Secret Keepers and Skinny Shadows: Lee and Miranda (25 page)

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?

LETTER 4

April 1965

Dear Miss Grayson,

I have a guest today. It is a girl I met while I was in the state hospital, and she is reading what I have finished of my book. She likes it and said that there was no doubt in her mind that Bert was a man of high principles and good moral character.

She never even saw Bert, and I am happy that this is what a total stranger got from the material I have written about him. It is the precise message I meant to convey, and every word of it is true. I would swear to it, and I am a woman who wouldn’t swear to a lie, not even to protect my own reputation.

I have to correct a couple of things I told you in my last letter. I think I told you I hadn’t seen Bert for years.

Actually, I was in the same room with him one night since that. He was in the Hot Dog Lunch, and I only saw him from a distance. I was in the back booth by the window. I was raised to believe that it wasn’t proper for married women to talk to other men, and I have never done it when I lived in the same house with a husband. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to see Bert. Once, after we moved into this house, I walked clear to Green. I live quite close to Lake Park. I think Green is nearly seven miles from where I live. Anyway, I lost my nerve and came back. George and I had had a battle and I wanted to leave here. George had taken my bus pass and all my money so I couldn’t leave. That’s why I walked.

Bert had told me that love lasted forever, but so many men had told me the same thing that I had a lot of doubts. I had no way of knowing that Bert might not be married. I hadn’t even the nerve to call him on the phone or ask someone who would know if he were married or not.

I said that Bert only mentioned you once. I meant directly to me. I heard him mention your name to his drinking buddy Carl on occasion. I remember thinking you must have a sense of humor because Bert repeated something you’d said, I was busy and didn’t hear it, and they were both laughing when I got back to the bar.

I have had a lot of unnecessary work to do after George, too, as a result of his drinking. Doing his work has never been a pleasure. It never will be. Work really isn’t work when you love someone, though. I remember I told Dr. Denny I’d be willing to die if I could just see Bert long enough to ask him to forgive me.

My last letter was a pretty blunt statement of facts. Believe me, it wasn’t told to me that way or I’d have wiped up the street with Cheney. At the time I didn’t believe most of it since the papers had been printing cover-up stories. I had no proof for most of it, and I didn’t get most of the proof until last summer.

I advertised in
Labor
newspaper for names and dates, and the proof originally came to me from Florida. From it I learned how to get most of the rest of it. The elderly couple he shot in their living room while they were watching TV. The paper said the police theorized that a child had gotten a loaded gun and that both deaths were accidental. Both people were shot to death with different bullets.

At the time Bert was killed I imagine you were too upset to even suspect why it had happened. I know that, for me, all I could think of was the horrible way in which he died. I know it was my fault, but I couldn’t even remember why it was my fault.

It came back a little at a time, just the way Dr. Denny said it would. He, Dr. Denny, was the first person to encourage me about the book. He was a wonderful person. My attorney said Dr. Denny admired me.

I fault myself that Bert drank. I thought I had nothing to do with it when he started, but he told me that he knew I didn’t love him enough to marry him, but he wanted me to tell him I cared enough to ask him to stop drinking. He said he believed he could quit if I asked him to. I didn’t tell him, and I was pretty brutal about it.

I said I didn’t want the responsibility of him on my shoulders, and I didn’t care what he did. Hate me for saying it if you like, but I had my reasons. You’d have to talk to me or read the book to understand.

Forgive me for writing that last letter. I wish now I hadn’t, but I may have told you this before. I’m more afraid of the local police than I ever was of Clay, and I’m plenty scared of him. He can’t get into our house. The police can. I can’t keep them out.

Miss Grayson, I can’t believe that Bert would tell a deliberate lie, except for me. Carl was Bert’s best friend at the time. Carl was trying to talk me into marrying Bert. He said he wished he was my daddy so he could make me marry Bert even if he had to take me over his knee to do it. Carl said that Bert wouldn’t know how to pretend. When you told me that Bert was due to be sent overseas, I knew Bert hadn’t lied to Carl. They don’t take men into Foreign Service over 6’6’. They make too prominent a target. They may have some in the States who are that tall, but not in Foreign Service. Bert hated to talk about his height. The reason he told Carl was because he knew Carl would tell me. I was so hurt for Bert that I cried. I have no doubt that his age may have had a lot to do with it, too.

If he had been younger, they could have trained him for another job and kept him in the service in the States. George got out of the service on age (he’s a year younger than Bert) and on the back of his discharge it says by reason of being transferred to the reserve corps, and because he was over thirty-eight.

When Bert went to Missouri, he was evidently in a separation center. He wasn’t trained there. Bert wouldn’t lie to me—for me, but not to me.

Did I tell you that Bert asked my dad to marry me when I was sixteen? Bert didn’t drink then. He started the summer I got married. Cain told me that Bert was blue about it, and he, Cain, suggested Bert have a few drinks to cheer him up.

Forgive the pencil! My pen went dry. I have about a dozen, but it’s the only narrow one I have. I’ve written so much that I have a lump on the big finger of my right hand. It gets sore if I put too much pressure on it. Then I can’t write for a while at all. I have to keep it bandaged.

There is only one thing wrong with Bert’s grave that I can see. It’s too close to Hap. Hap’s body defiles the soil. I even hate his memory for what he did to Bert.

I don’t drive, either. We’ve never even had a car. I objected because I was afraid George would have an accident and kill someone. He’s a big pig head. You can’t tell him anything. I quit trying long ago. He spent his money on booze and women, and I wouldn’t give him what I’d earned for a car. There were too many more important things that were needed.

Miss Grayson, an accurate description of my life with George would have to read like this; I worked for my room and board. Clothing and personal necessities I had to earn outside of the house. I only lived because I didn’t die. Bert knew it. He wanted me to be happy and he knew I never was.

Maybe you’d better see a doctor about your nerves. They can help you. They helped me and I was in worse condition than you are. At least you didn’t have to feel that you were responsible for his death. I did. Bert mentioned to me that a brother or cousin of someone kept hounding him to sell them some land that Bert owned, and it was next to where you lived. Whatever came of that situation?

I wish I had known he was sick. If I had, I don’t think principles or anything else could have kept me away from him. After we moved out here I didn’t even know anyone who knew him. He tried to give me hints, but I never took a hint in my life. I didn’t know that he was the one who had put the rose bush down by my garage. When it bloomed, the roses were white. He told me once that I reminded him of white roses, little, pure, and sweet. He took all the blame for the awful life I’d brought on myself because of the incident at the park. He told me once that I’d had everything I ever wanted right in the palm of my hand all of my life and I didn’t know it.

Maybe I’d better not write to you anymore, if it upsets you. I don’t want to hurt anyone. I guess I’m a lot like Bert said he was. I can’t seem to help myself.

My friend only got to read fourteen chapters of the book before she had to leave. She liked what she read. I would have let her take the rest of it with her, only I was afraid something might happen to it. George destroyed five chapters of it. I was furious. I told him if he ever touched anything of mine again, I’d kill him. I didn’t mean it, but I had to make the threat strong enough to scare him. He said I’d go to the chair if I did anything like that. I told him I would not. I’ve been a mental patient and they might put me back in an institution, but they wouldn’t electrocute me, and that being in an institution would be preferable to living in the same house with him. I have to live here now, but I envy you and your freedom. It must be wonderful to be able to do whatever you like, whenever you want to do it.

Fondly,

Lilly