Truman Capote - Blog Posts
Perry Smith and Truman Capote shared a profound and intimate connection, leading to speculation that Capote harbored romantic feelings for Smith during their years of prison visits while working on “In Cold Blood,” a seminal work of non-fiction detailing the Clutter murders, for which Smith was one of the perpetrators. Smith, expressing a desire for Capote’s presence, requested him as a witness to his impending execution.
In a poignant telegram sent on the eve of his execution, Smith implored Capote, stating, “Am anticipating and awaiting your visit. Please acknowledge by return wire when you expect to be here.” However, Capote failed to appear, citing the overwhelming emotional toll that witnessing the execution would exact upon him. The publication of “In Cold Blood” propelled Capote to unprecedented fame, yet he never completed another book thereafter.
WIP; In Cold Blood
I think this was from "The Uninvited" press interviews, but our guy had such a scruffy, Columbo-like quality, it seemed very Rockford coded to me. The Cannes looks are so gorgeously coifed, but I also love seeing our guy at his casual best...
He seemed to feel the magnetic quality as well, and almost thinking better of it, his sudden intake of air broke the spell abruptly. “I’m going to head into the washroom first, do you need anything?” his voice had an unexpectedly tender quality as you shook your head mutely. Rockford nodded curtly before releasing your hand and meandering towards the washroom. So, he was an army man as well. So many of the boys had been drafted for World War II, but it almost seemed that the world was just realizing the extenuating repercussions more than a decade later. He must have been a kid, maybe nineteen or twenty at the time? You found yourself pensively watching his broad figure head to the bathroom before absentmindedly observing that your past was equally steeped in enigma and mystery. Rockford might be a P.I, but you weren’t sure how much of your unconventional, mid-western beginnings you wanted to divulge. You bit your lower lip hearing the shower spring to life, and couldn’t help but wonder; Perhaps there was more than one mystery to unearth here in Holcomb County, Kansas.
I am having a BLAST with Pedge's Bookshop as we delve further into our film-noir-esque fanfic of "In Cold Blood". Currently working on this next installment, "The Interviews"....
*Thank you @auteurdelabre for our beautiful coloring book!
@littlemisspascal @lizette50 @beefrobeefcal @sawymredfox @anelva @wordywarriorwrites @burntheedges @inept-the-magnificent @timelordfreya @schnarfer @devineconjuring @mermaidgirl30 @galaxyedging @joelalorian @joelmillerisapunk @jennaispunk @sheepdogchick3 @marcus-is-my-muse @guiltyasdave @copperhalfcent @bluesweaters15 @drewharrisonwriter @darkheartgatita @harriedandharassed @brittmb115 @confusedpuffin @yorksgirl @quicax3 @shaunasflannel @shinyanchorobject
In Cold Blood; The Funeral
Grab a Latte! lounge around in the foyer with this sweet fic "Fall Coffee House" @alwritey-aphrodite before heading into the Bookshop!
Triggers: profanity, murder, smoking, references to alcohol, small abrasion, major spoilers for "In Cold Blood" by Truman Capote, based on historical events, 1950's cultural misogyny, references past problematic relationship, burgeoning workplace romance, funeral...
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Words: 5k
“Hey, doll. You wanna open those pretty eyes for me, let me know you’re still with us?” Rockford’s voice seemed to float in on a cloud of contentment. You snuggled further into the leather seat which had somehow softened against your drowsiness. You felt a whisper of his hand against your chin, cupping your cheek. “Time for sleeping beauty to wake up…” you couldn’t tell if you were dreaming or hallucinating, but your eyelids fluttered precariously trying to discern. “Time for our adventure to start, Red…” his voice gained solidity as a shot of adrenaline coursed through your system, jolting your eyes wide awake.
“I’m up!” you nearly shouted, as Rockford’s hand shot quickly to your forehead to prevent you from hitting the top of the car ceiling abruptly.
“Owwww….” you moaned, closing your eyes once again and covering your face with your hands sleepily. “Are we there yet?” you grumbled, squinting through one eye at Rockford’s bemused and adorably bedraggled countenance.
“We have arrived” Rockford confirmed, tilting his head sideways against the headrest and relaxing slightly. “Welcome to Holcomb, Kansas…” you noticed a lazy diner called ‘Hartman’s Cafe’ before you, and the car seemed quite cool to the touch as you reasoned you had been parked for some time in arrival.
“Did you drive all through the night?” you rhetorically asked, smoothing out your a-line skirt of travel wrinkles and looking in the overhead mirror to check your faded makeup.
Rockford nodded tiredly, scratching at the newly appearing scruff on his chin. “Wanted to get here as soon as possible, I don’t know when the FBI muckety mucks are going to show up. Might be here already” he wondered, clearing his throat of the morning huskiness and blinking steadily in the burgeoning dawn.
“Well, I don’t know much about being a travel secretary, but I think coffee is in order” you reckoned, delicately rubbing the sleep from your eyes and gesturing to the diner. “Thanks for letting me sleep, are you going to be okay for the day?” you wondered taking in the darkening circles under his eyes, and resisting the urge to finger his tousled hair.
“Nothing a little whiskey can’t cure” Rockford joked, catching your incredulous reaction. “Let’s grab a quick breakfast and we can locate the town sheriff afterwards. Last thing we need is to be fighting the long arm of the law before we’ve even begun…” he huffed, cranking the door open noisily and then tiredly stretching into the morning air.
“You’ve got the right mid-western mindset” you encouraged, rubbing at your lower back and emerging from the car, trotting behind him. “You’ll get more flies with honey, that’s for sure” you observed, hugging your purse to your side and casting a downward glance to your healing abrasion. Other than a few bumps and bruises, the near 20 hour drive to Kansas had transversed relatively quickly, and you were already starting to enjoy the newfound professional relationship with Rockford. You were keen to prove your secretarial prowess, despite the fact that you both felt a bit out of your league. It was one of the things that immediately bonded you to Rockford’s persona, was his dogged determination to pursue justice and excellence even in seemingly insurmountable odds. You hoped you could provide whatever support he might need, but you didn’t have the first clue about how to start the investigation. Maybe your midwestern upbringing could cushion Rockford’s fall from L.A’s bustling and cosmopolitan landscape. The familiar ring of a doorbell chime greeted your ears, as the wafting fragrances of coffee, pancakes and sausages tickled your nose. Your stomach grumbled in happy response. Rockford pressed a hand to your lower back, leading you towards the counter and smiling graciously at the waitress.
“Room for two?” he attempted to enchant, though the waitress was apparently having none of it.
“Not from around here, are ya?” she adroitly observed, a tight lipped smile painting her face as she smacked her lips sullenly against the trampled gum she was chewing.
“No ma’am, guilty as charged” Rockford poured on the charm, as much as possible, though the two of you were a bit of a sight after your lengthy travels. “Name’s Rockford, Tim Rockford P.I and this is my associate, Red. We’ll be gracing your homey town for the next couple weeks. Sorry to hear about your recent troubles and all…”. You nodded sympathetically, looking around the relatively empty diner in the early morning light. Rockford’s demeanor took on a honeyed quality as you quietly admired his attempts. You guessed one didn’t arrive at much professional investigatory success without a clear understanding of sweet talking and intimidation. You off-handedly wondered about the latter.
“Take your pick” the waitress seemed to complain, thrusting two menus into your hands and heading back towards the coffee behind her. “Looks like you could use the whole pot this morning…” she drolly noticed, avoiding your beleaguered expressions as you plopped down with fatigue and humility. Not the most auspicious beginning, but valiant nonetheless. Your eyes hungrily took in the options of the morning as Tim shook his head trying to clear the morning cobwebs from his mind. He’d have to be on his best behavior if he wanted to pry any secrets from a town like Holcomb, Kansas. He almost felt the iron-like bars of a social prison start to tighten around him as your eyes widened with recognition.
“Don’t look now, chief, but I think we’ve just had our first home town miracle” you whispered, as Rockford squinted at you skeptically. The doorbell rang once again to the sound of boots and leather chaffing against one another as Rockford looked out the diner window.
Holcomb County Sheriff’s Department. Bingo.
“Our first break” Rockford shushed, staring fixedly at the menu. “Go ahead Red, stick your leg out like they do in that movie with Clark Gable…”.
“I hardly think Clark Gable would be such a cad” you joked. “Besides which, my legs are all banged up from my clumsy secretarial pursuits on the highway earlier…” you scoffed. “That’s not what you’re expecting for my professional contributions, I hope?” you chuckled, attempting to focus on the menu in front of you.
“Absolutely not” Rockford chimed in. “It just happens to be a nice perk, from where I’m sittin’” he admitted, clearing his throat amusedly. It wasn’t but a minute the waitress appeared from behind the counter with a fresh pot of coffee and a disdainful look as a side order, as the sheriff skeptically surveyed you both from a stone’s throw away. First chatting with the sheriff conspiratorially, she eventually made her way to your table, somewhat begrudgingly…
“What’ll ya have?” she pointedly asked, pulling the pencil from behind her ear and smacking her lips loudly in accompaniment.
“I would like the Grand Slam, ma’am…” Rockford awkwardly rhymed, trying to remain aloof amidst the opportunity and gesturing to you next.
“I would like the oatmeal with toast on the side. And the possibility of speaking with that gentleman at the bar” you bluntly stated, watching Rockford’s eyebrows shoot sky high at the straightforward request. A flash of recognition and hidden admiration passed across the waitress’ face as she yelled over her shoulder, “EARL, your reputation has preceded you and your presence is requested forthwith…” she smirked, tucking the pencil behind her ear and pocketing the small writing pad.
“Huh?” the sheriff grunted, casting a not so imposing figure before hurrying over to your table quickly.
“Leave the coffee, will ya doll?’ Rockford questioned, as the waitress’ countenance immediately bittered.
“Just don’t forget my tip, Mack” she retorted, soon replaced by the sheriff who was breathing raggedly with a quick jaunt.
“How can I be of service, ma’am?” the sheriff asked, attempting to size up Rockford who sat inquisitively across from you.
“Thank youuuu for your quick attention” you coo’ed, laying it on a little thickly, but desirous to make a good first impression. “We are obviously from out of town and looking to provide services of our own” you indicated to Tim to proceed.
“I’ve been hired to investigate the Clutter Family Murder. Rockford’s the name. Tim Rockford, P.I” he outstretched his hand in a friendly decisive manner, hopeful the sheriff might prove forthcoming, rather than combative. Sheriff Earl Robinson noticeably relaxed, and took Rockford’s grip firmly in his own.
“Pleased to meet ya, Mr. Rockford” he sighed, glancing back at the waitress who was overtly eavesdropping before making a quick exit to the kitchen. “Thought you might be one of them FBI agents that are en route as we speak. Don’t mind tellin’ ya we are all a bit out of sorts…what with the murders and all…” he trailed off as his features darkened. Rockford nodded grimly, moving aside so the sheriff could sit down at the table with you. “Most criminal acts are reduced to the production of moonshine in these parts. That, or the occasional harvest festival gone higgledy-piggledy” he admitted with humility, shifting the gun holster at his waist. “Haven’t seen a bona fide murder since my time in Kansas City, to say nothing of FOUR!” he lowered his voice with the confession, shaking his head dejectedly. “Don’t mind tellin’ ya I was glad when they took up that offerin’ at the charity event. The least we could do for the Clutter Family. They were the best of us…” he nodded, a small emotive crack in his voice appearing on the edges. You teared up in response. Gosh, you forgot the pleasantries of mid-western life after all. You immediately felt a bit reprimanded, shifting your adventurous enthusiasm to one of solemnity and mourning. Four people had lost their lives, and in a particularly violent and seemingly arbitrary way. You wanted justice as much as anyone in Holcomb did.
“We’re real sorry for your loss” Rockford observed, similarly moved. He’d seen plenty of crime on the seedy streets of L.A, but there was something about this atrocity that seemed especially personal. He wanted to proceed with sensitivity, and was again thankful for your delicate presence, particularly where his own intuition might be lacking. “I assume you were able to catalogue the scene of the crime…” he pressed, watching the sheriff shift with discomfort.
“Damndest thing” Sheriff Robinson finally removed his hat, wiping at his brow with turmoil. “Still trying to work my way around it…Sorry the girls had to see such a nightmarish sight…” he muttered absentmindedly, grabbing Rockford’s coffee cup and downing it in one swig. Rockford pouted with frustration, but silently refrained. “What girls are those?” he inquired, gently taking the cup back and sliding it away from the sheriff’s grasp.
“That’d be Nancy and Susan” he offered. “Sorry, Nancy Ewalt and Susan Kidwell. No one should have to see…somethin’ like that” he sighed, now reaching for your coffee cup and downing it in one swallow. Poor guy. You took his hand lightly in your own, curious to proceed.
“Can you tell us anything about the scene of the crime?” you softly asked, looking to Rockford for guidance. You didn’t want to move too far too fast, but the opportunity seemed to have dropped in your laps. The sheriff stiffened at the memory, his eyes casting downward with a sort of shame. “Don’t rightly want to burden you with those details just now” he protested, holding the now empty coffee cup firmly in his grasp. “Why don’t you come by my office later today, we’ll get you access to all of our reports” he formally offered as the waitress returned with your breakfast orders.
“Got your regular order, Earl” the waitress perfunctorily proffered, juggling your array of menu items and depositing of plate of assorted meats in front of him, as the sheriff swallowed dryly.
“Thanks doll” Rockford winked, in the elongated silence, as her countenance soured once again. She retreated to the kitchen as Earl politely shoved the plate to one side.
“Just can’t make head or tails of it” his eyes took on a glossy quality, looking out the window as Holcomb County seemed to blossom to life. You reached across the table once again, squeezing his hand with encouragement.
“We’re hoping to help as much as we can” you urged him, watching Rockford pour a fresh cup of coffee on the far end of the table, preferably out of the sheriff’s reach. “Who do you suppose we should talk to first?”
“Well, normally it wouldn’t hardly be appropriate, but seeing as everyone in the town hall meetin’ knows, you could probably come to the memorial this afternoon” the sheriff definitively reached across Rockford’s plate and grabbed his fresh coffee before Tim could protest.
“We don’t want to impose” Rockford tried to hide the edge in his voice, before stifling a yawn. This was going to be a long day.
“No way around it now” the sheriff contended, picking up a fork tentatively before tossing it back on the table with a loud clang. “Everyone should be there, includin’ the girls, my undersheriff Wendle Meier, Bobby….that’s the boyfriend. Probably talk to Myrtle as well. She’s the town gossip…” Earl winced with chagrin “I mean, local postmistress. She’s privy to everything that comes and goes. You just come on by my offices later and we’ll get you set up before the FBI folks arrive…”. Earl shouted towards the back, “I’M HEADIN’ OUT DOLORES! Will you put their breakfast on my tab??” The sheriff shifted awkwardly out of the booth, straightening his gun holster and holding his hat tentatively in his hands.
“Look Mr. Rockford, I won’t pussy-foot around. The Clutter Family deserved better than this. Better than conjecture. I don’t rightly know what Holcomb can do to aid your investigation, but we are fixin’ to rise to the occasion. I confess I will be mighty glad when those FBI agents take control, but not everyone in Finney County feels the same way. You’re bound to find a mix of neighborly interest and small town secrets, but if you have any real trouble you just let me know. ‘Preciate your help as well ma’am” he took your hand definitively in his own before nodding curtly and heading out the door. “SEE YOU LATER THIS AFTERNOON D!” he shouted before heading out the door. Rockford shifted his gaze to you with curiosity before pouting over the now emptied coffee. As if on cue, Dolores emerged from the kitchen with a fresh pot of joe.
“‘Xpect you’ll be wantin’ more” she jibed, depositing the now obsolete check at your table and muttering under her breath, “Wouldn’t hurt to get a tip on that, Mack…” before returning to the kitchen in protest. You paused, looking at both of your untouched plates before you.
Looks like you were headed to a funeral.
You gazed down appraisingly at your bandaged knee, which despite a disheveled aesthetic, was managing to heal nicely. You were a bit of a sight for sore eyes, and it never ceased to amaze you how quickly the ghost of condescension showed up, despite your protestations, and the small town atmosphere was doing nothing to aid your self-imposed ignorance. You couldn’t help but flash on the disapproving countenance of your own past, before batting the memory away once again. Seemed like the death of the Clutter Family wasn’t the only injustice that was rising to the forefront of your mind. Nonetheless, after a bracing breakfast and several pots of coffee, you and Rockford at least presented a respectable figure as you approached the milling group of mourners at The First Methodist Church of Holcomb in the late afternoon. Rockford had grabbed a quick shave and a new tie, and you had attempted to smooth out the wrinkling apparel of a dark blouse and coiffed hat. It had been a full month since you found yourself living out of a suitcase, and were anxious to check into the Holcomb Motel, but not before scoping out the first and foremost suspects in the town…while offering your condolences.
You blanched under the weight of whispered gossip before the sheriff quickly spotted you both and made fast work of welcoming you to the proceedings. It really was miraculous that you were starting the investigation off with that kind of support, and you weren’t about to take it for granted. You and Rockford were both bound to ruffle some feathers, but you couldn’t argue with the intentionality of the town itself. They wanted you here—and you wanted to help. As attendants began to straggle in, you were astonished to see so many individuals paying their respects, and you wondered how many people were well-meaning lookie-loos, or attending family members. There were easily hundreds of people, if not bordering on a thousand, as the Reverend Leonard Cohen ascended the pulpit to begin the proceedings.
“It is a sad day indeed that gathers us together on this unseasonably warm day. A warmth that I can only surmise is permeated by the glowing tenderness of the Clutter Family themselves” sniffles and coughs could be heard around the packed sanctuary and you and Tim sat shoulder to shoulder in the crowded pew. It was difficult to see, but you imagined a row of relatives sat towards the front, and just to your right were several teenagers sitting in a row that must be classmates from Holcomb High School.
The Reverend continued, “God offers us courage, love and hope even though we walk through the shadows of the valley of death. I’m sure he was with them in their last hours”. You tried to surreptitiously look through the crowd for the two girls Sheriff Robinson had spoken of. Just to your right, holding tightly to the hand of the girl next to her sat a cherub faced young girl of about 16 years old. She was starkly appareled in all white, horn rimmed glasses perched atop a buttoned, red-rimmed nose. You bit your lower lip with compassion observing her dark haired confidant, who was practically wringing her hand in supplication. Outside of the obvious tear stained patches of tumult, they were both the idyllic mid-western ideal of purity and youth. You were sorry to see the town itself marred by such a painful and unfathomable occurrence as this. You wondered if an interview could somehow be cathartic, but also worried that the remnants of a traumatic wound only recently incurred, might be exacerbated.
The soothing voice of the Reverend pattered on, “Jesus never promised us we would not suffer pain or sorrow but he has always said he would be there to help us bear the sorrow and the pain”. Rockford looked to the other side of the sanctuary, noticing the row of honored relatives who somberly sat in the front pew. He squinted skeptically at a young man whose gaze was narrowed in an almost combative scowl, contrasted by a halo-like tousle of golden locks atop the crown of his head. Was this the boyfriend, Bobby Rupp, as the sheriff had intimated? Rockford could hardly believe that anyone in the town of Holcomb, Kansas would be capable of such violence, particularly as a young teenager. But if the war had taught him anything, it was that man was capable of tremendous atrocity, even under the guise of benefaction.
“Let us now rise and sing Hymn 25, ‘Blessed Assurance’” the organ began a solemn refrain as you and Tim awkwardly rose, your hands easily finding the hymnal in front of you. You glanced sideways in surprise, hearing Tim’s raspy voice haltingly and quietly proceed, “Blessed assurance, Jesus is mine. Oh, what a foretaste of glory divine. Heir of salvation, purchase of God. Born of his Spirit, washed in His blood”. You would not have thought Rockford the religious type. But then again, you were still getting to know one another, and there was a quite bit that remained in the shadows. Rockford nodded curtly in the girls’ direction as you returned his confirmation. It would be entirely inappropriate for Tim to question them at such a time as this. But with a proper introduction from the sheriff, you might be able to offer some solace, perhaps in exchange for essential information. “This is my story, this is my song
Praising my Savior all the day long. This is my story, this is my song. Praising my Savior all the day long”. You admired the voices raised in shaky song, here at the First Methodist Church of Holcomb, Kansas. You were more determined than ever to get some kind of justice for the Clutter Family, who by all accounts were upstanding citizens and well-loved members of a tight-knit community. Wincing with remembrance, you only wished you came from a similar experience, but maybe this could be a small chance at redemption. “Perfect submission, perfect delight. Visions of rapture now burst on my sight. Angels descending bring from above. Echoes of mercy, whispers of love”.
The service proceeded as family members and neighborly friends spoke about the deceased family with love and admiration. Mr. Clutter was described as a pillar of Holcomb Community, member of the Federal Farm Credit Board and a respected name among Midwestern agriculturists. His wife, Bonnie Clutter was a fragile wisp of creature who had often been plagued by maladies and chronic illnesses. Timid and pious, she attempted to run the household from her sheltered state, giving Herbert Clutter four children in total; Eve Anna and Beverly who had grown and left the family residence, and Nancy and Kenyon Clutter, the younger two siblings who had experienced the dismal fate of their aforementioned parents. Nancy had recently appeared in the school play, to resounding applause, and the youngest boy, Kenyon, was a well-liked but more introverted youth who mostly kept to himself. There were no obvious indications whatsoever of what could have motivated a crime of this magnitude. You batted away the looming possibility that a close relative might somehow benefit from an insurance policy of some kind. There was still so much information you had yet to gather.
"In this moment, let me also speak on the subject of forgiveness, as we the community try to make sense of the inexplicable" the Reverend ventured, as a nervous cough appeared from the back of the congregation. "In the same way we have opened our hearts to the visiting extended Clutter Family, they have invited us to do the same in our own hearts and minds henceforth. I have heard some congregants, on more than one occasion, suppose that the criminals of this dastardly deed should be hanged from the nearest tree. But let us continue in the spirit of Christianity itself when I encourage us to forgive, as God would have us do. For they shall know we are Christians, by our love" the Reverend's voice rang out in the all but silent church as you hazarded a sideways glance at Rockford, who seemed undeterred. "The deed is done and taking another life cannot change it. It is not right that we should hold a grudge in our hearts. The doer of this act is going to find it very difficult indeed to live with himself. Hi sonly peace of mind will be when he goes to God for forgiveness. Let us not stand in the way, but instead give prayers that he may find his peace".
You looked more intently at Rockford's visage to try to glean his emotional response to this retort, but his focus was in observance of those around him, probably searching for a similar motivation. Was it possible to consider that the murderer of the Clutter Family was in this very room? The probability seemed unlikely, but not nearly as impossible as the investigative task before you. Perhaps justice and forgiveness could not proceed hand in hand, and it was not your business to even attempt it.
“Let us now proceed to Valley View Cemetery on the north edge of the city for our graveside services, and recitation of the Lord’s Prayer. I know the Clutter Family will join us, even posthumously, in our mutual praise and worship of the everlasting and eternal God”. The congregation rose once again as the organ sprang to life with a final refrain of “Amazing Grace”, as people began to quietly and pensively leave. You firmly grabbed Rockford’s wrist nodding in the direction of the girls before catching the eye of the nearby sheriff. Tim gave a quick wink, and headed in the opposite direction, presumably to find Bobby Rupp or investigate another suspect while he had the chance. The Sheriff met you towards the front of the sanctuary, as the girls held one another in a firm embrace, sniffling quietly to themselves as the mourners exited.
“Ladies, I wanted to make a special introduction of our newfound friend from the Rockford Investigative Agency” the sheriff smiled with encouragement as you offered a handkerchief which the girls declined. “I know you have already been through so much…” his voice cracked with emotion, much like this morning, and your heartstrings pulled ever so slightly once again.
“Nancy, Susan…I don’t want you to feel obligated to speak with me after such a horrendous event” you bit your lower lip humbly, clutching your purse for some sort of emotional anchoring. “I just want you to know that I’m here if you ever…want to speak to me about what you witnessed…” you trailed off, smiling wanly at passersby and craning your neck to see if Tim were having any more luck. This was going to be a delicate process, and you wouldn’t blame anyone for wanting to avoid the microscopic attention Holcomb County was about to receive.
“I can’t get the images out of my head” Susan whimpered quietly, as her school friend Nancy Ewalt hugged her ever more tightly. “Never in a million years did I think such a thing would happen in our town”. Nancy nodded emphatically, as her hair bobbed around her.
“I couldn’t even stand to wear black today” Nancy’s face scrunched with overwhelming emotion, looking imploringly at the sheriff who helplessly gazed back. “Nancy and me was like twins, on account of our names, and friendship and all. I can’t sleep. Can’t eat. All I do is remember and remember” the girls both trembled slightly in one another’s grasp. “I think it might actually help to talk about…what we saw….and how we feel” Susan ventured, looking to Nancy for support who nodded quietly. The Sheriff pressed his lips together dolefully as you stretched a comforting hand towards Nancy’s back as she finally broke down into silent sobs.
“Let’s get you to the cemetery to make your final goodbyes, and we can set something up later this week. Does that sound okay?” you gently questioned, beckoning the girls forward and hugging Nancy tightly around the shoulder as you exited. They agreed to meet up for tea once things had quieted down a bit, and the sheriff continued to escort them onward as you met Tim at the church doors. You shook your head with lament, catching Tim’s equally darkened countenance. A brash young man tore past you both, nearly hitting Rockford’s shoulder en route and barreling past the rest of the congregation before anyone had a chance to speak to him.
“Bobby Rupp?” you questioned, catching Rockford’s grave expression.
“The boyfriend” he offered, watching Bobby recede into the distance. “Think I convinced him to join me at the diner tomorrow for a man to man talk. I might be city folk, but there’s nothing here that says hometown motivated quadruple homicide. That kid is mad as piss and vinegar, and I don’t blame him. Hell of a thing”, Rockford rationalized, drawing a hand to your lower back in emotional support.
Rockford stifled a yawn while taking in the burgeoning colors of dusk tinting the steadily approaching evening sky. You brought a tentative hand up to his face, fingering the five o’clock shadow that was already appearing. “I’d say this has been fatiguing for all of us, to say nothing of someone, who shall remain nameless…” Rockford’s face relaxed with a humble chagrin, “who had been driving for ten hours straight”.
“Only so many things a cup of joe can fix” he rationalized, swallowing another yawn and looking towards the nearby Ford Falcon. “Let’s get a jump on the evening respite and we can start the day anew tomorrow. We can pick up the reports from the Sheriff and interview the youth to start” Rockford seemed to be convincing himself of a plan of action that didn’t involve running you both into the ground before the investigation had even started. You felt the pressure of success as well, but Rockford was right; justice would have to wait until tomorrow. You both headed to the car, arm in arm, anxious to uproot the unknown poison that was tainting the otherwise idyllic community of Holcomb County, Kansas.
The Ford Falcon puttered onto the main thoroughfare of Finney County, rounding the corner to arrive at the grandiose Windsor Hotel. You would not have thought such an establishment would be housed at the city’s epicenter, but noticing the bustling, nearly cosmopolitan energy of the main street, you were immediately thankful. If the funeral had been any indication, there could easily be hundreds of people milling around the otherwise sleepy town, hoping to get a look at the dramatic nature of the recent tragedy. Your anonymous benefactor had set up the reservation, before Rockford was even officially on the case, and whenever you discerned their identity, you would have to thank them for it. Your eyelids drooped tiredly, as Rockford lightly smacked the edge of the car door with his hand good-naturedly. “Be right back with our rooms, doll…” his ragged voice blurred around the edges as you gazed into the back of the messy Ford. Despite losing several newspaper clippings en route, you still had a few boxes of files, and were hoping to add to that from the Sheriff’s collection.
What a whirlwind beginning. You had not barely been in Los Angeles for a moment’s breath, before finding yourself at the center of one of the most talked about and sensationalized crimes in recent midwestern history. You tiredly emerged from the car, hefting a small box of files along with the small transportable typewriter into the front seat. You were starting to get a better idea of how your services might prove truly valuable. Rockford was an impressive P.I, but he didn’t have a midwestern sensibility, and there were some sensitivities that only a woman could provide. You were curious to resume your conversation with Nancy and Susan to get a better idea of the details surrounding the scene of the quadruple homicide, when you noticed Rockford slowly ambling back to the Ford Falcon. You knew you were both tired, but there seemed to be an added gait of dejection as his figure approached the car.
“Doll…I think we may have encountered our first bona fide small town scandal, I just wasn’t planning on being in the middle of it…” Tim nebulously began, shifting his weight awkwardly before you, a blushing tinge dotting the tops of his ears. He was cute when he was embarrassed.
“More scandalous than a four person murder?” you proffered, shifting the box to the side of your hip. “What is it now?” you wondered, taking in Rockford’s humorous and unknown conundrum.
“Well, seems that the hotel reservation is just for one…” he halted, looking around the crowded thoroughfare… “and the town is bustin’ at the seams with lookie-loos and passersby”. A growing awareness drifted into your periphery as Rockford’s cheeks reddened still further. “That is to say, in the most respectful of ways possible…notwithstanding any professional impropriety…” Tim began to stutter adolescently, rubbing the back of his neck with self-consciousness.
Your mouth dropped open with incredulity, “Oh will you spit it out Rockford? Are we sharing a room?” you asked tentatively before meeting Tim’s uneasy expression.
“We’re sharin’ a bed” he muttered with discomfort, looking around the square helplessly and shrugging with irritation. “It’s like somethin’ Biblical. There’s no more room at the inn!” he winced, trying to lighten the mood before catching your similarly humiliated expression and pausing dramatically. “I had to tell ‘em we were married”.
You nearly dropped the box of files before starting to laugh in hysterics at the incredulity of the unexpected situation. “Let me get this straight…” you guffawed, between bouts of strained laughter, “I have not only become employed in the last 24 hours, but I am now also MARRIED? And working for my faux HUSBAND?” you gasped between laughter, only slightly bruised at the similarity to past indiscretions Rockford had yet to learn of, which you weren’t anxious to regale him with.
“Till death do us part?” Tim’s playfully beleaguered expression elicited another round of laughter from you as you set the box on the passengers seat and doubled over with a fit of giggles before quieting down as the reality hit you. “Look I might be city folk, but I’m no turkey…” Rockford held out his hands in supplication before straightening his tie resolutely. “I’ll just be sleepin’ on the floor is all…” he nodded, as though deciding for you both, as you leaned against the car door with fatigue. Your eyes glazed over with defeat, huffing quietly as the evening air started to chill. You certainly weren’t going to have him sleep in the Ford Falcon. You took a deep breath before stealing yourself for the next leg of your adventure.
“Alright sweetheart, I’m not making you carry me over the threshold, but you’re gonna be bringing all of these boxes in yourself” you sarcastically joked, slamming the car door and taking in Rockford’s relieved expression.
“You got it, doll…I mean, Red” he chuckled, a wry smile curving the corner of his mouth mischievously.
“That’s Mrs. Rockford to you” you teased, grabbing the key from Tim’s outstretched hand and heading towards the Windsor Hotel. You offhandedly wondered if he were watching your curving figure as it sallied away from him.
Till death do us part.
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In Cold Blood; The Road Trip
Grab a Latte! lounge around in the foyer with this sweet fic "Coffee and Crisis" @albertasunrise before heading into the Bookshop!
Triggers: profanity, murder, smoking, major spoilers for "In Cold Blood" by Truman Capote, 1950's cultural misogyny, minimal physical descriptions of reader, small roadside accident, blood, references past problematic relationship, burgeoning workplace romance...
Series Masterlist
Words: 3.5k
A drop of salty perspiration travailed the distance down your curving spine, resting right at the dip of your back and tickling the remaining path lower. You squirmed in your seat against the harsh leather, re-crossing your legs in the opposite direction. Damn nylons. Rockford cleared his raspy throat, extinguishing the most recent of several cigarettes in the nearby overflowing ash tray. A dull headache was starting to creep up the back of your neck, punctuated by the flowery plumes of smoke.
What had you gotten yourself into?
It certainly was too late to back out now, as you neared the Nevada border, from your whirlwind drive through Los Angeles and out onto Interstate Ten. This was the most unexpected road trip you had ever embarked upon, but here you were nonetheless; newfound secretary to Private Investigator Tim Rockford, and headed towards your uncertain future of mystery and mayhem. You were about to launch into one of the most intriguing and confounding investigations regarding the Clutter Family Murders in Holcomb, Kansas. Even though it sounded like something out of those crime novels you loved to read, this couldn’t have felt more real. More real than the stinging smoke as it lodged at the back of your irritated throat. More real than the rising temperatures, adding to the heat and oppression of your haphazard decision making. More real than the nausea that was curling in the pit of your stomach and forcing you to question your pell-mell life choices. But you were employed, dammit, and eager to learn more about the unknown world of homicide, enigma and investigation.
“Read it again, doll” Rockford complained, shaking his head with infuriation as he gripped the steering wheel tightly beneath his freckled knuckles. You cleared your throat quietly and repeated one of the many newspaper clippings that sat piled in your lap.
“The Kansas City Star reports that the investigators will be faced with a search for a killer or killers whose cunning is apparent if his or their motive is not. For this killer or killers carefully cut the telephone cords of the home’s two telephones. bound and gagged their victims expertly, with no evidence of a struggle with any of them. Left nothing in the house amiss, left no indication they had searched for anything with the possible exception of the Clutter billfold. Subsequently shot four persons in different parts of the house, calmly picking up the expended shotgun shells. Arrived and left the home presumably with the murder weapon, without being seen. Acted without a motive, if you care to discount an abortive robbery attempt, which the investigators are wont to do”.
The repetitive chug of the Ford Falcon puttered reassuringly as Rockford reached up to grab yet another cigarette.
“Don’t…..please….” you implored, unfastening another blouse button and wiping at your neck with a moistening handkerchief. Already hotter than hell, and the cigarette smoke wasn’t helping.
“Sorry, doll” Rockford acknowledged, returning the carton to his shirt pocket and cranking the window down another inch as the papers rustled in the breeze. “Damned if I can figure out what the motive is” he grumbled, reaching instead for a packet of Wrigley’s Doublemint gum and tentatively offering you a stick, which you declined. “Who in the hell shoots an entire family for a simple billfold?” Tim pondered between bites, crumpling the wrapper and messily throwing it into the backseat. You could see why he needed your secretarial skills.
“Where should we start with a case like this?” you asked curiously, rubbing the bridge of your nose with exasperation. You wanted to be a source of assistance and organization, but had no idea where to begin. Maybe you could be the sounding board for his own investigative process. As much as you wanted to portray an air of confidence and experience, you had neither. Mostly, outside of the uncomfortable car seat, staunch cigarette fumes and stifling heat, you were still keen to provide whatever resources you could, but were already feeling like the weak link. None of the newspaper clippings could make sense of an irrational crime that couldn’t even harken back to a bona fide motive.
“I don’t know what to tell you, doll” Rockford mumbled, reaching for the nearby car lighter and then thinking better of it. You shifted with discomfort at the repeatedly used nickname. Doll. “There are some things you can only sniff out in person. That’s why we’re headed to Holcomb, Kansas. Get a lay of the land. A feel for the town talk. Root out whatever vile and sordid secrets those down-home kinfolk are bound to be hiding” he paused to reflect on his plan of action when arriving. “Don’t know about you, but I never really trusted a sleepy, mid-western, Bible belt town” he mentioned, almost as an afterthought before you grimly retorted;
“I’M from the midwest” you bristled, though not entirely happy about it either. Tim’s gaze uncomfortably shifted sideways as he re-situated himself in the driver’s seat with a loud cough.
“Oh. Sorry doll” he backpedaled as you answered with a curt and abbreviated huff.
“Look, just call me Red, Mr. Rockford, and don’t misunderstand me. There are plenty of busybodies poking into everyone’s business. Gossiping might be the main order of the day, and the best judgements might be waged by any Bible-toting, nearby neighbor in sleepy Finney County. But it’s no better than the seedy and polluted streets of downtown L.A. Maybe our sins are a bit more polished, but I don’t suppose anyone deserves a quadruple murder next to their slice of apple pie, wouldn’t you say?” the puttering sounds of the Ford Falcon punctuated your surprising reprimand as Rockford’s eyebrows shot sky high. You bit your lower lip with a bit of chagrin. Rockford had unknowingly stepped right into a burgeoning emotional wound, but that couldn’t be helped now. You could almost hear the sardonic bit of William’s condescending voice in your ear, but swatted it away with chagrin. If you were going to hold your own in a world of criminals and justice seekers, now wasn’t the time to be a shrinking violet. Any secretary worth their salt was going to offer some insight, and you were determined to earn every iota of this impending adventure.
“Sorry doll…I mean…Red” the corner of his mouth twitched upwards in a humble smile as you felt yourself relaxing a bit in the heat. You took several deep breaths to steady yourself and smooth out the wrinkled newspapers in your lap.
“That’s alright” you finally admitted, swallowing dryly and tilting your head back against the headrest. “Guess I’m a little more sensitive than I thought” you wondered, reaching up to lazily twist a small curl of hair around your finger pensively. “But, that might be a good place to start when we finally arrive. Plenty of busybodies in a small town like Holcomb, Kansas. I know first hand the mighty power they can wield. An entire neighborhood of amateur investigators” you chuckled bitterly, searching through the newspapers once again for any new nuggets of information.
“Don’t suppose they all have shotguns, do they?” Rockford tried to joke, catching the roll of your eyes with a delighted smirk.
“Let’s hope not” you smiled, picking through the available research. Rockford hazarded a quick glance towards your reddened cheeks, a glistening drop of sweat dripping right down the center of your….EYES ON THE ROAD, he observed, absentmindedly reaching for the cigarette carton before encountering your pleading eyes once again.
“Sorry, sorry…” he repeated, shaking his head with embarrassment. “Read me that other one…the one with the Hefner Slaying…” his brow crinkled with consternation. “I know it was forty years ago, but maybe they’re related somehow…” you nodded with appreciation as you searched.
“Okay, says here that ‘senior members of the small community can recall a wild goings-on of the Hefner Slaying. Mrs. Sadie Truitt, the hamlet’s septuagenarian mail messenger, is expert on this fabled affair. ‘August, it was. 1920. Hot as Hades. A fellow called Tunif was working on the Finnup Ranch. He had a car, turned out to be stolen. Turned out he was a soldier AWOL from Fort Bliss, over there in Texas. He was a rascal, sure enough and a lot of people suspected him. So one evening the sheriff rode out to the Finnup Ranch to ask Tunif a few straight forward questions. Third of August. Hot as Hades. Outcome of it was, Tunif shot the sheriff right through the heart. Poor Orlie was gone before he hit the ground. The devil who done it, he lit out of there on a horse and road east along the river. Word spread, and men for miles around made up a posse. Along the next morning, they caught up with him. He didn’t get the chance to say how d’you do? On account of the boys were pretty irate. They just let the buckshot fly”.
Rockford loosened his tie for the umpteenth time, before drawing it up and over his head with annoyance and tossing it in the back with the gum wrappers. He cracked the window down another inch as the newspapers fluttered in the breeze, eliciting a surprised gasp from you. “That sounds like the Finley Murder that happened in Holcomb, 1947” Rockford observed, as you tried to find the corresponding newspaper clipping.
“Mary Kay, stabbed with the jagged end of a beer bottle by that…Polk fella. All the makings of a cut and dry case. But nothing in the reports that suggests any of this foul play is related to the Clutter Family Murders. Just sounds like a town that has their own sense of justice, and won’t take kindly to strangers mucking around their dirty laundry” Tim rightly concluded as you nodded in affirmation.
The humble repetition of the car engine hummed beneath him for a few moments before you broke the relative silence. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to snap at you earlier” you grumbled, searching for the next newspaper installment you had in mind.
“That’s okay, doll….RED” Rockford emphasized, smirking dryly. “S’been a long time since I’ve been around a real lady, and a road trip isn’t usually the way I…get to know one…” he sputtered, gripping the steering wheel more tightly, in lieu of holding a cigarette. “M’real grateful for your help and all, without so much as batting a pretty eyelash” he reddened slightly at the confession. “Even better if you have a mid-west mentality. I’m just a city mouse I guess. May not understand all the home-grown, Americana the way I should…” he self-deprecated, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck and wiping the sweat down. Damn hot in here…
You smiled tenderly at his admission. The heat must have gotten to you more than you realized, as you nodded your head with recognition. “I appreciate your taking a chance on me” you sniffled quietly, focused intently on finding the next resource. “I guess we’ll have some time to…get to know each other” you ventured, attempting to narrow your gaze from the broadness of his nearby thigh to the stack of papers sitting in front of you. This was going to be a lot of togetherness.
Rockford pressed his lips tightly together, choosing a forced silence rather than a continued haphazard bumbling. You gasped slightly with the finding of a report from The Wichita Eagle as you quickly read out loud,
“Officers will be investigating the tragic slaying of four members of the Herbert W. Clutter Family and have appealed to the public for any information which might aid in solving this baffling crime. Clutter, his wife and their two teen-age children were found murdered in their farm home near Garden City early last Sunday morning. Each had been bound, gagged and shot through the head with a .12-gauge shotgun”.
You paused in the reading as a wave of nausea passed over you. Taking a steadying breath, you continued,
“Investigating officials admit they can discover no motive for the crime, termed by Logan Sanford, Director of the Kansas Bureau of Investigation as the most vicious in the history of Kansas….”.
Rockford sighed heavily, flicking the switches of the car fan repeatedly, trying to get more air cycling through. “Just a matter of time before Finney County is swarming with every looky-loo and governmental official, if not already. M’not sure how much good we can do, other than dirty our noses a bit…” he rationalized, grabbing the carton once again and lighting a cigarette without thinking.
“Rockforrrrrrd!” you whined, attempting to cover your nose with the nearby handkerchief as he rolled the window down abruptly.
“Sorry doll…I mean RED…GODDAMIT!” he yelled as the newspapers fluttered out the window in a stream of literary nuisance as the car pitched dangerously from side to side. Rockford hit the brakes suddenly, checking his rear view mirror, though there hadn’t been a nearby car in hours. The Ford Falcon bumbled to an awkward stop as you jumped out of the car without thinking, running after the scattering newspaper clippings and laughing at the absurdity of the situation. Rockford emerged from the car with incredulity, watching you meander around the highway amidst the tumbling tumble weeds and surprised desert life, placing his hands resolutely on his hips. “TAKE IT EASY RED!!!” he yelled good-naturedly, watching your curvaceous figure stooping and bobbing demurely atop your office heels, the desert wind buffeting your once coiffed hairstyle. You were just about to counter with a sassy retort when your heel stuck in the asphalt, pitching you unceremoniously atop the heated highway, a painful burning sensation ripping through your nylons and bruising more than your ego.
“RED!” Rockford’s concerned voice was a bit lost in the din of the desert winds as you winced tenderly, your palms catching most of your weight and absorbing the searing heat of the ground beneath you.
“Jesus Christ” Rockford was almost immediately at your side, the crunch of gravel underneath his foot as he lowered to one knee and cupped your face in his hand. “You okay, Red?” he nearly shouted into your face as you squinted up at him slightly dumbstruck. This wasn’t the most auspicious beginning to your secretarial career, but you were mostly just embarrassed. You began to sit up shakily before noticing the rip of nylon and streak of blood cascading down your leg. Ooops. Rockford’s image swam in front of you for a millisecond before you steadied yourself bracingly. You took several deep breaths, trying to get your bearings and lamenting the lost newspaper clippings.
“Shit” you mumbled, delicately brushing the asphalt from your legs as Rockford comfortingly shushed you. You felt the flat of his hand rubbing in large circles against your back soothingly as you swayed lightly at the motion.
“Got the pretty little mouth of a sailor I see” he chuckled, placing a hand lightly at your ankle and surveying the blossoming line of red beneath your nylon.
“It’s not that bad” you slurred slightly, clearing your throat and fingering the nylon tentatively.
“I’ll be the judge of that” Tim observed, now touching your knee sweetly and gazing down at you imploringly. “Do you mind?” he wondered, gesturing to your leg. You shook your head mutely, licking your parched lips in confusion. Without another moment of hesitation he deftly ripped the nylon right down the middle, a fresh trickle of blood appearing but quickly pooling in the arid heat. You jumped slightly at the quick motion, surprisingly aroused, albeit concerned. “Can you stand up, doll?” he asked, looping a sure hand around your waist and pulling you towards him. Your eyes widened to doe-like saucers, smelling his nearby musk mixed with an unknown desert flower of some kind. Without waiting for an answer he brought you smoothly to your feet as you hopped tentatively on one shoeless foot, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck for support. “Took a tumble, huh?” he soothed, his face strangely silhouetted by the blinding noonday sun.
“I lost the newspapers” you whispered, pouting slightly with frustration before Rockford swept you up in a cradle hold.
“Pretty sure that was MY fault, Red” Rockford admitted as you pointed furiously at the Cinderella-like shoe behind him. He bended down gruffly as you grabbed it with possession, Rockford carting you back to the idling car. “I think we got the gist of it on the ride here” he placated. “We’re about to join the narrative ourselves, if we play our cards right” Tim professed, setting you down gently at the passengers seat and grabbing the handkerchief strewn across the dashboard. “Now if I stop acting like a damn idiot….” he stuck his thumb roughly in his mouth with a quick lick, bringing it swiftly to your knee to staunch the trickle of blood. An intake of air passed over your lips as he gazed at you concernedly, soon pressing the handkerchief in his stead. “Hold that nice and tight, Red. Think you’ll be okay till we get to the motel in a bit?” he asked, his hand drifting up and down your calf reassuringly as your eyes glazed over with fatigue.
“Mmmhmmm…” you managed to get out, as his forehead crinkled with worry.
“You just sit back now, I’ll get us there in no time” Rockford offered, shutting the door gently to your side and hopping back in the driver’s seat. “Maybe we can stop at a diner en route, it’s still a bit of a drive till we reach the halfway point. Hoping we can get to Utah by late evening, if you feel up to it?” he quarried, watching you intently as the car rolled to life again.
“I’ll try to be more careful” you shook your head with embarrassment, looking down at the dried blood starting to mat your ripped nylon. Some doll.
“Think it’s ‘sposed to be me in harm’s way” Rockford chuckled dolefully, placing a heavy hand on your upper thigh, but then quickly removing it as you jumped with excitement. “Don’t want you to worry your head about anything on this trip. I’ve a mind to find justice any which way I can, and I’m thankful to not be doing it alone” he responded curtly, fixing his eyes straight ahead and setting his jaw squarely. You hadn’t always been the best judge of character, but after the end of a long and painful relationship with William, the newfound liberation of a fresh start in Los Angeles had emboldened you. Rockford, P.I. was a good man, and if you could be a small part of the hunt for justice, then it would take more than a ripped nylon and bruised ego to dissuade you from your task. The Clutter Family certainly deserved as much. You smiled tiredly under his watchful gaze, drifting into a lazy sleep for the afternoon.
As promised, Rockford had found a diner just outside of the developing Vegas strip. You had gingerly hobbled into the establishment, amidst some concerned looks, and headed to the restroom to smooth out your disheveled hair, and carefully remove the now unnecessary nylons. The abrasion had easily clotted, and you wiped off the excess blood judiciously, emerging to find that Rockford had already ordered lunch for the both of you. You both fell into easy rapport, relaxing from the day’s early adventure and starting to forge a professional relationship that you hoped would develop into a friendship. Right. A friendship.
Watching Rockford tuck into a B.L.T you swallowed your glass of milk, watching him pensively. Rockford was an attractive man. You had certainly noticed in your quick morning interview, but…you gulped defensively. Slow down, Red, you chastised yourself silently, watching Rockford drag the back of his hand hungrily across his steadily chewing mouth. You just got out of a long term relationship, the last thing you need is jumping into bed with your boss. Your cheeks blushed at the unbidden thought as you both sat comfortably, prepping for the second half of the day’s journey.
It was nearly nightfall when the Ford Falcon jittered into the Kanab Roadside Motel parking lot, as Rockford secured your adjoining rooms and carried your small suitcase next to his own. Pausing at the doorway, he unlocked your room shyly, handing you the valise and turning back to his own.
“You gonna be okay there, Red?” he shrugged, chewing the bottom of his lip with concern. It was only the first leg of the journey, and somehow he already felt like a bit of a failure. You smiled tiredly with encouragement, nodding in silence.
“Good night, Tim” you yawned, waving your hand before closing the door behind you and plopping down with exhaustion on the squeaky mattress. Your first day as a professional secretary to Rockford, P.I.
A dull knock resonated through the wall as you heard Tim’s muffled voice, “I’ll be right here if you need anything….”. You giggled quietly, already feeling the tendrils of sleep tugging at the corners of your consciousness. You reasoned that taking off your high heels was a good place to start, before slowly drifting into a happy evening oblivion, and dreaming about what adventures might await the heroic tales of Red and Rockford, P.I.
You will never believe it, but I am headed back your way with an exciting new job opportunity! I know you had some reservations about my moving to L.A after...But I have been hired by Rockford Investigative Services to research the Clutter Family Murder in Holcomb, Kansas. I feel really lucky to be on this adventures, though it is not without its bumps and bruises. I hope you will be proud of me. I am definitely in good hands. Don't know if I'll have time to stop by on this trip, but will still see you for Thanksgiving... Your Loving Daughter
@littlemisspascal @lizette50 @beefrobeefcal @sawymredfox @anelva @wordywarriorwrites @burntheedges @inept-the-magnificent @timelordfreya @schnarfer @devineconjuring @mermaidgirl30 @galaxyedging @joelalorian @joelmillerisapunk @jennaispunk @sheepdogchick3 @marcus-is-my-muse @guiltyasdave @copperhalfcent @bluesweaters15 @drewharrisonwriter @darkheartgatita @harriedandharassed @brittmb115 @confusedpuffin @yorksgirl @quicax3 @shaunasflannel @shinyanchorobject
WIP: Thelma + Louise Trailer
I've started work on our new "In Cold Blood" Series for Pedge's Bookshop. It's gonna be a ten part series so we're feeling a little overwhelmed. Lol. Progress with my health journey, but lots of big feels over here. Pedge has finally come out of hiding after....THE EPISODE...but we realized that it's so comforting to join a television audience and fictional characters in our mutual mourning this Sunday at LOU. Feeling a little fragile over here, so I'm gonna get my "Thelma and Louise" on for Pedge's Cinema. Probably just a little 5k when Javi and J go on a road trip around the Amalfi Coast on a hunt for professional adventure. Gonna need something light after all this dark....
*thanks @dornish-queen for the UWOMT footage
Pedge's Bookshop Series Masterlist
Foyer: There are already so many great AU fics featuring all our favorite Pedro Boys and I'd like to showcase them! In the Coffee Shop Foyer you'll find some great rec's for coffee and books alike. Bring your library card--this if one of my favorite tropes!
Bookshop: We started this series with Joel as our bookshop owner. Reading several of Pedro Pascal's book recommendations, the bookshop continues to get more material; join in on the fun!
Crime and Punishment (with Joel Miller)
Crime and Punishment; Prologue Crime and Punishment; The Murder Crime and Punishment; The Family Crime and Punishment; The Argument Crime and Punishment; The Lecture Crime and Punishment; The Visitor Crime and Punishment; The Dinner Crime and Punishment; The Calm Crime and Punishments; Before Crime and Punishment; The Storm Crime and Punishment; The Patrol Crime and Punishment; The Wound Crime and Punishment; The Confession Crime and Punishment; The Epilogue
Novellas:
Crime and Punishment Fic-Let Crime and Punishment; The Dream Crime and Punishment; The Talk Bookstore IG
What Happened to Belen? (with Javier Pena)
Part One Part Two
In Cold Blood (with Tim Rockford)
In Cold Blood: The Exposition In Cold Blood; The Road Trip In Cold Blood; The Funeral
WIP Book Nook: There are so many amazing rec's from Pedro that I'd love to unpack! Here are some possibilities on the horizon. What fics do you want to see?
The Urge; Our History of Addiction w/ Dieter Bravo Franny and Zooey w/ Mr. Ben The Gender of Sound w/ Pedge Drive Your Plow...w/ Tim Rockford
Audible Original; The Reservoir
Ghost Radio
18 Novembre 2017
Venezia è come mangiare un’intera scatola di cioccolata al liquore in una sola volta. - Truman Capote
"You call yourself a free spirit, a "wild thing," and you're terrified somebody's gonna stick you in a cage. Well baby, you're already in that cage. You built it yourself. And it's not bounded in the west by Tulip, Texas, or in the east by Somali-land. It's wherever you go. Because no matter where you run, you just end up running into yourself."
'Breakfast at Tiffany's' by Truman Capote