in my paranormal suspense novel set in 1968, A DEAD GUY AT THE SUMMERHOUSE, an elderly heiress hires 17-year-old Mitch to look after her two Pekingese dogs. Unfortunately, he and the dogs and his employer share the house with her family and three servants. One of the servants, Corrie, believes that Mitch carries the spirit of the dead guy of the title. It gets on his nerves.
Blowing Up a Storm
excerpt from A DEAD GUY AT THE SUMMERHOUSE
by Marian Allen
It was “blowing up a storm,” as we said in Faelin. I looked out at the overcast landscape, whistling a sprightly little tune I’d had in my mind since yesterday afternoon.
In the woods that curved in a crescent around three sides of the grounds, the beeches showed the silver side of their leaves and rustled like rice-paper wind chimes. “The trees are showing their petticoats,” Mrs. Brandt would have said.
“What are you looking at?”
I started at the unexpected voice, but recognized it: Corrie. Without turning, in as discouraging a tone as I could manage, I said, “I’m looking out of the window.”
She giggled. “Well, I can see that.” She moved forward, so I scooted over to give her room. “But why are you looking out of the window?”
I sighed. “Just checking out the weather. Gonna storm today.” Automatically, I followed this prediction, as I did all such down-home wisdom, with the unfortunate phrase, “I am blessed with the gift of prophecy.”
“I know you are.” Corrie tucked an arm around mine. “I remember.”
“Corrie,” I said firmly. It was time to be firm. “I want you to listen.” I looked her straight in the eye and said, “I am not now, nor have I ever been, Albert Alaister. I will never be Albert Alaister. Never.”
“Oh, Mitch.” She patted my arm. “This weather’s just got you down. Come into the Hall and I’ll get you some breakfast.” She let me go and crossed to the servants’ hall door. “Come on, now.”
~*~
Buy A DEAD GUY AT THE SUMMERHOUSE
artwork by Sara Marian
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A WRITING PROMPT FROM ME TO YOU: Write about someone being repeatedly mistaken for somebody else.
MA
