Secret Keepers and Skinny Shadows: Lee and Miranda

by Mary A Russell

“Wow, this guy wants them in a bad way,” Lee said.

  “I don’t think so.” Miranda’s eyes narrowed into a glaring stare.

  Robert slammed his fist on the tabletop. Heads turned in their direction. She watched his handsome face transform into an ugly, twisted mass of wrinkles. The cane in his hand shook under his uncontrollable anger. What Miranda saw next engulfed her entire body with fear as his eyes were flooded with a cold, distant, blinding, intensity. She had seen that look only one other time as an FBI agent, in the eyes of a cold-blooded killer just before she shot him to death. She shook her head trying to bring her thinking back to the present.

  “You will change your mind Miss Witherspoon, and when you do you will sell them to me.”

  “I will? Why?”

  “I have my ways, young lady. You will come around to see things my way. You can’t continue to suppress the truth.” He paused, started to chuckle, and shake his head in uncontrollable frustration.

  “Mr. Mason that sounds like a threat. Are you the one sending people to break into my home looking for what could only be the letters? While we were in the cemetery the other day someone shot at us. Did you have anything to do with that?”

  “Oh. I don’t know anything about a shooting. I do know that someone other than me wants the letters. I don’t know the other people; I know of them. I would suggest that you be extremely careful. Watch your back. I am not the kind of person to come at you from behind. I will face you straight on and tell you what I want, no matter how it looks in just the same way I am doing now. I guess you could say, I have no shame. Listen to me, Miss Witherspoon; I am too old to be concerned with what people think of me. Heck, I could die tonight in my sleep and this would all be for naught. Watch your back, Miss Witherspoon, and by all means enjoy the rest of the evening.”

  Robert smiled, tipped his broad-brimmed hat at Miranda as he got up, and wobbled on his cane to the door. When Miranda turned around in her chair, Lee was standing by her side.

  “What do you make of that, Kid?”

  “He wasn’t surprised someone else was trying to get the letters, or he’s a good actor. I believed him, but I don’t know what to make of any of this. Did he threaten me? I’m not sure.”

  “It sounded like it to me. Kid, I think the bigger question is who else is trying to get the letters and why? We must be missing something in them.”

  CHAPTER 39

  Present Day

  At 7:00 A.M. the next morning Lee and Miranda sat at a corner table in the Coffee Grind watching each man who walked through the door. At five minutes past an older man with balding gray hair opened the door, took one look around the room before walking over to Lee and stuck out his hand. Lee returned the gesture.

  “I’m Tommy.” Then he shook Miranda’s hand and sat in the chair across from her.

  “How could you know who we were?” Lee said.

  “Oh, that’s easy, you’re the only strangers in here. I know all the regulars.”

  “I guess I should have known,” Lee said.

  “Tommy,” Miranda said, “thank you for contacting us, we’re anxious to hear what you have to say. Would you mind if I record our conversation?”

  “No, I don’t, but let me get a cup of coffee before we begin.”

  “Oh no, let me get it for you, Tommy,” Lee said. “What do you want?”

  “That’s kind of you, Lee. I’ll have a large regular black.”

  While Lee was getting the coffee, Miranda set up her phone to record everyone’s conversation.

  “Here you are, steamy hot and black.”

  “Thanks Lee.”

  “Anytime you’re ready to begin talking, go ahead,” Miranda said.

  “You two might be digging around in something that will get you hurt.”

  “Why would you say something like that?” Lee said.

  “Well, for certain I wondered why your ads were running after all this time. It’s been over fifty years, there are still a lot of people in town who remember the Grayson murder and may have had some involvement with it.”

  “Tommy,” Miranda said, “why don’t you tell us what you want us to know?”

  “Okay, that sounds good to me.”

  Miranda pushed the phone in front of Tommy.

  “I was nineteen when this all took place. My girlfriend, who is now my wife of forty-nine years were returning from the dance, after walking her home I hurried down the street at a fast pace and into the alley. Mom never liked it when I was late. The alley was the sidewalk to my house at 32 Chestnut Avenue. I don’t know why, but the front door to all the other houses fronted onto Chestnut Avenue, but ours fronted into the alley,” he paused to sip his coffee.

  “About ten o’clock that night the sky let loose with a heavy wet snow. By the time we were on our way home there was about six inches on the ground. The only light in the alley was from the moonlight reflecting off the new fallen snow.”

  “Excuse me, Tommy, but didn’t the newspapers say a couple of kids found the body on the way home from roller skating?”

  “Yes, they published that story to protect me. I’ll get to that later.” Tommy shifted in his chair and smiled at Miranda.

  “As I was saying, halfway down the alley by Switzer’s fence, in those days there was a tall wooden fence that ran the length of the alley that Mr. Switzer erected the year before, so we called it Switzer’s fence. I saw what looked like a man lying in the snow against the fence. I thought it was my friend Butch.

  He was a big man, like Bert. He would get drunk, sit down or stretch out on the ground wherever he was at the time and fall asleep. He only lived around the block. I figured he couldn’t make it home.”

  “That is probably what I would’ve been thinking,” Lee said.

  “I thought about going over, giving him a good shake hoping he would wake up, then I would take him home. He was covered with snow, I was afraid he was going to freeze to death laying there. Then I thought maybe I shouldn’t in case someone saw me and thought I was trying to shake down a drunk. So I decided to go home tell mom what was going on and get my younger brother, who was sixteen, to help me take Butch home.

  “I walked three doors down to my house, when I opened the door my mom and sisters were sitting around the kitchen table. Mom was drinking and listening to music. I went upstairs found my brother, told him the story, and asked him to help me. He agreed. I never knew what kind of a mood he might be in, sometimes he was disagreeable and sometimes he was easy to get along with.”

  “Was it unusual for your mom and sisters to be up so late?” Lee said.

  “No, not at all. Mom worked late as a waitress at one of the bars and my sisters were doing homework, they were both straight A students. My dad left mom when I was five, she kept the family together and raised us the best way she knew how. She didn’t like living in the shacks on Chestnut Avenue, but it was all she could afford. With five mouths to feed, she did the best she could. When I was eleven I worked different jobs after school to help out. I wanted to quit school and get a full-time job, but mom wouldn’t have it. She said she wanted all her kids to graduate from high school. She scrubbed floors and waited tables in the bars to make that a reality. So where was I? Oh, I remember.” Tommy took a sip of coffee.

  “My brother and I went downstairs to the kitchen, started digging around in the drawers until we found a couple flashlights. After he put his coat on we told mom what we were doing, she said okay.

  “In the alley, we approached the spot where Butch had been stretched out, I could see he was sitting up against the fence, but when I flashed the light on him, I almost dropped it, and my mind couldn’t take in the horrible scene in front of us. The light revealed a man sitting against the fence, blood splattered everywhere, my brother started to run back to the house.”

  “Didn’t you see the blood the first time?” Lee said.

  “That’s a good question and one I keep asking myself to this day. No, I didn’t see any blood then.” Tommy took
a gulp of coffee.

  “I could see a big slit in his neck, his head was resting on his right shoulder. Needless to say, it wasn’t my friend Butch, but I didn’t know who it was. There were two boards kicked out of the fence beside the body. I’d like to say I was brave and acted calm, but I didn’t. I ran as fast as my feet could carry me back to the house, almost passing my brother. He beat me to the door and was inside spilling out a river of words to my mother and sisters, flailing his arms around wildly, telling of this ugly scene in the alley. After we finished the story, they said they didn’t believe us, so all of them put on their coats, went out, and looked at the gruesome scene in the alley. Sorry, it still shakes me up a little telling about it.” He took a big swig of coffee.

  “We were too poor to have a telephone, so mom told me to run next door to the Rayburn’s and tell them to call the police. When I knocked on the door, Mr. Rayburn answered, I told him the story. He didn’t believe me. So Mr. and Mrs. Rayburn and the three kids all came out to see for themselves. After viewing the scene they went back into the house and called the police.

  “I was scared and ran back home, up to my bedroom, and locked the door. From my bedroom window I could see the flashing lights of the police cars and people milling around.

  About an hour later a Detective Marshall knocked on my bedroom door. I opened it he stepped in questioning me, but the way he was going about it sounded like he thought I committed the murder. I told him what I thought, he said they weren’t thinking that way at all.” Tommy paused breathing deep.

  “I was scared not knowing if whoever committed the murder saw me in the alley, and was about to slit Bert’s throat when I came along. Maybe he jumped through the hole in the fence waiting for me to pass-by, when he thought I was gone, he jumped back out, sat Bert up, slit his throat, took off down the alley or disappeared into one of the houses on the street, I didn’t know.”

  “So Tommy, you believe he was murdered between the time you went home and came back with your brother?” Lee said.

  “I know when I walked down the alley the first time his body was stretched out in the snow against the fence, when I came back with my brother he was sitting up against the fence with his throat slit and blood was everywhere.”

  “So no one heard anything out of the ordinary in the alley that night?” Lee said.

  “My mom said she heard a car in the alley shortly before I came home, but she didn’t pay any attention to it, she thought it was our neighbor Joe who owns a bowling alley and usually came home about that time of night.” Tommy stretched his legs out and folded his arms across his chest.

  “Back then I worked at a gas station on Chestnut Avenue, part of my job was to closed the station each night at ten o’clock, I didn’t have a car so I walked home, it wasn’t that far, only a couple of blocks, but after the murder I was scared and ran all the way every night. I was afraid whoever killed Bert knew who I was and would wait to kill me some night.”

  “I can understand your thinking,” Lee said.

  “In the 1960’s the Bridgetown police would stop every night to check the local businesses for unlocked doors or broken windows. They would drive past the station where I worked several times a night, shortly after the murder they stopped by to chat. I told them that I was afraid to walk home at night and why. Ever after that until I took another job, the police would follow me home so I wouldn’t be afraid.”

  “Wow, that was nice of them,” Lee said.

  “Yes, it was. I got married a year later bought a car and took a job selling insurance. I never heard any more from the police until ten years later, I was living up the street at a different address. I heard a knock on the door when I opened it there was a state policeman. He said he wanted to know what I knew about the murder. I told him everything I’m telling you. When I was finished, all he said was if I were you I would write that down, put it away in a safe place for future reference. He walked out the door and I never heard any more about the murder until I saw your ad running in the newspaper.”

  “How odd that the state police would do that. Now I understand why you would be wondering who we really were. You must still live in some amount of fear, not knowing if the killer or killers are still out there, and might be looking for you,” Lee said.

  “I didn’t know who you were or why you wanted the information, you could’ve been anybody I didn’t know if you were a real writer or had some other motive.”

  “I understand why you didn’t want to come forward, thank you, you’ve been more help than you can imagine,” Lee said.

  “Tommy,” Miranda said, “let me put your mind at ease. We’re not after you, we didn’t know about you until now. I can’t imagine living for over fifty years in fear for your life over something someone thought you might have seen.”

  “That’s exactly what I was thinking. It’s a relief to know you’re not out to kill me.”

  “Did the state policeman give his name?” Lee asked.

  “No, he just showed me his badge and flashed his ID card. I don’t remember the name on it.”

  “Tommy,” Miranda said, “did you know a Hank Cranston?”

  “He was one of my insurance customers. Once a month I would go to his bar up on Jew Hill to collect his insurance payment. In those days the customers didn’t mail in their premiums. Instead, the insurance agent went to the customer, either their house or place of business and collected the money.

  “Hank was always a nice guy, at least to me. I think he’s still alive living in the flats. They closed his bar down a couple of years ago.

  “The police department hired a new police chief to clean up the town. It had become so bad that the state police would be called in to help with the crime situation. In fact, this wouldn’t have been a safe place to come a few years ago. Hank had a long history of allowing numbers runners, enforcers and drug pushers to operate out of his bar. The new police chief forced the dirty detectives to retire and fired the beat cops involved in crimes and mafia cover-ups. They’ve closed down most of the known drug houses and mafia links in Bridgetown, so needless to say this is a much nicer town to live in now.”

  “Have you ever heard of Lillian Grace?” Lee said.

  “No, I’ve never heard of her. Why?”

  “She had a connection with Bert and lived here in town, that’s all. Did you know any of the people linked to the mafia here in Bridgetown at that time?” Lee said.

  “You know, it’s funny that you would ask that. I had been working as an insurance agent for a couple of years, and as I said, I went in and out of the businesses collecting the premiums each month, and I would always run into Francis Como. He would be carrying a briefcase and visiting the same stores I did. I didn’t think anything of it. I just figured he was selling something.

  “Then one day I was in downtown Pittsburgh at an insurance convention. A couple of us guys were out on the sidewalk taking a smoke break. I looked up and there was Francis Como heading to the building across from ours. He was wearing a brown suit and carrying a brief case. I said to the guys, ‘Hey, do you believe this? We come to Pittsburgh and there crossing the street in front of us is Francis Como. What in the world is he doing in this town?’”

  Tommy paused and waved at a couple of guys across the room. “Sorry. They’re waiting for me. I have to wrap this up.” He took a sip of coffee.

  “Back to what I was saying. One of the guys spoke up and said, Tommy, don’t you know? Francis is a numbers runner and enforcer for the mafia in Bridgetown. He no doubt is carrying the receipts from last week to the bosses. When he said that, I nearly fell over on the sidewalk. I couldn’t believe it. I had talked to Francis at different times, just chitchat. I would pass him in the street, stop and talk with him about the weather or how the day was going. He was always a nice guy.” He waved at the guys across the room.

  “In the 1980s he was convicted of killing a couple of people for not paying off their bets. After a long court trial they put him in prison
for life and he’s still there.

  While he was in prison they used him as a witness against the rest of the mafia, but who am I? I didn’t know about the mafia back then either. Francis would be about my age now, late sixties.”

  “Do you know what prison they put him in?” Lee said.

  “I heard they just moved him into the state prison in Pennsylvania.”

  “Did you know if Bert was an enforcer for the mafia?” Lee said.

  “I never knew Bert, but after the murder I heard some rumors that he was an enforcer, and he wasn’t liked by a lot of people in Bridgetown. He was supposed to have beaten up a couple of women at a brothel one night when he was drunk, but as I said, they were just rumors.”

  After talking with Tommy for quite some time, Lee got the impression he had learned all he could from him.

  Tommy said, “Oh, one more thing. Since your ads have been running in the papers it gives us something to talk about in the mornings here at the coffee shop. Let me know when the book comes out. I’d like to read it.”

  “I will. And thanks again for all the information.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Lee watched as Tommy picked up his coffee cup and walked over to the table where three other men his age were sitting. He pulled out a chair, sat down with them, and they began to talk.

  Lee and Miranda walked out, got into their car, and went back to the mansion.

  CHAPTER 40

  Present Day

  Human dramas and love stories have entwined themselves around our hearts, and imaginations since the beginning of time. The letters as Lee read them revealed the struggles of a woman trapped in an era where women knew their place and men ruled with an iron fist, unquestioned in their motives or actions.

  Back at the mansion Miranda was working the computer to find out if Tommy was who he said he was.

  “Tell me what you think of this. I think we need to develop Bridgetown eyes.”

  “What kind of eyes?” Miranda said.

  “There seems to be a lot of Bridgetown eyes and tell-tale heart syndrome around here,” Lee said.