Secret Keepers and Skinny Shadows: Lee and Miranda

  Secret Keepers

        And

Skinny Shadows

     A novel by Mary A Russell

   Revised Edition February 2016

Copyright ©2013 by Mary A Russell

TXU 1-859-596

April 18, 2013

All rights reserved

ISBN-13: 9781499262964

ISBN-10: 1499262965

This novel is based on a true story but, the names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

                         
Dedication

This book is dedicated to Jackie May. Your help digging out the research was invaluable. You kept inspiring me to get back to the computer. Jackie, you pushed me enough to get it finished. Thank you.

Of course to Aaron Russell, for the encouragement to keep writing, and the valuable information to be able to complete the story.

Tracy Madigan Sheppard the best photographer in the world.

To Mike Garrett, Stephen King’s first editor, thank you.

Last but not least, to my husband, Larry, who has always encouraged me to do whatever I wanted to do no matter how crazy it may be. He is always supportive and patient with me, and he is the love of my life.

Lillian’s letters, which inspired Lee to investigate this case, are included in the back of the book.

Matthew 7:7b, Seek and you will find; knock and it will be opened to you.

                 CHAPTER 1

                         Bridgetown, New York

                                Present day

L
ee and Miranda stood side by side in a room that only seconds ago seemed to have more air. Taking a deep breath, Lee scanned the den while loosening his shirt collar. He sensed their eyes followed him everywhere, but he didn’t know who or what they wanted? In one graceful step forward Miranda moved away from Lee, crossed the room and stopped by the door.

              “I told you to stay with me,” he whispered.

       “I’ll be okay. You should worry about yourself.”

  “That free will is going to get you into some real trouble someday.” He took another deep breath.

Outside the wind picked up, whistling under the eaves, rattling the glass window panes. Shivering, he shoved his hands into his pants pockets.

“Don’t be afraid Miranda the sounds we’re hearing are the moaning’s of an old house trying to settle into its new body.”

“I hear the noises all the time, they wake me up at night.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes, and stop pestering me.”

He wondered why he said anything.

“Do you hear the whispering?” Pausing long enough to listen, his skin tingled with a pricking sensation before the hair on the back of his neck stood straight.

“No Lee, I don’t hear anything except you.”

“I know they’re close,” Lee said, “they’re always with me looking over my shoulder, examining what I’m learning, leaving clues they know will waste my time and fill my head with useless information.”

“Okay, anything you say, maybe we’re chasing ghosts from the past?

“I’m not sure. What I do know is, they can try all they want to, but I’m unstoppable.”

“I’m counting on you to help me find the truth,” she said.

He sometimes wondered if the constant whispering he heard was real, or his mind eavesdropping on his thoughts, he couldn’t be sure. He wondered if the tell-tale smell of mint could be from them. He didn’t know, and began to believe he could be growing paranoid, or going crazy. Had the good guys become the hunted, being stalked day after day, night after night by apparitions?

“I think they’re trying to discourage me, hoping I’ll give up, stop investigating, pack up everything and run back to South Carolina.”

“Will you Lee?”             

“Don’t worry, I’ll stay until this is finished.”

If Lee realized the danger waiting for him around the next corner you couldn’t tell it by looking at him. He refused to be intimidated. He learned about fear in Miami.

“You know how unsolved mysteries get my mind and soul riled up until I solve them one way or the other,” he said.

Glancing across the room, he noticed goose bumps covering her arms, indicating to him, she heard it too. She never said a word. He assumed she was being brave as he witnessed the dread weave its way up her delicate, graceful, pale cheeks, and into her steady eyes, playing with his emotions.

He wanted to cross the room, sweep her into his arms, and tell her she had nothing to fear. His emotions tore at his soul. Asking himself if the price he would have to pay would be worth the effort.

He endured more than enough of her caustic remarks. Being his wife’s best friend and confidant, she would never let him forget. Joan died before her time because of him.

He wondered how anyone so beautiful could be so obnoxious and sharp-tongued.

He tried many times to remove the soft spot still beating in the corner of his heart for this polished, smart woman whom he loved like a kid sister, and hoped she would someday lose her know-it-all attitude.

Instead of moving toward her, he said. “It’s alright. I’ll take care of you. We’ll get to the bottom of this. We’ll find out who they are.”

She turned in Lee’s direction without a word, shot him an icy stare, and nodded. “I hope so,” she said.

He smiled remembering the many phone conversations with her after he received her letter in the mail.

She pictured herself an amateur sleuth on the constant hunt for a mystery to solve.

After resisting her many pleas for help, she persuaded him to join her cause, convincing him he should want to do this for Joan.

Joan’s memory and the way he treated her, tormented him. He decided this would be his chance to do the right thing and maybe end the mental anguish.

Two days into the investigation, Lee said to Miranda.

“I’m worried I may have made a mistake getting involved with this and maybe putting our lives in grave danger. When I agreed to help you, it looked like a simple research project. But the deeper we go into this the less I like what I’m learning. Three questions keep rolling around in my mind, keeping me up at night.”

“What questions?”

“For one thing, what if we’ve reawakened the past by snooping around, digging up evidence?” He glanced around the doorway of the next room.

“We’re going to make enemies investigating this old murder, the police for one and it’s hard to tell who else will come forward before we finish this,” she said.

“Okay, what if the heinous secrets buried for the last fifty years are starting to break their silence, crawling out of the cracks of time crying out for the truth to be told?”

“Come on Lee, aren’t you getting a little too dramatic?”

“This is my last question. What monsters have we unshackled with our keys of curiosity and research?”

“I don’t know about that but it looks like a monster was turned loose in my house.”

By this time Miranda made her way back over to Lee’s side. She whispered in his ear, “Are you going to stand there asking a bunch of questions or are we going to see if anyone is still in the house?”

He nodded. “Come on, whoever it is might be in my room. Stay by my side.” With one eye on Miranda, together they tiptoed toward Lee’s bedroom at the back of the mansion.

They stopped in the doorway, staring into the dark, as a bright shaft of moonlight lit up the wood floor and part of the bed in front of the slider.

Tapping Miranda’s elbow with his, Lee nodded in the direction of the light. “It looks like they came in and left through the door.”

They moved toward the opening. “Stay close. Don’t be afraid. I’ll protect you.” He peered around the curtain looking out onto the wooden deck. They had a perfect view of the patio and five acres of lawn leading back to the woods behind the mansion.

Miranda shivered as the wind picked up, blowing its chill through the door, a dog barked in the distance, then he saw a man dressed in black running toward the woods. “There! Look, do you see him?”

The man disappeared inside the cover of the black forest.

                            
CHAPTER 2

          Bridgetown, New York, February 1962

T
he bone-chilling cold wrapped its icy arms around Bridgetown, New York, an unassuming, bustling railroad town.

The inhabitants in this town didn’t live, they endured life.

Bert Grayson spent his working career as a laborer for the Conn Railroad, the company that owned the people and the town.

“Bert, I know you’re friends with everyone in this area that’s why I think you’d be the perfect person to address the men tonight at the union hall,” John said.

“I’ll think about it John.”

“Okay then, I’ll stop by later.”

Bert knew most of the people living in the houses in this hamlet, and would’ve been shocked by the repulsive secret they would through the years hide from the outside world. But, yet entrusting it to their children’s, children.

What a smug lot they were, conspiring with each other to take the secret to their graves, and many of them did. He’d have trouble understanding how so many individuals could be involved in and with such an insidious cover-up, for more than half a century.

Later that day John caught up with Bert.

“Hey Bert have you made up your mind yet?”

“I don’t know John, will they really help our cause?”

“All I know is we’ll have power in numbers, and if we stick together life will be better for all of us.”

“Well, I’ll try hard to make it. What time did you say they will meet?”

“8:00 P.M. hope to see you there. I’ll save you a seat.”

“Okay, I’ll eat dinner at the hot dog stand, then walk over to the meeting.”

Like Bert, most of the town’s people worked for the railroad, building trains day after weary day.

But, Bert stood out from the other men in stature and life-style. He stood a head taller than most of the men he worked with and he liked hard work. The monotony of it is what he didn’t like.

The men who worked in the roundhouses produced train engines at a record pace, at the same time the smokestacks belched out heavy layers of toxic zinc, copper and lead. The poisonous metals penetrated their bodies causing the workers to appear to glow. The line bosses kept the men building and repairing trains as fast as the Conn could force them to work.

While Bert was walking to the diner he looked up at the clouds of coal dust the train engines spewed out as they passed through town. Leaving behind a fine, sticky, grime. Particles of soot, seeped into the houses through the unplugged cracks in the windows and doors. The thick, black blanket built up layer after layer on the roof and siding.

“Hi Bert do you mind if I walk to the diner with you. I’m going to the meeting tonight so I thought I’d catch a bite before I go,” Henry said.

“Sure, I could use the company I never liked to eat alone.”

“What did you think of the little pep talk the bosses gave us today?”

Henry paused, looking at Bert before continuing his thought.

“They have a lot of nerve telling us their only concern was getting trains built, repaired and sold. Who do they think they’re kidding? We both know from the actions of the owners that greed drives the executives running the railroad to pollute the air, knowing they’re protected by the corrupt officials running Bridgetown.”

“I agree with you. We’re also aware of the immorality that oozes to the highest levels of city government, penetrating the hearts and minds of most of the men, from the mayor down to the cleaning help at City Hall. I think they’re driven by two things, their hunger for power and money. They’ll turn their backs on all of us, the very people they’re supposed to protect. Disgusting isn’t it?” Bert said.

Henry nodded.

As they strolled the distance Bert thought about his father and how he enjoyed recounting to him on a monthly basis the story of the Conn Railroad; the way it moved into the lush mountain valley surrounding Bridgetown in the mid-nineteenth century, building the railroad and town from scratch. Even the history books cited it as one of the best examples of a company-owned and run city. Bert’s dad hounded him to go to work for the Conn so he could make good money from the largest employer in New York State.

“You know maybe I’m wrong, but I think the Conn should rethink their position on women. This idea that they belong at home and not in the workplace is old fashioned. I hope someday maybe in my life time they will start hiring women.” Bert said.

In the 1960s, Bridgetown had become the railroad hub of the east all trains going west from New York City passed through it, expanding its population generation after generation. Only a few lucky ones ever retired; most of them died young as their bodies were poisoned by the black-death bellowing from the smokestacks.

Bert fought alongside the other men to bring about change, they brought in the unions that grew in power forcing the railroad to install pollution controls to clean the air and at the same time provide the workers with sick leave.

Bert was one of the more fortunate men who was assigned to work in the shops building boxcars, not in the roundhouses building engines. An injury on the job one day left him unable to work. After months of bargaining, the union forced the Conn to give Bert an early retirement with a disability pension check each month.

It wasn’t a lot of money, but it was enough to support his drinking habit, along with some extra to help his sister Lizzie buy food and pay the utilities on the old place they shared.

“Bert you’re going to wear out the door on the mailbox, your check will probably be in the carriers hand when he comes today.” Lizzie said.

“Well, I hope so, I have plans for tonight.”

In the early evening, Bert sat on the edge of the mattress on his old oak bed, that once belonged to his mom and dad, who had passed away twenty years ago.

“Hey, Uncle Bert,” Joan said, her ponytail of light brown hair bobbing in the air, as she sauntered through his opened bedroom door twirling her car keys on her finger.

“Hi, Pumpkin head. What’s up with you? How’s your old car running?”

While she answered his questions, Bert bent over to lace his boot, pausing for a second to pat his chest pocket.

“I’ve got my fingers crossed, hoping the old Chevy will keep running, it’s going to be my only transportation when I start college in the fall.” From the corner of his eye he watched her walk over to his side.

He glanced up, “don’t worry, Joanie, I’ll make sure your car is kept in good running condition.”

“You’re the best uncle in the world, I don’t know what I’d do without you. I’ve got to run now or I’ll be late.” She took a few steps toward the door. Bert had time to finish tying one of his leather work boots and stood by the bed.

“Hold on Joanie.” She stopped, and backed up. “What are your plans for tonight?”

“Oh, I guess I should’ve told you, I’m going out with Miranda to the last basketball game and dance of the season.”

He bent down as Joanie stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. He reached up to rub off the lipstick she always left behind. “Have fun tonight,” he put his big arm around her waist, squeezing her with a soft, affectionate hug, “my sweet Joanie, you always were my favorite niece. If my sister-in-law had lived long enough to see you grow up, she would’ve been proud of her youngest girl.” He grinned as Joanie broke into a smile.

“Uncle Bert, you’re like a dad to me. I love you and Aunt Liz for taking care of us after our mom died. I don’t remember her, but I’m sure she was beautiful and kind.”

He watched her turn, leaving behind a soft scent of lavender and roses. She crossed the room to the door. He listened for her footfalls on the steps leading to the kitchen, and her soft voice. “Goodbye, Aunt Lizzie. I’m off to the game and dance.”

“Don’t be out late, young lady,” the door closed.

His ear was tuned for the roar of Joanie’s old Chevy as it pulled out of the driveway. He hurried to his bedroom window brushing back the curtains, to watch her car disappear down the winding dirt road. Yes Joanie, your mom was beautiful and kind, just like you, he whispered.