Surprise!

Okay well, sorry loyal Hoodwink Fans, no comic for today. The next page was destroyed, and I have been working on making it better. Squidy is helping me work on the dialog. Till then, i give you a short story.

The Day that Mitchell Haden was No More

Susan Haden stood in the super market letting her eyes wander over the bags of frozen crab legs with their red spines sticking out from their icy chains. She hated super markets like this, so many people and such noise. She hadn’t had to be in a place this dirty in nearly twenty years. She turned away from an elderly lady pushing her cart slowly along, as if the slight order would somehow latch onto her coat, or worse yet her perfectly arraigned hair. She pulled her thoughts away from the bustle of people and thought instead of happier things.
It had been nearly two months since her brother Mitchell had died, she still wore at least something black, and carried a handkerchief in plane sight. It wouldn’t do to have people think she was not grieving the passing of her dear brother. To her, it was hard to be sad when someone got out of your way and let you have what was always rightfully yours, in this case nearly seventy million dollars. She had never been poor by anyone else’s standards. But by her standards, it was humiliating to have not been able to afford even a driver! She had to drive herself to parties, and could still see the appraising glances when she had been the one to get out of the drivers seat. Oh how she had hated her brother, having all that money, but insisting to use it “wisely.” What a load of crock! She reminded him of nearly every day of the fact, and she was hardly the only one! There were all the sharks in the water that were always around Mitchell, claiming their distant relation and coming night and day with their sob stories. They had no right to her brother’s money, her money.
She would not have kept the grieving act up so long, but for the situation surrounding her brother’s untimely demise. It did not do to look too happy when someone was murdered. Of coarse the police were not calling it murder. Though as lazy and dull as they were the only things they called were the pizza joint, and it a day.
Then she saw the man in the red tie. The reason that she was here, he came up to her his eyes glancing from left to right, along the wall and down every isle. It was his idea to meet here, and yet he looked like he was caught in a trap. He handed her the manila envelope, not trying at all to hide the transfer. The man was hardly one for secrecy.
In a half hiss the man claimed, “Here, take it! I don’t want anything to do with any of this.” Then his sneakers squeaked on the polished floor and he was gone.
What an imbecile, he was wearing a button up and red tie with sneakers. He looked as out of place as a baby in a junk yard. Susan looked around; the clientele here was hardly even as high as middle class. One lady even had pajama bottoms on. Maybe the man fit in more than she did come to think about it.
Opening the folder she pulled out a single photograph. Two men walking in a field, hunting rifle’s in hand, one wearing the unmistakable cowboy hat of Mitchell, the other wearing a ball cap. Not much else could be seen in the photo, but the small time stamp in the bottom left corner. Perfect. At least it would do.

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Police officer Joe Banning looked to picture on his desk, as his latest visitor strolled out of his office. She was by far the least savory person he had dealt with, and he had had a pretty constant stream of filth and villainy. But Susan Haden took the cake. She had entered with a flourish and made a show of both overcome with grief and a need for justice that were laughable. Joe had seen through her paper thin declaration, however, he had also seen that she was not afraid or nervous. She was hardly mourning the late Mitchell Haden, however she was not likely involved in the millionaires disappearance.
That was still all the case was at the moment, a missing persons case. The police were not very actively looking for Mitchell. The case smelled fishy, but there was no hard evidence. Mitchell had filled out his will, and even left a note saying he was going hunting with an old friend. In the will it even went as far as to state that if he were to be presumed missing or dead that his estate was to be divided as if he were confirmed dead.
What type of person did that? Especially with the flights of fancy that some millionaires were prone to do. However, wills and lawsuits were not Joe’s department.
Susan Haden had dropped off a picture that she claimed had been sold to her by a local photographer. As far as Joe Banning could see there was nothing incriminating in the photo. Yet he filed it away, there was more to this case than met the eye. If only he could get a hold of that second man in the picture, the man in the ball cap.
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Henry Porter sat on a bench in the park, spinning a quick grab coffee mug in his hands. The coffee that sloshed in the white mug had long since gone cold. Henry had a lot on his mind. It had been two months since he had gone “hunting” with his friend Mitchell Haden. Reaching up he shifted his ball cap to block the sun from his reddened eyes. Mitchell had been a good friend, sure the money had always been there to help the friendship along, but still Henry knew that they were friends under it all. And yet…
How could Mitchell do such a thing? Was his life that bad? Sure he had a lot of people hounding him for money, but still he had a mansion and everything that anyone could ever want from life. Why end it all? When Henry had said this to Mitchell he had looked off across the fields toward the mountains, and said, “Everything but peace.” Well Mitchell had a lot of peace now. Two million dollars…that is what Henry had in his bank account, but was it worth it? The things people do for money…
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The sun made its long journey across the sky, to finally rest its weary head upon the soft clouds of the horizon. Its last dyeing rays of light and warmth fell in a large mountain clearing. Long green grass swayed and danced with the wind as a song bird sang its goodnight song. A small wooden cabin lay neatly tucked into the tree row, an old rusted ford truck parked beside it. On the porch in an old rocking chair an elderly man sat back with a large smile clamped around a smoking pipe. With a glint in his eye he rocked back and enjoyed the peace and quiet of the mountain meadow. Money might not be able to buy happiness, but it had bought him a wild goose for the sharks to chase.