I wake up early. Not because I want to—because the sprinklers are on a timer and I’m not a monster who lets her lawn go to hell. You spend years cultivating prize-worthy roses and suddenly everyone thinks you’re eccentric instead of dedicated. Rude.

This particular morning begins like most: coffee strong enough to peel paint, a quick inventory of the neighbors I dislike, and a moment of quiet appreciation for my cheerfully yellow house. The color irritates half the block, which I consider a public service.

Then I notice the body.

Not metaphorical. Not figurative. An actual dead man, face-down on my lawn, soaking wet from the sprinklers. Bald. Heavyset. Uninvited.

I take a moment to assess. You have to. Panicking never helps, and besides, I have an aerobics class later and I hate being late for Cynthia.

There are options, of course. There are always options. But at my age, you learn which ones are worth the effort and which ones are just going to throw your back out. So I sigh, turn off the sprinklers, and call the police—who immediately make it my problem.

By mid-morning, my lawn is crawling with uniforms, my neighbors are rubbernecking like it’s the Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade, and the chief of police is touching his badge like it might save him from having to do his job. I offer helpful suggestions. He does not appreciate them.

Somewhere in there, I still manage to answer a few letters for my advice column. People are idiots, but they’re predictable idiots, which makes them easier to deal with than dead private investigators showing up where they don’t belong.

The rest of the day will be spent dodging the detective assigned to this case while I try to figure out whether this dead guy is a message from my murky past or simply bad luck.

Fingers crossed for the latter. I’d hate to have to pick up and go on the run again.

By evening, I’m back at my typewriter, clacking out words for the paper, pretending my life is still exactly as quiet as everyone thinks it is. After that? A little light reconnaissance. A drive. Some watching and waiting. You’d be surprised how much people reveal when they think no one is paying attention.

I go to bed late, muscles pleasantly sore, mind very busy, knowing one thing for certain:

Tomorrow will be worse. Just not for me.

TWO BODIES ARE BETTER THAN ONE
Series Name: A Lorraine Highsmith Mystery, Book 1
Genre: Traditional Mystery
Release: March 2026
Format: Print, Digital, Audio
Amazon | Barnes & Noble

Loaded with dark humor and sharp wit, this wild ride through the ’80s follows an advice columnist trying to unravel the mystery of the dead body on her lawn—while keeping her own secrets under wraps.

Until 1989, the wildest thing to happen in the sleepy town of Sheboygan Bay was surfers catching waves on frigid Lake Michigan. Then one summer morning, Lorraine Highsmith wakes up to find a corpse on her lawn.

Detective Michaela “Mike” Zenoni is on the case immediately, eager to make a name for herself in a male-dominated precinct. And Lorraine is close behind—as the local advice columnist, she’s always looking for a scoop.

What they don’t know is that Lorraine once had ties to the mob, and those connections could be coming back to haunt her. A recent transplant to Wisconsin, she keeps her past shrouded in mystery, and she’d like to keep it that way.

Mike might be working with her to find the killer, but Lorraine knows that alliances can change on a dime. She needs to get ahead of this story . . . no matter who’s trying to put an end to hers.

About the author
Erica Ruth Neubauer spent eleven years in the military, nearly two as a Maryland police officer and one as a high school English teacher before finding her way as a writer. She was a reviewer of mysteries and crime fiction for Publishers Weekly and Mystery Scene Magazine for several years, and she is a member of Mystery Writers of America and Sisters in Crime. When she’s not writing, Erica Ruth enjoys traveling, yoga and cheese. She is from Milwaukee, WI.