Still Figurin' Out Who I Think I Am

This one's about the motive, ten years, and the coat.

"And for day five, who did it? What was your villain or murderer's motive?"

'Sup y'all? Today's the fifth and final day of our Mystery Roundtable in the "30-Day Blogging Challenge ON HIATUS" , which has been graciously hosted by ElaineElaine ...I hope you'll come back next week for another discussion, hosted by- wait, am I allowed to mention the surprise guest hosts and their topics? I mean, it kinda is my forum/contest and all. Ahhhh, never mind.

Anyway, the topic today is my villain and his or her motive. Yeesh...I feel like I just took one of those courses where after a certain amount of money time you'll be able to do something exciting all on your own, like Write A Mystery Novel In Just Five Days!...here's how (operators are standing by). However, I feel like I'd be repeating this course if it actually counted for anything...unless you like your novels to look and feel and cost more like comic books. From 1967.

But hey, I've made it this far, right? So why not give it a shot. Let's say my villain is actually a beloved doctor. He's got his own little practice, and a few times a month he visits a couple retirement home complexes in the surrounding areas to eat lunch, play bingo, and offer some very basic medical services. All for free, of course...because he gets insurance kickbacks from Medicaid and the government or whatever.

Only, the number of senior citizens in these centers dying seems to be on the rise lately...at a rate much higher than history dictates. Most are women, and almost all of them have no real family left to speak of. Local newspapers are running articles about this, and investigations are launched into the dietary staffs, the registered nurses and caregivers, and even the janitorial crew...all to no avail.

That's when one of the guys down at the precinct calls me...he's worried about his ma and wants me to check things out. So I go to one of these senior clubhouses. And that's when I first notice the doctor. The old ladies can't wait to line up just for a chance to talk to him. He relishes the attention as he takes them one by one into his makeshift office behind the partitions in the corner.

I visit a couple more of these places...and each time the doctor is there. Same scene, same crowd. I start watching the obituaries in the newspaper. Sure enough, people are dropping off daily, almost in a pattern. I use my connections to get attendance lists from each luncheon. Looks like we've got a match...but just to be sure, I need the doctor's records.

Citing HIPPA laws and privacy regulations, of course the good doc is non-compliant with my requests. Luckily, the force has my back on this and we get what we need the old fashioned way...with a warrant and a raid. And on the way out, one of the officers knocks over a gallon-sized bottle propping open a door. It smells...like bleach.

After looking over the documents, we've got all we need to make the arrest. Turns out the doctor was nefariously chatting up his victims, and convincing them to sign over important parts of their wills to him. And then he'd do some "preventative maintenance"- maybe a flu shot, or a shingles vaccination- off the books, so there was little evidence of a paper trail inside the senior complexes. But he wasn't using pharmacy-grade materials...once he cajoled the women into whatever he wanted, he shot them up with needles full of bleach. Amazing how he was able to get away with it for so long.

And I know this whole idea of mine is full of holes...so don't try to tell me it could never happen because of this or that. I understand that this isn't very well thought out...it's a blog entry about an idea, not an entry in a competition for the Grammy equivalent of a nice mystery title. And it's also my first time doing this, so go easy on me.

I do have to thank ElaineElaine for a fun (and educational) week headin' us up. I've enjoyed this experience, and learned a few things along the way. I hope the rest of the month works out like this past week has!

"Finish the following sentence in the voice of someone ten years older or someone ten years younger than you: The only things in life I ever wanted were..."

I never asked for much...just a roof over my head, an honest woman that loved me for who I am and not in spite of me, and a job that put as much into me as I put into it. Twenty years ago I had that, for the most part. Ten years ago, I barely had any of that. And today? Nothing's ever certain.

Life used to be so much more carefree...before I learned how to think too much or let every little detail bother me. I used to get away with a lot more too...guess we've all learned how to think a little more, but about different things. Funny how everything is done now to the letter, to the minute, to the fullest extent...you could get away with being five minutes late or a little off with a task. Now everything's grounds for termination or a fine or someone's gettin' pissed off way too early and entirely too much. Makes my heart ache thinkin' 'bout it.

"Life's not fair"...well, it never was, and it definitely ain't now. The older I get the unfairer my vision, hearing, and wallet become. Pretty soon demographics are gonna start overlookin' me...and the only attention I'll get is if I'm passed out on a park bench in broad daylight or I accidentally drive my car through a strip mall storefront.

All I wanted was a voice, and when I got that I wanted to be heard. When I was heard I wanted to be understood. And when I finally became understood, I realized all I ever did was want...so I stopped asking.

"Imagine a long coat, imagine the pocket of that coat, imagine what is inside the pocket... oooohh noooo...You are being followed aggressively...keep in mind all of the above details...what are they going to discover when they get to you and grab your pocket. "

So I'm chillin', mindin' my biz...walkin' down the street to the drug store to kill some time and maybe grab a snack for later. I complete my transaction and I'm out.

I'm a block into the way back home, and I decide to turn around. I don't know what made me; I know I'm normally paranoid and jumpy but even the street itself is quiet today, offering no reasons whatsoever to be startled.

But there's a man about 30 paces behind me. He's got a hat like mine...a long raincoat like mine...he walks like me, with a bit of a limp. That's me! What am I doing behind me?

I start to walk faster; he starts to walk faster. And the worst part is as soon as I reach the intersection, it's too early for me to cross...I'm catching up to me. As the light turns green I book across the street as fast as I can, running in front of a car making a left turn...but it's no use. Before I can even turn around, I feel my hand on my shoulder.

As I face me he lifts the brim of his hat to take a closer look at me. My doppelganger makes for his pocket, like he's gonna draw a weapon on me. I fish around in my long pockets, knowing the closest thing I have to inflicting harm on someone is my housekeys, but I can't find them. I don't even see me raising up an arm to attack, I'm so panicked. I pull the extra-long Spicy Nacho Slim Jim from the bag I had shoved down in the pocket, unwrap it, and snap into it. If this was the last meal I'd wind up buying for myself, I better be getting at least one bite of it.

As I'm about to stab me with a dagger under the midday sun, my man shot backwards as if he was hit by a bus. In a split second, about ten feet away from me, he's spontaneously combusting. To the ground falls just the raincoat and the hat. I just shake my head, walk away, and wonder to myself, "Why did you even wear a raincoat today? It's gorgeous out."

All I really want most of the time can be summed up in this song...

"I want a girl with the right allocations
who is fast and thorough and sharp as a tack."
Lyrics.  

So I finished up Aquarius on Hulu last night, and I'm a little disappointed. I get that it's fiction based on historical events, but On The Road was fiction too, supposedly based on real events, and comparatively they're not even close (in terms of similarities to their counterparts)...Kerouac wins, hands down. But the worst part of Aquarius wasn't what it left out (network tv probably can't get into a whole lot more detail), or the loose ends left open after the finale, but the god damn Carrie Underwood Almay commercials that ran...every. single. commercial break. Every epidsode...what were there, 12? Times five or six breaks per episode (including the one that runs right before the start of a show). And I binge-watched over the course of three nights (not including the two nights I fell asleep during the first episode and had no clue what was going on), so let's call it a minimum of 72 times I had to see Carrie "my face looks like a foot" Underwood rub white cream all over her cheeks because she's 'Murican and needs to keep it real. While it's pretty much known information at this point that Facebook collects data from your browsing history to target specific ads for you to ignore, clearly (thankfully?) Hulu doesn't, as I have never once tried looking up makeup or anything related to it at all on this or any of my devices...including ones that I used prior to having Facebook, Hulu, or bank accounts.

You may have heard me on occasion refer to myself as "lazy", which is ok and we can do that without the quotation marks, but give it up for the people who have laziness mastered   down to epic science levels. I'm legit jealous I haven't thought of some of these, but I can definitely cop to #4. And #13. Probably #24 as well. I guess I'm not that lazy then! HA! Take that, Mrs. Zichittella (my 11th grade Chemistry teacher who failed me for not having all of my lab work completed).

I know some of my readers are grandparents, and admittedly I am not one who should be giving out any kind of parental advice, but if you're ever in charge of a kid, consider me lookin' out for you here. You probably should avoid these children's books   on your next library visit with the youngins.

And finally, today is National Donut Day...or is it National Doughnut Day  ? I prefer "donut", as it's three less letters I have to type while saying the same thing, but I'm seeing "doughnut" more and more (except for the places that actually sell them). Doesn't really matter to me, as long as I don't have to make 'em (the x-link wasn't working, so try this link instead: {link:http://www.mentalfloss.com/article/50968/13-things-you-might-not-know-about-dunkin’-donuts’-“time-make-donuts”-guy}).

I think that sound means we're done with this round of entries; let's see how our contestants did. Peace, uninterrupted prosperity, and GOODNIGHT NOW!!