“You know, this is a really small town,” she said as she returned.
“Yes, it is.”
“Everyone knows everyone else’s private business.”
“Yes, they do.”
“Which is why I am so glad you finished your book.”
“Ah, me too, baby.”
“Because it’s the last one you’re ever going to write.”
Quinn’s eyes opened wide as the gunshot flashed, lighting up the entire room.
Chapter 21
SHOW AND TELL
The sun glared down on the Nock Fellowship of Faith. Little puffs of white clouds seemed to dot the sky. The parking lot was filled to overflowing. The bell ringing.
Dan Briggs in his minister’s robes, stood at the door, somberly greeting everyone as they entered. Dean Christmas stood across from him doing the same.
Lillian Barnett arrived, a box of tissues in hand. Carol Lambert walked stiltedly, Stephen Christmas by her side, holding her arm.
Tamara Holt wailed in the nave, sitting like a little girl, a baby in her arms, her father patting her back. Billy and Megan sat just out of her sight, Megan nibbling his ear.
“A good turn out this time,” Benjamin Maetters said to Dan as he entered. Mary and Mike Bitters shuffled in beside him, Ben holding her arm. Rosie Christmas slipped in behind them.
The entire room filled fast.
Dean nodded to Dan as they turned and closed the doors together.
***
Dan walked up to the altar as Dean rolled out a little cart behind him.
“As we all know now,” he said. “Last year, we had a famous visitor come to stay with us in our little town. Here to write a few books in peace and quiet. Of course, as we residents all know, Nock is hardly quiet.”
A few people made the sign of the cross on their chests.
“According to the news and what Dean here-” He nodded to Dean who bowed his head. “Has told us, it appears that Kate Weller shot and killed Quinn Tilman and then herself on the twenty-sixth day of June, last year.
“This was apparently after she had gone out to Kolten Springs to the Pink Tree Inn and killed her husband. She shot him too, and the woman he was with, Alice Sanders. The police aren’t sure how no one heard the shots. The same pistol was used for all of them.”
“My god.” A voice echoed up from the far pews.
“But all that aside,” Dan said. “The reason why we are here today is under that cloth.”
He turned to Dean. Dean pushed the cart closer to the front of the altar, making sure it was visible to the entire room. He gently lifted it to a chorus of gasps.
“As you can see,” Dan said. “The new edition to the collection will be going in the tragedies.”
Slowly the congregation formed a line so each person would have the chance to view the shadow box up close.
“You can see Mister Tilman there,” Dean said. “And the woman Kate Weller. Ben, you ought to come up here and do this. You’re better at explaining the symbolism than me.”
A few chuckles echoed to the high ceiling.
“Of course, Dean.” Ben laughed and patted Mary’s arm before walking up to the front. “Unfortunately, I’m afraid in order to do that,” he said nodding to the people. “I have to spill a few secrets.”
He stared at Lily, then Carol and Tamara and glanced at Megan.
“I apologize to you ladies in advance.”
Carol stood. Stephen gasped and frowned up at her.
“I can’t. I thought I could, but I just can’t,” Carol said. “I’m sorry.”
She burst into tears, running from the room. Stephen nodded to them apologetically and jogged after her.
Tamara wailed, her father hugging her to him. Ben turned to Lily. She paled but nodded.
“Alright,” he said. “As you can see, Quinn is lying across the bed. The woman Kate is beside him, half hanging off the bed, the gun below her hand. There is of course blood on the bed and the floor, but also on a scarf, representing Mrs. Lambert. In the corner, cowering below the windows are two salt and pepper shakers. Well, we all know about Salt and Pepper, Lily’s pet finches, so that one is fairly obvious. The black cat is Megan, for reasons many of us already know, and apparently, Billy just found out.”
Billy smirked shaking his head. A few voices chuckled in the background.
“The lilies are obvious. By now we know, when we see white lilies a death is coming. The music ribbon is for Quinn’s daughter Angela, and of course, the wedding ring is for his wife, Virginia.”
“What about the angel?”
“Quinn’s pet name for Tamara was angel,” he said.
Tamara burst into tears again. The infant in her arms cried with her. Her father helped with a bottle.
“It’s all right there,” he said. “Miranda tried to warn him, but he outright defied her. I tried to warn him. Even Mrs. Bitters tried to warn him.”
“Wouldn’t listen. Bad man,” she said.
“Yeah,” he said. “But the last book did get published.”
“So we need to expect a bit of tourism,” Dean said. “First time we've had a famous person go out like this here.”
“I believe we can manage, Dean,” Dan said. “Just have to make a special place for this shadow box. Somewhere the public can see it.”
“I have an idea about that if the owner of the house doesn’t mind,” Ben said.
The three men turned to the old man, still wearing his John Deere cap. He smirked.
“Might drum up a lot of business for that rental property, Rich,” Dean said.
Rich laughed.
“Do whatever you wanna do.”
***
“He was a bad man, but you are such a good girl.”
Mary Bitters sat in her front yard in a small plastic chair made for children. On a table to match in front of her, a floral scarf had been laid across it like a table cloth. A child’s china tea set was spread in front of her, and she poured salt from the teapot into the cups. She raised up her cup and tipped it to whoever she imagined sat across from her before turning and peering over the fence, between the glitter of the glass bottles.
Dean, Ben, and Rich hammered and sawed all afternoon, finally sliding the precious shadow box in place behind plexiglass, and sealing it with screws.
They stepped back.
“Looks like a little house,” Rich said. “With that little roof and all.”
“A window into Miranda’s world,” Ben said.
Dean hefted up the second shutter, screwing it in place. Ben closed them and opened them a few times.
“Perfect.”
“We’ll just have to keep riding by to see that they stay closed most of the time,” Dean said. “At least until all the commotion lets up.”
“The light inside was a great idea,” Ben said.
“Yeah, can’t see it without that,” Rich said.
They shook hands and cleaned up, loading up their vehicles.
Ben waved at Mary.
“How is Miranda today, Mrs. Bitters?”
“Lovely, Ben. You should join us.”
“Ah, can’t today, love. But next time I will.”
He waved again as Rick and then Dean pulled away, then he paused and leaned against the open door of his car, staring up at the house.
“I tried to warn you, Mister Tilman.”
He slid into the driver’s seat and drove away.
AFTERWORD
At the age of fifteen, my parents moved our family into a tiny little town I had never heard of. We didn’t live there very long, but the impression it left on me stayed with me to this day. I knew I had to write it.
Over the years, I started and stopped, wrote and rewrote, trying to put together a story that would fit that little town. What you just read is about the twentieth version. I am mainly a fantasy author. I love creating a world and bringing it to life, so this story was a bit different and took some time to get it right. I used a lot of what I rememb
er, the railroad tracks, the mine, the graveyard, the ruined house, and the smallness of the town itself, and then gave it my cast of strangeness.
Miniatures are my mother’s passion, so I grew up around dollhouses and shadow boxes. To me, using shadow boxes as Miranda’s communication with the living world made perfect sense.
I hope you enjoyed Lasting Shadows. Thank you so much for reading.
You can view the complete painting I did for the cover of the book at https://bonniepgardinerbooks.blogspot.com/ where you can also find out about more upcoming books and works in progress.
(The shadow box my mother made for me in 1980.)
About the Author
Forgoing a bicycle for a typewriter at the age of thirteen, Bonnie Phillips Gardiner now writes fantasy and science fiction for adult audiences. Inspired to write by 'A Wrinkle in Time' by Madeleine L'Engle, her favorite authors, Douglas Adams and Terry Pratchett, and many science fiction movies and television shows of the late sixties and seventies, she now focuses on mature, adult, epic narratives in the realm of dark fantasy and dystopian worlds, with shorter works touching on horror, time travel and science fantasy.
Bonnie lives on the coast of North Carolina with a collection of computers and far too many video games. She raised three children, the youngest mentally disabled, and now considers herself ‘retired’ so she can focus on her first love, writing.
If you are interested in learning more or keeping up with Bonnie’s work, please visit https://bonniepgardinerbooks.blogspot.com/
Lasting Shadows Page 25