It was the fly that got to him.
In the misty light of early morning, the dead woman looked as if she might be sleeping, her dusky lashes resting against cheeks of pale egg shell, her lips faintly parted. She lay at the edge of a clover-strewn meadow near the river, the back of her head nestled against a mossy log, her slim hands folded at the right waist of her fashionable dove gray mourning gown.
Then the fly came crawling out of her mouth.Well, that opening chapter does come as a shock. Would this prevent you from reading on? Or does it provoke your interest in this mystery?