by Laura Childs
She ran her fingers along the edge of a marble tomb, cool and smooth as picked bones. She glanced up—hoping that a crescent of moon might put in an appearance again. But the night seemed to turn darker, holding a hint of even more danger.
Carmela scuffed along quietly. She figured she was fairly close to where Babcock might have called to her from. Now if she could only see . . .
A sound, soft and muffled, as if someone might be hunching themselves back into the shadows and hiding from her, caused Carmela to stop dead in her tracks. On high alert, hair on the back of her neck prickling like crazy, Carmela listened as though her life depended on it. And maybe it did.
What was it? What did I hear?
She flattened herself against the side of a large, hulking crypt and tried to modulate her breathing as best she could, tried to make every sense keenly alert to what was going on around her.
But, after a few moments, she heard—and felt—nothing.
Carmela slowly released a breath. She was spooked, yes, but she wasn’t going to let her emotions run wild on her. She was going to keep bumbling along and find Babcock. After all, he was in here somewhere.
Carmela moved ahead two steps, then three, her right shoulder still brushing against the side of the crypt, using it as a sort of touch point. She was just about to cry out to Babcock again, to try to get a fix on his position, when she heard a strange, low creaking sound and caught a flash of something.
The initial spark in Carmela’s brain told her it was a shadow coming at her—a grid of light and dark projected by a far-off passing car. At the last moment, she realized it was a rusty iron gate. The heavy, flaking wrought-iron door of the crypt had been flung open on squeaking hinges and was creaking inexorably toward her.
Shocked, totally unprepared, Carmela had barely two seconds to get a hand up in front of her face, a pro forma protest at best, before the gate struck hard against her, pinning her tightly against the crypt’s outside wall.
She let loose a startled yelp as her forehead went numb and bright stars danced and flashed before her eyes. She suddenly felt like a captured butterfly pinned inside a display case. Angry, stunned, and struggling to pull herself back to the here and now, she gripped the gate with her hands and managed to croak out, “Help!”
Then she heard footsteps lightly running away from her as she was finally able to shove the heavy door or metal gate or whatever it was away from her.
“Stop!” she cried out. Now her fear had been replaced with fury.
But whoever had smacked her with the gate was long gone.
Carmela gently touched a hand to her nose, mindful of sudden tears that clouded her eyes.
Broken?
She prodded carefully. No, she didn’t think so. Just sore. But whoever had tried to waylay her had been fairly successful. They’d stopped her cold. And she knew she’d probably feel battered and bruised come tomorrow morning.
Deciding the smartest thing, the safest thing, to do right now was get herself out of the cemetery as fast as she could, Carmela scuttled left, found a sort of pathway, and hurried along it. She was feeling angry and scared and hurt. If she could make it out to Babcock’s car, she’d hopefully meet up with him there.
Boy, did she have a story to tell!
But as Carmela lurched along, her eyes scanning to either side of the path, she almost tripped again. She caught herself at the last moment, glanced forward, and let loose a startled cry.
What is that? What am I seeing now?
Someone had flung a coat across a gravestone?
Carmela blinked and struggled to focus. Wait a minute. Maybe that wasn’t a coat?
Is that a person lying there? Oh dear lord!
Carmela moved forward as if in a trance. She was suddenly hyperaware of every crunch of gravel underfoot, every looming grave, every sigh and hiss of the wind.
Who is it? Is it the person we heard screaming?
Had to be.
As if compelled to bear witness, Carmela drew closer and closer to the grave where someone—she was pretty sure it was a woman—was sprawled in a totally unnatural pose, as if they’d been hurled there by some uncaring, unfeeling giant.
Carmela was five feet away when her brain blipped out a warning message: Be careful, be careful.
Babcock. Where was Babcock? Now she really had to find him.
She opened her mouth to yell out, but no sound emerged. Because, by this time, she was standing directly in front of the slumped body (slumped dead body?), experiencing not only shock, but paralyzing fear.
Get a grip, she told herself. Try to breathe. Make a sound. Any sound.
Carmela gritted her teeth and tried to rally her courage. She wasn’t sure if the woman was dead or very badly injured. But she knew she had to try to make a determination. Because if there was any chance she could help this poor soul . . .
Tentatively, Carmela reached out a hand. And just as the tips of her fingers were about to touch the woman . . .
“Carmela!” came a harsh voice. “No!”
Watch for the Next Tea Shop Mystery
Devonshire Scream
Theodosia’s having a grand time at the Gems and Jewel Trunk Show held at Heart’s Desire jewelers. But just as she’s admiring an antique brooch, a black SUV crashes through the front window and black-clad figures jump out. It’s a smash-and-grab robbery where nobody’s supposed to get hurt. But nothing turns out as planned, and now Theodosia is hot on the trail of some very bold killers.
And Also the Next Cackleberry Club Mystery by Laura Childs
Egg Drop Dead
When Suzanne goes to Mike Mullen’s dairy farm to pick up wheels of cheese, nobody’s around. She steps into his barn only to be greeted by the urgent, upturned faces of cows that haven’t been milked. As the cows wail, Suzanne tiptoes down the aisle and discovers Mike’s dead body. What kind of maniac would murder this mild-mannered farmer? And who is coming after Suzanne now that she’s hot on the trail of his killer?
A WARNING TO READERS: AN ENTIRELY NEW SERIES FROM THE AUTHOR OF THIS BOOK!
If you enjoy pulse-pounding thrillers, if you like intriguing female protagonists, you’re going to love the first book in this brand-new series:
Finders Creepers
An Afton Tangler Thriller by Gerry Schmitt
Writing as Laura Childs, this author has brought you the New York Times bestselling Tea Shop Mysteries, Scrapbooking Mysteries, and Cackleberry Club Mysteries. Now, writing under her own name, Gerry Schmitt, she is bringing you an entirely new series of sharp-edged thrillers. Gerry has ratcheted up the suspense, set the stakes even higher, and created exciting, memorable characters that sizzle on the page.
We know you’ll be intrigued by Finders Creepers, the first in this series that features Afton Tangler, single mom, Outward Bound enthusiast, and liaison officer with the Minneapolis PD, as she gets pulled into a bizarre high-profile kidnapping.
Looking for more?
Visit Penguin.com for more about this author and a complete list of their books.
Discover your next great read!