| General Fiction posted July 12, 2024 | Chapters: |
...5 6 -7- 8... 
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Eleanor gives the detective a nudge
A chapter in the book Unfinished Brushstrokes
Unfinished Brushstrokes - Chap 7
by Begin Again
The sun was peeking over the horizon, casting its glow across the dewy grass, but Jenna was already in Eleanor's kitchen, pacing back and forth. She had barely slept a wink, her mind racing with the revelation that someone had murdered Eleanor.
"Eleanor, you must have known you were in danger. Why else request an autopsy? We talked about everything, but you didn't think to mention something so —" Unable to control the tears, they poured from her weary eyes and down her face.
The early morning light's shadows seemed to play tricks on her, flickering against the kitchen walls.
Sniffling, Jenna watched, mesmerized momentarily, remembering Eleanor waltzing around the room while the will reading was in progress. "Eleanor, are you here?"
When her friend did not appear, she wiped away her tears and shrugged. "Of course, you're not here. You're dead, and all of this is a figment of my imagination caused by stress."
Trying to clear her troubled mind, she busied herself making a pot of coffee, changed her mind, and boiled water for tea, Eleanor's favorite. She then stared at a sugar ant on the windowsill.
"Why haven't you appeared again?" Jenna whispered into the empty room, her voice trembling. "I need you. I don't know what to do."
Like a well-planned stage show, Jenna sat center stage forlorn and lost in grief. The tea kettle whistled, the air in the kitchen grew colder, and a soft, ethereal glow slowly appeared. Jenna's breath caught in her throat, her eyes widening with relief and apprehension. Eleanor was standing in the same familiar spot by the old oak table.
The troubled young woman's voice was barely more than a whisper. "Eleanor?"
The spectral form shimmered, and a gentle smile spread across her translucent face. "I'm here, sweetie. I haven't left you."
Tears brimmed in Jenna's eyes, and she wiped them away, whispering, "Why would you ever make me promise not to cry? That's all I've been doing, it seems."
"It's okay. Crying can strengthen us. It gets the sadness out of the way so we can focus on the important things."
Jenna took a hesitant step forward. "I thought — I thought maybe I was imagining things. I want it to be real, but —"
"Hush, now." Eleanor paused, then added, " My dear, life is full of mysteries, and it's no different after we move on."
"I don't understand." Jenna stared at Eleanor, wanting to reach out and hug her but terrified she'd discover it was a nightmare and her friend would disappear.
"I'll explain, but your tea kettle is about to have a hissy fit, like Miss Potts in Beauty and the Beast."
Jenna hurried to the stove and shut off the burner, smiling as she pictured the teapot and teacup dancing around the castle. She turned to face Eleanor. "You always knew how to make me smile."
Eleanor returned the smile. "We enjoyed each other, didn't we? Bring the tea, and we will have an early morning snack of fresh croissants and jam."
"But—" Jenna looked around the kitchen. If there were any here, they'd be stale by now."
"Never fear, child." Eleanor's figure spun around a few times, and the aroma of freshly baked goods filled the air. A small tray of croissants and pots of jams appeared on the table. Jenna gasped, and her eyes widened in disbelief. Eleanor chuckled. "It's one of the perks of being a ghost."
Jenna brought the teapot, still unsure if she was in a dream or if any of this was real, but whatever it was, she wanted to enjoy the tradition of warm croissants and tea one more time.
*****
Hours later, struggling with the lack of restful sleep, grief, and confusion, Jenna awoke in Eleanor's front room. Sitting up on the familiar sofa, she wiped the sleep out of her eyes and let her eyes roam the room. They had spent so many hours together in this room, talking and laughing about everything.
Then, as if lightning struck her, Jenna jumped off the sofa, spinning around as she remembered Eleanor's visit. A wave of panic washed over her as she called out, "Eleanor? Are you still here?"
The room was quiet except for the clock ticking on the mantle. No one answered Jenna's call.
Had she dreamt it all, or had Eleanor been there? It had seemed real, but how could it have been? She thought she remembered Eleanor saying, "Someone doesn't want the truth about my death to come out. You must be careful."
A knock at the door startled her. Her heart pounding, Jenna approached the front door and checked the peephole. Detective Michael Donatelli was standing on the porch, thumbing through a notebook. She took a deep breath and opened the door.
"Detective Donatelli, I wasn't expecting you. Did you forget something yesterday or need to check Eleanor's house?"
"Actually, I was looking for you. I knocked next door, but when you didn't answer, I thought you might be here."
Jenna nodded. "It's hard to believe she's gone." Jenna glanced toward the kitchen. "Sometimes, it feels like she's still here."
"You two were very close, I understand. May I come in?"
Flustered, Jenna stepped away from the entrance. "Of course, please come in."
Donatelli entered the home, his eyes surveying the foyer and down the hallway. Then he moved into the front room.
"Have a seat. Would you like a cup of coffee or tea?" Remembering the croissants, though she questioned if that had happened, she added, "I might have a fresh croissant with jam."
"Oh, coffee and a pastry would be wonderful. Got an early start this morning after a late night."
Trying to make small talk, Jenna asked, "Chasing criminals is a full-time job in this growing city, I suppose."
"Most definitely is. You wouldn't believe it, but the nephew — the younger one —"
"Eleanor's nephew? Trevor?"
"Yeah, he's the one. Got himself arrested last night."
Jenna wasn't shocked that Trevor had gotten himself in trouble again, but she hadn't thought — well, to tell the truth, she hadn't given him any consideration at all. Except for that rare visit a few weeks ago, Trevor hadn't been around Eleanor for a long time.
"I noticed his mother seemed worried about him taking too many prescription drugs. I don't mean to pry, but did he get a DUI or something? Because if he did, maybe Mr. Winslow would release some funds for a decent lawyer."
"It's not my place to discuss his case, but it's a bit more serious than a DUI."
"Oh!" Stunned, Jenna stumbled over her words. "It's — serious? Eleanor will be — would be. Oh, listen to me babbling like an idiot. Let me get that coffee."
"And the croissant, too, if you have one." Donatelli felt his stomach growl as he watched Jenna hurry from the room. He noted Jenna appeared quite nervous.
While waiting for Jenna, the detective took out a small notebook and reviewed his notes, which were sparse at the moment. Donatelli was caught off-guard when Eleanor's autopsy revealed that she hadn't died of natural causes. Everything he'd read before that indicated she'd had cancer, and the disease took its toll. No one mentioned anything out of the ordinary. He felt he was working a cold case, and all the clues were missing. He didn't think the nephew had the brains or the skills to be a prominent figure in the drug world, but his arrest last night might give him leverage to gain more information about the family.
As he studied his notes. A sudden chill swept through the room. Donatelli shivered and looked around, checking for an open window.
The newspaper with Eleanor's picture was lying on the coffee table. The pages rustled as if caught by a breeze. He lifted his eyes from the notebook and rechecked the room.
Frowning, he chalked it up to a drafty old house. Taking out his pen, he wrote a note to ask the nephew when he'd last seen his aunt. Maybe he'd needed money for his habit, and she'd refused.
Mid-sentence, his pen stopped working. He shook it, muttering, "That's my favorite pen." Finding a similar one in his pocket, he finished his thought, but the pen slipped out of his hand and rolled across the floor.
Irritated, Donatelli stood and went to retrieve his pen. The hairs on his neck bristled as he bent to pick it up. He sensed someone in the room. Abruptly, he spun around. He hadn't heard anyone approaching, and Jenna was nowhere to be seen.
"What's the matter, Detective? Having a bad morning?"
"Yeah, you might say that." He scowled when he realized he'd just spoken to an empty room. Then he realized his breath was misting in front of him. "What the heck!"
A soft laugh echoed through the room, sending a shiver down his spine. Suddenly, his favorite pen was writing on the newspaper. In disbelief, Donatelli stared at the word — TRUTH. Spinning around, he searched the room, but nothing was there. Then he heard a soft, almost melodic whisper, repeating a limerick or poem.
"In a house where the shadows play — Lies the truth that is hidden away — Seek the key to the past — Unveil secrets at last — The light will chase the darkness away."
Donatelli searched the room with his eyes. "I'm a detective. Who's there?"
A sudden warmth replaced the chill he'd felt moments ago. He felt like someone was standing beside him, radiating a comforting feeling. Someone or something touched his shoulder. "Do you believe in ghosts, Detective?"
He jumped. A gasp escaped his lips as he tried to understand what was happening to him.
Just then, Jenna returned with a tray of steaming mugs and croissants. She paused at the doorway, noticing the detective's strange expression.
"Is everything alright?"
Donatelli stared around the room and picked up the newspaper with the word truth written across it. Shaking his head, the detective was at a loss. There was no way he could make any sense out of what had just happened.
Invisible, Eleanor whispered in Jenna's ear. "Forgive him. I had to give him a little nudge. He's not taking it very well."
Still shaken, Donatelli turned to Jenna. "I'm — I'm sorry, but I just got a text — I'm needed — at a crime scene. Can I come back later today?"
Jenna smiled. "Of course, Detective. Would you like the croissant to go?"
"That would be great." As Jenna wrapped the croissants, Donatelli took one last look around the room, folded the newspaper, and put it in his coat pocket, suddenly eager to leave the house.
After their goodbyes, Jenna closed the door, leaning against it. A smile crept across her face, and then she burst into laughter. "Eleanor, what have you been up to?"
"Just helping him with a little detective work. But now, I guess I need to visit my nephew." With that, a warmth filled the room, and silence prevailed.
The sun was peeking over the horizon, casting its glow across the dewy grass, but Jenna was already in Eleanor's kitchen, pacing back and forth. She had barely slept a wink, her mind racing with the revelation that someone had murdered Eleanor.
"Eleanor, you must have known you were in danger. Why else request an autopsy? We talked about everything, but you didn't think to mention something so —" Unable to control the tears, they poured from her weary eyes and down her face.
The early morning light's shadows seemed to play tricks on her, flickering against the kitchen walls.
Sniffling, Jenna watched, mesmerized momentarily, remembering Eleanor waltzing around the room while the will reading was in progress. "Eleanor, are you here?"
When her friend did not appear, she wiped away her tears and shrugged. "Of course, you're not here. You're dead, and all of this is a figment of my imagination caused by stress."
Trying to clear her troubled mind, she busied herself making a pot of coffee, changed her mind, and boiled water for tea, Eleanor's favorite. She then stared at a sugar ant on the windowsill.
"Why haven't you appeared again?" Jenna whispered into the empty room, her voice trembling. "I need you. I don't know what to do."
Like a well-planned stage show, Jenna sat center stage forlorn and lost in grief. The tea kettle whistled, the air in the kitchen grew colder, and a soft, ethereal glow slowly appeared. Jenna's breath caught in her throat, her eyes widening with relief and apprehension. Eleanor was standing in the same familiar spot by the old oak table.
The troubled young woman's voice was barely more than a whisper. "Eleanor?"
The spectral form shimmered, and a gentle smile spread across her translucent face. "I'm here, sweetie. I haven't left you."
Tears brimmed in Jenna's eyes, and she wiped them away, whispering, "Why would you ever make me promise not to cry? That's all I've been doing, it seems."
"It's okay. Crying can strengthen us. It gets the sadness out of the way so we can focus on the important things."
Jenna took a hesitant step forward. "I thought — I thought maybe I was imagining things. I want it to be real, but —"
"Hush, now." Eleanor paused, then added, " My dear, life is full of mysteries, and it's no different after we move on."
"I don't understand." Jenna stared at Eleanor, wanting to reach out and hug her but terrified she'd discover it was a nightmare and her friend would disappear.
"I'll explain, but your tea kettle is about to have a hissy fit, like Miss Potts in Beauty and the Beast."
Jenna hurried to the stove and shut off the burner, smiling as she pictured the teapot and teacup dancing around the castle. She turned to face Eleanor. "You always knew how to make me smile."
Eleanor returned the smile. "We enjoyed each other, didn't we? Bring the tea, and we will have an early morning snack of fresh croissants and jam."
"But—" Jenna looked around the kitchen. If there were any here, they'd be stale by now."
"Never fear, child." Eleanor's figure spun around a few times, and the aroma of freshly baked goods filled the air. A small tray of croissants and pots of jams appeared on the table. Jenna gasped, and her eyes widened in disbelief. Eleanor chuckled. "It's one of the perks of being a ghost."
Jenna brought the teapot, still unsure if she was in a dream or if any of this was real, but whatever it was, she wanted to enjoy the tradition of warm croissants and tea one more time.
*****
Hours later, struggling with the lack of restful sleep, grief, and confusion, Jenna awoke in Eleanor's front room. Sitting up on the familiar sofa, she wiped the sleep out of her eyes and let her eyes roam the room. They had spent so many hours together in this room, talking and laughing about everything.
Then, as if lightning struck her, Jenna jumped off the sofa, spinning around as she remembered Eleanor's visit. A wave of panic washed over her as she called out, "Eleanor? Are you still here?"
The room was quiet except for the clock ticking on the mantle. No one answered Jenna's call.
Had she dreamt it all, or had Eleanor been there? It had seemed real, but how could it have been? She thought she remembered Eleanor saying, "Someone doesn't want the truth about my death to come out. You must be careful."
A knock at the door startled her. Her heart pounding, Jenna approached the front door and checked the peephole. Detective Michael Donatelli was standing on the porch, thumbing through a notebook. She took a deep breath and opened the door.
"Detective Donatelli, I wasn't expecting you. Did you forget something yesterday or need to check Eleanor's house?"
"Actually, I was looking for you. I knocked next door, but when you didn't answer, I thought you might be here."
Jenna nodded. "It's hard to believe she's gone." Jenna glanced toward the kitchen. "Sometimes, it feels like she's still here."
"You two were very close, I understand. May I come in?"
Flustered, Jenna stepped away from the entrance. "Of course, please come in."
Donatelli entered the home, his eyes surveying the foyer and down the hallway. Then he moved into the front room.
"Have a seat. Would you like a cup of coffee or tea?" Remembering the croissants, though she questioned if that had happened, she added, "I might have a fresh croissant with jam."
"Oh, coffee and a pastry would be wonderful. Got an early start this morning after a late night."
Trying to make small talk, Jenna asked, "Chasing criminals is a full-time job in this growing city, I suppose."
"Most definitely is. You wouldn't believe it, but the nephew — the younger one —"
"Eleanor's nephew? Trevor?"
"Yeah, he's the one. Got himself arrested last night."
Jenna wasn't shocked that Trevor had gotten himself in trouble again, but she hadn't thought — well, to tell the truth, she hadn't given him any consideration at all. Except for that rare visit a few weeks ago, Trevor hadn't been around Eleanor for a long time.
"I noticed his mother seemed worried about him taking too many prescription drugs. I don't mean to pry, but did he get a DUI or something? Because if he did, maybe Mr. Winslow would release some funds for a decent lawyer."
"It's not my place to discuss his case, but it's a bit more serious than a DUI."
"Oh!" Stunned, Jenna stumbled over her words. "It's — serious? Eleanor will be — would be. Oh, listen to me babbling like an idiot. Let me get that coffee."
"And the croissant, too, if you have one." Donatelli felt his stomach growl as he watched Jenna hurry from the room. He noted Jenna appeared quite nervous.
While waiting for Jenna, the detective took out a small notebook and reviewed his notes, which were sparse at the moment. Donatelli was caught off-guard when Eleanor's autopsy revealed that she hadn't died of natural causes. Everything he'd read before that indicated she'd had cancer, and the disease took its toll. No one mentioned anything out of the ordinary. He felt he was working a cold case, and all the clues were missing. He didn't think the nephew had the brains or the skills to be a prominent figure in the drug world, but his arrest last night might give him leverage to gain more information about the family.
As he studied his notes. A sudden chill swept through the room. Donatelli shivered and looked around, checking for an open window.
The newspaper with Eleanor's picture was lying on the coffee table. The pages rustled as if caught by a breeze. He lifted his eyes from the notebook and rechecked the room.
Frowning, he chalked it up to a drafty old house. Taking out his pen, he wrote a note to ask the nephew when he'd last seen his aunt. Maybe he'd needed money for his habit, and she'd refused.
Mid-sentence, his pen stopped working. He shook it, muttering, "That's my favorite pen." Finding a similar one in his pocket, he finished his thought, but the pen slipped out of his hand and rolled across the floor.
Irritated, Donatelli stood and went to retrieve his pen. The hairs on his neck bristled as he bent to pick it up. He sensed someone in the room. Abruptly, he spun around. He hadn't heard anyone approaching, and Jenna was nowhere to be seen.
"What's the matter, Detective? Having a bad morning?"
"Yeah, you might say that." He scowled when he realized he'd just spoken to an empty room. Then he realized his breath was misting in front of him. "What the heck!"
A soft laugh echoed through the room, sending a shiver down his spine. Suddenly, his favorite pen was writing on the newspaper. In disbelief, Donatelli stared at the word — TRUTH. Spinning around, he searched the room, but nothing was there. Then he heard a soft, almost melodic whisper, repeating a limerick or poem.
"In a house where the shadows play — Lies the truth that is hidden away — Seek the key to the past — Unveil secrets at last — The light will chase the darkness away."
Donatelli searched the room with his eyes. "I'm a detective. Who's there?"
A sudden warmth replaced the chill he'd felt moments ago. He felt like someone was standing beside him, radiating a comforting feeling. Someone or something touched his shoulder. "Do you believe in ghosts, Detective?"
He jumped. A gasp escaped his lips as he tried to understand what was happening to him.
Just then, Jenna returned with a tray of steaming mugs and croissants. She paused at the doorway, noticing the detective's strange expression.
"Is everything alright?"
Donatelli stared around the room and picked up the newspaper with the word truth written across it. Shaking his head, the detective was at a loss. There was no way he could make any sense out of what had just happened.
Invisible, Eleanor whispered in Jenna's ear. "Forgive him. I had to give him a little nudge. He's not taking it very well."
Still shaken, Donatelli turned to Jenna. "I'm — I'm sorry, but I just got a text — I'm needed — at a crime scene. Can I come back later today?"
Jenna smiled. "Of course, Detective. Would you like the croissant to go?"
"That would be great." As Jenna wrapped the croissants, Donatelli took one last look around the room, folded the newspaper, and put it in his coat pocket, suddenly eager to leave the house.
After their goodbyes, Jenna closed the door, leaning against it. A smile crept across her face, and then she burst into laughter. "Eleanor, what have you been up to?"
"Just helping him with a little detective work. But now, I guess I need to visit my nephew." With that, a warmth filled the room, and silence prevailed.
"Eleanor, you must have known you were in danger. Why else request an autopsy? We talked about everything, but you didn't think to mention something so —" Unable to control the tears, they poured from her weary eyes and down her face.
The early morning light's shadows seemed to play tricks on her, flickering against the kitchen walls.
Sniffling, Jenna watched, mesmerized momentarily, remembering Eleanor waltzing around the room while the will reading was in progress. "Eleanor, are you here?"
When her friend did not appear, she wiped away her tears and shrugged. "Of course, you're not here. You're dead, and all of this is a figment of my imagination caused by stress."
Trying to clear her troubled mind, she busied herself making a pot of coffee, changed her mind, and boiled water for tea, Eleanor's favorite. She then stared at a sugar ant on the windowsill.
"Why haven't you appeared again?" Jenna whispered into the empty room, her voice trembling. "I need you. I don't know what to do."
Like a well-planned stage show, Jenna sat center stage forlorn and lost in grief. The tea kettle whistled, the air in the kitchen grew colder, and a soft, ethereal glow slowly appeared. Jenna's breath caught in her throat, her eyes widening with relief and apprehension. Eleanor was standing in the same familiar spot by the old oak table.
The troubled young woman's voice was barely more than a whisper. "Eleanor?"
The spectral form shimmered, and a gentle smile spread across her translucent face. "I'm here, sweetie. I haven't left you."
Tears brimmed in Jenna's eyes, and she wiped them away, whispering, "Why would you ever make me promise not to cry? That's all I've been doing, it seems."
"It's okay. Crying can strengthen us. It gets the sadness out of the way so we can focus on the important things."
Jenna took a hesitant step forward. "I thought — I thought maybe I was imagining things. I want it to be real, but —"
"Hush, now." Eleanor paused, then added, " My dear, life is full of mysteries, and it's no different after we move on."
"I don't understand." Jenna stared at Eleanor, wanting to reach out and hug her but terrified she'd discover it was a nightmare and her friend would disappear.
"I'll explain, but your tea kettle is about to have a hissy fit, like Miss Potts in Beauty and the Beast."
Jenna hurried to the stove and shut off the burner, smiling as she pictured the teapot and teacup dancing around the castle. She turned to face Eleanor. "You always knew how to make me smile."
Eleanor returned the smile. "We enjoyed each other, didn't we? Bring the tea, and we will have an early morning snack of fresh croissants and jam."
"But—" Jenna looked around the kitchen. If there were any here, they'd be stale by now."
"Never fear, child." Eleanor's figure spun around a few times, and the aroma of freshly baked goods filled the air. A small tray of croissants and pots of jams appeared on the table. Jenna gasped, and her eyes widened in disbelief. Eleanor chuckled. "It's one of the perks of being a ghost."
Jenna brought the teapot, still unsure if she was in a dream or if any of this was real, but whatever it was, she wanted to enjoy the tradition of warm croissants and tea one more time.
*****
Hours later, struggling with the lack of restful sleep, grief, and confusion, Jenna awoke in Eleanor's front room. Sitting up on the familiar sofa, she wiped the sleep out of her eyes and let her eyes roam the room. They had spent so many hours together in this room, talking and laughing about everything.
Then, as if lightning struck her, Jenna jumped off the sofa, spinning around as she remembered Eleanor's visit. A wave of panic washed over her as she called out, "Eleanor? Are you still here?"
The room was quiet except for the clock ticking on the mantle. No one answered Jenna's call.
Had she dreamt it all, or had Eleanor been there? It had seemed real, but how could it have been? She thought she remembered Eleanor saying, "Someone doesn't want the truth about my death to come out. You must be careful."
A knock at the door startled her. Her heart pounding, Jenna approached the front door and checked the peephole. Detective Michael Donatelli was standing on the porch, thumbing through a notebook. She took a deep breath and opened the door.
"Detective Donatelli, I wasn't expecting you. Did you forget something yesterday or need to check Eleanor's house?"
"Actually, I was looking for you. I knocked next door, but when you didn't answer, I thought you might be here."
Jenna nodded. "It's hard to believe she's gone." Jenna glanced toward the kitchen. "Sometimes, it feels like she's still here."
"You two were very close, I understand. May I come in?"
Flustered, Jenna stepped away from the entrance. "Of course, please come in."
Donatelli entered the home, his eyes surveying the foyer and down the hallway. Then he moved into the front room.
"Have a seat. Would you like a cup of coffee or tea?" Remembering the croissants, though she questioned if that had happened, she added, "I might have a fresh croissant with jam."
"Oh, coffee and a pastry would be wonderful. Got an early start this morning after a late night."
Trying to make small talk, Jenna asked, "Chasing criminals is a full-time job in this growing city, I suppose."
"Most definitely is. You wouldn't believe it, but the nephew — the younger one —"
"Eleanor's nephew? Trevor?"
"Yeah, he's the one. Got himself arrested last night."
Jenna wasn't shocked that Trevor had gotten himself in trouble again, but she hadn't thought — well, to tell the truth, she hadn't given him any consideration at all. Except for that rare visit a few weeks ago, Trevor hadn't been around Eleanor for a long time.
"I noticed his mother seemed worried about him taking too many prescription drugs. I don't mean to pry, but did he get a DUI or something? Because if he did, maybe Mr. Winslow would release some funds for a decent lawyer."
"It's not my place to discuss his case, but it's a bit more serious than a DUI."
"Oh!" Stunned, Jenna stumbled over her words. "It's — serious? Eleanor will be — would be. Oh, listen to me babbling like an idiot. Let me get that coffee."
"And the croissant, too, if you have one." Donatelli felt his stomach growl as he watched Jenna hurry from the room. He noted Jenna appeared quite nervous.
While waiting for Jenna, the detective took out a small notebook and reviewed his notes, which were sparse at the moment. Donatelli was caught off-guard when Eleanor's autopsy revealed that she hadn't died of natural causes. Everything he'd read before that indicated she'd had cancer, and the disease took its toll. No one mentioned anything out of the ordinary. He felt he was working a cold case, and all the clues were missing. He didn't think the nephew had the brains or the skills to be a prominent figure in the drug world, but his arrest last night might give him leverage to gain more information about the family.
As he studied his notes. A sudden chill swept through the room. Donatelli shivered and looked around, checking for an open window.
The newspaper with Eleanor's picture was lying on the coffee table. The pages rustled as if caught by a breeze. He lifted his eyes from the notebook and rechecked the room.
Frowning, he chalked it up to a drafty old house. Taking out his pen, he wrote a note to ask the nephew when he'd last seen his aunt. Maybe he'd needed money for his habit, and she'd refused.
Mid-sentence, his pen stopped working. He shook it, muttering, "That's my favorite pen." Finding a similar one in his pocket, he finished his thought, but the pen slipped out of his hand and rolled across the floor.
Irritated, Donatelli stood and went to retrieve his pen. The hairs on his neck bristled as he bent to pick it up. He sensed someone in the room. Abruptly, he spun around. He hadn't heard anyone approaching, and Jenna was nowhere to be seen.
"What's the matter, Detective? Having a bad morning?"
"Yeah, you might say that." He scowled when he realized he'd just spoken to an empty room. Then he realized his breath was misting in front of him. "What the heck!"
A soft laugh echoed through the room, sending a shiver down his spine. Suddenly, his favorite pen was writing on the newspaper. In disbelief, Donatelli stared at the word — TRUTH. Spinning around, he searched the room, but nothing was there. Then he heard a soft, almost melodic whisper, repeating a limerick or poem.
"In a house where the shadows play — Lies the truth that is hidden away — Seek the key to the past — Unveil secrets at last — The light will chase the darkness away."
Donatelli searched the room with his eyes. "I'm a detective. Who's there?"
A sudden warmth replaced the chill he'd felt moments ago. He felt like someone was standing beside him, radiating a comforting feeling. Someone or something touched his shoulder. "Do you believe in ghosts, Detective?"
He jumped. A gasp escaped his lips as he tried to understand what was happening to him.
Just then, Jenna returned with a tray of steaming mugs and croissants. She paused at the doorway, noticing the detective's strange expression.
"Is everything alright?"
Donatelli stared around the room and picked up the newspaper with the word truth written across it. Shaking his head, the detective was at a loss. There was no way he could make any sense out of what had just happened.
Invisible, Eleanor whispered in Jenna's ear. "Forgive him. I had to give him a little nudge. He's not taking it very well."
Still shaken, Donatelli turned to Jenna. "I'm — I'm sorry, but I just got a text — I'm needed — at a crime scene. Can I come back later today?"
Jenna smiled. "Of course, Detective. Would you like the croissant to go?"
"That would be great." As Jenna wrapped the croissants, Donatelli took one last look around the room, folded the newspaper, and put it in his coat pocket, suddenly eager to leave the house.
After their goodbyes, Jenna closed the door, leaning against it. A smile crept across her face, and then she burst into laughter. "Eleanor, what have you been up to?"
"Just helping him with a little detective work. But now, I guess I need to visit my nephew." With that, a warmth filled the room, and silence prevailed.
 Recognized |
Eleanor Bennett alias (CJ Grey) - a woman of mystery
Margaret Ashley - Eleanor's sister
Megan Ashley - Margaret's daughter
Trevor Ashley - Margaret's son
Jonathon Williams - Eleanor's brother
Audrey and Jackson Mayfield - Art Gallery Owners
Craig Winslow - Attorney
Matthew Donatelli - Detective
Garth Woodman - FBI Agent -
Tango and Poppa - FBI Agents and Garth's sidekicks
Jenna Bradford - neighbor and close friend and confidanct of Eleanor Bennett
Danny Veraci - casino owner and crime boss
Charles Weldon - A reknown artist and a memory from the past
Dylan Weldon - Charle's nephew and protege
Charlie (Charlotte) Morgan - Inspector Metropolitan Police. England
Jose Martinez - detective
Judge Doyle - a prominent member of the judicial court and a crook
Pays
one point
and 2 member cents. Margaret Ashley - Eleanor's sister
Megan Ashley - Margaret's daughter
Trevor Ashley - Margaret's son
Jonathon Williams - Eleanor's brother
Audrey and Jackson Mayfield - Art Gallery Owners
Craig Winslow - Attorney
Matthew Donatelli - Detective
Garth Woodman - FBI Agent -
Tango and Poppa - FBI Agents and Garth's sidekicks
Jenna Bradford - neighbor and close friend and confidanct of Eleanor Bennett
Danny Veraci - casino owner and crime boss
Charles Weldon - A reknown artist and a memory from the past
Dylan Weldon - Charle's nephew and protege
Charlie (Charlotte) Morgan - Inspector Metropolitan Police. England
Jose Martinez - detective
Judge Doyle - a prominent member of the judicial court and a crook
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