27 May 2026, Freewriters Community Daily Writing Prompt Day (3116) Part 5 | Prompt: garbage sandwich (bocadillo de basura)

16 days ago

^Source...

Part 4: Recap (Interviewing Malvern Street: Duplex Realities)

As Officer Lindsey Hubert crossed the street, he stared back at the high-rise, remembering that he'd forgotten to interview Charlie Edmond. Juan's rambling and probing distracted him. I'll get the old guy later. No harm, no foul was his summation of the retired, widowed senior living out his last days in the shadows of Malvern Street.

He didn't need any introduction. Sadie Johnson, Duplex 10-A, right side, swung her screen porch door open wide. She'd traced his moves since he arrived on their street.

The neon sign from the bar across Malvern Street buzzed like a trapped hornet, casting a sickly red glow over the peeling wallpaper of Sadie’s house. Hubert shifted his weight in a chair that was entirely too small for him. In fact, everything about the duplex was small.

Sadie Johnson, a middle-aged, full-sized, sharp-eyed widow, who lived alone purportedly possessed numerous friends and acquaintances. As usual, she had been looking out her blinds where she captured all activity occurring on Malvern St. She knew everyone and everything this partner informed him. One had only need inquire.

So it was no surprise when she immediately volunteered the information. Whether to get ahead of the situation and cast blame across the street, Hubert didn't know. "I positively saw the teen exit Rosalinda’s high-rise apartment right around the time of the shooting."

Hubert jumped on this precise detail. "How do you know the teen had just left Rosalinda's unit? He could have come from any number of apartments in the building."

Silence pervaded the air for a long moment. However, Sadie's expression remained upbeat while she watched Hubert out of the corner of her eye canvass the living room. "Because he's Rosalinda's cousin." she blurted, breaking the silence. "I know she told you that when you spoke with her. That's all I know of the boy."

Hubert didn't respond. That tibdit confirmed Rosalinda's connection to the boy. But an inconsistency instantly surfaced when his gaze landed on a photo resting prominently on her small fireplace mantle.

"Do you live here alone?" he queried.

Sadie's eyes traveled to the last spot Hubert looked. Damn, she'd forgotten to put away the photo. Visibly shaken spotting the teen's photo with him hugging her neck, planting a kiss on her cheek. Bouncing a foot, she glanced at the doorway left open. Her voice now thick and unsteady as she swung her head around, then stammered, "is it a crime to take a picture with the neighborhood children?"

"It is if you lie about knowing one of them. In your case, the teen who was shot to death outside your duplex. My guess is he was trying to make it home. To your home where he also lives."

"That's a lie!" Sadie shouted, visibly shaken. The kid doesn't live with me!"

"My guess is too that the teen who was killed was one of your grandchildren. Am I correct? And by the looks of it, either your son or daughter is his parent, while the other parent is an Hispanic. Again, the reason for the connection to Rosalinda Torres times two."

"Also, not a crime. And I'm done talking. If you want to arrest me, then do so now. Else leave my home. I'm just a lonely old woman trying to make it in this sinful world. I go to church and back home, and try to stay out of other folks' business."

"I seriously doubt that, Mrs. Johnson. The reason you bolted from your duplex last night was because you knew your grandson was in trouble. You didn't stumble trying to get close to the action. You collapsed on the sidewalk because you saw your own flesh and blood lay dying in the street." He paused to allow this knowledge to sink in.

Sadie began to rock back and forth, tears gathering in her already puffy eyes from the previous night's crying.

"For now, you're a person of interest. That's all, Mrs. Johnson. I'm just trying to solve the murder of your grandson. Is that too much to ask for your cooperation because I feel we want the same thing."

Sadie remained thoughtful as though softening by Hubert's last comment before blurting out, "if you truly want to solve the crime against a teen of color, then you're searching on the wrong side of the street."

Hubert sat staring at Sadie, nodding his head. He'd known all along somehow where the answer lay hidden. Sadie just confirmed his suspicion. "Thanks for your time, Mrs. Johnson. I know how difficult it is for a grandparent to lose a grandchild. Buy the looks of the photo, he was your pride and joy and you were his." He bid Sadie goodbye, then excused himself and stepped out onto her front porch. One thing Sadie alluded to made perfect sense. The secrets of Malvern St. lay across the way.

Sitting quietly on a lawn chair, watching the flashing police lights, was Charlie Edmond. The senior widower was calmly circling a listing in the Classifieds, looking like a man who just wanted a peaceful retirement.

Officer Hubert smiled as his thoughts turned to his own grandfather now retired. I must call him when I get home, he thought. But as he watched Charlie Edmond calmly sitting on the high-rise porch, his legs crossed, reading the newspaper, a sudden twinge attacked. He seemed out of place in remaining on Malvern Street if a quiet retirement was what he sought.

A chilling realization hit him. The math didn't add up. Rosalinda's cousin wouldn't have executed a kid over a ruined deal unless someone higher up gave the order. Hubert reached into his pocket, retrieved his phone, and made two important and urgent calls. He then descended the concrete porch, leaned against the streetlight and waited.

Now, Part 5: (Interviewing Malvern Street: Return to Relative Darkness)

The answer Officer Lindsey Hubert anxiously awaited hadn't arrived, so he unhooked his arm from the streetlight, stepped off the curb, and headed back across the way toward Malvern St. Condominiums.

His mind was transfixed on interviewing Charlie Edmond, sitting on the porch reading his newspaper. I need an answer before I approach him, he reminded himself, so checked his phone again for a reply. Nothing.

Rosalinda's evasive answers temporarily interrupted his thoughts. Indeed, the high-rise held the hidden answers he needed to solve the teen's murder. His thought turned to whether she'd changed into night attire rather than what information he'd gleaned about her from the duplex. That she knew Sadie he was certain.

He knocked, surprised when she answered and wasn't away at work. When he walked in, again the temperature immediately rose. This time, he stifled it with his disdain for bold-faced liars. Sitting on the loveseat opposite her aided in his quest.

"Sit down, Rosalinda," he began. He watched her stroll over to the sofa and professionally lower herself onto it.

She posed for effect wearing an 'I don't know anything about the drugs, Officer.' I'm just a victim of circumstance' look. Evidently she hoped her see-though outfit could cover up the facts.

Hubert wasn't buying it this time. He leaned in close, deliberately staring straight into her dark eyes, fighting the heavy distraction of her night attire.

"Cut the act, Rosalinda. Look at where you live. You can't afford the monthly rent on this high-rise apartment on a waitress' tips. We know your cousin was running product out of your unit. Who and why it was allowed all these years I'll get to the bottom of. For now, Sadie Johnson, who lives in the duplex across the street, saw the teen leave your place. Bradley confirmed your cousin was hiding near the stairwell."

He paused to gauge her reaction. He didn't know that his third witness would break her resolve.

"Your secret admirer, Juan, has been singing like a canary about the men coming in and out of your place. It’s over. Confess. Your relative pulled the trigger, but you set the stage. Tell me exactly how the deal went wrong before I lock you up as an accessory to capital murder."

Rosalinda's confident posture crumbled. She gripped the edge of the coffee table, her eyes welling with tears as the weight of the high-rise walls finally closing in on her.

Yet Rosalinda didn’t cry as expected. Instead, she instantly composed herself as though a practiced stint, sat up straight, adjusting her low-cut top with a cold, mocking smile that instantly froze the room.

"You've got nothing, Hubert," she spat, leaning forward so far that Hubert had to actively force his eyes to stay glued to her face. "My cousin was protecting me from a thief. That boy from the duplexes came into my place to rob us after I reluctantly invited him in."

She paused as though headed down the wrong path. "Go ahead and talk to Juan. That pathetic little worm has been stalking me for months. I discovered it was him who sabotaged the drop on purpose. I'll never look his way in a million years. The lowlife isn't my type. Small potatoes."

Hubert kept writing, wondering who was her type and other ideas about her because indeed the answer to the boy's slaughter sat squarely in Apartment 3D. And by the heaving of her shoulders and flaring of her nose, she was primed to trash anyone that could connect her to the killing.

Hubert watched as Rosalinda sat razor straight on the edge of her chair. Anger rose, with fire leaping from her eyes. The chair's arms withstood er grip as she inhaled deeply.

"All this non-essential business crap wouldn't have happened if my sister would've only listened to me years ago. I told her not to mess with that low-class trash in those duplexes. That it would come back to bite her in the butt. But Nooo...! she wouldn't listen. Then he ran out on her; the worst of the deadbeat dads. How would I have known that my 'so-called nephew' would attempt to steal from us? He got what he deserved!"

Hubert jerked back. "Wait a damn minute! Nephew!" He rolled the words around in his mind before his tongue spat them out. And what a racist attitude Rosalinda possessed, especially of her own kin, no matter her disapproval of his racial identity.

A new disdain for her mounted. Looking directly into her eyes, the lust subsided like finally being relieved after crying over onions. Relative darkness if there ever was such a concept.

Hubert stood. Surveying the apartment again, the pieces of the puzzle suddenly shifted.

Juan hadn't just been watching from the shadows; his jealousy had driven him to ruin the deal that resulted in the young boy being shot to death. Did he know the boy was also kin to Rosalinda? Or was his only concern that if she went broke and couldn't afford her high-rise rent, she would finally turn to him to be her new benefactor. Thinking with the wrong head, as men usually do.

"I'm glad you finally decided to come clean about your connection to Sadie Johnson's grandson."

Rosalinda frowned and began biting her nails. She hadn't mentioned Sadie.

Now that he knew, she went all end on across the street. "I wouldn't let her guard my dog. Besides being an inappropriate guardian, she isn't as pure as you think with that sweet grandma routine," Rosalinda hissed with a mocking expression.

"What do you mean? Nothing in Mrs. Johnson's manner appeared threatening to anyone."

"So you fell for that. Bet she produced fake tears to accompany the fake story she laid on you. You can't pick your extended relatives, but I sure as hell wish I could have in this situation."

Hubert cocked his head. "If there's information about the murder and she's involved, tell me right now.

Sadie runs drugs for that side of the street. The Duplexes. Nothing big. Just small crumbs to keep the pressure off and them having to bring too much attention to..."* Her voice faded as she looked around as though she suspected being overheard.

Hubert didn't let on that the information was unsettling. But he wasn't surprised. After all, this was Malvern Street. However, none of his officers who canvassed the Duplex uncovered Sadie's side job. Closed Mouths. They silence the secrets and tell no tales.

He had to keep the venom flowing. "What do you know about Charlie Edmond?"

Rosalinda froze. A veil quickly descended as though preventing an unimaginable truth from being exposed.

She turned her head, then rose and headed toward the kitchen. "Would you like a cool drink? As far as Mr. Edmond is concerned, I don't know the man personally. Rather quiet fella who keeps to himself after his wife passed."

How lovingly she spoke of Charlie Edmond. Hubert peered at her from across the room, noticing her smile as she talked. One could sense her admiration. Perhaps some type of father figure. However, she didn't elaborate further.

Hubert stared at the paper on his notepad for several long moments.

Another twist before a chilling realization hit him. Juan mentioned that he witnessed Charlie Edmond exiting Rosalinda's apartment late one night, then took the stairwell back down to his own instead of the elevator. Juan never mentioned that he knew Charlie Edmond; only that tidbit as though leading Hubert off on a false trail.

Now Rosalinda was telling Hubert that she didn't know the man.

The nagging question was to why a middle-aged man would visit Rosalinda in the middle of the night? The sly old dog if that was what he was up to. Except, Hubert didn't believe for one minute that the old man was her "type". If Juan saw the two together, others may have also. What if one of those 'others' was Sadie Johnson's grandson; her nephew who misread the late-night tryst?

Still, the math didn't add up. Why would Rosalinda lie about knowing him? A tiny detail eluded Hubert that he couldn't quite connect.

But one thing was for certain, Rosalinda's cousin wouldn't have executed a kid over a ruined petty deal unless someone higher up gave the order.

[to be continued]

For my theme, I was inspired by and utilized the @daily.prompt's publishing of 27 May 2026, Freewriters Community Daily Writing Prompt Day 3116: garbage sandwich, together with:

12 June 2026, Freewriters Community Daily Writing Prompt Day 3132: buffet for one'

26 June 2026, Freewriters Community Daily Writing Prompt Day 3146: I’m in trouble; and

25 June 2026, Freewriters Community Daily Writing Prompt Day 3145: listen to her!

^Source...

Parte 5 (Entrevista sobre «Malvern Street: Regreso a la oscuridad relativa»)

La respuesta que el agente Lindsey Hubert esperaba con impaciencia no había llegado, así que se soltó del poste de la luz, bajó del bordillo y cruzó la calle de nuevo en dirección a los apartamentos de Malvern St.

No podía dejar de pensar en entrevistar a Charlie Edmond, que estaba sentado en el porche leyendo el periódico. «Necesito una respuesta antes de acercarme a él», se recordó a sí mismo, así que volvió a mirar el móvil en busca de una respuesta. Nada.

Las respuestas evasivas de Rosalinda interrumpieron temporalmente sus pensamientos. De hecho, aquel rascacielos albergaba las respuestas ocultas que necesitaba para resolver el asesinato de la adolescente. Sus pensamientos se centraron en si se habría puesto la ropa de dormir, en lugar de en la información que había recabado sobre ella en el dúplex. Estaba seguro de que conocía a Sadie.

Llamó a la puerta y se sorprendió al ver que ella respondía y no estaba en el trabajo. Cuando entró, la temperatura volvió a subir de inmediato. Esta vez, lo reprimió con su desdén hacia los mentirosos descarados. Sentarse en el sofá de dos plazas frente a ella le ayudó en su empeño.

—Siéntate, Rosalinda —comenzó. La observó acercarse al sofá y dejarse caer en él con profesionalidad.

Ella adoptó una pose para causar efecto, con una mirada del tipo «No sé nada de las drogas, agente. Solo soy una víctima de las circunstancias». Evidentemente, esperaba que su atuendo transparente pudiera ocultar los hechos.

Hubert no se lo tragó esta vez. Se inclinó hacia ella, mirándola deliberadamente a los ojos oscuros, luchando contra la fuerte distracción que le provocaba su atuendo nocturno.

«Deja de hacer el tonto, Rosalinda. Fíjate en dónde vives. No puedes permitirte el alquiler mensual de este piso en un rascacielos con las propinas de camarera. Sabemos que tu prima traficaba con mercancía desde tu piso. Averiguaré quién lo ha permitido y por qué durante todos estos años. Por ahora, Sadie Johnson, que vive en el dúplex de enfrente, vio a la adolescente salir de tu casa. Bradley confirmó que tu prima se escondía cerca de la escalera».

Hizo una pausa para evaluar su reacción. No sabía que su tercer testigo haría que ella perdiera la determinación.

«Tu admirador secreto, Juan, ha estado cantando como un canario sobre los hombres que entraban y salían de tu piso. Se acabó. Confiesa. Tu pariente apretó el gatillo, pero tú preparaste el terreno. Dime exactamente cómo salió mal el trato antes de que te encierre como cómplice de un asesinato capital».

La postura segura de Rosalinda se desmoronó. Se aferró al borde de la mesita de café, con los ojos llenos de lágrimas mientras el peso de las paredes del rascacielos finalmente se cerraba sobre ella.

Sin embargo, Rosalinda no lloró como se esperaba. En cambio, se recompuso al instante como si fuera un acto ensayado, se enderezó y se ajustó el top escotado con una sonrisa fría y burlona que heló la sala al instante.

«No tienes nada, Hubert», espetó ella, inclinándose tanto hacia delante que Hubert tuvo que esforzarse por mantener la mirada fija en su rostro. «Mi primo me estaba protegiendo de un ladrón. Ese chico de los dúplex entró en mi casa para robarnos después de que yo, a regañadientes, lo invitara a pasar».

Hizo una pausa, como si se hubiera desviado del tema. «Adelante, habla con Juan. Ese patético gusano lleva meses acosándome. Descubrí que fue él quien saboteó la entrega a propósito. Ni en un millón de años le echaría un vistazo. Ese don nadie no es mi tipo. Es un don nadie».

Hubert siguió escribiendo, preguntándose quién era su tipo y barajando otras ideas sobre ella, porque, de hecho, la respuesta al asesinato del chico se encontraba precisamente en el apartamento 3D. Y, a juzgar por el movimiento de sus hombros y el fruncimiento de su nariz, estaba dispuesta a desacreditar a cualquiera que pudiera relacionarla con el asesinato.

Hubert observó cómo Rosalinda se sentaba erguida como una flecha en el borde de su silla. La ira se apoderó de ella, con el fuego saltando de sus ojos. Los reposabrazos de la silla resistieron su agarre mientras respiraba profundamente.

«Toda esta mierda de negocios sin importancia no habría pasado si mi hermana me hubiera hecho caso hace años. Le dije que no se metiera con esa escoria de clase baja de esos dúplex. Que eso acabaría volviéndose en su contra. ¡Pero nooo...! No quiso escucharme. Luego él la abandonó; el peor de los padres irresponsables. ¿Cómo iba a saber yo que mi “supuesto sobrino” intentaría robarnos? ¡Se lo merecía!»

Hubert se echó hacia atrás de un salto. «¡Espera un maldito minuto, sobrino!». Dio vueltas a las palabras en su mente antes de que su lengua las escupiera. Y qué actitud tan racista tenía Rosalinda, sobre todo con su propia familia, por mucho que desapruebe su identidad racial.

Creció en él un nuevo desdén hacia ella. Al mirarla directamente a los ojos, la lujuria se disipó como cuando por fin te alivia el llanto tras cortar cebollas. Una oscuridad relativa, si es que tal concepto existía.

Hubert se puso en pie. Al volver a examinar el piso, las piezas del rompecabezas encajaron de repente.

Juan no se había limitado a observar desde las sombras; sus celos le habían llevado a arruinar el trato, lo que provocó que el joven acabara muerto a tiros. ¿Sabía que el chico también era pariente de Rosalinda? ¿O su única preocupación era que, si ella se arruinaba y no podía permitirse el alquiler de su ático, acabaría recurriendo a él para que fuera su nuevo benefactor? Pensando con la cabeza equivocada, como suelen hacer los hombres.

—Me alegro de que por fin hayas decidido confesar tu relación con el nieto de Sadie Johnson.

Rosalinda frunció el ceño y empezó a morderse las uñas. Ella no había mencionado a Sadie.

Ahora que él lo sabía, se pasó al otro lado de la calle. «No la dejaría cuidar de mi perro. Además de ser una cuidadora inadecuada, no es tan inocente como crees con esa actitud de abuelita cariñosa», siseó Rosalinda con expresión burlona.

«¿Qué quieres decir? Nada en el comportamiento de la señora Johnson parecía amenazante para nadie».

«Así que te lo has tragado. Apuesto a que ha fingido las lágrimas para acompañar la historia falsa que te ha contado. No puedes elegir a tus parientes lejanos, pero joder, ojalá hubiera podido hacerlo en esta situación».

Hubert ladeó la cabeza. «Si hay información sobre el asesinato y ella está implicada, dímelo ahora mismo.

Sadie trafica con drogas en esa zona de la calle. Los Duplex. Nada importante. Solo migajas para aliviar la presión y evitar que llamen demasiado la atención sobre...»* Su voz se apagó mientras miraba a su alrededor, como si sospechara que alguien pudiera estar escuchando.

Hubert no dejó entrever que la información le inquietara. Pero no le sorprendió. Al fin y al cabo, esto era Malvern Street. Sin embargo, ninguno de sus agentes que peinaron los Dúplex descubrió el trabajo extra de Sadie. Bocas cerradas. Silencian los secretos y no cuentan nada.

Tenía que mantener el interés. «¿Qué sabes de Charlie Edmond?»

Rosalinda se quedó paralizada. Un velo descendió rápidamente sobre ella, como para impedir que se revelara una verdad inimaginable.

Volvió la cabeza, luego se levantó y se dirigió hacia la cocina. «¿Te apetece algo fresco para beber? En cuanto al señor Edmond, no lo conozco personalmente. Es un tipo bastante callado que se mantiene al margen desde que falleció su mujer».

Qué cariño ponía al hablar de Charlie Edmond. Hubert la observó desde el otro extremo de la habitación y se fijó en su sonrisa mientras hablaba. Se podía percibir su admiración. Quizá fuera una especie de figura paterna. Sin embargo, no dio más detalles.

Hubert se quedó mirando fijamente el papel de su bloc de notas durante unos largos instantes.

Otro giro inesperado antes de que le asaltara una escalofriante revelación. Juan había mencionado que vio a Charlie Edmond salir del piso de Rosalinda una noche a altas horas, y que luego bajó por la escalera hasta su propio piso en lugar de coger el ascensor. Juan nunca dijo que conociera a Charlie Edmond; solo dio ese dato, como si quisiera despistar a Hubert.

Ahora Rosalinda le decía a Hubert que no conocía a ese hombre.

La pregunta que no le daba tregua era: ¿por qué un hombre de mediana edad iría a visitar a Rosalinda en plena noche? Menudo zorro, si es que eso era lo que se traía entre manos. Excepto que Hubert no se creía ni por un instante que el anciano fuera «su tipo». Si Juan los había visto juntos, quizá otros también lo hubieran hecho. ¿Y si uno de esos «otros» fuera el nieto de Sadie Johnson, su sobrino, que malinterpretó la cita nocturna?

Aun así, las cuentas no cuadraban. ¿Por qué iba Rosalinda a mentir sobre conocerlo? A Hubert se le escapaba un pequeño detalle que no acababa de encajar.

Pero una cosa era segura: el primo de Rosalinda no habría ejecutado a un chaval por un acuerdo insignificante que se había echado a perder a menos que alguien de más alto rango hubiera dado la orden.

[continuará]

Para mi tema, me inspiré y utilicé la publicación de @daily.prompt de 27 May 2026, Freewriters Community Daily Writing Prompt Day 3116: garbage sandwich; junto con:

12 June 2026, Freewriters Community Daily Writing Prompt Day 3132: buffet for one;

26 June 2026, Freewriters Community Daily Writing Prompt Day 3146: I’m in trouble; and

25 June 2026, Freewriters Community Daily Writing Prompt Day 3145: listen to her!.

Good luck everyone with whatever your endeavors.

SUPPORTS THESE COMMUNITIES:

SOURCES:
a) JustClickindiva's Footer created in Canva utilizing its free background and images used with permission from discord admins.
b) Unless otherwise noted, all photos taken by me with my (i) Samsung Galaxy 10" Tablet, (ii) Samsung Phone, & (iii) FUJI FinePix S3380 - 14 Mega Pixels Digital Camera
c) Purple Butterfly part of purchased set of Spiritual Clip Art for my Personal Use
d) All Community logos, banners, page dividers used with permission of Discord Channel admins.
e) Ladies of Hive banner used with permission of and in accordance with the admin's guidelines
f) Thumbnail Image created by me in Canva.
g) "Flames." What is Apophysis 2.09. https://flam3.com/