SEARCH FOR MISSING TULIP HEIRESS
CONTINUES
The headline screams at us from the front page of some online
newspaper that Ollie’s managed to find, utilizing his uncanny skills—both
Internet and otherwise. It’s hard to believe that when I first met him, he’d
never even seen a computer. Now he’s better at using the damn thing than I am.
Plastered across page one is a photograph, and it’s not
difficult to recognize the bride to be sitting in our office. I glance from the
screen to the spirit, affirming her identity, at least in my own mind. Yes, it’s
her, without a doubt. To be honest, she possesses no more color in person—so to
speak—than she does in the black and white photo before us. Death is not very
becoming to most people and she’s no exception to that rule.
I slip into my chair and peruse the story. It appears that Consuelo
here is the only child of one Bodean Fairchild, a gentleman known throughout
the South as the Tulip King, renowned for his innovative and unusual
cross-breeding methods that have brought him great acclaim in the botanical
world, and a great deal of revenue from his chain of florist shops that
crisscross the country. Consuelo is—or should I say was—engaged to be married
to Egbert Montauk, a geneticist in the employ of her father. A marriage of
convenience, I can’t help but think. Money speaks loudly and possession of the
same can smooth over a great many things.
The bride was last heard from on the day of the wedding,
according to her distraught bridegroom. He talked to her by phone that morning.
He offered to stop by her apartment, but she vetoed the idea and told him she’d
see him at the church. She never
arrived. Her concerned father drove to his
daughter’s apartment. When she didn’t answer the door, he let himself in and
found the apartment in disarray, no sign
of Consuelo.
I glance up at Ollie. “Did you ask her what happened?” Seems
an obvious question, but sometimes I guess I’m just master of the obvious.
He nods. “She doesn’t remember.”
That’s not unusual, we’ve found, in our experiences with the
dead. Many don’t come through with memories completely intact. Not surprising.
Death must rank as a pretty traumatic event in the scheme of things. And when you’re straddling that thin line between
this world and the next, it really becomes understandable that certain things become
lost in the ether.
Of course, that doesn’t make our jobs any easier. But at
least we have some information to go on. And a starting point for our
investigation.
Cortez, Mississippi.
Yep, I was right. Road trip ahead.
“Stan.” Ollie nudges me, concern in his voice. He nods
toward our visitor, and I can see why. She’s beginning to shimmer, like a
poorly tuned television picture. That just means her hold is slipping, and she’s
too far from her body to maintain her grip in this place. If it weren’t for the
attraction that Ollie exudes, she’d have never found us, but there’s something
very special about him that draws them to him.
Still, we need to find out what we can. There’s no guarantee
we’ll be able to find her again, when we reach her home town. Or that she’ll be
in any condition to speak with us.
Ollie skirts the desk and hastens to the seat at her side,
just as that damned cat leaps up into his lap then turns toward me with a hiss
and a smirk—don’t even tell me cats can’t smirk, this is no ordinary
feline—before settling down. I’d deal with her but we have other fish to fry.
“Try to remember what happened,” he gently encourages her. “You
were getting ready for your wedding, weren’t you? Was anyone with you? Your
mother? A friend, maybe? One of your bridesmaids?”
I take up a position behind Ollie, but I can see that it’s rapidly
becoming a lost cause. She cocks her head and regards him with a faraway look
in her eyes, even as she reaches out one hand toward the pampered princess; her
fingers slide right through her. “I have
to get to the church,” she moans. “Eggy must be wondering where I am.”
Eggy? I think I’d have to change my name.
“Do you remember your address? Where do you live?” I’m
trying to get any bit of information we can before it’s too late, but all I
receive for my pains is a scornful look, and then she suddenly winks out of
existence. Poof! And she’s gone.
Well, damn. Guess we’re on our own. At least for now.
“Here, I made you the shake, you might as well enjoy it.”
But before I can reach for the glass where I left it on the desk, Xylina has
anticipated me and proffers it herself with a self-satisfied smirk.
“Thanks, Xy.” He takes it from her, then turns to me. “Thank
you for making it, Stan.” Ollie flashes me a large smile, and my irritation
fades, just like that. “Guess we should get packed.”
“If you think I intend to sit in the back seat,” Xylina
fairly hisses at me.
“Who said you were coming, yer majesty?”I take a step closer
to her, drawing up to my full height.
Unfortunately, she has a few inches on me in that department. On us, I
should say. I know I’m wasting my
breath. Where he goes, she goes. And there’s nothing I can really do about it.
But I still find myself protesting, just because it gives me a small measure of
pleasure. And it lets her know just exactly where I stand.
“You’ll be more comfortable in the back seat, Xy.” Ollie
attempts to soothe over the spoilt cat’s bruised ego. “Why don’t you pack us some food, Stan, and
I’ll pack a suitcase?”
We each have our strengths.
Cortez, Mississippi, here we come.
to be continued
Don't forget to visit the rest of our intrepid crew and enjoy their flash fiction offerings!
Cia Nordwell m/m
Nephylim m/m
Victoria Adams m/f flash virgin!!!!!
Elizabeth Morgan m/f flash virgin!!!!!
Tali m/m
I absolutely love the voice of this story, it's playful wit. Every week I want to find out where this goes!
ReplyDeleteStan and Ollie - love it. Will be back to see what happens next.
ReplyDeleteI love watching the 'cat' interactions, lol. I sort of watch for those. I love her sarcasm and poking at Stan. Can't wait to find out about the murder. Really interesting so far!!
ReplyDelete