Tag Archives: Nanny

Chapter Seventy: In The Know

24 Oct
Brenda Chiatovich: Now you know one reason my daughter's picture is here. But wait, there is more.

Brenda Chiatovich:
Now you know one reason my daughter’s picture is here. But wait, there is more.

Tiffany Chiatovich Melendez: So, did you guess? My Mom and my Grand Pop wanted the perfect name for the bad girl in this story. So they picked one of my nick-names, Peaches.  Oh, yes. I have other nick-names, but one will do for now.

Tiffany Chiatovich Melendez:
So, did you guess? My Mom and my Grand Pop wanted the perfect name for the bad girl in this story. So they picked one of my nick-names, Peaches.
Oh, yes. I have other nick-names, but one will do for now.

Peaches loved her smart phone, she always had the newest. She loved the apps that made her phone so smart. She was always willing to pay top price for the best ones, even those were cheap for what they did. What the hell, daddy paid for it anyway.

A jealous unfriend once made a remark to her a year ago, when she was sixteen that “Daddy wouldn’t always be there to buy everything for her.” Someday she was going to have to pay for things for herself.

Peaches slapped her down with a comment that maybe someday the girl’s mother would find a man who provided more that just a half hour’s entertainment in the bedroom once a month. Besides which why wasn’t her mother working in a corporate office earning huge bonuses every year the way Peaches mother did.

The incident did give Peaches pause for thought though. She did not intend to work the way her mother did, and she sure wasn’t going to quit spending. She would be clear for another ten years if she played her cards right. Mommy and daddy would care for her through graduate school until she was twenty-six. By then she would have to quit playing baby girl and find herself one hell of a Sugar Daddy of her own.

That was the biggest reason the asshole who was going to interfere with her plans for the future had to go. And why that bitch Davenport, who knew way too much, had to go too.

It was while she was hiking to her car, on padded footwear guaranteed not to leave as much of a print as a moccasin would, she listened to her blue tooth. As soon as she left the cabin she keyed in the app that gave her the local police, fire, and ambulance, frequencies. If there was anything she needed to know, she wanted to know it now.

Which is how she learned the fugitive Davenport was in custody in the hospital. Peaches did not hesitate. She drove straight there.

There was only one real witness to Peaches and anything she may have done. One possible fly in Peaches coffee. L C Davenport.

Maybe, just maybe, there was a chance to get rid of her. Quickly.

Wouldn’t hurt to go see.

Peaches pushed the speed limit.
© 2015 All Rights Reserved

Chapter Sixty — Nine: Guarded

17 Oct

Brenda Chiatovich: Now you know one reason my daughter's picture is here. But wait, there is more.

Brenda Chiatovich:
Now you know one reason my daughter’s picture is here. But wait, there is more.

Tiffany Chiatovich Melendez: So, did you guess? My Mom and my Grand Pop wanted the perfect name for the bad girl in this story. So they picked one of my nick-names, Peaches.  Oh, yes. I have other nick-names, but one will do for now.

Tiffany Chiatovich Melendez:
So, did you guess? My Mom and my Grand Pop wanted the perfect name for the bad girl in this story. So they picked one of my nick-names, Peaches.
Oh, yes. I have other nick-names, but one will do for now.

 

 

Morgan and Delavera were on their way back to town to deliver the flash drive to Collars when the call came. Davenport was in custody and in the hospital in serious condition. They changed course.

The hospital was crowded. It seemed to be a night for knife wounds, beatings, two cardiac arrests, and one passed out drunk.

DeVry and his partner Peters were the designated guards. DeVry did not smile. “Collars said you might show up.”

“We are here.”

“He thinks you have a special interest in the case.”

“I do.”

“He said if you did show up to tell you to take over. And don’t screw this one up or he’ll have your head.” DeVry was in professional, “This is my job. I’m doing it,” mode. He did not take the pronouncement as a joke. Neither did Morgan nor Delavera.

“Can do that. Delavera has a flash drive for you. You take it straight to Collars and tell him he has to listen to it immediately.” Morgan looked at Delavera.

Delavera shook her head in a gesture of defeat. She searched her pockets. Pulled a plastic bag with a flash drive in it out of her left. Handed it to Morgan, who examined it through the plastic carefully. He was relieved to see it was undamaged. Clipped to the bag was a small ticket. Morgan signed it, handed the pen to DeVry.

“We want the chain intact. Make sure Collars signs off on it.”

DeVry nodded and did so.

“You sure this is a good idea? Asked Delavera.

“Yep. DeVry and Peters would only be watching to make sure she doesn’t escape. They don’t have orders to protect her from a killer and they wouldn’t worry about it without orders. If we told them they might up their vigil but they wouldn’t put any stock in it.”

“Excuse me,” Delavera told him, pulling out her cell phone. “My cousin is calling me.”

She spoke spanish far too fast for him to follow, although what he did catch made him wonder why she appeared to be discussing the quality of cigarettes when to his knowledge she had never smoked.

Morgan went to L C’s bedside. “Are you okay?” he asked.

“Hurt.”

“Doctors say there is nothing serious. How much do you remember?”

“Every,” there was a pause as L C drew another breath, “thing.”

“That is good. We will need a statement from you later. Right now you better rest.”

Doctors came and went. Nurses came and went. Morgan examined the identification of each person as they entered.

“Why you doing that?” asked one nurse. “The other policemen didn’t.”

Morgan shrugged. “Everybody does their job the best they know how.” The nurse said nothing but the look she gave him had wtf all over it. 

Both a doctor and a nurse were in the room when an old Mexican grandmother tottered into the room hanging onto the door, “¿Dónde está el baño?” she asked in a weak and shaky voice.

Morgan frowned at her, wondering why anyone would look for a bathroom here.

“She is just an old lady,” Delavera said. “Let me get this one.” She took the old ladies hand, folded it in her own, and said, “Todo está bien, abuelita. Ven comigo, por favor.”

Morgan kept an eye on them, but nothing seemed suspicious as Delavera led the old lady down the hallway toward the waiting room where the bathrooms were. He turned back to the doctor and nurse. Everything seemed fine. Morgan wondered why he felt so on edge.  

“That should help you with the pain,” the doctor said to L C. “Can you talk now?”

“Yes. Much better.” Her smile was tentative, her voice was hopeful. 

The doctor turned to Morgan. “Try not to upset her. She has been through a lot.”

“It’s okay, doctor. What I have to say should calm her down and make her happy.”

The doctor nodded. “Good.” He left.

Delavera came back into the room. Morgan rounded the bed where it would be easy to look into L C’s eyes, which were both pleading and hopeful. Delavera joined him. Delavera held L C’s hand.

“We found the flash drive with the confession on it. You should be okay now.”

L C Squeezed Delavera’s hand and cried silently.

 

 

 

© 2015 All Rights Reserved

Chapter Sixty — Seven: The Ute

27 Sep
Brenda Chiatovich: Now you know one reason my daughter's picture is here. But wait, there is more.

Brenda Chiatovich:
Now you know one reason my daughter’s picture is here. But wait, there is more.

Tiffany Chiatovich Melendez: So, did you guess? My Mom and my Grand Pop wanted the perfect name for the bad girl in this story. So they picked one of my nick-names, Peaches.  Oh, yes. I have other nick-names, but one will do for now.

Tiffany Chiatovich Melendez:
So, did you guess? My Mom and my Grand Pop wanted the perfect name for the bad girl in this story. So they picked one of my nick-names, Peaches.
Oh, yes. I have other nick-names, but one will do for now.

“We need to get that flash drive to Collars,” Morgan said, eying the dark sky.

“I don’t trust him.” Delavera eyed the plastic bag with the flash drive in it.

“Ah, Collars is all right. He just thinks I got my last partner hurt is all. It’ll pass.”

“I don’t think that is it, Morgan. I think he has a lot more against you than that. I don’t know what it is but he hates you.”

Morgan laughed. “What could he possibly hate me about? Even if he did he is still a professional. He sees the evidence he will be a policeman and follow procedure wherever it leads. That’s what cops do.”

“He is a white man.”

“So am I. The kids in my neighborhood would have thought you were white too. They never heard of the ‘Mexican’ standoff thing. Odd, isn’t it that you can be a white person in one place and not in another?”

She looked up at him, serious coffee brown eyes unwavering. “Know what I am besides Mexican? I’m Ute. You know what the Utes are famous for?”

“Being Native American Indian?”

“Believing the white man. One group of Utes realized the white man was going to win. They believed all the promises the white man gave them about how they would be rewarded if they helped capture the Navajo. They weren’t on good terms with the Navajo at the time and it seemed like a reasonable deal.”

Morgan listened. “What happened?”

“The whites gave the Utes rifles, told them to help round up all the Navajos and bring them in. The Utes kept their part of the bargain. When it came time to march the Indians on the Trail of Tears, the white man turned their rifles on the Utes. Told them to drop their weapons and join the others.”

“That was a long time ago. It was a different world then.”

“It is a long time ago to you. Cortes was a long time ago too. Tell, me, Officer Morgan, were you ever beaten up in grade school by a bully?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“You remember it, don’t you?”

“Sure, why not?”

“I bet you the bully. He don’t remember.”
© 2015 All Rights Reserved

Chapter Forty — Eight: Caught

16 Aug

Hi, I am the daughter of the author. What am I doing here? I have a place here. In fact two places. What are they? This is a mystery series. You either have to figure it out or wait until it is reveled.

Hi, I am the daughter of the author. What am I doing here? I have a place here. In fact two places. What are they? This is a mystery series. You either have to figure it out or wait until it is reveled.

Did you notice my daughter's picture? Yep, she is here.

Did you notice my daughter’s picture? Yep, she is here.

 

Lonnie figured out he needed money, a legal car he could drive, and he needed to get rid of this hot car. Not a problem. A forty-five minute drive to the chop shop and by morning he’d be all set.

He was still thirty minutes away from the chop shop when he saw the red light behind him. He was still in the same heavily wooded area. An area he would have never known existed had he not discovered the safe house used by the CIA. Now he knew the area well. He had been prowling around it since the day he discovered it.

That was when he took stock. That was when he wished he had continued to follow all of the advice Cody had given him.

That was when he wished he had applied it to this day, this trip, this car, if to no other.

Cody told him never to steal a car when he was high, stoned, or even had a drink. Right now Lonnie had enough crap in him to overdose any three people who hadn’t built up a tolerance to it.

Cody told him to never have drugs in a stolen car with him. And to search it as soon as possible. If the car had drugs in it to stash them. Right now Lonnie had enough drugs in the car to be legally called a dealer.

Cody told him never to be in a car longer than it took to get rid of it. An hour at the most. Right now Lonnie had been driving it around for almost eight hours.

Cody told him never to have a weapon of any kind in a stolen car. Not even a pocket knife. Lonnie not only had one in here he had gone back to his house to get it and had promptly forgotten it. Right now it was shoved under the armrest.

Cody told him to never commit any other crime while in a stolen car, unless it was only stolen to get him to the crime scene and away, to protect his identity. Then ditch it as quick as possible.

Did kidnapping count?

At least she wasn’t still in the trunk.

Oh, shit. His mind raced. If they caught him now he was not going to get out on bail any time soon. Oh, shit. She was all tied up like one of those rolled roasts you see in the meat section. Then she was tied to the chair and he did it all over again. Oh, shit. Then he locked her in that damn closet and all but nailed the damn thing shut. Oh, shit, shit.

She was going to die in there.

Oh, shit.

The cop car was catching up. The lights were reflecting inside the roof of the car now. He could hear the siren’s wail.
Unless he told them where she was. He would have to tell on himself. Car theft. Weapons trafficking. Drug dealing. Kidnapping. Oh, shit. Kidnapping a CIA agent. Terrorist activity. He wouldn’t even be entitled to a phone call or an attorney or any American rights.

Oh, shit.

To save her life he would have to tell. If he told he would never see daylight again the rest of his freaking worthless piece of shit life and he couldn’t even get high to ease the pain.

Oh, shit.

How had things gone so wrong so fast?

One thing was sure. He could never tell them about the woman in the closet in the cabin. If he got caught she was on her own. She was going to die in there. Die a slow death of thirst and starvation. That would have to be an awful way to die. Slow and miserable.

He was going to feel badder than hell about that.

 

Chapter Forty — Seven: The Closet

26 Jul
Hi, I am the daughter of the author. What am I doing here? I have a place here. In fact two places. What are they? This is a mystery series. You either have to figure it out or wait until it is reveled.

Hi, I am the daughter of the author. What am I doing here? I have a place here. In fact two places. What are they? This is a mystery series. You either have to figure it out or wait until it is reveled.

Did you notice my daughter's picture? Yep, she is here.

Did you notice my daughter’s picture? Yep, she is here.

 

 

At some point L C fell asleep.

She woke up when the car bounced over bumpy roads that shook her in the trunk as though she were a shake and bake woman, needing only to be breaded properly.

Eventually the car stopped. Doors slammed. And at long last, the trunk opened. Hands grabbed her, pulling her out of the trunk. She had pictures of being drug somewhere. She weighed one hundred and fifty pounds, which the doctor told her was not seriously over weight for her height, but which she had found many men could not carry.

Her legs were pulled out first. Perhaps her restraints would be cut and she would be allowed to walk.

Or maybe it was a rapist.

She had not given much thought to why she had been kidnapped, or what would be done to her besides killing her and leaving her body in a ditch or something of the like. For a second she had hoped the tape binding her legs would be cut, now she dreaded the idea.

The rest of her body was pulled out of the trunk.

Whoever had her was able to carry her and walk with her. She tried to get some picture of what the person might be like. She was unsuccessful.

She wondered if she were being carried over a threshold like a wedding couple was supposed to do.

Once again she went back to the problem of why she was being kidnapped. Could it have to do with why she was in jail? Nothing she could think of made sense to her.

The person, she was sure it was a man, somewhat thin, dumped her into a chair with a plop. It felt like a wooden kitchen chair. It hurt her hands, which were at the small of her back.

Rope was looped around her chest. She was being tied to the chair. When her upper body was secure the abductor turned attention to her legs. Rope was tied around her ankles and pulled back. After all that was done she was poked and prodded as though to make sure she could not move.

A voice was mumbling. She wondered if there might be more than one, but she could not hear anyone else. Nor did the voice seem to be directed to anyone else, not even her. It sounded most like the voice of a person trying to make sense of written directions. Like her father would make when he put together a bicycle for her from a box. Her father loved it when things were obvious enough he could put things together without needing to make sense of the directions.

She wondered if her kidnapper were reading directions on how to tie knots.

When she was secure in her chair it was tilted backwards as though she was going to fall. A seconds worth of new fear hit her. Then she was being drug.

Tilted up again. She was being pushed into a place.

You’ll be okay in here until I get back.” A voice told her. “You can scream and yell all you want now. Nobody around here to hear you. But it will be a while before I get back with food. You might not want to tire yourself out.”

A door was closed on her. She was sure then she was in a closet because the door pressed against her shins hard as it was slammed too. Something was done outside to secure it.

There were footsteps, then silence.

Two miles a way Tom drove the pickup up a back road well away from people or cabins so his brother-in-law and his pain in the ass dog would not distract them from what they had come up here to do: Hunt. The dog looked steadily in the direction of the cabin where the dead man had been.

Five miles away a little dog named Rocko went up to a window, scratching at the pane and barking, trying with all of its three-pound weight to force its way through the glass. Aunt Emerald picked him up, scratched him absently behind the ear and peered outside. In the background the parakeet, Tabby, barked twice, then shut up.

Aunt Emerald saw nothing. There was nothing to see.

©2014 All Rights Reserved

Chapter Forty — One: Bag Nanny Anonymous

17 May
Hi, I am the daughter of the author. What am I doing here? I have a place here. In fact two places. What are they? This is a mystery series. You either have to figure it out or wait until it is reveled.

Hi, I am the daughter of the author. What am I doing here? I have a place here. In fact two places. What are they? This is a mystery series. You either have to figure it out or wait until it is reveled.

Did you notice my daughter's picture? Yep, she is here.

Did you notice my daughter’s picture? Yep, she is here.

 

 

“Where would you like me to drop you?” asked Tulkhorn. He sat behind the wheel, somehow giving the impression he was guiding a tank through enemy territory rather than driving a car through town.
For some reason it was a question L C had not anticipated. Her only concern had been getting out of jail. For some strange reason she thought that once she was released from the nightmare she had been subjected to everything would go back to normal.
Now she realized. Released. Standing in front of the courthouse. Tulkhorn holding the door of his modest car open for her.
Nothing would ever be normal again.
Tulkhorn confirmed what she was thinking by saying, in as gentle a voice as it could be said in, “You can’t go back to — the Langlins. Not while you are accused — of wrongdoing. — You understand.”

“Yes.” She nodded.

“How about your parents?”

“No. My stepfather.”

Tulkhorn nodded understandingly. He waited. A man used to applying infinite patience to a multitude of problems that yielded to his implacable will. “I know of some reasonably priced apartments — that rent by the month. Not in the best part of town — but they are clean and — no one asks a lot of questions.”
L C had the feeling Tulkhorn had more than a passing acquaintance with those apartments. Visions of Perry Mason hiding clients in seedy hotels sprang to her mind.

“Okay.” She agreed.

She did not want to talk to her mother, or anyone else in her family just yet. In the morning she would get Rocko from Aunt Emerald. When L C was little she would pretend to be Dorothy in the wizard of Oz and would call Aunt Emerald, “Aunty Em.”
Maybe that was where L C developed a fondness for small dogs. It’s a wonder she had not named him Toto rather than Rocko.
© 2014 All Rights Reserved

 

Chapter Forty: To Bail or Not to Bail

27 Apr
BTW when you are done reading this chapter. If you think thinking is fun; if you think philosophy should be for everyone try reading  TheMapThinker.com

BTW when you are done reading this chapter. If you think thinking is fun; if you think philosophy should be for everyone try reading TheMapThinker.com

 

L C Had never been in a courtroom before. It looked just like the ones on TV, all the way from the old black and white Perry Mason series up to the newest Blu-ray.

She thought she was going to go to her arraignment but it turned out it was her preliminary hearing. Something that happens before an arraignment.

It would have been comforting to have had Kathy Bates from Harry’s Law instead of the heavy-eyed Tulkhorn sitting next to her. She looked at him out of the corner of her right eye. It was not a sight to cheer up her already lowered spirits.
He looked reluctant and lethargic, as though he not only did not want to be there, he barely had the energy to lift his head up high enough to look at the judge.

L C had asked him, “Are you really my lawyer? Or are you working for the Langlins?”

He studied her carefully before answering. “I work for money. My skills do not come cheap. If I am paid I work. If I am not paid ― I do not work. I am being paid ― to represent you. As long as I am being paid ― I represent you ― and you alone.”

“And if they quit paying you?”

“Then you will probably be given a public defender.”

Somehow she felt like she was back in the cell with Violet. “I’m a professional. I don’t get paid I don’t fight.” She had said.

A man in uniform stood up. “All rise.”

Everyone stood up.

The judge entered. Sat behind his desk. Nodded his head.

The man in uniform intoned, “You may be seated.” Then he sat down and so did everyone else.

The judge read some papers. Looked around the room. Said some things L C didn’t follow. Then he said a string of numbers and suddenly asked “How do you plead. Guilty or not guilty.”

“Not guilty. My client has no knowledge of the crime in any manner, shape or form.”

The prosecutor rose. He was everything her lawyer was not. He was young. He was good-looking. He was thin and hard muscled. He bounded to his feet. He spoke strongly, quickly, and steadily. He had a good speaking voice.

“We ask that bail be denied, your honor. She is a flight risk. She has already attempted to flee the country once and it was entirely through luck she was apprehended within minutes of boarding.” He handed papers to the judge. L C assumed they were tickets, flight plans, etc. Proof she was boarding an airplane bound for Europe.

Tulkhorn rose. “Rediculous. My client,” he stared at L C causing every eye in the room to go to her. She was dressed in the most professional, most “nanny” looking outfit money could buy. He had handed it to her earlier and instructed her to go into the bathroom and put it on. She was surprised that it fit her perfectly, but it did.

“She was not fleeing. She was acting ― in her capacity as nanny. She was following her employers instructions. On extremely short notice ― I might add. Unless,” he managed to look at the prosecutor with his entire body, not just his eyes,

“you claim her employer ― was somehow involved ― in this alleged ‘escape’ ― you keep talking about.”

The judge brought down his gavel. “You will address the court, counselor.”

Ponderously Tulkhorn turned his body toward the judge. “Of course your honor. Is it your wish to extradite her employers from,” he riffled through his papers, “France, I believe.” He waited expectantly.

The judge did not look happy. “Of course not. I do not believe anyone here has implied her employers were, or are, in any way concerned in the matter.” He looked to the prosecutor. “Isn’t that correct, counselor.”

“Of course your honor. All of our findings indicate the girl acted on her own.”

“Woman,” Stated Tulkhorn. “She is twenty years old. She is no longer a girl.”

“This woman, acted alone. She admits to being in the cabin and her prints are all over a revolver which appears to have been fired at the crime scene.”

“Appeared.” Tulkhorn straightened his tie. “Was the gun fired at the crime scene or not? Was it fired during the crime? She does not deny handling the gun. She admits it. Even if she fired it. If she did so a week before the crime ― it is not pertinent.”

“One question at a time, counselor.” Advised the judge.

The prosecutor looked apologetic. “Our town is not large enough to afford a full-sized crime lab, your honor. We have to farm these things out. The results are not back yet.”

“I see the pistol, I am unclear  –  about what has been sent –  to the crime lab.”

“A bullet dug out of the roof of the cabin, your honor.”

“It is a hunter’s cabin, your honor, such things – often – happen.. Is there any proven connection between my client and the bullet in the roof?”

“We cannot allow a cold-blooded killer to roam the streets at will simply because the test results that would prove it are not yet returned to us.”

Tulkhorn squared his shoulders. “Noble sentiments. However my client is not a murderer. She has nothing to run from. And the results of the test will clear her of wrong doing.”

The prosecutor spoke passionately. “She murdered her fiance with no compassion. It was a torture scene. She knows we will prove this. She has every reason to flee. And we do not believe it is in society’s best interest to allow someone with so little compassion as to commit such a barbarous to be allowed to roam the streets, your honor.”

“There is no evidence ― my client ― has had any contact ― with the deceased ― except for a chance encounter ― one time only ― in a grocery store.”

“Which she lied to the police about.”

“A chance encounter ― a half a year ago. In a grocery store. I am sure ― I can produce someone ― the prosecutor ― or even yourself your honor ― you encountered in a grocery store ― a half a year ago ― that you do not recall.”

“An encounter that was so blatant the owner of the story threw her out over.”

“That has yet to be proven. And the prosecution ―has only interviewed ― one witness to this ― alleged ‘incident’.”

In the end she was let go with five hundred thousand dollars bail which Tulkhorn posted. She had to surrender her passport and was told not to so much as leave the city limits.

 

 

 
© 2014 All Rights Reserved

Chapter Thirty – Five: The Room

9 Mar
BTW when you are done reading this chapter. If you think thinking is fun; if you think philosophy should be for everyone try reading  TheMapThinker.com

BTW when you are done reading this chapter. If you think thinking is fun; if you think philosophy should be for everyone try reading TheMapThinker.com

It was a tiny little interrogation room. One chair. One card table. She was sure she was not in there long, but it seemed forever and a week before anyone came in.

The man who entered looked as though he literally walked with the weight of authority. He wore a white shirt, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened, collar unbuttoned. He slapped a folder on the card table in front of her.

“Can you tell me what is going on?” L C Asked.

He held his hand up. “I’ll ask the questions.”

L C Nodded meekly, biting her lower lip.

“Have your rights been read to you?”

“Yes. Outside. But he didn’t ask me anything.”

“Do you understand those rights?”

“Well yes, of course. Am I being charged with being stupid?”

“Being flippant will not help your case.”

“What am I being charged with? What is my case?”

“Do you want me to read you your rights again or do you agree you fully understand them?”

L C Sighed. “I told you I understand them.”

He fished a photograph out of the folder, pushed it across to L C “Tell me about this man.” She looked at the picture. It was an eight by ten. The face had little to distinguish it. Freshly scrubbed. Eyes closed. Hair not combed.

“What about him?”

“What is his name? What is your relationship to him.”

“I don’t know his name. I don’t have any relationship to him.” She kept looking at the picture trying to remember anyone who looked like that in real life. The longer she looked at him the more certain she became she had never seen him before.

“So you deny knowing this man.”

“I don’t recognize him.”

“Let me refresh your memory. He is your fiance. You spent the weekend in his cabin with him.”

“That’s not my fiance. I spent the weekend, well, part of it anyway, with my fiance in his cabin. This isn’t him.”

“This is not your fiance. Yet you carried on with him in Sternhouser’s market in such a disgusting display the owner threw you out and told you never to return. Do I have that part right?”

“Is this that guy? He doesn’t look like him. He followed me around the store. I wasn’t ‘carrying on’ with him.”

“I suppose you don’t recognize this either?” From somewhere he pulled out a revolver. Showed it to L C

“It looks just like the one in my fiancee’s cabin. It was in a wooden box under some cabinet thing.”

“Your fiancée’s gun. In your fiancee’s cabin. But you claim you do not know your fiancee. Or do you just have a habit of carrying on with strange men you don’t know in grocery stores?”

“It wasn’t like…”

A knock on the door interrupted her.

The policeman stood up. “Come in.”

The Langlin’s lawyer entered. He looked from the policeman to L C And back. “What is my client charged with?”

“Nothing much. Lying to a police officer. Resisting arrest. International flight to avoid prosecution. That ought to hold her for a while.” Holding the revolver in plain sight the policeman left the room.

“I was under the impression Mr. Langlin instructed you not to say anything until I arrived.”

“I only told him the truth.”

“Apparently you told him enough of it to get yourself into serious trouble, young lady.”

© 2014 All Rights Reserved

Chapter Thirty – Four: The Airport

2 Mar
BTW when you are done reading this chapter. If you think thinking is fun; if you think philosophy should be for everyone try reading  TheMapThinker.com

BTW when you are done reading this chapter. If you think thinking is fun; if you think philosophy should be for everyone try reading TheMapThinker.com

 

 

They had already checked their bags. They were already standing in line to be boarded. When L C Looked up she saw two police, one man, one woman, jostling through the crowd.

The man looked familiar.

“Wonder why Lance is here?” asked Mrs. Langlin.

“Looks like he has a new partner,” commented her husband. “An improvement over the last one.”

As they drew closer L C Recognized the policeman. It was the same man she met, out of uniform, in front of Sternhouser’s market, the day she got the job of nanny. As he came up to them she smiled at him. He did not return it.

“Hello, Lance. What brings you here? And who is your partner?” asked Mrs. Langlin.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Langlin. Mr. Langlin.” Morgan said with a formality that elicited a raised eyebrow from Mr. Langlin and a pinched frown from Mrs. Langlin.

He turned to L C “Are you Lindsey Carol Davenport?”

“Well, uh, you know I am.”

“You are under arrest. Please place your hands behind your back so my partner can handcuff you so we make as little a scene as possible.”

The words at first did not make sense to her. She had to replay them again in her mind slowly. She was being arrested. Here at the airport.

“Stop. Wait a minute. I’ve done nothing. What am I under arrest for?”

“What is she under arrest for?” asked Mr. Langlin curiously as though a very interesting idea had just struck him.

Morgan spoke politely but firmly. “That is not my concern. My job is to arrest her. She will be charged at the station.”

“My.” Said Mr. Langlin thoughtfully. “That sounds ominous.”

Morgan turned to L C “You will put your hands behind your back now and allow my partner to handcuff you or she will throw you down to the ground and handcuff you the hard way.”

L C Began to cry. Her chest heaved.

Guinevere started to run to L C.  Mrs. Langlin grabbed her daughter and pulled her close.

Delavera stepped up behind L C. Grabbed her unresisting hands one by one, pulled them behind her back, and handcuffed her firmly.

Mr. Langlin told her, “Say nothing to anyone until the lawyer gets there.” He started tapping his cell phone.

As L C Was being led away she looked back through bleary, teared eyes. She saw the Langlins, Bixby, Missy Mousey, and Guinevere, disappearing into the tunnel to the plane. Mr. Langlin was closing his phone, having put it in airplane mode.

 

 

 

© 2014  All Rights Reserved

 

Chapter Thirty-Three: The Mansion

23 Feb
BTW when you are done reading this chapter. If you think thinking is fun; if you think philosophy should be for everyone try reading  TheMapThinker.com

BTW when you are done reading this chapter. If you think thinking is fun; if you think philosophy should be for everyone try reading TheMapThinker.com

The maid, Amy, answered the door.

Morgan blinked at her. “Where is Bixby?”

The maid looked at both of them, then to the police car. “Do you want Bixby?” she asked.

Morgan used his, “I’m an officer of the law” voice. “I was expecting him to answer the door.”

“He is not here.”

“Where is he?”

“At the airport.”

Morgan took a deep breath. “Why is he at the airport?”

“He gets to go to Europe. I get to stay and clean the house. I am very busy doing it. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“Are Mr. And Mrs. Langlin in?”

“They are at the airport.”

Delavera stood to the side laughing. Morgan refused to look at her.

“I take it they are going to Europe?”

“They are rich. They can do whatever they want.”

“Ooookkayyyy. How about Lindsay Carol Davenport?”

“Do you mean the new nanny or the furniture?”

“Nanny.”

“She is at the airport too. I work here five years. She works here five months. She gets to go to Europe and I get to clean the house. Are you done? I have work to do.”

Morgan did not bother to answer her. He and Delavera headed to the car at a fast walk.

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