Welcome to Tuesday Tales, powered by a small group of authors, where word prompts inspire passages in the books we’re writing. Today’s scene is from a cozy mystery set in fictional Glisten, Georgia, and our word of the day is fruit. When you finish reading, make sure to visit all the talented authors of Tuesday Tales.
My heartbeat raced ahead of itself, skipping wildly at the possibilities. Did she have something to show me or even give, instead of just tell?
Peering into the cart, she gave an irritated snort. “Double drat dang it,” she huffed. “I’ve gone and plopped that heavy box on top of my fruit.” To my consternation, she slipped the mysterious little drawstring bag back into her pocket.
I was beside myself. I had been so sure I was about to learn something important.
The furrows in her forehead deepened. “I’ll take you up on your offer, Peri. Help me shift the box, would you?”
“Of course. Can you move over a little so I can reach it?” With her elderly frame safely out of the way, I lifted the box and retrieved the brown paper sack that was half-filled with fruit. “It’s not mashed,” I assured her. “Is it still okay in the back like this?” She nodded, and I situated the edge of the sack so that the corner of the box would keep it from flapping open.
“Thank you. I’m getting too absent minded to know any better.” She turned as if to go.
I jolted forward a step. Wasn’t she going to give me the drawstring bag or at least show it to me? Had I been wrong about her intentions? “Baloney.” My voice came out breathy but determined. “You’re still the take no prisoners go getter I remember from way back. My mom and I used to pick pumpkins over on your farm every year, remember?”
“I well recall,” she replied, her thoughts seeming to go back in time. “You running through the rows with your pigtails flying.” She put her attention back on me, eyed my hair, and chuckled. “Still got one anyway, ain’t you?”
I tugged on my braid. “It’s the only thing that keeps this dreaded mop in hand.”
She turned again, and I blurted, “Granny Ledbetter! The little bag. You were going to show me something.”
She looked around, as if surveying the horizon. Off in the distance a truck motor revved up and grumbled, its diesel sounding impatient to get on the road. Her face was set like weathered stone as she turned back to me. “Now is not the time. The hills have eyes.”
“But I have to know.” This time I couldn’t keep the anguish out, nor keep my hands from flaying about.
Thanks for stopping by. I hope you enjoyed the piece inspired by the word fruit. If you haven’t done so already, check out the other excerpts at Tuesday Tales.
Cheers & Happy Reading!
Flossie Benton Rogers, Conjuring the Magic with Spirited Stories
All rights reserved, copyright @ 2024 Flossie Benton Rogers
