mystery with a touch of murder
an Author's Life - Plotting & Writing
mystery with a touch of murder
an Author's Life - Plotting & Writing
Teaser - BOARDING WITH MURDER
When interoffice mail delivered my pink slip, I cried and remained an emotional wreck for days. My parents smothered me with “there-theres” and useless but well-intended advice, while my go-to person, Great-Aunt Julia, repeated one of her maxims. “Count the signs, sweetie. If you get to three, bad luck might be in the cards.”
I wasn’t a superstitious person. Not at all, but it was understandable why people in my family were. We were a history of theater people. Actors, prop designers, costume designers, screenwriters, playwriters, makeup crew, cameramen—it was a very long list. Theater people were typically dramatic, imaginative, and superstitious. Some might consider these traits as a stereotype. However, my view was to take each situation in life as it came. Sometimes, the signs weren’t signs, and sometimes, well, let’s leave it at that.
At the top of the next grade, the dense woods cleared a bit. I smiled as rooftops of stores on Sierra Pine’s Main Street came into view. While cruising through the first intersection, I considered my career options for the umpteenth time—how life was so unfair, and what did I do to deserve this—when a dark, blurry blob sprang into the street. I stomped on the brake pedal of my SUV rental, tires screeching, and barely missed the cat as it sauntered across the road. A black cat. My hands gripped the steering wheel as I leaned closer to the windshield and squinted. Not completely black. It had white paws and a white chest. Maybe this was one of those nothing-to-worry-about moments. Then again, if I was to believe such a thing… I shook my head as one black tail swished in the air and the jay-walking kitty stepped into Lucinda’s Beauty Parlor.
I rubbed to soothe the knots in my neck. After leaving New York’s LaGuardia Airport this morning and flying for hours to reach Sacramento International Airport, I was exhausted. Adding to that was the hour-long drive to town. I struggled to keep my eyes open. In another block, I’d reach my destination, Sierra Pines B&B and a much-needed visit with Aunt Julia and the Bellwethers. I chuckled. If I told them about the cat, they’d fuss and might want to do something hokey like hold a séance or perform an exorcism to banish any bad omens. Maybe I’d not mention it. Why ruin a perfectly fine reunion? It had been a year since my last visit. We had a ton to catch up on, and, right now, I ached for any conversation that didn’t include the words pink slip.
Sunlight burst from behind a cloud and played its beam across the pavement. Fallen autumn leaves in rustic colors splashed along the sidewalk, giving the scene a warm glow. In the distance, the snow-capped peaks of the Sierra Nevada mountains outlined a majestic background. I loved the town and the quaint shops, with their scalloped canopies and clever names like Bagels and Buns and Meeka’s Mementos, all nestled together in three short blocks. The people were kind here. They always had nice things to say. This slow-paced, easygoing atmosphere gave me peace.
In the next block, at the top of Englewood Boulevard, sat the Victorian house Julia called home. Built in the late nineteenth century, the architectural structure was one of only a handful left standing between Placerville and Sierra Pines and had been designated as a historical sight. Robin’s egg blue siding and yellow shudders gave the structure a cheery, welcoming appearance. It was quaint. It was cozy. It was the perfect house for a B&B with three stories and numerous bedrooms to accommodate guests. However, as I inched up the drive, I blinked and, after a second, rubbed the windshield glass as if it wasn’t already clear. “What in the world?” The window shades were drawn partway, like flags at half-mast, which was unusual for midday. However, more disconcerting to me was the person who stood on the porch. Gladys Bellwether, Julia’s nearest and dearest friend, was covered head to toe in black, from the lacey veil resting on top of her head down to the stockings covering her legs. I chewed on my bottom lip while I digested what was wrong with this picture. The pink slip, the black cat, and now this. What could it mean? Yeah, bad luck might be in the cards.
