Are Some Things Best Left Buried?

Excerpt from Best Left Buried.

This woman’s manner so rankled me that I had a tough time controlling my voice. “If the land is yours already, Eileen, do I need to deed it to you?”

“Just to be sure there is no question farther on down the line, I think that might be a wise thing to do.” She squinted and leaned toward me. “You look a little pale, Darcy. Are you feeling well?”

That took me by surprise. “Of course I do. I don’t feel pale. Why should I?”

“If you aren’t going to talk sense about a deed, you might as well go home,” she said.

That floored me. “Look, Eileen, it was your idea to meet me here and I was hoping you’d have some light to shed on this strange story of yours but you haven’t said one thing that was worth my time and effort in coming.”

She picked up her purse and scooted toward the edge of her seat. “Well, do what you like. I’m leaving.”

She had started to rise when she grabbed her throat and gasped. Her face looked flushed and her lips pulled back against her teeth.

“What’s wrong?” I asked. “Are you all right?”

She coughed into her napkin. “No. I don’t feel well. I’ve gotta get out of here.” She struggled to her feet and reeled toward the door.

Eileen lurched past Tony, bumping into him and sloshing more coffee from his pot. She staggered toward the door, knocking people out of the way as she ran.

“Wait!” I called, sliding from the booth and hurrying after her. As I reached the door, Eileen tottered toward a green Chevrolet truck parked at the curb, wrenched open the door, and fell inside. The man at the wheel wore a ball cap, hair sticking out from under it in all directions. I ran toward the truck but with a squeal of tires, it sped away.