The Collection- Giacamo Part 1

The Collection-Giacomo

Part 1

by Margaret Shields

The first time I got high, okay the only time I got high. Casey had a few friends over after high school graduation. Zack brought this premium weed from Mexico and some sweet cheerleaders Sandy and Heather tagged along. They loved Casey- I think he totally played up the fact he was blind and needed to identify the girls by placing his hands on their faces. Although we all knew where his hands ended up, that brought their names to his mind.

Casey, dude. he forgot I was even in the room with them. They had a bong going and Zack had made brownies. I couldn’t stop eating! I felt like I was floating and the room was off kilter. I knew for sure I couldn’t walk straight and would need the girls to help me outside, but it was all good. I was sick for two days. That was awesome how Casey had to explain my possible inhaling act to the doctor! Good times! Casey’s never done it since and consequently neither have I. We do everything together.

Okay so High school was awkward, but that’s probably because I had never been to school before my first day with Casey in Grade 12.  Casey was blinded in a science class the year before. Which was tragic I guess. He was the athlete, ran track and played baseball, but who could sing like an angel and break your heart with a few notes. So by September the following year he had the school’s sympathy vote. So I was pretty much welcomed with open arms and by the way lots of kisses from the girls. 

The only downers were science and gym. I hated Mr. Chrism's science class. He had these turtles in an aquarium beside Casey’s desk and quite frankly they freaked me out!  So weird with their heads going in and out like that!

Gym, I hated gym. It was the only time Casey and I were apart. He insisted on still running so the coach would tie him with Zack and they would take off around the track. I couldn't get over it. It was my job to protect Casey and Coach trusts him with that pot-head Zack?! It took me a while  to get over him finding his way in the world without me. I was new than and still had a lot to learn with this job.

Watson, my man from Flyball and his partner Const. Brad work in the police K9 unit. He says its always difficult working with humans. Other dogs don’t get it, but Watson does. The stress and the worry we go through. What if something happens to them when you are not there. Watson always tells me the hardest part is letting go sometimes and letting them make their own decisions. Sometimes they just want us to be there to pick them up when the fall down. To that I replied it was all right for him, Brad could see the stairs.

The Collection - Detective Jones Part 1. A Body and a Theory

“Could it be a worse day to look at a body?” asked Detective Mike Bell, as he climbed into his partner’s truck. Grateful Detective Jones had turned the air conditioning on.  

“ It must be 90 degrees out there!” continued Bell trying to get comfortable on the leather seats.

“ We have to hurry,” said Jones turning onto the highway. “ The coroner wants to get the body out of the heat before it decomposes and loses anymore evidence.”

“ Yeah, so I got the facts from the state patrol, possible homicide.

 Apparently a trooper had given a driving citation along the this particular stretch of Highway at around 12 o’clock last night and reported nothing unusual at that time.  This part of the highway is up in the mountains a bit and far enough away from the turn off from the main highway out of Burbank. So it doesn’t get much action at night. Usually campers and people going to enjoy the park are entering during the day. Now, the next sighting was again by the trooper who was returning from his shift back to the station when he noticed what looked like an animal off in the brush on the side of the road.”

“ What time was that?” asked Jones

“ That was at 5 this morning.” 

The detectives drove along the Santa Clara highway away from Los Angeles and further into the rugged mountain range of Angeles National Forest. When they arrived at the scene Dr. Samantha Bates, the district coroner and Sean Wells the principle CSI investigator were already gathering evidence.

“ Doctor Bates, good to see you again” said Mike walking over to her. 

“ Hi Sam, what have you got for us.” Piped up Jones surveying the scene on the side of the dusty highway.

“ Well, boys I’m glad you got up here when you did, Sean and I have been developing a theory and if you had been another 10 minutes I’m pretty sure we would have cracked your case for you.” Sam smiled at the Detectives. Her blond hair tied in a ponytail swung as she ducked Mike’s fist thrown at her head in a joking fashion.

 It was always a ride when Jones had to work with Sam, and Mike. He always joked in a police department the size of the one in Los Angeles, why was he the one stuck with the twins? 

“ Yeah I know Sam, but L A ‘s traffic come on give us a break. Jones said “ Now, let’s get down to business.” 

“ Our victim is a male Caucasian, looks to be in his 20’s I’d say 28, 5,9  maybe 220 pounds thereabouts.  No I.D. He has blood in his hair and lacerations along his forearms and back. Signs of a struggle, I would hazard a cougar attack.” said Sam

“ It’s certainly possible at this time of the year, with so many wildfires their natural environment is reduced and so are their sources of food. They come down into more populated areas and we see more attacks.” Said Mike.

“ So this guy was out for a walk, maybe going home from a party, and is attacked by a cougar? ' Hazards Jones. “Then where are his shoes, or jacket. It is hot today but up here last night it would have been close to freezing.” 

“There are no signs of cougars in this area” said Sean walking up to the three.

 “However there are signs of what looks like a car track.” 

“ Mike go take the rangers statement, please” said Jones

“ Look at these marks on his neck, there is bruising here” said Sam, “ now it looks to me like it wouldn’t be enough to kill him. There is only one kind animal I know makes those kind of marks and they walk on two feet.”

“ The scene is very clean, No blood spatters or extra fibers that shouldn’t be here. I think this man was placed here” Said Jones 

 Mike came back up to the group wiping his forehead with a handkerchief. He was young only 30 himself, but his thinning hair was featuring a bright bald spot reflecting in the California sun. Detective Jones was feeling the heat too and now was ready to get back to the air conditioning of the office.

“ I think we have all we need for now,” Jones turned to Sam. “ You can take the body now.” 

“ Sean,” He asked the CSI bending over his mold on the side of the highway. “ You will send us the photos from the scene soon, we are going to run his finger prints in CODIS for now. See if we come up with anything.”  There was no hiding it in the young man’s face Sean had been violently ill before Detective Jones had arrived and looked like he might be again any moment. Jones handed him a bottle of water from his truck.

“ Yes, sir, right away.” Sean looked relived to be dismissed from the scene. The heat was climbing into the high 90’s and the smell of the body was unbearable for Jones, a seasoned Detective. He felt sorry for Sean, only been on the job a few weeks, and as far as he knew had not experienced anything like this. 

Driving back to L.A. Mike started tossing ideas. 

" If it was someone who dumped the body, than they were looking for time, because they must have know a body on the side of the road would attract attention." 

" Yes, but we have to look at the whole scene not just the body itself." said Jones " It is like a picture. We can't just look at the foreground, but what is in the background will give us the clues to solving this case. If Sam thinks its a homicide, than we need to look at everything. Including the time of death and what is close to that turn off.  Why there? The killer had to feel safe enough to dump the body there."

“ And why there were so many attempts to kill him.” offered Mike.

“ Yes, well perhaps the person was inexperienced or was smaller than our victim. But your right. Men tend to shoot or strangle, why than stab him.  He looked like he put up a fight, but there were too many scratches. Right now I would hazard a guess at this being a crime of passion.”

“ That’s a pretty bold move, we don’t have all the facts in yet.” countered Mike “It could have been a hitchhiker in the wrong place at the wrong time. With no I.D. we will have to wait for the dental records and check missing persons.” 

“ It could be, but I have seen that pattern before, and it is one only someone in a violent rage would do, someone obsessed with our victim. Those looked like signs of torture not killing.” said Jones.

“You think it was accidental than?”  asked Mike.

“ That would also explain the dumping where he could be found. Someone cared for him, and I think that someone is our killer.” said Jones

The Collection - Detective Jones Part 2 Femme Fatale

The Collection- Detective Jones Part 2

Femme Fatale

By Margaret Shields

Later that evening he was watching her do the dishes when she remarked

 “Femme fatale ...hmm, that sounds quite romantic.”

“It’s not like in those French films you watch Gracie, there is a real killer out there, destroying lives.” 

He regretted the words as soon as they had left his mouth. It had only been 2 years since Gracie herself had been kidnapped and her best friend killed in the attempt to rescue them from that monster. Yet tonight she seemed to have other things on her mind, as she let the remark pass.

“I could be a femme fatale, don’t you think?” she turned suddenly looking up coquettishly at him under her eyelashes. 

“I could get you into trouble...I could be very dangerous.” She said suddenly serious.

“Hon, you’re too sweet for me to every think that.” He replied as he moved to embrace her. Gracie turned suddenly intent on making Detective Jones see otherwise. Pulling a can from the fridge she faced him again.

 “I could make you do bad things with this can of...whip cream!” she smiled wickedly at him.

“Grace...No, I’m warning you” He hesitated taking a step back, hands outstretched. "You know I have to lose 20 more pounds before the reunion.” Undeterred Gracie pulled out a jar and undid the lid, hastely dipping her fingers deep into it’s dark contents, and pulling out a smooth substance that in the dim light of the kitchen gleamed a rich red. “Or how about some sinful chocolate.” She purred.

“No. Gracie, now look here.” He protested stronger this time but his willpower was fading and not just for staying away from the dessert. Detective Jones had been through a roller coaster with Gracie. Months of therapy, and couples counciling since the attack and while they still were very much in love, they had not made love in over a year. She could still not stand to be touched even when she initiated, he was always hesitant to follow through not wanting to bring on a flashback and have her hysterical. Even now when the therapist said she was ready and strong enough. Det. Jones wasn’t sure he was. Yet tonight seemed different. As he watched her move slowly forwards running her sticky fingers from her breast above her tank top to her collar bone, finally sucking in satisfaction she moaned.

 

It was too much for one man to bear. He couldn’t keep his eyes off his wife’s pretty collar bone and breast now painted in rich dark chocolate. He could feel his stomach muscles tighten as blood rushed to his groin, and he noticed an overwhelming amount of saliva in his mouth. His heartbeat quickened when the heat of her breath reached his neck.

“ Honey...I believe your drooling.” She giggled softly in his ear.

She steped back satisfied with a smile on her face, chocolate still on her chin and dipped her fingers in the jar again. This time pulling them out and holding them close under his nose. The deep rich scent which he missed almost as much as his wife’s sweet scent pushed him over the edge. He groaned loudly and grabbed her. Gracie shrieked with laughter as he hoisted her over his shoulders and made his way down the hallway to their bedroom, chocolate jar in the other hand.

Short Stories

I will be posting a selection  of short stories in chapters for feedback. This I am calling The Collection.  Please feel free to comment on the characters, or stories as I bring them to you. This is an exercise for me to flesh out these stories. I hope they entertain you as they do me. I will begin with Detective Jones. Part 1. 

Enjoy!!! 

Margaret-writerontherun

 Margarite’s 

 blue cheese and apple tarts.

Recipe

  1 package of cream cheese 

   1 container of Dream whip

  4 apples ( red granny smith), diced with skins

  1 1/2 cups of pecans halves

  24 Tender flake mini pie crusts

  1 container of blue cheese

   Bake pie crusts to directions on the box.

 cinnamon, chili powder, brown sugar, white sugar, butter.

  In a pan toss diced apples with 1/2 a tablespoon of brown sugar. Place in a hot oven at 375 degrees for 10-15 minutes. In another pan mix the 1 1/4 cup of pecans with  1 tablespoon of brown sugar, 2 teaspoons of cinnamon and 1 table spoon of chili powder. Add 1 teaspoon of butter. Toss and place into the oven for 15 minutes. 

In a mixing bowl mix the whole package of cream cheese at room temperature with the whole container of Dream whip and 1/3 a cup of white sugar. Gently fold the apples, pecans and 750 grams of crumbles blue cheese. Spoon into tarts and place in fridge overnight. 

Before serving, crumble remaining pecan halves on top and I recommend serving  with espresso, or  a nice local port.

A Quite Place to Write

 Every writer needs a place to escape from the hustle and bustle of the world. A place that allows us to slip into the sphere of imagination. I love having a quiet place that incorporates elements of nature to ground me, while my mind dances in the                              realm of creativity. 

For a while I was writing by the Pacific ocean and I thought I will never be able to write as well as I do on the beach. But currently I am on the Prairies for the summer and have come to appreciate the simple pleasures of gardening and long walks in  golden fields that run on forever.

 The expansive blue sky is now my ocean, with its rolling white clouds the waves upon its sea.

The clicking on the railway tracks now replace the sounds of tugboats in the harbour and the chirping of sparrows replace the cries of seagulls.

 That sky out here in the Midwest, she is as fickle as any sea I have encountered with her ever changing moods. At one moment calm, and bright, with light fluffy clouds playing on her soft breath. The next moment she is angry and her wind grows harsh and bitter. Her clouds turn dark and swirl until she reaches down with a finger and tears at the ground ripping up trees and turning roofs into child's blocks to be thrown around a room. 

Growing up on the Prairies that was my greatest fear. To have the house hit by lighting or our roof ripped off during a tornado. When I finished University and decided to move out to the West coast I had many people ask me wasn't I afraid of being caught in an earthquake and being swallowed by the sea?  Well for me, no, I wasn't. I would have rather had the earth shake below me than the sky strike me down.

For now I must face my fears and find comfort in this place. Everyone needs a quiet place to escape from the world. Mine might just happen to be a little too quite.

Sophia's World

sophia

Saturday Night

Lights reflecting off night streets,

Heels clicking on the sidewalk to the rhythm of the car stereos passing by.

Chanel No. 5 and Hugo Boss fly on the city winds mingling with the scents of roasting chestnuts and hot dogs.

Crowds dance on the sidewalks that vibrate to the pulse of night.

Pass the lines of pretty boys, and waif girls, I climb the darkened stairs of the club.

Pass the lines of pretty girls and waif boys, I steal inside this temple, eyes searching.

The bass from the speakers surrounds me, muffling the world outside. 

Enveloping me in its strong arms, shutting the world outside.

Ice chilling vodka, sweet mandarin or tart lemon. 

Lights dance off rings sparkling.

Dresses cling tighter while crisp shirt collars yield to bronzed muscle.

Fingers softly explore.

Rhythm moves us. Calling strangers together in this sacred communion.

Ritual sacrifice of personal space and social conventions please the worshipers, who gladly give way to trembling lips and curious tongues.

Windows steam. 

Lights tremble in condensation.

The air heavy with wet skin, deodorant and alcohol.

Thighs tighten, hips shake. Bums tighten, breasts shake.

We pair up, break up, pair up again. 2, 3, 4, bodies blending together, becoming one.

We for a moment are not alone.

Give up oneself to the music. Oh happy slave! Moving to the DJ's command.

A flick of the wrist- a new beat rises through the old. 

Faster it grows, and all thoughts leave.

I am present.

He is numb.

And she is moving with me.

This is my perfect Saturday night.