She hated packing.  Especially the here today-gone tomorrow type packing she seemed to find herself doing way too often.  Cassie McKreedy moved through the house on a singular mission.  She was allowing herself only three pieces of luggage.  More than that, and it would be obvious to those  watching that she wasn't coming back anytime soon.  She could always replace things as needed when she got to Tampa, but she had come to love the big, quiet house, and the thought of leaving it made her sweat.  This was all Lizzie's fault.  A month or two more, and they could have been both been set for a long time. The therapy had started working, and there was enough cash to stay worry free for a few years. They would have had plenty of time to set up their next mark.  Now, everything had turned to shit.  Not in a million years would she have thought that Liz would pull a "runner" on her, but damn it, she'd be sorry when Cassie caught up with her.

          The land phone rang again, and went directly to the answering machine like it had been doing since yesterday afternoon.  She was sure it was probably either Tessa Peppers or the bank, and she had no intention of talking to either of them.  Teddy had phoned her cell several times, and she had answered, not wanting him to make his way back to the house.  But she had finally convinced him that she was going to be working on her therapy with Dr. Patterson, and couldn't be distracted.  Hopefully, that would keep him off her ass for awhile.

          She laid out the clothes for the large suitcase on the bed, and had just begun to sort through her shoes, when the cell phone buzzed on the nightstand.   Seeing it was Dr. Patterson, Cassie took a deep breath and answered.  "Good morning, Doctor.  Thanks for getting back to me so quickly.  Well, as a matter of fact, I'm feeling terrible today.  Yes, I'm following the treatment, but I received some terrible news last night, and it's caused me a great deal of anxiety"  Cassie thought to herself that the statement wasn't much of lie.  She really was totally freaked out. "No, it's not me.  It's my brother...Bob...in Tampa.  He's been in a serious car accident, and I need to go and be with him.  Uh huh.  Oh thank you, I really appreciate it.  No, my flight's not until tomorrow afternoon.  It was all I was able to get with such short notice.  Yes, that would be great.  And if you could refill the prescription for the Xanax I'd be ever so grateful.  Well, I'm not sure how long I'll be there.  It all depends on how injured he is.  I might have to stay a while...until he can get back on his feet.  Tomorrow morning?  That would be perfect.  Thanks so much, Dr. Patterson.  I'll see you around 10 AM, then.  Bye bye.

          Cassie clicked off the phone, and smiled.  That was easy enough.  It was a shame she'd probably have to stiff Dr. Patterson on the bill.  The woman had helped her make tremendous progress, and truly seemed to care about her welfare.  But it couldn't be helped.  There was no turning back now, and if Dr. Patterson was left with hurt feelings, well, then she could thank Lizzie for that.  None of this was Cassie's fault.  They had amassed that half a million over eighteen months, bit by bit, and no one had missed a penny.  Both unsuspecting and trusting, her "clients" had accepted it as an increase in taxes, loss of revenue, or just bad financial luck.  And twice a month, Lizzie would withdraw small amounts from a set up bogus account, so that no one would be the wiser.  That had always been the corner stone of their success.  "Slow and steady makes one ready. Getting greedy makes you needy."  She smiled at the memory of her dad's lessons.  If he were here now, he'd be pissed at her lack of judgement.  Cleaning out that memorial fund had been a mistake born out of desperation, but it was too late to fix it now.

          She pulled the make up case out of the armoire, and sorted out $1,200.  She was just about to
pack the remaining cash in a black fanny pack, when she heard the chiming of the front door bell.  "Please let it not be Teddy" she thought.  "I'd never be able to explain all this."  The overhang prevented her from seeing who was standing on the porch from the bedroom window, so she headed down the stairs toward the parlor, while heavy pounding was added to the chimes of the door bell.

           "Cassandra McKreedy!  You open this door immediately, do you hear me!  I'm tired of you ignoring my phone calls.  I damn well know you're in there!  Open up now!  We need to talk"

            Cassie froze at the sound of the woman's voice.  Fearing the worse, she peeked around the front window's drapes, only to draw back in shock.  There on her front porch, in living color, stood a very red faced Tessa Peppers.

Copyright 2012 Victoria Rocus

           The bright morning sun from the parlor window acted as a solar alarm clock to the figure stretched out asleep on the rectory sofa.  Fr. Kevin O'Kenney wiggled, yawned, and tried to unfold his six foot frame off the five foot davenport. His left arm, and all of the upholstery on the seat back, was damp from the rain that had poured through the crack in the window, and his right foot was firmly wedged under the cushion on the opposite end.  Despite the deep ache over the bridge of his nose, and a crick in his neck where it had hung over the sofa arm, Kevin felt relatively well rested and ready to tackle whatever shit Wednesday threw at him.

           Bringing himself to a sitting position, he kicked away a used potato chip bag, an empty jar of peanut butter, and a china plate that strangely held the remnants of several half eaten s'mores.  As he headed toward the kitchen, he tried to wrap his still sleeping brain around the question of the left over outdoor treats.  It had most definitely rained all day yesterday, as his soaked furniture and favorite hoodie attested to, so he wasn't quite sure how someone...undoubtedly Brian...had toasted the gooey marshmallows for the snack? Sans campfire?

         The grandfather clock in the foyer chimed 6 AM, as Kevin padded over to the counter to make a fresh pot of coffee.  It was then that he noticed an entire bag of Stay-Puff marshmallows melted to the coiled burners of his electric stove, in a majorly disgusting, sticky mess, that he was sure would take hours to scrape off.  Another damn thing to add to his ever growing, mid-week list of chores.

                              *****************************************************

        8:30 Mass was unusually crowded, but rather uneventful.  Fr. O'Kenney had his doubts that his parishioners had decided to start their day with the liturgy, solely based on their desire to please the Lord.  He had a sneaky feeling that they had come to get a good look at the damage Tessa Peppers had done to his face in his attempt to "save her life".  No one said a word, but he could see the side looks and hidden smirks as he made his way to the church door after the final prayer.  He lingered on the steps for a few moments, but no one could really meet his eye, nor did they want to chance a giggle as they chatted with the banged up Pastor.  Looking at the overgrown jungle surrounding the grotto, and enjoying the cooler temperature of the morning, Kevin decided that today would be a perfect day for some lawn and garden maintenance.  The hard work would do his soul some good.

        He changed into some shorts and his hoodie, which could use some drying out anyway, and began to tackle the job of weed pulling and pruning.  He spent several minutes looking for the sharp pruning shears, but then remembered that someone had used them to stab Marco in the back, and that they were currently crime scene evidence.  The shears reminded him that he had another appointment with Sheriff Beckett tomorrow afternoon, and he debated once again on how to best explain the sticky residue on Marco's undershirt.  He was so lost in thoughts of murder and arson, and the best way to handle both Brian and the ruined burner coils, that he didn't hear the footsteps behind him until it was too late to escape.

        "Whatcha doin' Fr. O'Kenney?  Can I help?"

        If your insides could groan, Kevin's let out a doozy.  The last person he wanted to deal with today, after Tessa Peppers, of course, was Irwin Teller.  He was a nice enough kid, who probably meant well, but he was annoying as hell.  He never shut up, his nonsense conversations going on, and on, and on, until you wanted to strangle either him or yourself.  On top of that, the kid was just all together freaky...digging in the dirt for bugs, and then sealing them up in glass jars.  What he did with all those bugs, Fr. Kevin was sure he didn't want to know.  In fact, he really didn't want to know much of anything this morning.  All he had wanted today was some chill time for himself, and the catharsis of some physical, outdoor labor.  He figured the less he responded, the faster Irwin would go away.  He was wrong.

        "I'm weeding the garden, Irwin."

         "Can I help?"

         "No.  I think I can handle it.  Thanks anyway."

         "Are you sure, 'cause I'm awesome at digging?"

         "I'm sure.  Why don't you ask your mother if she needs help digging at your house."

         "No...she told me to go outside and find something to do."

         "Honestly Irwin, there's is nothing to do here either."

          "Oh, you're wrong, Fr. O'Kenney.  There's always something going on over here.  My dad says so.  Says Holy Family is like a three-ring circus.  I'd love to see your circus, Father, can I?"

           Trying to keep his cool, Fr. Kevin replied, "Gee Irwin,  that's a funny thing for your dad to say.  Why do you think he said that?"  He had a momentary pinch of guilt for probing a kid about the neighborhood gossip, but let it slide.  This was Irwin he was dealing with, after all.

            Irwin, finally glad to be engaged in a conversation, and knowing interest when he saw it, smiled sweetly and said, "My dad says you got beat up by a harmless, old lady.  That true, Fr. O'Kenney?  That why your face looks all nasty and beat up?"

           Damned if he was going to let an eleven year old get the best of him.  Using the best of his child psychology, he decided to explain his side of the story to someone who was actually interested in hearing it.  "Well, you see Irwin.  That's not exactly what happened.  We were at the bank, and I honestly thought Mrs. Peppers..."

             "It was old lady Peepers that popped you in the face, Fr. O'Kenney?  Then I understand, completely"

             "What do you mean by that?"

             "That one is all kinds of crazy.  You best stay away from her, Father. Mrs. Peepers poisoned my friend Eddie Gerber's cat.  Said he found Mr. Boots in his yard all stiff and stuff.  It was terribly nasty."

              "Now, really, Irwin.  It's not nice to spread untrue stories like that.  It's called gossip, you know.  And it's a sin.  Do you know what sin is, Irwin?"

             Irwin puffed out his chest, all indignant, and sputtered, "Yeah, yeah, Father.  Mrs. Sykes at school told us all about it.  She said your soul gets all black, and then you go to confession, and God takes a big eraser, and erases all the sins, and then you and God are good again.  But I'm not making it up, Father O'Kenney, honest I'm not.  'Cause lying to a priest would be like a mega-sin, right?  And I wouldn't want my soul black like that, no siree!  I'd have to go to confession, and I'm not crazy about that whole thing.   But, I'm telling you the truth right now.  One time Mrs. Peepers..."

            "Could we please call her by her right name, Irwin.  It seems disrespectful to keep calling her Mrs. Peepers, even if you are not terribly fond of the lady."  Kevin worked hard at stifling a smile at the name "Peepers" attached to Tessa Peppers.

             "I was just gettn' to that part, Father.  You never let me finish!"  The boy paused, assured that he had the priest's full attention.  "One time, I was looking for bugs on Mr. Scutney's lawn.  You know him, right, Father?  Tall, skinny guy that drives the red Mustang...always has a girl with him? That guy. He lives right next door to Mrs. Peep...I mean Mrs. Peppers."

           "Yes, Irwin.  I think I know who you're talking about."  Amazed at the amount of information the kid had seemed to amass about the people of Dollyville, Fr. Kevin vowed from now on to watch everything he said or did in front of Irwin Teller. "So what about Mr. Scutney?"

           "Well, like I said, I was digging for bugs along side his back fence.  You know I like bugs, right Father?"

             "Yes, Irwin.  I know all about the bugs.  But what does that have to do with Mr. Scutney or Mrs. Peep...I mean Mrs. Peppers?"  He prayed he'd never slip and call the woman "Peepers" to her face.

           "Well, I was just there digging with a stick, when I saw Mrs... the old lady...sneak up to Mr. Scutney's window and look inside.  She was watching for a long time.  Then, I saw her take out her cell phone, and I think she was taking pictures, Father.  Of Mr. Scutney.  I was pretty scared, so I tried to sneak away.  But she saw, and chased after me.  Told me she'd break all my fingers and poison my dog, Patches, if I told anybody about what I'd seen.  I love Patches, Father!  I wouldn't want him to end up like Eddie Gerber's cat.  I'm only telling you Father O'Kenney, 'cause you're a priest and all that.  You can't tell people's secrets, right?"

Copyright 2012 Victoria Rocus

           

         




   

          She thought he'd never leave.  There was absolutely nothing wrong with an afternoon romp.  Unless perhaps,  Cassie's thought, your partner didn't understand the meaning of the word "afternoon". It was well after 7 pm, and she practically had to push Teddy out the front door.  Maybe it was the miserable weather, or maybe, God forbid, he was getting much too attached.  Either way, he seemed terribly reluctant to make his way back to his house, and leave her to her own affairs.  He'd even hinted around that they should share a quiet little dinner, which of course in his mind meant Cassie should get up and prepare it, knowing full well a restaurant was out of the question.

          There was no way that was going to happen.  She had business to take care of this evening, starting with the envelope the priest had dropped off a few hours earlier.  She watched Ted walk the two blocks to his car in the pouring rain, and developed a momentary stab of guilt that she hadn't offered him something to eat, or at least an umbrella to take with.  But the fleeting guilt didn't linger long.  It was probably best that he he should find her rather obnoxious.  It would make it easier on him when she disappeared without a backward glance. Teddy had been fun to have around, and because of his position as Sheriff, she had an inside track on the workings of the town.  But with Lizzie, and the half million gone, she needed a new plan of action, and a quick exit from Dollyville.  Ted was just a casualty of tough business.

          She grabbed the envelope off the table and spread the stacks of cash on her bed, dividing it in even piles of $200.  She reasoned that the $4000 should at least get her through the next three weeks if she remained sensible with her money.  Most things she could charge, but the electronic paper trail that she'd leave made her nervous.  It couldn't be helped for things like plane tickets and hotel reservations, but for most of the day to day expenses, including the PI she'd hire to track down Lizzie, she'd use the cash.  She stuffed the stacks of bills into a small cosmetic case and shoved it in the armoire. That finished, Cassie grabbed her laptop and got down to the question of where she should head next.  The west coast was out...too expensive and too few opportunities for what she had in mind.  She certainly couldn't return to New Orleans, not after the way she left things there.  Maybe Florida, although the humidity was a killer this time of the year.

         Before she could settle on a destination, the land phone rang again, just as it had several times in the last few hours.  She knew who it was, and let her answering machine pick it up. "Hi.  You've reached the number for Cassandra McKreedy, of Fickleman and Fines, Account Services.  I'm not able to take your call right now.  Please leave a message, and I'll return your call as soon as possible.  Thank you. BEEP"

        "Hello?  Ms. McKreedy?  Are you there?  This is Tessa Peppers again.  I really need for you to call me back.  I'm having a problem withdrawing money from my late husband's memorial fund, and those damn bank people are telling me the account is empty.  We both know that's absurd.  I trusted you with my accounts, and I expect you to fix this nonsense immediately.  Call me right now at 563-8871."

          Cassie deleted the messages, and turned back to her laptop.  Tampa, Florida was sounding just about perfect right now.  All she had to do was take that first crucial step out the front door.

Copyright 2012 Victoria Rocus

Okay...and now a word from our sponsor.  This blog, and each and every post and photo, is the exclusive property of the author, and may not be copied or reproduced for any type of commercial use.  Thank you for your continued support!  Vicki

          Risky business it was.  Smoking a joint in the rectory parlor.  Fr. Kevin sat on the davenport near an open window, waving as much of the smoke out the crack as he could, and knowing it probably wasn't helping much.   Tomorrow, he'd have to open all the windows on the first floor, and use several cans of FeBreeze before the room would smell normal.  And that was just too damn bad.

          His nose throbbed with every exhale, and he could see that by dawn, he'd a have a pair of award winning shiners, just in time for 8:30 Mass.  He could imagine his parishioners whispering and poking each other as he said Mass with a huge bandage on his swollen nose, his eyes racooned in shades of black and blue.   The news of how he came to look like a prize fighter was most likely the topic of conversation around every dinner table in town, and by Wednesday afternoon, he'd be the butt of dozens of unfunny jokes.

        So be it.  He had really thought the woman was having a freaking heart attack, and the last thing he had expected was for her to haul off and pop him one in the nose.  Touching it gingerly, he winced and determined it was likely broken across the bridge.  He debated whether he should stop by the clinic and have someone look at it, see if there would be any permanent damage.  Of course, then he would have to explain to the attending doc how he came to be in such a position, and he wasn't up for the smirks or snickers that would follow the story.  In addition, his last remaining pair of decent dress shoes were soaking wet, and probably ruined, from his walk back home in the railing monsoon.  No...he'd just stay here and self medicate with this mighty fine weed.  It seemed to be doing the trick already.

        From outside the opened window, he could hear cracking and creaks, as if someone were shuffling around in the hedges next to the building.  He should have been alarmed, what with the murder and arson still unsolved.  But he was far too mellow to get off the sofa and investigate, and in a few moments, he saw two small hands curl around the window sill, followed by the rest of Brian's wee body.

       "Go away!"  Kevin mumbled.  "I'm not in the mood for any other worldly fairy shit right now.  I've had a crap-ass day, and I just want to relax in peace.  Besides, the last time you were here, I ended up sick as dog "

        The little man hopped off the window sill, and dragged a small burlap bag behind him.  Leaning on the arm of the sofa, he chuckled and replied, "Not my fault ya ken not be holding your whiskey, lad.  Boys your size in the Old Country can handle double what ya swallowed up."

       "Honestly...I don't give a flying flute about the 'Old Country'...or the 'Old Sod'...or anything else right now.  So why don't you just take your mini self off some where...and crawl back under some rock ...or rainbow..or where ever it is you came from...and leave me alone."

        Brian scowled and shook a pointy finger at Kevin.  "Your rudeness, lad, is second only to your need to act like a wee bairn.  If you weren't Margaret's boy, I'd have turned you into moss for the tone ya been taken' with me.  So why don't ya be settln' your ginger self down, and share some of that fine tobacco you be smokn', and we can be friends again.  See...I come bearn' gifts."  He opened the ties on the burlap bag, and from it produced both of Kevin's missing shoes.

         "You didn't happen to also bring along my gold proof coin, did you?"  Kevin asked, passing the joint to the tiny man perched on his sofa arm.  Despite his common sense, he giggled at the thought of a stoned clurichaun wondering around the streets of Dollyville.

         "I most certainly did not!  The day I willingly give up gold is the day my Creator should come and whisk me home.  That gold was your gift to me...and I intend to keep it!"

         Feeling pleasantly happy, Kevin was in no mood to begin an argument with fairy folk, so he dropped the subject and asked instead, "I suppose you'll be wanting your chair back?"

         "Ay...and my bowl and spoon too.  Mighty hard breakn' the fast without 'em.  And since ya be singing a politer song...I may be inclined to help ya out a bit."

         "How so?"

         "That face of yours be lookin' like a piece of raw meat, lad.  With a snap of my fingers, I could make ya right as rain."

          "You mean with some type of strange fairy magic?

          "Now, I wouldn't be calln' it strange...it's as real as the air we breath and ken not see...but yes..a touch of fairy magic... and poof!  Face looks good as new."

           "Uh...no thanks.  I'll just let it heal the good old fashioned mortal way."

           "But that'll take way too long, lad.  Ya'll be walkn' aroun' with that nose lookn' like a grape for days and days.  Why not take me up on the offer...and let me do ya a favor?'

           "Um, maybe because I'm a Catholic priest.  I can't go dabbling in supernatural, fairy magic.  It just wouldn't be right.  My conscience wouldn't allow it.  I'm sure it's bad enough you're here, sitting on my sofa, having this conversation."

            "Suit yourself, lad.  I was only offering a wee bit of kindness."

           Despite the absolute absurdity of the situation, Kevin laughed and added, "You must think I'm pretty stupid.  We both know that a clurichaun, or any fairy folk for that matter, would expect something in return for a favor, and I'm surely not going to put myself in debt to the likes of you. Not now...not ever"

            The little man smiled slyly, and handing the joint back to Kevin, replied, "Ever is a mighty long time, lad.  Ya'd be wise to watch your words."

Copyright 2012 Victoria Rocus

       

       

     

           It took all of six seconds for Fr. O'Kenney's brain to register that something was terribly wrong with Mrs. Peppers.  He dropped to his knees and began to administer CPR, while at the same time offering the prayers for the Sacrament of the Sick.  He yelled for the teller, who seemed frozen in place, to call 911.  He placed his left hand over his right, and began the chest compressions, praying to God that the paramedics would arrive soon.  He opened his mouth to ask the teller if the bank had a defibrillator, but never got the chance, as Mrs. Pepper's right hand flew up, smashing him on the bridge of his noise with a sickening crunch.

          "What the hell do you think you're doing?  Get your damn paws off of me, you red headed baboon!"  With slapping hands, she pushed the priest away, and worked at getting to a sitting position.

           Fr. Kevin eyes watered while pain radiated from the center of his face, and he could feel a trickle of something warm running over his lip. If he had been a television cartoon character, he was sure stars and birdies would be floating over his head, signaling an alarming injury.  Too stunned to speak, he heard the teller scolding Mrs. Peppers.

          "Lay back down, mam. It will be alright.  The ambulance is on the way.  We think you had a heart attack, so you need to lie still."

           On her knees, Tessa crawled over to a chair nearby, and using it as leverage, pushed her ample frame to a standing position.  "Don't be idiotic!" she barked.  "Can't you see I'm just fine?  Just had a fainting spell, is all.  It's so damn hot in this asinine bank, it's not surprising a soul would pass out."  Noticing Fr. Kevin on the floor holding his aching nose, she grabbed a box of Kleenix off the teller's counter and tossed it to him.  "Jeez, Fr. O'Kenney!  You have blood running from your nose.  You look a mess...very undignified I should add."

            At that moment, the paramedics arrived, and thinking it was Fr. Kevin who needed their aid, rushed over to him before being corrected by both the teller and Mrs. Peppers.  Sheepishly, they gave the woman a quick look over while she fussed and ranted, and decided that a trip to the hospital was   probably in order.  As she was being strapped to the stretcher for transport, Tessa continued to take the poor teller to task, warning her, "You people aren't going to get away with this!  Can't go stealing people's hard earned money and get away with it, mark my words!  You tell that Gus Mooney I'll have his head for this!"  Her voice trailed off as she was loaded into the ambulance, and the teller gave an audible sigh of relief.

         Noticing the priest still standing there with his hand to his nose, and a fistful of bloody Kleenex, the young woman went into the back office and returned with a damp hand towel, and a small bag of ice.  While Kevin tended to his injury, the teller worked at preparing Cassie's withdrawal.  He paid little attention to the amount of money she was counting out in front of him, as he was busy wiping the blood from his face and the front of his jacket.

       When she finished, and slipped toward him the receipt, and a large manila envelope with the stacks of hundreds inside, he was left speechless.  Cassie McKreedy had requested a withdrawal of $4,000, a great deal of cash, he reasoned, for someone not going anywhere, to have on hand. Shaking his head over the strangeness of this town, he remarked to the teller that he would be glad when he could finally deliver this to it's owner, and be done with the errand from hell.  The teller, who already felt she was vastly under paid to be expected to deal with this type of bullshit, gave him a weak smile, and turned back to her computer.

         As Fr. O'Kenney left the bank, the wind and rain picked up, just in time to make the trip more of a disaster.  He pulled out his cell phone, and noticed that it was 2:20 pm, and that he was going to be late for his appointment with Sheriff Beckett.  He called the office at the county building, hoping for a reprieve, but was told that since he had not shown up, the Sheriff had left for the day.  He was asked if he'd like to re-schedule for another time, and after setting up another appointment... two days from now... hung up in a frustrated state.  At this point, he wanted only to deliver this money, and return to the rectory where he could tend to his nose, and feel sorry for himself in peace.

       He trudged his way to Cassie's house...corrected himself...it was the Franklin's house...and by the time he arrived, his shoes and socks were soaked, his nose throbbed in rhythm, and he really needed to take a pee.  He rang the bell with more force than was polite, and stood waiting in the down pour.  When no one answered after several minutes, he tried pounding on the door, and then on the front window.  He argued that the woman must be at home, as that was the whole reason he was standing here in the rain.  As he reached to bang on the bell yet another time, the door opened a crack and Cassie McKreedy stood in the doorway in a pink bathrobe.

       "Oh, Father, it's you.  Sorry, I didn't hear you, with the storm and all.  Were you able to get the withdrawal for me?  No problems, I hope?"

        Not wanting to tell the whole story while he stood wet in the pouring rain, he replied, "No...they had everything ready for you at the bank, but I was a bit curious about a few things.  May I come in?  Honestly, I really need to use your restroom."

        "Gee, Father.  I'd love to but...um...I'm feeling a bit under the weather today, and I'm really not up for company.  Some other time, okay?  Besides, I might be contagious, and we don't want you catching what I have, right?  You know, you don't look so hot yourself.  Maybe you need to get home and rest, maybe with a hot drink or something?"  She put her hand out for the envelope, and once she had it in hand, thanked Kevin with a wink, and closed the door.

          Devoid of any remaining good will, he stomped down the porch stairs and headed toward the rectory, thinking today was one of the shittiest days he had experienced in a long time.  Well, at least since the day he found Marco dead on his front lawn.  Debating it a bit more, he decided that the last two weeks had been pretty crappy, and he was sick of the whole terrible nonsense.  Pondering his state of unhappy affairs, he morosely sloshed onward. The street was deserted and quiet, except for an occasional clap of thunder, and the sound of the rain hitting the pavement.  As he turned the corner on Bay Street, two blocks from Cassie's home, he noticed the Sheriff's patrol car, locked and empty.  In disgust, he picked up the pace, and tramped his way back home.

Copyright 2012 Victoria Rocus

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     Vicki