Francine
By James Kowalczyk
Looking back, I’d have to say that the first red flag was the bust of what appeared to be her ex-husband’s shrunken head displayed prominently on the mantelpiece. During the initial questioning my partner and I both saw it. Back at the precinct, our sergeant scoffed when we told him about it.
“That old coot? She’s been the town crazy since I was a rookie. She probably got that thing at the fair last summer. What you guys need to do is focus on real suspects, not artifacts.
“I think we should ask her about it. Cold cases like this, we should leave no stone unturned.”
“Suit yourself.”
On the drive to her house the next day we saw a blurred figure cross the road and disappear into the woods about fifty yards in front of us. It was walking upright but it didn’t look human. We stopped.
“You saw that, right?” I asked my partner.
“Yeah, I saw it.”
“Let’s go check it out.”
“No, let’s get the fuck outta here!”
We arrived at the house and were greeted warmly by our new “person of interest”. This label allowed us to conduct follow-up interviews without legal ramifications.
“Hello officers. Come in please. It’s so hot outside.” She had a grandmotherly way about her and I estimated her age to be in the late 60’s. She was wearing a bulky knit sweater draped over diminutive shoulders. The collar was clasped together, making it a bit like a cape. She offered us tea as we sat down in the living room. Her eyebrows were rather severe and seemingly out of place on her otherwise ordinary face. They darted about as she listened intently as we reviewed the case of her missing husband. When we got to the part about his second wife being under suspicion she laughed and mumbled something like “that one not being smart enough”. My partner cut to the chase. “Ma’am…”
“Please, call me Francine,” she smiled and lifted a cup of tea. As she handed to him, her fingers brushed against his. My partner jerked his hand back.
“Sorry ma’am, it’s just, well, your fingers are…cold.” She said nothing. I broke the awkward silence.
“We were wondering about the bust on your mantelpiece,” I blurted out. She slowly turned and looked at me. Her eyes changed. Then she began to giggle. Slowly at first, and to herself. Then it got louder as she began to cackle. Her tongue was completely black and too long for her mouth. It sort of spilled out and she quickly tucked it back in and became self-conscious. Suddenly, grandma was back.“I bought it at the fair last summer,” she said sweetly. "More tea?"
- - -
James Kowalczyk was born and raised in Brooklyn and now lives in Northern California with his wife and two daughters. His work has appeared in Waterways:Poetry in the Mainstream, Main Street Rag, and First Leaves. In Spring he will appear in Heavy Hands Ink, Sleet Magazine, trapeze magazine, and Flashshot.
By James Kowalczyk
Looking back, I’d have to say that the first red flag was the bust of what appeared to be her ex-husband’s shrunken head displayed prominently on the mantelpiece. During the initial questioning my partner and I both saw it. Back at the precinct, our sergeant scoffed when we told him about it.
“That old coot? She’s been the town crazy since I was a rookie. She probably got that thing at the fair last summer. What you guys need to do is focus on real suspects, not artifacts.
“I think we should ask her about it. Cold cases like this, we should leave no stone unturned.”
“Suit yourself.”
On the drive to her house the next day we saw a blurred figure cross the road and disappear into the woods about fifty yards in front of us. It was walking upright but it didn’t look human. We stopped.
“You saw that, right?” I asked my partner.
“Yeah, I saw it.”
“Let’s go check it out.”
“No, let’s get the fuck outta here!”
We arrived at the house and were greeted warmly by our new “person of interest”. This label allowed us to conduct follow-up interviews without legal ramifications.
“Hello officers. Come in please. It’s so hot outside.” She had a grandmotherly way about her and I estimated her age to be in the late 60’s. She was wearing a bulky knit sweater draped over diminutive shoulders. The collar was clasped together, making it a bit like a cape. She offered us tea as we sat down in the living room. Her eyebrows were rather severe and seemingly out of place on her otherwise ordinary face. They darted about as she listened intently as we reviewed the case of her missing husband. When we got to the part about his second wife being under suspicion she laughed and mumbled something like “that one not being smart enough”. My partner cut to the chase. “Ma’am…”
“Please, call me Francine,” she smiled and lifted a cup of tea. As she handed to him, her fingers brushed against his. My partner jerked his hand back.
“Sorry ma’am, it’s just, well, your fingers are…cold.” She said nothing. I broke the awkward silence.
“We were wondering about the bust on your mantelpiece,” I blurted out. She slowly turned and looked at me. Her eyes changed. Then she began to giggle. Slowly at first, and to herself. Then it got louder as she began to cackle. Her tongue was completely black and too long for her mouth. It sort of spilled out and she quickly tucked it back in and became self-conscious. Suddenly, grandma was back.“I bought it at the fair last summer,” she said sweetly. "More tea?"
- - -
James Kowalczyk was born and raised in Brooklyn and now lives in Northern California with his wife and two daughters. His work has appeared in Waterways:Poetry in the Mainstream, Main Street Rag, and First Leaves. In Spring he will appear in Heavy Hands Ink, Sleet Magazine, trapeze magazine, and Flashshot.
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