Viola Bernadette Mons

Viola Bernadette Mons

            God must exist because someone has to be looking out for people like Viola Bernadette Mons.  I met her about thirty years ago when her daughter, Rose, and I were going to Clement High School in Eureka, California.   I spent much of my free time at Rose’s house just to watch in fascination what Viola would do next and with whom she would do it.   See, Viola was a woman who was convinced she needed a man in order to be whole.  Therefore she spent most of her time looking in all life’s cracks and crevices for that “one true love.” 

            When left alone at Rose’s house I loved to sneak into her mother’s bedroom.  A gorgeously laid out room with a huge king sized four poster bed of Teak wood, its luminous drapes of the sheerest purple hung from a high canopy.  A dark purple silk comforter and at least a dozen pillows of assorted shades of purple completed the luxurious scene.  Thick piled dark grey carpet begged bare toes to wade through it.  The rest of the room we barely peeked at, our focus was the large calendar on the inside of the closet.  

            Each week Viola detailed her work schedule in blue with her dates scheduled in green.  We marveled at how many different dates she would have each week.  Rose said that since her dad died, her mom was looking for a “new Mr. Right.”   It was amazing to see all the different avenues this woman went to in order to find “true love” again.   She had Pizza with Paul B. on the first Wednesday evening but his name never appeared again.  He must have been a dud.  Matthew M. appeared on several Saturdays in a row for four months for “brunch” and then once for “Church” on a Sunday but then disappeared forever.  He must not have had a religion that agreed with Viola.  There were dates for dancing and dates for romancing.  There were meetings scheduled for “parents without partners” and “lunch box Sundays” which Rose explained to me was when the woman packed a lunch for two and after church the guys would pick a lunch box from the table where they were stacked up.  He would then have lunch with the lady who brought the box. 

            Then the internet was invented and internet dating became hugely popular.  Mrs. Mons dived in and posted her profile all over the net.   She talked about who she was and what kind of guy she was looking for: “I’d like a man who is like my coffee:  tall, strong, blonde, and sweet.”  Some of the sites she posted on were “Christian” because she wanted a “good Christian man.”            

            By this time, Rose and I were out of school but still in each others lives.  So when Rose came to me wanting a favor, I was happy to help.  It seems her mom was planning on moving out of the country to Australia to live with a guy she met online but never in person.  They were “in love” Viola had declared, so she was determined to sell everything and move by the end of the next month.  Rose had gotten her mom to agree to allow Rose to email this ‘fine’ gentleman and so she did.  The gentleman, whose name was Marcus Welby, assured Rose that he had nothing to hide and she could ask him any questions whatsoever.  So Rose asked him a few questions, like where he lived, his age; seemingly the same questions one would ask anyone who was being considered as a future step-father.  And she brought the information to me. 

            “I want you to investigate him for me please.” She pleaded to me “I don’t want my mom to be hoodwinked or hurt.”

            I’m an insurance fraud investigator -so my reach is far and wide.  It took me less than three hours, because I’ve connections in Sydney through my line of work.  What I found was bad news.  He had been married three prior times to very wealthy women who died suddenly from ‘natural causes.’  Fearing for Viola, I went ahead and composed a letter to Mr. Welby.  It was short and to the point telling him that I knew who and what he was and that he needed to immediately terminate his relationship with Mrs. Mons or I would make his current life extremely uncomfortable.   To give strength to my words, a dead kangaroo was placed on his door stoop by a Walter, a good friend of mine.   Him tripping over the dead carcass born fruit.

            Rose came over two days later and told me all about how Mr. Welby had sent her mother a “Dear Jane” letter breaking things off because he had recently reconnected with his high school sweet heart.  Then she sighed and informed me “Mom already is making plans to go visit some guy in Virginia for a week because HE may be THE ONE.”

            “Well,” I replied “tell her that if he cuts her up into tiny pieces and puts her in his freezer, not to call me because she should have learned her lesson by now.”

Five weeks later:
            “Would you go on a road trip with me to Virginia?  Mom called and needs helps getting away from that Frank guy.”

            “My shotgun is already locked and loaded.”