Secret Keepers and Skinny Shadows: Lee and Miranda (18 page)

                    CHAPTER 34

Present Day

I
n the morning Lee and Miranda walked the winding path through the dense forest behind the mansion. After adjusting their eyes to the bright sunlight as they stepped out of the darkness onto the power line road, it wasn’t hard to find the tire tracks, but no vehicle.

“Either he had a second set of keys,” Lee said, “or he had someone come and tow it away.”

“Four wheeler tracks, the same type of vehicle they used the last time. The local kids must have started using this as a path through the woods for riding,” Miranda said.

Lee stood silent for a moment. “Come on, Kid, let’s get back.”

At the house Miranda was on the computer, while Lee was thinking through what they had learned.

“Dr. Seller is in a nursing home suffering from the late stages of Alzheimer’s disease. Mrs. Jones, the state psychologist, died twenty years ago. From the old newspaper accounts, it looks like Lilly was in and out of the mental hospital for the first three years after Bert’s murder.” Miranda paused looking Lee.

“Miranda, how did you know she was in and out of the hospital?”

“In that time period, the newspapers printed anything just to fill space. So every day they would send a cub reporter to all the hospitals to find out who was admitted and discharged that day, printing it as news.”

“Do you remember when the police chief told us they had information that the person who committed the murder moved to Florida?” Lee said.

“Where did Lilly die? In Florida!” Miranda said as she turned toward Lee. “Could she be the murderer?

Or was it coincidence that she moved to Florida? Or maybe she’s the one who wrote the name on the wall in the hotel, then moved to Florida out of fear for her life. Lee, I think you might be on to something with that theory.”

“Don’t forget Miranda, there is one more person who moved to Florida—Robert Mason. We can’t be absent minded about him. The questions are all good ones. I hope we can find the answers.”

“Lee, I’m going to get some fresh air by taking a stroll down to the mail box. Would you like to stretch your legs?”

“Sure, why not? I’ll get the door, ladies first,” he said holding the front door open.

Miranda paused on the porch for a couple of seconds looking around.

“Is something wrong? Why did you stop?”

“I always try to pause out here to remember when I didn’t have this million-dollar view of the mountains.”

“That it is, and you can enjoy it anytime you have the desire by stepping out on your front porch. You should turn this place into a bed and breakfast.”

“Yeah, right on Lee. I’ll get to work on that.”

Lee shrugged and smiled.

     
They strolled down the long driveway until they reached the mailbox.

“Huh, look at this, Lee. A letter postmarked from Bridgetown. No return address on it.”

When Miranda removed the letter from the envelope and unfolded it, a newspaper clipping fell out and drifted to the ground before she could catch it. Lee plucked it from the ground and read it without looking in her direction.

“Huh, it’s an obituary for Charles L. Darrell. Didn’t Ridgeway say he stopped to visit the family on his way to Maine? You said you didn’t know him.”

She was so engrossed reading the letter that she didn’t hear what he was saying.

“Lee, listen to this. This obituary appeared in the
Bridgetown Mirror
on February 21. This same man openly and willingly stated that he killed Bert Grayson. Bert Grayson was dating his mother, who ran the local brothel in Bridgetown. He claimed Grayson abused and beat her. Several years later Darrell went to prison for manslaughter in the death of his wife, who died while being tied up during rough sex. While Darrell was in prison he told a fellow prisoner that he killed Bert Grayson for beating up his mother.”

Miranda pointed to the letter. “Look, no signature and no return address.”

“Listen, Kid, right now I don’t know what to say, other than what we’re learning is amazing. I’ve never been involved in a research project with so many twists. But it sounds like Darrell was one mean guy.”

On the walk back to the house they discussed how to proceed.

“If Darrell killed his wife, the old newspapers will have the information on the murder and the trial,” Lee said. Back at the house Miranda searched through old newspapers on line.

“Let me see. Here’s the newspaper account of Darrell’s murder trial in August 1977. This is interesting. They have it tucked away on page three.”

Miranda read the article out loud.

“Charles L. Darrell, 41, of Wilson Township, the former director of the Bridgetown Mobile Emergency Department was sentenced yesterday to seven years in prison for involuntary manslaughter in the death by strangulation of his 19-year-old wife, Ruth C. Darrell. Darrell was found guilty last week of strangling his wife in their mobile home while having rough sex, according to prosecutors.”

“This is one maniacal dude,” Lee said. “And it sounds like he was someone important in Bridgetown at the time of the murder.”

“So, why did the person who mailed the letter wait until Darrell died to reveal such important information? Why didn’t he go to the police?”

“Here’s what I think, Kid. If he murdered Bert for roughing up his mother and got away with it, then murdered his wife spending only seven years in prison. I’d be afraid of him. But once he’s dead, the threats gone. The newspapers wrote an article about him above his obituary. In it, they said he was the head accountant for the city, so he had power.” Lee shook his head. “Look at the picture the newspapers published of him when he murdered his wife. He doesn’t look anything like the composite picture of the man who left the bar with Bert the night he was murdered.”

“The killers are beginning to line up,” Miranda said.

“Okay, Kid, so how many people do we have now who we think might have killed Bert?”

“So far we there are too many. Could the group of suspects we have, be some of the men who were part of the gang our bad mannered first caller identified, as standing in the alley the night of the murder watching Hank slit Bert’s throat?” Miranda said.

The doorbell rang, she went to open it.

“Willow, what brings you out this way? Come in. It’s cold out there. Have a seat in the living room.”

Lee stood and smiled at Willow as she strolled into the living room, glancing over her shoulder at Lee.

“Thank you, Miranda. Sorry to come over without calling.”

“Oh, that’s okay, Willow. When has that ever stopped you?”

“Now Miranda, be nice. I know you love me.”

“You’re right, Willow. Sit. Sorry I missed our session. I had some important things to take care of. Willow this is my friend Lee he’s helping me with the investigation I told you girls about.”

“Hello, Lee, it’s nice to meet you. Miranda keeps all her men to herself.”

“Nice to meet you, Willow. Miranda’s a busy girl,” he said as he winked at Miranda and chuckled to himself.

“Miranda I decided to come to see you after running into Wilma Wythe yesterday at the coffee house. We were discussing the Grayson murder and you won’t believe what she told me.” As Willow talked, she used a lot of hand gestures.

“Oh, I can’t wait to hear this,” Miranda said.

“Wilma told me, and I will try to use her exact words,” she said while crossing her one leg over her knee before continuing. “She said she has been haunted by your ad in the newspaper.”

“Oh, haunted, that’s an unusual choice of words, go on,” Miranda said.

“Well, Miranda, that’s exactly what I said to her and this is what she said to me. She said I wasn’t to dare to tell anyone what she was going to tell me. So I promised her I wouldn’t, but you’re different—I can tell you.”

Lee grinned at Miranda.

“What did she say?” Miranda said as she shot Lee a cool stare.

“She said her father was a fifth-grade teacher at the Bridgetown Elementary School in 1962. The day after the murder of Bert Grayson he told her, one of his students, a boy, came into class excited because he said his uncle who lived with them had come home last night covered with blood, demanding money from the boy’s mom and dad saying he had to get out of town in hurry.” Willow paused taking a deep breath.

“What was her father’s name?” Miranda said.

“James Wythe.”

“Did he tell the police what happened?”

“Well,” she said, “that’s where the problem starts. He didn’t tell the police because, he didn’t want to get involved with the Grayson murder.”

“What was the boy’s name?”

“She said every time she would ask her dad the same question, he would become so upset she had to stop. Her dad passed away in 1996, never telling her the boy’s name. I questioned her to see if she had the class logbook with the names of the students from that fifth grade class. She said her mom packed all his belongings into bags and boxes stored it in the third bedroom, where it stayed for about two years then she donated everything to the Salvation Army.” Willow winked at Lee, he winked back.

“Where’s her mom now? I would like to talk with her, to see what she remembers about the murder, or how I could find the name of the boy.” Miranda said.

“Her mom has since passed away. I asked her the same question, she didn’t know how I could find the boy’s name or the list of students from her dad’s class. She said it was a relief to get this out in the open.” Willow stood.

“So, I wonder why she didn’t tell me this herself, it was my ad in the newspaper?”

“She told me this when we ran into each other in the coffee shop, we decided to share a table since we were both alone. When we sat down Wilma mentioned she had been seeing your ad in the newspaper so it was natural to start discussing the Grayson murder.”

“I see, thanks Willow.”

“Miranda, will you be in class tomorrow?”

“I don’t know. We’re pretty busy with this investigation. I may not be back until we’re finished, however long that takes,” Miranda said as she walked Willow to the door.

Willow turned in Lee’s direction, “Bye, Lee. It was nice to meet you. Hope to see you again soon.”

“Bye, Willow, have a great day,” Lee said as he winked at her.

Miranda closed the door moving into the computer room, Lee followed close behind.

“Wow, Lee, do you believe what people are telling us?”

“Can we believe what she said?”

“If it were anyone but Willow, I wouldn’t believe it, she might seem a little wacky, but she’s rock solid, I’ve never known her to tell a lie.”

“We have to investigate everything these people are telling us, we’ve collected a big bowl of puzzle pieces, now is the time to move each one around to see if any of them fit together,” Lee said as he took a seat next to Miranda.

“It looks like her dad, did work at Bridgetown elementary,” Miranda said.

“Miranda, would you call the elementary school and ask them to give us the classroom log of the boys that were in Mr. Wythe’s class.”

She called the school offices.

“Hello, I’d like to get a copy of the class rooster for all the boys listed at Bridgetown Elementary fifth grade class for February 1962?”

“One moment please.”

There was a couple of minutes of waiting before another voice came on the line.

“Hello, what do you want to do with the information?”

“We’re conducting research and may use the information in a book we might write about Bridgetown’s history,” Miranda said.

“I’m afraid that’s private information, we’re not allowed to give it out to the general public.”

“But I’m not the general public, I’m a researcher and writer.”

“I’m sorry miss, I can’t give you that information.”

“Thank you anyway,” Miranda said, and hung up. “They won’t give out that information. They said it was part of the privacy act.”

“Do they list the classroom assignments in the newspapers here? They did when I was a kid growing up,” he said.

“Great idea, Lee. Let me look. They would’ve published the classroom listings in August of that year.”

Miranda pulled up the old newspaper clippings online.

“Here it is. Bridgetown Elementary.” She read for a minute. “Ha, can you believe it? A new Bridgetown Elementary School was built and put into service that year. The students were assigned to their classrooms as they came into the school the first day. Can you believe that?”

“Listen, Kid, if that boy was related to Darrell, there has to be a way to get hold of the information.” Lee nodded at Miranda, she stopped working on the computer and started to tap her fingers on the desk.

                             
CHAPTER 35

                                      Present Day

“
None of this makes any sense. It’s like Lilly has sucked us into her crazy world and we’re living inside the letters, while the characters are coming out of the past itching to tell what they know. I’m not complaining about the response to the ad; I’m trying to piece together all this information coming at us.” Lee looked perplexed as he stood and started to pace.

“Lee, why don’t we switch channels and look at something else.”

“Okay, that sounds good to me. Kid, the one big question I have stored in the back of my head nagging at me is why does Lilly keep saying she was responsible for Bert’s death? It doesn’t make sense unless she was somehow involved with the murder.”

“Yes I agree, it makes no sense at all. Those same thoughts keep rolling around in my head.” Miranda returned to the computer.

“Here’s something interesting Lee. In her letters, Lilly said Art Cassel died out of state, she thought it had to do with Bert’s murder. After reading that nugget of information I called Jane, to question her about Cassel. I wanted to know who he was and his relationship to Bert. She said they grew up together and he was one of Bert’s best friends. He came to the funeral home the night of Bert’s viewing, as he stood at the casket looking down at Bert, Jane walked across the room stopping at his side. He put his hand on hers before saying, Jane I’m going to be next. Jane asked him why he would say such a thing, he repeated it again. I’m going to be next. Then he walked out of the funeral home. Jane said a couple of months later they found him dead of acute alcohol poisoning in Maryland.”

“You have to drink a lot of booze to die from too much.” Lee said.