Mrs. Morris Meets Death
A Mortal Tale of Time Management
With her book sales, bake sales, garden club, and the Halloween Hop, Mrs. Morris has no room on her schedule for activities such as dying.
Unfortunately, when Death calls, he can't take no for an answer...management simply won't allow it.
Trouble is, with his overwhelming workload, although Mrs. Morris doesn't want to go, Death might just need her organizational skills if he's ever going to find a spare moment for the new hobby he's fallen headstone over heels with.
Ready for a humorously, death-defying tale of time management, mistaken identities, cruise ships, and romance novels? Then pick up your copy of Mrs. Morris Meets Death today.
Mrs. Morris was too busy to die. Besides the annual library book sale she was currently overseeing, the charity bake sale she supervised was just around the corner and she swore she would never miss that again. The one time she abandoned her duties as Senior Bake Sale Organizer, cake profits dropped by twenty percent and the people who bought Mrs. Tiegs’s Lemon Surprise ended up with food poisoning.
Then there was the Library Committee, the City Council, the Book Club, and the Community Theater, all of which relied on her to keep matters on track and running smoothly. And of course, one didn’t get to Mrs. Morris’s age and still remain vibrantly mobile without at least two hours of daily activity at the yoga studio, the public pool, the walking group, or the garden club.
So, while helping set up the book sale, when Mrs. Morris lifted her fifth box of paperback mysteries and she felt a twinge in her left arm then a tightness in her chest, well, she just didn’t have time for that. If she didn’t get all the Agatha Christies in alphabetical order, those teenage volunteers would just slap them on the tables any old way and then how would anyone find the title they were looking for?
No, that tingling, tightening tension would just have to wait until she had time for it.
* * *
When Mrs. Morris next awoke she found herself looking down on the bustling activity in a bright room where doctors and nurses were scurrying about and calling to each other in jargon she recognized from reruns of her favorite medical drama. Really, she supposed they must know what they’re doing to be allowed to be doctors and nurses, but Mrs. Morris thought they could act a bit more orderly, a bit more synchronized, if you will, as they went about their business.
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