by Lindsey Brooks
Copyright 2011 Lindsey Brooks
Published by Strict Publishing International
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As the first dusty shovelful of African earth landed on the plank coffin, Douglas turned away from the grave and strode back towards the bungalow. He hated funerals. If he had not had the misfortune to have found the body, he would never have come to this one.
At first, he had thought the fellow had crashed head-on into the tree but there had been no damage to the front of the car. It had just slipped out of gear and coasted to a halt when the dead man’s foot slid off the throttle. Fever, the doctor had said, though Douglas had seen the gin bottle in the car’s foot-well when he had checked the body for signs of life. Maybe it was fever, but helped by too great a liking for drink unless he had mistaken his guess.