And still snow covers the ground. I wonder if the brown grass under this weight of snow and ice is longing to see a bit of sunshine? Weather is interesting, and I am glad that it is not entirely predictable. Will we have snow today? Will the sun shine? Will the temperature rise above freezing? How about tomorrow? In its own way, weather is a mystery. Perhaps that is why I find it fascinating.
In the spirit of winter and mystery, and, of course, my favorite cold weather pursuits of reading and writing, I am including here a few snatches from the first chapter of Moonlight Can Be Murder:
My car’s headlights cut a yellow tunnel through the swirling snow. Forty years ago, Uncle Javin’s driveway had not seemed so long but memories dim with time. Low, gray clouds overhead and the trees crowding either side of the driveway, made it impossible to see more than a few yards in front of my car, but at last the dark shape of Javin Granger’s Victorian house loomed through the winter twilight. The sight brought a lump to my throat as I thought of the last time I had seen this lovely home.
It seemed strange that no light shone from the living room windows. Surely Uncle Javin had electricity in his home. I had written to tell him when I would be arriving but the house was certainly not glowing with welcome.
My car slid a bit on the snow as I parked in front of the wrought-iron fence surrounding the Granger yard. Sliding out of my SUV, I yanked one suitcase from the rear seat, and locked the car behind me. Tomorrow would be time enough to unload more luggage. Right now I felt an urgency to talk to my uncle. Pulling my flashlight from my purse, I pushed open the gate and waded through the snow toward the house.
The two-storied house was built in an L-shape, with a square porch in the angle of the L. Steep wooden steps led to this porch. It was a relief to step under its sheltering roof. An old-fashioned brass knocker hung by the front door. I raised the knocker, let it drop, and waited. No one hurried to let me in. Using my fist, I pounded on the door.
“Uncle Javin!” I called. “Uncle Javin, it’s Nellie J.”
Still, no answer. I was beginning to shiver from the cold and also from the strangeness of standing outside this silent, familiar old house. Set back from the street and surrounded by trees, the imposing Victorian was isolated from any near neighbors. No one in town knew I was here. Nobody would be checking to see if I had arrived safely.
Anyway, this is just a bit, with quite a lot left out between excerpts but it sets the atmosphere. I hope you begin to ask, “Where is Uncle Javin? Why has Nellie J. come to his home? What will she find inside the silent old house?” Right now, these answers are unknown and when, later, the reader learns the reasons, they only serve to deepen the mystery. Will Nellie J. be able to find the answer to a long-held secret? Well, I just suspect that she will. But, believe me, it won’t be easy!
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