by Mary Frances
“No. Just my dad and me. (crying) My moms dead already. I’m all alone here. Please send someone, please. (Crying)”
“We have someone on the way, Billy. Are you sure your dad is dead.? Did you touch him or anything to see if he was breathing?”
“No (crying) I didn’t go on the dock. I saw the blood (crying) and ran back to call you. Is someone coming?”
“Yes, someone is coming. They should be there soon. Don’t hang up the phone until someone gets there, Billy, okay?”
“I have to go open the gate. They won’t be able to come on the island. The gates are locked. I’ll be right back…”
“Billy. Billy. Are you there? Billy. (Phone is off hook-no sounds) Billy? Billy, are you there?”
“That’s where the tape ends. It says the phone went to a dial tone after four minutes. They tried to call back but got a busy signal.” Dallas talked as he flipped through more pages.
“I just got off the phone with the guy who bought the hoist. He said he went over with the sheriff the following weekend and took the boat and hoist down. He had his son come across the lake with a pontoon boat and help him. He had a receipt from the sale of the boat with him. The hoist was in perfect working condition,” he added. “I asked him if the hoist motor still worked alright and he said he uses it almost once a week and it works fine.” Dallas looked up.” Now, if Billy didn’t even go out on the dock to see if his dad was breathing, who turned off the hoist?”
Sandy got up and walked around on the deck. She went down the wooden planks to the dock and at the edge, where the hoist had been. She turned and shouted back to Dallas.
“Is this about where he was laying?”
Dallas looked at the pictures and back at the dock. “A little to your right,” he yelled back. Sandy took two steps to her right and waited.
“Right there,” he yelled. “His head would have been about three feet to your right.”
Sandy stepped to her right again and looked down. The wood was a dull grey. She could not see any signs of blood. After a year, it would all have washed away or faded. She lay on the deck and leaned over the edge. Dallas and Margaret watched from the deck and waited to see what she was doing. Sandy put her arm out to the water and splashed water up onto the wood. When she was satisfied she had wet the wood enough, she stood back up and started to walk back up to the deck near the house. Every few steps, she would stop and look back at the wet wood. After a few steps, she stopped and called out to the detective.
“Come here, detective,” she yelled. “But let me know when you can see the wet wood on the dock.”
Dallas went down the wooden path and kept his eye on the dock below. As he got closer, he finally stopped and looked at the dock.
“Right now,” he said. “I can see the wet spot. Why?”
Sandy crossed her arms as she walked casually back up to the deck.
“It said he could see blood all over his dads head. If he did, he had to be right there next to him but he said he didn’t come out onto the dock,” she said with a smile. Margaret listened as they talked. She had studied the pictures too and as Sandy took a seat, she had to agree. Billy would have to been on the dock to see his father’s head.
“So, how do we prove he did it?” Sandy asked.
“First,” Dallas said, “We have to find a motive. He had opportunity and time, but why?”
“We also have to have iron clad proof he did it.” Margaret added.
“Then, there is the money thing,” Dallas said. “ If the kid didn’t do it, who did and who hid the money?”
Margaret got up from her chair. As she shuffled into the house, she stopped in the doorway.
“William put the money in the lake. I saw him putting the bundles in the case and tying the rope to it. The marbles were his too. They were his favorites,” she said. Sandy got up instantly and went in ahead of her for her pad of paper. As she started to write, Margaret added more.
“He did it before his mother died. She was in the house with him. It was dark and he didn’t want her to see him,” Margaret was holding the door frame as she talked. Her eyes, stared off in the distance, looking at nothing and seeing all.
Sandy set her paper down and came to her. She put her hand on Margaret’s shoulder and when she touched the woman. Margaret blinked.
“I think I’ll take a short nap,” she said and stepped inside. Sandy watched her to make sure she was walking alright and when she closed her bedroom door, Sandy went out onto the deck.
“What was that?” Dallas asked when Sandy sat back down.
“Sometimes, she gets these, umm, things she saw, in her head and they come out suddenly,”
she told him. “Kind of like…‘oh yeah, by the way,’ stuff. If you know what I mean.”
Dallas stared at her for a long second. “Uh huh,” he said and as he got up from his chair, he made sure to skirt hers and put a distance between them. “Yeah, right. Sure. Uh huh.”
“Detective!” Sandy was laughing as he pretended to try and sneak away. He turned and smiled at her.
“You’re used to her, remember. This is all new to me,” he said.
“Well, it doesn’t happen all the time. Just when she is tired.” Sandy got up to follow the detective.
“I’m going to fish for a while,” he said. “Care to join me?”
Sandy stopped in her tracks.
“Oh, no. I don’t do the worm thingy,” she said with a smile. “I have a few things I can be doing while she takes her nap. I’ll catch you a little later. Good luck with the fish.”
Sandy went inside and Dallas headed for the water. As the afternoon sun headed to the west, the people on the island enjoyed the vacation each had earned. Wilma read her book in her room and Margaret lay across her bed, listening to the voices in the house.
Chapter Seven
Sandy went back into the house and gathered her laundry. She found the washer in the back of the house. When she turned around, Wilma was watching.
“Have they decided what to do with the money yet?” she asked. Sandy shook her head.
“Margaret wants to keep it, Dallas wants to wait, I want to call the authorities and turn it in,”
she said then looked at her. “What do you think we should do?” They went into the dining area. Wilma came closer and looked in the box.
“How much is there?” she asked as she lifted a bundle and fanned it.
“One million dollars,” Sandy said.
Wilma dropped the bundle back in the box and pulled out a chair.
“Whose money was it?” she asked.
“We think it belonged to the doctor and his wife.”
“Then the money would go to their estate, right?” she asked.
Sandy nodded.
“But, if the kid is the one who gets the estate, and you guys find he had a hand in their deaths, where would the money go?” Wilma had never really talked about the ‘business’ she and Margaret were in. Sandy thought about it for a moment.
“The state would get it,” Sandy finally answered. Wilma scratched her head in thought.
“It seems to me, if you can prove the kid did it, and no one knows about the money, then wouldn’t that be a ‘just’ reward?” Wilma got back up and headed for the kitchen.
“We just have to prove the kid did it,” Sandy said as she left the table and headed for the deck. Wilma called out to her as she slid the door open to the deck.
“He’s a kid. If he did it, he’ll talk. Kids always talk. Like they always say, kids and money. Two things that always talk.”
Sandy smiled and she went through the door. Margaret listened to them as she stood in her bedroom doorway. She shuffled into the living room and then into the kitchen. She made a cup of coffee and winked at Wilma as she went to the sliding glass doors. She stopped and looked back at her.
“I think we should test that theory of yours,” she said as she carried her coffee outside and took a seat close to the fire pit. Sandy was already the
re, watching the detective down on the dock.
“I’m going to start a fire,” Margaret said as she settled down in the chair.
“Let me get it for you.” Sandy started to get up for some sticks and branches laying near the deck.
“I wasn’t thinking of a real fire,” Margaret said. “I was talking about the kid.”
Sandy sat back down. “What do you mean?”
“We should meet the kid.” Margaret pointed to the fire pit. “A fire in there would be nice too.”
Sandy got up again and gathered the sticks. As she played with the matches, Margaret sipped her coffee.
“Children get away with murder, all the time,” she said. “As adults, it’s our job to catch and stop them before anyone dies.”
“What if he didn’t do it?” Sandy said as the flames caught the dry wood. In seconds, she had a cozy fire going in the pit. Margaret leaned closer and set her cup down. She put her gloves in her lap and held her crooked hands over the flames.
“He did it,” Margaret finally said. “He killed them both.”
“How do you know?” Sandy asked, as if she didn’t already know how Margaret did anything.
“I am in his room and I hear voices,” Margaret said. “He has imprinted so much into that room. The furniture may have been changed and his personal things removed, but the walls and the floor still have voices.”
“Is that why you look more tired coming out of there than going in?” Sandy asked. She was being serious. Margaret did not look rested although she took frequent naps.
“I have most of this mystery figured out already,” Margaret said. “I just haven’t figured out how to get the proof we need.”
“The money?” Sandy asked. “Did it help any?”
“Well, like Wilma said, money talks, but the money only told me who put it in the case and where it came from. It hasn’t told me why.” Margaret waved a hand to Dallas. He had given up on fishing and was walking back up to the deck.
He pulled a chair closer to the fire and sat down. “Talking about the money?” he asked. Sandy looked at Margaret, who looked back at her.
“Detective,” Margaret said. “We need proof that the kid did it.”
“Did what?”
“Killed mommy and daddy,” she said. “And I warn both of you right now, he did do it and when and if we get the proof, I’ll be the first to vote to keeping the money.”
“Why should we keep the money?” he asked.
“Why not? Whether we like it or not, we are working this case and there is no reward that I know of. Do you know of any reward?” she asked.
“Well, the insurance company does pay if someone can get their money back on a claim, but it isn’t going to be like New Mexico,” he said. “Usually it’s about ten percent.”
“Ten percent is better than nothing.” Margaret said. “As for the real money, I think because it is Dallas’ house and he is the one who found it and…” She looked at him. “After all, he is the detective here, well, I think he should be the one to decide what happens to it. Whatever he decides, I’ll abide with.”
Sandy thought for a moment and as she remembered she already had money in her bank, she smiled.
“Me too,” she said. “Detective, you decide.”
Dallas rubbed his chin and looked up into the trees as though they held the answer. “I’ll let you both know when I know,” he said.
When he went back inside, he stopped to look at the money. He lifted a couple bundles and tossed them back into the box. Taking the box with him, Dallas went into his room and set the box down on the floor. He took out a brief case and set it on the bed. For the next five minutes, he kept busy, stacking the bundles into the case. He closed and opened it twice to make sure it all fit and when he was sure it did, he set it, open, on the chair next to his bed. Then, he took the box outside and carefully tore it up into small pieces and burned them. Margaret sat watching him quietly. Small pieces of ash drifted into the air and off into the woods. After dinner, Margaret went into the master bathroom for a long bath in the hot tub and Sandy went down to the lake with Dallas to fish. She wasn’t actually going to fish, it not being her ‘thing’ but it was fun to watch. Wilma went through the house and cleaned everything again. Not used to a smaller house to keep, she found herself doing the same jobs over and over. By eight that night, she gave up and went to her room to finish her book. By nine o’clock that evening, Margaret found herself out on the deck in front of the small fire pit in her night gown and robe. Dallas and Sandy finally came up from the dock and stopped by the fire. As each took a seat, the night took over the woods. Small fireflies blinked in the trees and Sandy marveled at them. Dallas went out and caught one for her and when he put it in her hand, she almost fainted when the bug lit up.
“I’ll go down to the lake and get you a frog, if you like,” Dallas told her. Sandy let the bug walk on her hand and when it finally flew away, she shook her head.
“No thanks,” she told him. “One thing at a time.”
Margaret was slowly falling asleep on the deck and soon gave up and went inside. The night drifted away and after everyone was inside asleep, only Dallas sat up in his room, the small case of money staring back at him in the dark.
The morning came with rain. Thunder and lightning soon joined in and as breakfast was served, the electricity went out. Although it was morning, the house was dark inside. Dallas started a fire in the fireplace and after everyone ate, they went into the living room to sit and watch the rain. The trees hung under the weight of the rain and as the storm came through, the wind picked up. Sandy sat close to the windows and watched as the trees swayed and leaves blew across the deck. Margaret stayed close to the fireplace, the warmth of the fire easing her arthritis. Dallas played the perfect host and kept hot coffee on the table near the fireplace. As the morning lingered in rain, Dallas allowed himself to talk to Margaret, more of her youth than present day.
“When did you first know you were a psychic?” he asked. Margaret leaned back and looked up at the ceiling.
“When I turned eighteen, I found out,” she said. “My aunt was in a hospital and I went to see her. She was a ‘seer’ and she helped me find out what I had been going through all those years.”
“I thought people were born psychics,” Dallas said.
“They are. I was. But, when you’re young and there is no one to guide you, you think you’re just crazy.”
Dallas lifted his cup and stared into the fire for a minute.
“It’s called ‘psychometry’, detective” she added. “I use psychometry to feel things and see things about objects I touch. When I was a little girl, everything I touched sent me into a rage. It wasn’t that I was crazy, but more like a ‘brain over-load.’ As I got older, and more so now, I can feel more just by being in the room where someone was. I can pick up thoughts and feelings from people around me and sometimes, when I am really tired, I actually hear their voices.”
Margaret got up and went to her room. When she came back, she had the tape recorder in her hands. She took her seat again and held the recorder out for him to see. Dallas took it and looked at the buttons.
“I thought I could tape some of the things I hear in that room, but it doesn’t work,” she said.
“So, instead, I turn it on and repeat the words I hear.” Margaret leaned over and touched a button on the side.
“Go ahead,” she said. “Listen to some of the things I listen to in the night.”
Dallas pushed the button and listened. The words he heard were in Margaret’s voice. It was as though she were whispering.
“I’ll never leave the island.”
“You can’t make me go there.”
“Leave my marbles alone.”
“One day, you’ll be sorry.”
It was very repetitive and boring but Dallas listened and when it ended, he handed the recorder back.
“Don’t they have super sensitive things to record ghost voices?” Dallas as
ked.
“It’s not a ghost,” she said laughing. “It is all the kid and his emotions. And it’s me talking, not the kid. I am just repeating what I hear. To the outside world, it makes me sound like I’m nuts.” Margaret hit the rewind button.
“I thought I’d give it a try but it didn’t work,” she said as he tucked the recorder into her pocket.
“Did you really get rich from donations?” he asked.
Sandy looked at him and then at Margaret. Margaret was grinning.
“I was wondering when someone was going to ask me that!” she laughed. Margaret leaned over the table and poured herself more coffee. As she sat back again, she had a wide smile on her face. “Oh, you wouldn’t believe what I did,” she said.
Dallas and Sandy leaned closer to hear her.
“I bought my house and had it furnished. The money came from television appearances and private donations. I hired people and traveled a lot. It all takes money to do that, but most of the time, someone paid my way. Men usually.” Margaret was leaning back looking up at the ceiling as she remembered her youth.
“I was invited to a party in Hollywood. Everyone was there. I think I was almost thirty six or seven. I know it was just about two years before New Mexico. Anyway, I went and everyone that was anyone was there. I met Mr. Burns and some politicians. I always wore my gloves and when I am at a party, they do not come off. I am not there to ‘read’ people. I am there to enjoy company, so when I was asked to do a private reading in a hotel later that night, I was rather reluctant. I was offered one hundred thousand dollars just to go up and ‘read’ this guy. I was supposed to meet him, answer some questions and then just do a ‘reading’ to prove to him I was real.” Margaret was lost for a moment in the memory. She sipped her coffee and when she set the cup on the table, she finished her story.
“I took the money, cash, by the way, and went to the hotel. This guy was in bed. He was an older man, sick and dying. He had a man standing next to him and another guy at the door. They let me in and when he saw me, he smiled. He looked like a nice old guy. Well, I went to his side of the bed and asked him what he wanted me to read and he had one of the guys hand me a hanky. It was a small white hanky with lace on the edges. I took it and slipped off a glove. The hanky belonged to a woman and when I held it, I saw her crying and then laughing. I told him what I saw and then he asked me to touch something else. The guy came over and handed me a huge ring. It had to be the biggest diamond I had ever seen. I put it in the palm of my hand and told him what I saw. It wasn’t good. The woman he had given the ring to was cheating him. I told him everything I saw and felt in the ring. The poor man in the bed had tears in his eyes and when it was over, he reached out and took my hand. For the one moment, I had forgotten to put my glove back on.” Margaret took a deep breath and closed her eyes.
