A locket had been stolen. It was quite a unique locket in that it opened up into 10 small compartments, nine of them containing life-size photographs (minimalized by computer) of the nine notorious, Neanderthal nuns, taken while they were alive or shortly thereafter, the tenth being a photograph of the nine nuns together, battling one another with various implements of personal destruction. The locket had great value, though no one seemed to know why.

It was my job to locate the locket and return it to its rightful owner. A further complication was that apparently no one knew who the rightful owner was, or even if there was one. This was, indeed, going to be a real puzzler, and I guess I'm the only one around who could get to the bottom of the matter, a matter that seemed on the face of it to have no bottom.

The investigation began by my obtaining DNA samples from everyone in the neighborhood and anyone I chanced to meet beyond. I did this until I ran out of q-tips and test tubes. The results, largely stemming from the fact that I had nothing to compare the DNA samples with, showed positively nothing. I should have known. I sought a different tack.

Similar negative results came from my gatherings of fingerprints, footprints, and hair samples. Things were not quite exactly looking up at this point.

I next went door-to-door -- cleverly disguised as a 23-year-old Albanian woman with a limp -- interrogating people and gained a great deal of interesting, albeit utterly useless, information. Maybe if I put everything together something of note would evolve. However, I tried doing that every which way, and to no avail. At this point a lesser man may have started to be a little discouraged, but I merrily plunged forth.

I spent several days copying down the numbers and letters on every license plate I saw, along with a description of the vehicle to which the plate was attached. I then came upon the thought that all this was quite useless on account of no vehicle was known to have been involved in the dastardly locket heist. Nevertheless, I naturally kept these multitudinous plate numbers and their accompanying auto descriptions on file for a future time when they would doubtless come in handy.

I thought it prudent and hence went to great expense having flyers printed up. WANTED blazed the top of each paper, followed by a detailed description of the forfeit locket and an offer of a $25 cash reward for anyone uncovering the locket and/or bringing in the menacing pilferer dead or alive. Tacked up or taped to places far and wide, this approach was sure to bring the matter to justice. But just how long could I in good conscience wait?

After hiring a bodyguard and obtaining tear gas, we went to a suspicious-looking locale and commenced to engage in a stakeout. Days passed with nothing of note taking place. My guard and I took turns getting some shut-eye or going to the nearby diner for sandwiches. Months went by—long, lonely months. We couldn't keep this up, that much we knew, largely because the bush, behind which we were taking care of nature's business, as they say, was running out of room. We relocated.

Six months or so passed -- or were they years? Nothing! Then -- of a sudden -- as we slept, a homeless person, a vagrant, a bum, or whatever came up to one of the open windows of our cleverly camouflaged undercover stakeout vehicle and thrust an object into my face, crustily mouthing the words, "Care to buy this, guv'nor? Five bucks and it's yours." It was verily the locket of the nine nuns that I had so avidly sought for going on too long.

Flabbergasted and flustergated, I plumb forgot to ask from whence the locket came or how it happened to be in the hands of the disheveled person who stood stupidly before me. I embraced him without giving it a moment's thought. I was remorselessly and unremittingly ecstatic and in a dither. With no further thought, I paid the unfortunate man the five dollars he sought and further offered him the $25 reward that he seemed to know absolutely nothing about.

As events took place, before I had a chance to actually take the priceless locket from the friendly tramp, he mumbled something about how "hey, this locket must actually be worth something," took the $30 and ran off with the locket and the money at such a grand pace that pursuit was hopeless. Again the locket was gone -- and this time it was gone for good. The story is finished on this painful note. ©2010 Jamey Damert

The theater lights dimmed quieting the audience. A spotlight brightened center stage where Jim Summers stood at the microphone. "Ladies and gentlemen, I welcome you to The Country Review Show. Tonight as always our aim is to entertain, so, without further ado I would like to introduce the one you have been waiting for; the one and only Sweetheart of the South, The belle of Mississippi, Miss Sue Ann Evans."

A round of applause followed as Sue Ann stepped out from stage left. Her dark hair, shoulder length, framing her face seemed to bring out the brightness of her blue eyes. Dressed in the style of country western entertainers, including boots and a Stetson tilted to the back of her head she looked like everyone's teen-aged daughter. The guitar she carried was almost as big as she was tall. There was another round of applause as she stepped up to the microphone.

Strumming a few chords she said, "Thank you, it is indeed a pleasure to be back in my favorite theater. Other than my home town I can't think of another place I'd rather be." She opened her concert with the old familiar song Red River Valley, followed by I Want a Gal Just like the Gal that Married Dear Old Dad. She continued singing for forty-five minutes, and then with a bit of Mississippi showing in her voice, she announced, "I'd like to introduce a song I wrote last night when thoughts of an old friend entered my mind. I call it The Night It Rained, and it goes like this."

She picked out the introduction and began.

"It rained the night that you left me, Dark clouds hung from above. I cried the night that you left me. Tears for our lost love. You once told me you loved me. That we would never part. But now you’ve found another, And have broken my heart. I wish you well, my dear. Good luck with your new friend. Just remember I'll be here If your fling should ever end.

Almost as one the audience rose to their feet, giving her a standing ovation. She raised her hand to quiet them and then with her familiar sign off phrase, said, "Thank you, good night and bye y'all" and left the stage.

Later in her dressing room Jim Summers asked her who the song was about. She asked, "Jim, are you jealous of a song?"

"You have his picture in that locket you always wear don't you? I feel since we're engaged we shouldn't have secrets."

"Secrets, there is no secret. It is just a bit of home I like to stay close to. I sometimes open it when I get homesick."

"Home," Jim shouted, "Who is he?"

"You are being foolish," she replied.

"Foolish," he answered, "Give me that" as he yanked the locket from her neck. Opening it he looked puzzled. "What is this?" he asked.

“I told you, it is a bit of home. Just some soil from my daddy's fields."

Several years ago, while going through my jewelry boxes, I found the remnants of a locket I had as a child. It was a gold heart without the chain. I didn't realize I still had it, and since it was a heart you could open, I was curious to see if there were any photos inside. I opened it and found two small black and white photos, one of me at the age of eleven or twelve and the other of my dog, Judy.

I completely forgot about this locket until we were given the subject of "Locket" to write about in our Pen and Ink Writers Group. I decided to look for the heart; once again, because I couldn't quite remember exactly what the photos were in the locket, which I thought might bring back some memories to write about. I searched through my jewelry boxes and could not find the locket. This was very upsetting to me, because I couldn't believe I had given it away or discarded it. And, it drives me "nuts" when I can't find something. I'm one of these organized, obsessed people, who always knows where everything is, and when I can't find what I'm looking for, I don't stop looking or thinking about -- "Where did I put that stupid thing!" After I searched everywhere the locket might be, including around the neck of my doll, Bonnie, I gave up. Like I said, it drove me crazy to give up, but I had no where else to look.

Then one night, I suddenly woke up from my sleep and remembered a red lace collar I had made for a ceramic cat decoration, which I thought had a heart attached. Let me explain, that I decorate dolls, ceramic animals, teddy bears, etc. for every holiday. This collar was made for Valentine's Day, therefore, the red lace and heart. I jumped out of bed about 3:00 a.m. to look for the red lace collar, and there it was -- the heart with the tiny photos inside. Now you know just how obsessively determined I am to find things, even in my sleep!

Looking at the tiny photos in the locket brought back a flood of memories of my first dog, Judy. I had wanted a puppy for many years and my Mom would not let me have one. I don't know how many strays I brought home that she made me turn loose. One time I hid a stray dog in our shed, but Mom found it and I had to let it go. However, when my father passed away, and Mom had to go to work, she decided to get me a puppy for company as I'd be home alone after school.

Anyway, one day when I was walking home from school, I saw my Mom and Grandmother standing in the middle of the street waiting for me. I saw a small black and white puppy Mom was held out toward me. I ran as fast as I could to see the puppy and hold it. Mom couldn't have given me a bigger surprise and it was on Valentine's Day, too.

My Mom suggested the name Judy for the little black and white Fox Terrier. Judy and I spent many hours and days together. I taught her lots of tricks as she was a very intelligent, and I took her for rides in the basket of my bicycle. She wasn't too fond of this as she shivered while sitting in the basket, but she went along and didn't attempt to jump out. I even taught her to walk on her hind legs -- she was really something!

I don't think my heart locket is pure gold because it looks a little discolored, however, I am glad I didn't toss it out, as the pictures inside brought back the precious moment and lovely surprise on Valentine's Day some 62 years ago. / Elvira

Hey, Kitty. Warren's going away on Friday, so you and I will have a whole weekend to pal around. I know I'm looking forward to it. How about you?

I realize it's been hard on you having him hang out here these past two years. And he's not used to being around real pets, like cats. He only has birds. Pity you can't meet his birds. I offered to bring you with me to his place one evening, but he said it wouldn't be a good idea. I told him you were harmless, but he wouldn't believe me. He's seen the results of your encounters with mice.

I know you haven't appreciated his sitting on your furniture, and it took you so long to even consent to be in the same room with him, like a year really, but in cat time, what is that -- like seven years? Anyway he should stay off your furniture but that's a hard rule for me to enforce as everything in this house belongs to you with nothing for him. But I swear your couch is his downfall. I even created a cartoon about him, stick figures and all. As I recall, it went something like this:

Boy meets girl. Boy and girl fall in love (picture of smooching) Boy wines and dines girl Boy meets couch Boy and couch live happily ever after (picture of Warren snoozing on couch).

But I was so proud of you last night, Kitty. I think you've made a real breakthrough in your relationship with our longtime guest. You stared and stared at Warren asleep on Couch for the longest time. Then you made your move. You jumped on the couch and curled up, your head resting on Warren's feet. You had your eyes open for quite some time, but eventually you began your relaxed purring and slowly, slowly closed those eyes just as if those feet were mine and not Warren's at all. I felt relieved and happy. I want my people to get along.

You do realize Warren views you as his rival, don't you? Partly for my affections but mainly for Couch. Take the night Warren saw me knitting and watching TV and wanted to cuddle up next to me. He said he'd be back in a minute and returned from the bedroom with a couple of pillows to lay his head on. But you'd already made your move and Warren just stood there with his arms full of pillows staring at you curled up by my side, beating him to the punch. He growled, "Kitty," as you stared innocently back at him.

We haven't yet managed to squeeze the three of us on the couch, have we? I tell Warren he has to lose weight which is funny because he's such a beanpole while I'm just the opposite. He's much too kind to call me fat, but his sense of fairness is injured and he whines, "...but...but proportionally..." trailing off before saying what he's really thinking. I want to lose weight, yet I doubt there'll ever be room enough for three of us.

But we won't have to worry about that all next week. It's just you and me, pal, you and me. With Warren away and the remote securely in hand, I'll watch all my own programs. There'll be opera on Wednesday, possibly a sappy movie or two, and all my favorite sitcoms. For an entire week I'll be free from nagging to watch something educational. Of course I'll watch nature programs for your sake, Kitty, and maybe we'll catch a special on big cats that will make you proud. But for the moment will you please stop batting my remote? Oh, it's your remote is it? What? Oh, now you're batting my locket, are you? You just love watching that pendulum swing. You know I heard, Kitty, that some people have their loved ones cremated and their ashes put in a locket. I don't know if I could do that, walk around with someone's ashes on my chest. I admit I've procrastinated unbelievably long about scattering Mother's ashes but whether it's an inability to let go, or the pressure of finding a place truly up to her romantic standards, I don't know. She mentioned a place in Spain, but I've forgotten the name, or over Machu Picchu in Peru, but I haven't managed to visit either country since her death. I left a few of her ashes in a waterfall in Iceland, and I thought that would please her. I think putting Mom in a locket would be too confining for a woman who loved to travel. Although then she could travel with me and go wherever I went. But you'd continue to bat my locket, wouldn't you, Kitty, and that wouldn't be very respectful, would it now?

No! You say it's your locket? Is that a fact now?

I found it in a box at the bottom of the large oak wardrobe that stood in my aunt's bed room while I was trying to find her shroud.

At the age of 93, she had passed away in the convent were she had spent the last 3 years of her life after a fall that broke her hip. In 1963 a new way of burying people in their best attire and waked in the parlor of their own homes had not come in to fashion. She was to be waked in the small chapel attached to the hospice. First, I would have to find the shroud that had been purchased 50 years ago when she was a member of the guild of St. Francis at the local church of St. Peter in her parish in what was then a high class area of Dublin City.

My aunt was a severe woman who had lived a hard life. She was born in Christ Church News land and was the 2nd child of a family of 10 children. She was forced to come to Ireland at the age of 19 when my grandfather inherited the family land in Borrisakane Co. Tipperary. The town to this day has not changed. My aunt always hated the change for the town was a swinging with balls and picnics and at the time was home to the British army.

My grandmother gave birth to 4 more children. My aunt was turned into a slave bringing them up. She ran away to Dublin to live with an aunt who felt sorry for her. She got her a job in a drapery shop in Phisbrough where she worked almost 70 years. There she met and fell in love with a salesman from one of the biggest companies of the time. They were married and it seemed that life was great at last. They attended dances, balls, picnics again and eventually had a baby. But life was not happy again for the child lived 3 months. Matt was a kind man and her sorrow was her sorrow. Baby number 2 came along and lived only 12 months. After this child died, they waited for 2 years to try again for a child. At last a beautiful baby girl joined the family, a princess who was to live a life of grandeur. But at the age of 3, she and her father fell ill with the incurable illness of the time TB. A disease that had no sympathy for the rich or poor as it was a death sentence. Both he and the child died within hours of each other.

When again she could face life, she returned to work at the drapery store. On each Wednesday, her half day off, she would walk across town to visit our house. As children we hated these visits as we were warned by my mother to be on our best behavior. At this time, we were forced to spend each 3 day holiday at her house. Each night the house was lit only with an oil lamp and before settling down for the night she would wander around the room smoking her last cigarette of the day. I remember how she would warn us that if we were to touch the large oak wardrobe or its contents she would come back to haunt us.

The gold of the locket was tarnished and the clasp stock tight but when we got it opened it revealed the pictures of a once beautiful girl on one side and a handsome man, my long dead uncle who I never meet. I wondered was this box that held the locket and the lock of hair tied with blue ribbon items of her happier days. The other boxes held musty out-of-date clothes, unopened boxes of gifts that fell apart with age, another held snaps of her long dead children and her once loved husband, and some small white shoes made of kid never worn by the tiny feet of her children.

I did find the shroud at the bottom of the wardrobe bought so many years ago, waiting to be worn as her last outfit. I sat there on that bedroom floor and shed a tear for the woman who was my aunt who had lived a sad life. I got up and closed the door to the forbidden wardrobe and started to leave. As I walked thru the door into the hallway, I had an eerie feeling that I was not alone. Suddenly I got a push in my back and I went flying out into the hall in terror. I left that house and I would not return alone no matter what any body said. The strange thing about this is going back later I never found that locket or the strand of hair again.