perils with writing and whatnot
If you haven’t read part one yet, you may want to click here.
Bill Turner (the cop with the Smartphone) wasn’t any taller than five feet, nine inches. Because there’s a couple of policemen in my family, I know that the minimum height is exactly what Turner was. As far as cops go, he was a shorty. His dark brown hair was styled with the sides cut super close, but not shaved. Actually, it suited his square jaw line and his light olive skin. He was a nice looking man.
He asked me the normal questions, of course: name, address, phone number, how long I’ve lived at my current residence, and how long I’ve known the Thomas’. Finally, he got to the juicy stuff. “Ms. Croft, what exactly did you see?”
I told him what he wanted to know. I tried my best not to sigh because I knew, or at least thought I knew how long this was going to take. I wanted to just tell him in my own words about the incident, but I had the feeling that it would just make the interview longer.
“Okay, now what were they wearing?”
The entire interview was this way. After the fifth question about the suspects, I asked if we could sit down on the steps. He looked relieved. I wondered if his shoes weren’t fitting him right.
I told Turner about their matching dark gray hoodies and that one was tall and the other short. And no, I didn’t see their faces. He asked me how I knew the short one was female. That was easy; she jiggled when she ran. I heard his chuckle after I said that, which almost got me doing the same thing.
Winding up the interview, he said, “Thanks for coming forward. Now, you did say the Jeep was medium blue with rust stains?”
“Yes. It didn’t have the rounded corners of the newer models either.”
“Okay, thank you. I wish you had seen their faces. If you think of something you didn’t mention or you see the Jeep, please call me,” and he handed me his card.
It wasn’t until late the next afternoon that I was able to venture up to the front door of Vickie Thomas’ house and ring the doorbell. When she opened the door, I hardly recognized her. Her hair was strawberry blonde instead of the soft brown it had been in the past.
“Hi Vickie. I just came over to see how you and Hugh are doing after the robbery.”
She let me in making niceties as we walked to her kitchen. After getting settled at the kitchen table with tea, she said, “I feel so violated still. It’s all I can do to take a shower when no one is here. What gets me is that we have nothing worth stealing.”
“I can’t even imagine how horrid this is for you. How’s Hugh taking it?”
“It’s weird. He talked a little about it last night after the cops left, but that’s it. This morning he acted like nothing ever happened. I started to talk about it and he told me that he didn’t have time and that he’d talk to me tonight after work.”
“Vickie, some people handle bad things that way. Don’t read more into it than what’s there. Now then, what’s with the change in hair color?”
It turned out that she was having her hair dyed while the house was being robbed. She said she was trying to put a spark back into her marriage. Was that what the lack of emotion was all about that morning? Keep your mouth shut, Rebecca. I didn’t stay very long after that. I wanted to avoid seeing Hugh now that I knew things could be better between the two of them.
I was in my bedroom later that night putting my robe on over my pajamas when I heard a vehicle drive by. Usually I would barely notice something like that, but it sounded as if it might have needed a new muffler. Peeking out from behind the curtains, I saw a Jeep in the Thomas’ driveway. It looked like the same one, but I couldn’t be sure of the color was the same.
I’m hoping to wrap up this story next Friday.
Where irrationality trumps reason
Writing, to me, is simply thinking through my fingers. - Isaac Asimov
Adventures in Writing, Editing, and Publishing
better writing, editing, and publishing
Author Site for Damyanti Biswas
A Blog On Writing
A manual for the life within!
Join me as I edit my first novel and aim for publication
Official Website of Luciana Cavallaro
How to stay alive until you die, starting now. Writing helps!
A place to share insight and information about the many forms of writer’s resistance (writer’s block, procrastination, distractions, looking for answers in the fridge, keeping yourself too busy to write, etc.) so you can stop resisting and start really enjoying your writing.
Sparked by Words
Jean M. Cogdell, Author-Writing something worth reading, one word at a time in easy to swallow bite size portions.
A Writer's Journey
living well to age well
Sharing writing tips, information, and advice.
Andrew's view of the world in poetry, prose, and picture
Aspiring writer Carla Doria trying to find her writing path...
Random thoughts, life lessons, hopes and dreams
Fostering a community of creative writers through articles, comments, writing prompts and a healthy, supportive environment.
Asian Australian. Multiculturalism
Life and scribbles on the far side of SIXTY-FIVE
Writing allows me to live many lives in one