7 Short Stories

by Curry, Edna

  David bounced excitedly in the back seat of the car. “The newsman said the north lights will be out tonight, Dad. Can we go see them?”

  “Northern Lights, David,” his mother corrected.

  Bob laughed. “Sure, son, we should be able to see them from the park if the weather cooperates.”

  “What do you mean, if the weather cooperates?”

  “If it’s not too cloudy. Clouds sometimes get in the way so you can’t see them.”

  “In any case, I hear the trout are biting this week,” Bob assured David as they arrived at the park. They enjoyed primitive tent camping and a weekend away from Bob’s police work in the crowded city so they could enjoy nature was a treat.

  Yellow dust swirled behind them as they drove along the graveled road that wound along the creek at the bottom of the wooded valley. A few campers were already set up in little clearings in the trees off the sides of the road. Bob pulled in at a nice spot beside the rapids.

  Jody made coffee on the camp stove while Bob and David set up their tent. When they’d finished, David asked, “Can I explore, Dad?”

  “Sure. Don’t go far.” They went down to the creek, finding several places shallow enough to wade across its rocky bed. Bob worked his fly rod in a deeper pool, hoping to catch enough trout for supper. Jody spread a blanket on the grass nearby and relaxed, enjoying the sunshine and the graceful picture Bob’s tall, slim figure made.

  Suddenly they heard an angry shout. David came running toward them through the trees around the bend. He slid in close to his father and glanced fearfully over his shoulder.

  “I wasn't doing nothing, honest, Dad. I just walked by them and the man just got mad and yelled at me to go away.”

  “Who, son?”

  “That man by the tent back there. He was just kissing her. I didn't do nothing to them at all!”

  “Oh,” said Bob, sending Jody a grin. “That explains it. Most people don't like to be watched when they're kissing. Leave them alone and forget it, son.”

  “But she was always so nice to me before. Maybe she didn't remember me,” said David, sniffling. He wiped his drippy nose on his shirtsleeve.

  Jody handed him a tissue and asked, “You know the lady? Who was it?”

  “Mrs. Wanderford, on my paper route. You know, the lady in the green house on Willow Street, where the road makes an s-curve at the bottom of the hill.”

  Jody frowned, concentrating. “I don't think I've met them. They're new in Circletop Drive, aren't they, Bob?”

  Bob nodded, keeping his eyes on his fishing line. “He's in construction. I've seen him at the golf club several times. Hey, I've got another fish! That should be enough for supper.”

  By dark they’d cooked supper, eaten and watched the Northern Lights for a while.

  “Oh, they’re pretty,” David exclaimed. “Look how the colors move up and down. How do they do that, Dad?”

  “Nobody knows for sure. Some think it’s light reflecting off the ice cap near the north pole. Others say it has something to do with sunspots.”

  Then some clouds moved in and hid the light show. Disappointed, they went into their tent to sleep, snuggling into their sleeping bags against the night’s chill.

  ***

  The next morning the sun shone so brightly the water sparkled over the red and yellow rocks and sand. They sat on campstools enjoying bacon, eggs and coffee that seemed extra flavorful in the crisp, fresh air.

  Then the peaceful summer morning was shattered by screams and shouts from around the bend upstream.

  As they ran towards the sounds, they saw that a crowd had already gathered near a tent. “Anybody have service on their cell phone?” a man asked. “Mine doesn’t work.” “Mine either. Somebody drive for help.” Moments later, a car raced off down the road toward the park headquarters.

  “Keep back! The man in the tent is dead, and there's a rattlesnake still in there,” one of the men told them. “Someone went for the police.”

  Bob ran back to the car and returned with his gun. He approached the tent cautiously, and shot the snake. “Keep a sharp eye out for its mate,” he warned the others. “They usually travel in pairs.”

  One of the park rangers arrived with the local police. David was disappointed at having to go back to their own camp. “He's the man who yelled at me yesterday,” he said.

  “You didn't see the man.” Jody had purposely kept him back.

  “No, but that was the tent they were standing beside.”

  “Hmm. There was no woman with him now,” Bob said. “Did you see Mrs. Wanderford today?”

  “No, but that was the tent,” David insisted.

  “You must have been mistaken, David. The dead man wasn't Mr. Wanderford, and the letters on his car license plates show it was from this area, not Minneapolis.”

  Jody shuddered. “What a horrible accident.”

  “The local police have jurisdiction here. They’ll handle it.”

  After they returned home, Bob searched the newspaper for more information, but found only a small paragraph about the snake-bite death, buried on an inside page. The dead man was John Silks, who had worked for a large computer firm in Rochester, loved to fish on weekends, and was single. An ordinary obituary.

  Still, something seemed wrong to Bob. David was not an over-imaginative boy. He seldom made things up. And he had been so positive of his identification of Mrs. Wanderford.

  A couple of weeks later, as Bob pulled his car into his driveway one night, David came riding up to him excitedly on his bike.

  “Hey, Dad! Guess what Kenny and I just saw!”

  “Careful, there, pal. Wait until I stop!” Bob got out of his car and tousled his young son's hair. “Now, what's all the excitement?”

  “We saw real, live rattlesnakes, Dad! Mr. Wanderford showed them to us. He’s got them in cages in his basement. He catches them with a special long stick and milks them for their serum for some lab downtown.”

  “Is that so?” Bob's eyes narrowed as he frowned thoughtfully.

  “Isn't that something, Dad? Mr. Wanderford says they're not dangerous if you know how to handle them right.”

  A snake expert! And David had said that Mrs. Wanderford was the woman the dead man had been kissing the afternoon before he died. What if it had been no accident? What if she had recognized David? Bob felt the hair on his neck prickle with fear for his son.

  He snapped, “You stay away from them, you hear?”

  David stared at his dad, surprised by his sudden, sharp command. “Okay, Dad,” he muttered. “Gee, I wouldn't get close enough for them to bite me.”

  “Just do as I say!”

  The next day Bob told his friend Lt. Walker of Homicide about the incident and Mr. Wanderford’s snake-milking sideline. “I know the case is outside our jurisdiction,” he said, “and the cops down there have ruled it an accident. But I can't help feeling that there is something fishy going on, pardon the pun. A snake expert's wife making love to a man who dies from a rattlesnake bite is a pretty suspicious combination.”

  “Suspicion isn't good enough. We have only David's word that the Wanderfords were anywhere near Whitewater that day.”

  “Then I'll find more.”

  But after a week, Bob had found nothing. No one else remembered seeing the Wanderfords at Whitewater Park. Bob could make no provable connection between the dead John Silks and Mrs. Wanderford.

  Was David wrong? Had the lady been someone else who only resembled Mrs. Wanderford? And was the fact that Mr. Wanderford milked rattlesnakes only a coincidence? Instinct told Bob the odds were against it. He didn’t like coincidences. In his experience, they were usually more than that and had some connection. Bob insisted David 'forget' to collect payment from the Wanderfords for their newspapers, for fear seeing David would refresh her memory of where she had seen him last. If Mrs. Wanderford knew that it was murder, and thought David could connect her to the dead man...

  On the other hand, Mr. Wanderford must be
unaware that David knew, or he would never have shown off his rattlesnakes to the boys, Bob reasoned.

  Weeks passed. Then they heard that Mr. Wanderford had been very ill, hospitalized for several days with an intestinal ailment. After he recovered, a for-sale sign appeared on their well-manicured lawn and Bob heard he had sold his business and they were moving back west.

  Bob was furious when he met Lt. Walker for lunch that day. “They're leaving and he's getting away with murder! I just know it!”

  “Whoa! You don't know anything of the kind! And even if he is, we can do nothing without proof!”

  “I know. But it burns me up!”

  “When are they leaving?”

  “Next week. There's a neighborhood farewell party at their house tonight. Everyone in the area got invitations.”

  “So are you going, Bob?”

  “Of course. I wouldn’t miss a last chance to get into that house to look around.”

  The afternoon proved a busy one, so Bob and Jody arrived very late at the Wanderford's house.

  As they neared it, they saw the flashing lights of an ambulance parked in the driveway. A stretcher was being loaded into it as they ran up.

  “It's Elaine Wanderford!” Several of their neighbors began explaining at once. “She went to the basement after more liquor, and some of the snakes had gotten loose and bit her on the leg!”

  The ambulance screamed away. Harry Wanderford did not go with it. The crowd all milled back into the house, half-subdued, half excited by the incident.

  “She'll be all right,” Harry said, making light of the incident as he poured more cocktails and handed the hors d'oeuvre tray to a neighbor to pass.

  “I gave her an injection of the antivenin that I always keep handy. I've been bitten several times myself, and recovered okay. Not much fun at the time, though,” he assured them with a grin.

  Bob took the cocktail, heat rising in his face. Another snake incident couldn’t be an accident—just the thought of it made his stomach churn with anger and frustration. His gut told him this was no accident, it was attempted murder. He couldn’t let Mr. Wanderford get away with this again.

  “Such a terrible accident, wasn't it?” May Knight, another neighbor, gushed at his elbow. “But then, she was drinking quite a bit tonight, so I suppose she didn't notice that the snakes were loose. Such horrible things to keep in one's home, don't you think? I'd be frightened to death.” She patted her perfectly groomed gray hair with a pudgy, jeweled hand.

  “Yes, of course,” Bob managed and went to look for Jody among the chattering, dancing groups of guests.

  “Accident, indeed!” he muttered to himself.

  He spotted Jody's bright red dress and blonde curls across the room, and began to weave his way through the crowd to her. But a fat, bald man who had had too many cocktails bumped into him, knocking Bob against the wall. Bob's cocktail glass smashed, cutting his hand.

  Blood dripped from the wound. “Damn,” Bob said, and began hunting for a bathroom instead of Jody.

  He found it three doors down the hall, and began washing off the blood. Then he looked behind the fancy mirrors for a medicine cabinet. He found the Band-Aids, and helped himself to one. When he tossed the wrapper in the wastebasket, he saw a hypodermic syringe, still wet. Probably the one Harry had used on Elaine tonight. Bob stared at the bit of fluid remaining in the syringe.

  Then he pulled out his handkerchief, carefully picked up the syringe, wrapped it in the handkerchief and slipped it into the inside pocket of his jacket. The horrible truth of the new situation was clear to him now.

  He pulled out his cell phone and phoned the hospital and Lt. Walker, then went out to his car. He grimly returned to the party, keeping one eye on Harry, who was still playing the role of benevolent host.

  It was getting late and the guests were beginning to leave when the hospital called. When Harry answered, he told them Elaine Wanderford was not all right. She was dead.

  Harry sat with his head in his hands, the picture of a loving, grieving husband. The guests all gathered about him, murmuring sympathetically.

  All except Bob. He took a pair of handcuffs out of his pocket and grimly snapped them on Harry before he could lower his arms.

  “You're under arrest for murder,” Bob said, and began to read him his rights.

  “Murder!” Everyone gasped in dismay and surprise. Harry was too surprised to react immediately.

  “But...it was an accident,” Harry stammered. “I was up here! A rattlesnake bit her!”

  “Yes, just like the snake that bit John Silks in Whitewater State Park last month!”

  Harry's jaw dropped. He gasped, “How did you know about that?”

  “We were there, too. My son saw your wife kissing him.”

  This reminder was too much. Harry exploded his face red.

  “Yes, kissing him! Meeting her lover there behind my back! I got suspicious of her visits to her girlfriend, and followed her. She never went to her girlfriend’s house. She met him in the state park. I saw them at his tent through my field glasses. He deserved to die. And she did, too,” he snarled, shaking handcuffed fists at Bob. “That was no illness that put me in the hospital last week. She tried to poison me! That's when I knew it was all over. There was no going back to a happy home life. At first, I thought she believed her boyfriend was accidentally bitten. She never let on she knew. Acted nice as pie. Then whammo! She fed me poison. So I had to get rid of her! She might have succeeded next time.”

  Bob nodded grimly. “So you released the snakes in the basement, knowing she'd go down there after more liquor tonight after you deliberately 'forgot to bring it up'. Then you made a big pretense of taking care of her by calling an ambulance and giving her antivenin.”

  “I did give her a shot. All of you here saw me do that! You can testify to it.” He looked around hopefully at his neighbors, who stood by uncertainly. A couple reluctantly nodded, others looked shocked and uncertain. Jody stood nearby, wide eyed and listening.

  Bob nodded. “Yes, you gave her an injection. Only it wasn't antivenin you gave her, was it? I found the syringe in the bathroom. The lab reports should be interesting. It was a big dose of snake venom, right into the blood stream to make sure that nothing the doctors could do would save her! And she'd been drinking, to make matters worse. But then, you knew that that old wives tale about liquor being good for snake-bite isn't true, didn't you?”

  Harry’s shoulders sagged and he suddenly seemed to age ten years before their eyes. Lt. Walker strode in followed by two other officers. Seeing Mr. Wanderford already in handcuffs, they whipped out notebooks and began asking questions of all the guests.

  “This time it’s in our district,” Bob said satisfaction in his voice.

  “Yes, it is,” Lt. Walker agreed. “I’ll need your statement, too, Bob.”

  “With pleasure.”

  The End

  Moonlight Madness

  By Edna Curry

  A teen short story

  Copyright Edna Curry, 2011

  It’s even worse than I thought it would be. I glared out the car window at the tree lined street and neat single family homes. A sign on the highway said, ‘Sparville, population 3,125’. Honestly!

  Aunt Alice turned onto Main Street of the little Minnesota town and I gasped in consternation. Only three blocks of businesses. And there was almost no traffic and only a few people walking on the sidewalks. When Daddy said, ‘Almost a wide spot in the road, Honey, but you’ll love it after you’re there a while,’ I didn’t imagine anything like this.

  I was in this crappy situation because Mom died two years ago and now Daddy had to go spend a year in Brazil to help set up a new plant there for his company. And he couldn’t take me with him. So now I had to spend a year here in Sparville with Aunt Alice and my older cousin, Jane, whom I’d only seen a few times when they’d come to see us in Milwaukee. And Jane treats me as if I were a mere child. What a lousy break. I don’t know a single teen
here and all the kids back home were starting to date this year. Not just hanging out in groups, but real dates. I’ll probably have to wait until next year.

  “Here’s the new Junior High School where you’ll attend, Mary,” said Aunt Alice, turning left toward a modern brick building. “There’s an indoor swimming pool in this building, too, so the kids can swim the year round. You’ll only have three blocks to walk to school. Janie has five to the Senior High building. So you won’t see each other in school.”

  Great. Maybe I’ll be able to make some friends, then, without her around.

  “But you could meet for lunch if you want to; the two schools share lunch room facilities. School starts this Tuesday. I’m sure you’ll make lots of friends here, Mary. And here’s our house.”

  Alice parked in the driveway of a small white house surrounded by tall evergreen trees, a green lawn and lots of colorful flower beds. “Alice is a gardening nut,” I remembered Dad had said with a hearty laugh.

  “Oh, it’s pretty!” I exclaimed in surprise. This was certainly different from our Milwaukee condo on the eighth floor.

  “Thanks. And here comes Janie. Our house is small, so you’ll have to share a bedroom with her.” Alice led the way up the sidewalk, her high heels clicking briskly.

  Great. Not even a room of my own to escape to.

  During the next two days, Janie and I got re-acquainted. I’d never shared a room before, so this was something new for me, but I really liked it. Their house wasn’t as fancy as our exclusive condo, but it was nice. And homey and cheerful. I found I liked having someone else around.

  At home, Dad worked so much that I’d spent many hours alone and I soon discovered that even the six-year-old twins, Dan and David, could be lots of fun. They loved to be read to and they asked questions by the dozen. Uncle John and Aunt Alice were nice to me and tried to make me feel at home.

  But I missed my friends. I tried not to think of the slumber parties I was missing with my girlfriends and the lovely dress-up dances some of the mothers had been arranging before I left. By Saturday morning I felt miserably sorry for myself. Downstairs, I could hear Janie’s voice, angry about something, but I couldn’t make out the words.