L.K. Latham's Blog, page 10

December Free Story

It’s 15 December, the third Thursday of the month. That means it’s time for a story.

Today, Waiting with Père Noël: Just a cup of cocoa, maybe one more pastry, and no more screams.

This is it: The last story for 2022, and because it is the final story – no subscription needed to read the whole story. What a whirlwind getting all twelve stories written, edited, proofed, and published, but it’s been fun. I hope you found a story or two worth your time.
The last story for this year takes place shortly before the events in The Death of Mme Louise. I hope I convey enough of the world of Mme Louse to pique your interest in the novel. It will be out Summer 2023.

 Waiting with Père Noël

A final splash as her red boots thumped into a puddle and Léa stepped through the shield wall, holding back the cold and rain from the glittering walls and windows of the Crystal Caves. A drop of rain trickled from the hem of her red coat down her leg and into her boot. “Ew!” she muttered, shaking her leg. Smiling at the glittering walls and windows before her, she strolled through splendors and opportunities for the makers and takers of fortunes and power, not knowing that today everything changed.

A sound broke the holiday harmonies of familiar carols, the laughing, the talk, the exchange of coin. It reverberated against the glistening gems embedded in the dark, polished walls trimmed with twinkling red, gold, and green lights and glistening holly and shiny bells tied with bright red bows. It bounced against the windows displaying crèches among the polished wares and latest fashions for the elite of La Cot City Number Four, sometimes called New Portland, most often referred to as the City of the Crystal Caves. The scream chilled blood, made hearts skip, lungs stop, sweat bead on foreheads, and feet itch to run, but no one ran. All stood, waiting. No one was supposed to scream inside the Crystal Caves.

Léa’s toes tingled to spring into a run. Her lungs expanded as the shoppers and workers stood unable to move. Her eyes widened, and she wrapped her arms around herself as her throat dried to sand. Alarms screeched. Red lights flashed.

The scream fell to the earth with the faintest thump, thump, splash. Silence loomed over heads and into ears trained for the sounds that must come next.

Léa closed her eyes, released the breath she’d been holding, and looked again inside the window of La Dame Elégante. The red hat, the one with the red feather and the gold trim, perfect for le Réveillon de Noël with Uncle Ambrose and Mamma and Pappa, would suit her so well. Not that she’d ever be able to afford such a beautiful hat. Nor could she afford the gown with the lovely chiffon draping down her arms and across her soft bosom. Nor could she afford the brilliant clutch to hold a lace handkerchief and elegant communicator. She definitely couldn’t afford the gold slippers with their three-inch spikes.

“No.” She sighed at her reflection in the window. “I’m too tall for three-inch heels.”

The quick thump, thump, thump of the boots of the La Cot Gendarmeries broke Léa’s revery. Black-clad and bearing their shields and bludgeons, two columns jogged toward the deflector wall. Their mirrored face guards reflected the pale, trembling faces of those they ran past.

Voices meant to whisper echoed through the Crystal Caves.

“What could it mean?”

“Time for tea.”

“Did you see his face?”

“Do you think Grand-père Jean would like a new walking stick?”

“I should get to the office.”

“He clutched his throat. His face turned—”

“Don’t talk about it.”

“It’s time to go.”

The La Cot Gendarmeries pushed aside the wakening crowd, causing Léa’s balance to falter toward the window of the store with the beautiful holiday ensemble. Her grip on her handbag loosened as she raised her arms to keep her balance. It fell to her feet. As she bent over to retrieve it, the now talking, very aware shoppers pushed en masse around her.

“Ow!” shouted a little girl near Léa’s leg.

“Poor thing,” said Léa, twisting to lift the girl off the ground.

Violet eyes, wide and leaking, stared at her, and a cry louder than the sirens wailing around her cried out, “Mamma!”

Léa straightened, holding the loud little beauty in front of her. A woman reached up, taking the girl and wrapping her in her arms. “Merci.” She set the girl on her feet and pulled her arm to follow the crowd into the chapel. “Naughty girl. Where’s your nurse?”

Léa shrugged. She stretched her neck, looking over the crowd. Just past the chapel, on the other side of the rectory wall, was the Siren’s Song Cafe. Her stomach growled. “Much better than kneeling and waiting and having to listen to some old priest until the gendarmeries are gone.”

She pulled her shoulders back and pushed her way through the throng, emerging on the other side of the chapel near the railing overlooking La Grande Boulevard and the voluptuous entry of the Siren’s Song Cafe. Around her, people pooled past the outside tables and through the dark arches of the cafe or pushed on to enter favorite shops and restaurants to await the departure of the gendarmeries.

Rubbing a bruise from pinches on her bottom, she glanced down at La Grand Boulevard, the most famous of boulevards, running all the way from the gray Pacific waves, through Section One of La Cot City Number Four, through the deflector wall into the Crystal Caves built inside one of the swirling buttress that dug deep into the earth, and on to the massive La Cot Tower from which all wealth sprung. Gray- and green-clad Herders sat on the ground. Most hunched over, heads low to hide their faces. A few spoke to those around them. Many cried. Most stared.

Two columns of La Cot Gendarmeries bordered the Herd. Another column of La Cot Gendarmeries marched into the Crystal Caves from behind her. “Oh dear,” Léa whispered and stepped across the threshold into the cafe.

Thick fingers gripped her shoulder. “Mademoiselle Léa,” rolled Felix’s deep, melodious voice over the crowd. “You come to visit with me. Delightful. Delightful. Come, ma chérie. Let us have a small repast until all this distress is over.”

Léa smiled at the pudgy man with the ruby lips. “Felix, I’m so glad to see you,” she replied and allowed him to guide her through the maze of tables and patrons straining to see out the windows. Her mouth watered as the fragrance of pastries steaming on their cooling racks wafted over perfumes, coffees, teas, wines, and fear into her nose.

*****

Felix guided Léa with all the grace and ease of a man who knew his place in the world through the crush of tables and patrons sipping, slurping, chatting, and watching as they waited for word on the cause of the scream. He sat Léa in the center of a cushioned booth behind a curtain of green and gold brocade with neither a bump nor a tap from any patron, chair, or table.

“Oh, ma chère. Such a day!” Felix exclaimed as he signaled a server and drew the curtain around the table. “Flies everywhere.”

Léa leaned close to Felix. “What do you think happened, Felix?”

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing happened either of us need be concerned with.” Felix pulled a purple silk kerchief from his pocket and wiped his forehead. “Tell me, Mademoiselle Léa, you have come to see me today, yes?”

Léa giggled. “You know I like to talk to you, Felix. But really, I didn’t intend to come in today. It’s just the crowd, and then that scream, and the gendarmeries—you know, I almost fell into the window of La Dame Élégante, and then there was the rush for people to go into the chapel, but why go there and be bored when I can come here and have one of your delicious pastries?”

Felix laughed as a woman whose face was as gray as her dress stepped into the curtained area. “I should be hurt you did not come to see me, but a mademoiselle as lovely as you does not want to spend her time with such an old, fat man like me. I am not offended.” He looked up at the server. “Clementine, a cup of cocoa and a sampler for Mademoiselle Léa. Armagnac pour moi. All is as it should be?”

Clementine nodded. “Oui, Monsieur. No one is not where they ought not to be. Which wine shall we serve?”

“Alas,” moaned Felix, lifting his bulk from the chair. “No rest for this wicked old man. You will pardon moi?” Clementine pulled the curtain aside for him, and he left without waiting for Léa to answer. “Leon!” he shouted.

“Hmmm,” mumbled Léa, wondering why she’d never noticed the kitchen door before today, but then she’d never sat in the curtained area of the cafe before. The back wall of the cafe always had curtains surrounding soft, sumptuous booths, but she never saw who sat behind the curtains or wondered why anyone would want to sit behind the curtains when there were so many interesting faces to see at The Siren’s Song Cafe.

The Siren’s Song Cafe sat in the center of everything. Everyone wanted to eat the finest pastries in the city, drink the best coffees, the most delicate teas, and the most expensive wines and liquors. And Felix, despite his apparent disadvantage of girth and sweat, knew what everyone wanted without having to ask.

Léa looked up, observing long thin mirrors running along the walls at an angle with the ceiling. From her corner seat, Léa watched the faces of everyone sitting at the bar and at the tables.

She smiled. “That’s how Felix always knows who’s here.”

Felix stepped out the kitchen door, glanced around the room, and then turned to face the kitchen. Léa couldn’t see the face of who he spoke with, but she caught the edge of a head with long white hair. Felix nodded as a long, white sleeve glowed in the dim light of the doorway, followed by a pale pink hand and red, red fingernails that waved him away.

“Why would a woman not a Herder be in the kitchen?” Léa mumbled, but before she could follow the thought, Felix clapped his hands. The sound echoed through the cafe.

In the seconds it took for the echo to fade, individual voices wafted into Léa’s ears.

“Felix will know what happened. He always knows.”

“Not if he knows what’s good for him.”

“Madame Estime is here.”

“That’s Monsieur Truffaut from the Board of Directors.”

“I saw his face. It was purple and . . .”

“Keep it to yourself.”

Three gray-clad waiters exited the kitchen carrying trays with tall flutes of sparkling wine.

“My friends,” Felix’s deep singsong voice bellowed. “A little something to calm the nerves.” He took a wine glass from the first server and lifted it to his patrons. “These drills! They will try our senses. Prosperity.”

The woman in white was no longer in the doorway. Léa searched the mirrors but couldn’t see her anywhere.

The patrons raised their glasses. The tinkling of crystal, lips on wine, and a few polite hand claps drifted over the chatter.

A woman, beauty herself, with a long string of pearls glittering against deep-gold skin, drank the offered wine in one gulp. Felix motioned to a server who refilled her glass. At the same time, the gray-faced woman returned to Léa and placed a tray on the table in front of her.

Léa stared at the tray. A cup of cocoa steaming with thick cream spiraling into darkness stared at her. The scent mixed with the sweet, sweet cream in her nose tickled her mouth and set it to water. The cup sat on the corner of a tray containing one of each specialty pastry prepared for the day. She reached her hand for the eclair covered with a chocolate frosting so smooth and soft, it dripped down the sides slower than a snowflake on a still day.

Before her hand reached the eclair, it stopped. “Oh no,” she muttered.

The curtain opened, and Felix returned to his chair. “Do not worry, ma chère. There is nothing to fear.” He lifted a steaming croissant from the tray.

Léa’s eyebrows knitted into one, and she bit her lip before looking up. “No, Felix. That’s not it. I lost my purse in the crowd. The gendarmeries came running by so fast. I almost fell over. Well, everyone stumbled, but I caught myself. Very good core control, you know, but Felix, now I can’t pay for this.”

Her single worried eyebrow swooped down as her eyes widened, staring at the pastries.

Felix laughed. “In such a distressing moment, I cannot even consider charging such a lovely mademoiselle for a little peace of mind. Mange, s’il te plait.”

Léa giggled and bit into the eclair, allowing its creamy filling to ooze out onto her chin. She grabbed her napkin when Clementine, a little less gray in the face, stepped around the curtain.

“Oh, Felix, you won’t tell Anais I was eating pastries, will you? She says I eat too many of your pastries. But Felix, they are divine. How can anyone eat only one? I only came to the Crystal Caves to see the Christmas decorations. I picked up a present for Mamma at Monsieur Humphrey’s glass shop—the one at the end of Le Grande Boulevard—next to the ocean gate. You know the one I’m talking about. Oh, so glad I put it in my pocket, or it would be gone too. Anyway, I had some time before my next class—not that I expect anyone to show up wanting me to coach their run today with all this going on. Oh Felix, the gold and silver dangling in the windows just makes me want to buy presents for everyone.”

Clementine cleared her throat. “Detectives, Monsieur.”

Felix stood. “Do not worry, Mademoiselle Léa. This is our petite secret. Let me attend to the detectives.”

*****

Léa sighed and then sipped her cocoa and studied the other pastries in front of her. The thick curtains buffered the steady drone of conversations, blenders, and espresso machines. However, if she tilted her head just right, she could make out individual voices and conversations.

“Detectives? Here? I told you we should have gone to the chapel.”

“Where should I put it?”

“Don’t be an ass. They’re not here for you.”

“Detectives. Then it’s not a drill.”

“You didn’t put anything in writing, did you?”

A man’s voice, kind but commanding, entered her ears. “No one entered the cafe or the kitchen who should not be here?”

Léa searched the mirrors for the voice. Felix and Clementine stood just outside the curtain wall of her booth. A Company Detective in a long black coat, his hat hiding his eyes, stood in front of them.

“Je suis certain,” exclaimed Felix.

Clementine offered a glass to Felix. He took the offered Armagnac and waved his hand as though Clementine was not there. “My lead server, been with me for years, would have told me if anyone had come in. Is that not so?”

Clementine kept her eyes lowered. “Oui, monsieur. I stand at the entrance to oversee the workers. No one entered who did not belong.”

The detective tapped the screen on the cuff of his coat, scanning Clementine. “Anyone new working here?”

Before Clementine could answer, Felix’s voice rose above the noise of the crowd. “These drills, monsieur. How trying they are.”

“Here, here,” exclaimed a few patrons.

“Drills,” whispered others.

“More deaths,” muttered others.

“Such a relief,” said the beautiful woman with the pearls standing and waving to a gray-clad maid with long golden braids hanging down her back. “I must go.” She paused and lowered her eyes, as though to tell the surrounding patrons a secret. “Someone is waiting for me.” The woman’s eyes glowed in the golden light of the cafe. Her lips parted as they turned up. A statue, no, an alter to beauty. She surveyed the room but saw no one.

“The body I saw was real,” whispered a voice so low Léa almost missed it.

“Hush! Say nothing.”

The detective bowed his head to her. “Of course, Madame Estime.” He raised his hand. “An escort for madame.” A gendarmerie officer strode forward, the bright white stripe of his rank shining against the crisp black of his uniform. He bowed to Madame Estime and turned to walk behind her as she left.

Others stood, nodded their heads to the detective, and followed. Soon, half the patrons were gone. Léa sighed, enjoying the volume of voices returning to the normal level of an afternoon visit to the cafe.

The detective turned his attention back to Clementine, but Felix leaned close to the detective’s ear. Still, Léa heard every word. “A small matter, Detective Boucher. My friend, Mademoiselle Léa Paquet,” he stressed her last name. “She lost her handbag in the crush of the gendarmeries running past her. I wonder if there is anything you might do to help her.”

Felix pushed aside the curtain. The detective stepped to the edge of the table as Felix took his seat and Léa’s hand. “As you can see, she is most distressed. Her credits. Her communicator. Those little things the fair mademoiselles keep close to themselves, gone. You last saw it when the gendarmeries rushed past you, in front of La Dame Elégante?”

Léa nodded. “Oui, but please, monsieur” she looked up into old but clear gray eyes that danced in the light. “I don’t want to be a bother.”

The detective’s thin, old lips lifted just enough to smile. “It is no trouble, Mademoiselle Paquet. We detectives serve where we can be of use.”

Another La Cot Detective approached the table. This one was much younger and with the loveliest brown eyes Léa had ever seen. He stood behind the older detective, saying nothing. His eyes fixed on Léa’s face. The corners of his mouth, framed by lovely pale lips, lifted as his cheeks flushed. Léa pressed her napkin to her mouth as heat washed across her face.

The young man with the fine brown eyes put a finger to his ear, tapping his earpiece. He nodded to his superior and moved away.

“Now, where are my manners?” exclaimed Felix. “You and your young friend must take refreshment while you are here.” Felix nodded to Clementine, standing at the kitchen door. She nodded once in return. Felix leaned over the table to Léa. “Perhaps you will allow us to join you?”

Léa held back a giggle. She’d never met a La Cot Security Detective before. Everyone said she must avoid them, even though Uncle Ambrose had something to do with La Cot Security. And Uncle Ambrose was a dear man who loved her and all her family, even if her papa and he yelled at each other all the time.

To her surprise, Detective Boucher kissed her hand. “Enchanted to have met you, mademoiselle. It pains me that my duties call me away.”

Léa giggled out loud. Her face flushed again as the younger detective returned to the table, carrying her purse. “Oh, how wonderful! You’ve found it.”

The young man nodded. “Outside La Dame Elégante.” He turned to Detective Boucher. “A gendarmerie found it, monsieur.”

“Merci! Merci!” exclaimed Léa. “I just bought this bag. I had to save three months to afford it. I was going to cry if I lost it. Anais always says I’m too frivolous, but I think it’s the petite pleasures in life that give us the most satisfaction. Don’t you agree, detective?”

The young man with the fine brown eyes might have smiled, but Felix answered. “My philosophy exactly, Mademoiselle Léa. Have you tried the mille-feuille?”

Léa sipped her cocoa and stared at the pastry tray.

Detective Boucher bowed his head. “Pardon. Detective LaRou and I have duties.” They walked away. Léa bit into her mille-feuille even as her eyes stared at Detective LaRue standing next to Detective Boucher who spoke to a man in a dark suit Léa thought she should know.

Felix closed the curtains before leaning back in his chair and sipping his Armagnac. “I believe you’ve captured the eye of Detective LaRue. Should I be jealous, Mademoiselle Léa?”

Léa struggled to keep her mouth closed so the cream didn’t rush out of her mouth. She swallowed. “Oh Felix. You know you’re the only man for me, at least as long as you keep making such excellent pastries.”

*****

Felix laughed, even as his eyes drifted along the mirrors. Léa watched Felix watching the people coming and going from his cafe. A Herder, a gardener from his green overalls, stood outside the cafe holding his wide, wet straw hat.

Felix’s eyes studied the gardener before announcing, “Mademoiselle Léa, excuse me a moment, si vous plait. So much work to do.”

Felix meandered through the tables and chairs, leaning over to talk to various patrons, until he’d circled the cafe and disappeared into the kitchen. Clementine emerged from the kitchen carrying a tray full of glasses. She set them on the bar near the entrance, and turning, pointed to the gardener. Her words must have been severe, although Léa couldn’t hear them. The gardener bowed and offered her a bouquet of wildflowers. Clementine took them in one hand, even as her other hand pulled a small package out of her apron. Léa might not have noticed the exchange if she was any less observant, but she noticed. The gardener walked away. Clementine returned to the kitchen.

“Humm,” murmured Léa, and she leaned back in her chair. Looking up, she saw Detective Boucher and the man she ought to know were still talking.

A familiar voice asked, “You’re certain?”

Detective Boucher’s voice answered. “Oui, monsieur. Gendarmeries are combing through the Herd now, but the murder was clean. They’ll find nothing. If he had the device, his killer took it.”

“Poor Justice Chauvet,” the familiar voice replied, wanting to laugh or perhaps convey sympathy. Neither escaped the deep and passionless familiar voice.

Léa closed her eyes, concentrating on where she’d heard that voice before.

Detective Boucher continued. “Justice Chauvet leaves an unmarried daughter, Béatrice Chauvet. His son, Gabriel Chauvet, is engaged to the daughter of Raymond Truffaut, next in line for Justice Chauvet’s position.”

“Convenient,” the familiar voice said. “Let’s up the surveillance on Gabriel Chauvet and Monsieur Truffaut.”

“And the daughter?” asked Detective Boucher.

The familiar voice said nothing. Léa stirred and put her cup down. “Poor Béatrice,” she whispered.

“Let the brother know we’re watching,” the familiar voice said. “Send the daughter to the laundries.”

Detective Boucher cleared his voice. “Just twenty-one. We’ll need evidence of her immoral character.”

“You know what to do.”

“I’ll give it to Stephen.”

The familiar voice choked back a laugh. “You think he’s up to it?”

“He’s smarter than he lets on.” Detective Boucher spoke with the hint of pride belonging to a father or mentor.

“I never doubt your judgement, but it could get messy.”

“He’s ready.” Detective Boucher’s kind, soft voice chucked. “He has an eye for the ladies but knows when to keep his pants on.”

Léa’s face burned, and then the familiar voice laughed. “Excellent! I was beginning to worry.”

“Phillipe!” exclaimed Léa, not intending to say the name out loud. A strong hand reached inside and pulled the drape open. Standing next to her was the tall, dark, and very handsome new manager in the city who was visiting Anais regularly. “I thought I heard your voice. What are you doing here?”

Phillipe took her hand in his and kissed her fingers. “Léa,” he said with his ever-so-deep, smooth voice oozing appeal. “You’re not involved in all this nastiness, are you?”

Léa shook her head. “Oh no!” When she stopped shaking her head, she looked up. Detective Boucher was not standing next to Phillipe. “Promise you won’t tell Anais I’m here?”

Phillipe sat next to her in the booth. “Tell her what?”

“About the pastries. Anais says I mustn’t eat them, but they’re so good, and it’s been at least a week since I’ve had one. Please, don’t tell her, Phillipe. Promise me.”

Phillipe narrowed his eyes and smiled from one side of his mouth. “What would Anais do if she found out?”

“It would start with a lecture. You know the type. ‘Do you know how many calories are in that bun?’ And then there would be the extra workouts. “‘An eclair?’ Anais will say. ‘You’ll lead the next two runs to the beach, take my ten o’clock dance class, and the three o’clock prenatal fitness group.’ I’ll have no peace, and it’s the holiday, Phillipe, and with that awful scream and then losing my new handbag—isn’t it lovely? I saved for three months to buy it. Well, a girl must have a little reprieve.”

Léa’s shoulders rolled forward. She sighed as her eyes widened into saucers of soft blue ocean as she stared up into Phillip’s eyes of darkness. “She knows I hate leading the prenatal class. The women are so round, they can hardly stand on two legs, let alone do a single leg lift. But these eclairs are the best, Phillipe. I mean, seriously, what’s a girl got to do to enjoy one little pastry at the Siren’s Song?”

Phillipe laughed as he stood. He nodded to a thin man with slick, dark hair entering the cafe. “I must go. This will be our little secret.”

“Yeah,” laughed Léa, clapping her hands as Phillip drew the curtain closed behind him.

*****

Felix returned to the booth and sat next to Léa. “You’re very pleased with yourself, Mademoiselle Léa.” He leaned forward and pickup up a croissant.

“You’ve met Phillipe Mercier, haven’t you? He’s new to the city, a manager. Anyway, He’s been paying attention to Anais. I wasn’t too sure about him, but he must be serious about her.”

Felix stroked his chin as his eyes widened. “Oh?”

“He doesn’t want her to know he loves pastries any more than I do.”

“You are a fountain of information, Mademoiselle Léa,” exclaimed Felix with a smile. He looked up at the mirrors as Clementine pulled the curtain aside, carrying a tray with a small green box and a cup of steaming tea.

“Excellent,” said Felix, taking the tea and putting the box in his pocket. “All are happy, Clementine?”

Clementine, while no longer wearing the same gray face she had when Léa arrived, still did not smile. “Oui, mousier. We are all happy, and all are in their places.”

“Très bon. Then I will see to the happiness of our guests. You will pardon moi, Mademoiselle Léa?”

Felix parted the curtain, and Léa saw Phillipe halt for only a breath as he passed the thin man with the dark gray suit and nod toward the back of the cafe where Léa sat.

“Uncle Ambrose,” exclaimed Léa. Felix pulled the curtain aside and stood.

“Léa,” said Uncle Ambrose as he took Felix’s offered chair. “Are you all right?”

Léa reached across the table to hug her uncle. “How can I not be here? Everyone’s been so nice. Felix brought me this glorious cocoa, a very nice detective found my handbag, and no one’s bothered me at all.”

Felix laughed. “It has been a delight to entertain such a charming mademoiselle, Monsieur Paquet,”

“Bon,” Ambrose said, as Clementine laid a plate in front of him. “I was worried when I heard you were in the Crystal Caves and had lost your handbag.”

“Why worry?” Léa asked. “Felix said this was just a drill.”

“A little more than that, but nothing for you to think about,” Ambrose said, cutting into a cinnamon wheel. “You’re well and protected. Have you checked your handbag?”

“Oh,” said Léa. “I didn’t think of that. She opened her bag and pulled out an assortment of cosmetics. “Oh no! My communicator’s gone.”

“I’ll get you a new one.” Uncle Ambrose waved to Detectives Boucher and LaRou standing at the entrance. “My niece’s communicator is missing, and while she hasn’t mentioned it, I assume her cash is as well.”

Léa’s mouth fell open as she reached into her bag. “You’re right. How did you know?”

“An occupational hazard, mademoiselle,” replied Detective Boucher. “We always expect the worst. I’ll speak with the gendarmeries who found it, monsieur.”

Felix cleared his throat and, grinning ear to ear, said, “Monsieur Paquet, shall I see to your usual?”

“Oui,” replied Ambrose with a nod. “What did you hear about today’s incident?”

Felix leaned over the table. “An unfortunate accident, monsieur. It is so good to know our gendarmeries are in such fine shape to protect us.” He moved away from the table, closing the curtain without waiting for a reply.

Léa reached for her cup, but it was empty. She looked in the mirror for Clementine as Felix approached the kitchen door. He stopped as a woman’s hand at the end of a long, thin arm draped in a white sleeve reached out to him from behind the door. As Felix kissed her fingers, he placed the green box in her hand. The arm disappeared behind the kitchen door, and Felix once again meandered through his cafe, laughing and chatting with everyone.

*****

Clementine arrived with a plate for Ambrose and a fresh cup of cocoa for Léa. She left as quickly as she arrived.

“Now,” Ambrose began as he sliced the crispy cheese and bread of his sandwich. “What would you like for Christmas, Léa? As long as I’m in the Crystal Caves, I should do my shopping.”

Léa pulled a package from her coat pocket and peeled away the protective paper, revealing a glass angel. She lifted the gold chain tied to the top of its head. It danced in the lights of the cafe. “Isn’t she lovely?” Lights swirled inside the flowing glass. “Mamma collects them. I found it a M. Humphrey shop. I’m afraid you splurged on her gift. You bought papa a new pipe. I had it sent to your flat.”

Uncle Ambrose swallowed a sip of wine. “If it keeps my sister-in-law happy, I’m happy to spend the money. Perhaps it will make up for giving my brother a new pipe. You know how she dislikes tobacco. But what about you? What do you want?”

Léa pulled another package from her other pocket and removed the paper from it layer by layer. “It’s not much,” she said, revealing a clear glass star specked with gold flakes. She held it in her palm and stared at it. “Anais and I decided to have our own little tree this year. I thought it would look nice on top. Isn’t it pretty?”

Ambrose picked it up, gripping it with his finger and thumb, and held it up to the light. “Very pretty. But this can’t be all you want.”

Léa re-wrapped the star, making sure the paper padded it, and retied the string to bind it. “Uncle Ambrose, you’ve been so good to me—finding me the job with Anais at the gym, keeping mamma from worrying about me all the time. And you’ve said you’d get me a new communicator. I can’t ask you for more.”

Ambrose burst into laughter so loud, Léa saw the faces of the cafe patrons in the mirrors searching for the source. “Léa, you’re a good girl. You must let me buy you something.”

“Oh no, Uncle—”

Ambrose interrupted her. “I insist.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “And I can afford it. You were in front of La Dame Élégante when you lost your bag. Let’s go there after my lunch, and we’ll find you an ensemble to please your mamma and papa tomorrow night.”

Léa leaned over and embraced her uncle. “You’re so good to me, Uncle Ambrose.”

As Léa settled down to wait for her uncle to finish his sandwich, Detective LaRue entered the cafe and headed toward her table. She gulped down water from her glass as a wave of heat flashed across her face.

Detective LaRue cleared his throat outside the curtain.

“Entre,” Ambrose said.

Detective LaRue, with the lovely brown eyes, caught Léa’s glance for a moment before he lowered his head to Ambrose’s ear.

“Excellent,” Ambrose said, and put his utensils down. “Your credits are restored, as is your communicator.”

Detective LaRue handed Léa her glittering phone.

“Merci, detective,” she muttered, trying not to look at him but finding his face with each glance all the more fascinating.

“Well,” Uncle Ambrose said, perhaps louder than he needed to. “That’s done. Detective, you are off duty soon?”

Detective LaRue jerked his head to look at Ambrose. He tilted his head until Ambrose smiled. “Oui, monsieur.”

“Good. I’m taking my niece to La Dame Élégante. I would appreciate it if you would escort her home when we’re done. After so much upset today, it would relieve me of my worry for her.”

“Uncle Ambrose! I don—”

Ambrose lifted his hand. “I insist. You are well and happy, and I intend to keep you that way. Your mamma and papa would never forgive me if anything happened to you.”

Detective LaRue turned his lovely brown eyes to Léa’s face. “It’s no trouble, Mademoiselle Paquet. I’d be delighted to escort you.” He bowed and walked out of the curtained areas.

*****

Without his long black coat and wide-brimmed hat, Detective LaRue was even more handsome. He walked beside Léa, carrying the pink boxes tied with lovely red bows containing the exquisite red dress, the lovely red hat, and the glittering handbag Uncle Ambrose had bought for her. She’d chosen cute, barely there slippers for shoes. Walking next to Detective LaRue, she was glad of her choice. He stood not a full inch taller than her. When he escorted her to dinner, she wanted him to stand tall.

“I’m so pleased you’ll be attending le Réveillon de Noël with us tomorrow,” Léa said, trying to not look at his face, but she glimpsed his lovely lips break into a wide grin, and she grinned in response.

“I’m honored your uncle asked me. This is the first year I’ve been away from my family.”

Despite the abundance of gendarmeries still in the Crystal Caves, the gymnasium was full. Léa led Detective LaRue up the stairs to the office that overlooked the gym and attached to the apartment she shared with Anais.

“You’re here,” shouted Anais as she pushed her way between them and down the stairs. “I’m late for class. You will be too, if you don’t hurry. Security is all over the place. We better get everyone moving, or they’ll just stand around gossiping.” She didn’t wait for an answer.

Detective LaRue opened his mouth, but Léa interrupted him.

“Don’t mind her,” Léa said. “She’s always in a hurry, and I’m the one who’s never late for my classes.” She led him into the office and pointed to a couch tucked under the windows overlooking the gymnasium. “You can put those there, detective.”

Detective LaRue set the packages down. “Please, call me Stephen.” He looked out the windows. “From up here, the gym looks huge.”

“And you must call me Léa.” She stood next to him. “Yes, it’s bigger than most people think. That’s because you can see the restricted parts from here. Anais manages it all. I help her.”

They stood not speaking, just watching people enter and leave, run around the track, climb ropes, lift weights, stretch, and gossip.

“St. Stephen was one of the first ordained ministers and martyr,” said Léa.

Stephen laughed. “I’m not the first in anything. Youngest son of four. No one’s sure what to do with me.”

Léa’s jaw dropped, and her eyes widened. “But you’re a company detective. That’s very important.”

Stephen grinned. “It’s what I wanted. Detective Merc—I mean Boucher is well known and respected. I’ll learn a lot from him, and I must learn. With three older brothers and two sisters, there is little money left to secure a management position for me. Pappa said what he paid to get me here was all he was going to spend.”

Léa nodded. “I understand. Still, my uncle likes you. That will help your chances.”

Stephen shrugged his shoulders and looked away, but not before his cheeks turned pink. “Perhaps, but I want to move ahead as far as I can on my own merits.”

“I do, too.” Léa sighed. “It took a lot of begging and plotting to get my parents to allow me to take this job, and then they only agreed because Uncle Ambrose promised to look after me and find me a—secure future.”

Stephen nodded. “It’s not easy for girls. Fortunately, my sisters made good marriages, have children, and seem happy.”

Léa stared out the window but said nothing. She clenched her hands, shook them out, and then rubbed them together.

Stephen pointed to a paper schedule taped to the window. “You lead a lot of the running classes.”

“I love running.” Léa blurted out, but then closed her eyes and pursed her lips together before continuing. “Do you know what they called me when I went to University?”

Stephen tilted his head and looked at her face.

“Lardy Léa.”

Stephen lifted his hand toward hers but stopped.

Léa shrugged her shoulders. “I didn’t mind. I was always fat. Mamma tried everything to make me thin, but nothing worked. I was lonely. One day, I met someone who became my very best friend. She liked me for who I was. She liked to run and started taking me with her. That’s when I learned how much I love running.” She paused and stared at nothing before smiling at Stephen. “That’s my best friend down there. Well, Anais is my best friend now, but Béatrice Chauvet is still one of my very best friends.”

“Oh,” Stephen said, and turned away from her.

Léa studied his reflection in the window. “She’d make a much better nun than a laundress.”

Stephen bit his lower lip. His eyes remained fixed on the people coming in and going out. He took in a deep breath. “There’s an entrance to the convent of Sisters of Charity at the back of the chapel in the Crystal Caves. If she were to go there soon, she would forever be in the protective arms of the Church. She’d need a dowry, of course.”

Léa nodded as her eyes narrowed. “Yes,” she said. “I know her brother too. They’re close. He’ll pay.” She took Stephen’s hand in hers. “I’ll call Uncle Ambrose and let him know I made it home safely, thanks to you.”

Stephen pursed his lips and let out a long breath. “I should go. So much to do.” He pushed his hands into his pockets. His brows knotted as his hands reached into the other pocket. “Oh, must have left my communicator at the cafe. I’ll have to go there before returning to duty. That will make me late by at least an hour.”

“Au revoir, Stephen. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow night.”

Stephen bowed to kiss Léa’s hand. As he stood, he stared into her eyes. “I look forward to it.”

She smiled, looking deep into those lovely brown eyes before a wave of heat once again rushed across her face, and she lowered her eyes even as she reached for her communicator and pressed the button to call Gabriel Chauvet.

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An Arctic Adventure

My plan was to hold off sharing my pics from my polar bear trip until I had all pictures edited, but I can’t. Just look how pretty the sunrise was on my first day in Churchill (header picture)  I’m not a morning person, but even I enjoyed this lovely sunrise.

First thing to know about visiting the arctic, it’s cold. This is me on day 1.

Our first full day out: no sooner did the driver ask if we were ready for a coffee/tea break, then we see these guys playing around. And yes, they are playing – not fighting.

Next thing I knew, this guy popped up wanting his tea.

Later in the day, this guy came around to check us out.

FYI: This is just like the rover I was in. It was comfortable and amazingly roomy for spending a day watching polar bears.

Spent lots of time on the back “patio” of the rover. It was the best place for photos. Despite the angle, the woman’s hand on the rail is at least two feet over the bear’s head.

On the day we left, we woke to a blizzard. The wind blew so hard, we had to take pictures from the door of the bus as we took a last tour of Churchill, thus this was my only picture of an Inukshuk. There were awesome! (Yes, it was as cold as it looks.)

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Happy Thanksgiving

It’s Thanksgiving weekend here in the States. Following tradition, I’m eating way too much, driving everywhere and non to visit friends and relatives, and then I’m snoozing the rest of the weekend to recover from over-indulgence. Unlike many, I am NOT shopping. Once visits are done, I’m closing the door and staying put until Monday.

If you are searching for anything to be thankful for this weekend (whether you’re in the States or not), check out this shot of a Mama Polar Bear and her two cubs. 

Our fearless leader on my recent arctic expedition shot this one through a very long scope. I’m thankful the Polar Bears are still on the Earth with us.

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November’s Short Story: Home & Dragons Part 2

It’s 17 November, the third Thursday of the month. That means it’s time for a story.

Today, Home & Dragons Part 2: Whatever It Takes for a Perfect Wedding.

When last you saw our fearless home decorators and dragon savers, they were racing to safety.

And yes, since my last post, I spent some time hanging out with polar bears. More about that another day.

They guy arrived in time for tea.

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Home & Dragons Part 2

The hum of the air conditioner whirled in Jasper’s ear like a lullaby. He opened his eyes, flipped from his side to his stomach, pulled the bed sheet out from under him, and fluffed his pillow. He pushed his head deep into the pillow, sighed, and tapped his watch on the side table. Bright green numbers,1:05, burned into his eyes. 

“I just want to sleep,” he moaned.

He rolled onto his back and closed his eyes. The day’s to-do list flipped through his mind.

Rolling to his side, he punched his pillow and sat up. “No, that’s yesterday. It’s already tomorrow. Dammit!”

He got up, ripped his robe off the side chair, and marched around the bed toward the door, but before an arm made it into his robe and he could open the door of the bedroom, he tripped on a shoe and fell.

“Ow!” he screamed as his butt smacked onto the floor just before his hand hit the errant shoe and the back of his head hit the floor.

The sound of bare feet on thin carpet smacked down the hall. His bedroom door flew open, slamming into the front of his head. Golden fireworks exploded before his eyes as the overhead light blared to life.

Randell’s voice echoed in Jasper’s ears as two hands pulled on his right arm. “Dude! Dude! You okay?”

Jasper yanked his arm back in its socket. “I was until you slammed the door into my head.”

“Sorry. I heard something fall and thought you might be hurt or something.”

The concern in Randell’s voice spread guilt through Jasper, even as his head ached. “I’m all right. Appreciate you checking,” said Jasper, rubbing the side of his head with his palm. Soon, there would be a bump on the front of his head matching the bump forming on the back of his head.

“Glad you’re okay, dude,” said Randell. “As long as we’re up, want breakfast? I’m starving.”

“When are you not starving?” cracked Jasper. He lifted the shoe he’d tripped on. “Why is your shoe in my bedroom?” He tossed it to Randell and pushed himself up, stopped, and sat on his knees. He leaned against the bed, gripping the sheets as his fingers formed tight fists. “I think I’m going to barf.”

“Eewww, dude,” moaned Randell. “I can’t be here for that. Want me to get you something? When I feel like barfing, I eat. Always settles my stomach.”

Jasper lowered his head to his knees, and the nausea faded. He braced himself against the bed frame as he allowed one vertebra at a time to lift his head until a blue light under the bed flashed. He froze and pushed the covers to the center of the bed before reaching for the object.

Randell used his shoe to tap the side of his head. “I was wondering where I’d left this . . .” He didn’t finish his sentence.

“Oh, shit.” Jasper moaned, pulling the glowing blue box out from under the bed. “Oh shit,” he said again, letting his butt fall back to the floor. “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.”

“Cool box,” Randell said. He moved to sit on the bed in front of Jasper. “Dude, you’re like turning all gray and green. Do you like, need an ambulance or something?”

“We’re so screwed,” muttered Jasper.

“What?”

Sweat oozed from Jasper’s pores. His breaths quickened. “This is supposed to be at the Lopez/Morgan wedding—the biggest wedding we’ve ever done. Nothing will work without it. Not the lights, the sounds, the special lift for the couple’s entrance. The groom’s the mayor’s nephew. We’ll never get another gig in this town.”

Randell laughed and patted his friend on his back. “Dude, is that all? No sweat! I’ll take it over there myself in the morning. Let’s get some grub. It’ll make you—”

“You don’t get it!” shouted Jasper. “It’s a solstice wedding. It starts in one hour. The reception is downtown, where everyone—including the mayor—will be in less than ninety minutes.”

“So, I’ll go now,” said Randell. “Relax. And if I leave right now, I can still drive through for some grub.”

Jasper jumped off the bed, grabbing his jeans folded and waiting for him at the foot of his bed. “We have to go now! There’s no time for breakfast.” He ran out of the room with Randell close behind. Jasper stopped only to scoop two T-shirts off the drying rack in the bathroom, throwing one to Randell.

“Slow down.” Randell laughed, dangling a set of keys. “Not going to get far without these.”

Jasper stopped in front of his SUV and pounded his fist against the hood. “How the hell am I going to get in to get this set up? The building will be locked.”

Randell opened the driver’s side door. “I got this, dude. Caterers will be there. And if not, I know a back way in.” Randell started the engine. The tires squealed as he raced the SUV backwards out of the driveway of the apartment complex.

*****

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Hanging with Polar Bears

While you’re reading this, I’m hanging out with polar bears. I’ll be back soon with stories and pictures to share. (Assuming I don’t get too close to a hungry bear, or freeze to death, or get lost on the tundra, or… Hang on, I’m having a great time.) 

While I’m out, how about a tasty vampire novel? Check out this “Do Come In” list.

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Roar of Silent Bells

It’s 21 October, the third Friday of the month. That means it’s time for a story. And yes, I’m a day late.

Today, Roar of Silent Bells: Cora peals the bells, but to what song?

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The Roar of Silent Bells

Bobby got a new bike for his birthday. He and his friends rode their bikes up and down the long narrow driveway—all the way to the gate and back. They pulled boards from the storage shed and made ramps to fly through the air. Cora wanted to fly, too.

“It’s Bobby’s birthday, Cora,” said Mommy, “and he said no girls allowed. When you have your birthday party, you can say no boys allowed.”

Cora picked up rocks from the yard and threw them against the barn, mumbling so no one heard, “It’s not fair. Mommy can’t keep me away like that.”

Daddy walked around the corner of the barn. “Cora! Come help me with the brisket.”

Cora kicked a stone. “Okay.” While Daddy and Mr. Rogers sat in the shade of the mesquite tree near the smoker, Cora fetched cold bottles of beer from the ice chest on the patio.

As the smell of the smoke and meat roasting and spitting filled the air, Grandmother and Granddaddy arrived with Aunt Kelly and Uncle Joe. Granddaddy and Uncle Joe took turns swinging Cora around in the air, making her laugh and laugh until she had to run inside the house to pee.

Neighbors from all over the county arrived as soon as Daddy took the brisket off the grill. Daddy gave Cora the first bite, a fatty part that dripped down her chin before spotting her new red dress with grease.

Mommy, sitting with Mrs. Rogers on the patio, said, “Oh, Cora, go change your dress.”

After lunch, Bobby got to open his presents. Cora wanted to help, but Mommy filled her favorite pink bowl with ice cream and cake and sat her on the small stool next to her.

The second time Cora got up to help Bobby unwrap his presents, Daddy picked her up and sat her on his lap. When Mommy wasn’t looking, he let her take a sip of his beer. Bobby saw and frowned. Cora laughed at Bobby and took another sip.

Bobby shrieked when he unwrapped the rifle Grandmother and Granddaddy gave him. All Bobby’s friends jumped up and to touch it, but Bobby wouldn’t let them hold it. Mommy shook her head. Daddy said, “Eleven is old enough for a pea shooter like this. Why, Bobby’s practically grown up now, aren’t you, Bobby?”

Bobby’s grin spread from ear to ear. His eyes sparkled with delight. Cora reached for the gun, but Daddy held her tight in his lap.

Granddaddy laughed. “I remember when you got your first .22, son. You killed a squirrel first day out and threw up when I made you clean it.”

All the grown-ups laughed, but Cora cried. “Bobby can’t kill a squirrel. That would be mean.”

Daddy wrapped Cora in his arms. “There, there, pumpkin. Bobby’s not going to kill any squirrels. Are you, son? You know if you kill anything, I’ll have to take the gun from you.”

“Yes, sir,” Bobby said. “Guns aren’t toys. I know that, sir.”

“Good boy,” Daddy said. “Now, let’s go do some shooting.”

The boys followed Granddaddy, Daddy, Uncle Joe, Mr. Rogers, and the other men with their guns to the creek bed to shoot. Daddy took his revolver and a roll of targets to pin against the far side of the creek.

Cora clung to Daddy’s neck, crying.

“Not now, pumpkin. It’s Bobby’s birthday.”

“Girls are so stupid,” Bobby said.

“Bobby,” Daddy said in that tone all daddys use when someone’s almost in trouble.

Mommy took Cora from Daddy’s arms. “Somebody’s ready for her nap.”

“Nooooo,” Cora screamed, but mommy carried Cora inside the house and placed her in bed.

“I want to shoot the new gun,” Cora begged Mommy.

“Now, Cora, it’s Bobby’s birthday present. If Daddy says it’s okay, he might let you shoot one of his guns when you wake up.”

“But I want to shoot with the boys!”

Mommy turned to Cora before closing the door. “That’s enough! One more word, and you’ll spend the rest of the afternoon in your room by yourself.”

Try as hard as she could, Cora couldn’t keep her eyes open. The ceiling fan whispered a cool breeze on her forehead, but it couldn’t hide the pop, pop, pop of guns echoing in from the far side of the ranch. “Such a mean Mommy!” Cora grumbled even as sleep carried settled over her. “You’re the worst mommy ever.”

When Cora woke, she wandered into the living room to find mommy stretched out on the big chair, her swollen belly lifting and falling with her breath. Grandmother sipped coffee at the kitchen table.

She smiled at Cora. “Here you go, Cora. I saved you the last piece of watermelon.”

“Yummy!” Cora said, slurping up the sweet juices as her teeth sank into the pink fruit. The occasional pow from a gun drifted inside from the creek bed. Most of the people who’d arrived earlier for lunch remained, sipping iced tea or beer.

“About time I woke up Mommy for our walk. Want to walk with us, Cora?” Grandmother asked.

“Mommy walks too slow. She’s too fat,” Cora said.

“Mommy’s not fat, Cora. She’s just carrying your little brother in her tummy.”

“It seems like a very silly place to carry a little brother, and I bet if she carried a baby sister instead, she wouldn’t be so tired.”

Grandmother laughed as Cora walked out the door to the yard.

Some men who had been shooting returned from the creek bottom to sit with the women on the patio. Only the occasional pop or blast drifted near the house now. Cora wandered through the yard toward the pasture and away from the grown-ups. She shifted rocks, stacking them into a little wall. When Bobby returned from shooting, he might play castles with her. She played the princess. He played the knight in shining armor.

At last, Bobby and his friends sauntered up the path to the house.

“Cora!” Mommy stood on the drive leading to the front of the house and the road to town, shielding her eyes from the late afternoon sun with her hand. “Don’t go too far into the pasture.”

“Stupid Mommy,” Cora grumbled. “I know that.” She kicked over one of her walls. That’s when she saw the snake.

It was so pretty. It lay still on a nearby rock. Sunlight glittered over black, gold, and red bands. She wanted to touch it to see if it was hot or cold. Mrs. Baker, her Sunday school teacher, said snakes were bad and cold-blooded, but Daddy said that was silly. Cora squatted down to look closer at the snake. From somewhere far or near, a bell donged. The vibrations of the bell sent a shiver down her spine. The snake uncoiled and slithered away from Cora.

Cora followed, jumping from rock to ground to stay above it as she sang the rhyme daddy taught her. “Red touch yellow, kills a fellow. Red touch black, venom lack. Yellow touch red, soon you’ll be dead. Red touches black, friend of Jack.” It slid its way out from another rock and glided across the sparse brown grasses of the pasture.

Just as it was within reach, voices flowed in the breeze toward her. “Cora!”

“My baby!”

“Get away from the snake, Cora!” This last voice sounded like Bobby’s when he talked to her through the tin-can telephone he made for her. The sun, bright and hot, didn’t touch her skin. The breeze, once warm, blew cold. The bell, from far away, donged again.

She didn’t see Bobby standing over her, lifting his new gun, the barrel next to her head.

Daddy’s voice echoed from far away. “Bobby, no!” He ran toward his children.

Bobby didn’t move. Without turning his head, he yelled, “It’s a coral snake, Daddy!”

Mommy yelled something as she ran from the front of the house toward her children. She wasn’t far from the snake when the guns exploded and Cora fell to the ground. Once more, the bell rang from far away, but inside her head a long, mournful dong.

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Cora sat on the ground, picking small stones out of her hands. In front of her, the pretty snake slithered away under a rock, blood and dust scattered over it. Mommy lay on the ground beyond where the snake disappeared. A reddish ooze spilled from a hole between her eyes.

There was screaming from somewhere very far away. Mrs. Rogers picked up Cora. She yelled, but Cora couldn’t hear her words, only the ringing of the bell. Mrs. Rogers cried and pushed Cora’s face into her shoulder as she ran to the patio and gave her to grandmother. Cora peeked over Grandmother’s shoulder, watching Granddaddy standing next to Bobby. Granddaddy was crying. Bobby lay on the ground, clutching his new rifle. A wisp of smoke floated from the barrel of the gun. Daddy sat beside Mommy, crying, holding her head in his lap. His revolver lay beside him, smoke floating away from its tip like an angel to the clouds.

It was a long time before Cora saw Daddy again.

*****

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Sharing Stories

The unread story is not a story; it is little black marks on wood pulp. The reader, reading it, makes it live: a live thing, a story. Ursula Le Guin.

 Who among us doesn’t like a good book? If you’re reading this, then reading is one thing we have in common. That’s why I feel comfortable dropping you this note. I joined this Book Fair because I found several books to read, and I hope you do, too. Caveat: I make no money from any of the books you purchase from this book fair. If you haven’t purchased the book I have on the list, you’re not going to. That’s okay. (Yes, I’d like you to, but we’re all particular about what we read.) I hope you find your next good read.

Free Books: You may be receiving this email because you signed up for the free book I offered on this list. If not, check it out. If you have downloaded it, I hope you enjoyed it. If not (sniffle, sniffle), that’s okay, too.

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Minor Character/Big Impact

I ran across an interview I conducted with a character who appears in two of the Midnight Whispers books. She’s a minor character who you might miss if you read fast, but she’s smart, witty, and a good friend to her family. As we sipped our coffees and chatted, I remembered why I liked her so much. Her account of the incident with CC in Midnight in Line and Form made me realize what an important event it was.

Her name is Jasmine. She’s one of Austin’s leading Event Coordinators. Her daughter, Lisa, is also her business partner. Without Jasmine’s help, I’m not sure Jackie, her sister, would have a business being saved by a vampire chef.

Interview with Jasmine

That woman! Threatening me? And after all I’ve done to help the church. I know better now. She was so very–over friendly, but she’s a Deacon, deserving of some respect. So am I. The way she turned into such a – a- a. I just can’t tell you how angry it made me.

And for what? Looking back, I don’t think CC knew why I yelled at her. In fact, I’m ashamed to say she didn’t what that b-b-b-woman did to me. CC is a good person. You remember her, the redheaded woman cleaning up after the party at the Mugello house? 

CC was, I’m ashamed to say, obviously spying. Does that make her a bad person? I don’t think so. But what was she looking for?

I’m so confused. It’s times like this I wish my brother was still with us. He was always so logical and serious. I’m sure he would know what to do.

That poor girl. CC was in such a state after I yelled at her to get out of the house, blaming her for that woman’s deeds. CC was in a terrible accident. I pray she’ll be okay. I went to the hospital. The nurse wouldn’t let me see her, but her husband came out. Such a handsome young man, and sweeter than honey. I told them I was praying for her and to call me if he needed anything. I hope he calls. I hope I have time to apologize to CC. 

But what do I do about that woman?

Who doesn’t like a book fair? Check out this Urban Fantasy and Paranormal one. And yes, it includes Midnight Victories, the fist book I wrote in the Midnight Whispers series. 

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September’s Short Story

It’s 15 September, the third Thursday of the month. That means it’s time for a story.

Today, Ambrosia Salad: The Gods bathed in ambrosia for life. Tradition dictated the family eat the ambrosia. Mrs. Glean made ambrosia for cheer.

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 BTW: Looking for some free books? Check out this Fade into Fall Book Giveaway.

Ambrosia Salad

The valley stretched as far as a raven could fly on the lift of winter’s wind. Red and brown rock was scattered across the land with brown scrub covering the rugged red mountains forming edges like crusts on old wounds. A dirt road, a sharp old wound, rambled through the valley to the cluster of buildings surrounding a large, white stone home complete with a white kidney swimming pool. Cars and trucks sat throughout the compound, resting beneath a sky gray and heavy with clouds ready to burst with snow. Winds whipped dust and dirt into devils dancing through the valley while cattle meandered, chewing and waiting.

Mrs. Glean pulled a long strand of gray hair tickling her neck and tucked it into the bun sliding down her head. The north wind whispered tales of the lost and lonely. Below her, another car plodded along the road to the house, sending dust and dirt into clouds of red to splay across the land.

Mrs. Glean laughed as the wind whipped her face with fine droplets of ice. She tightened the neck of a thick pink coat and twisted the ends of her red wool scarf to flatten against her ears. Crunching the rock with her scratched and worn boots, she made her way to the old Bronco, once tan, now spotted with rust and caked with earth. The engine coughed, spit, and then it started.

She slid the heater lever to hot and shifted into first gear. “So much to do,” she muttered and shifted down to second gear as her tires pinged rocks and ice and slid off the winding road to the straight black highway.

The brakes creaked as she steered the old truck under the painted Worthy Ranch arch and onto the long red road of the ranch. She laughed as the newly painted sign Keep Out – that means you waved to her.

Outside the largest house, she slammed the door closed as Tommy Worthy’s voice reached her.

“Mrs. Glean,” he shouted from the back door of the house. “Is that you?”

Mrs. Glean smiled through her scarf. “It’s me! And I brought my ambrosia salad like I promised.”

Tommy jogged into the icy wind without his coat. “Let me help,” he said, taking the pink Tupperware dish from Mrs. Glean and pulling her left arm into his right. “It’s slippery. Tried to clear the ice off the walk this morning, but it just froze over again.”

“Oh, my,” cried Mrs. Glean as her foot slipped.

“I got you,” said Tommy, gripping her arm. He leaned his lips close to her ear. “Did you bring it?”

Mrs. Glean tapped his arm with her free hand. “Such a good boy. You know I wouldn’t forget about you.”

The wind pushed against them. Tommy lifted his face to the wind as they approached the door. He squinted, and dry tears pushed past his lids to the edge of his hairline. “If daddy or granddaddy find out . . .”

“Don’t you worry that handsome head of yours. Mrs. Glean knows how to get things done.”

Janice Worthy, Tommy’s grandmother, opened the back door and called to them. “No doddering, you two. I declare, Tommy, you’re going to catch death wandering outside without a coat.”

“Glad he did,” said Mrs. Glean, crossing the threshold. “I’d have broken something without him.”

Janice took Mrs. Glean’s coat and hugged her. “Neither of us are as young as we once were.” They laughed as Tommy handed the dish to Martine, his wife, who opened the lid and tried to hide a grimace.

“Goodness,” exclaimed Janice. “That’s a fine-looking ambrosia salad.” She leaned over the dish to examine its contents. “Did you make the marshmallows? Ain’t seen anyone do that since my granny. You have to tell me how you do it.”

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*****

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Pumkin Spice Time!

Pumpkin Spice arrived with more of a bang than fall. The weather station says it’s still summer, but here in the US, Labor Day weekend (5 September), the start of another school year, and the arrival of the Pumpkin Spice Latte at the worldwide coffee shop signals fall.  

What happened to Summer? It’s still HOT here in Central Texas, so it feels like summer. I just stepped outside and my glasses fogged over because of the high humidity. Don’t get me wrong: I LOVE all things pumpkin spice (except the Pumpkin Spice Latte). Fall is my favorite food time of the year. (Peppermint mochas coming in a close second.)

Looking for a few new reads? Check out the Fade Into Fall Speculative Fantasy Giveaway for your next read (or two or three). Some great selections in the list, including Voices of Midnight, my collection of short stories/prequels for the Midnight Whispers series. 

However, if fall is here, my pledge to write a new short story every month in 2022 is almost done. And yes, eight stories are written, edited, and already distributed to my newsletter subscribers. (Check out the link below to subscribe and get the final four.) My problem? I have another half dozen in various stages of completion and at least another dozen in my head.

Before 2022 began, I swore I couldn’t write short stories (never mind twelve of them), and now I’ve completed twelve. So, what’s wrong with having more? Which one to write next!

I guess the adage about Writer’s Block – It’s not having nothing to say, it’s having too much to say – is true. While all these short stories have slowed down the progress of Midnight Goblins, it has given me new insights into my characters (and perhaps one or two will spring into novels). So, I’m not going to complain about all these stories. 

And who doesn’t need even more to read?

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