Accidents Happen

Chapter 7

He may disappear if I look away or blink.

 She rubbed her palms against the cell’s cold concrete floor, seeking the reassurance of hard reality. As Jessica continued to stare, Roger morphed into two Rogers. Both specters laughed while streams of bright colors darted from their heads, decorating their skulls with pointed coronas.

 “Roger…you’re dead.” It seemed the Rogers needed instruction on their current status.

“No no Lassie. Remember? We were in the kitchen rehearsing the scene where I play Othello to your Desdemona and stab myself with the knife - a fitting bit of drama we had planned for my guests. Just a bit o’ fun.”  He grinned. Jessica began to shake.

Someone must have switched the prop knife for the real one. Who? Why? Jessica’s thoughts returned to the moment in the kitchen when Roger had thrust the knife into his chest and had fallen to the floor with exaggerated pathos. Terrified, she ran to his side and yanked the knife out of his wound as blood pumped onto the floor and pooled around her knees.

 “I’m not dead.” Roger’s chuckle brought her back.

“Yes you are. The knife blade was supposed to slide up into the handle and disappear, but it didn’t!” She lowered her head and moaned.

Jessica crawled along the floor, inching her way to the Rogers. They didn’t move as she dragged herself through them. When she reached the opposite wall and turned around, the pair was gone. She heard herself laugh as if from a distance and wondered what could be so funny.

Jessica’s laughter drew Detective Bucci to her cell. Looking down on the sprawled prisoner, he called, “Sergeant, call the medics and tell them we’ll need a blood sample – again.”

Meet the author of this chapter:

Susan LeDoux writes nonfiction articles for the Christian market. A reporter for The Good News Newspaper , she also writes copy for churches and ministries as well as two blogs: Road to Emmaus at her website Ecclesia! (www.susanledoux.net) and here at Wordspinner at www.susan-wordspinner.blogspot.com .  Who knows, there may be a novel lurking in the back of her mind as well. Susan has taught various classes for adults through Greece Continuing Education but her most recent was “Beginner’s Guide to the Writing Life” for the newly established Rochester Brainery. 



Accidents Will Happen

Chapter 6

Jessica returned to the holding cell, heart pounding to the rhythm of her aching head. She needed her vial, and she needed it soon. That stupid detective kept her too long.

The female guard holding her arms in cuffs behind her back muttered, “Can’t believe you killed a fine poet like Professor Trevellian. I hope you rot in hell.” She released Jessica to her cell and slammed the barred door behind her.

Jessica didn’t even try to explain her side of the story. She needed to get to that vial before she passed out.

She dropped to the floor by her cot and shoved her hand into a slit in the mattress. Tiny gray dots filled her vision. “Please, no,” she whispered. Bile coated the back of her throat.

Her fingers brushed cool glass. She almost wept from relief.

She pulled out the vial, cautious not to break it in her desperation to remove it.

Her vision was going in and out now, and sweat dribbled down her temples. She uncapped the vial and slugged its contents. An icy chill swept down her throat. She slid to the floor, waiting for the potion to work its magic, praying she’d taken it in time.

 Within moments, her vision cleared. She no longer felt she might throw up. And her head stopped its incessant pounding.

She sat up, squeezed her eyes shut, and recited Robert Burns’ poem, “A Fond Kiss.”

When she opened her eyes again, Roger stood before her, smiling.

“Good job, my “wee, sleekit, cow'rin, tim'rous beastie,’” he said.

Meet the author of this chapter:                                  

Kimberly Gore Wehner writes middle grade and young adult novels, perhaps because she’s never truly grown up and always has visions of characters running around loose in her head. Like naughty children, they won’t settle down or do what they’re told. You can find her children’s book, The Miss-Adventures of Amy & Tracy: Dr. Von Thistle’s Curious Concoction, on-line, and follow her personal ventures into the past on: www.klgore.com.



Accidents Will Happen

Chapter 5

Doris arrived at the police station early where she waited for Bucci outside his office. Right on schedule, he came out to greet her, then ushered her into a small room with a table and two chairs.

            When Doris asked why she was being questioned yet again, the detective answered, “Standard operating procedure. I’m just trying to tie up some loose ends.”

            His questions, seemingly perfunctory at first, started to unsettle her when they became more probing and intrusive.

            “Jessica Evans is in custody.  I don’t see how any of this is relevant,” Doris said when Bucci asked her about a recent vacation she and Roger had taken to Hawaii.

            “Well, Mrs. Trevellian, I’m not entirely convinced that Jessica Evans acted alone or even that she is necessarily guilty of anything other than ingesting an illegal substance.”

            “That’s ridiculous. Every guest at the party saw her after… after…”  Doris choked on the words, a tear running down her cheek as she pulled a tissue from her purse.

            Ignoring her distress, the detective continued. “I’m sure you’re aware that your husband recently took out a five-million-dollar life insurance policy on himself.” 

            Caught in Bucci’s unflinching stare, Doris wanted to jump up and run out of the miniscule, windowless room. He was suffocating her with his hot breath and insinuations. Clearly, he was studying her body language, listening to her voice, and assessing her reaction to every comment and question. Could I be a suspect? she wondered.    

            Doris’ cell phone rang and she silently thanked whoever it was on the other end. She excused herself and stepped into the hall, closing the door behind her.

            “Hello.”

            “Do you believe in the afterlife, Doris? Where will we spend eternity?”

            “Conan, is that you?”

            The line went dead.  

Meet the author of this chapter: When Liz Voll is not writing short stories, she is teaching chemistry at Monroe Community College. Her fiction tends toward the romantic, touched with humor and a twist.



Accidents Will Happen

Chapter 4

             Detective Bucci fixed on the green tattoo snaking up Jessica Evan’s left leg into oblivion. “That tattoo. It’s …unusual.”

            “It’s Medieval,” Jessica squirmed, shifting her crossed legs,

             He rose from the interrogation table and gave an encouraging shoulder pat. “What is it?”

            “It’s a merri-coupala vine. Its berries make a love potion. Mrs. Trevellian found a book on medieval medicines. See the red berries?”

            He crouched to examine her calf and wondered how his colleagues behind the glass would replay this down at Salty’s Bar.  Reseated, he scowled fiercely, but spoke secretively. “You know, Jessica, you are in serious trouble.”

            She sobbed until one of her lavish eyelashes soaked off and fell onto the table like an upturned centipede. “

            “Jessica, listen to me.” He grabbed her two forearms and leaned in. “You need to focus here.” Obviously, she was still high. “Tell me the truth, honey. Did you kill Roger Trevellian?”

            That brought another torrent of tears and another dead eyelash. “No. I loved Roger. That’s why I got the tattoo and the love potion.”

            “You got them for Roger?”

            “Yes, but he hated it. He said my tattoo was ugly and ran out of the bathroom.”

            Detective Bucci pushed closer. “You were in the bathroom?”

             “Yes.”

            “With Roger?”

            “Well where else are you supposed to go at a party when you don’t want someone to barge in?”

              “But Roger left?” Jessica sniffed and nodded

              “And what did you do then, Sweetheart?”

              “ I went to the kitchen to find Roger and took the love potion.”

             “Tell me Jessica, where did you get it?” 

             And, what had the overstuffed wife of the deceased said as she plucked the last donut off Bucci’s desk?  

            “If you can bite it, chew it, and swallow it, I want to learn about it.”

Meet the author of this chapter:  Tippi Young is a retired English/theatre teacher, mother of 5, grandmother of 11, and great grandmother of 3. She breeds and shows the Lovin Laces Birman cats, writes plays and currently, her memoir. Her recent collection “Great-Gramma's Dirty Dozen” should be available through Amazon in the future. She may be reached at www.LovinLacesBirmans.com or at tippiyoung@aol.com.



Accidents Will Happen

Chapter 3

            The sound of distant sirens were heard as the guests stared aghast.

            Detective Leo Bucci sat at his battered gray metal desk with the chipped vinyl wood veneer. He stared long at the glowing computer screen reviewing the police report on the Roger Trevellian murder he’d just finished typing.  It was about as open and shut a case as he could remember in his almost twenty years of police work. But something was not right and it irritated him that he couldn’t put his finger on it.

The facts were all there. Jessica Evans clearly had the means, opportunity and motive. She was seen by dozens of reputable witnesses staggering from the kitchen holding the murder weapon. She had been involved in a torrid, not so secret love affair with the deceased.

He pressed the Page Down button and his brows knitted in suspicion. Jessica was higher than a kite on a hallucinogenic drug. He rubbed his chin. The toxicology report stated the drug was unknown. Those boys must be getting lazy. He patted the pockets of his rumpled brown suit and pulled out the shiny Android cell phone and dropped it on the desk. His wife had bought it for him as a Christmas gift and his kids had loaded it with incomprehensible apps. He dug into the same pocket and pulled out a small memo pad and the nub of a pencil. He made a note to drive to the crime lab the next day.

Leo tapped the Page Down button again and leaned back in his chair. The interview summaries were enlightening and confusing at the same time. Academicians sure love to hear themselves talk. He chuckled deep in his throat. In the projects, I would just get a silent glare or some smart mouth backtalk.

Leo checked the first name on the page. Doris Trevellian, the victim’s wife. They were married close to ten years. There’s the obvious love triangle motive but she appeared willing to tolerate the triste. It seems the man had been cheating on her most of their marriage. “But he always came back to me.” She declared defensively during the interview. He rubbed his chin again. The deceased was a well renowned professor and writer; the woman stands to inherit a lot of money.  She did not seem to have many outside interests beyond throwing lavish diner parties for the city’s top social circles. Although he noted she had recently restarted her Masters work on Medieval Studies.

He looked at the next name on the list. Conan Farrell - he was the last person to see Roger Trevellian alive.  The man seemed to have a perpetual sneer on his face. He’s a Professor at the same university and specializes in Irish Literature and Celtic History. Leo grunted. The man made no attempt to hide his disdain for the deceased. It appears they were rivals, and Professor Farrell was quite adamant in declaring that the Pulitzer Prize selection process had become purely political.

Meet the author of this chapter:  John Caligiuri writes primarily historical fiction and has a life long passion for history and literature. His stories emerge from his keen interest in and study of ancient  and medieval Europe and asking "what if" at watershed events in history. His writings are in the style of Michael Shaara (Killer Angels) and Tom Clancy (Red Storm Rising). The research for his books took him deep into the studies of the Roman and Byzantine Empires. John has walked the roads and visited many of the sites referenced in his novels.

Writing is John's second career. He is semi-retired after spending many years developing consumer electronic products. He still assists the U.S. Department of Justice as an image forensic expert witness.



Accidents Will Happen

 

 

Chapter 2

 

 

“Miss Evans?” Professor Farrell slowly approached the wide-eyed woman.  “Where are you hurt?”  

“Not me.”  Jessica slowly turned her head toward the voice.  She shook her head as tears welled in her eyes and spilled onto her cheeks.  The knife dropped to the floor.

“Who then, is hurt?”  Professor Farrell took a step closer to Jessica.  The pale, bloodied student looked like an antique china doll that would shatter with the slightest touch.  Jessica stared blankly at him.  Conan spotted Doris by the cake stand and motioned to her.  “Doris?  Please.” 

Doris threaded her way through the crowd.  “Where’s Roger?” It was typical of him to get into long winded discussions with colleagues about Irish poetry and ignore Doris or the rest of the world. 

“He was waiting by the door when I left the powder room.”  Professor Farrell tapped his watch.  “He told me that I took longer to use the loo than any old lady he’d ever encountered.”  He gestured towards Jessica.  “Stay here, and watch Miss Evans.    I’ll see if I can find your beloved husband.”

“Roger.”  Jessica burst into tears.  She covered her eyes with her hands.  “No!”  She uncovered her face after several sobs.  “It- was- an -accident.” The bloodied co-ed gasped for breath between each word. 

Doris shook her head.   A knot tightened in her stomach.   “I’ll find my husband.”

“I’m coming with you.”  Professor Farrell pulled the wife of another colleague over.  “Molly, please stay with Miss Evans until help arrives.” He moved beside Doris.  “Miss Evans, where is Professor Trevellian?”  

“In the kitchen!” Jessica wailed each word.  To Doris, Jessica’s cry sounded like the call of the legendary Nixie that she’d learned about in one of her Medieval Studies classes.

Doris elbowed her way through the crowd.  The knot tightened in her gut.  Her marriage hadn’t been the happily ever after she had imagined when she dropped out of college to marry Roger.  But, deep down, Doris still loved her husband - even if he didn’t love her.

Professor Farrell followed on Doris’ heels.  Both stopped short once they entered the kitchen. They looked at each other. Doris buried her face in Conan’s chest.

 

Meet the author of this segment: Patricia Embury lives and writes in Rochester, NY. An avid crafter, she blames her passion for crochet and knitting, which involves pointy sticks and string, for her interest in Cozy Mysteries and Christian fiction. She has a craft blog at www.thedizzycrafter,blogspot.com and channels her Labrador retriever at www.thedailywag.blogspot.com.

 

 



Accidents Will Happen - Chapter 1

Accidents Will Happen

Chapter 1

“I need to visit the loo.”

            “Please Roger … these people came to meet you. Not me.” Roger liked to use the word, loo. It sounded more cosmopolitan, he said. Doris Trevellian slid a covert glance toward the tray of hors d'oeuvres a waiter carried as he passed by.

            “Well, nature calls,” he sneered. Roger clamped her fleshy chin in a painful grip. “You can hold down the fort for a few minutes, while I take a pee at least, can’t you? My “wee, sleekit, cow'rin, tim’rous beastie.’” He released her and gave her a tiny kiss on the cheek as Conan Farrell, another professor from the university spotted them and waved. 

            Roger liked quoting Robert Burns. Doris became enamored with Burns’ work when she’d been Roger’s student.

 “But as this year’s Pulitzer Prize winning poet, they look to you for insight and inspiration.”

Doris cast another look toward a tray set on a coffee table. It had those little sausage thingies. “Roger…” She turned back to find him making his way through the crowd.

Doris checked her watch. Roger had been gone almost twenty minutes. She sighed and reached for a pink petit four on a cake stand. As she opened her mouth to take a bite, a blood-curdling scream ripped though the room. Doris froze, the delicate sweet falling from her hand. The vanilla cake crumbled, the pink frosting smeared under a man’s loafer heel into the rich Aubusson carpet. People moved like steer in a meat-packing chute toward the wide staircase of the Trevellians’ parlor. Doris edged her way through the crowd, finally coming to stand before the winding staircase.

Her blue eyes wide as a deer caught in headlights, a young woman, stood on the bottom step, a kitchen knife dangling from her hand, her low cut pale blue dress drenched in blood.

Jessica? The eager young student Roger recently accepted as his assistant in writing his next book …

As someone spat directions into their cell phone to 911, Doris found herself pushed back near the cake stand again. She reached for a lemon petit four, topped with a yellow rosebud crafted in icing.

She sank her teeth into its rich sugary heart.

It was delicious. 

Meet the author of this story segment: Pat Iacuzzi is a retired art teacher from the Greece Central School District who writes historical fiction. Presently she's working on a suspense novel which takes place in New York's Mohawk Valley just after the French and Indian War. She hopes you will enjoy the efforts of all the "round robin" authors (her Greece Library writers' group) who took part in this story entitled "Accidents Will Happen."