Chapter 56: Me and My Shuttlecock
When I tell someone that I work for the Post Office (which does not happen often, to be fair), I am sure that they think that I am a letter carrier, or work in some drab little office. What were the postables doing today? Well, Rita and Norman were off door-knocking about 700 businesses to see if any employees had sent parcels to Las Vegas. I was investigating the antecedents of a smelly T-shirt and Oliver was visiting his friend Dale.
I had to admit, my searches were not going well. That shirt could be from anywhere. Sometimes, good ideas come into my head. Flashes of insight that help our cases along, that kind of thing. Sometimes, overwhelming …I am going to call it interest in my fellows (I may call it interest, but my mother and sister call it invasive snooping – which is just rude!) overtakes me. I am going to say that I decided to deliver the said shirt to Agent Travers at the CBI to assist with the successful conclusion of the case. Dedicated postal service was absolutely the reason I was going to gatecrash Oliver's meeting with Dale.
I could hear my mother's voice in my ear reciting that ridiculous adage – 'curiosity killed the cat'. Thanks Mum, not helpful! Oliver once said that 'hope was that thing with feathers'. Well, sometimes, the thing with feathers is a badminton shuttlecock, repeatedly smacked back and forth with accuracy and force! I had supposed that Oliver and Dale would be enjoying a serious conversation. What I didn't expect was to see them engaged in a serious conversation with hands clasped! That little metaphorical shuttlecock was taking a hiding! I absolutely trust Oliver. I mean, he asked me out on a date, and I know that he is not the kind of man to trivialise someone's feelings. Other people do not inspire the same confidence.
I suppose when I heard that Eleanor had been a member of the same church as Dale and Oliver, I should have felt a little guilty for being so uncharitable. My little mangled shuttlecock and i? We are still reserving judgement.
Chapter 56a: A Day of Nothing
Today I decided that after the feeling of unsettledness (is that even a word?) yesterday brought, I was going to do everything I could to return today to firmer ground. Perhaps I should learn how to express myself without mangling any more metaphors? Anyway, I decided that I would give today every chance to be a success.
I remember reading somewhere that someone said, '"fashion is the armour to survive the reality of everyday life." I decided that I was not only going to survive, but thrive. My armour today included a very nice orange dress (not the orange dress, but rather a very flattering and stylish skater dress that looked quite good if I did say so myself with a cropped black blazer and my very lovely – but very high – leopard print pumps). And if the very high shoes made the dress a little shorter than my usual work appropriate attire? Surely there was no harm in that?
I also decided that my homemade coffee was not going to be enough to get me though the day. I found myself stopping at the Denver Bean Coffee Cart (rather than the more convenient Mailbox Grille). Just being in a line at the cart made my happy.
My good mood made it until about 2:00 p.m. Who knew that there were so many possible names could be shortened to 'Sandy'. I remember how well Alex took it when our Great Aunt Agnes tried to call her Sandy. Hmmm. No, today is not a stew about Alex day, so those thoughts can go back in the box. Alexandra (obviously), Cassandra, Sandra, Alisande and Sandy itself. All of which meant that there were thousands of Sandys in the Las Vegas area.
By three o'clock, with still no sign of Rita and Norman, I moved on from frustration with women named Sandy to frustration with T Shirt manufacturers generally, and T Shirt manufacturers in Ohio specifically. I wasn't game to tell Oliver about sites like . I didn't think it would go well.
By four o'clock I decided to have a brave conversation with Oliver. Perhaps this was the one letter we could not deliver?
What a day! Frustration was a heavy load. I wish I had Oliver's conviction, and that something was bound to happen that would put this letter on the right path. Perhaps I had jinxed his 'divine delivery theory' but pressuring Oliver's God into producing a result? Some nights I drink nothing more stimulating than water when I put my thoughts to paper. Sometimes a soothing cup of tea was what I needed. Tonight, a glass of wine was in order. I happen to approve of the pairing of a smooth tempranillo with dark chocolate.
My feet really hurt.
