How many of us have skeletons in the closet that we know nothing about? The skeletons we know about generally stay there, but those we do not, well, they have a habit of coming out of left field when we least expect it.
In this case, when you see your photo on a TV screen with the accompanying text that says you are wanted by every law enforcement agency in Europe, you’re in a state of shock, only to be compounded by those same police, armed and menacing, kicking the door down.
I’d been thinking about this premise for a while after I discovered my mother had a boyfriend before she married my father, a boyfriend who was, by all accounts, the man who was the love of her life.
Then, in terms of coming up with an idea for a story, what if she had a child by him that we didn’t know about, which might mean I had a half brother or sister I knew nothing about. It’s not an uncommon occurrence from what I’ve been researching.
There are many ways of putting a spin on this story.
Then, in the back of my mind, I remembered a story an acquaintance at work was once telling us over morning tea, that a friend of a friend had a mother who had a twin sister and that each of the sisters had a son by the same father, without each knowing of the father’s actions, both growing up without the other having any knowledge of their half brother, only to meet by accident on the other side of the world.
It was an encounter that in the scheme of things might never have happened, and each would have remained oblivious of the other.
For one sister, the relationship was over before she discovered she was pregnant, and therefore had not told the man he was a father. It was no surprise the relationship foundered when she discovered he was also having a relationship with her sister, a discovery that caused her to cut all ties with both of them and never speak to either from that day.
It’s a story with more twists and turns than a country lane!
For a long time, I had a number of favorite actresses whose films I would never miss.
Meg Ryan Sandra Bullock Julia Stiles Jeri Ryan
With Covid restricting everything movie-related, it has been a long, long time since anyone had been in a movie.
Meg Ryan by all accounts has disappeared, and after Riviera, I’ve patiently been waiting for the next Julia Stiles project. This is coming in June this year. Jeri Ryan has returned to star in Star Trek Picard, which has been keeping me entertained.
But with the possibility of seeing Sandra Bullock in TV series very remote, it’s been a long wait for the next feature, and after a few earlier release dates that didn’t happen, it finally made it.
And filled with enthusiasm, driven by the promo I was hoping for great things.
OK, the first few minutes are not exactly attention-grabbing, unless you’re attracted to wig-wearing book cover models acting strangely, or expect a middle-aged woman would want to wear a pink glittery jumpsuit to a serious interview.
Unless there was a reason, and I missed it.
However, that puzzlement is over once we’re introduced to the nice bad guy, a brilliantly played by Daniel Radcliffe, who certainly is no longer Harry Potter, and thank God for that.
From that point on, while definitely forgetting about pink jumpsuits or stereotyping book cover models, we join the ride.
There are a few leaps of faith, like her being almost an archaeologist in her own right, something not made very clear, but it’s forgivable because you need to have a few unexpected things coming out of left field to keep you on the edge of your seat.
I won’t say the end was like those that other famous or infamous archeologists conjured up being surrounded by Nazis and other assorted bad guys, but seeing the nice but evil Radcliff being dragged away was good enough.
As for the inevitable treasure that is expected to be found, well, there is a treasure, but what it is will surprise you.
Every time I close my eyes, I see something different.
I’d like to think the cinema of my dreams is playing a double feature but it’s a bit like a comedy cartoon night on Fox.
But these dreams are nothing to laugh about.
Once again there’s a new installment of an old feature, and we’re back on the treasure hunt.
…
In a cave, Nadia is a surprise
…
Now the helicopter had gone, the sounds of the sea had returned, along with the muffled sound of the wind which had picked up, along with swirling clouds that looked like they would be bringing rain. I’d heard how the weather could change suddenly, and dangerously along this coastline.
I saw the lightning, and a minute or so later, the cracking of thunder. We were about to get very wet.
‘Look for the big A’. It had been there, heavily underscored in Ormiston’s notebooks. It had also been on the cliff face, crudely, but there.
“We need to go,” I heard Nadia say, over the ambient noise all around us.
Her words were being swept away by the wind, and I could barely hear her.
Another glance up at the cliff to confirm what I’d seen, and, yes, it was a big A, I went over to her.
“We can’t outrun it. And it will be treacherous on those rocks in a downpour.”
“We also have the tide to contend with.”
I could see the high-water line, and it didn’t leave much to the imagination. We needed higher ground. It was one of those situations where we might get caught by the tide. It was a pity there wasn’t room for two of us on the helicopter.
Back the way we’d come I remembered seeing an outcrop that looked like it might provide shelter from the rain. “We should go, there’s a spot a way back that might save us from getting too wet.”
It was about a hundred yards, not far from where the shore rocks started and would require climbing back up. At the very least, we could stay there until the tide dropped. We collected the metal detectors and made it to the base of the rocky outcrop just as the first drops of rain fell.
The overhang I’d seen turned out to be a shallow cave, going back into the rockface about 10 yards or so, carved out by the sea over a very long period.
Then the rain came, so heavy, we could not see through it. Every few minutes a gust of wind blew water into the cave, but standing back from the entrance basically kept us dry.
Nadia sat down and looked despondent. I’d never seen her like this, she was normally more cheerful.
I took a few minutes to explore inside using the torchlight on my phone. I could see the layers of sandstone compressed over the years, and if I had remembered more from the geology part of science at school I might have been able to make sense of it. Was I hoping for fossils, like from long-extinct dinosaurs?
Or perhaps I could imagine this was the entrance to Aladdin’s cave, also reputed to have hidden treasures, and briefly wondered if I’d found a lantern with a genie, what my three wishes might be?
“They’re only walls, Sam.” Nadia had come silently up behind me, and was just behind my left shoulder, the sound of her voice so near startling me.
Also noted, when my potential heart attack passed, she called me Sam, not Smidge. I was not going to write anything into it, she didn’t seem herself.
“You never know. If I say open sesame, or whatever the password is…”
It sounded lame.
I could hear rather than see her shake her head.
“What do you think Boggs was doing climbing up or down that particular rockface, and for that matter, poking around The Grove?”
I turned around to look at her. If I didn’t know her better, I might have said there was at that moment an angelic quality about her. It only reinforced the notion that she was very much out of my league, and whatever we seemed to have going, it was more in my head than hers.
“I think you can make as educated a guess as I can.”
“He thinks the treasure is here?”
“Somewhere in The Grove, yes. His approach might have been different from ours, but the conclusion is the same.”
“We didn’t find anything.”
“That doesn’t mean it didn’t come ashore somewhere near here, or somewhere along the coast despite the reefs because they might have once been navigable in an abnormally high tide. And those coins found near the old marina tells me that they landed somewhere there, but it was not the final resting place.”
I was going to say anything was possible.
“I can assure you my father and his cronies spent years turning over this whole property, one way or another, and found nothing.”
I believed her. Had he not won the bidding war for the property, sold by the remaining Ormiston’s to settle the debts racked up by successive treasure hunts, Benderby, or anyone else for that matter, would have done the same. Everyone was aware of the obsession, and the possibility of making a fortune.
But, my money was on the fact it was in The Grove, somewhere. The question was, would I be completely honest with her?
When I didn’t say anything, she added, “you think it’s still here, don’t you?”
I shrugged. “Why else would Boggs be here? I’m sure his deductions from the resources he has, and I’m sure he hadn’t told me everything for obvious reasons, told him when all else has been eliminated, the last possibility however improbable must be true.”
“Occam’s razor?”
“Ish. When we can get back to the cabin, I’ll go and see him, see what he has to say. If he wants to see me, that is.”
I could see her processing what I just said, and thought perhaps I could have said it better.
“He doesn’t trust you because of me?”
Again I shrugged. “I got that impression when I last spoke to him. I don’t think he quite understands the nature of our friendship. I’m assuming that’s what it is because I’m hardly the sort of boy your parents would consider suitable for you.”
“My parents have no idea what I want or care about. It’s why I left.”
“Why did you come back then?”
“My mother said she had cancer and wasn’t expected to live.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It was a lie. Their whole life is a lie. I’ve always known about the family, I just chose to ignore it, even bask in some of the glory of it, until it got a friend of mine killed. Vince did it, I know he did, but they all lied. It’s just one of many reasons I wanted to getaway. I was going to go back to Italy until you popped up. I always liked you, you know.”
I didn’t. I thought I was just another pawn in a game of terror and ridicule she played on all of us boys.
“You had a funny way of showing it.”
“I was stupid back then, but that was no excuse. If it’s any consolation I’m sorry, but words never seem to be enough, and besides that, no one I’ve apologized to really believes me, and I get it. My name is a curse. That’s why when I go back I’m going to disappear, a whole change of identity. That’s how much I trust you, Sam, you’re the only one I’ve told.”
“You shouldn’t tell me anything. I’m sure if you disappear, I’ll be the first one your family will come after.”
I didn’t need to know, I certainly didn’t want to know. If she did disappear, I’m sure my doorstep would be the Cossatino’s first stop, and I’d easily fold under pressure.
“Maybe you could come with me, then you wouldn’t have to worry about them.”
Perhaps she could read my mind. Even so, it was an interesting thought, not that I could just up and leave my mother, or worry the Cossatino’s would come after her if I went missing.
“I don’t speak Italian.” Lame excuse.
“I could teach you. We could work in the vineyard, and live a simple life.”
It was hard to tell if she was serious or not. I had to think she wasn’t. I don’t think I could handle someone like her, that anyone could.
For a story that was conceived during those long boring hours flying in a steel cocoon, striving to keep away the thoughts that the plane and everyone in it could just simply disappear as planes have in the past, it has come a long way.
Whilst I have always had a fascination in what happened during the second worlds war, not the battles or fighting, but in the more obscure events that took place, I decided to pen my own little sidebar to what was a long and bitter war.
And, so, it continues…
I had walked quite fast in my attempt to distance myself from our pursuers if they were, in fact, chasing me. In doing so I had tried to make my escape as quiet as possible.
Now, between Jack and I, hiding in the undergrowth, the only noise I could hear was our laboured breathing, and mine in particular. I hadn’t been expecting to be doing this sort of exercise when I signed on for the job.
Now, I think, exercise was going to become a priority.
If I made it back alive.
A crack and I saw Jack go very still, ears cocked, and looking in what was the direction of the sound. He’d know, better than me, where the noise came from.
Another minute before I could hear muffled voices, then as if they had stepped into a room, I could hear them.
“So, you’re telling me you let him hit you?”
“I had to, for the sake of making it look good. I was told he was no fool.”
The voice of the man who had orchestrated my departure. I shook my head, very disappointed in myself for not seeing through what could have been a very cunning plan. It also explained why they hadn’t summarily shot me. I could see Jackerby gloating over the cleverness of his plan.
So perhaps for a few moments there, I was a fool. Not anymore.
“What do we do if we find him?”
“We’re not supposed to find him, remember. You were at the same meeting, or was that your ghost I saw with me?”
“Observe and report back.”
“Exactly.”
The voices were very close, and I could hear their boots of the rocky path until they stopped.
“Which way?”
The voice sounded very close, in fact, I thought they were just on the other side of the undergrowth, but that couldn’t be right, I could see through it in places, and no one was standing on the other side.
Sound must travel very good in this part of the forest.
“Follow the main river. He won’t be looking to deviate from his objective, which by now would be to find the other members of the resistance and organise his departure.”
“And leave alone what he saw?”
“There isn’t much he could do about it. By the time he’s reported back to London, we will have found the underground members and eliminated any threat.”
“Aha, so he’s leading us to the resistance?”
“That’s the plan.”
“And it was your idea?”
“I do have my moments, thank you. Now, let’s get on, or he’ll get too much of a start on us, and I don’t want to be the one to explain how we lost him to Jackerby in particular.”
A minute passed, then two before I heard the sound of boots receding. Johansson, or maybe Jackerby, had correctly guessed I might know where the other resistance members were, and, after escaping, go straight to them.
That tangled web being woven by Sebastian’s boss, Worthington, is getting more sticky by the moment. After reading the John is not given any other option other than to get on a plane and head off to Zoe’s last known location, with Worthington peering over his shoulder waiting to pounce.
Sebastian knows something is up, because he has people watching John and knows he’s on the move, strategically calling the moment John leaves Worthington’s office.
John is getting into spy mode, and lies to Sebastian, not for the first time, and it was something he was going to have to get used to.
Meanwhile, Zoe comes face to face with Romanov, and it’s not the person she thought he was, and hardly the sort she would associate with Alistair’s mother or top KGB.
But he had got her profile and has taken all the necessary countermeasures so that she does not escape, or if she does, will not get very far.
There’s torture but no answers, she’s been here before, and in-between time to consider her options.
This might be a more interesting situation to get out of.
…
Today’s writing, with Zoe languishing in a dungeon once again black and blue, 3,989 words, for a total of 26,242.
The thing is, we had all been taken in, and no one, well, there was one person who had an inkling, but I didn’t take her seriously, simply because it was the girl who cried wolf once too often.
And, consequently, the ramifications could have been very serious.
Was that the price for deciding to take people at face value, that we would eventually discover their true nature before it was too late?
I’d lived in a house full of people who trusted no one, and who was always prepared to believe the worst in people.
My parents trusted no one and consequently suffered relatively lonely lives.
My sister, Davina, was not so bad but underlying every decision that was to do with people, she would have them investigated within an inch of their lives, and that too, had been very costly for her, especially when they found out. It ended three marriages and estranged two of her three children.
As for me, I made the decision not to be like them, and it had served me well. By and large, everyone I knew and had dealings with was fine. But even with this happy-go-lucky attitude, I still found it difficult to find what one might call the woman of my dreams.
That’s why, when Helen appeared one night at a party I’d only just decided to go to at the last minute, I thought my luck had changed.
How do you ‘run into’ the one? Was it an accidental bump, excuse me, and then a lingering look as she sashays off, or is it reaching for the same glass of champagne, with the consequent touching of hands?
There are an infinite variety of ‘first’ moments, moments that left lingering thoughts of ‘who was that woman?”
There is that thought, could it have been a contrivance to get my attention? If it was, it did.
It was a large banquet hall, and there were plenty of places to hide, and I wasn’t particularly interested in staying until our paths crossed. But was my curiosity enough to make a move?
To begin with, it was not.
I shrugged it off as a one-off moment, something to remember from an unremarkable gala that proved, once I arrived, why I had been hesitating in the first place.
Old people displaying their wealth, young people flirting with the rich and famous. I was, perhaps, a little rich, but definitely not famous, hence the reason why a bevy of eligible girls was not beating a path to my door.
There were three others of my ilk there who fitted that bill and willingly took the heat for me. One, Augustus, last name unpronounceable, had that Latin, dark, sultry look going, sauntered over after he had witnessed the ‘meeting’.
“I see you’ve met Helen?”
“She stole my drink.”
“All part of the plan, Ian. She just tossed away another of the pretenders, and if you play your cards right, you might be the next.”
“Pretender?”
His smirk was imprinted on his face and never changed, amused, or annoyed. “You know you can be such a prat sometimes.”
It had been said, more than once. “Do I want to play my cards right?”
“She is interested in a mysterious way. I asked her out, but she seemed disinterested, and as you know, I only ask once. Aside from that, we want to know who she is, really.”
“And you think she’ll tell me?”
“You’re not a player, Ian, and have that perfect aloofness thing going, one that can drive a certain type of girl crazy. I think she’s one of them.”
“Then how do I find her?”
He shook his head. “That’s not how this will be played. She has to come to you. Aloof, remember, Ian, aloof. Now, I must be off. Say hello to Davina for me will you?”
He’d seen her crossing the room and had no interest in sparring with her. For some reason, she just didn’t like him. Or was that because he spurned her? I never could get an answer from her.
Aloof.
I could do aloof, though I was not sure how that would seem interesting to a woman like her.
Aside from my belief that as beautiful as her would be remotely interested in me, aside perhaps from the family wealth that one day I would inheritance s point Davina took great pains to remind me.
And that was something I wasn’t looking forward to.
There was an art to mingling at these affairs, on one hand, the obligatory meet and greet of our contemporaries, deference to our peers, letting them know we were upholding the proper values, and respect as was warranted by our position, and on the other, a casual greeting to those who were on the fringe of our society.
I’d learn the lessons from Davina when she deemed it I was ready, but the truth is, no matter what age you are, you’re never ready for this.
There was a third category, those that came up to you, wishing to make an acquaintance, whether it was for publicity, or for prestige, it was impossible to tell, then and there, sometimes it was a matter of reading the social pages to find out how your name gad been taken in vain.
I preferred not to talk to any of them unless it was absolutely necessary.
Or someone you knew brought them to you, which then, out of deference to them, sometimes put you on the spot.
Nnn chose that path, selecting another person who was known to me, Alison Burkwater, a rare, unbiased reporter, to slip in under the radar.
Not realizing I was the eventual target, I watched them stroll through the crowded floor, stopping momentarily for an introduction, or a polite exchange, Alison gathering information for her next article before they headed in my direction.
I was with one of my father’s oldest friends, Jacob, his wife, Mary, and one of their three daughters, Amy, whom I knew would be pleased if we were together, but fate seemed to keep us apart.
I watched Helen, almost entranced by the fluid motion she moved, reminding me of a cat just before it pounced on unsuspecting prey until she was standing in front of me, unaware that Alison was speaking.
“This is Helen Dunbar, over from England, checking us Americans out as the British do.”
She then introduced each of us, leaving me till last, deliberately.
Each had a comment, or a question, so when it came to me, I asked, “Holiday or business?”
In my experience, they usually said both, but if she was here, it was business, making contacts, getting a feel for the market. Perhaps even at this age, I’d become cynical
“Both.”
Suspicion confirmed. “But I hear you are an unofficial tour guide, and I am in need of someone to show me this great city.”
Flattery, no doubt. And a smile from Alison, a nod to the time when she had written a bad piece about the city, and I took the trouble to prove otherwise.
To one side I heard Jacob excuse himself, and the others left with him. Alison’s job done, she left us together. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Davina deep in conversation with the family’s head of security.
Davina had so little faith in me.
“Perhaps that might be a topic we could discuss over coffee later?”
“Tonight?”
“Unless you’re otherwise engaged?”
“No.”
There was a slight exodus from the main hall, an indication that unusual for a gala like this, there would be dancing. It was a pet pastime of the host, an orchestra had been commissioned, and it was to be a nod to the old days.
“Do you dance,” I asked?
“It was part of my finishing school curriculum that nearly finished me in more ways than one. Long story, but yes.”
“Would you like to lead a poor boy around the floor and make him look good?”
She smiled. “I know you are pulling my leg, but I’ll bite.” She held out her hand, “Take me away before I change my mind “
Dancing was a social etiquette that was forced on me, and I was, for a long time, dreadful at it. It was only in my last year of middle school that a girl by the name of Wendy Whiles took the nervous bumbler with two left feet onto something that might make Fred Astaire proud.
She also introduced me to other more interesting things teenagers did, albeit in the comfort of a very expensive hotel suite, rather than in the back of a car. I thought I’d loved her, but she was not interested in wealth and fame, and I didn’t blame her, though I still insisted someone paid her a large sum of money to break off whatever we didn’t have going.
All her lessons paid off, and I found myself almost floating on air as we waltzed around the floor deftly avoiding the others brave enough to take to the dance floor.
“Do you do this often,” she asked, not long into the routine.
“No.”
“You dance well.”
“Only when I’m not talking. Arthur Murray didn’t include how to handle chatty girls on the dance floor.”
Any other girl I was sure would have been insulted. I could be like that sometimes. I called it being blunt.
“A new experience then.”
“Can’t count and talk at the same time?”
“And yet you dance so well.”
“Flattery will get you only so far.”
We finished in silence, and I thought I had ruined my opportunity, though for what was questionable. I should have been content to dance with one of the most beautiful girls at the ball.
She took my hand as we left the dance floor and headed toward the bar. That walk felt natural, holding hands, and the feeling there was a connection between us. She had not forced it, I had not looked for it, it had just happened.
She drank club soda. She said she didn’t drink alcohol, and it seemed logical. She was effervescent enough without any aids, unlike some of my friends who needed drugs and copious quantities of alcohol to get into a ‘groove’. I could take it or leave it and did the latter.
We picked a quiet corner.
“Why are you really here?” I asked. Start with the hard questions first.
“Sometime told me about this rich, handsome, bored young man who hates galas, and the mating rituals that go with them.”
“And yet here you are?”
“Secretly,” she whispered, “my real name is Rapunzel, I escaped from a tower, and am here to rescue anyone who needs rescuing. Do you need rescuing?”
I did, but I did not want to incur Davina’s wrath. And then I thought about the possibility, that she might just be bait for something more sinister. It was improbable, but Davina had impressed on me that there were a lot of nasty people in the world, and sometimes it was hard to see through the facades.
If she was evil, then it came beautifully gift wrapped.
“Rescue does involve a rather full-on security detail as well, and, the filling out of paperwork that would take till dawn to do.”
“I assume then, that weedy little man pretending to have a quiet drink over there is one of them.”
She nodded in his direction, and I recognized him instantly. “Warren. Dangerous as a cut snake. Even I keep my distance from him.”
Another glance, impassive expression, it would be interesting what she was thinking at that moment.
“So, what do you do for fun?”
“An occasional waltz with the most beautiful girl at the gala.”
“And…?”
“My life is ruled by responsibility. If you’re looking for fun, there are six other very eligible young men here that will be happy to fete you, and indulge your wildest dreams?”
“Aren’t you the least bit curious?” There was an invitation there, for what, I suspect would be whatever I wanted, but Davina’s voice was well and truly planted in my head. If it’s too good to be true…
I smiled wanly and finished my drink. “That is a luxury that I can only dream about. Thank you for the few brief moments of possibilities.”
Not an hour later, from a distance, I saw two men in civilian suits escorting her out of the building. There was no disguising their true identities, ex-military, or military police.
Odd for a girl that looked like her to be involved with such people.
A few minutes later Davina appeared beside me. “I could have told you that girl was trouble.”
“Looking at her, I thought the exact opposite.”
“You need to be more careful.”
“Warren was there. I’m sure he could handle her. I made sure I was in a position where if trouble came it would have to pass him, and I have the taser in my pocket. What was her crime.”
“None apparently. Some high-ranking Generals’ daughter out for a lark. Now come back and talk to Amy.”
Every time I close my eyes, I see something different.
I’d like to think the cinema of my dreams is playing a double feature but it’s a bit like a comedy cartoon night on Fox.
But these dreams are nothing to laugh about.
Once again there’s a new instalment of an old feature, and we’re back on the treasure hunt.
As we all stood either on or off the boat, two things were clear to me. The first, Rico’s genuine surprise at finding the body on his boat, and the second, how quickly the authorities had circled in for the kill.
I know calling 911 was supposed to get a rapid response to dire situations, but to get from the police station to the pier would take at least five minutes longer than it had, and that was breaking all the speed limits.
I might be jumping to conclusions, but someone wanted Rico to be found with an unexplainable body. His recently departed friend’s maybe?
Johnson waited until the officer off the boat had finished his call, and asked, “What are we doing here?”
It was now obvious the men on the boat was either state police, the coast guard, or some Federal branch-like FBI or, if Rico was suspected of dealing or trafficking drugs, the DEA.
“Take him into custody. Some of our people will be along to sit in on the questioning. This is an FBI crime scene and we’ll take it from here.”
“These two?” Johnson nodded in our direction.
“They’ve just found themselves in the wrong place at the wrong time. Cut them loose, they have nothing to do with this, other than to contaminate our crime scene.”
And that was it, more men, this time in white overalls, came up from below the deck of the newly arrived boat and came over. Crime scene investigators.
Johnson grabbed both of us by the scruff of the neck and shoved us in the direction of the shore. “Get out of here before I find something to charge you with.”
Neither of us waited to be told a second time. We were lucky, very lucky.
And Johnson was not happy his investigation had been pulled from under him. He needed a case like this to enhance his prospects for the upcoming election for the new Sherriff.
On dry land again I stopped and turned to look back at the boat, and Rico, now handcuffed and guarded.
In the background something else caught my attention, slowly cruising past the unfolding scene aboard Rico’s boat. A large ocean-going yacht, one that was owned by the Benderby’s. With Alex standing at the back of the bridge looking at Rico’s boat, and two others at the stern, dressed in what looked like diving suits, putting equipment away.
Even from this far away I could see the smug expression on his face.
No prizes then, for guessing how the police got an early warning.
Equally so for guessing who it was most likely to dump a body on a boat and have someone else take the rap for it. I had no doubt that a quantity of drugs would be found in some hidey-hole on Rico’s boat where he usually stashed the drugs he picked up from out in the sea lanes. A win-win, for law enforcement on many levels, and Benderby.
The question then I needed an answer to was, who was the dead man, and what was his relationship with the Benderby’s. I think I was now certain Rico had no idea who the man was, or why he was found on his boat, dead.
To write a private detective serial has always been one of the items at the top of my to-do list, though trying to write novels and a serial, as well as a blog, and maintain a social media presence, well, you get the idea.
But I made it happen, from a bunch of episodes I wrote a long, long time ago, used these to start it, and then continue on, then as now, never having much of an idea where it was going to end up, or how long it would take to tell the story.
That, I think is the joy of ad hoc writing, even you, as the author, have as much idea of where it’s going as the reader does.
It’s basically been in the mill since 1990, and although I finished it last year, it looks like the beginning to end will have taken exactly 30 years. Had you asked me 30 years ago if I’d ever get it finished, the answer would be maybe?
My private detective, Harry Walthenson
I’d like to say he’s from that great literary mold of Sam Spade, or Mickey Spillane, or Phillip Marlow, but he’s not.
But, I’ve watched Humphrey Bogart play Sam Spade with much interest, and modeled Harry and his office on it. Similarly, I’ve watched Robert Micham play Phillip Marlow with great panache, if not detachment, and added a bit of him to the mix.
Other characters come into play, and all of them, no matter what period they’re from, always seem larger than life. I’m not above stealing a little of Mary Astor, Peter Lorre or Sidney Greenstreet, to breathe life into beguiling women and dangerous men alike.
Then there’s the title, like
The Case of the Unintentional Mummy – this has so many meanings in so many contexts, though I image back in Hollywood in the ’30s and ’40s, this would be excellent fodder for Abbott and Costello
The Case of the Three-Legged Dog – Yes, I suspect there may be a few real-life dogs with three legs, but this plot would involve something more sinister. And if made out of plaster, yes, they’re always something else inside.
But for mine, to begin with, it was “The Case of the …”, because I had no idea what the case was going to be about, well, I did, but not specifically.
Then I liked the idea of calling it “The Case of the Brother’s Revenge” because I began to have a notion there was a brother no one knew about, but that’s stuff for other stories, not mine, so then went the way of the others.
Now it’s called ‘A Case of Working With the Jones Brothers’, finished the first three drafts, and at the editor for the last.
I have high hopes of publishing it in early 2021. It even has a cover.
A single event driven by fate, after Ben told his wife Charlotte he would be late home one night, he left early, and by chance discovers his wife having dinner in their favourite restaurant with another man.
A single event where it could be said Ben was in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Who was this man? Why was she having dinner with him?
A simple truth to explain the single event was all Ben required. Instead, Charlotte told him a lie.
A single event that forces Ben to question everything he thought he knew about his wife, and the people who are around her.
After a near-death experience and forced retirement into a world he is unfamiliar with, Ben finds himself once again drawn back into that life of lies, violence, and intrigue.
From London to a small village in Tuscany, little by little Ben discovers who the woman he married is, and the real reason why fate had brought them together.
Williams’ Restaurant, East 65th Street, New York, Saturday, 8:00 p.m.
We met the Blaine’s at Williams’, a rather upmarket restaurant that the Blaine’s frequently visited, and had recommended.
Of course, during the taxi ride there, Alison reminded me that with my new job, we would be able to go to many more places like Williams’. It was, at worst, more emotional blackmail, because as far as Alison was concerned, we were well on our way to posh restaurants, the Trump Tower Apartments, and the trappings of the ‘executive set’.
It would be a miracle if I didn’t strangle Elaine before the night was over. It was she who had filled Alison’s head with all this stuff and nonsense.
Aside from the half frown half-smile, Alison was looking stunning. It was months since she had last dressed up, and she was especially wearing the dress I’d bought her for our 5th anniversary that cost a month’s salary. On her, it was worth it, and I would have paid more if I had to. She had adored it, and me, for a week or so after.
For tonight, I think I was close to getting back on that pedestal.
She had the looks and figure to draw attention, the sort movie stars got on the red carpet, and when we walked into the restaurant, I swear there were at least five seconds silence, and many more gasps.
Even I had a sudden loss of breath earlier in the evening when she came out of the dressing room. Once more I was reminded of how lucky I was that she had agreed to marry me. Amid all those self-doubts, I couldn’t believe she had loved me when there were so many others ‘out there’ who were more appealing.
Elaine was out of her seat and came over just as the Head Waiter hovered into sight. She personally escorted Alison to the table, allowing me to follow like the Queen’s consort, while she and Alison basked in the admiring glances of the other patrons.
More than once I heard the muted question, “Who is she?”
Jimmy stood, we shook hands, and then we sat together. It was not the usual boy, girl, boy, girl seating arrangement. Jimmy and I on one side and Elaine and Alison on the other.
The battle lines were drawn.
Jimmy was looking fashionable, with the permanent blade one beard, unkempt hair, and designer dinner suit that looked like he’d slept in it. Alison insisted I wear a tuxedo, and I looked like the proverbial penguin or just a thinner version of Alfred Hitchcock.
The bow tie had been slightly crooked, but just before we stepped out she had straightened it. And took the moment to look deeply into my soul. It was one of those moments when words were not necessary.
Then it was gone.
I relived it briefly as I sat and she looked at me. A penetrating look that told me to ‘behave’.
When we were settled, Elaine said, in that breathless, enthusiastic manner of hers when she was excited, “So, Harry, you are finally moving up.” It was not a question, but a statement.
I was not sure what she meant by ‘finally’ but I accepted it with good grace. Sometimes Elaine was prone to using figures of speech I didn’t understand. I guessed she was talking about the new job. “It was supposed to be a secret.”
She smiled widely. “There are no secrets between Al and I, are there Al?”
I looked at ‘Al’ and saw a brief look of consternation.
I was not sure Alison liked the idea of being called Al. I tried it once and was admonished. But it was interesting her ‘best friend forever’ was allowed that distinction when I was not. It was, perhaps, another indicator of how far I’d slipped in her estimation.
Perhaps, I thought, it was a necessary evil. As I understood it, the Blaine’s were our mentors at the Trump Tower, because they didn’t just let ‘anyone’ in. I didn’t ask if the Blaine’s thought we were just ‘anyone’ before I got the job offer.
And then there was that look between Alison and Elaine, quickly stolen before Alison realized I was looking at both of them. I was out of my depth, in a place I didn’t belong, with people I didn’t understand. And yet, apparently, Alison did. I must have missed the memo.
“No,” Alison said softly, stealing a glance in my direction, “No secrets between friends.”
No secrets. Her look conveyed something else entirely.
The waiter brought champagne, Krug, and poured glasses for each of us. It was not the cheap stuff, and I was glad I brought a couple of thousand dollars with me. We were going to need it.
Then, a toast.
To a new job and a new life.
“When did you decide?” Elaine was effusive at the best of times, but with the champagne, it was worse.
Alison had a strange expression on her face. It was obvious she had told Elaine it was a done deal, even before I’d made up my mind. Perhaps she’d assumed I might be ‘refreshingly honest’ in front of Elaine, but it could also mean she didn’t really care what I might say or do.
Instead of consternation, she looked happy, and I realized it would be churlish, even silly if I made a scene. I knew what I wanted to say. I also knew that it would serve little purpose provoking Elaine, or upsetting Alison. This was not the time or the place. Alison had been looking forward to coming here, and I was not going to spoil it.
Instead, I said, smiling, “When I woke up this morning and found Alison missing. If she had been there, I would not have noticed the water stain on the roof above our bed, and decide there and then how much I hated the place.” I used my reassuring smile, the one I used with the customers when all hell was breaking loose, and the forest fire was out of control. “It’s the little things. They all add up until one day …” I shrugged. “I guess that one day was today.”
I saw an incredulous look pass between Elaine and Alison, a non-verbal question; perhaps, is he for real? Or; I told you he’d come around.
I had no idea the two were so close.
“How quaint,” Elaine said, which just about summed up her feelings towards me. I think, at that moment, I lost some brownie points. It was all I could come up with at short notice.
“Yes,” I added, with a little more emphasis than I wanted. “Alison was off to get some study in with one of her friends.”
“Weren’t the two of you off to the Hamptons, a weekend with some friends?” Jimmy piped up, and immediately got the ‘shut up you fool’ look, that cut that line of conversation dead. Someone forgot to feed Jimmy his lines.
It was followed by the condescending smile from Elaine, and “I need to powder my nose. Care to join me, Al?”
A frown, then a forced smile for her new best friend. “Yes.”
I watched them leave the table and head in the direction of the restroom, looking like they were in earnest conversation. I thought ‘Al’ looked annoyed, but I could be wrong.
I had to say Jimmy looked more surprised than I did.
There was that odd moment of silence between us, Jimmy still smarting from his death stare, and for me, the Alison and Elaine show. I was quite literally gob-smacked.
I drained my champagne glass gathering some courage and turned to him. “By the way, we were going to have a weekend away, but this legal tutorial thing came up. You know Alison is doing her law degree.”
He looked startled when he realized I had spoken. He was looking intently at a woman several tables over from us, one who’d obviously forgotten some basic garments when getting dressed. Or perhaps it was deliberate. She’d definitely had some enhancements done.
He dragged his eyes back to me. “Yes. Elaine said something or other about it. But I thought she said the tutor was out of town and it had been postponed until next week. Perhaps I got it wrong. I usually do.”
“Perhaps I’ve got it wrong.” I shrugged, as the dark thoughts started swirling in my head again. “This week or next, what does it matter?”
Of course, it mattered to me, and I digested what he said with a sinking heart. It showed there was another problem between Alison and me; it was possible she was now telling me lies. If what he said was true and I had no reason to doubt him, where was she going tomorrow morning, and had she really been with a friend studying today?
We poured some more champagne, had a drink, then he asked, “This promotion thing, what’s it worth?”
“Trouble, I suspect. Definitely more money, but less time at home.”
“Oh,” raised eyebrows. Obviously, the women had not talked about the job in front of him, or, at least, not all the details. “You sure you want to do that?”
At last the voice of reason. “Me? No.”
“Yet you accepted the job.”
I sucked in a breath or two while I considered whether I could trust him. Even if I couldn’t, I could see my ship was sinking, so it wouldn’t matter what I told him, or what Elaine might find out from him. “Jimmy, between you and me I haven’t as yet decided one way or another. To be honest, I won’t know until I go up to Barclay’s office and he asks me the question.”
“Barclay?”
“My boss.”
“Elaine’s doing a job for a Barclay that recently moved in the tower a block down from us. I thought I recognized the name.”
“How did Elaine get the job?”
“Oh, Alison put him onto her.”
“When?”
“A couple of months ago. Why?”
I shrugged and tried to keep a straight face, while my insides were churning up like the wake of a supertanker. I felt sick, faint, and wanting to die all at the same moment. “Perhaps she said something about it, but it didn’t connect at the time. Too busy with work I expect. I think I seriously need to get away for a while.”
I could hardly breathe, my throat was constricted and I knew I had to keep it together. I could see Elaine and Alison coming back, so I had to calm down. I sucked in some deep breaths, and put my ‘manage a complete and utter disaster’ look on my face.
And I had to change the subject, quickly, so I said, “Jimmy, Elaine told Alison, who told me, you were something of a guru of the cause and effects of the global economic meltdown. Now, I have a couple of friends who have been expounding this theory …”
Like flicking a switch, I launched into the well-worn practice of ‘running a distraction’, like at work when we needed to keep the customer from discovering the truth. It was one of the things I was good at, taking over a conversation and pushing it in a different direction. It was salvaging a good result from an utter disaster, and if ever there was a time that it was required, it was right here, right now.
When Alison sat down and looked at me, she knew something had happened between Jimmy and I. I might have looked pale or red-faced, or angry or disappointed, it didn’t matter. If that didn’t seal the deal for her, the fact I took over the dining engagement did. She knew well enough the only time I did that was when everything was about to go to hell in a handbasket. She’d seen me in action before and had been suitably astonished.
But I got into gear, kept the champagne flowing and steered the conversation, as much as one could from a seasoned professional like Elaine, and, I think, in Jimmy’s eyes, he saw the battle lines and knew who took the crown on points. Neither Elaine nor Jimmy suspected anything, and if the truth be told, I had improved my stocks with Elaine. She was at times both surprised and interested, even willing to take a back seat.
Alison, on the other hand, tried poking around the edges, and, once when Elaine and Jimmy had got up to have a cigarette outside, questioned me directly. I chose to ignore her, and pretend nothing had happened, instead of telling her how much I was enjoying the evening.
She had her ‘secrets’. I had mine.
At the end of the evening, when I got up to go to the bathroom, I was physically sick from the pent up tension and the implications of what Jimmy had told me. It took a while for me to pull myself together; so long, in fact, Jimmy came looking for me. I told him I’d drunk too much champagne, and he seemed satisfied with that excuse. When I returned, both Alison and Elaine noticed how pale I was but neither made any comment.
It was a sad way to end what was supposed to be a delightful evening, which to a large degree it was for the other three. But I had achieved what I set out to do, and that was to play them at their own game, watching the deception, once I knew there was a deception, as warily as a cat watches its prey.
I had also discovered Jimmy’s real calling; a professor of economics at the same University Alison was doing her law degree. It was no surprise in the end, on a night where surprises abounded, that the world could really be that small.
We parted in the early hours of the morning, a taxi whisking us back to the Lower East Side, another taking the Blaine’s back to the Upper West Side. But, in our case, as Alison reminded me, it would not be for much longer. She showed concern for my health, asked me what was wrong. It took all the courage I could muster to tell her it was most likely something I ate and the champagne, and that I would be fine in the morning.
She could see quite plainly it was anything other than what I told her, but she didn’t pursue it. Perhaps she just didn’t care what I was playing at.
And yet, after everything that had happened, once inside our ‘palace’, the events of the evening were discarded, like her clothing, and she again reminded me of what we had together in the early years before the problems had set in.
It left me confused and lost.
I couldn’t sleep because my mind had now gone down that irreversible path that told me I was losing her, that she had found someone else, and that our marriage was in its last death throes.
And now I knew it had something to do with Barclay.
