13: Abbey Gets the Morning Paper, by Cat

 

MURDER AND MAYHEM AT CHERRY CREEK

EPISODE

13

BY: CAT

 

 

 

Abbey Gets the Morning Paper

 

     Abbey awoke in a panic that morning, with the feeling of heaviness on her chest.  Her chest heaved as she struggled to breathe. When her senses had worked out that she was still in her own bed and just awakening, she realized that crazy panther of a cat was sleeping right across her chest. With the back of her arm she shoved the eighteen-pound critter off her and sent him scrambling toward the floor. "Jesus, Hitchcock! I thought I was having a heart attack." She scowled in a raspy voice. Clearing her throat she swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat perfectly still, her head not yet cleared of the nighttime movie she had been pulled abruptly away from. It happened every time she wore Christopher's old thermal shirt to bed. After ten years, she found the dreams few and far between. But this one nagged at her more than usual. She had that intangible feeling that he was trying to tell her something. Abbey wrapped her arms around her waist and waited a few minutes to see if she could recapture those final moments of the dream. Nothing. It was getting harder each day to even conjure up her husband's face. Perhaps the moment would visit her later.
 
     Pulling on her flannel robe, she padded barefoot to the curtains and opened them onto a still dark morning. Fall had come to Cherry Creek, along with the early morning moon and the rain. With Hitchcock at her feet she creaked her way across the cold wood floor to the front of Fat Sally's.  She had exactly thirty minutes to set the coffee, shower and open the diner. Hitchcock mewed his impatience, as Abbey opened the front door, leaving the "closed" sign facing the street. She could see the light across the way in the garage. "Don't those two ever sleep?" she asked Hitchcock. The black cat jumped past her and shot out the door. In the distance she could see the taillights of Judd's car just turning the bend. The wet footprint on the otherwise dry wooden porch gave him away. Sure enough, only the local gazette was to be found, but no sign of the journal that would mysteriously reappear by evening on the back table of the diner's reading room.
 
     As she picked up the paper she noticed it was not folded with the usual tuck-and-fold Robbie took such pride in accomplishing. Robbie didn't particularly have the aim of Whitey Ford, often throwing the paper halfway up the steps or in a bush and even once on the roof, but she took great pride in her talents as paper-folder. Abbey folded the damp paper in half length-wise and slid it under her arm as she headed back into the diner, forgetting to latch the door behind her.

     Stopping at the espresso machine, Abbey poured in a dark cup of coffee grounds and hit the grind button before heading toward her private bathroom. As far as she was aware, Fat Sally's had the only espresso machine in the county. That was the only bit of her past life-style she had not surrendered. As she prepared for the day, she reminded herself to change the front chalkboard to reflect the morning brew, "Chaucer's Choice."
 
     The faucet water was spraying full force while Abbey was reminiscing what she had tried so hard to suppress. The last day she saw Christopher. He'd come by the school briefly before noon to pick up the cleaner's claim check she'd forgotten to leave him. He seemed distracted and in a hurry, having to be called back for a kiss before racing back to work. He had a big court case in the morning and had to have all his duck's in a row the night before. He was meticulous about detail, from the clothes he'd wear to court to the last shred of prewritten argument he'd present. Abbey was digging at a piece of lint her memory banks. "If I could only remember what case he was working on!" She had not realized she'd spoken aloud until her voice echoed against the ceramic tile as she shut off the water spigot.
 
     Heading down the hall, toweling her wet hair with both hands, she thought she'd heard a noise in the diner. Wrapping her towel tightly around her figure, she peered around the corner into the moonlit kitchen area. It was then she realized she'd forgotten to lock the door. There was Cadlin, a bright blue and yellow can of standard Butternut cradled in the crook of his elbow, preparing to make his own coffee. Just as Abbey was debating about jumping out of the shadows and giving him a good scare, she saw him lift two conspiratory fingers to his lips and gaze at the front door. Squinting in the dim light, Abbey saw the little paper girl in a pair of boys' dungarees, rolled up just past a pair of the dingiest white anklets she'd ever seen. Her plaid shirt looked like something off a hook at the garage. Robbie was leaning up against the door, with both hands jammed down a pair oversized pockets, watching the java burglar with the eyes of an accomplice. Hitchcock had slithered back in and was rubbing against the girl's shins as if they were best friends.
 
     Abbey decided, since she was till in a state of undress, she'd just let well enough alone until she had a chance to make herself presentable. Hurrying to dress, she sang out loudly, "Hang down your head poor Grayson, I'll be in Tennessee." The Trio would never know how badly she'd mangled thier song. She sang out loud enough to give warning to her prowlers that she was about to emerge.
 
     By the time Abbey reached the front of the establishment, it was again empty accept for her bed partner, curled comfortably in front of the rusted radiator. The only evidence of trespassers was a half-filled coffee pot and a bent metal Coke cap lying on the counter.  Abbey picked up the morning paper, preparing to toss it onto the nearest table when something fluttered out of the folds and landed face up at her feet.