Tuesday Tales is up, with authors writing excerpts based on word or picture prompts. This week’s word prompt is bare. My snippet is from a cozy mystery. Visit all the talented authors of Tuesday Tales.
I turned off the car and peered toward the house. The old Upshaw homestead stood forlorn and derelict. Its sagging porch and peeling paint were a crying shame. If the house had been nearer town, Naomi may have tried to save it with donations or a grant. Now any restoration would be a major undertaking and megabucks.
I sighed, realizing the lateness of the hour. I had meant to get out here much earlier. What with my old job calling and trying to get me back to Florida and then Debra showing up unannounced, time had sped by. I wouldn’t have time to look around inside after all, but I could still perform the primary task of the moment—check Harlew Upshaw’s grave.
“His wife’s got to be beside him, Peri. Got to be. I was naught but a youngin’ when I saw it, but I remember it clear as day. I’m not crazy. That’ll teach the old miser Lofton. Go and see, Peri. Promise me, please.” Dulcy had gotten herself in such a state that the nurse had booted me, but not before I promised.
Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I trudged through stiff clumps of grass around the side of the house and turned west toward the old family cemetery. Green grass spread out among timeworn gravestones, giving an incongruous look. I spotted the weeping angel right away, a once beautiful monument to a well-loved wife and mother. There was no time to dawdle and reflect as I usually did in cemeteries. I paused to note the name Mercy Upshaw and then continued on. Dulcy had said to look about ten feet beyond the angel.
Though discolored, Harlew Upshaw’s white marble gravestone was in surprisingly good condition. It stood on two gray marble slabs, and ornate designs embellished the top and bottom. Born 1860. Died 1915. The message was a personal one: How desolate our home with loss of thee.
To the right of his gravestone stood one of lesser quality, made of a pitted gray material that resembled concrete. I stooped to inspect it. Emmie, wife of Harlew Upshaw. Then I gasped, realizing that Emmie’s grave had no grass, just bare ground. It was loose, as if someone had been digging. I bent down and pressed a palm to the dirt.
I hope you enjoyed the snippet based on the word prompt bare. Thanks for stopping by. Check out the other authors at Tuesday Tales.
Cheers & Happy Reading!
Flossie Benton Rogers, Conjuring the Magic with Spirited Stories
All rights reserved, copyright @ 2021 Flossie Benton Rogers
Someone’s been doing some digging. Can’t wait to find out what they found. Great scene.
Thank you, Susanne!
Oooh, excellent excerpt, Flossie. Wonderful descriptions, particularly of the cemetery and the house, and the ending has me wanting to know more.
Mae, thank you a million!
Oh, they mystery is heating up! I am dying to know what someone was looking for in the grave. Great job!!
Thank you, Tricia! The heat is on.
No fair!!! You’ve left me dangling. Excellent excerpt.
Thanks so much for stopping by and commenting, Loretta!
What a great snippet! Well done!
You’re so kind, Vicki!
Wow! The mother of all cliffhangers!! Way to go! Now I NEED to know who’s been digging there and why? What are they looking for. Great snippet, as always.
Thanks for stopping by and commenting, Jean!
Oh, NO-NO-NO! You did NOT go off and leave us hanging right there! And in a cemetery – a small private one to boot, my very favorite kind. Why, I haven’t been in a cemetery since….two weeks this Wednesday LOL Friends come to town and that’s where we end up, visiting my favorite local cemeteries. Not that I know anyone in any of them – from real life that is, across the veil we’ve become friends.
Hahaha you are a cemetery admirer, Trisha. It’s odd how the friends across the veil and the atmosphere of an old resting place can give a feeling of comfort and timelessness.