Well, it's that time again. I haven't had a contest on my blog for a while and so I figured that it would be great to do something this holiday season!
Here's the scoop. To enter this contest, all you have to do is follow this blog (Benston Blogs) and then send me your story about the most ridiculous Christmas gift you ever received. The winning story will receive a brand new Kindle E-Reader as well as Keeping the Faith and This Side Up for Kindle. And, I'll include your story in an upcoming Rona Shively book. Easy! Follow, share, win!
Deadline to enter is December 10th. Winner will be announced on December 15th right here on Benston Blogs!
As I've said, proceeds from all sales of the Rona Shively Stories goes to help my women's empowerment ministry, Higher Ground Ministries. With that in mind, please consider purchasing all five Rona stories for just $50. This price includes shipping. Just e-mail me to order! If you don't want to order all five, my newest Rona Shively story, Now You See Me just came out on October 31st so, it's a great time to order the latest story if you've read the rest. You can get your copy of this book or of any of the Rona Shively Stories for just $10 (includes shipping)!
Good luck to those who enter and thank you for following Rona!
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Saturday, November 5, 2011
New Contest: Tell Me Your Story and you might win a Kindle...
Thursday, December 9, 2010
My Best Worst Example...
It's hard to maintain a positive attitude when it seems that people are just chomping at the bit to see how quickly you'll revert to your old ways. I'm by no means perfect, but it isn't likely that I have been on the deserving end of some of the criticism I've endured over the past few weeks. It got me to thinking, who is the best example of the worst person I've ever had to deal with on a regular basis?
Sadly, I've had no shortage of candidates lately. But if I had to pick one, it would be the person(who shall remain nameless for now)who most frequently approaches me as though I'm a twelve year-old child and attempts to make me feel inadequate because I am not a mind reader. She knows who she is and it really isn't necessary to throw her under the bus to make my point...though it would be quite satisfying. The point is that I've worked for and with many people who made it their life mission to point out what others aren't doing well enough to suit them. I've often wondered what it would take to make them focus less on what others are unable to do and more on what their own shortcomings might be. I've wondered, but no answers have ever materialized.
Rona Shively is trying to turn her life around. She's got big changes ahead in Book 5 and I hope you'll hang in there with her as she starts turning her life around. It's often easy to enjoy reading about the faults and misgivings of someone like Rona because it helps us remember that no matter how bad we are, there's always someone out there who is worse even if they are a fictional character. Rona has been my best worst example for several years now of what a single, self-sufficient woman can be if she gets too hung up on what she believes others think of her. With my own newly regained freedom and an attitude of gratitude, I'm hoping to bring her around to my way of thinking and empower her just a little as the series continues. I'll keep you posted as I get closer to finishing this next book.
Until next time...
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Sunday, November 14, 2010
Rona Shively must die...
This isn't a joke. Everything you know about Rona is about to be changed forever. She's done what she can to stop it, God knows she fought it all the way. But the time has come. If you missed This Side Up, buy it now on Kindle so that you are ready for the latest installment in the Rona Shively series. Coming soon...Now You See Me: The Rona Shively Stories.
Until next time...
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Sunday, August 15, 2010
It really can't be over...
Summer, that is. Usually, I spend this time during my year to work on writing, promoting and generally winding down from what I do during the school year. Since I work in an elementary school, I have to fortunate privilege of being on vacation during the summer months. This year, the plan was to have been: finish writing Rona #5, work on revamping my websites, schedule more Tea & Mystery events, and fit in a few moments to get centered. Unfortunately, my summer consisted of the following: moving, going through some very stressful and emotional times, writing just enough to piss myself off, being frustrated, pissing a few others off, starting a new college program and being frustrated with my inability to concentrate, trying to redefine my life, and going back and forth to complete a leftover project that I had to do for work. Generally, I'm upbeat. I like a challenge and I really enjoy staying busy. This year, however; the challenges were not those which I would readily welcome into my life next year. In fact, if I never meet these particular challenges again, that will be just fine with me.
As I look at the next few months, I wonder how it will all work. I'm in classes online that require a great deal of attention. I will be returning to work full-time next Wednesday at a new school this year. My daughter goes back to school the following Wednesday. My divorce will likely be finalized within the next month. I only have about 200 more pages left to write on Rona #5 and the only Tea and Mystery I've been involved in over the past few months has been right here in my living room. Frustrating. Stagnant. Agonizing. The only thing left to do is this: hold a contest!
The winner will receive a complete set of Rona Shively books! In the Wash, Under Lock and Key, Keeping the Faith, and This Side Up! Here's what you have to do to enter: E-mail me your best guess at who is going to die in the next Rona Shively book. If you've read them, you'll know that there are at least five possible victims including Rona herself. I already know the answer of course, but let's see what you're thinking. Send me your guess and I'll pick from the entries to see who gets the prize! It's easy! I'll post the results of all of the guesses I receive on the blog for fun. Someone is going to die, but who will it be? Sleuth it out, people!
A contest is a great way to end the summer, so send your entry to me by August 31st for your chance to win! Until next time...
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Thursday, July 1, 2010
What if it's really not you?
I've been thinking about identity theft lately. Partly because this is the main offense being perpetrated in my latest Rona Shively novel and partly because someone I know recently claimed that their identity was being tampered with. In their case, they were lying to cover up some unsavory behavior. In Rona's case, however; it's a bit more entertaining.
Without giving too much away, Rona Shively will soon find herself in the middle of a twisted case of identity theft. Someone wants to make her look bad and they are not above taking advantage of unsuspecting elderly women to do it. When a new client comes to Rona, pointing fingers and asking questions about why she is trying to swindle old ladies out of their savings, Rona has no choice but to dig in and set about finding well, herself.
You'll never guess in a million years who is behind all of this. Rona faces some difficult losses and ends up in an all out war with her worst adversary to date.
In 2011, be on the lookout for Rona in Now You See Me: The Rona Shively Stories.
This Side Up is now available! Just e-mail to order your copy today! Be sure to write "This Side Up" in the subject line of your e-mail!
Until next time...
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Sunday, June 27, 2010
From the latest Rona Shively Story...
Here's a preview of my new Rona Shively story:
I waddled into the restaurant, mentally ordering my pancakes, eggs, and sausage as I scanned the dining room for someone who fit my client’s description of herself. She had said that she was tall and thin with dark brown hair. She said that she would be wearing a red leather jacket. I spotted her almost immediately. Her hair was short, in a stylish bob. She was almost too conservative-looking to be meeting with the likes of me. I walked up to the table and made one of those “Ahem” noises to get her attention. When she looked up, the expression on her face went from calm to catty in something like seconds.
“So, you’re Rona Shively,” she said, her tone extremely unfriendly.
“So, I am,” I said, “What’s the problem? Are you Susan Fleming?”
“That’s right, and I’ve got a bone to pick with you,” she said getting to her feet. She jabbed a finger in my face as she continued her tirade. “Where do you get off trying to take money from helpless, old ladies?”
Now, I’m not generally speechless. This is especially true when some hag is pointing her gaudily painted fingernails in my face as this woman had done. A few months ago, she would have been on the receiving end of a nasty ass-whooping for this kind of behavior. Today, however; I was feeling generous. Whether it was the nature of the accusation or the instability of my hormones that made me stop and think before taking a swing is not important. What’s important here is that I simply stepped back and calmly asked, “What are you talking about?”
“You know very well what I’m talking about,” she said loudly. People were starting to watch our exchange and with my reputation, I really didn’t need this kind of publicity. “I’m talking about Esmerelda Haynes, my grandmother, the woman you convinced to sign over $5,000 of her retirement money for a phony insurance policy.”
Okay, now she was just being ridiculous. “Esmerelda Haynes?” I asked. My patience was wearing thin and since she was making it very difficult for me to order those pancakes I’d been fantasizing about, I was starting to feel a little less charitable and seriously considering punching her in the mouth to shut her up.
“Esmerelda Haynes,” she said. “You just spoke with her last week, didn’t you?”
I took a moment and then shook my head. “Uh, no,” I said, “I’ve never spoken with any Esmerelda. Not last week or even over the course of my entire existence. I do not sell insurance, nor have I ever convinced anyone to give me $5,000.”
She gave me a look that said she absolutely didn’t believe me. This woman did not know me and I wasn’t sure who had told her that I was the one who swindled her poor old granny, but at this point, I just wanted to sit down.
You can order your copies of The Rona Shively Stories by contacting me here. Get all four for just $40!
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Thursday, June 24, 2010
Book Signing Tonight!
I just wanted to post here that I will be at the New Carlisle Public Library in New Carlisle, OH tonight at 6 p.m. to sign copies of my latest book, This Side Up: The Rona Shively Stories. I hope you can make it out to see me this evening!
I'm hard at work on Rona Shively 5! You won't believe what's going on with Rona. She's definitely gotten herself into a situation she won't easily get out of. Someone is trying to set her up and they're using her friends and family to do it. It really is complicated, so if you want to know what's happening, you'll have to read the book. :) I'll keep you posted on my progress, but in the meantime you can order your signed copy of This Side Up or any of the other Rona Shively Stories by e-mailing me today! My first ten orders will get a free gift with their purchase!
Until next time...
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Saturday, February 20, 2010
Rona's Vision of Love...
In my last post, I talked about the importance of knowing what you want in a partner. I even threatened to have Rona come up with her own list of qualities she was looking for in a mate. Well, here it is. Rona and I sat down last week and went over some of the things that have been plaguing her relationships all these years. I asked her, (just play along), if she could list all of the traits she would want in a life partner, what would they be? Her answers were as follows:
Rona's Personal Vision of Love
He would have to like the same television shows I like...and more importantly to hate the same ones I hate.
He would need to be somewhat affectionate, but not smothering.
He would need to understand that my rear end does not need to be swatted simply because it enters his vicinity.
He would need to like most of the same music that I like...and as with television, hate the same music I hate.
He would need to be somewhat adventurous. Note, adventurous has nothing to do with being open to playing a different video game than you're used to playing. For God's sake, get off the damned couch.
He would need to be ambitious enough to look for ways to improve himself without my constant prodding.
He would need to be fairly self-sufficient, at least to the degree that I am.
He would need to actually talk and listen when we are trying to have a conversation. It would be nice to feel as though speaking with one another and enjoying it was an option.
He would need to understand that I am not prone to sitting back and relaxing. I like to be busy and I like to be doing something that means something. Oh, and it would be nice if he were somewhat interested in doing something meaningful as well.
He would need to be at least as intelligent as I am. I'm no genius, but I really hate spelling things out for people. It tends to dampen my mood when I have to explain something simple to a grown person.
Lastly, he would need to understand that I am nobody's mother. Especially not his.
Whew! Well, I'd like to say that Rona is on the right track with this, and I guess, she might be. At least she knows what she wants. In my latest Rona Shively book, This Side Up, Rona is struggling with some serious relationship anxiety. After reading the book, let me know if you think she might be on the right track with her list or if she should just hang it up altogether. You can buy the book at my website or at Amazon or Barnes & Noble.
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Saturday, February 13, 2010
Love Stinks, But Sadly I'm Used to the Smell...
Rona Shively has always been kind of a boob when it comes to relationships. She can't decide whether she wants something serious or she's content just having a fling here and there. It's not that she's a tramp, really. It's more that she hasn't taken the time to sit down and think about what it is that she wants in a partner. I had the fortunate experience of doing this back in 1999 when I took a class in college called Divorce and Remarriage.
It may seem a little strange that I would take this class since I had neither been married, divorced nor remarried at the time I took the class, but it really served as a wake-up call for me. Up to that point, no offense to the guys I've dated, I had really picked some losers. I'm not sure why I did it, but I seemed to gravitate towards men who had absolutely nothing to offer in the way of emotional stability, support and even romance. I recently pulled some of my old school papers from that class and found one of the assignments (along with years of therapy) that helped me get past my emotional stupidity. The assignment was to make a list of things that I was looking for in a man. The teachers, a married couple, called this a "Personal Vision of Love." Here are some of the things that made my list:
He will believe in the importance of self-exploration.
He will value family.
He will be willing to share his hopes and fears with me.
He will understand how my past experiences have shaped the person I am today.
He will have similar recreational interests to my own.
He will have his own spirituality.
He will be down-to-earth.
He will respect himself and me.
He will enjoy working.
He will evolve.
Nice list. I seemed to have all figured out at one point. The good news is that it was only a few months after I wrote these things when I met my husband and we started dating. One year later, we were married. Now, ten years later, I'm absolutely sure I was onto something when I wrote the list, but that's a discussion for another time. For now, let's focus on how this sort of list might help Rona.
If Rona Shively were to make a list of the things she wants in a man. What do you think she would include? Send me your thoughts and I will publish her list here in a few days. I'm interested in seeing your ideas on this one!
Don't forget to order your copy of This Side Up: The Rona Shively Stories at my website today! I'm running a special right now on Keeping the Faith and This Side Up. If you buy them together, you can get them both for $20! That includes shipping! Stop by my website today to order yours!
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Saturday, January 30, 2010
Read an excerpt from This Side Up!
From Chapter One...
I slammed the phone down with somewhat unnecessary force; slumping in my chair like a woman who had spent the better part of the day trying to convince herself that she really didn’t need one man while fretting over not being able to get an altogether different man on the phone. Ah, the irony.
As I pondered this, there was a knock at my door. It was most likely the pizza, but I checked the peephole anyway to make sure. I didn’t see anyone there, so I opened the door cautiously. I’d been fooled by this trick before. I peered outside to see if anyone was waiting to club me over the head, but no one was there. That was odd; I could have sworn someone had been at the door. Maybe I was hearing things. I shut the door and went into my kitchen to see if I had anything to drink in the refrigerator. I opened it up and looked inside. One can of Coke and a couple of bottles of beer. I grabbed the Coke and opened it.
As I took a swig, there was another knock at the door. I was pretty sure it was actually a knock this time. I set the can down on the counter and went over to the door. This time, I reached into my purse which was hanging on its hook near the door and grabbed my gun. I held it at the ready as I looked through the peephole again. This time, I saw the pizza delivery guy standing there holding my pizza, grinning like an idiot. What the hell did he have to be so happy about? He was a pizza delivery guy for Christ’s sake.
I opened the door, still holding my gun. The boy’s eyes grew wide as he saw it in my hand.
“Don’t worry,” I said, “it’s not for you.” I smiled reassuringly and handed him a $20 bill to cover the cost of my order. “Keep the change, dear.”
He handed me the pizza and the Coke and then backed away from me without saying a word. I’d tipped him about four bucks, so in addition to not getting shot, I’d say he did pretty well on this order.
Pre-Order your signed copy today at my website!
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Sunday, January 24, 2010
This Side Up: The Rona Shively Stories
The newest installment in the Rona Shively series is set to be out on February 4th! I'm giving away free copies to five lucky individuals who subscribe to my blog or to my Rona Shively Newsletter. You can be included in the drawing by going to my website and subscribing or simply becoming a follower here at Benston Blogs. The newsletter is quarterly, so you won't be bombarded with Rona Shively stuff every day of your life...unless of course, you request it. In that case, I'd be happy to e-mail you with more frequency and tell you to buy my books, read my books, give my books away as gifts....etcetera, etcetera...
This Side Up is another big mess. Rona is trying to make some big decisions and becomes involved in helping a teenager figure out whether or not she was adopted. In the process, Rona learns that there is just no end to the terrible things that people will do to one another when they have no direction in their lives.
Still searching for some sense of her own purpose, Rona tries her best to help this girl figure out what's going on and why. By the end of this book, Rona is, as always, even more confused than she was to start with.
I'm now accepting pre-orders for This Side Up. Anyone who orders between now and January 31st will get their signed copy for just $12.95. That includes shipping! Check out my book trailer and order your copy of This Side Up at the Rona Shively website!
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Friday, May 8, 2009
What I actually said was...
One thing I really hate is when a person reviews or otherwise gives you feedback about your book that doesn't even match up with what happened in your story. Now, just to be clear, I don't have any problem taking criticism. In fact, I like to know what I'm doing wrong so that I can improve. I can also recognize when someone is having a bad day or just being shitty. I can look past alot of things, but what I can't excuse is when someone begins to dissect a story and it is painfully obvious that they didn't really read it.
For example, I once heard from someone who had reviewed one of my books and in her e-mail to me, she said something about how she didn't think readers would buy the fact that a teenage Rona Shively told her father about what she mistakenly perceived as her mother's infidelity and that, as a result, he sent her packing. Well, the truth is, I don't buy it either. I don't buy it because that's not what I wrote. What I actually wrote was that Rona, being a teenage girl, was very upset by seeing her mother with another man and she told her father what she had seen. Rona asked her father if she could move to Nevada to get away from her mother. Her father had been so heartbroken by the news about her mother that he had helped Rona get away from the situation by sending her to spend some time with a friend of the family. I think, for anyone who knows a dysfunctional family, this type of scenario doesn't seem all that far-fetched. Rona Shively is clearly the product of a family that has issues. Little by little, I've explained this throughout the series and I think it's pretty easy to follow.
This person also said, "What PI would not have a laptop, and need to take one from the pool guy?" Well, in answer to that, I can only say, "Why ask me? That's not really in my book." What is in my book is that one of Rona's clients paid her with a laptop because they didn't have any money. The client had hired Rona to find out if his wife was cheating on him. Rona found that his wife was cheating on him with the pool guy. She didn't take a laptop from a pool guy. Close, but not really. And it isn't necessarily unheard of that a P.I. would not have a laptop. I've said that she isn't necessarily the best detective in the world or even within a twenty-five mile radius of where she lives. She's what I affectionately refer to as the P.I. who's better than nothing. She's not going to fit into anyone's idea of what a P.I. should be, so, if she prefers to use the computer at the library to do her research, that's her prerogative.
I point these things out just to illustrate some of the nit-picking that writers run into when they open themselves up to reviews. Yes, we all want to know how we have done. Yes, we would like to think we've done well. No, we're not happy when someone points out the flaws in our work, but we deal with it. We fix it. We write it better the next time around. Well, that is, unless the criticism is based on something you didn't actually write. Then we tend to wonder whether or not the person reviewing us is actually paying attention.
Surely, this incident is karmic payback for all of the papers I wrote in high school based on my understanding of classic novels I never actually read. Oops...I may have said too much there. In any case, I always tried to at least have the main points of the story clear before offering up any kind of analysis. It's only fair that we at least be accurate in our criticisms if not tactful. If you can't get through the reading, then say so. Don't just make things up. I may forget things on a regular basis, but I remember most of what I write. I think.
Until next time...
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Monday, April 6, 2009
Writing patiently...
I used to get so worried when I wasn't writing every day. I had books in my head and ideas scribbled all over the place, but I was making no concentrated effort to organize these thoughts. After writing the third book in the Rona Shively series, Keeping the Faith, I realized that it was the waiting and hanging back that helped make the book into something that I am very proud to have written. If I had rushed through it, I never would have developed the story the way I needed to and I certainly wouldn't have reached novel-length without pulling all of my hair out.
They say that slow and steady wins the race. I have to agree with that. I've never been a patient person and once I started writing, I learned quickly that if I am not patient, I will not accomplish what I want to accomplish. If I rush through writing a story, it won't be any good. If I rush through doing updates to my web pages, I'll forget something or make a big mistake somewhere along the way. If I rush through my interactions with others, I'll miss some valuable piece of information or advice that I might need later on. So, writing and the business of writing has been teaching me patience, slowly, but surely.
What this means to me is that I see things happening much more clearly. When I do accomplish a goal, it is because I have taken all of the necessary steps to do so. I haven't taken any shortcuts. And it seems like the more I back off of things and let them happen as they are supposed to, the more I accomplish. I'm very happy with the way things have been going and I know that even though it is taking me a while to get back into my writing groove, the day will come when I can sit at my keyboard and finish that fourth book in my mystery series. The day will come when I have the finished Women's Self-Esteem book in my hands. I just need to make sure that I am letting things happen the way they should and not rushing to be finished.
For me, the last three years have been amazing in terms of my writing career. Although I'm not a bestseller...yet, I have met so many wonderful people and learned so much about myself and how my world works. My writing has improved over time and I find that I am giving myself more time to recharge in between projects than I did when I started on this journey. That is so unlike me. I'm still anxious to see what else I will learn, but the difference is that now I'm willing to take the time and let that knowledge make its way to me instead of hunting it down and clubbing it over the head.
How do you pace yourself and your writing? What lessons have you learned about writing patiently?
Until next time...
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Thursday, March 19, 2009
Keeping the Faith...available September 25th!
I'm so happy to announce here on Benston Blogs that my third Rona Shively book, Keeping the Faith will be released by Stonegarden.net Publishing on September 25th! This is the first novel-length Rona Shively story and I can hardly wait for the release date! Rona is going through some changes and you won't believe what she's up against or for that matter, whom she's up against in this one.
Stop by my Rona Shively website for more about this book!
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Thursday, January 29, 2009
Read an excerpt from my upcoming novel for free!
Another blurb from Keeping the Faith is now posted at The Rona Shively Stories website! Check it out today!
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Thursday, December 25, 2008
Not Even a Mouse: A Rona Shively Short (Chapters Ten & Eleven)
Chapter Ten
Close-up, I could see that this man really looked like Santa Claus. He wasn’t just wearing the suit; he had the curly, white hair, rosy cheeks, bright eyes and all. I sniffed and I could smell gingerbread. Did this man smell like gingerbread cookies? That wasn’t possible. He’d been lugging bags back and forth for at least twenty minutes. There was no way he could still smell like this even if he had bathed in cookie batter. Well, I wasn’t sure about that part, but it seemed unlikely.
He turned to go back inside and I hurried around the back to see if I could get a look while he was gone. I opened up one of the red, velvet bags and found exactly what I was hoping to find. There were five Move ‘N Shaker consoles inside along with some other toys and knick-knacks. I checked another bag. The same thing. All of the bags held at least five Move ‘N Shaker consoles. I looked at the license plate of the Suburban to see if I might be able to run it for information on the driver. It said, SANTAC 1. “Oh, shit!” I said. This was a company vehicle. That could only mean one thing.
“What are you doing out here?” I heard a voice say from behind me.
I turned to find the man in the Santa suit standing there with his hands on his hips. He had kind of a grumpy look on his face and he was waiting for me to answer.
“I-uh-I was just-uh, well, hello,” I said, holding my hand out, “I’m Jenny Herman. I’ve been working for Mrs. Clos on a market research project. Is she here, by any chance?” I crossed my fingers behind my back and waited to see if he was going to shake my hand.
He made no move to do so, so I put my hand back down to avoid looking any more like an idiot.
“What kind of project?” he asked, “I don’t know anything about any market research.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name,” I said, hoping he would play along.
“I’m Sam, I own the place,” he said, “As you can see, we’re closed. Donella’s at home now. You’ll have to catch her tomorrow.”
“I see, I thought she might still be here, so I…” I started to say, but Sam interrupted me.
“Now, Miss, I don’t believe that’s the truth,” he said, “Whatever you’re doing here, you need to leave now. If you need to speak with my wife, come back tomorrow.”
“O-okay,” I said, surprised by his tone. “I’m sorry to have bothered you.”
I backed away from him and he finally said, “Look, I’m sorry for being so abrupt, but I’ve got a lot to do this evening and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention seeing me here tonight.”
“Oh, I, why would I mention it?” I asked, “I never saw you. Sure.”
Why would he care if I mentioned seeing him at his own shop? Something was really wrong with this picture.
I made my way back to the Jeep, trying to keep my eye on him as I backed across the lawn. He watched me until I reached the far side of the house and then he turned and went back inside the warehouse. I was almost to the Jeep when I caught a glimpse of something going on in the house. I had to get a closer look. I walked over and stood beside the window and peered inside. To my surprise, there were a bunch of cookies on the counter and a small conveyor belt set up near the oven in the wall. Cookies were coming out in droves and there, in the kitchen stood Mrs. Clos, sprinkling sugar on top of the cookies as they came out of the oven. I pinched myself to make sure that I wasn’t dreaming again.
Now wait a minute, I thought. If she’s in here and he’s out there, how can she not realize that he’s moving the Move ‘N Shakers out of the warehouse. I went around and tried the front door of the house. It opened. I walked inside and headed into the kitchen area where I had just seen Mrs. Clos and the cookies. No one was there and there were no cookies in the kitchen. This is where I freaked out. I turned and practically ran out the door. I didn’t stop to snoop; I just went outside and got in my Jeep. I was going to leave, but something kept telling me to go back inside and look around. After a few moments, I mustered up the courage to go back in the house. No one was inside, so I needed to just do what I had come to do and get out.
I headed for Mrs. Clos’s office. No one appeared to be hiding in there, so I went around the desk and flipped through some of the papers. I came across a ledger, so I opened it. Here, all of the items manufactured by Santac were listed. I flipped through the pages until I got to the Move ‘N Shakers. From what I could see, Sam was taking ten of the consoles with each shipment that he delivered to the toy stores. Mrs. Clos had written in the margin that Sam’s deal with the local toy stores were that five of them would keep two consoles in their stores at all times. Well, then, why did he have at least twenty of them in the Suburban tonight?
I put the ledger back on the desk. I’d just have to come back tomorrow and talk to her. If she couldn’t answer this, then I was done with the case. I made sure that everything looked just as it had when I’d come in and then I left. When I was behind the wheel of the Jeep, I heard the Suburban start up on the other side of the yard. I prayed that Santa…er, Sam would take the other driveway away from the warehouse instead of driving around back to get out. Thankfully, he did. I pulled away and drove in the direction he was going. Maybe I could follow him for a while to see where he went with the consoles.
I drove, keeping a safe distance between the Suburban and myself, until Sam pulled into a parking lot near the downtown area. I parked about a block away so that I could watch him. He got out and went around to the back where he reached inside. He took out one of the red bags and slung it over his shoulder. He headed for the entrance to the building next to the parking lot. It was St. Mary’s Children’s Hospital.
I got out and headed up to the door, myself. I probably didn’t need to, but I wanted to be sure that my suspicions were correct. I could see the red bag bobbing up and down as he walked down the hallway. I followed as far behind him as I could. He entered the wing marked “Cancer Unit” and set the bag down at the nurse’s station. I saw him talk to the nurse on duty and then he picked up the bag again and started going to the different rooms. He was delivering toys to these kids. There was nothing sinister going on here. I turned and went back out to my Jeep to wait until he came back out. When he did, he still carried the bag, but it was considerably less full. He stopped for a moment as he got to his vehicle and I saw him run a hand over his face. He appeared to be crying, but in the distance it was hard to see.
I followed him for a couple of hours and he stopped at three more hospitals and finally at an orphanage. At the orphanage, he collected the remains of the bags he had been delivering to the hospitals and took it all inside. He came out empty handed and drove away. I needed to know what had happened in there, so I got out and went inside. In the entryway, there was a glass window with a little hole cut into it so that the person sitting behind it could speak to visitors.
“Can I help you, Miss?” the lady asked.
“Yes, actually, the man who was just here,” I started, “did he just deliver some toys?”
“Why, yes, he did,” she said, smiling, “he does it every year.”
“He does?” I asked, “Is he from Santac, Ltd.”
She looked puzzled, “Santac, Ltd.? What’s that?”
“It’s a…oh, well, never mind,” I said, “I guess it doesn’t matter.”
“No, he delivers toys to us after he’s been to the area hospitals. You know, he and his wife lost a child to cancer many years ago and he always makes it a point to take toys over to the cancer units at the children’s hospitals,” she explained.
Puzzled, I looked at her and said, “Really?”
“Oh, yes, I didn’t know this until the last couple of years, but I was curious so I asked him one year where he got all of the toys,” she started to explain. “How rude of me, would you like to come inside?”
“Sure, sure,” I said, still trying to process what she was saying.
She buzzed me through and said, “You don’t look like a criminal, so I guessed it was safe to let you in.”
“Thanks, that’s nice to know,” I said.
“Would you like some coffee?” she asked.
I nodded and she turned and grabbed a mug from the rack behind her and then poured a cup of coffee for me. She handed me the steaming cup and then indicated that we should walk. As we walked, she told me that Sam had come in every year for the last fifteen years to deliver toys. I looked around the place. It was decorated very nicely for an orphanage. Someone had tried very hard to make this place seem like a home. Marjorie, as she introduced herself to me, explained that one night a couple of years ago, Sam had come in and he was crying. He was a mess, so she had sat him down with a cup of coffee and they had talked. This is when she found out that his little boy had died a very tragic death some years ago. He’d had a rare form of cancer and they had tried treatment after treatment, but nothing had worked. Sam had been so distraught that he had been unable to find any joy in the holidays at all until he had started taking toys to the hospital.
“Have you met his wife?” I asked her.
“His wife?” she asked, the look on her face had shown that she was just as puzzled as I felt. “I didn’t think she was still alive, either.”
“Really, you’re sure about this?” I was not prepared for that answer. Had he been going around doing nice things and then lying to people about his wife being dead? That seemed a strange way to do good deeds.
We talked for a little while longer and by the time I left, I was a mess. The story about Sam’s son had made me terribly sad and I was confused about the whole thing with Mrs. Clos. I needed to talk to her as soon as possible.
Chapter Eleven
I tried to sleep, but my dreams were once again filled with visions of Santa and of Mrs. Clos. This time, there was a little boy in the dream, too. I attributed his presence to the discussion I’d had with Marjorie at the orphanage. I resolved to get to the bottom of this matter when I woke up the next morning. The first thing I would do would be to find Mrs. Clos and ask her what was going on between she and Mr. Clos. She might tell me it’s none of my business, but I still wanted to ask the question.
I got up and got dressed, thinking for a fleeting moment that it was strange not to have heard from Trey last night. I’d find him later. Right now, I needed to get some answers. I drove out to Santac and marched inside. Mrs. Clos was standing in the kitchen, sprinkling sugar over a plate of cookies. Sure, now she’s doing this. Where was she last night when I thought I saw this happening?
“I need to talk to you,” I said to her, in a no bullshit tone.
“Well, good morning to you, dear,” she said, “What’s the problem?”
“Do you want to tell me anything about Mr. Clos’s nighttime activities?” I asked.
“His nighttime activities?” she asked. “I don’t know what he does at night, we hardly see each other.”
“Is that why he’s telling people you died?” I asked her, immediately regretting that I’d said it that way.
She stopped sprinkling sugar for a moment and then looked over at me sharply. “He’s doing no such thing!”
“Yes, he is doing such a thing,” I said, “he’s delivering toys to hospitals and orphanages and all the while he’s telling them you passed away. Why would he do that?”
“He’s delivering toys to hospitals and orphanages?” she asked. She looked surprised.
“Yes, bags of them, including several of your Move ‘N Shakers,” I said. “Did you not know about this?”
“Well, no, I didn’t realize he was doing that,” she said, “I thought he just delivered to the toy stores.”
“Don’t the two of you talk?” I asked. “Ever?”
She came around the counter and took a seat at the small kitchen table. When she was seated, she put her hands on her face and let out a sigh. “I didn’t think he was still doing that.”
“Doing what?” I asked.
“Taking toys to the hospitals, it’s the cancer units isn’t it?” she asked.
I nodded.
“Years ago, he told me he was going to stop doing that because it hurt him so to go in there year after year and see those kids,” she said. “I told him it was good for him to give to others and that he should keep going. He assured me that it was too hard on him and that he was not going to do it anymore. I can’t believe he’s been doing it all these years.”
“You didn’t know?” I asked.
She was crying now. “No, I didn’t know. I stopped talking to him years ago after I thought he gave up on it. I had no idea he’d kept going with it. I held a grudge all those years and he’s been doing the right thing.”
“So he didn’t tell you about the extra consoles he’s been taking?” I asked.
She shook her head.
“And that’s why you thought someone had been stealing?” I asked.
She nodded.
This was the biggest case of marital miscommunication I’d ever seen. I knew some married couples didn’t talk, but this was ridiculous.
“Why would he say you’re dead?” I asked.
She looked down at her hands and said, “I told him that if he stopped taking the toys to the kids, he might as well consider himself a widower. He must have really taken that to heart.”
“Well, now, that’s just silly,” I said. “Isn’t that taking things a bit far? You two need to talk and you need to do it soon.”
I couldn’t believe I was giving relationship advice to anyone. I was the last person who knew anything about how to get along with men.
I told her that I was going to consider the case closed. She asked if she owed me anything else for my time. I told her to talk to her husband and that would be enough for me. Before I left, I asked her why I had seen her here last night baking cookies.
“I wasn’t here, dear, you must have seen the holograms,” she said.
“Holograms?” I asked.
“Yes, the windows are rigged to show holograms throughout the house of people doing Christmasy things like baking cookies and such,” she said, “It’s the latest thing in Christmas decorating.”
“Sure,” I said, “That explains it.” I left, feeling so much dumber than I had before.
No one had been stealing from anyone. Sam hadn’t actually been lying to people about Mrs. Clos; he was just relaying her words because the two of them needed some serious relationship counseling. There hadn’t been any wrongdoing at Santac, unless you count what husbands and wives put each other through when they stop talking to one another. It was sad, really. The two of them had gone through so much with the loss of their child so long ago and because they hadn’t talked to each other, their marriage had suffered even more. I hoped that they could fix whatever was wrong between them.
A couple of days later on Christmas Eve, I was sitting in my office when I received a phone call from Sam Clos. He told me that he appreciated whatever I had done to get his wife to finally talk to him. We had a nice conversation and by the time I hung up, I was feeling very happy. I picked up the phone again and called Trey. I invited him over to open his present.
“Present?” he had said, “but I didn’t get you anything.”
“Just bring yourself,” I said, “that’s present enough.”
When I got home, I walked Mrs. Shuble’s present down to her apartment. She was so happy to see me that she gave me a big hug when I walked in the door. She gave me a plate full of cookies and sat down to open her gift. Her face lit up as she pulled the plate from the paper. “I love it, Rona,” she had said. That made me feel pretty good, I guess.
I got back to my apartment at about the same time that Trey was getting there. He had a big box with a bright red bow on top.
“I thought you said you didn’t get me anything,” I said.
“I lied,” he said, grinning.
We went inside and spent the evening eating cookies and opening our gifts. He loved his T-Shirt and I, well, I very much enjoyed his gift to me; a shiny, brass cowbell engraved with, “To My Favorite Girl, Love, Trey.” Some girls might take offense to such a gift, but I thought it was hilarious. I placed the cowbell on my kitchen counter and we sat there and admired it until the wee hours of the night. After that, the rest is for me to know and for no one else to find out.
Merry Christmas, all!
THE END
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Not Even a Mouse: A Rona Shively Short (Chapter Nine)
I dropped Trey off at the place he was calling home and then I headed over to my office. I needed to check on a couple of things and then I was going back to that house tonight to snoop around. The first place I was going to check was in Mrs. Clos’s office. I had a feeling something there might lead me closer to the truth about this case. It was only around eleven-thirty so I had plenty of time to do my research. I had left a copy of the contract at the office, so I grabbed it and headed back towards my apartment.
When I got there, I turned on the laptop and waited for my background check site to come up. When it came up, I typed in Donella Clos and hit the search button. Within a few moments, some names came up on the screen. I looked for one that seemed to be close to her age. There was one that was seventy-three years old, another that was fifty-two and another that was ninety years old. I figured that my Mrs. Clos would be younger than ninety, but it was a toss-up between the other two. I checked the seventy-three year old first. She was listed as living at the same address as Santac, Ltd. That was too easy. Just for fun, I checked the fifty-two year old’s record. She was also listed as living at the same address as Santac, Ltd. That was odd. Maybe they had the wrong information in there.
I switched back and forth between the two records and compared the information. Everything was exactly the same except for the year of birth. This made me wonder so I checked the ninety year old Donella Clos. I could not believe that I was seeing this. Her record was exactly the same as the other two except for the age. This made no sense. I scrolled through each record until I found the name of the spouse. It was listed as Sam T. Clos. Sam T. Clos? This was ridiculous.
None of the Donella Clos’s listed had ever filed for bankruptcy and none of them were listed as employed. Santac, Ltd. was not listed anywhere except as their home address. None of them had ever worked anywhere and there were no children listed on any of the records. So much for thinking that these three could be mother, daughter, and grandmother. I had thought maybe there could be some logical explanation for the three Donella Clos’s and that the spouse listing had been a typo, but I was wrong.
Sam T. Clos wasn’t listed in any database that I could get into so I pushed my chair away from the desk and closed the laptop. I checked my watch. It was about twelve-fifteen. It was still way too early to go snooping around. I was getting impatient and I didn’t think I could wait the whole day to go back to Santac. This was frustrating. The only thing I could do was to wait and possibly get some lunch.
As I sat there looking around my apartment, I glanced across the room at my pitiful, little Christmas tree. I made the effort each year, but there was never anything under it for me or anyone else. I guessed I could go shopping and maybe find a nice gift for Trey. After all, we had been kind of close over the last couple of weeks. Okay, we’d been really close. That had to at least merit a shirt or something.
I grabbed my bag and headed out to my parking lot. I figured I’d go out to the mall and get one of those Philly Steak sandwiches and then look around for something suitable for Trey. The sandwich shop was literally right inside the door of the mall, so I stepped up to the counter and asked for a deluxe combo meal. I gave the lady behind the counter ten bucks and she gave me back a quarter. This sandwich had better be damned good for nine dollars. I sat down at one of the small tables in the restaurant and unwrapped my sandwich. It was smothered with onions and green peppers and smelled just about as good as it looked. What a good idea this had been, I thought.
For a few moments, I sat there enjoying my lunch and when I was finished, I carried my tray to the trash can, emptied it and then set the tray back on the counter. There appeared to be no other appropriate place to put it, so I left. I looked around the mall and tried to think of what to get for Trey without appearing too involved with the idea of us together. I didn’t want him to think I was entertaining thoughts of a relationship. What we had was stressful enough.
I walked through the mall until I finally came to a specialty shop that seemed to fit Trey’s personality. There were all kinds of funny T-Shirts and hats to look at, so I spent some time reading them. I had at least four more hours to kill, so I took my time. After I had read every shirt and hat in the place, I settled on the shirt with the Callahan logo from the movie, Tommy Boy on it. We had watched the movie about a million times together and I knew he would appreciate the reference.
I picked up another shirt for myself. I just liked the whole “More Cowbell” thing and thought it appropriate for the week I was having.
Once I had purchased the shirts, I remembered that Mrs. Shuble was still down the hall from me in the apartment building and that I should probably try to find something for her while I was shopping. I stopped at a shop that looked like it was made for old ladies. There were a bunch of frilly things and porcelain teapots sitting around. Everything looked like something you would see at your grandmother’s house. I found a nice porcelain clock that I thought would be great for her and then I hesitated. If I were really old, would a clock be a constant reminder that my time was limited? I put the clock back and opted for a collectible plate decorated with pretty roses. She liked roses, but she had often complained that she couldn’t keep the real ones alive long enough. This would do.
By the time I finished shopping, I was about a hundred dollars lighter and two hours closer to being able to spy on Santac. I took my stuff back to my apartment and went ahead and wrapped everything with the wrapping paper I’d purchased. This killed another hour. Finally, I decided that now had to be good enough. I put the wrapped items under the tree, including the shirt I had wrapped up for myself. I figured I might as well have something under there. I grabbed a Coke from the refrigerator and headed back out the door.
While driving over to Santac, I got a call from Trey on my cell phone. He asked what I was doing and I told him I was just following up on some things. I didn’t want to tell him where I was. He didn’t need to come back to Santac with me. The reindeer had freaked him out earlier, so I didn’t see the point in subjecting him to further weirdness. I approached the front lot of Santac with caution. No one was there, or at least, it looked deserted. I pulled around to the back of the house and stopped short when I saw a big, red Suburban parked at the door of the warehouse. I put my Jeep in reverse and backed up so that I couldn’t be seen. I quietly got out of the Jeep and crept over to the side of the house to get a closer look.
There, across the lot, was a man in a Santa suit loading items into the Suburban. He brought bag after bag out to the vehicle just as he had done in my dreams the last couple of nights. After a few moments, he disappeared inside the warehouse and I thought it would be a good time to sneak over there and see what he was loading into the vehicle. I hurried across the yard, wishing all the while that it was just two hours later so that I’d at least be hidden by darkness. Not that the light from the Christmas display wouldn’t give me away. Just as I was getting ready to look inside the bags, I heard the door of the warehouse open. I ducked back behind the side of the Suburban. I hoped I was hidden from view as I watched the Santa approach with another bag in his hands.
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Not Even a Mouse: A Rona Shively Short (Chapter Eight)
Trey and I talked about the possibilities for a while and I decided that I needed to give Mrs. Clos a call first thing in the morning. We went through our usual tug-of-war over my unwillingness to sleep with him and finally, Trey settled for a kiss and a blanket for the couch. I had to give him an “A” for effort.
I didn’t sleep well at all. I kept dreaming about the house and the animals outside. Again, I saw the red Suburban and the man in the Santa suit. When my alarm clock finally woke me at seven-thirty, I sat up and shook my head to make sure that I was really awake. Before I even got out of bed, I picked up the phone and dialed Mrs. Clos’s number. I listened as the phone just rang and rang. No answering machine picked up. I hung up the phone and sat down at my kitchen table. I was stuck, I was cranky, and on top of everything else, I was hungry.
I trotted down the hall to the bathroom and noticed that Trey was still asleep on the couch. Quietly, I shut the door and went about my business. I was trying to decide how I was going to approach Mrs. Clos with my findings. After talking with Trey last night, I was fairly convinced that none of Santac’s employees were stealing from the company. I was even more convinced that Mrs. Clos might, in fact, be up to something. Thinking back to her visit to my office and the bruises she’d had on her face, I wondered if they might have been related to what was happening with the missing consoles. It didn’t make sense, but stranger things had happened.
I got into the shower, ever watchful of the bathroom door. It didn’t lock and I really didn’t want to be ambushed by Trey in the midst of my lather-rinse-repeat cycle. I didn’t think he would come in if he heard the shower running, but you never know about him. Sometimes, he catches me off guard. When I finished showering, I grabbed my towel and dried off and then wrapped the towel around me to go back to my bedroom. When I opened the door, Trey was sitting up on the couch. He turned and smiled at me, no doubt getting ready to say something stupid about the towel.
“Good morning,” I said.
“It’d be a better morning if you’d drop your towel,” he said, chuckling. See, I told you he couldn’t resist saying something stupid.
I smirked at him and then headed back down the hall to my room to get dressed. “I’m going out to get something to eat,” I yelled back to him, “wanna go?”
“Sure,” he said. I heard him walk across the living room and go into the bathroom. A few moments later, I heard the door open as the toilet was finishing a flush. The next thing I knew, Trey was standing in my doorway. I was still in my towel trying to find something comfortable to wear.
“Hey,” I said, “I’m trying to get dressed, here.”
“I know,” he said, “I almost missed it.” He moved closer to me and put his arms around me. Looking down at me, he brushed his lips over mine. He tasted like my toothpaste.
“Trey, I can’t,” I said.
He kissed me again. Obviously he hadn’t comprehended my previous statement. This time, his kiss was a little longer and just a little bit more involved.
“I can’t do this,” I said.
“Why not?” he asked.
This is where I made my mistake. I thought to myself as he was kissing me, “Why not, indeed?” The next thing I knew, the towel had hit the floor and I wasn’t thinking so much about breakfast anymore.
A half an hour later, I was headed back to the shower. This time, Trey promised that he would leave me alone so that we could get dressed and go get some breakfast. Times like these made me wonder why the two of us hadn’t stayed together. Though I knew the answer, I always came back to the fact that we had such good chemistry and the sex was just so good between us that it didn’t make sense to be with anyone else. I really didn’t need this confusion right now, but here it was again.
I got out of the shower and finished getting myself ready to go. When we were both ready to face the public, we went out to the Jeep and I drove us toward the IHOP.
We went in, sat down and ordered our coffee.
“So, are you going out to that place, today?” he asked when the coffee had arrived.
I emptied a couple of packets of sugar into my cup and stirred it, “You mean, Santac?”
“Yeah, I guess,” he said, “Wherever you’ve been working?”
“I think so,” I said, “I can’t get her on the phone and to tell you the truth, I want to wrap this up.”
“I could go with you,” he said, “I don’t have anything planned today.”
Trey never had anything planned. He just kind of showed up here and there, waiting to make something happen. “I guess you could go,” I said.
We talked as we ate our breakfast and when we were finished, we paid the check and headed out to Santac. When we arrived, I saw that there were no lights on in the building and there were no cars in the parking lot. I told Trey to stay in the Jeep and I went inside to see what was going on.
No one was in the main lobby, so I headed towards Mrs. Clos’s office. She was sitting behind her desk with her hands behind her tiny head. She looked so tired that I almost hated to disturb her. I knocked softly on the door.
“Hello,” she said when she saw me there. “How are you today?”
Her voice was shaky and she seemed distraught.
“Hi, is something the matter?” I asked.
“Oh, well, yes,” she said, “one of our stockers has passed away. He was sick in the hospital and he died in the middle of the night last night.”
“You’re not talking about Tony Albertson, are you?” I asked.
She nodded, “That’s the one.” She sighed deeply and then said, “I’m sorry I forgot to tell you that he couldn’t have been involved with the thefts, either. I’ve been so flustered by all of this that it completely slipped my mind that he’d been sick.”
“That’s alright,” I said, “No problem. I just came by to see if you had a moment to talk.”
“Well, yes, I guess I do,” she said, “We shut down today out of respect for Tony. What is it that you need?”
“I wanted to let you know that I have talked with all of the employees and none of them seem to be the type that would steal from you,” I told her. I swallowed hard before launching into my next statement, “I was wondering if you might have been somehow…mistaken about what was going on?”
She looked down at her desk and tapped a white, gloved finger on her blotter. “Mistaken?” she asked, “How so?”
“Well, what I mean to say is, that…well, are you sure someone is stealing from you?” I said. That came out about as smooth as a gravel road.
“Of course, I’m sure,” she said, “Why else would I pay someone to come in here and look around?” Her tone was even and she didn’t seem angry. She seemed genuinely confused.
“Maybe I’m not being very clear,” I said, “Okay; could there be some other reason why the consoles are coming up missing?”
She still didn’t seem to know what I was getting at. “Not that I’m aware of, dear.”
“Okay, well, I don’t know how much more I can do on this case,” I said, “I could come back later and see if I notice anything strange, but for now, I’ll take a break.”
“Makes sense to me,” she said, “We’ll be open again tomorrow.”
I offered my sympathy for Mr. Albertson and we said our goodbyes. When I got back into the Jeep, Trey was sitting there staring in the direction of the warehouse.
“What’s up?” I asked him.
“I saw something weird over there while you were inside,” he said, “We ought to take a look.”
“When you say weird, what do you mean?” I asked, realizing that weird was fairly normal in this place.
“Well, I don’t really want to say this, but I guess I have to,” he said, “I think I saw a reindeer running around over by that building.”
“A reindeer?” I asked, “Over there?” I pointed to the warehouse.
“Yep,” he said. “It was very strange.”
“I’m sure,” I said. We both got out of the Jeep and headed over to the building to see if we could find the animal. I looked down as we approached the warehouse and sure enough, there were some kind of hoof prints or something like that in the mud.
I wasn’t sure why there was mud in this part of the yard, but I assumed there was a good reason.
“See,” Trey said, pointing to the ground. “This is where I saw it.”
I didn’t know what to make of this. There wasn’t an animal in sight and I knew what the warehouse looked like inside. It wasn’t a place where a reindeer could roam about freely without doing a lot of damage to the décor.
“I don’t see where it could be,” I told Trey. “The warehouse is full of stuff and I know it could not possibly fit in there.”
We went back to the Jeep and that’s when I remembered the kennels that were on the other side of the house. I punched Trey in the shoulder and told him to follow me.
I headed across the parking lot and towards a row of short buildings that lined the opposite side of the yard. We walked up to them and I could hear something rustling around inside. I peeked through a crack in the building and saw a huge, hairy beast that I couldn’t readily identify. I asked Trey to take a look. He did so and then looked at me, “That’s what I saw!”
“That’s a reindeer?” I asked.
“Yep, that’s a reindeer,” he said.
“What the hell does a company like this need with reindeer?” I said.
Trey shrugged. I needed to think about this. We decided to head back to the Jeep and get the hell out of this place. I wanted to do some background checking on Mrs. Clos and her husband. That was the one thing I hadn’t done and now, I was sure that it should have been the first thing on my list.
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Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Not Even a Mouse: A Rona Shively Short (Chapter Seven)
I walked quietly back to the workshop area to see if I could find Bergman. I saw a squat, little man standing at the Move ‘N Shaker table. He was wearing a faded blue work shirt, red velvet suspenders and a ratty, old cab driver hat. He held an unlit cigarette between his lips and his expression was just plain grumpy. He appeared to be squinting at the parts as he put them together. I walked up to him and tapped him on the shoulder.
“Hi, are you Monte Bergman?” I asked, smiling. It was so unnatural for me to do this. I rarely smile unless I’m flirting and I was sincerely hoping he didn’t think I was here to ask him out on a date.
“Eh, who’s asking?” he said.
“My name is Jenny Herman,” I said, “I’m doing some market research for Mrs. Clos.”
He put down the parts he was working on and bowed to me slightly as he took my hand. He placed a soft kiss on my hand and said, “Glad to meet you, Ms. Herman.”
I didn’t know how to respond to that. He looked scary, but he was actually an old-fashioned gentleman. “Good to meet you, Mr. Bergman. I’d like to ask you a couple of questions about working on the Move ‘N Shaker line. Do you have a minute?”
“Sure I do, and you can call me Monte,” he said with a wink.
Well, this wasn’t what I had expected at all. I asked him a couple of questions and he responded much like the others had. He had days when he was stressed, but for the most part he enjoyed the work. It was a job and there weren’t many out there these days. There especially weren’t many out there for old ex-cons like him.
After I finished talking with him, I felt terrible. I had hoped that he would be a bad person so that I could wrap this investigation up and go home. Just before I went to leave, I asked him about Tony Albertson. I hadn’t seen anyone working the cart the entire time we had been talking. He told me that Tony was a good man who regularly attended St. Mark’s church but that he had been sick for the past two days and was now in the hospital with pneumonia. I wondered why Mrs. Clos hadn’t mentioned this.
I headed home feeling like I had wasted a few hours badgering people who had no clue that they were being singled out as potential criminals. Most of them seemed okay in spite of their quirks. What didn’t sit well with me was that the Move ‘N Shakers were coming up missing, yet no one on the line seemed to be doing anything wrong. It was puzzling.
When I reached my apartment, I let myself in and went straight to the refrigerator. The sandwich from earlier was waiting there to be reheated. I removed it from its wrapper and stuck it on a plate so that I could microwave it back to edible. Within a minute, I had a burger and a Coke sitting in front of me and I was preparing to eat my high cholesterol, high fat midnight snack. Before I could get the first bite, there was a knock at my door.
“Who the hell?” I said, not completing my own sentence, but completely understanding what I meant.
I walked over to the door and looked out the peephole. It was Trey. I had forgotten that he was coming back by tonight. I opened the door and let him in.
“Hey, Toots,” he said, smiling and winking.
“Toots?” I said, “Who wants to be called Toots?”
He grabbed me and kissed my cheek before chucking me under the chin. “I thought all women liked being called Toots.”
“No wonder you’re still single,” I said. I’m not a nice woman.
“Ouch,” he said, “What’s wrong with you tonight? Somebody piss in your Wheaties or something?”
“No, no, I’m just having a tough time figuring out this case I took yesterday,” I said.
“Oh, yeah, what’s it about?” he asked, “Maybe I can help.”
He looked so cute standing there with his arms crossed. I couldn’t even remember what the case was about when I looked at him. Damn, this was distracting.
“Uh, well, I think this lady thinks there’s someone stealing from her company,” I struggled to explain.
“Well, that’s part of the problem, are you even sure what you’re working on?” he laughed.
This snapped me out of my trance and I slapped him on the back of the head for that, “Yes, I’m sure.” I hated for someone to question my intelligence, even when it wasn’t obvious to them that I knew what I was doing.
“Okay, then, who does she think is stealing?” he asked, rubbing the back of his head.
“There were five people that she asked me to check into,” I said, “but they all come up fairly clean and after talking with four of the five, I’m pretty sure none of them are stealing.”
“So it has to be the fifth guy,” he said. “Case closed.”
“Nope, he’s in the hospital,” I said, “and, he’s an old guy who goes to church and all of that. I don’t think he would do it.”
“Okay,” he said, “maybe no one is stealing from her.”
I gave him a look that said, “Are you stupid?” He put his hands up and shrugged his shoulders, “Well?”
“Then why would she come and talk to me about it?” I asked.
“Maybe she’s pulling some kind of insurance fraud and wants it to look good, so she comes to you to investigate something that isn’t really happening?” he said, “It’s an old gag, but it works.”
I thought about this for a moment. Trey knew a lot about fraud; he’d done time in jail for it. And Mrs. Clos was a little screwy.
Come back tomorrow for more of the story!
Until next time...
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Not Even a Mouse: A Rona Shively Short (Chapter Six)
I stood for a moment trying to think of a response. “No, I’m not going to tell her. If you hate your job, that’s your business,” I said.
“Listen, I’m sorry I sound so bitchy,” she said, “it’s been a very bad week and I just don’t feel like being here tonight, that’s all.”
“Believe me, I understand that,” I said, hoping I sounded like someone who gave a shit.
“I can’t lose this job, it’s all I’ve got,” she said. “Please, please don’t say anything.”
I really just wanted her to let go of my arm, so I shrugged a little to loosen her grip, “I won’t say a word,” I said. She seemed to calm down a little and finally, I was free to walk away from her. Geez, lady, take a pill or something.
I looked around for the guy with the cart. He had, once again, disappeared. Where the hell did these people go? The cart was still sitting in the middle of the room, but he was nowhere to be found. I ventured out into the hallway and headed in the direction of the kitchen. I was thinking maybe it was his break time. As I rounded the corner and looked inside, all I could see were three snack machines lining one wall beside the oven and a small table sitting in the middle of the room. On the table were two plates of cookies. One was full of gingerbread men; the other was full of sugar cookies in all kinds of Christmasy shapes. I thought about getting one, but then remembered that I wasn’t here to eat cookies. In the far corner of the room, I saw another table which held a three-foot tall Christmas tree that was decorated with all kinds of ornaments and ribbons. Nothing suspicious there, unless cute makes you nervous.
I walked back out of the kitchen and decided to look around for the Warehouse. Mrs. Clos hadn’t really told me where this was located. I thought that was strange since the problem actually wasn’t with the assembly line. She didn’t make much sense, but what the hell. It was a job. I walked back down the hall and past the assembly room. I tried not to be seen as I made my way past the door. All I needed was to be chased down by Ms. Paranoia. She worried me a little, but I didn’t think she was stealing anything. She’d crack under the pressure.
I continued walking and all the while I was thinking that this house did not look
this big from the outside. There was no way there could be all of this space between the rooms. I passed the door of the room where Mrs. Clos had shown me the Move ‘N Shaker demo. I took a moment to put my ear to the door just in case something might be happening in there. It was quiet, so I walked on. There was one more door at the end of the hallway. I reached for the knob and when I walked through, I found myself outside.
“What the hell!” I said. It was getting chilly and I hadn’t brought my jacket. Ordinarily, the chill didn’t bother me, but tonight I was feeling particularly sensitive to everything. I needed to finish this job as soon as possible. These people and this place were creeping me out.
I turned to try the door again and it was locked. “Shit!” I said. This meant I had to go all the way back around the house to get back inside. As I started trekking across the yard, I noticed a man standing about five yards from me. He was smoking a cigarette and leaning against what appeared to be the garage. I wasn’t sure, but it looked like he was laughing at me. I gave him a nod and then decided I should probably go talk to him. The only problem with this was that I didn’t have my gun nearby. I’d left it in the Jeep. Maybe, I’d wait.
I headed for the front of the house, looking back occasionally to make sure he wasn’t following me. He was still standing there, smoking. By the time I reached the front of the house, I decided to go ahead and go to the Jeep to get my gun. I opened the driver’s side door and reached under my seat to retrieve it. Panic shot through me as I realized that the gun was missing. It got worse when I shut the door and turned to find the smoking man standing right next to me.
“Jesus!” I said, “Where the hell did you come from?”
“I’m sorry, did I startle you?” he asked, sneering at me. His voice was squeaky and he looked greasy.
“Yes, you startled me. How did you get up here so fast?” I asked. Startled was an understatement, I’d probably have had a heart attack if there hadn’t been so many frigging Christmas lights illuminating the yard.
“What do you mean?” he asked, “Weren’t you looking for me?”
I looked at him and saw that he was the guy with the cart from inside. Smartass. “Well, yeah, I was looking for you.”
“What did you need?” he asked.
“I’m doing some market research for Santac and I needed to ask you about the Move ‘N Shaker,” I said, hoping I sounded like I knew what I was talking about.
“Are you sure?” he asked, “Patty didn’t put you up to this?”
“Patty?” I asked, now I was really confused.
“Patty, my ex-wife,” he said, “She didn’t send you to check up on me?”
“I don’t know any Patty,” I said, “I’m working for Mrs. Clos.”
He eyed me cautiously and then stepped back. “So, you aren’t here to see if I’m still working?”
This guy was thick. “No, I’m not here to see if you’re still working. You’re not the only one I’m talking to,” I said.
“Okay, then. What did you need to ask me?” he said.
“For starters, I wanted to ask where the warehouse is located,” I said, “I’d like to take a look at it.”
“What do you need to do that for?” he asked.
This guy was starting to get on my nerves. “It’s part of the study,” I said.
He took my word for it and then indicated that the large building beside the house was the warehouse. That probably should have been obvious to me from the beginning. We walked over and he let me in the door without saying a word. I had half expected to see row after row of toys and other items stacked from floor to ceiling. What I saw instead was a colorful, snow-scaped showroom complete with a miniature train set that was running loops around stacks of merchandise that were situated in little piles throughout the building. It looked more like a department store Christmas display than a warehouse. “Wow!” I said.
“Pretty cool, huh?” he said.
“Really cool,” I said, still looking around. I felt like a kid in a candy store.
It was really something. Again, I heard the Christmas music playing in the background and as I looked around, I saw that the entire floor of the warehouse was covered with that fuzzy white stuff that looks like snow. The whole place looked like a big North Pole yard sale.
“I’m really proud of it,” he said, smiling wide to reveal a mouth full of yellow teeth.
“You did this?” I asked. I could hardly believe that someone so skeezy-looking could create something so beautiful.
He nodded and then pointed to the little picket fences that encircled each pile of toys. “I built those fences, myself.”
I was really impressed. That’s saying something because I’m never impressed. I realized that I needed to get back to the matter at hand. Standing here gaping at the winter wonderland wasn’t getting me the answers I needed. I hadn’t even made sure that this was the guy I was supposed to be talking to. I turned to him and said, “You’re Dirk Morris?”
“That’s right, I’m him,” he said. He had cheered up considerably since scaring the hell out of me at the Jeep.
“Okay, then,” I said, taking out my notebook to jot some things down. “What can you tell me about your experience working with the Move ‘N Shaker line?”
“My experience?” he asked. He scratched his head. “I’ve been working with this line for the last year. I guess that’s pretty much my experience.”
“No, I mean, have you enjoyed working with the product?” I asked him, realizing just how stupid that sounded out loud.
He looked at me like I was stupid, so I rephrased the question. “I mean, what’s your favorite part of working on the Move ‘N Shaker line?”
At this, he scratched his chin and said, “Well, I’d have to say that it’s this part.” He pointed to the warehouse. “I like bringing the stuff out here and making it look nice.”
I wrote it down just to look like I was doing something significant. The whole time I was thinking, “This is the tough guy with the cigarette? Mr. Merry Maker?”
“Well, that’s great,” I said, “I think that’s about all I’m going to need.” He told me how to get back out to the house and I thanked him for his participation. I didn’t think he had anything to do with any thievery. He could have used a makeover, but a lack of good personal hygiene didn’t make him a suspect in my eyes.
I looked at my watch. It was eleven thirty; time for shift change. I headed back inside the house to see if I could find Monte Bergman. As I stepped inside, everything was still. I had a feeling I was about to find my thief.
Come back later for Chapter Seven!
Until next time...
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A Little Bit of Mystery: Short Mysteries to Confuse and Amuse
