Murder! Too Close To Home (35 page)

Eventually they came in and gently told me they needed to move Betty. I slowly stood up, leaning over her and giving her one last kiss. Turning around, I left the room for the last time, finding my way through the entrance and out into the fresh air, the first I had had in weeks.

Digging for my keys, I then searched for the car, not remembering where I had parked it. Coming upon it finally, I got in and slowly drove toward home, eyes straight ahead, concentrating only on the goal of getting home.

I opened the door to the silent house, remembering I had sent Lucy to Betty’s sister’s house in Florida weeks ago. I quietly looked around for a moment, and then I headed for the back door.

Going out to the yard, I was greeted by the sight of Betty’s landscape bathed in the early morning light. I sat down in the swing where we spent so many hours enjoying the night air and lightning bugs.

I kick edmy foot slightly, setting the swing into its pendulum motion. Absently I continued this rhythm for several minutes, lost as to what else to do. 

Finally I stop pushing, numbly sitting there…feeling nothing.

The wave of grief finally hit me like a tsunami, rushing in and devouring me with its power. I sat there in my back yard weeping like a baby, weeping for the loss of my love, my partner…the sorrow filling every inch of my soul.

Epilogue

May 22, 1997

The days flew by after Betty’s death with little interaction from me; I had barely said two words to anyone in that time.

We had prearranged funeral plans, so my involvement in that part was miniscule. A plot in my family’s section of the cemetery was easily arranged, and a double head stone was set with both mine and Betty’s names nicely engraved upon it. I even had them install a concrete bench in front of the gravestone.

The funeral was a blur at best, even then I would seldom say anything to the friends and well wishers who came through the line. A simple nodding and offering my hand was the best they could hope for from me.

The burial was a series of honor guards, bugles, flags, and even a fighter jet flyover. Proud as I was of my Betty, I didn’t need these people to tell me that, so they got mostly ignored by me. I did keep the flag that had draped the coffin, sitting it by my chair as it was the last thing that had touched her coffin before being buried.

The police department had engraved Betty’s name on the Honor Roll award hanging in the station house for giving her life in the line of duty. Before she died they had offered up their infrequently given Medal of Honor for her heroism in saving the Sheriff’s life, pinned to her sheet as she lay in the hospital. The Sheriff’s office, not to be outdone by the city police, had come up with a Medal of Honor of their own to award to her posthumously.

They had even given me the deputy badge worn by Jane when Betty had shot her, the deputy happily declaring “Hell of a shot,” until he saw the glare on my face.

I had not gone back to work, telling them in a mood one day that they could do without me for a while or fire me, I didn’t care which.

Betty’s sister had agreed to keep Lucy for the foreseeable future; poor animal didn’t need to be around me now. I let the answering machine handle most of my talking, seldom returning any calls at all.

Mostly I just stayed around the house after the funeral was over, wallowing in self pity and guilt. My days were filled with looking at photo albums or picking up an antique piece that Betty had bought and trying to remember the day we had purchased it.

Forgetting a single day of our life together was not to be allowed, but some of the days were already getting blurry…and that scared me.

The one exception from my self imposed exile was taking care of Betty’s landscape. I watered and worked to keep it just as it was when she left, then sat on the swing and looked upon my wife’s handiwork, sometimes for hours.

Betty’s life insurance arrived in the mail, and I was surprised to see it was quarter of a million dollars. The money meant nothing to me though, and I deposited the check in the desk drawer without a second thought.

After dark I would walk to the cemetery to talk to Betty. I had tried to communicate with her from home, but felt closest to her there. I would sit on the concrete bench and talk of the things we liked to talk about. At least once a night I would ask her how I was supposed to live without her, then proceed to tell her all of the things I missed about her.

The dreams had been a big hope for communicating with her in the beginning, but they had quit coming after the day she died. I prayed that they would come back to at least give me some small chance of seeing her again. But I knew that she was watching over me, she had made that promise before she had to leave. At times I was embarrassed, knowing she was there and seeing how badly I was handling her death, and my life.

Rationally, I knew I needed to move on and do something, but the blackness of my soul was always bubbling just below the surface and it took everything I could muster to keep it there.

Most days I could have easily shot Jane
again if she had lived. Emptying a full clip into the person responsible for my wife’s death would certainly be gratifying at this point.

One day as I was thumbing through an old magazine, I came upon an article that had intrigued me when I first read it years before. I read it again, and then reread it once more.

My interest piqued, I called information and got the number for the author. Cold calling a man I had never met, I told him of my interest and wondered if he had any openings coming up. He stated that he had one, but they would be leaving in a week and doubted I would have time to get ready.

Additionally, it was a year long and in a very rough climate. And one last thing, I would have to pay my own way. Making a quick decision I told him I was very interested, and I needed to make this trip if at all possible.

He asked if I had access to a fax machine where he could send me the list of supplies and schedule. I quickly looked up the number of the one in the prosecutor’s office and gave that information to him. He said he would get it out within the hour.

Dialing another number, a very surprised Frank answered the phone. I had not talked to him since the funeral, but quickly asked if he could intercept a fax for me coming within the hour, and then meet me someplace later.

He readily agreed and we set up the time and place.

“Oh, and Frank,” I added before he hung up, “I’m really sorry for shutting you out for the last few weeks; I have some serious demons working on me.”

He assured me he understood, and that he would probably be worse than I was if it had happened to him. Hanging up, I realized that I probably owed a lot of people apologies, a lot of good people. I would definitely have to work on that.

I had a lot to do in the next week. Leaving for a year would require other people running certain things for me here at home while I was away.

I got busy with a couple of the legal forms I would need to fill out. I then made a call to my accountant, making arrangements for her to pay my bills and my taxes while I was gone. Another quick call to Betty’s sister confirmed that she would be glad to keep Lucy while I was gone, as long as I committed to a visit to her home upon my return.

At five o’clock, I was sitting in a booth at the Red Feather when Frank walked in. I stood up with a wave to get his attention, firmly grasping his hand in both of mine when he arrived at the table.

We sat and a waitress came over and took our order, then Frank pulled a small sheath of papers out of his coat pocket and handed them to me.

“I didn’t look at them, but it seems to be a list of equipment not much needed in these parts. You getting ready to take a trip?”

I smiled at Frank’s typical directness, getting right to the point with no beating around the bush.

“I need to get away for a while, Frank; I need to try something different…too many raw memories around here.”

Sitting quietly for a moment, Frank cleared his throat before continuing, “I never got to tell you how very sorry I am, how sorry we all are, that Betty was…you know…. She was a sweetheart, Gabe; I can’t imagine how you’re feeling.”

A wave of sadness washed over me once again, a catch in my voice evident as I said, “Thanks, Frank.”

I sat still for a minute, taking a couple of slow, deep breaths before continuing.

“I’m lost here you know; I don’t know which way to turn. The house is empty, my heart is empty, some days the only emotion I feel is hatred. I can’t keep going like this or I’ll end up killing myself, or someone else.”

Frank sat there, attentively listening, intuitively knowing this is what I needed, letting me finish before he spoke.

“So what’s the plan, Gabe?”

I lifted my briefcase up off the floor and sat in on the seat beside me, pulling out the magazine and laying it out on the table in front of him.

“I’m going on an archeological dig in the Nazca desert, in Peru. I find the idea of solving a mystery where everyone is long dead intriguing. All the players are in the ground, you just have to find them and figure out how they got there. I’ll be gone a year, maybe more.”

“South America is it? That’s about as far away as you can get. What can I do to help?” he asked.

“It would be a great relief it you would consent to act as my power of attorney while I was gone,” I started. “I need someone I can trust to watch over my house, get the bills to the accountant, you know, take care of things if they come up. I also need someone to be executor of my estate, just in case.”

“I got your back, Gabe, let me know what you need me to do and I’ll take care of it while you’re gone. You need to go, solve your mysteries, work out your demons; everything here will be well taken care of, buddy.”

I got out the paperwork for him to sign and gave him a copy to keep with him. Shaking hands as we were leaving, Frank uncharacteristically gave me a hug. As I left the bar I reflected on what a good friend Frank was; I was lucky to know him.

I turned left and headed for my nightly visit, having much to discuss with Betty tonight.

***

The week passed quickly, and before I knew it was the morning of the day of my departure. I still had some packing to do, plus one item that I still hadn’t been able to find. I had literally torn the house up looking for it.

I finally came across it in a box at the back of the spare bedroom closet. Setting down on the bed, I took in the old leather journal that was my grandfather’s when he too went on an expedition. Having served in WWI in the trenches of France, he had seen more than his share of carnage and death.

Deciding to spend a few months in Egypt on a dig, he tried to use the experience to clear his mind of the disgust he felt for war and all that it entailed.

The cover had tooled into it the initials “GC”, his name also being Gabriel, my namesake.  It also displayed an unconventional cross carved prominently into the front, a cross he created while on his dig.

Called
‘The Celtic Cross’
by the family since then, it had been incorporated into the family crest by his dad, my great grandfather, and had been used as such ever since. His dig having been relatively short, there was still plenty of room left in the book; my thought was to add to his writing with my own.

Looking at my watch, I carried the book downstairs and placed it in my carry-on. I would have plenty of time to have a second look at it on the plane. My flight wasn’t scheduled to leave until eleven that night, and I spent most of the rest of the day packing, doing wash, and finishing the list for Frank.

I called for a Taxi about 8:00. Grabbing my luggage I moved it onto the front porch, taking one last look around the house before I pulled the door closed and hid the key under the mat for Frank to find tomorrow. I carried my belongings to the curb to wait for the Taxi. The neighborhood was quiet as I took in my surroundings, breathing a lungful of sweet summer air, one of the last I would likely experience for a while.

As the taxi appeared from around the corner; I silently said one final goodbye to my home. Putting all of the suitcases except my carry-on and my other package into the trunk of the Taxi, I entered the back and gave the driver the first destination.

Arriving there, he parked outside the gate. Asking the driver to wait for me there and warning him it might be a little while, I exited the car and set off on foot. The motor of the taxi shut off as the driver sat back to relax and wait.

Ghostly quiet except for the crickets and locusts sounding their calls for a mate, I walked the two hundred feet to my destination. Sitting down on the bench, I silently said a prayer for my wife, asking for special treatment in her new home, I suppose.

“Hi, honey,” I started as naturally as if she were standing there, “Today’s the day I leave on my trip. I don’t know what it will bring, but I am going crazy here, and I know that you will be with me wherever I go. I’m not sure I could leave otherwise.”

Quietly sitting there for a moment, I noticed grass clippings on her stone and busied myself for a few moments brushing them off.

“I have a surprise for you,” I continued, “Your lilies started blooming today; they are the most beautiful flowers I have ever seen.”