Nana and her Soap

By Leah R Cutter

Stacy loves her grandmother, who she always calls Nana.

 

Even if it means she has to watch her language, which tends to be more...spicy, than Nana approves of.

 

Hence, Nana's soap, always ready to show Stacy or others the error of their ways.

 

However, something's happened to Nana. Her door's locked when Stacy arrives. And other things that make Stacy wonder if Nana is scared.

 

Something that even her soap won't clear away.

 

Another short mystery from Leah R Cutter, part of the Year of Mystery!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Knotted Road Press
• Release date: Jun 21, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201938116

Book preview

Nana and her Soap

Nana and her Soap

Leah R Cutter

Knotted Road Press

Contents

Nana and her Soap

About the Author

Also by Leah R Cutter

About Knotted Road Press

Nana and her Soap

Stacy got out of her car slowly, standing and stretching after the long drive. Normally, going from Seattle, through Yakima, past Lake Hope and out to Horton to get to Nana’s property took five to six hours. Even on a Friday, getting up stupid early and driving all day.

That weekend, though, Labor Day traffic had pushed it up to seven.

And all because of the tourists. Those stupid, fu—

Stacy stopped herself before the thought fully formed, slapping her hands over her mouth as if she’d accidentally said the word out loud.

Nana didn’t abide with swearing. Despite Stacy being thirty-five, married and divorced and now living on her own, Nana would still wash Stacy’s mouth out with soap if her granddaughter said a bad word. Even if Stacy just thought the word. Nana always knew. She’d just hand Stacy the soap and silently point toward the bathroom.

At least she’d finally arrived. Stacy stretched for a few more moments, relishing the peace and quiet out here. Of the four acres that made up Nana’s property, only about half of it was developed. The rest was trees and blackberry bramble. The house itself wasn’t visible from the lane, but cut off by tall, wide, cypresses. All Stacy heard were the crickets in the grass and the distant wash of the highway.

By the end of her week long vacation, all this peace and quiet would be driving her nuts.

For now, it was just lovely. The house had been built in the 1950s, a single-story rambler, solidly made out of brown brick and lovingly maintained. Large feral rose bushes stood guard on either side of the newly-painted white door. Orange and red hips shone through the green leaves, plus a few pink blossoms. When the roses were fully in bloom the entire yard smelled heavenly.

Nana