“Let’s go, Mr. Weston.”
* * *
Two sheriff’s cars were parked in front of Weston’s home when he and McCourter arrived. The deputies made their way to the front door as Weston and McCourter got out of the car.
“David Weston?”
“Yes.”
A balding deputy handed Weston a tri-folded sheet of paper. “This is a warrant to search these premises. We are authorized to remove any and all items we deem evidentiary to the case at hand. We will make this as quick as possible. We would appreciate your cooperation. If you become a problem we can and will remove you from the premises until which time we complete our search. Do you have any questions?”
Weston turned to McCourter and sneered. He took a long look at the deputies. “If anything is damaged in my home, I will sue you to the full limit of the law. I keep a clean and tidy home. I expect it to be the same way when you leave. Wipe your feet.”
“Please unlock the door.” The deputy took a step back.
Weston unlocked the door and went into the house. Almost without thinking the two deputies followed and wiped their feet on the doormat. McCourter shook his head and followed.
“Please have a seat.” The deputy indicated the sofa in the living room. “Lieutenant, will you stay with him?”
McCourter nodded and took a seat across from the sofa.
The search took less than an hour. The deputies removed a computer tower, laptop, tablet, and a variety of notebooks and a box of unmarked DVDs.
“That’s all for now. We will return your items as soon as they are processed, or the court releases them.” The deputy tore off the bottom goldenrod copy of the three-part NCR form and handed it to Wesson. “That is a receipt complete with the serial numbers of the items we are taking. Lieutenant, do you have anything else you need us for?”
“No, I think we’re done here.”
“Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Weston.” The two deputies turned and left the house.
McCourter made his way to the front door. “I’ll be in touch.”
“What about my car?”
“I believe Mr. Bishop should still be at the school.”
* * *
“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Dupree’s angry growl seemed to fill the house.
“What’s wrong?” Dara entered tentatively from the living room arch.
“TV! That’s what’s wrong. Who watches this crap? My Thousand Pound Life, Bad Girls Club, shows about midgets, three of them, Tattoo Cover Ups, Transitions: Men to Women/Women to Men, Hitler’s Witches, Secrets of the Illuminati, My Secret Habit, Botched Facelifts, I could go on for an hour! No wonder America is so screwed up. Pimple Popping Doctors! Really? What happened to all the normal people? And who the heck are the Kardashians? What do they do? Are they hookers? What is that all about?”
Dara walked across the room and picked up the remote off the couch. “I’ll show you how to fix it.” She held the remote in front of Dupree and pointed at the red power button. “Press here, it all goes away.” She bent forward and kissed him on top of the head.
“That’s not the point. I just wanted to relax and take my mind off things for a while, not be taken to a godless house of horrors freak show.”
“Since when do you watch TV?”
“Never, I just thought…” He faded into thought.
“There is a reason why that is an old square tube TV, not some new hi-def big flat screen thingy. We never turn it on.”
“That’s how people spend their evenings? God help us, I’m serious. This is what the pastor was talking about. An evil that seems right? I feel like I need to go take a shower to wash it all off me.” Dupree said in utter defeat.
“How ’bout we have a cup of chamomile tea and you tell me what has got you so in knots?”
“How about a big glass of chocolate milk?” Dupree looked up and smiled. “You know there was a time I would have had three fingers of single malt and turned off all the lights.”
“And?”
“It seems like another world, another lifetime ago.” Dupree sighed deeply. “Is there any chocolate zucchini nut bread?”
“Who ya talkin’ to?” Dara grinned.
Dupree took a seat at the kitchen table. Dara put a box of Quik, a glass with four ice cubes, and a half-gallon jug of milk in front of Dupree.
“Perfecto.” Dupree grinned like a little kid.
“CZNB for table one.” Dara set a small plate with a thick slice of nut bread on the table and took a seat.
“Can I ask you something? We don’t talk a lot about before you came to White Owl. I know the facts. I know what happened, but I don’t really know the why and how it happened.”
“What brought this on?” Dupree put a heaping spoonful of chocolate in his glass.
“I had a customer today, a regular, who was two hours late for work, sitting in a booth by himself. The rush was over and the Old Sweeties were all that was left in the place.”
“And you turned into Lucy from Peanuts with your Psychiatric Help 5¢ sign out.”
“Well, kinda.” Dara didn’t smile, signaling that this was more than just another Quarter Moon story. “He kind of spilled his heart out.”
“You’re not going to run off with him, are you?” Dupree took a bite of zucchini bread, smiled, and nodded his head urging her to go on.
“Funny. He sort of reminded me of you. What was it that brought you to the tipping point? I mean, was there something that triggered you just walking off as you did?”
Dupree set the bread on the plate. “I realized I didn’t want to die.” He took a sip of milk to give himself a moment to taste is words. “Had things continued as they were, I would have killed myself. I already decided. I came downstairs and the kids were the exemplification of everything I ever hated in kids. I never wanted kids. They were the textbook example of why I felt that way. Diane was just more than I could take. I know now it was wrong, but I hated everything she was. Her voice, her hair, her make-up, her friends, the insane demands she put on me to be some social butterfly, pretending to like people I despised. I was in the shower and decided that it was the day. I was going to kill myself. God had other plans. So, when I was headed to work to tidy up what I would leave behind, I turned right instead of left. Is that what you wanted to know?”
“I knew that. You have talked about that before. But was that it? I mean it just all came to a head that morning and that was it?”
“Yeah. It had built up over time. I was unhappy, trapped, unfulfilled, alienated in my own home, not who I dreamed I would be. It was all too much.”
“The guy in the café this morning. That was him. Not in those exact words but that was what he was saying. He and his wife were living together but not as man and wife, he went to school to get a degree and was a cable repairman. He feels like he lost out in life.”
“So, doctor, what did you tell him?”
“I think I told him to go find his path. He has no kids or anything to keep him here.”
Dupree took another bite of bread. “Sounds like sage advice to me. You know he may just have needed to vent. He’ll be OK I bet.”
“I sure hope so. Say a prayer for him when you think of it. He kind of worries me.”
“I wish I would have had someone praying for me.”
“You did. Me.” Dara smiled.
“How’s that?”
“I prayed for years God would send me the perfect partner.”
CHAPTER 9
White Owl was not a town for the rich. Even the execs from Kanaal chose to commute rather than live in the little town tucked at the foot of the mountains. Donald “Skip” Griffin was born and raised in White Owl and was an exception to the rule. At seventeen years and eleven months, and twelve days after graduation Skip joined the Navy.
He bought the whole “Join the Navy, See the World” hook, line, and sinker. What he saw was Norfolk, Virginia, San Diego, California, and Bremerton, Washington, which was great for weeke
nd trips home. He was sent to the Persian Gulf as part of a team to repair and replace failing electronics during the voyage home. He landed in Bahrain, had a late lunch on base, and was taken to the ship. The ship sailed three days later for Bremerton. The extent of his seeing the world was an ocean cruise where he spent most of his time on the bridge with his attention directed to hundreds of cables and wiring schematics.
Griffin did not reenlist in the Navy. He used his veteran’s benefits to attend the University of Washington. He parlayed his Navy training into a bachelor’s degree in electrical engineering. His benefits were extended allowing him to enroll in the graduate program. Skip loved electronics and found the study of intricate math and physics problems challenging puzzles. His grades were exemplary and he was well-liked by his instructors and classmates as well. So, it was a complete shock, when he dropped out of the program just months before completing is MA.
What no one knew was Donald Griffin was approached by two young men with a dream of building a computer using microchips, a new and revolutionary technology. If his friends and professors knew, they would surely have tried to talk him out of joining the fledgling endeavor. To Griffin’s eternal delight and the world’s immeasurable benefit, he kept his plans a secret.
He worked for almost two years with minimal, if not completely without, pay. He slept on couches, in a sleeping bag on the office floor, and in the back seat of the founder’s cars. His parents thought he suffered from PTSD. What no one could have known was the supreme thrill he found in the work he was doing. Even if the company failed, he knew he could return to school, finish his Master’s and life would go on. If they succeeded, he would change the world. And he did.
The work he did lead to numerous patents that he shared with the founders of the start-up company. He amassed a fortune. On the rare occasions, early on, he could afford to go to the little coffee place near the office where he was smitten by the barista with the jet-black bob, cherry red lipstick, the dazzling smile, and the name tag that said Tallulah.
At first, he was terrified to even speak to her. His scruffy appearance was not the least bit appealing to her. If he looked like he slept in his clothes, he did. His hair and beard were in desperate need of attention. But a light shone in his eyes. When the first monies began to roll in, Griffin went for a haircut and new wardrobe. The first time the “New Donald” went into the coffee shop the cute barista told him his coffee was on the house. In return, he asked her out. In the spring of 1984, they married.
Two years later Tallulah was run off the road while riding her bike. The fall over a steep embankment caused severe damage to her pelvic region. It also revealed she was pregnant. Her injuries were to keep her from ever being able to have another child. Donald resigned from his position and stayed by Tallulah’s side for the next six months as she recuperated.
His shares of the company and the patents allowed them the freedom to live anywhere they wanted. They chose White Owl. They purchased two hundred acres of forest land and together designed the house they would occupy for the next thirty-four years.
Donald never lost his desire to travel. Over the years they traveled all over the world, buying small homes in several countries along the way. So it was that they determined to have a new alarm system installed in the house in White Owl. The original system was outdated and in need of replacement. Donald would have done it himself, but he just didn’t want to.
In the early years, the alarm was wired to notify the sheriff’s office directly. The privilege was limited to existing clients as the town grew, if they canceled service they were not replaced, only about a dozen remained. It seemed the best offering for their needs was the cable company’s system. Griffin paid a sizable fee to have a cable run to their property after the satellite dish blew away for the third time.
Mike Potter drew the service call to visit the Griffin home. He was a senior man in the offices in White Owl. The estate on the side of the mountain was a thing of mystery and speculation for the townspeople. There was no one other than Griffin’s family and a few close friends who were allowed behind the gates of the secluded property.
Potter rolled up to the huge rock gates and got out of his van and pushed the button connecting to the house.
“Hello?”
“Mike Potter from PNW Cable ma’am. I have a call to service the security system.”
“Yes, I’ll open the gate.” The woman’s voice was bright and cheerful.
A moment later the massive iron gates began to roll to the side of the rock columns. Potter drove a long, winding driveway to the magnificent home that overlooked White Owl.
An attractive woman in jeans and a sweater was standing at the open front door. As Potter rounded the van, she called out a greeting.
“Afternoon ma’am. Beautiful place you’ve got here.” Potter made his way up the wide aggregate steps to the landing in the front of the house.
“We like it. Please come in, it’s freezing out here.”
Mike Potter was not prepared for the warmth and comfort of the inside of the house. It was not at all what he expected. The furnishings were homey and looked lived in. The decorations on the wall were amateurish but compelling paintings.
“I like your paintings.” Potter looked from one to the next trying to determine what style of art they were.
“Thank you, they’re mine. I mean I did them. I’m not very good but I really enjoy painting. I have since I was in high school. My husband is gracious enough to let me hang them. This one is our house in Costa Rica. It’s one of my favorites.”
“I don’t know a lot about art, but I really do like the style, I guess you would say.”
“You’re very kind.”
“So, what seems to be the problem with the security system?”
“It keeps going off and on for no reason. We’re getting ready to leave for France and we won’t be back until Spring. We need to make sure it’s not going to go off or what do you call it, false alarms? Anyway, I was fixing meatloaf for my husband so I’ll just let you get to it. Let me know if I can be of any help.”
“The main thing I need to know is where is the control panel? I don’t see one here near the front door.”
“We never use that door for coming and going. We leave from the garage, so I’ll show you where that’s at.” With that, the woman turned and made her way through the entry, down a hall, and to the kitchen with a door that opened into the garage. To the left of the door was the keypad.
“How about we start with you setting the alarm.”
Mrs. Potter reached over and began to put in her code, 3-6-6-2-5-3. To help her remember the code she softly said D-O-N-A-L-D as she typed in the numbers.
Potter smiled not expecting the woman to give away her passcode. “Okay, please stand perfectly still for a moment.”
The pair stood motionless for nearly a minute, then the beeping of the alarm going off sounded through the house.
“That’s not good. Please turn the system off.” Once again, she typed in the code, saying Donald this time a little louder as she went.
“Alright, I guess I’ll have to do a top to bottom and check all the sensors to see if anything is open.
“Make yourself at home, I’m going to finish up dinner. My husband should be here pretty soon.”
It took Potter the better part of an hour before he finally found the root of the problem. A motion sensor out in the hall outside the guestrooms tucked into a corner was home to a large spider and its dense web and egg sac. He cleaned out the sensor, sprayed it with a good blast of canned air and went to reset the alarm. As he entered the kitchen, he saw a man standing next to Mrs. Griffin. They were peering into the oven. The man turned and smiled at Potter.
“Having any luck?”
“I do believe I have found the source of the problem. You had some unwanted eight-legged tenants in your motion sensor upstairs. Could you please reset your alarm and we’ll make sure that took care of the problem.”
Donald Griffin made his way to the control panel making sure to cover the screen while he put in the passcode. Mike Potter smiled. If he only knew.
* * *
The mist turned to heavy rain and sleet. The windows were awash in streaks of water. The afternoon was dark and cold. Weston turned the heat up one degree and covered his legs with a knit afghan his mother knitted. With no papers to grade and no lesson plans to do, David Weston found he had time to do what he loved best, read. He settled into his favorite chair, a recent addition to his sparse furnishings, with a copy of Gore Vidal’s Lincoln, and didn’t notice the dark sedan pull into his driveway.
The home David Weston occupied for more than two decades belonged to the teacher he replaced at the high school. Ollie Zimmer died during Spring Break and his wife moved to Iowa to live near her kids. She listed the house after the funeral and moved her things. She didn’t look back. When Weston received the call from the Principal an hour after his interview, he quipped, ‘You can have Ollie’s spot, and if you hurry, his house too.’ Weston quit his job at the market and started work at the end of Spring break.
An hour after the principal’s call, the papers were signed on the kitchen counter, and David Weston was a homeowner. Mrs. Zimmer agreed to let him move in immediately. Thing’s in White Owl were like that then. That afternoon, he drove to Wharton’s on his mother’s recommendation and bought a bed, a sofa, a table, and four chairs and a small television. The next day his father helped him move his books, he returned to the furniture store for a pair of matching bookcases.
Five years later he tossed out the television when he realized he never turned it on. So it was with David Weston, he was a man of simple pleasures and minimal tastes. Except for the addition of a third and fourth bookcase, the house looks pretty much the same as the day he moved in. He afforded himself the luxury of having a washer and dryer installed in the garage on the one-week anniversary of moving in. Ten years on he replaced the fridge and stove within a week of each other. For years he read in bed, so the sofa was rarely sat on. Recently, he found that sitting position with his legs in front of him hurt his hips, so he bought the overstuffed recliner.
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