Years ago there was a young family that moved in next door
to us. Ken and Jenny were the parents with Katelyn and Kyle, who were about
seven and five respectively. There was a lot of excitement and energy around
the house. Ken was determined to decorate every square inch outside, in one
form or another.
One evening I stopped by to speak with Ken. Both kids raced
to answer the door. Kyle was holding his nose, with a couple of drops of blood
leaking out. Katelyn tried her best to look innocent.
“What’s going on?” I asked as Ken appeared behind them.
“He punched me,” Kate said, folding her arms across her
chest.
“She kicked me right in the nose!”
Ken was shaking his head in dismay. I looked at the kids. “Don’t
you guys know it’s almost Christmas?
Santa is watching everyone!”
That drew silence and wide eyes. I pulled my phone out. “Want me to call him?
I got his number on speed dial.”
The kids jumped back and begged me not to call him. I made
them promise to be good and sent them on their way. Ken and I talked for a few minutes and I went
home. But an idea began to percolate and it wouldn’t let me alone.
I’m not a poet, by any stretch of the imagination. But what came together was sort of a Dr.
Seuss type of rhyme, filled with enough details on the two kids to personalize
it. I printed it out on some festive holiday paper. Then I found a couple of
miniature first aid kits the kids could hang on their backpacks. My darling
wife made a couple of ornaments that look like mice when you run a candy cane
through them.
Christmas Eve I called next door and told Ken to meet me
outside. He was surprised when I handed
over the package. I learned later that
the kids loved the story and were on their best behavior for the rest of the
holiday break.
You just never know when
inspiration might strike.
“Devious” is the only
title that has been set tied in with the holiday
season. But here’s a little wintry segment from “Vanishing Act” the second
Jamie Richmond mystery. In this scene,
Jamie’s best friend Linda has become the target of a stalker.
Talking quietly,
trudging through the clumps of snow and ice, neither one of us heard him at
first.
“It’s getting to the point where I just want to stay home,” she said
quietly.
“You can’t hide,
Linda. If you become a prisoner in your own home, then he wins. And you are
much too strong a person to let that happen.”
She gave me a wan smile. “I know, it’s just…”
“Hey!” a gruff voice
snapped at us from only a couple of feet away.
Linda let out a shriek
of surprise. She lost her footing on the ice and crashed to the pavement. I saw
a blocky shape, hidden in the shadows beyond the reach of the overhead lights.
He took a menacing step forward, one hand clutching something tightly and
extending it towards us.
“Run!” I screamed.
“Hey,” he snapped again.
I took a step toward
him and planted my left foot on one of the few dry patches of pavement. Then I
swung my right foot as hard as I could, as if I was about to nail a fifty-yard
field goal to win the Super Bowl. Without realizing it, I braced for the
impact. To this day, I’d swear I was aiming for his crotch. Maybe the pavement
wasn’t dry after all. Or maybe suddenly shifting my weight to make that kick
caused me to lose my balance. Or maybe I couldn’t really kick a guy in the
balls. Or maybe he sensed what was happening and he took a step back.
In my peripheral
vision, I could see Linda scrambling to her feet, already racing toward her
car, clicking the remote control to unlock the doors. My leg continued its arc
and just before making contact, my left foot shot out from underneath me.
On the road this week I had an old rock and roll station come through with a few surprises. Here's a favorite from Rod Stewart.
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