Chapter 1


If a race was held between old lady Denton and a snail, it would be safe to predict that the snail would win. At 84, one had to commend her on her tenacity. She went for a two-block walk daily in rain or shine. Bred from old money and blue blood, Mrs. Denton believed that will was stronger than the body.

The second day of May greeted her with sunshine. She treaded carefully over the white petals from the cherry trees that covered the sidewalk. She shunned the aluminum cane that her doctor tried to push on her, once arthritis kidnapped her joints. Instead she leaned heavily on the antique walking cane that once belonged to her poppy. It was a handsome stick with a coiled copper collar, Malacca shaft and a brass ferrule. The handle was shaped Ivory with three dog heads finely carved into it. When she walked it made a small tap that echoed down the street. It was reminiscent of her music teaching days, when she would tap a ruler on the piano in time with her students as they practiced their chords.

She usually walked in the mornings, before most of the town arose. But not today, she had company over for breakfast. Her late husband’s nephew Roger came by weekly to make sure she was well. The riches she possessed were hers alone, though he was under the impression he would gain them. Mrs. Denton was no fool; to ensure that he continued to be at her beck and call, she let him believe that he was going to become a rich man once she passed on. Only she and her attorney knew that she had willed most of her money into a musical scholarship program in her name for college bound students.

School was out for the day and the streets were brimming with students excited by the warmth of spring in the air. Mrs. Denton hurried down the street, hoping to avoid the rough riders—a disrespectable trio of teen-aged boys who loved to taunt her. They called her “Blue-Haired Turtle Woman” and “Slow-Poke Granny.” She hated them with a passion as strong as her love for music.

Today wasn’t her lucky day. She had reached a section of sidewalk that was covered in white petals shedding from the cherry trees that lined the street in front of the old McHenry house, now vacant. One of her fears was that she would fall and break a hip. The thought of being an invalid was the factor behind her caution. Concentrating on her steps, she didn’t hear the approach of rapid wheels moving along erratically down the pavement towards her.

“Watch out, Blue Hair,” shouted the first boy to whip by her on his skateboard. The other two shouted out incoherent words, causing old lady Denton to stumble and fall onto the lawn of the McHenry house. Speeding away, the boys didn’t look back. If one of the had, she would have fainted from disbelief because even though they were rambunctious teens they would have rushed to her side, apologizing and assisting her back onto her feet. But they didn’t. She lay there for a moment with the wind knocked out of her, afraid to move, fearing that she had broken something.

Shouts told her to stay still. She whispered thanks that someone was paying attention, because she had no idea how she was going to get back on her feet unaided. As she waited for the rescuers to arrive, her eyes caught sight of something out from under the porch by the front steps of the house. It was a leg clad in denim with red streaking the fabric. When her rescuers arrived, she screamed pointing to it with her cane.

(Wordcount now-629)