You’ve heard the expression ‘that gene skipped me.’ Well, I am the living example of that statement. Both my parents excelled at culinary skills and my mother, a talented seamstress and my father, an excellent woodworker. They were always making things or fixing things.
They were ready to impart their wisdom but, for example, my father wanted to show me how he made his most tasty stuffing for the Thanksgiving turkey. The problem was he said I had to get up at six since that’s when he started preparing the meal for most of his family and my mother’s.
Six a.m. was not in my wheelhouse at that time.
One area that I did pay attention was when we were in the garden. My father had studied horticulture in high school, obviously a trade school. He even worked at the Cleveland Botanic Garden after graduating, only to have his career cut short by World War II. My mother was also a depression baby so gardened by necessity. Marry the two (literally) and you had one heck of a garden.
In my younger days, before arthritic knees, I loved to be down on the ground experimenting like my dad. I grew vegetables only to have the squirrels and chipmunks take the first bite. I almost wouldn’t have minded that if they ate the whole thing but it is very disheartening to have this beautiful ripe tomato in your hand only to turn it over and see the bite marks.
Roses. My father had the dream of creating a ‘black rose’ which was all rosarians talked about back in the 50’s and 60’s. Our yard had thirty or more bushes, many grown from cuttings my dad took. He nourished them in a cold frame until the cuttings were hardy enough to live.
I moved to Kentucky and bought a small condo mainly because it had a patio area and a small garden, though the garden centers nearby think I have several acres that I’m filling with all the plants I buy each spring. I discovered cultivating roses in Kentucky is very different than up north. I planted three or four of my favorites only to discover that Japanese beetles could swarm with the best of insects. If it wasn’t the beetles, it was mildew or any number of diseases. And I was not lazy about all this but I know when I’m licked.
Leaving off the roses and vegetables, I decided I would plant flowers, both annuals and perennials. To that end I built a three-tiered raised bed. I situated it where I could appreciate the colors and the movement from my reading chair in my bedroom.
From the moment I fill it I begin to think of ‘next year’ and how I’ll try this plant or that. I plow through catalogs and websites.
Next to authoring a book or reading one, the garden is where I find joy. I love to discover the myriad spiders that live out there. And watching the frolicking chipmunks, no longer a threat to my vegetables unless they learn to open a can, is a wonderful past-time, or so I think.
When I’m in the garden, my parents are with me. Either congratulating me on my progress or rolling their eyes at each other saying, ‘can you believe she’s doing that!’
Dash Hammond
Book Six
E.M. Munsch
Genre: Mystery
Publisher: Mystery and Horror, LLC
Date of Publication: October 18, 2022
ASIN: B0BJ4GYGD2
ISBN-10: 1949281213
ISBN-13: 978-1949281217
Print length: 217 pages
Book Description:
Life is good for Dash Hammond. He's recently remarried his childhood sweetheart, Dr. Maevis Summers, and together they're raising his four-year-old son, T.J. in the Hammond family homestead in Clover Pointe, Ohio. A retired Army colonel, Dash now keeps himself busy fixing everything from a leaky faucet to an unsolved murder.
It is no wonder that his cousin Billy McCafferty calls on Dash for a road trip to Kentucky when his oldest sister is in trouble. The president of a religious order, Sister Miriam Patrice, Miri Pat to those who knew her before she took the veil, has been hearing things, seeing things and misplacing things. A very competent woman, she refuses to accept an unearthly reason for all this.
Marianwood, the motherhouse of the Sisters of the Blessed Mother of God, is located on an old plantation thought to be haunted by its original inhabitant, Miss Victoria Harris, who is rumored to prowl the grounds and cemetery in search of her murdered beau.
When the Ohio contingent arrives, they discover that things are not as simple as your ordinary haunting.
In a battle of wits, will the victor be supernatural or a very corporal retired Army colonel?
Excerpt:
A HAUNTING AT MARIANWOOD
Sister
Miriam Patrice slid back from the kneeler. The quiet of the church soothed her
as it wrapped its velvet cloak of serenity around her. She sat, hands folded,
once in prayer but now to stop the trembling. Glancing at the sunlight
streaming through the stained-glass windows casting a rainbow on the empty
pews, she drew in deep slow breaths. She looked at the watch pinned to her
tunic. Time to get back to work. She rose to leave the church, her place of
refuge, a place free from the distractions of the running the community and the
new retirement home the sisters established to help make ends meet.
The
members of the Sisters of the Blessed Mother of God found their numbers
dwindling. New recruits, as Sister Miriam Patrice called them mimicking her
cousin Dash Hammond’s military jargon, were very rare. The teaching
congregation once had more than a hundred sisters. Vocations, callings to
either the religious or the educational side of the community, had fallen to less
than a handful each year.
As
she walked down the aisle to the back of the church, she heard it again. Tap,
tap, tap. She stopped to listen, making sure she wasn’t mistaken. That sound
sent shivers down her spine. Squaring her shoulders she walked to the doors
next to the church exit. One led up to the choir loft, the other down to the
cellar. In days past she had gone up the stairs; today she would go down.
Pulling
the doorknob, Miriam Patrice met the resistance of a locked door. She pulled
out her keys and unlocked it. She struggled with the door, suggesting to her
that no one had gone to the cellar in a while.
The
stone steps were worn but sturdy. She moved cautiously into the darkness, one
hand on the wall to steady her nervous knees, the other searching for the
handrail. Her hope was that the security guard forgot to close the door one day
and some critter, not two legged, was trapped down here and making the tap,
tap, tap sound. Logically she knew this was wrong, but the alternative could be
worse.
Decades
ago they discovered one of the newer buildings constructed during a period of
rapid expansion had been built on an underground spring. It wasn’t long before
the building tilted, as did their finances. What a waste of time and money.
Fearful that what she would find was a tell-tale pooling or bubbling of water,
she moved forward slowly. She said a silent prayer that she would not stumble
into a puddle, a precursor of the inevitable unwelcome news.
Her
trek seemed unnecessarily slow though reason told Miriam Patrice she should
alert one of her sisters where she was just in case she lost her footing. But
her reasoning had not been the sharpest of late. She blamed her sleepless
nights, not because of an uneasy conscience but an overabundance of concern for
her congregation and its uncertain future, both financially and individually.
After
spending a half an hour poking into the corners, searching for the origin of
the sound, Miriam Patrice gave up. She needed a flashlight if she wanted to do
a proper search. Next time she would be prepared. Next time, she told herself,
she would be less skittish, more confident that she could deal with whatever
sprung up from the tap, tap, tap. After deciding this, she nodded to herself.
At least she didn’t hear a drip, drip, drip.
The sound had stopped so she returned to the
church. As she locked the door behind her, the tap, tap, tap began again,
louder this time. If she permitted herself, she would have said damn.
Elaine Munsch is a native of Cleveland, Ohio, but has spent her adult life in Louisville, Kentucky. She graduated from Nazareth College of Kentucky located outside of Bardstown and attended The Ohio State University for her graduate work. She has been a bookseller for fifty years working in both large and small, chain and independent bookstores. She opened the first Barnes & Noble in Kentucky where she set up a mystery reading group which is still active today. She also taught classes in the mystery genre for the Veritas Society and joined the local chapter of Sisters in Crime.
With Susan Bell, she co-edited MYSTERY WITH A SPLASH OF BOURBON, an anthology of bourbon related stories.
As E.M. Munsch, she writes the Dash Hammond series set on the shores of Lake Erie. The latest title, A HAUNTING AT MARIANWOOD, is set to be released at the end of October.
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