#Haiku: Find Courtney
In the
Dead
Killer’s house;
Who needs
A sexy pirate
Playing Daddy?
(published under my real name which unfortunately gets me confused with the cookbook author)
Category: Crime
-
The Missing Bride – a mystery by Alysse Aallyn
Chapter 20 – The End
We flew to a hotel at LaGuardia,
Called Derek, whose father suggested
Vince Tromwell. He got
Mirabel immunity as long as she told
“the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth”
and after they tested the shirt and the knife
Verne even confessed –
If you call taking an Alford plea –
(Which legally means “You got me”) –
Confession. Verne got forty years
On each count with deportation
Instead of parole.
Mom and Dad didn’t mind
Having a yoga teacher in the family –
They both started yoga –
I admit I did too –
That’s what big sisters are for;
They go through everything first
So you don’t have to.
We get to be writers, we
The little sisters
Poets and thinkers of all the peaceful
Afternoons; assessing, not
Regressing, savoring even
The upside down moments
Right side up and
Passing them to history.
It worked on everyone but Mr.
Mowgley, English teacher,
Who said;
“Shouldn’t you write this
In the third person voice
To gain some distance?”
I said, “Never.
I’m Richenda Marshott, only me and
I’ll never pretend to be
Anyone else.”
-
The Missing Bride – a mystery by Alysse Aallyn
“Mirabel, you must let me
Tell Mom and Dad. They don’t
Deserve this silence.”
She turned mulish. Resistant.
More stubborn than I’d ever be.
“Mirabel is dead. It’s better for everyone.”
“Mom & Dad won’t miss me. I was
Nothing but trouble.”
I spoke truth when I said;
“I guarantee you that’s not true.
They will never get over you.
And in the meantime, Lord Verne gets away
With murder. He’ll just kill
Someone else, Mirabel;
Don’t you get it? Violence is
His foolproof way
To get what he wants.”
Mirabel moved her shoulders restlessly.
She’d almost escaped that life and saw me
Pulling her back.
“I can’t go to jail. I’d rather die.”
“People who make immunity
Deals don’t go to jail. Derek’s family
Must know a lawyer who’d negotiate
For you. You stay anonymous
Because deals never go to court.”
She eyed me suspiciously.
“What do YOU know about
Bargaining with prosecutors?”
“I have a Netflix subscription!
I watch the ID channel! If you tell them
What you know it might be enough
To convict him.
Get him out of all our lives
Forever.” Fingers crossed.
She struggled to believe me.
She had so little trust.
Yet I was the one
She’d invited inside.
“I have the murder weapon,” she admitted.
“I told him I got rid of it. And
The shirt he wore – it’s bloody.
In a safety deposit box.”
A thrill ran through me.
I hadn’t expected
Such cagey planning, but
I should have; from
The Girl Who Got Away.
“That’s probably enough,” I promised.
But still my sister hesitated,
Torn between embracing her
Imaginary life with its
Brand new identity and
Facing her destroyer.
I played my final card.
“You owe me,” I whispered.
“You owe the dead girls.
And so Mirabel – not Franny but
The grown up girl who’d always been
My sister; made up her mind.
She accepted herself; the way
I had always accepted her.
-
The Missing Bride – a mystery by Alysse Aallyn
I had to ask
The ultimate question.
“Did he kill the real Franny?”
Were we a survivor chain of
The lot, the disconnected, the
Threatened?
Her eyes slid back and forth
As she repeated her question;
“Did anyone follow you?”
I wasn’t aware of anyone
But in our day and age
Of advanced surveillance
Was it possible to reassure?
“No. No hiding stalkers
On your tiny island.”
It worked.
For the first time she relaxed
And smiled. But still she
Whispered as if we could be
Overheard.
“I’m sorry for putting you
In that position but I knew
You wouldn’t let him hurt you.
You were always different
Born yourself –
I’m not myself yet but
I’m trying to be.”
She began to swing us
Her thin legs in white gauze reached out
Pumping us higher.
“You didn’t answer my question”
I insisted, “The real Franny
Is dead. Who killed her?”
“Verne killed them,” she confided.
As our swing vaulted heavenwards.
“My friends were
“Hiding me from Verne but
“I still had to work. He stalked me – he
Broke in – stabbed Franny and Jane.”
“But missed you?” I prompted. ”Because
You were in the broom closet?”
“No,” she said, “He found me
Covered me with their blood – said
I was the cause of
Everything, I was the one who
Made it happen.
He threatened to kill me too
But slowly. I knew he planned
To torture me to death.
I could never get away.”
“Why not tell the police?”
Her eyes were so big, pale blue shading
Into gray – same color as the ocean.
“They’d lock me up –
He knows too much about me.
I tried everything I could think
To get away but nothing worked
Till this.” She held my hand
Me – feeling like the
Older sister.
“Remember the fable I used to
Read to you – the dog that dropped the bone
Because he saw a second one?
That’s my gambit –
I felt sure that you would recognize.”
She held my wrists enlaced in
Skinny fingers.
“Verne was always telling me
I was ruined, that I’d spoiled myself
And destroyed our future.
I convinced him you were me
Unscarred – the way I was
Before he met me –
Better than I ever was – me without
The things he hated.”
I recoiled, disgusted, trying not
To show it. That bastard! Hating
Her feeble resistance.
She smiled the old one-sided smile.
“I was right too. You were too smart
To fall for him.
“You were born so confident!
So good in school! Your brain
Seemed always working right –
Reading my schoolbooks
Helping ME to do my homework!”
It was funny, listening
To this different recollection
Of our years together, so distinct
From my modest memories.
At the very moment I was
Iconizing her, she was
Idealizing me.
The swing slowed. My sister
Looked away – that far off glance
That was the skill she’d mastered –
Disassociation –
Floating above the rest of us –
In her inner world of safety.
I heard my voice –
“But I’m so plain.”
“You’re wrong about that, –
More beautiful than I ever was –
I think I’ve learned what real beauty is –
It’s wildness – untamed – and
Those who want to capture it
Are killing their desire.”
My sister, the guru
Clutched at me again – fearful
She could lose me as I’d lost
Her. She knew the world
Was full of melting women
Simulacra who seem
To be but aren’t –
Shadow people enlisted
Replacing those who
Never came to be.
I recoiled in horror at
The degradation
So closely missed.
“And then you found me,”
She breathed, scaring me
With confidence in my miracles.
“This island’s pictures
Were the only ones I ever sent
To you; I thought
That you’d remember.”
“I almost didn’t!
Answer one for me. Did you steal
Diamonds from Kruptupian?”
“His broker was cheating him.
When I gave him the evidence,
He sold my ring
Giving me the cash to get away
Without informing.
I’ve been taking yoga teacher training.
I’m going to give Franny Vallea the
Flourishing life she
Din’t have, without
Family, without chances.
All she ever wanted was enough money
To be safe, to have peace, quiet
And a lock on the door.”
“Mirabel, you must let me
Tell Mom and Dad. They don’t
Deserve this silence.”
She turned mulish. Resistant.
More stubborn than I’d ever be.
“Mirabel is dead. It’s better for everyone.”
-
The Missing Bride – a mystery by Alysse Aallyn
Chapter 17 – Grievous Bodily Harm
Verne’s voice: cruel, whispering,
Insistent, filling up
An answering machine with abortive calls
Never answered. “Mirabel?
Don’t think you’ll escape me.
You’ve begun a game
You can’t win”
My teeth began to chatter.
Derek’s eyes bugged.
It went on and on – filled the cassette –
Verne threatening that he’d find her and
The longer she made him wait
The sorrier he’d make her.
Did she want her family
MUDERED?
Did she want her friends
MURDERED?
Because he had nothing left to lose.
Sometimes he attempted different ploys;
He loved her –
They were made for each other –
She knew that
It had never been good with
Anyone but her.
Didn’t she want to be Lady Verne?
Wasn’t every bad thing
That had ever happened to either of them
All her fault?
She owed him.
He’d would find her
Wherever she was hiding,
He could smell her out.
He knew her friends were lying and
One of them would succumb – eventually.
“Call me, Mirabel.
You better call me.”
Derek and I looked at each other
Pale as ghosts.
“He did it,” said Derek, finally.
“He must have. He
Has everything – motive, means
Most of all, he has the
Personality – the – what do they call it?
The killer signature.
Even a past record for
‘Grievous bodily harm’.”
“Don’t jump to conclusions,”
I defended weakly, not wanting to have
Roomed with a killer. Not wanting my sister to have
Thrown me at a murderer.
Derek scoffed.
“We’ve got to take this to the police.”
Derek was supposedly the expert –
But even I could see the holes.
“It isn’t proof of anything,”
I argued.
“So he threatened an ex-girlfriend!
Do you know how many guys do that?”
“No,” said Derek. “Do YOU?”
“Yes,” I spluttered. “I read Teen Vogue.
It happens all the freakin’ time.”
“Well,” said Derek, red-faced,
“You caught me. I’m embarrassed
For my gender.”
God, he was adorable.
I made my case,
“If the police came calling
Would be to search for Mirabel HARDER.”
“OH, GOD,” sighed Derek,
“I gave him the name of my dad’s P.I.! I’ve got to
Call him!” I sprang back so fast
Derek’s phone clattered to the ground
Between us. “Don’t call Verne!”
“I’m not calling Verne!
I’m callin the P.I.! Hello, Angie? This
Is Derek Lowther. Can I speak to Ed?
It’s an emergency.
O.K., I guess I can tell you,”
He grumbled. “I gave Ed’s name
To somebody I just met
Who’s looking for his missing girl. But then I found out
He’s a dangerous kind of guy.
Oh, he doesn’t? Well, what if he asks
For a referral? OK.
He hasn’t called? Well, thanks.
I’m better.”
Disconnected.
“She says he never takes cases like that
And would only recommend
Police. She says –“
He gulped – “Most people –
Searching for a past lover –
Have nothing good in mind.”
And I had been helping him!
But what else could I do when
Mirabel dumped me, too.
I leafed slowly through Mirabel’s
Portfolio.
There was a picture that I recognized –
Mirabel sent it to the family –
Bikini’d Mirabel on a sun-beaten
Grey-weathered viewing deck
Posing beneath an osprey nest.
“She talked about this place,”
I recalled. “She called it Dream Island.
She said she wished
She could just live there forever.”
I grabbed Derek by the arm.
“I know where that is,”
Eureka. Hard to explain
Those moments of insight
Where everything just comes together.
“She’d be stupid to return
To any place she’d ever been.”
There’s Derek, arguing for the sake of
Arguing. “The smart thing
Is to light out for somewhere you’ve never
Been before.” I batted that one
Off easily. “Then what’s the point? If you’ve
Been miserable, what you want is
Guaranteed happiness.”
“Unless you’re shallow,” said Derek.
“Then you need guaranteed variety.
Guaranteed newness.”
What an awful thing to say.
The question was, is Mirabel that bad?
I refused to believe it.
“She’s my sister,” I one-upped,
“I hope I know her better than you.”
He could have told me
I didn’t know her at all
And been right, but he backed down
Immediately. Maybe he saw
In my face the high stakes I felt in
Rescuing the sister who made me
Happy face pancakes all those years ago.
“It’s like a password hack.”
Now he argued for my side,
Bless him. “Depends how well
You know the person.”
My phone rang. I jumped a mile.
“Oh, Jeez, it’s Verne!
What should I tell him?”
“Don’t pick up! We better get
Our stories straight.”
But I picked up. Bravest thing
I ever did. “Oh, hi, Verne
Did you find something?
Well, Derek’s talking to a neighbor
Who used to be a cop.
Sure – when we find something –
Ok. Catch you later.”
Derek stared at me awestruck.
“That was incredible! Have you studied acting?”
“Hell no,” I told him
“I’ve studied LYING. Can’t get through
Teenage life without it.”
Most lies are cover-ups where your quarry
Is already suspicious. That never works.
Smart lies strikes first –
Bold, believable
(Because part of it is truth)
And straight out of nowhere.
“What were you thinking? Maybe you
Spooked him?’
“I was hoping to spook him. I wanted a way
To hint what we learned from your PI’s
Receptionist. I mean,
WE NEED TO STOP HELPING HIM.”
“But what good is that?” Derek argued,
“If he finds Mirabel first?”
“He won’t,” I said. “I know where to go
And I don’t want him following me.”
Do you have a spare phone?”
“Sure,” said Derek,
“Brand new trac phone in my dad’s office
Still in the packaging. And
Plenty of air miles burning holes in my pocket.
Do you need a passport?”
“It’s only Florida. Isla Ensueno.”
-
The Missing Bride – a mystery by Alysse Aallyn
Chapter 16 – The Escort Murders
“I remember those murders now” says Derek
As the taxi struggled against downtown traffic.
“The Escort Murders! It was talk of the news for months
Year before last. “
I’d never heard of it.
Escorts! Was Mirabel an “escort” or
Only a “friend?” “Escort” did have a
“Porn scout” feel. Did I really want to know
About Mirabel’s life if
This is what I found?
Disquiet shading to
Repugnance. “I remember
Nothing about any survivor,”
Derek went on, completely
Oblivious to my mood.
He wasn’t perfect. Or maybe he was –
Too “perfect” ever to worry about
Mirabel selling herself. I pushed:
“”But they arrested someone?
Someone confessed?”
“Yes. Some sixteen year old kid
From that same building
Said he crawled in the window like
Spiderman. They gave him a plea deal and
They never went to trial because
Experts say that it’s impossible. He must
Be bragging.”
“Who’d confess to a crime
They didn’t commit?” I asked
But hollowly, because I already knew
The answer. Haven’t you ever
Heard word come out of your mouth
That amaze you – words
You deliberately feed the thirsty person
Standing at your side?
We toted the boxes
Up to his chicly forlorn eyrie,
But he couldn’t let it go.
On his laptop he summoned
Sheaves of bloody newsprint.
I reeled – nonconversant, I admit, with
CAPITALIZED TABLOID MURDER.
I avoid true crime, finding that
Getting through high school is grisly enough.
“Crime’s an acquired taste,” admitted Derek.
“I advise you not to acquire it.
You can’t unsee some things.”
Truly helpful and caring or
Stuffy and condescending?
I regarded him with freshened
Disapproval.
“Didn’t I invite you on this case?” I chastised.
“This is my sister’s case.”
He was suitably repentant.
“Mysteries without murder are a parlor game,”
He defended, “But when they bring out the knives
Everyone’s at risk.”
Too true. I shivered. Couldn’t feel safe
Until both me and the boxes
Were quadruple-locked behind Derek’s guarded,
Security-cammed, barricaded front door.
I made him show me that the only other entry
Into the apartment (in the kitchen) was
Barred & sealed.
I studied the news reports. They didn’t mention
Mirabel or her broom closet.
Could it be an urban myth?
“Do you think Mirabel was really there?”
I whispered as if we weren’t
Alone. “But what could she hear
Locked in the broom closet?”
“Screams?” suggested Derek.
“Maybe a name? If they
Knew who attacked them?”
I posed the ultimate puzzle.
“But why take a year and a half to run away?”
“If the killer didn’t know she knew –“
That sent a stab right through me.
I didn’t want to play this game
It struck too close to home. It was
The first good reason I’d heard since my arrival
For Mirabel dropping out without a word.
“The alternative theory –“
Then he stopped. Too late.
From his expression
I knew what he was thinking.
“They got her,” I said as cold as
I could muster. “Ugh. I hope not.”
“So now we have another mystery to solve,”
Said Derek. “This one
With knives. Find the killer – and maybe
Find Mirabel. Or give her reason
To come home.”
Both of us turned to stare
At the dusty boxes just brought in.
I tried not to elevate my hopes.
Derek was thinking the same thought.
“What can be valuable if she abandoned them?”
But I had the answer.
“She couldn’t return – if
The place was crawling with police.”
Derek was comfortable
Playing devil’s advocate.
“What if the real Mirabel WAS killed that night?
And the person you met was an impostor?”
“Verne would have to be in on it,” I spoke
Before I thought;
Antithesis was obvious.
“He could have done it. That gives him motive
For proving Mirabel’s alive.”
We both needed cups and cups
Of good hot sugared tea –
Orange, cardamom
And cinnamon.
“If we’re listing suspects,” Derek braved.
“Maybe we need a murder board.”
A murder board?
Didn’t he move too fast for me?
I struggled with my memory of Mirabel’s eyes –
Pleading underneath her teasing.
“I think that was really Mirabel.”
“Oh well, there’s always confirmation bias.”
Derek sipped. “People hating to admit they’re wrong.”
Obnoxious know-it-all!
I felt the pressure to one-up him.
“We’re forgetting something,” I suggested.
“Mirabel could have done the murders herself.”
I’d shocked him. I was appalled
By my hypothesis but proud of its result.
He was silenced.
“Still, kill her own roommates?” I queried.
“What could be her motive?”
“These are roommates we’re talking about!”
Derek knew about roommates; he’d been
To boarding school.
“They made her stay in the broom closet!
Who needs a reason?”
Derek plays to win.
“They were helping her by hiding her, so
Occam’s razor says
Whatever she was hiding from
Came and got her.”
I tried envisioning Kruptupian and
His minions. Derek sighed.
“What if it was your sister,” I started
To demand, then recalled how
Annoying Sierra could be.
He followed my thought and burst out laughing.
Proved his devotion to the game. “It’s hard
Physical labor knifing someone.”
“TWO PEOPLE,” I corrected.
Perhaps that meant two killers.
We spread the boxes out on newspaper.
My hopes WERE high.
Whoever it was I’d seen last Friday
Already a life-time ago – now
The real Mirabel was ready to
Jump out at me.
-
The Missing Bride – a mystery by Alysse Aallyn
Was Mirabel just about breaking rules? Or
Breaking herself against them?
“Different people have different sets of rules,”
I suggested. “She was looking for a different world.”
“Still looking,” suggested Derek.
“Probably for a world where
You don’t have to lie all the time.
“She lied to your parents and -”
“She lied to me and she lied to Verne.
She said bridegrooms
Get in the way.”
“Wow. And you were with her
So briefly!”
“Maybe we’re all impostors,” I suggested,
“Until we find out who we really are.”
“Trying to get “it” right without knowing what “it” is.”
I could really talk to this guy!
What a relief.
He googled. “Impostor syndrome.”
We played dueling phones.
“No,” I corrected. “I substitute
Capgras delusion.
Thinking everyone’s a fraud.”
“Neva vu, I call it. When the familiar suddenly
Seems so unfamiliar.
What’s that phrase?
Fake it till you make it?
Doesn’t that make everyone a fraud?”
“Adults think kids are easy to fool.”
“Some teens believe anybody,”
Derek agreed. “Look at the stuff they post!
Not me. I’m always ready
For the universe to turn
Upside down and inside out.”
I considered it.
Maybe I was too. “It makes life more
Interesting. Trying to see through
Reality to the reality beneath.”
“They’re lucky you’re not a snarky Goth.”
Relaxing guy!
“Who says I’m not a snarky Goth?”
Now we both laughed.
I gave him the Brooklyn address –
No luck there – far away from traffic cams.
Spa camera was on the fritz.
“We need people who knew her when,”
Derek suggested. Providing an
Interesting hour
Of online search.
Mirabel’s most recent address
Was an apartment
Building on the Upper East Side.
We looked at each other.
“Well, it’s something,” I said.
And Derek said,
“Wanna go see?”
Chapter 15 – Stage Set
“Are you here about the rental?”
One eye peered out at us across a solid-looking
Door-chain. My voice was raw from unsuccessfully
interviewing all the other tenants about Mirabel
So Derek swept into the breach.
“Didn’t Mirabel Marshott live here?”
The eye rolled, then closed.
“Who wants to know?”
“I’m her sister,” I said, but
Helplessly.
Just another bust I assumed – yet possibly
My breaking voice produced
Some good; next sound a gasp followed by
Unlocking. “You’re the answer to a prayer,”
She said. Crazy! “Come in. Hurry.”
Reached out an arm to yank us inside.
We were in a tiny 20th floor apartment
on the Upper East Side –
I’m telling you, SMALL – entirely empty. There was
A highly-polished floor and a fantastic view
Of other people’s balconies and terraces.
“Her stuff’s in the storage bin,” said the girl.
“We have to make this fast.”
She was a tiny Filipina with literally POUNDS of
Makeup. Any age between twenty and eighty.
Artily dressed – expensively – I surmised –
In flowing hand-painted chiffon. Checked her Rolex;
Opened her Day Planner, plucked out a sticky note,
wrote BACK IN 5 MINS and slapped it on the door.
She pulled us outside and carefully locked
All three locks. “We don’t want them
Finding out about Mirabel,”
She hissed as she frog-marched us to elevators.
“She’s a deal killer.”
Derek and I were both too stunned to speak.
Me of the short game, found my words first.
“Who’s them?” I asked.
“Oh, you know,” she whispered, punching the button
“Anybody who knows the case.
People fear the killers could
Come back. If you’re savvy enough
To afford this apartment you know
The guy who confessed couldn’t
Have done it. So the killers are still out there.”
Derek was the first to address
This fray.
He was more familiar
With the wayward ways
Of Manhattan tenantry.
“Mirabel stayed here unofficially?”
“Right,” said our hostess, seemingly irritated
By the elevator’s slowness.
“She was in the broom closet. It has no windows!
Six kinds of illegal.
I mean, she wasn’t actually here that often.
Probably used it as a mail drop – or
Stayed with boyfriends while avoiding
Other boyfriends. You know how that goes.”
We didn’t. She looked me up and down
Realizing far too late –
She was giving too much away.
“I heard your dad was terribly strict.”
She pursed her lips.
I wanted to defend my poor dad –
After all, if you have a lot of boyfriends and
Play them off against each other
Won’t you find – eventually –
One who’s “terribly strict”?
But I cared too much what Derek thought.
I muted. Elevator arrived. We rushed inside.
“She was there that night?” prompted Derek.
“When the – killing – happened?”
“MAYBE,” breathed our Latinx, so excited to be a
Bad news bear she vibrated physically.
“Stabbed to death in their beds. – Franny and Jane.
Mirabel just took off – I mean who wouldn’t? So the cops
Maybe even the murderers – never knew she was there.
Now we have to sell the place –
I’m Dominica – Jane’s sister.”
Uncomfortably long elevator ride
To the basement. Finally she said,
“You know, you look like her. Here we are.”
A bump along the basement floor.
“Mirabel kept her stuff in bins.
Here, you’ll need one of these.”
She slid a trolley at us.
I gathered courage.
“Did you know Lord Verne?”“We all heard plenty
About the titled ex-.
Violent and threatening. But
I thought he was in Europe?”
“5106, 5107 – here we are.”
She unlocked a storage unit. Three boxes piled
In the center of the floor. Marked MM.
Our helper watched us load them.
“Thank God you’re getting these out of here –
We didn’t know how to contact her.
I’ve got to get back. Interest
Has been heavy.”
“How do you explain the murders?”
“When you need real estate
You’re not scared of death. Just
Don’t say how – they don’t want
To know.” She nodded fiercely
“Unbelievable I know – but that’s New York.
Your door’s is that way.”
We both stared at her departing back,
And clattering heels.
“Wow,” said Derek, “Plenty to chew on.”
-
The Missing Bride – a mystery by Alysse Aallyn
I would have yelled at Derek
For manhandling me if I hadn’t needed it
So much. Was this the way
Mirabel had felt, impressed by Verne?
Climbing into crowded trains was a skill
I didn’t have. We could sit
This time. “I wonder if that guy’s
An Epstein flier,” Derek mused aloud.
“I wondered the same thing!
But I don’t know if he
Could get along with ANYBODY
Long enough. The way he clutched at
Mirabel; do those guys care
About anything that much?”
Derek seriously considered
This ill-expressed idea.
“It’s a club like any club,” he said.
“They’re posing for each other.”
Hard to argue with.
Hadn’t Verne and Mirabel
Been posing for ME?
“I had the most awful dream,”
I tentatively began.
“You believe in dreams?” I almost hit him.
Our first quarrel!
“People know things subconsciously before
They know them consciously.” I was
Quoting my drama prof, but
It sounds legit.
He was amenable. “So explicate
This dream.” I expanded.
“A ruined house – Downtown Abbey on the skids.
Shattered.
Sad and… threatening with a lot of
Broken stuff.” I found I couldn’t
Express the horned man.
Derek tried to locate the dream’s
Progenitor.
“Was it something he said?”
“He said Mirabel tried to live there and
Didn’t like it.”
“Intriguing,” murmured Derek. “Let’s research
this guy when we get home.”
Chapter 14 – A Ruined Manor
Derek’s family place was a
Penthouse atop the
Museum Mesko. Mostly glass.
In the “reserved” elevator
Derek grilled me:
“What do YOU think happened? You
Think she ran away
And left you holding – HIM?”
Unsure of speech when hurtling so fast
I breathed relief when the door bonged.
“I haven’t told you the worst part.”
“What’s that?”
“Our dresses for the wedding
Are the same. It’s
THE SAME DRESS.”
He didn’t get it.
“That’s worse than having
Fourteen year olds?”
“Yes, because SHE DID IT.”
Should I tell him Mirabel was some kind of
Flesh scout? He would never understand
Why I still sought her.
“You were her replacement.
Good that you got out of there.”
Through his folks’ dark foyer,
With the Tiffany lamps and stacks of mail
He led me to a long living room
With at least six sofas and the most
Fabulous view. Enough modern art to
Give anybody nightmares.
But the city laid out
Beneath the clouds was
“Ravishing.”
“Want something to eat?”
Why was I always hungry?
Was it hunger really or
Existential despair?
Existential despair can make a person
Fat. The microwave pinged.
“I can’t believe you didn’t Google this guy.”
I can’t believe I didn’t either.
Why didn’t I? Derek was good
At pointing out the logic of
The illogical world I’d just escaped.
Was this decompression something I shared
With Mirabel?
He levered out a plate of nachos,
Adding sour cream and guacamole.
I WAS hungry!
“I think I need a bib.”
He added piles of napkins.
I dumped nachos into my despair.
“Coffee? Tea? The wine’s
Locked up.”
“Coffee’s fine.”
On their home computer
I googled while he buttled.
The news was bad.
“His house looks like my dream!”
Valerian Hall, Verne’s “ancestral home.”
“There’s even a lake with folly.”
“Swear you didn’t look before?”
Derek was persnickety.
“Don’t you think sometimes
You absorb things from the air?
By osmosis?”
He politely considered the question,
Working his logic
Around this idea. “Remote viewing?”
“Peer Loses Bid to Break Entail.”
Screamed headlines as I scrolled.
Down, down, down.
“Looks like he couldn’t pry more money out.”
Derek typed – my research not
Enough for him.
“Says here he can’t go back because
There’s a warrant out for his arrest,”
“Look at the site!” I argued. “How could Royal Gossip
Know anything of value?”
“I admit you can’t trust exclamation points,”
Derek concurred.
“But it is a reason to avoid police.
Whatever it is,
“Can’t be enough to extradite.”
“I need a bathroom.”
To throw up?
I rose abruptly, headed down the hall.
“There’s a close one off the kitchen.”
Around the corner from the wall of refrigerators.
I checked myself in a tiny bathroom mirror.
Hollow-eyed, a girl who sorely needs a tan.
Completely different from my
Made-up, Russian hooker, Mirabel self.
“I found what he’s in trouble for,” said Derek
When I got returned. GBH.”
“Party drug?”
“Grievous bodily harm. He attacked someone.”
“A woman?”
“No. Some man in a pub.”
I couldn’t picture it.
Verne seemed more irritable than physical.
But then I recalled how he was about Ravi.
“So Verne’s on the run it sounds like.”
“It’s a new idea,” I agreed.
Derek moved effortlessly from coffee to seltzer.
The boy was a sponge.
“This is more fun than a video game.
Maybe I’ll transition to “criminal justice”.”
“What are your parents pushing?”
“Wealth Management. Fundraising.”
He made a disgusted face. “Tax Avoidance.
Dull, dull, dull. Studying rule breakers, though
You don’t find that interesting?”
Did I?
-
The Missing Bride – a mystery by Alysse Aallyn
Chapter 13 – Why Women Want to Escape Lord Verne
I know I did. Did this mean that I
Could finally consider myself
Grown up? Wouldn’t my teachers
Be surprised. Verne inveighed against Kruptupian
The whole way back
And I didn’t stop him.
I imagined myself floating above him
And looking down on him
Pityingly. Wondered if Mirabel
Ever had done that.
At the Fifth Avenue apartments
Someone claiming to be Derek Lowther
Was pacing back and forth,
Eyed by the suspicious doorman.
He was over six feet tall, very skinny with
Explosively curly brown hair,
Big soulful green eyes and perfect skin.
I almost threw myself into this strange man’s arms
And kissed him.
“You’re not Derek,” I announced, exiting the car,
.“Derek Lowther is a ratty, pimply little brat
Who spits when he talks.”
“And you were a squirt with braces
And a squint,” he sassed back,
All I needed to hear for confirmation.
Nobody knows about the squint.
“It’s called amblyopia
And I’m all cured now,” I told him
As we race-scrolled through family pics –
Growing up for each other’s eyes
Across eight years of ski slopes
School parties, beaches and
Christmas. “Verne, this is Derek Lowther.”
Verne barely deigned to register
The presence of another human being.
“Step into the café,” he ordered.
Perhaps if you’re six feet tall
And possibly still growing
Things are different but hadn’t we
Just breakfasted? No one cared.
Derek: 2 Breakfast burritos and a café Americano,
Verne: espresso and blueberry blintzes,
Richenda: Milky coffee, everything bagel.
Only ordered where I can
Shed bagel dust at will.
As he and Verne gazed at each other
I thought Derek required a call-back.
“Remember Mirabel?”
“I remember the Mirabel Legend,”
Derek offered. Honest guy.
“Kids absorb gossip.”
“What kind of gossip?”
Verne was too sharp, I thought, snapping
At a guest like that.
Soon Derek too would want escape –
Playing into my hands exactly.
I smiled to myself, steepling my fingers
Like a movie mad scientist.
“Text and sub text,” Derek offered.
“Text” was parents explaining Mirabel had run away,
“Sub-text” came through eavesdropping about
Mirabel living wild and free to public acclaim.”
I could work with this guy, I thought,
Satisfied. At least
We spoke the same language –
Very unlike me & Verne.
“We were going to get married,” huffed Verne.
“She gave up her job with her boss –“
“Her nasty boss –“ I added. Helping.
“She called Richenda to help with planning.”
See? THAT wasn’t true.
Since I didn’t challenge Verne went on more
Confidently, “Ghosted us at dinner.
Didn’t come home at all last night.”
Derek looked at me with an
Expression seeming to communicate
“Tell me the REAL story later.”
I liked him more and more.
“Wow,” Derek commented evenly.
“Rough.” Turned to me. “You saw her?”
“I did,” I offered, not willing to say
In front of Verne what exactly I had seen.
“She’s a redhead now.”
Verne was impressed enough
To plunge into a long recital
Of our late night Kruptupian call,
Then insisting Ravi posed as
Mirabel’s groom. I could tell
My silence was registering with Derek.
Since he seemed to know I saw it
Differently, he must know I wanted
Getting out of there.
“Runaway Bride,” said Derek,
“I get that you can’t involve the media.”
“Any ideas?” asked Verne.
“I’ll study traffic cams for Mirabel locations,”
Derek offered, “See where she went.
And with who.”
Verne’s eyes jumped with excitement.
“You can do that?”
“Traffic cameras are easy, private cams
Are more complex.”
“I’ve got the exact times she was in
Brooklyn and at the spa,” I offered.
“I just need my laptop,” said Derek,
Hastily said,
“I need the ladies’ room”
But secretly went upstairs
To get my bag and leave it
In the hall.
Verne did not alert, unaware
Of my escape. Like Mirabel
I was getting the hell out.
When I got back they were discussing
Hiring a P.I., Derek’s dad
Had an art theft guy.
“We think she ditched her phone. “
“But her online account,
See who she called –
It’s golden. Maybe just a password hack,”
Said Derek. “Depends how well you know
The person.” “I can help with that,” I said,
Possibly unwisely – Verne’s face
Froze in jealous competition.
Apparently I belonged to him
Already.
Verne paid the bill,
Discomfited by precipitous
Abandonment.
“I have some friends to call,” he sniffed.
Threat or promise – we encouraged him.
“I’m going to see Derek’s folks” I lied so
Smoothly Derek kept his calm.
“They’ll have all kinds of suggestions.”
Verne was stymied
By our determination.
“I’ll call,” I promised pathetically.
Verne made a note of Derek’s number.
I marched after Derek
Who was walking decisively.
“So where are we going?” I hissed
Conspiratorially.
“Subway. No car service on my allowance.”
Down the steps into the hot and stinky
Underworld. “Fine with me,” I offered.
“I want to be anonymous.”
“I know the feeling,” said Derek.
“What’s with that guy?
You’re escaping a police state.”
We clutched straps and leaned together
Studiously ignoring people who
Were studiously ignoring us.
“So, what’s the deal?”
Hissed Derek. “Do you think he murdered her?”
“Not sure,” I said, “When he wanted me
To comfort him he said
I wasn’t the first fourteen-year old he’d had.”
“Oh, my God,” said Derek. “Disgusting guy.
His world is him and whoever he’s picked
To be his mirror.”
A startling, grisly, accurate thought.
“He left with me,” I mused,
“I’m his alibi but he could always hire someone.”
“But you don’t think she’s dead.”
“I hope she’s not. But if I find her now
I feel sure she’ll finally tell the truth.”
That idea sounded stupid to my ears.
Wouldn’t Mirabel do what she’d
Always done and feed me any story
I wanted to believe?
“I think I can tell the truth from lies,”
I offered, I’d like to
Test it.” To Derek’s credit
He didn’t argue. “My only question is;
What if he killed her, and then
Hired a girl to impersonate Mirabel?”
I had to admit I’d thought of this.
“It doesn’t sound so hard to me,” said Derek.
“After all you haven’t seen her for – what –
Six years?” I shook my head.
“I think it was really her and everything
She said and did was signaling.
I longed to learn her language.
“I think –“ could I confess this deepest secret
To this stranger –
“She’s longing to be found.”
A moment’s silence but Derek didn’t
Counter. “We’ll check her friends,” he said,
“When we open her account.”
Did Mirabel have friends?
Would Verne allow it?
I must have looked like a stopped clock
Because he propelled me out the double doors.
“Is this our stop?” “Change trains.”
Back to waiting on a dangerous platform
In the dark, hovering over an electrified hell.
Had I always been this scared
Of everything?
-
The Missing Bride – a mystery by Alysse Aallyn
Derek speaking.
“Sounds just like Mirabel to me. Wasn’t
Disappointing everyone her stock in trade?”
Impossible to argue with.
But I put in the effort.
“Maybe something’s REALLY happened to her this time.
She seems to have been juggling two men
She hated; stealing diamonds and God knows what.”
Should I explain her attempted
Brain hijacking?
Maybe I shouldn’t tell him anything.
Why couldn’t I stop myself? Because
Derek is my age and will have
Predictable response? It felt like,
AT LAST a human being
To speak to in this world of artificial masks.
“God. I’m sorry.” His voice really did
Sound sorry. “Do you want to come here?
Should I go there?”
It was fresh and novel to be offered
The Choice. Sounded like he really
Wanted to help.
“What could you do?”
My own voice sounded like a five year old
Quivering on the edge of tears.
“Help you look? I’d do anything I can.”
I gave Derek the bridegroom’s address.
Speaking of the bridegroom, he burst through
The doors, arms full of literature and bottled water.
“Hotel coupons, flight discounts –
These could suggest where Mirabel might go.
Or where Ravi might stash her.
What a liar! That bastard!”
He DEFINITELY wanted to be the one
Whose mood Mirabel controlled.
I felt I had to interject some authenticity.
“She probably wanted to keep Ravi
From chasing her. Or suing her.
For, you know, the diamonds.”
Verne paused to drink from his
Chilled bottle, flicking
Droplets on his collar.
“She shouldn’t turn to him.”
So we were back to Bad Mirabel,
Conniving Mirabel, with motives
Always suspect.
Not so different – as Derek pointed out –
From the way she’d always been.
We climbed dispiritedly back into the car.
I needed Derek. Just to speak to
Someone sane.
“Have you announced your engagement
Formally?”
“No. We just thought of it. No details yet.”
This opened an unpleasant picture.
Why was I the first
Wedding task?
It couldn’t be that Mirabel needed
Someone sane to speak to –
I must be a distraction
From what I could see was Verne’s
Slow boil.
At that very moment
he eyed my phone suspiciously.
“So, who was that?”
I saw him itching to
Commandeer my phone.
Who WOULD I be talking to? The press?
Poor Mirabel! Her trap was sounding
Worse than ever.
I engineered my way out.
“My parents’ friends.
Their son could help –
He’s hacker smart.”
Should I mention my upcoming move?
Best not; a storm settled between
Verne’s eyes. He thirsted to be
My focus of attention with
No competitor to mute his power.
“He’s meeting us at the apartment.”
Verne didn’t like that one bit.
I realized, even if I have to sacrifice my clothes
I must escape.
Alysse Aallyn 