Genre: Cozy Mystery

Sisters Rocky and Bridget are enjoying each other’s company at a vintage trailerfest until they stumble over a corpse. The dead guy is none other than the local trailer restorer Bridget was overheard threatening to kill. Mounting evidence leads police to focus on Bridget as a person of interest. Desperate to prove her sister innocent of murder, Rocky dons her own deerstalker cap and goes sleuthing until she runs into police detective Thompson who warns her off his case in no uncertain terms. But Rocky is tenacious if not stubborn. Combined with a 78-year-old father who becomes her sidekick, Rocky uses her courage and skills learned in boxing lessons to protect her family and keep from becoming the killer’s next victim.

Excerpt

The exterior lamp cast a dim amber glow over the deck where Opal had stood earlier that day. Moths flew against the light, their suicidal efforts creating a luminescent haze.

I had decided to return to Wes’s property, desperate to find some clue as to where he hid his money. I was convinced finding the money would lead me to the killer. Even though my visit with Dad had gleaned nothing, at least I was now somewhat familiar with the lay of the land. I gained access from the farthest corner where I found a stretch of barbed wire fencing. A weathered NO TRESPASSING sign dangled. I carefully pushed the wire down and stepped over, avoiding the sharp barbs. I approached the house from the back, moving from tree to tree until I found a large oak where I could observe yet remain unseen. I hid behind the thick trunk and waited. The full moon cast everything into shades of blue. The carcasses of trailers amidst the trees created a grim and forbidding landscape. Somewhere an owl hooted, and another answered.

The kitchen light was on, and I assumed Opal was home. From my vantage point, I couldn’t tell if her car was in the garage, nor could I see if any vehicles were parked in front of the house. After a time, the sliding glass door opened, and two people stepped out onto the deck. I craned my neck to get a better look, but unfortunately, my view was partially blocked by shrubbery and branches. I only had a partial view of the deck and the stairs.

At that moment, my nose tickled, and I sneezed into the crook of my arm, in an attempt to dampen the sound.

Duke woofed, then got up and shook himself, the chain jangling. He went to the deck railing, dragging the chain behind him over the wooden boards. He put his nose through the slats and sniffed.

I froze.

The couple didn’t seem to notice. They stood close together and after a few minutes, parted.

I strained to hear what they were saying, but their voices were muffled. I changed my position and stepped on a stout twig, breaking it, the sound as loud as a firecracker.

Duke growled.

“Something . . . there,” said Opal.

The man muttered an answer.

“He doesn’t growl at nothing,” Opal said, loud enough to hear. “I’ll get a flashlight.”

The man descended the stairs.

The sliding door opened and closed. “Catch,” Opal said. “I’m letting Duke off his chain. He’ll find whatever’s out there.”

My heart jumped to my throat. I frantically looked for somewhere to hide.

A tarp covered an object sitting low to the ground. Most likely a boat. Whatever it was, it was the nearest hiding place.

The beam of the flashlight played over the terrain, too close for comfort. I dropped to the dirt and scrambled on all fours under the tarp. Acorns and pinecones bit into my palms. Cobwebs brushed against my face. I stifled a scream. I pulled myself into a tight ball and waited while images of spiders, ticks, and other creepy crawlers, filled my head. Mold and decay assaulted my senses. I breathed through my mouth. When the beam from the flashlight found the tarp, I squeezed my eyes shut. Please, please, keep going. Move on, I begged silently.

Duke rooted around, sniffing the ground in excitement, then whined.

“Ugh,” said the man.

I opened my eyes to see something black, the size of a cat, disappear under a trailer. The white stripe registered too late in my brain to react. Skunk!

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About the Author

Karen A. Phillips enjoys writing mysteries, MG/YA fantasy, and poetry. She resides in Northern California, and is a proud member of Sisters In Crime and Willamette Writers.

. . . and yes, she does take boxing lessons.

Visit her at KarenAPhillips.com.

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