by A. L. Jambor
The end tables near the bed were full of outdated medication, small notebooks with long lists, and half-read paperbacks. Mari was frustrated. So far, she'd found nothing to connect Charlie to the murder, or to his time in the lighthouse, not even a photograph of him in front of it. She sat on the bed, which was at least two feet off the ground, and kicked her feet. She ran her hand over the chenille bedspread and pounded the feather pillow at the head.
Perhaps there wasn't any evidence left for her to find. Maybe that's what Charlie was trying to tell her. Just leave it alone. Let Ginger live in peace. This kind of exposure would hurt her the most, and Charlie knew it. As she had these thoughts, she slid off the bed and decided to let it all go. What was the point of it all anyway? The murderer was dead. Charlotte had no family in need of closure, and Ginger was a sweetheart. Let sleeping dogs lie, her mother would say.
"Okay," Mari said.
She went around the bed and stopped. Her curiosity would drive her crazy if she didn't at least look under the bed. If she found something, she'd get rid of it, that's what she would do. She got on her knees and lifted the bedspread. There was something under there, some kind of metal box. She crawled under the bed until she reached it and shoved it out the side.
It was very old and was sealed with a padlock. Mari went downstairs to retrieve the picks from her bag. When she returned, she saw Ginger in the room across the hall, so Mari left the bedroom door ajar. She looked at the rusty lock and began working on it with her pick. It wasn't long before it popped open.
The box contained old papers, birth certificates, and Charlie's discharge papers from the Army in 1953. Mari was disappointed, but she wasn't ready to give up. She turned the box over and dumped the contents onto the bed.
She shook the box and heard something rattling inside. The bottom of the inside was covered with a piece of wood. She slammed it upside down against the carpeted floor until a rectangular piece of wood fell out, along with the contents of the secret compartment -- a knife in a plastic bag, the knife Charlie had used to stab Charlotte. Mari had found her smoking gun.
Mari
Mari sat on her bed and looked at the knife. It looked like an ordinary steak knife. She studied the marks on the blade. Were they rust or Charlotte's blood?
When Mari first saw it, her excitement blotted out any thought but to take it to the police and have them run a DNA test. She'd put everything back into the metal box, and then taken the knife downstairs and stashed it in her purse. She had every intention of getting rid of it, but as the day passed, her need to know grew more intense.
She met Ginger at the bottom of the stairs and tried to contain her excitement, but her hands kept shaking, and Ginger asked her if she was all right.
"Sometimes they do that," Mari said. "Since the accident."
"Oh, I see. Will it get better?"
The look of concern on Ginger's face triggered her guilt, so Mari knew it was time to leave. The sun was going down when Mari left Charlie's house, and Ginger stood on the porch and waved her goodbye. Mari wondered if Ginger had ever seen ghosts in the house. If she had, she never said a word.
Mari picked up a sandwich on the way home. As she ate her sandwich she searched for DNA on her laptop, and then Phil called. She stared at his name on the phone for three rings and then answered.
"Hello," he said.
He sounded sad.
"Hey," she said. "Where've you been?"
"I'm sorting through the stuff stored in my mother's garage. I can't take all of it, and she wants me to sell what I can't take. What have you been up to?"
"I went to Charlie's house to help Ginger sort through his stuff," she said.
"How was it?"
"It's a big place and we barely touched it, but I think she feels better. At least she knows what's there now."
Phil hesitated, and she waited. She could hear him breathing and imagined him sitting knee deep in old DVD's and notebooks as he tried to think of something to say.
"Phil," she said.
"I'm here. I was just wondering if you found anything."
She exhaled. She thought she knew what he would tell her to do with the knife, and she didn't want to hear it. She wanted to think about it long and hard without anyone else's input, not even Phil's, so she took the easy way out and lied.
"No. Nothing significant, just a lot of old election pamphlets and crap like that."
She blushed. She didn't like lying to him. In the past, it had come so easy to lie when she had to get information out of the people she interviewed, but now her morality meter was stuck on high, and when she lied, she felt awful about it.
"Well, I better get back to work," he said.
Before they hung up, she agreed to meet him at the hardware store the next day.
Now, when she looked at the knife, she chastised herself for lying to him, but she didn't call him back to set things right.
Mari laid her head back on the headboard and sighed. She wondered what her old therapist, Colleen, would think about her lying to Phil or stealing the knife from Charlie's house. Many times when her emotions would seesaw back and forth, she would try to shove them to the side and ignore them, but they wouldn't leave her alone. She desperately wanted to talk to Colleen about how to deal with them, but it was more likely that she was just looking for absolution so she could go about her business as usual. The idea of calling Colleen would always pass as Mari thought of her finances, and the drama surrounding her emotions would somehow dissipate as she promised she would do it one day, she would call Colleen.
Mari smiled as she thought of her procrastination. In the past, she had always put things off, and knowing that she could still procrastinate brought a small amount of comfort to her. It meant that not everything in her had been permanently altered, or maybe her brain had healed and if she waited long enough, all the changes she'd been dealing with would disappear, returning her to the person she had been before. She often daydreamed about waking up without pain, without bad memories, and for one split second, she thought it might actually be coming true.
Then she looked at the knife, thought about lying to Phil, and it grounded her to her new reality. Everything had changed and her hip started to throb.
"Damn."
She picked up the plastic bag and looked at the knife. There were visible fingerprints on the handle and she could just make out a touch of red mixed with brown on the blade. Flashes of Charlie thrusting it in and out of Charlotte's body crossed her mind, and Mari threw the bag across the room. That little bastard had killed her, and he'd kept that knife as a trophy for over seventy years!
"Throw it in the ocean and go get your father."
Joan had told him to get rid of it. Was it defiance that made him keep it, or did he lie in bed at night and fondle it, keeping the memory of his kill alive? Had Charlie ever thought of committing another murder?
Mari sat up and tried to recall other murders she'd investigated. Some had killed again, but for most people, a crime of passion was a onetime thing they couldn't control, and it seemed more likely that Charlie was one of those people. The only way she could find out for sure would be to talk to someone in his family about the years he spent in Wisconsin. She had to talk to Birdie, and to do that, she'd need Birdie's telephone number.
She decided to get Birdie's telephone number from Ginger, and if Ginger wanted to know why, Mari would make something up. Another lie. Would Mari blush in front of her? Ginger noticed things, and with Mari's pale skin, blushing was a dead giveaway that she was being less than truthful.
Ginger and Birdie were old, and if Mari volunteered to watch Charlie's house for Ginger after she went home, Mari could ask for both their telephone numbers. It was a good idea and not really a lie. It made her feel better, and she was just about to get off the bed when her phone rang.
She looked at the caller ID and didn't recognize the number, but it might be someone who'd read her resume.
"Marigold Burnside."
"Hello," a woman said.
The voice was familiar.
"Hello."
"Oh, Mari, you sound so good!"
"Thanks."
There was a pause. "It's Kathy, from the show."
"Oh, Kathy, yes, yes, how are you?"
"I'm not so good actually. The guy we hired to take over your job has abandoned us for a movie being filmed in Tibet. I know what we did was hard on you, and you have every right to hang up the phone, but Mari, we're desperate. Would you consider coming back? If you're all better, that is. I don't want you hurting yourself worse or something."
Mari's heart was racing. She could hear it pounding in her ear. A few seconds passed.
"Mari, are you still there?"
"Yes, um, sorry, yes, I'm here. I'm just surprised."
"I told Murray we needed you. You're the best in the business, and now that we had another guy, Murray knows it, too. You'll be getting more money, and after what happened, he's authorized an assistant to travel with you, your choice."
"He wants to make sure if I fall off a cliff, he'll still get my research," Mari said.
"Exactly, oh, Mari, you do sound so much better. How are you?"
"I still have pain sometimes, but my head is working just fine."
She heard the lie and closed her eyes, but held her tongue.
"That's so wonderful. I'm so happy for you. So, what do you think? Do you want to take a chance on us again?"
Mari's heart was still racing. They wanted her back. She'd be working again, doing what she loved. Her hand started shaking. She'd have to go to New York and she doubted they would give her time to get over any leftover fear she might have over traveling. Mari took a deep breath.
"I want my lawyer to go over the contract before I make a decision," Mari said.
"That's doable. I'll email it to you. Is your email the same?"
"Yes."
"So, hopefully we'll see you in a couple of days."
When Kathy hung up, Mari stared at the phone. Her forehead was sweaty and her hand was still shaking. She would have to go to New York City and the idea scared her to death.
She lay back on the bed, felt her chest rise and fall, and focused on her breathing. This is what she had been working for, wanting more than anything, but still, she knew she wasn't the same person. Her mind, her actual brain had changed, and she wasn't sure she could handle the job anymore.
Her mind was not fine, but she wanted this job so badly she willed herself to believe she could do it, even as her thoughts were all jumbled in her head. She needed to talk to Cassie. She got up and looked out the window.
Cassie's car was in the driveway, so Mari ran to her house and went inside the unlocked kitchen door. Cassie was at the table rubbing her forehead.
"You okay?" Mari asked.
Cassie shook her head. "He's at it again."
"Who?"
"Joey's father. He's contesting the child support payments so I'll have to pay an attorney to fight him on it." She looked at Mari. "I don't know what's going on with him. He's never fought it before." She sighed. "I never hated men before, but I'm telling you, after the way he's treated his son, I really have to watch myself when I'm treating a patient that reminds me of his sorry ass."
Mari sat across from her and put her hand on Cassie's.
"I haven't seen you for a while," Cassie said. "What you been up to?"
Mari thought about the knife.
"I just got a call from Kathy, my old boss. She wants me to work for them again."
"So you have to go New York," Cassie said.
Mari nodded. "And it's freaking me out."
Cassie's mouth twisted as she thought about what to say. She wanted her friend to move on, but going back to New York after all this time could cause Mari to regress, especially if she had to deal with a lot of different people at one time. Mari had been living in a small place where almost everyone knew her. She'd been moving at a snail's pace, but if she accepted the position, she'd be climbing aboard a rocket. Was she ready for it, and if not, would she listen to Cassie if she told her it might not be the best thing for her?
Mari had yet to drive a car, and getting her behind the wheel might give her the impetus she needed to get over any lingering effects from the accident. Cassie got up and went to her purse, which was on the kitchen counter. She reached in and got the keys to her car.
"Maybe it's time to take a ride to Oceanville."
Mari froze. Should she be driving? What if it happened again?
"It wasn't your fault."
"I know," Mari said softly. She looked up at Cassie. "And I did walk over the line."
Cassie's eyes lit up. "You did! Oh, Mari, that's so good. You did it and you didn't die."
Mari laughed. "Yeah, I know. I lived to tell the tale."
"So why don't you just go and sit behind the wheel? Just see how it goes."
Mari looked at her hands. "I don't know."
"How about I sit in the car with you?"
Mari swallowed hard. "You would do that?"
"Of course I will."
Cassie put her bag over her shoulder, and then they went outside and Cassie unlocked the car doors before getting in the passenger side. Mari cringed. Seeing Cassie in the passenger seat reminded her of Harry. Maybe it would be better if she got in alone.
You need to do this, Mari thought. Not driving won't bring him back.
No, it wouldn't, and as the thought grew bigger, she began to understand why she hadn't been able to move on. Going through the motions of living wasn't the same as being alive, and for Mari, it meant that if she continued to honor him by being stuck, Harry would somehow be restored. It was her subconscious way of protecting herself from the reality of his death. A person dies and they are gone. They might show up as a ghost, but it's not the same as when they were flesh and blood.
She opened the door and slipped behind the wheel. She reached for the handle to close the door and gripped it tightly. Her knuckles turned white and she began to sob.
"I can't bring him back," she said between gulps of air.
"No, you can't."
"He's dead."
"Yes, and I believe he's in a good place."
Mari looked up and saw her mother standing by the garage. She nodded and smiled at Mari, offering her forgiveness as only a mother can, and Mari pulled the car door shut.
Mari
Phil waited for her on the steps of the hardware store. She was usually waiting for him, and he worried that something might have happened to her, and the idea was causing him to reevaluate his life choices.
Why had he stayed in Cape Alden? He should have left months ago, should have gotten a job, a place to live, gotten on with his life, but then he met her. Now he had a new job, and would soon have a new place to live, but rather than be excited by the prospect of a new beginning, he was sulking. He didn't want to leave her, not when she needed him so much.
He saw her hobbling down the road and she waved at him. He stood and waved back. She looked flushed, like she'd been running, and when she got to him, she threw her arms around his waist and buried her head in his chest.
"I drove!"
He put his arms around her and hugged her.
"You did?"
She pulled her head back and looked up at his face.
"I did. Last night, I drove all over the place."
Phil felt a little let down. He'd hoped she would ask him to help her drive again.
"And I've got some great news, too."
Her broad smiled touched him. She looked so happy, and he wanted to share it with her.
"Let's go somewhere nice to eat," he said. "I'll treat."
"You don't have any money, Phil."
"You're not supposed to say that when someone offers to take you out."
"But it's true. I couldn't enjoy eating food you can't afford."
He put his hands on her shoulders. "I'm taking you to dinner."
She smiled. "Phil, I just l
ove it when you're forceful."
"Yeah, well, keep it up and you'll see how forceful I can get."
She giggled. "Oh, God." She was now laughing so hard she held her stomach. "I just imagined you picking me up and carrying me to Morton's. Caveman Phil."
He smiled and tried not to let her laughter hurt him. He knew he wasn't any he-man, but it was hard knowing that she knew it, too. This was the first time Phil had had to deal with his feelings because of a woman. He turned and walked away from her before she saw him blush.
They stood in the line in front of Morton's and watched the foot traffic on Main Street. The Labor Day weekend loomed ahead and the B&B's were full. A banner announcing a picnic in the park hung over the road strung on lampposts and as she read it, Mari tugged on Phil's sleeve.
"When are you starting that new job? Will you be here on Monday?"
"I have to be. Jerry wanted to close out his books for the season so he paid us ahead."
"That doesn't mean you have to stay."
"Mari, he paid me, I can't just leave."
"Sure you can. What's he gonna do?"
"He could sue me."
"For what, a hundred dollars and change?"
"It was three hundred."
The look on his face reminded her that she should think before she spoke. She'd hurt his feelings, and now she was the one blushing.
"Sorry, Phil, I didn't mean anything by it."
"I know."
"But I can see you're upset."
"Mari, by now I know you well enough to know, oh, just forget about it."
Now what would she do? She had thought about Phil all afternoon, had even talked to Cassie about making him her assistant, but she had forgotten how prickly Phil could be. Ordinarily, she would have shrugged off his insecurity and pressed on, saying something just as bad to shake him out of it, but this time the stakes were higher. She wanted him for an assistant, but could he handle taking orders from her?
She looked at the line and sighed. They would be waiting at least an hour. Still, this was Phil's idea, and if she suggested they go somewhere else, would he be offended?
