by J. L. Salter
“That’s so romantic.”
Jeff put his glass down. “Did he say anything?”
“I asked him what he would’ve done if they’d stayed for the count of ten. Shane just grinned and said hardly anybody had gotten past seven yet and most trouble disappeared by number four.”
“Ooh.” Connie’s hands were in front of her face. “Did he ask you out?”
“Nobody asked anybody. We just started hanging out together. I guess he figured he was destined to protect me or something. After a couple of months of dating over that summer, he moved in. I’d gotten my own apartment by then—senior year.”
When re-told like that, the episode didn’t sound as aggressive or combative as Beth had later characterized it. In fact, it sounded nearly like a fairy tale, and Connie appeared suitably entranced. In fact, she fanned her face as though the room was suddenly too warm.
“Well, listen, y’all.” Beth cleared her throat. “We didn’t get together to talk about my ex-boyfriend.”
“Right.” Jeff scooted back in his chair again. “We’re looking for motive for two different people: the robber and the stalker.”
“Both targeting Beth and only a few days apart.” Connie frowned.
“And don’t forget the break-in at Shane’s.” Beth finally sampled her tea. Slightly too sweet. “That robber couldn’t have wanted my day planner from 2002. I wasn’t more than twenty years old.”
Jeff held up his hand, as if to silence the room, though no one was speaking. “If this was a Hitchcock film and your day planner was obviously not the target, then the burglar was after something pretty much like it.”
“Do you have anything else like it?” Connie pointed to the book case. “I mean besides those other three, also from college years.”
“Hmm... another book a lot like it. Well, maybe...”
Both of Beth’s friends waited expectantly.
“There was some old diary that Shane showed me once. He’d got it from those dumpster divers a couple months after we moved into Shane’s place... uh, early 2006, I guess. Of course, it wouldn’t make sense for anybody to want that old diary either.”
“Was it in this bookcase with your day planners?” Connie took another small sip.
Beth shook her head sideways.
“So, where is it?” Jeff looked around the room.
“Not sure. It was in a small beat-up suitcase—antique overnighter—with a bunch of pictures and clippings. Junk, truthfully. One of those scavengers traded it to Shane for some weed.”
Connie looked puzzled.
“They were usually stoned on meth before they even left on their all night trash runs. Sometimes they’d come back completely filthy or even bloody... stinking to high heaven. And stop at our place!” Beth reconsidered. “Well, it was the house Shane had just bought from his cousin Stan. Anyhow, if they had something they thought Shane might want, they’d rush over and drag it in—or drag him out—to have a look.”
Jeff had started to write something, but stopped. “Fascinating ritual. But why?”
“For a quick score,” Beth replied. “A few joints before they went back to their hovel and crashed.”
“Sounds... can’t think of the word... horrendous.” Connie wrinkled her nose.
“Yeah. I hated every time they showed up. And that one guy—Ricks—was always so creepy around me.”
Connie tapped her friend’s knee again. “Why did Shane want that awful dumpster trash?”
“He was mainly interested in the photos.” Beth shrugged. “People in costumes standing around on a set... or a stage.”
“Stage... like on Broadway?” Jeff pointed northeast as though they could see New York City from the cottage. “Or like a movie studio?”
Connie looked puzzled.
“Movie stage, I guess. And, from the exaggerated way they were posed, probably before the talkies.” Beth paused. “Shane’s a silent movie buff.” She recalled watching him view old films on TV. “I don’t care for them myself, but he enjoyed some.”
“You may not realize, but about eighty per cent of all the American silent movies ever made have been completely lost.” Jeff nodded. “One of my interests, too.”
Connie exhaled noisily, obviously bored. “What else was in this mystery case?”
Beth shrugged and held out empty hands. “But now I’m reminded of that overnighter again, I’m certain I still have it.” It was the only thing of Shane’s that she’d kept. “Just don’t recall where it is.”
“Why on earth did you keep his musty little suitcase?” Connie swirled the ice cubes in her glass.
“It was actually by accident. I was packing and loading in such a hurry... trying to get it all done before Shane got home that day.”
“If you don’t know where it is, how do you know you have it here at all?” Connie placed her glass on the table.
Must not be sweet enough for her. “I remember seeing it when I unloaded the trailer.”
“You unloaded all your stuff by yourself?”
“With help from Jeff and Tanya.” Beth smiled. “That’s how we met. They were walking by and saw me slumped against the trailer about to cry.”
“Well, if I’d realized you were about to cry, I would’ve kept walking.” Jeff chuckled. “Tanya spotted you and said we needed to help.”
Connie pointed to Jeff. “I thought you lived over near South Quarry Pike.” South of town, it was actually just Highway 266.
“Just visiting somebody we knew here in Old Highlands. But we had to leave their house for a bit, while the other couple argued about something.”
“Domestic bliss all over the place.” Connie rolled her eyes.
Beth turned to Jeff. “Well, do you remember handling a little cheap old suitcase?”
“Not really.” Jeff groaned. “All your stuff was unfamiliar to me, so none of it stuck out. Besides, maybe Tanya carried in that piece.”
Connie’s forehead wrinkled. “Wait a minute. You said you accidently brought that little suitcase all the way from California?”
Beth nodded slowly.
“What if it wasn’t a mistake? Maybe this was your subconscious effort to keep a line open to Shane, knowing he’d want it back... and would, at some point, contact you to ask for it.” Connie looked pretty satisfied with herself. “Ever considered that possibility?”
“No. I leave that to my psychoanalytical friends.”
Jeff gave Connie a discreet glance. He evidently agreed.
Connie left that topic. “Okay. You moved here around Thanksgiving of 2008. And you’re certain you have that particular piece of luggage, since you claim you saw it on move-in day. But you have no idea where it is now?”
Beth looked around her small cottage interior: “Not a clue. Haven’t seen it since then.”
Connie placed both hands on her knees as though she was about to rise. “Why don’t we look for it now?”
“Listen, it’s time for me to get home.” Jeff checked his watch. “My mom-in-law should be gone by now, and Tanya will be wanting some input on the fast-food places.”
“Your wife doesn’t cook?” Connie couldn’t help smiling.
“Not if she can help it. We both work. I can’t cook either. So we go for cheap and quick... but try to limit the junk.” Jeff rose and turned toward the front door.
“Junk! That’s it.” Beth nearly leaped from the couch. “I remember now! The storage shed out back, with all the junk in it. That’s why I haven’t seen it. I never go out there.”
Jeff turned and groaned. “Should I call Tanya and tell her I’ll be a minute?”
“If that case is where I think it is, this might take a lot of minutes.”
Connie’s hand formed the rough shape of a phone. “Ask your wife to bring over a big pizza. My treat.”
Chapter Thirteen
Beth dreaded the prospect of entering the dingy storage shack, but it was almost certainly where Shane’s overnighter resided.
The shed behind
Beth’s cottage had an exterior about like any other neglected utility building, except this was painted hardy-board, which had baked-in color. All around the structure, however, the lower third was covered with that scummy discoloration found in the bottoms of un-used wading pools.
It also differed in height. Rather than six or seven feet inside, this was a full eight feet high with a roof that peaked to nearly twelve feet. High weeds had taken over what was once a modest flower bed in the front. A wooden ramp was present, but its condition warned against any use.
As Beth reached tentatively for the door, Jeff asked, “Any dead bodies in there?” He didn’t seem to be kidding.
Connie looked as though she’d suddenly remembered another appointment. “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea after all...”
“Don’t bail on me now. Besides, it was your suggestion.”
“But I didn’t know bugs were involved.” Connie pointed at a wasp nest and a minute string of ants traveling from ground to rafters.
“Wasps will usually leave you alone if you don’t bother them, but most spiders will attack.” Jeff slowly passed his hand in front of his face as though it were scanning for vicious arachnids.
After a bit of a struggle, Beth managed to pull open the door, with a loud creak and a minor expulsion of dust. She coughed.
“Turn the light on, quick!” Connie grabbed Beth’s arm.
“No power out here. Just windows... natural light.”
“Not much light getting through those things.” Jeff nodded with a grave frown. “Think we can open them?”
“Better check for your attack spiders, first.” Connie poked his shoulder and pointed. Many items hung from the exposed rafters and most had spider webs.
There were three sizeable windows but one was blocked by shelves. With considerable difficulty, Beth opened an accessible one and Jeff managed the other. Connie watched, her arms folded tightly.
“So where is this suitcase?” Jeff squinted in the semi-darkness. Except for the shelving directly opposite the open doorway, hardly any section of the shed’s interior had suitable illumination.
“No idea. We’ll just have to look.” Beth started on the left side.
Jeff began scanning the right.
Connie had an idea. “I’ll go buy some flashlights at the mall. Be back in about an hour.”
“No you don’t!” Beth clutched her elbow. “We started this as the three musketeers.”
“Don’t you have any flashlights inside?” Jeff remained alert for spiders.
“Yeah, I do. Connie, go look in the kitchen drawer. If that one’s dead, check in the garage. If that’s no good, I think there’s one on the bedroom floor by my night stand.”
“The mall is sounding better and better.” Connie had some difficulty exiting the shed, however, since the ramp was off limits.
Through the grimy window, Jeff watched Connie enter the cottage’s back door. “Think we’ll ever see her again?”
Beth ignored the question and didn’t even shift visual attention from the dusty shelves on her side. “Nothing down low over here. Can’t see the higher shelves.”
“Don’t look at me. I’m the short Denzel Washington, remember?”
Get over it. “There’s supposed to be a step ladder in here somewhere.” She looked around the dim interior.
“I think I see one way up over there.” Jeff pointed. “But you’ll need a step ladder to reach it.”
Beth groaned. “Maybe I can reach it if I stand on this box.” She shoved the slightly rickety crate into approximate position with her foot. “Help me hold steady.”
Jeff approached slowly. “What do I hold onto?”
“Uh... my waist, I guess.” She exhaled. “Any problems?”
“Okay by me. But let the record show this was consensual.” His smile looked exaggerated.
“Oh, hush. Just steady me and I’ll get the ladder.”
As Jeff’s hands bracketed Beth’s waist, Connie arrived with three flashlights and squealed. “You two want some privacy?” Then she cackled.
“Very funny. You’re taller than me, Connie. You get the ladder down.”
“Good grief... I’m taller than both of you.” Chivalrous was Sir Jeff. “Let me get it.” Sometimes the simplest solution was the most elusive.
With Beth and Connie each steadying one of Jeff’s slender hips, he was able to pull down the ladder... and a face full of dust. “Why would anybody put a ladder on the top shelf?” He spit dryly and wiped his eyes on his sleeve. Then he set up the four-foot contraption.
Connie held up each light. “None of these has anything close to full power and I couldn’t find any new batteries. The blue one has the best light, though.” She began shining that beam among the shelves in the darkest part of the shed’s interior.
In one corner they found a soiled pet carrier, a water-stained box holding pots and pans, some moldy decorative baskets, a stack of books which insects had completely overtaken, and a few large clay flower pots with dirt still inside them. Beth claimed none as her own.
“So whose clutter is this?” Connie still seemed eager to flee.
“Don’t know. The landlord didn’t mention any of it. He said the shed space went with the rental, so I just threw my stuff in on top of what was here. I’d forgotten there was already junk in here.”
“Why would somebody move away but not take their things from the shed?” Jeff blinked from the dust in his eyes.
“Must’ve not have had any value. Or they just forgot it was out here.”
Outside was getting cooler and darker. “Listen, ladies. I figure we’ve only got a few minutes of daylight.” Jeff motioned vaguely through the doorway. “Where the heck is this suitcase?”
Beth grabbed one of the weaker lights from Connie and climbed up the short ladder. “If we can’t see it, that means it’s under something or behind...” She sighed. “Start taking stuff down.”
“You’re kidding,” Connie sputtered. “Look, sweetie, I thought we were just traipsing out here to retrieve a suitcase, not do spring cleaning in Bug-and-Dust Central.”
“She’s got a point, Beth. This is a lot bigger project than we—”
“There! Far corner, up top.” Beth’s dim light barely outlined the handle from behind a stack of small boxes. It was, in fact, as far up in the corner as the shed’s dimensions could allow.
“We can’t reach that. Not without a real ladder.” Jeff eyed the diminutive example.
“Or maybe rent a fire truck with a hook and pull the roof off.” Connie’s idea had less merit and drew groans all around.
“If we stack those—” Beth pointed to some wooden crates, “—over here and put the step ladder on top, you can probably reach it.”
“Are you talking to me?” Jeff was clearly aghast. “That would only get me...” he calculated quickly. “Well, I still couldn’t reach it, even if your rigged platform actually holds up.”
“Of course, you could crawl up on that top shelf and then you might reach it,” Connie replied.
“That shelf won’t hold me.” Jeff shook his head. “You’re lighter than both of us, Connie. You do the climbing.”
Connie just shook her head sideways.
“So what’s so important about this cruddy suitcase that I’ve got to crawl up there on an empty stomach and risk my life to retrieve it?”
Beth tried to think of incentive for him. “Well, if you want to see Shane’s photos from silent movie days.”
“You’re sure they were in this same overnighter?”
Beth nodded.
In the end, Jeff was persuaded to climb. It was perilous and dusty—and he whooped when he saw a nest with “hundreds” of spiders—but he managed to grab the overnighter’s handle and jerk it up and over the stack of heavy small boxes. There was no gentle way to lower the case, so he just dropped it into Beth’s arms. She caught a corner on her collar bone and yelped.
Getting Jeff down was even dicier. With no better suggestions,
he decided to simply jump onto a small clear spot on the floor. It wasn’t anywhere near elegant, but it worked.
After quickly closing the two windows, they exited the storage shed, jammed the door shut, and hurried toward the cottage.
Carrying the case at that point, Jeff started to enter Beth’s back door.
“No!” Beth wailed. “Not inside!”
“Huh? Why not?”
“Bugs, dust, cooties, whatevers,” Connie butted in.
Jeff motioned with his shoulders. “We can’t open it out here in the dark.”
“To the garage.” Beth pointed. “It’s not too chilly and there’s a light, plus some counter space. I even have a few lawn chairs.”
“Why not inside?” Jeff visually inspected his clothing, probably for spiders.
“I don’t want all this stuff in my house. Musty... filthy. Don’t know whose dumpster it’s been in.”
“And probably more spiders.” Jeff checked his watch. “I guess I’d better call Tanya now and get that pizza moving.”
The garage was considerably more hospitable than the storage shed.
While Jeff phoned and Connie looked on silently, Beth carefully cleared an area. Her garage had its own share of clutter and dust. She sneezed a few times and then gently situated the suitcase.
The overnighter may have been functional and, perhaps in some era, even stylish. But now it was a series of unlikely stripes—tan, muted-yellow, and brownish-red—on a base color of faded khaki fabric, which was glued to heavy pasteboard and apparently coated with sealer. Most of the leather edging was missing, but that which remained was stained and flaking. Each corner had a thin brass-looking metal guard: all were dented and tarnished. When tested, the rear hinges functioned, but rather stiffly. One of the two rusty latches in front was twisted nearly ninety degrees.
That said, the outside was far nicer than its inside. Beth flipped open the lid. The smell alone defied description, but it was strong enough to immediately drive back all three investigators. Words like musty, stale, and moldy came to mind, but many elusive adjectives were needed to convey the full impact.
