WattpadExplorer ADDED FROM THE GRAVE TO EDITORS' CHOICE NOV. 2018
A tiny island in the south seas, home of a very rare and valuable postage stamp, becomes the focus of several parties stopping at nothing to acquire the prize.
lyttlejoe/2012
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She stood leaning on the counter, her head against the cupboard door. On the counter, crumpled between her fingers was the fax from CONGA, formerly CIA (Congress of International Antiquities). In it was her earth shifting news that a dearest friend and long time mentor, Chester Stilton, had died of a stroke in his office. Gretta Lawrence felt the hot tears leak from her eyes and scurry down her cheeks to drip on the counter. A sob burst from her throat and she rolled her forehead on the cupboard door.
"I'm ho-ome!" The front door slammed and Arny tossed his things on the chair, coming through the living room to the kitchen. "Yoo-hoo, Gre─, what's the matter? What's wrong?" He hurried to her and took her arms, letting her lean back against his chest.
"Gretta, what's wrong? What happened?"
She sniffled and turned in his arms, picking up the crumpled fax and handing it to him.
"Cheesy's dead. He had a stroke."
"What! Oh, God, no! When?" He read the fax and set it back on the counter, taking her in his arms and hugging her tightly.
"Oh Gretta, I'm so sorry. Aaah, God."
She slumped against him and let the tears flow unchecked.
Maurice Trask signed the pile of papers before him and handed them off to the pale woman waiting in front of his desk. She sniffled, dabbed a tissue at her nose and the red rims of her eyes and asked if there was anything else.
"See to those and then take a few minutes, Rose; I'll call if anything comes up. Go on down and have a tea, maybe sit outside; it's a beautiful sunny day."
Her mouth sagged down and her eyes squinched shut as she started to cry again then she hurried from the office. Maurice sighed and swung his chair around to look out the window. As CONGA's replacement for Professor Chester Stilton, Maurice recognized immediately the size of the shoes he was expected to fill, and the fact that his notice had been so short wasn't helpful. Missions were being suspended.
Agents recalled and everyone and his brother had to be notified of the transition. CONGA was in a temporary limbo until Chester Stilton was properly respected, eulogized, interred and given the appropriate place of honour on the congress's wall of fame in the central boardroom.
He swung back and unlocked the file drawer, lifting out the bulky pile of agency personnel records. Several were flagged with purple ribbons denoting their demise and these he decided to sort into another folder for convenience sake. The rest had several that were marked with different coloured ribbons, these indicating the skills and preferred fields of operation.
One ribbon, a bright blue one, caught his eye and he withdrew the file and opened it on his desk. This was Maurice's first introduction to Gretta Lawrence and her almost legendary exploits in all fields of operation. It took Maurice nearly and hour to scan a few of her most notable missions and when he was done he buzzed Rose and asked her in for a chat about this apparently amazing woman.
The notices went out to the CONGA members and their families for the post funeral service reception. The service itself was to be held in St George's Cathedral, followed by the burial in the Serenity Glade in the church garden. Chester had attended the same church his entire life and was active, when possible, in the fund-raising for the maintenance of the grounds, which he would now presumably enjoy if he was somehow at all aware.
Gretta and Arny sat in the row directly behind the family along with Rose Thatcher, Maurice Trask and a couple of elderly CONGA retainers from the finance office. Maurice introduced himself and expressed an interest in sitting down with Gretta and discussing CONGA business. She nodded politely and turned back to concentrate on the minister's words.
At the graveside, the congregation clustered in a tight group trying to extract every patch of shade available from the canvas awning, of which the minister enjoyed the largest part, ignoring the surrounding discomfort as he delivered his flowery last words.
"Hell," Arny complained, stretching his collar with a stiff finger. "Is he on a bloody loop?"
"Shhh." Gretta elbowed him silent.
"And so, my fellow mourners," the minister intoned. "We say farewell to Chester and keep a part of his joyous soul in all of our hearts. I think he might even see the irony in this event considering he spent most of life excavating history."
"Where did they find this guy?" Arny gasped.
"Shhh." Another sharp elbow had him wheezing silently.
The touch on her arm made her snap her head around, ready to give Arny another dig and instead it was a small brown man with grey whiskers of hair around his head like a laurel wreath. His eyes were almost black and watery and he blinked them rapidly as he addressed her.
"Miss Lawrence, permit me please. I am Darwin Jubaal from accounting; I have an envelope for you from Professor Stilton. It was entrusted to me just a week and one half ago, to deliver to you in the event of- in case this..." His voice broke and he bowed his head, handing her the envelope. Gretta took the envelope and thanked the man. Placing a hand on his shoulder and offering a comforting smile.
"Cheesy- Professor Stilton will be missed by all of us Darwin. Thank you for bringing this to me." He nodded again. Tipping forward from the waist then pivoting, he disappeared into the departing throng.
"Who was the gnome?"
"Arnold!"
"Sorry, just trying to keep things light. What did he want?"
"He gave me a letter from Cheesy."
"What, late delivery?"
"No, exactly on time." She gathered her long skirt about her and stepped carefully around the tombstones and across the thirsty lawn.
Arny held the limo door while Gretta climbed in and then he slid in beside her. Another couple were already inside and they all nodded politely at one another and then pretended to find the scenery commanding. The drive to the reception hall took twenty minutes and the quartet managed to learn first names and a variety of opinions on the minister's service.
Inside the hall guests milled about the centre of the large room, its unusual décor of heavy, Spanish styled chandeliers of black iron and leather and the faux parquet clashed violently with the modern styles of funeral wear. A line formed in front of the buffet table that was manned by a team from the church's women's auxiliary.
Aprons, latex gloves and a selection of fixed smiles greeted the visitors to the table where, on paper plates, they received a scoop of potato salad, a slice of cooked ham and a handful of garden salad... literally a handful. Dressings, rolls and cutlery were at the end of the table and the line dutifully moved along the front of the table with the shuffle of a chain gang.
Gretta leaned against a window frame and opened the letter from Cheesy. The familiar script and the salutation brought another puddle of tears to her eyes and she let her arms fall while she stared vacantly out the window. Arny came over with two glasses of wine and a small plate of sweets, setting them on the sill when he saw her face.
"Bad news?"
She blinked and sniffed. "I haven't even read the darn thing yet." She wiped her eyes and lifted the letter once more. Arny watched as her face changed from sadness to confusion to interest to excitement and he felt the old fear of Chester's hold over Gretta.
"Please don't tell me he's proposing a mission from the grave."
