I'm keeping the first chapter of 'Eula May and the Flim Flam Nun' posted below for a while. In the meantime, I'd like to invite you to read the first chapter, No Good Deed Goes Unpublished, of my new blog novel, "Invitation to Destiny." Follow the adventures of Vanessa with the honey colored hair on the first of each month as she juggles her job, a boyfriend, a dog, and a mysterious invitation. All the action is at www.amy-solittletime.blogspot.com.
Eula May continues
To thank all of my enthusiastic supporters, here is the first chapter of my funny mystery 'Eula May and the Flim Flam Nun'. I would really appreciate comments sent to me at afremgen@gmail.com. Enjoy.
The entire book is now available at
http://www.amazon.com/Eula-May-Flim-Flam-Nun/dp/149961151X/
1 Death of a Saint
“I know you’re in there, Sister Claire. Let me in.” I rattled the doorknob on her old trailer. The latch was loose and the door swung open. I called, “Sister Claire? Is anyone here?”
It was quiet, too quiet, dead quiet. I sniffed a strange, musty smell. Stepping into the living area, I could hear a humming from the nearby refrigerator and the ticking of a wall clock. The heater creaked on as opening the door let the cold January air hit the thermostat. The nun at least had electricity. She wasn’t a poverty stricken martyr. She didn’t need to blackmail poor little me, although she demanded I meet her there with money I didn’t have.
My eyes swept the room. Beige plastic paneled walls, beige floral covered sofa, beige coffee table with a beige ceramic vase of plastic white lilies and…I gaped at a black robe laid out in what looked like a coffin. And since my mother was the town’s undertaker, I recognized one when I saw one. My heart almost stopped as I realized there was a body in the coffin.
I approached cautiously. “Sister Claire…is that you?” No answer. “Are you OK?”
No that woman is not OK my brain was screaming at me—that woman is dead. But I had to check just in case. Much as I hated her and what she was doing to me, my upbringing took over.
Grimacing I reached into the coffin, and pulled the soft black sleeve away from her bony wrist to feel for a pulse. I couldn’t see her face—thank Goshen for that—her black head veil had fallen across it. Her skin while still warm produced no pulse. Now what? Should I call 911? And tell them what? I found a murdered body. Murder? What made me think of murder?
Well, maybe she suffered a heart attack or stroke and collapsed into this wooden box. But it looked to me as if someone tucked her robe around her. I’m not a medical person but I don’t think she could have done that to herself.
My brain ticked away. If murdered, then how? I scanned the tiny area. The beige patterned linoleum floor was bare. No visible blood or likely weapon.
And who would have done it? Who would have killed a saintly nun? Of course, I knew she wasn’t a saint but no one else did. Would a saint try to blackmail me with fake pictures of me molesting my young dance students? Not only would these false accusations ruin my dance studio but they’d ruin my chances of marrying the man of my dreams—rich, handsome, Lance. Maybe I should look for the fake photos. No, I best leave right now.
I wasn’t going to stay there and call the police either. I’d be the first suspect and questioned for hours, if not days. It would be goodbye wedding plans.
Then it struck me—what if the murderer was still there! I gasped. According to all the murder mysteries I read, the murderer would knock me out, put the murder weapon in my hand, and make a quick anonymous call to 911. I whirled around. No one in sight and no sounds other than the refrigerator, clock, my beating heart and...a soft scrabbling sound. My ears stood straight out of my head.
The noise came from behind a shuttered door. Something, or someone, was pushing on it. I heard a weak meow. I smiled in relief and pulled the door open. A tiny orange striped cat stepped daintily out, shaking its head. It looked up at me with enormous green eyes.
I didn't know Sister Claire had a cat. Did anyone else? What'd happen to the little guy if Claire's body wasn't found right away. Would he starve? I couldn't push him out in the cold to fend for himself. I groaned. Kitty swayed as he walked over to rub against my leg. My heart lurched. I was going to have to take the kitten with me.
But if people knew the nun had a cat and saw me with it, I'd have a lot of explaining to do. Oh, mercy me. My brain couldn't decide. My body did. It walked me into the pantry where the cat had been, tossed the empty food and water bowls and all the cat food into my tote bag.
I picked up the cuddly bundle and tucked his fragile body inside my green warm up jacket. I scuttled to the front door and peered outside. I didn’t see anyone. The lacy white curtains in the double wide, soft pink, modular home across the street twitched but I couldn’t worry about it.
I scurried to my ten-year-old, ugly, but gas conserving Honda Civic and slipped the cat into the back seat. I burped the stubborn ignition twice before I could pull away and drive into town.
My little yellow car almost sighed with relief as it pulled in front of the white wooden frame building at the far end of the block. The old fashioned lettering on the window read, “Franklin Delano Rockenbucks, CPA. You make it, we count it.” He had gotten me out of trouble before. I was counting on him to do it again.
