Yesterday, we left Darcy and Flora in Goshen Cemetery where they had made a grisly discovery. Today is a continuation of Chapter One of The Cemetery Club.
“Somebody cut off Ben’s finger,” Mom whispered.
As we stood, mesmerized by the horror in front of us, a strange silence descended on the graveyard. I raised my head to see what was happening. Dark clouds that had brooded above us now moved and churned. A small eddy of whirling air pointed downward. My heart stopped then thudded against my ribs.
“That’s a tornado!” I yelled. “If it drops, we are in trouble!”
As if in agreement, a low roar began over our heads. Wind, hail, and rain assaulted us, battling to whirl us into the seething heavens.
Mom and I linked arms and stumbled into the storm. Putting her mouth close to my ear, she shouted, “The chapel!”
We struggled toward a small, sandstone building at the edge of Goshen Cemetery. Rain blinded us. Hail pelted us. Tree branches flew past but at last we reached the little building. I tugged open the door and we fell inside, gulping blessedly dry air.
Mom sank into a pew and I leaned against the wall. The storm’s roar dimmed to a comparative quiet within this sanctuary. I was about to sit beside my mother when I heard a sharp click and felt a breeze eddy around me. A shiver traced its way down my spine. Had the back door of the chapel just opened and closed?
“Who’s there?” I called.
I don’t care who it was,” Mom said, her teeth chattering. “Maybe someone else wanted out of the storm. At the moment, I’d share space with Mick Monroney¹ himself.”
While I doubted that it was Ventris County’s notorious outlaw from the 1930s who had gone out of the door, I could not see much in the dim room. I flipped the light switch. Nothing happened. Evidently, the electric power was a victim of the storm.
Turning the lock in the front door, I felt my way through murky semi-darkness to the other end of the building. No shadowy figured lurked anywhere that I could see. Our arrival must have sent someone who had sheltered here into the storm. Groping for the bolt on the door, I slid it into place and fumbled my way back to the pew where Mom huddled.
¹fictitious Oklahoma outlaw
The Cemetery Club, first cozy mystery by Blanche Day Manos and Barbara Burgess
Hi Blanche, this paragraph to the book is most intriguing. Can’t wait to read it. I just shared it with my Facebook and Twitter friends.
I like the way you began the paragraph, it immediately grabs you.
Happy New Year!
Thank you for writing, Susan. Thanks also for sharing on Facebook and Twitter. A very happy New Year to you too!