by J. L. Salter
He handed her one of two large bowls of hot popcorn. “Ready to start the movie?” He gave her the remote.
Wow... that was also new! “Uh, sure. After I get something to drink. Thirsty?”
“Yeah. Whatever you’re having.” He reclaimed the remote and adjusted the volume. “Which movie did you want? I don’t think I’ve seen any of those.” He pointed toward the double-tiered box.
She could imagine: they were mainly chick flicks. It wasn’t like she had a sampling of war movies, biker films, or westerns. She tried to recall what was in that small collection. “Oh, do you like Mel Gibson?”
“Depends on what he’s playing.”
“Well, he’s an ex-FBI spook or something... and he hooks up again with Goldie Hawn after—”
“Yeah, I like Goldie. Let’s do that one.”
He never asked the title.
She brought the drinks to the coffee table and inserted Bird on a Wire into the player.
During the first thirty minutes of the movie, Shane crunched his popcorn too loud, but it was a familiar sound which warmed her. Nobody had crunched popcorn in Beth’s ear for a long time.
After finishing his snack and rinsing his hands, Shane draped an arm over Beth’s shoulder and she snuggled into him. It felt so familiar, so warm and so right. About halfway through the film, she dozed off.
Probably the only reason she woke when she did was that the movie had ended and Shane got up to eject the DVD. Then he went into the bathroom.
That gave her about three minutes to think. She knew he wanted to stay over and she was pretty sure she wanted him to. But she sensed, somehow, that it shouldn’t happen. Not yet, anyhow. Not now. Her brain screamed this wasn’t the right time—bad timing, as Shane always said. Any decisions made under these unusual circumstances would be regretted for a long time. Timing.
After all, he’d probably be back on his bike heading west in a day or two. Long Beach was in his blood: its sand and salt... even the smog. Shane had lived in other places, he’d fought in the Kuwait desert, but California was home.
When he emerged from the bathroom, Shane’s expression revealed that he already knew he wasn’t staying overnight. Beth couldn’t tell whether it was his own decision or if he’d merely divined what she was thinking about bad timing. As usual, they would leave a wound open rather than talk about it. But she keenly felt the pain.
He kissed her lips lightly, grabbed his jacket and helmet, and left.
She desperately needed to run after him, keep him with her, and never let him go.
But he went. With the deep throaty sound of his Harley, Shane Holder disappeared into the chilly darkness... and Beth Muse drew up her knees on the couch and cried.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Saturday mid-day
Beth had slept poorly and awoke grumpy. She might have stayed in bed all morning if not for Connie’s call.
It was a rare Saturday when Beth met Connie for lunch. Beth was game, provided Jeff joined them, so he could explain more about his recent forensic efforts. Connie agreed. So they would be three for lunch at the Brew & Chew coffee and sandwich shop across Highway 231 from the expansive mall.
Beth considered inviting Shane to join in. But as she stared at her phone’s entry for Shane’s number, she decided against it. He’d be restless in that kind of place. Plus, there were some un-discussed issues from the previous night.
Although Jeff was on duty today, he needed to use two hours of comp time before the payroll week ended, so he was able to join them. He’d also invited Tanya, but she had student appraisals to write before Monday’s parent-teacher meeting.
People like Beth were wired in such a way that they need a reason to do something. Not Connie. She liked to talk, loved to eat, and enjoyed being seen... so she was always up for anything. Jeff agreed to meet probably because he had more exciting information to share and likely wanted to get this entire project behind him.
Jeff, in Tanya’s vehicle, was already there when Beth arrived at the Brew & Chew. Neither could guess what demo Connie would arrive in... and she surprised both by roaring through the parking lot in a jet black, four-year-old Humvee.
“What on earth?” Jeff must have always wanted one.
Like a comely cheerleader bounding off the team bus, Connie was all smiles. “Yeah, I know... it’s not a legit demo and it’s not even in our dealer lines. But somebody traded it and the detail guys just got through with it.”
Jeff climbed up into the cab. “Wow.”
“The manager on the used car side said I could keep it for three or four days.” Connie pointed to the windows. “It’s got Buy me written all over it. Good advertising, don’t you think?”
“What kind of mileage do these tanks get?” Beth wasn’t all green but she did care about the planet.
Connie shrugged. “The service guys fill it up. I just drive and advertise.”
When Jeff could pry himself away, he joined them at the door and they all went inside.
As they were seated, Beth noticed several strange looks. Was it because a black man came in with two white women? Or was it because two attractive women entered? Or... because Jeff looked like a short Denzel Washington? She wondered. Those were probably the kinds of questions often on Jeff’s mind.
They ordered quickly and got down to the business of the actress’s diary. Although Jeff had possessed it since the previous Saturday, he’d only been able to examine the journal rather recently. Still, Jeff’s analytical brain had material to tap. With Lynette’s diary in one hand and a small tablet in the other, he checked the table surface to be certain it was dry.
Beth realized his concern and wiped the area with several napkins. “We’ve spent so much time batting around the Jones manuscript and that Courier article you located, I’d nearly forgotten about the diary. So did any entries from 1955 shed any light on anything else in the overnighter?”
Connie fiddled with the small tray of sweeteners.
“Yeah, I was totally sidetracked by that older material. Just got back to the diary Thursday evening and I’ve been up ‘til midnight these last two nights.”
“Tanya must be getting pretty sick of this project.” Connie smirked.
Jeff just grunted. That had to mean definitely. “I didn’t want to mark on the diary itself, obviously, so I used sticky tabs and took several notes.” He looked up. “Ready?”
“Spill.” Beth pulled out her own notepad.
“Our actress lady doesn’t drive so she takes buses everywhere. She took two trips from North Hollywood to New York City…one by bus and one by plane.”
“Alone?” Beth poised her pen.
“As best I can tell. And both in that same year.”
Connie pointed to the diary. “And she’s how old here?”
“Uh, she turned seventy-three that November.” Jeff let that sink in and then tapped a name on his tablet. “Lynette’s son is John Jr. and his name comes up a lot. She always worries about him and wishes she could see him more often.”
The food arrived with a lot of hustle bustle from their waitress. After she left they had to swap plates.
Beth lifted the edge of the top slice of flat bread to inspect the insides of her tuna salad sandwich. “What do we know about John Jr.?”
Jeff flipped over a page on his notepad. “Well, John Jr. married Ellen... but they’re apparently separated. They had two kids. A girl named Helana…born in 1932…who’s about twenty-three and married at this point. And a boy named John III... who’s called Johnnie. Let’s see, Johnnie was born in 1936, so he’s about nineteen in 1955.”
Connie interrupted. “Hold on. Does any of this family detail help us understand anything else in the little suitcase?”
“Well, it could help us identify the people in those album photos.” Beth took a bite of her meal and made an appreciative noise.
“True, but I can’t swear that helps in any other way.” Jeff shrugged and faced Connie. “You need to understand: when
I analyze things, I study the entire package... all the evidence, if you will.” He turned back to Beth. “One thing good is that it helps us get inside Lynette’s head during this particular year. She’s elderly, widowed... and quite lonely. In fact, she mentions loneliness a lot.” He paused and took a small bite. “She’s also pretty much broke... living on nothing but Social Security and sporadic rent receipts. She works like a convict, keeping up her house and grounds... and the little rental on the adjacent lot.”
Connie appeared unmoved. “Okay, but old, poor and lonely doesn’t solve any puzzles in the overnight bag.”
“She’s right, Jeff. So far, nothing explains why I’ve been attacked by Ricks, why somebody presumably wanted to steal this diary... or whatever else in the overnighter has people acting so screwy.”
Jeff looked offended.
“Sorry. Not directed at you.” Beth patted his forearm. “I was just hoping that you’d find something noteworthy that finally breaks open this whole strange mess.”
He spoke carefully. “You do understand that I can’t just make up some connection. I analyzed what Lynette wrote during that year... looking for patterns of activity, repeated names, et cetera.”
“I know... I’m sorry. I’m just frustrated at this situation.” Beth pointed to his notes. “Go ahead. What else did you find?”
Jeff took another bite of his sandwich. His free hand flipped slowly through a few more pages. “Okay, there were some influential families in Kentucky, Tennessee, Arkansas, Louisiana, and Mississippi... all along the river. Lynette knew them from her touring days. It’s not spelled out how she knew them or why they’d kept in touch... since all her touring days were likely prior to 1912, when she started in movies.”
“You said influential.” Beth waggled her fingers. “How influential were these folks?”
Jeff shrugged. “The names didn’t ring any bells with me. But some were apparently political families and others were wealthy through railroading or banking.” He flipped up a page and slid over the tablet. “Here’s some of the families: Wyatt, Goldstein, Flanagan, Mercer, Bier, Hardwicke, and Trask. Recognize any?”
Connie shook her head.
“Me neither.” Beth pointed to the fifty-six-year-old diary. “Hold on. If nobody recognizes the names, how do you know they were influential?”
“Context. The way Lynette refers to them.” He flipped over a diary page marked by a sticky tab. “Missus Goldstein had just returned from the continent.” He found another entry. “And Missus Bier was closing up her summer home.” Jeff tapped the journal. “She mentions correspondence where one refers to a butler or one has a chauffeur.”
“Was she jealous?” Connie asked.
“Hard to say, but I don’t think so. The way I read most of those entries was sort of like Lynette thought they were putting on airs.”
“She was probably a good enough actress to know when other people were playing a role.” Beth nodded.
“There’s more names.” Jeff merely pointed to the page. “But none of their contexts make it seem like they were anything but ordinary citizens... and regular friends. She was a godmother to at least one of them. She gave some jewelry to a neighbor’s child when that baby was born.”
“So, anything else?” It was unlike Connie to seem anxious to leave a lunch meeting. Maybe she had a date.
“Some of her entries are about shows she went to in L.A.” Jeff looked up and smiled. “Having her background in Vaudeville, theater and silent movies, Lynette critiques the shows. It’s kind of funny, but also a bit sad... you can tell she truly misses her own performance days.” He tapped the tablet again. “In a couple of the productions she saw, she’s reminded of her days performing in small but fancy salons on those riverboats.”
“Riverboats?” Beth dabbed at some iced tea which sloshed out. “You mean like the steamboat in that Jones story?”
“Well, these would be in a different era, presumably. She toured during the period from 1904 through about 1911. Most was in towns and cities, but some was up and down the larger rivers.”
“But that hanging story was set in 1889. No connection.” Connie was finished with her lunch and seemed through with this research. She started to rise.
“But we can’t rule out a connection.” Beth waved Connie back into her seat. “It’s only about 15-20 years later that Lynette was riding those boats. Might’ve been some of the same steamboats.”
“Whoa. Maybe you can’t rule out a connection, but you also can’t jump to conclusions.” Jeff emphatically slapped his pen on top of the tablet. “Here’s what we do know…Lynette traveled up and down the Mississippi on riverboats. She performed on some of those boats and apparently also in some of the towns where they docked. The characters in that story were on a Mississippi steamboat and docked at Hickman, Kentucky. Period.”
“But according to that newspaper article there actually was a botched hanging.” Beth pointed vaguely to his portfolio.
“True, but that still doesn’t make a link to Lynette…even if she did stop at Hickman…because she was on that river many years later.”
Connie shifted in her seat. “You can’t prove we’re wrong.”
Jeff nodded. “But in history and genealogy, the burden’s on you to prove you’re right. Can’t prove that with what we’ve seen so far. Now, if we could get the last pages of the hanging manuscript, maybe they would give us a toehold.”
“Okay, you’re right. But don’t blame us for getting excited.” Beth fanned her face briefly. “This is the closest we’ve come so far.” She sighed heavily. “So what else did you discover?”
When Jeff reached into his portfolio for more papers, a small snapshot fell to the table. “Oh, that reminds me—I found this inside the big envelope which held the diary.”
Beth lifted the photograph and flipped it over. According to the inscription, it was Lynette holding her granddaughter, Helana. “You know, this picture isn’t dated, but she could be around sixty in this shot. She was still a handsome woman.”
Connie looked casually and then checked her watch again. “Okay, folks, I totally need to get to my hair appointment.”
Beth held up a forefinger. Hold on a second. “Any other details in the diary that might help?”
“Uh, well there’s one little glitchy entry—a name…on February twenty-ninth.” Jeff placed a finger on his tablet.
“So?” Connie was the soul of impatience.
“1955 wasn’t a leap year, was it?” Beth squinted. “Only the even years. In fact, every other even year.”
Jeff grinned. “Exactly. No space for it in this 1955 diary, so she just drew it in at the bottom of the spot for the twenty-eighth.”
“What’s the name?” Beth leafed through the diary as she asked.
Jeff read from his tablet. “Matt. Vernon.”
“Should that ring any bells?” Once again, Connie was tugged back into the drama.
Beth’s turn to smile. “There was a Matthew Vernon in the hanging story.”
“The sheriff! Only one with a full name. Right?” Connie seemed genuinely pleased to know something.
Jeff nodded. “But remember, only in the manuscript is it Sheriff Matthew Vernon. In the newspaper, the sheriff’s real name is Harry King.”
All three were silent briefly. There were other people waiting inside the door for seats, so they needed to clear out.
Beth started gathering her belongings. “I still don’t understand that name swap.”
“Me neither. In real life 1889…Hickman’s Sheriff King has a convicted murderer escape the noose.” Jeff carefully replaced all the items in his portfolio... except the diary. “But in the manuscript, Sheriff Vernon loses a condemned prisoner and we’re told that guy was innocent! Framed by Mister Brown... rescued by Brown’s efforts and money.”
“And Vernon’s name shows up in Lynette’s diary on February twenty-ninth... which didn’t even exist in 1955.”
Connie already had her things togethe
r. “Most people reading this would likely overlook that entry altogether.”
Jeff waited until he had their close attention. “Which, in my estimation, is exactly why Lynette put it in that spot... in a different color ink.”
“So what’s so important about Matt Vernon?” Beth squinted.
Jeff tapped the cover of the diary. “And why would Lynette be thinking about Mister Vernon all those years later?”
“Maybe one of her antique pen pals mentioned something about it.” Connie had spoken off-handedly, but all three of them stopped and stared.
“Her letters!” Beth nearly squealed. “Who’s got all of Lynette’s correspondence?”
“I didn’t see any letters in that little suitcase.” Jeff re-checked his notes. “Just a few postcards and hardly any with writing on them.”
“I’d kill for a look at her letters.”
After Beth blurted that out, Jeff looked down solemnly. “Or threaten somebody with a knife?”
All three of them gulped and Beth unconsciously touched her neck.
Connie took her ticket to the register but Beth stayed close to Jeff as he double checked around the table.
First, he handed her the diary. “I’ve got notes on everything of significance. You better hold on to the original.” Then he pulled out the manuscript. “Take this, too. I’ve got a photocopy, plus my typescript.”
Beth was puzzled.
Jeff could tell. “Not sure why, but just a gut feeling that you’ll need them... somehow.”
“Forensic librarian and fortune teller as well?” She poked his shoulder.
He didn’t smile.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Mid-afternoon
Beth had barely arrived home when Shane called. He wanted to come over that evening, but didn’t specify why or when. Sure... why not?
While she waited, Beth lay on the couch and gazed in the direction of the television. The weatherman was yakking about an enormous band of severe thunderstorms headed their way in a few days, probably by the first of the week. Ho hum. If they want heavy rain, they ought to see L.A. during its spring monsoon.