This Ain't Your Mama's Broken Heart.

An investigators case takes an unusual turn. For the Writer's Cramp contest

    It was a harsh day in January.  A passive snowfall contradicted the biting Easterly wind.  It was a quiet funeral, not more than 30 people, and yet the small church looked almost half full.  John took note of a few elderly women perched along the back pew. Hankies in hand they dabbed eyes, almost in unison with each inflection of the vicars sermon. From his position in the small alcove not far behind, and meters above them, he was close enough to wince as their pitchy voices scraped through the high notes of “The Lord is my shepherd”.  But that’s not why John was here, and quickly his attention turned back to the family, slumped in grief at the two front pews. Only one of them sat firm and straight: Jordan Antoin, who seemed unconcerned by the grief -struck crying of the woman sitting next to him, his mother. He had turned to look at the door, yawned, checked his watch, and only then did his attention return to the hymn. He was a Twenty year old grandson of the deceased Mary Antoin. He was cleaner, less scraggly looking than the last time John had set eyes on him, only a week earlier. His hair neater, his dirty black jeans replaced by a pair of oversized brown dress pants. A bleached white shirt was un-tucked, in an attempt to conceal the outfit’s bagginess.  The shirt looked out of place on Jordan Antoin`s skinny frame. 

    The lunch was short, lethargic, and uneventful. John lingered among the guests, mostly family, and of course the back pew ladies serving dainties and topping up juice glasses and tea cups.  The general consensus entwined in conversation was that Mary Antoin died suddenly of a broken heart, not able to bear the loss of Charles, her devoted husband of forty years. He had died a month previous. Charlotte, daughter of the deceased, was the most verbal of all: “Mama died of a broken heart!” she announced, between sobs, at least seven times during the luncheon. John didn’t buy it, not at all. He was careful of how intensely he worked the crowd, not wanting to ask any questions that would identify him as a stranger to Mary. He was able to maintain a stoic expression, and announced himself as a member of Mary`s writing group. 

    It was no lie, John was a casual writer, never published but aspiring to. He even joined an online writing group, with an anonymous alias making him feel safe from shame.  He wrote a few odd stories, received some comments that fed his ego, but then work interfered. His writing was now stored on the list of “I’ll do it later” tasks stored in the back of his mind. In real life, John worked as an undercover investigator. Living in the small community of Drevon with its population of 7000 people, he often went further afield for work.  This job was a local one. He was hired by an angry parent who was certain that Jordan Antoin’s drug sales had led to her teenage daughter’s untimely death. The police closed the case, ruling it an accidental overdose. They refused to investigate Jordan, whose grandmother was one of the wealthiest people in this small town. He had been on the job for two months, monitoring and recording anything suspicious. His employer wanted him to gather enough evidence to have the case re-opened. 

    Jordan was living with his grandmother. He left the house at 11am each morning, then periodically throughout the day, drove a standard SUV, nothing fancy, and was generally home in the evenings.  John became disillusioned with the case. The only note of real interest was Mary Antoin’s behaviour towards her husband, and the man’s sudden death raised suspicions, and now they were burying Mary. With an ability to sense wrong doing, John’s alarms were triggered. Once the funeral was over he returned home to scour through hundreds of photographs, taken during the investigation.  It took a few weeks, but slowly he was able to piece together small glimpses – a living room window here, the back garden there. As the images unfolded, the evidence grew, leading to the biggest case of John’s life.  Once on track, he discovered the true identity of his employer’s daughter, Charles Antoin’s illegitimate child. Through connections with the law firm, he learned of a re-written will, leaving this girl all of Charles’s fortune. The will was suspicious, and Mary was in the process of contesting it just prior to her death.  Having enough to present a case, John turned to the police for aid.  Their investigation eventually pointed to John’s employer, the woman who fed her daughter the lethal dose of narcotics. She hired John in an attempt to monitor Mary’s movements, through her grandson. Eventually, knowing that Jordan would be out at 11am each morning, she went to the home for tea, giving Mary an equally lethal dose of drug and putting an end to the legal battle for her fortune. 

Jordan and his mother met with John on a bright, but cold February afternoon. Jordan, still scraggly and bored, attempted a smile, but it was Charlotte he looked to.  He spoke slowly, stumbling on his words, “See! Do ya see now?” he said, “It wasn’t your mama’s broken heart!”