Eggs in a CasketSo there I was, churning up the hill toward Memorial Cemetery, the wrought-iron gates looming up through swirling fog like disapproving sentinels. My BFF Toni was riding shotgun, while stuffed in the back seat were four enormous baskets of flowers. Somehow, we’d been tapped to deliver the decorations for the cemetery’s big Sesquicentennial Celebration.

β€œThere it is,” said Toni, pointing. β€œDead ahead.”

β€œLovely choice of words,” I responded. I wasn’t thrilled with the early morning hour and worried about the two of us getting back to the Cackleberry Club in time to help with breakfast.

β€œCareful,” Toni warned as we chugged our way through the oldest part of the cemetery where early settlers lay in quiet repose.

β€œWhere are we supposed to drop these flowers?” I asked. Weeping willows hung damply down and swept against the sides of my car, making strange whispering sounds. The overly fragrant aroma of the flowers reminded me of a funeral home.

β€œNear the Civil War memorial,” Toni responded. β€œThat’s what the folks at the Historical Society told me.”

Being unfamiliar with this part of the cemetery, I had the feeling I’d temporarily lost my way. Every time a marble obelisk or mausoleum floated into view, I felt jittery.

β€œPull in over there,” Toni said, cocking a finger.

We scrambled out of the car, ducking heads and hunching shoulders as rain pelted down.

β€œThis is miserable,” I cried. Three seconds outside the car and we were already drowned rats.

β€œLucky I brought my handy dandy umbrella,” said Toni. She grabbed a little black lump that looked like a bat with folded wings, pushed the button, then yelped as a gust of wind grabbed it and sent it tumbling among the gravestones. β€œMy umbrella! I got it free with my subscription to Hollywood Tattle-Tale!”

β€œGrab it,” I called. Toni was one step away from catching her umbrella when it spun crazily and whooshed away from her again.

β€œThis is like a hare and hounds chase,” said Toni, breathless and red-faced. β€œEvery time I get remotely close, the doggone wind spins it away!”

β€œWhat we have to do,” I said, β€œis circle around. Try to get ahead of the darn thing.”

β€œOutguess it,” said Toni. β€œIf that makes any sense.”

β€œThere!” I called. β€œOver there. Your umbrella’s hung up on that wrought iron cross!”

Pushing herself into an all-out sprint, Toni stretched an arm out and grabbed the handle.

β€œExcellent,” I said, edging my way around a large granite tomb. β€œGlad to see you’re . . .”

I skidded to a halt. There, directly in front of me – six inches from where I was about to take my next step – was an open grave. Pitch black earth yawned up at me, daring me to come closer. The smell of fresh dirt, peat moss, and mildew assaulted my nose even as rain continued to patter down.

β€œSuzanne?” Toni called. She walked toward me, twirling her umbrella as if she were in a Gene Kelly movie. β€œYou look like you saw . . .”

β€œA body!” I gasped. A man was lying down there in a couple inches of water, crumpled on his side. His clothes were soaked through and his face and hands, what I could see at first glance, were practically bone white, leached of all color.

β€œWhat!” said Toni, seeing my look of horror.

β€œThere’s . . . it’s . . . ” I stuttered, back-peddling away from the grave. My voice sounded high-pitched and strangled. β€œSomeone’s really down there!”

Toni moved cautiously toward me. β€œYou mean like a dead body?” She grasped my arm, afraid to look down. β€œIn a coffin?”

β€œNo, not in a coffin!” I said. β€œThat’s the crazy weird thing. A man is just . . . sprawled there.”

β€œYou’re sure he’s dead?” Toni gibbered.

β€œYes. No. I mean I think so . . . he didn’t seem to be moving or breathing or anything.”

Nervously, Toni shuffled forward and poked her head over the edge of the grave. β€œIt is a body,” she gasped. β€œBut . . . whose body?”

As I took another horrified look, I suddenly recognized the knotted muscles, tribal tattoo encircling one wrist, and the smooth, shaved head of this man who lay on his side, in uneasy and awful repose.

β€œI think I know who that is,” I choked out hoarsely.

β€œWho? Who?” said Toni, sounding like a startled owl from the nearby forest.

β€œIt’s Lester Drummond,” I whispered.

β€œThe prison warden?” asked Toni, stunned.

I gave a tight, wooden nod as I fumbled for my cell phone. β€œThe former prison warden.”


You can read more about Suzanne in Eggs in a Casket, the fifth book in the β€œCackleberry Club” mystery series, published by Berkley Prime Crime. The first book in the series is Eggs in Purgatory. Books are available at retail and online booksellers.

Book Synopsis

When Suzanne and Toni, two of the Cackleberry Club partners, deliver flowers to a local cemetery, they discover an open grave along with the crumpled body of a not-well-liked local. There wasn’t a funeral – there aren’t any mourners – so it has to be murder! Halfway between a cozy and a thriller (a thrillsy!), Eggs in a Casket delivers mystery, romance, suspects galore, and a dash of spirituality. This New York Times bestselling cozy cafΓ© series from Laura Childs intrigues with quirky characters as well as recipes for chicken meatloaf, bacon cornbread, and cranberry muffins.

GIVEAWAY: Comment on this post by noon EST on January 14, and you will be entered for a chance to win a hardcover copy of Eggs in a Casket, her brand new Cackleberry Club Mystery. Two (2) winners will be chosen at random. Unless specified, U.S. entries only.

Meet the author
Laura Childs is the New York Times bestselling author of the Tea Shop Mysteries, Scrapbook Mysteries, and Cackleberry Club Mysteries. ChildsIn her previous life, she was CEO/Creative Director of her own marketing firm and authored several screenplays. She is married to a professor of Chinese art history, loves to travel, rides horses, enjoys fund-raising for various non-profit organizations, and has two Chinese Shar-Pei dogs.

Visit Laura’s website at www.laurachilds.com