"What's she doing now?" Keith asked.
John Veglia paused. He was stroking his thin beard and staring at the trees. "Persephone?"
"Yeah, you hear anything?"
"Well, so far she's planning a three pronged ending to this shindig."
Keith sighed.
"Sort of cluedo," John said. "Whodunnit."
"Isn't it obvious?" Keith asked.
"She's not as obtuse as most people." John turned away from the view of the remains of the Cliff House.
"If it's Persephone spelling it out, this could take a while," Keith said. "And anyway, who would believe her?"
"Let her handle that big boulder. You know she knows the hill. Say, how did you get those people back to Longmont?"
"We cut a deal," Keith smiled.
"Of course, you wouldn't sit in a car with them without commisssion," John said.
"Co-mission is the best way of putting it."
The PoA was jealous of the Nixpert. The PoA wanted to join the rabbis' team and the search for new candidates, Caucasian females who would happily claim to be Indigenous as well as Jewish by lying through their teeth. As a Catholic, the PoA wasn't entirely satisfied as an oblate administering prayers for the Benedictine Abby up in the hills. She wanted more. She wanted exotic, but not too exotic. She was thinking more along the lines of safe exotic. Most of Boulder's population harboured the same sentiment.
And despite the Nixpert speaking a load of academic jibberish, the PoA had seen how the Nixpert was revered at the online shiva for the Beige Widow. Because the PoA had German ancestry, and, unlike the Norwegian Nixpert, she could not speak an ancestral language, the PoA resolved to improve her two semesters of intermediate college level German. Of course, that had been twenty something years ago, but still. The PoA reached for the only German book that she owned. Well, not really owned. She had taken it from the Beige Widow's house after the Beige Widow had committed medically assisted suicide. It was through the Beige Widow that the PoA knew Teary.
The book was called, Rhino Ritz, Amerikanischer Detektivroman von Keith Abbott. She cracked it open and read:
The PoA scratched her head and blinked. She stared at the shortest sentence, "There are certain plots and complots." She didn't know if she really understood. Then, across the room, her mother's old 1979 GE television suddenly turned itself on.
Unlike Troy who was sitting in a mansion in Beverly Hills, Emery was in a bar looking at Mr. InBetween. It was 1973 and no one stopped her when she walked into the Vesuvio Cafe. She ordered a Blue Hawaii because she asked the bartender for a recommendation to cover up her naivity. She wasn't the first almost ex-Mormon to do this.
Now, Mr. InBetween was not impressed by a woman drinking a Blue Hawaii, but he was always impressed by a woman in a bar. A tall, blond one who was obviously not an easy lay. She had that hardened, get off my ass look about her and Mr. InBetween liked that. And she was young. He liked that too.
Emery was relieved that she had finally ditched her mother. Hopefully, Emily was already back in 2025. Emery asked for a cigarette from her neighbor. She had been secretly smoking for months. She accepted a Lucky Strike.
"I don't suppose I could be your next Lucky Strike?" Mr. InBetween asked.
Emery looked up. The man was six feet tall, and had glasses and long blond hair. Emery had heard about lame pick up lines and how women were supposed to like lame pick up lines.
"Would you be upset to learn I am part of a cult?" Emery asked.
"No." Mr. InBetween said, intrigued.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Coming Soon Chapter Thirty-Seven
#longmont #colorado #keithkumasenabbott #keithabbott #timetravel #ghoststory #mormonism #rhinoritz
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