Feel like exercising your imagination? Use the photo prompt and write a mystery with me, part 2. Last week, I posted a photo prompt and an opening to a story. Author M. Liz Boyle added the next section, which is reproduced below. Now I’m adding the next part of the story. Anyone can contribute. Just leave your inspiration in the comments. By the end of the month, we’ll have a mystery!
To read part 1, click here. Happy writing!
Ducking behind a tree, I held up my camera and zoomed in for a clearer look. My heart thumped wildly when I recognized the faces. The coroner and the victim’s father. In this small town, everyone knows everyone, and even the tourists that rent these hunting lodges are as regular and predictable as the sunrise. I stare for a minute longer, but it’s definitely Mel Teak and Mr. Dunham, the dad of Jer Dunham, who everybody knows died here last week with his dad. Except, not, apparently. I flick my camera to ON, but before I can start snapping pictures, the screen alerts me that the battery is dead. Again. It only got cold two weeks ago, so I haven’t adapted to my winter practice of keeping a battery charged and in my pocket. Drat. What next? Call 9-1-1? Follow them myself?
I yanked my phone from my pocket. No reception out here at the lake. And the camera on the phone wouldn’t zoom enough to take a photo.
An engine caught, and I looked up. A black van, just barely visible through the brilliant yellow leaves, rolled up the drive behind the house
Scrambling up the bank, I raced for my car. If I followed them, I had to drive into an area where I could get reception. I threw open my door, fell in, got the motor started, and tore onto the road.
By the time I roared around the lake, I was so far behind that I almost missed the black van turning right onto a gravel road. I kept my distance as I followed the vehicle through the windy woods.
The van turned into the abandoned factory that had rotted and rusted away for twenty years on the edge of the county.
That’s a gorgeous last line.
Thank you!
Slouching down in my seat, I peek through the steering wheel and watch the van pull into an oversized garage door. Noticing a side door, I left my car in the shade of a big, haunting looking tree and hurried along the perimeter of the property until I could make a discreet beeline to the side door. No window, no answers. Should I open the door? Would it open? Thoughts swirled through my mind as my hand hovered above the rusty doorknob. I gave a quick twist and a fast, smooth tug on the door. I paused and held it open about two inches. When I didn’t hear any explosions or curses, I eased it open far enough to poke my face inside.