Prospect for Murder by Jeanne Burrows-Johnson

Author:Jeanne Burrows-Johnson [Burrows-Johnson, Jeanne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Artemesia Publishing, LLC
Published: 2018-11-02T03:05:13+00:00

CHAPTER 13

Love is not in our choice but in our fate.

John Dryden [1631-1700]

Savoring that kiss, I walked through the apartment, tidying sofa cushions and straightening things that were already in their right places—doing anything to avoid going to bed alone. Well, not quite alone. Miss Una was there to assure me I was loved. The night air was refreshing with both a slight breeze and hint of flowers, so I left the back door open a crack, hoping there would be no “second-storey men” poised to climb over the balcony.

I then turned off most of the lights and went into the bathroom to prepare for bed. Slipping on a plain cotton nightgown, I thought about upgrading my lingerie wardrobe. Tonight had marked the beginning of a major shift in my relationship with Keoni. I felt awakened on every plane and was looking forward to seeing him the next morning, even if it was for the unwelcome trip to the Coroner’s Office.

I wondered how Ariel would feel about being the impetus for my developing a romantic relationship with Keoni. Knowing her ironic sense of humor—sometimes bordering on the macabre—she would probably find it appropriate, if not downright complimentary to her passing. I tried to muster a smile at that thought, but the death of anyone Ariel’s age causes a thinking person to examine their own life seriously.

I might have predicted that I would dream deeply after a good meal, wine and stimulating companionship. I had not thought about my husband, Bill Seachrist, for a while. But with our friends arriving for activities related to RIMPAC and my conversation with Pearl Wong, my memories of the unrealized holiday we were to have had in Hong Kong had been reawakened.

I have heard that in the relaxed state between waking and sleeping, we can be receptive to the thoughts of those who have passed from this plane. As I fell asleep contemplating my short marriage, I may have inadvertently opened a pathway to the other side of the veil, as some call it. As always, it seemed strange that I had not had a vision of my husband’s impending death, no inkling that our pier-side kiss would be the last time I would see him.

* * * * *

I dreamt my way through the night, alternating between re-experiencing and analyzing that life-altering period. Throughout our five years together, we were full of the promise of youth, especially in the romantic moments of that final cool February morning before my tall, dark and handsome warrior departed on what was to have been a six-month voyage.

Bill and I had just moved to the Island of O`ahu. We had leased a small one-bedroom condo in Waikīkī, envisioning honeymoon-style living during the few months of the year we would both be there. He was a lieutenant in the U.S. Navy; assigned as a communications officer aboard a tender—a repair ship sent abroad to replace the bits and pieces that were in disrepair or had gone missing from other vessels.

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