It's No Picnic Read Free

stuff that makes you; well, you.”
    Alex paused…puzzling over the strange voice. How can it be? After all, the whole point of Longport was rest. Rest from the past and all of the problems. Yet, once again, here it is pointing out the vile cast of humanity. Suggesting the foul odor following human affairs. But is it just to ignore?
    “Okay. So, what do we have? A woman, running through a forest at night it seems, named Nadie; which amounts to a big nothing and nobody,” Alex said.
    “No, what we have is a clue. To what, who knows? But a clue, even so.”
    Is it a clue, or the lasting piece of an event? Perhaps some faulty view or belief, treated as if gaining worth over time. Maybe the effect of wine induced weariness. Maybe nothing, nothing more than a mind so refined, so attuned to the art of detection, that false images are mere routine and risk.
    “Even so…”
    The voice faded. Nothing, not even a sigh. Alex fought to regain thought, scattered as it may be. Always, it was a blackout of sorts, a lost wit made privy to facts that else, would be gone for all time.
    The strangeness exhausted, having given and taken away, allowed the ordinary once again a chance. Head limp and relaxed to the front, and eyes trying desperately to stay open, Alex kept on moving along the path. After all, it seemed even a lifeless soul could make way without the least slip.
    Arriving home, tired, low, with a blurred sense of reality, he fell into bed, asleep at once.

2
     
    T HE N EXT M ORNING , Alex woke to knocking at the door. Now what? He got up, put on a robe, and went to the door. Opening it, he caught sight of a woman, standing, looking down—a face painted sad, a mind seemingly clouded. Staring hard, he paused…collecting thoughts; taking the lead; asking the woman in a calm tone, “Please—come in out of the cold.”
    “Thank you. I’m Miss Teresa K. or Miss K. if you prefer.”
    “Kay?”
    “No, K.”
    “There’s a difference?”
    “Yes.”
    “O—kay. So, what brings you here, to this neck of the woods?”
    “Well, some chat at the party…”
    “Go on.”
    “Anyway, someone said you were a detective.”
    Only two days, and somebody knows the past. Maybe the attendant. Perhaps a gossip not knowing the meaning of privacy? After all, the rule nowadays is, snoop first; ask questions later .
    “Who, exactly?” Alex said, miffed.
    “I can’t say. A body, that’s all.”
    “Yes, I was a detective .”
    “Professional?”
    “Yes, I guess you could call it that.”
    “And now?”
    “In spirit , I suppose . ”
    Was this airy cynicism? After all, you can’t be what you are not. We are born of , and die of ; like it, or not. But it’s possible to rekindle spirit. A rally of sorts, calling up old, with new will.
    “It’s sister. Missing now for a month. The Franktown police looked into it, but found nothing. They told me she most likely ran off with some man, saying it happens all the time. But I don’t believe that.”
    “And the police. Why should they be wrong?”
    “ Alex , I know. She wouldn’t leave without telling me.”
    “What do you think happened?”
    “I think she’s dead. Something tells me she was murdered.”
    “Murdered?!”
    “I just want you to look into it, that’s all. I think the police don’t care. No questions, no checks, nothing; not even a look to see if things were missing. How’s that for open and shut?”
    “Were things missing ?”
    “No. One more reason I suspect foul play.”
    “That doesn’t mean she was murdered. She could be missing. I tell you what; I think I can poke around some if that would give you a little peace of mind. But I can’t promise anything.”
    “Oh, thank you Alex.”
    “But first some facts. The sister’s name?”
    “Nadie, Nadie K.”
    N ADIE , the name on the handbag. The ghostly sight held during the fit. Of course, this name may be bits and pieces of a past, a past used to color a present, so lending faith to a hunch. But he knew