Killing Time (A Dodie O'Dell Mystery)
by Suzanne Trauth
Killing Time
Cozy Mystery
6th in Series
Publisher: Lyrical Press (June 2, 2020)
Number of Pages: 215
Digital ASIN: B07W8ZX8JV
With Halloween just around the corner, Dodie O’Dell is making preparations to transform the Windjammer Restaurant on the Jersey Shore into a haunted house, while the Etonville Little Theatre is staging Dracula. But casting the titular Transylvanian is proving challenging. The amateur actors in the company are not shy about chewing the scenery, but who among them can convincingly sink their fangs into a victim's neck? When a mysterious newcomer with a transfixing Eastern European accent lands the part, rumors that he might be an actual vampire start to take flight—not unlike the bat who's recently been spotted in the town park.
But everyone’s blood really runs cold when a stranger is found in the cemetery with a real stake in his heart. Dodie decides to put her Halloween theme menu on the back burner and stick her neck out to bring the killer into the light of day. She'd better keep her wits about her, though—or Dodie may be the next one to go down for the Count . . .
Killing Time
Character Guest Post for – Great Escapes Tour
I love fall in Etonville, New Jersey. My home for the past four years since Hurricane Sandy devastated the Jersey Shore where I grew up. Leaves turn colors, fireplaces burn brightly, a steaming mug of coffee or tea or hot chocolate warms your hands after a brisk walk around town… Okay let’s face it. I love all of those things but this year what I love the most is Halloween!
As manager of the Windjammer restaurant it’s my responsibility to keep the patrons happy and ride shotgun on the staff. This year I decided to add a little fun to their work day on Halloween by having everyone dress up in costume. When I came up with this idea a few weeks ago, bartender Benny was enthusiastic, our sous chef Enrico consented to be a good sport, though he was rarely in the dining room, waitress Gillian rolled her eyes, then spent two hours surfing online for a costume. Windjammer owner/chef Henry shook his head emphatically: No! Eventually he came around and agreed to wear a half-mask and a chef’s hat and apron. Minus the mask, I reminded him that that was his daily costume. And me? Wonder Woman!
I tried the get-up on for Bill last night and my fiancé’s eyeballs bugged out of his head—red sparkly bodice with a dash of cleavage, blue mini skirt, white knee-high boots. I looked like a tricked-out version of the American flag. As police chief of Etonville, New Jersey, Bill threatened to arrest me for disturbing the peace.
Anyway I had a lot to do earlier today to get ready for tonight’s festivities. The Windjammer supplied donuts and apple cider for the kiddie costume parade down Main Street and I helped set up the town costume party in the Episcopal Church basement. I had been persuaded to join the planning committee, my civic duty everyone said, though it felt like collaborating with the enemy. Henry’s cross-town nemesis, La Famiglia, has catered the event. To avoid any in-house friction, I steered clear of any decisions regarding food and offered to work on entertainment. In addition to bobbing for apples, carving pumpkins, and counting the candy corns in a jar, I set up a makeshift stall where a newcomer to Etonville, Bella Villarias, is reading palms. I decided to cut the line of my Etonville friends—Lola, Benny, Mildred—and check on Bella’s booth.
I didn’t intend to have my palm read. I already knew my future… But Bella asked to see my hands. Not wanting to offend, I sat. I laughed awkwardly and she took my hands in hers.
She turned them over, then back, then over again, staring into my palms. She traced several lines in my right hand. “Heart line, head line, life line,” she said.
“Glad to see I have all three.” I attempted playfulness.
She studied my palms, tilted her head, her eyes probing my face. Her bracelets jingled as she moved her fingers around my palm. “I see that you are not content with your love life and are looking for a change.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.
I leaned in. “I am?”
“You have an enthusiasm for life while you are confronting an emotional crisis. See these?”
Bella pointed to crosshatching on my palm. “Be careful. You are about to make momentous decisions. This line? Your fate. Do you see where it joins with the life line? At this point your interests must be surrendered to those of others.”
I was speechless. In my head I had convinced myself that reading palms was a parlor game; in my heart, however, her talk of “discontent with my love life,” “momentous decisions,” and “surrendering my interests” brought me up short. Was this about Bill? In the midst of the excitement about my upcoming marriage had I given enough thought to how my life might change? Permanently? And what was that “discontent” about? I resisted the thoughts. Calm down, I told myself.
“Remember, your palm doesn’t control your fate. You do.” Bella’s concentration sharpened as she studied my expression.
Yikes!
I beat it out of there.
Excerpt
“It sure looks haunted,” Edna murmured to no one in particular, to the cast of Dracula in general. They were grouped around her on the sidewalk that ran past the old Hanratty place that Carlos and Bella had rented. I’d never been inside though once I’d driven by it when I first moved to Etonville on my way out of town.
The house stood on half an acre of scruffy lawn with patches of dried dirt, surrounded by a few straggly trees—minus leaves at this time of the year—and no neighbors. The nearest houses were on a side street some distance away. The three-story building looked as if it might collapse at any moment, its outer walls covered with weathered, gray shakes, the steps to the front door supported by concrete building blocks. There was no handrail. Light leaked out of windows on the first floor. Curtains covering small, circular panes on the third story—an attic room?—quivered. Was someone up there watching us? I shivered. A turret rose upward from the right side of the structure, giving the house a smidge of outdated dignity. A drain pipe dangled loosely from the gutter.
“Let’s go.” Penny corralled actors and nudged everyone forward to the front door. There were six company members, Renfield saying he’d be along later, plus Penny, Lola, Pauli, and me. Strength in numbers.
We crept across the porch cautiously, aware of the creaking beneath us as the flooring shifted with each individual’s footsteps. Penny put out a hand to knock on the door. Before she could hit knuckles to wood, it flew open. “Welcome everyone!” Bella stood in the doorway, a silhouette backlit by muted foyer lighting.
Behind her Carlos stood silently, observing the group huddled in his entryway, like deer caught in headlights.
Lola took the lead, moving graciously into the house. “Thank you. So nice of you to invite us to your home.”
I’m not sure what the members of the Etonville Little Theatre were expecting.
Given the exterior and location of the Hanratty homestead, I anticipated something out of a late-night classic horror film.
About Suzanne Trauth
Suzanne Trauth is a novelist, playwright, screenwriter, and a former theatre professor at a university.
She is a member of Mystery Writers of America, Sisters in Crime, the Dramatists Guild, and League of Professional Theatre Women.
When she is not writing, Suzanne coaches actors and serves as a celebrant performing wedding ceremonies.
She lives in Woodland Park, New Jersey.
Author Links
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www.suzannetrauth.com
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https://twitter.com/SuzanneMTrauth
GoodReads:
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6187623.Suzanne_M_Trauth
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