Kids Will Be Kids - Part V (Conclusion)

Want to read this from the beginning? Here's Part I, Part II, Part III, and Part IV.



Shrugging, Dougal continued on to cottage number five, Gizwold's, and had a quick look around. The sleigh bed was neatly made, and it looked like there were fresh towels in the bathroom. There were no suspicious looking stains anywhere, nothing to indicate any foul play. Dougal even went so far as to check a couple of dresser drawers and under the bed, but the place was clean.

He continued next door to number seven. There was no car in the parking space, but the door stood open.

"Hello?" he called from the veranda. "Anyone here?"

"In here," came a muffled reply.

Dougal entered and met Jendra as she came out of one of the bedrooms, a suitcase in her hand.

"Sheriff, I'm glad you came!"

"I -"

"This was our last day. Tibor and Julien have already left, I just had a few more things to pack."

"What I -"

"I didn't have enough time for a trip to town, I was going to leave you a note. You've been so kind, I felt you deserved to know how things worked out."

"Have -"

"The mystery is solved!" she beamed at him.

"How -"

Jendra pushed him unresisting into a chair. She perched on the edge of the sofa and leaned forward. "Julien really did disintegrate our neighbour."

"But -"

"It was a very naughty thing to do, of course it took awhile for Julien to understand this, but with the right kind of therapy I think there's hope for him yet."

"But -"

"Now, don't you worry Sheriff," she patted his hand. "We'll take care of everything. I was wrong to have bothered you in the first place. It turns out this wasn't part of your jurisdiction at all. You see, our neighbour was a time-traveller too. We've already reported it to the authorities in our time, they'll see that Julien gets the help he needs."

"Now just a -"

"We've already sent Mr. Gizwold's things on to his family, it wouldn't do to leave them in the past, would it? Julien has paid up Mr. Gizwold's rental fee, out of his own pocket too, I might add. It was only fair."

"But -"

A disembodied chime sounded.

"What -"

Jendra jumped up, "I've got to go." She picked up her suitcase and moved to the centre of the room. "Goodbye Sheriff, thank you for being so understanding."

Before Dougal could say a word Jendra was enveloped in a beam of light. It sparkled around her, then faded away, taking Jendra with it.

Dougal's mouth opened and closed several times. He stood up slowly, hitching up his pants. He removed his hat, ran a hand through his hair and put the hat back on. Shaking his head, he left the cottage.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

"Hey, Dougal," Doc greeted him at the Wednesday night poker game. "How's that crazy woman of yours?"

"Gone," Dougal said, sitting in his usual seat. "The whole works of them."

"What about that mystery of hers," Henry asked, "the body and all?"

"Well," Dougal replied, shuffled the deck of cards, "It's like this..."

By the time he was finished his story, it was time for a beer break.

There was silence for a moment, then George said, "That's some tall tale, Dougal. You really had me going for a minute there."

"You should write for one of them UFO papers, Dougal."

"Ain't you even going to search for a body? Been a long while since we had to round us up a search party," Henry said wistfully.

Dougal opened up a beer. "Don't see no point. The only real crime here was that Gizwold fella stiffing Carl. Carl's got his money and he don't want to press charges."

Doc frowned. "That Jendra woman was a real nut case, if ever I saw one."

"Crazy as a loon," several heads nodded in agreement.

"Ain't you at least going to put out a bulletin?"

"What for?"

"Well," Doc glanced around the table. "Well, at least a warning there's a family of lunatics running loose."

Dougal snagged the bowl of pretzels as it made the rounds. "No point. Like she said, it ain't my jurisdiction."

END

Delay . . .

If you've come here looking for the latest installment of Water, I'm sorry to say it will be delayed until later today or early tomorrow. Sorry about this but I had a couple of other things to get done first and the story just isn't coming as fast as I'd like it to. I promise I'll make it worth your while. ;-)

Hump Day Hunk

Now here's a guy who knows how to get down and dirty! ;-)

Urania the Muses - Part X

Urania is not only the Muse of Astronomy and Astrology, but also of astronomy and astronomical writings. Her name comes from the Greek "Ourania", which means heavenly.

She had one son, the bard Linos, by either Apollo or Amphimaros (who was a son of Poseidon), although she is sometimes credited as the mother Hymenaeus as well (along with Calliope and Terpsichore). Linos grew to be an accomplished musician but provoked Apollo into killing him when he claimed to rival the god as a singer. A lament known as the Linos-song was created in his memory.

Men who have been instructed by Urania are raised to heavenly heights. Those whose chief concern is philosophy and the heavens are dearest to her. During the Renaissance, Christian poets looked to Urania for inspiration. In Book 7 of Milton's Paradise Lost, Milton invokes Urania to aid his narration of the creation of the cosmos.

She is creative and imaginative as well as philosophical by nature. She is touched by whimsy and tragedy alike. Urania is typically portrayed dressed in a cloak embroidered with stars. Her eyes are raised to the heavens and she holds a globe and short staff in her hands.

Martyrology Monday

martyrology ~ study of martyrs

It's Monday already? *looks around blearily* How did that happen?

Monday of last week I spent with a friend helping her set up a blog. To understand why someone would need help with something so simple you'd have to understand something about the town I live in - it's filled with computer illiterate people. ;-)

Then Tuesday I helped another friend set up her new lap top. And then a new router because no one could remember the password for her old one.

The rest of the week was spent editing and . . . um . . . you got me - I have no idea where my time went last week. I did get my new story done for the Absolute Write Blog Chain. I won't bother with a link - if you want to have a boo at it then just scroll down a bit. And while you're down there, read the other stories in the chain. They're pretty awesome.

Craft-wise . . . I got no crafting in last week. Not even so much as a row done on my sweater.

My big accomplishments on the weekend were making two batches of soup - Pepperpot Soup for my lunch this week and a Summer Harvest Soup for the freezer. I also made a batch of banana/coconut muffins that are really yummy, if I do say so myself. I ended up making so many substitutions that it's practically a whole new recipe.


Blog Stuff For the Week:

Tuesday: The conclusion of my series about the Muses.
Wednesday: A new Hump Day Hunk for your viewing pleasure.
Thursday: Chapter 59 of Water - let's see what I can come up with this week to "interrupt" Ravi and Taja.;-)
Friday: The conclusion of Kids Will Be Kids.


Other Stuff For the Week

This is a short week because of Good Friday, but there's lots to do, starting with a poetry group meeting on Tuesday and a writer's group meeting on Wednesday.

Lots of finishing touches to the editing I've been doing lately so I can get the projects sent back to their respective authors. I'm always sad when this happens because it always leaves me without an excuse to avoid my own writing/editing. ;-)

April is almost upon us, and as some of you may know, April is National Poetry month. So in celebration of this I want to get back to writing some poetry. Specifically, poetry to be featured in a poetry book I'd like to have ready for my reading in June. If it's going to happen, I'd better start writing. And quickly.

Something else I've been neglecting is the edits on Magical Misfire. I really have no good excuse for this. It's been finished since mid-November and it should have been released by now. Bad author!

But when I'm not doing any of the above, this week is about . . .

**cue doomsday music**

TAXES

Does anyone else hate doing taxes as much as I do? I highly doubt it. And I don't know why I hate it so much . . . I use a computerized tax program and it does all the work, I just have to plug in the numbers in the right places. I just live in fear that I've made some horrendous mistake and Canada Revenue is going to send the Mounties after me or something. I wonder how the WiFi is in tax prison? :-)

The March Blog Chain

Once again it's time for the Absolute Write blog chain. This month's prompt is: What the leprechaun said, but it can encompass anything to do with St. Patrick's Day.

When you've finished reading my story, please click on the links for the stories in the rest of the chain. There's fiction and non-fiction both - lots of good reading for you to enjoy. And now, without further ado, my link in the chain:



What the Leprechaun Said

Fiona sat in her favourite spot under the whitethorn tree, her back resting against the gnarled trunk. The tree grew from the center of what her Gran considered the wild garden, the part of the garden reserved for the wee folk.

She was glad Gran wasn't around to see how badly she'd let the family down. The letter from the bank had been a total shock. Why couldn't she have chosen a profession that had a steady income?

"Fee? You out here?"

"Over here," she called back, hastily wiping away her tears.

She was joined by her friends Tammy and Gillian, who sat down, one on either side of her. They'd been friends forever. Even after they grew up and went their separate ways in college - Gillian into finance, Tammy into teaching, and Fiona into art - they'd stayed close.

"I don't know why you love this old tree so much," Tammy said. "It's so scraggly looking."

"Gran's Gran planted this tree the day she arrived from the old country. Gran told me she used to meet the wee man under this tree."

"Your Gran met him, or your Gran's Gran?"

"Both of them," Fiona said with a ghost of a smile. "The 'sight' skips every other generation. Apparently you need the 'sight' to see them."

Tammy and Gillian looked at each other over her head.

Nobody spoke for a few moments until Fiona couldn't stand it any longer. "Well?"

"I'm sorry, hon," Gillian said, voice laced with regret. "It looks like your Uncle Sean started siphoning off funds from the trust account about ten years before he died. Between the falling interest rates and the rising taxes, the trust fund just couldn't keep up."

"So that's it," Fiona said duly. "I'm broke."

"Maybe Gillian and I--"

"No. Absolutely not." Fiona was adamant. "I'm not taking money from my friends to pay the back taxes. There's got to be another way."

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

That night, Fiona's Gran came to her in a dream. "Remember the stories," she said, and then walked right into the whitethorn tree. Fiona woke with a start.

From her bedroom window she could see the whitethorn tree bathed in moonlight. Tammy was right, it did look a little scraggly. She was really going to miss that tree, and the garden.

She remembered that Gran used to keep Guinness around to water the tree with once a month. And didn't she leave oat cakes or soda bread or something like that as well? For the wee man who lived there, she'd said.

Before Fiona could stop to think about it, she'd pulled on her jeans and a sweat shirt and was checking the cupboard under the stairs where Gran used to keep her liquor. There was no Guinness, but she found a bottle of Jameson's that was three-quarters full. Shrugging, she carried it into the kitchen and snagged a box of oatmeal cookies on her way out the back door.

Midnight found her sitting under the whitethorn tree, the moonlight streaming down on her.

"Here's to you, Gran," she said, waving the bottle in the air before taking a sip. She choked and coughed as the liquor burned its way down. "And here's to your wee man - I hope whoever ends up living here next will treat him right."

"Now ye would'na be thinking of pouring that good whiskey on the ground now, would ye?"

Fiona yelped, and almost dropped the bottle as a tiny man dressed in green appeared beside her.

"You--where--what--"

"'Tis a good thing yer an artist instead of a writer. Now just pour a wee drop in here." He held out a tiny cup.

"You . . . you're a leprechaun!"

"Aye, it's observant she is," he replied, tipping back the cup and then holding it out again. "Did your Gran ne'er tell ye the story of how I came over on the boat with her Gran? 'Twas more than eighty years ago an' I been guarding her treasure ever since."

"What? Wait. What treasure?"

"Why the treasure the first Fiona O'Shea brought with her from the Green Isle," he said, polishing off another cupful of whiskey. "She saved me life, you know, from that flea bitten ship's cat. And in return I promised to guard her gold until she had need of it."

"Tell me more about my great-great-Grandmother and her gold," Fiona said, settling back against the tree. "And would you like a cookie to go with your whiskey?"

"Thank ye kindly," the leprechaun said. "But would ye happen to have any pipe tobacco on ye?"

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

"I can't believe your great-Grandmother buried a fortune in gold in the garden," Gillian said as they sat on the patio enjoying a glass of wine. "And your Gran knew about it and never said a word?"

"It was my great-great-Grandmother, and Gran never said anything because as far as she knew there was no need, she had plenty of money already."

"Until your Uncle Sean got his hands on it," Tammy said darkly. "But how did you know exactly where to dig?"

Fiona smiled as she looked over to the base of the whitethorn tree where she'd left a pint of Guinness an ounce of the finest pipe tobacco she could find. "I just did what the leprechaun said to do."


I hope you enjoyed my story. Don't forget to check out the other links in the chain.

orion_mk3 - http://nonexistentbooks.wordpress.com (link to post)
robeiae - http://thepondsofhappenstance.blogspot.com/ (link to post)
writingismypassion - http://charityfaye.blogspot.com/ (link to post)
Sudo_One - http://sudoone.wordpress.com/ (link to post)
randi.lee - http://emotionalnovel.blogspot.com/ (link to post)
pyrosama - http://matrix-hole.blogspot.com/ (link to post)
katci13 - http://www.krystalsquared.net/ (link to post)
MsLaylaCakes - http://taraquan.com/ (link to post)
Angyl78 - http://jelyzabeth.wordpress.com/ (link to post)
KitCat - http://twilightasylum.wordpress.com/ (link to post)
Bloo - http://www.emergencyroomproductions.net/ (link to post)
dclary - http://davidwclary.com (link to post)
ConnieBDowell - http://bookechoes.com/ (link to post)
Lady Cat - http://carolsrandomness.blogspot.com/ (you are here)
Araenvo - http://www.simonpclark.com/ (link to post)
MichaelP - http://portablemagicblog.com/ (link to post)
Ralph Pines - http://ralfast.wordpress.com/ (link to post)
mdgreene50 - http://www.gettotheinside.blogspot.com/ (link to post)
scatterjoy! - http://www.sleepinginanunmadebed.com (link to post)
SRHowen - http://srhowen1.blogspot.com/ (link to post)
dolores haze - http://dianedooley.wordpress.com/ (link to post)

Bumped:
meowzbark - http://www.lizzylessard.com/ (link to post)

Kids Will Be Kids - Part IV

Want to read this from the beginning? Here's Part I, Part II, and Part III


Monday afternoon, just as Dougal was opening the latest issue of Gun Lovers Monthly, the bell above the office door jingled and Jendra entered.

"I feel I must apologize, Sheriff." she said. Today she was wearing a coat patterned in a painful swirl of purple, orange and green. "My husband and I talked it over on the weekend and Tibor feels you can be trusted with the truth concerning our situation."

"Ma'am, I -"

"You see, Sheriff," she said, perching on the edge of one of the hard wooden visitor's chairs, "we're time travellers."

"Time-travellers," Dougal repeated.

Jendra nodded. "We come from the distant future. In fact, this has been quite a popular spot this year, all our friends have been here." She bit her lip. "Anyway, Julien has always been somewhat of a problem child. My family thought he might settle down if he could live in a simpler time, which is why we brought him here."

Dougal remembered what Carl had said about the odd people who'd rented his cottages this summer.

"He truly is incorrigible though," Jendra continued. "We didn't even know he'd brought a disintegration gun with him, until he used it on poor Mr. Gizwold. My husband confiscated the gun, I know you'd rather have it as evidence, I think you call it, but we aren't allowed to leave future technology behind, I'm sure you understand."

Dougal nodded, bemused.

"Anyway," she said, rising. "We'll be leaving tomorrow. I'm sorry to leave you without any evidence of Mr. Gizwold's murder, but I really don't think we should leave Julien behind, do you? I shudder to think of all the damage he could do in this time period."

She reached out and took Dougal's unresisting hand. "Goodbye, Sheriff, and once again, I'm sorry for all the trouble we've been."

She was gone in a swirl of her eye-blinding coat.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Sleep didn't come easily to Dougal that night. He tossed and turned and what little sleep he did get was haunted by indistinct nightmares. It was just as well Mama was visiting her sister, he didn't feel up to an explanation of the puffiness and dark circles under his eyes. It was going to be hard enough when she got back, explaining his part in the goings on of the last week.

As Dougal started the coffee going at the office the next morning, he turned Jendra's story over in his mind. She sounded like she really believed all that foolishness about ray guns and time travel. He wondered what her husband thought about it. Did he even know what his wife was up to? Maybe he should.

He told himself on the drive out to Bayview Cottages that he was only going to make sure the husband, Tibor, knew what was going on. What kind of name was Tibor anyway? Sounded foreign to him. Maybe the whole bunch of them were foreigners and that's why they acted so strangely.

Carl came out of the office to greet him.

"I was just trying to ring you up, Dougal. I had the strangest thing happen ..."

"Wouldn't happen to involve the Nixtrom's, would it?"

"The Nixtrom's? Nah, they're leaving today anyhow. I'm talking about that Gizwold fella."

"Don't tell me he came back?"

"Didn't see him, but the stuff he left behind disappeared and he left what he owed me on the bed in the cottage."

"You don't say ..." Dougal rubbed his chin. Did Gizwold really come back? Or was all this a cover-up for his murder, just like in Real Crimes Magazine. "Say Carl, that woman, Mrs. Nixtrom, said her nephew was visiting too. Did you ever get a good look at him?"

"Yeah, creepy little bugger. Had this crazy look in his eyes. Like to play space alien out in the woods - even had a little ray gun. Kept threatening to disintegrate me if I got in his way."

"Maybe I should take a look around, Carl. I'll have a talk with the Nixtrom's too, just to be on the safe side."

Carl gave him the cottage numbers. Dougal left his car by the office and followed the winding path down to the lake. Something seemed to be missing and it took him a moment to figure out what. It was the gnomes. Carl had a collection of the ugliest garden gnomes you'd ever want to see and they used to be spread out along the path.

Dougal stopped to look around but there was no trace of them. Maybe Carl had moved them; he'd have to remember to ask. And didn't there used to be a big old cement fountain in the picnic area down near the lake?