Hidden Poet

By Linda Wickens

Hidden Poet is the second and latest suspense-romance novel published by author Linda Page Wickens. Brain Files was her first novel in 2011 and she’s ending the year with another suspense-romance filled with poetry written by a psychotic serial killer who thinks he’s an eighteenth century scholar and knight.

The story starts off with Victoria Rose Charles, 39, a beautiful auburn haired divorced New Englander that responds to requests for her compassionate work with the unfortunate, and opens “Wish Upon a Star” charities in her new home of Texas.

She meets a philanthropist who leaves romantic poems and always that lovely feminine rose on her doorstop to capture her heart. Gregory has already taken Victoria’s heart. Angry over what he sees through her windows, his poems get angry, as he is enraged. Who is this poet? A secret code is written in each poem. Her essence is enraptured by Gregory, and she wants nothing to do with this poet. The poems become death threats. If he cannot have her, no one can. On the day she deciphers a possible clue to his code and who he is, a horrible change of even charges the air.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Linda Wickens
• Release date: Oct 29, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465852601

Linda Wickens

Linda is a married middle-age homemaker with one son. Now retired in Florida she picked up a pen one afternoon with an insatiable urge to write, and hasn't put it down since. "Brain Files" has been her first attempt at writing fiction. Having lived in several different states with her husband's job transfers, she's collected many friends with stories. Always taking a job within an elementary school system as a kindergarten teaching assistant and later special education assistant kept her busy meeting new people, and hearing new tales that she's placed in her own brain files. Politically active, she won The Chairman's award from the Vienna (VA) Regional Chamber of Commerce for her leadership bringing an Ethics program into the high school. This program she was enthralled to do and mold as a seminar for the senior class to experience a mock trial with real courtroom judge, and area business leaders there to listen, and let the teens speak constructively of their feelings on what they were understanding. Didn't cost the taxpayers any money! She negotiated with area businesses to contributing their expertise and funding for the three staged daylong event. She has been a member of the National League of Families - Missing In Action (Vietnam) since 1967, when her brother became Missing In Action. Her other simple claim to fame has been as former Alumni Board of Directors member as well as Alumni Correspondent for her Class of 1969 at the incredible Pinkerton Academy. "The Hidden Poet" was her 2nd attempt at writing a suspense novel and was completed the following year. Her third E novel, "The Manufactured President" will be available soon.

Book preview

The Hidden Poet

By

Linda Page Wickens

Smashwords Edition

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Published By:

Linda Page Wickens on Smashwords

Copyright © 2011 by Linda Page Wickens

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Chapter One

Diamond shapes shimmer as sunset kisses the evening by taking a crystal bow through the woods. Victoria while standing on the balcony over the yellow rose covered portico at the Ferris Hotel, overlooks the day’s final glimpse, and takes a refreshing breath of air into her lungs. The sunset had just gone down and a relaxing crisp fall breeze had taken over. A perfect time of evening being able with the darkened background, to focus up into the celestial arena, making it a first wish upon a star moment. It always gave her great delight as a child to find that first star above the horizon, and make her wish. This evening she wished, not for herself, but for a triumphant amount of checks to be drawn or pledged for her area charitable organizations that she founded as its president. That’s why she called her new venture, ‘Wish Upon a Star Charities.’

The evening had been stunningly unforgettable. It was the first major cocktail party since her divorce, and recent move to Texas from New England. The hotel was bedecked in soft ambient lighting from chandeliers with assorted flickering candles placed on every table, and were burning now to softened stumps. The music had been soft yet audible enough in the background to talk to others at the reception, and to make contacts. She had been at some formal functions that practically blasted patrons to move outside for conversations. Victoria Charles was an avid supporter of numerous charitable causes; food banks, soup kitchens, domestic violence, plus support groups for women’s, and children’s health issues. Over the years, she had received accolades from various organizations for her untiring hours finding contributions on their behalf. After numerous letters and calls from friends and acquaintances asking her to come to Texas, she now had the time and spirit to organize by starting an organization to help others in this new area. Walking around with her crystal glass of chardonnay, she works the room.

Being divorced for two years, she seemed actually to excel in her newfound freedom. She had cruised the crowd with her beguiling smile making eye contacts, stopping for small talk, and to feel the area business people. Each responded to this new woman in town, which greatly excited her. She couldn’t believe that this once shy, tall, slim girl, Victoria Rose Charles from the Boston area, was bedecked in a lovely dress being received by Texas money for her organization. Receiving many compliments wearing her fitted burgundy one shoulder evening dress she felt was a hit that evening, she fingered the matching cerise chiffon wrap she placed over her chilled shoulders. Business cards were collecting in her purse from possible business contributors, and she was pressing her cards into their hands as to not forget her name or information. They quickly realized Ms. Victoria Charles was a most dedicated and professional woman with the biggest heart, and boundless energy to help the less fortunate. A nice asset to the area many felt.

It was late, and the evening was a success. She decided to slowly make her way out of the reception. Walking through the atrium, she placed her wine glass down on a waiter’s tray. Hurriedly, the hotel Concierge came up to her.

"Ms. Charles, a gentleman over there has given me this note and beautiful pink rose to deliver to you ‘for your eyes only.’ Looking around to see who it may be, she asked, Who sent this? The concierge turned around, but said that the man who had given it to him was no longer standing there, and he did not know his name. She took the delicate rose with its capturing scent in one hand and the white linen note in the other. Thinking it was another business card or note, she placed her purse down on the table with her chiffon shawl to read the folded white linen paper. To her surprise it was a note written as prose by an admirer.

Dear Victoria of the elegant evening,

Envision a dream entering your life and wanting to hold it close.

Please accept this delicate pink rose as token of my distant affection.

I have been watching your feminine wilds dance around the room.

This evening introduced a new chapter in my life by gazing upon your beauty.

Our paths have crossed a fine line of salutation once before,

Memories once a tender smile, a silhouette sitting on a beach.

Enjoy this poem of intention and rose as a sign from me of the vision I have of you.

A lover of poetry and beauty, Your Hidden Poet

This is wonderful she thought to herself, an admirer. Looking up for the person who pressed this to her hand, she also could not find him, as he had left to probably attend to the reception. Asking others around her, they knew of no one who would acknowledge such a romantic yet bizarre way of introduction. She thought she had met just about everyone who had attended the party that evening. Thinking nothing of it, she placed her wrap over her shoulders, and folded the paper neatly into her purse. Holding her rose and purse she took leave of the reception, and to her car parked outside. Walking out the wrap gently glided off her shoulder. She realized her heart shaped chatelaine, a gift from her mother to wear as an antique brooch for such as occasion to pin together her shawl, had fallen off. The chairperson of the evening, Evelyn Hampshire, saw her distress of loosing such a lovely antique piece of jewelry. She said she would leave message with the hotel staff that if anyone found it to call her immediately. A reward was offered to anyone that found this sentimental piece.

Disappointed over losing her special pin, she walks out of the atrium. Readying her keys to unlock her door, she found another pink rose attached to another white linen piece of paper in her door handle. What is this? Wondering if this is a prank, she opens her door, sits in her vehicle, and as usual locks her door safely. Opening the paper, again there is another prose hand written to her attention.

Dearest Victoria most beautiful woman at the faire,

Curious, I am sure who again teases and beckons the fair maiden in secret.

Offering shiny red hair with eyes of green, skin as fair and pink as this second rose.

Look around dear beauty and you will not find me, yet, until the time is right.

Everyone they say has a certain someone out there to love.

Ultimate feelings once felt years passed, have been happily resurrected.

Smiles of contentment once imbedded on my mind have reawakened.

Good evening dear Victoria, Your Hidden Poet

One part of her is rather excited there could be a suitor that wants to meet her this unconventional way. Another part of her is curious that this man could be a psycho. Bright yellow flashing lights behind her car caught her attention. A security guard making his rounds stopped his truck noting she had been sitting inside her vehicle for a while. She opens her window to the uniformed guard flashing his flashlight inside.

Ma’am is there anything wrong, doesn’t your car start? I’ve got jumper cables! Said the young clean-shaven guard perhaps twenty-one years of age, maybe twenty-five at most.

"Oh, I’m sorry, I was given this note, no, I found it on my car door handle and was reading it. Have you seen anyone near that could have placed this note and rose in such a manner?"

No Ma’am, most people ask the valet staff here to attend to their vehicle and to drive it to the front rose covered portico for them, so I haven’t personally seen anyone other than the crew. Is it a bad note, shall I call the county sheriff in?

I don’t think so, just a note from an admirer, I guess, she says faintly.

Can’t be too harmful Ma’am if he gives you a rose, may I see it for a second? She shows him the rose. He takes a look and realizes it wasn’t clipped from the portico rose bush, since those are all Texas yellow color roses, and the garden type, not a florist long stem as this was.

Good thinking young man, you’re correct. I must have an admirer that wants to create suspense and romance.

A-huh Ma’am, you’re lucky. Now make sure your car will start before I leave, he said in an authoritative older manner. Night Ma’am, drive safely, lock your doors for safety measures.

She placed her keys in the ignition and of course it started fine. Smiling to the guard, she clicked her doors again to lock, and drove off to her home at the end of town.

Arriving home, Victoria collects her purse, roses, and shawl. She observes her flowered path to her front door since she is a bit nervous as she walks into her new condo on an end unit. Feeling anxious and a little spooked, she relaxed with the scent of the pink roses giving way to her romantic senses. As she placed her key in the front door, she half thought there would be another poem and rose somehow, but there wasn’t. She smiled realizing she was letting her mind go astray. Though, there was a slight feeling that someone was watching her. Must be deer in the woods or other critters making that noise.

Once inside she immediately double locked her door, and placed her new roses in a slim bud vase on the foyer table. From there she happily kicked off her heels, placing them in the closet, gingerly undressed, and hung up her cocktail dress. Noticing the messages on her phone, she pressed the play button while walking around the room into the bathroom to run a nice hot bubble bath. Naked only wearing a chenille robe to cover up, she listened to the messages as her bath was filling. She again made sure her doors were all double locked, with her keys and purse by her bed table. Her only messages were from her mother, Gloria Rivers in Boston, and her son, Nathan, from her first teenage marriage, saying hello from his military base. She was glad he was based on the same coast as his grandmother since she now was living far away. She turns on her Bose stereo system and plays some relaxing music. No further messages, she disrobes and slips into the whirlpool bubble bath.

Ohhhh, this feels good, my feet are killing me... I wish sneakers were evening permissible footwear with cocktail dresses, I’d feel so much better!

Twirling her long shiny auburn red hair on top of her head, she rests against her pink form bath pillow, and feels the warm bubbles start to relax her troubles away, and her sore feet. Aromatherapy, just love it, she thought as she fingered scented bubbles over her breast and legs feeling it soften her skin. Closing her eyes, she sinks deeper into the bath for several wonderful minutes of relaxation and listening to her music. It had been a long evening, but profitable for the organization.

Arising like a soft fragrant mermaid from her bath, she towels and lotions her tired naked body. After exfoliating off make-up, she inspects her body adding more lotion to dry spots, and eases on a new pink lace teddy-camisole. Glancing back into the bathroom partially fogged mirror she realized everything she touched was that same rose pink color. Her bedroom feels cold and her sheer curtains are flowing in the fall breeze. Apparently when she came home, she inadvertently opened the sliding glass bedroom doors to the lanai. Odd she thought, but nervously chuckled, as she threw her keys back that had fallen on the rug, and off the side bed table where she placed her purse earlier. Victoria had been told by her mother back in her college days, to always keep her keys and purse near her on the bedside table, so she always knew where they were. The keys need to be close in case she needed to push the alert button to gain someone’s attention if she needed help. Her mother always worried about her, and it was a good security measure that she followed with her keys. Everyone knew everyone’s car and knew her idea of doing that if needed help. It was her way to give helpful information and start conversation when they had a welcome coffee for new owners. That’s Victoria, always helping others and making them feel at ease in a new situation.

Snuggling under her nice dreamy soft comforter, she reaches for Brain Files, a new romance mystery novel she had been reading. Engrossed in the mystery of the character being seduced mentally by a satanic presence, she decides she’s had enough suspense in her day. The warm bed and comforter felt too good, and decides to instead turn off the lights. Immediately the red head falls fast asleep dreaming of a stranger that she perhaps once knew, and wants to rekindle a relationship. So relaxed, she slept through the night after first going over a list in her head where she would spend the needed endorsed checks.

The week after this thirty-nine year old moved to this small northeast Texas town outside of Dallas, she was coordinating a coat and blanket drive with winter nearing. The local library would forget overdo book fees if people brought in canned goods, new or slightly used blankets, or coats. Even local stores had special containers inside to help collect for such. All from her coordinating efforts. She was making friends and opening people’s eyes that the need was urgent. Winters here weren’t as cold and snow laden as the northeast where she’s originally from, but often cold enough when a person or family is homeless.

Children from the school system were made aware that not all had two loving parents, a big warm house, nice clothes to wear, and plenty of food, with a big SUV in the garage. The area high schools had car washes, and asked for canned goods as a fee to get into the sports activities. She didn’t want anyone to go without, and was totally infectious with her personality asking for contributions. The students named her an honorary cheerleader, and placed a banner over the entrance of the school citing, Camaraderie of Love for the Unfortunate. No one was to be cold this winter, they all said.

The next morning she awakened to a wonderful sunny Texas morning. Lying in bed she could hear the horses playing in the field across from her condo. There’s an equine stable for horseback riding that features riding therapy for people with cerebral palsy, military amputees, and other afflictions. Pulling on a pair of jeans, her MIT sweatshirt and her hair in a ponytail, she decided to make coffee and bring a thermos with muffins for her new friends inside the barn. Of course she first had to talk to the horses gathering at the fence for their morning nose rubs from Victoria. They seem to like watching the morning church traffic collect at the stop sign at the corner. Knowing all their names, and where they liked to be rubbed, Victoria talks to them like children. Walking around the white fence she walks towards the stable to talk with the staff. The horses all followed her to see if there were any more pieces of apple treats for them.

Good Morning Ms. Victoria, how are you this fine morning? asked Gail Claxton the owner and head therapist in charge of patient riding who was originally from Maine. They had a New England kinship in common.

I am very well Ms. Gail, knew you’d be in, so I brought coffee in my picnic satchel. Interested in splitting a humongous carrot-oatmeal muffin with me, toasted with honey-butter? Went to Billy’s Bakery yesterday, can’t let it go to waste, and I re-toasted them just as you like!

Walking around to greet her with her hands on her hips, Gail comes out with, "You trying to make me fat so all the men will be after you? You’re waste goes to my waist, she says while pointing to both her waist and the muffins. Heck yes, I’ll share with you, and do love your coffee, did you learn that stuff in Boston?"

Victoria hands her the coffee and muffin. "Knew you couldn’t resist! And I freshly grind the beans to make coffee that’s why you enjoy my coffee, and it’s not a Boston thing that I know of. With her New England accent she says, Remember in Boston we like ‘lob-stah, chow-dah, Boston baked beans with brown bread, and park at the Harvard yard!’ And, think about it, we’ve got to have some meat on our bones so men will have something to cuddle next to.

No matter where you’ve lived, you’ve always kept your New England accent! muses Gail as she bites into the toasted warm honey-buttered muffin. I lost a lot of mine since I’ve been here for several years since my mother died. And look at you, of course, you’re wearing your ‘M.I.T.’ sweatshirt, so Bostonian, but you didn’t go there, did you?

Sure, I did. I went into The Coop at M.I.T. and bought it there, where else would you buy an M.I.T. shirt at Notre Dame? They both groaned and chuckled. I went to college in Boston, but not M.I.T, said Vicky.

Standing by the barn door, still feeling like someone had been watching her, Victoria nibbles on her muffin and holds her coffee cup between her hands as if she’s chilled.

Gosh, what a beautiful morning, isn’t it? The horses playing in the field, the steam coming off the pond, the freshly mowed hay, it’s all perfect, Gail.

Sipping her coffee and enjoying each mouthful, Gail replies, It’s a little bit of heaven isn’t it, we learn so much from those beautiful horses watching them with their proud gates walking the meadows. Got a chestnut filly yesterday, she’s a beauty. I’ll take you over to see her sometime this week. Be thinking of a name for her.

Looking down, Gail’s two humane rescue collie dogs were looking up for a snack from Victoria.

Zeeper and Jeeper do you want a taste? She bends down on her knees and offers them buttered licks from her fingers. No muffins guys, just some butter for you! She gives them both rubs on their heads and shows her hands to signal ‘no more left.’ They sniff each other’s heads as if to say, hey you smell good, I’ll wash the residue off your head for you!

That’ll keep them busy for awhile, laughed Gail.

Oh by the way, you won’t believe it, but someone apparently dropped off a puppy last night. Found him this morn nestled inside the horse stall, all happy to be sleeping next to a young mare. Not exactly a barn dog, but he’s adorable, we call him Poncho. The animal rescue said to keep him here; they didn’t have the room.

Poncho, who, where? asked Victoria looking around.

Gail opens her barn coat with the big flannel pockets. Out pops a little face whimpering to be awakened to cooler air from the opened pocket.

Victoria looks inside. Well Hola little Poncho, aren’t you adorable! It’s a tiny puppy Chihuahua! All white with black and saber patches. You are a little guy, maybe a year old? They could hear Poncho’s tiny tail thumping inside, he was happy with his new digs. She picks him up and nestles him under her sweater where he instantly goes back to his continuing siesta.

Oh looks like you have a new friend there. Yes the vet figures he’s about twelve months old, says Gail.

Zeeper and Jeeper come over to spy on what the commotion was about. They had been sitting by the barn door looking out towards the east wooded meadow engrossed in watching something, probably deer with their ears perked up. Victoria placed the puppy down, they sniffed him, and all became friends at first treating him like a toy with Poncho trying to keep up with their long legs.

The more the merrier, plenty of room to sleep, and we’ll give him a special warm area to sleep in the barn with the other two, or with his size perhaps it’ll be the barn cats, Gail announces. One big happy family! Hey by the way, fresh muffins, coffee and all, what gives; you’ve got a big smile this morning? She asked coming up to her pouring more coffee.

Well I’ll be, get lucky last night? asked Gail as she thumps hips lightly in a humorous moment with Victoria.

Putting her coffee cup down and looking at Gail, she says, "Odd that you should ask ‘Dear Abby,’ but I went to the charity reception last night. As I was leaving a waiter stopped me, and gave me a delivery of a pink rose, and lovely poem written in prose. Know of anyone that may be interested in me and done such an odd introduction? But not really an introduction, he the person who wrote it, wouldn’t acknowledge himself."

"To make it even more mysterious, Gail, when I went to get into my car, there was yet another poem written on beautiful expensive linen paper, and another highly scented pink rose attached."

Wow, Vicki, someone’s got the hots for you, how romantic! Any name written anywhere on it? See anyone lurking behind the drapes for you? And you had one on the car, also? That one is spooky he knew your car, doesn’t that spook you? Think girl, think, who could it be?

Whoa Gail, I too think its romantic, come over later and I’ll show you the notes. Never thought how spooky it could be that he knew my car, but it was probably the only car there with Massachusetts plates, haven’t changed to Texas yet. The car was fine, the security guard came over, and made sure I was fine, and that it started. He never saw anyone around the car at all. Full moon, too, so plenty of light around the vehicles.

Hmmm, no one saw him cut a rose from the portico there?

That’s the thing, Gail, the security guard noted that the roses were hot house florist stock not the garden variety growing on the portico plus were pink not yellow from the portico.

So, he somehow found pink expensive roses to perform this illusion, and bring white linen stock paper with him to a public formal function? He knew or hoped you’d be there ‘Ms. Victoria Red Haired Temptress.’ Were the poems handwritten?

Kind of, they were done with a special calligraphy pen, like from the renaissance period. The inked edges were old and rounded, not square like a new pen.

Taking a pencil Gail still had pivoted over her ear, she used it like she had a cigarette in a holder, saying, "So Mademoiselle Victoria, did this Renoir with his repartee of romantic word etchings suggest a rendezvous?

Oh aren’t you cute, no, he just wanted me to know he was interested…Oh yes, one thing, he did imply we once knew each other. She held her arms crossed in front of her wrapped around her waist as if she was chilled or nervous.

"When, where? Think girl! And plllllease, you just don’t have a calligraphy pen in your pocket, and in order to sit and write calligraphy you have to be seated at a table with your hands in position to properly do the strokes in writing. Either this guy is very artistic and does this special writing a lot…or better yet Red, he knew you’d be there and pre-wrote his words of amour."

The first rider of the day was picking her favorite horse with Poncho in tow doing what looked like a doggy-dance looking to be greeted by the little girl that was eating crackers with peanut butter. They finished their coffee and Victoria packed her satchel. As she started walking home, Vicky grabs Gail’s arm.

Gail, come on over for dinner tonight. We can talk more and you can see everything. If Poncho wants some company, bring him along too as your escort.

Gail pipes up, "Hey, I can find a man to escort me, yet this one won’t give me grief, but will have to stop and water him on your bushes before we come in, he has kidneys the size of a thimble!"

"Yes, please do that, I have blades of grass taller than him…see you later after work, you too Poncho, adios amigos," Victoria calls out with a wave as she walks home.

My last riding session ends at three o’clock, have some military handicapped to work with, so I’ll be over after and we’ll have plenty of time to talk. Don’t worry I’m sure this is just a romantic guy that’s shy and wants to get your attention.

Gail watches Victoria walk away, and wonders privately who this hidden poet is and what are his intentions? She makes a mental note to keep watch when she can over at Victoria’s, just in case she sees anyone suspicious lingering behind a tree. A sudden chill comes over Gail with that thought. Even the dogs with their ears perked up keep looking in that direction.

Chapter Two

The doorbell rang around five o’clock. Victoria had been in the kitchen cutting up vegetables for a crudités dip and salsa. Dinner was prepared and warming in the oven. She dries off her hands and looks out the door security peak hole. All she could see were large black eyes causing her to gasp and step backward. There right in her glance was a close up of Poncho’s face. Gail had held him up knowing she’d be checking who was at the door. Joisting him up and down in front of the security hole like a puppet, she disguises her voice as if it’s Poncho saying, Hola Senorita I have arrived, your secret lover, me casa su casa mi amore

She burst out laughing and opens the door. What’s the password Poncho to get in?

Ahhhh, jalapeno…guacamole…margarita? Says Gail/Poncho as they enter the door.

You are too cute Senor Poncho…and I hope you left your guacamole in a doggy poop bag before coming here.

Si senorita, eet got camouflaged weet zee horses poop.

Good thing it isn’t vice versa, anyway come in both of you crazy’s! Poncho I have an old warm blanket you can nestle in. Gail, you and I will be sitting on the couch with zee wee one. Made margarita’s, some fresh tomato-jalapeno salsa and crudités to start.

Hmmm, what’s that delicious aroma in the kitchen, you’ve been busy!

Seafood rice cazuela with jalapenos and roasted tomatoes, or as they say in Texas, ‘Arroz a la tumbada’ slow cooked seafood and rice kind of like a brothy paella. Nervous energy, it’s all cooked, just on warm in the oven so we have plenty of time to talk.

Hey Red, I don’t have to cook tonight, so whatever is on the menu sounds good to me! One of these days you’ve got to cook me a New England seafood dinner, catfish here is good, but I do miss the thick white haddock filet.

Looking at her calendar on the kitchen wall, she says,Okay, got some obligations this week, but how about next Friday night I do a seafood ‘chowdah’ as we New Englanders pronounce chowder, with a salad and crisp rolls?

"Poncho, how’s your social calendar, sad as mine I suspect, so yes, we’ll be here! Hey, I’ll order a loaf of crisp on the outside and soft on the inside yeast bread from Billy’s Bakery, and have them hold it to the side for me to bring over that night. It’ll be my contribution to the dinner that evening…or should I bring more pink roses," she snickered. Victoria groaned…

Now, let’s see the poem the mystery man left you, and are those the pink roses there on the table? They’re lovely and opened so delicately today. She walks over to smell them, and says, Looks like this guy has the hots for you to go through all this mystery. Hmmm…

Hmmmm, what’s hmmmm mean Gail?

Looking for a bug! she says matter-of-factly and in a whisper.

Bug? They’re from a florist I imagine, how would they have a bug?

No goofy, a listening device, this guy apparently knows a lot about you, but how?

Oh give me a break… didn’t find one did you?

All of a sudden Gail’s face turns serious and looks at Victoria.

What’s wrong? Her voice goes quiet and she stands very still.

Gail doesn’t answer her, even though she’s asked again.

Pssst, come here, shhhhh! Gail points to one of the roses.

Victoria’s eyes are wide opened…and gingerly creeps up to see what Gail has found. Even Poncho jumps off the couch to join her. Gail points and motions her to an area, not staying a word. Victoria bends over close to the roses to take a real close look.

BZZZZZZZ! Buzzes Gail loudly, making Victoria jump. There’s no bug – no device, no insect, you have found a hot man that somehow lives here you knew from back home, and wants to reissue a stamp on you. Gee, you’re easy to scare!

GAIL! You scared the salsa out of me! You are bad! yells Victoria. Poncho starts yipping from the excitement then looks at them both. Victoria offers him a lick of peanut butter to quiet him down. Realizing nothing is wrong he jumps back on the couch under his blanket licking the peanut butter off his whiskers and probably roof of his mouth.

Both women fall back to the couch laughing out their nerves over this pink rose escapade. Thundering down together on opposite sides of the couch, Poncho flies up in the air off his blanket like a trampoline. Thinking these women are crazy, he walks over and sits on Victoria’s lap, figuring it safer at the moment.

Victoria shoving a cut carrot into Gail’s mouth affectionately smacks her on her shoulder, saying, Look, even Poncho got upset and is taking sides here. You really had me going. I guess I was more spooked then I thought.

Gail looking smug comes out with, Feels good to laugh now, doesn’t it, and get it out of your system? Plus you gave him some peanut butter, he’ll love you forever now.

You know what Gail, you’re right. I guess I was taking this too serious. You did scare the salsa out of me! I’ve been spooked, thinking I’m seeing silhouettes behind me, or off in the woods behind trees spying on me. Bad girl!

How about we get on a different subject. Let me see those lusty poems since I know you’ll contrive a way to get back at me, Gail says as she smacks Victoria’s shoulder also in an affectionate joust.

They’re right here on the table. Two poems. This was the first that the hotel concierge gave me before I left, and hands it to Gail to read.

Victoria then hands Gail the second poem, which she also dissects. The second was stuck on the car door.

"Lovely, absolutely lovely! Spicy! This man is a romantic poet…wonder