Why was I so tongue-tied all of a sudden? I’m a modern woman, able to...oh, rats. I didn’t think this fluttering inside was all pheromones or hormones or any other mones. Something else definitely was going on here. Either I was coming down with a killer case of flu or this guy was The One for me.
I rested my hands on his chest and looked up at him. “I have an idea, if you don’t mind taking Rascal with us.”
“Not at all. What’s up?”
“We could go to your place and have a pizza delivered.”
His face broke into a wide smile. “And I could make you breakfast?”
Carole King was back singing in my head. This time, I thought the earth would move—and in the very, very best way. Still, a girl can’t seem overeager.
“Let’s take it one meal at a time.”
Here’s an excerpt from the Digging For Bones, the next Heather Cameron mystery:
Miguel and I sat on stone benches beside what had once been an impressive tiled fountain. Leaves and trash had been cleaned out of it, and the colorful design of golden fish against a blue and turquoise background made this a pleasant spot to rest. Ancient elms, cottonwoods, and live oaks shaded us and the benches were a good place to spread our sketches.
After our lunch break, Miguel scanned the area around us. “This place, once again it will be muy grande, like when I was a boy.”
“The Lippincotts will be pleased by the time we’re through.”
Miguel looked disapproving. “The man who was supposed to take care of this for his old uncle, he should be shot.”
“I agree. I heard he moved to Dallas after the sale.”
A light breeze and the shade refreshed me after the hot exercise of trekking around through brush. Sixteen years is a long time for a building to sit vacant and an estate to grow wild. But in my mind, I visualized the garden as it would be when we completed our work.
I said, “Too bad the statuary is history, but at least this fountain and most of the trees are salvageable. And maybe those sturdy shrubs over there.” I pointed to a line of ligustrum.
“Señor Lippincott, he must have a bank full of money.”
“I guess.” I said, “And he’ll need it.”
My grandparents still lived in a similar house next to the garden center, and I knew firsthand the continual maintenance old houses required. No matter how much you loved them, they were money pits, a constant drain on finances. That was nothing compared to restoring one that had been allowed to fall into ruin. I could only guess at the expenses the Lippincotts would incur.
Juan shouted, “Heather, Dad! Come see this!” He leaned on his shovel, a strange expression on his face.
Walter took one look and leaped back. He sank onto a low rock wall. “Your policeman isn’t going to like this.” He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped sweat from his forehead.
Miguel and I stepped forward. I gasped. A human skull lay exposed in the freshly turned earth. The specter’s empty eye sockets appeared to stare at us.
How could this be? My stomach knotted and bile rose in my throat. I thought I might lose my lunch. Not just from the sight, but from the complications I knew were coming.
Miguel whipped out his cell phone. “I’ll call 9-1-1.”
I grabbed my own phone. “No, let’s call Kurt. It’s too late for paramedics or an ambulance.”
About the Author
Caroline Clemmons writes mystery, romance, and adventures—although her earliest made up adventures featured her saving the West with Roy Rogers. Her career has included stay-at-home mom (her favorite job), newspaper reporter and featured columnist, assistant to the managing editor of a psychology journal, and bookkeeper. She and her husband live in rural North Central Texas with a menagerie of rescued pets. When she’s not writing, she enjoys spending time with family, reading, travel, browsing antique malls and estate sales, and genealogy/family history.
Excerpts from some of her exceptional reviews can be found on her website at www.carolineclemmons.com. View her blog posts Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays at http://carolineclemmons.blogspot.com and find book reviews, giveaways, interview, and miscellany.
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