The Gift of Silence

The man stood outside the store window, shifting from foot to foot. I’d have probably gone right by him, but as I passed he looked me straight in the face, sending a chill up my back. So, instead of walking away, I found a place in the shadows and watched him.

He wore a black golf shirt with a Nike swish. His black slacks were neatly pressed, but scuffs covered the toes of his dark shoes. As he paced in front of the store as if waiting for something or someone, his left foot dragged. Maybe that was where the scuffs came from. He kept pushing dark hair out of his eyes. A girl passed him by without so much as a glance. She wore the flip-flops and short shorts. He turned away from her. Why look me in the face and ignore this young girl with long flowing blond hair?

After an interminable twelve minutes, he entered the store. I crept to the side window to get a closer view. A saleslady approached with a big hopeful smile. He jerked away as if he might flee, but she persisted. Probably learned that in Sales 101.

Peering inside, I could make out the blurry image of the saleslady as she crouched down to open a box of shiny objects. When she bent, his hand slipped around and grabbed something. He pocketed it so fast I’d have missed it if I’d blinked. Gasping in surprise, I nearly collapsed into the window. So neat. So fast.

While I recovered from the shock of having witnessed a theft, the man exited the store. He hurried in the direction downtown. With his hands tucked in his pockets and his head lowered, he wove along the street between moms with kids, students with backpacks and cyclists. I followed closely behind. What did he plan to do with his ill-gotten gains?

My friends would ask me why didn’t I go inside the store and raise the alarm. What were you thinking, watching, witnessing and doing nothing? No wonder we pay so much money for our trinkets. Thieves get away with it and it’s all the fault of people like you.. Yes, my friend, Rose, would give me such a lecture. But, I never intended to tell Rose about this. Not if I could help it.

Instead, I raced down the street, avoiding other shoppers and site-seers with the sole purpose of finding out what this strange man was up to. My watch read two-fifteen. I had missed the coffee date with my cousin. She’d forgive me. I’ll make up an excuse about traffic or something equally lame. I couldn’t think about her now. I had to see where this man led me. My curious nature would never let me rest otherwise.

Moments later he entered the parking deck. He was going to his car. Darn! Once he got in a car, I’d lose him for sure. My car was parked here as well, but on the top level. His was probably on the first level. It was impossible to imagine we’d be parked close enough for me to follow him.

He entered the elevator. The light flashed up to level 4. I raced up the stairs like a madwoman. Huffing and puffing, I reached level 4 just as the elevator doors opened. I caught a glimpse of his black form walking over to a red Kia. I made a quick turn and hightailed up to the fifth level to retrieve my car. Then I plowed down to the exit, round and round, hoping, praying. Perfect. The red Kia was just in front of me, waiting to pay. The Universe was on my side.

Mr. Thief drove slowly, obeying all the traffic rules, making it easy for me to keep him in sight. Nonetheless, I stayed one car back, not wanting to risk him seeing me. Maybe he’d remember me from the street? A shiver ran through me. What would he do, this thief? Stop his car, jump out and murder me? Absurd.

The light changed. We moved down the road. Thoughts filled my head. Had the Universe wanted me to witness this travesty? Everything seemed to be falling into place. Don’t be stupid. Rose would say to me and tell me I’m being melodramatic.

We turned into the parking lot for the Hermitage Nursing Home. This made no sense. Why not a pawn shop? Didn’t thieves go to shady shops on busy street corners with flashing neon signs to hock their merchandise. Not to a nursing home. Maybe he worked here? Maybe he was some sort of klepto and couldn’t help himself? Maybe he had no intention of hocking the stolen article? He pulled into a parking place a few steps from the entrance. I chose one farther away. From my rearview mirror, I spied him getting out of the car.

Once I got inside, he’d disappeared. Several corridors went right and left. Which way?

I approached the information desk where a girl of about twenty had her head buried in a People magazine. Her eyes filled with wonder when she finally spotted me as if I’d fallen from the moon. “Can I help you?”

“The man who just came in. He dropped a five-dollar bill in the parking lot. I ran after him, but I missed him. Do you know where he might be?”

“Oh, that’s Jerome. He’s visiting his mom. Comes every day at least once. Want me to give it to him?”

I hesitated. She noticed. “Well… I guess it won’t hurt for you to go down to room 212. It’s the last room on the right, down that corridor.” She pointed the direction.

I moseyed away as if I had all the time in the world. Once out of her view, I picked up my pace. Muffled conversation came from room 212. Mr. Thief was talking very loudly. Apparently his mom had hearing issues.

At the door, I peered inside. Mr. Thief perched on the edge of the bed containing an attractive woman with cottony white hair.

“You shouldn’t have, Jerome. I know how much this place is costing you.”

“But, mom, it’s Christmas. I wanted to give you a little something.”

“Just having you here is enough. But, I do like bracelets. You know how I like bracelets. Remember when your dad gave me a diamond bracelet—of course, I didn’t know it wasn’t diamonds then. It wasn’t till later. Remember? After he died and left nothing but bills and debts. I tried to sell the bracelet and found out it was worthless. I flushed it down the commode.”

“I remember, Mom. You told me that story. I wanted you to have a real diamond bracelet before it was too late.”

She hugged him. “This is the best gift ever.”

I backed away from the room, my heart racing.

In my car I didn’t wait for Mr. Thief, a.k.a. Mr. Nice Son to emerge.  Instead I started my car and drove home.

***

Joan Curtis is the author the award-winning novel The Clock Strikes Midnight and the newly released mystery series e-Murderer. Take a look at the book trailer for The Clock Strikes Midnight.

A Simple Thank You

All it might have taken was a simple 'thank you.'

Mary let out a loud huff. She waddled over to the lounge chair and collapsed.

Kay sat nearby with her book up to her nose and pretended to be reading. If she glanced at her sister for even a second, Mary would order her to do something.

“Are you at a stopping place?” Mary asked in a gravelly voice that sounded as if she’d been sleeping for hours.

Kay turned a page. Yes, she could stop, but why should she? This marked the first time in two weeks that she’d indulged in a little pleasure reading.

Another loud huff sounded in the vicinity of Mary. How was a person supposed to concentrate when Mary made so much noise? Kay kept reading.

“Kay, are you at a stopping place?” This time Mary’s voice echoed clear without the sickly affections.

Kay looked up. “I am now.”

“Good, I need you to get my medicine. It’s on the counter in the kitchen by the sink. I feel a spell coming on any minute.”

A spell coming on? When was a spell not coming on? Kay got up. She placed the book on the little table by the lounge chair. A soft breeze turned the page. “You’ll lose your place,” Mary said. “Put a bookmark in. Don’t lay it flat. It will ruin the binding. When you go in for my medicine, you can get a bookmark in the desk drawer.” She wiped sweat from her face and neck.

Kay walked inside. Every cell in her body wanted to scream. She’d been bossed around by Mary her entire life. Growing up, Kay waited on her sister hand and foot. She’d run down the stairs and tell their mom, “Mary wants a glass of water.” Mom always asked, “Why can’t the princess get it herself?” Kay replied each time, “She says she doesn’t feel well.”

Inside the small condo, Kay found the medicine exactly where Mary said it would be. She lifted two pills, Mary’s usual dose, filled a glass with three cubes of ice and returned to the patio.

“You didn’t bring the pad. You know I have to record the medicine on the pad. Go back and get the pad.” She patted more sweat off her upper lip.

On the way back, Kay wondered what her life would have been like if she hadn’t chosen to live with her sister. She imagined herself in a big house with several children and a husband. Kay had a chance for that kind of life, but she’d turned it down. Or, rather Mary did it for her.

Kay handed Mary the pad and pencil. Mary shoved the water glass at her. “I need more than this to take two pills.”

When Hank had asked Kay to marry him, Kay bubbled with joy. She raced home to tell her sister. “He’ll move in here, of course,” Mary responded. She was watching her daily soap opera and hadn’t even muted the sound.

Kay had not thought about where they’d live. Mary and Kay had resided together ever since their parents were killed in an automobile accident ten years previously. Mary still ordered Kay around like a slave, but Kay always thought she’d eventually move away.

“I think we will find our own place,” Kay had said. But, Mary burst out laughing. “How will you do that? I have all the money. You either live here with him or you’ll be penniless.”

That was when Kay had made the biggest mistake of her life. She told Hank what Mary had said. He refused and later ended the relationship.

Last week, Kay celebrated her 54^th birthday alone in her room. Mary didn’t even remember.

“Kay, what in the world are you doing? Where’s my water?” Mary’s voice travelled far when she wanted it to.

Kay refilled the water glass along with the contents of the syringe and added the requisite number of ice cubes.

All her life Kay did what Mary wanted. Last year Kay decided to make some changes. She had begun syphoning money out of the bank account. Mrs. Warner at the bank knew her and knew how Mary treated her. She helped Kay open her own account. It had grown steadily. Kay was ready.

Back on the patio, Kay handed the glass to Mary and stood there.

“Well, what do you want?”

Kay stared her sister in the face. “I want you to say ‘thank you.’”

“Thank you for what?”

Kay shrugged. “For everything. But, if you want me to be specific, for the glass of water I just handed you.”

Mary burst into a fit of laughter, her heavy breasts bouncing up and down.

“That really has been all I’ve ever wanted from you, Mary. Just a word of gratitude. A simple thank you.”

Kay turned and walked back into the condo. She gathered her few things and put them in the suitcase she’d bought last week at Wal-Mart.

Mary screamed in a choking voice. “Kay, get out here now… something’s… wrong with me.” From everything Kay had read it wouldn’t take long; it would be fast.

Kay walked out the front door, down the street and caught the bus to Nashville, a city she’d always wanted to visit.

Spotlight on Joan C. Curtis

Today we're spending our time getting to know Lightning Quick Reads author, Joan C. Curtis. 

Four times business book author, Joan C. Curtis, released her first mystery/suspense title, The Clock Strikes Midnight.

Her first-place book awards include: Best mystery manuscript in the Malice Domestic Grants competition and best proposal for nonfiction in the Harriette Austin competition

Joan has been an avid reader for as long as she can remember.  She reads all kinds of books, including women’s fiction, mysteries, biography, and memoir.  Her passion as a reader lies closer to literary writing with a commercial bent. She writes books she would love to read.

“I write about characters who remind me of myself at times and my sister at times, but never fully so. My stories are told from a woman’s point of view. Characters drive my writing and my reading.”

Having grown up in the South with a mother from Westchester County New York, Joan has a unique take on blending the southern traditions with the eye of a northerner.  She spent most of her childhood in North Carolina and now resides in Georgia.

LQR: Welcome, Joan. Thanks for visiting with us today. Can you tell our readers a little about you?

Joan: I’m married with three step children and four step grandchildren. My career before writing consisted of public speaking. I was a leadership development specialist with an emphasis on communication. I led many workshops and retreats and wrote four business books around these topics. Personally, I love to read. I’m also an exercise junkie, a cat lover and a person who wishes she lived in Italy.

LQR: If you had to pick only one moment that spurred you to write professionally, what moment is the most inciting?

Joan: A number of years ago, I submitted a story to a national contest sponsored by Reader’s Digest and McCall’s Magazine. My story won second place, and the Reader’s Digest editor called me. A year later my story was published as an original piece for that publication. That experience led me to believe I could write professionally. It was the first time I was paid for something I wrote.

LQR: Does the majority of your work focus around or within a single theme? If so, what is it?

Joan: No, my work contains various theme. For the most part I write stories that include some component of mystery or suspense. But the theme of The Clock Strikes Midnight is very different from that of The e-Murderer.

LQR: Tell us about your newest release.

Joan: My newest release is The e-Murderer which will launch September, 1st. This is the first in a series starring Jenna Scali and her friends. The early manuscript of this book won first place in the Malice Domestic Grants Competition. Currently I’m working on the second book in the Jenna Scali series. I’m also working on another stand alone story that is too early in its creation to discuss.

print book available August 31st

LQR: What is one of your favorite authorial moments from your career so far?

Joan: One of the hardest things to do in this world of publishing is to get a fiction piece accepted. My nonfiction books were quickly picked up by Praeger Press. But, fiction is another story. When I received the letter of acceptance from MuseItUp Publishing for The Clock Strikes Midnight, I was stunned and elated. That had to be a favorite moment for me as an author. It meant someone believed in my work.

LQR: Share with us a five year goal for your writing career.

Joan: My five year goal is to see both Jenna Scali mysteries published and a third on the way. I’d also like to see The Clock Strikes Midnight made into a movie (ha, ha) and publish my current standalone book. My dream is to live in Italy for a period of time where I would write book 3 of the Jenna Scali mystery. Imagine her going there to find her ancestors and she stumbles on a murder…

LQR: Do you write what you read? Watch? What are your favorite television shows and movies?

Joan: I write books I’d love to read. Do I write what I read? I’m not sure about that. I am sure I don’t write what I watch although my favorite TV shows are mysteries including all of Masterpiece Mystery. I also love Masterpiece Classic (including Downton Abbey). My favorite movies vary. I loved Kings Speech and ART. I also loved all the Girl with the Dragoon Tattoo movies (Swedish version) and books.

LQR: If you had one week away from any and all responsibility what would you want to spend your time doing?

Joan: Setting is critical. So, I’d be in a small village in Tuscany, Umbria or Puglia. I’d spend the morning sipping coffee at a local café and talking with the locals. I’d spend the early afternoon on a bench watching people, studying their habits, noting their gestures and recording those details The latter part of the day, I’d take off for a tour of the region. That evening, I’d spend time reading and sipping a hearty red wine.

Winner to be announced in October. Congrats & good luck Joan!

LQR: That sounds wonderful! Anything else you’d like to add?

Joan: It’s been great fun writing the short stories for Lighting Quick Reads. Being a mystery writer, I try to give the stories some kind of surprise. I’ve also enjoyed reading the other authors’s stories. Short story writing is very different than novel writing and has enabled me to stretch my writing skill.

LQR: That’s great to hear, Joan. Thank you. Where can readers find you online?

Joan: Readers can find me on my website http://www.joancurtis.com I’d love for them to sign up there. They’d get my bi-monthly newsletter as well as all the updates on upcoming releases. I’d also love to see them on my blog http://www.joancurtis.com/blog There I post lots of writing tips, author interviews, book reviews and much more. And of course, I’m on Twitter @joancurtis. I have a Facebook author’s page http://www.facebook.com/joancurtisauthor

Call of the Wild

A reluctant camper...

“C’mon, Jenna. It’s just for a bloody weekend.”

Trying to dissuade Quentin from doing anything was like trying to change myself into a frog. “Why won’t Alan go with you?”

He harrumphed. “Alan doesn’t like to get his feet wet. He’s fussier than your big ol’ white cat.”

           

“Churchill goes out in the rain—well, not that he likes it, but he does.” I took a deep breath. “Okay, I’ll go, but what do I need to take?”

           

“Bravo!” He nearly danced out my door. “Pack your sleeping bag and a bottle of insect repellant. I’ll fetch the rest.”

“Insect repellant,” I grumbled to myself as I moved back inside the house. What in the world had I gotten myself into? Being Quentin’s BFF had its drawbacks.

Saturday morning rolled around before I had a chance to back out. Quentin pulled up to my driveway and hopped out of his car like a boy on an adventure.

“This is going to be such a lark,” he said as he settled his long, lanky body in my small Honda for the ride to Cumberland Island. “I’ve been reading about this place forever. It’s absolutely natural. A beach with no hotels and tacky restaurants. Can you imagine it? Pristine. Like the beaches in

Photo of Cumberland Island

Cornwall.”

“The beaches in Cornwall are not populated because it’s cold and wet there.”

“They’re promising sunshine here, love.” He’d begun fiddling with his laptop.

“Yeah, it’ll be hot as hell without air conditioning.”

He glared at me. “Don’t be such a sod. You’re gonna love this.”

Yeah like I love freezing on a snowy mountain in ski boots that pinch my feet, another of Quentin’s bright ideas.

“Hey, listen to what the website says. ‘Cumberland Island, Where Nature and History Meet. St Mary’s is the gateway to Georgia's largest and southernmost barrier island.

He exhaled as if allowing his imagination to soak up the place.

“It sounds wonderful,” I acquiesced. I’d heard of this wilderness paradise ever since I’d moved to Georgia. What attracted me was not the wilderness so much as the horses that lived in the wild there. But, what had me a little nervous was what other kinds of wild critters might lurk in the underbrush.

We reached St. Mary’s, a small Georgia coastal town with clapboard houses and fishing boats, a perfect setting for an Agatha Christie mystery. My GPS took us to the dock where we were to meet the ferry to go over to Cumberland Island, the only way to get to that barrier wilderness surrounded by water.

Quentin placed his red Georgia Bulldog cap on his head and leapt from the car. “Hurry up, Jenna. We don’t want to miss the ferry.” He seized the two duffels and the sleeping bags from the backseat. I grabbed my purse full of sunscreen and perfume. Okay, I never wear perfume, but who knew when I’d be able to take a bath in this wasteland.

We joined a group people on the dock.

“They said the snakes are as large as trains over here,” a blond girl told her companion. She wore a low-cut tee and shorts that hugged her rather meaty thighs.

I tossed Quentin a look and mouthed, “Snakes?”

He shrugged.

Oh my God. Wonder what else he forgot to tell me!

“I’d be more fearful of the shooter,” the man, standing next to the girl responded through his snaggletooth. Apparently his parents didn’t believe in orthodontics.

Shooter? Did he say shooter or scooter? Geez.

The girl snuggled close to the snaggletoothed man. “You think he’s here?” Her voice shook.

“C’mon, Stace, he won’t be on the Island. He’s probably done escaped to Cuba by now.”

“Sorry to intrude, but did you say shooter?” I asked.

“Yep. Y’all must be just now getting here?”

“Right-o. Five minutes ago from Athens,” Quentin popped in.

Both stared at Quentin as if he’d dropped from the sky.

“Are you a gen-u-ine Brit?” the girl asked. She moved a bit closer to Quentin and looked him up and down. Apparently snaggletooth wasn’t as interesting.

“That I am, straight off the boat from Manchester. Tell us about this shooter, won’t you?”

The man wrapped his arm around the girl to protect her from Quentin who didn’t have the least interest in the fairer sex. “Some lowlife shot a girl and her kid coupla nights ago. Lest ways that’s what the people in these parts are saying. He up and ran and the po-lice are still looking for ‘im. I was just joshing little Stacy here ‘bout him a being on the Island.”

The ferry pulled up. The people unloading looked as if they’d endured an episode of The Survivor, dirty, droopy-eyed, not a smile among them. They peeled off in twos or threes, dragging their dirty bags behind them.

Quentin moved from foot to foot, clearly anxious to get onboard.

“My name’s Billy Joe,” snaggletooth said. He held out a big hand to Quentin who took it with a quick shake and then wiped it on his jeans. “Quentin Pearson and my friend, Jenna Scali.”

           

“Pleased to meet y’all,” Stacy said. “This y’all’s the first time to Cumberland too?”

“That it is.” Quentin said with a quick glance to make sure I was following along and had not escaped to parts unknown. He handed me one sleeping bag.

We’d made our way starboard, away from Billy Joe and Stacy who climbed to the top. The breeze nearly swiped Quentin’s hat off his head, but he grabbed it in the nick of time.

The island appeared over the horizon looking like something out of South Pacific. The sand almost white with nothing to mar the expansive shoreline. Not a soul in sight.

When the driver docked, he pointed us in the direction of the campgrounds. Most of the people onboard went that way. A few stayed on the boat, apparently going to the small inn somewhere on the other side.

Quentin tugged my arm. “Let’s get our feet wet before we head to the camp.”

I followed him. The sun penetrated my thick hair causing my scalp to tingle. Where was my hat? Probably tucked in the bag with the insect repellent. Pieces of driftwood littered the sand. But, unlike other beaches, there were no signs of civilization—like empty beer cans or even pieces of shells.

A figure moved way down the beach.

“Did you see that?”

Quentin had moved closer to the shore. “What, love?”

I headed in the direction of the shadow. “There, just beyond those dunes. I saw someone.”

Quentin followed. “Hold up!”

I reached the place where I’d seen the movement. Nothing. Birds chirped from the trees and several mosquitoes made a meal out of my bare arms and legs. I slapped them away.

“Did you see a wild horse?” Quentin asked. Hoof marks covered the sand. 

“I saw a man on a horse.” I followed the hoof marks toward the dunes.

Quentin panted behind me. “Probably a ranger, patrolling the area.”

“What ranger? I didn’t hear anything about rangers and anyway why would he disappear like that?” I continued to trace the horse’s path.

“Jen, we don’t want to get too far from the camp.” He pulled on the back of my shirt.

The beach was covered in low-lying trees, thick with green growth. A man on a horse could easily disappear among the underbrush.

“C’mon. We need to get ourselves settled at the site before all the good spots get taken,” Quentin said.

Reluctantly, I followed him back.

That night as I shivered around a ridiculous fire that barely kept a blaze, Billy Joe told Quentin all about his camping exploits. Bored, I wandered toward the latrines. Yes, latrines. Basically they were holes in the ground where we were expected to remove our panties and pee. Yuck. Maybe if I ate and drank nothing, I’d never have to use those facilities.

I walked back behind the trees that blocked off the camp and gazed at the moon on the water.

Someone grabbed me by the arm and knocked me down. “What—“ I yelped.

A deep voice said, “You saw me today, you nosey bitch…” Eyes glared from the darkness out of a hairy face. Had I been caught by Godzilla with an southern accent?

I caught sight of the gleam of a gun when the man grimaced, released my arm, and fell like a tree on my leg.

Billy Joe stood over him with a large club in his hand. “You okay?” he asked, helping me to my feet.

I brushed off my backside. “I think so. What or who was that?”

Billy Joe lifted the gun Godzilla had been holding and handcuffed him. “My guess he’s our shooter.”

“Our?”

He grinned, giving me a good look at his snaggletooth in the moonlight. “Stace and I are here undercover. We suspected this here fella was hiding on the island. So, we came a looking. Surenuf, you found him for us. Good job! Don’t know how you snuffed him out. My guess is he’d been deep in the bush on the island, really hard to snag.”

“Well, I didn’t exactly mean to. But, so glad I could help.”

Quentin came running in our direction. “What the devil…” he said, seeing the shackled man on the ground.

“Your girl helped us nab this fugitive. Good thing I was here otherwise he might’ve blown her head off, too.”

Quentin gasped and scowled at me. “My lord. I can’t take you anywhere without you getting into some muddle.”

Billy Joe moved toward the shore and peered out. “The ferry is on the way back to take our prisoner. Stace and I will be off with him. Good to meet y’all.”

The goon moaned when Billy Joe turned him over.

“I’m not gonna miss that ferry,” I told Quentin on my way back to the site to gather my stuff. “I’ve had enough of this camping thing. I’m heading home to my cats and my warm bed.”

We found a cool little B&B in the town for the night. I settled into a warm bubbly bath and sighed.

Now that’s my idea of camping.

***

This story debuts Jenna and Quentin who will appear in Joan C. Curtis' new mystery series, The e-Murderer, scheduled for release by MuseItUp Publishing in September 2015.