I just finished my 1000 word story for the 2nd entry in the NYC Midnight Flash Fiction Contest.  This time, my group was assigned to write a mystery in a duty-free shop in an airport with a milkshake somewhere in the story.  I found that mystery is a difficult genre for a 1000 word story.  Here’s mine:

Hell Hath No Fury

Because I’m a detective, my wife and I saved for a decade to vacation in Dubai. We happened to pass by the jewelry store in the duty-free concourse of Terminal 3 when the American man collapsed. I started CPR, but I knew he wouldn’t survive. When the paramedics arrived, I took inventory of the scene and noted the injection site on the back of his right hand.

“Who’s with him?” I asked the three American women nearby.

A dignified woman wearing a designer suit (that cost more than I made in a month) said, “I’m his wife, Mrs. Amherst.” Her face showed no emotion. She motioned towards the young woman beside her and said, “Our daughter Kate.”

“Ma’am, did you know him?” I asked the woman behind Kate.

“Yes, she did,” Kate answered.

The other two looked surprised. I asked the third woman her name.

“Brittany,” she answered.

“Kate, how do you know Brittany?”

Before she could answer, security arrived and ushered us towards an office behind the shops in the duty-free concourse. My wife stayed far enough away to avoid being rounded up. Before I walked into the unremarkable hallway, I looked back and smiled an apology. She smiled too. She accepts that the job is my identity.

Before I entered, I turned to the man in charge.

Pulling out my badge, I said, “I’m a Homicide Detective.”

In flawless English, he responded, “Any assistance will be appreciated. We rarely see murders here.”

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Mohammed.”

“I’m Jim. How long for toxicology?” I asked.

“A few hours.”

“Do you have surveillance video?”

“Yes.”

“Let’s watch it,” I said.

In another room further down the hall, we watched the murder. All three women had approached Amherst’s right hand in the moments preceding his collapse. Once he seemed to feel something because he rubbed his hand and looked at the woman next to him. Not conclusive proof, but something. I’d seen an odd outline in the same woman’s left pocket.

We walked back to the office. Brittany stood in a corner. Mrs. Amherst and Kate sat at a table. Mohammed stood behind me as I sat across from them. I handed them each a piece of paper and pen and asked them to write what happened.

When they finished, I asked, “What was the purpose of this trip, Mrs. Amherst?”

“Winter vacation. My husband loved scuba diving.”

“Do you and Kate dive?”

“No.”

“Kate, how do you know Brittany?”

Kate stared at the floor. She looked like a pot about to boil.

“Kate,” Mrs. Amherst said in a neutral tone, “Who is this woman?”

“About two months ago, I came home early and heard something. I saw her in bed with Dad, but they didn’t see me. I was angry.”

Mrs. Amherst stared at the wall. Absent-mindedly she reached into her purse and pulled out a tissue. I saw a flicker of orange in her bag.

“Brittany, how long were you his mistress?”

“Two years. He planned to leave her after this trip.”

Mrs. Amherst laughed. “He’d never leave. I’m worth millions.”

“He didn’t care!”

“Yes, he did. For every dollar he earned, he spent two. He liked the lifestyle my money afforded him.”

“Why’re we here?” Kate asked.

“Someone poisoned him via an injection in his right hand.”

While Kate and Brittany expressed surprise, Mrs. Amherst remained indifferent.

“We watched the surveillance videos,” I continued. “Brittany, why are you here?”

“He brought me everywhere. I’d see him with them at breakfast or the pool. When they’d go shopping, he’d come to me.”

“That must hurt. You dive?”

“No. Neither did he.”

“If he refused to leave his wife… That would give you motive.”

“I wouldn’t kill him! I lost everything today. My future is gone!”

Kate was doodling on a piece of paper. Her anger evident.

“All three of you were near his hand in the minutes before his death. Mrs. Amherst, when did you discover the affair?”

“Moments ago.”

“No,” I said. “You’ve known for awhile. You’re also the only left handed person here.”

“So?”

“Injecting someone in the back of the right hand is easiest for a left-handed person standing beside him.”

“Wait! It’s true that I knew about… her,” contempt dripped from her voice. “I discovered it about nine months ago when I uncovered the monthly allowance he’d been giving her, but she wasn’t the first and wouldn’t be the last.”

Brittany looked stunned.

“Did you really think you were special, dear? He’d never leave me. She must’ve realized that and killed him.”

“Did Brittany stand to gain anything by his death?” I asked.

“No. None of us did. He was worthless,” Mrs. Amherst answered.

“Unless you went to prison for his murder.”

I paused as it sank in.

“Kate, stand up,” I ordered.

“What? No!” Kate said.

Mohammad and I got up and slowly circled our prey.

“Fine!” Kate said and stood up.

In her left pocket, I found an empty syringe.

“You’re ambidextrous?” I asked.

“No.”

“You wrote with your right hand and doodled with your left. You’re ambidextrous.”

She gritted her teeth.

“You looked your father in the eye after you poisoned him,” I marveled.

Kate remained silent. Defiant.

“Why?” Mrs. Amherst asked.

“Because you’ve controlled everything by threatening to cut us off. I confronted dad and he was going to leave you. He said that I was grown up, so it was time for us to choose happiness. Joy without money? I don’t think so.” Kate shrugged and said, “To choose happiness, I needed my inheritance.”

“Mrs. Amherst, can I look in your bag?” I asked.

Near the tissues lay the orange cap of a syringe. I held it up.

“I expected you to search her – not me,” Kate said with a shrug.

Mohammed handcuffed Kate.

Back on the concourse, my wife was drinking a chocolate milkshake.

“Sorry, honey.”

Smiling up at me, my beautiful wife said, “I love being married to a hero.”

As I’m continuing to save for up for the adoption, I’ve been pursuing one of my passions: writing. I recently entered the NYC Midnight Flash Fiction Contest. The first round was held last weekend. We had to write a 1000 word story in 48 hours. My group’s prompt was: ghost story, casino, colored contacts. Ghost stories are not my forte, but here’s my entry. Feel free to give feedback.

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Violet Eyes

Synopsis:  A woman’s violet colored contact lenses allow her to see the ghost of her dead husband while on vacation in Las Vegas one year after he died there.

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Putting the violet-colored contact lenses into her eyes, she pondered the last year as she peered into the hotel mirror. One year ago, this casino had been under construction. Fate alone decided she and her husband Jim would have that final fight while passing by. Luck alone allowed the wet cement to trap and cover his body. He’s still listed as a missing person.
She’s free.
After gliding on the thick eyeliner, she stepped back, admired her reflection and smiled.
Violet loved her mother who died several years ago. Her mother loved purple. Jim hated the purple contacts that she wore to honor her mom, so she’d worn them religiously prior to his death. Returning on the only anniversary she now celebrated, she felt compelled to wear them once again. Just for him.
Her friend Tonya, who alone knew Violet’s secret, knocked at the door. Violet glanced in the mirror, grabbed her bag and headed out. They would spend the night playing her favorite game. Violet felt lucky.
Downstairs, the women walked around as Violet tried to estimate where Jim’s body lay. The sprawling nature of the casino made it impossible to narrow down his location beyond the northwest corner of the casino. They ordered two glasses of champagne, stood in that corner and toasted life.
At a roulette table they started placing bets.
Giggling.
Drinking.
Winning some.
Losing some.
Drinking some more.
Violet looked up and surveyed the casino.
As Tonya placed a bet, Violet suddenly shrieked!
“What?” Tonya asked.
Violet pointed northwestwardly, mouth agape, eyes wild.
Tonya searched for what had drained the color from Violet’s face.
“What?”
“Jim,” Violet whispered. “Don’t you see him?”
Tonya looked again and then at Violet.
“Let’s get some air,” Tonya said.
“Let’s just go to my room,” Violet said.
In her room, Violet’s hands trembled as took out her contacts and washed her face. She stared at the otherworldly purple lenses. For the first time, they made her shiver. She shut the case. On her bed, the women talked. He had stood far enough away that Violet could not make out much detail. He looked sickly, but it was definitely him. Could he have made it out of the cement pit? Violet didn’t think so. She watched him disappear under the thick wet cement. She stayed long enough to know he wouldn’t arise. He couldn’t have gotten out. Finally, the ladies chalked it up to too much alcohol.
Eventually, Tonya fell asleep beside Violet. Violet was staring at the ceiling when Tonya awoke.
“Did you sleep?” Tonya asked.
“A little.”
“Let’s get dressed and go shopping.”
Tonya left to dress. Violet rubbed her face and walked to her bathroom. She washed her face, put her contacts in and applied a little sunscreen. They enjoyed several hours out on the Strip despite the heat. When they returned, the girls played roulette for several hours with no disruptions. Violet relaxed.
“I’m hungry. Wanna hit the buffet?” Tonya asked.
“Sure!”
They cashed out and headed across the casino.
Violet abruptly stopped dead in her tracks.
Tonya turned when she realized Violet no longer walked beside her. Violet stared wide-eyed at something right in front of her, but Tonya saw nothing. Others gave Violet a wide-berth as she stood in the middle of the aisle between slot machines looking crazed. Transfixed, Tonya watched a pale Violet shake her head and appear astonished. Without warning Violet flew backwards onto the ground! She curled into a fetal position, covered her face and cried.
Tonya helped her best friend up off of the floor.
In her room, Violet ripped the contacts from her eyes.
Turning to Tonya, she said, “Please tell me you saw him.”
“Honey, no one saw anything, but the way you flew back… I don’t believe in ghosts, but… What happened?”
Violet held her legs against her chest and rocked.
“He looked sickly – greenish. I smelled his breath. He asked if I thought death would rid me of him. It was an accident! He leaned in so close I could feel wisps of – something – on my throat. He told me that my purple contacts help me see him, so he likes them now.” Violet shivered. “He said he knew I’d come.”
“What do you want to do? Change rooms? Go home?”
Silence encompassed them as Violet weighed her options.
Violet released her legs and squared her shoulders.
“No. He made me miserable during our marriage. I won’t let him do it as a… I won’t let him do it now. He won’t steal my freedom.”
“They say to get rid of a ghost, you must confront it.”
“Then I’ll try that.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Go. He’s gonna leave me alone one way or another.”
Tonya hesitated.
Violet stood up and said, “Go. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Tonya hugged Violet and left.
Violet headed to the bathroom to install her lenses.
She put the left one in first.
The right one was on the tip of her finger as she lifted her head to look in the mirror.
He was behind her!
Whipping around to face him, he grabbed her by her throat and lifted her off of the ground.
“I told you that marriage is forever,” he growled.
She tried to fight him, but her hands went right though him.
His eyes glowed. He came so close that she only saw a haze of thick green fog.
She couldn’t breathe.
She couldn’t scream.
Darkness encroached.

In the morning, Tonya couldn’t rouse Violet, so she asked the hotel manager to unlock Violet’s door. They found her lifeless on the bathroom floor; a dark purple bruise around her neck. Her eyes, one hazel and one violet, stared at them. The other colored lens looked up at them from the bathroom floor.