Rumble Strip - A Blackstone Valley Mystery Novelette: Blackstone Valley Mysteries, #1

By Lisa Shea

Tricia Forney was exhausted. She'd put in a long night working at the Boston Law Library. All she wanted to do was get home, trudge up the snowy hill to her front door, feed the tiger barbs, and get some sleep. If she could just drive the few remaining miles ...

Her eyes faded closed ...

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What was that??

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Rumble Strip is the first novelette in the Blackstone Valley Mystery series. It is 70 pages / 10,000 words long. Each story in this series ends in a cliff-hanger, building up to the grand finale. The stories are suitable for teens and up with no explicit adult language or situations. They are set in the beautiful Blackstone Valley region of central Massachusetts, carved out by the Blackstone River.

All author's proceeds from this series benefit local battered women's shelters.

Lisa has lived in this region for over two decades. She adores the landscapes and beauty. She's always open to feedback - drop her a line and share your thoughts!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lisa Shea
• Release date: Jul 30, 2015
• ISBN: 9781516395248

Lisa Shea

I love writing in a variety of genres. I currently have over 300 books published in all lengths from full 500+ page novels down to short stories. I love writing series. Some are with unconnected characters, like the 14 full-length medieval novels with a sword being passed from heroine to heroine. Some have connected characters, like the 31 mini-mysteries featuring a detective in Salem, Massachusetts. All of my books are written "clean" with no explicit intimacy, no harsh language, and no explicit violence. All are suitable for teens and up.For a full listing of my books please visit:http://www.lisashea.com/lisabase/writing/gettingyourbookpublished/lisalibrary.html

Book preview

Chapter One

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I jolted awake, my heart pounding, adrenaline racing through my body. My hands automatically clenched white-knuckled on the steering wheel. The right guard-rail was terrifyingly close. In slow motion, a thousand thoughts flickered simultaneously in my mind. I gathered in every drop of information.

I was on Route 146 South, just entering the quiet town of Sutton, Massachusetts.

To my right was Blackstone’s Country Café – the new restaurant which had moved in when the donut shop had failed.

My car, a first-run Prius with far too many miles on it, was shuddering as if caught in the grip of a powerful earthquake.

The sky was pitch black, just a shade darker than my skin.

The sheen of black ice reflected in my car’s headlights.

I was on the rumble strip.

brr brr brr

BRRRRRR BRRRRRR BRRRRRRR

brr brr brr

I yanked the steering wheel hard left to get back into the driving lane, barely able to breathe.

There were no other cars at all on the highway, either before or after me. Just me, my Prius, and the now smooth sailing down 146 toward my home.

I drew in several long lungfuls of air, willing myself to calm down. My heart thundered hard against my ribs, nearly exploding out through them like that alien creature which forever immortalized John Hurt.

I glanced at the clock. Two a.m. Thank God. I could easily have hurt someone.

Whoever it was that invented these rumble strips, God bless you. God bless your family, God bless your children, God bless your children’s children …

My Prius moved past the old drive-in which had sadly been closed down years ago. Next I streamed beneath the new set of traffic signals which had gone through a baffling variety of configuration changes over the past year. Poor Tony’s Pizza had to endure multiple rearrangements to their entrance system. But I saw the sights distantly, as if a movie was playing on that drive-in’s decaying large screen.

Breathe. Breathe.

A few more turns, a crossing of the Northbridge line, and I was pulling up to my quiet, grey colonial, easing into the empty driveway. I turned off my ignition. My body was shaking so hard that I didn’t know if I could make it to my front door.

More deep breaths.

At last I gathered up my purse, opened the car door, and walked the short distance to my home.

Without turning on any lights, I bee-lined straight for the maroon couch and flopped onto it as if my body had turned into a limp noodle. I turned my head to stare at my fish tank. The school of tiger barbs seemed to gaze in anticipation back at me, undoubtedly waiting for their shrimp snack.

Thirty-five years old. I was thirty-five years old, and