Shadow Games

by Doug Welch

  * * *

  I woke to Alex pounding and shouting at my bedroom door. “Paris! Hey lazy bones, Get up. We have things to do and people to see – Come on!”

  Groaning, I crawled out of my comfortable bed, pulled on a bathrobe, and opened the door.

  “Okay, I’m awake. You can stop yelling.”

  “Go take a shower. I’ve already been in and out. Breakfast is almost ready.”

  I took a leisurely shower, and checked the stubble on my face. I didn’t have a heavy beard, but after the Army, shaving had become automatic.

  A masculine copy of Alex stared back at me. My friends said I looked androgynous, neither male nor female. If I’d been born with breasts and rounded hips I could have easily passed for a woman. But my hips were slim and I possessed a wide chest and muscular shoulders, unmistakably male. The other officers in my company had called me ‘pretty boy scout.’ They’d dropped the ‘pretty’ after a few tense engagements, but they still kidded me about my looks and the nickname stuck.

  I studied the bathroom mirror in an attempt to understand myself. I knew the face that looked back was distorted, a mirror image of the true Paris. Before college and Iraq, I’d been a simple country boy, naive abut the greater society I lived in and the true nature of people in other parts of the world.

  My parents had fortunately given me fundamental moral values: respect for others, self reliance, a solid work ethic and a love of family. They formed my core and kept me sane in insane situations, but in Iraq, I’d changed. There I discovered a part of me that was like a dormant volcano.

  Left unharmed, I was a rugged, placid mountain. Shake me and I could bury someone in lava.

  Right now, I smoldered.

  After a shave, I dressed, and ambled down to the kitchen. The heavenly smell of bacon made my stomach rumble.

  “Smells good. I’m hungry.”

  “Well, get started, I’ve already eaten.”

  After packing in a substantial breakfast of eggs, hash browns, country bacon and toast, I was starting to feel superhuman.

  “That was good, Alex, thanks.”

  “Anything for my dear, older brother, older by fifteen minutes.” She laughed. “Let‘s get moving. I’m anxious to start and unless I plan to walk, you have the only car.

  “I'll have to make a call first – to my work.” Alex winced, but said nothing. I headed back to my room and dug out my cell phone from my suitcase. The phone had been off the whole time I’d been in Jamestown.

  While Alex danced around like a nervous deer, I called my department head, Harvey and told him that I needed more time to settle family matters.

  He didn’t take the news well, because I was working on an important, multimillion-dollar project. Although I was ahead of schedule, he was the kind of boss who fretted about every aspect of a project, never satisfied.

  After some negotiating, I promised I’d work on the specifications and email the results to him. I knew Dad owned a reliable and powerful computer for his research, with a fast Internet connection. The combination should be more than adequate for my needs.

  Disconnecting, I turned to Alex. “I have to make sure the Internet connection is paid up. We need to stop at the phone company.”

  “We don't need to. It‘s not the phone company. There‘s a satellite dish on a pole behind the barn.”

  “Okay, I’ll check it out later.” I picked up the keys and we headed out. I stopped to lock the door.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m locking up the house.”

  “Good idea, but a little strange. We’ve never locked it before.”

  “Did you forget about the burglar? I’ll feel better if it’s locked up.”

  After locking the door we headed to my car.

  I keyed the automatic door locks and Alex slipped into the passenger seat.

  “By the way, Big Brother, have I said how much I like your new wheels?”

  I blushed. “Hey, I like my Camaro. My car is fast, safe, comfortable and fun to drive.”

  “Not to mention canary yellow with sexy racing stripes.” She settled back in the bucket seat. “Seriously, Paris, I think it’s a beautiful car. I’m glad Detroit started making them again.”

  I grinned at her. “Truthfully? I saw this beauty on the lot, and couldn’t resist it.”

  She laughed.

  “Seat belts,” I said.

  She latched her belt and the car rolled smoothly across the grass toward the highway. The farm didn’t have a defined driveway and when I visited, I parked at the front of the house on the lawn. During the spring and summer grass grew fast in Kentucky.

  It wasn’t a long trip to the center of Jamestown. You couldn’t really call it a 'downtown', but it was clean and picturesque. The center of Jamestown had a square in the middle of the road, with a statue of a world War One soldier in the center. The town was the site of the Russell County Courthouse and the center of Russell County.

  Counties in Kentucky tended to be small and Russell was no exception. The whole county boasted a population of less than twenty thousand souls.

  Less than two thousand were grouped around Jamestown. Very close to Lake Cumberland and the Lake Cumberland State Park, it made it a vacationer’s paradise, with boating, swimming, forest trails and great campsites. Alex and I knew the area well, having hiked all over Lake Cumberland and the local woodlands.

  As we rode toward town, Alex's expression grew wistful. “Remember when we used to ride our bikes to the lake and hike along the ridges?”

  She must have been reading my mind. “I was just thinking about it. Maybe we can do some exploring while we're here.”

  “I’d like that.”

  I parked the Camaro at the county courthouse. Practically any place we wanted to visit was within walking distance in Jamestown. I looked around at the buildings surrounding the square. In front of the courthouse three men lounged against some parked cars, talking. They glanced our way, then resumed their conversation. At the small restaurant, another man leaned against the building. Something bothered me about the man's look, so I turned back and keyed the wireless remote to lock the car.

  I could see that Alex noticed my nervousness. “Getting more paranoid?”

  “Just prudent,” I replied.

  We proceeded into the courthouse.

  “You hit the county Records for addresses on the list that are close to Jamestown. I’ll check the police department.”

  “Why do I get the records, while you get the police?” Alex asked.

  “Uh, because I’m the male?”

  “Dummy. Whom do you think the police will sympathize with? – A pretty, distraught, amber-eyed, chestnut-headed female who just lost her parents, or a hulking ex-army type with the attitude of a drill sergeant?”

  “As much as I hate to admit it, you’ve got a point. I might observe though, that we’re both about the same height.”

  “True, but I act petite, while you hulk.”

  “I don’t.”

  “You do.”

  We went our separate ways.

  I checked the addresses on the list against some of the resources located in the county records office. Only two of the addresses were in Kentucky. The remainder were scattered across the other fifty states, some as far as California. There was one address in Cincinnati. It was the only address in Ohio.

  Of the two addresses in Kentucky, one was near Jamestown, but at a rural postal box and the other near Lexington. I marked the two Kentucky addresses as promising, and decided the others could wait.

  I spent an inordinate amount of time searching for some record of my parents’ background and found nothing. As far as the county records were concerned, my parents had suddenly appeared with children in arms and purchased some property, apparently with cash.

  Discouraged, I left the records office and searched for my sister.

  I found her chatting with the three men who were gathered in front of the Courthouse. They were
obviously enchanted with her, each vying to catch her attention and talking over one another. My sister had always attracted males, even in high school. However, to my knowledge, she’d never had a serious romantic involvement with any member of the opposite sex.

  I wondered about that.

  I too, had never had any difficulty in meeting girls. They seemed to gravitate toward me. But, whenever I was with them, I compared them to my sister. It made my relationships with women difficult. I always imagined how they would equate with Alex. No one had passed that test.

  I had a habit of making friends with females but I’d always stopped short of commitment, and even when I eventually let the relationship cool, they departed friends. During my Army days, the guys had called me a ‘chick magnet’. I didn’t go out of my way to chase females, but I usually found them, and my friends eagerly joined me on off-base excursions.

  In Iraq, there was neither time nor opportunity to pursue the opposite sex. You were wise if you remained alert and didn’t get involved with the locals.

  After a while, Alex said polite goodbyes to the guys, and left the group to join me. We walked to the car and I locked the list and some notes in the trunk.

  “Sorry I took so long.” I nodded to the men hanging around the front of the Courthouse. “What was that all about?”

  “Just gathering some local gossip.”

  “Did you discover anything unusual?”

  “Yes, but not here, we'll go to the restaurant, get a booth and talk about it. I could use some lunch.”

  The restaurant didn’t have booths, so we chose a quiet table in the back, away from the other customers. We sat down and I picked up the menu to study it. “What did you find out?”

  Alex shook her head. “No, you go first. You spent the most time in there.”

  I shrugged. “Didn’t find much and that’s the strange part. There’s no record prior to twenty-five years ago that our parents ever existed in Kentucky. It’s like they suddenly appeared out of nowhere. They paid cash for the farm. Cash. Where did they get that kind of money? Most people have a mortgage. Our parents didn’t.” I paused and unfolded the table napkin to lay it on my lap. “In addition, there were only two addresses on the list in the state. One’s close to Jamestown and the other is around Lexington. Also, why are there only addresses on the list? Where are the names? Some of the items are just places with no addresses. Anyhow, I couldn’t find the name for the address here in Jamestown. It’s just a rural mail box. I’ve got some ideas, but they will have to wait until we get back to the farm.

  “Your turn,” I said.

  Just as she was about to speak, the waitress arrived to take our order.

  “What’ll y’all have?” She poised with a pencil hovering over her pad.

  I studied the menu. “I want the fried green tomatoes, and a country salad.”

  Alex didn't bother to look. “I’ll just have a bacon lettuce and tomato on toast.”

  “Anythin’ to drink?”

  “Iced tea for both of us,” I replied.

  “Comin’ up.” She moved off to deliver our order.

  I had an idle thought about the server’s southern accent. Both Alex and I had been out of state so long that we had little of our accent left. In the case of Alex, it was just enough to be charming. We waited for the tea to arrive before we resumed the conversation.

  “So, what did you find?” I asked.

  “More questions than answers. The Chief wasn’t there, so I talked to Officer Patterson and Detective Simmons. The official police report stated that the car was clipped by an unknown vehicle, lost control, and hit some trees. – Pretty dry stuff.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “But I was able to talk Patterson into telling me some of the details that didn’t get into the official report.” She paused and continued in a conspirator’s voice. “Get this. – Patterson said the skid marks indicated that the car was forced out of control by one of those maneuvers they teach the police when they’re trying to stop a fleeing vehicle. Since he was suspicious, he traced our parents’ activities prior to the accident. They’d gone to the Marina Inn to have dinner. At least two people at the inn said that they had met someone there during dinner, before the accident. The other people said that they couldn’t remember, and the two that recalled the meeting, couldn’t agree on whether the person they met was a man or a woman. Don’t you think that’s odd?” She waited for me to comment.

  I shook my head. “Witnesses are frequently unreliable. It’s not unusual. Dad’s letter seemed to indicate he was worried about something and maybe he met someone there to try and resolve it. Go on. What else?”

  Alex’s look changed as though she’d saved the best for last. She sat back in the seat. “Patterson said that the police investigation indicated that the car had hit the trees in excess of eighty miles per hour.”

  Stunned, I felt my face change to disbelief. “Bullshit, Dad never drove that fast on the state roads. He always said that anyone who exceeded double nickels on a two lane road was a fool. If the car was moving that fast someone had to be chasing him.”

  The food arrived, and our conversation paused.

  Her face now reflecting excitement, Alex continued. “They haven’t been able to locate the other car involved. The only evidence they have is some paint scrapings from our parents’ car. Patterson said that’s not much help. Apparently, the Chief is writing it off as an ordinary hit-and-run. It’s likely to end there but Simmons is sympathetic. He said he’ll try to keep it open.”

  “I sense my sister's pretty, amber eyes involved in there, somewhere,” I ventured.

  She smiled. “Patterson’s cute, and he was putty in my hands, but he‘s married.”

  I laughed. “You’re incorrigible. My sister the Mata Hari,”

  She grinned. “Hey, if you’ve got it, you gotta flaunt it. Besides, his name is Robert Patterson. You should know him – Bob? We went to high school together.”

  “Robert? You mean...wasn't he that lanky guy in class who wanted to date you for awhile?”

  “Yep, we became good friends.”

  “I’ll have to stop by before we go back home and say hello.”

  “Good idea.”

  We turned to our cooling meals. After a while, Alex said, “there’s something else, I don’t know if it has anything to do with our problems, but Bob said that the Chief‘s concerned because there’ve been some strangers around. They haven’t caused any problems, but they’ve apparently moved into one of the rental properties outside of town, one of the secluded farms. The Chief’s worried that they may be some kind of cult. Bob said that the Chief doesn’t want Jamestown to be another Waco, so he‘s keeping an eye on them.”

  “What are they, some kind of commune or something like that?”

  “Bob didn’t say. Also, I talked to the guys outside the Courthouse and they also mentioned that there were strangers in Jamestown, but so far, they’re keeping to themselves.”

  We finished our lunch and stopped at the Courthouse so I could say hi to Bob and on the way home, visit the jewelry store so that Alex could arrange to have the chains and lockets made for our medallions.

  As I drove back to the farm, I thought about what we’d learned.

  Jamestown was a small rural community. Most people had a nodding acquaintance with each other or had numerous relatives living nearby. In one way or another, practically everyone in Jamestown knew, or was related to, everyone else.

  However, in the manner of most southerners, people were normally, unfailingly polite to one another. People in the south also minded their own business and expected others to mind theirs.

  Most southerners did not overstep those bounds. The few troublemakers found themselves ostracized and most people who could not get along eventually moved out of the area. There were a few exceptions, but they were widely known and the subject of a lot of gossip.

  It seemed unlikely that any newcomers to Jamestown could keep their activities secret
for long. Most of the folks in town knew my parents as the Professor and his wife, and knew us as the Professor’s children. As far as they and we knew, Dad had been a researcher who wrote books, thick ones, guaranteed to put you to sleep in a few pages. The new, unusual aspects of my parents’ lives we’d discovered did not fit any of those images.

  At home, unlocking the front door, I heard the telephone ringing and hurried to the study to answer it.

  “Hello.”

  “I’m calling for Mister or Miss Fox, Paris Fox or Alexandra Fox.”

  I replied in a formal tone “This is Paris Fox, to whom am I speaking?”

  “This is the law firm of Brawley and Higgins. Mister Brawley has been trying to reach you. Please hold sir, while I connect you.”

  I waited. In a few seconds, a high, nasally voice answered. “Mister Fox, I’m so glad I was finally able to contact you. I’ve left voice messages, didn’t you get them?”

  I thought for a moment. “No, this is my parents’ phone number, Mister Brawley. I didn’t even know they had voice mail until recently and haven’t checked. As you can imagine, we’ve been preoccupied these last few days, with the funeral and all.”

  “You’re quite right Mister Fox. I apologize. It’s just that I was eager to meet with you and your sister. You may not remember, but I spoke with you during the days before the funeral. I was the lawyer your father hired to handle his financial affairs and his estate. I was also a close friend of your father. I wanted to read the will to both of you and answer any questions.”

  His name finally registered in my mind. “Oh. You did mention that he had a will, but we haven’t finished inventorying the house. Is there something wrong?”

  “It’s one of those unpleasant facts of life that in the tragic event of a death, the estate needs to be set in proper order. Fortunately, your father was very precise in the execution of his will and there is no problem. You and your sister will inherit considerable wealth.”

  At first his words didn't register. Wealth? What did he mean by wealth? “Exactly how much wealth?”

  “I don’t have the exact figures in front of me,” he replied, “and there may have been changes since the last accounting, but it would be safe to say that you and your sister stand to inherit in excess of sixty million dollars. That’s in addition to the farm, of course.”

  Stunned and speechless, I looked at Alex, who’d been following the one-sided conversation in puzzlement and shook my head. I mouthed the word ’wait’ and held up my hand.

  “Mister Fox, are you still there?”

  “Yes, you just surprised me. How do you want to handle this? It‘s been a busy day, should we come to your office?”

  “That’s not necessary. I have an appointment out your way, and if I leave early enough, I can bring all the necessary documents to the farm. You and your sister need to sign some papers, and I need to read the will with an impartial witness present. I’ll bring one of our legal associates to witness the proceedings.”

  “That’s fine, we’ll be waiting – and – thank you.”

  “No thanks necessary, Mister Fox, just doing my job. I'll be there within the hour.”

  “What was that all about?” Alex asked after I hung up.

  Still a little incredulous, I shook my head. “That was Dad’s lawyer. He’s coming to the house to read the will.”

  Alex’s eyebrows met in a frown. “Coming to the house? Isn’t that unusual? Why didn’t he ask us to come to him?”

  “I don’t know, but I think I may have an idea.”

  She looked annoyed and impatient. “What? Come on spill it.”

  “Brace yourself Sis. It seems like we’re filthy rich.”

  Alex’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “Yeah? – Rich! As in... How rich?”

  I grinned. “Sixty million bucks rich.”

  “Impossible!” she snapped. “There must be some mistake. How could Dad get sixty million dollars?”

  “He said it was over sixty million but didn’t say by how much.”

  Alex paced in the hallway outside the study with her arms folded across her chest. “Paris, this just keeps getting weirder and weirder. If Dad had that much money, then why did we have to attend public school? And why did I have to work my way through college?”

  I moved past her and headed to the living room, speaking over my shoulder. “You weren’t the only one. You were the one closest to the farm. Are you sure that you didn’t see anything or overhear Mom and Dad talk about money?”

  Alex joined me and sat on the couch. “I was busy building a career. I mean, a degree in history doesn’t qualify anyone for a job other than teaching high school. I was trying to make a name in the antique business and I spent a lot of time traveling all over the U.S. I wasn’t at home as much as you think I was.” She stopped, and frowned.

  I sat in the armchair and thought about her comments. Alex had certainly made herself famous in the antique world. She was uncanny at being able to spot fakes, and she had a positive genius in discovering the hidden gems that lurked in southern attics. Achieving that kind of success required commitment and a lot of research. It was entirely likely that she had been too preoccupied to pay much attention to our parents’ secrets.

  “Well, maybe we’ll learn more when the lawyer gets here.”

  We waited impatiently for the arrival of Dad’s lawyer. After a while, I was ready to call the law firm, but the two cars that pulled into the yard stopped me.

  Two men walked up to porch, and I opened the door to let them in. The older one spoke. “Mister Fox. – Miss Fox?” We both nodded. “My name is Silas Brawley, and this is my associate Kirk Brown. May we come in?” He carried a large briefcase.

  Silas was tall and thin, with sandy blonde hair that was just starting to show some gray. He had clear pale blue eyes that looked expectantly at me.

  “Certainly.” We shook hands all around.

  We all sat in the living room.

  Silas chatted briefly about the weather and how Alex and I were coping with the loss of our parents, normal southern pleasantries before conducting business. The conversation eventually died down, and turned toward the reason for their visit.

  Silas opened his briefcase. “First, Mister Fox, Miss, or is it Ms Fox?”

  Alex smiled. “Miss is fine, Mister Brawley.”

  Silas nodded. “Good, it’s nice to see a southern woman who doesn’t become insulted by traditional mannerisms. One has to be careful now-days.” He sat the briefcase on the floor by his feet. “First, I need to see some identification. I assure you it’s not a slur upon your integrity, it’s a legal requirement. Kirk here will witness the documents and record them.”

  We handed over our driver’s licenses. Kirk wrote down the information and handed them back.

  “We’ll also need to verify your birth certificates or Social Security cards,” Silas said.

  His words brought a sense of dread because he’d touched on an uncomfortable subject. “I’m afraid I’m not in the habit of carrying those kinds of things in my wallet, but I know my Social Security number.” I turned to Alex. “How about you, Sis?” Looking a bit worried, she shook her head in negation.

  “No problem, that’ll be enough for now. We can proceed on the identification you’ve provided. The other things can be verified later. If you don’t have the cards handy, we can get them for you.” He pulled some legal papers from the briefcase. “I need to read the will, and then you two need to sign the proper documents that will transfer the proceeds from the estate to your ownership. Before we begin, I need to make you aware of certain legal issues.” He settled back in the armchair.

  “First, I represent your father and your father’s estate. Since your mother passed away, I also represent your mother‘s estate. Lawyer-client confidentiality extends to the estate, not to you individually.”

  “Come again? What does that mean?” Alex asked.

  “That means that if you were to say anything that implied a criminal i
ntent, I could be compelled to testify in a court of law as to your statement. If you were my client, nothing you say to me could be revealed by me. I just legally needed to make you aware of our relationship.”

  “So, what if we wanted to hire you right now?” I asked.

  “That would be a conflict of interest,” he replied. “You have a right to your own legal representation at this reading. If you plan to contest the will, although I do not see why you would, I would have to stop the proceeding after the reading and then it would go to court. Shall we proceed with the reading?”

  “Please,” I said. Alex was quiet.

  He handed us each a copy of the will and we read it, as he read it aloud. It was heavy with a lot of whereas and wherefores, but the gist of it was mother was to inherit the estate in trust for us. In the event of her death, we inherited the estate to share-and-share alike. There was a list of the assets in question. All of the assets were ours, because mother had passed away at the same time as our father. He reached the end and said, “Are there any legal objections as to the particulars of the will?” We both shook our heads in the negative. “You must clearly state aloud as to your intentions.”

  “No, no objection,” I said.

  “No objection, none,” Alex said.

  “Good.” He smiled. “Kirk, please record their responses. I’m sorry that I had to be so formal. Now you must sign the transfers of ownership and that will conclude my obligation to the estate. Please examine each document carefully. Make sure that it contains a complete and accurate accounting according to the details in the will.”

  Alex took a long time comparing the particulars of the transfer of ownership documents and the list contained in the will. “Looks right.”

  We signed the paperwork and Brawley gave us copies. Kirk signed as the witness for each document.

  “Now that’s over," Brawley said, “I can answer any questions that you may have. But first, I would like to talk to you about legal representation. Our firm prides itself upon being scrupulous and honest, and in that vein, I would like to explain why we provided you with this personal service.” He cleared his throat.

  “Your father knew of our reputation, and that is why he hired us to manage his legal affairs. To be frank, it’s been a lucrative arrangement for our firm, and we’ve ensured that your father‘s financial transactions have totally complied with the law. You have no worries in that regard. We do not wish to lose you as a client. If you two would be willing we would like to continue to represent you.”

  “If you’re our lawyer, can you answer some questions about our father?”

  “Within reason, if it pertains to the estate and the trust. I will not, however, reveal anything that your father said to me in confidence.”

  I turned to Alex. “What do you think, Sis?”

  “I think it’s the only way we’ll learn anything.”

  “Okay, I agree.”

  “Me too,” she said.

  “Good. I hoped you would. I have some power of attorney papers that you need to sign.”

  We signed the papers, and Brown witnessed them.

  “Before you ask me any questions, Kirk must head back to the office. His work here is completed.”

  Brown said his goodbyes, and we shook hands. When he was driving out of the yard, I sat back down on the couch and looked at Brawley. “We’ve got a lot of questions, Mister Brawley. Do you have a lot of time?”

  “I have about an hour before my next appointment, if there is more, I can see the both of you in my office where I have access to more information.”

  “Does this mean that anything we say now is confidential?” I asked.

  Brawley looked puzzled. “Yes, attorney-client privilege. I may not divulge what you say, and I cannot be compelled to testify in court. However, I must warn you. I’m not a criminal layer.”

  “No, nothing like that.” I noticed Alex wanted to join the conversation, so I deferred to her.

  “What Paris’s trying to say, Mister Brawley, is that we have some questions about our parents. We’re not criminals.”

  “Thank you. I apologize. I admit. You had me concerned for a moment. I wonder. Could we dispense with the Misters and Misses? My name’s Silas. Could I call you Paris and Alexandra?

  “Please,” I said.

  Alex smiled. “Just call me Alex.”

  “Thank you. How can I help you, Paris? – Alex?”

  Alex looked at me. I shrugged and indicated she should continue.

  “Silas, there are circumstances surrounding Dad’s death that lead us to believe it may not have been accidental.”

  “Also,” I added, “we’re completely mystified as to how our father could have acquired such wealth without our knowing it. To be honest, Dad was a researcher who wrote dry textbooks of interest only to academics and students. He wasn’t a Stephen King, so where did he get all this money?” I gestured to the pile of papers. For some reason, I was reluctant to mention my father’s letter.

  “Ah, I think I can help you there, at least as to the question of how your father managed to build an estate. As to the accident – what makes you think it wasn’t an accident?”

  I frowned. “Some things the police said. Specifically, some comments by Officer Patterson and some things we have discovered about our parents that, quite frankly, leave us confused.”

  Silas stroked his chin. “It is not unusual for surviving children to discover the parents they thought they knew, represent something of an enigma upon the event of their passing. It happens. However, in this case, I too, viewed your father as someone who was – unusual.”

  He settled back into the armchair, and folded his hands, as though he needed some time to collect his thoughts. I waited patiently.

  “Your father visited my law firm approximately ten years ago. He requested that we set up a trust because he had some money he wanted to invest. It was a little less than two hundred thousand dollars.

  “He said that the money was a broker’s fee for a sale he’d arranged of some rare coins. My firm is very cautious when accepting a client. We investigated the transaction, and found it to be legitimate. We have a great deal of experience in setting up trusts that have advantageous tax provisions, but your father insisted upon managing the investments himself. After a few years, the funds had grown, more than ten times. Your father was unbelievably successful in choosing investments. In fact, at one time, I considered following his success, but felt that it might be construed as a conflict of interest. I’m sorry now that I didn’t. I also checked to see if there was any hint of insider trading. There wasn’t. He was simply making the right choices at the right time.

  “About two years ago, he moved the funds from more aggressive investments to very conservative interest bearing bonds and mutual funds. That is where the funds reside today.

  “The strange aspect of your father’s case is he wanted to keep his name and personal information as confidential as possible, particularly from the government. This was the reason for the trust. The trust pays the expenses for the farm, including the utilities and taxes. His income from his research activities and the small income from his books were set up as a not-for-profit arrangement under a ‘creative commons license’. In short, as far as the government knew, your father didn’t exist.

  “He didn’t file tax returns because he didn’t have any taxable income that wasn‘t offset by the personal deduction. Your mother never earned any personal income at all. He made sure of that. All taxes for investment transactions were paid by the trust. –Does that answer your question?”

  Alex answered. “No, not every question, but it’s a start. We still don’t know who our parents’ families were or our family’s history. Our parents’ lives seem to have begun when we were born, and totally ended when they died.”

  “I have a question,” I said. “Do you have a record of my father’s or my mother’s Social Security numbers? With that information I can find the answers I need.”


  Silas paused for a while, as though considering my request. “Maybe. Since he passed away, the attorney and client relationship no longer applies. But even though John has passed away, we were still friends, and certain confidences that we shared I promised to keep confident. I'll have to think about it. Believe me, it’s nothing that would hurt you, in fact, it’s meant to protect you.”

  He appeared to think for a while longer, and then continued.

  “However, I will say this. There’s a shadow culture that exists in this country, and I suspect, all over the world, that lives alongside ordinary people but shuns notice. These people have no documents other than false documents, no Social Security numbers, and no identification with the government of any kind. They don’t pay taxes. They live through cash and barter transactions. As far as I’ve been able to determine, they have no fixed home. Some of these people haven’t any scruples. They may lie, cheat, steal and sometimes kill in order to survive. Ages ago, they might have been called gypsies, although that’s not an apt description of the real culture. Some call them Shadow People.”

  I felt a chill. “Silas, I think you’re trying to tell us something by not telling us anything.”

  “I’ve told you more than you may realize.” He paused long enough to make me feel uncomfortable. “I should go. I'll talk to the police department and make sure that the Police Chief is aware of how important it is to keep the accident investigation current. I’ll also make some inquires of my own with the state police. I'll keep you informed as to anything I learn.”

  He rose from the chair, and walked to the front door. “Good day to both of you, congratulations on your good fortune. I’ll be in touch soon. If you have any questions or if you discover anything further, call me.” He stared at us as though to emphasize his statement. “Call me anytime of the day or night.” He got in his car and headed for the highway.

  We walked back in the house, closed the front door and turned to look at each other.

  “Well,” I said, “that was certainly interesting.”

  “Interesting? Is that what you call it? I feel like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz, and the Great Oz just left the building. What was all that crap about shadow people? It sounds like the Twilight Zone!”

  “Actually, I do remember reading an article about gypsies here in the U.S. They were ripping off elderly homeowners, particularly homeowners who had been the victim of a natural disaster such as a tornado or flood. They would move into an area, promise that they would repair the victims dwelling, usually for a very low price, and then they would demand the money up front. Next thing the victim knew they had absconded with the money without repairing anything. – Or worse, leaving the place in shambles. Who knows, maybe there are gypsies in the country.”

  “Mom and Dad? Gypsies? She started to giggle. “Can’t you just picture Dad with a big gold earring, playing a violin? And Mom, beating on a tambourine twirling around the room? Give me a break.”

  I smiled. “Well, when you put it that way, it does seem sort of ridiculous.”

  “We need some answers that make sense and I know just where to find them. Come with me.”

  Alex led the way to the study. She sat down at Dad’s desk and turned on the computer. I pulled up a chair to sit beside her.

  As we waited for the machine to power up, she turned to me. “You know Big Brother, it feels strange sitting in his chair. It feels like I’m desecrating it, betraying Dad’s memory.”

  “I know what you mean, but we’d better get used to it. Don’t you realize that we own everything in this room?”

  Alex shook her head. “No, I don’t realize it. I may never realize it. What is Dad's is still Dad’s. I feel if I own it, then Mom and Dad are really gone. I’m having trouble coping with that – Okay, the computer‘s running. What brilliant idea did you come up with before we left Jamestown?”

  “Gotta love the Internet. Run Google and let’s start searching.”

  Several useless sites, broken links and pop-up ads later, we finally hit pay dirt.

  “Real estate listings for Jamestown,” I said. “Type in the Jamestown address from the list, and let‘s find out who owns the property where the postal box sits.”

  After wading through several pages of information that we didn’t need, Alex finally found a link to an ownership record for the mailbox property.

  “Here we go.” She hit the key. “And the owner is –” The name and address of a holding company appeared on the display. “Damn!” She glared at the screen.

  We spent several hours searching the Net, trying to find names to go along with the addresses on the list. We tried government sources, the yellow pages, people finder sources, and credit reporting agencies. After a while, a pattern became apparent. The persons whose addresses were on the list simply did not want to be found. It was more fuel for the gypsy theory.

  Alex sat back in the desk chair and folded her arms across her chest, staring at the screen. “I refuse to believe that all of these people could hide from the Internet. It contains every useful or useless fact on the planet.”

  I agreed with her, but it looked like we’d come to a dead end. “Nevertheless, it seems that they’ve done so.”

  Alex was obviously frustrated.” I don’t know where else to look for this information.”

  “I’ve got an idea. Search for ‘gypsy’.”

  She snorted. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “Humor me.”

  She typed in the search and called up the listings.

  I pointed at the totals. “Nineteen million hits, not bad.”

  Alex laughed. “Are you kidding? Most of these hits are about a famous exotic dancer from the nineteen-forties.”

  I grinned. “I know. Bookmark these for me. I may want to browse them later.”

  “Right – Idiot.”

  “Okay, try ‘shadow people’.”

  “Oh Paris, come on!”

  “Just try it, Alex – one more time.”

  She typed the words into the computer, and studied the display. Her eyes grew wide.

  “My God! More than twenty-three million hits and few of them deviate from the subject.”

  I leaned closer to study the screen. “I‘m surprised. What have we found here?”

  Alex shuddered. “I don’t know, but I’m starting to not like it. It gives me the willies.”

  I laughed. “Toot–Toot, Toot–Toot, Toot–Toot. You have entered the Twilight–”

  She smacked me on the arm. “Ah, shut up!”

  As we browsed the various sites, we discovered three things. First, the people who contributed the site material totally believed in their subject. Second, the term referred to phantom people who materialized out of thin air when you were glancing away, or shadows that appeared briefly in your side vision. Third, the shadow people could affect and influence normal human beings. There were several theories as to who or what the shadow people were, but most of the conjecture sounded baseless.

  I shoved my chair back from the desk. “Well, we need to explore this, but it’s too much to take in one sitting. I suggest you take a break. I‘ve got to spend some time on this computer, earning a living. Why don‘t you take my car, get some take-out for supper, and check the jewelry store.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” She shot up from the chair. “Wow, I get to drive Big Brother’s car.”

  I winced. Alex drove like a maniac. “Don’t scratch it.” I called to her retreating back.

  While she was gone, I decided to check the study, looking for anything that could help us. I felt slightly guilty, poring over Dad’s possessions. It was as if I was invading his privacy. Intellectually, I knew that the thought was irrational, as he would never use them again, ever, and this brought a feeling of sorrow. Get hold of yourself. You’re just doing what Dad would want you to do. The thought brought a measure of peace.

  The study contained a bookcase, some wooden filing cabinets, some mementos of his accomplishments, a lot of arti
facts, and a desk, upon which the computer sat. I examined the bookcase. There were copies of his books, some books on ancient history, one on the subject of alchemy, and two on the occult. I checked all of the titles, but none touched upon the subject of ‘shadow people’.

  I moved to the filing cabinets. They were nearly all full of files. I examined the index tabs. “Thank you Dad!” I said aloud. All the files were carefully indexed according to subject. It wouldn’t be hard to find information. I looked for anything that referred to financial or household matters, finding nothing. I searched for ‘shadow people’, nothing. After a few minutes of checking, I closed the file cabinets, and turned to the computer.

  I quit worrying about it, sat behind the desk, and turned to the mundane business of making a living. I checked the corporate web site for my company emails. As usual, there were several pages. I busied myself with answering the ones requesting information, deleting the unimportant ones, and finally finding an email from Harvey. I read it and groaned.

  He had a long list of items he wanted completed immediately, along with a new schedule of completion dates, and several attachments that required my attention, some of them were drawings that needed engineering changes. This was going to take a long time, possibly days to complete. I reflected upon the amount of time that I could possibly spend perusing my personal problems and the requirements of my job.

  I only have a week to settle this, maybe two if I can string it out. After that amount of time, I’ll have to head back to Covington with Alex. For some reason, leaving her alone on the farm filled me with dread. Then it hit me. So what if they fire you? You’re independently wealthy. You don’t have to work. You can tell them to take a hike. I made a mental note to call Silas Brawley about finances in the morning.

  I started work on the items on the list, ignoring the drawings. I figured I’d have to get a copy of the drawing package for that requirement.

  After and hour or so, Alex returned with the food.

  “How did it go?” I called from the study.

  “Got the food. The necklaces will be ready tomorrow.”

  She came into the study and stood over me. “Here, grab a burger. How’s it going? By the way, your car’s a dream to drive.”

  I smiled at her and then scowled. “My boss is a jackass. He expects me to complete all of this work while I’m here, even though we’re ahead of schedule – by the way – thanks to my efforts. It doesn’t leave time to breathe, let alone run around looking for clues for the reason for Mom and Dad's accident.”

  “Then, don’t do it,” she said, nibbling on a french-fry.

  “Don’t do what? Work on my job, or find our parents’ killers?”

  “Paris, I thought about this on the way into Jamestown. We’re independently wealthy. We don’t have to do anything we don’t want to.”

  “I know, Sis. I thought about it too. But, I want to work. I take a great deal of satisfaction in creating something. It’s a part of who I am. I‘d feel like a parasite living on Dad and Mom‘s inheritance.”

  She sighed. “Actually, I feel the same. I wonder if they wanted us to be independent. Is that why they didn’t use the money? They could have sent us to the best colleges in the country. Or was it just that they wanted to keep a low profile? Whatever, I know how you feel. I‘ll tell you what, why don‘t you do the best job you can, and let that set your priorities. Let the results guide you.”

  I relaxed at that statement. “You’re right. I’ll be burning the midnight oil, so why don’t you read a book or watch TV, or something.”

  “We need another computer.”

  I agreed. “Yes, and I plan to do something about that tomorrow. I’ll need a more powerful computer for my engineering work. I’ve a friend at the company who can install the drawing software, but we‘ll have to hit a computer store.”

  Alex waved a finger at me. “I’ve got to warn you, Paris, you may need to go all the way to Russell Springs or Columbia to find one.”

  “I’ll let my fingers do the walking. Besides, I’ll need more than just the computer. We’ll have to network them to the Internet, so that’ll mean more hardware. I’ll take care of it tomorrow.”

  Alex nodded. “I may as well get something accomplished myself.” She removed one of Dad’s books from the bookcase. “See you later.”

  I worked through the remainder of the afternoon and evening. Eventually, soft music wafted in from the living room. Periodically, Alex would wander into the study to select another book. They were thick books. She couldn’t have been reading them; she was probably searching them for clues. Night closed around the house as I continued to work.