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    Thursday Mystery: A Hannah Scrabble Cozy Novelette
    Thursday Mystery: A Hannah Scrabble Cozy Novelette
    Thursday Mystery: A Hannah Scrabble Cozy Novelette
    Ebook118 pages1 hour

    Thursday Mystery: A Hannah Scrabble Cozy Novelette

    By Marty Donnellan

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    About this ebook

    It's 1977 and Jimmy Carter is President. Amateur sleuth Hannah Scrabble has visited the Mountain City Public Library every Thursday for the past year. One day she realizes another Thursday patron has been checking out the same book over and over, all year long. Hannah sets out to find out why, and in the process discovers a threat to the nation that only she can stop.

    A shorter companion book to the "Hannah Scrabble Cozy Mysteries" series.

    Special Preview: first few chapters of "Mountain City Murder, A Hannah Scrabble Cozy Mystery".

    COMING THIS FALL, NEW, FULL-LENGTH HANNAH SCRABBLE MYSTERY, "Murder at the Company Picnic"

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherMarty Donnellan
    Release dateMar 2, 2015
    ISBN9781311907226
    Thursday Mystery: A Hannah Scrabble Cozy Novelette
    Author

    Marty Donnellan

    Marty Donnellan is a lifelong resident of Atlanta, GA, USA. She is a writer and illustrator, doll maker, skater and skating teacher, nursing home art teacher, grain growing enthusiast and founder/director of Joy Community Kitchen, Inc., a 501(c)3 non-profit food charity. She is the author of seven books. Four are stories set in the imaginary world of frendibles, two are non-fiction "how-to" manuals (teaching doll making and roller skating), and the latest is a cozy mystery.

    Read more from Marty Donnellan

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      Book preview

      Thursday Mystery - Marty Donnellan

      Thursday Mystery

      A Hannah Scrabble

      Short Cozy

      By Marty Donnellan

      Pine Cone Press

      Copyright © 2015 Marty Donnellan

      All rights reserved.

      ISBN: 9781311907226

      Thursday Mystery is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidental and not intended. Mountain City, NC is a fictitious location.

      Cover Art: Cricket Press, www.cricket-press.com

      Table of Contents

      1, Thursday, August 4

      2, Thursday, August 11

      3, Thursday, August 18

      4, Thursday, August 25

      5, Friday, August 26

      6, Saturday, August 27

      7, Monday, August 29

      8, Thursday, September 1

      9, Friday, September 2

      10, Monday, September 5 (1)

      11, Monday, September 5 (2)

      12, Monday, September 5 (3)

      13, Monday, September 5 (4)

      14, Monday, September 5 (5)

      About The Author

      Other Books by Marty Donnellan

      Preview – Mountain City Murder, a Hannah Scrabble Cozy Mystery

      1

      Thursday, August 4

      1977

      ***

      The sky was dark and a hard rain pelted the black pavement. Ducking under her umbrella, Hannah Scrabble bolted from her green 1973 Ford Ranger XLT pickup truck across the flooding parking lot to safety under the portico of the Mountain City Public Library.

      Blast this rain! she cried, bursting through the double doors. With a gasp, she put a censuring finger to her own lips, but too late. The librarian, a plump, matronly woman known to Hannah as Mrs. Partridge, had turned sharply and thrown her the disapproving look librarians are famous for, even though the library was nearly empty. Only the round man in the armchair was there, reading The New York Times as usual.

      Hannah sheepishly removed her wet poncho and closed her dripping umbrella, carefully laying both on the foyer floor by the door. She wrung out the bottom of her plaid maxi-dress and inspected her watch for water damage. The seconds hand was still moving, and the time read 3:30pm, the same as the wall clock. She peeped into her waterproof satchel. Thankfully, the writing materials inside were dry.

      Hello, Mrs. Partridge, she whispered, approaching the counter.

      Mrs. Partridge’s expression had lost most of its severity. Hannah, your dress! she whispered back. Will this rain ever end?

      I sure hope so. My tomatoes are drowning. They like water, but not this much. Got any new books?

      Every Thursday, rain or shine, Hannah whispered the same question to Mrs. Partridge. Thursday was library day, the one afternoon she was free from Dickson’s Printing and Graphics Corporation where she freelanced as a typesetter. She looked forward to her library time, using it to read a little but mainly to work on her Trick Parker spy thrillers. So far she had completed two novels and was midway through the third. She had received rejection notices from thirty-three publishing houses, but was determined not to give up.

      Mrs. Partridge was reaching under the counter. "Yes, we got another crafting book in just yesterday. Soft-Sculpting Dolls for Fun and Profit. Take-off on those new Cabbage Patch dolls that are all the rage." She pulled out an oversized volume whose cover featured five awkward looking, gnome-like dolls in ill-fitting calico dresses.

      Looks, uh, interesting, Hannah whispered dubiously. Both women squealed at a fresh peel of thunder outside. The round man glanced at them in annoyance from the top of his newspaper, causing Mrs. Partridge to blush and Hannah to glance back at him in equal annoyance.

      Hannah looked back down at the book. What strange dolls, she whispered. What are they made of?

      Pantyhose, it says. You stuff the hose and do the sculpting with needle and thread.

      Oh. Hannah thumbed through the book and took a second look at the cover. The dolls staring back at her were supposedly female, but one of them resembled the elderly, puffy-faced male investment advisor from the evening news. She didn’t personally own a TV, but sometimes watched it in the Dickson’s break room.

      She handed back the book. Thanks, but I think I’ll keep working on teddy bears for now. I made my first bear from the book you saved for me the other week.

      Oh? How did it turn out?

      Pretty good. At least I thought it did, until I gave it to my co-worker Debbie’s ten year old son.

      What, he was too old for teddy bears?

      Hannah looked taken aback. Why, no, he said, ‘Thank you, Miss Scrabble’ like always. But Debbie named it Sasquatch.

      I see. Mrs. Partridge suppressed a smile. She glanced over at the round man to make sure they were no longer disturbing him. Well, I’ll keep an eye out in case anything else comes in. I know how much you love making things, and what with our nation’s Bicentennial celebration last year, handcrafts are really making a comeback.

      True, but I’m not sure they had pantyhose back in 1776, Hannah whispered back. "Actually, all I really need today are all the National Geographics you might have with articles about Trinidad, and also anything about helicopters."

      Let me guess, Trick Parker is hanging out of a helicopter in Trinidad and you need to find a way to get him back in.

      How did you know? Hannah fumed. She’d have to change the plot if Mrs. Partridge could guess it so easily. She kept telling herself not to mention her writing to anyone, but it was hard keeping so large a passion a secret. She loved writing even more than gardening, baking, typesetting, and taking care of Mikey, the homely wall-eyed Toggenburg goat she’d raised from birth. Maybe even more than the small, mountainside farmhouse and thirty-six acres she’d inherited from her parents, who had lost their lives in a car accident five years before.

      She passed the round man in the armchair and sat down at her favorite table to await her materials. The table was by the window, halfway between the front counter and the children’s section in the back. It wasn’t always available, but today’s storm had kept the usual small crowd of summertime library-goers away. Rain spattered against the window and the trees outside thrashed.

      After pushing the dampest part of her skirt away from her legs, Hannah reached into her satchel and pulled out a stack of bound index cards. She removed the rubber band around it and thoughtfully examined each card, placing it on the table as if it was part of some elaborate card game or fortune-telling ritual. After she arranged the cards, she took out several spiral-bound notebooks and sharpened pencils.

      Planting her elbows on the table, she rested her chin in her palms and allowed her mind to drift. She’d recently turned thirty-one and couldn’t remember a time when the Mountain City Library wasn’t there. The place was much the same as when her mother brought her in as a

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