What Happened to Jasmine?

by Palvi Sharma

  WHAT HAPPENED TO JASMINE?

  By

  PALVI SHARMA

  Copyright 2016 Palvi Sharma

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons living or dead or places, events or locales is purely coincidental.

  Notwithstanding the thick cloud of cigar smoke hanging in the air, Rosie's Tavern wasn't exactly the gloomiest place in town. And it wasn't only because of the fact that the establishment boasted of being the only one for miles that were equipped with light bulbs instead of lanterns.

  The town itself, didn't have much to be proud of. It was small, an insignificant speck on the map. The only reason anyone ever came to Small Mountain was because it was an integral rest stop between two main cities and weary travelers had no choice but to let their horses rest while they themselves recuperated.

  Rosie's Tavern was right at the edge of a curved road that led to the city, so not many travelers picked any other inn in the vicinity. At the age of fifty, Rosie still lumbered around her tavern, making sure her staff of ten, didn't miss a singe spot on the window or a stain of grease on the floor. There were never any muddy footsteps either, regardless of the weather.

  Rosie was no doubt popular, more so because she had an acute ear for gossip. No one knew how, but she was always the first one to learn of tasty scandalous tidbits and distributed them to whoever possessed an ear.

  It wasn't only the women who lined up to hear the news, more often than not, it was the men who loitered about, and it wasn't only because Rosie was still single and holding onto youthful features.

  The womenfolk decided that the reason Rosie looked younger for her age was because of her sharp tongue that uttered sin, and therefore the devil himself had granted her the gift of youth.

  Rosie never heard any gossip about herself; she was only interested in doling it out and being the center of attention among people more educated than her. Alas, Rosie had never had the fortune to attend school and often found herself running to a corner when the subject of anything concerning the real world, was spoken of.

  So when Rosie heard, there were going to be famous authors traveling to the city to attend an awards ceremony for the best writer of the year, she couldn't be more elated. There was no doubt that her tavern would be chosen by these intellectual men and women. Yes, she had heard that for the very first time, a woman was chosen and nominated for the award.

  It was all a big deal and for days, Rosie toiled in her tavern, making sure the it was spick and span for her guests. The weather promised a storm when they arrived so that meant the writers would have to spend at least more than a day. That would give her the opportunity to mingle with what she considered the elite.

  However, her enthusiasm was swept away, when the storm didn't appear on time and the writers barely had an hour to drink water and feed their horses before they had to leave for the ceremony. Rosie was disappointed, but she didn't let it show that she had been unable to garner any gossip from such clever people.

  Also, the woman never showed up. That added to Rosie's woes who wanted to meet and converse with a woman who was going to set a prime example to women all over that they were capable of more than labouring in the kitchen.

  For three days, Rosie wallowed in self-pity, until, in the wee hours of the morning, she heard the hooves of horses and saw the writers climb down from the carriage and make their way to the door. She jumped off her chair and ran over to greet them.

  They needed a bed and a late lunch. They were tired and she heard them complain about a dismal ceremony. Rosie wanted to prod them for information, but stayed when she saw how weary the three of them looked.

  Their rooms were made and it was after three in the afternoon, that they came down for a late lunch. Then they smoked for an hour, talked amongst themselves and whispered when she got closer.

  It was around six in the evening, that a man from the city shared a piece of news with her. Rosie couldn't believe her ears and asked the stranger to repeat the story after which she awarded him with a mug of lager.

  Then she skipped over to the small room at the back where the three writers were playing poker.

  Dressed in overcoats and large hats, she hadn't even noticed their looks. Now, dressed in casual clothing, she saw that they all hailed from different parts of the world.

  One of them was quite fair, had grey hair and moustache. Another had tanned skin and deep brown hair and a beard. The third looked like he had come from the Far East. They were all smoking cigars and while the Oriental man was hiding his cards well, she saw that the tanned man did have a pair of aces while the fair one had only a pair of twos.

  "I've come to ask if you would like anything to drink?" She asked, trying to compress her desire to hurl the exciting news she had just heard. She was certain that these men didn't know.

  The man from Far East, just looked at her, taking a slow leisurely puff from his cigar before returning to study his cards.

  The others just waved their hands at her.

  Tired of being ignored, Rosie took a step towards them. It was her tavern after all and she had every right to walk wherever she wanted and talk to whomever and whenever.

  "I've heard you all are writers," she said, beaming. "It all sounds so exciting. What you all do is wonderful. I just wanted you to know that."

  "Thank you, Madam," The tanned man said and upon closer inspection, Rosie saw that he too appeared to have come from the east.

  "You all were in the city. Were you attending a function to felicitate your work?" She was getting closer to blurt it out, but had to make sure that the information she was about to yield would be intertwined in conversation and not tossed at them. She would appear ungracious if she did that in front of such learned men.

  "Yes," the fair man said, looking annoyed as he pushed a few coins to the center of the table.

  "Was it an awards ceremony? Did one of you win?" She fought to hide her grin. Of course they hadn't. If one of them had, they wouldn't be at her inn, looking depressed.

  They said nothing and continued with their game.

  Rosie couldn't hold it anymore. "The woman won, didn't she? I just heard that. But you won't believe what else I've learned."

  The three men looked up, annoyed.

  "We would appreciate it if you leave us-" The tanned man started, but Rosie couldn't let him finish. She wasn't going to be asked by these men to leave her own tavern no matter how much cleverer they were than her.

  "She is dead!"

  Except for the oriental man, the other two dropped their cards and stared at her in shock.

  "She didn't turn up for the function, did she? She wasn't there to collect her own award, was she?" Rosie could feel the fluttering of excitement in her stomach and knew that her skin was red and glowing. "That's because she has been dead this whole time."

  "How did you know?" The tanned man ask.

  "i just heard. One of the patrons. He may be a constable. That's not important," Rosie said and drew closer. "She was found lying in a ditch on the side of the road. Her carriage had fallen sideways and the horse was struggling to get free.

  "So it was an accident?" the fair man asked.

  Rosie shrugged. "The customer said it may have been murder. It was the way her dead body was found."

  The men put down their cigars. Even the oriental one, pushed closer to the table, eager to hear her. She had their attention. For the first time, men, smarter than her, were listening to her. She would be a fool to let this opportunity pass away.

  "And how was it found?" The fair one sounded arrogant, as if he was doing her a favor by conversing with her.

  Rosie didn't mind. They were talking to
her and spending their attention on her. What else could she want?

  Rosie pulled a chair from the corner, pushed it towards the table and sat down. The chair creaked under her weight as she made herself comfortable.

  Between the two men, she sat across from the oriental man, who seemed the least interested in her tale.

  "Oh, she was found laying face down in a ditch. At first, she was assumed to have drowned, since her hands were tangled in the reins and there was water in the ditch." She shook her head sadly. "But when she was freed from the binds and turned over, they found a splotch of blood on her dress. That was when they knew that she had been stabbed."

  "Who is 'they'?" the oriental man asked.

  "The police," she replied. "No one else saw her. She was all alone. The police were passing by when they saw the upturned carriage."

  "That is quite a mystery." The tanned man, reached forward and took her hand. "Thank you for telling us."

  "Of course." Rosie hid her frown. Was she going to be asked to leave now?

  "Oh dear, I believe I haven't introduced myself. My name is Saeed Jaffar." He gestured to the fair skinned man. "And he is Elden Moore." Turning to the oriental man, he nodded. "And our colleague, Xiao."

  "I am Rosie. This is my tavern."

  "It is a pleasure meeting you, Rosie," Mr. Jaffar said. "Now if you would be so kind, could you inquire about our drinks? We did place an order quite a while ago."

  Rosie was disappointed. She was being asked to leave very politely. How could she say no?

  "I'll find out right away." She got up and looked around the room. It was quite a small room, with a table in the middle and four chairs. There was a wooden partition screen behind the table and a window that had green curtains on it. Behind the wooden partition, were red curtains and unknown to the men, there was another door.

  Nobody would be able to see her, if she cared to eavesdrop. And she very well intended to.

  There was silent tension in the room as she left, indicating that the men were waiting for her to leave so that they could indulge in conversation.

  Rosie walked to the nearest server, asked the tired girl to serve the men in the room their drinks and then, with quickened steps, turned to the right and entered her little office from where she could enter through the secret door. Very quietly, she pushed the door open and stepped inside, keeping her shoulders hunched.

  The men were served their drinks and were therefore distracted to notice the door opening and closing behind the screen. Peering through the carved designs on the wood, she saw the three men staring intently at their cards, once they were left alone.

  "It is unfortunate what happened to Jasmine," Mr. Jaffar said.

  So that was her name, Rosie thought to herself.

  "Indeed." Mr. Moore took another puff from his cigar. "I can't imagine who would want to hurt her."

  "I can." Mr. Jaffar twirled with the glass that had whiskey in it. "Jasmine wasn't the most compassionate woman I've ever met. She was prejudiced, arrogant, conceited."

  "Quite a little dreamer as well," Mr. Moore said. "The last time I met her at a conference, she was the only woman present and seemed proud of it. Smug, actually. She promised that she wasn't going to be the only woman who had achieved success. And that one day, more women would be writing and living their dreams. Change was coming, and she was spearheading it."

  "Too much burden on those slender shoulders," Mr. Jaffar scoffed. "When I met her at a market once, she wouldn't stop filling my ears with nonsense about how she was going to be the best murder mystery writer."

  "She wasn't wrong. She won the award." Xiao had been silent all this time, and when he spoke now, his voice was grim.

  Mr. Moore scoffed again. "We all know that ambitious women like Jasmine find other ways to get what they want. She misused her stature and charmed her way into getting that award."

  Mr. Jaffar took a sip of his whiskey. "Did anyone read her book? 'Under the blue skies'?"

  Xiao lowered his eyes and placed his cards down on the table. "I did."

  Mr. Moore looked at both his companions and relented. "As did I."

  "Well, what did you think?"

  Both Xiao and Mr. Moore grew quiet and spent about a minute just staring at the surface of the table.

  "It was quite well written. And I hate to admit that." Mr. Jaffar downed the rest of his drink and slammed the glass on the table. "She was barely half our age and she wrote a masterpiece."

  "Jealousy is venom to the soul," Xiao said.

  Elden Moore sat back on his chair. "We all have corrupted souls. What's one more poison?"

  Rosie pushed herself closer. She wished she was sitting right next to them instead of hiding away in her own inn. Her knees start to hurt from bending so low on the stool.

  Mr. Jaffar twirled the empty glass, scratching the side of his head. "Makes you wonder if perhaps we wasted our lives acquiring experience and skills to write our books when someone, who has just entered her youth is capable of winning the most coveted award."

  "You've won for your last book." Mr. Moore reminded him.

  "Ten years after I started writing."

  "You must really resent Jasmine." Xiao spoke a bit sharply. "A lot of what counts in this line of work is fortune. Perhaps she was one of those who were fortunate."

  Mr. Jaffar gave a short laugh. "Yes, she was fortunate enough to be born an attractive woman and a clever mind to use her magnetism to her advantage. Her dark long hair, almond shaped eyes, a slender figure- she had it all to attract men of all caliber."

  "Were you attracted to her?" Xiao asked, bluntly. "You seem to be stating repeatedly that she was an attractive woman."

  "Because I believe in honesty." Mr. Jaffar looked into his empty glass, but didn't order another drink. "Yes, she was striking. But to say she had a beautiful soul is quite another thing. To prove my point, she was murdered. Someone must have been peeved enough with her to that. She must have really vexed someone to the point that she had to be gotten rid of."

  "That's one way of looking at it." From her position behind the screen, Rosie could see that Mr. Moore hadn't touched his red wine.

  "What's the other?"

  "That someone was envious of her success," he replied. "Sure, Jasmine could be exasperating. But people would snub her, ostracize her. Killing her is an extreme step to take. No, someone couldn't stand the fact that she was going to win that award."

  Rosie risked a peek from the side of the screen. Xiao was a quiet man, she noticed. He spoke few words, sipped his beer rather than gulp it, and appeared to be studying his surroundings quite assiduously.

  Mr. Jaffar raised an eyebrow and when he shifted his gaze, Rosie retracted to her hiding position. "Being envious of her success, drives a person's competitive spirit. It doesn't urge them to kill."

  "It depends on the individual's willpower."

  "Your statement sounds like an accusation," Saeed said. "You do know that we were all at the same place at the same time. None of us were seen with Jasmine before that."

  "We cannot determine the time of death of our colleague without speaking to the coroner," Xiao spoke before picking up his cards again and thumbing the corners of it, absently.

  "The innkeeper just stated that she was on her way to the city when her carriage was found, upturned by the side of the road." Mr. Jaffar looked annoyed, Rosie noted, through the slits in the screen.

  "Yes, but she did not say that Jasmine wasn't killed a day before and just discovered," Xiao argued.

  "That's a point to be noted." Mr. Moore agreed.

  Mr. Jaffar smiled. "We have quite a mystery in our hands. A bit ironic that a writer of murder mysteries was killed in such a puzzling way."

  "Indeed." Mr. Moore raised his glass, sniffed and put it down again.

  Just for a minute, there was complete silence in the room. Rosie found herself feeling disappointed. She had started to get her hopes up in seeing
the three most accomplished writers, share their working process with her.

  She had always wondered how mystery writers wrote such compelling stories with the surprise elements so intricately woven within it. Being fascinated with books at an early age, Rosie had developed a craving for mystery thrillers. Tonight was going to be her chance to interact with her favorite authors and pick their minds.

  Now, all she had managed to accomplish was listen to them bickering rather than share tidbits about their writing.

  Some other day then, she thought to herself. She had started to rise, when Mr. Jaffar spoke again. "She didn't have much of a family. Dead parents, estranged siblings, too young to be married yet."

  "My sister was married with a child at her age," Mr. Moore smirked. "Besides, she may have taken a secret lover."

  "The publisher most likely," Mr. Jaffar said dryly.

  "Are you implying Mr. Rodrick from White Paper Publishing murdered Jasmine?"

  "Why not?" Mr. Jaffar tapped a finger on the rim of his glass. "He was married. Jasmine probably enticed him so that he would publish her book. Then, fearing that his affair might be revealed, he killed Jasmine."

  "Seems a bit farfetched."

  "But it fits! Think about it," Mr. Jaffar turned in his chair towards him. "Shawn Rodrick was her publisher. He would have known she was traveling for that award. He probably knew which road she was taking. In the dark of the night, he must have followed her and seeing his chance in the lonely streets, pulled a knife on her."

  "It feels wrong to accuse Mr. Rodrick for such a terrible crime," Xiao spoke in a controlled tone, as if he was trying hard to speak a language he wasn't accustomed to. "Especially when you have no proof. All you are doing, is speculating."

  "Xiao is right," Elden said. "Mr. Rodrick cannot be a suspect unless there is proof of an illicit affair between him and Jasmine."

  Mr. Jaffar looked surly. "In the same way there is no proof that Shawn didn't have an affair with Jasmine and she in turn didn't use her sensuality to get to where she was."

  "That turn of words will not prove your point." Elden took a sip from his wine glass. "I cannot believe you've advanced this far in your career with such narrow-sightedness and impulsiveness. Mysteries are solved by seeking evidence. Factual evidence."

  Mr. Jaffar scowled. "My works are creative and fictional. They are meant to entertain. My readers have never had any complaints with my writing or my ability to create stories that shock them."

  "Indeed. I reckon they are shocked by the hackneyed plot," Elden joked then relented when Saeed looked enraged. "Come now, I was only pulling your leg. We all have different, individual writing styles and are appreciated for our work."

  Saeed didn't say anything to that and Rosie saw him looking sullen while Elden was studying Xiao with an intensive gaze.

  "You've been rather quiet, my friend," Elden said. "Don't you want to try and impose your ideas about this whole situation?"

  "No." Xiao's tone was calm but Rosie could see the agitation on his glistening chubby face.

  "A man of few words?" Elden goaded.

  "I was thinking," Xiao said. "A thinking man is a wise man. You must have heard?"

  Elden's sharp features were pinched when his colleague spoke. "And what is it that you were so engrossed in that you did not partake in the conversation?"

  "That as writers, it is our job to speculate, to make observations from different angles and sometimes conjure up hypothetical situations." Xiao's face looked placid, almost expressionless. "Our friend Saeed's observations may not be entirely incorrect. In fact, I have seen Jasmine and Shawn together at a garden once. They were walking hand in hand. Their intimacy was palpable."

  Elden glanced at Saeed who looked satisfied to have been proven right.

  "So you believe that Mr. Rodrick murdered Jasmine?" Elden asked.

  "I am merely stating facts. I saw them together. I did not, however, see Shawn murder Jasmine."

  It was Elden's turn to look smug.

  Saeed seethed. "Alright, like our esteemed friend has just stated- in order to write our stories, we look at our fabricated situations from different angles in order to choose one that best ends the story and puzzles our readers."

  "True."

  "Then let us pretend that Jasmine is in a story that we have written," Saeed said. "Imagine if we are the characters that must solve her murder. How would you solve it and who would your main suspect be?"

  Elden raised an eyebrow. Rosie leaned forward in her seat, her nose pressed against the screen as she watched the three men looking so solemn.

  "I take it that you are sticking by your theory that Mr. Shawn Rodrick murdered Jasmine because of the affair?" Elden asked, his tone acerbic and taunting.

  Saeed looked annoyed. "Yes, I'm not afraid to admit it. Now, tell me. Who do you suspect?"

  Elden leaned back in his chair, twirling the wine in his glass. His lips thinned as he stared at the ceiling and then at the smoke emanating from the cigar sitting in the ashtray.

  "The question I would ask myself, would be- who would benefit from her death," he said after a minute of silence.

  Xiao nodded, still thumbing his cards.

  "Jasmine was going to be an exemplar of women writers. She was going to pave the way for the others to follow in her footsteps," Elden paused and looked at Saeed. "Not many men would appreciate the fact that women were thinking of leaving their kitchens to do make something of themselves. Some, don't care that the women in our society are oppressed. That person- the one who hated this change coming into the publishing industry- he would be my prime suspect."

  Even from here, Rosie could see that Saeed didn't much care for his colleague's subtle accusation. His face turned red and the empty glass in his hand was squeezed tight, until she was sure it would crack.

  "Jasmine's entry into the world of writing is not the reason why I detested her. Not because she was a woman. It was because she was a condescending, arrogant woman." Saeed was gritting his teeth and the atmosphere in the tiny room was suddenly too quiet, too tense.

  Elden seemed unperturbed and took another gulp of his wine. "I did not mention any names. I merely stated who I would suspect."

  Saeed fumed and glared at Elden who took another leisurely sip. "Anyway." he turned to Xiao. "Who would you suspect."

  Xiao looked at both men and then smiled. "You have each displayed your different perspectives to this case and might I add, both of you picked an angle that you often employ in your stories." He gave a soft chuckle. "I've read books written by both of you and have always guessed who the killer is within the first few pages."

  Now it was Elden's turn to glare as well.

  "You, Mr. Jaffar, always pick the love angle. Your characters are always engaged in dirty secret affairs and the killer is always the jilted one." Xiao gestured to Elden. "And you, Mr. Moore, have always picked the revenge angle. It is always so obvious with both of you."

  "Are you going to continue to ridicule us and our craft, or share you perspective?" Elden looked peeved as he spoke.

  "The way I look at things, it is always the one that we least suspect. The ones we think are without motive," Xiao said. "The people who are in the background, yet have chosen to do so deliberately. You barely think about them, and that is their opportunity to cloak their hidden desires."

  "Oh, I remember reading your book 'The Train never stops'," Saeed said and rolled his eyes. "It was about a serial murder on a train who killed passengers. The police thought it was someone on the train. And in the end it turned out to be the boot polisher at one of the stations who picked victims based on their shoe sizes."

  "I read that one too," Elden said. "I remember thinking, what a tease that book was. Nowhere does it mention the murderer, and then suddenly, towards the end, this new character is introduced that changes the whole story. What a cheat."

  "On the contrary," Xiao looked a bit miffed. "The boot polisher- Mikel-
was mentioned in the first line of the first chapter. I tricked the readers into thinking that the character was of little importance- that he was just delegated to the background and didn't need a back story."

  "I don't play such games with my readers," Elden said. "I give them options and let them keep guessing which one of them it is. That is what makes my writing effective, because it has integrity."

  Xiao gave half a smile. "We all have different ways of looking at things. I am stating my opinion. Getting back to Jasmine's murder, I would say that it may be someone we least expect. The one person we thought had nothing to do with Jasmine, but had everything to do so. The one who we barely paid any attention to, but was around as all this time, making sure we didn't get close to the truth, while at the same time, being inconspicuous."

  "Examples?" Saeed asked.

  Xiao gave a small shrug. "The person who sold her the carriage, the grocer from whom she bought milk. Or even the keeper of this inn."

  "Rosie?" Elden asked.

  Behind the screen, Rosie sat up straight, her heart pounding in her chest.

  "What could she have gained from killing Jasmine. I doubt she even knew her," Saeed said. "That's just absurd."

  "Let me try to make a little story out of it," Xiao said, his face glowing and his small eyes sparkling with excitement. "This is a small town and this is the only inn that serves as a rest stop between two cities. We all took the same roads, stopped at the inn before we headed to the award ceremony. Do you remember it had been raining when we were making our way into the city?"

  "Yes, it was quite a downpour." Elden shook his head. "I was afraid my new boots were going to be ruined."

  "Yes, Jasmine was found in a ditch full of water, like Rosie said." Xiao leaned forward. "There was mud everywhere, was there not? Yet, when we were entering the inn, we didn't have to clean our boots while coming from the city but before we had to."

  "Where are you going with this?" Saeed asked, looking interested.

  "Upon entering the inn, I saw the patron that Rosie claims to have received news from. The one who may be a constable. He did not have mud on his boots." Xiao looked pleased with himself as he spoke. "Even after scrubbing them, there is always a smear or a bit of dirt wedged between the ridges of the soul. But not only was he dry, but his boots had not a speck of dirt on them. Exactly, like we do now."

  Saeed nodded. "So you are implying that the constable wasn't coming from the opposite direction." Then he frowned. "Are you saying he is a suspect?"

  "In my story, anything could happen." Xiao grinned. "But, no. I was thinking of something else. Did anyone notice Rosie's shoes?"

  Rosie looked down at her shoes and squirmed in her seat.

  "No," Elden sighed. "I do not care much for women's fashion."

  "There was mud on them. She had been outside of this inn," Xiao said. "Rosie is unmarried, she must get lonely at times. Perhaps, she couldn't find anyone to speak to since not many patrons frequent during the rainy months. She needed something that would engage her customers, something that would want them to talk to her and find out more."

  Elden gave a laugh. "Are you saying she killed Jasmine so she could have someone to gossip about? That is absolutely ludicrous."

  "Perhaps," Xiao said. "I am giving you an insight on my way of thinking. The most implausible scenario could be the one that is actually possible."

  "I'll have to agree with Elden here," Saeed said. "This theory does not work. No one is that pathetic to kill someone just so they can find a way to seem interesting and gossip."

  Xiao picked up his glass and finally drank from it. "Maybe. At least I accomplished something this evening- I made you both agree on something at last."

  All three writers gave a hearty laugh. Behind the screen, Rosie slowly rose to her feet and stepped back. Opening the door, she held in her breath. That was close. Too close.

  It was a good thing that she had gone ahead with the next step. All three men had taken sips from their glasses. It was only a matter of time now before one of them noticed the powder at the bottom of their drinks.

  Mr. Jaffar had finished his whiskey quite some time ago now. It was right in front of him, yet he hadn't paid attention to it.

  Rosie smiled to herself as she walked out of the secret door. This time too, maybe Xiao would be the one to find out first.

  She could imagine it now: The frenzy that would be caused when people would learn that three of the most revered authors had died at her inn. Fans would throng to her little establishment, mourning their idols' untimely death.

  Rosie's inn would be immortalized.

  She took a seat by the window, gazing out at the empty streets and the hush of the night. Things were going to change for her now. No more, would she be called the eccentric middle-aged woman who had done nothing with her life. No longer would she be ridiculed as a gossip-monger.

  After tonight, everyone would know her name, but no one would know what she did.

  END

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Palvi Sharma is an avid reader who discovered her passion for writing at a very young age. Her love for horror movies and books is what propelled her to write her very own horror books.

  When she's not writing, she loves taking long walks, listening to music,learning new languages and of course, watching horror movies!.

  You can read her blog here:

  https://darkhorrortales.blogspot.com/