October 10 (Monday—Columbus Day Observance)
Beth was already dressed and watching through the window curtains. At 7:15 a.m. Tanya McCabe’s lime green vehicle drove up and Jeff hopped out. “Are you down to one car, Jeff?”
“Mine’s in the shop waiting on warranty approval. Can’t take it anywhere else without voiding the warranty, but the dealer won’t work on it because there’s some glitch with the initial registration.” Jeff glanced back at his wife. “We’re in a hurry. She’s dropping me off before she goes to work.” Tanya taught at Verdeville Junior High School.
“I did my best to read it, but parts are so faded, it’s impossible.”
“Anything to get me started with?”
“It gives a specific date—November 9, 1889. That’s when Jones was hung. The story itself takes place on a Mississippi River steamboat.” Beth waggled a small tablet page with her brief notes. “Oh, and the place of the murder and hanging was Hickman, Kentucky. Ever hear of it?”
“No, but if it was a steamboat town, I’ll bet it had a newspaper. Maybe we’ll get lucky and somebody has digitized a few surviving copies.” Jeff started backing toward his wife’s car.
“Pages are extremely brittle. Take good care of it.”
“You think your movie actress wrote it?”
Beth’s brow wrinkled. “Don’t think so. Handwriting is too different from what I recall in her diary. But in my gut, I feel certain she’s connected to this story... somehow. So it’s up to you to prove it.”
He smiled. “Do my best.” He trotted to the waiting vehicle. He never explained why they were both working on a holiday.
****
Beth had to work too. CPAs didn’t observe all the standard holidays. She dressed pretty much as usual—medium heels with charcoal slacks and a cream white blouse.
The coffee was already dripping by the time Steve entered. As usual, he looked slightly puzzled and disoriented, like he’d never been in that facility before. The morning ritual began: Steve deposited his briefcase and laptop in his office, stared at the clock until it faintly buzzed at eight o’clock, then nodded in Beth’s direction. Her part of this annoying rite was to hurriedly unlock the front door as though people were queued-up.
Beth dealt with Saturday’s mail which had been slipped through the door slot. Caught up the filing from Friday afternoon. Made some calls confirming appointments. Addressed the rest of the October client birthday cards she’d started the previous week.
As usual, every time Beth looked up, it seemed Steve was staring at her. Now that she knew Shane was coming to town, maybe she’d introduce him to her boss. After meeting Beth’s biker ex-boyfriend, perhaps Steve would stop staring at her all day.
When Steve walked by with his mid-morning coffee, he paused at Beth’s desk... as usual. Didn’t say anything; he just stood there and looked at her. That was probably his opening line of conversation: silence.
So, as usual, Beth spoke the first words to break the awkwardness. “Over the weekend, I found a 1955 diary—from some old actress—and an ancient manuscript about a hanging and a riverboat.” Now those were not her typical opening words. Surely news like this would generate a conversational response. Nope. Steve just blinked a few times.
My mistake. When the subject is not Steve or his CPA work, he’s got zero interest.
He gazed toward the front door and shrugged his narrow shoulders. Then he moved quietly back to his office. Fortunately for Beth’s sanity, during the remainder of the morning, Steve’s visual attention was on his own computer screen.
Later, during Beth’s lunch, she sat at the edge of the parking strip behind their complex of offices and businesses. Sunshine—unhampered by clouds—took the cool edge off temperature in the low sixties.
After eating her sandwich, she called Shane’s cell phone. It was his third day of travel and he was due to arrive that night sometime, but Beth didn’t know anything more specific. She’d forgotten to check whether any storms were between them.
It went to voicemail. By the time Shane saw this message, he’d probably be past Memphis already. Beth left voicemail informing him that the Verdeville weather was good and asking him to call when he reached town. There were other words which caught in her throat so intensely they actually felt like heartburn. Having him so near, after all this time. What would Shane expect? What would she allow? What did she expect?
Surely this was not a matter of picking up right where they left off. They’d split in the middle of a terrible argument. Why did she have to leave? Any idiot would have understood that she left only because her brother needed constant attention and her parents couldn’t handle it. What else had Shane imagined?
They’d never actually discussed her departure... or its aftermath. Beth realized that she’d handled it badly. It had dropped down on her like ten cubic yards of gravel... and she’d reacted by clawing out from under the pile and stumbling to Verdeville. Had she paused long enough to close things down with Shane? No. Her main reaction was panic. Had she asked Shane to come with her? Didn’t even consider it. Not then, anyway... but many, many times since.
So who would expect what... three years later? Where would they pick up this oddly fractured relationship? Deep inside, Beth feared the only thing they presently had in common was that Shane felt the need to rough-up somebody to protect her. Under the current circumstances, that might come in real handy... but it was not the basis for a renewed relationship. Not to Beth, at least.
Though it might be enough for Shane.