Terror Stalks the Hills

This is a cozy mystery, well written, good character development and a satisfying read. Then you get to the chase scene and whoa, what happened to the cozy part? That is the misconception many readers have of cozy mysteries. Well, think again. This is a suspenseful, exciting story, filled with baffling murders. I am planning to read the other books in this series. I recommend you try them.–An Amazon Review

So, is The Cemetery Club a cozy mystery? Well, yes, I believe it is. However, as the writer of the review mentioned, some parts of the book are not so cozy. And, also as she mentioned, one of those parts is the chase scene and the ensuing tumble down Deertrack Hill. Terror! That’s what Darcy and her mom felt as they hid from the murderers–just raw, heart-stopping terror!

Terror settled into a cold, hard knot of fury in the pit of my stomach. I would not continue in this crazy race that we could not win, but I would not be at the mercy of this evil being who was playing with us as if he were a cat and we were the cornered mice. We had one chance, a slim one. Praying that we would join the ranks of those who survived a tumble down Deertrack Hill, I determined that we would indeed go over; not sideways, but nose first.

“Hang on!” I yelled. Stomping the accelerator, I wrenched the steering wheel to the right. The Passport lurched up and over the guardrail. The last thing I heard was the sound of that reinforced rail snapping like a popsicle stick.

“The crashing in the underbrush grew louder. From my hiding place, all I could see between sumac stalks was the feet of the approaching men. One wore scuffed brown boots, the other, black lace-ups. Afraid to move so I could see them more plainly, I tried to breathe quietly.

‘They must have been thrown out somewhere. Like I said, they’re dead. Come on. We’re wasting time. We’ve got to get out of here before someone stops to look at that broken guardrail and calls the police.’ 

The guttural voice sounded familiar.

Holding my breath, I heard footsteps nearing our hiding place. Mom’s hand on my arm shook. Trying not to blink, I peered through the thicket and saw rain-stained boots stepping nearer. The man bent over, shoving aside sumac branches. His hands were inches from my face. In his right hand he held a big, black revolver. On the third finger of his left hand he wore a gold ring, a gold ring whose replica was in my mother’s recipe box back home.

Feeling, rather than hearing my mother gasp, I knew that she saw the ring too. I prayed that she would not give away our hiding place.”    –The Cemetery Club by Blanche Day Manos and Barbara Burgess