‘It’s Been a Minute!’

By

Pamela Ebel

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      Kate watched as the detective approached the cottage. She straightened her hair, pulled her sweater sleeve over her left hand, and went down to answer the bell.

     “Good afternoon. Can I help you?”

     “Hello. I’m Detective Winslow with the Coral Island Police. Are you Katherine Culver?”

     She studied his ID.

     “Yes, Detective. But everyone calls me Kate. What can I do for you?”

     “We’re looking for Donald Struve. I’m told he’s a friend of yours. Is that correct?”

     “I used to be a friend of Donald’s. We parted ways.”

     “When did you see him last and do you know where he might be?”

     “I saw him about a week ago when he came to pick up some things he’d left here. Why are you looking for him?”

     “Mr. Struve is wanted for possession and distribution of Fentanyl and for questioning in the death of Samatha Crane, a local college student?”

     Kate stared out into the trees where the woodshed sat out of sight.

     “We’ve been told by several people that he used this cottage for cover, stored and sold drugs to them from here. Did you have any knowledge about that activity?”

     “You know I’m an attorney, correct? No Miranda, No answers.”

     Winslow smiled.

     “I guess you wouldn’t allow me to look around your cottage then, correct?”

     “On the contrary, please look around.”

     Winslow moved through all of the rooms,  and made a few notes.

     “Please call if Struve contacts you. Here’s my card.”

     Kate reached for the card and bruises covered her left hand,

     “Did you hurt your hand?”

     “Sure did. Poked it into the wood pile and got bit by a snake. They’re all over.”

     She watched Winslow leave. Time was short.

     “Get in here, bitch. Give me that soup while I pack the drugs. Say a word, I’ll break your other wrist and see you end up like that stupid college bitch cousin of yours.”

     Kate watched as he shoveled the spoon into his mouth, laughing, then coughing, belching, choking and finally falling facedown into the Fentanyl- laced soup.

     Kate wheelbarrowed Struve to the swamp where 7-foot Gators waited. The drugs slept with the fishes.

     Kate saw Winslow at her cousin’s funeral.

     “You seen or heard from Struve?”

     She smiled.

     “Like we say in the south, ‘It’s been a minute’ since I’ve seen him.”

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Pamela Ebel has been published in Shotgun Honey, The BOULD AWARDS 2020 Anthology, as well other venues. Her poetry has appeared in the Delta Poetry Review. A native of California, she now concentrates on tales from her original home state and tales from the highways of the South. She also knows, like the Ancient Greeks and the Irish, that as a southern writer you can’t outrun your blood.

She has turned to writing full time as of 2020, obviously either perfect or bizarre timing, and this will be her fifth career. She lives in Metairie, Louisiana, with her husband and two cats.

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Bernice Holtzman’s paintings and collages have appeared in shows at various venues in Manhattan, including the Back Fence in Greenwich Village, the Producer’s Club, the Black Door Gallery on W. 26th St., and one other place she can’t remember, but it was in a basement, and she was well received. She is the Assistant Art Director for Yellow Mama.