Jillian Chantal

This week, the writers of Tuesday Tales are writing to the word prompt, cold. I am still in the same story about the buried treasure and the psycho former friend.

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A cold chill ran down my back. “Make bond? She’s been in and out of the county jail all weekend. Just how many chances does she get to try to harm someone?”

“Ma’am, there are very few crimes where there is no bond. I’m sure the judge will have all the facts and set a fair amount.”

“Fair to who? Her or me? Large enough to keep me safe by keeping her inside? Or small enough to make it easy for her to get out?”

“The judge has to balance both of those factors.” He shrugged as if it didn’t matter to him either way. And it probably didn’t.

“Quite frankly, that doesn’t make me feel better.”

“Most likely there will be a provision that she can’t come within so many feet of you. If she does, the bond will be revoked and she’ll be locked up.”

“But maybe not before she makes good on her threat.”

The icy chill ran down my back again. I was convinced Annette was going to really hurt someone and I didn’t want to imagine how bad it might have to get before the legal system actually tried to stop her or even to get her some assistance for what clearly was some sort of mental breakdown. No matter how scared I was, I didn’t wish her any bad outcome, but I also didn’t want her to hurt me, Levi or any of the women he’d been seeing.

“You’ll be safe for tonight for sure as she’s in lockup and first appearances are set for 8:30 in the morning. We can send a patrol car by once in a while when she posts bond. Check in on you.”

I didn’t think that would do a bit of good if Annette was determined to hurt me, but another thought occurred to me before I voiced that one. “Do you have any idea what she said there in the gun shop? She must have specifically named me for you to first go to my grandparents’ home before coming here.”

He made a grimace. “What the guy at the gun shop said she said was, “My former best friend, Heather and my fiance Levi are going to pay for what they did to me. Heather has been staying at the big house her grandparents own on Main Street. They’re going to be in for a big surprise tonight when I get there.” And then she asked to see the biggest hunting knife in the case. The owner told her he had to go to the back to get the key and that’s when he called us.”

Happy Tuesday. it’s time again for the snippets of Tuesday Tales where a group of writers write to the same word every week. I am still in my story about the buried treasure. We’re writing to the word touch this week.

Check out the other tales here and leave a comment if you like the story.

A booming knock on my door caused me to jump. “I gotta go, Grandma. I think that’s the cop.” At least I hoped it was.

“Don’t open the door until you’re sure. It could be that Annette. Call me back. I’ll be right by the phone waiting.”

The booming knock came again. “Coming,” I called out.

Disengaging the call as I stood, I walked over to the door and peered out the small pane of glass inset there. Yep. Cop.

I opened the door. “What’s going on? My grandmother called me about something to do with my friend Annette.”

“Yes, ma’am.” His hands on his utility belt, he nodded at the interior of my apartment. “May I come in?”

He looked about my age so the ma’am stung a bit, but maybe he was required to address people as ma’am and sir. I let it go without comment. “Come on in and please explain what is happening.”

“A woman named Annette Bowling made a threat on your life at Mike’s gun shop—”

“Gun shop?” Stunned, I staggered backward and almost fell. “She was going to shoot me?” All the blood drained from my head.

The cop grabbed my arm to steady me. “Hang on. She wasn’t buying a gun. She was buying a hunting knife.”

“Oh and that makes it better?” I reeled, snatching hold of the back of the closest chair.

He had the grace to look abashed. “Not a whole lot but if someone pulls a knife on you, you have a better chance of putting a safe distance between you and them than if they have a gun.”

“Point taken, but a hunting knife is still terrifying.”

“Yes ma’am, it is.”

“How did you figure out she was planning to come after me and not someone else?” My legs were rubber and I was on the verge of collapsing. “I’m going to have to sit down. Would you like to take a seat?” Something dripped in my left eye. I touched my forehead. It was clammy with sweat.

This week, the writers of Tuesday Tales are writing to the word prompt bread. I must have subconsciously read the word prompt a week ahead as when I went to check what was next, I had already put bread in my tale. So, I didn’t cheat, but my brain was working overtime. LOL!

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When I got home, I decided to take my mind off Annette by looking online for more information on the initials I had that were on the silver bracelet I found. I also decided to try to find something on different styles of lavalieres over the years and hoped to be able to locate what local jewelry store might have carried some in stock. Of course, there was no way to tell what area the thing even came from. The girl could’ve met the fraternity brother who gave it to her at any number of colleges since there was no sign at all of where the boy who gave it to his love went to school.

As I clicked on the various pictures of lavalieres trying to find one similar to the one I’d found, a bit of helplessness overpowered me for a few moments. I mean, what really were the chances of being even remotely successful in reuniting this jewelry with either the true owner or someone related to her? I wasn’t sure why I was so sure what I was doing was important, but I sure felt the pressure to make sure it happened.

After about a half hour, I was ready to give the whole thing up. Who knew this one piece of jewelry could be so hard to identify? How many different styles of these things could have been made? It was ridiculous. 

I set that search aside and focused on the bracelet initials. Surely that part would be easy. Of course, I thought the fraternity necklace would be. What do I know? Pretty much nothing,

Resisting the urge to slap my palm down on the keyboard, I decided to get up and get myself something to eat. Maybe after I filled my belly, I’d get into a better groove and find some answers.

After a bowl of cream of broccoli soup and a wedge of the olive bread my grandmother gave me the other day, I felt slightly more optimistic about my quest. Not a lot, but somewhat.

With renewed energy, I opened a new tab and put the words, Sigma Alpha Epsilon jewelry, into the search field. Maybe a wider net of the word jewelry over the word lavaliere would result in some usable hits. Couldn’t hurt.

To my surprise, there were actually quite a number of different styles of jewelry both for men and women in the area of Greek life jewels. Even some with precious stones and 18 karat gold. Must be for the wealthy frat boy. I laughed. Aren’t they all from money?

Maybe not. I had known some boys in college who seemed like the poor relations to their frat brothers. Who knew? All I knew was I’d steered clear of those organizations. I wasn’t a joiner of that sort. And my friends that were didn’t quite stay the same as before they signed up to memorize the Greek alphabet and swear undying fealty to some pact that they made to each other. Yeah, not for me. 

Good Tuesday morning. This week, the writers of Tuesday Tales are writing to the word prompt, quick. Pop by and visit all of us and leave a comment. We love comments.

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After Levi and my grandad debated which apostle was on the spoon and couldn’t reach a consensus, Levi left with a promise to Grandad to do some research on that as well as the research he’d already committed to helping me with.

Grandma got home almost soon enough to have passed Levi in the driveway. I stayed and chatted for a while but took my leave within about twenty minutes of Levi.

I stopped at Walgreens on the way home as I remembered I was almost out of toothpaste and I wouldn’t have time the rest of the week to do much for myself until that reception for the visiting Spanish dignitaries was over. My boss was a prime jerk as well as a perfectionist so I knew what my week would be in advance. If I didn’t need to keep working this job in order to make my resume look better, I’d quit. Sadly, in this day and age, leaving a job after less than a year was frowned upon. It made one look like they were hard to get along with. Even if the boss was an utter jerk, it would look like sour grapes to have to explain to a prospective employer that you left a job because the boss was an ass. They might wonder what I might say about them someday. And of course, this politician I worked for would put on the charm campaign if the prospective employer called him for a reference. So, for now, I stay where I am.

All this was running through my mind as I walked toward the oral care aisle. I might as well grab mouthwash while I’m here. I glanced down toward that part of the aisle.

Unfortunately, I wasn’t quick enough to see that coming toward me was exactly who I didn’t want to see. Annette.

Too late to duck to the dog food aisle and hide behind a jumbo bag of kibble, I had no choice but to acknowledge her.

Not wanting to lead off with, “Oh, congrats on not being in jail,” instead, I said, “I popped in for toothpaste. What’s your Sunday afternoon pharmacy emergency?”

“Oh, so you’re going to play it like that?”

Okay so the girl is still unstable and ready for a fight. Trying to keep her on an even keel, I shook my head slightly. “I’m not playing around. I just asked a question. Sorry you’re still angry at me for some reason. I’ll let you get on with it.” I indicated the Colgate section just past where she stood at the Crest section. “Let me grab this and I’ll get out of your way.”

She reached for my arm, but I twirled away from her, pulling my body out of her reach. “You’re in enough trouble so I suggest you keep your hands to yourself.”

This week, the writers of Tuesday Tales are writing to the word prompt common. I have picked up right where I left off last week so if you need to scroll back to see last week, it’s there.

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“Of course I do. That’s pretty much common knowledge around where we grew up. Always in the pew on Sunday mornings whether we wanted to be or not.”

“And now look at us, Sunday morning digging for treasure.” I brushed my hair off my forehead, surprised at how damp it was from my exertions with the metal detector. That was supposed to be the easy part of the deal.

“I also know there’s a Bible verse about not laying up treasure here on earth.”

“Very funny. I want to solve the mystery and return the jewelry to the person’s family. It seems to me that some of these items will have great sentimental value to someone.”

“But why bury it and then abandon it if it means something special?” Levi plunged the trowel into the ground again. “We may have found everything now. Seems so anyway. I’m not finding anything else.”

“I’d still like to locate that other ruby earring. I wonder why only one turned up.”

Levi grinned. “I know. The woman who buried it gave it to the man she planned to elope with. He absconded with the valuable ruby and left her in the lurch.” He held up his right index finger. “No. Wait. The poor devil was rushing back to her from getting money from the bank to finance their run and he was tragically hit by a train. In her grief, she buried all the gifts he’d ever given her and checked into a nunnery.”

“Until last night, I had no idea who you were. No idea at all.” I shook my head. “I must say, I’m not surprised you wrote a book. This sounds like some kind of angst-ridden women’s fiction.  I sincerely hope your novel isn’t that melodramatic.”

“Ha ha. I think I just came up with the plot for my next book.” He pretended to write by moving his hand in the air. “Memo to my editor. New novel. Must be set in early 1920s when rail travel was popular. Cue tears and melodrama. My friend is against it, but I know we can make it work.”

“You’re impossible.” I ran the metal detector across the area by the hole again, hoping for that ruby earring.

“No. Listen. Hear me out. There really has to be some explanation for why this stuff was buried and abandoned? Why could it not be something like that?”

“You’re right that it was probably something tragic, but your scenario doesn’t explain the baby bracelet.”

“Maybe she and her child were planning to flee an abusive husband. She buried it as her escape plan and never got the chance to get the jewelry dug up as he killed her.”

“Well that’s certainly morbid, but I searched the newspaper for articles for this house and surely if there was a murder here, there would have been some article mentioning it.”

He pointed the trowel at me. “Good point, Sherlock.”