The other night my darling wife and I took a drive to see
some of the outdoor displays. I’ve never been a fan of the inflated Santa Claus or various characters
that are about nowadays like Mickey Mouse, Minions, and Snowmen, to name a few.
It’s the festive lights that always appeal to me. As we cruised slowly through
different neighborhoods, a memory came to mind.
Years ago we lived next door to Greg and Denise. Greg was an engineer and took great pride in
his efforts to light up his yard. He even went so far as to draw up a diagram
of the exterior, indicating where every tree and shrub was and exactly which
strand of lights fit in.
One evening I came home from work to find Greg on the front
sidewalk, admiring his handiwork. When
facing the houses, the left corner of his lot was adjacent to the right corner
of mine. There was no fence or barrier.
Greg and I chatted for a minute and he made some kind remarks about my
own light display. Until he pointed at
the cherry tree on the right corner of my lot.
“You need lights there,” Greg said.
“Yeah, but there’s no power near that spot.”
He clapped me on the shoulder. “You’ll figure it out.” Then
he went inside for dinner. This wasn’t the first time he’d encouraged me to
light that tree. Then I realized that it
was about ten feet from the last shrub in front of his house to my cherry tree.
A quick check confirmed that the plug at the end of his strand was available. Could it be that easy?
Hey, he was the one who wanted lights in the cherry tree!
The next day I put a couple of strands into the tree
branches, ran a short cord to the edge of his property and plugged it in.
A few nights later I came home from work to find Greg once
again on the sidewalk, admiring his scenery. He was shaking his head as I
approached.
“Nice to see some lights in that one,” he said, gesturing at
the cherry tree. “But it’s the craziest thing. That one goes on about half an
hour before the rest of yours.”
“Guess I’d better reset the timer.”
There was no mention made of me
tapping into his electricity. He laughed, slapped me on the shoulder and headed
inside.
There are times when events from real life are just too good
to pass up when working on a story. I’ve
done it on occasion and there are at least two segments in “Your Turn to Die”
that actually happened. It will be up to the readers to figure those out when
it’s released.
Here’s an excerpt from “Why
319?” that is based on a real conversation.
In this scene Chene and Megan are searching a crime scene for clues that
may help lead to the killer.
The kitchen was a mess. Blood
smears covered the floor where Myers had been gunned down simultaneously by me
and Laura. The walls were splattered too. We stood in the doorway and surveyed
the room.
Megan clucked her tongue against
the roof of her mouth. “Why is it we always end up in a place like this when I’m
wearing a new pair of boots?”
I glanced down at her feet. These
were bright red ones, with a rounded toe and a short heel. It was difficult to
determine how far up her leg the boot went.
“How the hell can you run in
something like that?”
“I’m a woman. I can adapt to any
situation and do it with style.”
With a disgusted smirk, I turned my
attention back to the room. There was a cheap table pushed against the wall, an
old drop-leaf thing that had seen better days in the 1960s. Two padded vinyl
chairs flanked it. There was the usual kitchen clutter, salt and pepper
shakers, a sugar bowl, and a small bottle propped against the wall. There was
also a stack of magazines and mail scattered across the surface. I pointed
those out to Megan. She picked her way across the room, taking great pains in
where she placed her feet.
I focused on the cupboards above
the sink and counter. There was a jumble of mismatched glasses and plates,
along with souvenir coffee mugs from various casinos and restaurants. It was
obvious Myers didn’t care much about the furnishings of his kitchen. I was
about to close the last cupboard when something caught my eye. Up near the very
top of the door, close to the hinge, was a small round hole. The hinge was too
high up for me to see it clearly.
“Find anything good?” I asked
Megan.
“A couple of old newspapers, the
kind filled with coupons. His bills for the internet service and cable, along
with his cell phone bill. There is a magazine about weapons that looks like he
bought it somewhere.”
“Hand me one of those chairs.”
Her eyes flicked to the open
cupboard. Megan grabbed the closest chair, then swung it to where I could take
it from her without disrupting the mess on the floor.
“This guy was a slob. He couldn’t
even put shelf paper in the cupboards,” Megan said with disgust.
“Men don’t bother with shelf paper.”
“Yet another piece of evidence that
proves women are superior.”
“Can you see anything odd from
there?” I stepped onto the chair.
“Just the usual stack of dishes.”
I took a good look inside the
cabinet. Mounted high up against the back wall was a small video camera. It was
aimed so that when the cupboard door was closed, it would be able to film
through the hole by the hinge. My guess was that it would easily take in the
occupants of the little table. If the camera had a wide angle lens, it might
capture everything within the kitchen.
Holiday tunes are everywhere. Here's a rendition of Santa Baby that's a little bit different.
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