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This story takes place after “Goin’ to the Chapel”. In this story the attention
shifts back to Jim and his stalker. Trixie isn’t the only one that thinks Jim
is the most wonderful man in the world, and this mysterious woman is crazy
with jealousy. A special thank you to my dear friends, Steph
H and Susan, whose pep talks kept this story from being scrapped. Steph and
Susan, you’re wonderful cheerleaders, and even better friends. {{{hugs}}} BTW, if you’ve never heard this song, you
can hear it here. Ryl, thanks for finding that for me!
Crazy She
had always loved Patsy Cline. Normally she didn’t listen to that particular
genre of music, but something about Patsy’s velvety voice spoke to her. “I’m
crazy…” she sang as she carefully wrapped the gift for Jim. She’d chosen a
bright green paper that reminded her of his eyes. It had taken her days to
find the exact color, but it had been worth it. Jim would appreciate all the
trouble she’d gone to. “Crazy
for feeling so blue…” Using
the tape was tricky, since it tended to stick to her latex gloves. However,
the gloves were a necessary evil. She knew he was thinking about her, but she
didn’t want to risk ruining the surprise. She needed to keep her secret a
little longer, and then she would tell Jim everything. He would be so happy
when he learned the truth. Why, he was probably missing her even more than
she was missing him! Thoughts
of Jim caused her to smile. “I
know you love me, Jim. It isn’t your fault we’re separated.” She spoke aloud,
knowing he could hear her. Jim could always hear her when she talked to him,
just like she could hear him. She loved the sound of his husky voice. “When
you were with me, you were so loving, so kind. Nobody could pretend to be so
compassionate. I know you really want to be with me. None of this is your
fault; your mind was poisoned by that slut. You want to come back to me, but
she won’t let you. It’s all because of her!” The
frustration she felt immediately turned to fury. The features of her face
were distorted by a glower as her mind fixed upon her competition. “I hate that little tramp!” she stormed. “I
hate her! I hate her! I hate her!” She
had been so overcome with anger that she’d accidentally crumpled the white
bow she’d intended to use. As she studied the result of her rage, the grimace
melted away and was replaced by a thoughtful frown. Repentant, she chose a
new bow and carefully placed it on top of the box. “There,”
she practically purred, satisfied with her efforts. “Surely this will show Jim
how much I care. I know he’ll love my gift, just like he loves me.” It
was getting harder and harder for her to think about anything other than Jim.
Usually she could focus on something else when she needed to, but that was
becoming impossible. Jim totally consumed her. She longed to see him, touch
him, listen to him say her name, love him… Jim yearned for those same things.
That’s what he told her when he visited her dreams. Sometimes she heard his
voice when she was awake. She knew it was because their love was so
strong. Because
he’d been on her mind so much lately, she’d given him two gifts already this
week. It had disappointed her when he hadn’t called to thank her, but she
knew he was grateful. “He’ll
thank me when she isn’t around.”
The thought made her lips part into a thin, angry slash. A
peek at the clock told her that she needed to pick up the pace if she
intended to arrive at the restaurant a little early. She’d learned that Jim
would be there at one for a business engagement, and he was notoriously
prompt. If she arrived at 12:45, she would have just enough time to drop off
the package for him, and then slip out before he had a chance to see her. She
knew he’d love to see her, but this had to be a surprise. “Maybe
I’ll be lucky enough to catch a glimpse of him before I leave,” she murmured.
She
smiled dreamily. It had been a long time since she’d seen him. She frequently
watched him from a distance, but that wasn’t the same. She wanted to touch
him again, and have him touch her. Of course, their connection was so strong
that their bond remained, no matter how many miles separated them. It was
almost as if they hadn’t been apart at all. She
traced a finger along the side of the box, wishing it was Jim’s strong jaw
line. “I love you as much as ever, and I know you feel the same. You wish we
could be together even more than I do.” She picked the box up and slammed it
back on the table as she shrieked, “But she
won’t let us! “It’s
all her fault!” she screamed. “If
she hadn’t kept us apart, we’d still be together! I hate her!” Wild
with fury, she picked up the shears that she’d used to cut the wrapping
paper. Gripping them with the sharp ends pointed down, she repeatedly drove
them into the tabletop. Again and again, the tips of the scissors gouged the
fine wood, permanently scarring its beauty. “I
hate her! I hate her! I hate her!” With a final demented shriek, she used all
her strength to force the metal points of the scissors deeply into the
tabletop. The shears remained upright, a silvery tribute to her inner
torture. However disturbing the sight would’ve been to others, it had a
strangely calming effect on her. Her body relaxed as if the outburst had
given her a temporary respite from her stress. Dismissing
the other woman from her mind, she focused solely on Jim. The wistful smile
returned to her face as she sang the last words of the song. “I’m crazy for lovin’ you…” Thursday, January 27 Wheeler Enterprises Headquarters Upper East Side Manhattan, NY It had
all started with the crystal perfume bottle he’d received on Monday. The
minute he’d first seen it, Jim knew that that tiny bit of ornate glass
signaled the beginning of the end. It was only a matter of time before things
spiraled out of control. His stalker had forced him onto a rollercoaster, and
he was now at the top of the track, waiting helplessly for the ride to take
him through a series of loops at breakneck speed. His
mind focused on one thing, Jim strode purposefully through the plush
executive suites of Wheeler Towers. He’d been informed that someone from Los
Angeles needed to speak with him. Knowing it had to be Jack Palmer returning
his call, he hurried to the privacy of his personal office and picked up the
phone. “Hello?” “It’s
Jack. What’s going on?” Jim
quirked a ginger brow at Jack’s businesslike tone. Something had to be wrong
for the wisecracking detective to sound so serious. “I tried all day
yesterday to get a hold of you. Where were you?” “My
boss was having chest pains, and I had to take him to the hospital,” Jack
explained. “My cell phone kept ringing, and since you aren’t supposed to have
it on in the ER, I turned it off. I saw that you’d called, but I figured it
wasn’t important since you didn’t leave a message, so I waited until today to
get back to you.” “I
hate leaving messages on those things. I only do it when it’s a matter of
life and death,” Jim told him. “How’s Ralph?” “Better.
The doc doesn’t think it was a heart attack, just a humdinger case of
indigestion. He did order Ralph to
take it easy, so I’ve taken the cases he’s working on to try and lighten his
load.” “I’m
glad he’s okay.” “Me
too.” Jack’s voice took on a sentimental tone. “That old guy’s like a second
dad to me. I’ve known him for years. When my own father died, Ralph stepped
up and took me under his wing. He’s probably the reason I turned out halfway
decent.” “Well,
that’s a matter of opinion.” Since
he enjoyed receiving a good zing almost as much as he enjoyed giving them,
Jack chuckled. “So, what’s going on, Professor? Don’t tell me. You were
missing the sound of my sexy voice and just had to call…” “I
got a delivery from the florist late yesterday.” “I
assume that it wasn’t a box of orchids from your special girl.” “It
was a dozen roses.” In a grim voice, Jim added, “A dozen dead, black roses.” “Technically,
there’s no such thing as a truly
black rose,” Jack corrected. “Some roses are so deeply red that they appear
black, but they’re still red. On the off chance somebody actually wants a
black rose, a florist will paint a red rose to look black—” “Wait
a minute… Did I accidentally call Mart Belden instead of Jack Palmer?” Jack
couldn’t help but laugh. When Trixie had lived in California, she’d told him
all about her middle brother, who had an oversized vocabulary and a penchant
for useless trivia. “I just said all that to say this: Florists don’t usually
keep black roses in stock, so that order had to be placed ahead of time.” “The
deliveryman warned me that the sender had specifically requested dead
flowers. I guess he didn’t want me to think the roses had died en route.” “Well,
I suppose that’s what happens ‘when you care enough to send the very best’,”
Jack quipped. “Sorry,
but that’s the slogan for Hallmark.” “Are
you sure?” “I
just saw an ad on TV last night,” Jim said. “Okay,
how about this. Your stalker decided to let her ‘fingers do the walking’?” “Nope.
That’s the Yellow Pages,” Jim corrected. “Oh,
c’mon!” Jack groaned. “Doesn’t some florist out there have a catchy gimmick?” Jim
sighed deeply. No matter how hard he tried to fight it, he couldn’t resist
the temptation. “I guess my stalker decided to ‘say it with flowers’.” “That’s
it! Thank you!” “Anyway,
I wouldn’t have even accepted the box if I hadn’t recognized the florist,” Jim
explained. “Al still didn’t let me open it. He was afraid the package was
laced with anthrax or had a bomb in it.” “While
I’m relieved that you didn’t open that box, I wish Al hadn’t either. That’s
what the bomb squad is for.” “Relax.
There wasn’t anything in it except for the dead flowers and a card.” “What
did the card say?” When Jim didn’t answer, Jack repeated his question in a
much louder voice. “What did the card say, Jim?” “It’s
a quote from William Shakespeare.” “Which
quote are you talking about?” Jack prompted. “
‘Death lies upon her like an untimely frost, upon the sweetest flower of all
the field.’ ” Jack
whistled under his breath. “That sounds like a threat to me.” “Yeah,
but who is being threatened?” “Probably
you, since you received the flowers.” “But
the pronoun ‘she’ was used!” Jim cried. “If Trixie’s in danger—” “Has
she agreed to protection?” Jack interrupted. Too
frustrated to speak right away, Jim slapped his desk. He sat without saying a
word, his entire body quivered from the effort of suppressing his rage. “Jim,
has Trixie agreed to protection?” Jack repeated. “She
refuses,” Jim finally ground out through gritted teeth. “Then
you’d better try and talk her into it.” Jim
snorted. “I’d have an easier time trying to talk a brick wall into moving by
itself.” “Good
point,” Jack muttered under his breath. “She has started carrying her gun with her,
but that doesn’t make me feel any better.” “Believe
me, I know how stubborn she can be, especially when it comes to proving that she
can take care of herself.” “She’s
defensive, all right,” Jim agreed, sighing wearily. “There’s a lot of
fierceness wrapped up in that small package.” “Well,
dynamite comes in a small package, too, and look how explosive that can be,” Jack remarked. “Good
point,” Jim reflected wryly. “Your
little package of TNT might blow up when I talk to her about getting a
bodyguard, but I can usually defuse her pretty fast,” Jack told him. “I’ll do
my best to convince her that she needs protection just as badly as you do.
And if she won’t agree to it, it might be time for Plan B.” “Yeah,
I think you’re right,” Jim muttered, weaving a freckled hand through his
thick, russet hair. Deep down, he knew that Jack might have better luck at
changing Trixie’s mind than he’d had. While she had dismissed Jim long ago as
being too overprotective, Jack still had a shot to convince her. She and her
former coworker shared a mutual respect, and Jack had never tried to shelter
Trixie as Jim had done in the past. It was one of the things that Jim
regretted most, especially now that she truly did need protection. “Jim,
right now I need you get that box and all of its contents to me ASAP.” “It’s
already on its way,” Jim answered. “FedEx should have it there by the end of
the day.” “Good
job. I hope you and Al were careful when you touched it.” Although
Jack couldn’t see him, Jim nodded. “We’ve started carrying latex gloves in
our pockets. That way, we’re always prepared.” “You
really are a boy scout,” Jack
murmured. “We’ll keep our fingers crossed that the perp left something behind
for us.” Jim
snorted. “Even if she did, I don’t know how that will help. The print Trixie
pulled off the alarm system at Ten Acres wasn’t in any of the databases.” “Yeah,
but DNA evidence could open up a whole new set of databases.” “Have
you dug up anything on any of the school’s trustees or staff?” “Not
yet, but I’m still going through everything with a fine-tooth comb,” Jack
admitted. “By chance is Trixie nearby?” “She’s
back in Sleepyside.” “Call
her and ask her to pay a visit to the florist,” Jack directed. “She needs to
find out all she can about the person that placed that order. How she paid, a
home phone number, what she looks like… that sort of thing. Hopefully we can
get something to link her to the person we saw on the surveillance video.” Jack
cleared his throat before he asked his next question. “Exactly where were the
flowers delivered?” “To
Wheeler Towers. The florist was waiting for me in the lobby with one of the
security guards.” “How
would your stalker know you were in New York instead of Sleepyside?” “I
go to Manhattan every Wednesday,” Jim replied. “And
of course your stalker would know that,” Jack muttered. “Jim, I don’t mean to
sound unkind, but with that rigid schedule of yours, you’re a predator’s
dream.” Jim chuckled.
“Yeah, I guess I am. However, I’m pulling a fast one on her today, since I’m
back in Manhattan. She probably thinks I’m in Sleepyside, but I’m here for
our monthly board meeting later this afternoon.” “Don’t
be so sure of that. If you have this meeting every month at this time, I
guarantee she knows where you are.” “I
hadn’t thought of that.” “Are
you going out later?” Jack asked. “I
have a lunch engagement at 1:00. I’m meeting a businessman who’s interested
in supporting the school.” “Be
sure you take Al,” Jack ordered sternly. “Don’t
worry,” Jim assured him with a laugh. “We’re going to Wolfgang’s Steakhouse,
and Al told me that he’d insist on going even if the entire New York City
Police Department was there to protect me.” “Good.
Even if the entire NYPD was there,
I’d still want Al glued to your side. The police can’t help you unless they
know you need it. And since they don’t have any idea you’re being stalked,
you’re on your own until you quit being so stubborn and let them in on it.” Jim
ignored the barb and changed the subject. “Have you heard anything back from
the lab about the perfume bottle?” On
Monday, one of the school’s younger students had seen a nondescript car pull
up to the mailbox. The little boy watched as the window rolled down far
enough to allow an arm to reach out and put something inside. Once the car
had driven away, he’d looked inside the mailbox and found a small package.
Thinking it was something important, the boy had gotten it out and brought it
to the administrative office. When
Jim had seen the box, his gut told him that hell had just been unleashed.
He’d opened the package carefully, not knowing what he would find inside. To
his surprise, nestled in a bed of newspaper, he found an old-fashioned
perfume bottle filled with reddish liquid. Tied to its neck was a small card
addressed to him. Knowing his stalker had just made contact, Jim had called Jack
immediately. Jack
had directed Jim not to open the bottle itself, but Jim had read the card.
Song of Solomon 5:13 had been typed inside: His cheeks are as a bed of spices, as sweet flowers: his lips are
like lilies, dropping sweet smelling myrrh. As
instructed, he’d wrapped up the bottle and card and then sent them to Los
Angeles. He’d been anxious to find out what the reddish substance was. “So,
have you heard anything from the lab?” Jim repeated impatiently. “Yeah,
that’s where I was this morning. My friend at the lab determined the liquid
contained a mixture of formaldehyde, methanol, ethanol, and small amounts of
other solvents.” “Formaldehyde?”
Jim echoed. “Why, that’s the stuff in—” “Embalming
fluid,” Jack finished grimly. “That’s what the lab determined was in the
bottle.” “Well,
at least that explains the part about the myrrh,” Jim commented. “What
do you mean?” “Myrrh
was one of the spices used during Biblical times for embalming,” Jim
explained. “The stalker mentioned it in the verse she typed on the card.” “Interesting,
as well as slightly creepy.” “You’re
tellin’ me,” Jim sniggered. “I’m the one who received embalming fluid. That’s
really sick.” Jack
snorted. “Yeah, you’ve got a point there.” “Did
you find out anything else helpful?” “That
antique perfume bottle was pricey. It goes from anywhere between two and four
hundred bucks.” “For
that little bit of glass?” Jim exclaimed. “It’s
Czechoslovakian crystal.” “And
that should mean something to me?” “Frankly,
it didn’t mean much to me, either,” Jack agreed. “I wouldn’t have known how
expensive it was if I hadn’t looked on the internet.” “What
other bits of info did you glean?” “Nothing
else, I’m afraid.” Frustrated, Jack exhaled noisily. “It’s a shame that kid
couldn’t describe her or the car.” “The
boy was only eight, and to be honest, he’s not exactly the observant type,”
Jim explained. “I think he was more interested in finding out what was in the
mailbox.” Jack
fought to suppress a groan, but lost. “I can check with some high-end antique
stores to see if any of them have sold a bottle like that recently, but
frankly, it’ll be like looking for a needle in a haystack.” “That
means that we’re back to square one,” Jim commented flatly. “Jim,
I’m doing the best I can. Usually I’ve made a lot more progress by now on a
case. I don’t know who this stalker is, but she’s either very lucky or
extremely good. I’m checking every lead, but this person is invisible.” “What
do we do now?” “We
keep our guard up, and we wait. You know what they say; the best offense is a
good defense.” “If
I’m just setting up ‘a good defense’, then why am I paying you so much?”
Although Jim tried to keep his tone teasing, a slight edge crept in his
voice. “I’m
sorry, Professor, but right now, I don’t know what else to do,” Jack
defended. “I haven’t even billed you for most of the hours I’ve spent on this
case, so you don’t need to worry about that.” “I
know, buddy. That was a joke, albeit a lousy one. Right now, the best way you
can help me is to convince Trixie that she needs more protection than her
Glock can supply.” “I’ll
do my best, but no promises.” “Well,
do what you can. I’ll talk to you later.” With a groan, Jim hung up the
phone. He wasn’t the kind of person who easily accepted defeat. A quick look
at his watch told him that it was nearly one o’clock. If he left now, he
would have a fifteen minute buffer in case traffic was bad. He picked up his
phone and buzzed Al, who was hanging out at the security desk. They had an
appointment to keep. Wolfgang’s Steakhouse Park Avenue Traffic
had been especially bad, but Jim arrived at the restaurant with ten minutes
to spare. He couldn’t help but grin as he noticed all the suspicious looks
his bodyguard received. With his standard issue T-shirt, black leather vest,
ripped jeans, and motorcycle boots, Al Spurgeon tended to stand out in a
crowd, especially in such a classy crowd like the one that frequented this
four-star restaurant. Ladies automatically clutched their purses a little
closer to their bodies whenever they passed the man with the scruffy, gray
beard and long ponytail. Likewise, men would steer clear of the
barrel-chested form, not wanting to chance a confrontation. Casual observers
had no way of knowing that beneath the layers of leather beat a heart of
gold. The
hostess smiled when she saw Jim, but wrinkled her nose slightly when her gaze
shifted to Al. “Welcome to Wolfgang’s,” she greeted. Jim
flashed a typical Jim grin, not knowing that it was the kind of smile that
made a girl’s heart flutter. “I have a reservation for three under Frayne.” She
glanced down at her list, and then nodded. Returning Jim’s smile, she said,
“Follow me, sir.” The
hostess led them to the back of the steakhouse where Jim had reserved a table.
Jim knew the restaurant tended to be packed with Wall Street executives this
time of day, and he had wanted a moderately private setting. His mind on his
upcoming meeting, he never even noticed the woman walking towards them until
she brushed against him as she passed. “Excuse
me,” he murmured politely. The
woman kept walking without replying. “Hey,
could you make that jane, boss?” Al inquired. “Huh?” Al
hitched a thumb over his back and pointed to the lady who had just bumped
into Jim. “That little skirt that rubbed against you. She was quite a little
number, and she was sure givin’ you the up-and-down.” “Sorry,
but I didn’t see her,” Jim replied with a shrug. “What did she look like?” Al’s
cheeks turned a rosy pink color. “I wasn’t really eyeballin’ her face, Mr.
Jim. That dame had some nice getaway sticks on her, if you get my meanin’.” “Yeah,
I get your meaning,” Jim said, grinning. “Well,
she musta been a chippy, lookin’ to skate around,” Al deduced. They
sat down and began looking at their menus. “This
sure ain’t no hash house,” Al commented. “I gotta feelin’ lunch in this
joint’s gonna cost you a century or two. Hope your pockets is filled with
scratch, boss.” By
now, Jim had become proficient at Al-speak, so he knew his bodyguard was
concerned about funds. “Don’t worry about it, Al. I knew what the prices were like when I made the
reservation. There’s plenty of room on
my credit card.” “Good,
‘cuz I ain’t got more than a double sawback on me,” he remarked. “Unless they
accept orphan paper, I ain’t gonna be much help.” Behind
his menu Jim smiled. “I
been lookin’ forward to this all day,” Al said, licking his chops. “I ain’t
been in a place this G since me an’ No Neck Vinnie had to snatch some sharper
that was puttin’ the Chinese squeeze on the Panicucci Family. We found him in
a place sorta like this, only they sold nose-candy and sticks of tea outta
the back.” Jim
only nodded. “You
ever been here before, boss?” “A
few times. I like to bring business associates here.” “Well,
I don’t like you bein’ in dutch, an’ I ain’t lookin’ forward to no Chicago
lightning, but I hope you hafta come back to this joint before that stalker’s
caught.” A grin caused Al’s whiskers to twitch. “I can already tell that this
place really rates.” “You
haven’t tried their food yet,” Jim murmured as he glanced down at his watch.
“Hmm… It’s a few minutes past one. Mr. Higgins should be here by now.” “Mr.
Higgins?” Al raised a bushy gray brow in query. “That’s
the man who’s thinking of supporting the school,” Jim explained. “He’s an
oilman from Texas who has made several sizable donations to various
charities.” “All
silk so far.” Al studied the menu like a college student cramming for finals.
“What’s good, Mr. Jim?” “I’m
fond of their lamb chops, but they make a mean Sirloin steak. You’ll
definitely have to try the creamed spinach and the German potatoes.” “Sounds
good to a meat and potatoes jasper like me,” Al commented. “Well, ‘cept for the
spinach. The only kind of green I like is the kale I put in my pocket.
Savvy?” Jim
craned his neck so he could see the main entrance. “He said he’d be here
right at one.” “Don’t
sweat it. Not everybody’s as prompt as you.” “You’re
right, of course. I’m just nervous for some reason.” At
that time their waiter came to the table and filled their glasses with water.
“Have you decided what you’d like to order?” he inquired politely. “Not
all of our party has arrived,” Jim explained. “I’m expecting a Dennis
Higgins.” “I’ll
be sure to bring Mr. Higgins to your table as soon as he arrives,” the waiter
promised. Once
the waiter had moved on, Al set down his menu and leveled his gaze at his
employer. “You okay, boss?” Jim
took a sip of his water. “I’m good.” “Sorry,
Mr. Jim, but you look like a pro skirt that just found out she got ribbed up
by the flatties. Did those flowers you got yesterday put you on edge?” “A
little,” Jim admitted. “Who’s doing this to me, Al?” “I’m
afraid you’re tootin’ the wrong ringer, boss,” Al said with a chuckle. “But I
gotta feeling that we’re gettin’ closer to pinchin’ this crazy sister an’
lockin’ her up in the caboose. I feel it in my bones.” “Hope
it’s not just the barometric pressure getting to you,” Jim joked. Trying
to lighten the mood, Al changed the subject. “I shoulda wore my glad rags to
a swanky joint like this. Maybe I got time to duck out an’ pull a gooseberry
lay, ‘cuz right now I look like I just came from a flophouse.” “I
could help you get some new clothes, if you’d like,” Jim offered. “Since
you’ll have to accompany me to various establishments, it would be a business
expense.” Lip
curled in distaste, Al looked around at the men who were sitting around them;
they were all wearing jackets and ties. “I dunno if could pull off the
highbinder look, boss.” “You
wouldn’t have to wear a three-piece suit,” Jim pointed out gently. “However,
some new clothes and a good haircut would
go a long way.” Al
stroked his beard thoughtfully. “That Ms. Trask is a real classy dame.” “She
is,” Jim agreed. “If
I asked a doll like her out, she’d tell me to take it on my heel and toe.” “You
never know.” Before
they could discuss it any further, their water stopped by the table. In his
hand, he held a beautifully wrapped gift. “Mr.
Frayne?” the waiter inquired politely. “Yes.” “One
of the other waiters told me that a Mr. Higgins called a couple of minutes
ago. He asked us to convey his apologies. He’s been held up in another
meeting and won’t be able to make it. I apologize for not giving you this
message sooner, sir.” Jim’s
eyes clouded with disappointment. “That’s all right.” “His
assistant left this package for you,” the waiter explained. “She asked that
you open it at once.” Jim
felt a shiver creep up his spine. “His assistant?” “Yes,
the young woman who was sitting just over there.” The waiter pointed to a
table near them. “I think she left before you arrived.” Jim’s
body went rigid. He licked his lips, hoping that might help him speak. “Did
you happen to get a good look at her?” “I’m
afraid I could only give you a vague description of her, sir,” the waiter
replied. “She reminded me of Jackie O, what with the dark sunglasses and the
scarf wrapped around her hair.” “Thank
you,” Jim mumbled. Once
the waiter walked away, Jim and Al exchanged apprehensive looks. By unspoken
agreement, they automatically reached for the ever-present latex gloves and
put them on. There was no card, so Jim tentatively removed the bow. “I don’t
have a good feeling about this.” “Boss,
maybe you oughtta let me do that,” Al offered. “If that thing’s fulla soup,
it could blow you to kingdom come.” Jim
shook his head. “I don’t think it’s a bomb.” Praying he was right, he slowly
ripped away the gift wrap. Once the paper had been removed, there remained a
white box with a glossy coating covering it. “This
looks safe enough,” he muttered. Al
made the sign of the cross in front of his chest and breathed a prayer
upward. Using
his index finger, Jim flicked the top off of the box. After a pensive peek
inside, he immediately snapped the lid back on. Al
studied him, concerned by Jim’s ashen complexion. “What’s wrong, boss?” Jim
was too shocked to answer. “Boss!”
Unconcerned about causing a ruckus, Al raised his voice several decibels.
“Mr. Jim! What’s in the box?” Since
he still hadn’t remembered how to use his tongue, Jim merely scooted the
package closer to Al and motioned for him to look inside. Al reached out a
meaty paw and nervously pulled off the lid. “Oh,
God!” he yelled when he caught sight of the contents. Although
Al had spent many years in a motorcycle gang, he’d never grown accustomed to
the sight of gore. He hadn’t minded breaking legs, but he preferred to leave
the dirty work to the professionals. However, nothing from his past could’ve
prepared him for the gruesome contents. A heart, still oozing with blood, sat
in the box. The wooden handle of a large butcher knife was sticking out of
the center of the organ. Blood had seeped out and made a gooey mess in the
bottom of the box. On the underside of the lid, the stalker had used the
sticky red liquid to leave a message.
The
embalming fluid, the dead black roses, and the stabbed heart left little
doubt about the sender’s intentions. Somebody
was going to die. I’m crazy for
tryin’
Thank you so much to my wonderful editors, Kaye, Steph H, and
Ryl! Your help with this difficult story was greatly appreciated. Thanks again to Steph and Susan for their encouragement. They
helped me understand things so much more clearly. Thank you again, my dear,
precious friends! Patsy Cline sang “Crazy”, but it was written by Willie Nelson.
I can say with 100% certainty that if I’d heard the Willie Nelson version of
this song (he recorded one, too), it wouldn’t be one of my sentimental favorites.
I adore Patsy Cline, but Willie Nelson makes me want to hurl repeatedly. Al’s glossary: To make- to recognize Jane- a woman Skirt- a woman The up-and-down- a careful examination Getaway sticks- legs Chippy- a woman of ill repute Skate around- have illicit affairs Hash house- a cheap restaurant Century- $100 Scratch- money Double sawback- $20 Orphan paper- a bad check G- really expensive Sharper- a swindler Chinese squeeze- grafting by skimming money off the top Nose-candy- cocaine Sticks of tea- marijuana cigarettes In dutch- in trouble Chicago lightning- gunfire All silk- all right Jasper- a man (particularly a hick) Kale- money Savvy- understand Pro-skirt- a prostitute Ribbed up- arrested Flatties- police Tooting the wrong ringer- barking up the wrong tree Caboose- jail Glad rags- fancy clothes Gooseberry lay- Stealing clothes from a clothesline Highbinder- corrupt politician Take it on my heel and toe- to leave Soup- nitroglycerin Finally, I need to send out a huge thank you to Kaye, who
wrote the final note from the stalker. I needed something creepy, and by this
time, my brain was mush. She kindly wrote the perfect note. Cryptic and
creepy… just what I needed! Thanks,
Kaye! {{{hugs}}}
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