A Deadly Winter Retreat

|8|

DALE STOOD UP from the couch and strolled toward me, gazing in my direction. He had this questioning look on his face as he crossed his arms in front of his chest while locking his eyes with mine.

"Why are you curious about me writing a birthday card to my mother in red ink?" he inquired, his brows raised in curiosity. His hand stained with a crimson hue, he raised them into the air to examine them. He twisted his wrists to observe the red smears on the palms of his hands.

Perplexed by his actions, I asked, "Dale, why are you inspecting your hands?"

"Because I want to know why you're so concerned with the ink on my hands."

Dale's curiosity piqued as he continued his inspection, his brow furrowing. "What's your take on it, I'm genuinely curious?" he asked, his gaze now fixed on me.

Shaking my head, I replied, "Just curious, that's all." I smiled, attempting to convey friendliness, "No big deal."

A laugh escaped his lips, "I don't see anything wrong, Trish. Just some red ink smeared across my hand." He shrugged, his confusion evident, "Honestly, I'm not sure what the big deal is."

I instinctively took one step backward as a hint of unease crept into my thoughts, "Dale, as I said. It's no big deal." I shrugged.

Dale's laughter persisted as he pointed to his ink-stained hand. "Do you think this is blood, Trish?" he jestingly inquired, his tone laced with amusement.

I shook my head, "No, but I find it odd that you're writing in red ink. Why red?" I couldn't help but question his choice as the thought of the letters entered my mind.

My paranoid thoughts began to pin Dale as a suspect. Although my intuition told me it was highly unlikely, I couldn't be too sure.

Dale nonchalantly shrugged. "It's the only pen I could find around this house. Plus, red signifies love, doesn't it?" He offered with a hint of playfulness.

"I suppose it does," I responded, raising my eyebrows slightly.

Dale casually strolled away, disappearing into the kitchen. The sound of running water filled the air as the faucet gushed with water. Curiosity getting the better of me, I followed him, entering the kitchen to find Dale vigorously scrubbing the red ink off his hands, his sleeves rolled up and his hands enveloped in soap-filled bubbly water. I couldn't decide if his actions were suspicious or simply innocuous.

As I stood there, I contemplated the situation.

Why does it seem as if Dale is making a big deal out of a simple question I asked?

Gina's voice startled me from behind, striking through my thoughts like lightning.

"Hey, Trish!" She greeted, "Are you all ready to go?" her voice filled with excitement as she placed a comforting hand on my shoulder.

Nodding, my heart raced from the unexpected startle, "I think so. You just scared me a bit when you walked up behind me."

"Oh gosh! I'm sorry," Gina place placed a consoling hand on my shoulder, "I'm sure you're walking on eggshells with those creepy letters." she said with genuine concern.

Dale turned toward us, and his eyes widen as he wiped his hands on a beige kitchen towel.

"What's going on? Trish is receiving creepy letters?" Dale inquired. His eyes bloomed with curiosity.

"Girl code, Dale!" Gina replied in an authoritative tone, "Please, Dale, this conversation is between us ladies." Gina gently grabbed me by my arm and steered me outside onto their front porch.