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Friday, 3 July 2009
Interview with Liana Metal
On July 1, I introduced you to Liana Metal. Today, you can get to know her more indepth. First off, I have to tell you, Liana, I love your name (and not just because my daughter's name is Lianna). :-) 
So tell about yourself, Liana.
1. Writers are told to write daily and find their voice. Do you feel you have more than one voice in your writing?
Yes, I do, as I enjoy writing a variety of mss from a different angle and mood, depending on my own personal attitude at the time of writing a piece. I believe that a ‘voice’ should develop and expand into many ‘voices’ over the time, as the outcome will be more appealing to the reader.
2. When did your passion for writing begin?
It dates back to school time, primary school actually, when I was writing the lyrics for my own songs. I even created illustrated short stories for the English class I was attending, a sort of a diary. I was also fascinated by comics and tried to write my own stories then.
3. What inspired you to keep writing while getting rejection letters or struggling with writers block?
I think I have got that ‘bug’ that cannot go away whatever happens! I used to get very upset at the beginning when I received rejection letters, but later on I realized that each rejection was a step forward to success, and I just did not allow myself to stop writing. Writing is a way of feeling alive for me, and I will never give it up because I just …love it!
4. How do you come up with ideas for your writings and why do you feel you choose some over others?
Ideas come at any time, usually by observing things and people around, but sometimes come when I relax or I am ready to sleep. This is most annoying as I have to write down a couple of notes to make sure I remember them the next morning. I usually choose the ones that seem feasible for me to realize, after some thought, but I always pick up those that will make me feel good and happy with!
5. Are you a daily disciplined writer? Do you find it difficult to stick to your schedule? Do you have certain tricks you use so that you don't stray from your writing?
Sometimes I have to follow a schedule, depending on my day time job. I try to write every day so as not to lose track of my thoughts. I also don’t mind the noise of the background or some music. I can perform quite well in front of the TV! Some distracters make me concentrate more on my work. I always keep a note pad so that I know what I have to do every day. For example, I write down ‘Interview to Dallas’, so that I know that next time I sit down to write, this will be my first task to complete.6. How much time do you devote to marketing your book/s and what kind of marketing do you recommend? I wish I had more time to market my books, so I’m afraid I don’t do much about it. I only use my websites at http://lianametal.tripod.com and at http://liamet.tripod.com, and my blogs http://lianastories.blogspot.com and http://lianaskerkyra.blogspot.com where the readers can find my books, and the sites they can purchase them at www.lulu.com or www.amazon.com.
Wednesday, 1 July 2009
Introducing Liana Metal, Children's Author
The White Snail Written and illustrated by Iliana Metallinou aka Liana Metal
The White Snail includes an exciting story and educational material appropriate for young readers. It is the first of a series of books that aims to encourage children to read stories while, at the same time learn about nature. At the end of each book there are educational activities.
The White Snail’s basic theme is self-esteem that develops from early childhood. The hero of this story believes that he is not equal to the other snails just because he is different. This story is about the differences among people or peoples generally. It caters not only to young kids but also to adults, parents and teachers.
This series also aims to highlight some of the small miracles of nature, that we usually take for granted. The White Snail encourages the reader to notice snails closely and learn some facts about them via the educational activity at the end of the book.
BILINGUAL ΤΕΧΤ: GREEK/ENGLISH This book can be read both in Greek and English. Thus, it caters to Foreign Language education as well as to readers all over the world. Author and illustrator, Iliana Metallinou, holds a master’s degree in Applied Linguistics, is an artist, a book reviewer, former Language School owner, and nature lover. http://lianastories.blogspot.com Available at Vasilis Savvanis Publications, Corfu, Greece, www.aggelia-online.gr, local bookstores and kiosks. The White Snail ISBN: 978-960-98648-0-0 Paperback, 32 pages, 16x16 cm 5.50 euros
Sunday, 21 June 2009
Chapter Thirteen - Between A Clutch and A Hard Place
“Flora? Flora Adams?” I know I sounded like a myna bird, but I was in shock. “Yes,” she said. “Can we meet?” “Uh . . . where do you want to meet?” I asked. “Smiddy’s?” “No, Smiddy’s is too public. I want to have a private conversation with you without lots of prying ears around.” “I see.” I said that, but I didn’t see at all. Why would this woman want to meet with me? To tell me to stay away from her husband? To kill me? To let me know that she left of her own free will and that Jim didn’t kill her? To see the non-existent nudie picture of Mr. Wipple? “Why don’t we meet at the park near your home?” she asked. “I know there are lots of joggers around, so you won’t have to feel nervous. After all, I am a stranger to you.” “Yes, you are.” I glanced over at Matlock, who was patiently sitting there waggin’ his tail. “Why do you want to meet with me?” “To talk with you about Jim, of course. I’m afraid I’ve left him in an awful pickle . . . though much of it is his own fault.” “So, you want to meet at the park, huh? I hate for you to have to come all this way. Wouldn’t it be better—” “As a matter of fact, I’m already at the park. That’s where I’m calling from. Would you mind coming over now?”I looked out the window. The sun was setting and it would be getting dark soon. “Yeah. I’ll come right over. But we need to make this quick. I have things to do this evening.” “I promise this won’t take long.” “Where in the park do you wanna meet?” I asked. “How about the bench near the creek?” “That’ll be fine. See you soon.” I hung up the phone and looked at Matlock. “Well, this takes the cake,” I told him. “We’re going to the park, but you stick close to me in case this nut case tries to do me in.” He wagged his tail. I think all he heard was “we’re going to the park.” * * * By the time I got to the park, it was dusk. I’d changed into a yellow jogging suit because I figured it would stand out even in the dark. An old lady beating what might appear to onlookers to be one of those smaller school buses and trying to push it in the creek would surely raise some eyebrows. Faye had bought me this ugly jogging suit. Because she’s a redhead, she looks good in yellow, so she thinks everybody else does, too. Well, I don’t. Still, I’m glad I had the thing when I needed it. I was also carrying me a big metal flashlight. I figured it could serve two purposes—to beat her off me if the need arose or to get the heck out of the park. I started to do a “sic, her, Matlock” dry run, but I was afraid he might really attack somebody and we’d get arrested or thrown out of the park before I could find out what Flora wanted with me. Matlock was thrilled to be at the park. He wanted to smell everything everywhere. I let him because I wasn’t all that eager to get to Flora. The dog flushed a rabbit out of a bush, and I nearly had a heart attack when the little creature ran past me. Matlock wanted to give chase, and it took every ounce of strength I had to hold him. Who does he think I am—Alice in Wonderland? I don’t have time to chase rabbits. I’m too busy with would-be killers and nut cases. I got Matlock settled down and we continued along the jogging path to where Flora said she’d be waiting. I couldn’t fathom why she’d want to talk with me, but I didn’t feel like much good could come out of it. My palms were sweaty by the time I got close to the black wrought iron bench near the creek. A woman was sittin’ there with her back to me. She had longish gray hair with white streaks that looked to me like she had them put in there by a professional. She had on a green cardigan, and when I stepped around the side of the bench, I saw that she had a plaid throw across her lap. She was knitting something orange. I couldn’t tell if it was supposed to be a scarf, a baby blanket, or something to strangle me with. Crandall would’ve turned over in his grave at the thought of somebody strangling me with UT colors. “Flora?” I asked. “Hello, Myrtle, dear,” she said, not looking up from her knitting yet. “Have a seat. I won’t be but a second.” I sat down and she finished counting out her row. I’ve heard of people getting stabbed with knitting needles. Haven’t you? Or have you? Maybe I made that up because I was nervous. Anyway, I don’t think they allow them on airplanes anymore, so there you go. She put her yarn and knitting needles into a tote bag that sat on the ground to her left. Naturally, I was looking at her face really close to see whether or not she looked like Jim. She resembled him a little but not enough to make me believe Jim was some sort of cross-dresser. “Jim likes you very much,” she said, turning to look at me. “He told me he was a widower.” I bit my bottom lip. “I’d never run around with a married man.” “Oh, I know that.” “You do?” “Of course. Jim thinks very highly of you. I know everything about Jim . . . and he knows most things about me.” “Does he think you’re dead?” She looked at the trees reflected in the creek. Then she looked up and pointed. “Ah, there’s the North Star.” “You gonna make a wish?” She laughed. “I would if it would help. But it wouldn’t.” She looked at Matlock. “Come here, darling.” Naturally, he went to her like he’d known her all his life. Big help he’d be if she decided to gouge my heart out with those knitting needles. She patted his head and then turned back to me. “I’d like to explain a few things to you. That’s why I’m here.” “All right.” “Jim was so young when his mother died—only five— though he was four when she became ill. It’s a terrible, terrible thing for a child to watch his mother die.” “I can imagine.” “No, you can’t,” she said, “unless you watched your own mother die . . . as a child, I mean. He could hardly bear the thought of living without her.” She smiled. “But, I was there, and I helped him through it.” “But you had to have been a child yourself.” “In some ways, yes; but in other ways, I was mature . . . nurturing. I wanted to be a mother to him. He needed one so desperately.” “Didn’t he have anyone else?” I asked. “Any grandmothers, aunts—” “No, just his father, and he had to work so Jim and I were there alone most of the time.” “You must’ve come to see him every day.” “I did.” She smiled. “Every day, every night. Whenever he needed me, I was there. I was always there.” It was getting darker, so I leaned in closer to get a better look at her. She was beginning to give me the creeps. A breeze lifted my hair off my forehead and I shivered slightly.“When he entered adolescence,” Flora continued, “he began to prefer other girls to me. I could understand that, and I was even willing to share him.” She stared at the trees reflected in the creek’s clear water. “I’d come to need him as much as he’d once needed me.” She fell silent, and I didn’t say anything either. I mean, what do you say to that? After a few seconds, she went on. “When he graduated high school, he signed right up for the armed forces. I told him that was a mistake, but he wouldn’t listen to me. He saw some terrible things in the Korean War, and when he came home, he was happy to have me near him again. For a long while—thirty-five years, to be exact—life was wonderful. Jim got a good job, and I was our homemaker . . . the way it should be. About five years ago, I took a job working a few hours a week at the library. Jim and I were truly content.” She frowned. “Oh, he’d get ornery at times and wish me gone, but I never took him seriously. Never, that is, until a couple of years ago when he started seeing Dr. Moorefield.” “Dr. Moorefield?” I echoed. She nodded. “Yes. He’s some sort of psychiatrist. He told Jim he had ‘internalized imaginary companion disorder’ or some such nonsense and tried to get Jim to drive me away.” This really was Jim. I reached out and touched Flora’s face. It felt rubbery, and I drew back. “You need some help,” I whispered. “Oh, no, dear; I’m fine. You’re the one who needs help. You see, Jim heard you talking with Tansie earlier and he knows that you think he might’ve killed me. I wanted you to know that isn’t true. He has a dear friend in you, and I don’t want you to be driven away.” She chuckled. “That’s literally what he tried to do when he abandoned my car—drive me away.” She shook her head. “I know you found the note I put in my purse—the purse I took to Marcia’s. I recognized it the minute I saw you at the dance that night.” “You were there with Jim? At the dance?” “Of course. I’m always with Jim . . . whether he realizes it or not.” She smiled. “I’ll never leave him. Not completely.” She touched my hand, and I caught my breath. “But just so you’ll know,” she said, “I put the note in that purse to be mean. I wanted to punish Jim for wanting to be rid of me. After I did it, I regretted it . . . especially after I met you. I’d hate for you to spurn our friendship—Jim’s and mine—because of some silly, misguided note.” “I understand.” I looked at my watch. “I’d better be going now.” “It was nice chatting with you, Myrtle, dear. We’ll see you soon.” “Um . . . sure. Okay.” I stood and gave Matlock’s leash a slight but insistent tug. As we started walkin’ away, I noticed a pair of crutches layin’ underneath the bench. “Don’t stay out in this night air too long,” I told Flora/Jim. “I’d hate for you to catch a cold.” “Thank you, dear.” Flora had gone back to her knitting and didn’t look up. * * * As soon as I got back home, I called Sheriff Norville. He wasn’t in, of course, so I left him a message telling him about Jim, Flora and Dr. Moorefield. Then I went and took a long hot bath. I felt drained. When I got out of the bathtub and went into the bedroom, Matlock was already in bed waiting for me. I got under the covers and took the remote out of the nightstand. “Let’s see if we can find something funny.” As I was clicking from one channel to the next, the phone rang. I figured it was Sheriff Norville, so I picked it up right away. It wasn’t the sheriff. It was Faye. “Hi, honey,” I said. “Hi, Mother. Listen, I want to apologize for what I said last night. I’ve given what you said a lot of thought, and I don’t think Barry is really right for me after all.” “I just want you to be happy,” I told her. “I know. Hey, Crimson and I wondered if we could come over for dinner tomorrow evening. We’ll come early and help fix the food. We’d just like to spend some time with you . . .both of us would.” “Why don’t I come over there? I know you’re allergic to Matlock, and—” “I’ll take an allergy pill. I’d really like to have dinner there with you.” “Okay. What’ll we have?” “How about spaghetti and meatballs?” she asked. “Sounds good to me, honey. I’ll look forward to seeing you.” “Maybe we can stay with you a little while . . . maybe watch a movie or play a game or something.” “Great.” I hung up the phone and felt so much better that I went right to sleep. * * * “I’m becomin’ plumb newfangled,” I told Matlock as I took a loaf of Italian bread out of the bread machine. “But these things are as handy as can be.” The meatballs were still a hundred percent homemade, though, and by the time Faye and Sunny got there, the house smelled like an Italian restaurant. Sunny ran and gave me a squeeze around the waist. “Yum, Mimi! Everything smells great!” “Let’s hope it will be.” I let a reluctant Matlock outside while we ate and promised to save him some spaghetti and meatballs and even a slice of buttered bread. We fixed our plates and sat down and said grace. Just as we dug in, the phone rang. “Want me to get it?” Sunny asked. “No, sweetie,” I said, “let’s eat. That’s what the answerin’ machine is for.” The machine’s message played: “Hello, Ms. Crumb. This is Sheriff Norville. Thank you for calling me with the information about Jim Adams yesterday evening. I talked with Dr. Moorefield today and he confirmed that Mr. Adams has an imaginary internalized companion named Flora. Naturally, this clears him of murder and closes this case. Since I have you to thank, I’d like to take you to dinner tomorrow evening. What do you say? Give me a call. I’m looking forward to talking with you.” Sunny laughed and started making circles with her fists. “Go, Mimi! Go, Mimi! Go, Mimi!” I grinned. “Quit that and eat before your supper gets cold.” “Does anybody wanna let me in on this?” Faye asked. “Mimi’s been detecting again,” Sunny said, “and this time, I think she detected the sheriff.” “I don’t know,” I said. “If you’ll recall, the last man I dated was . . . um . . . too wrapped up in himself.” Sunny giggled. “So? You gonna go out with the sheriff?” “Not yet. I think I’ll play hard to get for a day or two . . . make him pay for not giving me a temporary badge.” Faye took a drink of her iced tea. “I wanna hear all about this sheriff . . . and this other guy, too.” “It’s a long story,” I said. “I’ll make time,” she said. *THE END* I hope you've enjoyed Between A Clutch and A Hard Place. Thank you for reading along! Visit me online at http://www.gayletrent.com to read an excerpt from my latest novel, Murder Takes the Cake.
Saturday, 13 June 2009
Chapter Twelve - Between A Clutch and A Hard Place
Sunny had dozed off on the couch. I kissed her forehead to wake her up. As her eyes fluttered open, I asked her how she was feeling. “Better,” she said. She yawned and rubbed her eyes. “You look hot, Meem.” I laughed. “Thank you.” I’d changed into black slacks and a red sweater, and I’d fixed my hair and face. “When are we going to Jim’s house?” Sunny asked. “Tansie should be here any minute . . . but we’ll drop you off at home if you’ll be okay.” “Sure, I’ll be fine. But don’t you want me to go with you?” I shook my head. “I got to thinking about what you said about Jim’s cruddy behavior. I don’t think you need to be around him.” She pursed her lips. “Then I don’t think you need to be around him either.” “As soon as I get my questions answered,” I said with a smile, “I probably won’t be.” “Just remember,” she said, pointing her finger at me, “don’t ever let yourself wind up alone with that man again. Got it?” “Got it.” I laughed. “You’re a sight, young-un.” “So are you, Mimi. So are you.” * * * I left Matlock home this trip. If Tansie wasn’t enough to scare Jim out of killing us both, then nothing would do the trick. Sunny played her music plumb to her house, and then I left it on to irk Tansie. “Must we listen to that . . . noise?” Tansie asked, when she got from the back seat into the front. “Well,” I said, quickly turning it off, “if you don’t like the music the young people are listening to today . . .” I didn’t particularly care for it either, but I had got used to it. Sunny and I listen to it every time we go somewhere. I can even join in on some of the choruses with her, although I have to admit the songs aren’t hard to learn. You don’t have to be an opera singer to scream, “Baby, baby, baby! Make me crazy! Crazy! Crazy!” at the top of your lungs, but it makes Sunny giggle when I sing with her. And I imagine you’ve already figured out, I’d do anything to make that young-un happy. Me and Tansie didn’t have much to say to each other on the drive to Jim’s house. I suspect we were both lost in our own thoughts. I know I was anyway. Whether I found anything out or not, I was countin’ on this being my last trip to Jim’s house. I might run in to him at another “melon” dance or something, but I wasn’t planning to date him anymore. What Sunny had said really got to me. Whether he killed Flora or not, he hadn’t treated her right for a long time, and I didn’t need to be mixed up with somebody like that. What I had to keep telling myself was that although Jim seemed like the nicest man in the world to me, that’s what he wanted me to believe. Not everybody that’s good at acting is on television. We pulled into Jim’s driveway, and Tansie unbuckled her seat belt. I reckon she wanted to be the first one in the door, which was fine by me as long as she got her share of the meal fixings. I popped the trunk and hollered, “Tansie, don’t forget your groceries!” “I’m not forgetting a thing. I merely want to make sure this isn’t a bad time before we unload this stuff.” “He’s expecting us, Tansie.” I rolled my eyes and got my bag out of the trunk. “Oh, yeah,” she said, “I’d forgotten.” She came back to get her bag, and I went on ahead of her. That’s what she gets for being so hasty. “Hello!” I yelled, when I opened the door. It dawned on me that Jim might be sleeping and that would give us a chance to compare the noses, but too late, because I’d done hollered. “I’m in the den!” Jim yelled back. He sounded pretty chipper, so I guessed he was awake to begin with. “Tansie and I are here to make you some good food,” I said, as I went into the den. “Did the casseroles I made you last a good while?” “Yes, I ate the rest of the tuna casserole for lunch today. Both of them were delicious, and I truly appreciate you ladies taking such good care of me.” “You’re quite welcome,” Tansie said, even though she hadn’t lifted a finger on those other two casseroles. “Yes,” I said, “you are. It was my pleasure to prepare those two casseroles for you. I’m only sorry that Tansie came by and knocked me into the table and I spilled spaghetti sauce on your lovely tablecloth.” I gave Tansie a little grin. “I did pick it up from the cleaners, though, and they did a wonderful job. You can’t even tell it was ever stained.” “Thank you,” Jim said. He rubbed his hands together. “What are you ladies cooking up this evening?” I started to tell him he’d be surprised at what we’re cooking up, but I thought better of it. Tansie jumped right in, of course. “We’re fixing you up a nice beef stew, some baked chicken, a three bean casserole, and I thought it would be good to fix you a nice cake since Myrtle neglected to make you any dessert last time she was here.” “Chocolate?” Jim asked. “Actually, it’s a lemon cake with white icing—my own recipe,” she said. “Even better,” Jim said. “Since when is lemon cake better than chocolate?” I asked. “If you’re in the mood for a chocolate cake, Jim, I’ll be glad to run down to the store and buy a chocolate cake mix.” “Oh, no,” Jim said, “no, that’s quite all right. You ladies have done so much. I’d certainly hate to put you out further. Besides, I’m sure Tansie’s lemon cake will be delightful.” “Don’t be too sure,” I said under my breath. “What?” Tansie asked, putting her hands on her big ol’ hips. I ignored her. “How are you feeling today, Jim? Have you taken any of your pain medication?” “No, I haven’t had to use any of that today.” He made a fist and tapped himself on the head. “Knock wood.” He laughed like that saying might be something new to us. Tansie, naturally, laughed like a horse while I tried to think up a way to make Jim take his pain medication and fall asleep. “If you’ll excuse me,” I said, “I need to get busy in the kitchen.” As I walked past Jim, I pretended to stumble and kicked his cast. He howled like a coon dog. “Oh, goodness,” I said, “we’d better get you some of those pain pills. Where are they?” He grunted. “No, I . . . I believe it’ll be okay. If I take that pain medicine, I’ll wind up going to sleep on you charming ladies and that would be unforgivably rude. I did you that way on Tuesday, Myrtle, and I still feel like a cad.” “Ah, we don’t mind,” I said. “The main thing is that you get better. Now where’s the pain pills?” “On the counter in the kitchen.” “I’ll get them,” Tansie said, “and bring you a nice glass of water.” She and I walked into the kitchen. “How do you know it’s a nice glass of water?” I asked her. “It might be dirty. He don’t have one of them filters on his sink or anything.” “It’s an expression, Myrtle. Boy, your mean streak is a mile wide today, ain’t it?” “I’m just tryin’ to take care of what we came here to take care of,” I whispered. “We need him asleep so we can compare his and Flora’s noses.” “I’m doin’ this just to shut you up,” Tansie said. “I don’t really think for one minute that Jim and Flora are the same person.” “Well, I don’t think that either. But as I already told you, I’m a thorough investigator.” She “humphed” and took Jim his medicine and his “nice” water. I got to work flouring the chicken. Tansie came back in the kitchen and put Jim’s glass in the sink. “He take it?” “Yes, Myrtle, I believe he did. I didn’t check under his tongue or anything, but I do think he took it.” “You don’t have to get snippy.” I went back to breading my chicken and placing it in a pan. “I’m bein’ snippy? I ain’t the one that kicked a man with a broken ankle.” I lifted one shoulder. “It was more like a tap. Besides, if he didn’t take his medicine, how were we gonna get him to go to sleep?” “Oh, I don’t know,” she said. “You could have a conversation with him and bore him to sleep.” Now, don’t you know that burned me up? So I said, “Or you could sing to him—no, wait, we don’t want him to run away screaming with his ears bleeding.” She glared at me. “I knew I shouldn’t have agreed to this.” “Yeah, I knew it, too. You should’ve given me the pictures like I asked you to.”“You’d a liked that, wouldn’t you? Then you coulda come back and told me that, sure enough, Jim’s and Flora’s noses were a perfect match and that I’d better stay away from him.” She shook a fat, crooked finger at me. “I know what you’re up to. You want Jim to yourself.” “Is that what’s the matter with you?” I asked. “If that’s all it is, you can have him. I just hope he’s all better when it comes time to bury you ’cause that’s gonna be one heck of a hole.” “Well, your—” Just then, Jim popped around the corner. “Is there a problem, ladies? It sounded as if you were arguing.” Tansie patted his arm. “A slight disagreement about recipes, I’m afraid.” She smiled. “Sorry we disturbed you. I’ll simply let Myrtle do this particular dish her way.” “I thought I heard Flora’s name mentioned,” he said. “You did,” I said. “How did Flora prepare her chicken?” “Different ways. Does it matter?” “I guess not,” I said, “unless you have a particular preference.” “No,” he said. “I’m sure whatever you decide will be fine.” “Alrighty then.” I turned him back toward the doorway. “Go on back to the den and relax. We’ll holler when it’s done.” I realized I’d made flour hand prints on his shoulders, but I decided to keep my mouth shut and finish getting my chicken ready for the oven. As soon as I was pretty sure Jim was out of earshot, I asked Tansie in a real low voice, “Still think he’s a lifelong bachelor?” She shot me a hateful look and flew in to making her nasty lemon cake. As soon as I got my chicken in the oven, I tiptoed down the hall to check on Jim. He had the television on, and Hoss Cartwright was ridin’ into town. Jim’s eyes were closed. I hurried back to the kitchen. “He’s asleep,” I hissed at Tansie. “Get the pictures.” “I’m right in the middle of stirring my cake.” “Fine. I’ll get the pictures.” “Oh, no, you won’t, Myrtle Crumb. You ain’t leavin’ me outta this.” She stopped stirring and grabbed the envelope containing the pictures. “But if my cake’s ruined, it’s your fault.” “Huh. Don’t hang that wreath on my door.” She took the sheet of pictures out of the envelope and started down the hall. I stayed right on her heels. We eased up to the side of the couch and looked back and forth from Jim’s nose to Flora’s nose. It was a tough call. “What do you think?” I whispered to Tansie. “About what?” Jim asked. I glanced at Tansie out of the corners of my eyes and saw that she looked like a big ol’ barn owl. I figured I did, too, but I’m a detective and I knew I had to make a speedy recovery. “Uh . . . we’re trying to decide whether or not your nose—” Tansie nearly knocked the wind out of me when she elbowed me in the ribs. I elbowed her back and finished. “Whether or not your nose is made like that guy’s who used to do the . . . uh . . . the toilet paper commercials.” “You think my nose looks like the nose of a guy who used to advertise toilet tissue?” Jim asked, frowning. “A little,” I said. “Remember? He was the one who didn’t want you to go around squeezing toilet paper, but he did it all the time. You know, you both have that little bulb thing there on the ends of your noses, and . . . and the nostrils are similar.” “Let me see.” He reached for the photo sheet, but Tansie jerked it out of his reach. “You can’t,” she said. “You can’t see this.” “Why not?” he asked. “It’d embarrass us,” I said. “He’s naked, except for one roll of toilet paper . . . strategically placed.” “You—” Jim rubbed his eyes. “You have a nude photograph of the toilet paper man?” I lifted my palms. “Takes all kinds; you know it?” I sniffed the air. “I’d better get back to the kitchen and check on that chicken.” As I hurried down the hall, I said a quick prayer. You never know when your number’ll get called—especially when you’re hangin’ out with a murder suspect—and I sure didn’t want to meet Jesus with a slanderous lie about Mr. Wipple on my record. “We’re gonna go straight to hell,” Tansie whispered as soon as she walked into the kitchen. She even looked down as if the floor just might open up and swallow us right then and there. “You might be,” I said, “but I ain’t. I’ve done asked forgiveness.” She sighed. “What’re we gonna do now?” “We’re gonna finish makin’ up this food, and then we’re getting outta here.” I nodded. “Hurry up with that cake.” “It probably won’t set up now.” I got out the Dutch oven for the beef stew. “Just hush up and do it, all right?” She peeped out into the hall. “You think he believed us?” “I don’t know. What I do know is that the sooner we get this done and get out of here, the better off we’ll be.” “What did you think about the nose?” she whispered. I blew out a breath and handed her the mixing bowl and spoon. “If you’re gonna stand here and yammer, at least stir while you yammer.” She stirred the cake batter. “Well? What did you think?” I shook my head. “I don’t know. What did you think?” “I don’t know, either.” She moved back over to the counter to pour the cake batter into a sheet cake pan. “But if he turns out not to be a freak or a killer, though, will you back off and let me have him?” Can you believe her? “By all means,” I told her. * * * I hadn’t been home for more than thirty minutes when the phone rang. “Hello?” Nothing. “Hello?” I repeated. I was about to hang up when a woman asked, “Is this Myrtle?” “Yeah, it is.” “This is Flora Adams. Can we meet somewhere?”
Sunday, 7 June 2009
Chapter Eleven - Between A Clutch and A Hard Place
When Tansie came over, she wouldn’t fork over the pictures until I told her what the manager of the dry cleaners said about Jim. “He must’ve been a lunatic,” Tansie said. “Or maybe he was jealous. What did he look like?” “A hippie.” I shrugged. “He wasn’t ugly; he just looked like a flower child.” “Well, that explains it. He probably did a lot of drugs at one time or another, and it drove him crazy.” “You never know,” I said. Matlock eased closer to me. I believe Tansie was makin’ him nervous. “That has to be it,” Tansie said. “Jim is as manly as he can be.” “I agree.” I nodded at the manila envelope she was clutching. “Let me see those pictures now.” I was sitting on the couch, so she got up out of her chair and came and sat beside me. You know Tansie; she has to make a big deal out of everything. Heaven forbid she should hand me the envelope and let me take a look at the pictures myself. Tansie opened the envelope and took out a single sheet of paper. “These are all the pictures they had of Flora.” I looked at the paper. Tansie had put four photographs on the copier and had made one copy. The pictures looked like they’d been taken at some sort of office party. “Didn’t you think to get the pictures blown up?” I asked. She sniffed. “There’s no need. We can see everything we need to see plain as day.” “How do you figure that?” I asked, pointing to one of the pictures. “In this one, she’s got her back turned.” “Exactly, and blowing up the photograph wouldn’t have turned her around.” I had to give her that. Score one for the blue head. I pointed to another picture. “This one’s so blurry you can’t make out a thing.” “Yeah. The only way I knew it was her was because I could make out the top of her head.” In one, somebody’s thumb got in front of the camera lens and obliterated Flora’s face. Tansie had been able to recognize the sweater she’d had on. In the best photograph we had of Flora, her face was turned almost entirely away from us. Still, we could make out a little bit of her profile. “You know,” I said, studying the picture, “her nose does look sort of like Jim’s nose.” Tansie’s eyes bugged out. “Don’t tell me you believe what that lunatic at the dry cleaners told you.” I lifted my chin. “I’m trying to conduct an investigation. I have to explore every angle no matter how absurd it might seem.” She grabbed the paper away from me. “I don’t think that looks like Jim’s nose at all.” “I’ll find out tomorrow. Let me take this with me when I go to Jim’s house.” “What’re you plannin’ to do? Turn Jim’s face to the light and hold up the picture to see if the noses match? Maybe you can get him to position his face the exact same way to make it easier on yourself.” “You’re being ridiculous,” I said. “He’s on that high-powered pain medication. I’ll wait ‘til he dozes off, and then I’ll compare the noses.” “Are you insane?” “No. I’m a thorough investigator. I’ll give you your pictures when I get back.” “Oh, no, you won’t,” Tansie said, putting her paper back in the envelope. “If my pictures go, I go.” “Fine. You can help me fix dinner.” * * * I’d just got into my pink floral pajamas when the phone rang. I started not to answer it because I was getting ready to get in bed and watch a movie. I changed my mind, though. You never know when it’ll be something important. And if it wasn’t important, I’d just tell whomever it was I had to go and hang up. As it turned out, I was glad I answered. It was Faye. “What’s the matter?” I asked. I always worry that something’s wrong when Faye calls. She seldom calls just to chat. “Is anything wrong with Sunny?” “No, Mother; Crimson is fine.” She hesitated. “Is everything okay with you?” “Yeah . . . far as I know.” “That’s good.” It was gettin’ close to time for my movie, so I wished she’d hurry up and tell me what was on her mind. “How’s work?” I asked. “It’s going okay. Actually, it’s a little better than okay right now “Why’s that?” It took her a minute to answer me. “There’s a new vice president of marketing. He has a lot of terrific ideas. He’s very dynamic.” She trailed off. I closed my eyes. She finally gets interested in somebody, and he’s somebody she works with. “You still there?” she asked. “Yeah,” I said slowly, “but I’m wonderin’ why you called me.” “What do you mean?” “What is it you’re wrestling with? Is it this man? You wouldn’t have called me if you were a hundred percent sure about pursuing a relationship with him. Are you undecided because he’s somebody you work with? I know I don’t have to tell you that’s never a good idea.” “That’s part of it,” Faye admitted. “Plus he’s going through a divorce.” “Whoa,” I said. “‘Going through’ as in the final papers are in the mail, or ‘going through’ as in they’re havin’ a little trouble?” “They’re separated.” “‘Separated’ as in he lives here and she’s moved to Outer Mongolia, or ‘separated’ as in he’s at work and she’s at the house?” Faye huffed at me. “Oh, Mother, I knew I never should’ve confided in you.” “Are you mad at me or mad at yourself? Maybe deep down you already know the answers to those questions and you just wanted to get a second opinion.” Sometimes it pays to watch talk shows. “Or maybe you don’t know the answers,” I continued. “I didn’t say the man’s not Prince Charming. I just asked you a couple of questions that I believe you need to know the answers to.” “Yeah, but it’s the way you asked them.” “Look, honey, you may not realize it, but I’ve dealt with a lot of frogs—some before your Daddy, some after. If you wanna jump in the pond head first with your eyes closed, then go right ahead; but don’t say I didn’t tell you not to wear a snorkel mask.” “Fine. I’ll talk to you later, Mother. Goodnight.” “Goodnight, honey. I love you.” Her voice was softer when she answered me. “Love you, too.” After we hung up, I prayed long and hard for that girl. Then I went to sleep. The movie I’d wanted to watch was supposed to have been a sad one anyway, and I didn’t want to feel any worse than I did already. * * * The next morning, me and Matlock slept in. In fact, I wouldn’t have got up when I did except Matlock started whining to go outside. Getting an older, housebroken dog had been a blessing, but that morning I considered having one of them doggie doors put in. Of course, if it was a door Matlock could get through, most crooks could, too—especially them junkies. From what I’ve seen on television, they’re awfully skinny. So, I dragged my sorry butt out of bed and down the stairs to take Matlock outside. Thank goodness he didn’t dawdle. I put on a pot of coffee, and we tromped into the living room. I was still feeling lazy as all get out, so I laid down on the couch and covered up with the afghan. It’s a pretty little afghan—it’s a granny square with all different colors of squares bound together and trimmed in a navy blue yarn. I won it in a raffle at the church bazaar a couple years ago. Matlock sprawled out on the rug in front of the couch. I decided to rest my eyes a second before turnin’ on the television, and wouldn’t you know it, I dozed off again. When I woke back up, my head was a-poundin’. I stepped over Matlock and stumbled into the kitchen. I took a couple aspirin and then poured me some coffee. The phone rang. The sound seared right through to my aching brain, so I grabbed that sucker quick. I sure as shootin’ didn’t want it to ring again. “Hello?” “Um, yes, hello,” an unfamiliar female voice said. “Is this Myrtle Crumb?” “Yeah.” I said it hateful-like because I figured the woman was trying to sell me something. In fact, I started to hang up, but then she said, “Crimson isn’t feeling well, and we need you to come to the school and pick her up.” “What is it?” I asked, my heart throbbing in my head. “What’s the matter with her?” “Oh, it’s nothing serious. She has an upset tummy is all.” “I’ll be right there.” I hurried up the stairs and flung on a purple jogging suit. I didn’t fix my hair or anything, so off I went lookin’ like death on a cracker. My rough looks were confirmed when I got to the school and the receptionist looked at me like I’d just been sprung from the graveyard. Worst part about it was she looked two days older than Moses herself. “May I help you?” she asked. “Yeah,” I said, “I’m here for Sunny . . . I mean, Crimson.” “I’m here, Mimi.” I spun around—which didn’t help my head a bit—and saw her sittin’ on a bench. “Are you all right, baby?” I sat down beside her and took her little wan face in my hands. She grinned. “I feel a little yucky is all. Oh, hey, while I was waiting for you, Mrs. Anderson and I got to talking. She said she was an Adams before she married.” “Really?” I asked, turning to look at Mrs. Anderson. “That’s right,” Mrs. Anderson said. “Your friend Jim and I are second cousins.” “Is that a fact? You must’ve known his wife Flora then.” Mrs. Anderson shook her curly gray head. “No, never met her. He sure talked about her a lot, though.” “Are you and Jim close?” I asked. “No, I’ve not seen Jimmy in years. We were thicker than thieves, though, ‘til we graduated high school.” “So he and Flora knew each other in high school?” Sunny stood and picked up her denim backpack. “Longer than that even.” Mrs. Anderson smiled. “He first started talking about her not long after his mother died...and he was only five or six years old when that happened.” “But she didn’t go to your all’s school?” I asked. Mrs. Anderson shook her head again. “Huh-uh. I believe she was kin to one of Jimmy’s neighbors or something, and that’s how he knew her.” I frowned. “But you never met her? Not at a dance, a football game, wedding, funeral, nothing?” “Jimmy was a homebody—didn’t go in for social events. Besides, I think they must’ve broke up for awhile and then got back together when Jimmy got out of the service.” “You didn’t go to his and Flora’s wedding?” I persisted. “No. Most people didn’t have big to-do’s then like they do now.” “You said Mr. Adams’ mother died,” Sunny said. “What happened to her?” “It was pneumonia, sweetie. A terrible way to go, and an awful thing for a little boy to have to see happen to his Momma.” “Yeah,” Sunny said. Then she looked at me. “I really need to go, Mimi.” I looked at her. She looked even paler than she had when I first came in. “All right, baby. I’m sorry for lingering. Let’s go.” We said our goodbyes to Mrs. Anderson, and I got Sunny out into the fresh air. “Where does it hurt, baby?” I asked, as we walked to the car. “It’s my period,” she whispered. “My back hurts, my stomach hurts, and I feel gross. I tried to call Mom, but she was in a meeting.” “You don’t need to bother her no way. Me and you and Matlock will lay around and take it easy today.” I unlocked the car. “And, if you get to feeling like it, you can go with me and Tansie to Jim’s this afternoon.” Matlock was tickled to see Sunny when we got back to the house. I let him go outside, and then I got Sunny settled on the couch with a heating pad and the television remote control. “You find us something to watch,” I told her, “and I’ll make us some brownies.” “Yum. You always know how to make me feel better, Mimi.” I kissed her on the head. “That’s what grandmothers are for, angel. Anything else you need?” “No.” She looked down at her hands. “Not really.” I sat down on the edge of the couch and took her hand. “What is it?” “I heard Mom talking to you on the phone last night.” “And?” “I couldn’t hear everything she was saying, but I think she was telling you about Barry.” “She didn’t give me any names,” I said. “Is Barry someone she works with?” Sunny nodded. “Yeah, and Mom thinks he’s all that.” “Have you ever met him?” She cut her eyes away from mine. “Uh-huh.” “Didn’t like him, huh?” She shook her head vehemently as she looked back at me. “He gave me the creeps. He kept looking at me, and it made me uncomfortable.” My first thought was to go down to the bank and gouge this Barry’s eyes out, but I managed to stay calm. “Did you tell your mother?” “Yeah, but she said I was being silly. She said Barry was a terrific guy and that he was looking at me because he thought I was a pretty little girl. She said I should feel flattered. Do you think I was being silly?” “No, indeed. I think you were smart to trust your instincts. I hope your mother will wise up and trust hers.” “What do you mean?” “She’s on the fence about him,” I said. “If she wasn’t, she’d have never called and talked with me about him.” “You’re probably right about that.” She put her thumbnail in her mouth, and I gently lowered her hand. I didn’t want her to take up her mother’s habit of nail biting. “Whether she comes to her senses or not, don’t you ever doubt yourself; and don’t you ever let yourself wind up alone with that man, not even for a second. Got it?” “Got it.” Her little eyes were wide as saucers, so I squeezed her hand and stood up. No sense scaring the young-un half to death. “I’ll go get those brownies started,” I said brightly. “And don’t you worry; your mother’s a smart cookie. She’ll see through this man.” When I got the brownies put in the oven and came back to the living room, Sunny was watchin’ a game show. I sat down in the recliner, and she muted the television. “Do you think Mrs. Anderson was right about Jim and Flora—that they’ve known each other since they were little kids?” she asked. I shrugged. “I reckon she’d know. Why?” “I don’t know,” she said. “I just think it’s wacko that Mrs. Anderson and Jim were all that close, and Mrs. Anderson never met Flora.” “Well, she did say she thought they broke up or something. Maybe they got separated . . . maybe she moved away or something . . . and they didn’t reconnect until he got out of the service.” “I guess that’s possible,” Sunny said. “I’m just thinking that if Jim and Flora had such a long history together and that if they really loved each other, why would he do her like he did?” I wagged my finger. “We don’t positively know that he killed Flora.” “No, but even if he didn’t, he did some other cruddy things.” She shifted the heating pad. “Think about it. Flora has only been missing for a few weeks, yet the waitress at Smiddy’s told you he’d been bringing different women there for a couple of years.” “That’s true.” “He told you Flora died a year ago, and he told Ms. Miller he’d never been married.” She screwed up her beautiful, sweet face. “You just don’t do someone you love that way.” “No, baby,” I said, “you sure don’t.” I’d been telling myself almost since I’d met Jim that he was too nice to be a murderer. Maybe Faye wasn’t the only one wearing blinders.
Friday, 5 June 2009
Excerpt from Lea Schizas' YA book BUBBA AND GIGANTO: ODDS AGAINST US
Chapter One
Ever wonder if parents really listen to you? Try adding, “and the alien scooped me up” and see their reaction. If they turn around and look in a weird way, they paid attention. My parents just say, “Uh-huh, that’s nice, dear.”
But I’ve gone off topic here. My story has nothing to do with parents but everything to do with accepting a challenge.
Starting at a new school and meeting friends is hard, really hard. Factor in that my parents decided to name me Bubba - not Bobby, not Brendan, but Bubba - and anyone can understand why I hate going to any school. This would be my fourth nightmare in a brand new setting.
Anyway… Getting off the bus, I bumped right into this huge student. Couldn’t avoid it. The kid, who must have been over 200 pounds, hogged the whole sidewalk. His oversized blue T-shirt looked more like a tent.
Well, call me silly, but I turned to the circus freak and told him, “Move out of my way.”
Almost in slow motion, he started to wobble out of my path. As I tried to pass, he yanked me back by my collar.
My gut told me I may have made the biggest mistake of my life. Putting on my ‘tough guy’ face (the gnarly grin and uplifted eyebrow), I looked him squarely in the eyes. “What’s up?” I asked, while my legs screamed RUN.
Anticipating a nasty hit on my body, I squeezed my eyes shut.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to block your way.”
Unsure if my ears heard right, I opened one eye and checked where his pudgy hands were. Although the tone of his voice sounded angelic in my head (with both eyes shut), I may have mistaken sarcasm for sincerity.
To my astonishment, his hand waited for me to shake it in greeting. The other hand held on to his brown leather school bag. It reminded me of what a spy carrying Top Secret documents would use.
“My name’s David Montana,” he said, clasping my hand in a tight grip and shaking it. His ‘tent’ wobbled with every shake, rattle, and roll he did with my hand. A childish grin spread across his cherub features.
“H-hey. I’m B -” No way would I tell him my name in front of everyone circled around us expecting the first fight of the school year. “Nice to meet you.”
My racing heart resumed its normal beat. I’m not normally the queasy and frightened type of a guy. I’m usually smarter in the sense I pick fights with guys my own size. So knowing my body would continue its healthy state, I let out a very inconspicuous sigh. Besides, I felt lower than a deflated punching bag for thinking him a circus freak. Everyone dispersed once the warning bell rang, obviously disappointed I didn’t get my teeth knocked out. My newfound friend and I entered the ugly, red brick building, similar to all my other schools. I wonder if it’s like a secret school code to keep schools as monotone as possible in order to have students remain nice and quiet … well, bored is more like it. I looked around and felt like puking. The walls, lockers, doors, ceilings -everything was clean, not a mural anywhere, made me a bit nervous since every other school had those artistic imprints. Those schools allowed their students to decorate the walls with paintings and feel at home. So, I wondered if I had just stepped into boot camp or what, because it was blaringly obvious to me the kids here either had no artistic qualities or the school’s administration felt they shouldn’t decorate the walls. Great! Could this day get any worse?
Yes. I couldn’t help but feel as though I walked in a dank tunnel. Then it hit me as I looked around. There were no windows. The only sunlight streamed from the corridor windows. I stopped for a second and peeked inside a classroom. No windows. Yikes. Even the Titanic had more windows.
“Yio, David.” I ran to catch up with him. “What’s up with the lack of windows?”
“Oh, you’ll get used to it. We really don’t notice. Students are less distracted.”
“Yeah, but how will we know when we’re nearing an iceberg?”
He looked at me as though I was off my rocker.
“Never mind.” I didn’t feel the need to explain my weird sense of humor to him.
David and I hit it off. Six foot plus David, and five ten and a hundred-sixty-five pound me shared every single class. Luck knew I would need David somewhere down the line. And, boy, was Luck ever right. ===========================================  Lea writes in various genres but seems to go back to the Young Adult target group. Says Lea, "This age group is so full of spunk and dare you just never know what the characters will do next and that is why I love to write and have a teen as my main character. Also, it keeps me young." Visit Lea online at http://www.leaschizas.com/.
Monday, 1 June 2009
Lea Schizas introduced us to Bubba and Giganto
 Bubba hates it when his dad gets a contract for a new project. That means uprooting the family from one city and moving to another. Attending a new school is a major pet peeve of his. His smart alecky nature attracts the bullies in every school he’s attended.
On the first day of school, Bubba bumps into this rather large student. Fearing a confrontation, he wears his tough guy attitude and waits for the punches to begin. Remarkably, the new student apologizes, and Bubba and David (aka Giganto as Bubba eventually nicknames him) become best friends. Bubba and Giganto try out for the high school soccer team, and that’s when trouble begins. Bubba knew eventually he’d meet the bullies of the school, and he was right. In the first initial weeks, Bubba learns about a death that occurred the previous year; faces the bullies on several occasions; helps Giganto practice soccer before tryouts; and challenges the bullies to a scrimmage. Little does Bubba know Giganto holds a secret - one that will place Giganto in a deadly situation. Lea Schizas is an award-winning author and editor, a short story competition winner, living in Montreal with her husband Jimmy and five children. She describes herself as “finally woke up after a 23-year self-induced coma taking care of the family, and rediscovered my passion for writing.” She is the Founder and Editor in Chief of two Writer’s Digest 101 Top Writing Sites since 2004 and recipients of several Preditors and Editors Awards: Apollo’s Lyre, an online writer’s Zine: http://www.apollos-lyre.com; the online writing critique community The MuseItUp Club, http://museitupclub.tripod.com/;
Sunday, 31 May 2009
Chapter Ten - Between A Clutch and A Hard Place
My mouth suddenly went dry as a bone. I wet my lips. “Did you say Jim . . . is . . . is a c-cross . . . a cross-dresser?” “Yeah, man. Isn’t that wild?” “Are . . . are you sure we’re talkin’ about the same person?” “Uh, yeah, I believe so.” He went back in the back and got the tablecloth. “I’m talkin’ about the Jim Adams that lives at this address right here.” He pointed to the ticket. “Zat the one you know?” I nodded. “Zat sure is. But what makes you think he’s a cross-dresser? Is it just because he brings in both men’s and women’s clothes?” “Aw, no, man; lots of people do that. I’ve seen this dude as both of his personas.” “You’ve seen Jim dressed up as a woman?” “Sure, man, only then he uses the name ‘Flora.’” “Oh, no,” I said with a laugh. “Flora is his wife!” “Then they’re twins who were separated at birth or something, man . . . like those two kids on that cartoon where you can only tell the boy from the girl because she has a bow in her hair.” At that, he did some donkey braying/laugh combo while I stared at him like he’d grown a second head. I nodded slowly, paid the bill for the tablecloth, and went back outside and got in the car. I looked at Matlock. “Do you believe that guy? Thinking Jim is some kind of a . . . a . . . well, you know.” Matlock just sighed and laid down in the back seat. I didn’t blame him. I might’ve done the same thing, but I wanted to get away from this dry cleaners as fast as I could. “What do you reckon I oughta do now?” I asked Matlock. “I can’t go to Jim’s house after hearing what I heard in there. He’d say, ‘Why are you acting so funny, Myrtle, dear?’ And I’d say, ‘Because the man at the dry cleaners said you were a crossdresser. He thinks you and Flora are the same person!’” Matlock might’ve wondered what Jim would say to that; and although I was wondering the same thing, I didn’t want to find out. I thought about it as I drove back up the road, and the only solution I could come to was to go by and see Sheriff Norville. I didn’t really expect him to be thrilled to see me again so soon, especially after he all but threw me out of his office just a while ago, but I couldn’t think of anything else to do. That man was simply gonna have to put his pride on the back burner and realize that I was the best chance he had of solving this case. This time, I took Matlock in with me. No sense in him stayin’ out in the car and missin’ all the fun. Besides, I didn’t know how long I’d be. I marched into the jail, but before I could even ask to see Sheriff Norville, out he came. “Ms. Crumb, what in the world are you doing back here already?” he asked. “I’ve come across some new developments in the case, and I’d like to discuss them with you.” He rolled his eyes and opened his office door. Matlock and I went inside, and I sat down in the same chair I was in before. It was the one front-and-center of the desk. Sheriff Norville slumped down in his chair. “What now?” “I need to see Flora Adams’ driver’s license.” “I don’t have her driver’s license,” he said. “What do you want with it anyway?”“I need to see her picture. Remember, I told you how Jim didn’t have any personal photographs in his home? Well, today I went to the dry cleaners to pick up the tablecloth I got spaghetti sauce on the other day, and the manager there told me that he thinks Jim is a cross-dresser.” “What?” “A cross-dresser. You know, a man who dresses up like a woman, or vice versa.” “I know what a cross-dresser is, Ms. Crumb. I just meant ‘what’ as in—” He waved his hand. “Never mind. What makes this guy think Jim Adams is a cross-dresser?” “Well, I asked him that. I said, ‘Is it because he brings in both women’s and men’s clothes?’ And he said, ‘No, man, a lot of people do that,’ and then he told me that he’s seen Jim dressed up as a woman and that when Jim’s dressed up as a woman he goes by the name Flora.” “One old person could look like the next to this guy. I’ve used that dry cleaners a few times myself, and that guy seems a little weird to me.” “He seemed weird to me, too, but all along I’ve wanted to see a picture of Flora and this just makes it worse. Now, do you have her pocketbook, or not?” “I’ve got her pocketbook, but I don’t have her driver’s license.” “If you found her car abandoned with her pocketbook in it, and there was no driver’s license in her pocketbook, then how did you all know it was Flora’s car?” “The officer ran the tags and they were registered to James Adams. There was other identification in the purse, and since he wasn’t with her, we figured it was her car.” “How do you know he wasn’t with her?” I asked. “You find an abandoned car and no one is inside it, then how do you know who got out of it?” Sheriff Norville ran his hand over his face. “When we went to his home and he was there and she wasn’t, we figured it was her car then. Are you satisfied with that?”“Maybe . . . but why don’t you get her pocketbook so we can go through it and see if there’s any pictures of her in it?” “If it’ll make you happy,” he said, letting out a great big breath as he pushed himself out of his chair, “I’ll go down to the stupid evidence room and get the stupid pocketbook, and I’ll see if there are any stupid pictures in it. Would that make you happy?” “Can I go to the evidence room with you?” I asked. “I’ve never been to an evidence room before.” “No,” he said through gritted teeth, “you cannot go to the evidence room with me. I’ll bring the purse back here, okay?” I shrugged. “Suit yourself.” As soon as he went out of the room, I whispered to Matlock that this guy had a real chip on his shoulder and that he was selfish, too. Like I’d take anything out of his nasty little ol’ evidence room. I just wanted to see in it was all. Like it would’ve killed him to let me take a peek in there. Here Sheriff Norville came back then with Flora’s pocketbook . . . or Jim’s pocketbook to hear the manager of the dry cleaners tell it. He sat back down in his creaky leather chair and sat the pocketbook on the desk. It was a brown shoulder bag—roomier than the black clutch I now own, but no way near as elegant. “I’m going to take the items out of Ms. Adams’ purse one at a time,” he said. “Please do not touch anything.” I huffed at him but didn’t say a word. He took out a pack of cinnamon gum and laid it on the desk. I’d have liked to have had me a stick of that gum—my mouth had been dry as a gourd ever since I talked with the man at the dry cleaners—but I didn’t dare ask and give Sheriff Norville the satisfaction of telling me no, I couldn’t have a piece. Next came her wallet. I leaned in closer. Sure enough, there wasn’t any driver’s license in there, just a few credit cards. There weren’t any pictures either.“You know, I think it’s sad that Jim and Flora didn’t have any pictures,” I said. “Don’t you think that’s sad? Maybe they were the kind of people who thought that if you took a picture of them the camera would steal your soul or something. Maybe I ought to try to take a picture of Jim and see if he gives me that vampire-crossed-fingers sign or something. What do you think?” Sheriff Norville blinked . . . and then he blinked again. “I don’t think you truly want to know what I think at this moment, Ms. Crumb.” “Are you always this stuffy?” I asked. “Are you this grouchy with your employees? Your secretary? Your wife?” “My wife and I divorced several years ago,” he said. “Oh . . . I guess you were grouchy with her then.” He put his hands up to his head, and for a minute it looked like he was gonna try to rip it off his neck. Then he looked back at me and said, “And I guess we know why your husband went to an early grave.” “You know what?” I asked. “I’m gonna be nice to you. I’m not gonna repay your anger and hostility in kind. I’m gonna repay your attitudes with sweetness and light.” I smiled. “Sweetness and light?” “Yeah. It’s probably some kinda Zen thing I heard on ‘The Young and The Restless.’ That Damon is into that strange stuff. I’m a Christian myself, so I guess what he’s talking about sort of goes hand-in-hand with ‘turning the other cheek.’ Anyway, he meditates and talks about stuff I couldn’t begin to understand—and wouldn’t want to understand anyway—but he’s a pretty man, I’ll give him that.” “Why don’t you repay my bad attitudes with silence?” he asked. “Maybe that’d teach me a lesson.” “That’s a handsome tie you’re wearing today, Sheriff Norville,” I said. It was a handsome tie, by the way—blue with little white diamond-looking things on it. “Thank you.” He ground it out like he had a mouth full of coal dust, and he didn’t sound at all grateful, but at least he was polite about it. “What else has she got in that pocketbook?” I asked. Figured we’d better get back to business. I didn’t have all day. He took out a packet of tissues, some hand cream, a lipstick and a compact. “That’s it,” he said. I sighed and sat back in my chair. “Well,” I said, “I’m at a loss as to what to do next. Do I confront Jim with what the manager of the dry cleaners said? Do I ask him to fork over a picture of Flora? Do I—” “You let the police handle this!” Sheriff Norville shouted. “Don’t confront Jim Adams with anything! Don’t ask him—” Matlock growled a little, and Sheriff Norville lowered his voice. “Stay out of it, Ms. Crumb. If this man murdered his wife, do you think he’ll hesitate to hurt you . . . maybe kill you, too?” “But maybe he didn’t kill his wife. We aren’t gonna know until we find the body or he confesses. Now, he’s sure not gonna confess to you . . . but he just might confess to me.” “You are not a police officer, Ms. Crumb. You’ve not been trained in the art of detection and investigation.” “Well, be that as it may, I still kept Ada Miller off death row for a crime she did not commit this past Spring.” I frowned. “Only she’s not a ‘Miller’ anymore; she’s married, but I can’t remember her married name off the top of my head.” “So, you got lucky once,” Sheriff Norville said. “You might not be so lucky the next time. And as much as you’ve made me want to tear my hair out the past couple of days, I’d hate for anything to happen to you.” I smiled, picked up my own pocketbook and stood up. “Come on, Matlock. We’ve taken up enough of this man’s time.” I nodded at the sheriff. “If I come across anything else, I’ll be sure to let you know.” Matlock had to stop and pee before we got back in the car. “It all makes sense now, doesn’t it?” I asked, after he’d watered a dogwood. “Sheriff Norville has taken a romantic interest in me and doesn’t want me to get hurt.” I have to admit I was flattered. And I might be a little interested in him, too, if he’d quit being so grouchy. Since I still didn’t feel up to confronting Jim, I decided to go on home. It was quite a drive and I was feeling a little tired, so I put on a Frank Sinatra CD. “‘When somebody loves you,’” I sang along with Frankie, “‘it’s no good unless he loves you all the way!’” Poor Sheriff Norville. I hope I didn’t wind up breaking his heart. The first thing I did when I got home was called Jim. After all, he’d been expecting me over there with his tablecloth and maybe to make him dinner. I was relieved when C.C. answered the phone. “Hello, C.C. It’s Myrtle. I’m so glad you’re there. I was supposed to have come by there today; and I even went and picked up Jim’s tablecloth from the dry cleaners, but then I got to feeling bad and thought I’d better come back home.” And that was the truth, you know. I felt lousy after I came out of that dry cleaners. “Bless your heart,” C.C. said. “Are you feeling better now?” “A little . . . I’ll probably be over it by tomorrow.” “Myrtle, honey, hold on just a second. Mary, don’t mess with those! Sorry, about that.” “That’s okay. How’s Jim feeling today?” “I think he’s feeling better. He got up on his crutches and walked a little bit earlier. It tuckered him out, though, and he’s asleep on the couch now. You want me to have him call you when he wakes up?” “No, that’s okay. Just let him know I’ll be over tomorrow afternoon, okay?” “Will do, sweetie. Hope you get to feeling better.” “Yeah,” I said, “me, too.” The next call I made was to Sunny. “You ain’t gonna believe this one,” I said when she answered the phone. Then I told her about my day. She liked to have killed herself laughing when I told her the manager of the dry cleaners thought Jim was a cross-dresser. “I saw those on Montel once,” she said, “and if you didn’t know they were guys, you’d have thought they were totally gorgeous women.” “Yeah, I’ve seen shows like that, too. So, what do you think?” I asked. “Do you think Jim is . . . one of those?” She laughed again. “No way, Mimi. The guy’s as straight an arrow as Ward Cleaver.” “How do you know Ward Cleaver?” “Duh,” she said, “TV Land.” I told her that I just saw Tansie’s car pull in and that I was gonna call and see if she got any pictures of Flora from the library. “I’ll call you later to see if she came up with anything,” Sunny said. “You’re the wildest grandma ever.” I called Tansie, and she said she’d come over as soon as she got her groceries put away. “Did you find any pictures of Flora?” I asked. “I’ll tell you when I get there.” “Hmph. I’ve got some pretty interesting news of my own.” “What’s that?” she asked. “I’ll tell you when you get here.” Then I hung up without even saying “bye.” That’ll teach her to be snotty with me. I sat down in my recliner by the window, kicked off my beige pumps and pulled out the footrest. I thought about Jim . . . about everything he’d said and done since I’d known him . . . about his manners and his good-heartedness. Sunny was right. Jim was about as straight an arrow as Ward Cleaver. He couldn’t possibly be a cross-dressing wife-killer. Right?
Sunday, 24 May 2009
Chapter Nine - Between A Clutch and A Hard Place
The next morning, I got up bright and early to make cinnamon rolls because I knew Tansie had her regular hair appointment at ten o’clock every Thursday morning. Sure enough, she backed her black Cadillac out of the yard at nine-thirty sharp. I kissed Matlock on the head, grabbed a pan of buns and headed to Melvia’s. Melvia came to the door in her housecoat rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. I had on a lime pantsuit and felt a lot like Betty Crocker—the new, modern one, not the old frumpy one. “Good morning!” I said in a chipper voice with a chipper smile on my face. “How are you this morning?” Melvia frowned and squinted at me. “What time is it?” “Why, it’s going on ten o’clock. Didn’t you sleep well last night?” “Not very.” She nodded at the tin foil covered pan I carried. “Is my nose lying to me, or have you got cinnamon rolls?” I grinned. “Your nose is true blue. We haven’t sat down for a breakfast chat in I-don’t-know-when. I thought we were due.” She stepped aside, and I went on through the living room and into the kitchen. I put the cinnamon rolls on the table while she got saucers and napkins and put on a pot of coffee. By unspoken consent, we decided to wait for the coffee before diving on the buns. Melvia has a cozy little house—not pretentious like Tansie’s house. Melvia’s kitchen is small, but it’s tidy and done up all in yellow—yellow curtains, yellow wallpaper, yellow stove eye covers, yellow throw rug. She sat down across the table from me. “This is about what you and Tansie talked about yesterday, ain’t it?” I nodded. “I’m worried she’ll go off half cocked and say the wrong thing to the wrong person.” “Like Jim?” “Jim, or whoever she knows at the library in Wells County.” I raised my eyes. “Who does she know there?” “Vera Hughes, the library director. They went through school together.” Melvia looked over her shoulder and saw that the coffee was done. She got up and poured us both a cup and then put sugar and creamer on the table. I spooned plenty of sugar and creamer into my coffee. Melvia don’t make the world’s best java. “Did she call Sheriff Norville last night?” “No. She said she wants to talk to Vera first.” She took the tin foil off the pan and got her a cinnamon bun. “I love these things.” “Did she say when she’s gonna talk with this Vera?” Melvia shook her head and swallowed a mouthful of bun. “I figure she’ll go over there after her hair appointment.” “To see if I made up the story about Flora, or what?” “No. I think she believes that. I think she just wants to get Vera to confirm your story and to tell her everything she knows about Flora.” She took a sip of her coffee. “She really liked this man Jim, and I think she’s hurt.” “Do you think she’ll confront Jim?” “Maybe.” “If she happens to call you, or if she comes home before going to the library, please ask her not to say anything to Jim. If she compromises Sheriff Norville’s investigation, he’ll have both our hides.” Okay, he’d have my hide; but if I went down, I was gonna take Tansie with me. This whole mess was mostly her fault anyway. First, I had to get her daughter out of that trouble a while back. If it hadn’t been for that, I wouldn’t know what a good detective I am. Plus, she’s the one who sent me to that stupid consignment shop. See? We can lay this whole predicament right on her front porch. And now that she’s made this mess, I was gonna have to clean it up. I hurried home, got Matlock, and we hit the road. I knew it’d take a good two hours for the crew at Tilt-A-Curl to fix Tansie’s hair. If I hurried, I could get to Vera before Tansie got out from under the dryer. I was still hurrying, mind you, but I decided to take a detour by Sheriff Norville’s office. First off, I wanted to see how much hot water I was in with him. Maybe Tansie did call him and just didn’t tell Melvia. I had another reason, too. But I’ll get to that in a minute. I put the car windows down for Matlock and told him I’d be right back. He laid down in the back seat like he didn’t give a hoot when I’d be back. I went in and asked to see Sheriff Norville. The police station was a noisy place—typewriters clacking, phones ringing. I looked around but didn’t see anyone in handcuffs and shackles. That was a little bit of a letdown. The secretary said Sheriff Norville was in a meeting; but luckily for me, he came out while she was still talking. “Ms. Crumb, how nice to see you again.” I couldn’t read his face, so I couldn’t tell if he was being sincere or being sarcastic. He said his good-byes to the uniformed officer he’d been meeting with and ushered me into his office. “Did you think of something else you needed to tell me about the Adams’ case?” he asked as he shut the door. “In a way,” I said slowly. “See, right after you left yesterday, my neighbor Tansie Miller came over. She’s been seeing Jim some, too.” “Seems Mr. Adams gets around.” “Right. So, naturally, when she got to nosin’ around in my business and askin’ why you’d stopped by and everything, I told her about Jim bein’ a murder suspect.” “You did what?” His eyes bulged out, making me think of Ricky Ricardo. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d called me “Lucy” and asked me to “splain.” I cleared my throat. “Well, I—” “You’ve compromised my investigation!” “No, not really.” “What do you mean ‘not really’?” “Tansie ain’t about to go runnin’ to Jim to ask him whether or not he killed his wife. As a matter of fact, when I first told her, she thought I’d made the whole thing up. Jim told her he’s been a bachelor all his life.” “Then how do you know she won’t talk with him about what you told her?” “One, because if she makes him mad, he might kill her, too. And, two, she knows that me and you are working together to bring this case to a close.” “Excuse me?” “Which brings me to the other reason I stopped by. Is there any way I can get some sort of honorary or temporary badge? I feel it would go a long way in—” “Good day, Ms. Crumb.” He got up and opened the door. “I’ll ask you to leave now before I say something I’ll regret.” I stood up, fluffed my hair and smoothed my jacket. “I’m sorry you feel that way.” “One more thing,” he said as I stepped past him. “Leave the investigation to us!” I told Matlock about it when I got back in the car. “He didn’t have to be so huffy,” I said, as we drove to the library. “What harm would it have done for him to give me some sort of temporary badge? I could use it for the duration of this case and then give it back to him.”Matlock gave a little woof, which is sayin’ a lot for him. “It makes me mad, too, sweetie. Gracious sakes, they used to deputize people right and left on ‘The Andy Griffith Show’ . . . and I’ve got a lot more sense than Floyd and Gomer.” By then, we were at the library. I didn’t see Tansie’s car, so I figured we’d made it. I even took a minute to let Matlock pee on the library’s shrubs before I put him back in the car and went in to talk to Vera. The library director’s office was right behind the circulation desk, so I could see that Vera was in. When the young, cheery librarian working the desk asked if she could help me, I said I was there to see Vera Hughes. I even gave Vera a little wave like I’d known her for years. Vera gave me a little wave back, and I could tell she was trying to figure out whether or not she knew me. That’s one of the advantages to aging—a spotty memory—and you can often make the most of it . . . yours and other people’s, too. “Hello,” Vera said, stepping out of her office. She certainly looked the part of your stereotypical librarian in her brown nubby skirt and jacket and her black orthopedic shoes. If I ever put on a pair of orthopedic shoes, shoot me right then and there; would you? “Hello, Vera,” I said, smiling. “Can we speak privately for a moment?” “Of . . . of course, we may.” Well, there was that librarian/English teacher thing of correcting your grammar in that sneaky way of theirs—trying to one-up you. I could see why she and Tansie got along. Plus, Vera had great big hair like Tansie’s, except Vera’s was every bit as white as Sheriff Norville’s . . . no blue tint for this gal. I guess pastels are a bit frivolous as far as she’s concerned. “I understand you’re friends with Tansie Miller,” I said. Vera still looked like somebody had taken her on a snipe hunt and hadn’t clued her in yet. She merely nodded. “I’m a friend of hers, too; and I’m trying to keep her out of mortal danger.” “What?” I took a deep, dramatic breath so Vera could see just how grave this situation was. “Tansie has been seeing a man named Jim Adams. I know Flora Adams used to work here, right?” “That’s correct.” “And I’m aware that she disappeared.” Vera gave me an intent stare and kept her mouth shut. I had to admire her for that. I figured Sheriff Norville had told her to keep mum about Flora and this whole case, and she didn’t want to get herself in trouble. “Sheriff Norville has spoken with me about the case,” I said. “He told me Jim Adams, Flora’s husband, is being investigated on suspicion of . . . ” I leaned in and whispered, “Murder!” “So, you . . . um . . . you’re a police officer?” I shook my head. “Informal investigator,” I said. “Sheriff Norville and I would appreciate your keeping quiet on the subjects of Mr. or Mrs. Adams, especially with regard to one Tansie Miller, until this case is closed. Understand?” “Of course,” Vera said. “You have my full cooperation.” “Thank you, Vera. I knew we could count on you.” I was on my way out of the library when I nearly ran smack dab into Tansie. The scent of heavy-duty hair spray like to have knocked me out. “Myrtle!” she cried, “what’re you doing here?” “I came here to do you a favor.” “What kind of favor?” “I made sure the employees of this library won’t compromise Sheriff Norville’s investigation by giving you information about Flora or Jim Adams.” “How’s that doing me a favor?” “It keeps you out of trouble with the law.” “Darn that Melvia. She’s the one who told you about Vera.”I huffed a big breath right at her. “You don’t give me any credit at all, Tansie. I could tell you knew somebody at this library from the way you took off out of my house yesterday. Had to hurry and fix dinner, my foot!” Tansie pursed her pruny lips and looked all around the library before looking back at me. “Did they tell you anything about Flora?” “Not much. They said she was nice, fed ham to the animals at the dog pound every Friday, and she liked to read mysteries. That’s about all I know.” “Was she pretty?” “I don’t know. It wasn’t mentioned, so I’d be inclined to think not.” I cocked my head. “You know what I’m tryin’ to say?” “Yeah, like when you try to fix an ugly friend up on a date, you stress her other good qualities.” “Sure,” I said. “Rather than say ‘she’s ugly as a mud fence,' you say, “she’s awfully kind to animals.” Tansie nodded. “Still, I’d love to see a picture of her.” “Me, too. Maybe you can talk your friend into letting you look at any photographs of library employees . . . like at a picnic or something.” “You reckon they have any?” “Won’t hurt to ask.” I smiled. “And it wouldn’t compromise a thing.” I got my keys out of my pocketbook. “If you run across any pictures of Flora, copy ’em and bring ’em home with you, all right?” “I’ll think about it.” She sniffed. “I wouldn’t want to compromise the sheriff’s investigation.” “Suit yourself,” I said, “but you keep me out of your loop, and I’ll sure as shootin’ keep you out of mine.” Then I went and got in the car and told Matlock that if he ever took a notion to bite somebody Tansie would be a good choice—plump and juicy, but maybe a tad sour. My next stop was the dry cleaners. I decided not to go through the drive-through this time because I was determined to talk with that manager they claimed was their authority on Jim. There wasn’t a sign saying, “No Dogs Allowed,” so I took Matlock in with me. After all, it was a dry cleaners; what could Matlock do to something that they couldn’t fix? “Hi,” I said loudly as I stepped up to the counter. “I’m here to pick up Jim Adams’ tablecloth. You all know Jim?” There was a longhaired man who stepped out of the back. He smiled at the little redhead who was waiting on customers and said, “I’ll take this one, Maura.” He looked at me. “You said you’re here to pick up Jim Adams’ tablecloth?” “Yeah,” I said. “You a friend of Jim’s?” “I wouldn’t say that. He’s kind of a kooky dude, ain’t he?” “What do you mean?” “Well, you don’t meet too many cross-dressers his age . . . or, at least, I don’t.”
Sunday, 17 May 2009
Chapter Eight - Between A Clutch and A Hard Place
The next morning, me and Matlock went out to get the paper first thing. I’d had a good idea up in the night, and I needed to see the paper to make sure my idea was as good as I’d thought it was last night. Without even glancing at the headlines (it’s usually all bad stuff anyway), I dug through and found the community section. They always run a little list down the side of the front page of stuff that’s going on in our area for the day. There it was—Veterans of Foreign Wars will meet for lunch today at 12:30 p.m. at Carol’s Café. I looked down at Matlock and scrunched up my nose. “As much as I hate to miss ‘The Young and The Restless’ two days in a row, I’m gonna have to miss it again today. But Paul Williams would do the very same thing in my shoes.” Matlock kept his feelings to himself—nary a bark or whine escaped him—but I could tell he was disappointed. And not just about Y&R. I scratched his head. “We’ll still have this morning,” I told him. “And I won’t be long this afternoon . . . just long enough to dig up a little information on our suspect from a few of his friends.” I got up and refilled my coffee cup. “I guess I ought to call our suspect and see how he’s feeling today.” But as I spooned sugar and creamer into my coffee, I thought better of callin’ Jim this morning. I’d wait until after I got home from lunch. I put on my Jackie-O outfit to attend the luncheon shindig. You know the one—beige poly-blend suit, black pillbox hat, pumps, gloves and the pocketbook Marcia called “a clutch.” I chose that particular pocketbook on the off chance that one of Jim’s friends would notice it and say, “Hey, Jim Adams’ wife Flora used to carry around a pocketbook just exactly like that one.” I’ll admit it was a long shot—them bein’ men and all—but you never know; one of them might be in touch with his feminine side, as they say on television, and we could have us a long chat about Flora. Since I’m not a party-crasher, I got to Carol’s Café at about a quarter past twelve and acted surprised to see the VFW bunch come in and take the two reserved tables next to where I was sitting. I recognized one of them—a little bald man with liver spots on his head—from the “melon” party, and I waved to him as he was coming in. He wore a brown suit that, oddly, matched the liver spots. He stopped by my table. “Hello! How are you?” “I’m fine,” I said, figuring by the look on his face that he didn’t remember me. “We met a short time ago at something called a “melon dance.” The light went on. “Ah, yes! I don’t think I had the pleasure of dancing with you, though.” “No, I spent most of my time that evening with my dear friend Jim Adams.” “Jim’s a good man,” he said, bobbing his head. “Terrible thing about his wife, wasn’t it?” “Terrible, terrible.” He was still bobbing his head. “Did you ever meet Flora?” “Who?” “Flora. Jim’s wife.” “Nope, never met her.” “Hmm. What do you think happened though?” “Happened?” he asked. “Did something happen?” “Yes. Didn’t you know?” “Maybe. When did it happen?” By now it was clear to me that I’d singled out the very bird that was a couple sandwiches short a picnic. So I said, “The other day. Jim fell and broke his ankle. That’s why he won’t be joining you today.” The head resumed its bobbing, making me wonder if he’d arrived here in the back of a car looking out the back window. “That’s terrible, all right.” “It’s been nice chatting with you.” There was a lie I’d have to ask the Lord to forgive. “I see the waitress arriving with my food.” Head still a-bobbin’, he tottered over to his group and loudly proclaimed, “Jim won’t be here. His wife broke her foot.” Wendell Wallace wondered up to him and asked, “Did I ever tell you about that battle I was in up north—up above Canada?” They wondered off while I tried to remember if there was anything other than the North Pole up above Canada. Did Wendell invade Santa’s workshop? Maybe he was trying to avenge Rudolph because the other reindeer made fun of him and wouldn’t let him play reindeer games. I was finishing up my chicken salad sandwich when another member of the veterans’ group wandered over. “Howdy,” he said. “Overheard you talkin’ with Harold a few minutes ago about Jim Adams and his wife.” “Yes?” I prompted. He was wearing a navy suit, white shirt, and a light blue tie that matched his eyes. His hair was snowy white, but he had a full head of it; and he was powerfully built. He reminded me a little bit of the daddy on “Bonanza;” you know, Ben Cartwright. I always liked Ben. The man reached in his pocket and took out a business card. “I’m sheriff of Wells County,” he said, handing me the card. He lowered his voice. “I’m investigating Mrs. Adams’ disappearance. Is there somewhere we could talk privately?” I looked at the card. The man’s name was Cooper Norville, and the card confirmed he was who he said he was. “After I leave here, I’m planning on going home,” I said, “though I don’t fancy having a police car in my driveway.” “I’m driving my personal vehicle today. I’ll go call my office while you finish. Meet you up front?” “That’ll be fine.” I took a long swig of iced tea and tried to swallow the knot that had formed in my throat. I sure hoped Sheriff Norville didn’t think I was Jim's coconspirator. Cooper Norville followed me to my house in a great big white pickup truck—one of them that had a back seat and everything. So while it wasn’t a police car, it was no less conspicuous. Still, I’d take a big pickup truck over a police car any day. Plus, it was in keeping with the Ben Cartwright image, don’t you think? If Ben hadn’t had that tan horse with the black mane, he’d have probably rode around in a big white pickup truck. I’ll have you know that every nosy eye in the neighborhood bored into my back as me and Sheriff Norville walked up my sidewalk and onto my porch. I called out to Matlock as I opened the door, but he’d heard the key in the lock and was already sitting there waiting for us. He gave Sheriff Norville the once over and decided the guy was okay. I still hadn’t made my mind up yet. I was afraid he might arrest me. I tried to get Matlock to go outside, but he wanted to stay with us. “Good lookin’ dog,” Sheriff Norville said. “Thank you. Can I get you some coffee or anything?” “No, thanks.” He took a small notepad and pen out of his pocket. “Do I need to get my Bible so you can swear me in?” He shook his head. “That won’t be necessary. This is just an informal conversation.” He cleared his throat. “How long have you known Jim Adams?” “Ah, goin’ on a couple weeks. How ‘bout you?” “I beg your pardon?” “How long have you known Jim?” “I met Mr. Adams when his wife disappeared.” “You know,” I said, leaning forward, “I read about that. How long had Flora been missing when Jim called you?” “That’s just it—he didn’t. One of our officers found an abandoned car with Mrs. Adams’ purse inside. It looked suspicious, so we began to investigate.” “What did Jim say when you told him you’d found Flora’s car?” Sheriff Norville frowned. “Who’s asking the questions here?” I lifted one shoulder. “You tell me what you know, and I’ll tell you what I know. Maybe together we can solve this thing.” “Mrs. Crumb, I’m not about to compromise my investigation.” “I didn’t ask you to. I just asked how Jim acted when you told him you’d found the car. What’s the harm in that?” “How do you think he acted?” “I don’t know.” I rolled my eyes. “If I knew, I wouldn’t have asked you. I do know they must’ve been a strange couple.” “Why do you say that?” “For one thing, Jim’s neighbor told me she’d never seen the two of them together . . . not even outside in the yard.” “What else?” “How did he act when you told him?” I asked again. Sheriff Norville clamped his lips together, and I thought for a second he wasn’t gonna tell me. Then he said, “He didn’t seem too surprised. Now, what else did you find odd about Flora and Jim Adams?” “Look around.” I pointed to a photograph that sat atop my television set. “That’s my granddaughter in her school picture from last year—isn’t she beautiful?” I pointed to other pictures around the room. “That’s my daughter; that one there is my late husband and me; that’s me, Faye and Sunny at a wedding reception summer before last.” “Yes, ma’am, they’re all very nice. What’s your point?” “Do you have photos of your loved ones in your home, Sheriff?” “Of course, I do, but—” “Jim Adams doesn’t. I’ve been in his home and have never seen any photographs. Somehow that just seems sad to me.” “You said you’d only known Mr. Adams for a couple of weeks. Where did you meet?” “At a dance at the Senior Center.” “Was it that ‘melon’ dance?” I looked down at my folded hands. “Yes.” “I meant to go to that, but I had to work that evening.” I looked back up at him, and he laughed at my expression. “Don’t look so surprised,” he said. “I know how to have fun.” “Oh, I’m sure you do.” I frowned. “How is it that you’re a veteran but you hadn’t met Jim until Flora disappeared?” “There are a lot of veterans, Ms. Crumb. I don’t know them all.” He looked at his notes. “So you never met Flora Adams?” “No, but I’ve been doing a little investigating myself, and she seemed to have been a wonderful person. Jim’s nice, too, you know, so I don’t see why they would’ve had such a strange relationship.” “Did you say you’ve been investigating?” “Solely on an informal basis.” He closed his eyes and shook his head. “Ms. Crumb, please leave the investigating to the professionals. That said, if you learn anything else that may be of interest, please give me a call.” “I’ll do that.” “And be careful,” he said. “We have every reason to believe Jim Adams killed his wife.” Sheriff Norville had no more than got out of sight of the house when Tansie came rushing over in her jeans, oversized sweatshirt and canvas shoes. “Hello, Myrtle, dear.” She looked at Matlock. “That beast doesn’t bite, does he?” “He hasn’t bit anybody yet,” I told her. “I started over here earlier and saw that you had company.” I nodded. “Um . . . he was a very attractive gentleman.” I nodded again. I was beginning to feel like Harold the head-bobbing veteran, but I wasn’t about to volunteer any information to Tansie. If she wanted to know something, then she’d have to come right out and ask. Which she did. “What’s his name?” “Cooper Norville.” “So you got tired of taking care of Jim while he’s bedridden?” “I don’t know that I’ve ever enjoyed taking care of someone who’s bedridden,” I said. “If that was my calling, I’d have been a nurse. Still, I plan to go over to Jim’s tomorrow to see if there’s anything he needs and to pick up his tablecloth from the dry cleaners. You know the one—the one you made me spill spaghetti sauce on.” Tansie wrinkled up her eyes. “Don’t blame your clumsiness on me, Myrtle.” I shrugged. “What did you come to see me about?” “I just wanted to chat a little bit.” As she answered me, her eyes darted all over the room—a dead giveaway that she was lying. I sat down on the couch, kicked off my pumps and put my feet up. Tansie sat down in the recliner by the window. “Have you talked to Bettie?” I asked. “Is it almost time for us to have another melon meeting?” “I don’t know. I don’t think she’s scheduled another meeting yet.” “Well, we need to get on with it and plan ourselves another to-do; don’t you reckon?” “I guess.” She sat there a second looking out the window. Then she turned to me and asked, “Why are you all dressed up and who was that man?” “I’m dressed up because I went out to lunch, and I told the man’s name is Cooper Norville.” “The two of you had a lunch date?” she asked. “No. I met the man at the diner, and he asked to speak with me privately.” “So you brought him to your home? A stranger? Do you think that was wise?” I sighed. “Under the circumstances, yes.” “What circumstances?” I didn’t answer her right away so she plowed on with her next question. “Does Jim know about this fellow?” “I dare say Jim knows more about the man than I do.” “What do you mean Jim knows more about him than you do? You’re the one having him over.” “Maybe so, but Sheriff Norville is investigating the disappearance of Jim’s wife.” “That’s ridiculous! Jim’s not married.” “Right. He’s a widower.” “He is not a widower. He’s a lifelong bachelor.” “Says who?” “Says Jim.” I had to think about all this for a minute. Why would he tell me one thing and tell Tansie something else? Maybe because he’s trying to date us both? Or maybe because he killed his wife and can’t keep all his stories straight. “How about his granddaughter?” I asked. “Remember the story he told you about the ‘me-go-round’?” “Myrtle, that child isn’t a blood relative. Her family just sort of adopted him, from what I can gather.” Okay, that much was true. I’d confirmed that with C.C. But I was surprised Jim had been so forthcoming with Tansie after telling her he’d never been married. Maybe Jim really was crazy as a bed bug. Maybe he didn’t know whether he’d ever been married or not. Maybe he was the one with Alzheimer’s. I rubbed my hand over my face. “Let me make sure I’ve got this straight. Jim told you he was a bachelor? That he’d never been married?” “Yeah,” Tansie said. “And he told you he was a widower?” “Uh-huh. And Sheriff Norville told me that he thinks Jim killed his wife.” Boy, was this little love triangle getting muddier by the minute. “I can’t believe you’d say such a hateful thing,” Tansie said. “That poor man has been a bachelor his whole life, and now that he’s trying to find a loving companion to share the rest of his life with, you’re telling lies on him because you’re afraid he’ll pick me over you.” “Oh, don’t be ridiculous.” I handed her Sheriff Norville’s card. “Here. Call this man yourself if you don’t think I’m telling you the truth.” Her hand shook as she took the card. “I’ll do that. As soon as I get home, I’m calling this Sheriff Norville and seeing what he says about all this. And if you’re lying—” She let the words hang there as she studied the card. Then she looked at me. “If you think Jim might be a killer, why do you want him?” “I don’t . . . at least, I don’t think I do. I started seeing him in the first place so I could find out what happened to Flora, his wife.” All of a sudden, I felt like crying. This situation had started out as an adventure. Then I got to know Jim and I learned things about Flora, and then they became real people to me—not a possible killer and a possible victim. They were people I had started to care about. Yet, I’d be hanged before I’d cry in front of Tansie Miller. I swallowed the lump in my throat and went on. “I’ve come to like Jim, but I need to keep a clear head about myself until I find out whether or not he killed his wife. I mean, Ted Bundy was charming, too, right?” “You’ve got a point,” Tansie said. “And he’s telling you he’s a widower while he’s telling me he’s never been married. He’s lying to one of us.” I nodded. "There’s just so many things that don’t make sense. Jim seems like a great person, but everyone I’ve talked to who knew her thought Flora was pretty special, too.” “Then you’ve spoken with people who knew this woman?” Tansie asked, frowning. “Yes, she worked part-time at the Wells County library. Jim told me that; I followed up on it, and it was true.” “Wells County, you say? Huh. That’s interesting.” She looked at her watch. “I’d better be going. Ada and Bill are coming over for dinner this evening and I need to get started cooking.” She rose from the chair. “I’ll talk with you later.” With that, she skedaddled out of the house faster than Snyder’s hound. Since I didn’t just fall off a turnip truck this morning, I knew something more important to Tansie than fixing dinner for her daughter had popped into that big blue head of hers. What, I didn’t know. . . and that worried me.
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