I read the letter postmarked from Six Rubies while the calico cat watches me. I’m exhausted from my trip, but at the same time, i wonder if i really took a trip. Everything in my apartment looks like it did when i left, that is, if i left, except for the kitty.
Did i dream it? The two days in Six Rubies at Madeleine’s Six Rubies Inn. The humidity felt real. I feel i need a shower, still. The chartreuse moon with my grandmother’s loving face and smile. The sunflowers in the Inn’s garden humming their dreams. What was the story i missed? For some reason, i was sent back here; home to Portland before it started.
I live on stories. Metaphorically, i mean. I read them. I write them. I stop along the way when i walk or jog, to take photos and make up stories about them. I take time to eat in between, but even while i eat, i dream up more stories. I load the dishwasher, and dream up tales. I do the laundry, and i come up with just the right word or the perfect sentence. I cook, and do the same. I imagine what the ingredients might want to be. Maybe the linguine wants to be marsala and not marinara, or the chicken noodle soup wants to be beef barley instead.
I have a job, just so you know. I’m a freelance writer. Surprised? I don’t make much money, but i make enough. I have a trust fund, established by my grandmother. I know what you’re thinking. That i’m spoiled. You know, i’ll bet she never had to work a day in her life, but you’re wrong. I had many jobs before. I’ve done many things. That’s how i came to love stories so much; all my experiences. Probably the worst job i had was when i worked on a farm in Gilsop Plains, moving shit from one place to another. Cow shit, horse shit, sheep shit. You name it, and i’ve moved its shit.
Then three years ago, when my Gran’s estate was settled, i inherited five million dollars from her. I never knew she had that kind of money. She was a farmer’s wife for fifty three years. When my grandfather died, he left nothing but debt. Maybe she had the money hidden for years.
My father left my mother and i when i was five. I haven’t seen him since then. Don’t know if he’s alive or dead. My mother died when i was eleven. My only aunt and uncle raised me. They don’t speak to me now because they’re angry about the money. I don’t care.
Enough about that. I need to figure out what this letter means, and whose cat is sitting beside me on my couch watching me.
The letter is from Stella M. Sunflower. She’s the one who began the story last night before i fell asleep and was sent home. I remember i was exhausted, and the heat was too much, even with the breeze. I remember the moon’s smile, and the raven soaring by.
I look at calico kitty again. I say, little sweetie, do you know what this means? Stella says she’s sorry, but it’s too dangerous to be at the Inn right now. Kitty only stares.
Stella goes on to say, and here’s where the cat question is answered, that she sent the Innkeeper’s kitty back to help me investigate. Her name is Angela.
And i think, investigate what? Wait, here it is..
She says, Time is missing from Six Rubies. No one is sure what day, month, or year it is. As far as they knew, i arrived at the Inn August 14th, 2058, and that’s what i thought also. Turns out, that’s not true, but when was it, really? And what is today?
I check the postmark on Stella’s letter. It says July 7, 2025, but the date she wrote at the top of the page says, October 13, 2016.
The letter continues and says, dear Camille, i know you can help Innkeeper and the other residents of Six Rubies find Time, but you’ll have to do it from where you are. I believe i sent you back to 2020, but i can’t be certain. It won’t be easy to find him. Time is mischievous, tricky, and easily lost. And he could be kidnapped. Time after time, humans have laid the cleverest booby traps for the rake, but he always puts his own spin on them.
I look at Angela and roll my eyes. I don’t even consider turning down the assignment. Who would? What an adventure!
I finish the letter.
PS. I’ve sent along Angela’s special food bowl and a good supply of her favorite food. You two will get along well, i know it. Innkeeper will miss her, but he knows this is best, and she’ll be safer with you.
Also, i’ve sent along a name and address of someone you can contact to help with your detective work.
Her name is Rosalie Kane, PI, 5534 SE Piscataquis Ave in Portland. #55996 – 332205.
Grandmother Moon sends her love —
Stella
I say, well, Angela! So that’s that! Where do we begin? We don’t have much to go on. But that will be part of the fun.
Kitty jumps off the couch, and leaps up on to the fireplace mantel.
Fireplace mantel? My apartment doesn’t have a fireplace. My heart pounds fast again. I look around. Everything looks exactly like it looks in my apartment except for the ornate fireplace. I see three photos displayed in copper frames on the mantel. Do i dare take a closer look? And right in the center is a large celadon vase with a bouquet of brown eyed susans and purple coneflower.
I get up off the couch and move snail’s pace across the room. I’m a little wary. Who wouldn’t be? Angela watches with a smile on her face. Or at least she looks like i picture a cat would look if she could smile. I didn’t see it a minute ago, but there’s a cream envelope leaning against the vase. I rip it open. The note inside says,
Hello, Camille.. Welcome to Portland, 2023. Enjoy your stay,
Rosalie Kane, PI
And what i do is i laugh..
Mary Raynes
Rebellious Hazelnuts 