Murder and Mayhem

by Hamilton, B L

  To the old or infirmed maybe–but until recently I was a blond. Maybe there’s still the odd strand of gold hiding among the gray.

  “But why not just flaunt her current boyfriend in front of her wayward husband?” I was about to suggest a bullet in his pecker would take care of the problem but thought it best to keep my own counsel on that–so instead I said, “Why bother going to all the trouble of finding another boyfriend when she’s already got one waiting in the wings?” I stand by my first instinct–shoot the bastard.

  Susannah seemed a little impatient when she said, “Jeez, Louise! You obviously don’t get out much, do you? The answer is as plain as the nose on your face. If Daphne flaunts her boyfriend in front of her husband, when she gets him back–the husband that is–she going to have to dump him, the boyfriend, I mean–not the husband–as a matter of good faith. Daphne really loves this guy–the boyfriend, I mean, not the husband, so she doesn’t want to risk losing him. The husband–she can dump later.”

  Or do a Lorena Bobbit, and take a knife to his pecker, I thought, but instead said, “If she’s going to dump him anyway why bother wasting time going through this whole charade?”

  Susannah sighed, loudly

  “Because, she can’t have people going around saying her husband dumped her. It’s called saving face-and pride-and that’ll teach you to dump me, buddy. Otherwise word would get out and potential husband number five will think there must be something wrong with her, and take off, and then no man will want her.” She looked me in the eye and said, slowly. “Do you understand now?”

  “Oh, absolutely.” Yeah…well….kinda, I s’ppose.

  Susannah heaved a loud sigh, and nodded. “Then when hubby is feeling all nice and secure, Daphne will dump him for husband number five–and her reputation will remain intact.” She added a smile.

  Maybe this is why I’m still on husband number one. Long term marriages seem to dumb up the brain–not to mention those annoying strands of blond hair!

  *****

  The briny smell of the ocean clung to the air while a salty mist settled unnoticed on their clothes and skin as they sat on the pier and watched boats glide in and out of the harbor in the soft purple twilight. Overhead a galaxy of stars started to shine in the darkening skies, and below, a cheeky seagull snatched scraps of food from under the table. Nothing had changed since the last time he was here–not even the gulls.

  Nicola pulled a brochure from her bag and started reading aloud.

  “‘First settled by the British in 1632, Portland was destroyed not once, by the Wampanoag people, but twice. It was destroyed again in 1775 during the Revolutionary War, and again by fire in -1866.’” She looked up and smiled. “Any wonder the town’s motto is Resurgam, I Will Rise Again.”

  Danny laughed. “I would have thought a more appropriate name would have been Phoenix.”

  The waitress took their order and returned a short time later with a bottle of wine, glasses and carafe filled with chilled water.

  Even though the last weeks of summer had gone, the evening was surprisingly pleasant as they watched the moon rising above the waves like a soft pale spotlight.

  “Will you be late tonight?” Nicola asked as she watched the fishing fleet leave the harbor and head out to sea.

  “I should be back in a couple of hours.” Danny leaned back in the chair, clasped his hands behind his head and watched as Nicola stared dreamily at boats lit up in an almost festive air. When she turned her eyes on him and smiled, he noticed how green they were.

  “So…,” she said, “do you have any more interesting stories to share or are you all talked out?”

  “Honey, I could fill a book with tales of my adventures, both here and in Australia,” he said with a cheeky grin. He thought for a moment…, pensive, then asked, “Would you like me to tell you about a trip I took back home a couple of years ago? It’s a sad tale but one I think you’ll find intriguing.”

  “I’d like that. You never talk much about your life in Australia.”

  Danny stretched his long legs, crossed his ankles, and eased himself into a comfortable position. The chair groaned and protested under his shifting weight, then settled. He took a mouthful of water followed by a sip of wine, and began.

  “Some years ago I was traveling through Victoria, a small state in south eastern Australia after I’d picked up a bike in the small town of Bright that I planned to restore. Being in no particular hurry I decided to head home via the coast instead of inland.” He took another sip of wine, leaned back in the chair and laced his fingers behind his head.

  “So I looked at the map and noticed Bright wasn’t far from the Great Alpine Road. But I knew that road would take me into high country and, as it was the middle of winter, I figured there would be snow on the peaks. So I dismissed it in favor of a more indirect route further north that would take me through the town of Tallangatta where I could pick up the Omeo Highway and head to the coast. Even though it was further, I knew in the long run, it would be quicker.”

  Danny took a sip of water, and continued.

  “The map I had showed the Omeo Highway went through virgin forest so I thought it would be a nice drive, and one would think if it was called a highway the road would be in a reasonable condition.” His gaze drifted to a sleek speedboat coming into the harbor.

  Nicola turned around to see what had caught his eye.

  As the boat disappeared into a mooring further down, Danny turned his attention back to Nicola, and smiled. “Sorry, I got distracted by that magnificent piece of machinery.”

  “And possibly the willowy blond in the barely-there-bikini, leaning against the handrail?” Nicola said.

  Danny gave her a boyish grin. “Didn’t even notice her,” he said unconvincingly. “But−, back to the story. So, I got onto this, so-called highway, which was only a narrow two-laner and as I passed through the last town on the map before entering the forest, there was a sign that said last petrol–sorry, gas,” he added for her benefit, “for the next hundred or so miles, but-nothing more. The SUV had a large tank and I’d filled up before I left Bright so I wasn’t worried.” He drained his glass and refilled both. “Not bad wine this.” He raised the glass to his lips.

  “No, it’s not bad at all.”

  “Pardon me,” a woman said as she squeezed behind Danny’s chair with a small child in tow.

  “Sorry.” Danny shuffled the chair forward with an apologetic smile and waved at the small child clinging tightly to his mother’s skirt.

  “I’d only traveled a couple of miles when suddenly the asphalt gave way to gravel but I figured they must have been doing roadwork so I kept going expecting the surface to improve. But as I got further into the forest, the road deteriorated so badly there were rocks and dirt from minor landslides, and the surface was deeply rutted with potholes. I decided to turn around and go back, so I kept my eye out for somewhere wide enough to make the turn.”

  Nicola leaned forward, her face alive with interest.

  “But by now,” Danny said, “the road was really narrow–barely wide enough for a single vehicle. On one side was the sheer rock face of the mountain, while the other had a steep drop into a deep ravine where I could hear the roar of turbulent water from a river, way below.

  “All around there was nothing but forest, with no houses in sight. There was no sign of human habitation anywhere.”

  Danny took another sip of wine, and said, “Suddenly it dawned on me that I hadn’t seen another vehicle since I’d left the last town. I hoped and prayed one wouldn’t come careering around a bend, because there was nowhere for me to go, and I do mean nowhere. There were no cut outs to pull into to let anyone pass, and, don’t forget, I was towing a bike on a trailer. Luckily I was driving a four-wheel-drive SUV,” he added for clarification, “...otherwise I would have been really stuck.”

  The waitress shuffled food in front of them, checked if they needed anything and moved on. They ate in silence for a while, and then Dan
ny looked over at Nicola and asked, “Where was I…?”

  “The road was in a terrible condition and you were worried another vehicle would come around a bend…” she prompted.

  “Oh, that’s right…The road was getting worse with each mile and I started to worry what would happen if I broke down. I tried my phone but it didn’t work. Obviously I was out of range, so I knew that wouldn’t help if there was an emergency. There was nothing I could do but keep moving forward.” He concentrated on cutting into his steak, and ate with a thoughtful expression on his face. “Good steak this,” he said pointing with his fork, then picked up the threads of the story, and continued. “Suddenly I rounded a bend as the road widened, and hit the brakes. I couldn’t believe my eyes. I sat for a moment in stunned silence trying to take in the strange scene before me, then cut the engine and climbed out.”

  Nicola sat forward in her chair. “Why, what did you see?”

  “Crosses.”

  “Crosses? What kind of crosses? Was it some type of cemetery?”

  “No. Well, I don’t think so. Not in the true sense of the word.”

  “Then what?”

  “I’m not sure. But there was this one large cross–oh, about seven feet tall, and, behind it, ninety-seven small white crosses–planted in rows, like you see in military cemeteries. And off to one side a large plaque attached to a post.”

  “What kind of a plaque?”

  “It told the story of a town where some time in the early nineteen hundreds everyone in the town had perished and there was nothing to show that either the people or the town had ever existed. Over the years, the story said, the forest closed in around the town and reclaimed it for its own.”

  “So, what happened to the people?”

  Danny shrugged. “It didn’t say. Maybe no one knew. But what it did say was that sometime in the eighties a woman was visiting her sons who were building a bridge in the area, and heard the story of the lost town and its forgotten people, and decided to build a monument to acknowledge their existence.”

  “And the name of the town?” Nicola asked.

  Danny shrugged. “And the name of the town was lost on the wind.”

  “What a strange story. Was anything else there?”

  Danny pushed his plate to one side and took a sip of wine. “No. Nothing. It was so deathly quiet all you could hear was the chirping of birds, and the wind in the trees. It was so eerie.” He shook his head as he recalled the feeling. “I stood there for I don’t know how long looking at those crosses. It was the strangest thing. I remember thinking this must be what’s it’s like to be dead.” He shrugged in a kind of a shiver.

  “So what did you do?”

  “What could I do? I climbed back into the SUV and kept on going until I came to the town of Omeo. But, you know what? For as long as I live I’ll never forget the image of those crosses–or the strange eerie feeling I had when I was there.

  “It just goes to show how mortal we are. In the sands of time we will all be forgotten,” he whispered prophetically.

  * * *

  Before she could scream a hand closed around her throat, and a strong arm circled her body, pinning her arms to her side. The more she struggled, the tighter he gripped.

  He lifted her bodily off the ground and smashed her head against a brick wall that was coated in grime and soot, and tattooed with faded graffiti.

  Lack of oxygen and the blow to the head caused her to lose consciousness. She sagged limply against him. The man released his grip and watched as the body peeled off him and slid to the ground.

  As she lay amongst the discarded needles and human garbage, her assailant bent down and slit her throat from ear to ear. He spat out his venom in words only he could hear as he watched the blood pool around the body, and seep into the cracks and crevices of the broken concrete. Then he walked down the alley and disappeared into the anonymity of darkness.

  Death pollutes the air like rotting garbage.

  *****

  “Well, that was pretty gruesome,” Rosie said.

  I shot her an amused look.

  “We’re dealing with a depraved individual. Someone sick and twisted who cares nothing for another life. I’m not going to soft-soap it just because it may offend people’s sensibilities.”

  *****

  “It’s so beautiful here. Let’s sit for a while,” Nicola said as she pulled Danny down onto the grassy bank and curled her legs up under her.

  Warmed by the midday sun, they watched the changing colors of the ocean as foam-capped waves crashed against the rocky coastline. A speedboat raced past scattering noisy seagulls from slate green waves. The gulls rose in the air, circled overhead, then dipped their wings into the wind and settled back on the waves, the water too turbulent to mirror the brilliant blue sky.

  “Have you ever been sailing?” Nicola asked as she gazed at a flotilla of yachts skimming the waves with the wind tugging at their sails.

  “I’ve been sailing−but not on a boat.”

  Nicola gave him a curious look and tucked a fly-away strand of hair behind her ear. “Is there any other kind?”

  “Actually, there is. Some years ago I was in Kalgoorlie, an old gold mining town in Western Australian, having lunch with a couple of guys I was doing business with when one of them mentioned he’d been sailing on a salt lake and suggested I give it a try while I was in the area.”

  “Sailing–on a salt lake? Don’t you mean saltwater lake?”

  “No. A salt lake. Like the one up in Utah. You know, the Bonneville Salt Flats.”

  “I know the one you mean. But, how could you sail a boat on a dry lake?”

  “You can’t.”

  Nicola looked at him curiously. “I think you lost me somewhere between Good morning, Sunshine and, boats that aren’t boats, that don’t sail on water, that isn’t water,” she offered.

  Danny laughed. “You can’t sail a boat on a salt lake. You ride across it in a windsurfer.”

  “Now you’ve really lost me.”

  “You know what a windsurfers looks like?”

  Nicola nodded. “Yes.”

  “Well, these are the same but instead of a curved hull that sits in the water they have a flat bottom with three wheels attached; one at the front, two at the back. The windsurfer skims over hard-packed salt, sometimes doing speeds up to one hundred and fifty klicks an hour.”

  “But, how would you control it?”

  “You sort of lie down and move the sails by way of a rope pulley. Much like you would in a normal sailboat. Lake Lefroy, where they have these specially designed windsurfers, is a huge lake. So there’s not much risk of you colliding with anyone.”

  “It sounds like fun.”

  “It was. I had a great time. Those things can really fly across the salt, often with one of the back wheels in the air, and you have to hold tight to stop it from flipping over.”

  “Are they dangerous?”

  “Not really. But you need to wear a safety helmet and goggles because you could get hurt if you flip over at high speed. But, mainly you just get salt burns.”

  * * *

  Portsmouth, New Hampshire, on I-95, not far from the Maine border, is known for its abundance of bridges and seagulls. Filled with elegant architecture, the city has a strong sense of heritage.

  They checked into the Comfort Inn on Lafayette Road and spent a lazy afternoon wandering the cobblestone streets of the Strawbery Banke district, site of the original town.

  Mid afternoon they crossed the road to Prescott Park, bought lemonade from an elderly vendor and found a bench beneath the spreading limbs of a large tree overlooking the river. In the distance they could hear the urban symphony of rubber tires on bridges that spanned the river and narrow estuaries, and the high-pitched sound of children’s voice. A soft breeze came off the water and sent leaves tumbling along the path and across the newly mown grass.

  Nicola’s gaze wandered down to a small jetty where a man and young boy of six or seven
were fishing. She could see the smile on the man’s face, his head bobbing up and down as he listened in earnest to what the boy was saying. She turned to Danny and said, “Do you like to fish?”

  “Not particularly. Don’t have the patience. What about you?”

  “When I was a kid, Daddy used to take me fishing off the Santa Monica Pier. Mom would pack a picnic lunch and we’d sit on the edge of the dock with our jeans rolled up and our legs dangling over the side so the salty spray would tickle the bottoms of our bare feet while we ate peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and homemade cupcakes covered in sprinkles, and drank half frozen soda pop Daddy had put in the freezer the night before.”

  “Did you catch anything?”

  “Not really. But we had fun,” Nicola told him as she recalled the salty smell of the ocean, the sweet buttery taste of the sandwiches, and the sharp tang of the icy bubbles when they hit her tongue and the back of her throat. She missed her father’s laughter and her mother’s smile so much it hurt.

  *****

  I looked at my sister, and smiled.

  “Do you remember when Dad used to take us fishing?”

  Rosie shook her head and chewed on her bottom lip. “No, not really, I think I must have been really young.”

  “Yeah, come to think of it–you probably were.”

  “Where was it?”

  “What?”

  “Where Dad used to take us fishing?”

  “Oh, it was out on the old pier at Kurnell. Don’t you remember our grandparents used to have a place near there.”

  “No, I don’t remember that. What kind of place was it?”

  “It was a permanent tent where we used to spend summer holidays. It had bunk beds and an annex where Mum used to cook.”

  “What about showers and toilets?”

  “There were communal showers and toilets near the kiosk. But I doubt us kids would have bathed all that often. We used to spend all our time at the beach or playing in the occy pool, so we probably figured we didn’t get dirty.”