Showing posts with label Story. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Story. Show all posts

Wednesday, November 4, 2015

Life is Back On Track and NaNo is (Knock on Wood) Going Well

MIL came home yesterday afternoon, and things are closer to normal than we had any right to expect. That's the good news.

More good news (there is no bad news for a change) is that I actually spent time writing today. I'm ahead of the curve at the NaNo sweeps - at 7300+ words, about five hundred words more than I need to be "on track".

So, here's the next installment of "First Dig Two Graves" - it picks up right where I left off, so if you come in here, you'll need to look back at the last couple of posts to catch up.

I hope you enjoy it.

* * * * *
Nick

“You are the luckiest son of a bitch I know, man. She’s gorgeous. Daphne’s pretty, but man, that Sheryl’s a babe.”

Nick and his best friend, Walt, the blond man who had allegedly escaped from the hospital for the criminally insane in California, were walking back to their quarters. It was not quite midnight, but they had reveille at 0500 and no interest in being more drunk or hung-over than they already were.

“How’d you get her attention, anyhow?”

Nick grinned at the half-moon where it seemed to be resting on the top branches of the pines. “Flanked her. Watched her troop movements, planned my attack and… wham. Mission accomplished. I’ll give it a few days and then figure some excuse to go call on daddy. I figure breakfast time would be good.”

Walt stumbled over a crack in the sidewalk. He’d gotten a little too untied, and Nick steadied him by catching his arm. “You better not miss roll call tomorrow, son. You do, Rodgers’ll have your ass in a sling.”

“No problem. I’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, you do that because I don’t want to have to try to explain why you’re not on your feet looking sharp.”

Sheryl

Her mother was being really annoying. First, by making her go to the party, then by repeatedly asking about Nick as soon as she realized he had left for the night. She glared at her reflection in the mirror as she smeared cold cream over her face to remove the make-up.

Yeah, he’s a good looking guy, and he seems nice, but god dammit, he’s a soldier. He’ll be here for a few months, maybe a year, and then he’s going to be reassigned and transferred. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life moving from place to place. For once I’d like to settle down and live like a normal person.

She swiped the tissue over her face, checking to make sure nothing was lurking in the corners of her eyes, mouth or nose.

I hope daddy retires soon, and we can go back home. Then, maybe, I’ll be able to meet someone with roots.

Daphne hadn’t helped matters any. She had spent the entire evening draped over Nick’s friend Walt. No doubt she’ll want to talk about them and the dance and the whole nine yards tomorrow. She grimaced at the thought. I’ll suggest we go shopping. I need a new pair of shoes and wouldn’t mind a new dress. That’ll take her mind off it.

For the rest of that week she avoided talking about the party and Nick and Walt, but it was hard work because it seemed everyone else thought they ‘made such a cute couple’. Even her father played his part, asking her about the dance over breakfast the next morning.

“It looked like you had a good time last night, Peach. That young man you danced with seemed to capture your attention.”

“He’s okay, although I have to say it was refreshing not to feel like he was itching to grope me.”

Sheryl!” Her mother’s expression was shocked, but Sheryl just smiled.

“Come on, mom. I’m sorry I said that over breakfast, but you know what I mean. Half the time these guys ask me to dance I end up moving their hands for them because they drift to places they have no place being. Nick didn’t do that, and that was refreshing.” For an instant she realized that wasn’t strictly true. She remembered the irritation she’d felt when he had been so gentlemanly. She shook her head, flicking the thought away with the motion. “Honestly, that’s the only reason I spent as much time with him as I did.”

Her father shot her a quizzical look but didn’t say anything. He just turned his attention to his toast.

That afternoon, while she was out shopping with Daphne, an activity that usually took up almost all her best friend’s limited attention, she was forced to dodge more questions and remarks. She finally lost her temper.

“Daphne, I’m not marrying the guy, okay? Drop it. I don’t want to hear about him. I have no interest in him. If you want to make a fool of yourself with him, go for it.”

“Gee.” Daphne looked hurt, causing a pang of remorse to spike in Sheryl. “I didn’t mean anything. I was just saying.”

“I know, Daff. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m so edgy, but daddy and mom and now you… It’s like you guys are conspiring, getting me all decked out in white or something, and it’s bugging me.”

“His friend Walt is really nice. I spent a couple of hours with him, and he told me some stuff about Nick.” Her eyes suggested that maybe Sheryl should ask what that stuff was.

Sheryl grimaced again, and turned toward the racks, flicking the hangers to the side, slapslapslapslap, not pausing when she passed right over a cobalt blue top that would normally have made her at least pause to look.

Daphne just smiled and started going through another rack.

Nick

A week later Nick climbed the three steps to Colonel Baumgartner’s tidy house. The scent of roses and damp earth surrounded him, and a marmalade tabby cat sat on the rail that edged the front of the porch. He eyed the front door while the cat kept an eye on him. After straightening his already straight BDUs and triple checking his boots for scuffs, he pressed the bell.

Long seconds later, the door opened, revealing an older woman who was not Sheryl.

“Yes, good morning?” Bright blue eyes under a cloud of white hair peered up at him.

“Good morning, ma’am.” Belatedly, Nick remembered to remove his soft cap and smile. “Major Reeves sent these papers over for the Colonel’s signature.”

The door opened wider, “Ach, yes. Come in, please. You may wait in the Colonel’s study.”

From down the hall, at the back of the house, he could hear murmurs of conversation. Damn.

He had passed the point of sitting in one of the comfortable wingchairs by the time the door opened. Five minutes before he’d reached the browsing the shelves stage and had moved on to the standing at the windows looking out stage.

“You have papers for me to sign?”

He turned and stiffened to attention. “Yessir. Major Reeves asked me to bring them.” He stepped to the desk and picked up the envelope he had set on the corner, opened the clasp and extracted the top form, “Major Reeves requests that this be returned to him as soon as convenient.”

Colonel Baumgartner grunted and sat down behind the desk. As he began to read, he waved at the pair of wingchairs that stood next to the fireplace. “Have a seat Welles. Might as well see what’s here. Care for some coffee?”

“Yessir, thank you sir.” Maybe she’ll bring it.

Baumgartner rang the china bell that stood next to the phone. “Damned prissy nonsense,” he said to the room, “but Maggie can’t stand it when I shout. If I use this damned thing –“ he tinkled the bell again “- it keeps the peace around here.”

Nick smiled but didn’t say anything. It wasn’t warranted and he wanted to impress this man, if he could. Behind him, the door opened.

“Magda, coffee for two, please.”

The door closed and the colonel went back to reading. From outside the room, he could hear conversation and movement, footsteps and the clatter of dishes being cleared from the kitchen. None of the noises was coming closer, like someone heading for the stairs or front of the house. It was disappointing, but not unexpected. He’d just have to try again.

Baumgartner’s pen got to work. He signed pages, flipped packets and worked through half the pile before Magda was back with the coffee.

“Black?” The sharp eyes peered across the top of the current sheaf of pages.

Welles loathed black coffee but suspected this man judged other men by their tastes in ‘joe’. “Yessir. Thank you sir.”

He watched as Magda fixed two cups. One remained black. The other got a dose of cream and a lump of sugar. Shit.

Twenty minutes later he was out the door and down the front steps, the packet secured under his left arm, leaving his right hand free to salute, if needed. He had chatted with the colonel for a few minutes after the papers were signed, while they finished their coffee. That was good. What wasn’t so good was that he hadn’t seen Sheryl.


“Nick! Nick, hang on there, son. I gotta favor to ask.” It was Walt, hurrying toward him across the lawn in front of the Non-Commissioned Officer’s Club.

Nick had just parked the jeep the major had loaned to him for his errand, and was heading toward the headquarters building. Glancing over at his friend, he slowed but didn’t stop. “I gotta get these papers back to Reeves. Whaddya need?”

“Daphne agreed to go to the movies on Friday night if I can find another couple to go with us. You have any luck with Sheryl this morning?”

Nick’s stride didn’t slow as he started up the steps, but his brows came down in renewed frustration. “No. Saw her daddy and their housekeeper, but no one else.”

“Aw, that’s too bad. I was hoping –“ He snapped his fingers and his eyes lit up, “Hey, I know! I’ll suggest that Daphne ask Sheryl and I’ll tell her I’ve asked you and maybe that’ll work.”

Nick glanced over at his friend, his expression conveying the thought that maybe that hospital in California was missing an inmate. “Sure. Can’t hurt, I guess.”

“Great!” Walt spun on his heel and headed back down the stairs, “I gotta get back to the lab, but I’m seeing her later, so I’ll ask.”

Daphne

NO!” Sheryl’s voice was sharper than Daphne had ever heard, but she still didn’t know what the problem was.

“It’s just for a couple of hours. Come on, it’ll be fun. We’ll see the movie, then get something to eat.”
There was a sigh followed by “I. Am. Not. Interested! How can I get you to understand that, Daff? How many times do I have to say no? As in en-oh.”

“It’s just –” She didn’t even finish the sentence because Sheryl had slammed the phone down. It was unbelievable. She had never seen Sheryl like this before and stood there for a long moment, staring at the dead phone. “Gosh. What a bitch!”

Walt was waiting outside the WAC barracks. She could see him standing under the streetlight, smoking. “Maybe I should just go and not worry about it.”

Her roommate wasn’t there to answer, so she furrowed her brow and thought about it for a second.
“Oh, heck, why not.” Plucking her sweater off the back of the chair and grabbing her purse, she headed out the door and down the steps.

Walt heard her coming and turned, “Hi. What took so long?”

“Oh, Sheryl’s being a pill. She won’t go. But,” she slipped her arm through his and smiled up at him, “I’ve decided it doesn’t matter if you don’t mind going alone.”

His face lit with his smile. “That’s great.” Leaning down he spoke softly into her ear, “And I promise, I’ll only nibble and lick, not bite.”

It shocked her and she looked up at him but wasn’t quite sure what to say. This was only their first time going out. She wasn’t even thinking of it like a date. Just what kind of girl does he think I am?
It wasn’t long after they sat down in the next to last row in the base theater and the place went dark that she found out.

First, his arm slid around her shoulders, stopping at the top of her arm. She refused to move toward him, as she knew he expected. He didn’t say anything but, after a minute, his fingers began to move in a slow up-and-down stroking motion. She leaned into him and whispered, “Stop. I want to get to know you before I get to know your friend down there.” In the dark she pointed in the direction of his lap.

He straightened from the half-slouch, looked over but kept his arm where it was, and whispered back, “You’re just so beautiful. You make me crazy.”

She knew enough to know better. Then again, it had been weeks since her last trip to the back rows of the theater. Weighing her options, she relaxed and slid a little closer to him, almost regretting the armrest between their seats. It was enough, though. His arm tightened and he started with the stroking again.

Walt

Halfway through the movie, a chick-flick he thought would loosen her panties, he leaned over. Since her first attempts at playing coy she’d loosened up enough to dip her hand down between his thighs. She hadn’t quite reached the high ground, but it was progress. He moved, turning toward her and changing the angle between them. It was enough to push Pete against the edge of her hand. He was hard as a rock and he felt her hand stiffen. Her head turned toward him and, in the dim light saw the darkening of her skin across her cheeks.

“I’m really sorry, Daphne.” He feigned a remorseful look even though he wasn’t sure she could see it in the dim flickering light from the projector. “This is uncomfortable. I’m so hard I can’t stand sitting here. Do you mind?”

There was an instant’s pause and then a quick shake of her head and breathless, “No. I don’t mind.”

They slid out of their seats while he hid his smug smile in his shoulder. Perfect. Now, as long as she really wants this as much as I do, it should be good. Outside, the evening was still warm.

“Where can we go?”

He sent his blessing toward Heaven. Nick was a genius and the next time he saw him, he’d tell him so.


They’d been having drinks in the Officer’s Club one evening. It was several weeks after Walt had arrived at the base. Nick had taken him under his wing, shown him the ropes, told him the ins and outs of the place. This was the last Big Secret between friends.

“There’s a place along the fifteenth fairway. It’s deep rough, under the trees and far enough from the perimeter fence that the patrols never bother with it. If you think you’re going to get lucky, you set it up. There’s a clearing, soft ground and you can safely leave a blanket and whatever you want there until you’re ready. I’ve done it a million times, and haven’t ever been caught.”


Now, Walt took Daphne’s hand and smiled down at her. “I know the perfect place, if you don’t mind that we’ll be outside?”

“No, I don’t mind, so long as we don’t get caught.”

He led her through the base, taking every shortcut he knew, until they reached the golf course.

She giggled, “I don’t play golf.”

“I’ll teach you how to get a hole in one every time.”

She giggled again as he led her along the edge of the fairway, as Nick had told him to do. The ground was drier and hard, so they wouldn’t leave foot prints.

When they reached the place, Daphne stopped and stared. “You planned this.”

He moved closer, holding her hand in one while the other slid around her waist. He nuzzled her neck, licked her earlobe and felt her shiver. “Do you mind?”

She moved away from him with a smile as she settled down on the blanket he’d already spread out. “I guess not.”

He knelt next to her, leaned forward and found her lips with his.


“Man, Nick, you were right about that place. I took Daphne there last night and it was perfect.”

“You got lucky, huh?”

“Sure did. I don’t know where she went to school for her sex ed, but I think she was valedictorian of her class.” He leaned forward, glancing around to make sure no one else was listening. “She gives head like I’ve never had.”

Nick looked glum and Walt felt a pang of guilt that made him shift on his seat. “Hey, Nick, I’m sorry. Daphne did call Sheryl but Sheryl refused. Seems she doesn’t want to get involved with someone whose only going to be around until they get transferred. She’s an Army brat. She’s never had what she calls a real home.”

“How do you know all that?”

“That’s what Daphne said. We were talking and that’s what Sheryl said.”

“Shit.” Nick muttered, pushed his breakfast tray away and slouched in his chair. “I was afraid it was something like that.” He stood up. “I gotta get to work. I’ll see you later.”

Walt watched his friend walk away, then began planning his next night out with Daphne.

Sheryl

“How was your date last night?”

“It was nice. We went to the O’Club for dinner and then we went to the movie. It was boring so when he suggested we leave, I didn’t argue.”

“So what did you do?” Sheryl’s voice conveyed her curiosity.

Daphne smiled at the memory. “We went out to the golf course.”

“The golf course? Why there?”

The smugness oozed through the phone when Daphne said, “We went there to be alone. It was wonderful, really private and quiet and just romantic.”

“You slept with him? After one dance, dinner and a movie you let him do that?”

“Sure.” Daphne sounded confused and a little hurt. “Why not? Haven’t you ever gotten laid before? If you haven’t you should. It’s wonderful.”

The tendency Daphne had of saying everything was ‘wonderful’ was getting on her nerves. Everything was wonderful, everyone was wonderful but, in Sheryl’s experience, things were rarely wonderful.

Unlike her normal self, she spoke without thinking. “What’s it like?” Then she wanted to bite her tongue.

Nick

Nick stood in his room staring at the sheet of writing paper.

Colonel & Mrs. Marcus Baumgartner
Request the Honour of your Presence
At the Twenty-First Birthday Party
For their daughter
Sheryl Lynn Baumgartner
Saturday evening at 1900
Ramstein Officer’s Club
Dress Uniform Mandatory
RSVP by 1700 Wednesday evening
To Major Reeves’s office at

“God dammit!” The phone number given on the invitation was his desk phone. “Shit!” Disgusted, frustrated, he threw the invitation in the general direction of the wastebasket, then he stood there, not sure what to do.

After a minute he realized there was nothing he could do about it. Reeves was probably in on it. In fact, Reeves might have been the one who suggested that he be the one to gather the names. After all, his job included data gathering and organization.

“Shit.”

Nothing was going right. Walt was getting it on with Daphne. He wasn’t getting anything. Daphne might not be Sheryl but she did have all the right parts. Maybe I could… No. His innate sense of honor stepped forward, stopping the plan in its tracks.

He left the room, not bothering to pick the card up and put it properly in the trash.

At the next door along the corridor, he knocked. “Hey, Steve, you wanna grab a bite and a brew?” There was no answer. Nothing was going right.


“Put your name at the top of the ‘yes’ column in your register, Welles.” Reeves had just walked through the door. It was only about three minutes after Nick had sat down behind his desk. “That’s an order from on high.”

“I beg your pardon, sir?” Nick had, as expected, leapt to his feet at the appearance of his boss, and was standing behind his desk

“You deaf, soldier? Colonel and Mrs. Baumgartner demand the honor of your presence at this shindig they’re throwing next Saturday. It seems you made quite an impression on Mrs. Baumgarner at that party a couple of weeks ago.”

Nick’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he tried to think what to say, before settling for a meek, “Yessir.”


The night of the party he arrived twenty minutes after the time on the invitation, after pausing in the bar for some reinforcements. That was where Steve found him.

“Hey, Nick, how they hangin’?” A meaty hand smacked down on his shoulder as Steve slid onto the next barstool.

Nick looked over at his friend and shook his head in disgust with himself. “Hey, Steve.” He wasn’t used to chickening out and it was leaving a disgusting taste in his mouth.

“What’s eating you, boy?”

Nick jerked his head in the direction of the room from which they could hear the band.

“Ohh.” Steve nodded sagely as the bartender set a glass of amber liquid down in front of him. 

“Thanks, Jack.” He looked over and studied his friend. “Didn’t know girls scare you. Good thing they’re scarce on the ground in battle areas.”

“It’s not them. It’s her. Miss Sheryl Lynn Baumgartner.” Nick sipped from his glass, looking at nothing on the wall in front of him. “I’ve tried for weeks to get her to go out with me, with no joy. Then, a week ago, that fucking invitation shows up. The very next morning, Reeves tells me the colonel specifically wants me in there, and I can’t help but think what’s Sheryl going to think of that?”

Steve shrugged and was silent for a minute while he contemplated the contents of his glass. “You ever think that maybe she specifically asked for your presence?” He looked over, smiling at the dumbfounded expression on Nick’s face.

Tuesday, November 3, 2015

My Word is: Curveball. And more of Dig Two Graves

Congratulations to the Kansas City Royals for winning this year's World Series. Truth-to-tell, I would have preferred that the Mets won since it's been about forever since they last did. But credit where it's due, and it's due in Kansas City.

Yesterday life threw lemons at us. Not soft pitch, either. When I got downstairs and said 'good morning' to my MIL, I knew instantly that she'd had a stroke. She couldn't enunciate, at all. The words would form but couldn't get out in anything but a hairball, all knotted up and unintelligible.

She spent last night in the hospital for observation and the improvement, what there's been, is remarkable. Between yesterday morning and last evening, her ability to speak has come back about eighty percent. Her mental acuity is slower than it was, and she still has trouble expressing sentences or thoughts. They form, you can see that they're there. But getting them out is sometimes impossible. Particularly if she's anxious for some reason.

That threw me off here - I was planning on starting this, continuing to write 'First Dig Two Graves', but it went nowhere.

Had to get hubby up without causing him to have a panic attack. Had to get the paramedics here and see her packaged for delivery. Had to get to work, etc.

That was hubby's insistence and, frankly, he was right. She was being well cared for. It wasn't imminently life threatening - it was a mini-stroke, a TIA - and she wasn't at Death's door.

The doctors and nurses didn't need the distraction of another family member hovering. They needed to get her stabilized and do their tests and so on. So I went to work, and called the hospital a couple of times, just to see how she was doing.

This morning, though, I'm back. Here's the next installment of 'First Dig Two Graves', picking up from where we left off. And, going forward, I will try hard to end at the end of a chapter instead of leaving you hanging in the middle, as I did last time.

* * * * *


Jeffers pulled out one of the chairs around the table, hitched his pants and sat down.

Equal footing. Nick thought with an inward smile. He leaned back in his chair and grinned. “Been there, done this, you know.”

“Oh? What’s that?”

“Interrogation 101, been there, done it. You don’t go into the service, particularly into a battle zone, without that training, too.”

Jeffers tried to look confused, pulling his bushy blond eyebrows down over his hazel eyes and squinting.

Nick smiled more widely and leaned forward. “Your buddy here,” he looked over at the other man, portly, balding and sweaty even though the room was little more than warm. “He’s probably going to take the role of bad cop, the heavyweight who’ll rough me up if I get out of line. You’re the good cop, the nice guy, only here to help a poor slob out of a jam.

“Thing is, boys, I don’t need convincing, don’t need a father confessor. I’ve already started and I’m willing to go on. When we’re done, I’ll chill out in one of your rooms back there while your stenographer types up what we’ve said.” He shot a pointed look at the ubiquitous dark glass panel set into the wall across from where he sat. “Then, when it’s all neatly typed and proofed, I’ll sign it. I got no beef with doing that, or I wouldn’t have walked in your front door. So, now that we’ve cleared that up, let’s talk about why I shot my ex-wife.”

Sheryl - 1984

Twenty-year old Sheryl Baumgartner tossed her black, waist length hair back over her shoulder. “I don’t know, mom, why do I have to go to these? What’s the point? They’re such a bore.”

“You know why, sweetie. It’s expected, as I’ve told you again and again, ever since you were old enough to go to these things.” Margaret pushed another pin into her hair, securing another curl. “I agree that they’re boring, but it’s good for the men, and more importantly, it’s good for your father.”

With an ill-natured sigh and shrug, Sheryl capitulated. “How much longer do we have to do this, anyway?”

“Until your daddy either retires or we get transferred back to the States.” Through the reflection in the mirror, Margaret looked at her daughter who was sitting on the end of the bed, noting the pout. She smiled in amusement, remembering when Marc had all but dragged her to them by her hair. That was before she had realized how good they were for his career. “Or, until you meet some nice young man and get married.”

Irritated, impatient and not willing to concede the point, Sheryl spiked to her feet. “Yeah, that’ll be the day.”


Two hours later, her face feeling as if it would crack from the smile she had pasted in place, she greeted yet another young man. “Hello, welcome. My name is Sheryl and yours is…?”

“Nick.”

His hand was warm in hers, dry and his grip was firm, but not hard with trying to impress, or limp, like holding a dead fish. Dark brown eyes under straight brows glinted in the lights. They met hers directly, without waver. Those two things were unusual and she really looked at him, the first young man she had looked at since taking her place in the reception line that evening. Their eyes locked for a moment, and she felt a quaver of interest deep inside.

“Hello, Nick.”

He nodded and moved on, greeting her mother. Her eyes followed until drawn back by another of her father’s guests.

“Hello, welcome. My name is…”


Finally, the last of the guests had passed in front of her, her face could stop smiling and her aching muscles could rest. That’s the worst of it and at least it’s over. She strolled over to the bar. “A martini, dry, with two olives, please.”

From behind her, a voice she remembered said, “Make that two, sir. On me.”

Even before she turned she knew who it was. Her hackles were up.

“Thank you, lieutenant, but…”

“You don’t like strange men buying you drinks.” His smile took the sting out of his words. “I, however, am not strange, I assure you. A bit weird sometimes, maybe a little odd now and again, but I am most decidedly not strange. If you doubt me, you can ask my friends.”

She fought a smile, tried to look angry and cool. “Do you have friends?”

“One or two.” He turned and pointed to one of the callow youths. “There’s one. That’s Walt. He escaped from Bedlam a couple of months ago.” His finger moved, pointing to another young man, dancing with her friend, Daphne. “Steve’s on the lam from the state hospital in California.”

“Really?”

“Yep.” The bartender set the drinks down. Nick reached and picked one up, handing it to her, handed the man a bill and took the other one with a nod of thanks.

She smirked up at him, “Which one?”

He winked, “The one at Atascadero, for the criminally insane.”

She couldn’t help it. The smile broke free, “A dangerous man, then.”

“No. He’s a pussycat, unless you make him mad. So we’re careful not to make him mad until we’re ready to go into battle. Then we kick sand in his face, or tell him his sister wears Army boots. You know, get him riled up and then set him loose on enemy forces.”

The smile became a giggle that she stifled by filling it with a sip of martini.

“Would you care to dance?”

“No.” Her cool was back. This guy, just like all the others, would be gone in a matter of weeks or months. It wasn’t worth getting invested with a military man.

“Good.” He relaxed and looked around the room. “I can’t dance to save my life.” He glanced down at her with a wink, “In fact, in the old west, if I’d been in a gunfight and told to dance, I’d rather die.”

She turned toward him, cocked her head, and said, “You probably dance really well.”

“Care to test that theory?”

“Yes. Yes, I would.” She set her glass back on the bar and held up her arms.

He was a good dancer, smooth and confident without being pushy. On the crowded floor, he maneuvered them between the other couples without bumping elbows or shoulders. His hand remained square in the small of her back, light enough to guide her, not tight enough to pull her against him. It bothered her.

When the music ended, they applauded along with everyone else, and then he offered his arm, in classic ballroom style.

“I thought you didn’t know how to dance.” She said accusingly as they reached the edge of the floor.

“A true gentleman is capable of rising to any occasion, as my grandmother liked to say.” He said with a slight bow.

Before she could respond, her mother reached their side. “Hello, Sheryl. Hello, young man.”

“Hello, Mrs. Baumgartner, it’s nice to see you again. My name is Nick, Nick Welles, with an extra ‘e’ at the end.”

“Oh, it’s a pleasure, Nick.”

The way she studied him made Sheryl’s hackles twitch again. Biting her lips in vexation, she looked away. Good grief. It’s like she’s sizing him to see if he’ll fit.

“Are you enjoying yourself, my dear?” Her smile was like a lighthouse beacon between them. “I’m sure Nick won’t mind, but General Mitchell was asking after you, and I thought it would be nice if you took a minute to say ‘hello’.”

Sheryl well knew that wasn’t a polite request. “Of course, if you’ll excuse me?”

Nick held his arm out again, “That crowd looks dangerous, Ms. Baumgartner. You might need an escort.”

Irritated by the interruption of her mother and his presumption that she was feeble, she whirled away, shooting, “Thank you, but I’ll take my chances” over her shoulder as she stalked off.

Taking the direct route, she cut across the dance floor, ignoring the annoyed glances in her wake. There, on the other side, was a group of brass standing around her courtesy ‘uncle’, one of her father’s oldest friends.

* * * * *

There's a bit more, but then I'd leave you hanging in the middle of a chapter again, so I'll stop here. I will be back tomorrow (God willing and the creek don't rise!) and will post another piece.

I'm at 3,685 words right now - a bit behind my goal of 5,000, but I'm not doing too badly, all things considered.

I hope you're enjoying this - I'm posting all of this on WriteOn, too, so maybe I'll have something worthwhile once the NaNo dust settles.

In the meantime, have a lovely day!

Best~
Philippa

Follow me on Twitter: https://twitter.com/PhilippaStories

Sunday, November 1, 2015

NaNo Is Here - At Last!!!

Let the games begin! National Novel Writing Month - NaNoWriMo - about which I've been blathering for weeks, has finally arrived.

As a refresher for anyone who cares (or who doesn't since I hope you'll read this anyway, to get to the 'good stuff' that follows), it's an exercise. It involves discipline, goal setting and, at the end of the thirty day period, hope - hope that you'll have a great or a good or even a fair-to-middlin' first draft of a story. Or, you'll have tried an idea that you had, and discovered that it doesn't work.

This is my first year participating, and I'm excited. So much so, that I woke up extra super early this morning (four o'clock on a Sunday can, I think, be considered extra super early), and got started.

As I promised, I will be offering up my "spew" on a daily basis this month - what comes next from where I began and then left off. Since this is a rough, first draft, it may be full of plot holes, contradictions, or downright egregious errors. Whatever. That's why it's called a first draft.

Now, if you're ready, I am. Here's the opening to First Dig Two Graves. And please, note, copyright applies to this post and every other one I put up here.

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First Dig Two Graves

Philippa Stirling
 
Copyright © 2015 – All Rights Reserved

This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author, except for brief quotations in a book review.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, business, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Sonoma County, California – August 23, 2009

Ben shivered, his shoulders jerking as the frigid wind whipped off the Pacific, slicing through the layers of clothing. He was so cold his muscles were on the verge of cramping, but he wasn’t going to say anything. Not today, the day after his thirteenth birthday, the first time his dad and granddad had taken him surf fishing with them.


Oh, sure. He’d been there before, but always in the background, watching and following, or sitting with his mom and sister in the trailer. This was the first time he’d ever held his own rig, the gift he’d dreamed of for years.


Far out on the water, amid the whitecaps, bright yellow and orange kayaks of the abalone fishermen bobbed in the sharp chop, dipping almost out of sight before rising up. He’d never had abalone, and he didn’t like being on boats. Even the ferry from Larkspur to San Francisco made him uneasy, and that was a big boat.


He checked the line again. Nothing. Maybe over there, he glanced to his right, toward the rugged rocks his granddad had told him to stay away from.


“Many’s the man who’s come to grief, or worse, for climbing about on the rocks while fishing, Benny. A slip or a trip and you’ll be badly hurt–“ the beetled brows came down over the rheumy blue eyes “– or worse. Ye just stay away from them, you understand me?”


Ben had nodded, “Yessir.”


“Good. There’s plenty of fish to be had. No need to risk yourself for no good reason.”


It had seemed reasonable in the warmth of the trailer. Now, though, after an hour of freezing and shivering and chattering teeth, he wasn’t so sure.


A glance to his left showed his granddad and father had drifted down the beach. Over the water where they had their lines cast wrestled a flock of seagulls, fighting the wind and each other as they swooped and dived. He eyed the rocks again, picking a path that looked safe and easy. Just then a roller swept in, slamming itself into oblivion in a fury of foam against the outer barrier.


“This is dumb.” He muttered. Releasing the lock, he began reeling in the line he’d cast so hard he’d almost fallen on his face.


Dad and granddad were farther away now, not paying attention to him. Taking care not to snag his hand on the hook, he walked to the edge of the piled boulders, chose his path and began to climb. Stepping carefully, holding the tip of his rod high but watching his feet, he reached the place he’d chosen.


Sand dusted the crevices and nooks, but it was dry. He edged closer to the sheer drop-off and peered down, looking for a good place to drop his line.


“What?” Something was lying in the surf between the rock spires. Partially wrapped in thick strands of kept, it was slimy looking, shiny, but not like a seal or… he crept closer to the edge, it wasn’t like anything he’d ever seen. “Oh my god!” Ben stepped back in shock.


The white thing sticking out wasn’t a starfish after all. It was a hand.


Ben was caught, what do I do? He looked down the beach. His dad and granddad were heading in his direction, walking fast. He raised his hand, waving, wishing they’d hurry. Setting his rig down, he scrambled down the rocks and ran to meet them.


“There’s a man!” he shouted when he got close enough to be heard over the pounding surf and seabirds, pointing back the way he’d come. “He’s dead!”


“What were you doing, Ben! Didn’t we tell you…”


“There’s a dead guy back there.” Ben skidded to a stop, grabbed his dad’s hand, and started pulling. “He’s in the rocks.”




From the top of the rock they looked down. “Hell’s bells, Sam, look there.” Grandad said, “He’s right.”


The body moved in the surf as another wave lifted it, pushed it partially onto the patch of sand caught in the fringe of the rocks then drew it back again.


Dad’s fingers tightened on his arm, his voice low, urgent. “Ben, go up to the trailer, run, and tell mom to use the satellite phone to call the sheriff.”



Fresno, California – February, 2014

Nick’s fingers moved inside the deep pocket of his pea coat. The familiar grip felt rough in the same patches it had for years, smooth in others. Striding along the street, his eyes swept from left to right and back. It was habit, a habit that had saved his life on more than one occasion. Years ago, he’d had to think about it, to remember to do it. Now it was automatic.


The light at the corner was red and he stopped to wait. Noting but not seeing the traffic swarming past. Unconscious of the act, he leaned down to rub his aching leg. It had been years since it had truly bothered him. Now it was only when he was upset or angry.


Two blocks. He looked around at the buildings, noting almost every little detail. What a Podunk little place this is.


The light changed. He glanced left, then right, then followed the rest of the herd that had already set off for the curb on the far side.


At just over six-feet and one-hundred ninety pounds, he didn’t stand out in the crowd. He looked like half the other men, except for his gait. That set him apart to the observant. The windows he passed provided additional safety, a reflection of what was behind him, a chance to spot a threat before it became a danger.


Training, months of training and years in the field and still it hadn’t been enough. He grimaced at the twinge that shot through his thigh. Almost there.


Half-a-block ahead and on the opposite side of the street, he could see the plaza that surrounded the county administration buildings. The police station was just a half-block farther.


Minutes later, after waiting at another light, he crossed the plaza and pressed the button that opened the front doors. Pausing by the signboard that listed departments and locations, he found what he wanted, then crossed to the glassed-in cage.


The young man looked up from the paper he’d been reading, his expression conveying his boredom. “Help you?”
 
“Yes, thanks.” Nick pulled the Luger from his pocket. “I need to see someone in homicide.” He laid the weapon on the counter, noting the boredom was nowhere to be seen. His lips curled in a bitter smile. “It’s not loaded. And here’s the clip.” It was set down next to the gun with a sharp clatter.

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Hope you enjoyed that - the second installment will be posted tomorrow morning, before I leave for work.

Have a lovely day!

Best~
Philippa

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