“Why, yes. Everyone around town knows each other. I know the Blacks quite well,” Whitmore admitted.
“Do you recall a particular conversation you had with him a few years back concerning a young girl by the name of Abby Beesley – your niece?”
“What are you getting at?” Ruth asked, curiously.
“Didn’t she live here with you for a number of years?”
“Yes, she did,” Whitmore replied. “Her father – my brother – and his wife were constantly fighting and we chose to take her away from that toxic environment when she was seven. And I don’t recall having much of anything to say to Clyde Black, by the way. It’s not like we’re pals or anything.”
“Oh?” Mira interjected. “According to Clyde, he destroyed a certain videotape you had made when you were molesting Abby while she was still living at your house.”
“Absurd!” Ruth exclaimed. “How dare you accuse my husband of such filth? He is an honorable, decent man!”
Mira didn’t look Ruth’s way, but kept her gaze on Whitmore.
“He said he came across the tape when he arrived at your office for one of your friendly afternoon chats. And while he was waiting for you to finish up with a meeting, he slipped it into your player and watched the entire thing.”
“He’s a bloody liar!” Whitmore barked.
“He said he confronted you about it and you swore the sex was consensual since the girl was nearly seventeen, although technically, sixteen. He knew it was wrong, but being a close friend of yours, he promised to keep quiet about it and even offered to destroy the tape for you so it wouldn’t get into the wrong hands. I’m sure you noticed since that day, he stopped coming around your office as much as he used to.”
“What?” Ruth was stunned. “What is this man’s number? I cannot believe that. I never saw where this Clyde and my husband had a close friendship. Whitmore is friendly with everybody. That’s why he is so loved and respected in this town. I do not believe that story. Besides, in the nine years Abby lived with us, she never once complained to me that Whitmore was molesting her. She only moved back home with her parents a year and a half ago because she wanted to be with her mother again. Don was drinking more heavily and she didn’t want her mother and little brother fending for themselves as he was getting worse.”
“What about all the teachers and guidance counselors Abby went to over the years telling them that she was being molested and no one did anything?” Wade said. “And the police officials her parents repeatedly went to, who refused to even file a report in order to protect the town’s beloved doctor from slander and prosecution. The doctor who took care of everyone and many folks at no charge. The doctor, who on numerous occasions, put his hands in his own pockets to help those in need and who supported all the town’s worthy charitable causes. No one listened to that girl from the time she revealed what was happening to her when she was just eleven-years-old, up to the time of her death – two days short of her eighteenth birthday. Don, her own father, accused you of molesting his daughter after she returned home and told them what you had done to her all those years!”
“My brother was a drunk, a low-life, an embarrassment to our family,” Whitmore snarled.
“He may have been, but he only started drinking more heavily after his daughter broke the terrible news to him,” Mira said. “He threatened to expose you to authorities outside of the state and if they didn’t give his daughter justice, he said he would kill you.”
“And that’s why I got him first,” Whitmore exclaimed, much to his wife’s astonishment. “I got rid of all of ‘em because none of ‘em were worth anything by having a father and husband like him. He was nothing, but the dirt under my shoe. How dare he threaten me? Who the hell did he think I was?”
“Whitmore?” Ruth was nearly speechless.
His confession also stunned Mira and Wade.
“Larry, get my gun!” Whitmore yelled.
“Sir?” Larry appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, unsure if he had heard right.
“Bring my gun now or you’re fired!”
“Whitmore...” Ruth said again. The unfolding of events did not seem real to her.
Larry arrived moments later with the semi-automatic pistol. After handing it over, he quickly dashed back into the kitchen.
“Whitmore! Have you lost your damn mind? Put that gun down. Now!”
“Stay out of it, Ruth! I’m going to take care of this problem, just like I’ve taken care of all the others.”
“He was your own brother,” Mira said boldly. She had seen dark shadows dashing in all corners of the room, just as Whitmore was handed the gun. “Abby and Trevor were your niece and nephew, your own flesh and blood. You staged the scene to make it look like a murder-suicide, thus placing the stain forever on your own brother, that he killed his wife and children. You are the scum of the earth! And you’re responsible for the deaths of all those people who went down when the bridge collapsed and those who died as a result of the contaminated water supply.”
“What’re you talking about, you idiot? How can I be responsible for any of that?” He was still aiming the gun at Mira and Wade.
“Because Abby’s angry,” Mira replied. “She’s angry at you and at everyone in this town who knew what had happened to her and ignored or covered it up. People heard about it through the grapevine and still said and did nothing. The family you killed are not dead, Doctor Whitmore… they’re very much alive and they want justice.”
In that instant, they found themselves in complete, blinding darkness. Immediately reaching for their cells for use of the light, they quickly discovered that none of them worked. The pitch blackness of the house had a weightiness to it unlike anything any of them ever experienced. And within that preternatural weight of darkness was an immense wave of emotions which yearned for relief, vindication… and blood.
Suddenly, they heard a thump to the floor, then what sounded like tussling. Ruth was crying out to her husband, but for some reason, he didn’t answer her. Larry somehow found his way over to the panic-stricken woman when instantly, a light appeared very brightly behind and around Whitmore. He was on the floor seemingly engaged in fierce struggle with himself, when, as if fighting against gravity, or demons, he positioned the barrel of the pistol directly under his chin. Ruth pleaded with Whitmore to put the gun down, but as much as he clearly attempted to pull it away from his chin and even tried to drop it, his hands would not let go of it, but held it firmly in place. Seconds later, everyone watched as his finger slowly pulled back the trigger and with the loud blast, Whitmore’s blood painted the floor and he fell lifelessly to a slump.
Ruth was screaming her lungs out until she too, collapsed nearby - unconscious. Larry tried frantically to revive her. In that moment, the light surrounding Whitmore’s body faded and the room was in complete darkness again, but only for a few moments until the power supply clicked on.
Wade and Mira heard the sound of sirens in the distance. They later learned that Larry had quietly phoned the police after handing Whitmore the gun, although his conscience told him he never should have given it to him.
Standing around Whitmore’s body were four figures: The boy, Trevor; his sister, Abby; their mother, Tara, and their father, Don. This was the first time Don had appeared alongside his family and Mira wondered why. Perhaps, something prevented him from reaching out before, she thought. Maybe the feeling of unworthiness — that he had let his entire family down, especially his daughter. Whatever it was, Don appeared to have gotten past it. Justice had finally prevailed and they could now rest in peace – everyone, that is, except Whitmore.
12
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Within the hour, it was discovered that the water supply had returned to normal. The governing department was never able to identify the source of the problem, but by further testing, they found that there was no longer any threat of contamination in the main water line nor via the pumping station. Residents of Matthew Town were fr
ee to use their water again.
The Cullens piled into the van early the next morning. Mira stood at the reception counter and handed Doris the keys to their rooms.
“Thank you for doing the right thing, Doris,” she said. “I truly appreciate that.”
“Thank you for caring, Miss Cullen, even though you are not a member of this community,” Doris replied. “It’s strange how Doctor Whitmore killed himself in the exact, same manner he killed his brother. What a shame.”
Mira nodded.
“You know, we’re all guilty of failing Abby, not just Doctor Whitmore. We protected him instead of an innocent child and discriminated against that poor family because they weren’t quite like us. We let those precious children down — Trevor and Abby. They were too young to die.” Doris’ eyes brimmed with tears.
“Talk to them about it,” Mira said. “I’m sure they can hear you. Tell them you’re sorry. Come together as a community and hold a special vigil right in front of the house where they used to live. Get together and clean their yard, mow the lawn, shine the windows. Do something for them now that you never did when they were here. Treat them special and with respect for the first time, and maybe, they’ll forgive you.” Mira smiled slightly, then walked away.
During the drive home, the family talked about the horrendous experience they had in Matthew Town and where they’d want to go next on vacation.
“I never wanna go back there as long as I live!” Rosie’s arms flew into the air.
“Me neither!” said Tommy.
“Me neither!” said Mira, then Norma, then Sara, and lastly Wade.
They managed to crack jokes along the way and likely had the most fun coming home from Sogog than at any other time during the trip.
By five o’clock, they were back in Mizpah. It would be another forty minutes before they arrived home.
“I wanna see the Ferguson house,” Norma said as they got closer to home.
Wade pulled slowly into the yard, minutes later.
“So, this is it?” Norma asked eagerly.
“Yep. Still looks the same to me,” Wade answered, after coming to a stop at the head of the driveway. “The owners are doing a great job maintaining the property, although they refuse to live here.”
“Surely brings back memories, doesn’t it?” Sara inserted.
“Yes, it does,” Mira replied.
Rosie’s eyes veered over to the well in the front yard – the well her grandfather had rescued her from. The thought of him saving her brought tears to her eyes. “Can we go now?” she said solemnly.
“Sure thing, sweetheart,” Wade replied. He quickly pulled out of the yard and proceeded with the one minute drive to his mother’s house.
* * *
“Home sweet home!” Mira exclaimed, when they got home.
As they brought in the luggage and Tommy ran to the refrigerator for Kool Aid, Rosie sauntered to her bedroom, still feeling a bit melancholy since seeing the Ferguson house again.
On entering the room, she saw a man seated at the foot of her bed. He was wearing light grey dress pants and a matching shirt. His head was slightly lowered, but she recognized him instantly.
Feeling the floodgates of emotions escape, she ran into his arms and held him ever so tightly. A cascade of tears were flowing as she inhaled his masculine scent that had never left their home.
“How’s my Pumpkin?” he asked tenderly.
“I’m good, Pops.” She buried her face in his bosom. “I miss you so much!”
“No need, Pumpkin. I’m always with you.” He smiled, rubbing her back for what felt like hours to Rosie. However, only seconds had passed before he was no longer there.
*** The End ***
The Contract
Murder in The Bahamas
Cornelius Saga Series - Book 5
1
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Daniel J. Smith, a forty-eight-year-old colored man, sat alone in the diner across the street from Tinnedale Hospital. He was of medium height and build, which edged closer to the broader side of the scale, but handsome, nonetheless, by many accounts. The clear eye-glasses sat comfortably on the bridge of his nose as he perused the morning newspaper.
Glancing above the daily, he observed a man in a long, white coat a few tables away and a woman wearing a dark blue outfit with high-heeled shoes to match. A younger man sat a couple of tables down. He appeared to be just staring into space as he sipped his hot chocolate, the steam of which steadily curled into the air. Daniel was among the few who quietly sat that morning in Al’s Diner.
His mind drifted to the meeting he had the day before with Lucille Green. That’s the day he flew in from Florida for what was probably his fortieth visit to the city of Nassau. He could see her sitting on the porch of that old, clapboard house. The entire residence had a square footage which nearly matched the size of his master bathroom back home in Boynton Beach to a “t”. Lucille was easily tipping the scales at around three hundred pounds, and every crevice and wrinkle on her sagging skin that sunny day as he sat with her told of countless struggles across her eighty-two years of existence. Daniel couldn’t deny her strong personality neither as she spoke aggressively through her raspy voice.
“It’s a damn shame how they treated Jackie all those years ago,” she roared. “The woman had five small children to take care of before they cuffed her like a common criminal and hauled her off to court. And to think they’d really believe she murdered that woman.”
That woman? Daniel was clearly offended and had to set her straight.
“That woman…” he pronounced “…was my mother.”
The nerve of you was embedded in Lucille’s expression, laced with a tinge of sympathy over the fact that the poor dead woman did indeed give birth to him.
“Right. No offense to you, young man,” she went on. “But I tell you, without a shadow of a doubt, that Jackie Pearl Agatha Smith did not kill your dear mother. My sister didn’t have it in her. Believe me when I say that.”
Daniel recalled her glassy eyes being wide with conviction while she uttered those words.
“They let my sister languish in prison for a whole six years before she succumbed to cancer. She suffered and died in that God-forsaken place for a crime she didn’t commit!” Tears were welling in her eyes. “She was humiliated and her children had to grow up without their mother. That just ain’t right.”
“So did I, Miss Green. I was just three years old when my mother was murdered. I don’t know how well her kids managed as they were coming up, but I was sent to live in foster homes ‘til I turned sixteen. After that, I was on my natural own. They were hard years.”
Lucille didn’t respond.
“I can’t begin to tell you what my life was like, but you sit here practically swearing for your sister when she was tried and convicted in a court of law. Every appeal was denied, yet you say she’s innocent.”
“Young man, I don’t know what you expected before you came here, but if it was for me to look you square in the face and lie to you, I’m sorry I disappointed you. You don’t have to believe a word I said. You can go on believin’ the lies they all told you. But I’m sure you’ve seen from the court papers, each and every witness for the defense said my sister was a good wife and mother even after her husband of twenty years, your father, strayed from his marriage and tangled himself up with your mother. Not only tangled himself up with her, but had a bastard child on top of that!”
Stunned by her choice of words, Daniel, nevertheless, held his tongue. He was taught to respect his elders.
“How you think my sister felt?” Her gaze was intense. “All right, let me answer that for you: Like Hell! She felt like Hell! Yet, she stuck in there and continued doin’ what she always done. She cried for the longest time and was terribly depressed – all this while still havin’ to go to work, cook and clean every day, take care of the children and satisfy her husband every time he came back home from the fields for a visit. Knowin’ wh
en he was away on that God-forsaken job, he was shackin’ up with your mother every chance he got. I hate to put it to you that way, son, but you wanted the facts. There they are! Although your father’s betrayal almost killed my sister, she never lifted a finger to harm your mother. I dare say the real killer has never been caught to this day.”
Daniel’s thoughts were slain by the soft tinkling of wind chimes hanging above the doorway as a tall, solidly built man with dark hair walked in, accompanied by a lady whose facial features closely resembled his. She was wearing black slacks and a light, pink blouse; her hair roped in a ponytail. Daniel immediately pushed the newspaper he had barely read aside and stood up as the couple made their way over.
“Glad you could make it, Wade.” Daniel extended his hand and the two exchanged a firm handshake. “And this lovely lady must be your sister.”
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Smith.” Mira smiled.
“Please call me Daniel. Your brother has spoken very highly of you. I’m indebted to you for coming all the way here.”
Mira glanced at Wade before responding. “I must admit it wasn’t easy. I kind of like had to bribe my boss to give me the time off after Wade explained how serious your situation was.”
“I can’t thank you enough, Dr. Cullen.”
“Mira’ll do just fine.”
“All right.” He smiled. “Please sit down. Can I get something for each of you? Coffee? Tea? A hearty breakfast?”
Wade and Mira each chose a coffee, and Daniel summoned the waitress who quickly took their orders.
“How was your flight?” he asked Mira.
“Smooth, thank goodness! I just got in a while ago, actually.”
The Cornelius Saga Series (All 15 Books): The Ultimate Adventure-packed Supernatural Thriller Collection Page 29
