The International Package – part two

Tags

bomb, creative writing, germany, international, meatloaf, Tarot, writings

What was in the package?

Bill didn’t want to bother with the meatloaf after I told him about the delivery. He gathered scissors and a utility knife, setting the box on newspapers in the middle of the table. We stood on either side. The excitement radiated off him in waves. He reached out with the utility knife to cut the brown packing tape when he paused, hand extended over the box. He told me, in case the package was a bomb, that he loved me and had been happy in our 32 years together. I told him to stop being so dramatic and just open it. And that I loved him too.

The box opened without a bang, and from deep within the white packing peanuts he pulled out a small wooden box. It was of dark wood, delicately carved with diamonds and hearts and painted in reds and greens. He carefully set it on the table, unclasped the delicate gold filigree lock and eased the lid open.

We both leaned forward. Inside was a deck of cards.

Bill leaned back. Playing cards? That was the big mystery? Surely there had to be more. While the fumbled through the packing peanuts looking for something else, I picked up the cards, noticing each was hand painted.

They were not playing cards, but Tarot cards. Each was uniquely different and at first glance appeared old and fragile. Bill looked disappointed as he cleaned up his tools and the box, stating he was ready for meatloaf any time it was ready. I could hear him mumbling something about Herman under his breath.

I replaced the cards and closed the lid of the box. I would inspect the cards more closely later while Bill watched the ball game. There must be something special about the Tarot cards, otherwise why would they have been sent after all these years.

The International Package – part one

Tags

creative writing, German, international, james patterson, jason bourne, meatloaf, richard castle, Tarot, writings

Part one.

There was an international package left on my doorstep, but it was addressed to my sister.

Strange, I thought as I picked up the package and carried it inside. My sister had died seven years earlier. Stephanie worked for an American company at its German office, and during a weekend excursion with her boyfriend had died in a one-car accident on a snowy road outside of Hamburg. After the funeral services I travelled to Germany and her apartment to collect her items and finalize accounts. I had thought this was all behind us.

The box was a standard 12x12x12 size, secured with brown packing tape, and the shipping address only listed a Berlin street address. I set the box on the table. My husband, Bill, an avid James Patterson and Richard Castle fan, had on several occasions stated his speculation that Stephanie’s boyfriend had been involved in some kind of espionage or spy ring. He had never met Herman but he didn’t like him either. Bill’s Hungarian father was interned at a concentration camp during WWII, and Bill still harbored bad feelings toward the Germans.

I decided to wait to open the box until Bill came home. He would like that. The biggest thrills he had these days were Casino outings with his friends. Opening an international package for my dead sister – whom he suspected was murdered in a sort of Jason Bourne event – would make his day. Heck, it would probably make his whole year.

As I started the meatloaf for dinner, curiosity enveloped me and I began to guess at the contents. Old files from her office? The contents of an unknown safe deposit box? It could be anything.

To be continued . . .