The Case of the Natty Newfie

by B R Snow

“No,” Jane said, shaking her head. “But it seemed like every minute she was here, she’d be in her room scribbling in her journal.”

  I massaged my forehead as my neurons redlined and my brain felt like it had been set on fire. I waited it out in silence and felt Jane’s intense stare.

  “Are you sure you’re okay? You don’t look too good.”

  “Just a bit of a headache,” I said, reaching into my bag. I washed down a small handful of Advil with a sip of coffee and placed my elbows on the table. “Journal?” I finally managed.

  “Yeah, she kept a very detailed journal,” Jane said. “At least that’s what she told me. I’ve never read it.” She continued to stare at me across the small table. “What is it?”

  “I’m going to ask you a question, and there’s a good chance it’s going to sound very invasive,” I said, still vigorously rubbing my forehead.

  “Okay,” she said, now on guard.

  “Is Melinda’s journal here in the apartment?” I whispered.

  “I’m pretty sure it’s in her bedroom,” she said. “You want to read it, don’t you?”

  I returned her stare and slowly nodded my head.

  “Very much so.”

  “To what end?”

  I gave her a small smile. It was a great question and one I should have been prepared for. I thought about it, decided to play it completely straight with her, then formulated my response.

  “First of all, I’d like to read it because I’m incredibly nosy,” I said, shrugging.

  That got a small chuckle out of her, then I continued.

  “And I need to give it to the police. There could be some clues in it that will help them identify who killed Melinda and is still probably thinking about killing Naylor.”

  “I see,” Jane said, giving it some serious thought.

  “Her journal didn’t come up when you talked to the cops?” I said, then kicked myself under the table. “I mean, I’m assuming the cops have been here.”

  “They were here,” she said. “They stopped by to tell me that Melinda had been killed, then they asked me the usual questions. What was she like? Did she have any enemies? Stuff like that. And then Billy ran across the guy’s foot, and they got out of here as fast as they could.”

  “I think the cops are working from the assumption that Melinda had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “And you’re not?” she said, raising an eyebrow.

  “I was when I got here,” I said, finishing the last of my coffee. “And when the cops are done with the journal, I’d like to make sure that Naylor gets it. Unless you can think of someone else who should get it?”

  She sat in silence for several moments, then shook her head.

  “No, from what she told me, there’s no one in her family she’d want it to go to. I guess Naylor would be the right choice.”

  She got up from her chair and headed into one of the bedrooms. She returned a few minutes later holding a thick notebook and tossed it on the table. It landed with a thud.

  “Do you want to take a look at it before I go?” I said.

  “No, I gave her my word,” Jane said, shaking her head. “But if you do manage to find all her photos, I’d appreciate it if you could figure out a way to publish the book. She deserves at least that much.”

  “You have my word,” I said, catching and holding her eyes with mine.

  “Okay,” she said, nodding. “Oh, there’s something else.” She grabbed a purse from the coffee table that dominated the floor space in the living room. “The cops dropped her purse off when they were here, and I found this.” She held up a plastic key card. “I think it must be an access card to Naylor’s loft. Are you going to be seeing him?”

  “Yeah, I’m pretty sure I will,” I said, staring at the access card.

  “Would you mind giving it back to him?” she said, handing me the card.

  “Not at all,” I said, again glancing around the hovel. “Are you going to be okay here on your own?”

  “Well, the thought of finding another roommate doesn’t excite me very much,” she said, shrugging. “And if I pick up some extra hours at work, I might be able to swing it on my own.”

  “The life of a college student, huh?”

  “At this point in my life, I thought I’d be worried about paying a mortgage off instead of struggling to make rent for a crap-box like this. But what can you do, right? I work my butt off just to send a monthly check to Deep Quarry Enterprises.”

  “I’m going to get going,” I said, getting up as I grabbed the journal and slid the access card into my pocket. “And thanks for trusting me with the journal.”

  “Please don’t disappoint me,” she said, leading the way to the door.

  “I’ll do my best,” I said, pulling my coat on and zipping it up.

  “And drive carefully out there. They’re saying we might get another half a foot.”

  I waved goodbye and tucked the journal under my coat as I walked outside. I hopped into the SUV, tossed the journal onto the passenger seat, then used my navigation system to find the address of Deep Quarry Enterprises. Their office was also located on Devil’s Way Road not far from Jane’s building, and I pulled into their parking lot, parked in front, and went inside. I spoke briefly with the clerk at the front desk then handed him a credit card and instructed the surprised man to prepay Jane’s rent through the remainder of her lease.

  Chapter 15

  Doing my best to keep my promise to play better with others in the same sandbox, especially the cops, I decided to give Bill and Shirley a call and let them know about the journal. I reached into my pocket, then cursed under my breath when I remembered that I hadn’t borrowed Josie’s phone before I’d left this morning. I turned onto a side street and pulled over. I punched the word shopping into the navigation system and located a mall not far from where I was. I followed the directions and was soon wandering around a crowded multi-floor structure searching for the phone store. I found it near the food court, stopped to grab a hot dog, then walked into the store and quickly polished off my snack as I looked at all of the phones. After the clerk told me that it would take at least a couple of hours before a replacement phone would be activated, I opted for a pre-paid phone and headed back outside. I finally remembered where I’d parked, climbed in behind the wheel, then spent a few minutes trying to organize my thoughts.

  I called Josie first.

  “Hey, you’re up,” I said.

  “Yeah, I couldn’t get back to sleep,” she said. “I’m watching a bad movie. Whose phone are you calling on?”

  “I bought a burner phone at the mall,” I said. “I need a favor. Can you grab Shirley’s number from your call history?”

  “Can I do that while we’re on the phone?” she said.

  I frowned.

  “I’m sure you can,” I said.

  “But you don’t know how to do it, right?”

  “Not a clue. Just call me back when you find it.”

  Seconds later, the phone rang, and I jotted down the number.

  “Thanks.”

  “You need anything else?”

  “Not at the moment,” I said. “But I might need your help deciphering a journal later on.”

  “Journal?”

  “Long story. Is Chef Claire back yet?”

  “No. I imagine she’ll be out there most of the day.”

  “Okay, enjoy your movie. I gotta run.”

  I punched the detective’s number into the phone and Shirley answered on the second ring.

  “Detective Billet,” she said, barely managing to get her name out through what sounded like a bad head cold.

  “It’s Suzy. You sound awful.”

  She sneezed into the phone then coughed several times.

  “You should hear what Bill sounds like,” Shirley said, then blew her nose. “I think we have the flu.”

  “Well, I was going to drop by and give you something, but maybe it can wait a day.”


  “Yeah, not a good idea. Believe me, you do not want this,” she said. “What is it?”

  “Melinda’s journal.”

  She sneezed several times in succession then blew her nose again.

  “She kept a journal?” she said.

  “Yeah, I haven’t looked at it yet, but her roommate said she wrote in it all the time.”

  “You went to her apartment?”

  “Uh, yeah,” I whispered. “I just happened to be in the neighborhood.”

  “Nobody ever just happens to be in that neighborhood,” Shirley said, adding annoyed to her list of maladies. “Why didn’t the roommate say anything about the journal when we were there?”

  “She said you didn’t ask,” I said. “And then a mouse ran across Bill’s foot and you two got out of there.”

  “Yeah, he’s a big baby about things like that,” she said, then burst into another coughing fit.

  “Any update on when Naylor is going to allowed to go back to his loft?”

  “Tomorrow,” she said. “We’ve done all we can do there.”

  “Any luck finding anything useful?”

  “Nope,” she said, then started sneezing again.

  “Go back to bed,” I said. “I’ll give you a call tomorrow.”

  “Try to stay out of trouble,” she said, then ended the call.

  I put the phone away and looked out through the windshield and realized just how hard it was snowing. I decided that getting off the road was a wise choice and that the prospect of reading Melinda’s journal in the warmth and comfort of Max’s living room sounded pretty good. I drove back to his place and walked up the driveway. I found Josie stretched out on a couch with an open bag of bite-sized sitting on her chest.

  “Hey, you’re back,” she said, sitting up and turning the TV off.

  “Yeah, it’s getting pretty nasty out there,” I said, removing my coat and holding the journal up. “Feel like doing a little light reading?”

  I sat down next to her and opened the journal to the first page.

  “Her roommate gave this to me,” I said, scanning the first entry.

  “That was nice of her,” Josie said, also reading. “I hope you thanked her.”

  “Yeah, I did,” I said, turning the page. “I paid her rent for the next seven months.”

  Josie glanced at me, then frowned and shook her head.

  “I probably would have gone with a gift card, but that’s just me,” she deadpanned.

  I flipped through the pages of the journal that were filled with poems, short quotes, and various personal observations.

  “Let’s take a look at her last entry,” Josie said.

  “Good idea,” I said, flipping to the page. “It’s another poem. Life in Moments. The roommate said that was going to be the title of the book she was working on.”

  I placed the journal between us, and I popped one of the bite-sized as I read.

  Life in moments, the gray voyeur says to me.

  Just watch closely, and you shall see.

  Everyone at work and play

  Every day they lie and lay

  Everything out on display

  It’s just life in moments, she says, you see?

  And every day is free

  Seeing is believing, the gray voyeur says to me.

  Cut wide and deep, by her, not he.

  Sun-filled skies won’t stop the rain

  Whispered pleas can’t explain

  Five hundred notes won’t kill the pain

  It’s just life in moments, she says, you see?

  And every day is free

  “Okay,” Josie said, looking up from the journal. “I’ve got no freaking idea what she’s talking about.”

  “Me either,” I said, frowning. “But we’re pretty smart. We can figure this out, right?”

  “I don’t like our chances,” Josie said, laughing. “The gray voyeur? What’s that? Some reference to an older guy? Maybe she had a sugar-daddy.”

  “Anything’s possible,” I said, rereading the poem. “But the first verse reads more like someone is giving her advice. You know, trying to teach her about life.”

  “Yeah, I can get that,” Josie said, staring down at the page. “Just watch closely, and you shall see.”

  “Then at the end of the verse the she says, you see? sounds like the voyeur is checking to make sure she understands.”

  “That would mean the gray voyeur is a woman,” Josie said.

  “I suppose it would,” I said, frowning.

  “How old is the roommate?”

  “Mid-thirties, at most.”

  “Then I doubt if Melinda was referring to her,” Josie said.

  “No, that’s not it,” I said, rereading the poem again. “The second verse has to be a reference to some personal pain Melinda experienced. Can’t stop the rain. Whispered pleas can’t explain.”

  “Yeah, I agree,” Josie said, reading. “Cut wide and deep. She has to be talking about some sort of personal loss.”

  “But what the heck does the five hundred notes reference mean?” I said, frowning.

  “Love notes?” Josie said, glancing up.

  “That’s a lot of love notes to write,” I said, laughing. “I probably would have gone with a gift card.”

  “Funny,” Josie said, reaching for the bag of bite-sized. “Maybe it’s a musical reference?”

  “Now, that’s a good thought,” I said, nodding.

  “Thanks. But five hundred notes would be a pretty short piece of music, wouldn’t it?”

  “Probably. Maybe. I don’t have a clue. I’m confused.”

  “Maybe about some of the details,” Josie said. “But from a big picture standpoint, we’ve got a young woman who’s had something bad happen to her. And now she’s being taught some life lessons by an older woman in the hope that it helps her get over it. But I don’t get the every day is free.”

  “I think it means that everything you need to see is right there for the taking,” I said. “All you need to do is look hard.”

  “And it’s the last thing she wrote,” Josie said. “That has to mean something, right?”

  “My guess is that this poem was the one that was going to tie the theme of the book together,” I said.

  “Which means she was probably close to finishing it,” Josie said. “What was she going to call it?”

  “Life In Moments: A Voyeur’s Guide,” I said, reaching for another bite-sized.

  “I can only imagine what those photos look like,” she said, laughing.

  “I thought the same thing when her roommate first mentioned it,” I said. “I was envisioning some sort of collection of porn passed off as art. But now, I don’t think that’s it.” I drifted off and let my neurons do their thing. “I think the voyeur reference is about someone who just watched life very closely. I don’t think it’s a sexual reference.”

  I flipped through the journal and scanned some of the other pages. I came to a stop when I landed on a page that had a single sentence written on it in a flowing calligraphic script.

  “The best way I’ve found to hide a secret is to keep it in plain sight,” I said, frowning at the sentence. “What the heck does that mean?”

  “No idea,” Josie said. “Keeping a secret in plain sight. Maybe it’s about wearing your heart on your sleeve? That sort of reference?”

  “No, I don’t think that’s it,” I said, my neurons starting to bubble. “She chose her words very carefully. And she didn’t say keeping a secret. She said hiding. Hiding a secret in plain sight.”

  My neurons exploded, and I visibly flinched. Josie jumped, startled.

  “I really wish you wouldn’t do that,” she said, shaking her head. “One of these days it’s going to signal that you’ve had a stroke, and I won’t recognize it.”

  “Sorry,” I said, staring off into the distance.

  “Okay, Snoopmeister, talk to me.”

  “I need to get into Naylor’s loft,” I said, nodding.

&nb
sp; “Man, you could have given me a thousand guesses,” she said, laughing. “You think that Melinda hid some secret in plain sight at his place?”

  “I do,” I said, nodding. “But the cops haven’t found anything.”

  “Well, a couple of problems with that idea come to mind,” Josie said. “Like getting into Naylor’s loft in the first place.”

  I reached into my pocket and showed her the access card Melinda’s roommate had given me.

  “You got a key to his place?” she said, frowning.

  “Melinda’s roommate found it in her purse after the cops dropped it off. She asked me to return it to Naylor.”

  “Which you’re going to do, right?”

  “Yes, just as soon as I’m finished with it.”

  “How do you know it’s actually a key to his place?”

  “Because it’s identical to the one that Bill and Shirley used when I was there the other day.”

  “Okay. Problem number two. His loft is a crime scene,” Josie said.

  “Not anymore. I talked with Shirley earlier, and she said the cops are done with it, and Naylor can move back in tomorrow.”

  “So, just wait until tomorrow,” Josie said, shrugging.

  “No, I can’t do that,” I said. “There’s still a chance that Naylor is somehow involved in this.”

  “You said yourself that you were sure he wasn’t.”

  “I think things might be different now,” I said. “Maybe Naylor is trying to steal Melinda’s idea and wants to publish the book under his own name.”

  “That’s a total reach even by your standards,” she said, shaking her head.

  “Yeah, it probably is,” I said.

  “But you still haven’t figured out a way around the biggest problem,” Josie said. “So, I don’t like your chances of getting in there.”

  “I’m not following,” I said, staring at her.

  “You have to get past the security desk,” Josie said. “You can’t access the elevators to the lofts until you go past security. And they know all the residents very well, and all the guests have to sign in.”

  “Geez, you’re right,” I said. “I completely forgot. I’d probably have to show ID, and I really don’t want my name in the guest register. That would be very hard to explain.”