In our last episode, the detective (who’s barely smart enough to be a beat cop) was trying to get me to tell him where I hid Anthony. Like I was going to tell this flatfoot who was probably a writer in his spare time anything of value. If anyone was going to win Anthony’s “Hide The Author’s Body” competition, it was going to be me. Although I probably should have waited until Anthony announced the prize to see if all this trouble was worth it. Now, back to the adventures of me and the flatfoot.
* * *
If there was ever a time for a cunning escape plan, it was probably now. I could lie and tell you an amazing tale of how I slipped the cuffs, knocked out the detective, and escaped into the Canadian wilds and lived happily ever after with the animals but I’ll save that kind of stuff for fiction. No, I will be honest with you instead. I was unceremoniously dragged to the detective’s car and placed in the back. As a lady who requires a cane for balance, it was quite difficult to stay on my feet and they left my cane in the motel room. How am I supposed to walk anywhere?
“It is against regulations but we’re going on a little drive. I expect accurate directions from you.”
“Of course, Officer.”
Had he continued looking in the rearview instead of pulling out into traffic, he would have noticed the smirk that reached my lips. Just because I didn’t have a cunning plan earlier, although one was hatching in the back of my broken brain. The Detective wanted to go on a road trip, I would take him on one he would never forget.
* * *
I could bore you with the hours we drove in silence. The trees had leaves, the sun started to set, the city had passed hours ago. Blah blah blah boring details that authors use to pad their stories. And please don’t ask me for street or names of towns and cities, I’m not American and I lost count of how many numbered streets I saw. The only time I spoke was when I’d tell the Detective to go left or right. When I told him to, he pulled to a stop in front of another house. It was awkward getting out of the car but with his help, I was able to. I had to lean on him to walk up to the door and he knocked for me. I know you’re all wondering how I know where these homes are without really knowing American geography but a lady knows when to memorize what she needs for future reference.
“Good morning, I’m Detecti—“
“Morgan! Help! He’s gonna kill me!”
Morgan didn’t wait for an explanation as to how we got to Spain, don’t ask me either since I hate flying. She grabbed me by the front of the shirt, dragged me through the door and slammed it shut and locked it on the Detective before he could do anything to stop the escape of his criminal. Knowing the difficulties I had with walking, she guided me through the house to a room filled with sparkling bags and shoes. I had always wanted to see the Museum De Sparkle since watching Morgan’s videos on Twitter.
“The police are on their way. You hide in here until it’s safe.”
I was tucked away for a few hours in a dark cubby hidden behind the shelves in one of her closets. I could make up some wild story about what happened here but this is after, real life. Shut up about going from America to Spain in a car. Morgan eventually showed up with a pair of handcuff keys. I was grateful to have the use of my hands again. Our arms linked like two of the world’s oldest friends, we headed to the kitchen for a cup of tea and a good long chat.
* * *
Long story short, I now have two authors hidden away in the cabin deep in the woods, one very upset Detective hunting for me again, and I had a tour of Morgan’s sparkling shoe and bag closets. I know the contest said we only needed one author’s body but when the authors make it so easy, how can I resist seeing how many I can collect?
Not The End Yet
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