Ever since I became a private eye, oh say six months or so ago, I've begun to notice that one needs only to look closely at things to see coincidence is king, or queen, in this glittering world. Take for example my initial destination for my latest case, an investigation into the apparent death of Chandler Chiller, a writer of mini-mysteries who happens to look a lot like me. Which is not much of a coincidence because he is, or was, me. But my initial destination for that investigation into Chandler's death and hopeful resurrection was Phoenix, Arizona. Coincidence? I think not. For coincidence is just the rational excuse for unexplained mysteries that bombard us every day like ultraviolet rays, which Phoenix had been experiencing, by the way, for 150 consecutive days until that drought was broken the very day before I landed in that Valley of the Sun. But I wasn't there for sun or Phoenix, although the New England winter had prepared my appreciation for both. No, I was there to meet a woman named Sedona. Or maybe one of her many aliases instead. The Lady of the Rose Earth South, Miss Lonelyhearts and Innocence, or First Direction in my Wheel of Mysteries Still Unexplained. I had procured the directions to her place from a fortune teller named Ramona. “Sedona?” she repeated my request. “That's right. Sedona.” I patiently concurred. “And why Sedona?” she rudely inquired. “I need to see Sedona. That's all you need to know.” I curtly replied. “Well, lucky for you that I happen to know the whereabouts of this Sedona.” she briskly laughed. “It's not luck.” I wisely answered her. “It's something called coincidence.”~Chandler Chiller 2006
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