PacNorWest
Veteran Member
This is a teaser, taking up where Premonitions ends.
#1
Clora and Mark sat in the 'Family room' of the funeral home, the heavy black curtain shielding them from the many curious glances turned their way. Clora sat quietly, holding Mark's hand as he sat carved in stone.
The aftermath of the shootout was anticlimactic and dreary.
Borg had evidently expected the outcome that did happen. His home was clean, organized and a letter to Mark/and or survivors prominently displayed on his clean desk.
The door to the long, low ranch type rambler in one of the more prestigious neighborhoods, yielded to Mark's key as he let himself and the Deputy Sheriff's in for a inspection and organized search.
Clora went out of concern for Mark and a growing curiosity about his background, Mark had shared very little and Clora at last understood why.
Walking around inside the tastefully, expensively decorated show place, Clora felt like a little girl orphan come to live at at her rich Uncle's mansion. There wasn't anything she looked at that didn't scream it's understated value.
Borg had been wealthy, far more rich than Clora had ever imagined in the wildest flight of fancy. She sat at the bistro table in the kitchen, and stared at the copper pans hanging from the pot rack over the Wolff stove. The kitchen was a cook's dream.
The more Clora looked around the house, the more uneasy she felt. Mark was definitely used to the finest in life and living on the farm was pretty far down the line from this smooth opulence.
After looking at his boyhood room, Clora was more convinced than ever the farm was a slum compared to the electronic wonderland and in room amenities in his bedroom suite. Anything and everything was available at his fingertips and if by the remotest thought there was something he needed, there was an intercom to the servants quarters.
Borg thoughtfully listed his safe's combination, so the wall and Monet painting in front of the concealed safe wasn't destroyed. The safe was empty and the letter contained information Mark didn't want to know. He read some and threw the pages on the desk and then reconsidered, and paper in hand he sat down with a pen to study the garbeled nonsense Borg had written.
The house was huge and silent when the law left. Mark hit the button to close the drapes and prevent the stream of reporters and curious neighbors from staring in at them.
Clora wandered the interior, getting lost twice as she went down hallways and passed doors that looped in huge circles. She walked silently back to the kitchen and sat looking at the four door refrigerator, wondering if there was a glass she might use for a drink of water.
Mark came in and asked Clora to come with him, he had decoded the message Borg had left in his innocuous message.
#1
Clora and Mark sat in the 'Family room' of the funeral home, the heavy black curtain shielding them from the many curious glances turned their way. Clora sat quietly, holding Mark's hand as he sat carved in stone.
The aftermath of the shootout was anticlimactic and dreary.
Borg had evidently expected the outcome that did happen. His home was clean, organized and a letter to Mark/and or survivors prominently displayed on his clean desk.
The door to the long, low ranch type rambler in one of the more prestigious neighborhoods, yielded to Mark's key as he let himself and the Deputy Sheriff's in for a inspection and organized search.
Clora went out of concern for Mark and a growing curiosity about his background, Mark had shared very little and Clora at last understood why.
Walking around inside the tastefully, expensively decorated show place, Clora felt like a little girl orphan come to live at at her rich Uncle's mansion. There wasn't anything she looked at that didn't scream it's understated value.
Borg had been wealthy, far more rich than Clora had ever imagined in the wildest flight of fancy. She sat at the bistro table in the kitchen, and stared at the copper pans hanging from the pot rack over the Wolff stove. The kitchen was a cook's dream.
The more Clora looked around the house, the more uneasy she felt. Mark was definitely used to the finest in life and living on the farm was pretty far down the line from this smooth opulence.
After looking at his boyhood room, Clora was more convinced than ever the farm was a slum compared to the electronic wonderland and in room amenities in his bedroom suite. Anything and everything was available at his fingertips and if by the remotest thought there was something he needed, there was an intercom to the servants quarters.
Borg thoughtfully listed his safe's combination, so the wall and Monet painting in front of the concealed safe wasn't destroyed. The safe was empty and the letter contained information Mark didn't want to know. He read some and threw the pages on the desk and then reconsidered, and paper in hand he sat down with a pen to study the garbeled nonsense Borg had written.
The house was huge and silent when the law left. Mark hit the button to close the drapes and prevent the stream of reporters and curious neighbors from staring in at them.
Clora wandered the interior, getting lost twice as she went down hallways and passed doors that looped in huge circles. She walked silently back to the kitchen and sat looking at the four door refrigerator, wondering if there was a glass she might use for a drink of water.
Mark came in and asked Clora to come with him, he had decoded the message Borg had left in his innocuous message.
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You always leave us wanting more of your great stories! Thanks so much!!
