short story

The Whodunnit Dream

I think she was a country singer. I really didn’t know anything about her, except that she was a real southern lady- generous, hospitable and kind… and that I was a guest in her large southern home. They had found her lifeless that morning, the workers of her estate. It just didn’t add up. Who would want to kill such a wonderful woman? Well it seemed, as her houseguest, I should at least look for clues. I felt like I owed that to her. The home was full of dark wood walls and carvings, the very height of fashion about fifty years ago when it was built. It had felt so warm and full of life just last night. Now, it all seemed dated and cold, like artifacts in a museum. As I went into her bedroom, nothing seemed mysterious or out of place. But wait, why was there a red handprint on top of that bookshelf? It seemed like a print left behind from a cheaply dyed glove that had gotten wet. Could that be evidence left from the killer? (Cue the music: dun dun dun) All of the sudden, I got an uneasy feeling that I wasn’t alone. Was it possible the killer had come back to the scene of the crime to tie up loose ends? Just then, I heard the hallway door start to close. I knew it was the murderer, and I couldn’t let them get away! I reached out my hand to grab the suspect, but all I got was a cold hand as they tried to push the door shut. I felt her long sharp nails as she pulled away and ran. It was too late. She was gone.

Later in the day, I had gathered my things to leave. It didn’t seem right to stay. I wanted to help, but I really didn’t have much to go on and couldn’t imagine getting another opportunity. It was driving me crazy. Who was that woman and why would she do it? It was day one, and already everyone had given up on a search for any suspects or reasons why. But I just couldn’t. I still had time. There was a large gathering in a room outside of my door. They were employees, friends and family who had assembled to process their grief and remember a special lady. I went out into the room and struck up a conversation with a woman with short, red, curly hair, sitting alone in the corner on a built in bench. Her name was Trixie. And I couldn’t help but notice the detailed flowers painted on her very long nails. As the conversation went along, I just came out with it. “Why did you do it? I asked. 

“Do what?”

“Why did you kill her?” I grabbed her hand to look for stains leftover from cheap gloves, like the print on the bookcase. I wanted to catch her red handed. But, when looked at her palms they were clean. Darn! She must have washed them. As she pulled her hand away, there was no denying that scratch, the very same one I felt in the hallway. She was the culprit! But how could they convict anyone with so little evidence? Nails weren’t enough, I’d have to get a confession.

“I didn’t,” she replied. 

She was going to be tough to crack. “Was it because of her boyfriend?” I prodded.

“She had a boyfriend?” she retorted.

“I don’t know.” I had to admit. “I was just trying to get a motive.” I could tell this was going nowhere. “Well, I have no proof and no evidence. No one, would believe me anyway. Why don’t you just tell me why? I really just want to know. I won’t tell anyone.” I declared.

“I did love her boyfriend” admitted Trixie.

“So it was you! I knew it!” I said with satisfaction. But she had trusted me and my vow, I couldn’t turn her in now. I quickly thought it over. Surely, this was an isolated incident. It was a crime of passion, not to be duplicated… and besides, it was done. But (I reasoned with myself), what if she did strike again? How could I ever live with myself, knowing I had let a murderer go free? “I’m sorry, I lied to you” I said as I grabbed her and held her toward the large assembly in the room. “It was Trixie!” I stated loudly to everyone, realizing that I didn’t know her last name. “Trixie… “ I said again in such a lingering way as to let everyone know that I needed help filling in the blank. As I looked around the faces in the room, it was evident nobody else knew her last name either. “No one knows her last name?” I questioned. The room stayed quiet as I tried to meet all of their eyes one by one. A few people swiveled their heads from side to side indicating they did not. Awkward. At least I had the villain in hand, or did I? I looked down in my arms to realize I wasn’t actually holding Trixie, but a bag of pita chips. How did she escape? That slippery scoundrel! I caught her out of the corner of my eye making an escape out the front door. I quickly darted after her. I couldn’t let her get away again! Of course, it was raining outside as I gave chase. Naturally, I wasn’t wearing shoes… so I braced myself for the cold wet plunge as I lunged at her. And that was it. I had her in custody and the police would be coming to take her away soon. (I assume.)

That was when I woke up. My son was calling my name from his bunk bed on the other end of the camper. His mosquito bites were itching and driving him nuts. And since I was up, I figured I might as well jot down the caper.

Ben & Jerry’s gives me the weirdest dreams…

It had been raining all night, and my feet were cold since they had come uncovered. But the pita chips? That was a mystery.

The end.

A Father’s Dance

He is there almost every week. He is there to watch her through the window. And we all stand outside, him, the mother, the new girlfriend and me. We are there in the crowded hallway peering through the glass with the other mothers and occasional grandmother. And I know he works hard, I can tell by the dirt on his work clothes and boots- and the expression on his simultaneously youthful and worn face. By the logo on his regularly adorned hooded sweatshirt, I know he must be in the excavating business. This week the mother wasn’t there. The dad and girlfriend brought the little girl to class. They had arrived early and so had we. I heard the girlfriend ask the little girl about the sick mother while the dad spent at least five minutes in the bathroom washing the day’s work off of his hands. After he came out, he showed his hands to the girlfriend with an expression of satisfaction, and asked if they looked better. Meanwhile, the little girl sat on the floor clumsily removing her clunky snow boots to put on her delicate ballet shoes. And he warned her while she wrestled with her big boots, not to let her leg touch his pants; that they would definitely get dirty. But she did knick the knee of her pale pink tights on on the dusty shin of his work pants. As foretold, it left a mark which the girlfriend quickly and attentively tried to pat away. “Those are going to have to take a bath,” he said making light of the situation. And his daughter reassured him that she has two more pair at home. Often his speech is course in the hallway, not vulgar- but as to reflect a life hard earned. Yet, he is gentle with her. It is clear she is his treasure. When our daughters enter the classroom, he doesn’t leave the window. The conversation behind the glass with the girlfriend is peppered with the facts of daily life; like, he is going to have to drive to Flat Rock next week. And I don’t say anything- that I know that area well because I grew up near there and have a lot of family downriver Detroit. But I understand that it means he is going to have to drive over an hour each way to work. I can hear the disappointment in the girlfriend’s short response, to which he matter of factly replies that “It’s work,” and he encourages her that the ground is thawing. “They are saying it could be thawed by April 15th.” And I know he needs the work by the way he talks. I have no idea of his hardships or even lack thereof. I assume, on top of the cost of living, he must help pay for ballet lessons and probably child support. She understands and says that she only has two days of work this week, but next week was going to have overtime. Yet, he never loses focus on the reason he is here, and remarks that his daughter is improving. He notices that she is more coordinated and shares that information with the girlfriend in a coinciding understated and proud way. And they discuss where they will eat afterwards, because neither them has eaten dinner yet- clearly this is their priority. He excuses himself briefly to the vending machine and they share a couple Starbursts to tide them over. The girlfriend states that she wants the pink one. But he tells her “No, it’s her favorite,” and pockets it until the little girl comes out of class. While she sits on the floor replacing her dance shoes again with the oversized boots, he asks her if she would like the candy. She raises her arms toward him with excitement at the little surprise. “What do you say?”, he naturally prompts her.
“Please!” she says loudly. The father gives it to her, his love and the candy. It’s beautiful to watch as he smiles at her assuringly. And I believe it is all going to be okay, as he confidently takes the lead.

A Tale of Three Dishes Part II

Isaiah and I were again tagging along on one of Owen’s business trips. This time he was visiting one of his company’s plants in the charming town of Bretten, Germany. Many of the his colleagues lived in or near town and coming here was a little like a business reunion. Isaiah and I were accustomed to camping out in our hotel room, frequenting nearby parks and strolling through town. Part of the routine often included Owen participating in business dinners with visiting customers, so we were comfortable fending for ourselves. At times reservations had been made before our trip began and we knew which nights Owen would be away, but lining up our evening wasn’t always easy, as many times there was no set plan of “when and where.” Since I didn’t have an international cell phone, the only way Owen could get in touch with me was to meet back at our hotel or call the room, but if Isaiah and I were out exploring we needed to be flexible with our dinner plans.

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Little park outside of the hotel

One afternoon the baby and I returned to the room for his nap. By the time he woke up I knew Owen would be coming back soon, so I didn’t want to head back out. To pass the time I took out the crayons and paper I had packed. There was a perfect little desk in the corner for coloring shapes and practicing our colors. Isaiah was sitting in a chair and completely content, so I thought it would be a good time to run to the restroom. I left the door open so I could hear him and dart out if he started to move, besides I just going to be a minute. Right as I was walking out, I saw him standing on the chair and losing his balance. I couldn’t get there fast enough and he came crashing down, catching the side of his face on the corner of the desk.

My heart sank as I rushed to comfort him and inspect his injury. All of the sudden I felt home sick and helpless. I had no idea where the nearest medical facility was located, and no car to get me there anyway. Thankfully there was no bleeding, and I was able to get a wash cloth of cold water to sooth his wound and help with the swelling. It didn’t take long to see he was going to have a black eye. By the time Owen called to say we had been invited to his co-worker’s home for the evening, I had calmed down a little. After explaining to him what had happened and expressing my concerns about being good company, Owen and his friend convinced me that going there was the best option since his home had a medicine cabinet and some basic supplies, not to mention he was an asset as a translator if need be.

Picture taken a few days later, sob.

Picture taken a few days later, sob.

When Owen picked us up from the hotel, Isaiah and I were doing better. Owen was quick to put my mind at ease, professing (as I think many dads do) “it’s not that bad.” We arrived at Martin’s home and were greeted by his welcoming family. It was their custom to eat a large lunch and not very much for dinner, but they did put out some homemade bread, cider, and jams, a slaw like salad made from their very own garden vegetables and a few kiwis. The night was very comforting after the upset we had in our hotel room. Martin’s wife practiced her English with me while his daughter played the piano for us and his son brought out a box of building blocks for Isaiah.

His wife and some of the homemade goodies.

His wife and some of the homemade goodies.

Isaiah taking a turn at the piano.

Isaiah taking a turn at the piano.

The night had been just what I needed and the next day I was again feeling relaxed about our stay (as opposed to trying to book the first flight home). I had even decided I would take Isaiah out for the afternoon. Owen had told me about a restaurant I should try at the square around the corner from our hotel. This was my favorite part of town. The brick paved thoroughfare was really for pedestrians only (although occasionally there would be a random car parked in front of a shop). The path was lined with quaint little stores, one sold chocolates, another sold kitchen wares, a couple sold clothing, etc. Owen had explained that a particular restaurant, the second one with outdoor seating on the north side of the road, had a pizza type dish that he thought was pretty good. Trusting his recommendation, I made it our quest of the day.

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What I am about to tell you next is as serious as I can be. I had never tasted anything like this before. One word, flammkuchen. It wasn’t really like a pizza or flat bread I’d eaten. It was amazing! It had a thin crispy crust, there was some sort of beautiful white sauce, the cheese was mild and flavorful, the onions were soft but firm and sweet, and the bacon, oh the bacon; it was perfectly salty, crispy and chewy all at the same time. Together the combination was out of this world. It’s not to say that I had tasted flammkuchen and had a standard to measure it by, but I’m pretty sure I hit the jackpot! Life changing. Honestly it’s worth booking a vacation over.

I posted this picture only because there are remnants of the flammkuchen on the table.

I posted this picture only because there are remnants of the flammkuchen on the table.

A Tale of Three Dishes Part I

Owen was pretty low on the corporate ladder back then. Isaiah, almost a year old, and I were tagging along on his business trip to the Czech Republic. For the first portion of our stay we were just going to make due with whatever arrangements the company had made for Owen in the town of Jihlava. During the second part of the trip we had extended the stay on our own dime to tour Prague. Being the dutiful man that he is, Owen had made this known to his company. After all it really changed nothing as I was willing to do all of the child care and touring my heart desired while he was fulfilling his commitments. Somewhere along the way however, word got out that Owen was bringing his family, and to accommodate our situation we were moved into an executive suite normally reserved as an apartment for executives with long term stays. The room was like a studio with a kitchenette, a large bed and an extremely large bathroom with a spacious walk-in shower unlike any European bath I had seen before. Thoughtfully management had even furnished the room with a crib for our son.

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Executive Suite

The first night of our stay was a difficult adjustment for the baby. He was still on our time schedule, which was about a six hour difference. Owen has a practice of trying to get on the schedule of where he is traveling right away, so he went to bed in the evening to be able to get up early in the morning to head off to the plant. To Isaiah it felt like lunch time, and he wasn’t sleepy at all. Since he and I could make our own schedule, I set up a play area away from the bed and tried to keep him as quiet as possible. When we had arrived the very nice woman behind the desk informed us that a complementary breakfast would be offered between the hours of like 6-9 am. Since the baby and I had finally gone to sleep around 2 am Czech time I had decided to sleep through breakfast, besides European cafes with fun pastries are one of my favorite things about Europe- so whenever we woke up I was confident we would be able to find something to eat.

Touring Jilhava with Owen

Touring Jilhava with Owen

Some time around 10 o’clock, the baby and I were still asleep when there was a knock on the door. I knew it wasn’t Owen, he had left a few hours ago, and he had a key. I got up and asked who was there. I recognized the voice of the nice woman who had checked us in the day before and opened the door. Much to my surprise she had three large trays full of food! She had noticed that we missed breakfast and wanted to make sure we had something to eat. There was a tray of sliced meats and cheeses, a tray of breads and pastries, and a tray of fresh fruit and two different yogurts. She had also brought orange juice, water and coffee. I felt like a queen! I didn’t have to wake the baby or go anywhere! Plus Isaiah had options when he did wake since he could easily eat a banana and yogurt.

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A view from town square in Jilhava, Czech Republic

It was a lovely start to the day to say the least. And I actually felt guilty that I couldn’t eat it all! (And I made it a point not to miss breakfast again). After we got dressed, we did a little exploration of the city. There were cute little boutiques hidden behind painted doors. There was hustling and bustling down narrow streets full of working people and little cars. Because the area we were in was very business like and everything looked the same (and because I instinctively have no sense of direction), I didn’t want to stray too far because we had gotten a late start and I knew Owen would be back from work soon. Not too long after we returned to the room and I had put Isaiah down for a nap, Owen walked through the door and informed me of where we were going to dinner.

Apparently the place we were staying also had a restaurant downstairs. I hadn’t even been able to see or hear it from the lobby, but all we had to do after we went down the three flights of stairs from the floor of our room, was take a different turn which landed us right in a unique type of dining hall. The walls were made of stones and the tables and chairs were dark wood. There was a fire burning in a fireplace that seemed to be in the middle of the room and a cooking fire in the corner. You could see pots hanging from an area that must have lead to the kitchen and the whole place was packed full of locals and business men and women that already knew about this hidden treasure. To say it was charming would be an understatement and I was completely delighted. The weather outside was chilly, somewhere between fall and winter, inside was warm and picturesque.

This picture does not do it justice! I took it during a breakfast with Isaiah. At night it is full of people. The fireplace in the corner is for cooking.

This picture does not do it justice! I took it during a breakfast with Isaiah. At night it is full of people. The fireplace in the corner is for cooking.

We were seated at a long table filled with executives; sellers and buyers. I was a part of the only family there and they had insisted that we come. Everyone greeted us warmly and commented on Owen as an appreciated employee and respected colleague. I felt their sincerity and I was proud of him. I think it was a nice change for everyone to have something a little more personal rather than all business as usual. After spending all day together at a plant resolving issues and talking numbers, I’m sure it was a nice diversion.

The restaurant was accustomed to international patrons and equipped with menus in English. As a starter I selected a soup I had never seen before or again. It was simply called Garlic Soup, and considering the weather outside, the warmth inside and my love of garlic it just seemed right. When they brought it to the table I didn’t really know what to expect. It was broth-y and mostly clear. It had a few little drops of oil that had collected at the top. I don’t remember seeing any pieces of garlic per say, only a couple of thinly sliced scallion rings. It was light and fulfilling at the same time. It was warm, satisfying and delicious. After that I really can’t recall any more of the soup or anything else I ate that evening, but I do know that I ordered it two more times before we left the city. I have researched recipes for Garlic Soup since, some were creamy and some were chunky; none were ever close to what I had at that quaint restaurant on the bottom floor of the of the executive apartments where I was treated like a queen.

Isaiah and I felt like royalty!

Isaiah and I felt like royalty!

Featured image taken in Prague, Czech Republic