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Tuesday Tales: The Noose

4/26/2015

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The word of the day is key. I may have jumped a tiny bit, but Tonya & Will are still in the kitchen.



Will’s words made her reconsider all the stories she’d heard about horrible exes. There had to be some, especially the abusive ones. Maybe the ex-husbands weren’t always as bad as she previously thought. Any horror story she ever heard came from a bitter ex-wife. All this new insight into the male psyche made her think. Yeah, she’d give other men the benefit of the doubt, but not Clint. The man emanated evil. Her best bet was to be prepared for the worst because he would bring it.


What was the deal with the doll? Her hands flattened on the table as she pressed down to stand. Using the table made her feel a bit like her granny. Her shoulders could belong to a senior citizen. She shimmied the offending body part loosening them up a bit.
 
“What are you doing?” Will called, still seated at the table.

Tonya glanced back over her shoulder. “No worries. Just getting the doll.”

The sound of the kitchen chair tumbling to the floor heralded Will’s sprint into the living room. He leaped past her to pick up the doll with a dishtowel he must have grabbed from the stove handle. He held the wrapped doll away from his body as if radioactive.

“Why did you do that?” Here she thought Will had the corner on mental stability. Should have known better.

“Evidence. It's key  to keep it clean for the police.” He walked back to the kitchen holding the doll in front of him. There appeared to be something handing from the doll. A cord or something. She’d never really examined it after realizing it sported a portion of her favorite top.  

The reality of Clint in her house, snooping through her things, and taking her favorite blouse because he knew she liked it made her blood pressure rise. “You touched it, I touched it. Clint’s a private investigator he would know enough not to leave fingerprints.”

Will slipped the towel wrapped doll under the open lid of the pizza box. “Why’d you get involved with a P.I.?” Frustration tinged his words, but the accusatory slant remained.

 “Hey!” She threw up her hands. Why was everything always her fault? “I did not think ahead to ask his profession. Even so, I’d never considered his profession as something that could cause problems down the road. In fact, at times I thought dating a detective made me safer. Do women ask you what you do, and then leave in the middle of date when they don’t like it?” Good comeback, she congratulated herself as she took her seat. Instead of replying, Will’s eyes were still upward as if remembering.

 He finally spoke. “I usually never get to the actual date. Once a woman hears, I’m a divorce lawyer and with one of the most cut throat agencies in town, most confess to a rekindled romance with their ex. One mentioned she was entering a convent. As far as actual dates, I put I was a lawyer on my online profile, which wasn’t too terrible. I had one date, who developed indigestion at hearing the details of my profession and had her dinner boxed up.”

Tonya made a sympathetic sound. Really, he didn’t strike her as overbearing or argumentative. Traits she assumed a lawyer normally possessed. While he launched into a story about a vanishing date, she slid her hand under the lid of the open pizza box and snagged the doll.

 “I even asked a little old lady to go in and check on her. The pitying look the woman gave me when she came out discouraged me from dating. Another reason Ericka and I continued to hang out. I decided until I changed to something like Intellectual Properties Law that I’m updateable.”

 The doll firmly in her grasp she turned it over. A roughly drawn face with black marker pupils, a J for a nose and a large O for a mouth. A few loops of yarn represented her hair. The string that initially piqued her interest was a noose woven out of three individual yarn strands. Taped to the front of the doll’s torso was a small yellow note.

 Written in block lettering to disguise his handwriting was a message: Come back now, before it gets worse.

 Her fingers traced the string noose. She never thought Clint would ever escalate this much. It was probably just a threat. Yeah a threat, she inhaled deeply and put the doll down.

 Will’s larger hand covered hers, warming it, giving her the illusion she wasn’t alone in this mess. Her hand turned under his to wrap her fingers around his. For a moment, the lyrics to some oldies song came to mind, about the two of them facing the world together. It wasn’t the two of them. Will’s luck ran toward vanishing dates and convent-bound females. In the book of bad dates, he’d entitled her chapter Woman to Avoid.

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Tuesday Tale: The Walk Not Taken

4/19/2015

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The road Tonya and Sebastian never got around to walking down.
Will looked up at entrance, put down his arms, and straightened in his seat. “Okay, let’s start with some facts. See what can be done to limit his harassing behavior, then, we’ll hit the garage.”

“Why are you being so nice to me? Is Lynne paying you?” His lips turned down at her words.



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I can see Will as being a little Thor-resque
“No, no one is paying me. Just because I’m a lawyer doesn’t mean I’m motivated solely by money.”

Whoa, stepped on a nerve there. Sebastian bumped against her leg for attention, but she chose to ignore him as she slipped into her kitchen chair. She’d get over her mad at the dog before the night was over. When she adopted him, she had planned on long walks along a shaded road with her pet. Yeah, that never happened. Didn’t know she need a guard dog, never considering that Clint would be an issue, especially since he peeled out of her life so fast he left actual tire tracks in her driveway, instead of the figurative ones found in country music.

 The sound of the pen clicking reminded her Will was waiting. Not sure if she should apologized, she chose to anyhow. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it that way. I guess I’m not used to men being as nice to me as you have been these last couple days.”

Her words depressed her as she settled into her seat. Will’s words were low-voiced, but she still heard them. The gravelly bite to his tone caused a twist in her lady parts. Damn, the man oozed sexy even when irritated.

“You need to find a better class of men to date.”

He summed up her love life in one sentence. “You’re right. I’ll work on it right away as soon as I deal with the worse class.”

 

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Tuesday Tales: The Dancer with the Dragon Tattoo

4/12/2015

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Today's prompt is nail. See if you can find it.

Will stood, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet. “Pizza.”


 The loud rumble of a car without a muffler, or a crumbling one, idling in her drive provided reassurance along with a lively knock. The door swung open to a red shirted teen holding a pizza box. Nothing to fear unless she considered calories. Forget calories, right now she could benefit from some comfort food. The teen left with a whistle at the sizable tip.

 Tonya headed into the kitchen to clear off the table and retrieve a bottle of red wine. Too bad, wine was all she had. Something stronger would help blot out the morass her life had become. The urge to feel sorry for herself overwhelmed, but she couldn’t succumb. Couldn’t fall apart while Will was still here. Too much to do, which now included scouring the house for bugs and cameras. Calling a locksmith would be on the list too. In the end, she had no one, but herself to depend on. Drunk wasn’t an answer, especially with work the next day,

Two pieces of pizza and a glass and half of wine, Will approached the elephant in the room. “Tell me about your stalker.”

“I’d rather not.” No need to talk about her need for human companionship that led her down a dark, dangerous path with her own version of the big bad wolf. If that wasn’t bad enough she compounded her error by thinking she loved the creep. Even gave away parts of herself in an effort to appease the demanding man. Outings with Lynne became practically non-existent since her friend made her disapproval of Clint evident.

 His hand covered hers stilling her nervous nail drumming. “I know. Truth is we have to examine everything to know how to keep you safe. What might he do next? You need documentation of what he has done to obtain a protective order.”

 An involuntary snort escaped her. Clint respecting a piece of paper that would never happen. Rules, legal or otherwise were not for him. “You do have a point. So far, all I’ve been doing is reacting to Clint’s latest bombs.”


“Understandable.” Will replied and ripped off the flyer from the top of a pizza box. He turned it over to its blank side and pulled a pen from his pocket. “Let’s start with his name.”

 Well, so long romance. Nothing kills a budding romance more than discussing a psycho former lover. “I appreciate your help, but I’m only going to cooperate if you let me wash your shirt. I need to start a load if I want clothes tomorrow.”

 His answer consisted of loosening and pulling his tie off slowly. In other circumstances, she’d find the move seductive. Even now, her lips canted up on their own as he unbuttoned his shirt. “Don’t get too excited,” he teased, “I have on an undershirt. My grandfather was a tailor. He’d have my hide if I ruined a hand tailored shirt with sweat stains.”

 Her first guess that his clothes were expensive proved correct. “All the more reason to get out those pesky grease stains.” He shrugged out his shirt exposing his tightly fitted white t-shirt. She sucked in her lips to keep from whistling. If he looked that good with clothes on, her imagination ran unchecked for a moment stripping him down. Broad shoulders filled out the fabric along with a well-defined chest, not the body of a desk jockey.

 He tossed her the shirt, not unlike a stripper, she thought. Shirt in hand, she headed off to washer. Talk about an enigma. That shirt removal reminded her more of an all-male review move. Not that she was an expert on that, far from it. She did see one show when in Vegas for a conference. It had been, her mouth twisted as she tried to remember, four or five years ago. Before Clint, that was for sure. The show consisted of gorgeous toned men of all different nationalities strutting their stuff convincing every woman there that the show was her private fantasy. Tall order considering how many screaming women there were.

 A couple squirts of stain treatment and vigorous rubbing prepped the shirt. Warm water, maybe hot to release the grease, she decided spinning the washer dial. Threw in some towels and panties into load, the clothes mixing in the hot water would be more intimate that she and Will would ever get.

 The sight of Will with his hands behind his head his biceps bunched reminded her of the male revue. In particularly, one of the dancers. He resembled one that had shimmied near her table, popping his muscles, and wiggling his oiled ass as he slid by increasing the volume of women’s shrieking and wild waving of bills. Couldn’t really remember the man’s face. Too concerned with hiding her own, in case someone was filming the entire show to share on social media. Corporations, especially hers, took a dim view of workers having a social life, especially a fun one. A particularly vivid dragon tattoo on his back caught her eye.

 Not for the usual reasons, Tonya shook her head as she remembered thinking about the needles, pain, and time that went into the tattoo. Her fear of needles kept all her tattoos the rub-on variety. Too bad, most of them consisted of rainbows and unicorns. Hard to be alluring with a pink pony on her shoulder. 


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What Was Left At The Door

4/7/2015

12 Comments

 
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Speak is our word of the week, although I might use a variation of it. Last time, we left off with Tonya changing clothes as Will answered the door. She's curious who was at the door. Sebastian the dog is in the scene and intent on getting that extra dog cookie in the bag


Excerpt


The overheard words reignited the sense of unease she thought she’d put to rest. “Leave what?” Her curiosity piqued, she moved closer in an attempt to look over his shoulder.


Will spun, shoving the object behind his back and bumping her in the process. “Oops.”

Tonya made a grab for Will’s arm to keep her balance. Realizing her predicament, he reached out to hold onto her before she fell wrapping both arms around her. A thump drew her attention. Whatever object caused Will’s irritation tumbled to the floor. Secure in his embrace, she closed her eyes for a second enjoying the warmth, the stability, even the motor oil smell wafting off him.

Memory of her predicament forced her eyes open and to the floor. A crude doll lay face down on her floor. A doll, how odd. It made her wonder if some child had lost her dolly. Even from this distance, it resembled a sock puppet with rubber bands on it making indentation for the head, arms, and body. The tiny purple floral dress it wore resonated, stroking a memory she couldn’t quite bring to the forefront of her mind.

 “It’s only a doll. Nothing to get worked up about.” His reaction about the object puzzled her. Although, why anyone would leave it at her house didn’t make sense. The neighborhood mainly consisted of retired autoworkers who had lived in the same house for the last forty years. Years ago, kids ran the neighborhood, but they grew up and moved away. The few new faces included herself and the amorous divorcee next-door. Young families preferred the newer neighborhoods with homeowner associations and a commons with playground equipment, not here.

 His embrace tightened, keeping her from picking up the doll. “It’s not important. I’ll get rid of it.”

 “Yeah, okay.” She agreed, while wiggling in his arms. At first, she thought his arms tensed because of desire, but his set face didn’t resemble a lover’s. Instead, a fierce mask of determination shaped his features as if ready to undertake a mission or a distasteful task. Not sure, how sure felt about being a mission, definitely against the task label. An adventure, well, that had possibilities. His entire demeanor changed when she left the room and the doorbell rang. It had to be the doll, or the deliverer.

 The floral pattern clicked, but she needed a closer look. Instead of struggling, she went limp and slid out of Will’s arms. An unwholesome dread penetrated her fingers as she grasped the doll.

 A masculine grunt behind her indicated her would be guardian dropped to his haunches too. The material retained a silky feel she remembered. The doll still face down as she brought it up to her nose. A citrusy perfume wafted from the fabric. A loud gulp filled the silence. It took a second for her to realize she swallowed.

 Why hadn’t she immediately realize the doll’s dress came from her favorite shirt still bearing residue of her Happy perfume? When had the shirt gone missing? The color and bust twist made it a go to shirt for weekend wear. It made the girls more apparent without resorting to any hydraulic lift lingerie creations. Its disappearance nettled her, even causing her to go online to find a copy, which she hadn’t since it was out of season. Her fingers loosened, dropping the doll.

 No exact date came to mind, but she did know it hadn’t been too long ago. Someone had been in her house. Her suspicions crawled over her skin as if tiny invisible bugs leaving hairs up in their wake as they moved on. “Clint.” She growled the name.

 What else had he done? He could have installed cameras or microphones recording their very conversation. Saw it once on a television news show. Her eyes cut to Will’s concerned face. Good thing, she hadn’t given into her initial attraction last night. No reason to give Clint a free show.

 His hand under her elbow steadied her as her thighs ached from their squatting position. His breath brushed her cheek as he spoke. “I don’t know about you, but this crouching is getting to me. Why don’t we sit down and talk this out.”

 Tonya pushed forward on her toes to rise. “Yeah, let’s do that.” Her shoulders drooped as she stood. Any energy she’d felt on the unexpected appearance of the handsome lawyer drained away. Clint stood between them as real as any person separating her from Will as effectively as a quarantine notice. One bad decision made on a night she’d felt especially lonely would undoubtedly keep her alone.

Anger slowly slid across her skin replacing fear as she sank into the overstuffed loveseat. The soft snuffling of Sebastian gobbling a dog treat fanned her resentment. Her head snapped in her dog’s direction. Her index finger flew out at the animal. “You were supposed to be some sort of protection. I imagine you were had for the price of a pig ear or a pork chop.”

 Sebastian’s survival instincts caused a hesitation in consuming the cookie. It could be a thoughtful interval. On a normal day, his momentary stop she'd label regret, but not today. No today, was the no good rotten day were everything went wrong. Technically, things had been wrong for a while. Unfortunately, today threw the spotlight on it. The doorbell rang. What random hell now!

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    Morgan K Wyatt

    Secret Cravings author of contemporary and historical romances.

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