Anonymously Yours

by Shirley McCann

  “Something fell out of your apron.” Justin reached down to the floorboard and retrieved Mr. Black’s wallet.

  I took it from his hand and shook the water from it. “I’m glad I didn’t lose that,” I said. “I need to return this to the owner on my way to work in the morning.”

  Justin frowned. “Wouldn’t it be easier if he came back to the diner for it?”

  “That’s what I suggested, but Winslow wanted me to return it. I tried calling, but no one was home. Besides, if I drop it off, he won’t have to wait until the diner reopens. He may not even realize it’s missing until he needs it again. He just lives around the corner from me, so I’ll drop it off on the way to work in the morning.”

  “Why don’t you let me return it for you,” Justin suggested. “I can drop if off on my way home. I’m staying with my parents until I find a place of my own.”

  “I already told you, he’s not home.”

  “Then I’ll get up early and take it to him in the morning,” he offered again. “That way you won’t have to go out of your way in the morning.”

  I flashed him a knowing smile. “I remember how much you enjoy sleeping late,” I said. “I can be there just before seven. Hopefully he won’t even have left for work.”

  Justin’s mouth curved into a grin. His thick eyebrows shifted.

  “What?” I demanded.

  “You’re always looking for excitement, aren’t you?”

  I slumped back against the seat, crossing my arms over my chest. The reason for our breakup was becoming clear again. Justin was just as bad as my parents when it came to my choice of professions.

  “I’d hardly call returning a wallet cause for excitement,” I answered sharply. I diverted my gaze out the window avoiding his probing stare.

  Justin eased the car into gear and changed the subject. “So how did you wind up working at Winslow’s Diner of all places?”

  I sighed heavily before answering. My gaze remained straight. “Believe me, it wasn’t what I had in mind.”

  “I’m listening,” he said. He pulled away from the curb. A gust of wind rattled the small car, sending torrents of rain splashing against the windows. Justin rubbed a small circle of fog from the windshield and peered anxiously outside.

  I straightened in the seat and braced myself against the deadly lightning that lit up the inside of the car. “I was supposed to go to work with my uncle Bob as a private investigator,” I finally answered. “But that fell through at the last minute when my parents talked him out of hiring me. Like I said, my parents have the same opinion of women’s positions in the work force as you do.”

  Justin rolled his eyes. “Come on, Denise,” he pleaded. “Let’s don’t get started on that again.”

  “Maybe you’re right,” I agreed, fighting back tears. “We should just accept the fact that we weren’t meant to be together and get on with our lives.”

  “But there’s no reason we still can’t be friends? Is that what you mean?” He sounded like a wounded animal.

  I reached for my wet apron and began fumbling with the tie strings. “Why did you come back to Clayfield?” I asked. “Surely there must be more exciting coaching opportunities for you somewhere else.”

  “I’m not the one looking for excitement,” he answered. His insinuation jolted me like a slap in the face. “I like it here. I like the small town living.”

  “I like it too, Justin,” I answered truthfully. I looked him squarely in the eye. “It’s not the town I object to. It’s the lack of employment opportunities the town offers.”

  “I can’t argue that point,” he agreed. “I was lucky to get the coaching job for Clayfield High. I’m hoping to start apartment hunting as soon as possible.” He rubbed another circle of fog from the windshield, then eased the car into my parents’ driveway. Placing the gear into park, he let the engine idle while he turned to face me. “Are you sure you’ll be all right here by yourself in this storm?” He took my hand in his. “I know your parents are vacationing in Florida right now.”

  I smiled. “Are you kidding? There’s a scary movie on the late show tonight. This is the perfect weather for a murder mystery.”

  He shook his head and laughed out loud. “You haven’t changed a bit,” he said.

  “No, I haven’t,” I said pointedly. I jerked my hand back and reached for the door handle. “The job at Winslow’s Diner is merely a temporary setback. I have every intention of becoming involved in some type of law enforcement career. If Uncle Bob won’t change his mind and hire me as his assistant, then I’ll find another position somewhere else.”

  I turned back to face him and our eyes held for an awkward moment before Justin finally broke the silence. “At least let me walk you to your door,” he offered.

  “Don’t bother.” I started to open the door, but Justin leaned over and pulled me back. Our gazes held for a moment before he gently kissed me on the lips.

  “I really have missed you,” he said softly, his eyes searching my reaction.

  I couldn’t ignore the irregular beat of my heart. “I’ve missed you too,” I answered honestly.

  “I’ve had a lot of time to think, Denise,” he said. “About us,” he added, after a moment’s hesitation. “Look, I know we have some problems to work out. But I’d really like to try and make our relationship work. I think we’re worth fighting for.”

  My breathing increased, making me lightheaded. “I’d like to try too,” I whispered, realizing I meant it. I just wanted to have Justin, as well as a career of my choice. Why should that be so difficult?

  Justin’s face relaxed. “Good,” he said. “How about we get together tomorrow after you get off work? We could go on a picnic, just the two of us. Someplace where we can be alone and talk.”

  “I’d like that,” I admitted. I reached for the door.

  Keys in my fingertips, I raced for the front door, while the car idled in the driveway. The beam from the headlights as my guide, I unlocked the front door of my parents’ house. Once inside, I waved good-bye to Justin, then waited until his car backed out of sight. I closed the door and secured the lock.

  In my room, I exchanged my wet pink uniform for a comfortable ankle-length lightweight gown. After running a quick brush through my damp hair, I entered the kitchen and placed a bag of popcorn into the microwave. When the appliance beeped, I reached for a bowl, dumped the contents inside, then curled up on the living room sofa with the remote control. Ear splitting crashes of thunder brought shivers to my arms. I snuggled deeper into the plush sofa despite the warm temperatures. I flipped the remote control to the movie channel and lifted a handful of popcorn to my lips.

  The eerie sound of music signaled the beginning of the movie. I reached for the lacy afghan on the back of the sofa and switched off the overhead light. Brilliant flashes of lightning lit up the room. Booming thunder rattled the house. Knees under my chin, I pulled the afghan up around my shoulders and nestled against the back of the couch.

  What a perfect night for a murder mystery.

  Chapter Two

  I was still on the sofa when I awakened the next morning. As I stretched my arms overhead and yawned, my body collided with the carpeted floor. Remnants of popcorn spewed across the room.

  I untangled my legs from the cocooned blanket. An infomercial was on the television trying to sell me the newest thing in exercise equipment guaranteed to help me lose inches in just two weeks.

  I must have dozed off shortly after the movie started. As I often did, I’d figured out the ending early on, quickly losing interest in the final hour. I maneuvered my feet into soft slippers, then felt my way to the window. A full moon lit the room in an eerie glow as I raised the blinds.

  In the kitchen, I flipped on a light and reached for a cup above the sink. After filling it with tap water, I heated it in the microwave, then inserted a tea bag. Leaving the cup on the counter to steep, I headed for the shower. I turned on the faucet and waited for the appropriate temperature while I
located a uniform from the closet. Mr. Winslow provided each of his waitresses with two uniforms. Since last night’s uniform was drenched from the rain, I made a mental note to wash a load of laundry after work.

  I stepped into the shower, enjoying the pelting warm water against my skin.

  Ten minutes later, I stood at the fogged mirror and added a touch of blush to my cheeks and a light gloss to my lips. After running a comb through my short hair, I gave it a quick tousle with my hands.

  I was glad I had it cut, I realized. The short bouncy length was the perfect style for someone constantly on the go. Justin had mentioned he liked it last night. I wondered if he was just making conversation or if he really did like it short. He’d always preferred it longer.

  I wriggled into my uniform, then checked my purse for the wallet. It was right where I had left it, next to my small .380 pistol. Neither my parents nor Justin knew I carried a weapon. I felt certain they wouldn’t be happy about it.

  Outside, a partially sunny sky still patched with a few lingering clouds loomed before me. A soft gentle breeze danced through the numerous trees along the quiet street. Overhead, songless birds perched like tiny black statues on the telephone wires.

  What made me think of that? I wondered. I shrugged off the eerie thought.

  My purse draped over my shoulder, I walked along the sidewalk toward Lendon Street, the main intersection before Winslow’s Diner. From there it was just one block over to where Michael Black lived.

  A light flashed on from somewhere inside Justin’s parents’ house when I passed by. Lacy yellow kitchen curtains danced in the slight breeze. Hurried movement appeared at the window. I’d seen Mr. and Mrs. Banks many times over the years whenever I’d visit my own family. But after our breakup, the occasional impromptu meetings felt awkward.

  I knew Justin was staying with his parents until he found a place of his own. I wondered if he was up at this hour. School didn’t start for another two weeks.

  I double-checked the address on the driver’s license as I continued down the street, searching the house numbers for a match. I located the cozy two-story partially bricked home in the middle of the block. Beautiful flowerbeds flanked both sides of the driveway. A huge corkscrew willow tree dominated the small lawn, its gnarly branches scraping gently against the front of the house.

  A quick glance at my watch alerted me that it was six forty-five. I didn’t plan to spend any time here. Once I’d returned the wallet, I’d be on my way to work.

  I eased past a blue station wagon in the driveway, carefully avoiding the manicured lawn. It was obvious someone took great pride in their gardening. Recalling the harsh face of Mr. Black from the previous evening, I surmised it was doubtful that he was the one with the green thumb.

  At the front door, I rang the bell and waited.

  There was no response.

  I glanced around the street to see if anyone else was around. It felt strangely unnerving to be the only person out at such an early hour.

  I rang the bell again. Someone must be here, I thought. Otherwise, who did the car belong to?

  Deciding they hadn’t heard the doorbell, I reached up and curled my fingers around a brass doorknocker and gently pounded.

  Still no answer.

  I blew out a long breath. Now what? I wondered. I didn’t want to be late for work, but I also didn’t want to have to tell Mr. Winslow that I still had the wallet in my possession.

  Determined not to give up so easily, I walked to the back of the house. Surely he had noticed his wallet was missing by now. If he had already left the house, he had probably returned to the diner in search of it. I decided to give it one last attempt before calling it quits.

  The driveway circled to the back of the house, where I was surprised to find a red Toyota parked.

  Somebody must be home if two cars are here, I told myself. More than likely, no one is up yet.

  I brushed past the Toyota toward the back door. A faint light shone through the blinds. It creaked open when I gently tapped on it.

  “Mr. Black?” I called out softly. I stepped through the entrance, my heart beating erratically. I knew I should turn around and leave, but my legs seemed to have a mind of their own. “Mr. Black,” I said again. “I’m Denise Thomas from Winslow’s Diner. I’m here to return the wallet you left behind last night.”

  A haunting silence filled the dark house. A knot tightened in my stomach.

  Maybe it was the movie I had started to watch last night that had me on alert. Justin had joked about watching a scary movie all alone in a dark house during a storm. Maybe he was right.

  I sucked in a deep breath to quell my irregular heartbeat.

  This is ridiculous, I told myself. I shouldn’t be here. I’m trespassing!

  Against one wall, the white kitchen appliances took shape in the dark room. Through an opening to my left, a tiny flickering of light danced mysteriously along one wall.

  I heard voices!

  My legs refused to move. I stood glued to the spot, contemplating my next move. Should I turn around and run?

  The question was answered when I finally managed to put one foot forward, then another. I sucked in a deep breath, then let it out slowly as I tiptoed through the narrow doorway.

  I almost cried. I silently swore to never watch another scary movie alone in the dark again.

  The voices I’d heard were coming from a television set. And in an overstuffed black leather chair, a woman was resting, still in her nightgown and robe.

  “Mrs. Black?” I choked out loud.

  One arm hung limply over the arm of the chair. Her face tilted slightly to one side. A thick strand of light brown hair partially covered one side of her face.

  The smile that formed on my face relaxed my tense muscles.

  Had the woman fallen asleep watching the same movie as I had last night? I wondered. The thought amused me.

  I walked to the chair and tapped the woman gently on the shoulder. “Mrs. Black?” I whispered.

  The woman’s slender body slid down the chair and crumpled onto the thick carpeted floor. I jumped back, gasping in horror. Icy fear gripped my chest, cutting off my breath. I jerked my hand to my mouth, attempting to smother the scream that threatened to escape.

  My breath quickened. I swallowed hard, forcing myself to steady my pulse. I was trained for things like this. I refused to let panic overtake me. Somehow I found the courage to reach down and feel for a pulse. There was no sign of life.

  I reached into my purse for my cell phone to summon the police, when a loud thump from upstairs startled me.

  Again, panic washed over me. My stomach clenched tight. Instead of grabbing my phone, my hand clamped around the gun in my purse. The television continued to toss frightening shadows against the walls. My body became paralyzed with the fear that someone lurking in the darkness would leap out and strike down his only witness to a crime.

  I inhaled slowly and deliberately. Had I imagined the noise? I wondered.

  My gaze glued to the scene before me. My hand on my weapon, I backed slowly into the kitchen. When my elbow brushed against the back doorjamb, I spun around and bolted through the back door.

  A million jumbled thoughts raced through my mind as I covered the distance from Benton Street to Lendon Street. Where was Mr. Black while I was inside the house? Obviously, someone had been there. Was he the one upstairs the whole time? It was true that the man had seemed preoccupied the night before while I served him pie and coffee. Had he been contemplating murdering his wife the whole time?

  The image of the tall, dark man flashed through my mind. I remembered thinking he looked the part of a gangster. His dark brown eyes had never once shown any signs of humanity while I jotted down his request and returned with his order. His abrupt departure only seemed to confirm my gnawing suspicion that Michael Black had rushed home to murder his wife while she sat in the overstuffed chair watching a murder mystery on television.

  At the intersection,
I came to a stop, my heart still jumping in my chest. Gasping for breath, I glanced uneasily over my shoulder. Tears of relief flooded my eyes when I realized no one had followed me.

  Mindful of oncoming traffic, I carefully crossed the street. Clutching the ache in my side, I slumped against a streetlight and took long measured breaths.

  Then I started to laugh. Was I jumping to conclusions? I wondered. I had no proof anything criminal had occurred. It was entirely possible that the woman in the house had died of natural causes. Maybe you’re right, Justin, I thought. Maybe I do try to find excitement where there is none. Maybe I do need more training in law enforcement, but wasn’t that the point of working for my uncle Bob in the first place?

  Maybe I was wrong to leave without calling the police, I realized. But how would I explain being in the house? Technically, I was trespassing.

  No, I decided. I wasn’t wrong. I had no proof that anything was amiss. The woman could have died from natural causes. It was even possible that Michael Black wasn’t home to realize it. Leaving was the only thing I could do under the circumstances.

  But whether or not anything criminal had happened, the thing to do now was to notify the police. So far, there was nothing to connect me to Mr. Black’s house. Even if Mr. Winslow told the police I was there returning a lost wallet, all I’d have to do is say no one was home when I tried. I still had the wallet to corroborate my story if I needed to.

  I thought back to when I entered the house. The back door opened easily when I knocked. Other than the woman’s wrist to check for a pulse, I was pretty sure I hadn’t touched anything with my hands once I was inside. Fingerprints shouldn’t be a problem. There was nothing to tie me to the scene.

  I took a deep breath and checked my watch. I’d never make it to work on time now, but it couldn’t be helped.

  I reached for my cell phone, for once thankful that I couldn’t afford a monthly plan. I was almost out of minutes on my prepaid cell. It would be easy to toss it into a trash can once I made the call.