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She spent a quiet night at home, enjoying an old Bradley Marvel thriller while sipping peppermint tea. That is, she enjoyed the novel up until the scene where Marvel’s hero discovered a cache of bones, which hinted at more dire revelations to come. Vera put the book down, staring at the leaping flames in her hearth. Life was not a novel, but she had a hunch that the bones in the orchard also hinted at more dire revelations to come.
“If anyone uses the words sting or stung in articles about the spelling bee, BW says your pay will be docked! Remember, readers don’t deserve clichés.”
This made me snigger.
The coffee was fresh and strong and gave Vera the feeling that she could accomplish anything today.
On this fine autumn morning, the woods were beautiful and peaceful. Sunlight filtered through the changing leaves, and a light breeze sent some of those leaves wafting slowly down to the ground, where they carpeted the forest floor in blazing yellows, oranges, and vibrant reds.
Vera studied the sunset and pondered the situation. She had a collection of clues that all hinted at a connection, but she didn’t have solid proof of anything. “Just a lot of stories,” she muttered. That was the problem. All she had were anecdotes—tales of Julia’s unhappiness, stories of Octavia’s family history, Lefty’s account of fake jewels, and more. She needed evidence, something to prove those stories true or false.
