Nobody Has to Know

Now and in the Hour of Our Death

Why They Call It That

Please to See the King

The Little Prune that Couldn't Talk

Bad Blood

About the Authors

Witch Garden


Debra Doyle & James D. Macdonald

“Damned queer,” Henry Thatcher said. “Right in the middle of my tomatoes.”

“What's that?”

“Bunch of bumps in the ground.”

“Don't sound too queer to me.”

Ben took a long pull on his beer, a Miller in a can. “Six, eight inches out of the ground, where I'd run the Rototiller over it not sixteen days ago? And my tomatoes growing right on top. Hard enough to grow tomatoes without this.”

“Always something funny in your garden, Henry.”

“Ayup. Not bad enough that last frost was in May.”

“Last frost is always in May.”

“Not so late in May. First freeze in September, I bet. Green tomato relish again.”

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