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- Herausgeber: Al-Mashreq eBookstore
- Kategorie: Krimi
- Serie: Doc. Turner Series
- Sprache: Englisch
Graves Filled to Order by Arthur Leo Zagat is a gripping mystery that delves into the dark underbelly of a seemingly peaceful town. When a series of macabre events lead to graves being filled on demand, the town's tranquility is shattered by fear and suspicion. As the local detective investigates, he uncovers a sinister plot involving hidden motives and a network of deceit. Each clue leads to more shocking revelations, but the true mastermind remains elusive. Can the detective solve the case before more lives are claimed, or will the town be buried under a shroud of terror? Immerse yourself in this chilling tale where every grave holds a secret.
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Seitenzahl: 29
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024
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Table of Contents
Graves Filled to Order
Synopsis
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Landmarks
Table of Contents
Cover
Graves Filled to Order
Synopsis
It was a strange vigil that Doc Turner kept—a fiendish funeral set for the witching hour. But Doc's business was saving people, not burying them—and he acted fast to thwart the world's most inhuman mortician!
The Spider, May 1939, with "Graves Filled to Order"
1
THERE was tragedy in the face of the young woman—fear in her eyes and also a stark courage that overrode fear. But what had first drawn Doc Turner's attention to her was the almost grotesque incongruity of her attire and mien here on Morris Street.
For nearly an hour she had been standing at the front of his ancient pharmacy, her back against a corner of the telephone booth. In all that time she had hardly moved at all, her slim body rigid, her gloved hands clutching a black suede pocketbook, with a strange fierceness.
Out there on Morris Street, naked electric bulbs made vivid with their garish blaze the scarlet and emerald and gold of fruits and vegetables piled high on pushcarts. Swarthy, sweatered hucksters raucously shouted their wares; shawled housewives pinched pulp and bargained; tattered urchins hawked market bags and shoelaces and dirty-wrappered candies, and unshaven, collarless laborers shuffled wearily, burly shoulders stooped under their burden of unending, hopeless toil.
Within Doc's store were a bare wooden floor rutted by the traffic of long years, dingy showcases, sagging shelves—a frail old druggist whose hair and bushy mustache were silken white, blue eyes faded, skin dry and almost transparent over fleshless bones. Utterly out of place in these surroundings was this woman of about thirty, sleek in a cloak of the finest broadcloth, her small feet sheathed in lustrous leather artfully molded, around her graceful throat a stole of silver fox fur, thick, soft and lustrous.
Her features were clean-cut and tiny—perfect as a chiseled cameo. Glowing, tawny hair peeped from beneath the edge of a modish hat whose price would probably have fed a Morris Street family for a month. Doc, fumbling with some pyramided boxes on the sales counter at the rear of the store peered covertly at her. What was she doing here? For what was she waiting?
Despite the tensity of terror that gripped her, something in the way she held herself spoke of the habit of command, of the habit of being served and protected from harshness. There was about her an aura of warm, dim lights, of soft music, of costly perfumes. Therefore it was all the more puzzling that, in her cheeks' downy velvet, a tiny muscle now twitched endlessly, and her little head was thrown back stiffly erect in an attitude of desperate defiance...
A phone bell shrilled! The woman's red lips gaped as though she were about to scream, but instantly she spun around and dived into the booth. The knifing trill cut off with the rattle of the receiver being snatched from its hook.
