Fains I (A John Chance Mystery) Chapter 4 – Alone in the Dark

Fains I (A John Chance Mystery) Chapter 4 – Alone in the Dark

 
Vincent Quarrals watched Monique Modine exit Marin’s store from deep in the shadows of Campbell’s barn. Al and Blanche left years ago, Al to shack up with some woman in norhtern Maine and Blanche to some California nuts-and-berries, back-to-the-earth ashram. They left their property in different directions and neither looked back. The place was for sale at state auction but the only way it’d be sold would be sight-unseen. It didn’t need work, it needed to be razed and nobody seemed interested.

Funny thing, that. The Kristoffersen’s place wasn’t much better. Quarrals thought Modine took her life in her hands every month she went in to make sure the electricity, plumbing, well, and heat still worked. Then one night well into dark a truck pulls up, a team gets out, goes to work, and by the time they leave you could eat off the floor. Fresh paint, fresh flooring, brand new wiring, brand new fixtures, good, solid furniture in the kitchen, bedrooms, dining room, and living room, and the rest of the house with enough furniture to be comfortable without getting in the way.

Who brings a crew in, probably more than one delivery truck, probably with lifting tailgates, does a makeover worthy of Discovery Channel and This Old House simultaneously, and gets in and out between some time near midnight and sunrise?

Quarrals didn’t like that. The work they did was obviouis but the only evidence of their passing were tire tracks and footprints.

He decided there and then he’d learn more about the new owner, except there wasn’t a change in ownership. Modine’s spouting her mouth off, as always, about what a fat commission she got and no title exchange to show for it.

He didn’t tell her. It just added to his need to know more about Stacey Knox. He chatted up Modine but she just kept up her throaty chuckle and repeatedly told him to get his eyes off her tits.

Quarrals liked the dark of the barn. The frame and flooring were good. He could back in to the point his patrol car disappeared from view and still watch the townsfolk come and go. It reminded him of being a spider hiding in the back of its web.

Stacey Knox came and went from Martin’s store not more than five minutes ago. He planned to come out of the shadows and “accidently” parked her in, keep her in Martin’s place and talk her up, get her real story from her, but no, Modine had to show up first and if he said hello to Knox Modine’d be telling people he and Knox were engaged.

God damn nosy bitch flirt.

She thought he didn’t know about her mechanic friend who came by twice a year? She didn’t know he’d bought one of those ultra-sensitive directional mikes and listened in to their wet-humpy. Ha.

And then there was Lawrence Martin who’d jump a mile if you said Boo! Has a crew from the city put in those three big satellite dishes so he can watch overseas soccer games and never got them to work right. Anybody asks if they can come watch and either the signal’s down or the dishes were blown out of alignment or raccoons ate through his cable and he’s waiting for a replacement.

Bullshit.

Vince knew Martin was sitting alone, naked, pumping himself watching Hindi porn or something like that. His mike never picked up anything other than old jazz music and snoring but he knew, oh, he knew, and one day he’d catch Martin and make him watch while Vince pumped himself to some sand-nigger porn.

Vince smiled and nodded in the dark of the barn, in the cool of the shade, in the quiet of his little hidey space. He knew it all. He kept tabs on everyone in Acra just to make sure it was safe.

To make sure he was safe.


Previous Fains I (A John Chance Mystery) Chapters

Fains I (A John Chance Mystery) Chapter 3 – We Can Get Whatever You Want

Fains I (A John Chance Mystery) Chapter 3 – We Can Get Whatever You Want

 
Lawrence Martin watched the newcomer. She came in confidently – a good thing, one-twenty pounds or so, five-six and something, dressed for the weather except for a silk scarf around her neck and over her shoulders with a bunch of cloth wadded up over her chest. The bell jingled over her head when she opened the door. She glanced up at it and smiled.

Her eyes swept the store in easy motion, what would be called windowshopping in a city or mall, before landing on Monique. “Hi, Monique.”

Like her movements, she spoke with a confident, easy grace.

“Hi, Stace. This your first time in town?”

“Except to drive through trying to find the highway out.”

Martin interrupted with his Yankee drawl in place. “Ain’t got no gypsie?”

Monique rolled her eyes. “Stace, meet Larry Martin, proprietor, who’s bullshitting you with that drawl. He’s only been here – how many years, Larry?”

Martin dropped the drawl. “Two so far.”

Monique nodded. “And if he doesn’t cut it out with the crazy accents, it’ll only be two.”

Martin offered his hand. “Someday this town’ll have a talent show and I’ll be in it.” He released Knox’s hand and leaned towards her. “Ever hear the one about the cityslicker lost in Maine?”

Stacey gave Monique a “What’s going on here?” look.

“Just go with it. He won’t let up until he’s got one or two jokes out.” Monique glared at Larry. “One, if he’s smart.”

“So this cityslicker stops at a small town in Maine and sees an old Yankee sitting in front of the general store in a rockin chair whittling a stick with a pocketknife. He says, ‘Lived here all your life?’ and the old Yankee answers without looking up or stopping his whittling, ‘Not yet.'”

Martin slapped the countertop and doubled over laughing.

Stacey gave Monique a “Is it safe to be in here?” look.

“He’s his own best audience.”

Martin pouted at them. “Oh, come on. That’s one of my best jokes.” His eyebrows formed a tent on his forehead like a little boy pleading with his mother for another cookie. “You liked it, right, Stacey?”

Monique came up beside Stacey and placed a protective arm in front of her. “You’re scaring the newcomer, Larry.”

Frank Sinatra poked his head out of the wadded scarf and hissed.

Martin crossed his arms underneath his apron. “Sorry, sorry. I get carried away sometimes.”

Monique snicked. “Sometimes?”

“Sorry, Ms. Knox. It’s Knox, right? Stacey? Can I call you Stacey? Sorry I upset your cat. What can I do you for?”

Monique made a show of browsing the jerky selections. “Looks like a middle-aged Clark Kent still hoping for a date with Lois when he does that, doesn’t he? And don’t worry, he’s safe. One of Larry cum Clark’s his best qualities is his nosiness. Should your phone, internet, and carrier pigeons fail, Larry’s Acra’s reliable community switchboard.” She pointed at Frank. “He she it friendly?”

“Usually.”

Monique reached out slowly. Frank’s blue eyes crossed following her hand towards him. “Good kitty. Good puss puss.”

She rubbed his ears. Frank sank back into the scarf’s folds and quietly purred.

“I didn’t know you had a cat. He she it got a name?”

Stacey made sure Frank rested snugly in the scarf. “Frank Sinatra.”

Larry perked up. “Ol’ Blue Eyes. I get it.” He waited for their acknowledgement.

Monique stood in front of the dairy refrigeration units. “Love the way you’re modernizing the place, Lare.” Her voice took on a conspiratorial tone. “He’s replacing the old equipment a little bit each month. Stay away for two months and you won’t know where anthing is.” Her voice returned to its conversational knacker. “Or is that your plan, Larry? To keep people coming in?”

He nodded vigorously. “The plans are for internet access in the cafe with a few machines.” He looked hopefully at Stacey. “What d’you think? Cool, huh?”

Monique shook her head. “Isn’t it endearing when a middle-age man uses ‘cool’ in everyday language? Makes you think he’s one of the bitchin’ boss boys in the band, doesn’t it?”

Martin paid no attention. “You just bought the Kristoffersen place, right? Been vacant as long as I’ve been here.”

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Previous Fains I (A John Chance Mystery) Chapters

An Experiment in Writing – Part 12: Overwriting, Toing and Froing

Overwriting: Putting more on the page than is necessary for the story to move forward.

Toing and Froing: What happens when an author feels a need to move characters around in order to set up a scene rather than starting the reader at the point in the scene where the action (== interesting stuff) occurs.

 
Think I’m onto something? Take a class with me or schedule a critique of your work.
Think I’m an idiot? Let me know in a comment.
Either way, we’ll both learn something.

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Fains I (A John Chance Mystery) Chapter 2 – Get Real

Fains I (A John Chance Mystery) Chapter 2 – Get Real

 
Monique Modine kept two vintage pink Cadillac Eldorado Biarritz Converibles – a ’57 and a ’59 – up on blocks in her barn. She had a FWB mechanic in Albany come out the first day of each Spring, take them down, inspect them, give them a once over and make them road worthy, and first day of each Fall to winterize them and put them back up on their blocks. She, her Cadillacs, and her mechanic FWB were all the same age, and that’s how Monique liked it. She purchased the ’57 at a mid-state auction. She’d already done her research and knew which mechanics within an easy drive of Acra worked on older cars. The first garage she went to she was met by a Clearasil faced kid with his head stuck under the hood tuning his barely legal hot rod. She yelled to get his attention. He banged his head standing up and greeted her with a hockey player’s toothless smile.

“Your father or grandfather around?”

“No, Ma’am. I work here alone.”

She kept her best top-selling real estate agent smile firmly in place. “Good for you.” She asked for the address of the next shop on her list. He scratched his head and picked up a pad of paper and pen in grease covered hands. “No, that’s okay. You can just tell me. I can remember it.”

The next garage was owned by a fossil in blue-striped mechanic’s overalls. He hacksawed a pipe at about one stroke per minute.

He didn’t seem aware of her until she stood in front of him and cleared her throat. He continued his one stroke per minute momentum without looking up. “Help you, Miss?”

She smiled. Only someone as ancient as this one would call her ‘miss’. “Any reason you’re sawing that so slowly?”

“Best reason in the world. I’m ninety-eight years old.”

She asked for directions to garage number three.

A man came out from under a car on a creeper, held up a grease covered finger to signal “in a minute,” put his other hand into a tin Mione container on his workbench and came up with a glom of what looked like shiny vaseline. He thoroughly rubbed the glom onto his hands before rinsing them in a service sink and wiping them dry, then came out to where Monique waited.

She handed him her card. He glanced at it but paid more attention to the ’57 and smiled. “Your car’s got tits.”

Monique, not shy in the tit department herself, returned his smile. “Oh, we’re going to get along fine.”

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Previous Fains I (A John Chance Mystery) Chapters

An Experiment in Writing – Part 11: Language/Word Choice

Language is much more than how you use verb tenses and what adverbs and adjectives do, and word choice is much more than using the right word versus the almost right word.

This experiment in writing explores how to create a reading rhythm which keeps your reader reading, and how to use language to emphasize what’s happening on the page.

 
Think I’m onto something? Take a class with me or schedule a critique of your work.
Think I’m an idiot? Let me know in a comment.
Either way, we’ll both learn something.

Pick up several dozen copies of my books because it’s a nice thing to do, you care, and I need the money.

Or you can get copies of and The Book of The Wounded Healers and follow along.