Seven Daze by Margaret Lashley

Author:Margaret Lashley [Lashley, Margaret]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Cozy Mystery
Publisher: Margaret Lashley
Published: 2018-05-19T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

“The early evening shadows played upon the dish of Cheetos and marshmallow fluff in my arms, adding subtle highlights to the tangle of fluorescent orange worms writhing in a sea of sticky white goo.”

Not bad for a first draft. I named the file Cheetos’ Revenge, saved it, and logged off my computer. I was feeling pretty stoked. In just one day I’d finished a whole short story, started another, and had created a casserole from scratch. This whole “writer’s retreat” thing was working out pretty well after all. Losing my keys had been a blessing in disguise. I’d actually accomplished something!

I closed the computer, grabbed the casserole, and headed out the door.

As I picked my way along the sandy lane toward the firelight flickering on the shore of Lake Rosalie, Deja-vu crept up behind me. Or was it just my imagination? The odd blend of curiosity and trepidation wrestling in my gut felt so...familiar. I was sure I’d been in this situation before – another lifetime ago – on a dusty path just like this one. Maybe once upon a time I’d been a fur trapper, looking to make peace with an indigenous tribe....

A chill wriggled down my spine like a daddy-longlegs spider. Oh, no! What if my offering is rejected by the clan? I looked down at the casserole. Orange fingers poked out from their shroud of white goo and pointed at me accusingly.

What if they saw the casserole as a joke...at their expense? What if they thought I was a jerk for bringing it?

An avalanche of doubt crushed my confidence. I tightened my grip on the casserole dish and hoisted it to my right. I was about to heave it into the bushes when a voice sounded behind me. I was so startled I nearly yelped.

“Howdy, Val,” Stumpy said. He walked up beside me. “Glad you came. Crowd’s kind ‘a sparse since the snowbirds flew on back home.”

“Oh. Right. Thanks.” I smiled sheepishly. “What should I do with this?” I shrugged, raising the casserole dish a few inches.

“Aww. I done tol’ ya you didn’t have to bring nothin’.”

“My momma would roll over in her grave if I didn’t,” I said, in a voice I barely recognized as my own. As if possessed by ghosts of the past, I’d reverted back to the Southern twang it had taken me thirty years to get shed of. My face flushed with heat.

“Put ‘er over there.” Stumpy pointed a short finger toward the open tailgate of a rusty Chevy pickup. It had either been parked or abandoned next to a rusted-out washing machine. “And grab yourself a cold one while you’re over there.”

I set my odd offering down on the tailgate next to a platter of canned pear halves. Each lay on a lettuce leaf and sported a dollop of yellowing mayo where their pits used to be. Each ghostly pear was garnished with a few shreds of processed yellow cheese-like food product.

Next to the pears were bowls containing the obligatory

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