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The fuchsia dashiki |
| Written by Darby | |
| Friday, 11 April 2008 | |
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Share it:       She was wearing a beautiful dashiki. Perhaps the style was making a come back since the 70’s when they were very popular. This one was fuchsia colored silk, loose all over with a deep V neckline. It floated around her as she ran to catch the Frisbee. One second she looked like a beautiful pink butterfly and the next second she was crumpled up in a heap on the ground. The dashiki would never be the same after the EMT’s cut it down the front in an effort to save her life. They let me into the ambulance for a very short trip to the hospital. They must have thought I was her mother. No, they were probably thinking grandmother. It all started with a very good idea. There were about twenty of us taking a course in mystery writing at the local community college. It was a good course and very intense. We were all working very hard on our short stories. The professor suggested that we needed a break. Cartaret Community College is located on a beautiful piece of property on the shores of Bogue Sound in North Carolina. He suggested holding the next class outside overlooking the water. I don’t remember who thought combining it with a pot-luck supper would be a good idea. That was a shame in light of what happened. Half the class was taking the course for their advanced English requirement and the other half were just advanced. I was part of the gray beard contingent that thought that learning how to write a mystery would take the place of endless Sudoku and stave of Alzheimer’s. I’m pacing the hospital hallway trying to provide moral support to a young girl whose name escapes me. It didn’t seem right to let her go by herself. She looked so young and fragile. “Are you Angie? I have seen you in class all semester but I am terrible with names. Do you know how she is doing?” “Angie. I have seen you in class all semester but I am terrible with names.” “Deke Logan, Decature if you are mad at me” “I don’t think I have any emotions at the moment other than a feeling of doom and terror. So I’ll call you Deke. They won’t tell me anything. They were working on her nonstop in the ambulance. Whatever happened to her it is very serious. Judging by the bulges in their jackets,police officers got off the elevator a short time ago.” I might not have known his name but I had certainly noticed Deke Logan in class. His stories were police procedurals and they seemed to have an air of authenticity. He looks about 65 years old. Actually, he looks about 55 years old. I was just hoping he was 65. He is straight as an arrow and way hotter then most guys his age. Yes, I can call a 65 year old guy hot. Traditionally, old guys wear their belts up to their armpits, plaid short sleeve shirts and black dress socks that peek out of their pants. That is what old guys looked like in my grandmother’s day. That is not the case any more. Deke was wearing stone washed blue jeans, a cotton work shirt and boats shoes without socks. His only real testament to aging is a hair line that has retreated slightly from its original starting position. “I’m very worried about this too. I got together with Professor Lewellyn and we gathered up all the food and put it in the conference room. It may be important for the police. We went to admin. Her name is Tama Ryan and she lives with her parents about 20 miles from here. The dean called them and they are on their way. Lewellyn didn’t seem to be up to the task. He is taking this very hard” “It’s hard not to take it hard, Deke. It’s great that her parents are on their way. Hopefully, the news they get will be good. You seem to think it is poison. Do you have any thing to back that up?” “Just the severity, the suddenness and her youth. “I can see that. If it was one of us, we would most likely be thinking heart attack or stroke.” “I’ll wander around on the floor. There might be someone I know.” “Retired doctor?” “Retired police detective from Raleigh. It has been ten years so who knows if there is anyone here I would know.” “Whether you know them or not they would appreciate your intelligent eyewitness account of what happened. I’m a retired research librarian. We don’t usually observe people in action so I don’t think I have much to offer. When her parents get here I’ll take off. There is a lot of work for class.” “Stay, Angie, at least until I get back. You didn’t eat dinner and neither did I.” “How about tomorrow after class? We can trade notes and get acquainted. I just couldn’t eat anything tonight, this is all too vivid.” It is not a lie if you think you are saying the truth at the time and it turns out to be false. I finished off the Ben and Jerry’s and row or Oreos. That seemed a little too sweet so I balanced it out with a bag of Doritos. I felt a little short on protein for my health of course so I finished off a quarter of barbequed chicken. Then I was balanced and able to get to work. My putting him off really had nothing to do with a desire not to eat. The last time I went out with a man that wasn’t a family member would be too far back to remember. Deke seemed special and I wanted to be at my best. My feet hurt from pacing the hospital. My clothes were wrinkled from sitting on the ground for the picnic. My normally well groomed salt and pepper curls had flattened from stress. I needed a little time. He seemed OK with that although a little disappointed. He gave me his cell phone number in case I thought of something that hadn’t been mentioned. I stayed with Tama’s parents until they got a report from the doctors. Thankfully, they appreciated my being a busy body and not leaving their daughter alone. The report was guarded optimism. The longer she survived the better the chances. The contents of her stomach was sent to the police lab but the doctors seemed sure that she was poisoned. We just found it so hard to believe. We hugged like old friends and they offered to call me the next day with an update. I’m not a big on praying but I gave it a shot on the way home. We were working on mystery short stories in class. Professor Lewelllyn had told us to read at least ten short stories before class tomorrow. Of course, he had not anticipated the way the day was going to go. I had plenty of mystery novels in the house but no short stories so I fired up Google to see what might be available on line. Lots. I had read the classics. What I really wanted to read was nonprofessional writing. I don’t have much of a shot at writing like Watson but I wanted to see what the writing looked like of people who were ahead of me but maybe within reach. I looked at a number of on-line mystery magazines and found some stories to read. I tried to analyze them the way we did in class but it was hard. I decided to just look for hooks-the beginning part of the story that draws you in. I returned to Google to find some more stories and came across a very cool site, www.yourstory.com. It was an on-line community where people uploaded their stories and the readers got to comment. You could search by genre so I was all set with numerous mystery stories some written by newbies like me. I enjoyed the first two but the third one took my breath away. It started “Her pink dashiki fluttered in the wind as she jumped to catch the Frisbee.” It was posted about three hours ago. I called Deke. He called the police. The police tracked down the webmaster. Our short story writer must have quite an ego because he used his own name when he registered. Without that we would have 20 suspects but now we had one possible murderer. Deke called me and we set up a plan. It was my find so I took the lead. “Professor, you have told us to write about what we know. Do you always do that in your writing?” “I try to, Angie, but it is not always possible. Sometimes research has to substitute for experience.” “Have you ever had a new experience just so you can write about it?” “I’m not sure what you are getting at.” “Well, I was thinking of taking a balloon ride so that I could throw someone out of a balloon in one of my stories. Have you ever done anything like that?” He was starting to sweat. It was clear he knew where this was going. “That may have happened, Angie, but I can’t recall doing that. I rely on my own experience and research.” “I don’t think you are being truthful with us. What I really want to know is whether Tama was your intended research project or would you have been content to poison any one of us.” The police came in at that point and took him away. He was sniveling. He claimed it was all an accident but that did not turn out to be true. He decided to poison Tama’s drink because of what she was wearing. He thought the fuchsia, or in his case pink, dashiki would make a great hook sentence. As hook sentences go it was pretty powerful. I am thinking that there are not a whole lot of opening sentences that have led to a murder conviction. Deke and I had our dinner. He is a quiet man but we found a lot to talk about. I’m thinking that with me new found skills at detection by Google, I should have a former police detective on call. Deke seemed to agree. . Copyright 2008 Darby |
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