The following is another excerpt from my work in progress, Jen McDowell—Private Eye; Business is Booming, a Jen McDowell Series. This is a draft. I’m at 61k words now. I’ve decided to restructure my chapters and manuscript (maybe today). If you want to catch up, order the novella The Throuple Private Eye—Hate Crimes, on Amazon ($2.99). The link is https://www.amazon.com/dp/B084LTTHGN. Enjoy.

CHAPTER 18

When Jen returned to the office, she found Molly and Marty working on their computers. This time Marty was not using Jen’s desk but was using the coffee table. “Sup?” Jen asked.

“We’re working on the kidnapping case,” Molly answered. She noticed Jen glance at Marty.
“Marty is helping me.”

“Well, we’re not putting him on the payroll,” Jen said with a smile. “You can pay him however you want.”

Molly shot Jen a nasty look. “It okay,” Marty said. “School doesn’t start for a couple of weeks, so I have time on my hands. Besides, it’s an interesting case.”

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Jen requested.

“Okay,” Molly said. “We’ll have to make a few assumptions. First, I don’t think the kidnapper drove all the way to Atlanta from Texas to sell a baby girl to a sex trafficking ring. She could have sold the child in Texas or Mexico. From what we discovered, $10,000 is far above the offering price for a new-born.”

“So why drive to Atlanta?” Jen asked.

“I think she sold the baby to a black couple here in Atlanta,” Molly replied. “If the child was sold to a sex trafficker, we’ll never find her.”

“But why pay that much to adopt?” Jen asked. “Don’t couples adopt for a lot less through organizations like Catholic Charities?”

“Yes,” Molly answered. “That’s true. There must have been a reason for the couple not to use Catholic Charities or even a private adoption agency.”

“Here’s what I found out,” Marty jumped in. “Not everyone gets approved to adopt. If one of the adopting parents is a felon convicted of child abuse or neglect, domestic violence, child pornography or sexual assault, it is highly unlikely that their home study will be approved.”

“So, you think that they paid $10,000 because someone was a felon?” Jen asked.

“Could be,” Molly answered.

“What other assumptions did you make?” Jen asked.

“If we go with the adoption theory, then we must assume it’s a black couple who can afford to pay $10,000. We must assume, at least for now, that they still live in the Atlanta area or at least in Georgia. If they moved outta state, it’ll be hard to track them down.”

“Okay, I’ll buy that,” Jen said. “Now how do we proceed?”

“The child would be six years old now,” Molly answered. “Plus, her name was probably changed. We don’t have a picture we can use, but there is that tear drop birthmark. That’s our best clue right now. The child should be in school. Maybe a teacher will recognize the birthmark.”

“We can circulate the picture of the birthmark to as many teachers as possible and hope someone knows the girl,” Marty added. “Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

“There must be hundreds of teachers in the Atlanta school system.”

“Here’s what I found out,” Marty said. “the Atlanta school system has 91 learning sites, including 58 neighborhood schools, 6 partner schools, 18 charter schools, 2 citywide single-gender academies, and 3 alternative programs. That doesn’t include private schools or parochial schools.”

“We’ll try to reach all of them,” Molly said. “We can also reach teachers through the various teacher associations like the National Education Association. Their affiliate in Georgia is the Georgia Association of Educators. Hopefully, they’ll help us.”

“What if she’s home schooled?” Jen asked.

Molly froze. “I hadn’t thought about that. I don’t know?”

“We’ll figure something out,” Marty interjected. “I assume home schools have to be licensed somehow. There’re also pediatricians. The child must have needed a doctor at some point, maybe vaccinations or a physical for school. Maybe Doc can help us connect with them.”

“There’s also minsters or Sunday school teachers,” Molly added.

“What about the police report?” Jen asked.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Molly answered. “There’s no report in the APD. The case is being handled by Texas. Marty checked into it.”

“I didn’t have much luck there,” Marty added. “The Houston police said that it’s still an open case. They referred me to the cold case department. I called them and left a message. However, I did pick somethings from the news.”

Marty turned to Molly. “Go ahead,” she said.

In the news reports,” Marty continued. “The police found Olivia Smith in a local motel. She committed suicide. She left a note that said only that she was sorry. There were baby items but no baby and no clue what happened to her. They did find almost $10,000 in cash. They think Smith sold the baby.”
​
“I contacted the National Center for Missing & Exploited Children,” Molly interjected. “They have Kidist in their database, but they have no new information. They said they’d help any way they can, but we’re on our own here.”

The following is another excerpt from my work in progress, The Throuple Private Eye—Business is Booming, a Jen McDowell Series. This is the second draft. I’m at 59k words now. I’ve decided to restructure my chapters and manuscript. I also want to change the name. I’m thinking of “Jen McDowell—Private Eye”.  If you want to catch up, order the novella The Throuple Private Eye—Hate Crimes, on Amazon ($2.99). The link is https://www.amazon.com/dp/B084LTTHGN. Enjoy.

CHAPTER 17 (Cont’d.)

“Oh my God,” Chang Ying said in a half scream.

“The FBI are on their way to arrest him as we speak. However, you may be in danger. You need to leave right now. I’ll take you to my place. You’ll be safe there.”

Chang Ying didn’t say anything. She just stood up and nodded her head. She grabbed her purse and followed Jen toward the door. When Jen opened the door, there stood Jimmy Richardson.

Chang Ying was startled, “Jimmy. What are you doing home today?” She stepped back inside the apartment.

Jimmy pushed Jen back into the apartment, stepped inside and closed the door behind him. He stood blocking the door. He looked at Jen. “Who are you?”

“I’m Jen McDowell, a private eye.”

“The police were just at my house,” Jimmy said. “I managed to see them before they saw me.” He glanced at Chang Ying who was shaking all over. “Does she know?”

“Yes,” Jen answered. “I told her all about you and what happened to Biyu. I guess you know the police recovered her body today.”

Jimmy continued to block the door. “Yeah, I figured. So, they’re going to arrest me?”

“They’re probably on the way here now,” Jen answered. “It’s over, Jimmy. Don’t make things worst. Just surrender.”

Just then police sirens could be heard in the distance. Jimmy walked over to the balcony doors and pulled the curtains aside and looked out. He walked onto the balcony for a better look. “They’re here now.”
 
Jen took this opportunity to open the door and push Chang Ying out into the hallway. She stayed inside. She placed her hand on her pistol inside her purse. “Give yourself up, Jimmy. The police will want to know who else you killed and where they’re buried. You’ll be able to cut a deal to avoid the death penalty. Come back inside and sit down. I’ll stay with you until the police get here.”

“I don’t think so,” Jimmy said. He backed up to the railing on the balcony. Before Jen could stop him, he boosted himself onto the railing and plunged backwards over the rail. It was eleven floors down. Jimmy died instantly.

A few minutes later, Agent Malcolm entered at the head of a SWAT team. Jen pointed toward the balcony. Malcolm ran out onto the balcony and looked over. “Shit,” he said. “Now we don’t know how many women he killed and where they’re buried.”

When Jen finally walked outside, she saw Chang Ying sitting in police car, crying.

A week later, Agent Malcolm called Jen again. “Jen, I thought I’d call to let you know we found more bodies. We took your tip. Jimmy Richardson did bury his victims on properties for which he was the real estate agent. We still have several more to check. We’re using cadaver dogs.”

“Great. I’m glad. Now those families can get closure. How many?”

“So far,” Malcolm answered. “seven.”

“Holy shit. Did any match the DNA you obtained from overseas?” Jen asked.
​
“We’re still working on that. I’ll let you know.”

The following is another excerpt from my work in progress, The Throuple Private Eye—Business is Booming, a Jen McDowell Series. This is the second draft. I’m at 55k words now. I’ve decided to restructure my chapters and manuscript. I also want to change the name. I’m thinking of “Jen McDowell—Private Eye”.  If you want to catch up, order the novella The Throuple Private Eye—Hate Crimes, on Amazon ($2.99). The link is https://www.amazon.com/dp/B084LTTHGN. Enjoy.

CHAPTER 17

Two days later, Jonah called. “I hate when you call me from work,” Jen said. “It’s never good news.”

“This might be considered good news even though it’s bad,” Jonah said.

“You’re no making any sense.”

“Another body has been found. An Asian female. It’s not as old as the others; maybe a year or less. We don’t have the autopsy report yet. Looks like she was strangled. We checked the DNA and it’s Biyu.”

“Are you positive?” Jen asked in disbelief. It had been so long.

“It’s a positive ID. The DNA you sent us matched 100%. It’s here. Been dead about a year. Strangled, like the others.”

“No shit?” Jen shouted. “We got him. Has Richardson been arrested yet?”

“Not yet. It’s the FBI’s case. I think they’ll pick him up later today. They need a warrant.”

“They’re in the process of get the arrest warrant. They should take him into custody some time tonight. If he follows his usual pattern, he’ll be with his real family.”

“What about Charlize Wessel? She provided the first lead.”
 
“I know, Malcolm answered. “We’ll work out a deal--no jail time. You can tell her as soon as we make the arrest.”

“Where did you find the body?” Jen asked.

“A woman was planting a garden and dug up a large plastic bag. It had the body.”

Jen thought for a moment. “Check and see who the real estate agent on that property was. Richardson was a real estate agent. I’ll bet he buried bodies on properties that were empty at the time. He had access.”

“Good tip, Jen. I’ll let the FBI know. Good work.” Jonah hung up.

Jen decided to celebrate with a special cup of coffee. She gave up alcohol when she learned she had PTSD. In the middle of making the coffee, it hit her. Chang Ying might be in danger. In the time it took to finally find evidence on Richardson, he had married Chang Ying. Jen called Jonah to tell him to protect Chang Ying.

“Jonah, Chang Ying married Richardson,” Jen half shout into her cellphone. “She’s in danger. We have to warn her.”

“Don’t call her,” Jonah said. “It might tip off Richardson. We’ll try to get there as soon as we can, but it might take some time. We still need a warrant.”

“Oh damn, I’m on my way to her place.”  Jen shouted and hung up on Jonah. She immediately grabbed her purse, her car keys and the complete file on Richardson and headed toward the door. She stopped in her tracks and retraced her step. She took out her pistol from her desk. Jen called Chang Ying from her car. She didn’t want to sneak in through the garage as she had in the past. She wanted Chang Ying to let her in. She went over various ways to break the news to Chang Ying that her new husband was a murderer and maybe a serial killer. She couldn’t decide on a good way to do it, so she decided to take it slow.

When Chang Ying answered the door, Jen asked, “Is your husband home?”

“No,” she answered. I don’t expect him until Friday. Come in.” The apartment smelled like incense. Chang Ying made tea and brought out some English cookies. Now what can I do for you, Jen. You said it was urgent. By the way, did you ever find your cat?”

Jen smiled. “Chang Ying, this not going to be a friendly visit and I’m pressed for time. I’m not who I said I was. My real name is Jen McDowell. I’m a private investigator. For several months I’ve been investigation your husband.”

Chang Ying was shocked. “What? Why? What for?”

Jen reminded herself to go slow. “Your husband is also not who you think he is.” Jen opened her file.
His real name is Richardson. He has another family on the other side of town. He stays with them Monday through Thursday and come here Fridays through the weekend.” Jen showed Chang Ying the pictures of Richardson’s other family. Chang Ying fell silent as she looked over the pictures. “Before you, he was also married to this person.” Jen showed her the picture of Biyu. “A few days ago, the police recovered her body. She had been dead for nearly a year. They think he killed her.”
​
Chang Ying began to cry. Jen waited for her to calm down before going on. “We think he marries Asian women like you and then after a while he kills them. He’s a psychopath.”

The following is another excerpt from my work in progress, The Throuple Private Eye—Business is Booming, a Jen McDowell Series. This is the second draft. I’m at 54k words now. If you want to catch up, order the novella The Throuple Private Eye—Hate Crimes, on Amazon ($2.99). The link is https://www.amazon.com/dp/B084LTTHGN. Enjoy.

CHAPTER 16 (Cont.)

Jen thought about it for a moment. Hong Kong is part of China, and she didn’t know what laws if any applied to transporting DNA samples. “Do you have labs in Hong Kong that can do the DNA analysis? “

“Of course,” Mr. Zhang answered. “but it’s expensive. I’ll need more money for that.”

Jen had an idea. “Mr. Zhang, will this hurt your business?”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Well, you connected one of your clients with a murderer. That can’t be good for business once the news gets out.”

Mr. Zhang was silent for a few moments. “Well, technically, the murderer is my client, not Biyu… but, maybe it would be better if I just mail this sample to you and you have a lab process it. I’ll wave my normal fees if you can keep my name out of the news.”

“I think we can do that. Please send the DNA by the fastest means.”

A week later, Jen received a package in the mail from Hong Kong. It was the DNA sample. Jen decide it was time to get the police and the FBI involved. Of course, that would have to include how Charlize was involved. Jonah agreed to keep her name out of it as long as possible.

Jen told Jonah that she suspected that Richardson killed Biyu and that he may have killed others. Jonah explained that without any proof, there’s no probable cause to suspect Richardson.  The fact that he was now married to two women is not, in itself, any evidence of murder. Jonah pointed out that right now it’s simply a missing person case.

Jen gave the DNA sample to Jonah. He said it would take the FBI about 48 hours to process the DNA, but to compare that DNA with the DNA of the unidentified remains might take weeks. Two weeks later, Jen got a call from Special Agent Malcolm Andrews of the FBI.

Jen answered the call and put it on speaker phone so Molly could hear. “Special Agent Malcolm, this is a surprise. How are you?”

“I’m fine,” Malcolm answered. “How are you? No more assignation attempts, I hope.”

“No, I’m good,” Jen replied. “What can I do for you.”

“Jen, I just wanted to discuss a couple of things with you. First, that DNA sample you gave us; turns out it didn’t match any of the unidentified Jane Does. It was not Ms. Biyu Richards.”

Jen was disappointed. “I’m sorry to hear that. I was so certain that it would match Biyu. I’m sure her husband killed her.”

“That’s another thing,” Malcolm continued. “Since there is no body or any evidence that Mr. Richards or Mr. Richardson murdered anyone, we have no probably cause to seek any evidence against him.”
“Malcolm, I’ll bet he’s done this before; he marries a mail order bride in Vegas and then later kills her. Could the FBI in Vegas at least check to see if he married anyone else there?”

“Jen, without probable cause, any evidence gathered that way would get thrown out. We can’t go there. However, a private citizen might be able to do that. You didn’t hear that from me. Of course, that alone isn’t proof of murder unless we can identify those Asian Jane Does.”

“Got it,” Jen said. “Anything else?”

“There is one more thing,” Malcolm answered. “We like the work you did to obtain that DNA even though it didn’t match anyone. We’ve decided to trace a theory that one or more of the Asian Jane Does might be mail order brides. We know one came from Malawi, one from Indonesia and one from South Africa. We will officially request assistance in obtaining DNA samples from relatives in those countries. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

“Do you think those countries will cooperate?” Jen asked.

“Malawi and South Africa will,” Malcolm answered. “We don’t know if Indonesia will. Sometimes they do. They’ll want something in return; perhaps assistance from us on one of their cases.”

“Can you ask them to check with the mail order bride agencies to see if Richardson is a client?”

“No,” Malcolm answered quickly. “We have to do this by the book. We don’t have probable cause.”

Three weeks later, Malcolm called Jen again. “Jen, we got the DNA samples from Malawi and South Africa. We received two from Malawi and one from South Africa. We’re still checking the DNA samples against the DNA of the unidentified remains.”

“What about Indonesia?” Jen asked.
​
“Not yet. They’re playing hardball, but they’ll come around. They did say that the one Jane does we considered Chinese is more likely Javanese. They don’t have a lot of Chinese. I’ll keep you updated.”
Four days later, Malcolm called again. “Jen, bad news. None of the DNA sample match the DNA from the Asian Jane Does. It was a long shot. Without a good picture, the countries did the best they could. Sorry.”

The following is another excerpt from my work in progress, The Throuple Private Eye—Business is Booming, a Jen McDowell Series. This is the second draft. I’m at 52k words now. If you want to catch up, order the novella The Throuple Private Eye—Hate Crimes, on Amazon ($2.99). The link is https://www.amazon.com/dp/B084LTTHGN. Enjoy.

CHAPTER 16

Jen was stumped. She knew Jimmy was cheating on his wife and living two separate lives. She felt that Biyu was probably dead, but she had no proof and no leads. Jen decide to turn to her boyfriend Jonah. He worked in homicide and could advise her. Jen was up early as Jonah popped into her office for a cup of coffee. He walked over to Jen for a quick kiss before coffee. Jen said, “I need your help on this case I’m working on.”

Jonah smiled. “Does that mean pot roast for dinner tonight?”

Jen shook her head. “I’m a little busy. Would you settle for just sex?”

Jonah tried to act serious. “Pot roast or sex. Hmmm, that’s a tough one.”

Jen was getting impatient. “Are you going to help me or not?”

“Okay,” Jonah replied, “No pot roast.”

“Fine,” Jen shot back. “Here it is. I need a list of all the Jane Does found in the county.”

Jonah chuckled. “You don’t need me to find that for you. It’s all online. Here, I’ll write down the website.”

“Damn,” Jen said. “I knew that.”

Jonah straightened up. Does that mean no sex and no pot roast?” When Jen ignored the remark. Jonah wrote down the website for Jen; Unidentified Remains.

Jen was surprised to see that the police had used DNA-based sketches based on skull reconstruction. She was also surprised at how few unknown murder victims there were. With modern DNA techniques, the police were able to track down just about everyone’s family. Of course, that only helped to identify the remains. The murderers still had to be caught. Several of the cases were still unsolved. Of the ones that Jen reviewed going back ten years, she managed to find three Asian females whose remains were not identified. The forensic lab was able to identify where the victims lived: one was from Malawi, one from Indonesia and one from South Africa.

Jen was convinced that some of these victims were killed by Jimmy. The police had their DNA on file, so if Jen could track down a family member, she might be able to identify some of the victims, at least Biyu.

She decided to try and determine which agency Biyu had used in Hong Kong to link her with Richardson. She thought it would be simple, but when she did a search, she discovered there were dozens of agencies. She would have to contact each one. She sent an email to each agency with a picture of Biyu and Jimmy. She said he may have used the name Richards.

The next couple of days, Jen heard from more than half of the agencies she sent emails. Most said that Jimmy and Biyu weren’t clients. However, one agency said that the picture of Biyu was a not good picture, but Jimmy Richards had been a client. Jen proposed a meeting using a social meeting app.

There’s a 12-hour difference between Hong Kong and Atlanta, so Jen set up the meeting for 9 pm, Atlanta time. When the meeting started, a pleasant looking Asian man filled Jen’s screen. She explained how Biyu had disappeared and may be dead.

The man was concerned. “Call me Mr. Zhang, please. How can I help?”

“I’ve identified three Asian females whose bodies were found in Fulton County. The police have DNA profiles on all three. If you could help get DNA from a member of Biyu’s family, we can determine if any of the remains are hers.”

“Oh, I’ve heard of this procedure,” Mr. Zhang replied. “I would need the DNA from her mother or father.”

“Correct,” Jen said. “If not them, then a brother or other family member will do.”

“Seem like a lot of work,” Mr. Zhang said. “As you Americans like to say, what’s in it for me?”
Mr. Zhang cuts right to the chase, Jen thought. “Of course, I will reimburse you for your time at whatever your rate is. Also, the FBI is offering a reward of $10,000 US dollars. If your help leads to an arrest, I’m willing to split the reward with you.”

“My time is valuable, Ms. Jen,” Mr. Zhang replied. “I’m a very busy man. I’ll have to charge you time and a half. Plus, I want our agreement to split the reward in writing. I’ll need a hundred dollars to start. I’ll find a family member for the DNA. I know how. Meanwhile, you send me the agreement in writing. Deal?”

Jen was getting pissed. “Deal,” she said. She put together a letter of agreement and emailed to Mr. Zhang. She found it hard to believe that he wouldn’t help pro bono. Afterall, Biyu was one of his clients. Then again, it wasn’t so hard to believe. Much to Jen’s surprise, Mr. Zhang responded two days later.
​
“I have the DNA from Biyu’s mother,” Mr. Zhang said in their next meeting. “How do you want to handle this? I can send the DNA to you, or I can contact a local lab to work up a profile and send it to you.”

I read with interest an article by Latoya Gayle in the DailyMail Oct 27. She wrote, “Women-reveal-moment-knew-relationship-over”. She posted comments from women like these: Women being told to 'shush' during labour, one woman said her husband refused to end his four-year emotional affair, another said her marriage ended because her husband got her friend pregnant.

As usual, this list usually omits some major issues. Here are more reasons women know when the relationship is over:

1. He doesn’t cook meth together anymore.
2. He won’t provide an alibi when questioned by the police.
3. He refuses to remember her safe word.
4. He unfriends her on Face Book.
5. He doesn’t remember her first name.
6. He says he won’t pimp for her anymore.
7. He doesn’t wear her underwear anymore.
8. He won’t honor the restraining orders against each him.
9. He won’t leave the key to the handcuffs within easy reach.
10. He brings strange women home.

Whenever any of these indicators occur, women know the relationship is over. 

The following is another excerpt from my work in progress, The Throuple Private Eye—Business is Booming, a Jen McDowell Series. This is the second draft. I’m at 51k words now. If you want to catch up, order the novella The Throuple Private Eye—Hate Crimes, on Amazon ($2.99). The link is https://www.amazon.com/dp/B084LTTHGN. Enjoy.

CHAPTER 15 (Cont.)
​
“Yes,” Ana answered. “back in 2014. Anyway, Olive took the baby and came here to Atlanta. The police in Houston, Texas and Georgia tried to find Olive and the baby, but they were too late. Before they could, she killed herself. There was no sign of the baby.”
 
“There were no clues on what she did with the baby?” Molly asked.
 
“No, none. She left a note saying she was sorry. The police did find $10,000 in cash too. They think she sold the baby. Might be sex traffickers.”
 
“So, it became a cold case?” Jen asked.
 
“Yes, but I have been looking for my granddaughter ever since, and come hell or high water, I won’t give up. I’ve contacted the Texas police, the Georgia police and all the police in between. I finally decided to hire a private eye here in Georgia. I think the baby’s here in Atlanta. The police pulled up videos between Texas and here but were pretty sure she arrived here with the baby alive.”
 
“What was the baby’s name?” Jen asked.
 
“Bless your heart,” Anna replied. “Her name was Kidist--an African name. Here’s a picture of her right after she was born, not that it’ll do you much good. She’s six now. But there’s this.” Anna leaned forward and pointed at the photograph. “She has a birthmark on her left hand. It’s in the shape of a teardrop. Of course, by now it’s bigger.”
 
“Okay,” Molly said. “We’ll take the case. We need to discuss our fee.”
 
“No problem. My husband had done well and left me a nice sum from his life insurance. Which reminds me, there is a reward. People have been so generous over the years, bless their hearts.”
 
“How much?” Molly asked.
 
“$10,000,” Anna answered. After discussing the fee and signing a contract, Anna left.
 
“Let me have this case,” Molly suggested. “I don’t have anything at the time. I promise to keep Anna from going to jail. Seems like a nice lady.” Jen agreed.

The following is another excerpt from my work in progress, The Throuple Private Eye—Business is Booming, a Jen McDowell Series. This is the second draft. I’m at 51k words now. If you want to catch up, order the novella The Throuple Private Eye—Hate Crimes, on Amazon ($2.99). The link is https://www.amazon.com/dp/B084LTTHGN. Enjoy.

CHAPTER 15

Jen returned from a doctor’s appointment to find tension in the air at the office. She looked at Molly who was focused on her computer and ignoring Jen. She looked at Prada who was on her bed with her back toward Molly, a thing she does when she’s upset. “What happened?” Jen asked.

Molly looked up from her computer. “What do you mean?”

“Obviously, something happened,” Jen answered. “Prada has her back toward you which she only does when she’s pissed, and you’re not talking. What did you do?”

“Why do you always take her side?” Molly shot back. “Nothing happened.”

“Come on, tell me. I can’t work like this when you two are upset.”

“If you must know, when I tried to give Prada her pills this morning, she snapped at me, so I swatted her.”

“Did you hurt her?” Jen asked.

“No,” Molly replied. “I didn’t hit her that hard.”

“No,” Jen continued. “I meant when you gave her the pills. I know you use that pill insert thingy. Maybe you hurt her.”

Molly thought for a moment. “Maybe I did.”

“Well, apologize already.”

Molly sighed. “Okay. I’ll make bacon as a peace offering.” Molly went to the kitchen and returned in a few minutes with two crisp pieces of bacon. She knelled down by Prada. Prada lifted her head--a good sign. Molly petted Prada’s head. “Prada, honey. I’m sorry. Would you like some bacon?” Prada ate the two pieces of bacon and licked Molly’s face.

“I guess she accepts your apology,” Jen said.

“I have a one pm,” Molly said. “A Ms. Funanya Opeyemi--unusual name.”

At 1 pm, Ms. Opeyemi arrived. She was an black senior citizen and walked with a cane. After introductions and coffee, the three got down to business. Molly turned on the recorder. You said on the phone that you wanted us to help find your granddaughter,” Molly said. “Is that right?”
“Yes, that’s correct.” Ms. Opeyemi replied.

“Your name’s a little unusual,” Jen said.

“It’s an African name,” Ms. Opeyemi said.“I changed my name years ago after my husband died. My full name is Funanya Opeyemi, but my friends call me Anna. Just don’t call me Fun.”

Everyone laughed. “So, what happened to your granddaughter?” Molly asked.

“She was kidnaped,” Anna replied.

“Did you call the police?” Jen asked.

“Believe me, honey, I called everyone. I’d call out the National Guard if I had the power. But you see, this happened six years ago back in Texas.”

“Okay,” Molly said. “We’ll let you explain everything. Go ahead.”

Anna started to explain, “My husband and I had one daughter. Her name was Enu Bone. She got knocked up by one of her boyfriends; never figured out which one of the assholes did it. All her men were all hat and no cattle. Anyway, my daughter had a friend by the name of Olive Smith. Just after my daughter gave birth to a baby girl, Olive murdered my daughter and took the baby.”

“This happened in Texas?” Jen interrupted.

The Haunting of New York City – A Short Story

John Hunter was stunned as he stood in Times Square. This was not the New York City he remembered from his youth. Of course, that was over 150 years ago. John was a ‘young-old ghost’ as the spirit community liked to call ghosts that died young a long time ago. Most ghosts are “ancient-old ghosts”, having died at an old age a long time ago. John decided to make the best of his situation and to start haunting. Haunting a city was certainly more interesting that haunting a Civil War battlefield and with a hole in his head, John figured he could still provide a good scare. 

He waited until a group of people approached him on the sidewalk. They were walking with their heads down as if praying. No matter, John decided to scare the hell out of them. He waited until they were just a few feet in front of him and then he manifested himself and yell “boo.”

No one even noticed. The closest person walked right through him without stopping or even looking up. John decided he needed to up his game. When the next group of people approached him, he removed his head and threw it at the closest person. Nothing happened. His head sailed right through the person, bounced down the street and rolled down the steps of a subway entrance.
John, or at least his head, lay on the subway platform wondering how in the world he was going to find the rest of his body when he heard laughter. He glanced over and saw a young man, a young ghost really, laughing at him. Finally, the young ghost walked over and picked up John’s head and held up so they were eye to eye.

“What are you laughing at?” John asked, irritated.

“Why, you of course. Let’s go find your body.” The young ghost carried John’s head under his arm and up the stairs to the street level. John’s body wasn’t hard to find; pedestrians were oblivious to it. They walked through it, not even bothering to lift their feet. The young ghost lifted John’s body and placed his head squaring on his neck. John looked down at his body. His head was backwards. He reached up and turned his head around. Then he looked around, found his kepis cap and placed it on his head.

“Oh,” exclaimed the young ghost. “You’re a soldier.”

John snapped to attention and saluted. “Private John Hunter, 22nd New York Volunteer Infantry at your service.”

The young ghost stuck out his hand. “Please to meet you, John. My name is Eston Morschauser.”
John shook Eston’s hand. “You’re young like me.”

“Well, I died young just last year. I guess I’m a ‘recent-young’ ghost as they say.”

“Maybe you can tell me what’s going on,” John said. “I tried to scare these people but they just ignored me. They keep looking at their hands. What’s going on?”

Eston laughed. “You’re way behind the times. Where have you been?”

“I was killed during the Battle of Antietam in Maryland when a Confederate sniper shot me.”

“In the head, I presume.”

John raised his eyebrows. “Yes, how’d you know?”

Eston poked a finger through the hole in John’s head.

John laughed. “Yeah, lucky shot.”

“So, what have you been up to the last 150 plus years?” Eston asked.

“I stayed on the battlefield marching in solemn formations every night for visitors at the Antietam National Battlefield.”

Eston shook his head. “That must have been boring.”

“Not for the first one hundred years. To tell the truth, each time I thought maybe this time we’ll win. But it was the same results every time.”

Eston laughed. “So, you finally asked for a transfer?”

“Yeah. Now can you tell me what’s going on. I can’t seem to scare anyone.”

“That’s because everyone is looking at their iPhones; playing games, reading emails or sending pictures,” Eston answered.

“Wait, wait. An eye phone? What’s an eye phone?”

Eston smiled. “Not that kind of ‘eye’. It’s a communication device, like a telephone.”

John shook his head which would have fallen again if he hadn’t held on to it. “What’s a telephone?”
“Wow,” Eston answered. “What war were you in?”

“The Civil War. I was killed in Sharpsburg, Maryland, on September 17, 1862. A sniper shot me at the Sunken Road during the Battle of Antietam.”

“Wow,” Eston said. “So that’s what, over 150 years ago? There’s been a lot of progress since then. We haunt things differently now days. I’ll show you how.” Eston looked around. As the next guy passed, he entered through his back and snatched the iPhone out of his hands. He brought it over to John.  “This is an iPhone.” The man stopped and started looking for his iPhone. When he saw Eston talking to John, he screamed and ran away.

John took the iPhone and looked it over. “You said it was a communication device. Where are the wires? How does it work without wires?”

“It’s wireless. I don’t have time to bring you up to date on all the progress made in 150 years. You just have to accept what I tell you. Okay?”

John nodded. “Okay. What do I do now?”

“Good,” Eston said. “We haunt these things now I’ll show you how to enter the operating system and tell you the type of things you can do there.” Eston spent the next thirty minutes explaining how an iPhone works. Finally, he said. “Most of the apps on the iPhone are paid for by advertisements. These ads pop up here and there; some from the top down, some from the bottom up and some from the sides. They can be very annoying. To drive a person mad, just make ads pop up one after the other.”

John didn’t know what an ‘app’ was but decided to hold his question. “It’s that easy?” he asked.

“Oh, yes. You can also mess with their e-mails.”

This time he had to ask. “What’s an e-mail?

Eston smiled. “It means electronic mail. People use it to send messages to each other. All you do is mess with the addresses. Just change the address to someone else. If the message says something intimate, send it to everyone in their address book. I once sent a bunch of emails from Hillary Clinton to the WikiLeaks.”

“I don’t know who those people are.”

Eston smiled, “That bring me to sexting.”

“What’s that?”

Eston smiled even wider. “Sexting means taking a naked picture or picture of one’s privates and sending it to a boy or girlfriend.”

“Good. I’m a private. Take my picture.”

Eston laughed. Not that kind of private. It’s a picture of your… you know… your thing.”

John blushed. “I would never do that.”

“Not your thing. People…live people do that.” Eston saw that this news puzzled John. “Don’t ask me why, they just do and we can haunt that.”

“How do I do that?” John asked.

“Simple. Whenever you see someone sexting, you change the address to someone else. I like to use a parent, if I know it, but just about anyone will do.”

“And that works?”

“Oh, yeah,” answered Eston. “You should see what I did to Anthony Weiner. But the best haunting is with selfies.”

“What are selfies?” John asked.

“People now days, especially, young ones, like to take pictures of themselves alone or with someone and send to other people. When you see that they’re about to take a selfie, you jump into the background and manifest yourself in true ghostly fashion. We call it photobombing, and it will freak them out.”

John had seen only one camera in his entire life, but at least he knew what a photograph was. “Anything else?” he asked.

“Are you kidding? There are a million ways to possess a cellphone. One of my favorites uses the GPS.”

John sighed. “And what, pray tell is a ‘GPS’?”

“It stands for Global Positioning System. It uses satellites to triangulate the position of a cellphone.”
John had no idea what ‘satellites’ were or what it meant to’ triangulate’, but he was overwhelmed and let it pass. “So, what do you do to the GPS?”

“Whenever someone asks for directions, you change them. You know, send them the wrong way on a one-way street or take them miles out of the way. It drives people crazy.”

“Anything else? I can’t handle much more.”

“Okay, one more and you’ll love it. Some cellphones use artificial intelligence and an artificial voice. People can talk to them and they talk back. Two popular ones are Siri and Cortana. All you do is take over the voice and talk in a creepy, voice and maybe with a hideous laugh. It will freak people out.”
John laughed. “Now I like that. I’ll try it.”

“Well, that’s enough for now. That’s the basics. “Oh, before I forget, today is Friday the 13th. All the ghosts in the city get together and ride the subways all night. I’ll come to get you after sundown. Happy haunting and welcome to New York City”

John said, “Thanks.”
​
THE END

Jen thank the woman and went to apartment 14. She planned to use the same strategy as she used with Jimmy’s wife. When the woman answered the door, Jen said, “Hello, my name is Mary Smith and I live in this building. I wonder if you have seen my cat.”  Jen held out a flier with the picture of a cat that she had downloaded from the internet. “She ran way and hasn’t come home. I open the door to bring in groceries and she ran out.
The woman took the flier and looked at it.

“I’m afraid not. You’re not supposed to have pet in this building.”

“I know, that’s way I’m not posting any signs. I’m hoping someone took her in. I hope no one reports me.”

“Come on in,” the woman said. The woman. “My name id Chang Ying. I was about to have some tea. Would you like a cup?”

“Yes, please,” Jen answered as she was ushered into the dining room. The luxury of the interior matched the luxury of the exterior of the apartments. “You have a nice apartment. Have you lived here long?”

“No, only a few weeks,” came the reply from the kitchen. Jen looked around the room, hoping to find a glimpse of Charlize’s laptop-no such luck. Chang Ying returned with a tray with a tea pot, two cups and sugar.

“You speak English so well,” Jen said. “I detect an accent, but I can’t tell from where.”

Chang Ying chuckled. “I’m from Singapore. English is our official language.”

“What brought you to the USA, if you don’t mind my asking.”

Chang Ying grinned and held up her left hand to reveal an expensive ring. “I’m getting married.”
“Congratulations,” Jen said. “How did you two meet?”

Chang Ying chuckled and sat back in her chair. “My fiancé doesn’t like me to tell the story, but we met online. I signed up with an agency that connects women with American men. We started talking, and Jimmy invited me here. After a couple of weeks, he proposed. We’re going to Las Vegas in two weeks to get married.”

“Oh, that’s exciting.” Jen said. “You’ll love that. What is your husband’s name?”

“His name is Jimmy Rich,” Chang Ying replied.

“What does he do for a living?”

“He’s a political consultant. In fact, he’s in Washington consulting a candidate for the Senate. He goes there every Monday and returns on Fridays. After the elections, he’ll move in here with me.”
“Wow,” Jen said. “Who is he consulting?”

“He won’t tell me. He says it’s all about timing. He’ll announce it at the right time.”
​
Jen and Chang Ying made small talk for a while and then Jen left the same way she came in through the garage.