By Amory Peck (1728 words) 

Jasper St. John was in a foul mood. He had told Margaux, in no uncertain terms, that he just was not up to, well, not up to any of it. Yet, here he stood, managing to both quake and stay rigid at the same time. He looked a fool, and the stacks of his books on the table mocked him with the age of their publication dates. 

A fool! Who else in the world would put on a smoking jacket for an event such as this? He had fought Margaux over what he’d wear this first evening. He opted for the absent-minded professor look, she for the damned velvet thing. She, as usual, had prevailed.

Jasper, or Jimmy, as he still thought of himself, had been giving in to his sister all his life. Four years older than he, Margaux, or Marjory, as he still thought of her, took her older-sister role seriously. He tried to hold his own by being a trickster, and Marjory often fell for his pranks. But he did appreciate his big sis. For all his childhood and teen years, she had been his buffer against the ugliness in their transient homes.

Their father, a thirty-year Army guy, took out his disappointment at never rising higher than Staff Sergeant on his son. Then, there was their mother. Usually at one or another of the bars that ring all army posts, she came home only to pass out. Most often on the bed, but sometimes slumped on the couch, or perched on the toilet seat. When conscious, she was an obnoxious, dirty-mouthed drunk. Her out-of-bounds behavior was probably one of the reasons her husband was passed over time and again.

Moving so often—one time the brother and sister attended three different schools in two years—the pair of them had few friends, and they never invited anyone to visit in their home. Ashamed of both parents, they did not want to let anyone see into their homelife. The circumstances forged a strong bond between the siblings. When alone, the two of them would often break into Sonny and Cher’s “I’ve Got You, Babe,” the song they adopted as their theme song.

As soon as Marjory graduated from high school, she moved out of the house and moved far away from father’s posting at Fort Benning, Georgia to the Pacific Northwest, urging Jimmy to join her as quickly as he could.

Jimmy stayed behind for two long, lonely years, until he could, with a forged permission slip from his parents, drop out of high school. He took the GED test. Then he went West. 

Marjory had found work at the Seattle Times’ Jimmy did, as well, when he arrived two years later. From that point on, they morphed into Margaux and Jasper.

There were good years. Through her work on the paper, Margaux made many good connections in the area. Jasper, who discovered a love and aptitude for writing, especially mystery novels, worked as a night custodian at the paper, giving himself time for his chosen career. 

Jasper squeaked out a living good enough to pay his way and help out Margaux from time to time. Over the next twenty-five years, he published fifteen mysteries, using his pseudonym, Jasper St. John. His final five books, known as the Matricide Mania series, did especially well. One of that series, Matricide by Mail, was on the long-list for an Edgar award the year it was published. And then, nothing. Zilch. No books. He called it “writer’s block,” Margaux softened that to a “dry patch.” 

His agent hung with him for years, but two years ago, he dropped Jasper. Margaux, as the good elder-sister, stepped into the breach, Both brother and sister knew that the Jasper St. John Writers’ Retreat was a last gasp attempt to rekindle his writing juices.

***

“Look at this godforsaken place,” Jasper sneered at his sister.

“You know I did the best I could for the money we had to spend.”

“Hardly worth the doing, I’d say.”

“You ingrate! So, since that’s how you feel, how about you tell me just exactly what’s annoying you.”

“Gladly. I bet people looked on line to see what a writer’s retreat should look like. Bet they read about the setting, the facilities, food and drink, featured speakers. You know – basic stuff. They probably think of Hedgebrook or Yaddo. I’m sorry for the eight poor saps who bought into this shit-show.”

Margaux couldn’t let it go. “So, we’re here. In the woods. There’s wine. Food. There’s a ‘famous’ author. You, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“Have you seen your room yet? Have you smelled that damp, musty space? There’s no mini-bar. Plastic cups! Plastic cups, for God’s sake. And, those stupid hangers. The kind you can’t take off the clothes bar. What?? Do they think I’d want to swipe the damn things.” Taking a breath, Jasper continued. “There’s probably going to be a mutiny. People started drinking quickly after being blown in the door. Wait until they slow down a bit and realize what plonk they are drinking. Embarrassing!”

***

As usual, Margaux was able to soot her prickly brother. She knew the bluster was a cover-up for the scared boy inside. He had been a good writer. Maybe not a great one, but a good one. Prodding him, she said,  “You should listen to that woman named Bunny. She gushes at length about how much she loves your work. I bet you could get some good ideas for future books from her, if you’d just ask.” 

Margaux moved away from her brother, reassuring the group that she was going to check on their dinner, then bring back more wine. With a determined smile, she headed off.

Jasper wouldn’t admit it, but he was feeling a bit sheepish. His sister did do everything she could to make this weekend a success. And, that was the one thing he knew they were in agreement about. This weekend had to be a success! He, tapping back into his writing days for inspiration, had to deliver as much as possible. That was his part of the deal.

Jasper poured himself another glass of plonk, which didn’t taste as bad, now that he’d conquered his tantrum. He plastered a friendly look on his face, and stepped out from behind his book table, and headed for Bunny. To his pleasure, she could really talk about his work, and, to his delight, she dropped some thoughts about where he might go next with his writing. For the first time in such a long while, Jasper felt filled up with something that felt quite like positivity.

His buoyant mood lasted about ten minutes. Ten minutes, no more, when Margaux motioned frantically for him to come join her.

***

“What’s up? I’m just starting to have a good time,” Jasper said in a tone he thought would please his sister.

At first, she could manage only gasps and shudders. Then, “Oh Jasper. It’s awful, simply awful and you must come.” Then she took off at a fast pace without looking back to see if he was following.

“Wait, wait. What’s the hurry? Nobody died, did they?” 

By then they had reached the Grand Salon, and Margaux slowed as she approached the farthest, darkest corner of the room. “Look!”

“What kind of trick is this? What’s this mess? Almost looks like blood.”

“Oh, Jasper. It is blood. There’s a body. I made myself look. Oh Jasper, what’ll we do now? This’ll ruin our weekend.”

“I’m pretty much, 100% certain, it could, indeed, inflict havoc on the retreat.”

***

After a hasty confab, the sister and brother decided there was no other option but to hide this awful mess from the participants. They could do whatever was needed once the guests left Sunday afternoon.  Sending Margaux back to deliver more wine, and the news that dinner would be delayed “just a bit,” Jasper figured out what they needed to do first. Since the retreat people would demand dinner soon, they needed to block the corner from view, clean up the blood as much as possible, and, of course, get rid of the body.

Bless her heart, Margaux carried it off. She reported back that everyone seemed content staying where they were for a short while since more wine had been delivered from the stash she’d found in the bar. Though shaky, she was ready to do whatever steps Jasper had come up with. As expected, getting the body hidden was Step One. He greeted her with, “Good news. You know how it looked like someone wrapped up in a rug. That’s exactly what it is. There is a rug covering up the corpse. It’ll be a trick, but I think we can balance the body on this serving cart, and roll it out of the room.”

In what seemed to be one of the few positives that had happened, Margaux had been given a master key to all the rooms. Since no one other than those at the retreat had registered at the inn, the managers thought the key might come in handy. Little did they know!

Despite the fact Jasper did not want the body stashed in his end of the building, it was the best choice. All the others, including Margaux, were staying in the opposite arm of the building. Jasper, with his huge need for some privacy during the three days, staked out the other wing as his space—in retrospect, a good decision.

***

“Keep pushing!” Jasper was setting a brisk pace.

“The body keeps slipping. I don’t like touching it.”

“We’re almost at the back door, let’s stick it in this room here.”

***

Margaux slipped the key into the door, pushed it open with her shoulder, and tried to maneuver the beverage cart through the doorway. From inside the room, a startled voice said “Who’s there? Get out!”

Years of hospitality training kicked in, and Margaux began apologizing “I am so sorry to bother you. Our mistake, goodbye.” She backed out of the room shielding the laden cart behind her.

“What the hell just happened” Jasper whispered. “Who are they? Is there more than one? What have we got? Squatters? And, what the heck do we do now?”

“I haven’t a clue,” Margaux whispered back. “Just remember, though, “I’ve Got You, Babe.”