Wednesday, February 8, 2012

Building a mystery: another excerpt

Ahead of him, every square inch of sand was smooth, like fresh poured cement scraped flat with a board. The ocean had denied Grandfou his moment of glory; it had scrubbed the beach. Between Sunday morning and now, those nonidentical twins, flood tide and ebb tide, had eradicated any signs of human traffic. After the rising tide had set-up a short drag to the dory and the murderer rowed off with his cargo, it ran farther up on the beach to erase the tracks. After the receding water had finished its further mopping, the whole process recycled just to make sure the clean-up job was complete. Such are the moonstruck machinations of spring tides.

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