It's No Picnic Read Free Page A

better, better than to give faith to such a firm eye. Always have a viable future, one that leaves a door open in case all others closed.
    “I’m sorry, did you say Nadie?”
    “Yes, Nadie, Nadie K.”
    Nothing, not even a blink from Alex. Questioning as if the name Nadie were indeed, nobody.
    “Missing a month, right?”
    “Yes.”
    Alex took out a pad and pencil, taking no end of notes while questioning Miss K.
    “Wait…” Alex said raising an index finger, “Age?”
    “Nadie and I are about the same age, which is…let’s see, forty—five. Yes, that’s it, forty—five .”
    Clearly, not forty—five. Alex sized up a guess, writing it down, continuing, “Description.”
    “That’s easy. You see, we’re twins.”
    “Good. But a photo would help.”
    “I can get a photo, no problem. In fact, I think I have one.”
    Miss K. reached in, removing a photo from the purse, handing it to Alex. He looked at the photo, noting the old church in the background. Clearly, the woman in the photo was identical to Miss K. Long black hair, brown eyes, tanned skin. It seemed evident.
    “One more thing. Where did you last see Nadie?”
    “The old church on the hill.”
    “Good. I’ll snoop a bit and let you know.”
    “Oh, how rude of me. I didn’t even bother to ask the fee.”
    “Let’s call it a favor from one neighbor to another.”
    “Thank you.”
    Miss K. opened the door, giving a thin, airy wave before leaving. Alex gave a nod, noting the gesture with little favor.
     
     
     
    F EELING T IRED , Alex decided a walk might do some good. Looking out the window, he saw a landscape shrouded in mist but paid no mind, instead changing into sweats and running shoes.
    Outside, the fog was more London than Longport, making even walk along the path shaky. Yet, off he went, determined to see something of this place.
    First stop was the old church. A fascinating place. Not in the religious sense. NO —more a foggy, shadowy feeling. That feeling, crude, distant; yet not ignored. Besides, Miss K. last saw Nadie here.
    Alex gently turned the knob on the old church door. It opened, encouraging entry. Nothing special jumped out. It was small, smaller than it looked from the outside. Old rustic pews lined the sides. The pulpit was tiny—capable of handling no more than five people—with an archway that allowed passage from the main hall into a sacristy. What’s more, a strange, musty air filled the entire place, adding an aromatic sense to what was unmistakably old age.
    Walking along the main hall, Alex felt the old wood floor’s hollowness giving way, back and forth, adding spring to each step. As the main hall gave way to the sacristy, he noticed a tiny, white speck on the floor. To get a better view, he bent over, becoming aware of a piece of ashen colored cloth no more than a fraction of an inch on each side. He picked it up, placing it somewhere tidy, making a brief note of where he’d found it, stuck on a protruding nail of the floor shy what looked like a prie—dieu , also noting a passing hunch; someone knelt to pray, caught clothing on a nail, and when getting up, tore a small piece of fabric without realizing it .
    Then—Alex walked back into the main hall, looking for anything wary, nosing the air for dirt, reliving —“She was lying on the floor, face down, in a pool of blood. This was the scene waiting when I returned home from work on that fateful day. The wife, DEAD . Suicide. Even though it came as no surprise, I was shocked. After all, she suffered from years of depression and most thought it only a matter of time. What a pair we made; one of us depressed, dejected and the other with the auras . The daughter blamed me. She thought it a duty to take care of the wife. I tried mind you. But she was simply too much. Work, the doctors, oh the doctors. This pill, that pill and nothing. Oh, we can enhance it this way and that way. An experiment indeed. Fact of the matter was they had no idea, learning too