Jillian Chantal

This week the writers of Tuesday Tales are writing to the word prompt fan. I’m working on my NaNoWriMo story and the detective character has just interviewed the host of a local morning show in a murder investigation of her former boyfriend.

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Jennifer seemed to find her gumption. She slammed her hands on the top of her desk. “I have nothing else to say to you. I’m going to have to ask you to leave and I will let you know what criminal defense lawyer I hire because clearly, you think you’re going to railroad me for this.” A sly smile came over her face. “I bet you’re jealous that you’re such a handsome man and had to settle for being a lowly detective instead of finding your way to the big screen or television.” She nodded. “Yes, I see that. You want to pin this on me so you can get your big break and be well-known in town like I am. You can’t fool me. I’ve met a lot of people like you over the years.”

Jennifer stood. “Please go. Leave me your card so I can have my lawyer call you. I’ll have to get a recommendation from my lawyer who reviews contracts for me with my agent since I’ve never had a need for a criminal representative before. It may be a day or two.” She pointed to the door. “In the meantime, feel free to let yourself out.”

Lu had to admire the woman’s outraged indignation, but the fact she was letting her temper get the best of her was playing right into Malcolm’s train of thought. She knew him well enough to know this display of rage would only fester in Malcolm’s mind and might tend to make his focus on Jennifer even stronger. She hoped not as she still thought the lady wasn’t the culprit.

Malcolm stood and grinned like he had the upper hand which Lu was sure he thought he did. “I look forward to it.”

Jennifer came barreling around her desk and stalked to the door. She flung it open and suddenly, a mask came down and she said, “Thank you so much for your lovely visit, Detective. I’m so glad you came by with your friend to meet me. I’ll be sure to send those autographed head shots to you at the station. You can share them with your colleagues there.”

She indicated they should pass into to hall. Lu was so stunned at the transformation, she stood mute for a second, trying to get her mind wrapped around the show Jennifer was putting on.

The television host persona that was Jennifer’s public mask followed them into the hall. “Do please have a wonderful rest of your day, Detective. I was happy to learn you’re such a fan of the show.”

It was almost as if Jennifer was baiting the detective. She turned to the security guard. “Please escort my lovely guests to the exit, John. They need to get on with their days and I need to get this makeup off and run some errands.”

This week, the writers of Tuesday Tales are writing to the word prompt, push. I have started my NaNoWriMo story which is Book Four in the unpublished series called, The Reluctant Psychic. This protagonist can talk to spirits. Here is the opening of the new story.

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Lula Mae Haverstock walked north on Palafox Street in Pensacola, Florida, with her Great Pyrenees dog, Aneto, on his leash. They were accompanied by their ghost friend, Andrew Jackson. As they passed the World of Beer on the southeast corner of Intendencia Street, Jackson stopped and pointed to the building that Lula Mae always thought had an odd facade with the arced top on the front of the roof. At one time, the place had been a clothing store called Abbotts and it had that same weird decoration on the front of the building.

“This is the corner where my Rachel and I lived when I was the governor of Florida.”

Lula Mae gaped at the building and then darted a quick glance at Jackson. She couldn’t stare at him since a number of people were on the street and would think she was nuts staring into a blank space since only she and her dog could see the spirit. Or at least she presumed Aneto saw the man as the creature always seemed to know when Jackson was around.

Out of the corner of her mouth, she said, “I presume this building wasn’t here at the time.”

“No. It was not. Our home was a lovely three-story house with a broad porch on three sides. Sadly, it burned a very long time ago.”

“I had no idea the house you lived in was so close to where the statue of you is in Plaza Ferdinand. Why have you never said anything about it before?”

He shrugged. “It is of no importance. I was merely reminded of it as we passed by.”

“Well, I find it very interesting. I guess I never thought about where you lived when you were alive.” Lula Mae scuffed the sidewalk with the toe of her sneaker. “Other than Monticello, that is.”

“Clearly, dear Lula Mae, I did not live in Tennessee when I was tasked with keeping this territory safe.”

“Duh. I know that. I guess I also thought your wife remained in your home up there. I didn’t even think about her accompanying you down here while you were in office.”

“A wife’s place is with her husband.” Jackson pushed his hat back from his forehead. “Especially when there is entertaining to do as an official of the government. We must practice the civilities, as you are aware.”

Lu stifled the giggle that rose to her throat. It wouldn’t do for him to see her laugh as he was very cognizant and protective of his dignity, but she did think about all the things she’d read over the years and learned in school about Jackson’s proclivity to party. The story of how his inauguration celebrations devolved into chaos was one thing that rose to mind.

This week, the writers of Tuesday Tales are writing to the word prompt scared. I am still in the same story as I’ve been in since the summer. I will be setting it aside at the end of the week in order to participate in National Novel Writing Month.

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A banging at the door startled me out of my reverie.

Scared of who it might be, I glanced around looking for something I could use as a weapon. It sounded like a cop knock, but that might not necessarily mean there was a cop at my door. It could be anyone. Especially with the week I’m having.

The only thing near me was the bottle of nail polish remover from where I’d taken off what was left of the polish from the last time I’d done my toenails 

I twisted the cap off. Worst case scenario, I could toss it in the face of the person who was out there and make a break for it. Acetone would burn in the eyes, right?

I tip-toed to the door. And stood ready to throw the acetone if the person got inside.

“Who is it?” I almost whispered the words, terrified to ask as they’d know I was home but equally terrified not to know. I’d never sleep if I didn’t find out who it was.

“It’s Levi. Let me in. I’ve got news.”

I burst into tears. Not sure if I was more relieved it was just him or more enraged that he’d caused me such terror.

Wavering between the two emotions, I opened the door, tears still pouring down. I still couldn’t tell if they were angry tears or not. All I knew was my heart was racing.

As soon as I saw his face, I said, “What the hell is wrong with you? Beating on my door like that? After the week I’m having? You scared ten years off my life.”

He held his hands up in surrender. “Oh, Lord. I’m so sorry. I wasn’t even thinking about that. I made a breakthrough and I’m so excited about it, my brain turned off.”

Levi reached out for me but I took a step back. “What kind of breakthrough?”

“I think I found the name of the person who buried the jewelry.”

“You did what?” Stunned, I could only stare at him.

This week, the writers of Tuesday Tales are writing to the word prompt greasy. I am still in the same story as I’ve been in since the summer. Or almost the beginning of time. 🙂

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I decided to go ahead and give myself that pedicure while I vegged in front of the television and watched Dateline, one of my favorite shows.

After gathering my supplies, I turned to the right channel but almost as soon as the host started the teaser for the episode, I flipped over to the Food Network. No way was I going to watch a show about a woman stalking a former friend and the outcome was a death. Nope. Uh-uh. Too close to home this week.

Food Network had on kids baking in a competition and so that was where I left it. No one would be killing or terrifying anyone on this show.

With the television on, mostly just for noise so I wasn’t sitting in silence which would lead my brain to overthinking the events of the last few days, I got my toes all shipshape and then decided to get back to my notes on trying to identify the woman who buried her jewelry.

I got distracted momentarily by one of the contestants on the show going into meltdown mode. She wailed, “My donuts are too greasy,” and sat on the floor of the studio in floods of tears as one of the hosts dashed over to console her.

“Girl, I can relate to how you feel. Too many times this week, I’ve wanted to sit on the floor and cry. Pick yourself up and keep going. I will too.”

Neither one of us really had a choice about it if we wanted to win our respective battles. 

The phone rang.

When I answered, it was my grandmother. “What are you doing, dear?”

“Talking to this girl on my TV.”

“And is she listening?” Grandma laughed.

“No, but it was more of a pep talk for myself anyway so it doesn’t matter if she can’t hear me.”

This week, the writers of Tuesday Tales are writing to the word prompt paint. I am still in the same story and probably will be until NaNoWriMo starts. LOL

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The rest of the day wasn’t too bad. Bethany was actually not in the office for the afternoon. That caused me a bit of concern as I had no idea where she was or if she was out committing further sabotage against me.

I had to let it go so I knuckled down for the rest of the day.

When I got home that evening, I sat on the couch with a book of short stories that I kept beside my chair for when I wanted to read a little something to decompress but not dive into a full book. Tonight, I decided to read Poor Girl by the English writer, Elizabeth Taylor. A ghostly story that I always enjoyed.

I tucked my feet up on the couch and tugged a soft, blue throw over them. I only got three pages into the story when the phone rang. I let out a deep sigh.  Can’t get a moment’s peace.

 I got up to get it the phone off the charger I’d set it on as I came into the house.

I let out another sigh as I looked down to see it was most likely a spam call. I never answer calls where I don’t recognize the caller. If they really are someone who knows me, they will leave a message.

When there was no voicemail left, I sighed for the third time and returned to the couch with no intention of getting up again until I was ready to cook some dinner.

As I sat down, I grabbed the throw again but noticed my feet. I’d been wearing close-toed shoes for the last week or ten days and was appalled at the state of my pedicure. Ugh. I need to paint my toenails.