Secret Keepers and Skinny Shadows: Lee and Miranda (4 page)

As Jim placed the hot dogs, beer, and change in front of him, Bert turned his head just in time to see Piggish turn around. He nodded at Bert before he turned his attention back to Lillian.

Bert took a big bite of his hot dog. “Hum.” He mumbled. A mixture of ketchup, mustard and relish dribbled out of both sides of his mouth, slid down onto his chin before lodging in his graying five o’clock shadow.

Cain handed him a napkin. “Better clean your face.”

Bert rubbed the napkin around his face, smearing the mixture all over his chin and cheeks. As he put the napkin down the door opened and a blast of cold wind blew in. A tall man covered head to foot with soot hurried in, leaving black shoe prints behind him on the white tile floor. He headed toward the empty seat on the other side of Bert, puffs of soot bellowed into the air as he sat down, then settled on the floor beneath his stool. Bert looked over his way, and with slow, slurred words and a mouth half full of hot dog, said, “Looks like you had a long rough night, Clay.”

“Yeah, I did. I’m tired and hungry,” he nodded at the cook to take his order. Clay looked like a raccoon with the whites of his eyes shining through the black dust on his face.

“Jim, give me three dogs and a six-pack to go.”

He turned to Bert. “Yeah, shoveling coal for eight hours into the big boilers on a train engine is back-breaking work and I’m not getting any younger.”

“Bert,” Clay said, “do you want a ride home?” He craned his neck around Bert and nodded at Cain.

“Are you ready to go?” Raccoon eyes grabbed his bag of dogs stuffing the six-pack of Bud under his arm before turning to Bert.

“Cain and I are leaving now, Bert. I think you missed the last bus home. Why don’t you let us drop you off? We’ll be driving right past your place on the way.”

“Okay, it’s nice of you guys to make the offer. Sure, why not? I can stretch out on the back seat while you fellas drive.”

On the way out the door with the two men, one on each side of him, he glanced over his shoulder at the woman in the back booth. She looked up and smiled, he watched her as the door closed.

They had a hard time getting Bert to the car. His huge feet would slip and slide in part from the ice and from being stupefied by the alcohol flowing through him. They made it to the old blue four-door. Cain opened the car door, then helped Clay stuff Bert into the back seat shutting the door. Cain got behind the wheel and raccoon eyes took shotgun.

The dark sedan slipped into the avenue, blending into the traffic flowing north. Bert’s mind faded into blackness as he drifted off into a drunken slumber.

                           
CHAPTER 5

                                       Present Day

T
he day after Lee was fired from his job he made his second mistake by going to the mailbox.

It was on this day his suspicions collided with the evidence. Lee now knew to follow the trail leading him through the door to the past and the clues to an old unsolved murder, presenting him with two choices. He could step across the threshold following the signs or seal the opening and walk away forever, but he wasn’t a close the door kind of guy.

In the semi-darkness on the deck of his houseboat, Lee stood resting against the wooden railing with his legs crossed in front of him sipping a cup of coffee and enjoying a perfect sunrise over the bay.

His eyes were glued on the horizon watching the brilliant ball as it started to creep above the water line of the Atlantic. It splintered the sky with streaks of red and orange patches reflecting a mirror image across the waters of the cove as it pushed the night away.

The sounds of silence were broken by the squawking of an occasional hungry sea gull flying overhead looking for breakfast and the mesmerizing tide rolling in and out.

The clean fresh smell of a new day lifted Lee’s spirits if only for a little while. The serenity was satisfying, but right now his body and soul were still numb. Yesterday seemed surreal, as though it happened to someone else, he couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that they did fire him.

Lee for some unexplainable reason could sense something different in the air. He had never had a sensation like it, and couldn’t put his finger on it, but it was there. As he turned to go back into his houseboat he stopped at the door, glanced up at the docks, scanning the area in all directions. He didn’t know what he was looking for, as he rubbed the back of his neck and shook his head. What was going on?

He stood at the door searching the docks north past the expensive yachts and houseboats bobbing in their slips. Jim Goodson owned the yacht next to his boat, he was careful not to complain too much about the way Lee’s houseboat looked. Jim only came to the docks a couple of times a year, the rest of the time his yacht sat idle in its moorings. It irritated Lee how the rich wasted their money.

His location on the docks gave him the opportunity to see everything that went on around the other boats that were close to his, when he was home. If he spotted something out of the ordinary around Jim’s yacht, he would call him and relay the information; then in appreciation Jim would every now and again send Lee an expensive bottle of champagne or wine as a thank you.

For most of his adult life Lee lived on the houseboat docked in slip number ten on the picturesque Taylor’s Cove Bay. On the outside his home looked a little rough, but on the inside it was his version of a castle. Early March on the bay brought mild warm breezes, not that hot sticky muck that arrives on the first day of summer.

Around 9 A.M. Lee stepped off the usual fifty feet on the pristine wooden dock to check his mail. This was the first time he noticed the disgraceful shape his box was in. It was attached to an oversized rope-wrapped piling on the well-maintained pier. It hung loose, dented, rusted, in bad need of a good paint job. It was almost as though Lee was seeing everything with new eyes since yesterday even the air had a different smell.

A yellow business-size envelope stood out in contrast to the dirty box. Lee pulled the mail out and noticed the return address. Seeing it was from Miranda he was leery about opening it, thinking he didn’t need this right now and at the same time speculating what she wanted from him of all people.

She was like a manipulative little kid sister. In fact, he nicknamed her Kid. He never understood what Joan saw in her or how they remained best friends all their lives. Joan was soft, quiet, and gentle, the complete opposite of Miranda.

Miranda, as a child was precocious. The year she was to go into third grade the school skipped her ahead two years. That’s when she met Joan, in the fifth-grade. Joan took Miranda under her wing making them inseparable from that day on. Miranda idolized Joan, and somehow they made it work through the years.

Ripping open the envelope while strolling back to the boat, he pulled a note out first, then noticed a handful of old letters along with copies of newspaper clippings tucked down inside. He theorized Miranda might be looking for some mystery to solve to occupy her time now that she was retired. She considered her twenty-five years as an investigator for the FBI her credentials that proved she was a brilliant detective.

He had to admit there were times when he called on Miranda to help research a project, and she always managed to come through with the information he needed.

From the first day he met Miranda he was jealous of her relationship with Joan. They were inseparable and dedicated to each other. Commitment was something he never gave to Joan. By her actions and inactions he could tell she never shared with him the things she shared with Miranda. What he didn’t realize, or maybe deep down inside he did, was he didn’t have a close relationship with Joan because he didn’t want one, but he didn’t want anyone else to have one with her either.

Lee’s world revolved around him and his work. He stayed away from Joan for weeks at a time, he believed if he didn’t have an emotional attachment to her his conscience wouldn’t nag him for neglecting her. Now he lives with the haunting dreams that wake him almost nightly.

Miranda and Joan became soul mates, the closer they grew to each other the distance widened between Lee and his wife. He knew it, and didn’t like the situation, but at the time Lee considered his job more important than Joan. It was convenient for him to keep the relationships the way they were. He didn’t care about the emotional cost to Joan. What mattered was his mental state and the position he held with his company.

It never occurred to him that he might have been the problem in their marriage, he was sure Joan was the bone of contention. But now he was beginning to see the world and himself in a whole new way.

Maybe he had been misjudging Miranda all these years, and she wasn’t so bad after all. As he remembered, she was drop-dead gorgeous like Joan.

Miranda’s technology skills were one of the reasons she secured a prized government job. She was the top in her class at M.I.T. Many of the major computer companies sent her offers to work for them, but her heart belonged to the FBI. She wanted to fight crime, serve her country and live a life of adventure.

He slid the paper out of the envelope.

Hi Lee,

I was cleaning out some of my old boxed up papers the other day when I came across a stack of letters.

They were written by a Lillian Grace who claims to know who murdered Joan’s Uncle, Bert Grayson many years ago here in Bridgetown, but Lillian said she couldn’t get anyone to believe what she was saying.

Jane had given her the letters.

Because you were gone so much, Joan decided to look into the murder to fill some of her lonely hours.

Joan kept running into brick walls, so she gave me the letters to read and asked me to look into the murder when I found the time.

I was busy with work as well as rebuilding this mansion, so I never took the opportunity to read them. As usual they got shoved aside and ignored until now.

In fact, I forgot about them. It seems Joan did also because she never mention them again.

I did read them this time. Some are lengthy. I would like you to take a look at them as well. I was completely hooked after the first letter.

Joan and I were both older teens at the time of the murder. You know, best friends busy with school, homework, and boys. Nothing else mattered much back then. I don’t remember much about the murder except it was never solved.

After you read the letters we could spend some time investigating this. Lillian weaves an interesting theory about Joan’s uncle and his murder.

Out of curiosity, didn’t Joan show them to you? If I remember right she told me she did. If she did, why didn’t you take an interest in this for her? But I think I already know the answer to that question.

As usual you dropped the ball Lee. You pushed Joan and what interested her aside.

I no longer have access to the FBI websites, so I dig up the info on my own the best way I can, but it can be done with some good research skills.

I could be a big help to you if you decide to investigate this. If you don’t, I will. In fact, I’ve already started looking up a few of the people this lady writes about. We can work our way     through this just as we have many other projects. I can’t believe the book company you work for would let you get by without using a computer. Oh well, in any event you always have me and my geeky brain and expert computer skills.

Take a vacation and come here. We can investigate this together. You can stay with me. I think we could get along for a couple of weeks anyway. After that who knows. I have a room in the house where you can live with all the comforts of home and you won’t be under my feet. If you had ever traveled with Joan when she came to visit you’d know that she always stayed with me.

Anyway, you still remain my favorite guy because you were Joan’s one true love even though your one true love was the book business.

You need to lose yourself in something since Joan’s death. It’s been almost three years now; that’s a long time to grieve her loss. It’s time for you to start a new chapter in your life. You should get away. This is the perfect opportunity to do so. Call me. You have my number. It hasn’t changed.

Miranda

The newspaper clippings about the murder along with the letters written by Lillian Grace, who said she knew who committed the murder; was all it took to lure Lee to New York State with the goal of clearing his conscience, and maybe getting a good night’s sleep. He would look into the murder for Joan and then the tormenting thoughts, sleepless nights and dreams might go away.

                CHAPTER 6

Bridgetown, New York, February 1962

T
he mud-rutted alley was dark except for an occasional backyard lamp, and the brilliant full moon shining down on the naked ancient oaks that stood on the properties behind 30 Chestnut Avenue. The moonlight wove a twisted path down through the tree branches casting skinny shadows that looked like tall dark men leaning against the wooden fence enjoying the night.

The opaque dark patches were hiding a hideous sight in the back-lane behind the hovels where the locals lived.

Small piles of snow lay against the wooden fence that had boards kicked out in different spots, but there were two gone beside the grisly scene.

The inhabitants of the run-down houses on the avenue couldn’t imagine the giant man filling the space on the ground within a few steps from their homes. It wasn’t the best part of town, but they thought it was pretty safe until now. The people who lived there knew the bars out-numbered the homes, but never had anything like this taken place before.

The wailing of sirens, and rhythmic pulse of the blue flashing lights on the police cars pulled curious neighbors out of their warm beds. They drifted out into the night to investigate the noise, but not all of them were surprised; some were frightened. Some had already been out and about.

Wide-eyed adults were wiping sleep from their eyes. Women were holding their bathrobes closed with their hand.

“What the heck is that? Am I seeing what I think I see?” the woman said. They all seemed confused by the sight in front of them. They walked back and forth, gathered in groups pointing in disbelief.

 
“Look he’s almost covered with snow,” John Williams said, pointing at the big man’s body. He was sitting in the snow slumped over, with his feet straight out in front of him. His arms dangled at his sides, hiding his hands in the snow.

“Oh, how hideous,” one man said.

“I can’t look at it again. It’s too horrible; such a repugnant sight,” the short woman said as she turned away after a glance quickly covering her daughter’s eyes.

“Watch your step John, don’t slip on the bloody ice,” his wife said.

“Look at the blood. It’s gathered in pools in the ruts starting to turn to ice. The snow around the body looks like someone used an air brush to spray everything red,” the tall man said.

“Look, his head is laying on his shoulder,” one man said as he moved closer to the giant’s body. “Look at that slice in his neck. It goes from his ear to his Adam’s apple. No wonder his head is flopped over.”

“Get back, move away from him,” a policeman said. “Get away from that body. You shouldn’t be there.”

The residents were pressing nearer, some standing next to the body in the bloody snow. The man who was told to get away kicked the giant’s lifeless shoe as he walked away blending back into the hushed crowd. The two policemen trying to keep the people away from the scene glanced at each other shaking their heads in disgust at the man’s gesture.