Top Ten Things Not to Do at the First French Settlement in Quebec in 1608

Quebec
Quebec flag – adopted 1950

 

Today marks the anniversary of the first French settlement in Quebec in 1608 by Samuel de Champlain. It might be fun to go there, but there are some things we need to be careful about. Take this list, and maybe you will avoid an international incident or a tear in the time continuum.

Top Ten Things Not to Do at the First French Settlement in 1608

10 If you are at the settlement, do not think everyone should speak English. If you do, at best no one will talk to you. At worst, you might be called a Britanique and tossed out into the snow. (These French take their language seriously, Issac. Best not mess with them.)

9 If you are at the settlement, do not mess with Tiny the WWF champ’s Molson supply. If you do, at best, you’ll get a hand slap. At worst, you won’t have the use of your right arm for a few weeks. (Don’t be concerned, Ivan. The feeling should return. After all, no bones were broken.)

8 If you are at the settlement, do not ask for an order of Poutine (Cheese curds, French fries, and brown gravy) If you do, at best you’ll get some strange looks. At worst, you’ll describe the dish, and everyone will rush to leave the room. (Any wonder you scared them, Isaiah? Although the plate was developed in Quebec, it did not become popular until the 1950s.)

7 If you are at the settlement, do not ask for pancakes and maple syrup. If you do, at best you’ll get strange looks. At worst, your description of extracting sap and refining it into syrup will get you a few minutes in the dunk tank. (You have to remember, Ignacio. The giant Quebec maple syrup reserves are a modern development.)

6 If you are at the settlement, do not ask for a bag of milk. If you do, at best you’ll be led to a cow. At worse, once you describe your request, you will convince the locals that you need to be given a foot warming on the stake. (You keep getting the modern confused with the ancient, Irving. If you keep it up, you may never get out of there.)

5 If you are at the settlement, do not ask for directions to the nearest Tim Hortons. If you do, at best, you’ll get a vague finger point meaning, “Out there, Eh?” At worst, when you describe Tim Hortons, you will have the entire settlement up in arms for a donut. (They are looking to you to deliver, Ira. Best get cracking on a donut and coffee delivery. That one guy looks particularly anxious. Yeah, the one with the musket.)

4 If you are at the settlement, do not wish out loud for a box of KD. If you do, at best no one will hear you. At worst, a few will overhear your mutterings and want some too. (Now you have gone and done it, Isiah. You have created a demand for Kraft Dinner long before the product is available. Well, hopefully, they will all forget about it by the time it is introduced in 1937.)

3 If you are at the settlement, do not correct the spelling of certain words. If you do, at best they will be changed back. At worst, the speller will become angry with your attempts. (Even though you may think it is okay to correct the spelling to American usage, Ingmar. I would fetch your own coffee if I were you.)

2 If you are at the settlement, do not attempt to describe Justin Bieber. If you do at best, people will think you are joking. At worst, the elders will pass a resolution to hunt down anyone named Bieber. (You have made a time continuum mistake, Immanuel. Lucky the elders also agree to deport any Biebers to America where they will flourish for some unknown reason.)

1 If you are at the settlement, do refer to a monetary coin as a loonie. If you do, at best, you’ll get a laugh. At worst, the population will wonder where you came from and as a result will need to have an inquisition. (The fact that the Canadian one dollar “loonie’ was introduced in 1987 is not going to help you, Ida. I think you’re going to enjoy your time in the stocks. Better pray your butt holds out.)

Welcome to the WATCH “RWISA” WRITE Showcase Tour! #RRBC #RWISA with Nonnie Jules @NonnieJules

Watch RWISA Write

As a member of Rave Reviews Book Club, I am proud to showcase several exceptional writers. All are members of the literary section of the club titled Rave Writers – International Society of Authors. RWISA.

Today I want to welcome Founder Nonnie Jules with her story Silent Tears.

SILENT TEARS

by Nonnie Jules

 

I cry these silent tears for her

For her loss, for her pain, for her heart

Breaking when she looks into their eyes

Her children –

she feels their loss, their pain, their hearts breaking.

The memories –

the hardest

Yet, there’s no getting away from the reminders of what used to be.

There once was a HE

HE sat, parented, loved, even laughed

Yes, towards all ends there is laughter some say

But his chair is empty now

Just as their hearts

Hollow as the tree he chose.

He left it all there

His back against a world filled with painful memories of a childhood unprotected.

His pain…

Bottled up in the bottles of poison he consumed

Reckless abandon he gave to it

But quit…

he could not

would not

was it his choice not?

In the end, the call of the poison was stronger

and he had to answer

he was forced to answer

given no choice but to answer…

was the way he felt.

His choice gave her no choice

Single parenting

A thing for some

but…

It wasn’t her thing

That is

until

he left her

no choice.

She’ll be fine

Kids are resilient

They’ll be fine

Time heals all wounds

All clichés but true.

Still…

I cry my silent tears for her

For the husband she once knew.

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Thank you for supporting this member along the WATCH “RWISA” WRITE Showcase Tour today!  We ask that if you have enjoyed this member’s writing, please visit their Author Page on the RWISA site, where you can find more of their writing, along with their contact and social media links, if they’ve turned you into a fan.

We ask that you also check out their books in the RWISA or RRBC catalogs.  Thanks, again, for your support and we hope that you will follow each member along this amazing tour of talent!  Don’t forget to click the link below to learn more about this author:

Nonnie Jules RWISA Author Page

 

 

Views of the Neighborhood – Fourth of July Parade

Since this week was the Fourth. I thought you would enjoy some of the sights and sounds of the Lakeway Fourth of July parade. There were over 100 entries in the parade so I was forced to edit the numbers of photos. There are still way too many but sometimes it was hard to cut.

Fourth of July parade

Mounted police to begin

The first responder honor guard

The grand marshall Astronaut Navy Captain (Ret) Kenneth Cockrell

Austin Mounted police

Utility float.

A representative of the business floats

The parade honors the 50th anniversary of the Apollo 11 moon landing.

A bloodmobile

Cub scouts.

Vintage cars.

Hot rods.

Lakeway precision beach chair drill team.

Golf carts with flags from all fifty states

Viet Nam veterans

In honor of the fallen warriors

The Chick-Fil-A cow was there

As was HEB (A Texas Food Store chain).

Band members riding not playing.

We love the bookmobile.

The final picture is a reminder of the Apollo 11 mission.

Stream of Consciousness Saturday – Prompt Chew/Choo

Stream of Consciousness

 

It is Stream of Consciousness Saturday again, and this weeks prompt is “chew/choo.” Before we start, let’s go to the recorded instructions issued by Linda Hill. “Your Friday prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is “chew/choo.” Use one or both, any way you’d like. Have fun!” You heard it here first. Notice the “Have fun conclusion. So if you would like to have fun like this, visit Linda’s blog and read how easy it is. Here is the link.

The Friday Reminder and Prompt for #SoCS July 6/19

Chew/Choo by John W. Howell © 2019

“Why are you  looking through that shoe catalog?”

“Are you kidding. This thing is loaded with designer shoes at a discount.”

“Don’t you have enough shoes right now?”

“Asks the man with three leaf blowers.”

“Hey, wait a minute. Each has its use.”

“Well, each pair of shoes has its use.”

“Okay, then. Anything catch your eye.”

“I like this pair of Jimmy Choo heels.”

“Whoa. You could get a car for that amount.”

“Yeah, crappy car or the best shoes?”

“You make a good point.”

“They have shoes for men in this catalog. Interested?”

“Let me chew on it for a while. Not sure I could pay that much for something I wouldn’t wear every day.”

“So you think every day ought to be cheap?”

“Yeah. You get value out of use.”

“Like those Old Navy sneakers?”

“Precisely.”

“The ones with the twine for laces.”

“Works.”

“And duct tape for backs?”

“As I said. Works.”

“Okay, then. Anything above ten bucks is overpayment as far as you are concerned.”

“Make that two for ten.”

“Give me the strength.”

“You’re strong.”

“Times like these not strong enough.”

“Want to wrestle?

“Right.”

 

Welcome to the WATCH “RWISA” WRITE Showcase Tour! #RRBC #RWISA with Linda Mims @boom_lyn

Watch RWISA Write

As a member of Rave Reviews Book Club, I am proud to showcase several exceptional writers. All are members of the literary section of the club titled Rave Writers – International Society of Authors. RWISA.

Today I want to welcome Linda Mims with her story Solace.

Linda Mims

Solace

by Linda Mims

Eighteen precocious kindergartners stared as Carly walked into the colorfully decorated classroom. Carly hoped her smile was more reassuring than she felt. Was this a mistake? She spotted two six-year-olds who’d been in her charge on the first field trip she’d chaperoned. They gave her a friendly wave, and a true smile parted Carly’s pursed lips and lightened her heart.

Ms. Jones, the principal, asked all of the children to file around and shake hands with Carly, but some of them hugged her around the waist and Carly bent to embrace them. The huggers stared up at her and quickly turned away unsure how to behave.

After Carly shook hands and hugged them, she asked their new teacher’s permission to lead them to the circle in the back of the room. She’d read that schools were frowning on seating students on the floor, but their former teacher, Miss Mason, had valued the practice.

Miss Mason sat smack dab in the middle of “her kids” and shared her own childhood or read to them from her favorite stories.

So, hovering above the painted line, Carly squatted until she dropped. Sitting crossed-legged wasn’t as comfortable or as easy for Carly as the children made it appear. She smiled as they sank to the floor on legs like rubber bands.

The children sat on the painted circle touching their neighbors with legs, arms, or elbows. There was no jostling or whining from anyone about invasion of space. They needed to connect in this strange time, so it was okay for someone to sit too close.

Two little ones, seated across from Carly, couldn’t stop sniffling, so she held out her arms, and they came over. She pulled them down on either side of her and nuzzled them there. She wanted to join in. Be as free and uninhibited as they, but she held her feelings in check.

The children bowed their heads, but a few raised their eyes to cast envious glances at the two burrowed beneath Carly’s arms. She smiled around the room, looking for the ones Miss Mason had told her about. Johnnie, who was the biggest discipline challenge. Grown-ish Jenny of the fresh mouth and Einstein mind.

Carly recognized little unkempt Anna who caused Miss Mason enough anxiety to refer her family to DCFS. Diana Mason loved these children, and they loved her. The students spent more time with Carly’s daughter than with their own parents.

“Listen and I’ll tell you about the day little Ms. Mason broke the rules and made cookies for herself and her little sister,” Carly said.  “When her father and I were away from home, she wasn’t supposed to fool with the stove, but you guys know how feisty Ms. Mason can be.”

“She was a mischievous little girl,” Carly said with exaggerated feeling.

One of the little ones giggled and hurriedly stifled it when the others swiveled their heads to stare at her, disapprovingly.

“Children,” Carly said. “Ms. Mason would want you guys to smile as you remember her. She’d want you to remember the stories I’m about to tell you and think of her with love.”

***

Joe Mason waited outside the old brick building where, four years ago, his daughter and some of her colleagues had started their own small school. His wife was inside visiting his daughter’s kindergarten class, but Joe remained in the car.

He hadn’t agreed with Carly that this was a good idea. His family had spent a crushing two days grieving Diana’s sudden death and just when—maybe—the weight was easing, his wife sprung up.

“Oh God, Joe! Her kids.”

“I’m sure someone has told them,” he assured her, but Carly wouldn’t be comforted.

“They’re five and six years old, Joe. They don’t understand death. Can you imagine the confusion and anguish for those children? I have to go,” Carly said.

“They need to hear from me and know that it will be all right.”

She had made up her mind and Joe didn’t try to talk her out of it. Perhaps she needed this, too. He, on the other hand, couldn’t bring himself to think about Diana without feeling guilty. There was no peace for him as he shouldered the weight of his daughter’s death.

The night Diana died alone in her room, Joe had convinced himself that he’d heard her knocking for help. He’d been dreaming and in the dream, Diana had knocked on the front door. He was upstairs, and he wondered why Carly didn’t go to the door and let their daughter in.

She knocked in random succession maybe three times, but when Joe woke, he heard nothing. He lay there for a long while listening and wondering if someone had been knocking on the door for real.

It was 1:45 a.m. and outside, the sounds of jazz music told him his neighbor Jimmy was in his parked van, again.

Jimmy did that after a spat with his wife, Vanessa. That’s what the knocking had been. A radio commercial. Satisfied, Joe turned over and went back to sleep. It never occurred to him to wake Carly or to go check on Diana. If he had, his daughter could have gotten help, and she’d still be alive.

Joe couldn’t tell anyone. Carly and Diana were more than mother and daughter. They were best friends. Carly would never forgive him for, if nothing else, letting her remain asleep. God! The pain of losing Diana, compounded by his guilt, was eating Joe alive.

Inside, Carly carried her own guilt. Diana had been working herself to the bone raising money to keep the school afloat. More than just exist, Diana and her colleagues wanted the school to make a huge impact on the lives of their students and their families.

Diana wasn’t sleeping. She was losing weight, and more than a few times, Carly argued with her about taking care of herself.

“If you don’t take care of your own health, you won’t be any damned good to your students!”

“Mom, relax! What am I going to do? Die?”

“Your heart, Diana. Please remember your heart.”

“I do, mom. I think about my heart all the time. School is the only thing that prevents me from thinking about my heart. Can you give me a break? And don’t go to Dad with your suspicions.”

So, Carly gave her a break and she didn’t tell Joe that she suspected Carly was sicker than she was letting on.

***

“You smell like her,” said a little one who’d scooted over and was hugging Carly from behind.

“Let me smell,” said another, peeling his classmate’s arms from around Carly and nudging the child over to squeeze in.

“I wanna smell,” cried a young girl who had stopped twirling her hair around her finger and now stood.

Soon they clustered around Carly, talking and gesturing. Their little voices serious as they shared stories of the times Ms. Mason had been kind, or funny, or very, very stern. Their beautiful faces weren’t so sad now and they made Carly laugh. An hour passed and the pall over the room lifted.

Outside, the breeze blew leaves from the young trees Diana had planted across the grounds. Joe trained his eye on a leaf that floated across his windshield on the gentle breeze. Instead of drifting along, the green leaf frolicked and rolled on the air in front of him.

He’d never paid attention to leaves, and he wondered that this one seemed determined to hang right there, tumbling and playing in front of him. While Joe watched, the leaf floated down and lay on the hood as though spent. Then, to Joe’s amusement, it blew flat against his window and stuck there for a few moments.

The leaf stood on its stem and Joe bent to see it flutter across the car and brush Carly’s face just as she opened the passenger door. Carly started, then laughed and touched her face. Smiling, without even knowing why, they watched the little leaf fly off over the building and out of sight.

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Thank you for supporting this member along the WATCH “RWISA” WRITE Showcase Tour today!  We ask that if you have enjoyed this member’s writing, please visit their Author Page on the RWISA site, where you can find more of their writing, along with their contact and social media links, if they’ve turned you into a fan.

We ask that you also check out their books in the RWISA or RRBC catalogs.  Thanks, again for your support and we hope that you will follow each member along this amazing tour of talent!  Don’t forget to click the link below to learn more about this author:

Linda Mims RWISA Author Page

Friday JohnKu – AKA – TGIF

Twiggy
“Tell Lucy it’s Friday and time to play.”

 

A little bit of a short week. I hope everyone came through the birthday celebrations in good shape.

Lots of good stuff happening around here.

The gutter guys showed up on the third and finished the job on quote and on-time. I have to give them a super review.

I managed to keep the 1000 words a day on my WIP. There is a ton of research needed and so I was happy to be able to go forward. As of today, I have over 14,000 words.

The cement guys were postponed until next week. The contractor gave me the best excuse I ever heard. One that has no comeback. “I want to be there when the concrete is poured so I know it’s done right and I have to go out of town this week” What could I say? “Pour anyway and the heck with it done right or not?” I was speechless.

Today’s JohnKu pays tribute to that excuse. I hope your weekend is wonderful.

Can’t Do It by John W. Howell © 2019

When you ask why not?

There is only one excuse. . .

The sky is falling.

Welcome to the WATCH “RWISA” WRITE Showcase Tour! #RRBC #RWISA with Gwen M. Plano @gmplano

Watch RWISA Write

As a member of Rave Reviews Book Club, I am proud to showcase several exceptional writers. All are members of the literary section of the club titled Rave Writers – International Society of Authors. RWISA.

Today I want to welcome Gwen M. Plano with her story The Rosery.

THE ROSARY by Gwen M. Plano

Young or old, we are all children at heart. This truth became apparent to me last December when I had neurosurgery.

Prior to the operation, a clerk handed me a stack of documents to sign—billing forms for the hospital and the doctors and several medical release forms that included a list of potential risks. My apprehension grew as I fingered through the papers and provided my signature. It was then that I wished that my mom could be with me. Like any child, I thought she could make it all better. But sadly, she had passed away nine months prior.

My mom was a person of prayer, and when I was young, she’d gather her seven children, tell us to get on our knees, and then proceed to pray. We’d follow her lead—usually protesting—and pray for family members, friends, and the unknown masses. Often, she led us in saying the rosary. Prayer was my mom’s response to any challenge or difficulty, and we had plenty of both on our farm.

Mom’s most common expression was, “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” While some of us might curse or yell in frustration, Mom would say this phrase instead.  So, when one of my brothers sent a golf ball through the picture window, Mom called out “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” before scolding him. When we siblings squabbled with one another, Mom would mutter, “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” before sending us to our bedrooms. Without exception, we grew up knowing that when Mom said “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” we were in trouble.

I can’t remember a time when Mom wasn’t praying. Whether washing the dishes, hanging the wash on the clothesline, working in the garden, or driving us to a sporting event or a 4-H meeting, Mom quietly prayed. I asked her about this once, and her response left an indelible impression.

“Life is short,” she began, “and we must use every moment to the fullest. People need our prayers, and some don’t have a family to pray for them like we do.”

I didn’t understand her comment about using every moment to the fullest until I grew older. But her explanation helped me grasp why she rarely watched television and why she rushed from one room to another throughout the day.

When Mom passed at ninety-two years of age, she left a legacy of beliefs and practices that had found a place in the heart of each of her children. We may have complained about kneeling on the hard floor, but even as little tykes, prayer became part of our lives because of our mother.

At her passing, we were bereft. Mom was our strength, our compass. She was the one we called about concerns, both large and small; she was the one we talked with about our hopes and dreams. Her passing left a huge emptiness that still echoes in our memories. When we sorted through her belongings, not so surprisingly, we discovered she had a dozen or so rosaries. I received two of them.

When I checked into Cedars Sinai hospital in Los Angeles, I took my mom’s wooden rosary with me. I felt her near when I held it, and this sensation gave me comfort.  I held the beads tightly and imagined Mom with me.

After the surgery, I was rolled into a room on the Pain Floor where all neurosurgery patients were housed. Next to me was an adjustable overbed table, and when I awakened, I realized that my mom’s rosary rested on it.

My nurse, Lucy, regularly came in to check on me, and each time she walked through the door, she sang a refrain which included the words, our lady of the rosary. I was surprised by this, because Cedars Sinai is a Jewish hospital. After Lucy left, an aide visited, and she explained that her sister was a nun, and my rosary reminded her of this sister. Later, the night nurse came in and told me about immigrating to the US and how she loved the rosary.

During my hospital stay, one staff person after another visited me and shared family stories and photos—all evoked by the rosary that rested on the overbed table. As I was preparing to leave, Lucy came in to say her goodbyes. She pulled a photo from her pocket.

“This is my mom,” she proudly stated. “I thought you’d like to see her.”

The image was of a petite woman, hunched over by time, smiling broadly at the camera. She stood next to her much-larger daughter, Lucy. I was stunned; she looked like my mom.

As the hospital staff came to say goodbye and wish me well, I suddenly realized that Mom had been with me the whole while. I had been loved and cared for by many at the hospital, but it was Mom who drew them near with her rosary.

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Thank you for supporting this member along the WATCH “RWISA” WRITE Showcase Tour today!  We ask that if you have enjoyed this member’s writing, please visit their Author Page on the RWISA site, where you can find more of their writing, along with their contact and social media links, if they’ve turned you into a fan.

We ask that you also check out their books in the RWISA or RRBC catalogs.  Thanks, again for your support and we hope that you will follow each member along this amazing tour of talent!  Don’t forget to click the link below to learn more about this author:

Gwen Plano RWISA Author Page

Welcome to the WATCH “RWISA” WRITE Showcase Tour! #RRBC #RWISA Rhani D’Chae @rhanidchae

Watch RWISA Write

As a member of Rave Reviews Book Club, I am proud to showcase several exceptional writers. All are members of the literary section of the club titled Rave Writers – International Society of Authors. RWISA.

Today I want to welcome Rhani D’ Shae with an excerpt from her book Winter of the Drill.

EXCERPT FROM UP COMING NOVEL, “WINTER OF THE DRILL”

By Rhani D’Chae

***

Decker leaned against the hood of his car, talking to JT in a low tone of voice. His face wore a pleasant expression, and a casual observer would have had no clue as to the seriousness of their conversation.

“Second floor, third from the left?”

JT nodded without turning, keeping his eyes focused on Decker’s face. “That’s what Hunt said, and it does make sense.”

“Are you sure?”

The boy closed his eyes, remembering Hunter’s words immediately after the shooting.

“I think it came from that window over there!” Hunter’s eyes zeroed in on a building across the street. “Second floor, three in, left.”

JT nodded his head, confident that he had given the correct information. “Third from the left. I’m sure.”

Decker dipped his head almost imperceptibly, flicking his eyes quickly over the row of windows on the second floor of the nondescript building. Nothing seemed to be out of place, but he had not expected to find anything. However, the address of the building, as well as the location of the window and anything of interest nearby, went into the small notebook that he always carried with him.

“Well?” JT’s voice held a touch of impatience. “Do you see anything?”

“Yes.” Decker laid one hand on JT’s shoulder. “I see a boy who needs to learn that some things take more than a minute.”

The addition of a friendly smile took most of the sting from his words, and JT responded with a smile of his own.

“Okay.” Decker rose from his perch and stepped on to the sidewalk. “I’m hungry, and you never got to the Olive Garden. Let’s find some food.”

* * *

From his vantage point at the front window of the Greyhound station across the street, the man known only as Rhegan, watched them head toward a small cafe. He had returned to the strip in search of street gossip but had surprisingly heard almost none. And what he did hear was not worth listening to.

As he watched the pair walk slowly along Pacific Avenue, he thought back to when he had sighted on the boy and pulled the trigger. He had aimed carefully, not wanting to kill, but even so, he was surprised to see JT back on the street so soon.

After the shooting, he had taken a few minutes to watch the fireworks, knowing that the police would not be called.

His victim had fallen hard, his panic obvious as he managed to scrabble behind the nearest parked car.

His companion had reacted with cool precision, slipping one arm behind the boy’s shoulders and speed-dialing his cell phone with the other hand.

Even from a distance, Rhegan could see that the man was scanning the street. When the steel-blue eyes passed over the window that he looked through, he felt a sudden chill, as if those eyes had looked directly into his and issued a challenge.

A few passersby stopped to offer assistance, but Rhegan could tell that the man was dismissing each with a plausible excuse, for there was none of the panic that usually accompanied a public shooting.

Within minutes a car had pulled smoothly to a stop, collecting both men before exiting at a sedate speed that would not attract attention.

Rhegan had expected the part-time bouncer to run crying to Valdez, resignation in hand. Hopefully, the news that another person had taken a hit in his name would force a desperate Valdez to sign his club, the Toybox over to Malone, at whatever terms had been typed above the signature line.

Malone had told Rhegan that desperation was the only thing that would put a pen in his rival’s hand and had given him a list of potential targets. Malone had laid out his plan of attack, and Rhegan had no problem with any of it.

But, instead of running, his first victim had returned to take care of business. Head high and shoulders straight, he walked the sidewalk that still bore spatters of his blood, not even glancing down when his boots passed over the red splotches.

He was doing what Reagan himself would have done, and the hard-eyed gunman respected that, even while he planned when and where to take the boy out for good.

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Thank you for supporting this member along the WATCH “RWISA” WRITE Showcase Tour today!  We ask that if you have enjoyed this member’s writing, please visit their Author Page on the RWISA site, where you can find more of their writing, along with their contact and social media links, if they’ve turned you into a fan.

We ask that you also check out their books in the RWISA or RRBC catalogs.  Thanks, again for your support and we hope that you will follow each member along this amazing tour of talent!  Don’t forget to click the link below to learn more about this author:

Rhani D’Chae RWISA Author Page

Wednesday Story Day – AKA – Hump Day

Lucy and Twiggy
“Hey, Little One.”
“What?”
“You interested in Wednesday?”
“Nope.”

It is Wednesday Story Day again and last week we listened as Andrew warned Larry to be careful with Captain Swartz as the good captain invited both of them into his office.  I think we all thought it a bit strange that the captain came into the room to get Larry and Andrew. Well, we can’t tarry any longer. We’ve got to follow Swartz into that office.

“So y’all have a seat.”

“Thank you, captain. I must say the coffee is good.”

“Yeah, I insist on a good cup of coffee. So now that you’re comfortable, you want to tell me what you are doing in my town?”

“Yes, well. You remember Rafferty?”

“The guy killed on the slopes.”

“Yeah, the guy with over a 2.0 level of alcohol in his blood.”

“Yeah, I remember him.”

“We think there is some funny business going on between—”

“Hold on Larry. We should not bother the captain with the details. We are on a fishing expedition and have no real proof of anything. So we better not bring up names until we have something more substantive.”

“Thanks, Andrew, I think you are right.”

“Okay. I get it. You two are sniffing around for leads. Is that it?”

“Yessir. That is it.”

“You know it kinda bothers me that I’m the last to know you are in town. After all, we talked on the phone and all.”

“I understand, captain. We would have eventually come to you, but with those thugs shooting up the place that option went away.”

“The ADA is really hot to pin something on you.”

“How do you know that?”

“I know that little weasel and he called to give me a heads up.”

“Heads up about what?”

“About not getting involved in whatever you are doing. He called it ‘the appearance of aiding and abetting.”’

“That son-of-a-bitch.”

“You got him pegged.”

“So captain, what do you think?”

“I think you boys have pissed off some pretty tough characters. Whatever you are looking into it is bigger than just some guy being pumped with booze and sent screaming down a hill.”

“So, you think Rafferty was murdered?”

“Don’t quote me. I think he got up against the same rock that you two are rubbing. I also presented evidence to the ADA, and he said there wasn’t enough to bring the case to court.”

“You know who set Rafferty up for that tree?”

“I have my suspicions.”

“Can you share them?”

“If you guys get cleared of murder which the ADA is looking to charge you with, sure. Be happy to help.”

“How do we shake the ADA?”

“Those guys who tried to take you out are hired guns. Prove that, and you are home free.”

“Can you help with that?”

“Yeah, I have a whole dossier on those two. The ADA knows them as well. I’m telling you I think the ADA is being squeezed by the same person who hired the hit men. You got a lawyer?”

“Yeah, we do.”

“Tell him to call me. I’ll give him everything I have on these guys.”

“Won’t you get in trouble?”

“Tell him to get a judge to order it. In the meantime, you guys better get humping on your investigation. I wouldn’t be surprised to see your conclusions apply to your case as well as Rafferty’s.”

“You’ve been very helpful.”

“I wish I could do more. By the way, if I’m ordered to testify about those hoods, I would be happy to do so.”

“Thank you, Captain.”