Last week, we saw Egbert and the single forlorn tulip, and we also saw an old acquaintance of Stan and Ollie show up. Today we learn more about her. Don't forget to check out all the Wednesday Briefers, whose links follow my tale! Enjoy!
Stan and Ollie #8
“It’s a free country,” I snark, putting as
much venom in my voice as possible, although I know nothing gets to that
ubiquitous trashmonger. “At least the last time I checked, it was.”
“Oh absolutely!” she
enthuses. “God bless America, I just love this country, don’t you? And I love
my job! So, what are you two up to? And can I put it on the record?” She pulls
out a voice recorder, although I wonder if she doesn’t have a microphone hidden
in her upswept dark brown bouffant hairdo.
Just so you know, her name’s
Lori Hatcher, and she’s an offensively foul reporter for a most offensively
foul rag with pretensions to journalistic integrity—Behind Closed Doors. You’ve
probably seen it near the supermarket checkout stands, vying for consumer
dollars along with a number of other tabloids. She seems to show up whenever
Ollie and I are on a case. Of course she has no idea who we are and what we do
and we’re not about to tell her. Let her draw her own conclusions.
“Are you here for a story or
for a vacation, Miss Hatcher?” Ollie intervenes. My little diplomat. Although
don’t let the mild façade fool you. That man can more than take care of
himself. He knows moves that would make a martial arts expert jealous.
“The word vacation isn’t in
my vocabulary,” she quips. “I have a duty to my readers, you know.”
“I can appreciate that.
Well, I wish you well with your story.” He slides his arm around me, and we
turn to go. Can it really be that easy?
Of course not.
“What do you know about
Consuelo Fairchild?”
My turn to respond. Ollie is
loath to tell a falsehood, while I’m more than happy to lie to this woman’s
face. It’s not any of her business, so I feel no compunction toward doing so. “Never
heard the name. Friend of yours?”
“I wish.” She snorts,
inelegantly. “Maybe you’ve heard of her old man? Bodean Fairchild? Bo’s
Blossoms? The Tulip King?”
I shrug, rolling my eyes. “I’m
not much of one for flowers. So you’re writing the society page now, are you?
Or is this for the science section? Oh my bad, I don’t think your paper has a
science section, just science fiction and myths.”
“Very funny, and neither.
What, do you live under a rock?”
Close enough, and more than
she needs to know.
“She’s disappeared. From
right here in Cortez, Mississippi.”
“I thought you said we were
in Nowhere, Mississippi?” I remind her. “Are you lost? Your magic spells not
working these days?” That’s a reference to our last encounter, when I referred
to her as a witch. She grins at me, obviously remembering the occasion and
insult. I make no apology for my words and she expects none.
“You can’t pull the wool
over my eyes, so don’t even try it.” She turns to Ollie, batting her false
eyelashes so fast you’d think she was trying to fan him. Even if he was
straight, the effect wouldn’t be sexy. As it is, it’s purely wasted effort. I
don’t even have to pretend not to be jealous, because it’s just too pathetic
for words. “I’m sure your nicer half will tell me what I want to know, even if
you won’t.”
“Of course I’ll tell you,”
Ollie smoothly asserts, and I can see her fairly salivate with excitement,
until he adds, “We are in Cortez, Mississippi, not Nowhere. Glad to be of help.”
He takes my arm and we get as far as the top of the bridge before she catches
up with us once more.
“I’m disappointed. When did
you become such a puppet? Where are your strings?” She pretends to search above
Ollie’s head for non-existent guidewires. I shake my head at her lame attempt
at humor. “Consuelo Fairchild disappeared on her wedding day. It’s been all
over the front page ever since it happened.“
“Guess we missed it.” I
shrug.
“So you’re telling me your
being here where she was last seen is a coincidence?” She gives me a skeptical
glance. “C’mon, be gentlemen and spill the beans.”
“It’s been a long time since
anyone’s ever accused me of being a gentleman.” It’s my turn to snort now. “You’re
out of luck, sweetheart. We don’t know anything and we don’t want to know
anything. We’re just here to sample the pecan pie. Hear they make a mighty mean
one, and we just got a hankering for it. Maybe you should get some too. Sweeten
your disposition.”
I know I’ve hit a nerve,
both with my faux endearment and my suggestion. Her face turns red, despite her
best efforts to stay calm. Taking a deep breath, she stands at the railing of
the bridge, glancing down, obviously avoiding my glance. Then she stiffens, and
leans over, pointing excitedly.
“Look, there! Another of
those tulips.”
“What tulips?” I pretend not
to understand.
“Every day since Consuelo
disappeared, a single tulip has appeared in this pond. Like it’s a message or
something. Maybe from her kidnappers.”
“I’m impressed,” Ollie says
softly. “You seem to have an angle for your story already, Miss Hatcher.
Congratulations.”
Her momentary surliness has
been replaced by a know-it-all smirk, as she turns to face us once more. “Well,
it is why I’m one of the top journalists in my field,” she brags. “You don’t
get there by pure luck…”
Delusional, much?
“In fact, I was telling my
editor just the other day—” What she was going to say, we’ll never know as she
takes one look at her foot, uttering, “What the—” Then she shrieks. I glance
downward, catching a glimpse of a small white member of the rodent family
sitting atop her toes. She hastily whirls and sprints down the bridge, away
from us, her story obviously forgotten.
“C’mon, let’s go.” I nod to
Ollie, who reaches down, scoops up the mouse—aka Xylina—and off we go.
to be continued
Now see what the rest of the Briefers are up to!
Victoria Adams m/f
Lily Sawyer m/m
Tali Spencer m/m
MC Houle m/m
Cia Nordwell m/m
Nephylim m/m
Elizabeth Morgan m/f
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