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Authors: Waverly Curtis
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halfway into the room, apparently shocked by the sight of me. I saw her instinctively start to turn around and run. Then she stopped herself.
“Because she is my sister,” I said as recognition dawned.
Chapter 13
“Geri?” she said, taking a tentative step toward me.
“Terry?” I said in response.
“No, my name is Flicker,” she said impatiently, continuing to gaze on my face as if she were thirsty and I was a drink of cool water.
“But you used to be Terry,” I said. “Terry Sullivan.”
She shuddered. “Don’t ever call me that!” she said. We stared at each other. Her eyes were the greenish blue I remembered, striking against the tanned skin of her face.
“Wow!” said one of the green-clad ones. “You two could be sisters.”
“Hush!” said Artichoke. She looked from one of us to the other. “I think they are.”
“What are you doing here?” Terry asked.
“I came up for the introductory weekend,” I said. “What are you doing here?”
“She’s here to be questioned, along with all of these other folks,” said the sheriff. “Now break it up. No talking to each other while waiting to be interviewed. I want to know who was the last person to talk to the victim.”
“I spoke to her at lunch,” I volunteered. “That was about one p.m.” I looked at Terry. “She said she was going to go speak to her spiritual advisor. Someone named Flicker.”
“All right!” the sheriff said. “What’s your name?” I told him and he wrote it down. “And who saw her after that?”
To my relief, Terry spoke up. “She came to speak to me. I’m her spiritual advisor. My name is Flicker.” She looked at me defiantly when she said that. “But she left about three p.m. I thought she was going to talk to Artichoke.”
The sheriff rolled his eyes. “And is Artichoke here?”
Artichoke stepped forward. “She never came to see me.”
“So it looks like she was waylaid sometime after three p.m. Did anyone see her after that?”
A few people thought they might have seen her heading for the hot springs later that night, but no one was sure it was her. “She seemed to be in a hurry,” said one woman. “She had her head down and it was dark. I greeted her, but she didn’t respond. Which was unusual. So that’s why I couldn’t tell for sure if it was her.”
“And was there anyone else still at the hot springs when you left?” asked the sheriff.
“Just Fox Black,” said the woman. A blush spread across her cheeks and she looked down.
“Well, where is this Fox Black?” asked the sheriff.
“He’s on his way,” said one of the deputies.
“So unless this Fox Black saw her, you might have been the last one to see her alive,” said the sheriff, gazing suspiciously at my sister.
“I think she might have talked to Crystal Star,” I said, remembering how Star had known Pepe’s Dogawandan name. Either that or there really was an entity named Dogawanda who could discern Pepe’s true name.
“Yes, where is Crystal Star?” asked the sheriff impatiently.
“She’s on her way in too,” said one of the deputies.
“Well, let’s begin the questioning,” the sheriff said. “You!” He pointed at my sister. “Go with him!” He pointed at one of his deputies. “You!” He pointed at me. “In here!” He gestured toward an office in back of Alice’s desk.
I followed him with Pepe trotting behind me. It was a small room, mostly filled by a metal desk that was covered with papers. It actually reminded me a little of Jimmy G’s office, minus the aquarium and the smell of old food. This office smelled like old coffee and old paper. The blinds on the tiny window were covered with dust. A calendar featuring a photo of a buck in the woods hung from the wall, along with a number of framed certificates and photos of the sheriff posing beside what I assumed were local celebrities. One shot showed him on the set of Northern Exposure , which had been shot in the nearby town of
“Because she is my sister,” I said as recognition dawned.
Chapter 13
“Geri?” she said, taking a tentative step toward me.
“Terry?” I said in response.
“No, my name is Flicker,” she said impatiently, continuing to gaze on my face as if she were thirsty and I was a drink of cool water.
“But you used to be Terry,” I said. “Terry Sullivan.”
She shuddered. “Don’t ever call me that!” she said. We stared at each other. Her eyes were the greenish blue I remembered, striking against the tanned skin of her face.
“Wow!” said one of the green-clad ones. “You two could be sisters.”
“Hush!” said Artichoke. She looked from one of us to the other. “I think they are.”
“What are you doing here?” Terry asked.
“I came up for the introductory weekend,” I said. “What are you doing here?”
“She’s here to be questioned, along with all of these other folks,” said the sheriff. “Now break it up. No talking to each other while waiting to be interviewed. I want to know who was the last person to talk to the victim.”
“I spoke to her at lunch,” I volunteered. “That was about one p.m.” I looked at Terry. “She said she was going to go speak to her spiritual advisor. Someone named Flicker.”
“All right!” the sheriff said. “What’s your name?” I told him and he wrote it down. “And who saw her after that?”
To my relief, Terry spoke up. “She came to speak to me. I’m her spiritual advisor. My name is Flicker.” She looked at me defiantly when she said that. “But she left about three p.m. I thought she was going to talk to Artichoke.”
The sheriff rolled his eyes. “And is Artichoke here?”
Artichoke stepped forward. “She never came to see me.”
“So it looks like she was waylaid sometime after three p.m. Did anyone see her after that?”
A few people thought they might have seen her heading for the hot springs later that night, but no one was sure it was her. “She seemed to be in a hurry,” said one woman. “She had her head down and it was dark. I greeted her, but she didn’t respond. Which was unusual. So that’s why I couldn’t tell for sure if it was her.”
“And was there anyone else still at the hot springs when you left?” asked the sheriff.
“Just Fox Black,” said the woman. A blush spread across her cheeks and she looked down.
“Well, where is this Fox Black?” asked the sheriff.
“He’s on his way,” said one of the deputies.
“So unless this Fox Black saw her, you might have been the last one to see her alive,” said the sheriff, gazing suspiciously at my sister.
“I think she might have talked to Crystal Star,” I said, remembering how Star had known Pepe’s Dogawandan name. Either that or there really was an entity named Dogawanda who could discern Pepe’s true name.
“Yes, where is Crystal Star?” asked the sheriff impatiently.
“She’s on her way in too,” said one of the deputies.
“Well, let’s begin the questioning,” the sheriff said. “You!” He pointed at my sister. “Go with him!” He pointed at one of his deputies. “You!” He pointed at me. “In here!” He gestured toward an office in back of Alice’s desk.
I followed him with Pepe trotting behind me. It was a small room, mostly filled by a metal desk that was covered with papers. It actually reminded me a little of Jimmy G’s office, minus the aquarium and the smell of old food. This office smelled like old coffee and old paper. The blinds on the tiny window were covered with dust. A calendar featuring a photo of a buck in the woods hung from the wall, along with a number of framed certificates and photos of the sheriff posing beside what I assumed were local celebrities. One shot showed him on the set of Northern Exposure , which had been shot in the nearby town of
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