From the Tales of Saint Anthony, the Johnny Holiday Mysteries
These short stories follow the lives of people who populate the fictional city of Saint Anthony (Minneapolis, Minnesota), and make their appearance in the first Johnny Holiday novel, The...
She stood at the window watching her father, Colonel Forrester, as he conducted a prolonged interview of a poorly dressed young man in the garden below her.
There was something about the young man that troubled her, and it wasn't just because he was tall and handsome, and disheveled.
Amelie could not peel away from the perch where she concealed herself behind the long white curtains, wishing more than anything that she could hear the conservation taking place between them.
She knew that the household staff were preparing a room for him in the guest quarters of her father's wing at that very moment, though she did not hear of it until a few minutes prior to his arrival.
Nils, their butler, had kept the information from the staff and from her, though he had probably known for some days that her father intended to keep the boy as their guest for a term of days, possibly longer.
Amelie positively loathed those kinds of secrets. She felt that they were disruptive, and not just to her. They were disruptive to the staff as well.
She had been feeling out-of-control lately, and such disruptive secrets would only contribute to that.
Amelie had managed to squeeze a little information from Nils about the shabby-boy and what he would be doing at the mansion; Nils had told her that his name was Johnny Holiday, that he worked for the Saint Anthony Star, the evening paper, that he was an aspiring journalist and a student at the University of Saint Thomas, across the river in Pig's Eye.
Nils said that her father had enjoined him to do some research, and perhaps write a story concerning Amelie's husband, Bjorn Elmquist, who had gone missing a few months earlier.
Amelie had begun to shake, slightly, when the old butler told her that.
Nils told her that it was his understanding, that the Colonel, on account of his fondness for her husband, and believing he may never return, wanted something tangible to remember him by, a piece of prose to capture the essence of the man and remind him of their time together.
Amelie found Nils' explanation to be preposterous.
She felt threatened by the prospect of this boy getting into her business...it was more than just disruptive, it was menacing.
However, Amelie knew her father was obsessed with stories, he believed narrative had a mystical quality, the way some aboriginal tribes believed that photographing a person could steal their soul or rob them of their essence, as the renowned anthropologist Margaret Meade had reported.
Her father believed that stories could do the same thing, like the ancient people whose singular ambition was to be remembered in song and have their deeds recorded in sagas and epic poetry, to be retold throughout the ages.
The Colonel wanted to find out why he had gone and he wanted someone who was unknown to both his friends and enemies to carry out the inquiry.
Perhaps he would get a good story out of the investigation, she concluded, but that would just be sauce for the plum...so to speak.
Amelie was nervous, and shaky, and it was getting worse by the minute
She didn't want anyone asking questions about her marriage. Bjorn was gone, and her father was right, he would not be coming back.
Amelie was certain of it, and she wanted her father to accept it and move on.
Bjorn would never be heard from again.
She watched them drinking coffee, while she-herself quaffed a tumbler of strong brown liquor; she needed it she told herself...she always needed it, to settle her nerves and prepare her for her own interview with the aspiring journalist, which she intended to conduct just as soon as her father was done with him.
Amelie was determined to discover his purpose.
Nils would bring him to her shortly and she would put his heels in the fire.
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