his feeling that I was rushing into something I might regret later. 

I texted him back that it was a great deal, and the terms were solid and fair. I honestly believed that I was being practical because my present car was over twelve years old and over 140,000 miles, abet mostly highway miles on its odometer. The car I planned on buying is two years old and is 3,000 miles plus the deal includes a forever warranty. 

I now am the proud owner of a nice ride that will last me at least eight years. I couldn’t be happier. 

Life is Short 

Earlier this week, I discovered my Uncle Hal was losing his kidney function. He is in hospice right now, declining dialysis treatment and awaiting the moment Our Lord and Savior carries him home. 

This morning there was an incident at work. I don’t know exactly what happened, but first an ambulance arrived andd then tribal police showed up. Later that afternoon, a chaplain from the Spokane County Sheriff’s Office showed and we were told someone, a coworker had passed. 

We are on this planet a very short time. Some shorter than others. The Book of Life and Death isn’t in our hands to read, but in God’s. My uncle if he lives to February 14th will be 91 years old. He’s lived a very good life and will be deeply missed by all who love him. We all will shed tears of sorrow for him. 

I’ve known many who have reached the mountain top, opened their arms out and taken the leap to Heaven to meet their maker. It is after all what we are in this animal and plant klingdom: mortal. Only most recently have we become more sanitizewd about how we deal with death. There was a time when our ancestors were buried in shallow graves or crypts or cremated on pyres. Now, unless otherwised documented we are buried in graves with cement vaults, heavily embalmed or cremated in an oven and placed in urns inside mausoluleums. 

“Life is short,” as one of my co-workers stated this afternoon. “So, enjoy every moment while you can.” Omar Khayyam, had a similar quote from his Rubayat, “A Book of Verses underneath the Bough, 

A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread—and Thou 

Beside me singing in the Wilderness— 

Oh, Wilderness were Paradise now!” 

A Family Tree

I finally received my DNA results the other day and I was more than a bit surprised by the results plus my own family tree is a bit suspect to say the least. It makes one wonder sometimes about the scruples our ancestors have because one entry is very odd to say the least. 

Anyway the results are a wonderful blend of mostly English, Scottish and Irish, plus some Danish and Swedish. I only have 24 percent German in me. Most of my ancestors came to the Carolinas and Virginia, Pennsylvania, Kentucky, Tennessee, and deep south. They all eventually moved westward to Oklahoma, Texas, Arkansas, and Oregon. Then there is the surprise that threw me for a loop. There is no evidence of Native American in me, but one percent came from Ghana and/or Ivory Coast in West Africa. 

For as long as I remembered we were told that our great grandmother was half Cherokee, and no talk of a oops with regard to an ancestor being naughty with a young girl from Africa. 

I’m continuing working on this tree. It is like my writing, a process. What surprised me most was two items I discovered today that has given me pause. I will need to investigate further but my great-great grandfather Samuel married the love of his life at age twelve. He sired six children until his death at age fifty. I thought children, even in the mid-1800s couldn’t marry at such a tender age. 

The other is my great grandmother Elizabeth Catherine. Last name Schultz. She had children before she was even born in 1921. She had no parents of record and came to America from England in 1893. My conclusion is that she more than likely was a mail order bride for my great grandfather who lived in Oregon at the time. Obviously, she had no birth certificate and most likely had to have some identification in order to file taxes. A birth certificate was more than likely made out on December 7, 1921, and the bureaucrat who made this out mistakenly placed her date of birth as that. 

It’s obviously a work in progress, and I’m very curious how that glaring error wasn’t caught until now. Plus the omission of my Native American lineage, replaced by African American. But what is really amazing, is how in my own writings, the characters’ names that I seemingly pull out of thin air are the names of long, dead ancestors, There are still some that aren’t there, which will eventually makes its way to more stories in the future.