“Hello, this is Lee.”
“Lee, this is Clint. How are you, old buddy? It’s been a couple of months since we last spoke. We need to get together and catch up.”
“Clint, it’s good to hear from you. I would like to get together.”
“Thanks, buddy. Glad to hear you say that. I’m calling because I need your help if you’re available. I’m working on a hard to solve case and I was wondering if you’d have the time to work on it with me? I have bad news about an old friend of ours.”
“Clint, I now have all the time in the world. What’s the bad news and who is it about?”
CHAPTER 46
Present Day
Lee wrote his book. It became a number one New York Times best seller. He titled it For Joan and Lillian.
END
LETTER 1
March 1962
Dearest Elizabeth,
You may think that is an odd way for one woman to start a letter to another, especially when it is doubtful if they have ever seen each other. I wasn’t going to write this, but last Saturday I went to Dr. Denny and he told me to do whatever I felt I had to do. I thought I was losing my mind, but he said I was sane enough. He said I was just grief-stricken.
You see, Elizabeth, I should have been your sister-in-law. I should have married Bert, but I didn’t, and the reason was plain to me. It wasn’t that I didn’t love him; it was because I thought I wasn’t good enough for him. I wanted him to have the best, and I knew what I had done. I thought he didn’t know about it at the time, and I could never marry a man I couldn’t tell what a tramp I had been. I know now that he knew all there was to know about me and it didn’t matter. He felt about me the way I feel about him. If he did something bad, it wasn’t wrong. Not if he did it.
I didn’t know about his death until that Sunday night, the 11th. My husband came home from work and told me. I had to make him stop. I couldn’t bear to hear it. I cried so hard I almost forgot to send flowers. I hope they came in time.
I think all of Appleton and parts of Bridgetown knew we were in love. I was never out with him, but it wasn’t because I was afraid of him; I was afraid of myself. I couldn’t even let him hold my hand. My brother had told me Bert had gotten drunk and roughed up a couple of girls on several occasions, and I had made up my mind years before I even met Bert that I would never marry a man who would do a thing like that. I had seen my father beat my mother.
I told Carl Winslow when I found out Bert was serious that I couldn’t go out with him because I knew I’d let him push me around and I didn’t want to do that. I didn’t think it was right for a girl to mess around with a man she knew she couldn’t marry.
I never knew until two weeks after Bert was dead what my brother told me. He said he had seen Bert pound his fist on the table and say he wouldn’t marry the best darned woman living, and I told him that Bert must have thought I was a little better than the best because he wanted to marry me.
My brother said I was the dumbest girl he had ever seen. He said Bert was only trying to make a pass.
It’s a long story, Elizabeth, far too long to put in a letter, and parts of it are sweet, but most of it is sad. I told the doctor only parts of it, and I told the police what I knew, about how Bert watched over me because he promised years ago that he would never let anyone hurt me and that I would never want for anything as long as he lived. But I never took a cent from him myself. I know that he gave Hap Mills money, and that he even gave him four hundred dollars to divorce me, and he even got someone else to help me give Hap the grounds for a divorce. When I asked why he didn’t do it himself, he said because he knew he couldn’t marry me until after I was divorced and he didn’t trust himself.
How honorable can a man be? They don’t come any better than Bert. No matter what he did?
I want to write a book. The doctor told me to go ahead. He thinks I can do it. I want to do something to make it right, and I can’t even ask Bert to forgive me now, but if I had known the night of February 10 what I know now, all this would never have happened. It wouldn’t have mattered that he was broke, or that he had been in a mental hospital, or that he had run around with the wrong kind of people. I could have saved his life and I didn’t, and I have to live with this knowledge as long as I live, and only God knows how much it hurts.
In the book I want to tell anyone who will read it about the Bert I knew. The good clean, descent, kind, and honorable man he was. Most of the readers will think its fiction, but it won’t be.
They won’t believe that a man could be as good as Bert was. But God will know and I will know, and perhaps a few of you who knew him and loved him will believe what I write.
You see, Elizabeth, a lot of years ago I told him to find someone else. Someone worthy of him, and he said he didn’t want anyone else. He knew I was in love with him. I had told him I was, and when I tried to deny it later I couldn’t look him in the eyes and do it. I had to look at the floor.
From all this I have learned a lot of things, but the most important one is this. When you really love someone, it’s forever, and you go on loving them as long as you live no matter what they do.
There are a lot of things I don’t know about Bert. I don’t know when he started to wear glasses or if he got bald or not. I remember his hair was a medium shade of brown, as if he might have been blond when he was younger, and I think his eyes were blue. I hadn’t seen him for a long while, until that night in the hot dog place. I remember I looked at him and he saluted me, but he didn’t say anything. I was married to someone else.
He was the only man I ever knew who meant every word he ever said to me. I didn’t know it then; I know it now. He said he would love me until the day he died, and he meant it. In all my life Bert Grayson was the only person who ever really loved me. My mother never forgave me for some of the things I did, but Bert forgave me. The doctor said when you love someone you don’t need to ask them to forgive you. If you do something you shouldn’t, it isn’t wrong in their eyes. I know he’s right, but I know, too, that no one ever hurt Bert the way I did. Not even at the very last.
I hadn’t even heard his name until last summer when he was in the mental hospital. Herman Heritage told me he was in bad shape, and I thought it was best to let sleeping dogs lie. I’m not referring to Bert as a dog—I mean I thought he had forgotten me, and I didn’t want to open an old wound. It only hurts worse than it did the first time, and I didn’t want to hurt him ever.
When I found out he was sick I shook until I couldn’t hold a cigarette. It fell right out of my fingers. We were going to Harrisburg and I never had such a miserable time in my life. I spent most of the trip in the ladies’ lounge crying. I told George I was carsick. I get that way sometimes, you know.
I hope this letter hasn’t hurt you. I wouldn’t want to hurt anyone who was dear to Bert.
If there is ever anything I can do for you or the other members of your family, I’ll try my best to do it, if you let me know. Bert would want it that way.
George, my husband, knows all about this. He knows the only reason I came back was because I thought it was the right thing to do at the time. He knows I’m not in love with him. I’ve slept alone for fourteen years.
I don’t even sleep in the same room with him. He doesn’t mind. When I’m at myself I’m a fair housekeeper and a good cook.
I made him a home and that’s all he asked of me. He has known since long before we were married that I was in love with Bert. I told him.
I hope whoever has Bert’s flag will take good care of it. I think it’s sacred.
Please forgive me, Elizabeth, and if you can find it in your heart to do so, come and see me. I love you because you were Bert’s sister and you must be a little like him. I have cried for more than four weeks now. I don’t know where all the tears come from. The doctor said not to try to suppress them, but that Bert wouldn’t want me to grieve this way. He would want me to be happy the way he knew me. I ran out of writing paper. That’s
why this page is written on both sides. I look like an old hag, and I’m ashamed to go to the store to get more.
Thank you for reading this, Elizabeth, and please try to forgive.
Bert’s Lilly
P.S. I still think Grayson is the prettiest name I ever heard. And something else you should know. I didn’t know Bert was shy until Herman told me. I knew he blushed easily, and I thought he was a little shy, but not the way he was. Herman said he never saw such a shy man in his life, and I knew then that when I told Bert I didn’t like men who drank I tied his tongue, and I thought it was too late. I didn’t see how Bert could even like me after all the things I had done, and since. I’m a little shy, too. I didn’t try to find out if he liked me or not. I didn’t think I had the right.
LETTER 2
April 1963
Dear Elizabeth,
I hope you will forgive me for opening an old wound, but it is as painful for me as it will be for you. I have hesitated about writing because what I will put in this letter may cause you to be in danger, and I don’t want to do that. There are a lot of things you or some member of your family should know, and since you are the only woman in the family I thought it best to write to you and let you do whatever you wanted to do with the information I will give you.
To begin with, I do know you, or at least I met you once. It was in the park during the summer when I was a young teen. You were thin and blonde and you wore your hair long, with a bun at the nape of your neck. I had come to the park at Bert’s request. He was going to ask me to marry him. He didn’t, but it was neither my fault nor his, and it is a detailed story so I won’t go in to it now. When I wrote you before I didn’t remember about knowing Bert when I was a child until Dr. Denny pulled it from my memory. Bert kissed me on the cheek when I was eight years old, and that was the only time he ever kissed me. Your father owned the park, and you and Bert worked there in the summer.
I have been told that Bert lost a lot of his amazing strength after he was in that terrible accident. I have also been told that he was a diabetic. I have no way of knowing if he was a diabetic or not, but I feel sure that part of the statement is true. Cheney said it, and he would have no reason to lie.
When I knew Bert, he lied about his age one year. I don’t blame him, and I know now exactly why he did it. It was because of something I told him when I was a child. I was lying about my age, too, only it was a lot more than one year. I wasn’t kidding Bert a bit.
He knew exactly how old I was, and it puzzled me because I couldn’t remember how he knew me. He even remembered when my birthday was from when I told him when I was a child. Bert wanted me to write a book about a grown man who fell in love with a baby, but I didn’t know what he was talking about at the time. I do now.
To say the least, it is frustrating to know something you can’t prove, and I may have to tell something I don’t want to tell later on. It is something I think Bert knew, but he wouldn’t tell it either because he wouldn’t have done anything to hurt me. I used to look at him and know he knew what I was thinking. I told him I knew something horrible about a member of my family and if he knew it, he wouldn’t want to marry me. He said he thought he knew what I was referring to, but he would never tell because it would hurt me, and if anything hurt me it would hurt him, too.
No one knows about this letter but my husband, and he did not kill Bert. I’m sure of that. If I thought he had even a slight part in it I would kill him myself and not wait for the law to take its course. I’m convinced that I know who did do it, though, and that’s the reason for this letter. Cain and Clay Bliss did it, probably with help from someone who is now working, or has worked at the puritan cleaners, which is right next door to me. I can tell you how I know, but it, too, is involved and would take up a lot of space.
I had a nervous breakdown after the murder and had to be hospitalized, but I was not insane even though I was in a mental institution. I couldn’t stop crying, and after what the doctor thought was a reasonable length of time he suggested that it was the only thing left for me to do. He had done everything he could to help me. I was sick for more than a year, but I wasn’t hospitalized but a couple of months at the time. I went in twice because when I came home the first time things did not go well for me. George objected to the book because it will put him in a bad light and he didn’t want the world to know him for what he is. When he learned that I was to be allowed to write the book and he was going to have to support me, he changed his attitude about a lot of things. One thing he didn’t want to do was support me, and Dr. James said she would see to it that he’d do it whether he wanted it that way or not.
I live here because I feel that George owes it to me to look after me until the book is written. If it sells, I can look after myself. Otherwise, I’ll have to go back to scrubbing floors and I may as well stay here if I am going to do that. I am only an unpaid housekeeper anyhow and that’s all I’ve been for more years than I care to remember.
The picture in the paper looked more like Clay than it did Cain, but the written description fitted Cain perfectly, except for the age, but then Cain always looked a lot younger than he was. They did it for money and revenge, and I can tell you how I know.
I talked to the police, but all the pieces weren’t in the puzzle at that time. There were a lot of things I didn’t remember that came to me afterward. I was hysterical when I talked to the police, and I don’t think they paid much attention to what I said. I also think Clay may have killed Mr. Merritt. He was connected to the local mafia, and I keep wondering who will be next and how he will do it. As you know, Cain was killed in the fall of 1962, so he couldn’t possibly have had anything to do with the second murder, but no one will make me believe he wasn’t in on the first one.
I would suggest that you talk to your brothers about this letter and let them decide what would be best to do. I am willing to tell you everything I know, or I will tell the police if you’d rather I did it that way. If I don’t hear from you, I will know that you would rather I kept still. I don’t want to hurt you or your family in any way; however, I feel that something should be done to stop these horrible atrocities. I also feel that what I have to say would have more of an impact if you or some other member of your family were interested enough to back me.
The way I know who did it was a simple process of elimination. It had to be someone who knew me and also knew Bert, and knew that Bert was in love with me. Not many people knew me or about me. Bert would get drunk and tell people then, but I was only a name to most of them. They would have no way of knowing where I lived or even what I looked like. There was also a psychic element, but you can’t prove things by feelings.
When I was in the hospital, Mrs. James, the state psychologist, said she bet I could remember every word Bert ever said to me. I can. I can also remember every conversation I ever had with anyone about him.
In any event, Elizabeth, I am not letting anyone know what is in this letter. I do not want to put you in any danger and I might if anyone found out what I wrote. Eventually Clay will get even with me for telling it. He has ways of finding out everything. I don’t know how he does it, but he does. He’ll try to get me another way and make it look like an accident. That’s why I’m being careful where I go and what I do. If anything happens to me, you will know what I have said here is true. I don’t want it to happen until after I have finished my book.
My best to you,
Lilly
P.S. I have taken every cautionary measure I can think of. We even have aluminum siding on our house now because aluminum won’t burn. In any event, if something should happen to me, I told Bert once I’d die for him, but I couldn’t marry him. I meant it.
LETTER 3
March 1965
Dear Elizabeth,
My book is nearly completed, and you will be glad to know that I have corrected all the lies and insinuations that were in the newspapers.
There is something you can tell me, if you will be so kind. I have
all the answers, except for one thing; I was told that one of your brothers had gone to Baltimore and became a policeman. After Bert’s death he tried to put pressure on our local police and had died of a heart attack. Is this true?
People can tell anyone anything, so it may have been idle chatter.
I have a specific reason for wanting to know this. Bert was of the opinion that his brothers didn’t like him. I’d like to think that Bert was mistaken and that someone besides me cared enough to try to do something about his death.
Don’t trust the Bridgetown Police Department. Everything you tell them goes right back to Clay, and you will only put your own life in danger. I don’t know if it’s even safe to trust the state police because one of them lied to me when he was here. However, this may not have been intentional. I know that the police department is going to protect its members no matter how rotten they are.
My phone number is unlisted because Clay had been calling me late at night, and when I answered he wouldn’t talk. He did the same thing right after Cain told me the whole story, and I was so frightened I left town. My phone number is 944-9208, in case you want to call me. If I don’t hear from you, I will know that Bert was mistaken about something he told me once, and I’m hoping he wasn’t.
What the world thinks of me as a person doesn’t matter. Bert knew everything I ever did and my reasons for doing what I did. He loved me in spite of my own dumb stupidity.
I know that I will be crucified over the book, but I have to have it published, even at the cost of my own life.
Sincerely,
Lilly
P.S. What was this brother’s first name and did he have a history of heart trouble?
Secret Keepers and Skinny Shadows: Lee and Miranda Page 22