The police are leaving all angles open. Grayson was a patient at the State Mental Hospital. He was released three weeks ago.
The Mirror included a composite picture of one of the companions Bert Grayson was last seen with.
CHAPTER 8
Present Day
Lee carried Miranda’s letter into the kitchen, dropped it on the counter top, he took a seat on the bar stool, trying to decide if going to Miranda’s was the smart thing to do. He could also tell from reading the letter that she hadn’t changed much through the years.
He often thought Miranda never got married because there wasn’t a man alive who could live with her.
At Joan’s funeral he didn’t spend much time with Miranda. He was anxious to lose himself in his work, trying to take his mind off his wife.
With his elbows resting on the black granite countertop and his legs straddling the stainless steel stool, he was soaking in the sun filtering down through the skylight warming his shoulders while at the same time soothing his beat up ego.
He dumped the remaining contents of the envelope onto the counter top spending a couple of hours reading the letters and newspaper clippings. He meditated on where the key might be and if Miranda was looking for it?
Three months after the murder, the police stopped investigating, claiming they had no new clues to go on. There was a composite picture of one of the men they say Bert left the diner with the night he was murdered.
Lee studied the picture, and was thinking about the letters, while twisting his hair with his finger, a habit he’d tried to break, but couldn’t.
His mind was all over the place. He recounted every detail of being fired and betrayed by his best friends, Sally and Ray.
The murder and what he had learned so far. The letters were intriguing to him, spiking his curiosity about the murder and Lillian. Then there was Joan.
Miranda was right; three years was long enough to mourn. He could never forget Joan; but it was time to move on with his life and begin to live again. He was growing lonely needing female companionship, even if it had to be Miranda.
He made a promise to himself, right there and then, today he would begin the next chapter of his life. As he was daydreaming, it dawned on him. These must have been the letters Joan gave him to read many years ago. Being the self-centered man he was, he handed them back, telling her he was too busy for such nonsense. Cringing at his own words he sat shaking his head in disgust as those thoughts stung his conscience, and how his words must have hurt Joan.
He made a vow that day, if it took the rest of his life he would investigate and solve the murder of Joan’s uncle. He also vowed to be there for others who might reach out to him, to help solve the unsolvable, and in some way in his guilt ridden mind he would also be making it up to Joan.
Maybe then the haunting and sleepless nights would leave him. He never thought of himself as a particularly brave man, but he would do what he had to do. Somewhere deep inside he would find the courage to face the threat of death, if that was what it took.
The scent of pine drifting in from the mountains traveled through the screen door, the roaring of boats moving in and out of the bay, mournful sounds of an occasional tug boat horn moaning in the distance, all reminding him why he loved this place so much. Joan had a fondness for this spot on the docks. She said it centered her.
Lee now wished he could go back into the past redoing that one thing if nothing else. And as it happens, destiny had put the letters in his hands for a second time. Now he’ll have the opportunity to wash his conscience clean.
He reached for his cell to call Miranda.
“Hi, Kid, how are you?”
“Scrappy as ever, Lee. When are you going to get off the Kid thing? I’m a little too old for that now. So are you coming soon?”
“I read the newspaper clippings and the letters. It all sounds interesting. Are you sure there’s enough room?”
“I’ll make room for you. This place is big enough for both of us.”
“Thanks . . . Kid. I have loose ends to tie up here before I can leave, so it’ll be a couple of weeks.”
“Okay Lee. I’ll look for you then. Bye.”
He made a trip to the bank to transfer money out of his savings and in his checking account to use as traveling money.
He couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that something wasn’t right.
After reading the newspaper accounts and the letters again he was hooked on investigating this murder. He decided he would let Miranda tell him about Lillian.
One of his goals was to change his opinion about Miranda and forget the past. He’d work to see only the best side of her.
He never enjoyed the legwork that came with research. He only enjoyed putting the pieces together. Sally did most of the work, and without her computer skills he would have been fired long before this. Sure he traveled to dig out the hard to find information, but the bulk of the work was done by Sally on the computer.
He couldn’t figure out why he had the feeling someone was watching him.
CHAPTER 9
Present Day
Robert had them turn the new laser satellites in Lee and Miranda’s direction. He gave orders to the techs. “I want to know everything they say and what they’re up to. I want eyes and ears on them all the time.”
The lead tech looked up at Robert. “Don’t worry, boss. We won’t miss a thing. We have everything were it should be.”
Robert loved new technology and now because of it he was sure what he had waited for all these years was finally within his grasp.
CHAPTER 10
Bridgetown, New York, March 1962
The moaning wind whistled in the eaves, slamming rusted pieces of loose aluminum siding into the sides of the house, sending them screeching all the way to the ground.
Lillian was halfway down the third page when George’s big hand slammed down on the desktop, ripping the papers from under her fingers. The violent force sent her pen sailing across the room where it bounced off the dirty white wall leaving big blue ink splatters before hitting the floor and rolling to a stop against the paint chipped baseboard. She screamed and on instinct wrapped her arms around the back of her head waiting for him to smack her.
When she realized he wasn’t going to hit her, she looked up at him. It was at that moment she realized what he was about to do. Her mouth gaped open in disbelief, she begged.
“Please don’t do this George. Please don’t.”
His big meaty hands crumbled the pages into a ball as he rushed across the room to the fireplace tossing the wad of paper into the flames.
“There,” he said planting his hands on his hips whirling his upper body around his bloodshot eyes looking directly into hers. “That’ll take care of that. I don’t want to see you doing anymore writing Lillian. Do you understand me?” He hissed between clinched, rotted teeth.
She jumped as a strong gust of wind smashed a tree branch against the living room window, she watched a new crack start to grow in one of the panes.
Her eyes narrowed to slits as she fixed them on George, water leaked from the corners, running like rivers down her cheeks she wiped them on her dress sleeve, soon they were gushing, she was unable to control them, watching the flames lick and devour her papers until there was nothing left but ashes.
George glanced in her direction, then tilted his head back, as he laughed and snorted at her.
“You’re a dumb one, you are. I don’t want you writing about that murder and making me look bad,” he said. “What’s done is done. Forget about it. That old drunk got what he deserved.” He stomped into the dark kitchen, jerked open the refrigerator door, and grabbed another cold Bud from the shelf.
She could see him from where she was sitting. The bulb from the opened refrigerator door was like a spotlight, illuminating his fat, pig-faced head. She hated him. She hated him even more than when he was slapping and kicking her around.
Lillian watched George shove his stubby fi
ngers into his baggy pants pocket, she could see his hand moving around inside, when he pulled it out his fingers were gripping the church key he always carried.
All the while he ignored her as she sat at her desk holding her head between her hands, sobbing in soft, hushed, uncontrollable whimpers, watching him out of the corner of her eye as he locked the flat hook on the waffled edge of the metal bottle cap and flipped it.
“Ah,” he said, “I love that sucking sound the lid makes as it releases the smell of fresh beer.”
He stuck his nose up into the air, breathing in the droplets of beer still hanging there.
His eyes shifted down, watching as the bottle cap slid, bounced, and rolled across the kitchen floor. It wobbled and came to rest against the other five in a round shallow spot worn into the old linoleum. She watched him with hatred in her eyes, as his pig lips locked around the opened bottle. Sucking and snorting, he swigged the beer as fast as he could swallow it. Some of the froth running out the sides of his mouth, creating white rivulets that streamed through his whiskers. When the foam reached the front of his dirty T-shirt, it expanded the wet circle that was already there.
He pulled the bottle from his lips, breathing hard.
“Don’t bother me anymore, Lillian. I’m going to finish watching The Red Skelton Hour.” He belched wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, while waddling back into the living room he plopped his wide body down into the big faded blue velvet chair.
Outside the wind had died down as fast as it puffed up.
She watched as George fell into a drunken slumber in front of the TV.
It was as though her body would only move in slow motion. She forced herself to get up from the desk chair and into her bedroom, locking the door she fell across the bed crying herself to sleep.
The next morning through tear-swollen eyes with determination in her heart she started to write again. This time she waited until George had gone to work. Sitting at her writing desk she wondered who she could contact—then the answer came to her.
She was sure Bert’s sister would believe what she had to say. She would write what she knew in the letters and mail them, one by one, year after year, to Elizabeth. Then someone else would know the truth about the murder.
CHAPTER 11
Present Day
Lee spent the next few weeks tying up loose ends in preparation for his stay with Miranda, packing everything he thought he would need or couldn’t live without.
The sun was bright that day as he walked out to the dock keeper’s hut and found John.
John was hired by the corporation that managed the harbor to do repair work and keep the marina looking perfect for the wealthy clients who chose to moor there vessels in this expensive coastal bay area.
“How are you, John?”
“Fine, Mr. Perkins. Thanks for asking.”
“I’ll be leaving tomorrow for a visit with a friend in New York. I don’t know when I’ll be coming home. I plan to keep in touch with you from time to time. Here’s the phone number where I can be reached if you need me.” Lee shook John’s hand, giving him a folded paper with the number on it.
“Thank you, Mr. Perkins. Don’t worry yourself. I’ll look after your houseboat. Stay as long as you want.”
“Thanks again John.”
He made his way back to the houseboat, pausing every once in a while to enjoy the seascape unfolding in front of his eyes, colorful boats and yachts bobbing in their slips, on the blue-green waters of the bay. He would miss this panorama it had become part of his life. He ambled down the steps on his boat to the main deck and stood resting his back on the railing crossed his legs, folded his arms over his chest to watch the sunset. He opened his cell.
“Hi, Kid. I’ll be on the road early in the morning, arriving at your house sometime tomorrow. I appreciate your hospitality. Oh, and Miranda, I may stay with you longer than a couple of weeks.”
“Okay, you can stay as long as you want to, I’ll look forward to seeing you again. Sometimes it gets lonely rambling around in this big house. I’ll see you when you get here.”
“Miranda, one more thing. I’m working on changing my attitude you could help me deal with that issue.”
“I’ll be glad to help you.”
“Thanks, Kid. Bye for now.”
He stood on the deck watching the sunset and rolling around in his mind his attitude toward Miranda.
The red ball dipped into the ocean then bright stars dotted the dark sky.
He was hoping that time had changed Miranda. He shook his head. Well, maybe it had changed him too. In a lot of ways he wasn’t the same man he had been a couple of weeks ago. He was seeing a side of his personality that he didn’t like.
He couldn’t shake a nagging feeling of uneasiness.
Before he got into bed, he set the alarm for five o’clock. That would give him a full day of driving in daylight. He didn’t like driving at night.
That night he tossed and turned dreaming and waking every hour. All the past weeks’ happenings wouldn’t leave, and his guilty conscience haunted him.
Unable to sleep, he got up, loaded the car, and before daybreak he was driving north on I-95. This would be his first visit to Miranda’s new home.
CHAPTER 12
Present Day
Bridgetown, New York
Hours later, Lee turned into an imposing entrance, the wrought-iron gates stood open with the words Wind Swept Acres on an ornate arch across the top. Stopping the car just outside the gates, he could see the mansion was almost hidden by the winding tree-lined driveway. This is classic Miranda, he thought.
She had restored the two-hundred-year-old all-brick mansion from the ground up. The original owner was the man who financed and built the Conn Railroad.
The mountains behind the house were breathtaking; the locals called this the high peaks area. In front of the house the plush acres of manicured lawns, expensive trees, shrubs, small ponds and gardens added to the beauty of the old place.
The brick house emerge intermittently through the old oak trees guarding the cobblestone driveway with its many curves, looming large and spectacular owning the space it filled.
He pulled up in front stopping his Jag he got out. The front door opened, and Miranda strolled across the wide porch, followed by a tall, husky, good-looking middle-aged man, they descended the steps together.
“Hum,” Lee said under his breath. He wasn’t aware that Miranda had a male friend. He studied the man as he walked toward him. He looked six-foot-four, with muscles bulging on his arms, in stark contrast to Miranda’s tall, slim figure. Lee thought he looked more like a bodyguard than a lover. There he was making assumptions about people in his own egotistical way, when in most cases they turned out to be wrong.
Miranda marched right up to Lee, invading his space, stopping she stood on her tiptoes, her lips were almost touching his, and her perfume was intoxicating. Lee smiled.
“Hi, Lee. I see you haven’t lost your killer smile, it’s good to see you. It looks like you’re thinner and taller than I remember. What, maybe six-foot-six?” Her breath smelled of sweet mint. She stepped back about a foot and stuck out her hand, with a curt grin. Lee continued to smile as they shook hands.
“Six-foot-seven. I’m not sleeping too well at night—insomnia, I guess. I can see you’re as soft spoken and beautiful as ever.” Lee continued to hang onto her hand as he stared at her. She pulled her hand away.
“I imagine you can’t sleep at night from a guilty conscience.”
“I knew I could count on you for words of encouragement.” He paused for a couple seconds, looking her up and down. “It doesn’t hurt that after all these years you’re still drop-dead gorgeous.”
She turned in the direction of her friend. “Lee this is Adrian, my house-carl.”
“Your house what? What is a house-carl?”
“Well, I guess it’s a fancy word for a butler.”
Adrian reached out his hand, flashed a big smile
that revealed perfect white teeth.
“Hello Lee. If there’s anything I can do for you while you’re here just let me know. I’m always around. I do the cooking, cleaning and whatever Miranda wants. So don’t hesitate to ask.”
Lee pulled his hand from Adrian’s and shook it in the air.
“Thank you Adrian. I’m glad my fingers aren’t broken.”
“Sorry about that. I forget myself at times.”
Lee smiled at Adrian, thinking, he does whatever Miranda wants, imagining what that would be. He looked at Miranda, shrugged and mouthed the words, house-carl?
As though Miranda could read his thoughts—or because it showed all over his face— she said, “Adrian takes care of the house and cooking so I’m free to do whatever I want. Don’t think you can flash that handsome face at me expecting me to melt the way Joan always did.” Miranda’s eyes flashed, then narrowed as she stared at him.
“Right on, Kid. Whatever you say.”
“How was the drive up?” Miranda said.
“It was smooth sailing all the way. Stopped a couple of times for a break, but that was about as exciting as it got.”
Lee opened the trunk and started to pull out his suitcases.
“Here, let me help you with that,” Adrian said. He pulled the bags out.
“Your place is so big. A two-story brick beauty. Are those the original pillars?”
“Yes, they were the biggest expense to restore.”
“I can see the money and work that went into the house. It looks like it was a labor of love.”
“Yes it was. There were times when I thought it was a money pit, but now that it’s finished it was worth all the time and money I invested.”
“How many acres do you have here?”
“It’s just a bit over one hundred and thirty-five.”
Lee walked beside Miranda as they approached the house, ascended the steps, crossing the porch and into the vestibule.
Secret Keepers and Skinny Shadows: Lee and Miranda Page 5
