Helicopters
circling overhead, police SUV vehicles racing down our street—and me oblivious to
all of it until a breathless Jordan came to the cottage to alarm me. The story
was vague at first—a kidnapping and a car wreck, with the assumption the car
wreck freed the kidnap victim, billed as a girl (could be anywhere from seven
or so to 20).
Then
more details trickled in, though I doubt any of it is official. The car was
stolen in Waco and wrecked in the creek east of Lily B. Elementary—where those
desperadoes thought they were going is a mystery since all streets in that area
dead end at the creek. So the next report was that state troopers with machine
guns were searching the creek, looking for three people.
Jordan
and I sat on the patio but when the helicopters began circling overhead again,
she rushed me inside, told me to lock the door, and said she be back with her
key. So now she’s back, with a report they are still looking for the suspects,
including a Black man with an Afro.
In the
midst of all this, Christian has gone to Tokyo Café to pick up our dinners.
This
is the stuff of a thriller—too bad I write cozies. I asked Jordan what she
would do if the kidnap victim came to her door. She said, and I applaud this,
she would step outside, lock the door, and call 911. She would do that to
protect her family. It occurred to me, since so much is unknown, that the girl
who came to someone’s front door could well be one of the criminals deciding to
cover herself with the story of a kidnapping. Hard-hearted as it may sound, we
have to consider all possibilities these days.
Meantime
I am locked in my cottage, wishing for fresh air.
Bulletin:
one person still at large (no word on how many in custody). Girl claims she was
kidnapped in Waco, and troopers have been pursuing them since Waco. If all that
pans out, it was a terrifying experience for the girl. The possibilities are
endless—darn, maybe I should try my hand at a thriller. I don’t mean to sound
insensitive. It’s just hard to process that this goes down in your own quiet,
lovely neighborhood.
We’ve
had a string of happy hour nights, which I’ve thoroughly enjoyed, but I was
looking forward to a low-key, calm night tonight. Because the Burtons were to
be gone for several nights, I had lined up guests every night. Between cooking
myself dinners and happy hours at night, I was kind of tired.
The
Burtons meanwhile turned their unexpected stay at home into parties and had
two, small, distanced happy hours on the front porch to celebrate Christian’s
birthday. No, I won’t say which one, but I will say it’s not decade changing
although he, like my younger son and other son-in-law are approaching that
milestone—they were all born in the same
year.
Last
night was a special treat. Jordan had a surprise guest for Christian—his friend
Gary from Dallas, with whom he went to college (a few years ago, ahem!). I knew
Gary but not well until one day Christian said, “You ought to friend Gary on
Facebook.” I replied I wasn’t sure he even knew who I was, but Christian said, “Oh,
he knows.” Since then, Gary and I have become fast friends, sharing everything
from simpatico politics to a love of dogs and some thoughts on food. I promised
him next time he came to Fort Worth, I’d make tuna casserole, but that didn’t
seem fair on Christian’s birthday—he hates tuna. Anyway, we visited late last
night on the patio, after the other guests had gone, and this morning, again on
the patio, over coffee. Such a pleasure! And he has promised to come back. In
spite of huge differences, including age, I feel like I’ve found a brother
under the skin.
Apparently,
all is quiet on the western—or wait, eastern—front right now, so I have my
patio door open and am enjoying a pleasant, if slightly hot night. First sound
of helicopters, I’m locking the doors. Hope to read more in the morning and
untangle this neighborhood thriller.
