by Jada Ryker
“Laithe is my Abyssinian cat,” Marisa said. “He’s an Egyptian breed.”
Alex laughed. “And he has a very mischievous personality.”
Marisa bent over to scoop up Laithe. She snuggled him close to her body, his paws on her shoulders. He rubbed his triangular face against hers and purred. She lovingly stroked his fur, noticing the shades of orange and brown, more like deer pelt than cat fur. “He’s pretty opinionated. He loves Alex and he hated Parvis Stidham.” She bit her lip. She’d vowed not to speak his name. She placed Laithe gently on the floor and looked around the room. “Who wants something to drink?”
“Smart cat.” Alex bent down to pat the cat when he rubbed against his ankles.
Marisa moved to Laithe. “He’s getting orange fur on your dark suit, Alex.”
“A little orange hair won’t hurt anything.” Alex swatted at fur drifting in the air. “If you serve orange juice and Dreamsicles, no one will notice a thing.” He rubbed the cat from the top of his orange head to the tip of his orange tail. Laithe’s eyes closed in ecstasy and his hoarse purr filled the kitchen.
Tara slid her arm around her friend’s waist. “Marisa, I hope you don’t mind. I told Dreamus about your brother Mosely, and the woman who was bullying him. I hoped we could legally hold her accountable.”
“Tara!” Marisa was aghast. “You didn’t need to involve the law.”
“I’m not just the law, Marisa. I’m your friend. And Alex’s friend as well.” Dreamus reached down to pet Laithe as he wove between Alex’s ankles.
“I do want to track down Alisa and talk to her.” Marisa turned to the lieutenant. “I don’t want to involve law enforcement.”
“Just let us know how we can help.” Tara snapped her fingers. “Alex, Marisa and I need to discuss something with you.”
Alex rose and glanced at Marisa. She shrugged.
Tara smacked Alex’s shoulder. “We overheard Elizabeth telling you her ideas for getting rid of people, including Marisa, to save money. What are you going to do?”
Rubbing his shoulder, Alex frowned. “I’m not eliminating any jobs.”
The kitchen door rattled with an insistent knocking. “What on earth?” Marisa trotted to the door.
Alex’s eyes rolled like a spooked horse. “It’s that old battle-axe who lives next door to you.”
“Oh, do you mean Verna?” Marisa giggled. “She’s just a bored old lady. She’s harmless. And she saved my life back in the summer.”
“Harmless!” Alex edged away from the door. “The CIA would love to recruit her. The old woman’s interrogation technique is a frightening cross between a crazed hypnotist and an elderly bulldozer! She glares at me, and I just can’t get away. She reminds me a lot of my mother.”
“Don’t forget the hellhound she drags with her.” Tara shuddered.
“I don’t think a Chihuahua can be a hellhound.” Marisa snickered.
“Have you ever noticed it looks a lot like Verna? Its narrow face and long nose are the spitting image of Verna. When they’re wearing matching kerchiefs, it’s difficult to tell them apart.” Tara chortled.
“That dog is just as nosy as Verna, and I swear it can understand English.” Marisa leaned against Tara as they laughed.
“I’ve heard her telling him not to bite people’s ankles. He disobeys. When poor Officer Daviess rushed to save Marisa and Alex a few months ago, the beast bit his ankles.”
When Marisa sobered, Dreamus grimaced. “Now what was that moronic name she gave it?” He spoke in a rush, as if to take Marisa’s mind off the incident. “Pukey?”
“Pusy,” Alex argued.
Marisa poked him.
“What? Pusy as in filled with pus.” His face shone with innocence. “You know, green discharge from an infected wound, like the one he left on the officer’s ankle.”
“The little beast’s name is Punky,” Dreamus fumed. “I know because I insisted on seeing his rabies vaccination papers.”
“I’ll bet the visitor is Mrs. Flaxton. She’s crawling on her hands and knees to give you a real apology.” Tara squeezed Marisa. “That old woman hates me. She thinks I’m not good enough to be your best friend.”
Marisa shook her head. “She knows she has to accept me and my friends without judging us. Er, she did know, that is.”
Tara shuddered. “Now that the old harridan has met Diana, she’s added the dancer to her ‘not good enough to be Marisa’s friend’ list.”
When the rattled again, Dreamus smiled. “Everyone has guessed who’s at the door. Now it’s my turn. It’s Berea Kenton.”
“Why would Mrs. Kenton visit my home?” Marisa was surprised.
“She’s here to demand you three help her solve Mayla Kenton’s murder,” Dreamus answered.
Marisa shook her head. “I need to find Alisa and confront her for what she did to Mosely. I don’t have time to solve a murder.”
Dreamus sighed in exaggerated relief. “Thank goodness I won’t have to trip over my favorite gang of amateur detectives this time.”
A scraping sound reached their ears. The door rattled with another impatient knock.
“And she’s dragging a box of her lottery winnings along behind her to pay you to change your mind,” Dreamus added with a laugh.
Marisa jerked back the floral-patterned curtain at the window. “Wrong. It’s my mom, and it looks like she has all of her belongings crammed in Mosely’s old pickup truck.”
Laithe yowled in alarm as Marisa opened the kitchen door.
CHAPTER EIGHT
As she wearily fell into the seat at her desk, Althea sighed. Her heart felt heavy in her chest. She straightened the folds of her green silk dress. Her fingers touched the cameo at her throat before touching to the typewriter’s cold keys.
Her fingers still, Althea’s thoughts drifted. Thirty years ago, Marisa had been a thin, dirty child in ragged clothes. She and her siblings had been easy targets of the other children. As the new teacher at the school, Althea had been appalled when she’d discovered the administration did nothing to protect the girl and her ragtag trio of brothers. Mosely, Marisa’s youngest brother, was a particularly vulnerable target. He’d been born club-footed. He had heavy steel braces on his legs and walked with crutches. One odious girl, beautiful as an angel with her porcelain skin and long red hair, was the ringleader of a large group of boys and girls.
The principal and other teachers, who were from the remote, rural area, saw the Adair children as less than human. Althea had made it her mission to change their attitude and to stop the bullying. Alex’s father had joined her as an unlikely ally. Clinton Caldwell had helped her change the culture of the school. She smiled grimly to herself. It had taken the threat of going to the school board as well as the surprisingly strong influence of Clara Eastwood, the school’s kind-hearted cafeteria worker, to stop the bullying.
Althea frowned, thinking of Marisa’s brother as a grown man. When she’d last seen Mosely at Marisa’s house, some months before his murder, she’d looked beyond the man and saw the little boy with the braces on his skinny legs.
Poor Mosely, Althea thought. He was a hopeless alcoholic. I think the constant tormenting at school plus his father’s treatment of him may have contributed to Mosely’s inability to stop drinking. When anything went wrong, the father blamed Mosely. He was the scapegoat for anything that did not go Adair’s way, which was nearly everything. And then, once he’d grown up, his mother enabled Mosely’s drinking. Marisa believes Barbara Adair was making up for not getting him away from his father and his daily abuse.
I need Marisa back in my life. I love her and miss her. Althea brushed away a tear and rolled fresh paper into her typewriter. Diana thinks I need to learn more about honor. Althea’s fingers moved nimbly across the keys of the ancient typewriter. Perhaps my characters can help me. Her delicate mouth twisted at her own whimsy.
An Alien Act of Honor
By Seretha Ranier
Part Three
“If
we follow Blackie’s trail, we can avoid the deepest snow.” The sheriff carefully stepped in the deputy’s large footprints. “You’re hiding something from me, Mrs. Brooks.” Over his shoulder, he stared her, his face hard and cold. “I don’t know what it is, but I think it’s the key to the mystery of your husband’s murder.”
“I’m not hiding anything, Sheriff.” Smoothing her face into what she hoped were innocent lines, Mae Rue swallowed. “My life is an open book.”
“It’s just you, me, and open farmland. Jeremy’s first wife was inside the grain silo when tons of grain somehow fell on her, crushing her to death. She died in that so-called accident just weeks after she married Jeremy Brooks. Now, near the same point of wedded bliss with you, your husband is dead, killed by his own gun.”
Mae Rue turned away.
Sheriff Norton grasped her arm and spun her back to face him. “What really happened to your husband in his secluded cabin? Did he kill his first wife and then decide to get rid of you? Did you kill him in self-defense?” He bent close to her, his dark chocolate eyes on her face.
Mae Rue’s heart squeezed in her chest. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Sheriff. I’m innocent.”
“My instincts don’t agree, Mae Rue Conner Brooks.”
She shuddered.
His gloved fingers gentled on her thick sleeve. “Mae Rue. It’s an unusual first name. What does it mean?”
He’s trying to get past my guard. He just wants a confession. Is he “good cop” or “bad cop”… or both? Mae Rue gestured, indicating the footprints bisecting the snowy hill. “The deputy must be at the pond.”
They reached the top of the hill. The determined deputy was trotting around the large pond. Mae Rue frowned. Hadn’t the edge of the water been much further from the trees bordering the pond just a few days ago? Now the frozen disk nearly touched the base of the trees all the way around the circle.
“The pond is frozen and still. There’s no way something could have crashed into it. The water couldn’t have refrozen so quickly.” Sheriff Norton tipped the front of his hat up with one gloved finger. “The snow around the pond is pristine, except where Blackie’s huge feet churned it.”
Blackburn took the snowy curve around the pond too quickly, waved his arms, and fell in the snow. He thrashed around on his back like a gigantic snow turtle.
The sheriff sighed in resignation. “I’d better rescue him. Thanks for your time.”
Part Four
Padding across the uneven farmhouse floor, Mae Rue wearily pulled off her thick outer layers, leaving them in her wake. She stopped. Something is out of kilter. But what? At the foot of the rickety stairs, she paused. She’d been hiding in her bed for days, wearing the same outfit she’d worn to the funeral. Enough bed. She pivoted to the living room.
Round white balls were neatly lined up in two rows on the scuffed hardwood floor. Three large balls were in the front, with the smaller balls arrayed behind them.
Mae Rue clutched her heart. “What on earth?” Her head automatically swiveled to the front door. The sheriff and deputy were gone. She patted her side. Damn, her cell phone was in her purse on the kitchen counter.
One large ball gently bounced across the floor, stopping inches from her socked feet. Her knees weak, Mae Rue fell backward into the ancient armchair. Dust rose around her. She sneezed. “The snowmen! That’s what was bothering me. They were gone when we returned from the pond. The lawmen should’ve noticed.”
The ball bounced once and stopped… in midair. The surface was smooth and white, like metal.
Springy metal? Mae Rue squeaked and drew up her feet.
The ball rotated, like a head cocking in inquiry. “I am the Ruler of a superior race, not of this world.” The orb arced toward the row of small balls. “These are my Royal Bodyguards.” The orb moved to the two large balls. “My Grand Vizier and my Chief of Staff.”
“Not of this world!” Mae Rue coughed to clear her throat of dust. “The flying object!”
The ball bobbed, remaining suspended in the dusty air. “The Royal Space Craft is safely hidden in the pool. We transformed the ice to liquid, stowed the Ship, and restored the solid state.”
Have I lost my mind? The room spun. The next thing she knew, a glass of water was in her hand and one of the smaller balls was bouncing back to its place in the second row. I have to call someone. I can’t keep this a secret.
“Silence. You shall obey me, Inferior Life Form. I am on a secret Royal Mission.”
Mae Rue gulped the cold water and carefully placed the empty glass on the cluttered side table. “Secret mission?” Her heart nearly stopping in fear, she stared at the glass. What if it was drugged or poisoned?
The ball bounced in anger. “If I wanted you drugged or dead, then you would be, Infidel.”
Seeking strength, Mae Rue stared over the orb at the far wall. A double sampler embroidered by a long-dead lady of the house caught her eyes. Under grime-darkened glass, one oval stated, “The Lord is my shepherd,” while the other oval finished, “I shall not want.” She focused on the white ball. “Strictly speaking, an infidel is one without faith. I do have faith.”
Mae Rue thought if the orb had teeth, it would have gritted them. “You have the temerity to debate etymology with me, your superior in every way?”
Mae Rue straightened in her chair. “I’m a librarian.”
“Ah, I see. Books tend to get very dusty. That explains the state of your home. I will be lenient with you, and overlook your lack of housekeeping skills. You did not know you would be receiving so illustrious a visitor.”
“This home belongs to my husband. Belonged to my husband. We were newly married. He died.” Mae Rue gulped. “I haven’t cleaned.” I’m making excuses for a dirty house to a white beach ball.
The orb vibrated in anger. “You will not address your Lord and Master as a beach ball.”
The small balls bounced, as if they were tittering. The two large balls drifted backward, as if rolling their eyes.
Mae Rue tried to make sense of the bizarre situation. “You speak my language?”
The ball moved, conveying smug superiority. “I am in synchronization with your brain, communicating without words.”
Unfolding her rubbery legs, Mae Rue thought furiously as she stood. “Synchronization implies two-way communication.” Her eyes narrowed. “That’s why I’m picking up impressions from the other balls. They think it’s funny or annoying when you try to impress me and bend me to your will. You’re not royalty.”
The ball growled. “You are smarter than you appear, Keeper of the House Dust. I brought my family with me to help me find an object left here many years ago. You may call me Winter.” The orb rotated. “My mother and my wife.” The two large balls bounced in acknowledgement. “And my children.”
With an impression of exuberant laughter, the row of small balls exploded around the room, bouncing as wildly as balls shot onto a racquetball court. Mother and Grandmother quickly herded the young ones into a corner.
Grandmother rolled to glare at her own offspring. In silent response, Winter reluctantly moved from Mae Rue to his mother, his bounces subdued. He stopped next to his parent, with a final hang dog rotation.
A small white ball skittered on the worn hardwood from the corner like a water beetle skating on a pool’s glittering surface. It braked to a stop an inch from Mae Rue’s toe.
Her heart melting, Mae Rue squatted. “Hello.”
The ball bounced onto her knee. When Mae Rue reached out to touch it, it zoomed back to the corner with its siblings.
Winter glided to Mae Rue and rotated in a bow. “He is the most curious of my children. He has yet to develop a level of courage equal to his inquisitive nature. An apt name for him would be Cat.”
At the edge of her peripheral vision, Mae Rue caught a shiver of white. “You’re trembling like a tiny bird.” She tiptoed to the smallest ball.
Winter hovered at her shoulder. “She is the youngest of
my children. She is also very shy.”
Mae Rue crept closer to the tiny, trembling ball. “Don’t be afraid, little Sparrow.”
The small orb zoomed behind her father.
Mae Rue drew a deep breath. Her eyes watered when she inhaled dust. “You said you’re here to find an object?”
Winter vibrated. “My father was forced to make a crash landing. Your Husband’s ancestor gave us sanctuary. He kept our secret while my father completed repairs to the ship. I was a young one, even smaller than Sparrow. I was playing and inadvertently left an important artifact in an outbuilding. The artifact is the key to my future.”
“What’s the artifact?” Unable to make eye contact, Mae Rue wasn’t sure where to look at the round orb.
Mother and Grandmother bounced, cautioning Winter. He seemed to frown. “You do not need to know.”
Mae Rue rose her feet. “I won’t help you unless you tell me the truth. Is it a weapon? Would you use it on your world? Or do you plan to use it to annihilate this planet?”
Nearly touching her determined face, Winter bounced in a soothing manner. “The artifact is a time machine.”
Mae Rue was shocked. “That’s impossible.”
“My Father’s Mentor learned to manipulate time. Time is circular, not linear.” The orb moved slowly from side to side, like a pocket watch in the hand of a skilled hypnotist.
Mae Rue showed her palm. “Be still, Winter. Stephen Hawking theorized a circular concept of time.”
He rolled away from her and stopped. “I see your understanding in your mind. The Mentor was able to bend the circle of time. Imagine an object fashioned into a figure eight shape, with the pinched middle the point at which the user jumps to a specific point in time. Unfortunately, the Mentor only built two devices before he died. Each would work only a single time. The first one he used to test his theory. The second is here.”
“Granted this is true, why is the artifact the key to your future?” Mae Rue asked.
The ball seemed to chuckle. “You should be in law enforcement. You have a secret attraction to the County Sha-riff, in spite of his suspicion you killed your Husband. I am not sure why you are so upset over the Husband’s loss, especially given his habits and proclivities.”
