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Description:

Billibub Baddings (or "Billi" to his friends) is a working stiff dwarf in the all too-human sized world of Chicago. After dealing with trolls, goblins, and rock dragons though, Al Capone and Bugsy Moran are about as intimidating as choir boys. Now a tough-talking, waist-high, straight-dealing detective, things for Billi were looking bleak until a dark-eyed beauty crossed his threshold with a case that involved the mob, the upper-crust of Chicago society, and Billi's past.

ForeWord Magazine's Honorable Mention for Best Fiction of 2004

Independent Publisher's Finalist for Best Science Fiction & Fantasy of 2005

Morris cleverly plays the clichés of fantasy, detective, and gangster stories off of each other in a carefully plotted, subtly witty, action-packed thriller. I haven't enjoyed a cross-genre detective story this much since Who Framed Roger Rabbit? — Mike Pederson, Nth Degree Magazine

There's not a single false note, flat character, or unbelievable scene. The pacing is perfect, the mystery is tightly constructed, and the whole thing is leavened with self-depreciating humor. — Linnea Dodson, Reviewing the Evidence.com

Excerpt:

The doorknob was turning. At first I thought Miranda had forgotten her compact, or something. Then I saw the silhouette through the window, and that was when I hung up on Mabel.

The silhouette wasn’t Miranda. The silhouette was an opportunity.

She was a tall, cool woman, and through her veil I could still see, set in a pale canvas of smooth, supple skin, eyes as dark as a man’s intentions on that first meeting. The perfume she wore carried a bouquet of lilacs, rose, musk, and a touch of sandalwood. In a single word: expensive. She wore her hat at a tilt to block out the slanting rays of the early-evening sun, giving her angular face an even more exotic look.

Her body held every curve in just the right place, giving her frame a profile that would make a Highland Elf long for the rolling hills and valleys of home. She was tall to begin with, but the designer heels she wore made her a six-foot mountain I would take delight in climbing sometime.

The dying sunlight streaming through my office window caught the cascade of hair spilling from her wide-brimmed hat for only a moment, a blanket of raven-dark hair falling to the small of her back. Her lips matched the hue of a fine Italian red wine, and in that moment, I couldn’t help but feel a bit parched.

Oh yeah, the weekend was off to a good start.

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