by Millie Mack
Carrie did not like Mrs. Faraday’s last comment. Let them have supper without me, she thought. She spun around to return to her room and crashed into Christopher.
“Hey, how come you’re spying on everyone?” he asked.
Carrie jumped. “Christopher, you shouldn’t be sneaking up on people!” she scolded.
“Look who’s talking. You were sneakin’ up on them, weren’t you?” Christopher tilted his head toward the study.
Carrie hoped her face wasn’t showing the guilt she was feeling. “I didn’t exactly sneak up. I was waiting for the right moment to enter the room.”
“That’s a good one. I’ll have to remember that excuse the next time I get caught.”
“Ah, so you’ve been caught listening to other people’s conversations, too. That means we’re both spies. Maybe we can get side-by-side cells when they cart us off to prison.”
Christopher started to defend himself, when he realized Carrie was pulling his leg. He placed his thumbs inside his belt loops and boasted, “You might say I’ve overheard a few conversations in my time.”
“Glad to hear it. In that case, I think we should make a deal. You don’t tell on me today, and I won’t tell on you,” Carrie offered.
“But you haven’t caught me at anything!” Christopher protested.
“Let’s say you’re buying security for your future.”
“Future options…hmm,” he said. “I like that. Grandma and Uncle Charles are always talking stock options. Okay, I agree, with one condition.”
“What’s the condition?”
“I get to choose when to exercise my option,” he stated.
Carrie smiled at his use of the phrase and said, “You do understand finance. It’s a deal.” She held out her hand, and they shook on it.
“What are you two plotting?”
They both jumped.
“Looks like high-powered negotiations going on out here, especially when the negotiators look guilty as sin.” Charles was standing at the door of the study.
“Nothing’s going on,” Carrie said calmly. “We were just coming into the room.”
Charles led the way as Carrie gave a wink to Christopher, who responded with a grin.
After drinks in the study, the group adjourned to the dining room. Mrs. Faraday was the perfect dinner hostess, orchestrating the serving of the entrée and vegetables. Charles seemed at ease as he managed the conversation. He asked Carrie about her photography and if she was doing any writing. He asked Christopher how he was progressing on his science report for school and asked Suzanne what she liked most about Europe.
It wasn’t until after dessert, and Christopher left to do his schoolwork, that Suzanne brought up the letter. The adults were enjoying the last of the coffee when Suzanne asked, “Were you planning on reading the letter tomorrow at Simpson’s office?”
“I’ll read the letter before the reading of the will.” Carrie answered Suzanne’s question without mentioning she had the letter in her possession. “I just wanted some time before I made any decisions.”
“Decisions?” asked Mrs. Faraday.
Carrie placed her coffee cup on the saucer and turned to face her hostess. “I’m very saddened by the loss of Jamie, as I know all of you are. However, I’m just not sure what my role is and why Jamie…” She paused.
Charles supplied the missing word. “Involved you.”
“Why do you feel Jamie did involve you?” Suzanne interrupted abruptly.
“I haven’t seen Jamie’s letter yet. However, my assumption is that he felt that if he died under unusual circumstances, he needed someone outside his immediate circle of family and friends to look into his death,” Carrie responded.
“Does that mean you’re not satisfied with the accidental death verdict?” Charles asked the question as if this suspicion were being raised for the first time.
“I don’t know whether to be satisfied or not. I won’t know until I read the letter and see what Jamie was thinking.”
“You can’t make a decision until you read the letter, but you give the letter back to Simpson,” said Suzanne.
“Suzanne is right, my dear,” stated Mrs. Faraday. “We could have read the letter together and then worked with you to determine the next steps.”
Carrie was thinking how to respond when the phone rang, and Charles went into the hallway to answer. The conversation stopped while they waited for Charles to return.
“Hello. Yes, this is Charles Faraday. Yes, of course I know him…has something happened…When? Is he all right? …That seems unusual. What hospital is this again? …I’m on my way. It will take me about twenty minutes to get there.”
“What is it, Charles?” Mrs. Faraday asked when he returned to the room.
“It’s Simpson. He was mugged.”
8
“Is he hurt?” Suzanne asked.
“He’s at the hospital, but he must be okay. The hospital is calling because they want someone to accompany him home. He’s ready to be released.”
“Was anything taken?” Suzanne was full of questions.
“According to the person from the hospital, the police said he was attacked, but his money and credit cards were left.”
“That is most unusual,” remarked Mrs. Faraday.
“I don’t understand,” piped in Suzanne. “What’s so unusual about that? I bet a lot of thieves don’t take credit cards.”
“Perhaps, but Simpson is known for carrying several hundred dollars in cash,” said Mrs. Faraday. “And while some thieves may not take credit cards, I’ve never heard of one that doesn’t take cash.”
“Mother and I have warned him several times that he would be a target for a mugger carrying that kind of money,” added Charles. “Then when he does get mugged, the mugger doesn’t take the money?”
“Maybe they didn’t know he was carrying money,” Suzanne said as she went to the side table and poured herself another cup of coffee.
“I think it means he wasn’t looking for money. Anyway, I better get going. I’ll have more answers once I talk with Simpson.”
“Charles, Hugh’s wife is out of town visiting their daughter. If he needs a place to stay while he mends, be sure to bring him here,” added Mrs. Faraday.
Carrie was surprised by the continued show of hospitality on the part of Mrs. Faraday. First she extended her home to Suzanne, then provided a room for her, and now a place for Simpson to heal. After what she overheard earlier, Carrie couldn’t help being cynical about Mrs. Faraday’s reasons. Did she want everyone related to the case gathered under her roof?
“I wonder…” Suzanne looked directly at Carrie. “I wonder if the muggers were after the letter.”
Suzanne asked the very question Carrie was thinking. Was her letter the cause of Simpson’s mishap?
“Suzanne, unfortunately in this day and age, many people get mugged,” stated Mrs. Faraday. “To assume this attack occurred because of James’s letter has no foundation. Besides, it was my understanding, Carrie, that Hugh gave you James’s letter this afternoon.”
Carrie never had a chance to answer because Suzanne jumped in, “He did, but Carrie gave it back. She asked him to hold it until tomorrow.”
Mrs. Faraday looked at Carrie, and Carrie nodded her agreement with Suzanne’s statement. Carrie still didn’t want to reveal that the letter was back in her possession.
“Then we’ll have to wait until Charles and Hugh return to get more details.” She looked past Suzanne to Carrie. “This has been a very tiring day, and I’m going to my room.” With those final words, Mrs. Faraday left the two women sitting in the study.
After Mrs. Faraday left the room, Suzanne started in again. “I agree with Mrs. Faraday.”
“I beg your pardon?” Carrie asked.
“I think it raises some questions about your judgment. It’s not right you let Simpson get hurt over Jamie’s letter. We could have all read the letter together right here in the safety of the house.”
&n
bsp; Carrie was irritated by Suzanne’s accusations, but she kept her annoyance under control. She answered, “I’ve three thoughts on the matter. First, Suzanne, that isn’t what Mrs. Faraday, said. What she said was we don’t know if the letter was the reason Simpson was mugged. We’ll have to wait and see. Second, I’m sorry Simpson was attacked. However, if the letter was the cause of this mishap, I could have placed everyone in this house in jeopardy. The mugger might have broken in here to find the letter.”
Suzanne sat quietly and then said, “What’s your third thought?”
“If the letter was the reason for the mugging, only a limited number of people knew Simpson had the letter. So I can’t help but wonder if someone closer than we think informed the mugger.” Carrie realized she used the same phrase Ascot found in his note.
Suzanne didn’t reply to Carrie’s comment. Then Carrie added, “I agree with Mrs. Faraday on one thing. This has been a very long day. If you will excuse me, I’m going to my room.” Carrie left Suzanne sipping coffee in the study.
When Carrie arrived at her room, she saw the door wasn’t completely closed. Yet she was sure she had closed it securely when she left. Perhaps Mary returned to turn down the bed and straighten the room.
She entered the room cautiously. The bed was not turned down, there were no fresh towels, but Carrie was sure someone had been in the room. She gazed around, and her eye was drawn to the wastebasket. The envelope from Jamie’s letter was now hanging over the lip of the basket. Someone else knew that Carrie, not Simpson, had the letter. It couldn’t have been Suzanne. Suzanne was with Carrie the entire time. That left Charles, Mrs. Faraday, Christopher, or members of the household staff.
Carrie decided now was the time to read the letter, before anything else happened. She took it from her bra, grabbed her reading glasses, and sat on the edge of the bed. Jamie’s letter was handwritten, and Carrie immediately recognized his tiny cursive script.
My dearest Carrie,
The years cannot take away all that we meant to one another. On more than one occasion, I’ve questioned whether we made the right decision not to marry. And I can’t help but wonder if you haven’t asked yourself this same question.
Carrie stopped reading for a moment and held the letter. Jamie was always so direct. She continued.
I know our decision was made by two people who thought they logically and calmly came to a mutual conclusion. We both had talents that needed to be developed. We both had freshly printed degrees in hand that gave us the opportunity to go off and search the world. I think we both did fine.
Now I find myself in desperate need of that cool, calm, and logical way you had of analyzing situations: black and white, without all the shades of gray. I’m not sure how bad it is, but I’m beginning to think I’m in deeper than…well, deeper than I can perhaps handle.
Remember the story we worked on together in college for the paper, the one about the records being altered in the registrar’s office? We stayed up for two nights hiding out in the registrar’s office trying to catch the person. We never caught him, but the problem just stopped. I’m working on a story with a similar situation. Waiting in the dark, hoping the person will stop. If not, I’ll have to try to catch them in the act. I know this isn’t much information, but if something does happen to me, I don’t want to cloud your analytical ability with my theories.
If the worst happens—be careful. I’m placing this incredible burden on you because I know you’re a good photographer who can analyze a situation without being influenced. Good analysis is like a photo. A photo never lies because it sees things exactly as they are.
If it becomes necessary to deliver this letter, I’ve asked my family to have you stay with them in our house. I can hear you saying, “Thanks a lot,” but I have my reasons.
First, I have a son. His name is Christopher. He’s a wonderful kid, and I’d like for him to meet you. In many ways he reminds me of you. Staying at the house will allow you to be near Christopher. I think you will enjoy the experience. Second, the house will provide you with protection. Be open-minded toward Mother and Charles. I’ve learned to accept them for the good people they are. Third, all of my belongings, notes, photos, and papers are at the house, and staying there will provide convenient access to them.
Asking you to help is harder than any story assignment I’ve had, but I know I’ve done the right thing. I pray I’ll see you someday in person, and this letter will never be delivered.
Carrie, there has always been and will always be a place in my heart for you.
With love,
Jamie
P.S. Remember, good analysis is like a photo. It always reveals the truth.
***
Carrie turned the letter over, but there was nothing on the back. Through her tears, she read the letter several more times. She was looking for some clue in the words as to what Jamie was investigating, but it just wasn’t there. The only thing the letter did imply was that Jamie might be working on a story.
The next question was what to do with the letter. It was too dangerous to keep it there. Then she had an idea. She went to the desk and wrote a short note explaining where she was and asked for the enclosed envelope to be held until she was able to retrieve it. She enclosed Jamie’s letter in a new envelope and placed it in a second envelope addressed to her parents in Pear Cove, a resort town about seventy-five miles away from TriCity.
She slept with the envelope under her pillow. But sleep didn’t come easily. Her restless dreams were of Jamie swimming in the harbor and Ascot running through the streets of TriCity. In each case they were trying to escape from someone wanting to murder them.
9
When Carrie awoke the next morning, it was only four-thirty. Unable to go back to sleep, she took the time to write down a couple of notes for her mystery book based on her recent dreams. She wondered if all writers dreamed of their characters.
When the first light showed through the windows, she put on her jogging outfit and left the house. The morning was beautiful. She liked March mornings, with their promise of spring. The air was crisp, but not so cold that you couldn’t enjoy running. She jogged into the small village near the Faraday house. The village consisted of a deli/convenience store, a garage, an antique shop and craft store, an interior design shop, a pub, and a post office. She jogged around the village a couple of times to be sure her movements weren’t being observed. When she was sure no one else was around, Carrie went to the post office and dropped her letter in the mailbox. She wasn’t a dedicated runner, so she decided to walk briskly on her trip back to the house. Her character Ascot was a good runner. After all, Ascot was an agent and he often needed to run to escape the danger he was facing. Carrie was a photographer and there was no danger in her life so walking was just fine for her. Plus, walking allowed her to clear her mind and reflect on the words in Jamie’s letter.
What did he mean by waiting for the person to stop? What was this person doing? Did this person kill him? What did he mean by “my things are at the house”? Did he mean actual clues were in the house? Was Jamie speaking literally or figuratively when he said photos don’t lie? She had lots of questions, but few answers. If Jamie was writing a story, she needed to find out what that story was and then follow his same path of research.
Carrie arrived back at the house as Mary was bringing a tray of coffee to her room.
“Good morning, miss. Mr. Charles saw that you went jogging and thought you might enjoy a cup of coffee when you returned.”
“That was very kind of him,” Carrie said out loud, but wondered where Charles was positioned that he saw her leave the house.
“Miss? Miss Carrie. Are you all right?”
“Oh, yes…yes, I’m fine. I’m sorry, Mary. I was daydreaming for a moment.”
“May I pour you a cup of coffee?” Mary was standing by the tray ready to pour from the two-cup pot.
“Well, that depends. Do I have time to shower before the big breakfast with the fa
mily?”
Mary giggled, and the freckles on her face seemed to pop from their hiding place. Then she caught herself and replied, “Oh, yes, miss. Actually, the ‘big breakfast’ is a buffet. Mrs. Faraday thought that would be easier, with today being special. However, it won’t be served for another thirty minutes. I believe you and Mr. Charles are the only ones up and about.”
“I assume today is ‘special’ because it’s the reading of the will?”
“I’m sure that’s part of it, but I think it has more to do with everyone eating at the same time. Normally, for breakfast each person comes to the kitchen and tells either my aunt or myself what you want, and we prepare it. Mr. Charles, Master Christopher, and Mr. Jamie, when he was here, ate early because they needed to go to school or work. Mrs. Faraday likes her breakfast served in her room at eight, and Suzanne…well, she can appear at anytime.”
“Suzanne is not an early riser?” Carrie asked.
“It isn’t so much she’s a late riser as she’s inconsistent. Sometimes she would eat with Mr. Jamie causing a delay in his schedule. For several days she bothered Mrs. Faraday. Other days she wouldn’t come down at all, which interrupted my aunt’s schedule, waiting to see if she wanted something. Now she tries to time her breakfast to coincide with Mr. Charles. Master Christopher is the only one Suzanne completely ignores, but that’s probably okay with him.”
“Not the best of friends?”
“She treats him like a kid, which he doesn’t like. They seem to have a mutual understanding just to leave each other alone. Plus…” she covered her mouth. “I probably shouldn’t say this, but I just figure there isn’t anything for Miss Suzanne to gain from buttering up Master Christopher. There I’ve gone and said it!”
“Mary, you can say anything you want to me, and it will stay between us. I appreciate your honesty and trust. By the way, do I detect a bit of an accent?”
