Murder by Trust
Written by Kats,
© April 11th 2006
(In memory of all those who have
passed on before and wait)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Donna Mayberry Fletcher sat on a
bar stool at the island in the center of her kitchen in their apartment,
holding a wet cloth to her pounding head. She knew that she wasn’t allowed to
beat her husband, or her child, but that didn’t make what they put her through
any easier. Renting was good, it saved
on the taxes and if there was a problem they could call a landlord who put them
on the bottom of the list. Not only did
the kitchen sink develop a clog every other day, today it was leaking. Not the
lower drain area but where the faucet was - huge arcs of water that soaked her
to the bone when she went to get her water for tea. She had called and informed the landlord two
days ago. It still wasn’t fixed and now the only way to prevent it from running
all the time was to climb under the sink and turn it off at the main. Now that too
was leaking.
She didn’t exactly scream at the
landlord or threaten him, but he called the police on the “crazy lady in 204.”
Of course the landlord made it seem like she called about petty things, but
when they came in and stepped in two inches of water and one turned on the
faucet, everyone got drenched and she stood there and lost it. Of course the
drain decided to back up just then, spewing a glop of something over the
officer while the landlord went on about her saying things were wrong, and
nothing was wrong except she was a crazy lady and waving his arms around like a
chicken in front of her face.
Grady had chosen that moment to
come home and heard the landlord, and not seeing the police there said, “Be
careful, the last guy that got on her nerves ended up dead in a pile of frozen
mackerel.”
“It was cod,” she snapped before
she realized that the police had their hands on their guns. It took half an
hour and a few calls to get things straightened out. The police called a
plumber who took another hour to get things fixed. The landlord just wanted him
to turn the water off and forget it.
Donna sat in her kitchen with the wet cloth to her forehead knowing her
day by the noon mail was just going to get better.
11 year old Frank Fletcher sat
on the edge of his bed peering down at the cards spread over his bedcovers. He
cracked open the cover of the book that was in his right hand and read a few
paragraphs before turning over another card. His brow furrowed. It wasn’t what
he expected. He was so absorbed in what he was doing he failed to hear the
knock on his bedroom door, and didn’t react until his door was swinging open.
Hastily he swept the cards together and shoved them into the book, and pushed
the book under his pillow and leaned on it.
“Frank? What are you doing?”
“Uh, nothing Dad. Just
thinking.”
Grady Fletcher looked at his
son. He could always tell when something was troubling him, or when he wasn’t
telling the truth. “It’s too nice of a day to be lying in a stuffy room. Isn’t
there a window garden that needs to be weeded, or a garage that has to be swept
out?” asked Grady, gently testing his son.
“Did that this morning Dad, and
I took out the garbage, and folded the laundry for Mom. She seemed like she was having a bad day,”
said Frank as he brushed back the curly sandy blond bangs from his forehead.
Grady sighed. “Yes, I know. And
I know we didn’t ask you to do that, so the question is, why? Either you wanted
to avoid someone or get some free time to do…something else besides studying.”
As Frank shifted on the bed to
sit up a bit, Grady saw the corner of the card and raising his eyebrow, leaned
forward and picked the card up. For a moment Grady had thought the worst - that
Frank, learning to be an adolescent, had found his way into an unseemly shop
and purchased things that would embarrass his mother.
“It’s not what you think, Dad!”
said Frank. “I’m not into the worship thing with them like the other kids, I
just wanted to… to, well, know and understand them.”
Grady ran his hand through his
thinning hair. He had taken in a breath and tried very hard to be in control
when he let it out.
“Frank. Your mother and I have
talked to you before about this stuff. It isn’t safe, and there are other
things that we would rather you were working on, like your English report for
next term.”
“I know, Dad. I just haven’t
figured out what to write for it, and I’m not - using the cards, I am just
reading about them. There is a whole world of things that people never talk
about and I want to know the stuff. I don’t want to be afraid of what I don’t
know,” said his son in a pleading tone. English was his least favorite subject.
He hated it, and the teacher who wrote those long notes to his parents asking why
he couldn’t understand simple sentence structure.
“Frank.
It’s not just that - these things that you have. These Tarot cards. They are
like a key through a doorway, and when people get involved with them, they get
lost in them as well. They wrap their whole lives up in believing something
that could be random chance, or something darker. And the cards lead to the
board, and that - well. The boards are – an open invitation to something very
dark.”
“I
know Dad. I have listened. I want to learn though. I want to understand about
all of this.”
“Why?”
asked Grady with honest concern.
“Because,
well. I have a friend who had a reading done. And she kept a list of everything
the person said, and it came true. But I was reading in the book, the meaning
of the cards that were laid down, and what she had didn’t match up with what
the fortune teller said would happen. She was told she would suffer a great
loss twice. A week later her house was robbed, and they don’t know how it
happened, but whoever did it had a key to get in, and they were thinking it was
her boyfriend, and she had to give him up. And her parents blamed her for the
robbery. But the cards she had – don’t say that at all.”
“Ah,
well, there is another point, that they are used by unscrupulous people and not
by young gentlemen. Your mother and I hope that you will decide to undertake an
interest in a productive career,” said Grady letting the air from his lungs out
slowly.
“Dad,
not everyone can be an accountant or an event planner…” Frank said seriously.
“I want to learn things, but not like, well, school stuff. There are other
things out there that people have forgotten. That’s the stuff that interests
me.”
“You
sound like your Aunt Jess,” smiled Grady. He saw the dismissive look on his son’s
face. Being compared to an elderly 75 year old aunt was probably not a
Frank
looked up. He heard the sound of the mail box being opened and closed and his
mother opening the door. Grady could see his son almost cringe. He knew his
parents had been on the phone discussing his grades, and he had really tried to
bring them up. The principal had been non-committal about if he would have to
start summer school on Monday. He
understood when his father had said to enjoy the day outside; it might be his only
chance of having any vacation at all. He closed his eyes as he heard his mother
coming up the steps. The phone rang, and she answered it. Both Grady and Frank
were looking at the door when she came in. She held an opened envelope in her
hand, and a note pad in the other. They could see where her hair was wet from
the cloth and her eyes were red rimmed from crying before. She gave a sniff
then said,
“Mr.
Danvers called. Mr. Peterson caught chicken pox from his son, and can’t
finalize the Bishop account. He wanted to know if you would be able to, and I
told him you would call him shortly…”
Frank
looked at his father. He had overheard his parents talking about that account.
Grady had been the primary accountant on it, but because of summer school, and other
things, wasn’t able to do the required traveling that came with it. They had
tried and it didn’t work. Frank had promptly given the tutor such a hard time
he had called them after a week, and the sitter had refused to deal with his
antics a day more. Grady had told them it was more important for the customer
to be happy, and put Peterson on the travel end of it to finish the deal they
had been working on. Their son was small and his wife didn’t mind staying at
the hotels with her son during it. Most of them were resorts. It had been ages
since Donna had a vacation. Dealing with Frank had been her primary concern.
“I
could stay here by myself, or you could get someone to stay with me while I go
to summer school,” said Frank a bit too eagerly.
Donna handed
the envelope to Grady and for a moment he looked at the contents. He gave a
sigh, looked at Donna, and then standing up he went out of the room. He closed
the door and they could hear him on the phone speaking to someone. It was a few
moments before he came back in. He sat down on the bed and looked at his son.
“I’ve
called Mr. Danvers, and his secretary has set up the flights for us… Frank, we
wanted to wait until we got the report card to tell you this, but you managed
to pass this year, except for one course, English. Your principal has agreed to
the suggestion that your mother and I had for him. We both feel that you being
here over the summer with your friends hanging around are distracting you. The
account has to be managed, and your mother needs a break. We decided to send
you to stay this summer with a relative who will help tutor you until you’re
able to complete the work required to not only pass, but to have an acceptable
grade for next year as well. This slacking off has gone on far too long.”
“Fine.
Send me off. They can’t make me study any more than the rest of the others,” he
said sullenly.
Donna
looked at Grady. Frank was right. The last time that Grady and she had to have
someone take care of Frank due to the job taking them both away, according to
her parents, had been close to nightmarish for everyone concerned. Frank had
spent the first day in a tree refusing to come down. Her father’s answer was to
leave him up there - but her mother had been disinclined to do that and called
the fire company. By then the whole town had turned out to see what had
happened. Frank had refused to eat anything unless it began with a Q. The following day he wouldn’t eat anything at
all. He refused to do any work for the tutor, and didn’t speak for 3 days. Her
mother had discovered he had packed candy in his bag, and was living off of
that. Once the candy was taken away, Frank ran away to be found at the bus
station by the authorities. After that he became sullen. It wasn’t until their
return that Donna’s temper took over and he managed to squeak by with the
lowest grades that the tutor had ever seen.
Grady
saw Frank’s arrogant smirk. He knew that given the chance, Frank would do
things to make life as difficult as possible for whoever was taking care of
him. Donna had questioned if it was wise to send such a hyperactive, high
strung child to Grady’s elderly aunt, and the answer was, “Do we have any other
choice? If he gets out of line, Mort will lock him up for a while.”
“Grady,
I’m serious!”
She
saw Grady’s expression didn’t change. So am I.”
Frank
sat up and gathered all of the cards and the book and pushed them into the
carrying case. “Fine. So, when do I leave for Grandma and Grandpa’s? What did
you do to get them to take me back?”
Donna
breathed in and let it out slowly. “Your Grandparents aren’t the ones who will
be taking care of you for the summer. You will be staying at your Aunt
Jessica’s.”
“
“Well
you should have thought about that before you skipped 40 of your English
classes!” said Donna, exasperated. “And you should have thought about it before
you alienated every single tutor in 50 miles. Honestly! I don’t know why you
think it’s cool to be so---“
“Stupid?
Yeah, that’s me, your stupid son.”
“We
have never called you that, Frank,” said Grady gently. “You’re a brilliant
child. Sometimes things just don’t work correctly”
“And I
was going to say arrogant!” said Donna. She took a breath. “Your flight leaves
this evening. I have everything all packed for you and your father and I will
be taking you to the airport and checking you in. I want you to understand
something, Frank Fletcher. It is not the same as getting on a bus to go to the
zoo. The airlines do not tolerate any out bursts, any high jinks, or any
disruptive behavior. They don’t care that you are 11 years old. They take the
welfare of everyone on board and the security of the airline above all. They
will put you in prison with out a trial and you won’t get out until you’re a
grandfather. DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR YOUNG MAN?”
Frank
swallowed, and then nodded. His mother was just working up to a second full
head of steam, and while he knew arguing the point would bring no joy, part of
his mind was sorting through the things that needed to be done before he was
shipped off. The more time that he spent arguing, the less time he had to deal
with things.
“FINE,”
he said standing up and dragging his pack across the room. He began reaching
for his electronic game system when his mother said, “No. That and your
computer stay behind. As well as your cell phone. You will be out of range and
Aunt Jess will not be paying for your long distance internet access. The
library in Cabot Cove has a computer that you’re allowed to go to with
supervision.”
“Aw
Mum!”
“No ‘Aw
Mum’ me! I know what happened the last time you went to the library alone!”
Frank
scowled. Yeah, she would remember that.
On the pretext of going to study for a report, he went to the library and
instead of using the ladder or calling for assistance he just climbed up the
shelves to get a book that to this day he wouldn’t tell his parents what the
title was. The shelves of books came down doing untold damage to several
hundred books. Frank escaped with just a twisted ankle, but he was not allowed
in the library again. He put his pack on the floor with a thump. Something
wasn’t right. He turned and looked at his parents. “Hang on. You already had me
packed? You knew I was going even before you got my report card, or the call
from Dad’s boss, and you have my tickets. How long have you known about this?”
Grady’s
voice said softly from where he still sat, “A month, since our last visit with
your principal… It was the only way that we could convince him to not suspend
you from school.”
Frank
tilted his head. “How would shipping me off to an old aunt’s house for the summer
prevent that?”
Donna’s
sudden giggle couldn’t be stopped. Frank
looked between his father and his mother, very confused. His father was sitting
there looking a bit worried now, as his mother was leaning against the wall
gasping for breath.
“This is
too weird…” Frank said.
His
mother pulled a small purse-like thing out of her pocket that had long strings
on each side. Frank had seen his dad wear one like it when he traveled. She tossed it on the bed. She wore a happier
expression on her face than when she first entered the room. “In there are some
credit cards. They have a pre-set limit, and if you use them wisely, they will
last the entire summer. If you don’t, you’re s.o.l. It also contains your
passport for ID purposes.”
“Where
would I be going that I need a passport? I have my student ID…”
Donna
and Grady just shrugged. His mother was still smiling. “You won’t know until
you get there…” said Grady. He eyed Donna with concern. Taking her by the elbow
he led her out of the room and closed the door between them and their son.
They
gave Frank a good two hours to absorb the fact that his summer plans had
radically changed. Frank used the time to get online and list his favorite web
hang outs on a web page, then he checked his email. There were two that demanded his attention. The
first he recognized from his friend Dot by his cool gold avatar of a triangle
with an hourglass inside of it. He
clicked open the first and read the information. Dot, for all that Frank knew,
or cared, was a kid his age who had the same interests as Frank did, and much
better grades in school. Dot lived in LA, and had to fight his 3 brothers for
the use of the computer every day. Frank
rather liked Dot, but he was smart enough not to tell even those he felt were
friends anything. Dot’s email hinted
that the group had a lot of problems that were going to come to light very
soon. He couldn’t tell Frank any more and cautioned him to remain silent about
what he had been told. Frank knew that in order to get more inside track
information, he had to curb his interest in what Dot was talking about.
His
parents just didn’t understand the internet.
His mom used it to look up recipes. His dad used the email to contact
people and do some research on investment houses, but that was it. Frank had
found a whole – way of dealing with things. There were gamers. People who took
factual or fictional information and made a game of solving the clues in it.
The latest game everyone seemed to be playing was “Where is Ben Stove?” At first
Frank thought it to be real events, and it was a bitter disappointment to
discover that it was some guy who was pitching the idea for either a game
market, or a movie. He wanted – something really worth doing. Then his friend
Dot had informed him of another group, one that searched for answers in real
life events. They had a case file, and
people who were in the area did the research and it wasn’t a game, it was real.
Real life, real people that he could go on line and look up where they lived,
and where things happened and it was like standing right next to where it all
went down.
Frank
was a bystander in all of it. His
nickname on the boards was Quillgoi. He felt himself to be the sensible one in
everything, urging caution to the others in what they said or did. He was his
usual vocal self about things, but he didn’t get into it like the other ones
did. Some of them would travel to where the events had taken place, some of the
others would actually make contact with the people involved in secret and then
post what had been said and done. In Frank’s eyes, that was one of the most
stupid things they could do.
The
last case they had been working was regarding a girl older than he who had been
found at the road side early one morning near her home in
The
moderator of the group board had made contact with the boyfriend on a chat
site. After that it became a tumble of information as more of the girl’s
friends were investigated by the group. Frank held fast in his beliefs of who
could have been capable of doing something so wrong. Everyone was in to this
case for different reasons. Most of them wanted a chunk of the reward money.
Some wanted to earn their living by doing this. Franks motivation, as he kept
telling them, was just that her parents could sleep at night when it was all
done. No one understood that. There was no material gain from it.
His
second email was from the moderator of the group. It called him out on his
position, and it blasted him for making a comparison that what they were doing
- which in Frank’s eyes was blatant harassment of the young woman’s boyfriend -
to how the moderator would have felt if it was done to him. Frank took a breath
and typed in. “I am going to have to think about where I stand in all of this.
You will get my answer soon enough.” Frank set his Email on auto response. “Hey,
Have a summer of tutors to deal with, leave a message and if I can and I am not
grounded for the rest of my puberty I will get back to you.”
He
disconnected from the internet then, and unplugged his lap top. It would be so
simple just to slip it in the bag… but he knew that it would show up on the x
rays, and it wasn’t safe to be kept in the check in bag. He lifted it. 15
pounds. It wasn’t worth dragging it to wherever. His cell phone was different.
He won that at school, a bean counting contest. It was small, light weight, and
… the more he thought about it, being wherever his great aunt lived, was
probably out of range. He put it in its case and then covered both the computer
and the cell phone with a pillow sham on the bed. He noticed his father had placed the card he
had picked up on the dresser. Pausing he looked at the cardboard box that the
cards were in and the book. His parents didn’t say anything about not taking
the cards, and they didn’t know about the rune set ether.
Not
knowing what he was going to do for the whole summer, he grabbed what he
thought would be necessities. His sketch pad, his pen box now stuffed with the
tarot cards and the rune set. His parents wouldn’t object to him taking a few
books to read, the tarot book and the rune book fit nicely within the other two
that he had picked up at the shop. Looking around the room, he thought to
himself. If something happened to the house, what would he want to take from it
the most? His eyes fell on the photo of his mom and dad and him that was taken
at the last Christmas party. While his face showed a far away sad look, his mom
and dad were looking at him as their pride and joy. Tucked behind it were two
other photos. One was one of the few photos of his dad’s parents, and the other
was of his mom’s parents. He knew his that his dad’s parents died in an auto
accident when he was young. Suddenly feeling very frightened he pushed the
pictures into the pouch that held his passport and the credit cards and put it
around his neck. The weight of it comforted him. He went down the steps
dragging his book bag behind him. Donna peaked inside of it, and saw just books
and his pencil case.
“Mum …
I’m sorry for being such a pain, and for being a jerk around grandma and
grandpa,” he said softly. “Do I have to go?” he said at last.
Donna
sat down on the sofa and held her hand out to Frank to come and sit beside her.
“Your father and I think it would be best if you did spend some time with Aunt
Jessica. She is a very special person to your father and me, and loves you just
as much as if you were her own grandson. She’s getting older, and we don’t know
how much longer we will have her. It’s important that you get to know her while
you can… I realize it’s not the summer you were expecting. In my own way, I
would like to trade places with you.”
“Why?”
he asked, curious.
She
only gave him a smile.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was
an hour later that they arrived at the airport. Because he was a minor and
traveling alone both Donna and Grady were allowed to escort him to where he
would board the plane. The flight attendant put a lanyard about his neck with
his photo id, and his first name with his destination code on it. A bracelet
went around his wrist.
“Some
one will be there to meet you at
“Dad,
don’t talk like that!”
“I
just want you to know that someone will always be there to take care of you.”
Frank
gave his father a long hug, then his mother. “I love you,” he said to them, and
then the boarding call was made. A stewardess escorted him onto the plane and
into the first class area. Frank was by the window seat nearest the terminal,
and he could see his parents looking at the plane, seeing him and waving. He
placed his hand on the glass and waved back. His father gathered his mother up
in his arms and held her while the plane boarded, and the last that Frank saw
of his parents was his father wiping the tears from his mother’s eyes before
the plane pulled away from the gate.
He
didn’t notice at first that there was someone in the seat next to him. He
studied the man – at first he thought he was a kid, like him, for the man stood
about four and a half feet tall. It was
the presence of a stubble beard that was peaking through that convinced Frank
that he was not a kid at all. The man’s head was tucked against his chest and
soft snores were coming from him. Frank looked at him again. The man’s coat was
rough dark blue linen, his shirt was – different. It had a woven pattern style
that Frank had never seen before. The man had a silk scarf about his neck, and
had a dark vest. In the vest pocket a slim chain lead to a gold pocket watch.
Looking at the man’s head again, he saw his hair was curly locks, as if it
hadn’t been cut for a long time. What made this man interesting was that his
ears seemed to be – well, if you’d asked Frank’s opinion about them, they
looked a bit… elfish. Stretching his neck Frank could just see the tips of the
man’s shoes, and to his disappointment they were just like his dad’s shoes with
laces, not the buckle ones that you saw in the movies that leprechauns wore.
“Did
ye lose somein lad?” a gentle Irish burred voice asked behind him.
Franks
eyes went wide and he pulled back to his seat and leaned against the window as
he shook his head Even the man’s accent was right for one of the wee folk.
Stories of what he should do flooded his mind as he could only gaze at this man
with abject curiosity. Realizing the man wanted an answer Frank couldn’t help
to blurt out,
“No
sir, are you a leprechaun?”
The
man gave him an appraising look then tilted his head. “Would ye be after m’ gold if I was?” he
asked with a twinkle in his hazel eyes.
Frank
had to think a moment. He shook his head. “No. It would be too difficult to get
it exchanged, and it wouldn’t help matters in the long run.”
“Ah,
well, that’s a wise decision then. Money isn’t what the world was made for.” He
extended his hand. “My friends call me Willie Mac, the polite ones at least.”
Frank
took the man’s hand and shook it “My friends call me Frank.”
A
stewardess came with a cart and had milk and a sandwich for Frank, and a cup of
tea and another sandwich for Willie. To Frank’s disappointment Willie nodded
off to sleep again after he was done eating. Frank caught the attention of the
stewardess as she passed by. “Is he ok?” he asked, concerned. She nodded, but
didn’t say any thing else.
Frank
sighed and dug through his pack to find the book on runes. At first he had been excited about getting
the runes set, but now, he realized it read like an English book. He thought
about just tucking it in the pocket of the seat. He could leave it behind, but
it had cost him a week’s worth of chores to get it.
The
plane gave a horrid bump. Frank stuffed the book in his back pack when the
plane bumped again. He zippered his back pack and stuffed it under the seat as
the plane bucked in mid-air again, forcing a frightened cry from his lips.
Instinctively he hugged his chest, feeling the soft pouch hanging about his
neck that held his family’s pictures. He
heard the DING as the ‘no smoking’ and ‘fasten your seat belts’ signs came on.
Willie Mac woke at the second bump,
and at the third one heard the sound come from Frank. He reached over and patted Franks shoulder
“It’s alright Lad, just a bit of turbulence, happens all the time. We’ll get to
land soon enough.” He saw Frank look at him.
“It’s
the method of how we get to land that concerns me,” Frank said in a tight
voice.
Frank
looked at Willie Mac, who didn’t make light of his concerns.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The
summer storms delayed their landing for half an hour. Frank had thought at
first to just hide his name badge that they had given him, and wiggle out of
the bracelet and maybe follow after another adult. He had money. He didn’t know
how far it would get him, or if they could trace where he was going - and he
did remember the numbers to his savings account. Not that he had his passbook
with him, but he had successfully removed money from the account a few times before
to pay for some things online before his parents found out. He had his
passport. He could go anywhere, and never have to worry about going to any more
school. The turbulence changed things though. Suddenly he wasn’t too wild about
being in a stormy area on his own.
As the
plane taxied up to the gateway Frank turned to Willie. “Thank you,” he said,
extending his hand.
Willie shook it as if Frank was an adult. “It
was a pleasure to meet you Frank.”
The
stewardess came for Frank and escorted him out of the plane. Frank saw the
airport was tiny. The gift shop was just a circular area, and it had three
gates - one was an international gate, the other two were local. There was just
one way in and out. She took him to where an older man stood wearing a police
officer’s uniform and a cowboy’s white hat.
“Welcome
to
Frank
looked at him. He knew he could outrun him in a cold second, but as they had to
go through the gate and there was a guard there, Frank wouldn’t get far. They
had his luggage ready for him by the time he reached the way out, and as Mort
closed the trunk he saw that Frank had already climbed into the back seat with
his back pack. He was looking, however, at a short man in a blue coat get into
a taxi and as it passed them the man nodded to Frank, who returned the nod.
By the
time that Mort got into the front seat, Frank was already buckled in and had
pulled Mort’s over coat over him. Mort looked back “So, do you want sirens, or
just the lights?”
Frank
just shrugged. “Sirens would wake people up. Just the lights,” he said with a
sigh as he leaned against his back pack. He saw the time - it was 11:30 pm, way
past his bed time. The rain began to fall again as they pulled away from the
curb, and into the night.
Frank
was asleep by the time they reached Jessica Fletcher’s house. Mort sighed.
Jessica’s light was on, and he could see she was in the front room waiting.
Leaving the bag in the trunk, Mort opened the door and carefully lifted Frank
into his arms and over his shoulder. He would come back for the back pack and
bags in a bit. Jessica opened the door for them and showed Mort where Frank
would be sleeping. Mort carried Frank up the stairs, and then laid him on the
bed. Jess looked at Frank and for a moment, and saw a very young Grady. She sat
on the bed and removed his shoes, She wasn’t going to try to get him ready for
bed; a blanket over him would do for tonight.
She left a night light on in his room and one in the hall next to the
bathroom if he would happen to wake up.
Mort carried Frank’s things into the house and the heavier suit case
upstairs. The back pack he left by the steps. From what he felt when he picked
it up, it was just books.
Mort
saw Jessica just standing looking at Frank as he slept. He put the suit case
down by the door, and touched her arm. Jess let out a slow breath and followed
Mort back down the steps. She saw him look back up the steps then he looked at
her. “If there is anything you need Mrs. F. please let me know,” he said, his
voice soft, but full of concern.
“Everything
will be fine, Mort. Thank you for picking him up at the airport.” Mort nodded.
“It seems like yesterday that they brought Grady here, Frank carried him up the
steps just like you did…We were watching him while they went out, and it was
late. Grady wanted to stay up until they came home, but they never did… Seeing
him tonight. He is very much like his father was.”
Mort
gave a half smile. “I have a feeling Young Mr. F. has no idea what his summer
is going to be like… it’s been a few years since he was here last…”
Jess
nodded. “Once he learned I was a school teacher, he wouldn’t say anything to
me. I think I frightened him.”
Clearing
his throat and resisting the urge to laugh, Mort said, “Good. Kids need to have
a healthy fear of adults sometimes. Especially school teachers with long
rulers…”
Jess
laughed softly. “And I suppose your school teachers broke a few with your name
on it?”
From
the look in his eyes Jess knew she was right. Mort bent over and gave Jess’s
cheek a kiss. “Good night, Mrs. F,” he said smiling before he went out the door
into the rain to where his police car was. He heard her say good night to him,
and he waved as he drove off down the street to do a quick drive-by of the town
on his way home.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Willie
Mac paid the taxi cab driver then carried his bags down the sidewalk to the
dark building and leaned them against it while he fished in his pocket for the
code to the real estate box that hung on the massive oak door. It hadn’t been
hard to find. There was only
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tipper
Tipper
opened up the book again as she rubbed her eyes. She was reading a passage
regarding Belladonna and something seemed very familiar but she couldn’t place
her finger on it. She knew she hadn’t read any of the books before. Closing the
book she glanced at the cover. It had a pair of eyes on it, ones with the irises
was wide open, and between the eyes was a long sharp sword with the handle that
had triangle markings on it with the infinity sign interwoven into it. She looked over at the Irish setter who
yawned, then back at the book.
“Belladonna,” she said out loud. She had to smooth back part of the
cover that had become winkled to read the authors name. Thaladirith Mac. The name meant nothing to her. She turned the
book onto its side and saw ‘Sutton’ on the inside cover - it had a note that
Sutton was a subsidiary of Coventry House Publishers.
“NO
WAY!” she gasped, now most certainly wide awake. She opened the book back to
the first page and began reading with renewed interest. At first she had
thought it to be one of those historical novels that people thought up, most of
them turning into tawdry romances. This started in a small village in
Several
hours later the bitch and 4 pups were nestled on new bedding. It would be
another 2 before someone came in so she could go home. Wired now, Tipper picked up the book and
began to read again. The story was taking a nasty turn as several people of the
town were turning up dead, the only clue that the local constable could find
was that their irises were wide open. Mid way Tipper learned the cause. She was
so engrossed in the book between checking on the bitch and pups, that she lost
track of the time until she heard the door chimes in the outer waiting
room. She closed the book and put it
with her things. It would be worth staying up just a bit longer to find out
what had happened.
Morning
had brought a heavy mist as Tipper walked back to her home. Something made her
walk along the lower side of the town for a while then up a street that she had
avoided for several years. She stopped outside the Nightshade store and looked
at the building. Flashes of memories came back to her. Sitting with her tranq
gun, waiting. Learning about the man who had been killed. Metzger’s
determination to get her prints, and how for a while that symbol that
Taylor
Andrews heard the door bell ring again.
“Can I
come in?”
Tipper
nodded and crossed through the living room following
“I don’t
know who left this at the clinic, but I thought you may want to read it. I’m
almost done with it, but I, well, looked at the ending, so…” She shrugged.
Tipper
nodded. “Must have missed the recall of them. It’s a first edition.”
She
saw the young vet take a deep breath before Tipper said, “I walked past
Nightshade, just to look at it, and the real estate lock box was off of the
front door. With Jessica living across the street, and she knowing everything
going on in the town, I was wondering if, well, you had heard anything.”
It was
true that
“Only
that Jessica’s great nephew was arriving. I saw Mort’s car late last night,
with the lights on. He was picking him up at the
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Jessica
woke to the sound of running water in the bathroom next to where her bedroom
was. There was the diligent scrubbing of teeth followed by a gurgling sound as
Frank gargled in every key that he could before spitting the warm liquid from
his mouth. She glanced at the clock across the room. 5:45 am. Perhaps it was
the rain storm or the rumble of thunder that had awakened him. She heard the
quiet squeak of her door. She knew he was peaking in to see if she was awake or
not. She covered a yawn then beckoned
him into the room. For a moment he just stood there, not moving before he
opened up the door enough for him to come in. She saw his eyes dart to the window
as lightning flashed and the booming thunder rolled across the cove. Jess
rolled on her back and patted the other side of the bed. “Come on in,” she said
gently.
Frank
stood still for a moment. She didn’t smell any different than his mom did. The
last thing that he remembered was hoping that Willie Mac had found where he was
going, and then waking up in the bed and realizing he had to find where the
bathroom was. Coming out of the bathroom he had found the door to his Aunt
Jessica’s room slightly ajar. Curious, he had opened it just to see if she was
as scary as he remembered. It was the lightning that convinced him that she
wasn’t going to eat him just that day or anything. He climbed onto the bed and regarded her.
“I had
made up my mind to run away from here, before I got here last night,” he said
to her finally. He studied her face and found it full of curiosity, and no
anger.
“Oh?
What changed your mind?” she asked gently.
“It
was raining and I met a man on the plane that looked a lot like a leprechaun,
even sounded like the ones you see in the movies, but his shoes weren’t right.
They were the same type that my dad owns, the lace-up kind. He was wearing
cloths that – well, had to have been homemade, none of his buttons were quite
the same, and his shirt looked like it was made from the same material that you
would make a girl’s shirt from. And I realized that if he could go about the
world like that, and be as short as I am, he had to learn to deal with a lot
worse things than not wanting to go to English class… and I still don’t know
why my mum giggled so when I asked how coming here was going to help with
English. And how do you know Sheriff Medler?”
“Sheriff
Metzger and I are friends. It’s a small town; every one knows ‘most everyone
else. Most of them will recognize you the moment that they see you - they’ve
seen most every photo that your parents have sent me.”
“Why?”
he asked, curious
“Why?”
Jess repeated, not knowing quite what he
was asking.
“Why
would you show them around? You haven’t seen me since I was little, and you’re
not even related to me by blood. I’m no one to you.”
“Blood
isn’t the only thing that makes a family, Frank. And of all my nieces and
nephews, and great nieces and nephews and cousins, you are the most dear to me.
Your uncle and I couldn’t have children, and your father became our
responsibility when he was quite young. In a way, it’s as if you’re my
grandson, and I know your uncle would be very proud to know you carry his
name.”
Jess
saw Frank sigh.
“I
suppose we’re going to jump right into the lessons…” It was as if his entire
body deflated. Something else was bothering him, something that caused him not
to like the subject and she knew that before she could get him to remember
anything first and foremost she had to find out what was wrong with the English
classes in the first place - though she had a pretty fair idea.
“Oh, I
don’t know. Breakfast first seems like a better idea. What time is it anyway?”
she asked covering her yawn with her hand. Jess knew what time it was actually.
While the sun rose very early along the
“Um…
almost six.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The
rumble of thunder woke Willie Mac. He sat up where he had made his bed the
night before and looked around. He had lost count of the times he had less than
a rug to sleep on and at least, from what he could tell, the roof wasn’t
leaking above him. Stretching his arms
up he took a deep breath. The house would need a proper airing, and a lot of
cleaning. He had been informed that one of the people who had worked at the
shop had died, and how they had died in graphic detail by the real estate agent
Eve Simpson. Not that he minded working with women, but he had the distinct
impression that she would be sadly disappointed in his height when he arrived
at her office to give her back the lock box later that day.
Standing,
he walked over to the shuttered window and looked outside. He saw people moving
about on the street, used to the rains as they walked with large umbrellas and
made their way down to the docks. The thrum of the lobster boat engines had
long since faded, and it was now the shop owners who were coming to work. Eve
had said that Cabot Cove’s day began at 4 in the morning and ended at 8 at
night. By his watch it was past 6 and his belly reminded him he hadn’t had
anything to eat since the airplane ride to
The
rain had let up a bit as he pocketed the key to the front door, and with the
key box in hand he started down the street whistling a nameless tune. There would
be time enough for breakfast - he wanted to settle some matters first. Customs
had regarded what he carried in his case with curiosity, and the documents in
his pocket weighed heavy on his mind. He had a lot invested in this day. His
journey had taken four years to come here to this place. He sighed as he came
to Eve’s real estate office. She wasn’t there, but she had a box for returned
key boxes. With a satisfied nod he placed it in the box and then walked down the
street to where he saw the sheriff’s office. The rain began to fall again and
he was pleased to discover the door to the sheriff’s office was open. He saw a
young deputy look up from his desk and give a nod. Willie noted the name on the pin said ‘Broom.’ He returned the nod and said politely,
“Good morning,
I was wondering if Sheriff Metzger was in? I understand he had a late night
last night, but I was hoping I could have a matter resolved in short time. My
name’s Thaladirith Razanur and I’ve come to recover something that was
stolen from me a few years back that turned up here in Cabot Cove… I’ve papers
of proof of ownership, and a letter from Scotland Yard as well.” Willie Mac
lifted the scabbard from where he had been protecting it under his coat and
placed it on the desk. “I believe you have the sword that fits within this in
what you call an ‘evidence lock up’?”
Andy
Broom almost fell out of his chair at the sight of the scabbard. He found
himself nodding. The sword was still wrapped in oil cloth in the lock up, the
trial long over, as no one from Sutton House had come forward to claim it.
Mort, knowing it was valuable, had kept it safe, wrapping it himself to protect
the blade and taking time to carefully clean off the blood that was on the blade
so that it wouldn’t pit. “Let me call the Sheriff,” he said, swallowing. He
stood then turned to look at Willie Mac “Would you care for some coffee or tea
while you wait? He may just be getting up and it may be a while before he
arrives.”
“Tea
would be lovely, thank you.” While Andy called Mort, he poured a cup of hot tea
for Willie and handed it to him. Willie
waved away the offer of a doughnut. He had seen some odd things that Americans
had eaten for breakfast, and had tried a fair few, but doughnuts were just not
right at all. The taste reminded him of the English Yorkshire Puddings, and
that left a bitter taste in his mouth. He took a sip of the steaming liquid and
settled back in his chair.
It was
a good 15 minutes later that Mort strode in and shook the rain off of his overcoat
as he hung it up on the coat hook. “Morning Andy… Hullo. Mr…” he said turning
to see Willie and extended his hand.
Willie
stood and took Mort’s hand in a firm grip that surprised Mort with its strength.
“Thaladirith Razanur, I’ve come to reclaim the item that was taken
from me, and to my sadness, learned that it was used to kill someone.”
“You
have papers to prove ownership, Mr. Razanur?”
Willie’s
eyebrows rose. Of all the Americans that he had worked with over the last few
years, Mort was the first one to pronounce his name correctly after hearing it
just once.
“Oh
aye,” he said, pulling out the envelope of papers including his passport.
Mort
regarded the description of the sword and frowned. “The one we have in the lock
up is a bit longer, and yours doesn’t have the things on it…”
Willie
nodded and flipped to the next page where there was another picture, one that
was taken by Sutton House for the book cover. Next to it was a photo of Kent
Fordham. Mort straightened up.
“Him I
know, and yes, this is the one we have in the lock up. My question is, how are
you involved in the Nightshade case?”
Mort saw Willie’s gaze didn’t waver.
“I wrote
the book Belladonna, which Sutton House
published and took the rights over as Nightshade. After that, well, things went
a bit bad. I’ve been using the last few years trying to make things right, and
to search for the sword that’s been in my family for the last 3000 years. I
found the scabbard in the place you call your City of
“But
they look like two different swords…” said Andy.
Willie
nodded, and then laid the photos side by side. “Aye, but if you look here, on
the blade, you can see something that shows up even with their best attempts to
hide the sword. The rune beneath their wax came up in an indentation.”
Mort
picked up both photos and studied them. “Well I’ll be,” he said. Putting down
the photos he looked over the rim of them. “Andy, go get Mr. Razanur
his sword.”
Andy
came back in a moment and held the oil wrapped cloth. Mort watched Willie’s
face as it was gently unwrapped and laid on the desk. He saw tears in the man’s
eyes and realized how much it meant to him. Willie took a breath then pulled
out a small pair of fingernail clippers and clipped one of the wires that
wrapped the handle of the blade. Andy and Mort watched as Willie unwrapped the
wire from the handle and freed the large red stone that was on the handle as
well as the intricate scroll work of the triangle and infinity symbol. With
distaste he crushed the wire in his hands, twisting the triangle, snapping it.
The stone he set aside. Mort saw him take the file of the nail clippers and
wedge it between the handle and the blade. There was a soft click as a section
of the blade fell away. Andy gasped thinking the blade had broken. Mort had to
blink a few times before he realized what they had done to conceal the blade.
They had used bees wax, and parchment, then silver leaf over the top portion of
the blade to hide the runes beneath. The handle of the sword, while elegant,
was now smaller. With a twist of the file again, the other side of the blade
was free. Mort saw relief on Willie’s face, and tears that streamed down his
cheeks as he lovingly picked up the sword and held it to his chest.
“Hello,
old friend,” he said softly to the blade, kissing the handle.
Mort
went to his file cabinet and pulled out a bottle of oil that he placed on the
desk along with a cloth. At least they had the sense to oil it before applying
the bees wax. An inspection of the blade against the original photograph showed
that it was the missing sword. Once it was clean he slid it into the
scabbard. Andy looked at the wire bits and
asked curiously.
“So,
the whole cult thing - that was made from the book…”
Mort
saw a pained expression on Willie’s face. “I wrote
the book awhile back after we had a rash of deaths due to one of the healers
misusing belladonna on some of the young people to give them what you call
hallucinogenic trips to control them. It’s more dangerous, more, sensory than
that drug LSD, and not illegal in the least in any land. Gram found out what he
was doing, and he nearly killed her with what he had laced her tea with. I came
back from graduating from the university and saw that most of those whom I knew
were dead and gone and Gram ill - I knew something was badly amiss.
“When
it was done and over, I wanted to find a way of warning the young ones na to do
it. It’s a deadly game that he was playing, one that you don’t win at. I sold
the manuscript to the publishers, and I didna know what editorial prerogatives
was, and I was informed I didna have that right to stop what they were changing
in the book, and when they began opening up the shops, they explained that
people wanted to learn about the old ways, and it sounded like a good idea from
where they were. We didna know what they were doing, or how they were doing it.
They dinna include any money for the shops in the royalty checks for the book,
and in a way, I am relieved about that because it was easier to settle things
in court afterwards. Since the trial I’ve been going from store to store
closing them up and sending the stuff back to Sutton House, and then ending the
contracts for the buildings that they were using. The one here is the last one
that they opened, and the last that I need to deal with.” Willie gathered the
papers and his passport and placed them back into his pocket, leaving a manila
envelope on the desk.
“And
then it’s home to
“Nae, while
my Gram will be happy that I’ve found the sword, when all of this happened, I
became a most un popular fellow. The book brought many curious people into our
village, none of them really knowing what they wanted, and it made the village
very sad. We like a peaceful life. Motor cars just upset the chickens so much
they don’t lay any more, and a hen that does not lay ends up in the stew pot. I
purchased the building that was the Nightshade shop, and I may make my home
there, for a while.”
“You
know, a man died there.”
Willie
nodded to Andy. “Aye,” he said sadly. “I know.” He took a breath. “And some how
I will make amends for those whom have been hurt by this unwillingly.”
Willie
began to walk to the door. Andy called after him, “Wait, what about the
gemstones?”
Willie
stopped. “They are nae mine, but if you contact the name on the envelope on the
desk he will tell you who they belonged to and help you return them. They were
na stolen, but are nae part of my quest.”
Mort
stood up as the rain thundered against the roof. “I have to pick Adele up at
Loretta’s. Would you care for a ride
home?” He saw Willie take a breath, then nod. “Thank ye, Sheriff. That’s most
kind.” He nodded to Andy, who he saw
scooping all of the gem stones into the envelope and sealing it then placing it
in the safe and closing the door. Their eyes met across the room. Willie gave
another nod, then walked out with Mort.
In the
quiet of the police car Willie saw the worry lines on Mort’s face. “The people
here aren’t going to be too happy to see me, are they?”
Mort
took a slow breath in then let it out. “A
lot of lives were changed by it. You know that though. You know the damage they
did to the community. I know, though, how things become promoted. How promises
are made, and money is taken from those who don’t know any better. I learned,
though, who I could trust that week, and who my friends were. I was glad that
they were the same people that I always knew.
A few people in this town were deeply hurt by the methods that were
employed by that company. Decent folk
that didn’t have anything to do with what was going on. You’re worried that
some will think its your fault, but its not. Unless you were the person who was
directing everything going on. If you were, you wouldn’t have left those
gemstones behind. What I can’t understand is why that sword is so important to
you that you would spend years tracking it down.”
“It’s
my heritage. It’s who I am. It proves who I am.”
“The
owner of an old sword?”
Willie
shook his head. With a careful hand he unscrewed the top of the handle of the
sword and slid his small finger inside. Papers slipped out in a tight roll.
Some of them were small enough to uncurl from the roll and were caught in
Willie Mac’s hands before they fell off of his lap. He looked at Mort. “My
birth records, and that of my parents. I didna know where my family had hid
them until after the sword went missing, and my Gram told me that she and my
mother had placed them in the handle of the sword to prove that I was the
rightful heir of it. Do you know your parents
Sheriff Metzger?” Mort nodded “I do not. My da died before I was born and my
mother came to the village looking for him. My Gram took her in during her
confinement, and then my mother left me in her care. I have na seen her face,
nor known her voice all my life, an only part of her name. There were reasons
why she left me that you may never understand… some that I don’t ether. Do you
know what a Mc is? Or as ye say it some times, a Mac? It’s what some are called
if they have a certain faith, the type that they have been fighting over for
far too long. My Mother was a Mac, and my da didn’t care. Nor did my Gram. She’d seen too many die for want of a potato
to live offa.”
Taking
a breath Willie slid the papers back in and screwed the handle knob back into
place.
“Aren’t
you going to look?”
Willie
shook his head. “Na now, maybe later after I have a chance to speak with
my Gram about things. She needs to know the sword’s been recovered so she can
rest at last. Thank you for the ride, Sheriff,” he said as they came up to the
curb.
Stepping
inside the building he left the door ajar to allow fresh air in. He strode up
the steps and placed the sword in his suitcase, and closed it. Looking around
he saw the folded boxes in the large crate and the rolls of packing tape. He
opened his carry-on bag and slid out an envelope that contained labels. Tossing
some of the boxes over the rail he went down the steps and went to work.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Frank
Jr. sat at the door between the dining room and the kitchen looking at Jessica as
she prepared breakfast. She hadn’t mentioned anything dealing with
English. He wasn’t sure how he was going
to learn last year’s work, and then next year’s at the same time. It wasn’t
like summer school at all. The phone called her away and in that time he got up
from the chair and wandered about the house. There was a locked room and when
he looked through the key hole he saw books everywhere on shelves. She had a
desktop computer in the corner. He regarded the lock. How hard could doing what
he had seen on tv be? He realized though that he would have to relock the door
and that might prove harder than getting it unlocked. He heard her calling him for breakfast and
with a sigh, he went to the kitchen. He
didn’t realize how hungry he was until he slid into his seat but he waited
until Jessica sat and nodded before he began to eat.
There
was a knock on the kitchen door before it opened. Frank looked up and saw a
kindly gray haired man enter and give Jessica a kiss on the cheek before he sat
down.
“Hello,
Frank.” Seth said gently before his hand snuck over to Jessica’s plate for a
piece of her cinnamon toast. Jessica held on to her cup.
“You’re
on your on for your cup of tea, Seth,” she said smiling.
Frank
was still blinking very fast. A man had come into his aunt’s kitchen and kissed
her with out so much as a by-your-leave. His brows furrowed. The name Seth… was
familiar to him. He looked at his aunt, and then back over to the man. “You’re
Dr. Hazlitt - Dad talks about you a lot.”
“Well
I expect he does…How was your flight in?”
The next half hour was spent in animated conversation as Frank recounted
every bump of the turbulence and meeting Willie Mac. Jessica sat watching him,
watching every move that he made, and her heart was filled with joy. Seth could
see it on her face. He knew not having children was something that had greatly
pained Jessica after Frank had died. He knew she wouldn’t smother him or spoil
him, and it would be her greatest triumph if she could teach him what he needed
to know about English in the whole summer. She didn’t have too many summers
left. Too many had gone by with just Grady visiting, and the light of her eyes
missing what she wanted to share - memories of the grandparents he never knew.
They
were playing catch with a balled-up napkin. No matter where Seth tossed it,
Frank seemed to just miss it. While it seemed a game to Frank, whose giggles
were infectious, Jess could see exactly where Seth was going with what he was
doing. When she had Frank help carry the dishes to the sink he gave Jess a
quick nod.
“Bring
him around tomorrow at 10 and I will run a base line on him for his eyesight.
He’s about the age that it develops and it may explain certain things.”
Jessica
nodded and turned her head to see Frank washing the dishes before putting them
on the side board. When she turned back, Seth had stepped up to her and had
leaned forward close enough to make his lips meet hers in an unexpected kiss.
It was gentle and sweet and when their lips parted he saw it had brought color
to her cheeks. He stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers. “That shade
of pink looks good on you” he said softly.
The
telephone rang, interrupting what he was going to say next. They heard Frank
say “I’ll get it,” and then they heard, “Hello? Hi Dad!…
It was okay, kinda bumpy… Aunt Jessica is just kissing
Dr Hazlet in the hall…
he had breakfast with us… Oh... here is aunt Jessica … I love you
dad…”
Frank
handed the phone to Jessica and then waved to Seth as he went out the back door.
If they weren’t doing English today, maybe he could convince her to go to the
library with him so he could use the computers there and check his email and
the message boards. He saw that it had stopped raining. The sun was peeking out
and as he stood at the back door he saw a woman in the house next door to where
they were sitting in her back room drawing something. She looked up at him and
waved, then returned to her drawing. Frank sighed. There wasn’t any way he was
going to get away with anything in that town. He withdrew from where he stood
and went back to the dishes in the sink.
He had
just dried the last one when Jessica came into the kitchen again, the blush
still on her cheeks. She was smiling though, so Frank knew he had managed to
get away with something on the grounds of cuteness. He wasn’t going to push his
luck.
“So,
what would you like to do today?” she asked.