Horribilis by Stan Walchuk Jr

Author:Stan Walchuk Jr. [Walchuk, Stan Jr.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Vista Publishing
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

* * *

He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel of the rented Toyota Corolla, rolled his head around to relieve kinks in his neck. What could be more inconspicuous than a Toyota Corolla? Six cramped hours of surveillance these past few days, across the street and a half block down from the Kamisky’s two-acre lot, its sprawling bungalow, guest house hidden somewhere behind an impressive collection of trees, shrubs, flowers, finely trimmed lawn. No need to be anonymous now. Mrs. Kamisky donated to save-the-wildlife causes for three years running, so in this probe the best cover would be empathy - a sympathy visit from a GWF agent. And looking like Luke.

And there she is. She had been a recluse after the kid’s death. Understandable. Then she suddenly emerged three days before the funeral, two in the afternoon, on her knees, garden trowel in hand, weeding her flowers along the sunny side of the house. Then again the next day. He stepped from the vehicle, opened the back door, looked down at the flowers, large orange heads dropped over like inflamed lilies. He grabbed the bunched stems and held the flowers at a distance, their dead skunk stink turned his stomach. Flowers; never again. He walked with them held out to his front. No, I don’t love you, he said. He crossed the street, walked along, up her front walk, along the side of the house, stood over her bent form.

“Mrs. Kamisky?” he said.

She spun on her knees. “What do you…” She saw the flowers. Eyebrows arched in anger melted to confusion. “Who are you, what do you…?” She recognized his face. She stood up slowly, stiff from the bent labour. “You’re the man from the church,” she said. “You look like my……” She felt the swell of sadness, what she knew would never end, but could learn to control, at least with strangers. “Who are you?”

“Mrs. Kamisky, my name is Damian Prouse, I’m with the Global Wildlife Federation, I just came to pay my respects. I’m truly sorry.”

“Came from where?”

“From where? From New York.”

“New York? I thought the GWF was in Seattle?”

“Yes ma’am. I’m from New York. New York to Seattle, then here to meet you.”

“My goodness.” She looked at his black pompadour hair, so familiar with Luke this past year, and dark features, again the sorrow began to swell. She rubbed at her eyes with her blouse sleeve. “Crown Imperials,” she said. “They’re beautiful, exquisite. Why Crown Imperials?”

“I heard they are your favourite.”

“You did? From who?”

“It’s our job to know things, especially about the generous supporters we care about. We may be a large family, but we’re still family.”

“Did they tell you they stink?”

“No. I found that out for myself. My car stinks like a dead skunk, managed that smell without actually killing one.” Damian cut a forced smile.

“I got just the place for them. Follow me.”

They crossed an expanse of manicured lawn, sat under a gazebo, in two white wrought iron chairs with cushions, either side of a matching glass topped table.

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