Bitter Bones

by N. C. Lewis

  Back out in the car lot I shielded my eyes from the sun. The temperature had risen since I entered the church and beads of perspiration formed on my forehead.

  Bobby stood, hands in his pockets, by the church bus. I got the distinct impression he was waiting for me. He scurried over confirming my suspicion.

  "Let me walk you to your truck." There was a somber note of resignation in his voice. The man was ready to talk.

  "The fight with Garrick," he said, "was over such a silly matter I'm almost ashamed to mention it."

  Bobby closed his eyes as though he were conjuring up a memory and replaying it like a movie projector on his inner eyelids. "Garrick wanted to propose to Chastity. But he'd been married before and had a child. It was a secret he wanted to keep from my sister."

  Bobby opened his eyes and stood on his heels with his hands in his pockets. "Unfortunately, the marriage didn't last, and the child died in a car crash. I urged Garrick to tell Chastity all about it before he proposed. He refused, believing it would alter her opinion of him. In any case, we fought over the issue, I deeply regret it now. I should've told Chastity myself."

  Chapter 33

  There is no misery like that of guilt for a man with a conscience, and Bobby's misery was all the deeper for having kept Garrick's secret from Chastity. I climbed into the truck, started the engine and watched as Bobby strolled, with heavy footsteps, back towards the churchyard. But something worried me, something that I should have seen and had not seen, something that I should have remembered and had not remembered. It was there, I could sense it, in my subconscious mind, but I could not access it, yet.

  As Bobby disappeared out of sight I wondered what to do next. For a long time I sat with the air conditioning turned up high, my mind flicking like a scratch print of an old movie over the facts.

  At last, I spoke aloud hoping to clarify my thoughts. "This whole series of events is a real mystery. A mystery that's easy to say. What happened to Garrick Markovich? Who killed Joseph Shine? And what, if any, is the link between the two deaths?"

  Yet, the more I focused on Garrick Markovich and Joseph Shine, the more their deaths seemed like a blob of mercury, you think you've got it all contained in one place, and suddenly it rolls away scattering into tiny droplets, each seemingly independent of the whole.

  Maybe the two deaths were unrelated? I hadn't considered that yet, but It was a probability, if not a possibility. "The deaths are like blobs rolling in different directions," I said aloud, hoping for greater insight. Then with a jolt I realized that the mystery might be unsolvable. I slumped in the truck seat and stared somberly out of the windshield towards the church entrance.

  The door swung open. Out stepped Chastity, her large handbag slung casually across her shoulder. She stood for a moment her eyes blinking in the bright daylight. Then she raised a hand to her forehead, and shielding her eyes from the sun, turned her head from left to right like a jail house spotlight searching for an escaped prisoner. Again, she scanned the car lot, this time even more deliberate. Her eyes settled on the truck where I sat.

  Chastity waved and with urgent light-footed steps characteristic of emergency medical personnel, scurried across the tarmac.

  I waved her inside, it was too hot to stand outside on the baking tarmac even for a Texan. She climbed in, placing her handbag on the floor between her legs. Then gasped for breath, her huge chest rising up and down as she refilled the lungs with oxygen.

  "I just remembered," she said, taking short sharp breaths. "A week, possibly two, before Garrick disappeared he mentioned he had been contacted by a distant relative…who lived in Austin."

  That jolted me up-right in my seat, and my mind whirred into action. But before my thoughts formed she continued.

  "Garrick was excited by the news," she recalled, her dark eyes glinting, "because he thought he didn't have any living relatives."

  She paused, and shifted position, her eyes now staring out through the windshield.

  "Ollie, I'm sure Garrick met up with the individual."

  "Why do you feel so certain?"

  "Oh, some days later, I brought up the subject of his mysterious relative. I wanted to meet the individual. The excitement was gone, he seemed deflated, became sullen and changed the subject. He wouldn't even give me a name or an address."

  Chastity half turned so that her blazing eyes caught the light. "Ollie, do you suppose the person Garrick met was Wanda?"

  Our thoughts had flowed along similar lines, although I didn't get to answer her question for the cell phone buzzed. Instinctively, I reached to turn it off and in doing so glanced with habitual ease at the screen. It was Bob Lukey, Millie's lawyer boyfriend. I mouthed a quick apology to Chastity then answered.

  Bob's voice was urgent, and he spoke quickly. "Ollie, I've tracked down Wanda Martinez to an address in Austin."

  Chapter 34

  The engine rumbled and the air conditioning, cranked on high whirred, while I held the cell phone close to my ear. Like an overnight steam train, Bob pounded forward with the latest information.

  "Do you know Cummings Street?"

  "Yes," I said nodding, "it's by the water, next to Town Lake." I walk the Roy and Ann Butler trail whenever I'm in Austin. Cummings Street is close to the trail.

  "That's it," said Bob, "there are lots of tenement buildings in that area, a bit rough at night, but okay during the day."

  "Do you have the street address?" I licked my lips in anticipation.

  "Number 707, apartment 2d, Wanda's lived there for over ten years."

  A little knot of excitement formed in my stomach at the thought of solving the 'W' mystery, and eventually coming face-to-face with Wanda, the last surviving member of the well-loved and generous Markovich clan.

  Millie popped into my mind, she'd want to meet Wanda. Relationship's always make great social interest stories, and Millie needed to impress the newspaper owner. Bob had it covered.

  "Ollie, I'm working in North Austin today with Millie. We'll meet you at the address in a couple of hours."

  Chastity tilted her head to one side as she listened intently to the conversation. At first, I was uncertain how much she had overheard, the expressionless stare in her eyes unreadable. Then she spoke.

  "I've got to meet Wanda, I'm going to Austin with you!" There was determination in her eyes and a wildness to her voice. I shrugged, but secretly I welcomed the company.

  At last the puzzle pieces were coming together, only the shape and form was not as I expected. Not what anyone could've expected, really.

  Chapter 35

  There was no time to waste, and we set out eventually joining Texas route 290 towards Austin. The journey gave us time to think, time to become a little uneasy at what we were about to do.

  The sun was setting as we pulled into a parking lot next to the trail that acted as a shortcut onto Cummings Street. Streaks of bright orange radiated up above the tall buildings, although the golden globe itself was hidden by apartments which stood fifteen to twenty stories high.

  Joggers, individual and in small groups, moved with ease between the tourists with cameras and the mothers with strollers. Local people with fishing poles, both men and women, sat patiently at the water's edge waiting for a bite, and families in little clusters laughed and spoke noisily of the events of the day as they hurried home.

  Along the trail, through the hubbub of activity, we walked. Chastity held tight onto the straps of her handbag, I prefer to travel light, a pocket book and my e-reader in a small shoulder back-pack. Then up a handful of steps to a narrow alley that served as a thoroughfare onto Cummings Street. The lakeside entrance, through which we ambled, had a huge iron gate tethered open by a thick chain so pedestrians could pass through freely.

  Out on the other side we found ourselves on a thin sidewalk that ran along a cobbled street. The wrought iron lampposts, from the early part of the last century, flickered into life as darkness chased away the remnant embers of dusk.

 
Building 707, a three-story Victorian clay brick house, looked like a dwarf in the land of giant multistory apartments. In front, a white picket fence in need of repair enclosed a yellowed patch of lawn that had seen better days. Small mounds of trash piled up against one side of the fence, and the façade of the front of the property was in desperate need of attention. A handful of large plastic garbage bags littered the porch that led to the front door.

  There was no sign of Millie or Bob. I checked my cell phone, and saw a text message from Millie.

  At hospital, poor old Bob, twisted his ankle on office steps. Will arrive soon.

  They were running late, we would meet them inside.

  The doorbell rang with such volume it startled Chastity who let out a little gasp of surprise. A woman opened the door. Thin boned, disheveled looking, tubular shaped, and somewhere in her late forties or early fifties, she wore a plain brown dress with her graying hair tied up into a bun. Bright red lipstick drew the eyes away from the heavy foundation which inadequately covered the deep lines on her face.

  The woman didn't look at us directly and I got the impression she was avoiding even a cursory glance in our direction, but she spoke with a friendly tone.

  "Come in," she said without hesitation, "we've been waiting all day for you."

  To say we were surprised by her words doesn't capture the dumbfounded way we followed her along a dimly lit corridor, with creaky wooden floorboards, into a parlor with a huge bay window. The curtains drawn, to block out the streetlights, gave the room a mournful atmosphere, and the dank damp odor that clung to the walls tickled my throat setting off a coughing fit.

  "Kitchen is that way, glasses are in the second cupboard on the left," the woman said pointing to a little room off to the side. The doorbell rang, and the woman disappeared.

  Chastity followed me into the kitchen, typed something into her cell phone then spoke in a soft whisper. "Apartment 2d is on the second floor."

  I took another gulp of water and nodded.

  Chastity continued to whisper. "There is a staircase at the side of the corridor we just came along. Let's go up and see if Wanda is home."

  "Okay," I spluttered as the tickle in my throat eased. "This place gives me the creeps. Let's visit Wanda and get out of here."

  We crept back along the hallway. Suddenly, there was the clatter of footsteps coming towards us. We clambered onto the staircase, but it was narrow and steep.

  The doorbell rang.

  The footsteps stopped, then became more distant as they headed back towards the front door.

  As we climbed higher up the staircase, the front door swung open, its rusted hinges complaining like the screech of a hungry owl. The voice of the woman was audible.

  "Come in. We've been waiting all day for you."

  A threadbare carpet covered the narrow wooden stairs which creaked angrily as we made our way to the second floor. We stepped into a small circular hallway with no windows. For a few moments we stopped to catch our breath.

  "Got to get to the gym more often," huffed Chastity.

  "Agreed," I wheezed, "those stairs sure did take it out of me."

  A single low wattage bulb did little to chase away the gloom, but it was bright enough to reveal peeling paint alongside brown stained walls. Four wooden doors formed an arc in front of us, each with a hand-written number.

  The door to room 2b swung open, a swarm of swirling flies proceeded an unshaven potbellied middle-aged man. He wore a dark stained T-shirt, dirty blue jeans with a narrow leather belt, and his sneakers were worn and battered. For several moments he stood in the doorway swaying from side to side.

  "Y'all here for me?" His bloodshot eyes darted nervously between Chastity and myself.

  "No," Chastity said clutching tightly onto her handbag. "We are not looking for you, go about your business."

  He blew his nose, wiped grimy hands on his stained jeans and shuffled towards us. The air filled with a nauseous mixture of his sour odor and cheap booze.

  "’Scuse me," he said as he squeezed past and down the narrow staircase.

  We watched until he disappeared out of sight and his footsteps clattered along the hallway towards the front entrance and out into the street.

  Now, we returned our gaze to the closed doors. On the far-right side of the arc, in tiny letters, 2d had been scrawled in black paint where the peephole is usually found.

  "That's it!" Chastity said pointing a chubby finger towards our destination. She seemed hesitant, so I stepped forward. There was no doorbell or knocker. I rapped on the door with my knuckles.

  There was no answer.

  I knocked again, this time with more force.

  "Wanda," I called. "Wanda, are you home?"

  The door flew open.

  A tan skinned man with an athletic face and thick neck stared back.

  Chapter 36

  Astonished, my mouth hung open and eyes bugged. Garrick Markovich stood before me, in the flesh, and very much alive! The very same man in the photograph Chastity had shown me when I visited her at the hospital.

  "Garrick!" cried Chastity rushing forward. In an instant he was in her arms. Chasity, sobbing now, held on for a deep passionate hug.

  Yet, something was missing. Something as closely related to Garrick Markovich as bread to butter or bacon with eggs. As my mind raced to figure it out, Chastity placed her pudgy hand with its carefully tended, and varnished nails, on his left cheek. Then she let out a horrified scream.

  "Who are you?" she yelled. "You're not my Garrick."

  Chastity stumbled back into the hallway her eyes wide, body trembling. Her nervous energy transmitted and I felt faint. This was not how it was supposed to go.

  I sucked in my breath, the stale sour air filling my nostrils, then breathed out slowly. An image of John, smiling, appeared in my mind. He had always said, 'curiosity is better than book learning. If you don't know, ask questions. Find out.'

  "Where's Wanda?" I asked regaining my composure.

  He remained motionless, the ghost of Garrick Markovich with nothing behind his eyes but emptiness.

  I asked again, "Where is Wanda Martinez? We need to speak with Wanda."

  He placed a hand on his cheek and with narrowed eyes spoke in a wheezy Wisconsin accent.

  "You cops?"

  "No," I said, "we have a private message for Wanda."

  He glanced out into the hall. The front doorbell rang, the sharp clang bouncing up the staircase.

  "I'm Wanda," he said.

  "You're Wanda Markovich?"

  "Uh-huh," then by way of explanation continued, "my parents wanted a girl, but they adopted a boy, me. The kids at school called me Dale, short for Wandale. These days I prefer 'W', or Wandale if you want to be formal." His edgy voice resonated with the harsh tones of an individual who had lived a difficult life.

  Again, the doorbell rang. I jumped. Chastity held my arm, her hands cold and clammy. The thought that I was with Chastity, and knowledge that Bob and Millie would be here any moment soothed my frayed nerves, but I was still edgy.

  "Now," Wandale said with a thin smile, "who are you?"

  "Friends of Garrick and Teddy Markovich. Can we come in?"

  "Well–yes, all right," he said, his dark eyes calculating.

  But he made no move. Only when I stepped towards him did he half turn to let us pass into the gloom of the room that lay beyond.

  For an instant he stood in the doorway, regarding us from behind. Then he too stepped into the room. The door swung shut behind us with a conclusive thud.

  Chapter 37

  It was a small room with no kitchen, and a door that I assumed led off to the bathroom. In the corner, by the window, a small table with two bare wooden chairs next to a sofa that doubled as a single bed. The carpet was dirty, and the brown stains from the hallway extended their grotesque patterns of decay and neglect along the walls and across the ceiling of this space Wandale called home.

  Chastity sat in one of the wooden c
hairs, glanced at her cell phone, then peered out of the window which offered a view onto the cobbled street below. I sat in the other chair. And only then noticed on the floor by the sofa, a small plastic spoon set next to squares of tinfoil with several needles scattered around like confetti at a wedding.

  My cell phone buzzed, I squinted at the screen, a text message from Millie.

  Ollie things going slower than expected. Found out that Wanda is a man, and wanted by the authorities for drugs. Meet us outside the property. We'll get there when we can.

  A sour feeling flooded my stomach. Out of the corner of my eye I looked towards the closed door. It had a simple latch, if things turned ugly I would make a dash for the door.

  Wandale sat on the sofa uncomfortably. "Welcome to my parlor," he said, and grinned a yellow toothed grin. But it was his eyes that disturbed the most, they were dull, devoid of emotion and came at you from the side in an unnerving sliding motion.

  Chastity spoke first, her tone polite, formal like an attorney seeking confirmation of a fact.

  "Wandale, you're Garrick's brother, is that correct?"

  With a straight line to his mouth, and eyes glued on our faces, he replied. "Yes, I'm Garrick's brother, his identical twin. I guess you know we were separated at birth, I drew the short straw." There was an edge of bitterness in his voice.

  Chastity leaned forward, and her eyes blazed like laser beams. "Did you get to spend much time with Garrick?"

  "No," he said, "I only met him a few times. The last, several years ago. I haven't seen him since. But he told me about you."

  He tilted his head toward Chastity, his lustful eyes settling on her chest.

  "Garrick said you were good to him. Very good indeed..." A pink tongue slipped out of his mouth and licked his lips.

  Chastity shifted in her seat. I made a mental calculation of how long it would take to get to the door. Then felt nauseous as the sour stench that clung to this place danced a dreadful jig along my nostrils. I redid the calculation, it would take longer if I threw up.