Welcome to March. Spring is less than three weeks away, something to look forward to. So far 2021 hasn’t been a whole lot better than 2020, although I have had my first shot of the vaccine, something to celebrate. We’re currently out of lockdown, so barring a major disaster, we may be able to celebrate St Patrick’s Day–masked and socially distanced of course.
March 3 question – Everyone has a favorite genre or genres to write. But what about your reading preferences? Do you read widely or only within the genre(s) you create stories for? What motivates your reading choice?
To be honest, my time for reading has been severely restricted since I used to read on holidays. Now that travel is off the table, I’m either writing or editing, but when I did read for the fun of it, I opted for books in the genres I write–suspense, romance, historical, thrillers, paranormal. I do enjoy time travel books, sci-fi novels, detective stories, and books that will make me laugh, but I’m not fond of slasher books and those dealing with black magic and demon possession. I also avoid books where the central focus is sex. At my age, if I’m going to take the time to read, I want a good, solid story with a plot, not just one sex scene after another. I’m old. So sue me! You can find out what others think here. https://www.insecurewriterssupportgroup.com/p/iwsg-sign-up.html
Welcome to the first week of March. Has much changed in your world? I’m pleased to say I got my first COVID 19 vaccine. It doesn’t change my life in any way yet, but once enough of us are vaccinated, maybe things will get back to normal–or as normal as they can be.
Welcome to this week’s Tuesday Tales. This week, our scenes include the word BLUE and are 400 words long. Please take the time to comment. i love hearing from my readers as do all of the other authors. I’m continuing with The White Dahlia. Enjoy!
Beth sat at the table, tears dribbling down her cheeks, staring into the cold dark liquid, unable to bring herself to do anything else. They were back. She was sure of it.
“How did the call to Mitch go?” She jumped, his voice startling her out of her trance.
“I got some answers—answers I didn’t want,” she admitted, her voice husky. “What about you?” She forced her fear away, grabbing at the professionalism she prized. “I’ve contacted a friend at the FBI who may be able to help. I had to leave a message, but hopefully he’ll call back soon. Was Ted helpful?”
“Definitely. I believe we may have another couple of links between Rachel and Sylvia.”
“Go on.” She listened rapt as Al shared the details of his conversation with Ted Harrison, adding more and more pieces to the puzzle. It was amazing what one could learn if they asked the right questions.
“So we need to know where all the karaoke bars are in Manhattan. As well, since all of her medical data would’ve been archived at the hospital and records are centralized, that may be where the perp searches for them. Maybe he works for Blue Cross Blue Shield or some other insurance company agency. We’ll need to track down that cold vaccine study, too, but one thing is certain, if Rachel delivered a child, it had to be within the last year.”
“That fits with what Mitch has said,” she admitted, knowing she was going to have to share more with Al than she’d planned. “She’s running a test for fetal microchimerism.”
“Fetal what?”
“Fetal Microchimerism. Essentially, low levels of fetal cells make their way into the mother’s blood stream through the umbilical cord and end up in her blood and tissues during the pregnancy. Fetal DNA can be detected in the mother’s blood as early as five weeks after conception. There’s evidence the doctors refer to as ‘pregnancy brain’ which indicates that male DNA left in the mother’s blood after delivery can be found in her brain throughout her lifetime. We used a test like that to determine the paternity of the children in the first Harvester case, the one involving the kidnappings.”
“You’re kidding me. You mean to say part of me is still kicking around inside my mother’s head? That sounds more like something from science fiction than science.”
That’s it. Stay safe and don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales
Welcome to this week’s edition of Tuesday Tales, the blog where a small group of authors share their work in progress with you. Each week we write to a selected prompt. This week, out prompt is the word SCOUT. While I have three books on the go, I’m continuing here with The White Dahlia, the fourth book of The Harvester Files.
“By the way, did you know Rachel’s blood type?” Al asked.
“Yeah. She was a universal donor. She used to joke about wasting a valuable commodity every time she cut herself.”
Al swallowed. How right she was.
“Just after we started dating,” Ted continued, “there was a study going on at Columbia, sponsored by some drug company. They were testing a potential cold vaccine, so we volunteered for it. They were offering $1200.00 to qualifying people. The only criteria was that you’d had a cold within the last six months. They ran blood tests on us. I was B positive and she was O negative. Neither one of us had the cold antibodies in our blood they were looking for, but they gave us a hundred bucks for our trouble. We splurged on dinner.”
Al tried to temper his excitement. Was that how they scouted out potential victims?
“Do you remember the name of the clinic?”
“No. It was on 56th Street, about half a block from Fifth Avenue. If it helps, someone at the hospital mentioned it to us.”
“Which hospital?”
“Presbyterian Weill Cornell Medical Center. Rachel had fallen rollerblading and I was afraid she’d broken her ankle. What’s her blood type have to do with this?”
“We’re not sure. I have one more question for you. Was Rachel ever pregnant?”
“Why the hell do you want to know that? If you want answers, I want some, too. And the first one is what’s going on?”
Al sighed. He understood Ted’s frustration all too well.
“Ted, I can’t tell you a lot because I don’t know a lot. When we found Rachel, her body was badly decomposed.” He heard the man at the other end of the line gag. “The medical examiner did a full autopsy and evidence revealed that she’d given birth at some point. Obviously, if there’s a child involved—”
“It won’t be mine,” Ted ground out, his voice now filled with pain and fury. “Rachel and I had a healthy sex life, but she didn’t want children, terrified she would have twins. She never wanted another human being to go through what she did when Sally died. She never felt whole from that day on. I’m sorry. This news has been unsettling.” He cleared his throat. “Have you contacted her Aunt Mae? She would want to her buried in Wichita with the rest of the family.”
That’s it. Stay safe and don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales
Welcome to the Valentine week post of Tuesday Tales. This week, our posts are based on a picture and only 300 words.
I’m continuing with The White Dahlia. Here’s the picture I chose.
“I see. And why exactly did you leave New York? My report states that your father was sick. Has he recovered?”
“My father was Native Alaskan, Yupik to be specific. He fought a losing battle with diabetes most of his life. About nine weeks before Rachel disappeared, he had a stroke, and my mother sent for me. Not even the doctors understood what sent him over the edge, but I agreed to come home and take over the restaurant in Anchorage until he got back on his feet. Rachel couldn’t come with me. She was starting her last term at Juilliard. Long story short, Dad died, and I’m still here.”
“Did you know she was going on a cruise when you left? I mean were you supposed to go with her?”
“Yeah,” he answered, his voice now tinged with despair. “We bought the tickets on sale from the cruise line itself a couple of days before my dad got sick. Unfortunately, they weren’t transferable or refundable. I told her to go anyway. She had time between semesters. She talked about asking one of the girls from school to join her, but in the end opted to go alone. I’ve never regretted anything as much as I do not going back for the cruise. Mom could’ve managed for a week…”
“Stop beating yourself up about it. You aren’t responsible for her disappearance.”
“You mean you know what happened to her? Who took her?” The excitement in his voice was palpable. “Not exactly, but we’re getting closer. We believe the person who took her may have done so at the terminal after she returned from her cruise. We think he knew when she was getting back and acted then.” It wasn’t the whole truth, but if it eased the guy’s guilt, why not?
That’s it. Stay safe and don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales.
Prolific romance author, Mona Risk has a new release! Between Babies and Girlfriends in the seventh book in her Senator’s Family series. Here’s the premise of the book:
Dr. Brian Dutton can’t believe his own eyes when a sixteen-year old patient he saved from suicide abandons her twin babies in his clinic. His present girlfriend is pushing him to propose but doesn’t lift a finger to help him with the babies.
To complicate things, his former girlfriend, a hot Argentinian beauty, arrives with her family to attend her brother’s wedding in Miami. Carla, the daughter of the Governor of Buenos Aires is more than happy to play the nanny to the twins.
When her father insists she should marry his partner’s son, Carla plots a whole scenario to be in Brian’s arms and have her official fiancé pleasantly occupied with someone else.
But things don’t work according to plans, and Brian is about to lose the love of his life.
Here’s a special Valentine treat from the author. A quick peek inside this fantastic series.
Carla Lopez stopped short at the door of the formal living room in the governor’s mansion. Through a crack, she studied her mother’s rigid stance and her father’s stomping gait across the colorful rug.
Too distressed to care about his gubernatorial image, Eduardo Juan Lopez, governor of the Buenos Aires province, let out a string of curses. “Lucia, do something. We can’t let her go to America on her own again.”
“Eduardo, watch your language. The servants can hear you.”
Ignoring his wife’s warning, Papa fumed. “Lock her up in her room.”
“At twenty-seven? You must be joking. Besides, Carla has led an exemplary life.” Mama enumerated on her fingers. “University degree in social work, Miss Argentina title, hundreds of medals in gymnastics, a cup for junior tennis, a scholarship for special training in Miami. She’s made us proud with her achievements, Eduardo.” Mama bobbed her head with approval.
“Until a few days ago. She’s postponing her wedding to Armando for the third time to fly to Miami again. The young man is crazy about her, doing her bidding like an obedient puppy. Shame on her.” Papa shook an angry finger under his impassive wife’s nose. “Armando Suarez is everything a girl could wish for. Smart, educated, a bright lawyer, a tall, handsome hombre who’ll give her beautiful niños. And he’s my partner’s son, caramba!”
Yeah, her fiancé was all that and more. Too bad his brotherly attitude couldn’t conquer her heart. Or at least help her forget Brian’s passionate, intense, fiery kisses. Maybe Armando had given up on her or met someone else secretly. Not that she’d blame him after doing her best to exasperate him and break their two-year engagement. They both needed space to reassess their feelings and convince their stubborn fathers a marriage was not a business deal.
Without any sign of emotion on her flawless face, Mama listened to Papa’s edgy speech. “Calm down, querido. Don’t give yourself a heart attack. Eventually, we’ll find a solution that satisfies everyone.”
Carla couldn’t help smiling. It wasn’t the first time that her American-born mother had advised her to stand on her own two feet and follow her dream. “I’ll take care of your father. He’ll come around,” she often said to help Carla.
“Yes, she’ll give me a heart attack.” Papa patted his heart and squeezed his wrist between two fingers. “My blood pressure is soaring again.” He slumped into his favorite chair. “We can’t let her go to America again. We missed her too much last time. And she returned here a different person, with crazy ideas about changing society. Too much independence and assertiveness are not good in a well-born young lady. She’s my little princess, even if she’s grown up.”
Aww, poor Papa. Carla pushed the door open. “Hola, Mama, Papa. Good morning.” With a big smile, she walked straight to her father and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Papito, I have an idea. Wouldn’t it be lovely if we took a family vacation together?” she added with a pout guaranteed to melt her father’s heart. “One last time before I set a wedding date. Besides, we can’t let my poor brother Diego get married by himself in Miami, even if his fiancée is American and not the Argentinean girl of your heart. He needs you, Papa. We all need you, Papito.”
Her father’s somber scowl smoothed, and he squeezed her in his arms. “As if I’d ever abandon my boys or my little princess. We’re all going to Miami.”
“You’re so right, Papa.” Somehow, Carla could make him change his mind on any subject, except her wedding to Armando, a fixed idea he’d nurtured since she graduated from high school.
The governor turned toward his wife. “Lucia, call Diego. He can’t marry without his family. His fiancée should realize he’s a governor’s son and his parents care about him. I’ll tell my secretary to book tickets for all of us, including Miguel and Lucas.”
“Why Miguel and Lucas?” Her two young brothers could be so annoying at times, appointing themselves her bodyguards and embarrassing her.
“Come on, Carlita. They’re Diego’s brothers too,” Mama retorted, always defending her twin boys born eight years after their sister.
“I’ll make it a useful trip,” Papa continued, pleased with his decision. “There’s a political conference I want to attend in Miami. I’ll mix business with family duty and fun.” He dug out his phone.
“I’ll do the same and travel a couple weeks earlier to retrieve a few references from the doctors I trained with last time,” Carla said.
“Good idea,” her father automatically answered as he selected his secretary’s number.
Carla suppressed a jubilant smile. She couldn’t wait to return to Miami, visit Dr. Brian Dutton…and melt in his arms.
“Your babies are gorgeous, Rosita.” Brian smiled at the babies he had delivered almost two months ago.
“Thank you, Dr. Dutton.” The teenage mother beamed, her love and pride for her twin infants shining in her eyes. “Your friend, Dr. Alton, checked them yesterday. He said Alex is almost eight pounds and Angie seven pounds ten ounces. Their weight doubled since their birth.”
“Wonderful. You’ve done a great job taking care of them.”
“I followed Dr. Alton’s advice. I breastfeed them any time they cry, almost every two hours. And I pump extra milk to fill bottles, and my mother feeds them at night.” She was in a chatty mood, but he didn’t have a minute to waste.
“All right, let me examine you now.” He checked the scars left by the C-section delivery, and then gave her a complete physical. “You’re doing great, Rosita. Totally recovered from the difficult delivery.”
“So I can travel back to Nicaragua?”
“No problem. But I thought you were happy to be in the States. Your babies were born here in Miami and have American birth certificates.”
“Yes, but I miss my family and the boy I love.”
“Right, your children need a father. Well, I wish you good luck in your new life.”
“Thank you for everything you did for me. You’re a good man, Dr. Dutton. You deserve to be happy with a good wife and beautiful babies like these.”
He chuckled at her boldness. “Eventually.”
“Do you have a fiancée or a serious girlfriend?”
“Huh…Yes, I have a…an almost-fiancée,” he answered briskly. She was overstepping the boundaries of a doctor-patient conversation. Would she suggest herself as a girlfriend? Annoyed by her inappropriate questions, he put an end to the medical visit. “Take care of yourself. I’ll call the nurse to help you get dressed. Bye.”
He asked Heather to check Rosita out and headed to his office, where he took his messages. Chloe’s message made him scoff. Sometimes his girlfriend didn’t seem to realize he was a very busy OBGYN who couldn’t chitchat when it suited her to call, especially when she’d already called him an hour earlier. He texted her. Very busy. Will see you tonight as planned.
Soon he’d head to the hospital for two scheduled deliveries.
A knock, followed by several stronger ones, snapped him out of his thoughts. “Come in.”
“Dr. Dutton, oh my God, Dr. Dutton…” Heather looked like she’d seen a ghost.
“What’s wrong?”
“Rosita…your patient…the babies…” Her eyes as round as saucers, Heather seemed to have lost her ability to form a coherent sentence.
“What about her? Is she still here? What does she want?”
“She… She left, but…but…”
At the end of his patience, Brian spat out, “Will you please collect yourself? You’re a nurse who’s seen it all. So, out with it.”
“Sorry.” Heather swallowed and fixed a desperate gaze on him. “Rosita is gone, but the babies are here.”
“What?” He narrowed his eyes in irritation. “Heather, I have no time for jokes.”
“Seriously, doctor, she disappeared and left the babies in the room.”
Unable to believe his ears, Brian strode to Room 2, where he’d examined Rosita fifteen minutes earlier, Heather on his heels. In the room, she pointed at the two old-fashioned straw baby baskets and two big bags in the far corner.
His eyes almost bulging, Brian glared at the two bundles in the baskets. The one in the pink blanket giggled, her brown eyes sparkling, and he automatically smiled back.
“Aw, she’s so cute,” Heather said at the wrong moment, reminding him of the humongous problem that had just landed in his arms—two adorable tiny babies.
“How could that happen? Didn’t you see her out?”
“I did. And she took both bassinets. I even commented on how cute they looked.”
“And?”
“She told me she needed to go to the restroom. I turned to walk her, but she said she knew the way, and besides, she may take time to change the babies. I didn’t see her after that.” Heather’s voice wobbled. The last thing he needed now was for his efficient nurse to start crying.
Brian huffed and pressed the front office icon on his phone. “Jenny, Sue, come to room 2, stat,” he bellowed.
A minute later, the two assistants rushed in. “Yes, Dr. Dutton?”
“Did you see my patient Rosita leave?”
“Yes, but I was on the phone with a patient,” Jenny answered. The youngest in the front office, she handled the appointments. “Why?”
“This.” He waved at the bassinets.
“Ah, dear God. She left them.” Jenny threw her hands on her heart.
Well, it looks like the doctor will have his hands full! Get your copy today! I got mine!
Hello, and welcome to this week’s Tuesday Tales. This week’s prompt is the word DEEPEN
I’m continuing with The White Dahlia, Book Four of The Harvester Files.
Al paced the living room, waiting for the call to connect. It was one p.m. here which made it nine a.m. in Alaska. Not an auspicious time for a call from the police.
“Hello?” The voice was sleepy. “Whoever you are you’d better have a damn good reason for waking me up at the crack of dawn on a Saturday morning.”
“Mr. Harrison, it’s Lieutenant Al Foster from the NYPD.”
“Lieutenant.” The voice was alert. “Have you got news about Rachel?”
Al pursed his lips. It hadn’t been pleasant doing this yesterday with Aunt Mae, and it was unlikely it would be easier this time.
“I have. I regret to inform you that we’ve found Ms. Livingston’s body,” he stated softly.
“Oh God.” The voice was hoarse. “I’d hoped she would be okay. I mean she could’ve had a breakdown and voluntarily disappeared. I kept trying to come up with scenarios where she was safe and happy … What happened to her?”
“The case is an open investigation, and I can’t go into details at this time. I would like to ask you some questions, if that’s okay. We want to get to the bottom of this as quickly as we can.”
“Of course. What would you like to know?”
Al could hear the tears in the man’s voice. Even after two years, finding out someone you loved had died was hard.
“Did you and Rachel come to New York together?”
“No. I met her at a charity dinner. I was working as a sous chef at a restaurant in Hell’s Kitchen, and we were catering the event. Rachel was providing piano accompaniment for a number of performers. She played like an angel. When it was over, I got up the nerve to talk to her. She lived in SoHo at the time. We dated a year before finally getting a place together closer to the school and the restaurant where I worked.”
“I see. Did she ever go to karaoke bars?”
Ted chuckled. “Sure. Some of her classmates studying vocal music did, and she went along to encourage them. She had a great voice. How is that important?”
“We think whoever took her might’ve been following her. Did you go to the bars with her?”
The concern in his voice deepened. “Maybe once or twice. My voice isn’t what she called melodious, plus I tended to work evenings and nights.”
That’s it. Stay safe and don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales.
Well, here we are in February, once more in lockdown because of the coronavirus also known as COVID 19. For more than a year, this virus has controlled our lives. but instead of things getting better, they’re just getting worse. The three new, more infectious variants have everyone on edge, and despite the discovery of several viable vaccines, some of us who desperately want one have very little chance of getting one for some time to come. I want to beg and scream at the universe for a solution, but I think it will be at least another year before we see any sign of normalcy.
As bad as I feel for myself, I think the ones suffering most are the children and teens. At the moment, my grandchildren are doing online schooling again and have been for the last month because of the lockdown. Think for a minute about your high school years, and then look at their reality: –no sports, no clubs, no school dances, no group dates to the movies or the mall, no opportunities to apply for a part-time job because all non-essential retail stores are closed, restaurants are take out, curb-side pickup, or delivery only … and courses like cooking, hairdressing, carpentry, science, physical education, and art no longer have any hands-on activities. Semesters have become quadmesters for high school, with two instead of four courses a day for6 weeks. They sit at the computer for five hours each day, watching a teacher lecture or demonstrate the material with very little student interaction, and answer questions or do assignments the same way. Brutal! If they are lucky, they may get outside for some fresh air and exercise as long as the stay socially distant, masked, and solitary. If they see their friends, it’s through Facetime, Messenger, or Zoom. Even church services have become You Tube dates on Sunday mornings. This is supposed to be a time of discovery, of forming positive social habits, of growing as a person, but sadly it isn’t happening.
There are a lot of things I miss right now. I miss traveling, having coffee with friends, going out to dinner, going shopping for clothes, furniture and other non-essentials, getting my hair cut and colored, my nails manicured, and pedicures for my feet. I miss getting together with my children and grandchildren, as well as friends, but most of all, I miss hugs.
This month’s blog question is about blogs.
February 3 question – Blogging is often more than just sharing stories. It’s often the start of special friendships and relationships. Have you made any friends through the blogosphere?
Blogging for me is a way of connecting with others that has become absolutely essential over the past year. Sometimes I use blog posts to generate interest in my writing, such as the small blogging group I belong to that posts a scene from a current work in progress each week. I’ve become very close to the other authors involved and even though we’ve never met, nor are we likely to because of the pandemic, I do consider them friends. I often blog to promote my work or the work of other authors who’ve become my friends. It’s a simple and inexpensive way to give someone a hand as they travel down the indie publishing road with me.
Sometimes, I blog to vent my frustration or express disappointment and occasionally I blog to share good news, especially in these days when good news is rare. Lastly, I blog because it gives me the sensation of sitting down and talking to people. It may be a one-sided conversation, but still, in its own way it fills the void COVID 19 has brought into my life.
So, how about you? What’s it like in your blogosphere?
Good day and welcome to February. Here’s hoping there’s enough vaccine around this month for all of us!
This week’s Tuesday Tales ‘ prompt is the word ANXIOUS. I believe we’re all a little anxious these days. I’m continuing with The White Dahlia, Book Four of The Harvester Files.
“I do, and I hope to hell I’m wrong, but too much fits. You had to see it when you found her—white, single, in her twenties—”
“But not a pristine body dressed in white, tenderly wrapped in a pink or blue blanket.” Beth swallowed the anger and fear simmering inside. “This girl was carved up and then tossed away naked as if she were nothing more than garbage.”
“Which is why I have to try. The MO is way different, and I need to be sure. Amos used that test to prove that the child with hemophilia wasn’t one of James Colchester’s. I have copies of the DNA samples collected in Alaska as well as the ones Amos collected from James’s children. I begged him for them, and he brought them to me himself last night. Beth, it was never made public, but the Chosen autopsied in Alaska as well as the Prophet and Adam Colchester all have O negative blood.”
Beth swallowed the bile rising within her. “What about James Colchester? Did he?”
“No, and neither does Jacob Andrews although they are both O positive. Amos is staying in New York to help with the test. He’s almost as anxious as I am. He made me promise not to say anything until the results are in, but that test takes days. We have to start looking now. I don’t know what I’m hoping to find out here—maybe nothing will come of it, maybe it’ll open a proverbial can of worms. One thing is certain, depending on when she gave birth, and with the level of folic acid in her system I think it had to be within the last few months, we may have a missing baby, too.”
Beth licked her lips. “I pray to God you’re wrong. Give my best to Amos and call as soon as you have anything else.” She rattled off her cellphone number.
“I will. There’s a chance I’m way off base on this,” Mitch offered.
“Yeah, but you could also be right on. Take care.”
Beth ended the call. Keeping what Mitch had said from Al would be difficult if not impossible, but there was someone who had to know sooner rather than later. If Mitch was right … She needed to talk to Chad Markell now.
Pulling up her contacts, she dialed his number. Unfortunately, voice mail answered.
That’s it. Stay safe and don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales.
Good day, and welcome to this week’s Tuesday tales, the blog post where a small but select group of authors share scene from their works in progress with you. Each week, we are given a word or picture prompt to use. This week, that word is MUD and we are limited to 400 words.
I continue with The White Dahlia, Book Four of the Harvester Files.
“Could you be more cryptic?” Beth’s voice was laced with sarcasm. She stood and paced as Al had done.
“I’m not trying to confound the issue, but so far the findings are as clear as mud. I need to be sure before I say anything. There was scopolamine in her system, dating back maybe two years,” she added, the weight of the word forcing Beth to sit.
“Are you saying he used the same method to get her to go with him that James Colchester did?”
“I don’t know what I’m saying, but it’s possible—and if he did that, then maybe he did the rest of it, too. We both know there are still people out there who know James’s M O better than BPD and the FBI did. Someone had to provide him with the drug. Chad promised they would keep looking for the missing Colchesters, but it’s been six years … The victim also had other drugs in her system, some I haven’t been able to identify yet and others that I recognize from those confiscated from White Iris Pharmaceuticals. Do you understand what that means? It means someone who worked on developing those drugs is still out there. They weren’t stolen from a warehouse or misplaced. I helped the DEA and the CDC inventory that place. Those drugs were destroyed. I watched the batches go into the incinerator myself. So how the hell did they get into her system?”
Beth swallowed, her blood turning cold.
“Are you sure? Is it possible some other drug company discovered them, too?”
“Believe what you want to. Drugs have unique signatures. I compared my findings to my old files. They match perfectly, and that doesn’t happen when drugs come from different companies. There were drugs in that place that most of us had never seen—drugs designed to keep someone in a coma far more potent than what we currently use, and I found some of those damn things in Rachel’s hair analysis. There were lots of vitamin supplements, including folic acid, and some coagulants as well as warfarin and other anticoagulants. It’s as if she was someone’s damn science experiment. Even Dr. Mengele, the Angel of Death, didn’t go this far. I’ve taken a slice of her brain to analyze for fetal microchimerism.”
“My God!” The words exploded from her as her stomach churned. “You think it’s them, don’t you?”
That’s it. Stay safe and don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales.
Welcome to this week’s Tuesday Tales. We are on the edge of a polar vortex up here in Ontario, which will bring us seasonal temperatures and the first significant snowfall of 2021. Doesn’t make a lot of difference to me since we’re under Stay at Home orders. I can go out for one of three reasons: food, medicine, and to see my mother in a Long Term Care home since I am considered an essential caregiver, necessary for her mental well-being. Mom got the first part of the COVID 19 vaccine, and will get her second shot in February. So, that provides a ray of sunshine and optimism in my world.
This week’s post comes once more from The White Dahlia
Beth took several deep breaths in an effort to calm herself. More sirens rang out—fire, police, ambulance—Someone wasn’t having a great day.
Her pulse almost back to normal, she sat down and reached for her cooling coffee. She was jumping to conclusions. Al must’ve misunderstood. As she’d told him, lots of sex workers got pregnant and their pimp was rarely pleased with the fact. There was no proof this wasn’t the cockeyed story she’d fed him. While he used his cellphone to contact Rachel’s former boyfriend in Alaska, she soothed herself enough to put in what she hoped would be a coherent call to the City Morgue. It took three call transfers and what seemed like an eternity before Mitch came on the line.
“Mitch Smith. What can I do for you? Please don’t tell me you have another body for me.”
“Mitch, it’s Beth. No more bodies—at least not from me.”
“That’s good. I have enough on my hands with the one you did send me.”
“Maybe, maybe not. There’s something going on in Manhattan. I can hear sirens. Hopefully we’re just talking property damage.” She licked her lips. “Al just filled me in on your newest report concerning Rachel Livingston’s autopsy,” she said, trying to keep the tremor out of her voice. “Are you certain? Are you positive that she’s given birth?”
“I am.” The doctor sighed. “I can imagine what’s going through your mind right now, because the same damn thing’s stuck inside my head, too. Thank God none of the women from the first Harvester case were cut up like this one.”
“No, but then, they weren’t being sold off for parts like these are. I keep telling myself to be objective. That this is an entirely different case, but damn it, I’m seeing too many similarities, and it’s scaring the daylights out of me. It was bad enough when I thought he’d just pillaged her organs, but a baby? Can you tell if it was a live birth? Have you got the results of the tox screen?”
“One thing at a time. Was it a live birth? I have no way of knowing, but it was a vaginal delivery, so the odds are it was. I’ve got a bad feeling about this. I can’t say for sure that there’s a child out there, but if there is, we have to find it.
That’s it. Stay safe and don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales.
Living the Dream 