Time To Move On

 

An Important Notice to Readers...

     Although this fiction blog is illustrated with photos of dolls, and dollhouse miniatures, the language and content of the storyline is intended for an adult audience.  Please be advised.

Thank You,

The Author

The strange gold pocket watch

     Both of them stared at the object in the box, neither of them opting to reach in and pick it up. Kneeling on a chair, Roxanne tilted the metal container to get a better view.  "I gotta say I'm a little disappointed Kev.  I'm sure it's worth a nice chunk of change... if it's real gold, but...well...I was sorta expecting something a little more...awesome.  Especially considering where it was being stored.  Are you sure there's nothing more in there?"

    Fr. Kevin sighed, and began to shuffle the contents.  He shook his head, and pulled out an antique, gold pocket watch, and a folded piece of paper.  "Nope...that's it.  Just this watch, and some kind of note."  He held the time piece up for her to examine, the light catching it's surface and making it seem oddly glowing.  "It is a very nice watch.  And who knows...maybe it has some historical value."
Sensing her obvious disappointment, he added, "Not a box of money or jewels, Rox.  But still very cool.  It must have been pretty important to someone to cause them to go to so much trouble to bury it's location like they did."

     "I guess.  Still, I just had such a strong feeling that...that...oh, I don't know...that it wanted us to find it."  She stopped it from swinging in his hand, and examined it more closely.  "There's some kind of engraving on the back, but it doesn't make any sense to me."

       Kevin took it from hand, and peered at the marks on the flat side of the time piece.  "Yeah...there's some kind of message, but it's not any language I can read.  Looks more like symbols than actual letters or words."  Seeing her interest piqued, he teased, "Or maybe they're ancient rune markings, Rox, left by some elven king of Middle Earth."

     She giggled, and slapped his bare arm.  "Ok, now you're just being an ass O'Kenney.  Stop teasing me.  Admit it, Kevin.  You're as disappointed as I am that it's just a pocket watch.  I know you were hoping it might  be something valuable that belonged to your parish."

      For a brief second, Fr. Kevin thought about the suitcase full of money left in his confessional last summer, and all the trouble that followed, and shuddered.  "Gotta be careful what you wish for, my friend.  Sometimes things aren't what they seem."

      She seemed to take his words to heart, and thought on them for a moment.  "You know, you could be right, Kevin.  Maybe it's value is other than monetary.  Could have some kind of historical value.  Maybe it belonged to Paul Revere, or someone like that.  This is, after all, Boston."  She handed the folded paper to him.  "Read the note.  Maybe it can tell us more about the watch."

       The paper was very old and brittle, and tiny pieces flaked off, and fell to the table with each unfold.  Fr. Kevin gingerly picked at the corners, until the parchment lay flat and open on the table, while
Roxanne examined the elegant looped handwriting, faded to the palest gray.  "Damn!  Just more goobly gook.  Doesn't make a bit of sense to me.  How 'bout you?"

      He slid the paper closer, settling himself in the chair next to Roxanne.  "Actually, I think I can read some of this.  It's Gaelic, but a much older form than I'm used to seeing.  I'm guessing that I could probably pick out enough words to get the gist of it."

     "That's cool!  So what does it say, Kev?"

     Fr. Kevin took a moment, and silently examined the few lines of words, before attempting to read it out loud.  "Beir greim ar lámha ama, agus a shealbhú iad daingean. I gcás go bhfuil an teaghrán a chónaisceann snaidhmthe san am atá caite, ar an snáithe go secures go deo ar an todhchaí. Bí tú an tailliúr, ansin tá am i do chumhacht. Go raibh Dia leat."

       "Yeah...yeah...alrighty than...so what does that all mean...in English?"

       "I think it's something about time."

        "Well, that makes sense.  It is a watch, you know.  Does it say who it belongs to?  Is it someone famous?"

        "Just hang on a sec, Rox.   I'm trying to figure it all out"

         She watched as he silently mouthed the words, weighing their meaning in context to the others.  After several impatient minutes, he looked up from the sheet.  "I think I have it translated."

        "So tell me already.  What does it say?"

       

         Kevin stared at the faded parchment intently, as he read the words. "Grasp the hands of time, and hold them tight. For the string that binds is knotted in the past, a thread that forever secures the future.  Be you the tailor, then time is in your power.  May God be with you."

        Roxanne's face crinkled in defeat.  "Great.  Tells us absolutely nothing.  Just some Irish poem about time."  She folded her hands and laid her head on them.  "I'm sorry, Kevin.  I dragged you on some totally wild goose chase, for no purpose at all.  I apologize.  Plus, now we're going to have to rush to get to the station before the last train back leaves at 6, and there's no time even for dinner.  I'm really sorry about all this."

       "Don't feel bad, Roxanne.  It was a fun day.  And the watch still has to have some kind of value.  Even if it's not a priceless antique, I'm pretty sure it's made of gold.  It's gotta be worth a few thousand, at least."

       "Does it even work?  Maybe a collector of old watches would be interested?  I see stuff like this on Pawn Stars all the time."

         "Hmmm.  I don't know.  Let's try it out.  Here...you hold the bottom, and I'll try pulling out and twisting the stem.  We'll have to use a delicate touch.  I don't want this tiny piece to snap off in my hand.  Then it will truly be scrap metal."

         Roxanne moved her chair closer to Kevin, and took hold of the watch's face.  Using his fore fingers, Kevin popped the little appendage up, carefully twisting it both ways to figure the correct direction.  They watched as the little hands under the crystal moved slowly around the numbers on the face.  For a brief second, the lights flickered, and there grew, from nowhere in particular, a low humming sound that built with intensity.

          "Kev, do you hear that?  That weird humming noise?"

          He opened his mouth to answer her, but the words died on his tongue.  His head began to swim, and the room shimmered and grew fuzzy to his sight.  His sweaty hands slipped from the watch, and he felt himself falling backwards, until everything went a deep, velvety black.

__________________________

                                                            

Ted and Maureen make their way to Izamal

         It took both of them a better part of an hour to drag Arroyo's rug wrapped body to the ravine behind the building, and dump it amongst the rocks.  That finished, Beckett retrieved their passports and money from the hiding spot in the car, while Maureen did her best to do away with any signs of the man's murder.  As she wiped the last of his blood from the cracks in tile, she pondered the unique position she currently found herself in.  Here she was, nearly four months pregnant, newly married, in a foreign country, a witness to murder her husband had committed, and without a single resource of any kind.  Her entire safety rested in a man who she had known less than a year, who was, without a doubt, capable of extreme behavior.  She wanted to tell herself that she loved him, but wasn't sure if that would be entirely true.  Obssessed?  Yes.  But love?  That was a line of thought she didn't want to deal with.  Not here.  Not now. That was a question to ponder in a different setting. She was sure of only one thing.  She trusted Theodore Beckett.  Had from the moment she'd met him, for no specific reason she could ever explain.  There was not a shred of doubt that he would do anything in his power to see to her safety and well being, as well as that of the child she carried.  And at this particular moment in time, that seemed enough.

         Beckett poked his head in at the door, an A-K 47 thrown over his shoulder in the same comfortable manner other men might hoist a golf club.  "You about ready, babe?"

         She dumped the sponge into the bucket of bloody water, and stood.  "Just about.  I got as much of it up as I could."

         He wandered over to the spot, and examined the floor.  "Looks good.  We don't have to worry about leaving trace evidence.  Just don't want the place screaming 'dead'.  The longer we can fool them into thinking that Arroyo's still alive, the better for us." Taking the bucket from her hands, he added, "I'll get rid of this, you grab your things and take a seat in Arroyo's jeep.  I'm gonna get rid of our rental car, and then we'll be off.  Okay?"

        Maureen gathered up her few belongings, and made her way to the jeep.  From the vehicle, she could hear the motor start on on the rental, followed by a huge crash, as the car slid into the ravine over the exact spot they had recently dumped the body.  A few moments later, Ted appeared, the rifle still at his side.  He slid into the seat next to her, and started the engine.  Then, with a smile so hopelessly out of place given their current situation, he asked, "You ready to go home, baby girl?"

      "More than you know.  But how are we getting there?  You said yourself...the bad guys will be watching all the commercial airlines?  We're sorta stuck."

       "No worries, sweetheart.  We're gonna make our way to Izamal...just like Arroyo advised.  We'll find a plane we can use to get home.  Well, not all the way home, but at least to the Florida Keys.  Once we're there, we can take a commercial flight back to Boston.  Sound like a plan?"

        Her husband had a way of putting things that made the most craziest of plans sound perfectly normal.  "I suppose...but what kind of plane will we find at Izamal.  I thought he said they had crop dusters and sea planes.  Will we be able to get all the way to Florida in one of those?"

        He paused, thought about it, and then nodded.  "It'll be a bit of a stretch fuel wise, but I'm thinking we'll be okay."

        "Thinking we'll be okay?  That doesn't sound too reassuring, Ted.  Besides, who you gonna get to fly the damn plane...even if you can actually find one in Izamal?"

          He smiled, all straight white teeth, and strong jaw.  "Why, me of course, darlin'.  I'm a licensed pilot.  I thought you knew."

__________________________

Just where is Fr. Kevin?

      It was the cold that finally brought him back to his senses.  A biting, achey chill that seemed to seep through his very clothes.  It took several attempts at forcing his eye lids open before he could bring anything into focus, allowing him to access his current situation.  And when his foggy head cleared enough to allow his dormant brain to function, what he saw left him in a complete state of shock.  The room was dark and shabby, a bedroom of sorts, with glowing embers in a tiny fireplace being the only source of heat.  Wind blew in from a cracked window decorated with frosty ice, and threatened to extinguish the last of the fire.  He found himself lying upon a lumpy mattress, perched on an old wooden bed frame.  The clothes he had so carefully picked out that very morning, were gone, replaced with a tattered and worn robe over a stained white dressing gown.

        Confusion pounded in his head, and he worked desperately at putting together some type of recall.  He remembered being at the bank.  With Roxanne.  The two of them had been in that crazy vault with the paneled walls.  They had found the box the key opened.  Yes.  Yes.  The box.  The box held something...what was it now...his brain seemed frozen like the rest of him...yes...the watch...it was a watch...a gold pocket watch.  He struggled, hoping to bring to mind the last minutes of that memory.

He recalled Roxanne sitting next to him.  The scent of oranges from the shampoo she used on her hair.  That note on the table in front of him.  In Gaelic.  Something about time.  About threads holding it together.  Then they had handled the watch.  Tried to wind the stem...the humming noise...and then nothing.  Nothing until he had come to conciousness a few moments ago.

       He felt ill and confused.  Disoriented both physically and mentally, with fear gnawing at his insides like a hungry beast.  He pushed the musty blankets off his body, grateful to find that it still appeared to be his body.  He slipped out of the bed, and made his way to the cracked window, the cold air, and his fear, causing him to shudder and shake.  With his hand, he brushed away a patch of ice, scraping at it until he had made a hole big enough to see through.  Outside, the wind and snow swirled about cobblestone streets, while a cart and horse pushed their way against the wind.  From the window, he could see the familiar steeple of the Old North Church.  The sight reassured him.  He was still in Boston.  But surely not modern Boston, as his surroundings attested to.  Just where the hell was he?  And where, good Lord, was Roxanne?

Copyright 2014 Victoria T. Rocus

All Rights Reserved

   

   

   

 

It's About Time...

                     

An Important Notice to Readers...

     Although this fiction blog is illustrated with photos of dolls, and dollhouse miniatures, the language and content of the storyline is intended for an adult audience.  Please be advised.

Thank You,

The Author

Welcome to Boston

     No one was happier to see the city limits of Boston than Fr. Kevin.  The two hour ride had felt more like six, and by the time the train pulled into the South Station at Summer Street and Atlantic Avenue, he was more than ready to get off.  To his horror, he had discovered that Roxanne was the world's biggest "chit chatter", enjoying on going conversations with any human being that made the unfortunate mistake of sitting near them.  At first, he thought she was just being polite to the busy body old woman, and her long suffering husband.  But the couple had left the train at the Plymouth stop, and were replaced by three woman heading to Boston for a shopping day.  They had barely settled into their seats, before Roxie pounced on them with a million casual questions, which, to his amazement, they seemed more than happy to expound on.  In the last hour, he had heard possibly every suggestion for getting stains out polyester blends, and was now an expert on avoiding calluses in summer sandals.

     It was a side of Roxanne he had never seen.  She seemed to soak up information like a tiny brunette sponge, dragging quotes, comments and ideas from even the most common of encounters.
His companion had even managed to get the mono-syllabic Morty to share his mother's secret recipe for the most tender beef brisket ever, a feat his pushy wife had to this day been unable to discover on her own.  Rox had this quiet way of pushing you to reveal things you had no intention of sharing, and that ability made Fr. Kevin nervous for a whole lot of reasons.
_______________
         

     Although slightly cooler than home by the breeze from the harbor, the pair cooked under the June heat, and by 3:30, the bedraggled priest was ready to call it a day.  He was tired, hungry and his shirt stuck to his body like a wrinkled second skin.  They had visited eight banks in nearly four hours, and had yet to find the box that could be opened with their mysterious key.  The only thing currently on Fr. Kevin's mind was a cold beer, and some kind of dinner before they made the trip back home.

     "But Kev...we can't give up now.  There are still four banks we haven't checked yet.  We can easily still get to them before the last train home leaves at 6."

     "Look Rox.  I know this is fun for you.  Honest, I do.  And I've tried to be a good sport.  But this is like chasing a needle in a haystack.  More than likely, this key doesn't belong to any of the other banks either.  And there's nothing saying that even if we find the safety deposit box, there's going to be anything of value in it.  I say we call it a day.  Find someplace nice for dinner, and have a good laugh over our adventure."

     The petite woman stopped dead in her tracks, and folded her arms over her chest.  "I never figured you for a quitter, Kevin O'Kenney.  The Kevin I knew would've never given up so easily.  You've gotten soft in your collar, Father.  Too wrapped up in humdrum paperwork and policy.  I feel bad for you."

       He knew she was just goading him.  Maureen did it to him all the time.  But somehow, coming from Roxanne, it made him agitated.  "That's not fair, Roxanne.  I love my vocation...and I'm good at what I do.  It matters.  So I resent when you imply that it's just routine for me.  That's not true...and you know it."

      She dropped her arms, and looked up at him, big brown eyes shiny with unshed tears.  "I'm sorry, Kevin.  I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. Truly I didn't.  But...we're so close.  I can feel it!  It's like this key has a mind of its own.  It wants us to find the box."  Seeing his face, she added, "Okay...I realize that sounds totally weird.  But I think it's important that we see this through.  It's only four more.
Please?  And if it's not in one of those, I'll give up.  For good.  I promise."

      There was no doubt in Fr. Kevin's mind that he was being played like a wind up toy.  Not a single doubt.  But if he was to be honest with himself, he had to admit that he felt the same way about the key.  Had felt its pull the moment he laid eyes on it.  And maybe, it was because of that unnatural draw that he wanted to give up and go home.  With the appearance of Brian in his life nearly a year ago, he knew better than anyone that there were a lot of strange things in the world.  Unexplained things he had no answers for.  The mysterious key had the same feel to it.  That it belonged to another place or time, one he had no business being part of.  If he gave up now...went home without at least giving it his best shot...it would drive him to distraction.  He wished that Brian were here now to offer up some advice.  But unfortunately, it had been months since he had last come around, and that in itself, was worrisome.

      Fr. Kevin sighed with additional exaggeration.  "Alright, Roxanne.  You win.  We'll check out the last four banks.  Under one condition.  That you promise to drop this whole search if the box that goes with this key is not here in Boston.  Agreed?"

       Satisfaction curled the corners of her mouth.  "I agree, Kevin.  You have my word.  These will be the last four places we check.  I promise!"

_________________

       He should have known it would be the last bank on the list.  It fit the plot sequence for every mystery novel he'd ever read, and every TV drama that caught his attention.  They had arrived at First National Bank of Boston a few minutes before 5:00 PM, and been sent back to see a certain Mr. Walter Pikes.  An elderly gent with curved spine, and a full grey beard, he peered at them from behind small round spectacles.  Upon seeing the key in question, he looked at them oddly.

       "And just how did you happen to come to have this key in the first place?"

       Roxanne looked at Kevin, and gave him a nudge.  "We found it among some old parish records.
Holy Family Church in Dollyville.  I'm...the Pastor."

       The little man narrowed his eyes, making him look like a bearded mole.  "You?  Pastor?  A Roman Catholic priest?"  He looked at Roxanne, and gave her the once over.  "I'm afraid I'm going to need to see some identification...solid identification...multiple pieces."  He folded his hands on the desk, and waited.

       Fr. Kevin removed his wallet, and began to lay the various cards on the man's desk.  Despite the blast of air conditioning beating down from the vents overhead, he could feel sweat  gather at his hairline.  There was something creepy about this exchange of words, and the bearded mole man set him on edge.  He looked over at Roxanne, who seemed to have lost some of her usual exuberance, and seemed decidedly flushed herself.

       The man held each piece of identification up, and examined it carefully.  When he was finished, he  handed them back to the priest, and stood abruptly up.  "Follow me."  He led them toward the back of the building, past rows and rows of metal boxes, and down a long staircase.  Using a digital code punched into the panel on the wall, metal doors slid open revealing a large wood paneled room.  There were books lined around shelves, and on one wall to the left, more metal boxes, much older and more ornate than the ones they had previously passed.  Searching among them, Mr. Mole pulled down the box that matched the number on their key, and laid it on a large oak table with legs carved into the shapes of mystical beasts.

         He turned to them, and spoke in a low voice.  "Here is what you seek.  I would imagine that you are prepared for what you find?"

        Not knowing what to say to such a question, Fr. Kevin nodded his agreement.

        For the first time since meeting him, the man smiled.  "Then God be with you both."  He turned back towards the metal door, and before leaving, advised.  "Press the button here on the wall when you are finished.  I will come retrieve you."  And with that, the metal doors slid shut, leaving them alone in the strange room.

         Kevin swung the key on his finger.  "I don't know about you, Rox.  But I'm freaked out to the max.  This too weird."

         Roxanne wrapped her arms around herself, in a soothing hug.  "I know what you mean."

         "We could just call him to come back.  Not even bother to look."

         She shook her head.  "No...we came this far.  We have to see this through.  It's probably nothing. We're just letting our imagination run away with us.  Go ahead...open it."

         A shiver ran down his spine, as he set the key into the lock.  With a slight twist, the lid popped open, revealing the odd contents inside.

The box

Copyright Victoria T. Rocus 2014
All Rights Reserved




   

   

   

Death, Doubt and Denial

An Important Notice to Readers...

     Although this fiction blog is illustrated with photos of dolls, and dollhouse miniatures, the language and content of the storyline is intended for an adult audience.  Please be advised.

Thank You,

The Author

   

Beckett deals with the body

    She stared at her husband as if he had grown two heads.  Just who the hell was this person squating over the dead guy on the floor, going through his pockets?  She had known from the very start that Ted Beckett was edgy.  Someone who didn't seem to play by the same rules.  And maybe that was what had attracted him to her in the first place.  But holy shit!  There was a human being lying six feet away from her with an oozing bullet hole in his forehead, bleeding a river all over the ceramic floor.  And for some odd reason, all she could focus on, was the way the red liquid seeped from the wound, and filled the grout lines of the surrounding tiles.  Suddenly woozy, she lowered herself to the edge of the bed, the cotton sheet still the only article of clothing she wore.

      Pocketing the man's cell phone, Beckett looked up, and noticed that his wife had gone several shades of gray.  "You okay, babe?  Maybe you better lie down, or something."

      The absolute calmness in his voice both shocked and repulsed her.  How could he be so matter of fact about any of this?  After all...he had just shot somebody dead.  In cold blood.   "Of course I'm not okay!  There's...there's a dead man on the floor of our...our...", she waved her arm to indicate the space around her, "whatever the hell you want to call this place.  Dead because you shot him!  Right in the frickin' head!  Are you some kind of unfeeling psychopath, Ted?  How could I be anything but totally freaked out?"

        Beckett stuck Arroyo's semi-automatic into the waistband of his boxers, and crossed the floor to sit next to her on the bed.  He attempted to put his arm around her, but she gave him a hard shove and scooted to the far end of the bed.  The negative contact earned her one of his "looks", which caused funny feelings in her stomach, and regions much further south.  She found her self moving back towards him, embarrassed over the amount of control he seemed to have over her without much effort.

       Wrapping both hands around her smaller ones, he lowered his voice, serious, but calm.  "Look, baby...I'm truly sorry about dragging you into all of this.  I should have never agreed to take this drop on.  But what's done is done.  Now, I need for you to be brave, and do as I say, alright?"

       Maureen could only nod her head in agreement, unsure that any words would come out even if she could happen to think of any that suited the moment.  He kissed the top of her head.  "That's my good girl.  I promise...I'll get us safely out of here, and then we'll have a real honeymoon.  Anywhere you want to go.  Paris...Rome...the South Seas...you just name it, baby.  I swear I'll make it happen."

       Finding her tongue, she pulled her hands reluctantly away.  "Do you mean that, Ted?  Anywhere?"

       He grinned that boy smile, and made a large X across his chest.  "Cross my heart, and hope to die."
Seeing her face, and the look she gave the body on the floor, he quickly added.  "Bad choice of words, sweetheart.  Still, I give you my word.  Anywhere.  Anything."

      "Then I just want to go home.  Back to Dollyville.  Back to the apartment."

      "The apartment?"

      "Yes...my flat over the deli.  We were happy there.  Truly and gloriously happy.  You said so your self.  It was like our own secret hideaway."

        He made an odd face, and thought awhile before answering.  "I'm offering you carte blanche...anywhere in the world, and you choose your one room flat over a grocery store?"  He shook his head in wonderment.  "You are a complicated woman, Mrs. Beckett.  If that's what you want, then you shall have it.  I suppose we'll need somewhere to stay while I see to the rebuilding of the house, and the apartment is as good a place as any.  More so if it makes you that happy.  Home it shall be then.  He grinned again, this time not boyish in the least.  "We'll closet ourselves up there so long, they'll send out the authorities for a wellness check"

        She threw herself at him, the sheet sliding off, and ending up in a heap on the floor.  That reaction might have led to greater things, except for the fact that the lost sheet was busy soaking up the growing puddle of blood on the floor, bringing reality to the forefront.  Beckett sighed, and pushed away from his bride.  "You are ever the temptation, baby.  But we do need to get the hell out of here...ASAP.  If you think you're up to it, I could use a hand.  Once you put on some clothes, that is.  Naked like that, you are a huge distraction."

       Maureen slid off the bed, rummaging around for her clothes from the day before.  "Help you with what, Hon?"

      "I have to get rid of the body.  If his people come looking for him, I don't want them to know he's dead, or that we've escaped.  That will give us some extra time to make our exit."

       She stopped dead in her tracks, the sun dress over her head, but not fully on.  "You want me to...to touch the dead guy?  With my bare hands?"

      "Well, not quite with your bare hands.  I'm gonna roll him up in that rug.  That will make it easier...and less messy...to move him.  Once we get him all wrapped up, I can dump the body in one of those ravines in back of the building.  We can make it look like he got to us first, then take his jeep to make our get away."

      "Do you really think that will work?"

       "Not entirely.  When they can't reach him by cell phone, they'll send out someone to check on things here.  Eventually they'll start searching, and find the body.   But by then, I hope to be long gone."

       "So...just how are we getting home, Ted?  We can't just drive there."

       I'm workn' on that sweetheart.  But first things first.  I really need for you to hold the end of this rug, while I roll it around him.  Do you think you can do that?"

___________________________________
               

The train station in Dollyville

        Fr. Kevin had every intention of going in full "Pastor" mode to Boston.  Black dress pants and jacket, black shirt with Roman collar, and his best black dress shoes.  But the day had dawned hot and humid, with temperatures hovering in the upper 80's by 8:00 AM.  It was all he could do to get through Mass with the heavy vestments, and by its end, he was a sweaty mess.  There was absolutely no way he wanted to spend the day walking the streets of a sweltering city in head to toe sauna suit.  Digging through his closet, he decided on a pair of khaki's, a short sleeved polo shirt, and his favorite loafers, sans socks.  It felt both odd, and strangely liberating, to be out and about in such civilian clothes.  Granted, when he was at home in the rectory, he was pretty laid back in his apparel, favoring jeans and old, worn T-shirts.  But when he ventured out in the public eye, he was careful to look "the part", fearful people would not take him seriously without the church trappings.  Today's adventure, however, called for comfort over ceremony, and he left the church grounds feeling both cooler, and a lot more relaxed.

     All the fussing with his clothes had taken more time than anticipated, and by the time he arrived at the station, most of the passengers had already boarded.  Roxanne was still outside, her face showing a great sense of relief when she finally caught sight of him.

       "I was starting to get worried that you had changed your mind, Kev."

       "Sorry I'm late.  I decided to change into something cooler after Mass.  They're predicting highs in the mid 90's today, so I needed something more comfortable."

        "Yeah, I almost didn't recognize you without the funeral suit."  She smiled, signaling her words were only in jest.  "You look very nice, as a matter of fact.  That green shirt really matches your eyes."

        All this talk about his appearance, and shirts matching eyes, caused Fr. Kevin to blush a deep pink color, and left him stammering.  ""Uhmmm...ahhh...thanks.  Well, we better get ourselves on board.  I'm sure they'll be leaving shortly." He turned to pull her by the arm, then thought better of it, and slipped through the open doors, leaving Roxanne to follow behind him.

        As usual for this time of the day, the train was crowded with passengers heading to the city, as well as the Cape.  There were several large family groups obviously on their way to seaside vacations,  traveling with buckets and bags filled with beach necessities.   A Cape Cod destination made him think of Maureen, and he wondered, not for the first time, where she was at, and how she faring. He still had not heard a single word from her since the day she disappeared with her new husband, and despite the insistence of his family that she was in capable hands, he continued to worry.

       But at this very moment, what he needed to find was a seat.  It appeared his delayed arrival at the station had put the two of them in a hunt for a pair of seats together.  They had just about resigned themselves to sitting in two different cars, when a high pitched voice offered them an option.

       "You who...you there...man in the green shirt.  My husband can move over next to me, and the two of you can have his seat."  The voice came from an elderly woman, dressed in a loud sun dress, head encased in a huge pink beach hat.  "Morty...you come sit next me, and give this nice couple the bench seat."  The afore mentioned Morty looked up from his newspaper, and sighing, complied with his lady's demands.  "Go ahead...you two sit there." She pointed to the seat across from her.

        Before he could insist otherwise, Roxanne slid onto the bench and padded the seat next to her.  "Here Kev, take a load off."  Turning to the woman, she added, "Thanks so much.  I was afraid we'd have to split up."

         "No problem, sweetie.  I'd hate to see such a nice couple apart."  Nudging her husband in the ribs, she added, "Aren't they a cute couple, Morty.  I remember when we were young like that, and in love.  Such happy times."

         At the mention of the word love, Fr. Kevin froze, while next to him Roxanne hid a giggle behind her hand.  Kevin slid into the furthest corner of the seat, leaving a sizeable gap between he and Roxie.  Feeling as if he needed to clarify the situation, he explained, "We're not really a couple, mam.  We're...uhmm....I'm a..."

         Before he could stammer out the words, Roxanne spoke up.  "We're just friends.  Old friends."
She smiled sweetly at the woman, and added, "We've known each other since we were kids."

         The woman smiled back.  "Friends first is good."  Giving her husband another poke, she asked him, "Remember when we were friends, Morty?  The good times we had."  Morty grunted from behind his paper, neither confirming or disagreeing with her version of their story.  Then the woman turned toward Kevin, and wagged an arthritic finger at him.  "Friends are good young man.  But she isn't going to wait forever for you to make up your mind.  Anybody can see the two of you were made for each other."

         From his spot across from her, Fr. Kevin smiled sickly, and began to sweat.


Copyright  2014 Victoria T. Rocus
All Rights Reserved




   

     

On The Road Again

An Important Notice to Readers...

     Although this fiction blog is illustrated with photos of dolls, and dollhouse miniatures, the language and content of the storyline is intended for an adult audience.  Please be advised.

Thank You,

             

Beckett answers the door for a morning visitor

   
    The little sliver of sunlight from under the shade wasn't quite enough to wake her from that almost in-almost out, drowsy state of consciousness.  Instead, she cuddled in closer, tucking herself into the warmth of her husband's body, and allowing a slide back into foggy slumber.  Had anyone else been around, they might have noticed the Cheshire grin on her face, the proverbial kitty who swallowed the poor unsuspecting canary.  But as it was just the two of them, her reaction to the activities of the night before remained a treasured secret,  and with a sigh, she buried her face in his chest and let herself doze.

    It was the sound of a car's engine that shook Beckett instantly from his sleep, followed by a sharp series of raps at the wooden door.  Before Maureen could fully comprehend the sequence of events, Beckett put a hand over her mouth, and rolling her in the bed's top sheet, pushed her to the floor, with pantomimed instructions that she should slide under the massive frame.  If the bizarre nature of this so-called honeymoon had taught her anything, it was that her husband's lead needed to be followed.  Without a sound, she tightened the sheet around her bare form, and took her spot as ordered.

    From that position, she heard him fumble with the bedding, then watched him pad on bare feet to the door at the front of the room.  Without the slightest hesitation, he opened the door with one hand, the Glock G22 tucked into the back of his waistband, only to find an agitated Alberto standing on the stoop of the building.

    Seeing Beckett clad only in his boxers, the man looked at his feet, stammering out the words.  "I apologize, Colonel, for the early...interruption.  But we've had news.  Of the urgent kind."

      Beckett waved the man in.   "It's fine, my friend.  What's up?"

       The man hesitated,  his eyes skirting the room for the woman he met the night before.  "Your bride, Colonel?  I am free to speak?"

        "Go ahead, Al.  There's little I can keep from her at this point."  Calling across the room, he added, "You can come out, baby.  It's just Alberto.  The man you met yesterday."

         Wearing only the thin sheet, Maureen's voice called from under the bed.  "I'm perfectly fine here, Ted.  What's your friend doing here so early in the morning?"

         Beckett nodded, and the man continued.  "Seems you've rattled a few dangerous cages, Colonel.  Noise in the area says El Culebra has a price on your head.  A rather substantial one.  We need to move up your extraction before anyone is the wiser."

         "Damn.  So my cover here is shot?"

         "It appears that way, Colonel.  El Culebra's men have been showing your passport around.  Your lady's too.  I've been ordered to move you to a small air strip near Izamal.  Mostly crop dusters and a few sea planes.  We figured it would be the easiest way out of the country."

          "How soon do we need to leave, my friend?"

           "As soon as possible.  I'm to transport you myself."

            "And your sure El Culebra has possession of our passports?  There's no mistake?"

            "No, Sir.  I've seen them myself.  It is the safest plan of action.  The sooner we leave, the better."

            "Okay, Alberto.  You're right.  Just give us a minute to dress, and we'll be on our way.  Sweetheart, you heard the man.  You need to come out and get dress.  We're leaving shortly."

            From under the bed, Maureen opened her mouth to complain, but swallowed the words as a gun was fired, followed by a solid thump.  Frantic, she pushed her way out from under the heavy box springs.  There on the floor, not two feet from where she was hidden, lie the body of Alberto Arroya, an oozing bullet hole between his eyes, no doubt caused by the gun in her husband's hand.  Her mouth went dry, and her tongue felt like a dry wad of cotton, as she watched a pool of blood seep across the tiled floor.  "Is he...he dead?"

            Beckett nodded.  "I'm sorry you had to witness that, baby, but if it's any consolation, he drew first.  I was just faster.  Had no choice.  He was planning to kill us both."

          "But...but wasn't he supposed to be a friend of yours?  Somebody you trusted?"

           Her husband shrugged.  "Yeah...well that friend bullshit doesn't hold so true in my line of work. El Culebra must have offered a great price for our heads.  That's the way it works here, baby.  Sold to the highest bidder.  You need to get dressed pronto.  I'm sure once Arroyo doesn't return with news and photos of our demise, someone else will come looking."

            Maureen tried to keep her voice normal, but the sound that came out of her mouth sounded strangely three pitches too high.  "I still don't understand...how did you know he was gonna kill us?  It sounded to me like he was trying to be helpful."

            "It was his lie about the passports.  About El Culebra's men showing them around.  That would be impossible, as I have our passports hidden in the car outside."

________________________________

      By the end of the afternoon, Fr. Kevin and Roxanne were no closer to solving the mystery of the strange key, then they had been earlier that morning.  Visits to both of Dollyville's banks had proved fruitless, although they had determined that the key was, most likely, to some type of safety deposit box.  Unfortunately, it was not a fit to any of the boxes here in town.

      The bank manager at Paul Revere Savings and Loans had remarked that the key was for an older, vintage style of box, something from the 1940's was his guess.  That pre-dated it to any of the banks in the local area, as the oldest one hadn't been built until 1963. He suggested they do a search online, focusing on banks built in the late 1930's, or early 40's.  Now, over coffee and doughnuts, the two discussed their next move.

      "Honestly, Kev...I think we made great progress here.  At least we can rule out a large number of banks that were built more recently, and focus on the older ones.  That's a start at least."

       Wiping a dab of jelly doughnut from the corner of his mouth, Fr. Kevin shook his head.  "That still doesn't verify exactly where the box is, Rox.  There must be hundreds of old banks here in Massachusetts.  This key could fit a box in anyone of them.  It's like looking for a needle in a haystack."

      "You're giving up way too easy.  I still hold to the theory that the box is located somewhere close enough for the key holder to have access.  Otherwise it doesn't make sense to store anything in it if you have no ability to retrieve it in a timely manner."

        "I suppose that makes sense."  He pulled a smart phone from his pocket, and with a few swipes across the screen, brought up a map of the state.  "So where do we look next?"

         Roxanne leaned over, and studied the screen.  She pointed to a section of the map, and shook her head.  "These are all small towns.  Smaller even than Dollyville.  We could check, but it's my guess that  they don't have banks big enough for a whole safety deposit box system.  And several of them are suburbs of Boston that didn't exist 40 years ago. "  She sipped at her carmel mocha latte, and stared long and hard at the lit screen.  "Boston makes the most sense.  It's two only two hours away, and has multiple old banks."  She held the key up for both of them to examine.  "It just has that old proper feel to it...just like the city itself.  I say Boston is where we should look next."

        "Well, that's out of the question.  I can't spend days tromping from one bank to the next on some wild goose chase.  I've got responsibilities, you know.  Belkins is supposed to be be back in a week about the audit.  Plus, I need to be here for morning Mass.  It's impossible to get a substitute to come in during the summer months.  As much as I'd like to solve this mystery, Rox, I just don't have the time."

          She was quiet for a few moments, sipping her drink while the wheels turned in her head. Then, she reached across the table for his phone.  "May I?"

           He nodded, and watched as she searched page after page, scribbling information on the back of her napkin.  After several minutes, she slid the phone back to him.  "Okay...I've researched the general basics about all the banks in the Boston city limits.  There are only fifteen old enough to have boxes that require a key like this one.  If we leave right after 8:30 Mass, we can catch the 9:05 into Boston.  That would give us the whole day to check out these old banks, and still leave plenty of time to catch the last train back at 8:15 PM.  You'd only be gone for one day, Kevin.  Surely you're entitled to some personal time, aren't you?  Besides, it will give you an opportunity to check in on your mom.  See how she's doing after all the excitement of the wedding."

       There was little doubt he should have known better.  Roxanne was as capable as his sister Maureen in making him do things he knew he'd be better off not doing.  But a huge part of him was intrigued by the mystery key. It was the whole draw people seem to have over the desire to find buried treasure.  Plus, the crazy wedding, and his sister's mysterious disappearance on her honeymoon had left him edgy and anxious.  A day off to play detective seemed like a fun alternative to fussing over dusty ledger books.  Without much convincing, he let himself be sucked into her plan.  "Alright, Rox.  I'll give you the one day.  But if we don't find any answers in Boston, I'm through with this all.  I gotta focus on getting through this audit thing with the diocese."  He put his hand out for her to shake.  "One day, got it?"

        She giggled, and grabbing his hand, gave it a shake.  "It's a deal, Fr. Kevin.  One day is all I ask."


Copyright 2013 Victoria T. Rocus
All Rights Reserved

   

Banking On It

       

An Important Notice to Readers...

     Although this fiction blog is illustrated with photos of dolls, and dollhouse miniatures, the language and content of the storyline is intended for an adult audience.  Please be advised.

Thank You,

   The Author

                                                 

A field trip to the bank

      Roxanne stood, and brushed the dust off the front of her shirt.  With an exaggerated sigh, she opened Kevin's palm, and laid the metal treasure on it.  "Look, Kevin.  This key was found in your parish's old stuff.  As Pastor, that makes you responsible for it. If you chose to just...just ignore it...well, I guess that's your prerogative.  But it be a royal shame if this turns out to be something valuable that might make a big difference in your community, and you just let it slip away."  She looked at him with big brown doe eyes. "I'm just playing devil's advocate, you know."

       After living for years with his sister, Maureen, he should have been able to sense a snow job when it was burying him six feet deep.  He knew Roxie didn't give a hoot about the welfare of his parishioners, or his duties as Pastor.  It was the whole lure of an unsolved mystery that drove her conversation.  And if he had even one ounce of sensibility, he'd throw the damned thing back into the box, and forget he ever saw it.  But like his childhood friend, Fr. Kevin was a "fixer".  He needed all the pieces to fit, and for the picture to be whole.  This quirk to his personality had caused him enough trouble to last a lifetime, but for some reason, known only to the Almighty, he simply couldn't walk away until he at least tried to make things "right".  It was an essential part of his entire personae, and the key lying cool in his hand, was a siren calling out for an explanation.

       "You do realize, Rox, that trying to find the lock that this key opens would be next to impossible?
I mean, what's to say that the source is even here in Dollyville?  It could belong anywhere."

     Sensing she might have piqued his interest, Roxie threw together her best pitch.  "That is a possibility, Kevin.  But most people would want to keep their prized possessions near them.  You know...so they could retrieve them in a hurry.  It makes the most sense to start here in town.  Check out all the places that have storage lockers, or safety deposit boxes."  She grabbed a scrap of paper from the throw away pile, and a pen from her pocket.  "Let's start by making a list of all the possibilities in Dollyville."  With rapt attention, she held the pen to the paper, and waited for him to start the discussion.

        "I can't believe I'm letting you drag me into this, Roxanne.  I have a million things to do before that Belkins character returns to nail my hide to the wall.  I should be focusing on that, rather than playing Sherlock Holmes with you."

     "Oh really, Kevin O'Kenney!  You know you're just as curious as I to find out what this opens.  Besides, we've already made a lot of headway into this pile, and Belkins isn't due back for at least a week.  Plenty of time for us to wrap up this mystery, and still straighten up the church's accounts.  I promise ...I'll stay and help you with all of that, if you let me in on this little investigation."

     Fr. Kevin looked at his feet, not sure how he wanted to phrase the question.  "This could take awhile.  Don't you have to get back to Boston?  To your..uhmm...job?"

    Roxie shook her and snorted.  "Geez, Kev.  It's not like I'm a brain surgeon with patients waiting on
the table.  If I dance, I get paid.  That's how it works."  Seeing him turn several shades of pink, she added, "And I'm not ashamed of what I do, Fr. O'Kenney.  It's just a job.  I don't lie, steal or cheat, and I try to be a really good person.  I think that far outweighs whatever labels people put on me."

    Embarrassed, Fr. Kevin tried to justify his hesitation.  "I'm not judging you, Roxanne.  Honest, I'm not.  I think you're an awesome young woman.  It's just...you're so damned smart.  So analytical.  Funny and charming too.  You could do anything you set your heart on.  I don't get why you aren't chasing your dreams."

    "What makes you think I'm not doing just that, Kevin?  I have plans.  Big plans.  I want to start my own private investigation firm.  But that takes money.  Lots and lots of money.  Plus, I need to take the state licensing exam, and get some solid experience in law enforcement.  And none of that comes free, or without the educational background.  I pay my bills with my dancing, and it's a damn good living at that.  I've managed to put myself through Boston College for the past 4 years on what I can do on the pole, and I really don't care if people approve or not.  I will have my dreams, Kevin.  You can count on it.  But in the meantime, I can use all the experience I can get, so do you want my help, or don't you?"

      It was the fire in her eyes that tipped him toward the decision.  "Okay then, Miss Private I, what's our first move?"

     With a happy grin, she put the pen to paper.  "I think we should start with the banks.  I don't really believe this key is for a safety deposit box.  It seems the wrong shape and size, but it's best we rule that out officially.  What banks are here in town?"

      "There's only two that I know of large enough to have safety deposit boxes.  First National Bank of Massachusetts, and Paul Revere Savings and Loan.  The rest are just small branches with limited teller services, and ATMs."

      "Alrighty then.  I say we start there.  Talk to the bank manager, and see if they recognize the key.  Even if it is one of their keys, they probably won't give us access to it if we're not on the box holder record, but it's a start."  She folded the paper into her back pocket, and made her way towards the stairs.   "Give me twenty minutes to change into something fresh, and then we'll go visit both of these locations."

       Moved by her enthusiasm and energy, Fr. Kevin smiled.  "As you wish, Miss Holmes.  I await your return."

         With a giggle, she made her way down the storage room's narrow stairs, before stopping and calling back up.  "We are going have so much fun, Fr. Watson.  Just you wait and see."

         

Looking for answers

Copyright Victoria T. Rocus 2013
All Rights Reserved



   

The Key to It All

An Important Notice to Readers...

     Although this fiction blog is illustrated with photos of dolls, and dollhouse miniatures, the language and content of the storyline is intended for an adult audience.  Please be advised.

Thank You,

   The Author

Beckett traps Maureen under the bed

         For several seconds, Maureen blinked in the dark, squinting to make out the shapes around her.  The blackness seemed to have a life of its own, thick, large and powerful, and she struggled to avoid choking on her panic.  The smoke from the extinguished candle wafted across the room, and for some odd reason, it helped to focus her anger at her husband.  "This is ridiculous, Ted.  You stop this immediately. I mean it.  Relight that candle right now!  This isn't funny."

          There was no response.  Leaning in, she thought she heard a shuffle of movement to her right, just the slightest sense of motion near the front of the room.  Reflex took over, and she dropped to the floor, damned if she was going to make that easy of a target.  There was a swallowed chuckle from the same spot, and she strained her hearing to determine which way the footsteps were moving.  Sweeping a hand out, she could feel the wooden frame of the bed, and the empty space beneath it, a dark gaping hole.  Deciding it was best to stay low, she closed her eyes and slid under the bed, careful not to make a sound.

        He was remarkably light on his feet, but with an ear to the floor, she could feel the vibrations.  In her mind's eye, she figured him to be somewhere between the kiva and the bed, leaving her an escape from the frame's opposite side.  For several seconds, there was no movement, as both waited for the other's next move.  Maureen considered her options, trying to place the exact spot her husband was standing, when a hand snaked out and grabbed her left ankle, tugging hard to pull her out. She grabbed for the post, and held on, forcing him to tug harder.  There was no way she could keep hold, her fingers working hard to keep their grip.  When a thought came to mind, she smiled, and let go, allowing herself to be yanked out into the open.

         Even in the dark, she could hear the smugness in his voice, and imagine the smirk on his face.  "Looks like I win, Baby.  Nice try, though." He bent over to offer his hand, releasing the hold on her ankle.

         She raised her right arm in submissive resolution, and as he went to take hold, swung out her left leg, and caught him behind the knees.  He never saw it coming, and losing his balance, hit the floor with a thump and a grunt.  Wiggling away, she crawled across the floor and headed toward the stairs, not even sure where they lead.  Behind her, Beckett regained his composure, swearing under his breath, and pulling himself off the floor.

         With a giggle, and a racing heart, Maureen ran up the wooden stairs, and pushed open the heavy timber door, finding herself on the adobe's roof top.  The sky had cleared, and a small sliver of crescent moon sat east in the sky, amid an ocean of glittering stars, which provided enough light to make out the empty landscape, and the ragged hills to the west.  The beauty of it all was stunning, and in any other moment, she would have enjoyed the peace and solitude of the scenery.  But with the sound of her husband's footsteps on the stairs behind her, her only desire was for a place to hide, or a means to escape.
           

Going after Maureen, up on the rooftop

          The rooftop was bare, except for a small grotto and fountain in the corner, a shrine to Mexico's Our Lady of Guadalupe, and the chimney belonging to the building's kiva. The door behind her burst open, and her husband stood in it's frame, his head barely clearing the top.  It was impossible to read his mood, his face blank, giving nothing away.  With nowhere to go, she began backing away, until she found herself in the furthest corner of the rooftop.  Looking over the side, she realized she was on the porch side of the building, the overhang only a few feet below her.  Without thinking, she raised a leg over the side, testing the length of the drop.  Turning back toward Beckett, she saw him loose his cool, his face going several shades lighter in the moonlight.

          "Damn it, Maureen!  Don't you dare!  I swear I'll...don't be foolish.  You're risking your safety...and the baby's.  I give up.  You win, okay.  I surrender.  Just come off that ledge."   He took a single step forward, and put his hand out.

          From her perch on the rooftop wall, Maureen tried to gauge his sincerity.  In truth, she had absolutely no plans to make the jump, but did he actually believe she might?  She watched his face,
looking for any sign he might be playing her.  Then with a sigh, swung both legs to the flat surface of the rooftop, and tentatively walked toward him.  "Okay, let's just call a truce.  No one wins.  No one looses.  How 'bout that, Ted?  Can we do that?"

         He nodded, and smiled, a full tooth grin.  "Sure, baby...anything you say.  A truce.  Actually, I'm quite impressed that you were able to take me down."

          Growing in confidence, she moved closer.  "Thanks.  I learned from the Master."

          "And the Master is quite pleased, as he didn't think you were paying a bit of attention to anything  he was teaching.  Although, I suggest next time, you draw your leg tighter around the knee."

         When she reached him, he opened his arms, for what she believed was to be an encompassing hug.  Instead, he grabbed her below the waist, and with very little effort, flipped her over his shoulder.
With her head hanging down, and her rear across his shoulder, he headed toward the stairs.

         Realization hit her, as her head bounced against the small of his back.  "But...but...you said we had a truce.  No winners, you said."

         "Yup.  I did say that.  And of course...I lied, Baby.  Just consider this another little lesson from the Master."

_____________________________________

        Roxanne handed over the pocket knife.  "Go ahead, Kev.  You do the honors.  This is pretty exciting."

       He took the offered knife, and thought a moment, leery of the unknown.  "Maybe we should just leave it be.  You know, the whole Pandora's box theory.  If it's been locked up here, maybe there's a reason for it."

      "Don't be ridiculous.  Do you really think something bad will coming flying out of it?  It's probably nothing, but you should really check.  What if it's something important about Holy Family?  It's your duty as Pastor to check it out."

       The whole situation had him thinking Genesis, and he looked at the box as if it were Eve's apple he was holding.  But he didn't wish to appear as some superstitious fool in front of Roxanne, and the reality was, the box was most likely just an old piece of junk.  He gave it a shake, and inside, something rattled.

      "Well...there's obviously something inside.  Go ahead.  Just open it, so we can get on with the rest of this sorting."

       Against all better judgement, Fr. Kevin stuck the end of the pen knife into the the lock.  Wiggling it around, he heard a click, and the latch sprung open with a pop.  The box held only a single item.  It was a small silver key on a long, hemp string.  Holding it up, it swung loose, looking strangely ominous in the normal surroundings of the storage shed, and despite the heat of the day, Fr. Kevin felt a shiver run down his spine.

       "It's a key."  Roxanne stuck out her hand, stopping the swinging.  "And there's a number on it."

       " A number?"

       She pulled the key closer to her line of vision.  "Yeah...457.  I wonder what it opens."

      "I don't know.  Could be just about anything.  Oh well, so much for treasure."  He dropped it back into the box, and shut the lid, secretly glad to have the thing out of sight.

       Roxanne grabbed the box out of his hands.  "Aren't you even the least bit curious?  This key has to open something.  Something important.  Why else would someone put it in a locked box?"  She flipped open the lid, and dragged the key out again.  "It looks like a key to a safety deposit box, doesn't it?"

      Kevin shrugged.  "I don't know.  I've never had a safety deposit box.  Besides, we have no idea where this so-called box might be.  Could be anywhere.  It would be near impossible to track it down without any additional information."

     "Oh, Kevin.  You have no imagination!  This is an adventure...right here under your nose.  How could you not want to...well...know?  Know how this mystery plays out?"

      Thinking about the last few mysteries that had dropped in his lap...Rivera's murder...the suitcase of the money in the confessional...the dead girl in the woods...the abandoned baby...Fr. Kevin shuddered. He seemed to have a knack for finding himself in the worst situations, and if the pattern held, this one would be no exception.
                                               

The mysterious key

______________________________

Copyright Victoria T. Rocus
All Rights Reserved

     

 

         

   

Mango Tango

   

An Important Notice to Readers...

     Although this fiction blog is illustrated with photos of dolls, and dollhouse miniatures, the language and content of the storyline is intended for an adult audience.  Please be advised.

Thank You,

   The Author

         

The mango incident

     She hesitated a moment, blinking at the inky blackness outside the safety of the building.  He watched her indecision, confident in his appraisal of her psyche.  Then, as if a large hand had given her a shove to the back, she propelled herself out the door, and into the night.  From his vantage point on the sofa, Beckett sighed, and counted off the seconds in his head.  Six, seven, eight, nine... Before he could reach ten, she was back inside, slamming the door with a heavy thud, and throwing him murderous glances.

     Against all better judgement, he folded his hands across his chest, and asked, "Back so soon?  You didn't get very far."

     Maureen's reply was stalled as she struggled to slow her rapid breathing, beads of sweat forming at her hairline despite the cool temperature.  She leaned against the door, fingers grabbing the frame for extra support, and stared daggers at her husband of less than a week.  Then, without a word of anger, picked up a mango from a bowl Alberto had deposited there only moments before, and lobbed it at his reclining head.  It wasn't the reaction Beckett expected, and in his moment of hesitation, he made an easy target.   The ripe fruit caught him instead in the left shoulder, splattering gooey mango guts across his chest in a sticky mess.  Across the room, Maureen giggled, and grabbed for another, which might have this time hit its mark had not Alberto chosen that very moment to return with the needed supplies.

        The man stood in the doorway, bewildered at the crazy scene playing out in front of him.  But out of respect for the Colonel, he made no comment, and scurried about the adobe, stocking the cabinets, and wiping down the assorted furniture.  During his endeavors, the Colonel sat calmly on the sofa, fruit dripping down the fruit of his shirt, as his bride stood across the room, avoiding his eye, and picking at her fingernails.

          "You want I should make you a nice fire, Colonel?   Very romantic, for the senora, Sir."  He tried for a bland face, not wishing to offend, but couldn't help the corners of his mouth turning up.

          Throughout, Beckett had remained non-plussed, ignoring the wet glop, and remaining perfectly calm.  "That won't be necessary, Alberto.  The Missus and I will be...just fine.  Thank you for all your help, my friend."

       The little man bowed.  "Is no problem, Colonel.  I am happy to be of assistance.  I will return tomorrow with more groceries, and to see if there is anything else you will be needing.  Until then, I hope you and the Senora have a pleasant evening."  He nodded to Maureen, giving her a smile and a wink as he left, that turned her cheeks a deep, rosy pink.

       Maureen and Beckett remained silent and motionless until they heard the man's truck pull away from the deserted building.  She watched his face in the yellow lamp light, expressionless, except for a slight tightening of his jaw.  Then, he crooked a finger at her, and pointed to a spot next to him on the sofa.  It was obvious in her face that several notions were filtering through her mind, and she shook her head vigorously, while her fingers curled around another mango.

        Beckett stood, making himself a much bigger target, and arched an eye brow as he noted the position of her hand.  "I'd strongly advise against it, baby.  But you go ahead, and do what ya gotta do."  He took a step to the left, and ducked, just as the fruit whistled by his head, and came to a thump against the adobe wall.  He shook his head, and smiled.  "Aww now...you shouldn't have gone ahead and done that, sweetheart."  He stepped from around the sofa, and moved closer to where she was standing.  "You should know better than to set-up a challenge like this.   Nothing I like more."

       Maureen's hand rested on the door knob, indecision warring in her brain.  She pulled it open and peered outside, then quickly closed it, shutting her eyes and sighing.  Digging deep for courage, she grabbed another mango, and slid away from the exit.  She'd face him inside rather than risk whatever was outside in the dark.   "You stay away from me...you...you jerk!  I mean it.  As soon as it's daylight, I'm out of here."  She gripped the fruit tighter, her nails leaving little rivets of juice running off her fingers.  "And until then, you're gonna leave me the hell alone.  I mean it.  You stay on your side of the room...I'll stay on mine."

     Her husband moved slowly in her direction, and she flung the projectile, hitting him across the right temple and spraying the fruit pieces in all directions.  To her utter amazement, he grinned, and moved in the opposite direction away from her.  She watched in horror as he leaned over the table, and blew out the candle in the glass lamp, plunging the room in complete darkness.  "Game on, baby," he chuckled.

_______________________________________________

    During this particular week, if someone where to ask Fr. Kevin if he thought all people had some shred of goodness in them, he would surely have answered with a resounding "no".   It was his great misfortune to have made contact with three different people in the past several days, who he would be hard pressed to say anything nice about.

     As far as he knew, the psycho Cassie McKreedy was still out there, causing whatever havoc she might, despite Beckett's insistence, before he disappeared into thin air,  that everything was under control.  Then there was the downright horrible Tessa Peppers, who returned from the nut house simply to make his life miserable.  And now, as yet another plague upon his person, there was Samuel Belkins.  A mean-spirited, nasty little man who apparently viewed him as some kind of pariah to the priesthood because he wasn't much of a book keeper.

     Belkins had reviewed the parish financial records, and in his own words, had found them "sorely incomplete."  He had refused to grant Holy Family, or  Fr. Kevin, any type of long term extension to get things in order, and had stated he would be be back in one week to review the necessary changes.  This meant several grueling days, hauling down the stacks and stacks of old records left by his predecessor, and hours of time required to go through them all, to fulfill the auditor's demands.  With Maureen gone, he was short handed, and swallowing his pride, he was forced to ask Roxanne for help with the whole process, rather than admitting to any of his noisy parishioners that the church's finances were under a cloud.

     It had to be nearly a 100 degrees in the cramped storage room over the garage, and he regretted wearing the whole black suit complete with collar.  But with Roxie sitting next to him, alone in the tiny space, he felt it best to keep the atmosphere as professional and formal as he could.  But that didn't mean he wasn't sweating like a pig in the process.

     Admittedly, Roxanne had been a tremendous help.  She was an organized thinker, and had quickly come up with a system to sort the records into neat, logical piles.  And her pleasant demeanor and quirky conversation had made a difficult job less awful.  He was just about to suggest a break for dinner, when Roxie pulled out the strange locked box from an old crate.

   "Hey...what do you think this is?"  She ran a hand over the leather cover, wiping a layer of dust from its cracks and crevices.  There was a small padlock attached to the snap closure in the front, and she gave it a tug.  "Seems to be locked."  She handed the odd element to Kevin, who appeared just as clue less about it as she.

     "I don't know.  I've never seen it before.  I went through some of these bundles last summer, but gave up after a few days.  Most of them contained old church bulletins, and nonsense, so I figured I'd get to another time.  Never happened.  You know how that stuff goes.  Best laid plans."  He fingered the brass lock, adding his attempt to pull it apart.  "Maybe we can use a screwdriver, or something, to pop the lock?"

      With a laugh , Roxanne pulled a small pocket knife from her jeans, and held it up.  "Think this might work?  I'm seriously curious as to what's in that thing.  Maybe it's a pile of old money, or some valuable church relic?"

      "Here in the storage room at Holy Family?  Not a chance, Rox.  Those kinds of things never happen to someone like me."


Copyright  2013 Victoria T. Rocus
All Rights Reserved

       Hello to all my wonderful and loyal readers.  I have finally finished the first hectic trimester at the day job, with report cards and parent-teacher conferences now behind me.  Things should slow down just a bit, as we head into the last stretch of 2013.  This will hopefully allow me a little extra time to answer your lovely comments, and perhaps finish some crafting for a few upcoming scenes.  

I hope you are all enjoying the ups and downs of the crazy honeymoon, as well as life back in Dollyville.  Thank you so much for your continued support.  I am ever so grateful!

Best to you all,

Vicki