Legacy of Silence

by Flo Fitzpatrick

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  MIRANDA STARED AT the young lawyer who was now headed for prison. “You broke in here multiple times trying to steal Virginia’s journals. You pointed a gun at two people I love—and me—and all you can say is she left clues!”

  Brett shook his head. “I wasn’t going to use it. The gun. Really. I’m sorry. I didn’t think you’d be home and I panicked.”

  “That’s the stupidest excuse I’ve ever heard. How you made it through eighth grade, much less college and law school, is beyond amazing.”

  Officer Hernandez knocked at the door before Miranda could ask any more questions. He and two other policemen placed handcuffs on Brett’s wrists and read him his rights. Hernandez stayed with Russ and Miranda while the other officers escorted Brett outside.

  Hernandez turned to Miranda. “I can’t wait to hear how you and Gerik managed to disarm our suspect. I’m sure it’s good. I’m also assuming it was moderately legal but even if it wasn’t, I’m not sure I care.”

  Hernandez settled into a kitchen chair and pulled out his notebook. “Now then, could you please walk me through what just happened?”

  “Is it okay if I bring Jesse in here? I want him to know he’s safe now. He lip reads a little but it’s not enough to be able to follow a police Q and A. I’m sure he’ll love seeing your uniform!”

  “I’d actually like to meet him.”

  Miranda hurried into the den and brought a still terrified Jesse back into the kitchen. He visibly relaxed when he saw that Brett was gone and he smiled when Officer Hernandez let him hold his badge, but he was still in need of some comforting.

  Miranda let Phoebe and Spero back inside, then sank into one of the kitchen chairs and signed for Jesse to join her.

  “Jesse and I have been staying here alone. I guess Brett didn’t know that.”

  Hernandez nodded. “Go on.”

  With the child happily settled on her lap and both dogs curled around her feet, Miranda proceeded to give Hernandez the play by play of events that began when Brett rang the doorbell. The officer’s mouth tightened when Miranda described Jesse’s fear once the child realized he was in a dangerous situation.

  “This guy’s slime.” Hernandez said. “Anyone who threatens a kid should be locked up forever.”

  “Agreed,” Miranda said.

  “Go on.”

  Miranda finished telling him how Russ how gotten the gun away from Brett. He’s my hero!

  Russ laughed. “Tell him how you thwacked the guy across the stomach after doing some pretty amazing stunts.” He grinned at Hernandez. “I’m marrying a ninja.”

  “That reminds me. Congratulations! Thanks for the invitation. I’m RSVP-ing in person for both my wife and me, although I hadn’t expected to give you an answer while arresting someone.”

  Miranda was finally able to smile. “Thank you. For the congrats, I mean. I’m really happy y’all are coming to the wedding. And thanks for getting here so fast and removing that man from our presence. I’m still trying to process that he burgled the place multiple times and waved a gun in our faces. He has absolutely ruined his life. That’s sad.”

  Russ read her comments on the Dragon and said, “Sad is an understatement.”

  Hernandez rose. “If y’all would sign the statement, I’ll get out of your hair. Hopefully Mr. King will plead out and we can all avoid a trial.”

  Miranda gently moved Jesse off her lap, grabbed a pen and wrote her name at the bottom of the statement. She watched Russ do the same then escorted Hernandez to the front door.

  “Thank you again.”

  “No problem. I’m just relieved for all of you that this is over.” Hernandez headed for his car, waving and calling, “Wedding. See you then.”

  Russ and Jesse were waiting for her in the den.

  I’m exhausted, she signed. I can’t believe this just happened and Brett turned into a criminal because Virginia told him something valuable was here.

  “Insane” was Russ’s sole comment.

  Miranda grabbed the Dragon. “What? Brett? His so-called excuse for breaking, entering and threatening? The past half hour? The whole past six months?”

  Russ smiled. “All of the above. Plus the idea that someone would commit multiple acts of burglary and point a gun at three people all for what? The off chance that he could find what no one else has been able to find, including you and me?”

  Miranda shrugged. “I do have one more journal to go through. The last entry was made only a week before she died.”

  Russ nodded. “I’ll let you do some reading. I’m going to hit the attic and set up the first part of Jesse’s train. Using my hands to build something might help me calm down. I’m embarrassed and furious that Brett was my lawyer. Although, in my defense, I didn’t hire him. Virginia contacted his firm, which is reputable even if they missed the mark when they hired the guy. Anyway, do you need anything before we head upstairs?”

  Miranda smiled. “I’m good. I gather train tracks and other railroading objects are in the bag? That’s why you guys were so long?”

  “Guilty. We were going to bring home the actual model engine and a caboose but the one we wanted wasn’t in stock. The owner will give me a call once it’s in.” He kissed her firmly on the mouth, which caused a delay in the construction plans, then he picked up Jesse’s bags and headed for the attic.

  Jesse glanced at Miranda and signed for permission to follow the man who was going to be his new dad. She signed back, Sure. But be nice and maybe bring a couple of gingerbread cookies for Russ? Jesse raced into the kitchen and blissfully grabbed about ten. Miranda didn’t stop him. He paused at the foot of the stairs, then ran back and offered a cookie to her. She grinned at him, wondering how to sign you’re a charming little cherub, although she assumed he knew that, in her eyes, he was too cute for words.

  Miranda took a bite of cookie as she walked back to the den and turned on the floor lamp behind the rocking chair. She flipped through the first pages of Virginia’s last journal until she found the date that mentioned the Brennan firm and the first will.

  I called Dave Brennan and asked if he’d mind coming to the house as I did not drive. I promised tea and kolaches but Mr. Brennan appeared to be a kind soul who would have made the trip without what he called major perks! Once he and his young associate arrived I handed them my list for where I wanted my possessions to go and told them to be sure that my journals would not be destroyed. There is value there. A few hours later, I did the same with a young man from a different firm.

  Miranda sat up straight. Virginia truly had written two wills and signed them both on the same day. The diary suddenly shifted from a memoir to a direct letter. Somehow Virginia had known Miranda would read her last thoughts.

  If you read my other journals you already know that I endured much at Terezin. I lost my son and nearly went mad from the pain. I was forced to work as a tailor for the Nazis who guarded the camp and the officers who visited. Life is ironic. I lived because I had a skill they considered worthwhile. I was a lowly seamstress who was allowed to wear something other than filthy rags to do her work for these butchers while they listened to beautiful music. The same butchers who disposed of the creators of that music as if they were so much garbage. I lost my husband and my child. But I made it out and I made a life for myself in America. Some of my people were liberated, yes, but justice was denied. Please, Miranda, do what’s right. For me. For Benjamin. For my baby.”

  Miranda was determined to find a way to get that justice for Virginia and Benjamin Auttenberg and all the victims of Terezin. She closed the journal, wiped her eyes and carefully placed the book in one of the four cartons that held Virginia’s other diaries. Russ was going to load the boxes into his car and take them to Virginia’s synagogue. If they wanted to donate the journals to the large Holocaust m
useum in Washington, D.C., that was fine. If they wanted to keep them and teach children in Birmingham about an evil past that still affected too many people that was fine, as well.

  The sound of Jesse giggling echoed down the stairs. Miranda felt intensely grateful for the child’s ability to retain his innocence and pleasure in simple activities. She was sorry that Russ couldn’t hear him, but she knew he could see the happiness on Jesse’s face while they planned the construction of what Russ was already calling Auttenberg Station.

  Russ had left the Dragon charging on the hall table. Miranda picked it up and climbed the stairs to the attic in less than a minute. Jesse was carefully drawing his idea of what the train station would look like. Russ glanced up and smiled. “Casey Jones and I are going into business here. The J & R Railroad will be rolling within the month.”

  She tried to smile, but her lip quivered. She couldn’t speak so she signed, That’s great! I can’t wait!

  Russ stood and ran to her side. He put his arms around her and simply held her for a few moments. Finally he asked, “What did you find out?”

  “That Brett King committed crimes for nothing. There are no clues. The value is in the diaries themselves and in honoring those who were slaughtered. Which I firmly intend to do.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  “THIS EXHIBITION IS so smokin’ hot, I may have to call my fiancé to come over with sirens blazing and hoses ready to douse the flames.”

  Miranda blinked. “I thought your fiancé was a surgeon? Are operating rooms that wild these days?”

  Darci chuckled. “You’re so behind the times, Miranda! The doc was May and June. It’s October—I’ve moved on. My current fiancé is a captain at the Vestavia Hills fire station. Oh. You missed August, too. He was a professor Yusuf Durani introduced me to. Nice but dull.”

  Miranda coughed in an effort to hide her amusement. “Well, I suppose Darci Becker actually becoming Mrs. Anybody is not really in the works anytime soon.”

  Darci grinned. “Got to keep up my rep!”

  Miranda grinned back. “I do agree with you about the show. This exhibition is hotter than hot. Kamyar’s works are amazing and adding the Auttenberg you were able to buy a few months ago somehow pulls everything together.”

  Darci nodded. “I’m a flake in many ways but I’m a very talented one when it comes to anything artistic. Which reminds me, nice job tonight. Having you sing a few Cat Stevens tunes was a stroke of genius on my part.” She squealed. “Ooh! Check it out! It’s the critic from New York! He made it! We’ll be in the Times!”

  “Wow! That’s a coup!” Miranda exclaimed. “How’d you manage to get him down here?”

  “We used to be engaged.” She ran off in the direction of a man standing in front of a piece entitled Tuesday’s Dead. The critic had dressed in character, wearing an elegant charcoal-gray suit with a cranberry-colored silk scarf draped around his neck and black boots that shouldn’t go with a suit but somehow added to the look of wealth. He and Darci exchanged platonic hugs then began a rapid-fire conversation, clearly about the painting.

  Miranda chuckled. Her gaze switched to Abra and Yusuf, who were talking with Russ. Even from twenty feet away Miranda could sense the varied emotions from all three. Pride and pleasure at the sight of Kam’s works clearly warred with the sadness of knowing he would never paint again. Kam Durani would never see those works hanging in a prestigious gallery and he would never hear the accolades that were his due.

  The Duranis and Russ were joined by Tim and Farrah Nolan, who’d last been standing in front of Auttenberg’s Performance. Miranda glanced around the gallery and smiled at the sight of an excited Jesse signing with Yasmin as they discussed one of Kam’s paintings with the attitude of experienced art critics. It was evident the young pair were acclaiming the works as pivotal and groundbreaking and guaranteed to touch the heart of any and all who attended.

  The latter was a given. Darci’s taste in art was impeccable and she had a surprisingly generous spirit. She had invited the families of the soldiers killed in the blast that had taken Kam’s life and paid for their travel expenses out of gallery funds.

  Miranda loved all of Kam’s artwork but she kept returning to Silent Sunlight, not only because of the beauty of the piece but for the memory it brought of the day she and Russ first broke down a few barriers. She was gazing at the piece when she was joined by an elderly gentleman who gestured toward the illustration and quietly said, “This is his best, I think. I’ve never seen anything that so expertly combines loneliness with peace.”

  Miranda nodded. “I totally agree.” She glanced up at the man then squinted. He seemed familiar. “This might sound odd—” she smiled “—but have we met?”

  “Not officially, but I did come backstage and shake your hand after your performance at the Alabama Shakespeare Festival about seven years ago. Kiss Me, Kate. You were swamped with admirers.”

  Miranda sighed. “And critics, if I recall!”

  He laughed. “Not that many. It was a great show and you were excellent as Bianca. I could tell even then that you’d do well on Broadway. I also enjoyed your singing tonight, especially your rendition of ‘Silent Sunlight.’” He extended his right hand. “Proper introductions. I’m Winston Rayborn.”

  Miranda’s eyes widened. “Wait. As in Judge Winston Rayborn? The nut— Uh...”

  His chuckle turned into a laugh. “Nutcase? I prefer eccentric but yes, I’m that judge. And I know quite well that you’re Miranda Nolan, although I understand your last name is soon to change and I won’t see you or your intended in my courtroom because of that. Congratulations!”

  “Thank you! Funny how things turn out, isn’t it,” she mused.

  He winked. “Not if one knew Miss Virginia. She was a hopeless and incorrigible romantic, and she loved you and Russ very much.”

  Darci swept up behind the judge and linked her arm in his. “Winston, darling! I’m so glad you came! Ready to buy?” The impetuous gallery owner hustled Rayborn away before Miranda had a chance to ask exactly what he’d meant about Miss Virginia. She almost called out asking him to come back but Darci was briskly escorting the judge toward Kamyar’s piece called Into White.

  Miranda headed toward some unusual pieces near the back of the room. She hadn’t seen them at the Duranis’ house.

  Russ met her as she was weaving through the crowd. “You finally spotted these two. There’s a story behind them.”

  Tell me.

  “We’d been camped in this tiny village about a hundred miles from anything resembling a city. Everyone was on edge. Supplies were low. Kam didn’t have paper or a canvas but he was determined to draw that village. We didn’t have much food, either, but we seemed to have a great supply of army-issue blankets. Kam always managed to have some paints stuffed into his kit, so he decided to use what was at hand. Et voilà! He created Moonshadow and Peace Train.”

  They’re beautiful. Do you know if Abra and Yusuf are putting them up for sale?

  “I’m not sure. I know at least five of Kam’s pieces are going home with them. But they haven’t told me which ones. Did Darci tell you that proceeds from the sales are going to the wounded veterans association of Alabama?”

  Miranda smiled then spoke into the Dragon. “She did not mention whether or not her commission would be part of the donation.”

  “With Darci, one is never sure.”

  Miranda continued to stare at the two works. “I’m totally in awe that Kamyar was able to depict the village with such clarity. On wool! Wow.”

  Russ nodded.

  Miranda suddenly stood absolutely still. Then she grabbed Russ’s arm. “I have just been struck by a lightning bolt in a blue sky!”

  “What?’’

  “See if you can wrest Jesse away from Yasmin and I’ll say goodbyes to everyone. We’re good he
re. We need to head back to Virginia’s.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m either brilliant or a complete fool. Possibly both. We’ll see.”

  Jesse was reluctant to leave, but he was also showing signs of exhaustion, having been at the exhibition for several hours. After hugs with friends had been exchanged and waves waved, along with cries of “We’ll see y’all next week at the wedding!” they were off.

  Thirty minutes later Jesse was asleep with the faithful Phoebe curled up beside him. Russ turned to Miranda. “Mind telling me why we tore out of there like the cops were after us?”

  Attic.

  “Okay.”

  They climbed the stairs, opened the door—carefully avoiding stepping on any pieces of the J & R Railroad and Auttenberg Station—and ended up in the corner of the attic where Virginia’s tailoring mannequin stood.

  Miranda pointed to the mannequins. “It struck me when we were looking at Kam’s paintings on wool. Art isn’t always created on paper or canvas. Fabric. Beautiful pieces can be painted on fabric. Virginia told Brett the diaries were the threads of her life. She was a seamstress and a tailor. She wrote in her last diary that she was allowed to have ‘good’ dresses for the days she was forced to sew for the Nazis. Apparently they didn’t want the person taking measurements to be dressed in rags.” Her expression darkened. “So civilized of them. Anyway, what if Benjamin Auttenberg found himself in a similar position to Kam in that village? No paper. No canvas. Just paints or an ink source. Or what if Benjamin simply grew tired of having his works snatched up for Nazi generals to hang on their walls? Maybe he wanted to preserve something special for Virginia. Something he was determined no one could take from her.”

  Russ gently removed a wool dress from the mannequin it had adorned for over seventy years. He laid it on a clear space on the floor while Miranda opened one of Virginia’s old sewing kits and hunted for a basting ripper. She found one in perfect condition and knelt on the floor next to a gray wool dress so shapeless it could have been a maternity shift. Turning the garment inside out, Miranda carefully clipped the stitches that attached the cotton lining.