Tuesday Tales: From the Word Fall

Wow! It’s the end of September and autumn has reached out its cool fingers. This week’s Tuesday Tales is based on the word prompt FALL. I’m continuing with Pumpkin Spice.

He reached for my hand and clasped it. His palm was sweaty. I freed myself as quickly as I could, fighting the urge to rub my hand against my pants.

“Ralph Emerson.” His grin deepened to one with all the eagerness and joy of a wolf waiting to pounce on a rabbit. “This is a surprise … Sorry about that little mix-up. Nothing personal. You’ve got a nice place here, but business is business.” He cleared his throat. “We had reservations, and those had to be honored.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “We’ll only be here a couple more weeks. We may even leave sooner if … if we wrap everything up faster, and don’t fall for some hoax. As your aunt probably told you, my men and I are filming a documentary about the Salem injustices, specifically those related to people accused of witchcraft. Sometimes it takes longer than expected to find the truth. What brings you to Salem, Ms. Cole?”

Searching for the truth? If he was doing that, then I was a monkey’s uncle. Years of working the bar scene, reading people, listening to them, and some innate part of me sensed that Mr. Emerson was lying through his sparkly, white teeth. It had nothing to do with magical ability or anything like that. It was all about observation and listening. In good old Ralph’s defense, his non-Duchenne smile was as good a faked one as I’d ever seen, but then again, it was always easier for people with lots of facial hair and glasses to fake those. Still, the dilated pupils, the slight hesitation in speech, short, snappy sentences, the wall building with his arms folded between us, and the way he looked at me and then quickly away when he spoke all pointed to lies, as did the change in blood flow in what I could see of his cheeks, not to mention the sweaty palm.

“Shove over, Ralph, and let us meet the lady for ourselves.”

“Of course.” The relief in his voice was obvious, another sign of his discomfort and lies, as he moved, adding distance between us. “Anca Cole, this gentleman is Louis Lombardi. The others are Emilio Sanchez, Frank Riley, Bryan Wilson, and Tom Brown.”

I shook each hand. Tom, the one with the ponytail, was reluctant to let go, and I had to tug firmly to be released. I fought the urge to check to see that my rings were still there.

That’s it. Stay safe and don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales