Hidden Talent

Honorable mention winner in the Show Off Your Best Contest, Nov 2008


Margie wandered through the narrow, merchandise-packed aisles of her favorite thrift store, browsing through the racks of suits and dress blouses.  Even though she wasn’t highly paid in her job as legal secretary, her bosses nevertheless expected her to dress professionally.  To them that meant expensive suits and pumps that Margie could ill afford.  Thank God for thrift shops!

She had discovered a beautiful wool-flannel suit and was scrutinizing the blouses when a rack of formal and semi-formal dresses caught her attention. Mark’s birthday is coming up, wonder if I might find something to wear for his surprise party.

Draping the suit over her arm she hurried over to the next aisle and began flipping through dresses and gowns.

She had nearly given up when she spied a flash of bright green tucked between two frilly formals.  She pulled out the elusive dress and held it up against her lithe, jean-clad body.  She twirled and smiled as the soft, silky fabric swirled around her.  Still holding the dress against her, she sought out a mirrored dresser and gazed at her reflection.  This scooped neckline would be the perfect showcase for my silvery cascade necklace. She checked the size. Perfect! Carefully placing the dress atop the suit, she continued to wander aimlessly.  Can’t afford any more purchases today but it never hurts to look.

She slowly perused the shelves of books, glanced over a table full of mismatched china and glassware and moved on to a table loaded with odds and ends of every description.  With a deep sigh she turned toward the cashier’s desk when a box of assorted costume jewelry caught her attention.  The sign, “All Items only $1 each”, drew her inexorably to search its depths. 

In a bottom corner she noticed the dull sheen of a large green stone and picked up the ring. How cool!  This stone nearly matches the dress and surely I can splurge another dollar! Quickly trying the ring for size, she then hurried toward the cashier on duty before she found anything else that she just must have.

After paying for her purchases, she hurried to her car, placed the bag of clothing on the back seat and removed the tiny bag containing the ring.  She held the piece of jewelry up to the sunlight, breathed on the stone and immediately began to vigorously polish it on her flannel shirtfront.  After a moment, she again scrutinized it and found streaks of shiny metal showing on the dull-black mounting.  Could that be silver?  When I get home, I’ll have to dig out the silver polish and see what we have here.  Real silver and only a dollar!  Wow!  What a bargain!

She slipped the ring on her finger, slid behind the wheel and started the engine.  She just reached for the gearshift when the vision of a beautiful woman with long, red hair flashed into her consciousness.  She frowned; then shrugged, put the car in gear and headed for her apartment.

All during the drive, including a stop at the cleaners to drop off her newly acquired clothing, the visage of the red-haired woman repeatedly flashed into Margie’s mind.  She pushed the thoughts aside and concentrated instead on plans for Mark’s party.  I’ll take him to dinner at that little Italian restaurant he likes; he’ll think that’s all I have planned.  Sue, Alan, Kat and Bill can slip into my apartment while we’re gone, and we’ll surprise him with a bottle of champagne.  It’ll be great!

At the apartment, she retrieved the can of silver polish and a soft cloth from the pantry and sat down at the table.  Carefully, she applied a small amount of the polish to the ring’s mounting and gently laid it on a corner of the cloth to dry.  A thin beam of sunlight shone through the window, striking the ring and Margie gazed at it thoughtfully.  Such depth the stone has!  I thought it was cut glass, but what if it’s a real gem?  If it’s an emerald, it sure is good quality!

The liquid dried and she began to buff the metal to a glowing sheen.  It is silver! she thought, using her fingernail to carefully clean the grooves of the rope-like strands that surrounded the gemstone.  When she had finished, she held the ring in her palm and admired its newly released beauty.

She gazed intently at the ring as a scene flashed through her mind.  The same red-haired lady she’d seen previously, wearing an ivory satin gown approached a dressing table and sat down.  A beautiful emerald pendant surrounded by diamonds hung from a silver chain and plunged into the deep V-neckline; more emeralds set in a bed of silver filigree dangled from her ear lobes.  As she raised her hand to adjust the necklace, Margie saw on her finger the same ring at which she was now staring.  Margie gasped and dropped the ring on the table as the scene disappeared behind a wash of blood red.

Heart pounding, she gingerly picked up the ring and carried it to her jewelry box before proceeding to put away the cleaning supplies.

Over the next two weeks Margie pushed thoughts of the ring from her mind and concentrated on the arrangements for Mark’s party.  She called the restaurant to make their dinner reservations.

“It’s my boyfriend, Mark’s birthday,” she told the manager.  “I’d like to get a cozy little table and for it to be . . . nice, you know.”

“Just leave everything to me, Miss.”

She had a duplicate apartment key made for Sue, bought a nice bottle of champagne and polished her best flutes until they gleamed.  They may not be crystal, she thought, but they can still look good.

The day finally arrived and she decorated the living room with streamers and balloons before proceeding to get herself ready.  It’s going to be a fun evening, she thought as she clasped the cascade of silvery chains around her neck and slipped on the ring. 

When she was ready, she surveyed the living room, carried the tray of champagne glasses to the coffee table and picked up the phone.

“Hi, Sue, it’s me,” she said when her friend answered.  “I just wanted to make sure you guys were all set for this evening.”

“We’re all planning on being there.”

“Good.  We’ll be back here about nine and the champagne’s in the ‘fridge, okay?”

“Okay.  Oh, I borrowed my mom’s ice bucket and Alan and I will stop and get a bag of ice.”

“Great!  Well, I’d better get out of here and pick up Mark.  We don’t want to be late.  See you guys at nine.”

During the drive and throughout dinner, Margie forced the recurring images of the red-haired woman out of her mind.  She smiled happily at a grinning Mark, a hot blush rising in his cheeks, when the restaurant staff gathered around their table, deposited a candle-sporting piece of chocolate cake and sang “Happy Birthday”.

As they left the restaurant, she gave an appreciative wave to the manager, turned to Mark and said, “It’s early yet.  Let’s go back to my place.  I’ve got a new DVD I think you’ll like.”

“Sounds good to me.  What better way to spend my birthday than snuggled up with my best girl.”

Margie laughed.  “Oh, I bet you say that to all your girlfriends!”

When they reached the apartment, she unlocked the door and entered with Mark following close behind.  He flipped on the light.

“Surprise!  Happy Birthday!” rang out from all over the small living room, while Mark stood looking stunned.

He grinned at Margie, “You little liar!” he murmured as he kissed her cheek.

“Break out the champagne!” Tom yelled.

“A toast to the Birthday Boy!”

“Hear! Hear!”

“Drink first, then presents.”

Mark crossed the room and shook hands with Alan and Bill.  "I'm surprised the Police Chief let both you guys off on the same night."

Alan flashed him a crooked grin.  "It's all a matter of timing."

After the presents had been opened, they all sat around sipping champagne, and talking.  Margie leaned back against the couch and closed her eyes.  The redhead, seated at her dressing table appeared against the backs of her eyelids.  Suddenly a dark shadow appeared behind her; a large gleaming knife sliced across her throat and blood squirted everywhere.  With a yelp, Margie sat bolt upright, slopping her drink onto the sofa.

Mark slipped his arm around Margie's quaking shoulders while Sue rushed across the room, napkin in hand.

“What is it?  What’s wrong?”

“That woman,” Margie whispered, gasping for breath, “someone killed her!”

“What?  What are you talking about?  What woman?”

“The woman I’ve been seeing.... “

Everyone gathered around her and Alan laid a calming hand on her arm.  “Just take it easy and tell us what you saw.”

Margie took a deep breath.  “Well, sometimes I see this woman.  She has long red hair and she’s all dressed up in a satin gown, like for a party, and . . . and she’s wearing this beautiful emerald jewelry.”

“Who is she?” Mark asked.  “Do you know her?”

Margie shook her head.

“Have you ever seen her before?” Alan wanted to know.

“I . . . I don’t know.  I don’t think so, but she does look a little bit familiar, somehow.”

“And you say someone killed her?” Alan’s eyes seemed to penetrate her own.

Margie nodded.  “I saw this huge knife.  Someone came up behind her and . . . and slit her throat.”  She buried her face in her hands.  “Oh, the blood!  There was blood everywhere!”

Alan got up from the couch.  “Can I use your computer?”

Margie motioned toward the desk in the corner.  Alan strode toward it with Bill not far behind, while Mark, Sue and Kat tried to soothe their shaken friend.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Bill murmured.

Alan sat down at the computer and nodded.  “That Carmichael woman?”

“The one the Chief was so uptight about a few months back.”

“Right.  They never did catch who did it, did they?”

“Don’t think so.”

The clacking of the keys and Margie’s quiet sobbing were the only sounds in the room for several minutes, before Alan called out, “Margie, come here a sec.  I want you to take a look at something.”  The group from the couch crossed the room and gathered behind Alan.  “Is this the woman you’ve been seeing?”

Margie gasped as she recognized the same face she’d been visualizing.  She slowly nodded.  “That’s her.”  Staring at the picture on the screen, she whispered,  “Who is she?”

“Christine Carmichael,” Alan answered, tapping the picture’s caption with his fingertip.  “Only daughter of Martin Carmichael, owner of Carmichael Industries.  She was murdered while getting ready to go to some big reception the Company was having one evening.  Apparently she was in the wrong place at the wrong time during a burglary.”

“Oh my God, how awful!” Margie breathed.

Alan turned to gaze up at her.  “When did you start seeing these . . . visions?”

Margie shrugged.  “I don’t know.  A couple of weeks ago I think. Why?”

Alan and Bill exchanged a long, searching look.  “I just wondered.  That murder took place several months ago.  Why would you have just recently start seeing this woman?”

Margie shook her head.  “I don’t know, I . . .”  Margie searched her memories of everything she done recently and tried to recall when she had first seen the woman’s image.  Her face brightened.  “The thrift shop!  I was at the thrift shop.  I bought a few things and when I got in the car to come home, I saw her.”

Alan’s eyes narrowed.  “What did you buy?”

“Well, I found a suit for work and this dress,” she picked up the edge of the skirt.  “Oh, and this ring.”  She held out her hand displaying the piece of jewelry.

Alan smiled, rose from the chair and gently guided her back toward the couch.  “And when you put on the ring; that was when you saw her?”

“Why, yes!  How did you know that?  When I got to my car I took the ring out of the bag and put it on.  That’s when it happened!”

“Okay, good.  Now I want you to just sit down here, lean back and get comfortable.  Oh, and yeah, try taking the ring off and holding it in your hand.”

Margie looked at him with confusion.  “What for?”

“Just try it, okay?” 

Margie nodded, took off the ring, held it in her palm and leaned back. 

“Now, I want you to concentrate on the ring and tell us what you see.  Just relax.”

Margie took a deep breath and sighed.  “I see the woman.  She’s sitting at her dressing table arranging her jewelry and . . .”

“Wait a minute,” Alan cautioned.  “I want you to look at the knife.  Can you describe it?”

“Well,” she said slowly, “it’s big with a wide blade and it shines in the light.”

“And the person holding it, what do they look like?”

A frown furrowed Margie’s forehead as she concentrated.  “I can’t really see him . . . it is a man, though, I’m sure of that.  He’s big, broad.  He’s kind of shadowed, like there’s a light behind him somewhere.”

“Can you tell us anything else?”

“His face, it’s sort of . . . fuzzy, like he’s got a big bushy beard or something.”

“Okay, now, I want you to skip the cutting part, okay?”

“I’ll . . . I’ll . . . try.  It’s just that everything is kind of . . . jumbled.”

“That’s okay.  See what you can pick up on the man.”

Margie sat quietly for a long moment, a frown creasing her brow.  “He’s running . . . down some stairs.  They look all enclosed, like fire stairs or something.  Now he’s outside, still running.  It’s dark, I can’t really see anything.”

“Just try.  Tell us what you can.”

“He’s in an alley, I think.  I see dumpsters.  He throws the knife into one of them. I see his hand.  He’s wearing gloves!”  The silence deepened as everyone waited for her to continue.  “Now he’s walking down a . . . sort of rundown street, someplace. I don’t recognize it.  There’s a pawnshop just ahead, the old-fashioned kind with the gold-colored balls over the door.  He’s going in there.”  Margie opened her eyes and leaned forward, rubbing her temples with her fingertips.  “I’m sorry, I . . .”

“Don’t be sorry,” Alan almost shouted in his excitement as he and Bill exchanged a knowing look.  “You’ve told us more than we knew before.”  He gave her a broad grin.  “We found the knife, in a dumpster a couple blocks from Ms. Carmichael’s apartment and it had no prints so the gloves make perfect sense.  There can’t be too many pawnshops in the area, within walking distance at least, that still display that symbol.  And we now have at least some sort of physical description of the perp.  If we can find that shop owner, who’s apparently doubling as a fence, and put some pressure on him, well, we just might be able to finally solve that case.”

Mark and the girls all looked from Alan to Bill in confusion.

Alan got up off the couch and began to pace.  “You saw the jewelry she was wearing?” 

Margie nodded.  “An emerald necklace, earrings and, of course, this ring.”

“Do you think you could draw me a picture of the other pieces?”

“I suppose so, what for?”

“When we visit that pawn broker the drawings may help jog his memory a little bit,” he answered with a twisted smile.

“Wow!” Bill breathed as he looked at Margie with wide-eyed enthusiasm.  “Psychometry in action!  I never thought I’d see it.”

Alan grinned at Mark.  “Hey, buddy, it looks like your girl here has a hidden talent.”

Margie smiled weakly.  From now on I’ll not be buying any jewelry from thrift shops, I don’t care how much of a bargain!


Word Count: 2693