The Accidental Violinist - romantic suspense

Black leather felt so comforting under my fingertips. The hourglass-shaped case popped open with barely a flick across the lock. The instrument appeared fine, but the violin bow had received damage. Broken horsehair curled on the velvet lining, a reddish tint staining the strings. The blood wasn’t mine. It belonged to Harry.

The wind picked up outside the bus stand. I drew my coat in closer and snatched the note fluttering underneath the violin’s fingerboard. I had but a moment to read it before the gust of air blew the paper from my hand.

Anna, meet me at Ashmont Circle bus stop. 10p.m. - Michael

Squealing wheels approached the lighted street corner. The bus pulled up, driver grabbing the handle, the door folding open at his push. He stared at me and I shook my head. I saw the rolling grunt from his belly to his chest, making him hop once in his seat. The bus pulled away before the door even closed. My wrist flipped over and I glanced at my watch.

10:15. What’s keeping Michael?

I had fulfilled my end of the bargain. Humph! More like a blackmail deal between us: Harry for the doctored diploma. I had done my part. He lay on the mortuary floor, a scalpel in the neck, a bottle of white Chardonnay shattered on the tile floor, his cooling hand groping the two-day stiff of Tara Ronsen: Harry’s unwanted secret lover.

No, I didn’t kill Harry. I just bought the wine.
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You’re probably wondering what this post is about. Well, Angie Ledbetter over at Gumbo Writer is holding a photo/book title contest until Sunday. There’s still time for you to enter to win cool prizes, if you wish. Just choose a book title in theme with one of the four photos she posted. Drop it in the comments section with the genre and your email address.

I entered with the title of this post as my entry. I wasn’t going to do anything else. I had other writing projects to work on.

But . . .

I have this, er, writing curse. It happens when people send me emails or make offhand comments on my blog. A little writing worm will burrow into my mind, and I’ll come up with a story on the spot.

The first part of this post is the beginning of a story for the title contest entry I posted.

What is the story about? Heck if I know. As with all my writing, I only know the beginning and the end. The middle is kept secret deep in my subconsciousness. Only my typing fingers know what words will appear on the wordprocessor page.

I like surprises! I have little complaints about being kept in the dark concerning the overall plot. My mind will let me know the rest . . . at the appropriate time.

(btw - the picture is just something I drew maybe 4 years ago. I needed something to go along with this post.)