I want my readers to feel a sense of belonging, a part of the world of Darcy and Flora or Ned. As these intrepid sleuths sit down for coffee or watch the flames dance in the fireplace, or face danger and dreaded possibilities, I hope that sense of family, friendship, and sharing reaches out from the pages and encircles my readers. Here’s a bit of the third Darcy and Flora book, Best Left Buried. Flora’s sense of family is about to be stretched to the breaking point.
She handed Mom a photograph, so old that the edges were yellowed and bent. I peered over Mom’s shoulder. A smiling, dark haired girl smiled back at me. She looked like she was straight out of the 1940s. A wide brimmed, floppy hat was pulled down over one eyebrow. Tight waves cascaded across her forehead. She wore a two-piece suit, the hem just below her knees. A blouse peeked discreetly above the collar of her jacket. Strappy shoes with chunky heels finished off this stylish ensemble.
The dark hair and eyes, the square jawline and the high cheekbones were unmistakable. “Why, Mom, that’s you!”
Pat nodded. “It sure is. It’s Flora when she was a mite younger.”
“I love that outfit! Why were you dressed in those retro clothes?”
Mom’s hand that held the picture shook. “That’s not me,” she said quietly.
Pat slapped her knee with her hand. “Of course that’s you, Flora. Or if it’s not, it’s your twin and I’ve never known there to be but one of you.”
I looked at the photo more closely. “If it’s not you, then who? I’ve certainly seen her somewhere.”
My mother rose hurriedly. “Thanks for giving me this. Darcy, we’d better go.”
“Are you all right?” I asked. Mom’s face was pale and she definitely looked unwell.
Pat looked a little miffed. “Well, OK, if you’ve got to go. I was hoping you could help me figure out how in the world your picture got out here on Jasper’s floor.” She took our coats from the peg in the hall and handed them to us.
“Thanks, Pat,” I said, as I followed my departing parent. “Sorry we weren’t more help.”
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