Before I start today’s post, I wanted to thank everyone who took the time to read my weekend Trifecta challenge response, Idiom Inspired. The Trifecta editors selected it as the third place entry. There were so many great responses, I’m honored to have placed – thank you to everyone who stopped by to read it!
This week, I’m back to Darlene’s Story. Since it’s been a couple weeks between segments, here’s where the story left off: Darlene visited her eighty-two-year-old neighbor, Myrtle, in jail. In a coded conversation, Darlene figured out that the key to a safe deposit box was in the bag of cat food. Darlene is off to find that key.
Darlene burst through her front door and ran to the kitchen, where she’d left the cat food. She skidded to a stop and stared in disbelief. Gone! How?
Her heart raced as she dragged her leaden feet toward the counter. She ran her hands along the surface to make sure her eyes didn’t deceive her, as if the bag became invisible. A knock at the front door interrupted her panic.
Dottie Anderson stood on the porch, arms folded with a smug look pasted on her plump face. “Treasures gained by wickedness do not profit.”
“Is this about the cat food?”
The old woman shrugged. “God commands against stealing.”
“I doubt God broke into my house.”
Dottie laughed. “Of course not, dear. I work for Him.”
“If not his opponent.”
“Figure it out. Somewhere else!” Darlene slammed the door and twisted the deadbolt.
Darlene got an idea. She ran to the phone and dialed the Anderson’s house. On the second ring, Mr. Anderson answered with a craggy “Hello.”
“Hi, Mr. Anderson. Darlene Whitman, from down the street.”
“Myrtle Crawford asked me to feed her cats. Dottie misunderstood and took the Meow Mix. Have you seen it?”
“Funny you should ask. Dottie clutched that bag like it was the gold of Lost Dutchman’s Mine.”
“I’ll come get it!”
“Sorry. It’s in her car and she left for bowling already.”
Twenty minutes later, Darlene parked by Dottie’s ’76 Cutlass. She peered through the rear passenger window and spotted a bowling bag on the floor. She jiggled the handle until the lock popped and the rusty door creaked open. Foam peeked through the river of cracks in the vinyl seat. Sun-faded carpet lined the back window. Like its driver, the car showed obvious signs of age. Darlene unzipped the bowling bag, gagging on the fishy odor. She swapped cat food bags before sliding back into her car. As she sped away, she prayed the switch would go unnoticed.
She had to find the key.
RUSTY: (a) the color of rust; (b) dulled in color or appearance by age and use <rusty old boots>
If you want to read other responses, or try the challenge yourself, click on the tricycle picture to view Trifecta’s site. Happy writing (and reading!)
This continuation of Darlene’s Story is still in Darlene’s point of view. Click here for Darlene’s Story page if you want to read the entire piece. Thanks for stopping by!