The Body In The Grass

So, wouldn’t you know, this was my Facebook “Memory to Look Back On” two years ago and, as luck would have it, the book, Grave Heritage, is now available at Pen-L.com and Amazon.com as well as Barnes&Noble.com and other places. I thought you might like to read an excerpt from my post two years ago. I have, since writing this, found the right title for my new release.

The Body in the Grass

After I checked our empty house and got the herbs from Miss Georgia, I planned to have lunch with Grant. My heart quickened, thinking about Levi’s handsome sheriff. I could hardly wait to see him although it was only a couple of days ago that he had been to our house for supper.

A movement caught my eye as I neared Old String Road. Glancing in the direction of the tumbledown house that had belonged to Old String, our local recluse and hoarder, I saw smoke curling up over the treetops. I braked and peered through a tangle of vines and tree branches. My breath caught in my throat. Flames flickered along the sagging roof. The shack was on fire.

Swinging off the main road, I sped to the ramshackle building and stopped a few yards away. I jumped from my car and trotted nearer. What had started this inferno? Had lightning struck it during the storm and had it smoldered all night? It had been vacant since Old String died and would be no great loss. Surely the trees and grass were wet enough to keep the fire from spreading. Still, perhaps I should call the fire department.

Walking closer, I squinted at the smoking roof. Yes, I had better call 911 and ask for the fire truck. Those low-hanging tree branches could possibly begin to blaze.

Coughing, I swatted at the thick smoke stinging my eyes and throat. I did not see the body lying on the ground in the tall grass until I stumbled over it. My heart hammered into my throat as I dropped to my knees beside the crumpled figure of a man. Lifting his bony hand, I felt for a pulse. Nothing. Life no longer beat within this human form. A ragged, reddish-brown splotch stained his shirt front. I got slowly to my feet, staring down at the pale face, stubbly beard and beak-like nose. I had seen this man once before, only a few hours ago.

This is an excerpt from the fourth Darcy and Flora cozy mystery, a work-in-progress. I’m still looking for just the right title. If you have any ideas, send them along

http://pen-l.com/Mystery.html

http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss_2?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=blanche+day+manos