Secret Letter: The Beginning

Secret Admirer

  Clearwater, Maine

  Victoria woke the next morning, uncertain if her late-night research had been a dream or not. The chain letter rested on the nightstand next to her, opened. She couldn’t remember taking it out of the drawer in the kitchen, but she must have. She could hear the shower running in the bathroom and looked at her alarm clock to see that it was five past seven. She needed to drop Brooke off at school and be at work by nine; a manageable feat all depending on how quickly she got ready.

  She stepped out of bed and stretched as sunlight glowed from behind the closed curtains of the bedroom windows. Todd’s briefcase sat on a nearby desk with his papers and cell phone resting on top. Its screen flashed, and she managed to catch a glimpse of the message before it went away.

  It said, call me ASAP, under a number she didn’t recognize. The bathroom door opened and Todd stepped out with a towel around his waist and steam trailing behind him. He looked at Victoria, startled.

  “Morning,” he said.

  “Good morning,” she said. “All done in there?”

  “It’s all yours,” he said, moving aside.

  Victoria walked past him and went into the bathroom, stopping before she reached the bath rug. “Someone just sent you a text message.”

  Todd glanced at his phone. “Oh. Okay. Thanks.”

  He walked to the desk and quickly reached for his phone, Victoria shut the bathroom door. She wiped some of the fog from the mirror and examined her tired face. The puffy bags under her bluish-green eyes troubled her as much as the lines forming along her cheeks. Her bangs needed trimming along with the split-ends at her shoulders. Someday, when she had time, she’d go to a salon and get a facial and haircut.

  She moved away from the mirror and pulled her nightgown off, stepping inside the shower. She turned on the faucet and moved aside. Once warm, she leaned into the water’s flow and felt the soothing rush against her body, while soaping her face. Eyes closed, all she could see was the image of Liz from the news articles. The same wide innocent smile from when they were kids.

  At the breakfast table, Victoria told Todd about her findings, only to see his face buried in the day’s newspaper, barely listening to her.

  She pulled a bagel from the toaster and turned around. “Did you hear me? My high school friend is dead. She was murdered two weeks ago.”

  “Are you sure you looked up the right person?” Todd asked, glancing at his wrist watch. He appeared to be in a hurry for a meeting or something, ready to go, with his slicked-back hair, and carefully dressed in a blue and white pinstripe shirt, and red tie.

  “Of course I’m sure,” she said, walking over with her bagel and coffee mug. “I know what my friend looks like. The woman they’re talking about is Liz.”

  She then sat, pausing suddenly as her eyes moved to the floor. “It’s strange to realize that you may never see someone again.”

  “Yeah,” Todd said, lowering the paper. He then handed her his empty coffee mug. “Honey, would you mind?”

  Victoria took the mug and slammed it against the table, startling him. “Listen to me!”

  He looked at her, startled. “Okay, so she was murdered. What happened?”

  “Who was murdered?” Brooke asked, entering the kitchen, wearing a striped long-sleeve shirt and jean shorts, her hair pinned back in a bun.

  “You look nice today,” Victoria said as Brooke went to the refrigerator and pulled out some milk.

  “Thanks,” she said. “What are you guys talking about?”

  “An old friend of mine,” Victoria said. “Something your father doesn’t think is a big issue.”

  “It’s very sad,” Todd said, defensively. “What else do you want me to say?”

  Victoria turned to him and leaned in closer with an answer. “How about how strange it is that I got a letter in the mail two weeks after she’s already dead.”

  Todd shrugged. “Maybe it got stuck in traffic.”

  Brooke made herself a bowl of cereal and joined them at the table. “How’d she die, Mom?”

  Victoria looked at Brooke, reserved. “She was stabbed. I’m not going to go into details.” She then tapped Todd’s leg with her foot. “Some people just want to dismiss the whole thing.”

  Todd suddenly stood up, glancing at his watch again. “Look, honey. I’ve got to go.”

  He leaned down and gave her a kiss on the forehead. “I’ll call you later.” After a quick kiss on Brooke’s cheek, he was out of the kitchen with his coat and briefcase.

  “What’s the rush?” Brooke asked as they heard his car back out of the driveway.

  “He has a busy day ahead of him,” Victoria said, glancing down at the newspaper he left behind. “We all do.” She then looked at Brooke. “Are you almost ready to leave?”

  “Yeah,” Brooke said, taking a bite of cereal. She then paused and leaned closer. “Can you tell me what happened to your dead friend now?”

  Victoria sighed as she rose and pushed her chair out. “That’s enough. Now, finish your cereal, and let’s go.”

  Brooke looked down and ate a few more mushy bites before pushing the bowl away completely. Victoria walked toward the sink and placed her hands on the counter in thought. She considered taking the chain letter to the police. Its sender had been murdered. The letter itself was cryptic and vague, and perhaps they could make a connection.

  “We leave in ten,” she said to Brooke as she walked past her and out of the kitchen.

  Victoria returned to her room and checked her appearance in a nearby wall mirror, pulling at her light-purple dress-shirt, neatly tucked into gray wool trousers. Her straight, shoulder-length hair was neatly brushed to the side and her light makeup covered some unwanted morning blemishes. She froze in front of the mirror as her mind returned to memories of Liz. They had always discussed the kind of man they would marry, how exciting their weddings were going to be and how they were going to be friends forever.

  Elizabeth had been divorced, and her ex-husband had been reportedly cleared of the murder. It was someone else. But it was time to get going. She closed her purse and returned to the kitchen where Brooke was putting her shoes on.

  “Ready?”

  Brooke nodded and bent down to retrieve her backpack, placing it over her shoulders. They walked outside together and to the car as Victoria put on her sunglasses, shielding her eyes from the low morning sun. She approached the driver’s side door and saw the reflection of an approaching car in the glass. She watched as a burgundy Oldsmobile Cutlass slowed past their yard, its tinted windows concealing the driver and passengers inside.

  “Come one, Mom!” Brooke called out, pulling against the locked handle on the passenger side.

  The Oldsmobile suddenly jolted forward and sped off, engine roaring down the street. Victoria watched as its trail of exhaust floated to the pavement and tires screeched in the distance. She knew just about every car in her neighborhood but had never seen that one before. She unlocked the car doors and they both got in. Brooke put on her seatbelt and waited as Victoria sat frozen at the wheel, keys in the ignition.

  “Mom, are you okay?” Brooke asked, waving her hand.

  Victoria nodded and started the engine. She didn’t know what was wrong with her. She felt sluggish and dazed. She wanted to find out more about Liz. She thought of getting in touch with her old high school friends. They’d all say the same thing. Liz was the last person anyone expected would die in such a way. It was unnerving and frightening, horrific even. Liz didn’t deserve her fate. No one did.

  Victoria sat at her desk, typing away and confident that she’d finish her budget spreadsheet before their afternoon conference call. It was almost lunch time, and she hadn’t left her desk from the moment she had sat down. She had spent two hours just responding to emails. In addition to her spreadsheet, she also had to update a slide show for tomorrow’s meeting, while ensuring that the latest batch of optical lenses went to the assembly floor.

&
nbsp; Her coffee mug sat next to her keyboard, empty. Her small office and its bare walls had little furniture, beyond her desk and a small filing cabinet. She had moved from her cubicle into the private office less than a month ago, following her recent promotion to Lead Project Analyst. For Victoria, it was an exciting time in her career.

  She glanced at her office phone as an announcement came over the speaker about a car with its headlights on in the parking lot. Fortunately, it wasn’t hers. Time was moving fast, and she was beginning to get a little nervous. She’d be fine, she assumed, if interruptions were kept to a minimum.

  Suddenly a receptionist named Carol, known for her curly red hair, entered her office carrying a vase of flowers.

  “Knock, knock,” she said, tapping the door with her knuckles.

  Victoria looked up with a blank expression and feeling sidetracked already.

  “These came in for you,” she said, extending the vase with both hands to Victoria, who attempted to mask her surprise. “Someone’s got an admirer!”

  Victoria examined the spring flowers ─ iris and lilacs and baby’s breath, more confused than ever. “What are you talking about?”

  Carol set them down on Victoria’s desk, blocking her view. There was a small note affixed to a card holder. Victoria took the note and read the tiny letters typed across it, “To Victoria, With Love.

  “Who gave these to you?” she asked Carol.

  Carol turned around and looked out of the office while adjusting her glasses. “A delivery boy dropped them off at the front desk.”

  Victoria flipped the note over and saw that the other side was blank. There was no indication that would tell her what florist had delivered them.

  “Did he say where he was from?” Victoria asked.

  “He couldn’t have been more than seventeen,” Carol said. “He had a red polo shirt with a logo and everything on it. Some delivery service. I can’t remember. I figured they were from your husband.”

  Victoria rose from her desk and looked past her office door toward the cubicles beyond.

  “Maybe he wanted to surprise you,” Carol continued.

  “Thanks,” Victoria said.

  “My pleasure,” Carol said, leaving the office.

  Victoria followed her out and slowly shut the door behind her. She then turned around and faced the flowers, studying them as she approached. That it was Todd’s doing had already crossed her mind, but he had never sent her flowers except on traditional occasions like their anniversary, her birthday, or Valentine’s Day. Maybe he had wanted to make up for his distance the past few days. Maybe after more than a decade of marriage, he still had some tricks up his sleeve. She wondered why he hadn’t added his name. Todd was never one for anonymity.

  Victoria approached her desk and lifted the vase, moving it to the top of her small filing cabinet. She sat at her desk, now completely distracted from her work and unable to stop looking at the floral arrangement. The fresh, natural aroma of roses and lilac filled the room but brought her little comfort.

  She glanced over her desk and outside her office window as co-workers walked past in both directions. The IT guy, Kevin, she thought. He always had kind of a thing for me, but would he be so bold? He knows I’m married.

  She thought of one of the project managers, Norm McCall, who had asked her repeatedly if she wanted to get a drink after work, but he was married as well. She sat behind her monitor, absently aware of the squeaking sound of a trash can, wheeling past her office outside. Pushing it was Joel, the janitor, a quiet, polite man who said little more than hello or goodbye. Victoria watched as he glanced into her window; she could have sworn that he winked at her.

  She pushed away from the desk and rolled across her chair mat with her face in her hands, massaging her forehead. The thought of anyone from work sending her flowers was ridiculous. It had to be Todd.

  The entire question, however, had proved distracting. It was already past noon and she still had a lot to complete before the conference call at two. She began to type, fingers racing fast across the keyboard, adding numbers to her spreadsheet, when suddenly her fingers stopped. She glanced once again at the flowers. The message card lay next to her keyboard, the message as standard as could be: To Victoria, With Love.

  Her hand reached for the phone as she dialed Todd’s office number, waiting. It rang five times before going to his automated message. Hanging up, she then dialed his cell, and again there was no answer. Frustrated, she hung up and went back to typing. The smell of the fresh flowers again tantalized her curiosity. She couldn’t wait any longer. She had to know.

  Clock ticking, she rose and walked to her door, swinging it open. Outside, co-workers shuffled around the cubicle area conversing. A thought suddenly crossed her mind. The flowers could have been meant for another Victoria in the building. At that point, she decided to investigate.

  She left her office and walked past a row of offices, pushing open the double doors at the end of the hall and into the front lobby.

  Carol sat behind the front desk, leaning back in her chair and talking into a headset. Victoria approached the desk and leaned against its hard surface, waiting. The flowers were quickly becoming a curse. She couldn’t concentrate until she had the answers. Someone, it seemed, might be playing games with her. But who?

  “How can I help you, Victoria?” Carol asked with a smile as she hung up her call.

  Victoria leaned in closer, almost as though she were speaking in confidence. “Hey, Carol. I was just thinking about those flowers. Did they address me directly? Maybe they were meant for another Victoria.”

  Carol displayed a concerned expression as she thought to herself. “The delivery person said that they were a delivery for Victoria Owens. They left them here and left.”

  “You didn’t have to sign for them or anything?” Victoria asked.

  Carol thought to herself. “No. Come to think of it, they didn’t even say what company they were from.”

  Victoria turned and looked out the lobby windows on the slight chance that the delivery person was still there. But no one was there. “Thanks, Carol,” she said as she headed back to her office in a hurry.

  By six o’clock that evening, Victoria lay on the living room couch with her shoes off and the evening news on mute. It had been a day of crammed deadlines, conference calls, and meetings—one thing piled upon the other, with only more of it to look forward to the next day. Todd wasn’t home yet, and Brooke was in her room with the door closed and music playing.

  Victoria brought her head back against the couch cushion and stared at the ceiling, closing her eyes as a familiar rustic engine rumbled outside and drove past her house. She recognized the sound and moved from the couch to look out the living room window.

  Between the blinds, she saw the shadow of a car cruise past their house, resembling the Oldsmobile she had seen earlier that morning. She watched as the car faded from view, curious as it sped away from her house. A new neighbor?

  She sank back into the couch and closed her eye just as Brooke’s door opened, followed by her hasty emergence into the living room. “Mom?” she said, nudging Victoria’s arm. “Mom, wake up.”

  “Yes,” she said with her eyes still closed.

  “Mom. Can we get a dog please?” she said, shaking her.

  Victoria covered her face with her hands. “A dog? What are you talking about?”

  “All my friends have pets. Katie phoned me just now that she’s getting one. You and Dad have never let me get a pet before. You both told me to wait until I’m older. Well, I’m old enough now to handle a dog, don’t you think?”

  Victoria moaned and sat up, rubbing her eyes and looking at the TV. Her eyes widened as she suddenly grabbed the remote and turned up the volume.

  “Are you listening?” Brooke asked as she blocked her view.

  “Quiet,” Victoria said, gently pushing her aside.

  Photos of a recently murdered local woman, Susan
Shields, filled the screen, each picture of a happier time. The screen dissolved to news footage of the lake her body was found in, reportedly wrapped in a black plastic bag and sunk to the bottom with weights. Victoria considered few things more terrifying than the bleak prospects of a deep, watery grave. The reporter’s voice-over narration provided more details:

  “The missing woman’s body was discovered by local fishermen who noticed it while on an early morning troll. The weights holding her down had apparently come loose, allowing part of the tarp holding her to rise to the surface.”

  “Is this that missing woman they found?” Brooke asked, turning to face the TV.

  “Yes, it is,” Victoria said, eyes locked forward and sitting on the edge of the couch, elbows on her knees propping her chin. “Now, let me listen to this.”

  “Susan Shields, wife and mother of two, disappeared three weeks ago from her Clearwater home. A homemaker, her husband and children came home to find that she had inexplicably disappeared. A massive search followed and she was presumed missing until the tragic discovery of her body in the shallow reserve of Humphrey Lake, a favorite fishing spot for Clearwater residents and tourists alike.

  “A candlelight vigil will be held tonight at 8p.m. at DuPont Park. Police are actively looking for a suspect and encourage anyone with information about Mrs. Shields, her abduction, or her murder to call the crime line where police are offering ten thousand dollars for information that leads to an arrest.”

  Victoria rocked back with a sigh. The murderer was still at large. At that moment, a thought troubled her. “Oh no!”

  “What is it?” Brooke said, confused and startled.

  Victoria shook her head, thinking of the chain letter in her purse. She had forgotten to take it to the police station. Though she wasn’t sure that it would do any good. She grabbed the remote and shut off the TV, rising from the couch.

  “I’m fine,” she said. “Just forgot to run some errands after work.”

  “So, have you decided on it yet?” Brooke asked with her hands behind her back and a smile on her face.

  “On what?” Victoria said, her mind elsewhere.

  “On my dog!” Brooke said with a heightened tone. “Can I get one or not?”

  Victoria placed her arms on Brooke’s shoulders and squeezed. “Someone has a birthday coming up. We’ll see.”

  Brooke’s face beamed. “Are you serious?”

  “We will see,” Victoria repeated.

  Brooke jumped up and down, cheering. “Thanks, Mom!”

  Victoria leaned forward with a hand out, urging calm. “Now, Brooke. We don’t even know what breed you want. And—”

  Brooke spun around from her dance. “That’s easy, Mom. I want an Australian Shepherd. They’re cute as puppies, then they get all big and fluffy.”

  “Okay, dear,” Victoria said, rubbing her head. “How about a little peace and quiet for your mother?” But Brooke was already halfway down the hall, talking out loud about how she couldn’t wait to tell Katie and how happy Katie would be.

  Ah, Victoria thought. The plot thickens. She should have known. Her attention then went to the front of the house at the sound of Todd’s car pulling into the driveway, headlights shining through the windows. He was finally home. Now she could get to the bottom of everything.

  Suspects

  Leesburg, South Carolina

  The smell of formaldehyde was inescapable throughout the cold, sterile room. Flat stainless steel counters with long, silver faucets lined the aqua and white tiled walls. Rows of metal freezer doors consumed the wall across from the sinks and somewhere in the middle, a long flat table with an overhead dome light connected to the ceiling with an arm.

  Andrea Bailey lay on the table with a blue blanket covering her stiffened body up to the neck. Her eyes were closed and her mouth was a straight line. The crack at the top of her skull was still exposed, but it had been cleaned.

  A line of glimmering surgical tools rested atop a nearby wheeled table. Dr. James Galligan, Summerville County’s Chief Medical Examiner, stood over her body on one side of the table, while Detective Dobson stood on the other.

  Dr. Galligan was dressed in his surgical robe, gloves, and face shield. Dobson wore a simple gown, hair cover, and gloves. Lying on the cold aluminum surface of the operating table, Mrs. Bailey finally looked at peace. Her color had shifted to a darker blue, the wrinkles on her face and body thick as leather.

  Dr. Galligan had concluded that Mrs. Bailey had died from a broken neck and severe trauma to the skull. Her ribs had also been broken, along with multiple compound fractures.

  Galligan moved his gloved hand up to her mouth and pulled at her top lip, exposing her gums and missing tooth. “Impressive that she still had her teeth. All but one.”

  For a moment, they said nothing as Dobson looked upon Mrs. Bailey’s frail, sunken face and thin, curly gray hair.

  Dr. Galligan slowly walked away from the table as the air conditioner hummed in the distance. “I can’t find any evidence of physical trauma beyond the fall,” he said, turning around. He looked at Dobson with his large eyes blinking from behind square-framed glasses. “It’s very strange.”

  Dobson nodded and paced around the table. “Her entire mansion was left in shambles. Tables and chairs flipped. Broken lamps. Clothes and papers everywhere. Why?”

  Galligan walked to the nearest sink and pulled his latex gloves off, tossing them into a wastebasket. “That’s your area of expertise,” he said, washing his hands.

  Dobson approached him and spoke quietly. “She was a harmless elderly woman. There was no reason for this.”

  Galligan shut the faucet off and turned to Dobson as he dried his hands. “Maybe they didn’t want any witnesses. People can be thoughtlessly cruel. You know that.”

  Dobson glanced at his wrist watch. “I’m due at the station.” He then sighed and turned away, ready to leave the examination room. “How long did you say that she had been dead?”

  “Approximately thirty-six hours,” Galligan said, switching off the overhead light. “I’ll send you the death certificate later today.”

  “Thanks, Doctor,” Dobson said as he left the room. “Drinks on me next time.”

  Galligan laughed. “That’ll be the day.”

  Dobson waved and pushed the door open, walking down a dim hall to the nearest restroom. Once inside, he pulled off his gloves and hair cover, tossing them into a wastebasket. His hands rested on a sink as he looked at the small mirror above. He hadn’t shaved that morning, and the stubble on his cheeks had grown darker, altering what was earlier only a five o’clock shadow. His short dark hair was graying on both sides and below his brown eyes he detected fine lines that were beginning to look like wrinkles. At forty-five, he wasn’t getting any younger.