The Mystery Lies Somewhere Within

Ah! So, it’s you, Mysterious Mystery Reader, checking in this morning. Good morning and may your day be as bright with blessings as colored leaves on the maple tree. I want to know something–an answer to a mystery. When you open the pages of a cozy mystery, any cozy mystery, what do you hope or expect to find? Is it companionship?

“Tell us about your nightmare,” Pat said.

“Are you sure? It was pretty bad. My nightmare might give you nightmares.”

Pat giggled. “Silly! Come on, you’ll feel better after you share that dream. Getting it off your chest is therapeutic.”

So, I recounted the most horrible dream of the century. Strangely enough, I felt comforted when I realized both Pat and Jackie took it seriously.

“You poor girl,” Jackie said. “I think I would have called Cade and demanded that he come and hold my hand.”

Is it a murder with no perpetrator in sight and you are left to try to figure out who dunnit?

Pushing back my chair, I trotted to the front door and swung it open. Miss Ann stood on the porch, her face ashen. She wrung her hands, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Taking her arm, I pulled her into the house.

“Miss Ann, what’s wrong? Are you ill? Is somebody threatening you?” I asked.

“No, no, it’s not me. It’s Bessiebelle. Oh, Nettie, she’s dead. She’s dead.”

My heart thudded. Had I heard her correctly?

Do you, perhaps, hope to find a little light romance scattered here and there, sparkling like diamonds within the shadows?

I slipped my arm around Cade. Surprised, he glanced down at me. He nodded and put his arm around my waist, drawing me close.

“Thanks for coming, Ned,” he said. “I needed you here, but I didn’t think you’d want to come.”

“Any time you need me, Cade,” I whispered, “I’ll be here.”

Or, are you hoping for a few spooky chills that cause you to trot throughout your house, making sure doors and windows are locked?

I don’t know how long I lay on the cold ground, my face pressed into the moss and leaves, heart hammering in my ears. It seemed like forever. With my flashlight off, the shadows of the hills grew darker across the old cemetery, blotting out all but the dimmest light. Who had shot at me? Was it a hunter whose shot had gone wild, or had I been somebody’s target and he only missed because I happened to sit down at the moment he shot? Would the shooter try again? 

And now, the contest! If you will share today’s blog on your Facebook page or on your own blog site, and tell me when you’ve shared, I’ll enter your name in my October contest. The prize? A personally autographed print copy of By the Fright of the Silvery Moon. If you’ve already read it, may I suggest you give it to a friend for Christmas? Good luck! Contest will run until the end of this week, Friday, October 27.