Donna Louise here. It is July 1, 2013 and I’ve been gone a long, long time in my efforts to locate Vivian who has become a victim of white slavers. With everyone giving away sex, I’d think that most people could get whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted it, but apparently not true in America or anywhere else in the world. Thus, we have sex exploiters the world over.

 After the postcard I received from St. Joseph, Missouri with the Pony Express statue on it, I waited for another card. It arrived a couple of days later from Omaha, Nebraska, a photograph of a pig in a pen at the stockyards up there. I wondered if Vivian had chosen it for the image. Perhaps she felt like a sow in a sty.

Then I received postcards from Kearney, Nebraska, Salt Lake City, Des Moines—all on the same day. The one from Kearney showed the Great Platte River Road Archway—a giant arch over the interstate which houses a museum. You can walk across the highway and watch as the semis and cars shoot down the interstate at 100 mph. No one has much time to waste in Nebraska, which is a shame because the scenery is breathtaking along the way. But, they all have places other than Nebraska to be.

The Mormon Tabernacle graced the front of the Salt Lake City postcard. I’ve always wanted to see the Temple there and the SaltLake. I changed planes in the airport once. It was Christmas. As we waited to de-plane, the sounds of the Mormon Tabernacle Choir singing some Christmas hymn greeted me. I’ve never seen so many people in suits and dresses than I did at that airport. It was kinda like entering Stepford in that movie, The Stepford Wives. Eerie. And the people are so polite it’s unbearable because you know they want to make you into a Mormon before you leave the airport. Maybe I’m overreacting because I know some lovely Mormons, but then again…

Soon my mailbox overflowed with postcards from across the country:  Minneapolis-St. Paul, Tucumcari, Death Valley, Spokane, Boise, Memphis, Dallas. I think I’ve received postcards from every state in the Union. Then the foreign postcards started to appear. I never read them, just looked at the pictures and tossed them aside. I figure it was a trick to throw me off the trail.

Then the first package arrived with a teddy bear, some candy and a letter to Donna Louise. Here’s the letter:

Dear Little Donna Louise,

So sorry to hear about your struggle with brain cancer. I just wanted you to know that my family and I are praying for a healing for you. I even put you on the prayer list at my church where another 500 people pray for you everyday. You’ll beat this tumor.

Enclosed with this letter is a prayer rug blessed by Reverend Onan. If you stare at the picture of Jesus he will open his eyes. That’s a sign that your prayers have been granted. Don’t give up hope. Trust in God. He will heal you.

Sincerely,

LaVerna Sticklehooper and Family

P.S. If you aren’t saved, you better hurry just in case God has other plans for you than getting healed.

That made me read every single postcard I’d received. Seems that someone has told people I’m a little girl in Kansas City who suffers from brain tumors and doesn’t have long to live. My dying wish is to have a postcard from every country in the world, not just every state in the Union.

My BBFF Bob called me to tell me that “my story” had appeared in one of those trash rags. The writer asked that people send me postcards to help me beat my terminal brain cancer. Now really, isn’t it called terminal because I will die? People still believe in miracles.

Just in case you read the story, I am not dying any faster than I was. I do not have brain cancer. I do not want postcards from everyplace in the world—although they are interesting and I’m learning a lot. Don’t send me packages.

Then the U.S. Postal Service became involved. That’s when my investigation went totally awry. But more on that tomorrow.

It’s July 1, 2013 and we’ve made it halfway through the year. Good going, faithful readers. Keep up the good work.

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Donna Louise here. Anyone leave an autographed box set of the “Fifty Shades of Gray” trilogy at the block party? You can call Clarice and claim it, but I’ll warn you that she’ll talk bad about you and your taste in reading material. If you have teenage children, send them to reclaim it for you. (And, NO, it isn’t mine.)

The police detectives took my missing person’s report, but they didn’t seem too interested in solving the case. Can’t say as I blame them. No sign of any struggles in the house. They noted that she’d left her dentures behind and all of her wigs.

When Yank asked me if I knew whether she owned more than one pair of dentures, I had to admit that I hadn’t known she wore dentures or wigs. He asked, “Then why are the dentures and wigs important here?” I referred him to Clarice who seemed to know more about Vivian’s dental history and hair woes than I did.

When the mail came this afternoon, I leafed through it. The usual advertisements for a free weekend at the lake appeared, but they try to intimidate you into buying a condo. I don’t bother going anymore. Then there was the ad for water line insurance sent out by the city. What a scam. Someone at city is making some money off that one.

Then I see the statue of the Pony Express rider that sits next to City Hall in St. Joseph, Missouri. Turns out it’s a postcard from Vivian with a short message.

“Dear Donna Louise, stopped at Love’s Truck Stop for a cup of coffee to stay awake. Still have a long way to go. Sorry I left so abruptly, but emergencies don’t always happen at convenient times. Don’t worry about me. Love, Vivian”

The same handwriting graced the back of the postcard as was on the note stuck in my door. If someone other than Vivian is sending these messages, they want to convince me that she’s alright. I’ll show the note to Clarice to see what she thinks. Is it Vivian’s handwriting or not?

Then again, who would drive fifty miles to St. Joe to mail a postcard just to convince us that the emergency was real?

I’m going back to the house by myself to do more checking on my own. I must have overlooked something before Clarice’s scream stopped my search. Then the detectives came and prevented me from nosing around. Better to investigate by myself.

Oh, by the way, Mr. Singersanger came home from the hospital today. He looks so much better although he lost the color in his face when I told him about Vivian’s disappearance. Poor man, it must have been a shock to him. They traded plants and shared gardening tips. I better be more careful in the future about sharing upsetting information with him. I don’t want him to drop dead on my account.