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Dockside Cafe Part 12 (Blogophilia 46.13)

As I pass the gazebo, the swans begins to fuss, the squeaky wheel that gets the grease. I sit down and watch as the birds play in front of a family with a loaf of bread. The most bold of the birds chases a girl up the bank, hoping the something will drop. They were as bad as the bag ladies outside my building.

I had to get away from the screen, so I came down to the park. Being cold and a weekday, virtually no one was here. I pull the hood up closer as the wind picked up. Angie said I looked like a bear in the heavy coat. And the thought made me wish I was in San Juan. That I had not chickened out and put up with being the stranger in the strange land. I want empanadas, plantains, and rum. I want her curls in my face and her scent in my nose.

Marion County released the Sunset to the insurance company, the arson case had gone cold with Herrington still in the wind. The estate will get paid and that’s all the lawyer care about. Their circus, not mine. I met with them yesterday to finish up the case. Most of the money had turned up. Donna had hid it so well from Jerry she had forgot where she had put it all. There was only $50,000 left to find. There was only one question left.

Who killed her?

Williams called me in for an interview after I got back from Florida. It went for more than two hours. Like McMillan, he was fishing a dry hole. All I knew was I had met the woman once, talked on the phone with her maybe twice after that, then chased paper across the south for mythical boat given a Viking’s funeral. None of it made any sense. If Williams had any idea who might have been involved, he was keeping it close to the vest and that suited me. If I knew I would only wonder what I could have done differently to prevent it.

The swans moved across the pond toward the old clubhouse. I could make out a couple of little kids tossing stuff toward them. There was still grumbling from the flock, but for the most part everything was quiet. The sun comes out from the clouds. It feels warm and I close my eyes.

A dream born from silence flashed on my eyelids. Even though I’d never been shown the death scene, I knew where she was found and why she was left there. And who the black Audi belongs to. Curiouser and curiouser. Unlike Alice, I have the choice of the Rabbit Hole or the Looking Glass.

Ray William’s number lights up my phone screen. I know, just one more thing. I click on.

“Jim Holden.”

“Jim. Just to let you know, Jerry Herrington was found dead at Chateau Elan.”

No, I don’t. The Looking Glass has chosen me.


Writer’s Choice Week.

Topic-Born From Silence (Courtesy of Nyla Alisia at Speakeasy Cafe)

Hard Prompt-Viking Funeral

Easy Prompt- Include a rabbit

Pic-Dave Coon

Pic guesses-Bear (in blog), Honey hunt, where is everybody?, Clear day, high ridge, bear necessities, snow on the ground.

Published by anothergovernmentemployeehotmailcom

So, I'm late putting up a profile. Sue me. I'm an ex-government drone making his way in the world.

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