And the words: “The third month, when the box arrived, was very tricky indeed.” – Douglas Adams, Almost Harmless
Uncle Marilynne’s death was difficult enough—as much as his life must have been for him (and had been for us, his relatives who chose to love and accept his burdensome state). My sister and I were left to settle the legal fine points and deal with his personal effects, and he’d made generous provision for us.
After the funeral, the third month, when the box arrived, was very tricky indeed. We’d thought our tasks were finished, so this package was unexpected. The name, in ornate script on the return address label, was unfamiliar. We shrugged in unison, “who’s Davenport Carlisle?” My sister retrieved Uncle’s address book, turned the pages. She shook her head, murmured, “just a guy who lives in New York, I guess”.
Carefully removing the crimson twine and paper, I opened the box. Inside we found an array of gorgeous plus-size lingerie with a Parisian designer’s tags.
She knew they’d been looking for her…in every wrong place. “Combing the woods”, she whispered to herself, snickering derisively—as, it had become a game to her. That busybody neighbor reported her ‘absence’ to her nephew, who’d called the authorities with his ‘concern’ (he’d long relished idea of having her committed as non compos mentis, and accessing wealth he assumed she possessed).
They’d all underestimated her abilities, physical and mental. But admittedly, she was tiring after the trek through nearby woodland. Hiding in the city now, she saw movement among plain-clothed detectives. She was briefly stymied by indecision: should she stop somewhere for a cup of tea and cake—or announce herself to them with an attitude of smirking umbrage?
Perhaps it would be a fatal mistake, but as she watched, Miss Tonks drew a pistol…and stepped out into their line of vision. If they shot her, Nephew would lose. She smiled.
Prompt words: “She was murdered,” Rabbit says. – Kate Racculia’s Bellweather Rhapsody
The search for a missing woman, reputedly a recluse, had been going on for days. It was exhausting, frustrating and often boring…but no one would have admitted that aloud, fearful of being quoted in the press, triggering a brouhaha about incompetent, insensitive law enforcement.
A young officer stopped to wipe perspiration from his face, although the area was pleasantly cool. He turned, hearing steps behind him, nodded to Inspector Rabbit.
“Sir, maybe she chose to disappear—no harm, no foul—even eccentrics have the right. She might have flown to Costa Rica.”
“She was murdered,” Rabbit says, a stern gravel-voiced seer, perhaps.
To participate in the Ragtag Daily Prompt, create a Pingback to your post, or copy and paste the link to your post into the comments. And while you’re there, why not check out some of the other posts too!