Harold Fathered Two Babies

                                                     

I began serious work on my new book.                                             

                                                         CONSIDERING MURDER

                                                                       Part 13

‘Soaring spirit’ did not begin to express what I was feeling. For the first time since I came to this –- to this place that was supposed to unleash my energy—this place in which, freed from the distractions of urban living, I would write my fifth book in record time. After three weeks all I had was a waste basket full of crumpled paper, a table covered with doodled papers. But now after a mere half day I was really writing. 

Page after page poured off the end of my pencil. Then I reached the impasse. My account-- which I considered almost poetic, if poetic can be applied to a murder description—met the edge of known facts. Known facts boiled down to the basics were not many. But they provided the outline plot of my book.

Known facts:

Writer moved next door to young couple of different religious and social values.

Writer’s was of living and especially dressing offensive to couple.

Conflict between writer and young wife ended up in court which found writer guilty.

Young wife died. Murdered . Found to be pregnant.

Writer questioned regarding murder—required to remain in area.

Young husband dating days after his wife’s funeral.

My soaring spirit took a dive.  ‘What the Hell am I trying to do?” I said aloud as I doodled on the edges of my outline.

Some god somewhere was watching out for me for before I totally drunk—having downed two martinis—Jennifer and Jake appeared. “Hope you haven’t eaten,” Jennifer said. “We brought Chinese. How’s the writing going? Hit the wall yet?”

“Hit the wall – meaning what?” I asked.

.

Jennifer extracting the paper boxes of Chinese food from the paper bag said, “Meaning if  you’ve been working, you must be at the ‘where the hell do I go from here’ point. If you’re not there you’ve been slouching. So where are you?”

Noting Jake’s half smile and wink I said, “Exactly where you said. Nowhere past the known facts. I did make an outline of what we know—hoping it would suggest where we go from here.”

Jennifer looked at Jake. “Shall we tell him what we learned? Or shall we let him stew a while?”

“Tell him,” Jake said. “We don’t want to see him suffering more than he is already.”

“Got any plates for the food?” Jennifer said rummaging my cabinets. “Never mind—found them”

Only after we were eating did Jennifer share what she knew. “It seems like Sweety Pie, Harold’s new squeeze, is pregnant.”

“How the hell did you learn that?” I had to shove the food falling out of mouth back in.

“Connie, you’re not in the city now. Here people know what people are doing.”

“Sweety Pie Whatever lives how far from here?”

“So?” she asked. “God Connie, for a writer you’re so unclued. Trust me. No matter how I found out I assure you she’s pregnant.”

Jake picked up my carefully numbered ’Facts of the case’  list. “I think we can add one more fact. Harold fathered two babies. Now I call that something to celebrate."