Secret Keepers and Skinny Shadows: Lee and Miranda (26 page)

LETTER 5

February 1967

Dear Lizzie,

Thank you for answering my letter. I didn’t call you back because I got a lump in my throat and I was afraid I would start crying again. I cried for two years, and I know what it can do to me. I’m not good at talking on the phone anyway. I like to see people when I talk to them. Also, forgive me for taking liberties with your first name. Bert always called you Lizzie and he had the faculty of making me feel I knew people I really didn’t know. I didn’t know Bert had two sisters. I thought you were his only sister, but that he had two brothers. I never asked him about his family at all. Carl told me he thought Bert had two brothers.

I know Clay murdered Bert, and that the police covered up for him and why. I know it was Cain’s picture in the paper the first time. They must have gotten too many correct identifications and changed it. I don’t know where Clay is now, but I know that he murdered Brian Merritt in 1965. He was in Bridgetown then.

It was Councilman Jones’s sister who told me about your nephew, only she said it was your brother. I don’t know if she was trying to warn or threaten, or if it was just casual conversation. I do know that it’s not safe to put pressure on the police here. It’s a good way to get yourself killed. I’m a lot more afraid of the police than I am of Clay. Not all of them, however.

I can understand how you would miss Bert. He was a wonderful person. Maybe you will see him a little differently when you read my book. Everything that happened was my fault. Sometimes I think my remorse is more than I can bear. Nothing I can do now will ever make it right, but I’m hoping God will forgive me for being so stupid, once my book is published.

I still have some loose ends to wind up. So many people are afraid of me because I admitted from the first that I knew who killed Bert. I know that Clay killed at least eight more people, too. I haven’t been able to learn the name of the man whose body was found in the Cricket Field and a girl who turned Clay in for exactly what I knew about him. Clay did them and I know why.

I’ll appreciate your utmost secrecy in this matter. It can cost me my life and put your own in danger. There’s nothing we can do anyway. Cain told me I couldn’t fight city hall. I’m going to try with my book.

Actually, I don’t feel the book is even mine. It’s Bert’s. I’d never have written it but for him. I was offered a new car not to write it.

I was sorry to hear about your accident. I hope you’re in good health now, also your sister.

I hope you weren’t angry because I put flowers on Bert’s grave on Decoration Day and his birthday. Actually I had Anne do it. I was afraid of getting bawled out if I got caught doing it myself.

You see, Miss Grayson, the thing that nobody seemed to know was that I was almost as shy as Bert was. The difference was that Bert was shy in a crowd. I was shy out of one. It’s a hangover from my childhood. The book will explain a lot of things no one knew. Writing it is the hardest work I have ever done. It will probably be the saddest book you ever read. I’m hoping to have it finished by late this summer. I’m copying the most important chapters to give to various people in case something should happen to me before it’s finished.

Write to me or call me. You can even come to see me if you wish and aren’t afraid.

Best wishes,

Lilly

I don’t use Mrs. in front of my name.

P.S. My life is sad and dreary, for in my heart I find that love can never end with death for the one who is left behind.

LETTER 6

June 1968

Dear Miss Grayson,

I’ve been trying to answer your letter for some time, but I couldn’t seem to get around to it. Something always seems to crop up. Right now my sister is in the hospital. She has had three operations in the past week. One was a minor one to remove an obstruction from the tube between the kidney and the bladder. Right now she is in great pain, but I think she will be all right. I was afraid she had cancer, but the doctor says she has no signs of it.

My red Persian cat got killed by a car last Tuesday, and I was terribly upset about it. He was such a beautiful cat and never ran away. He did get out of the yard, and that was the end of him. I don’t need more cats, though. Heavens! I have five now. About four weeks ago two little neighbor boys brought me a pair of kittens whose eyes were barely open. Their mother had been killed by a car, and I had to find a formula that would agree with them and raised them with a medicine dropper. They can eat alone now. I didn’t intend to keep them, but I don’t see how I can bear to give them up now. They look a lot alike, only Shadow looks as if he’s wearing glasses. Pixie has a black nose. Butterball had pneumonia, and I had to take him to the doctor twice. He’s getting better now, but the vet charges as much as a regular doctor.

I clipped Bowtie yesterday, and it was an awful job. She didn’t want to be still. I used to have a man come to the house to do it for me and he does a neater job, but now I’m afraid to have any man come into the house. Too many people are willing to do anything for a lousy dollar. I painted the porch floor this week. It needed it badly. I hate to paint, but there are lots of things I hate to do that I have to whether I want to or not.

About this Art Cassel, is he the illegitimate son of Ellen Jacobsen who was Ellen Cassel? The reason I ask is because she says he’s her brother, and all the neighbors say he is her son. They say he got drunk and told it right in front of her. She still denies it, and she told me she had a brother whose wife swore he was murdered. If this is the same man, do you know where his wife lives now? Ellen didn’t seem to know much about what had happened, but she did say that his wife was up in arms over the whole thing. She said the police did a good cover-up job on the murder. Do you know where he was murdered? Everyone here seems to think it happened in another town, but no one seems to know just where.

Some of my cherries froze this year. I had a lovely peach tree, but George let it die when I was sick. He’s too stupid to know enough to take care of anything.

I hope you weren’t foolish enough to sign off your rights to the land Bert owned. I still think you should put in a claim for what is rightfully yours. Your nephew probably wants to wait until the seven years are up and sell it until everyone is satisfied. All claims have to be satisfied before a piece of property can be sold. I know. I’ve been buying and selling property for more than twenty years now. Take a mortgage on it and file it at the courthouse.

Call me anytime you’re in the mood. It’s easier for me to talk to someone when they start the conversation. I want to set a nice artificial arrangement for on Bert’s grave. Fresh flowers are nicer, but they don’t last long. I’m afraid to make a practice of going anywhere on a regular basis at the present time.

I sent my book,
Only Sissies Cry
, to Carper and Stow. I haven’t gotten it back yet, but there’s always the possibility that I will. I wish I had known about the contest sooner. The book wasn’t my best work, due to lack of time. I’ve been working on Bert’s book for more than six years now and isn’t the way I want it yet. It won’t take long to finish it up now, though.

I think I know why Bert wouldn’t buy a bed. Once when we were talking about getting married he asked if I like twin beds. I told him these were the only kind I did like. I told him he’d have to get an extra-long one for himself and a standard one for me and we could push them together. We could get a little bed for in a corner and be like the three bears in the nursery rhyme. He said whatever I wanted would be all right with him. God bless him. How could I be so stupid as to think he was only kidding?

I don’t drive either, and right now I’m glad I don’t. It’s too easy to kill someone and make it look like an accident.

That’s what Clay wanted Detective Elway to say had happened to his wife. Elway was afraid to take a chance. He’d already killed one girl that way, and the insurance company would have been mighty suspicious of a second death in the same manner. The first one may have really been an accident. I have no way of knowing about that. I know there was only a small paragraph about it in the paper.

I have an appointment to have my hair done today. I hate to take the time, but I like to keep my hair short. It’s so much easier to take care of.

What do you think of the Supreme Court’s last ruling? The men on that court ought to have their heads examined. I think they’re all senile and sick in their heads. They are terribly concerned over the rights of criminals, but they seem to forget that murder victims have rights, too. I wonder if some of those men are being blackmailed. I can’t understand some of the decisions, unless someone in high places is putting pressure on them. Laws that have been enforced for years are no longer any good it seems. Bridgetown has never had many laws enforced. The whole of the city hall is corrupt.

I sold my air conditioner and now I wish I hadn’t. I like to work in my room, and the fans blow the paper all over the place.

Maybe I’ll buy another air conditioner. This place gets pretty hot during the day. It’s nice at night, though.

So now its evening and I’d better get this finished. I worked in my yard this evening until it was too dark to see, and I managed to get several nice big mosquito bites. I’ll have to scald and scrape to get clean. I can get more dirt on myself than anyone I know.

My sister is worse today. She is bleeding from the bowels and I can’t understand it. The doctor said he never had such a thing happen before. I don’t know what to think about her. She was too ill to talk, and for any Sanders that’s something. We’re all talkers once we get to know someone.

Let me hear from you real soon. I’m sorry to be so late about answering, but I’ve been up to my neck in work. My best to you.

Lilly

P.S. I was offered half of the rights to the book
Where Your Treasure Is
for half of the rights to my book,
Something for Bert
. I’m not taking it. I feel as if I’m being offered a dime for ten dollars, if you know what I mean. Robert Mason would like to get his hands on some of the proceeds. He read a portion of the book. The old goat would also like to marry me. Thank God he’s in Florida and I’m here. I don’t even write to him anymore. I only ever saw him once, and that was enough. He’s nice enough, I guess, but I’m not interested in marriage. I only want to be able to earn a decent living. Husbands are the easiest things in the world to get and the hardest to get rid of.

LETTER 7

June 1969

Dear Miss Grayson,

Ellen Jacobsen lives across the street from me and two doors up. There’s a divider strip out this way, you know. If you talk to her, please don’t mention that I told you about the circumstances of his birth. After all, he didn’t tell me. I never talked to the man. He was drunk, and he was hunting Ellen.

Toots Johnson’s daddy was dead and he went in there to see if Ellen was there. That was when he was supposed to have told it.

I didn’t even know Toots at the time. We didn’t live out there when her parents were alive. I wouldn’t want her, Ellen, to be embarrassed by what I said, though I suppose everyone down there would know it anyway. If she wants him to be her brother, as far as I’m concerned, he can be her brother.

Toots told me that Ellen went away at the time Art was killed. It was all kept quiet out here. Until you told me what you did, no one even suspected he had been murdered. Ellen did, but I hadn’t mentioned what she told me to anyone.

My phone number is 944-9208, and I would prefer that you call me. It’s always easier for me to talk if someone else starts the conversation. I can write scads and scads, but I’m not good at talking on the telephone. I would have little difficulty talking to you in person. I like to see people when I talk to them. Not only that, but I’m always free to talk. I have an extension in my room and I can always talk from there in case there’s something I want to say that I don’t want overheard.

I’m glad you liked the flowers. That florist always sends such nice arrangements, I think. I used to buy from the other one, but when my father died, I sent flowers and they weren’t nearly as nice as some that came from the other one and cost a lot less.

Flowers are never cheap, but I believe in getting the most I can get for my money.

There was nothing wrong with the flowers from the other florist, but it was a dull arrangement. It was something you could see anywhere. They are very nice at delivering them for me, too. All I do is call and ask them and send them a check. I wanted so badly to get down and do it myself, but the weather was so miserable and I was working so hard on my book that I just couldn’t. I was glad to know that the grass had been cut, and one of these days I’ll go down and dig out some of the stones and plant some new grass seed. It’s the least I can do for Bert. I don’t care if you tell anyone that I put flowers on the grave. That is entirely up to you, but I don’t blame you for letting them wonder. Maybe it’s just as well that people don’t know.

Clay said he had this town sewed up and no one was going to make him leave. I have to be awfully careful what I do, so I don’t end up the way so many others did.

I was in to the hospital on Saturday night. My sister is in semi-private and visiting hours are from seven ‘til eight. I went in a little early and came home on the seven-thirty bus. It was still daylight and some man tried to pick me up. I was scared stiff. When I was younger, I used to be terrified to walk on the streets alone. Men were always trying to pick me up, even in the daytime. I’m nearly fifty-six years old now and it doesn’t make sense to me that anyone would try to do it now. I’m not even pretty anymore. I used to be, but after Bert got killed I cried so hard it ruined my eyes. I have puffs under them all the time. Nothing makes them go away. My hair is gray, and I don’t look quite my age at times, but I’m still past the age limit that men would want to pick me up. I’m not going in anymore in the evenings alone. I had been going in the evenings because my oldest sister wanted to go in the afternoon. She drives, but she doesn’t like to drive at night. I’m not allowed to have anything to do with my oldest sister. That was one restriction the hospital put on me and it was the only one. The doctor said that no real sister would try to do to me what she had. She didn’t only try. Some of the things she accomplished. She slept with my husband when I was sick. She thought she was going to get my house, but I fooled her. I’m in a perfect spot for a party house, and she runs one. Her neighbors all hate her because she started a party house in a residential area and now there’s no place for them to park their cars when she is having a party. I didn’t give a hoot that she slept with George. He has been sleeping with other women for years now. I even gave him my own money so he could take them out. If he ever kissed me, I think I’d vomit all over him.

Miss Grayson, I wouldn’t worry about the buildings other than the house. Your house roof isn’t leaking, is it? Why should you spend money for someone else to get advantage of, after you’re gone? Why don’t your brothers fix up the buildings? Isn’t as if you needed them, or do you?

I got a card of acknowledgement about my book from Carper and Stow. They said it would be several weeks before there would be anything definite on it. I hope they accept it for publication. I’ll have it made if they do. If they don’t, I’ll give it to an agent to sell for me. I have a list of names of agents, and they are begging for books to sell. They get ten percent of the gross when they sell one.

Sara Dowell said I should just ignore Robert Mason’s last letter. She said he was only trying to horn in on my work and take credit for something he didn’t do, also money. The world is full of people like that. George and Kate (my oldest sister) said that if I made any money on my books they would put me back in the hospital and take it from me. I told them about it out at the hospital and it’s written in my dossier that I can do whatever I like with the proceeds of the book. The work is mine. The proceeds should be mine, too. It’s strange, but it’s always the people with the most to hide who didn’t want me to write the book, but who wanted to grab all the money they could get. I wouldn’t give them a nickel if they were starving to death. I can hate as intensely as I love. I really don’t hate anyone though, except Clay and Lieutenant. Zale. The rest of them aren’t important enough to hate. The hospital gave Kate specific instructions to stay away from me.

She used to park her car in my driveway when she went to get her hair done. She can’t even do that anymore.

Call me anytime at your convenience. I’m here practically all the time. My sister is going to be discharged from the hospital and I will go down with her in the ambulance and my brother-in-law will bring me home, but other than that I have no plans to be away from the house. Take good care of yourself and write.

Best wishes,

Lilly