Saturday, April 28, 2012.
I had just returned to my office after taking pictures of the Norman Music Festival when there was a knock at my door– a dainty knock. I sat my camera on my desk and answered the door. There was a dame – maybe in her 40s – must’ve been a looker back in her day. Bit of a looker still, I suppose, with her long white dress, curly blond hair, and an unseasonably warm coat.

“You Dennis Spielman,” she asked, taking a puff of her long cigarette.

“I am.”

She let herself in. “I’m in a bit of trouble.”

“Aren’t we all?”

“Cute,” she faked smiled. “You still a P.I.?”

“I am, Miss–”

“Jeanette Schafer.”

“Miss Schafer, I must inform you that I’m a still new at this game and my past two cases remain unsolved.”

“I have faith in you,” she said as she took a seat on the couch. “You have a special, sort of knowledge that others don’t possess.”

“And that would be?”

“Of places, from doing your travel show.”


“You see,” she took a drag, “I can’t remember what happened to me last week. All I know is that I went on a date and ended back at my place, violated. I figured you could take me to a few places and see if anything triggers my memory.”

“I can do that, although, what will happen if you remember?”

“Don’t worry about that, dear.”

Miss Schafer held out her hand. I helped her to her feet. She gave me a few tidbits about what she could remember about the restaurant. The place sounded familiar. I put on my fedora hat and drove her to the Gold Dome.

During the ride, she told me that the week before a friend of a friend also named Jeanette had been taken advantage. A serial rapist of Jeanette’s? Crazy. Still, I called my own friend Jeanette to check up on her. She didn’t answer. Miss Schafer said not to worry as she told me tales of her youth and adventures in Hollywood. Some of the tales made me believe that she was much older than she appeared.

I opened the car door for her outside of the Gold Dome. We went inside to the restaurant. For a Saturday night, the place was fairly quiet. Miss Schafer took in the aroma.

“I remember this place,” Miss Schafer said. “We were here.”

A young hostess approached us. “Just the two of you?”

“Yes, but we won’t be staying long,” Miss Schafer spoke. “Where you here last Saturday?”
“Sorry, I wasn’t.”

“It’s okay, child. I’m just trying to remember what happened to me last week. Would you give us a moment?”

“Sure,” the hostess said and left us alone.

“Do you remember anything about the man?” I asked her.

“No,” she trailed off, glazing around the room.

“Oh, hey, there’s my friend, Jeanette,” I said, pointing to her sitting in a booth in the far corner. Across from her was a man in a black suit, about 35-years-old, sort of charming, but plain, in a way that was forgettable.

“That’s him.”

Miss Schafer marched over to the table. I ran ahead, passing Miss Schafer, straight up to Jeanette. The commotion we made got their attention.

“Hey, Dennis!” Jeanette said, waving hello.

“Get away from him,” I warned her.

Miss Schafer caught up. She slapped the gentleman across the face. “You bastard.”

“What’s going on?” Jeanette asked.

“This man violated me,” Miss Schafer said.

The gentleman laughed. “But you had such a good time.”

The gentleman stood up along with four other men in black suits from the table besides us. They gathered around, putting the three of us in the corner.

“I’ll handle this,” Miss Schafer said.

The room grew cold as she vacuumed all the heat around. Her eyes turned porcelain white. From her jacket, she pulled out an old fashion ink pen, the kind you would dip into ink. With the pen she stabbed herself and put it against the wall. I should’ve figured out that this dame was a blood muse. She stopped. Her eyes returned to normal. She looked at Jeanette and I.

“I don’t know their names,” she confessed. “I can’t do the spell.”

“I don’t remember his name either,” Jeanette told her.

The gentlemen laugh in unison.

“We are the anonymous nobodies,” they spoke. “We feed on pleasure, but tonight we shall feed on your demise.”

I grabbed a steak knife from the table and slashed one of their necks. White blood gushed out, hit me, and burned my skin. The gentleman laughed as his wound healed.

“Any other plans?” Jeanette asked, hiding behind me.

“Just one,” I said. “For I summon the Spanish Inquisition!”

Jumping out from the kitchen were three men in red robes wearing gold crosses.

“Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition!” the center man announced.

The gold from inquisition’s necklaces weakened the gentlemen into submission as they handcuff them. The inquisition took the gentlemen away, leaving everyone in the restaurant a little confused.

“Well, it looks like you solved a case,” Miss Schafer said.

“I guess did. Now, let’s get you ladies home.”