It’s a rainy day in today’s sample from A DEAD GUY AT THE SUMMERHOUSE. The book IS available from Amazon in print and ebook, but we’re having a big launch/promotion later this month and you might just win a free copy, so you might as well wait for that.

A Rainy Day for Mitch — excerpt from

A DEAD GUY AT THE SUMMERHOUSE
by Marian Allen

A small window in the right-hand wall was open, making the air chillingly fresh. It surprised me, how cool the morning air was; in town, in the summer, it was stuffy and dusty-smelling ’round the clock.

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.”

A WRITING PROMPT FOR YOU: Write about a rainy day.

MA