Jillian Chantal

I am finished with my NaNoWriMo story and have started on a short story for an anthology. This is close to the beginning of the story. Since we’re writing to a picture prompt, we’re limited to 300 words.

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Patting the dashboard, Otto said, “Look there, old boy. A tree full of pears, ripe and ready to pick.” He shook his head. “Shame whoever owns it is letting them fall to the ground and rot. Let’s see if they’ll let me have a few.”

He knew he had a suitable box stowed in the bed. As a chef who liked to cook with fresh fruits and vegetables in season, he was always alert to opportunities to score some goodies for the hotel where he served as executive chef. “Poached pears, pear chutney, pear tarte Tatin, cobbler or even my famous braided raspberry and pear bread. It’s hard to choose which to do but I have to get permission to pick them first.”

Otto was sure people would think he was crazy talking to his truck, but since he’d lost his wife and child in an accident several years prior, he hadn’t found anyone to share his life and being silent all the time when he wasn’t at work had begun to wear on him.

He pulled into the dirt driveway of the old farmhouse and approached the door, dodging the chickens who seemed to be determined to trip him and make him fall on his face.

Before he could knock, an elderly lady, in an old house dress like his grandmother used to wear, stepped onto the porch. Hands on hips with the door open wide behind her, she glared at him. “Whatever you’re selling, I either already have, don’t need or just plain don’t want.”

“Actually, ma’am, I’m looking to buy—”

“Car’s not for sale. Yes, it’s an antique. Yes, I bought it new and yes, I know it’s a collectible. Still ain’t gonna sell it to you.”

This week, the authors of Tuesday Tales are writing to the word prompt, stingy. I am in my story where the heroine can speak to the dead. She and Andrew Jackson are watching an interrogation and talking to each other.

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Stephen’s response made her sure of the reason. “My friends—if you really think you have my friends in custody—aren’t saying a thing. This is a cop tactic. I’ve seen Law and Order.  My mom likes that show. You guys lie about that stuff all the time. You got nothing on me.” He raised his arms slightly, rattling the cuffs. “You’ll soon be letting me go.”

“I do have something on you. I have witnesses who’ve seen you and your friends together.”

Stephen leaned forward. “What witnesses? And why am I not in a lineup already then?”

At the look on Malcolm’s face—that Lu knew was because his witnesses were long dead priests and General de Galvez—Stephen sat back again. “Thought so. No witnesses.” He barked a laugh. “See, Ma, Law and Order cop lies again.”

Lu didn’t know how to help Malcolm. After all, he was the trained professional. He knew how to interrogate suspects. But this guy was obnoxious and she wanted to see him go down. And hard.

Jackson paced the room. “The little miscreant needs to be sent to the Army. Make a man out of him instead of a sniveling pup.”

Lu tended to agree with him. The Army did sometimes make a change for the good in a person, but she’d also seen it break some people down entirely. But this guy, all he needed was a dose of the reality boot camp would give him. They wouldn’t be stingy in making sure he was brought down to earth with running laps or doing sit ups until he was too exhausted to mouth off.

The thought made her laugh. “I doubt this guy would make it through the six weeks of basic training with his attitude. He appears strong enough to handle it, but the drill sergeant would eat him for breakfast the second day.”

“Ahh, your training camps now must be as tough as the ones in my day.”

“I imagine they might be somewhat worse since people were hardier in your day. We’re soft. Indoor plumbing, air conditioning, electricity and indoor kitchens where we can zap a meal without having to find a cow, kill it, cure the meat, and all that stuff.”

“Not a delightful way to spend a life, I must admit. You have a lot of nice places to dine as well. Too many, really, from what I can tell.” Jackson shook his head. “Sometimes I wish I could still eat. I can recall so many nice meals, it would be nice to try them again. Alas, one of the things one misses when dead.”

As is appropriate, the writers of Tuesday Tales are writing to the word prompt Turkey this week. I am working on my NaNoWriMo story.

Check out the other tales here

“You never talk about your family. So none of them live here? I thought you grew up here.”

“I did. Mom passed away. Dad remarried and moved to Ireland to love with the woman he fell in love with on a seniors’ cruise that some woman from his church organized.” Lu laughed. “Backfired on her though as I’m pretty sure she was angling to land him for herself.”

“And where is your sister?”

“She’s working for the Miss America organization. Travels a lot and lives in New York when she’s home. She rarely comes back to Florida. Unless it’s pageant related.” Lu paused. “I also had a brother. He was a war casualty. I miss him most of all. He was fun and always up for a good time. You couldn’t be sad around him. He just made people smile.”

“I’m sorry you lost him. I’d like to have had the chance to meet him.”

“You’d have liked him.” She touched Malcolm’s arm. “We both lost a pretty awesome brother, didn’t we?”

“We sure did. Something in common for sure.” He looked up at Galvez’s statue. “Mom wanted me to ask if you and Aneto wanted to come for thanksgiving dinner but I hesitated as I figured you might have plans. Now that I know you don’t have family plans, would you like to join us? Mom makes a traditional roast turkey and ham, but we also have naan and something curried. Pecan and pumpkin pies as well as kheer which is like a rice pudding.”

“I’m actually working a double shift that day. I normally do so someone who does have local family can have the day off. I’ll catch a nap when it’s slow and keep working.”

She could see the disappointment on his face. “You could have Aneto for the day and night. I know he’s like to gnaw on a turkey bone and your girls enjoy playing with him.”

“He does he feel about kittens? You made me take them, remember?”

“He’s fine with them. He loves to play with them. They’re young enough still to adapt to a dog, I would say.”

“We’d love to have him as our guest. You, too. Next year, don’t volunteer for the extra shift, okay?”

Thrilled he saw them together still as friends or maybe something more in a year, she nodded. “All right. We’ll plan on next year. Tell Meera I’m sorry to miss it.”

This week, the writers of Tuesday Tales are writing to a picture prompt. I chose the one of a partially boarded up building. My story takes place in New Orleans which sadly still has a lot of buildings still with damage from Hurricane Katrina even after 17 years. Our heroine can see and communicate with spirits and she is talking to Andrew Jackson as they are on the way to the tomb of Marie Laveau. As we are limited to 300 words this week, I thought it best to give a bit of background for this part of the scene.

Check out the other tales here.

“She does have the run of the city but likes to be in place during the day so she can listen to the pleas of her visitors and see if she can help.” He snickered. “And I personally think she loves the attention and likes to count the Xs on her tomb, as well as the circled ones.”

“What does the X mean that she likes to count them?”

“Pilgrims who have a wish they want her to grant draw an X on her tomb, turn around three times, knock on the side of the mausoleum and state their wish. They leave but if the wish is granted, they return, circle their X and leave her a gift to thank her.”

“That’s so interesting.”

“Not only will you see some flower offerings for her around her tomb, you’ll see a lot of coins as well. And kisses. Lipstick kisses which I find unappealing. The tomb is dirty and lip paint in my time was for harlots. I still wonder about it.” Jackson tipped his hat to Lu. “Except for you. You never wear that bright red color I do not like.”

“What’s he saying now?” Malcolm asked as he turned off the interstate toward the French Quarter. Several old buildings with plywood still on them from the unrepaired damage from Hurricane Katrina sat at the intersection, making Lu sad all over again about the devastation of that storm. So many people had never returned to the city and there were still way too many derelict buildings.

“He’s complimenting my subtle lipstick shade.”

Malcolm shook his head. “I don’t even want to know.”