Chapter 4
“So let me get this straight. My name is John and I’m your boyfriend, and those guys with they guns are all jealous ex-lovers trying to kill us both. That just about covers it, right?”
“What in the world are you talking about, honey?”
The plague had obviously afflicted her gravely. I began to realize exactly what had occurred. She had, in the process of trying to escape her pursuers, seated herself close enough to me in the club to become infected or affected or whatever it is the plague does to people. She had mistakenly identified me as her boyfriend, John, and together with the silk-shirts persuaded me to help her out of the club. That much I understood. The part I was unclear about involved the silk-shirts and her. Who was she? Who were they? Why did they want to kill her? How could I, Carl O’Reilly, possibly help her, and secondly, why should I? It was these questions I pondered, as I stood motionless looking out the window of the cabin at the lake.
I had tried to deduce the answers when we arrived at the cabin, a place I chose simply because it was empty and secluded, but my questions were repeatedly met with passionate kisses of appreciation.
“John,” she said, “you were incredible. I love you so much. I could kiss you all night.”
Well, I decided to let her give it her best shot. After all, she was in a vulnerable condition, and I never wanted to be accused of turning away a damsel in distress. To my chagrin, however, the kissing lasted only about half of the night.
I turned slowly and again looked into the enchanting eyes that had captured me earlier. They were now joined by a narrow, fragile nose and a thin set of lips twisted gracefully into a captivating smile. Her tanned skin radiated a midwestern charm and her long straight dark red hair warmed her soul as well as mine. I must have looked a little like a schoolboy staring at the puppy in the window, for my companion asked suspiciously, “Honey, are you all right?”
I nodded affirmatively and decided to proceed as slowly and deliberately as possible.
“Dear,” I began, trying to sound boyfriend-like, “I’m going to ask you some really basic questions; questions that may seem ridiculous and trivial, but I need you to answer them truthfully and completely. Can you do that for me?”
She nodded and I continued.
“First of all, what is your full name and where are you from?”
“My name is Minnie, Minnie Mouse, and I come from a small, small world.” She giggled politely and laid her head tiredly on the table. I didn’t grin and my seriousness apparently accomplished the task I had originally desired.
“Okay, okay,” she began again. “It was just a joke. My name is Sheryl Connelly and I’m from Ames, Iowa. I don’t know what else you want to know.”
“Will you tell me a little about the guys in the silk shirts? Who were they and why do they want to kill you?”
At this point her eyes narrowed and she lifted her head from the table and looked nervously out the same window I was. She didn’t speak for several minutes and when she did, tears accompanied her trembling voice.
“I…I…don’t know,” she cried as her hands reached up to conceal her tears. “I was so scared back there. I just knew it was me they were after. I just knew it. John, why do they want to kill me? I didn’t do anything. I swear. I didn’t. I swear…”
“I know you didn’t.” I lifted her gently from her chair and once again held her in my arms. “So much for that line of questioning,” I thought as her tears soaked my oxford. She had no clue who they were, but how did she know they were after her? For all she knew they could have been after me.
“Sheryl,” I persisted, “how did you know they wanted to kill you. I mean you were right, but how did you know?”
“Madame Lucinda, my fortune teller, told me to beware of men with silver tongues and gold watches. Those men had both.” The matter-of-fact nature of the response shocked me a little.
“You mean to tell me a psychic warned you about those men?”
“Oh, yes. I’m not superstitious or anything, but Madame Lucinda is pretty good about stuff like that. She told me men lied that are to be feared and avoided, especially now in my life.”
I noticed that Sheryl became more animated and less emotional as she talked about Madame Lucinda. It was kind of funny, but I felt a little like Sherlock Holmes as I continued. “Did Madame Lucinda tell you anything else about those men?”
Sheryl shrugged her shoulders and squinted as if she were really concentrating. “Not really,” she said. “The last time I saw her we talked mostly about Claude. John, I told you this already.”
“Yeah, I know,” I interjected quickly. “I just want to make sure it is all fresh in my mind.”
She stood up and kissed me tenderly on the forehead. I interpreted that action as an affirmative response so I proceeded. “You mentioned something about a man named Claude. I know this sounds like I am rehashing obvious things, but who is Claude?”
Sheryl again wrinkled her nose and looked at me suspiciously. “Are you sure you didn’t fall down and bump your head? Claude is my, or rather, was my husband. We’ve been separated now for about six months, and I’m in the process of getting a divorce from him.”
“Sheryl, pretend I’ve never heard of Claude before tonight and tell me all about him; where he’s from, what he does, where you met him. You know, that kind of stuff.”
“Well, okay, but this is awfully weird.”
I nodded in agreement. Yes, it was.
posted by Cool Dad @ 12:12 PM
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