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Death Scene

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Poking around in family closets produces skeletons.
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Description
Death Scene
A Shara Summers Mystery
Sara Jayne Townsend
Genre  Mystery
Tags  Amateur sleuth, mystery, contemporary, actress, theatre, New York, Toronto, London, Surrey, family
Release September 22, 2014
Cover Designer  Charlotte Volnek
Words  95000
Pages  353
ISBN  978-1-77127-601-6
Price  $5.95

 Back Cover

British-born, Toronto-based, actress Shara Summers turns amateur sleuth when her sister is stricken with a mysterious illness. Summoned back to England to be with her family during a time of crisis, Shara discovers doctors are at a loss as to what's causing Astrid’s debilitating sickness.

After her aunt is found dead at the bottom of the stairs the death is deemed an accident. Shara suspects otherwise. Her investigation unearths shocking family secrets and a chilling realization that could have far-reaching and tragic consequences that affect not only her own future, but Astrid’s as well.


Excerpt

Ruth sat in her rocking chair watching the television–which was probably about ten years old, and appeared to be the most modern thing in the room. She wore a blue floral dress, with a patchwork blanket over her knees. I’d seen that dress before. Her hairstyle hadn’t changed, either—her white hair was thinning, and she wore it short and curly, in the style of old ladies everywhere. When we came in she looked up, a toothless smile breaking out over her face. She had dentures that she never wore—something else she only saved for special occasions.

My mother went up to Ruth and leaned in to give her a kiss on her soft wrinkled cheek. “How are you, Auntie Ruth?” she said loudly. Ruth’s hearing had been going even back then. She must be virtually deaf by now.

The house was freezing. The only source of heat was a three-bar electric fire on the floor by Ruth’s feet.

“I’m doing all right, dear.” Her voice was husky, ravaged by age and lack of use. “Mustn’t complain.”

Summer, still in my mother’s arms, began to cry and squirm, no doubt intimidated by the presence of this ancient lady. “Who’s this?” Ruth said, stroking one of Summer’s chubby legs.

“This is Summer,” Mum said, “my granddaughter. You’ve met Summer. Astrid’s daughter.”

Ruth frowned. “Astrid? Your little one?”

“Not a little girl any more, Auntie Ruth. She’s all grown up now.” Mum pointed in my direction. “This is my other daughter, Shara. Do you remember? Shara lives in Canada.”

Ruth was staring at me, frowning. There was no indication that she recognised me. “It’s been a long time,” she said eventually.

“Hello Auntie Ruth,” I said.

“Have you taken your pills, Auntie Ruth?”

Ruth frowned in concentration. “Pills? Think so. Can’t remember, you know. My memory’s not what it was.”

My mother thrust the crying child into my arms. “Watch Summer for a moment, Shara. I’m going to make Auntie Ruth some lunch.” And off she went into the kitchen.

I sat down in the faded armchair and bounced Summer on my knee. She kept crying. Ruth stared fixedly at the television. There seemed to be an Australian soap opera on. I couldn’t tell which one. I wasn’t a fan, and they all looked the same to me. “So what are you watching, Auntie Ruth?”

“Eh?” She swivelled round to stare at me.

I raised my voice. “The television. What are you watching?”

“Oh, I don’t know, dear. It keeps me company, you know.” And she lapsed back into silence, staring at the television. A couple of minutes went by and then she said suddenly, “They’re stealing from me, you know.”

“Who?”

“They’re stealing from me.” Ruth continued to stare at the television, apparently unaware of anyone else in the room. I stood up with Summer in my arms and hurriedly went to find my mother in the kitchen.


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