The Following Morning
Detective Jameson sat in the large, poufy chair watching Sheila pace. “Shouldn’t you be picking your mother up from the airport?”
“No, she insisted on renting a car and coming herself.” She wrung and twisted her fingers as she continued pacing. A deep breath in and a deep breath out had the opposite effect. As much as she tried to relax, it didn’t work. “What is this all about?” whispered Sheila more to herself than to the detective.
“Excuse me. What was that?” asked Detective Jameson.
Sheila stopped pacing and stared at him for a few seconds, then, “Nothing. It’s nothing.” She turned and plopped down onto the sofa. “It’s just that. Well… She mentioned a carousel, which struck me as odd.”
“Why is that?”
“When I was talking to my mother on the phone, she said, ‘That damn carousel.'”
“Why would that be odd?”
Sheila stared at him, blinked twice, then said, “I don’t remember ever being near a carousel in my life let alone riding one.”
“You’re kidding me. Everyone I know has been on one of those things at least once in their life,” said the detective.
“Not me. But…”
“What? But what?”
“It’s strange. Just the other night I woke up around 1:00 am in a cold sweat gasping for air and remnants of carnival music playing in my head. When I tried to remember what my dream was about the more it faded from my memory. The last thing I do remember from it was Mr. Potter from next door. His face crossing my line of vision when I awoke. Wait. Where’s Mr. Potter?”
“Locked up. Remember? The body in his back yard?”
“But that doesn’t mean he killed my look alike.”
“It doesn’t mean he didn’t either. Look. He refuses to talk, so I had no choice. That, and we found evidence. Of which I am not at liberty to discuss.”
The doorbell jolted Sheila out of her thoughts.
(To Be Continued)