by CeeCee James
I shivered and turned to face Officer Carlson. He’d been recording my statement, which really seemed to be asking the same questions over and over. He was so tall, my neck was starting to ache looking up at him.
He raised an eyebrow. “At least we know now who was chasing you. You are quite the case solver. That’s three in one day.”
“Three?” I asked. I was feeling dizzy from all the adrenaline rushes. I needed a burger STAT.
He lifted up a finger. “One, who was chasing you. Two, who the skeleton was. And three, who shot Officer Benson after the jewelry store robbery.”
I nodded and glanced at Kyle. It had been Kyle’s first time hearing what his son had done that day, all those years ago. He was sitting on the couch with his head in his hands, obviously devastated.
Officer Carlson went over the story one more time. I had to resist rolling my eyes in impatience. Finally, he held something out for me to sign.
I scribbled my name on it and handed back the pen.
“Okay, Miss O’Neil. You are free to go,” he said, after taking the paper from me. “Stick around town in case we have any more questions.”
Kyle saw me leave and offered to walk me out. I was relieved. I still had another burning question.
“When did you leave Morocco?” I asked. He looked at me, confused. “Tanya Crawford. She mentioned you sent her something from Morocco.”
“Oh.” He nodded with a sad smile. “Years ago, I was a roadie with this Indie group. They played sort of middle eastern music and had exotic animals and things like that. I still keep in touch with a few of them. I sent one of my friends a letter to send her from there.” His sheepish response wasn’t answer enough.
“Why?”
“I had a thing for her years ago. We became friends after she married. I liked to keep in touch here and there.”
That reminded me of something. I reached into my pants where I’d stashed my new good luck charm. I glanced at it, wondering what reaction it was going to evoke out of Kyle. Slowly, I held my hand out.
He studied it for a second before a slow smile crawled across his face. “No way!” He reached out and took the squirrel. “Charity gave me this when I first started hanging out with Richard. Where did you get it?”
“Mrs. Crawford. She told me it was a good luck charm you’d given her years ago. She figured I might need it dealing with the Valentines.”
His thumb rubbed over the figurine. “I guess it brought you luck, then.”
I shrugged.
“Charity used to get those all the time. They came in a tea box. My luck was never that great after I gave it away. Maybe I should have kept it.”
“You can have it back,” I said.
He smiled. “Thank you. That means a lot.”
We’d reached my car by now. I reached for the handle, and then hesitated. “How was it to see Charity again?” I asked.
“Sad.” He stared at the house. “I wanted to talk to her about Brian, but she’s not…she never grew up. We’d never been more than friends, except for that one drunken night. But we had a son together. I thought she’d care about him, but it’s like she’s forgotten she ever had him or something. Maybe if she’d stayed in his life, things would have turned out differently. I don’t know.”
I awkwardly patted his arm. “People make their own choices. No matter how much we want them to make the right one, it’s still up to them.”
He nodded and stuck the figurine into his pocket.
Seeing it, I asked, “What about Mrs. Crawford?”
His brow crinkled, and a his eyes softened. “I might stop to say hi on my way out.”
“Well, take care of yourself.” I reached out and touched his arm. “I am sorry about Brian.”
He nodded. “It was a long time ago, but it will always haunt me. As will this house.”
We said goodbye and I got in my car. He returned to the house, maybe to say his final goodbyes to Charity.
It was with a very introspective heart that I backed out of the driveway and drove home. Life was so strange, and wild, and unbelievably full of confusion, love, and beauty. It’s no wonder we, as humans, tried to make safe boxes to stay inside. It took a ton of courage to open up to all the craziness.
I tapped the steering wheel as I drove. The sun stretched long golden fingers over the now-tilled fields. I flipped on the heat, and bit at a hangnail.
Who was I in all of this mess?
I thought about everything that happened at the house. How I’d stood between a man and a gun. How I’d heard a father cry in regret.
I knew one thing. I wanted to be braver. I wanted to be known as a person courageous enough to be open to change. I wanted to live out my hopes without regret.
I thought of my great-great grandma. How she’d hid in hay stacks to escape from Hitler. How she’d taken refuge on a boat and petitioned for a new life in a country where she knew no one.
Courage.
My dad had said to remember that her blood ran through my veins. I nodded, making my decision. Ten minutes later, I flipped on the blinker and turned onto Baker Street.
The road was dirt and short. Too short, today. Tall trees that I still wasn’t sure of their names grew along the sides. Their sweeping branches touched overhead.
His driveway was to the left. My face flushed with nerves, but I didn’t chicken out. Not this time. I turned down it and parked.
The house was a white two-story. A pair of rocking chairs sat on the porch next to a small table.
I slowly walked up the stairs, trying to calm my hammering heart. You can do this. You have the blood of a warrior woman in your veins.
I knocked on the door. A fluffy rocket raced barking down the hallway. A second later, a gruff voice yelled out, “Bear! Come back here! Confound it!”
A short man with hair bristling out like cotton candy came down the hall after the dog. He wore thick glasses and sweat pants. Plaid slippers scuffed against the wooden floor.
He opened the door. My mouth felt dryer than a sawdust pile.
“Help you?” he asked. His eyes narrowed behind the thick magnifying glasses as he studied me.
“Oscar O’Neil?” I started. My hands were trembling and I squeezed them together to stop it.
“Yes.” And then to the little Pomeranian hopping at his feet, “Bear, stop it. Get down. Blast it! Peanut! Be good!”
As soon as he yelled the name Peanut, the dog sat. Her butt wiggled on the floor and I saw that, even sitting, her tail was wagging. I smiled, and then looked back at the man.
“I’m Stella.” My voice caught in my throat, and I choked out, “Stella O’Neil.”
He stared for a moment as the words tumbled through his brain. Then his mouth dropped. “Stella?”
I nodded.
“My boy Steve’s little girl?”
I nodded again. A lump was in my throat. I didn’t think I could say any more.
He opened up his arms, throwing out the scent of cigars and Old Spice. “Come here. Let me—” He didn’t finish his request. I saw his eyes puddling up behind his glasses. Immediately, I fell into his arms.
He hugged me tight, and then I felt his chest heave. “Stella. I have missed you so much. Welcome home.”
The End
Thank you for reading Mind your Manors. There’s more! Be sure to catch Stella’s new adventure in—
A Dead Market
Check out book three in Flamingo Realty—
Home Strange Home.
Here are a few more series to whet your appetite.
Baker Street Mysteries— join Georgie, amateur sleuth and historical tour guide on her spooky, crazy adventures. As a fun bonus there’s free recipes included!
Cherry Pie or Die
Cookies and Scream
Crème Brûlée or Slay
Drizzle of Death
Slash in the Pan
Oceanside Hotel Cozy Mysteries—Maisie runs a 5 star hotel and thought she’d seen everything. Little
did she know. From haunted pirate tales to Hollywood red carpet events, she has a lot to keep her busy.
Booked For Murder
Deadly Reservation
Final Check Out
Fatal Vacancy
Suite Casualty
Angel Lake Cozy Mysteries—Elise comes home to her home town to lick her wounds after a nasty divorce. Together, with her best friend Lavina, they cook up some crazy mysteries.
The Sweet Taste of Murder
The Bitter Taste of Betrayal
The Sour Taste of Suspicion
The Honeyed Taste of Deception
The Tempting Taste of Danger
The Frosty Taste of Scandal
And here is Circus Cozy Mysteries— Meet Trixie, the World’s Smallest Lady Godiva. She may be small but she’s learning she has a lion’s heart.
Cirque de Slay
Big Top Treachery
