《The Secrets of Lineage and Truth in Murder》


 Chapter One: The Deal is Off

    A tall, disagreeable sort of man towered over the table nestled parallel to the back of the couch. In one hand, he held the base of a phone, and in the other, the receiver. It was easy to tell by just looking at him that he had been very skinny and lanky decades ago. The years had since taken their toll. His hair had a similar worn disheveled air and was a bit coarse with out-of-place feathered ends. The color ranged from a medium gray to a light mousy brown. It was in the process of drastically straying from the latter. He was physically large and intrusive, but none of those qualities turned heads.


    His voice was what attracted those who first approached him. It was loud and booming. It was the sort of voice you could hear clearly at a party from across the hall. Though the sound levels were not, it''s only draw. The obnoxious bass was framed with a very worn in British accent that was very prominent. Each word he spoke into the phone, no matter how small, had power. He forged each word without thinking, a slurring of instinct and inhibition. He stood impatiently, listening to the voice on the other end.


    His restlessness was shown in the haphazard and random way he jostled the phone base.


    The windows in front of him would have been letting in a beautiful bright, welcoming gesture, symbolizing the entrance into the afternoon, but he kept the thick drapes unmoved, sealing in the dark, dank colors that seemed to be decades old. The room itself was a decent size, and the walls were covered in thick, decadent paper. Its style gestured to its age, not its condition. In fact, the only flaws seemed to cluster near the door frame.


    The walls were the only garish component in the house; every other constructed feature was subtle. The hardware was a demure silver. Not real silver, but realistic looking. This encompassed everything from the lamp base to the desk drawer handles.


    The table rested its back against the back of the couch. The two very obviously fought for the center of the room. The sofa, always the clear winner, was draped in a stiff fabric made of a leafy pattern that danced across it mechanically. The only out-of-place feature was the man himself. He very obviously broke the aesthetic.


    His brow furrowed, a subtle reaction to the news he was receiving. He was very obviously trying to hold back his ire¡ªan easily tempted demon. "I don''t care. Fix¡­" His demanding and somewhat terrifying words were swiftly started and finished. "Fine." He said begrudgingly as he accepted the news. With one swift motion, he slammed the receiver onto the base held in his left hand, then threw it against the wall.


    It shattered into hundreds of pieces. The flecks broke off in slow motion creating a starburst of freedom that lightly showered his face. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He turned back around to face the swaddled window.


    Another man peered in from the hall. He was significantly shorter and better-looking. "What was that?" He asked. His tone portrayed a touch of concern but was more playful than anything. He knew precisely what the loud noise was. He looked down at the ground near the other man''s feet and saw the mess of plastic. "Thomas." He said, trying not to laugh as he looked at the stoic pieces of plastic lying amongst the lush carpet. "We can''t keep buying new telephones." Thomas turned to see Edward standing awkwardly with both elbows resting on the side of the door frame. "The shareholders are not happy." He said; Edward''s demeanor quickly changed. At that moment, he understood why the phone was no longer functioning. He took one step into the room and spoke. "I''m sure it will work out." He said, trying to quell his anger with optimistic projection, even though he wasn''t sure if he believed his words. "Have you heard from Genera?" He asked while walking even further into the room.


    Edward was very much the athletic-looking sort, no extreme definition but reasonably toned. "No," Thomas said tersely. Edward immediately regretted asking the question. "Let''s just wait it out; we are already here, might as well." Thomas clumsily walked over to the desk that sat diagonally from the couch. The desk was covered in dozens of loose papers. Some designs and others are not even worth mentioning. The only portion of that cluttered corner more distracting was the poster of the car they tacked to the wall above it. Thomas wistfully shuffled through the papers. He picked one up, a sketch of a vehicle similar to that on the poster. He looked at it; his demeanor was unmoving. "I know we can make this work here." He said with defying certainty. His words did not surprise Edward but rather their delivery. He was a very cynical man, and at that moment, he was projecting pure hope. A childlike and pure emotion that was very uncommon in the vessel of all things harsh and detached. "Of course," Edward added, "Even if Genera does not work out, there are other options. If the Copan can be sold in England, it can be sold here."


    Thomas had said so many times before. He chuckled. "It is true." Thomas relaxed and poured himself a stiff drink. Just as he finished, the front door opened. The duo remained silent until the man entered the room. "So," he began while taking his coat off; before he could continue Edward shot him a look, trying to signal him to stop. His efforts were lost on his very clueless friend. "Hear anything?" Edward turned to Thomas, bracing for another outburst of rage, but his response was even more terrifying. "Of course not." He said, slumping onto the couch with a hint of defeat on his tongue. "Oh, I''m sure they will come through," William said, finally realizing his mistake. Thomas, whose mind was already wandering elsewhere, grunted halfheartedly in response.


    Edward slowly walked behind the couch. William saw what he was approaching and began to laugh. Edward methodically picked up each piece. He laid them all on the table where the whole phone was typically kept. He tried forcing some of the larger pieces together very ungracefully, similar to how a child would have. Thomas leaned his head back to see what he was doing. "Don''t bother." He said, waving his hand nonchalantly behind him. "I will get another one later."


    William sat down at the desk then interjected. Do you want me to go back out and get a new one now?" Thomas waited a few seconds, then declined. "Are you sure? I don''t mind stepping out again." "No, no, I will go." He insisted. Edward continued to tinker with the phone until Thomas got annoyed with the noise. "Let it go." He said, "It''s not going to work."


    Even though that was obvious to Edward, he still felt like trying to salvage it was the right thing to do at that moment. Thomas leaned to his side and pulled up the garbage pail. Edward accepted it and placed the pieces inside.


    Content that he was obeyed, Thomas stood to replenish his drink. His large hands reached out to grasp the decanter. He pulled out the gem-shaped stopper and poured a sliver more into his glass. With one rough but succinct motion, he lifted the glass to his lips, disposed of its contents, and returned it to the table. "I''m off." He announced. Edward took a deep breath as soon as the front door closed. He ran his hands through his thick disheveled hair. "I hope he feels better by the time he returns." William mirrored his sentiment with an uneasy smile. "There is no reason to get upset yet; we have time." Edward''s words sparked Williams'' memory. "Oh!" He exclaimed dramatically. "Have you seen the Times article?" Edward whipped around to face him. "No!" He said with an air of excitement and terror. "What did it say?" He assumed it was about their business by Williams'' vocal delivery. Edward tried to remain hopeful, but a pang of doubt haunted him. William walked briskly to the coat rack. The rack was simple but notable. It was black with a glossy sheen and silver hooks. Two coats hung lifelessly on it; one was black and finely pressed, and one was blue and a bit disheveled. William reached into the breast pocket of the blue wool coat and pulled out a tightly rolled-up newspaper.


    "It''s not bad, at least in my opinion." He said, sensing Edward''s trepidation. He sat at the desk, unrolled the paper, and began to read it. "Copan, the front-runner in small car fortune, finds opportunity in America. Copan, the Ford of Europe, invented the Copan 12, which sold thousands. Though no deals have been made, the American people are in the market for a smaller car." Edward was frozen halfway into a seated position. He stood. "That isn''t bad at all." He said, pretty surprised. "I''m not done," William interjected. He continued. "Though the demand is there, the stockholders of Copan are angry with the idea of a potential deal with the currently interested party, Genera." Edward slumped into the chair. "Thomas is going to hate this." William nodded.


    "It''s still not the worst outcome." William tossed the paper onto the coffee table and sat on the couch. Edward took that chance to approach the desk and pour himself a drink. He lifted a graceful looking long-necked bottle of scotch. "What should we do?" William inquired. After manipulating the glistening amber liquid into two circular etched glasses, he lifted one and looked at William. "Ice?" "Yes, lots." He responded. He was confused by his decision to put the alcohol in before the ice. "I don''t think we should react yet." He said as he returned to the couch with the drinks. Both men sat side by side, positioned straight towards the bay window.Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    As if they were synchronized, they both aggressively hit their glasses to their lips. William took a breath and slowly began to relax. "It''s nothing we didn''t already know." Edward shrugged. "Now everyone knows." Edward grabbed the paper and stared at the article as if it would give him an answer. His eyes burned through it. He read it again for himself. "You know, this isn''t bad. It could be, but it isn''t." He looked straight at the windows again.


    Edward stood and parted the drapes. The bright mid-afternoon light flooded the room. The effects looked more lively with the natural light letting itself into the room. They could see the expanse of grass that led up to the road. The wind cascaded across the blades, a pleasant relief from the usual heat of that September. "I think the possibility of it all ending in a disaster is the part no one likes; it''s just the risk." William was still nursing his drink as Edward set his empty glass down. "Thomas, he was taking a walk, right?" William asked. "Yes." They both looked at each other and smiled. "He''s going to be gone for quite a while¡­." "Race?" They both jumped to their feet.


    There were three cars parked as close to the house as possible¡ªthe shape of the road curved at the edge of each house in that particular cluster. William and Edward each hopped into a car and sped off. Both vehicles were identical; they were the same make, model, and color. The chic jet-black body plowed through the terrain like a deadly panther.


    They drove side by side on the cusp of a flat pasture. The air whipped past their faces, invigorating them with the brisk chill and accompanying adrenaline. They tore apart fields without looking back. They knew no one, and no one dared to chase them. They missed the English streets, though the United States had its own unmatched appeal. A freeing naivety. The noise and exhaust from the cars were overwhelming to those new to the concept of automobiles, and their adventures were always a spectacle.


    They eventually returned to the house. Thomas was already back inside, hooking up a new phone. "Oh, if we had known you were going to be back so soon, you could have joined us for a race," Edward said apologetically. "Race with you losers? No way." He turned to them. "Phone up and running?" Edward asked. "There better not be dirt on those cars," Thomas said. Edward and William looked at each other and ran out the door again. Thomas picked up the phone. The phone was a disgusting green like the last one, in fact, they tried to buy the same color every time. It was a weird joke. He held the receiver up to his right ear and waited as it rang. "Phil!" He said, excited he got someone on the line. "Have you heard anything?" He stood silently as the man spoke to him. "Come on," he pressed. "I know you can get information faster than I." He paused again. "I know, I know, my phone was down for a bit. Five? OK, I''ll wait. Bye."


    Edward came back into the house. His clothes were covered in water. Thomas looked over at him. "Did you guys finish destroying the cars yet?" Edward laughed. "The races, whether they be with cars or water, never last long." "Well, William is very slow with everything." "Though, to be fair, he is a much faster driver than the average person." Edward pointed out. "Who wants to be fair? "Thomas retorted. They laughed. "Where is he?" "Outside, he saw a lady," Edward answered, holding in laughter. "He is hopeless," Thomas said, rolling his eyes.


    William ran into a lady going for a walk with her dog. She was in her early thirties and was a bit taller than the average woman, probably around five-seven. She happened to be walking by while he was shutting one of the car doors, and she complimented the car. That led to a detailed and long two-sided conversation. She was primarily average-looking; she had brown hair and was wearing a gray skirt, thick stockings, and a gray jacket. Her dog was a medium-size, just like her. "What breed is your dog?" He asked. She smiled. She loved talking about her dog. "He''s a Beagle." "May I pet him?" He asked. "Yes." William knelt down and scratched behind his ears. The dog was appreciative and licked his hand. "So, what are you doing in this area? I haven''t seen you around before." "I live over there. She pointed across the road. I noticed your cars when you first moved in; I was hoping to meet the three of you." "If you would like, I could take you on a ride sometime?" She smiled. "That would be lovely! Stopover anytime." She said right before she waved goodbye. William watched her walk away. The dog was happy to get back to their walk.


    William eventually went inside. His eyes had to adjust to the dim light, he didn''t consider the light outside very bright that day, but the inside of the house was pushing that perception. "Why on earth is it so dark in here?" He said to no one in particular. Edward appeared in the doorway between the hallway and sitting room. "You know, I didn''t notice it until you mentioned it." He turned around and hit the light switch. William joined Thomas and Edward in the sitting room. "What''s going on?" He asked. "You tell us?" Edward said, laughing. "Yeah, I hear you met a lady." "Yes¡­so?" "You weren''t out there that long, didn''t she like your bold shirt choice?" "Truly, she was interested in the cars, and I offered to give her a ride later. She was surprisingly into it." Edward and Thomas laughed.


    Their lightheartedness was interrupted by the sound of the phone. They looked at each other. Thomas slowly walked over to the phone and picked it up. "Hello?" He started off with a positive tone, but after that one moment, his voice changed. "OK, fine, you are undoubtedly an idiot." He slammed the phone down on the base without breaking it. Edward, afraid to look at him, was pulled in by curiosity. "The deal is off, isn''t it?" Thomas responded with silence; he began to pace around the room, "A bunch of wankers." He spat out angrily. Edward, who was more level-headed, was able to think quickly, "I''ll check out the town tomorrow and see if we can find something else. Don''t worry about it; this will work out ." Thomas seemed to be a little more annoyed after his words. "There won''t be anything else; I can''t imagine anything right now." His words were meaningless, and knowing this, he stormed out of the room. Edward could hear his heavy footsteps crush the floor tiles beneath him as he walked through the hallway and out the front door. He heard the door swing forcefully open but did not hear it close. He thought that he might have stopped at the doorway, so he ran into the hallway. Thomas was getting into one of the cars.


    Edward was grateful he had not closed the door, aware that he most likely would have broken the glass insert inside it. He stood in the doorway. He was not waiting for anything in particular; he figured the fresh air could not hurt. After a few deep breaths, he returned to the hallway and closed the door gently behind him.


    The sitting room was silent and empty. Edward usually felt more comfortable alone, but that day the feeling led to a lingering emptiness. He walked past the sitting room to the stairs. As an extreme contrast to Thomas, the tiles quietly creaked under his shoes. The sound was almost satisfying. His right foot made its way to the first stair. Joining the melodic noise, it creaked his own baritone ode. Once he reached the landing, he stood still, reviving his thoughts from moments before.


    His room sat to the left. He slowly walked to the door and placed his hand on the glass-looking doorknob. It looked like glass, but to the touch, it felt softer, possibly a kind of plastic. He turned the knob, and the rusty metal framing the keyhole scraped against his knuckles. There was a hole for a skeleton key. He continually voiced his disappointment that no one used them any longer. He gently closed the door behind him, leaned against it, and took a deep breath.


    His room was simple, just like the others. They had been renting the house for a few months to facilitate their business dealings in the United States. His natural home was Longbridge, England, a quaintly beautiful old town. He loved his country, but America seemed like an invigorated version, which pleased and excited him. There were new inventions and concepts around every corner. He sat down on the edge of the bed. There was an ancient-looking telephone on the bedside table. He picked up the receiver. "Hello." He responded. "No, sadly, the deal did not go through. "I don''t know when we are going back." He paused, "We might look for another opportunity. I know." Almost anticipating what the person on the other end was going to say. "I will let you know when we have time off so I can come to see you." "OK, I''ll call you if anything changes. Goodbye." He hung up the phone and took a deep breath. He calmed himself and flopped back onto his bed. The ceiling was white and very ugly. There were clumps of paint smeared poorly across it.


    The front door opened, and Edward heard it all the way in his room. William called for him. "Edward?" It was easy to tell Thomas'' and William''s voices apart, Thomas was rough and careless, and William was soft-spoken and meticulous. "Up here," Edward yelled back. William clamored up the stairs and found Edward lying back on the bed. "I saw Thomas speed by on my way back." "Yeah" He only tilted up a bit to pull cigarettes and a lighter out of his bedside table. He lit the cigarette while still lying on his back. "Is it done for good?" He asked while entering the room further. He towered over Edward physically. He took a long puff. "Yes, for Genera at least." He placed the cigarette back in his mouth and paused before he spoke again, "But don''t worry, I''m looking for other opportunities." As he spoke, the smoke flitted out of his mouth, coating his words with pillowy clouds. "Fag?" He asked, holding the pack up in the air. "You know I don''t smoke." William said, "I thought maybe this would be an exception." Edward sat up and placed the carton on the table. "Should we even finish the designs?" He asked earnestly. "I am still going to; I do believe we will find something; it might help Thomas get moving again too. Honestly, I thought we were in completely until that call earlier." "We just need more buzz." "Hmm, buzz." Edward repeated, "that might be true." "Thomas needs to come back so we can get this started again." "I doubt he will be able to work today; he''s irate; let''s give him a day." "He will get over it," William said heartlessly. Edward stood up and walked to the dresser. He pulled open the top drawer and pulled out a large bottle of scotch. "Come on, let''s go find him.

 Chapter Two: Moving Forward

    Edward was sitting at the desk sketching; William was doing the same but from the couch. There was a distinct difference in their methods. Edward was very organized and practical; William was messy and chaotic. They finished lunch and had nothing else to do but work. William slumped over dozens of papers which caused several to make their way to the floor. "Do you know if Thomas is awake yet?" Edward asked, a bit concerned. "Yeah, I saw him rummaging around the kitchen earlier," William replied. "Oh good," Edward said. "I''m glad he got back after we ditched him last night."  "You know he would have done the same thing to us," William said in response to the hint of guilt that laced Edward''s words. "Obviously." He said, reassured. Both men kept their eyes on their designs. "I genuinely like the solid disc wheels," Edward said smiling,  a bit proud of himself. "Do you think it is bad that we are both using them?" "Nah, wheels don''t make the car, but they do look nice on their own."


    The wind fluttered past the window. The old glass panes framed with weathered metal shook violently in its wake. Edward looked up; his eyes were wider than usual. It was undeniable that he was uncomfortable when any potential of a storm reared its head. He repositioned himself in the chair. "William sat up and stretched his back. "This trunk is giving me more trouble than it''s worth." He pointed to it with his drawing pencil. "Attaching it on the outside is the only option I can work out," William said, looking at Edward. "That is not true." Edward retorted. William waved him off, "I''ll figure it out." They suddenly heard a loud bang; they both looked at each other, "I really can''t believe he made it back." They laughed.


    Thomas was wearing the same pants he had on the night before but a different shirt.   He was hunched over, and his face was ashen. He smacked his large hand against the light switch turning off the light on the ceiling. "You fuckers." He said aggressively but with a hint of affection. Edward and William looked at each other again; they tried to hold in their laughter. "I had to walk two miles to get back here. I''m so sore!" He threw his body onto the couch, crushing some of the drawings. "Well, at least you were well enough to change your shirt," Edward said, trying to be satirically optimistic. "I only changed it because the one I wore last night was covered in vomit. Otherwise, I wouldn''t have even bothered."


    William tried to calmly pull his papers out from under Thomas''s butt and legs. Thomas sat up to figure out what was moving beneath him. He pulled one of the drawings close to his face. "Eghh. I can''t believe you guys are still working on this after yesterday."  "It''s a good product," William began. "I''m not ready to give up on it yet." "I guess you guys weren''t flattering me when you said it would work out." Thomas stood as he continued to speak,  peering over Edward''s shoulder. Since we are only going to use one model, I will need to pick between your designs, as you know... that is, if they are even good enough." Edward nodded, "I like having options." "Your opinion does not matter," Thomas said smugly. He laughed. "Blah. I don''t even want to judge; they are both probably horrendous." Edward held up a colored version of his design. "It''s sleek; no one will be able to pass this up." Thomas grabbed it and went over to look over at his other option. Thomas laughed loudly as he looked at the model William handed him. "A clunker as usual." He said, not at all surprised. Edward laughed. William quietly and calmly defended himself. "It''s durable."


    To pass the time while Thomas decided to look over the cars and took the papers, and left the room. Edward picked up a newspaper and sat down on the couch. "I wonder if there are any events listed here that would be worthwhile for us."


    After a moment of silence, he answered. "That is a good point; we don''t have any knowledge of what events are common in this country, let alone this state." "It can''t be much different from England," Edward said, rationalizing. "We are brothers."  "Weird step brothers, if anything." William laughed at his comparison then pointed to a large bulletin on one of the pages. "What is that?" He asked. He pulled the page and looked at it closely. "I honestly have no idea," Edward said. "Wait, what about this?" He asked again. "Oh my goodness, that''s genius!" "I wonder what is required to be a part of this?" "Probably some logistics we are not ready for." Thomas entered the room. "What''s all the excitement?" He said sarcastically, not caring about the answer. "Take a look at this," William said quietly yet proudly. "Holy shit, this might actually work. Get them on the phone now." Edward ran to the phone. Thomas grabbed the phone roughly from Edward and stood attentively, waiting for the call to connect.


    While he waited, the two other men entered the hallway. "Do you think we will be ready for what they need from us?" "There is no reason to worry yet; we don''t even know anything about this fair." Thomas shouted from the other room, "It does not matter what it takes; we are doing this." He then turned his attention back to the phone. Edward then said. "It''s a good thing that we continued to work on our designs." William looked at him, "It doesn''t matter how much more time we get; I''m still not ready. I have a lot more I want to try." Thomas  yelled from the room, "You can come back in." "Do you think we should have both prototypes there?" "I don''t see why not; more options make more people happy." "No." Thomas said, forcefully jumping in, "More options confuse people. We are sticking with one for now. Giving the public an opinion is not cost-effective." "So? What happened? What did they say?" William asked eagerly. "We discussed what we were looking for, and I have to run down to the courthouse to get the forms. I''ll get the official information that we need there." Despite not hearing a definite yes, they all looked excited. "I''m going to head over right now." He threw on a long jacket covering his wrinkled clothes and walked out the door. "I think this is going to work," Edward said. "Well, let''s hope so; it is our only option right now. I really won''t mind if the project ends here." "I would be disappointed, but I would not mind that either; there are tons of jobs at home for us." "Let me see your design." He handed it to him, and Edward looked it over. "This one is nice; the lines are immaculate, though I don''t know about this trunk." William nodded, "That''s exactly what I have been struggling with."


    Edward walked over to the desk and pulled up one of his design ideas. "To solve that problem, I came up with this concept." William looked over it just as Edward had done his. "What about storage? Am I missing something?" He did not see the storage container. "Behind the seats," Edward answered firmly. "I tried that." He admitted, "I didn''t like the confinement." "I understand that but my measurements are different than yours, so it worked better for the size I''m working with," Edward responded. "I''m still convinced I will be able to get my idea to work properly." "Four engines?" Edward asked, somewhat ignoring his last words. He nodded deeply, crouching further over his work. "So we''re just competing in physical appearance." "I wouldn''t say that," he responded. "Physicality is my last concern; the function is more important." "I don''t agree." Edward continued pointing to his car. "Creating something different and something better is important. We are trying to outdo the Model- T." He looked at William; he could tell his mind was churning. "That''s why I made sure my car was smaller," he added. "Whether that will work or not, I do like your paint concept here." "I wanted something that influences the imagination to envision the car moving fast down the road." "I''m not worried about speed," William interjected. "Wow, what a shock... I''m not necessarily promoting that it''s fast; I''m just implying it." "The dream is important. "I wonder how Thomas is going to react to these; he is very particular." "You act like I don''t know him. He is going to destroy us." They laughed. "As long as he can get his big head in the model, we are fine."


    They went back to looking at their respective calculations. "Oh, I''ve been wanting to ask you, do you have an estimated consumption?" Edward took a pause, "Should be the same as our Copans here, around 1600 km per 2 quarts of oil. mine''s a little bit heavier but around the same." Thomas returned with the paperwork and explained what they had to do. The event was a world''s fair; they knew what they were like even though they hadn''t ever been to one. They were going to bring their cars there and create a station where they could display them and show off their different features. Their goal was to drum up mass interest and drive investors to them. Thomas filled out the paperwork, and then they began finetuning their presentation.


    They had a week until the fair and didn''t have a lot to do since the cars were their products, and they were already built. They picked out some posters to post on an information board to explain what they were offering at their display/ demonstration area. The fairgrounds were not far from where they were living, according to American standards. In England, a thirty-minute drive was daunting, but for some reason, in America, it was pretty typical.


    The fair turned out to be a fantastic opportunity.


    After a long night out, William, Thomas, and Edward returned to the house. They were all deep in a drunken stupor. Thomas was singing his own praise, loudly and obnoxiously. That usually annoyed the other two, but they were too happy to care. In the sitting room, Edward continued to pour everyone drinks, and the night continued.


    The car spectacle was one of the most popular attractions that night at the fair. Dozens of people interested in buying on the spot approached them. They started a waiting list for the first American models once they were manufactured.


    Thomas tried to stand; he was top-heavy and had trouble pulling his body up. When he made it to a reasonably stable standing position, he started to sway. His uncoordinated movements turned into a sort of dance. The action was accompanied by chanting complete gibberish. William immediately recognized the dance as one they had learned traveling in Africa years before. It was barely recognizable, yet very apparent by the tune of the gibberish.


    After a few seconds, he fell to the forces of nature and collapsed onto the couch again. If anyone had seen their state, they would''ve called the police. They were rowdy, crude, and very loud. After eating to try and suppress the alcohol, they all eventually passed out.


    William found his way to the desk and slumped over it. His clothes were disheveled like usual, and he was wearing a newspaper hat. Edward made it to his bed, and Thomas somehow ended up under the phone table. Despite the bright sun shining outside, signaling the afternoon, the room was dark and frozen. The drapes were thick velvet and were drawn by Thomas. The sun did not have a chance that day.


    The phone rang in the still hours of the afternoon. Its metallic bell buzzed, echoing off the walls. There was a break, as though they hung up, then they began to call again. Edward was the only one responsible enough to be awake; he had just finished eating and staggered in the dark through the hallway. His shirt was still unbuttoned, and he was only wearing long johns on his legs. "Hello?" His voice was raspy. "What? Wait¡­" He tried to shake off his drunken stupor, though he was unsuccessful. "Excuse me one moment." He looked down and saw a glass of water on the table amongst the garbage, and while holding the receiver away from his face, he tossed it, covering his head with water. He let the cold liquid drip down his face and returned to the phone seconds later. "Sorry about that. How can I help you?" He stood silently, listening to the strong American accent spew what seemed like dozens of words a second. "Yes, very much so." He paused, not sure if he could believe what he had heard. "We are very open to that. Thank you very much! We will be waiting to hear the rest of the details! Thank you! Goodbye!"


    He hung up the phone and stood staring off into a dark corner of the room, partially too excited and partially succumbing to the alcohol. He could not fathom the news he heard. After snapping back into reality, he began to yell excitedly. "William!" He ran over to the desk where he was slumped over. "We got an offer!" He looked around to see if Thomas was around and jumped back when he saw his enormous gorilla-like arm hanging out from under the table.


    He ran back to him. He knew he was most likely not hurt from their hundreds of other drunken nights in the past. "Thomas! We just got a call!" William stirred behind him, but Thomas did not move at all. Edward, whose voice was less than loud, ran to the window and pulled open the thick curtains. This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    The bright light flooded the room uncomfortably. Every corner was revealed to the outside. Even Edward, who had been awake for a bit feeling the light cutting right through him. Thomas, who was very particular about the lighting he slept in, began to wake up. "What the hell is going on?" "Thom! Get up; I have good news!" Thomas groaned, hating Edward with every fiber of his body at that moment. "Shut up unless we got an offer." He said, assuming they hadn''t, for his time was stuck in the early morning, a completely unrealistic time for business calls. "We did. That is what I''ve been trying to tell you!" His athletic body seemed to bounce with his words like a young child trying to wake up his parents.   Thomas sat up, lightly bumping his head on the table. "Damn it. You better be serious about this." As Thom''s booming baritone voice filled the air, William awoke. "What''s going on?" "Edward said we got an offer." "We did." He interjected. "A company in Columbus Ohio called, they want to manufacture the Copan 12. He said he would call back with more details later today." "Oh my god, the fair indeed worked."  "I''m glad; I feel like I''ve been through the wringer." "That''s how you know you did a good job," Thomas said, trying to stand. "Alright, alright, we can call it a day; let''s all get some food and go back to bed." William was so relieved he did not say a word and slowly shuffled off, with one shoe missing, to the kitchen. "Was he wearing only one shoe?" Thomas asked, not shocked in the slightest and very amused. "I did not notice," Edward said, laughing and running to the hallway to see. "He''s already in the kitchen."  "He was unquestionably only wearing one shoe." Thomas walked to the window and closed the drapes. "Ah, that is so much better. What time is it?" "Quarter twelve," Edward answered precisely while still looking at his beautiful gold watch. "Good lord, only quarter twelve; I''m going back to bed." "Oh, what the hell, I will too." The three men ate, then went to their respective bedrooms and collapsed into another round of sleep.


    Hours later, there was a knock on the door. A light tapping at first, but after a minute of no response, the knocking got louder. "See, I think something is wrong." The older lady said to the man in front of her. The man was still waiting for an answer as the lady watched on, seemingly concerned.


    The man was about fifty; he was tall and distinguished and very kind. He was Edward''s, Thomas''s, and William''s landlord. He only lived a block away.


    The lady was in her late sixties. She was wearing an ankle-length dress with lovely gray curls tightly pinned to her head. "I know they had to do with the crazy noises I heard last night." ''What did they sound like again?" The man asked. "Like a loud screeching, I heard the sounds peak as if they were traveling to this house, then they stopped. After that, yelling and then silence." "It''s very true that I don''t know these men personally enough to call them friends, but they are respectable businessmen." "The noises, I''ll never forget; they were horrific and machine-like; I don''t know if I feel comfortable living next to someone who has a mysterious past." "Now Carol, you know they aren''t that sort of men. They are from England and in the automobile business from what I''ve seen. I bet those noises were their cars." Carol looked suspicious, "The automobile business? I didn''t realize there was business like that in England." The man held back his negative judgment regarding her comment and tried to tell her how blind she was with kind words. "Well, the automobile is very modern, and on the breaking edge of the technology world, everyone is going to try and jump on the bandwagon." "Oh goodness, not me; it seems foolish." The man pulled out a key to the door and opened it slowly. "Hello?" He yelled in a friendly manner. "Hello?" He leaned into the hall. "I don''t hear anything, probably aren''t home." He was about to step back when Carol pushed past him. "We can''t take that risk; we must make sure they are all OK." She walked briskly through the hall and into the sitting room. It was still dark and haunting.


    She looked around as the man followed. She turned on the light in the sitting room. She intended to get the men to move out; she was not into the publicity and noise they brought into her town. She walked over to the desk. "Look at these sketches; they are lovely." The man walked over, trying to limit the snooping. "Yes, I have seen a lot of their work. Like those cars, they keep outside." "They made those?"  "Well, not by hand, but they designed and manufactured every single inch." The man began to walk around the room and looked at the garbage scattered everywhere. "Looks like a good party." He said while picking up a bottle off the floor. "I suspect they are still in bed, considering the remnants on the floor, and all of the cars seem to be parked out there. How many people are staying here? You know there can''t be more than there are bedrooms. Unless there is a couple." The man rolled his eyes without her knowledge. "Yes, I am aware. I have been a landlord for many years now. There are only three of them, all men." "Three?" There are more than three cars out there! One car per house is too many, but one for each person!" The man looked at her, "I told you that is their business." "It seems excessive, Sean. I don''t think I like them living here." "It is an odd sight for sure, but they won''t be here for long." "Really?" She said gratefully but with an odd touch of disappointment. The lady spoke loudly, not caring for the men who were asleep. She jumped as she heard a noise coming from the back of the house.


    The men heard the noises coming from the living room. Willian and Edward peeked out of their rooms. "Do you hear voices?" He nodded. "Let''s go investigate." They walked down the stairs to the hall. They saw the door was open; maybe it''s Thomas?" Edward ran into the living room. He realized it was Sean and relaxed. "William, it''s only Sean... and some lady," Edward yelled back. William entered


    He looked at the lady, waiting for an explanation. "I''m sorry; it''s my fault we are here, I heard loud noises last night, and I was concerned." "Then why didn''t you inquire last night or call the police?" He said, not believing her actions or excuse. Edward jumped in, trying to lighten the tension. "We don''t know they didn''t; we were very gone." "She did not pursue this last night because of me. She called me first and described the noise, and I suspected what it was, so I told her not to call the police, and I would bring her here this morning to check everything out. "Were we indeed making that much noise?" "Yes," Carol said indignantly. "Oh, I''m so sorry." Edward said, "Though I can''t imagine how our voices carried out of the house. You must live next door." "No, actually two houses away." "The engines," Thomas interjected. "Oh, of course, We were celebrating last night." "Oh, did you get an offer?" Sean asked excitedly. "Well, actually, we hadn''t at that point; we were just happy with how well the fair went." "We got one this morning, though!" "Celebrating?" Carol questioned. "How did you make those loud noises?" "Oh, it''s simple." Said, William. "We were revving." "Revving?" She looked just as confused as she sounded. She was unfamiliar with the topic and a little mesmerized by Williams'' face. "It''s when you hit the gas while keeping the car in place. It essentially displays the engine sound." She nodded.


    She was utterly bewildered, but his answer seemed logical enough that she didn''t press any further. There was an awkward pause. "Oh, I''m so sorry; let me introduce you. Carol, this is William, and this is Edward. They have one other partner, Thomas, but he''s not here at the moment. They are the borders here, and men, this is Carol; she rents the house two doors down from you." Edward  put out his hand, "Lovely to meet you." William followed suit. "Well, I''m sorry we  intruded; we were just concerned about your well-being." "Yes, I''m sure that the sound of revving cars can be terrifying if you are not familiar with them." The two exited, leaving the men alone in the sitting room again. "Bollocks," Edward said, shaking off the drowsiness. "We should have mentioned to Sean while he was here that we might be leaving." "I''m sure he already expects that since we told him that we got an offer." "Very true." "I can still go after him?" William offered. "No, I''ll just call him later."  Thomas exited the dining room, having just finished eating. "What''s going on?"


    They all convened in the dining room to spill over some papers and maps at the large table. "Columbus..." "Yes" "I don''t even know where to begin." "I believe Ohio." He suggested knowing he was entirely right. Thomas turned away as the other two searched for the exact location on the map. He braced for the possibility of a long journey. To them, the USA was terrifyingly large and unmanageable. "Hey, it''s not that bad." Thomas turned towards them. "How far?" "A few hours." Thomas immediately relaxed, "Fuck, that is much better than I expected. How many routes?" "From what I can see here so far, it looks like there are a few viable options." Well, we have three cars, we could get transport for them, or we could each drive." Edward,  without hesitation, jumped in. "I''m driving myself." "I think we should transport all of them and travel together," William said. "That is practical but not fun at all." Thomas retorted. "Does everything have to be a race?" "Yes." "I''ll make arrangements." Edward said, trying to cut through their tedious games, "Go ahead, this is the perfect time to look over your final design proposals." "Perfect," Edward commented while gathering his things. "I''m not sure how I feel about mine," William admitted. Thomas gestured for him to bring over the portfolio. "I don''t care; let me see it." Edward put on his coat then handed him the folder. "I will back mine all the way." He said, giving it to Thomas. He laughed, "Of course." William placed his on the table. "Mine may not be the prettiest, but it will stand the test of time" All I hear is ''slow,''" Thomas said, teasing him. Thomas and Edward laughed. "I better go. See you in a bit." Edward said as he left. William was about to leave the room too, but Thomas called him back. "While he is gone, let''s talk about your design" "Well," he began, "Keeping the basic true Copan 12 form, the chassis is an A-frame 747cc inline with four engines. Right here, you can see I used solid disc wheels and horizontal hood levers."  "So far, you both have those features." Will continued, "The difference unmistakably is in appearance; mine has a more classic look, and this is the boot; it''s made out of steel, and it''s detachable."


    After a few seconds of silence, Thomas spoke. "It''s not horrible. I''m worried about the boot. Let''s see what Edward came up with. OK.... he has a fuller classic outline, but I don''t see storage capabilities. Oh wait, it says there is dedicated space for luggage behind the seats. I''m fond of the Duesenberg style painting across the doors here." "Should I leave?" William said feeling uncomfortable while Thomas described his competition. "No, wait, I need a sounding board." "You are going to pick Edward''s design, aren''t you?" "Yes, with a few tweaks, it''s the best bet, I think. Your boot will cost too much, which defeats the point of our mission, to supply American families with a simple second car," William mouthed the words with him. He had heard the goal so many times before. "Hopefully, with the rise of cars, the dual carriageway will spread."


    As their conversation was dying down, the phone rang. Its measured, terse trills pierced the peaceful ambiance of the day.   Thomas swiftly rushed to the phone in the sitting room. "Hello? Oh, that''s most convenient, thank you." William entered, "the investors?" He nodded. "The transport has been arranged for the cars. The train that runs nearby only has one stop between here and Columbus." "Oh wow, that is wonderful. When do we leave?"  "One week." "Oh, good, we can get everything ready by then." He began to gather all of his papers pertaining to the design of his model and laid them in the wastebasket. "What are you doing?" Thomas asked. William looked up at him. "Well, you''re not using my model, so I figured I might as well toss it." "Well, yea, but I figured you would want to keep them still." "Oh." He laughed. These are all imperfect copies. Of course, I am keeping the final ones."


    With all of the good news, Thomas''s attitude and demeanor took a complete turn from the days before. He was walking tall and was much louder and cockier. William and Edward occasionally glanced at each other rolling their eyes at his peacock show. "What else needs to be done?" William asked.


    Thomas walked over to the drink cart and poured himself a drink. "Eugh, after last night, how can you want another drink?" Edward said, feeling sick just watching him. "It''s nothing hard, just some sherry." He lifted his tiny glass. "OK, sherry and a hint of something a bit stronger." They laughed. "Either of you want a drink?" William looked at him and answered quickly, "No, I have some things to work on." He took his papers to his bedroom. "What''s wrong with him?" Edward  asked, "I didn''t pick his design." He said cavalierly. "Oh... OH! you picked mine!" He said gleefully. "Yes, I liked it, though I, of course, could make it better." Edward, not even bothering to look at him, spoke. "I don''t think so; every aspect is appealing" "Yeah, to you..." Thomas said while staring out the window. "Well, I think it will have a wide appeal." He said, staying positive. "We will see." Thomas stood unmoved, barely listening to him. He stared off into the sky, catching snippets of chimneys and smoke in his line of vision. Edward  turned to him, "If you don''t think it''s ready, what would you change?"


    They ran around and tried to get everything in order before meeting with the investors. One night, around eight o''clock, they were going over paperwork in the dining room. The phone rang. It jolted William out of his deep thought, and he immediately stood up, which was not in his character. He walked to the living room and answered the phone. He returned to the dining room several seconds later," Edward, it''s for you." Thomas picked up on the uncomfortable expression that William was projecting. Edward returned to the room about five minutes later; his demeanor had changed completely. "My father is dead."

 Chapter Three: The End of Estrangement

    Thomas and William wanted to accompany him to his father''s home for the funeral, but he insisted he go alone. Edward was very secretive when it came to his family and barely mentioned them in the decades he knew his friends. They knew he had several siblings but only heard him ever talking to his brother Linus regularly. He also got an occasional call from his brother Greg when they lived in England.


    Edward packed two small suitcases. He packed a few days'' worth of outfits, two suits, two pairs of shoes, and one tie. He didn''t plan on staying there long enough to use all of the clothes he packed, but he always preferred to pack too much rather than too little. He didn''t want to be bothered with shopping for something he forgot. That thought led him to think about all of the shops in his hometown. He hadn''t been there in ages, and he wondered if the area had been developed more.


    All of his memories that took place in his childhood home were not bad, but a lot of them were. The bad memories always seemed to stick out. Bad experiences always had more staying power in any situation; they weren''t house specific. He tried to remember happy things. He remembered running around with Linus and Greg and how Sarah used to harass them. He recalled a particularly muddy day. It had rained for several hours, and after the clouds cleared, he, Linus, and Greg ran outside and came across two huge puddles by the back garden maze. They laid a layer of leaves over the puddles and waited on the other side until Sarah came looking for them. She was yelling and being bossy like she always was. When she got close to them, they ran, trying to get her to follow. It worked, and when she began to run, she stepped onto the leaves floating in the vast puddle, and she fell into it. The boys turned and laughed until she stormed back inside. He felt bad thinking about that day, but it still amused him.


    Edwards'' journey was from Virginia to Pennsylvania. He loved driving cars and found pleasure in doing so with the Copan. What he didn''t expect was that he enjoyed the trip for another reason, the scenery. It was October, and during that time, the leaves changed colors in such a dramatic and vibrant way. He couldn''t have picked a better route, there always seemed to be a large forest traveling with him, and different territories had different trees mixed together. Some trees he passed were bright green, like it was summer in a tropical climate. Then, deeper into the hill spotted area, a landscape of orange and red tufts decorating the horizon.


    His father owned a large property named after him. The Vallow Estate. That was where Edward spent his younger years. He hadn''t been back in more than a decade. He tried to remember the details of its location within the city, but his memories weren''t helpful.


    He forgot about how vast and grand the states were. It certainly didn''t matter which state he traveled through; there was always something very unique to see.


    Thomas urged him to take one of their cars rather than the train, not just because he was being courteous but because he wanted to test the new modifications on it. The Copan model was a staple in England, which is what they brought to America. The exact model was not what they were going to produce in the US; the one Edward designed was the design going onto the assembly line there. It wasn''t much different from the original Copan but specified for the US market.


    The weather in his old hometown was typical of October in that region. The sky was a dreary gray, and the clouds draped themselves slovenly across the horizon. There was an icy nip floating with the wind, alluding to the possible coming of snow. Edward hadn''t been to his father''s estate in more than a decade. It was his childhood home, though his family didn''t always live there; they lived in England until he was seven. His father, Michael, made the move to the states for business. As soon as he graduated, Edward returned to England for University and never returned until that year with William and Thomas.


    The trio had been friends for more than a decade. They met through his first job back in England and bonded over their love of automobiles.


    Several hours later, Edward pulled up to the iron gate that led to the estate. The mansion sat upon a few acres and was surrounded by woods and a cast-iron fence.


    The gate that blocked the entrance was just as tall and haunting as he remembered. He got out of the car, hit the button, and the doors slowly creaked open. The drive up to the house was always cinematic; the tree-lined path opened up to the majestic sight of the stately manor.


    The driveway curved around the front of the house and created a roundabout. There were a few cars already lined up around it. He smirked, noticing that his vehicle was more appealing.


    He grabbed his bags and took a moment to stare up at the giant house. It towered above most of the trees. He took a deep breath and walked towards the door. Dozens of memories from his childhood flooded his senses as the stones crunched under his dress shoes.


    The maid, Lucy, came to the door. "Oh Edward, I haven''t seen you in ages. I''m so glad you''re alright. They hugged. Lucy was in her seventies; she had been with the Vallow family since Edward could remember. "How have you been?" He asked. She looked a bit shaken. "This whole mess, it''s a lot to take in." She said, "I''m just grateful all of you kids are here now, and of course, Clara has been wonderful." "Clara?" He asked, not recognizing the name. "Oh, she''s been living here for several years; she''s delightful. You will love her."


    Lucy took his bags. "Room five," he said, "if it''s available." She smiled. "Of course... oh, that room is occupied..." His younger brother Linus swiftly entered the hallway from the sitting room. "Oh! Edward." He said excitedly. "I wasn''t sure if you were going to come." They hugged. "I wasn''t even sure myself." He turned back to Lucy, who was waiting for directions. "Just put them in whatever room is available." He said; she smiled and began to drag his bags up the stairs. "Would you like some food or tea?" Linus asked. "I just ate, but tea would be lovely." They walked to the kitchen. Edward was glad they stayed away from the sitting room; he could hear his sister Sarah dominating the conversation very loudly. He was not fond of her, nor was he in the mood for her antics. "Boy, she has not changed," Edward said, exhaling as he sat down at the kitchen table. Linus opened the cabinet and pulled out some teacups, then put the kettle back on the burner.  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    Edward looked around the room. "This place is a lot nicer than I remember. I never figured dad to be the sort to keep up with maintenance or decorating." "It was surely the woman he''s been living with, Clara." "Lucy mentioned her. Is she here?" "She''s around somewhere; she''s the only one of us that lives here." "Interesting, it sounds like she has some sort of claim." "I couldn''t tell you either way." He pulled out a tin from the cubbies. "Biscuit?" "Yes, thank you."


    The kettle began to whistle. "Oh, here we go, the perfect temperature." He poured Edward a cup. ¡°Ah, at least you still haven''t lost the English touch on the tea." "I don''t think it would matter how long I''ve been here in America. I''ll always make a good cup of tea." "Good to hear." "It''s lucky you happened to be back in the US for business." "It depends how you look at it." He said. They laughed. "I still can''t believe you stayed around here. I couldn''t even stand being in the same country." Linus smiled, "Believe it or not, I may live close, but I rarely speak to anyone but you and Greg. I mean, I do see everyone over the holidays sometimes." "Well, that''s good. I''m glad you haven''t been suffering in hell or anything." Linus laughed.


    The kitchen door opened; a thin, elegant woman in her early twenties entered. She had dark brown hair and dark brown eyes. She was carrying a discarded food tray of hers and placed it by the sink. "Oh Clara, I''d like to introduce you to my older brother Edward. She turned around, and her disinterested expression immediately changed. She and Edward locked eyes. He instinctively stood to shake her hand.


    Edward was just above the average height for a man of his age, but he was still taller than Clara. He had rugged, attractive, slightly aged features. His hair had grown longer than the standard business professional cut and was suavely pushed back. Linus, on the other hand, was thin blonde and very neurotic. He was not bad-looking, but he was nowhere near as good-looking as Edward. Clara held his hand in her soft palm; the light flickered on her face revealing hints of tears sitting on her cheeks. "Lovely to meet you." He said, "Would you like to join us?" "No, thank you." She said quietly. "I have some business to attend to." She left the kitchen, and Edward turned to Linus. "Wow." He smirked. "I know."


    Sarah, her husband Carl, and her brother Greg relaxed in the sitting room. The trio spent a lot of time together. Sarah lived with Greg and their mother all their lives until recently. Sarah married Carl and moved out, and John took her place in the house. Greg couldn''t justify living alone. He traveled all the time and rarely spent time at home. His job dominated almost all of his life. Greg lied back on the couch and tried to ease himself from the traveling exhaustion. "Drink anyone?" Carl asked as he approached the bar cart.


    Greg was a large man, very muscular looking, a deception. He had a neatly trimmed beard and wore a black pair of dress pants with a matching vest and white dress shirt. His suit jacket was long left at the front door with his overcoat. His sleeves were rolled up to his forearms. He was a burly man in the clothes of a professional: a unique yet attractive combination.


    Sarah took a sip of her tea and winced at the flavor. She was an average-looking woman in her late thirties; she was wearing a gray dress with a gray sweater. Her waist was cinched with a brown belt, and she was wearing worn-in brown heels. Her hair was a mousy brown and was curled and pinned up. Her jaw was very angular, which was very indicative of her personality. The only portion of her that looked out of place were her eyes which were a piercing blue. Her husband Carl knew all too well how haunting they could be. Most people thought Sarah and Carl''s marriage was an odd one. They clashed very often.


    Carl was wearing tan slacks and a sweater. Sarah didn''t like his casual wardrobe, but that was one fight he always won. He had very well-groomed dark brown hair and no beard whatsoever. He swirled his glass, watching the thickish liquid slosh around. Their marriage worked because when Sarah made unrealistic demands, and rather than fighting back, Carl ignored her.


    The sitting room was encased in a dark gold-gilded wallpaper that had faded over time. The chair rail border across the walls was a dark cherry that matched the floor. The couch was crafted out of dark red velvet and had matching pillows. It was not the exact couch of their childhood, but it was a similar color and style.


    Edward went up the stairs to settle into his room, and Linus returned to the sitting room. "Edward is here." He said, smiling. "Oh, I didn''t think he would show up," Sara said. "Wait, did you honestly think he wouldn''t show up?" "Well...when was the last time you saw him?" "Speaking of allusive people, I have yet to meet Clara," Sarah asked.


    Edward walked up the large creaky stairs to the second floor. He couldn''t find his bags. He expected to see them placed outside of a vacant room. He realized he would have to enter each room to find them.


    He knocked on door five first. Clara slowly opened the door. "Oh, I''m sorry," Edward said. "Lucy put my bags in one of the rooms, but I don''t know which one." "I think she''s in the laundry room if you want to ask her." "Thank you." He said. "You know I was hoping this room wasn''t occupied."


    Room five had always been his favorite room, but he never had the chance to occupy it. Sarah claimed it as hers when they moved there. It wasn''t unique; it was one of the smaller rooms. Edward liked it because it had a beautiful large window that almost spanned the whole back wall that looked over the garden. "I''m sorry. She said, "I''ve been living here for a few years. If I were a guest with just a suitcase, I would gladly switch with you, but all of my furniture is here. She opened the door the whole way. Edward looked and noticed what looked like a balcony built out from the windows. "Is that a balcony?" He asked. She smiled. "Yes, come in and take a look." He followed her over, and she drew the curtains completely. "Oh, this is lovely." He stepped onto the platform. "Honestly, the windows are the reason I loved this room so much, and this balcony makes it even better. I can''t believe dad kept up with the house so well. And even made improvements like this." "That is what I am in charge of here." "Was the balcony your idea?" He asked. She nodded. "You did such a lovely job."


    She pulled open the window door further, and they sat down in the matching outdoor chairs. Even though it was freezing, they were able to enjoy the view for a few solid minutes before they felt like they had to go back inside. "If you want to stick around, I can light the heater." "Oh no, thank you. I better get to my room." He left; Clara closed the door after him and turned back to her pile of clothes on her floor. She decided that packing would be the best course of action since she wasn''t sure if she would be welcome after the funeral.

 Chapter Four: Murder

    Friday, October eighth, 1937


    The police showed up at the Vallow Estate on Friday, October eight. The team was led by detective Jerrard Frede and followed by three officers. They gathered everyone in the dining room. When Clara walked into the room, Sarah scoffed." Uck, why is that Charlatan still here?" It was directed at Clara, but she didn''t say it to anyone in particular. "Sarah!" Greg said. "Stop it." "Mind your own business." She spat, trying to make Clara as uncomfortable as possible. Clara looked very upset but didn''t say anything. Edward walked over to her and handed her a cup of tea. "Thank you." She said,


    "Good morning, everyone; I''m detective Frede. I know this is a tough time for everyone. I''m going to apologize ahead of time for any aggressive topics we might bring up. I was put on the case when Michael''s body was found. Since then, it has just an inquiry into why it was in such an odd location, but this investigation has been upgraded into a murder inquiry."


    Everyone was shocked. The air was electric, like it was filled with silent screaming. The detective continued. "His body was found on Wednesday, October sixth, early Wednesday morning. I will be asking about everyone''s whereabouts on the fifth and sixth mostly. Because of this development, I have acquired a search warrant. I will be taking everyone into another room to do individual questioning. Michaels body will remain in police custody until it is examined properly. I need everyone to stay in this room, and two of my officers here will search the house. Officer Charles will be staying here to answer any questions you may have." "This is outrageous!" Sarah said. "It was probably that fucking whore over there." She pointed to Clara. Clara looked shocked and very upset; it looked as though she wanted to run out of the room, but she couldn''t. She placed her face in her hands, trying to hide her tears. Usually, she wouldn''t have cared what Sarah said, but she was always on the verge of tears since Michael''s death. Edward put his arms around her to make her feel better.


    "Wait, you''re going to search the house. Does that mean our purses too?"  "Yes." The detective said. "Oh, then I need to get something." She stood up. "I''m sorry, ma''am. That''s not how this works. You are not permitted to leave here until we are done." She sat down. She wanted to protest, but she knew it would look suspicious.


    "You, sir," he said, pointing to Greg. I''ll take you in for questioning first. He followed him out of the room. Officer Charles was left in the dining room and moved to the door. He was not there just to answer questions, but the real intention was to make sure no one tried to corroborate stories or escape.


    Greg sat in front of Detective Frede; he looked a bit nervous. "Could you state your full name?" "Greg James Vallow." How are you related to the deceased Michael Vallow?" "I am Michael Vallows son" "Ok. Could you go through what you did the day you heard Michael Vallow died, October sixth, I''m assuming?" Greg''s voice was deep and caramely. "Yes, the sixth. After breakfast, I got dressed and went to work. I work for a sales company called Sweeply and most of the time I''m on the road. I went to work in the morning, nothing exciting happened. I did try to call dad from my office because he and I were supposed to meet the day before, but I had to cancel."


    The detective looked up from his notes. "There was a lot of commotion near my building, but I was late for work, so I didn''t have time to stop. I learned that a body was found there around 4 am. It wasn''t until I got a call from John around 10 am that I learned dad died. Honestly, I didn''t even put it together that it was dad in the alley. That''s where we were supposed to meet the day before." "So, you''re saying you had planned on meeting Mike where he died?" "Yes, but I didn''t go. He was planning on showing me some important papers he kept in his office and wanted me to come to his house, but I had to work, so he said he would meet me in the alley by my office during my lunch break." "What documents?" "I don''t know, but he said they were important, and he needed help with them." "Why didn''t you meet him?" "I had planned on it, but John was in a car accident, and I had to help him. I left work and drove straight to Moraine State Park; that''s where he wrecked." So you went straight there?" He nodded. What happened once you got there. I went to the north shore drove everywhere, but he wasn''t there, so I tried the south, and I found him. I helped him out, and we both went home."  "What happened after you heard of your fathers'' death?"  "After I found out he died, well I was working so after work went straight home. When I got there, Mom was crying in the living room. Sarah and Carl were there too. Actually, Carl left about half an hour after I arrived." "Do you remember what you were talking about, anything, no matter how small, could be important?" Greg thought carefully. "Mom kept saying how it was her fault, but she was hysterical." "That''s interesting." He said, "Do you have any idea why she said that or why she thought it was her fault?" He shook his head. "I didn''t think much about it. Honestly, she was crying very hard and screaming." "Anything else?" Frede asked. "No, I''m sorry, I can''t think of anything else." "Do you know where Carl went after he left your place?" "No..." "If you think of anything else, please call the station." "Of course." He said, standing up. Could you send John in?" "Yes."


    A few seconds later, John entered. "Name?" "John." "Full name?" John rolled his eyes, "Johnathan Bergius Vallow." "How did you know Michael Vallow?" "Michael Vallow was my father." "What sort of relationship did you have with him?" "A father-son relationship." He said tersely. The detective took a deep breath, trying to suppress his desire to punch him." "Did you get along well?" "Yes. I was his favorite child." Detective Jerrard Frede raised his eyebrows, a gesture questioning John''s bold assumption. "I was the only one ever allowed to work for him." "I see. Do you still work for him?" "No. I moved away a few years back for a job and only recently started coming back for the holidays. I was swamped. I then moved in with my mom to help take care of her." He yammered on about his mom''s relationship with his father. "They never really got along; well, I think they did when I was a child, but not since we all moved here." "Can you go through what happened on October fifth?" He adjusted his position.


    "After breakfast with my mother, I did some work from home for an hour, then set out to Moraine to reserve a cabin for thanksgiving weekend." "Were you able to get one?" "Yes, the last one, I think." After I got the reservation and started the drive home,  a small deer ran across the road in front of me, so I swerved and missed the deer but hit a tree. I was going pretty slowly, so I got out injury-free, but the car was dead. I walked about a mile back to the office, I went inside, but the secretary was not there. I think she was in one of the offices; not sure; I was shaken, so I just grabbed the phone and called Greg. He is the first one I call in an emergency. He said he would come right away. I told him to find me at the north shore, but I didn''t realize I was at the south shore, so I was stuck there a few hours before he found me. Then once everything was taken care of, we went home."  "Did you know anything about the meeting Greg was supposed to have with your father? I was meeting him to look over some papers, but you called him, so he canceled." No, sorry." He said, "My dad... Well, he''s my dad, but he''s not exactly a great moral role model, so I try to stay away from anything related to his business anymore, and because of that, we don''t fight as much." Frede nodded. "Ok, that''s about it for now; I already know where you were when you found out since I was the one who told you. Oh, what did you do after I left?" "I called Edward and Linus." "Ok, is there anything else you would like to add? Anything odd you noticed?" "Actually, yes. Edward lives in England, but he was somehow able to get here in a day, and he wasn''t even home when I called to tell him about dad''s death, so I have no idea how he got the news so fast and how he got here." "Interesting." Detective Frede said under his breath. "Could you send Linus in next?" John stood. "Of course."


    A few minutes later, Linus entered. "Name?" "Linus Winithault Vallow, Michael Vallows, son."  "What were you doing on October fifth? The more details, the better."  "Well, I own a bookstore called The Book Shelf. It''s downtown on the far side from here." The detective nodded. "I know where it is but thank you." "It was a pretty normal day; let''s see, I got into the shop at 8:30 ish¡­" "What time did you leave home?" "8:29." He said, laughing." I live above the bookshop." The detective continued jotting everything down. "I did a bit of dusting before we opened." "What time does your store open?" "Nine." He said. "Were you working with anyone else that day?" "Yes, I employ a young boy who helps stack and carry boxes. He came in at 9:15; I only remember so clearly because I was a touch annoyed that he was late, but he explained his bike chain came off." "How long were you at work?" "I stayed all day and closed at five." "You didn''t leave the store at all before that?" "No." He said. "I couldn''t because I was the only one working beside the boy. On a day where the assistant manager is around, I can go to lunch and the bank and run errands." "What happened after work?" "I picked up a newspaper and went back home." "Do you live with anyone?" "No, I live alone."  "Did you leave your apartment at all after that?" He shook his head. "Not once." He said. "When did you find out about Michael''s death and how?" ''I got a call from John. I think it was right after you left his house, so around noonish. I immediately closed the shop and went over to be with him and my mother. Oh, you know what, before I left, I called Edward to tell him. Then I went to John''s house."  "Did Edward answer?" "Yes. He hadn''t heard the news, which I suspected, so I let him know what happened." "Are you sure it was Edward who answered?" Linus looked at him oddly, "Yes." "What number did you call." "He pulled out a little black book from his pocket. He flipped through a few pages. "This is it." He said, "That''s a number here in the USA." "Yes," Linus said. "I thought he lived in England." "Usually, yes, but he moved to Virginia a few months ago." "Ah." The detective said. "Who knew that he moved?" "I''m pretty sure I''m the only one, it''s possible Greg knew, but no one else would have." "How can you be so sure?" "Edward has been estranged from most of the family since he was 18. The only people he ever talks to are Greg and me. He and I keep in touch mostly through letters, but we do make time every once in a while to talk on the phone." "Do you know what he was doing in Virginia?" "Yes, he''s one of the owners of the Copan 12... it''s the..." Frede cut him off. "Oh, I know all about the Copan. Is he truly one of the owners? That''s very impressive." The laser-focused machine was reduced to an excited little boy for a brief moment. "Sorry, continue." "They were offered a chance to make a version of the Copan in the USA, so he and his partners moved to VA a couple of months ago to open a factory. Edward designed the new American model; he was pretty excited about it." They spent a few minutes talking about the automobile.


    The rest of Linus'' interview strayed a bit off-topic. He spoke about his feelings. He talked about how he disagreed with his father regarding his parenting choices and business practices,  but he still felt sad. He was there his whole life. His presence may have been a bad influence, but it didn''t erase the fact that he was there for him. Those thoughts left him with even more inquiries. He eventually got back on track with the help of the detective. "Greg''s the person I go to whenever I have any issues; I mean, he is the person I''m the closest to, well, him and Edward. Sadly Edward is always far away, so I never see him." He jumped in before Linus could continue. "Ok, thank you for your time. Can you send Edward in?" "Oh yes, sorry." His face turned a little red. "I guess I''ve been rambling a bit." He got up. Edward entered a few moments later, "please take a seat."


    Edward sat closer to the detective than Linus, so the detective adjusted how he was seated, so they were facing each other. "Full name?" "Edward Conrad Vallow," Edward told the detective everything. His account of the events matched exactly what Linus told him. Edward was thrown a handful of procedural questions, which he had expected, but he was surprised by the onslaught of Copan questions. He learned that Linus told the detective about his ventures with the Copan, and he was thrilled to have another fan. He excitedly answered Detective Frede''s questions. They eventually started discussing car designs, and he mentioned that he was looking forward to finding out what the American model designs looked like in comparison. Edward smiled. "I can show you!" He said. Edward pulled out a rough sketch from his jacket. Edward laid the paper on the table and smoothed it flat.


    Frede was through the roof that he was able to talk to one of the creators of the Copan. He loved the car and enjoyed talking to Edward, but he kept his mind impartial regarding his job. They eventually returned to talking about the case. Frede was glad when Edward''s story matched Linus''s and asked him if his story could be corroborated by his business partners in Virginia. "Yes, of course." He said. If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    He began to dig for his number. That won''t be necessary; I already have it." "Is there anything else you need to know?" Edward asked, partially hoping they would talk about cars some more. "No, I think that''s it for now. Could you send Sarah in?"  "Of course." He said. He was just being polite. He would''ve rather not talked to her in any capacity.


    Sarah entered with a pleasant smile; she was aware of how her presence and attitude made a difference regarding how people perceived her. "Can I please have your name?" Sarah Rose Vallow." Detective Jerrard Frede continued. "How are you related to the deserted Micheal Vallow?" "Michael Vallow was my father." They talked for a few minutes, but there wasn''t much for her to say; she spent most days at work and went to visit her mother or went home. There was not anything unique or suspicious about her daily events. She was at her mother''s house when Detective Frede reported the bad news for the first time. She said she stayed with her mother and called Carl,  her husband. The detective then asked her what she did the day before, and she told him that she worked all day and didn''t leave until around five at night and went straight home. She talked about how she spent a lot of time at her mom''s house, but she didn''t live there; she lived with Carl a few blocks away.


    Detective Frede let her leave the room and didn''t ask her to send anyone else in. He stood up and walked to the sitting room to make sure everyone remained calm. The officer in the room nodded at him, and then he asked Clara to join him for questioning. They walked side by side through the hallway silently. Clara felt uncomfortable. They entered the living room and sat down. "Name?" "Clara Marie Costello." "Relationship to Michael Vallow?" "Um... company... caretaker sort of..." He looked at her. "I met him because he''s The benefactor of the dance company I have been a part of for years. My mother died when I was young, and she was part owner. I took classes at the studio. They ran every day after school. I took courses while my mom taught as a child. When she died, I stayed. The other owner gave me an apartment in the setup behind the studio, and I ended up dancing for the company professionally. Michael started funding the company a few years back, and he also helped renovate the apartments behind the studio. It''s an interesting setup; there''s the studio where all the classes are taught, behind that is an apartment building for any dancers that need somewhere to stay. However, it''s only open for the dancers on the Dance Companies payroll. Then there is the Bigloe theater, where the dance company performs. We met when he was introduced to the members of the dance company. But we didn''t get to know each other until he renovated the apartments. He let all the dancers stay here until the construction finished. It was such a nice gesture. The detective was invested in the story and wrote down every detail.


    We got to know each other very well, and he asked if I would stay and be sort of the house manager. I agreed, and I became his adopted daughter, unofficially. She smiled. The detective jumped in. "Let''s start with October fifth; what did you do that day?" "I woke up, ate, then got ready for rehearsal. "I was going to mention that earlier, but I didn''t want to interrupt you; I love the Bigloe, though my job keeps me from going as often as I want." "Sometimes, I wish my job would keep me away too." They laughed. "Before I went to work, Mike was busy; he got up early and was pretty wound up. It was a weird panic mixed with excitement. I worked all day and returned around eleven at night." Are those your typical hours?" "It depends; we have a new routine in the show coming up, so they like to drill the steps harder than usual." "Did you see anything when you got home?" "Lucy was asleep on the couch, so I woke her up and sent her to bed. Then I ate then went to bed too. I noticed that his car wasn''t there, but that wasn''t uncommon." "Do you have a car?" "No." "How did you get home?" "When we work late, Mike sends a car for me." "How does he know to send one?" "I call him on a break if I know rehearsal is going to go long." "When did you call him?" "I didn''t. He told me he probably wouldn''t be around to take the call, so he told me to tell the chauffeur to go to the studio at nine and wait until I was done. Honestly, he knew my schedule pretty well; he knew I had a show coming up, so it was pretty obvious I''d be gone most of the day and night." He jotted notes down on his pad. The few seconds of silence haunted the air around them. "Thank you for the information; I may need to talk to you again. Could you send Lucy in?"


    Several minutes passed before Clara returned. "We can''t find Lucy." She said, a bit panicked. The detective stood up, "What do you mean? No one was supposed to leave the dining room; that''s why officer Charles is in there." He ran to the room. "What''s going on?" "Lucy said she had to use the bathroom... I can''t watch two places at once." The officer said cavalierly. "Go find her; Cole is on back door duty; check if he saw anything." The detective stayed in the sitting room until Charles returned. "While everybody is here, I want to get the facts straight. Three workers from the Westerly Barrel factory were leaving their shift when they cut through an alley. That''s where Henry, Jan, and Bob stumbled upon Michael''s body.


    According to their account, Henry ran to the main street and started yelling for the police and caught the attention of an officer stationed outside of a bank. We do know he was killed by a bullet, and it was almost an instantaneous death, though they are going to conduct a few more tests before we can release the body." "What does that mean?" Greg asked. "He most likely wasn''t in much pain; he didn''t suffer. I also wanted to ask if there is a will; I was hoping that maybe he left a copy of his papers with a solicitor or friend?" "No." John said aggressively, just as Clara said, "Yes." In a more somber tone. John looked at her, "What?!" He said. Sarah looked startled too. "He kept the original copy of his will and various other papers with his solicitor." "That''s odd." Said Sarah, "I remember when I was younger, mom would beg him to keep papers with a lawyer, and he refused; it was a weird obsession he had, hating lawyers." "Well, he didn''t trust anyone..." "That is true; it was probably not solicitor exclusive." "Clara, do you know who his solicitor is?" Everyone was watching her, "um, yes, would you come with me? I have the information in my room." She led the detective to her room and shut the door behind them.


    Clara''s bedroom was very dark when the lights were off. She had thick heavy velvet curtains that completely covered the large windows that led to the balcony. She hit the light switch. Her clothes were folded and lined up on the floor, and some of her flower vases were wrapped in paper. "I only brought you here because I wanted to speak with you privately. I don''t know who shot Michael, but I don''t exactly trust everyone here; I figured it would be better to tell you the solicitor without any prying eyes. I know it''s probably just a paranoid musing..." The detective smiled, "No, that is smart, thank you. Wills can be very sore subjects; I want to get everything in order by the book.


    She pulled a business card out of her purse, "Here, he''s my solicitor too." "Thank you." He said, moving out the door. He suddenly stopped, "You know what? I have an idea." He looked in the hall to make sure no one was listening, then shut the door again. "Would you like to help me?" "Of course." She said, "What do you need me to do?" "Nothing dangerous, just..." He dug through his pockets and pulled out a piece of paper and a pen. "I''m going to write down a solicitor friend of mine and his address and tell everyone that this is Michael''s solicitor where he left his will." She smiled. "I don''t know who you trust here, but you can''t tell anyone the truth, so this works, not a soul." She wrapped her fingers around the paper and slipped it into her pocket while they walked back down together.


    He returned to the sitting room with her and asked if anyone had any new information to tell him they had forgotten? No one answered. He informed everyone that he would be returning the next day for a final sweep of the house and he would be looking for Lucy. "If Lucy returns, keep her in the house and call us."


    When the detective left, Sarah walked over to the bar cart. "I''m relieved that father used a lawyer, claim to his effects have been causing me stress." Linus looked at her. "Not that I want claim, just without a will; death can mean years of red tape..." "Yes, because you''re so prone to caring about others," Edward said. She glared at him. "No fighting," John said. Sarah rolled her eyes. "You''re not dad, John.. as much as you always wished you were." He turned to her. "What are you talking about?" Clara started to walk away. "Wait, Clara, who is father''s lawyer?" Sarah asked. "Oh," She said as she plunged her hand into her pocket and pulled out the paper, and read what the detective wrote. "Someone named Henry Plither, his office is on Geron street in town. She placed the slip of paper on an end table and left. "Well, I better be going. Greg said. "I have to do some work." Greg left the room and made sure he shut the door behind himself. He grabbed his coat and left the house.


    Clara was standing at the top of the stairs and watched him leave. A cold shiver passed through her body. She wasn''t sure if it was from the cold air blasting towards her as he shut the door or the thought that Greg could be tied to Michael''s death. She didn''t have any suspects. In her mind, she knew it was likely that one of his business associates was the person who pulled the trigger, but nothing was inevitable, and Greg leaving wasn''t a good sign. She ran her hands through her dark brown hair and pulled it up into a messy bun. She decided that she needed to take a nap. Her head hurt, and she had enough distressing thoughts, in which she needed a break. When she returned to her room, the light was still on. Her bed had never looked better. The air was cold, and her bed was covered in fluffy thick blankets. The base blanket was her own, from her former life. The other two were from Michael. She ate then fell asleep.


    The wind jostled the bare tree branches by her bedroom window. The solid tendrils scraped against the pane, back and forth like a haunted spirit trying to breakthrough. Clara awoke a bit later. She decided to gather some food so she wouldn''t have to go down to the kitchen all the time. The desire to stay in her room was part laziness and part fear. As she walked back through the main hallway to her room, she noticed a light emanating from Michael''s study. It was easy to spot because the lights in the hallway were off. She set her bag of food on the floor by her feet and peered in. Someone was holding a torch; she leaned in further. It was undeniable who it was.


    Sarah was sitting at her father''s desk with a flashlight mere inches from her face while she dug through random papers. She seemed to be focused. Clara must have made some noise because Sarah broke from her task and looked straight at the door. Clara jumped back. Luckily for her, Sarah only heard her; her eyes had adjusted to staring at the bright flashlight and not to the darkroom around her, so she was essentially blind at that moment. Clara grabbed her bag and ran to her room. She sat on her bed, breathing heavily, not from the run but from the panic of getting caught spying on Sarah. She realized after calming down that she needed to keep a log of everything she saw. She walked over to her desk and sat down.


    Her desk was cherry with an unrecognizable clam shell carved into the front above its one main central drawer. She pulled out a fancy pen and a slim notebook. She looked at the cover of the notebook somberly. Michael gave it to her, and she had yet to use it. It was fragile but most likely very expensive. Its cover was leather, and each page tip was edged with gold. She couldn''t think of a better use for the book than using it to help catch his killer. She wrote down that she saw Sarah in the study and that she saw Greg leave right after she told them who Michael''s lawyer was¡ªwriting that only took a minute which left her unsatisfied. She tried to think if there was anything else she was missing.


    She wandered down to the front door to go through the mail; she had been neglecting it and thought maybe she would find something there. She dug through it to see if there was anything important. She was right by the front door when the doorknob began to turn. She jumped back as she watched the door open. She was relieved when she saw it was only Lucy. Lucy looked ashamed as she entered. "I''m just here to get my things." She said, ``What do you mean?" Clara asked. "I ran when the police were questioning everyone, I shirked my duty, and it pretty much was an admission of guilt to the police." "Why did you run?" "I... I think I know who killed him." "What?!" She said, "How?" "I can''t get you involved; I don''t want you to get in trouble too." "I might be able to help."


    They walked into the kitchen, and Clara fixed them both food. They ate together while she talked. "I was cleaning Mr. Vallows office, and I found some notes on his desk... I know I shouldn''t have read them, but I couldn''t help it; they were extortion style letters, most of them were addressed to Elizabeth... his wife." Clara nodded. She always wanted to meet her; she wondered if Edward looked like her because he didn''t look like Michael. "What did the letters say?" "She borrowed money from a bad loan company, and they were threatening to hurt her if she didn''t pay. Since Mr. Vallow had the letters, he had to be the one doing it." Clara sat silently, thinking. "Did you tell anyone about this?" She asked. "As soon as I saw them, I got Linus to read them." "What did he say?" "He said not to worry about it and that he would take care of it." "Oh my goodness." She said. "Can I see the letters?" "That''s not possible; they are gone." "What I remember is that one of the letters was from the loan company. They were threatening Elizabeth. Then another letter addressed to Mr. Vallow said they would drop the debt if they could meet with him." "Wait, if there was a letter to Michael, he couldn''t be the one pressing her for money, and why would he? He had tons of money." "That''s what I thought, but why did he have all of the letters? I thought maybe it was a weird ploy or something." "Wait, if he was the culprit, why would he have the letters, to begin with, unless they hadn''t been sent. No, they had; they were all kept in their respective envelopes with stamps, postmarks, and everything. Ok, so Michael wasn''t to blame." "What do you mean?" Lucy said. "He had the letters." "Yes, after they were sent, so if he sent them, then he wouldn''t have them." Lucy looked confused then it suddenly clicked. "Oh no." She said.

 Chapter Five: Upgrading

    Thomas and William had to get everything ready for the investor''s meeting. They were finalizing the deal to produce their new Copan model, which was tedious but easy because they were used to the logistics involved.


    Edward''s absence was notable. He brought loud positive energy with him. He was most definitely extroverted and was a happy person in general. Without his positive energy, the house seemed more depressing.


    It was also not helpful that whenever they mentioned him, it reminded them that his father had died. "Did Edward ever mention his father to you?" William asked Thomas. "I can''t recall, though I rarely pay attention when he talks about anything boring." William laughed. "Do you know his father''s name?" "No, I don''t think so." They sat thinking for a moment. Thomas then interjected. "Wait¡­ I think I remember him saying it once before." "And?" "Fuck, I don''t remember."


    They ate dinner that night around five, then went their separate ways. Thomas had some coffee then passed out on the couch by seven o''clock, and William hunkered down in his room. He looked through a few books then finally settled on one. About an hour into his reading, he heard Thomas lumber down the hall like an uncoordinated giant.


    The wind howled and violently shook the second-floor window panes. The noise made it hard for William to focus on his book, so he decided to go to the kitchen and get a beverage. While he was slowly bending over the counter to see if the glass was clean, there was a startling noise.


    He hadn''t expected to hear the phone ring at that moment; he felt silly and was glad Thomas was not there to make fun of him. He awkwardly, fast-walked to the phone and answered it. What he heard was more exciting than anything he could''ve imagined. The call was from the company South Catma Industries. South Catma was a huge steel-making company that practically ran the town in which they currently resided. The manager of South Catma Industries was on the other end. He was authorized by the owners of Catma to offer a deal to produce the Copan there in Virginia. William told the man on the other line to hold while he got Thomas, their lead partner. William gently set the phone down and ran to Thomas'' room. He quietly but forcefully knocked on his door, luckily, he wasn''t asleep, and he answered. William told him that there was another even better offer to produce the Copan. Thomas didn''t believe it, but he didn''t have time to question him, and he walked to the phone.


    After talking to the manager for a few minutes, he realized that the offer was serious. He took the chance to create an even better deal for their company.


    Thomas and the man on the phone talked for around an hour. When he got off the phone, Thomas told William everything.Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.


    The deal they were about to make before South Catma Industries called wasn''t spectacular, but it was decent. They were supposed to drive up to Columbus to look over the factory that the company had already chosen. They were retaining a lot of the profit still, but what South Catma Industries offered was better.


    The Catma owners had investigated and studied the way the trio conducted business and their creative process. They found that their methods were genius, so they wanted them to keep creative control. It was even more convenient that they didn''t have to travel anywhere. South Catma Industries knew they were there initially to make a deal with Genera to produce the Copan, but when Genera backed out, the owners of Catma wanted to jump in and steal the deal, but before they did, they wanted to test them. They watched to see how they dealt with the failure of losing Genera and being stuck in a foreign country. They were impressed with their innovation and use of resources to present the cars at the fair.


    After lunch the next day, they met at the South Catma Industries office building to discuss the details. The building was three floors tall and very wide; it had more than thirty rooms within its walls. The building itself was limestone and was not as dirty as it could have been with all of the factories around the area. Coal-burning tended to coat everything with a thin layer of soot. It wasn''t noticeable at first, but bit by bit, it turned the walls black without warning. The doors were solid wood, a beautiful oak with etched middle panels. They entered, and a man was waiting for them in the atrium. His name was Roger. He was the manager they spoke with on the phone the night before. He was wearing an almost perfectly pressed and tailored blue suit. He held a clipboard with papers on it under his arm. He greeted them warmly. "I am so glad you decided to join us here." He said. "My name is Roger Lissel." Thomas and William introduced themselves and talked about their roles in the company.


    The atrium was three stories high with two balconies where the floors started. There was a vast staircase that split into two separate staircases that ended on either side of the entry hall. He gave them a tour and then took them to meet the company''s owners. Kevin Skinner and Peter Bloskera.


    Kevin and Peter were very close friends and business partners. They were shrewd and very particular in their business investments. Kevin and Peter lived together publicly; they told people it was because they worked all hours of the day and night depending on what project they were working on, so it made things easier. It was not uncommon. Edward, William, and Thomas were business partners and lived together, but the pretext was utterly different for Kevin and Peter. Roger led them into an office through a set of massive double doors. A secretary was sitting in the first room in front of another set of doors; were Kevin and Peters'' offices along with two board rooms. Roger led them to one of the boardrooms as the secretary fetched the owners.


    The meeting went very well, everyone worked well together, and they were even amused by Thomas''s loud, unfiltered aggressive nature. They wrote out a deal and planned to tour factories and decide what they wanted before signing the final papers. The first round of documents they signed established that they planned on working together. Some clauses laid out what happened if the deal broke down so neither party would lose anything. Thomas and William returned to their house and were super excited. Thomas immediately called Edward.

 Chapter Six: True Lineage

    Officer Jones knocked on the detective''s door. Can I talk to you about Village? He asked. Frede looked up at him from his desk. "Oh yeah, actually, that might help me clear my head from the Vallow case" Frede had been working on a considerable sting operation before Michael died. There was a company called Village Values that seemed to be involved with many scandals over the years that always disappeared. They tried to solve some of the crimes Tye company commutes, but they were unsuccessful in finding anything about who ran the company. "What''s going on?" We followed up with that lead you gave us, and  Village values has been around for only a few years and was running under a different name originally. That''s why the information we have been searching for never goes back far enough to understand its origin. "Oh, that''s good news." He said, "Do you know the name of the company initially?" "Yes, it''s Greta Snaol." "Greta Snaol¡­ I have heard that before." "Yeah, it was a company that moved from South Africa to here around five or six years ago." "Didn''t they end up in a lot of legal trouble too?" He nodded, "|In fact, there were some cases that actually stuck. I am going to investigate now, but I wanted to update you. Thank you, that''s excellent news.


    Edward sat in the green room enjoying an after breakfast coffee. He was leaning a bit forward while intently reading the newspaper. He was wearing a pair of glasses that were perched on the edge of his nose. He didn''t need them as much a few years ago, but as he got older, he didn''t feel like straining to see was worth it.


    The paper rustled as he turned the page. He was reading the local newspaper, which he hadn''t seen a copy of since he was young. He didn''t particularly trust their paper for any breaking news, but he wanted to read it to see what was happening in the city. He had been away for so long he was pretty curious how things had changed. Along with checking out the local stories, Edward avoided his thoughts. His father kept slipping into his mind, and he wanted to suppress him.


    Clara finished breakfast then gathered her dance bag.


    She was very particular about time. If she had to be somewhere at a specific time, she was always early arriving. She was always early to work, appointments, or parties. It wasn''t really about where she was going or who she was meeting; she just liked extra time to get herself together. On the rare occasion she was late for something, she panicked and felt completely uncomfortable.


    Before she left, she stepped into the living room where Edward was sitting.


    She smiled at the sight of him reading with his glasses resting on his nose. She always found that look attractive. It was odd, but she embraced it, and it didn''t hurt that she had already found him attractive without the glasses.


    She sat down on the couch next to him. He turned to her, and she spoke. "I know you have a lot going on, we all do, but I''m performing tonight at the Bigloe; I mean, if you are looking for something to do..." he put the paper on his lap and smiled. "That sounds lovely." She smiled back. "I''ll reserve some tickets at the box office for you and if anyone else wants to come." She gestured around the room to no one. "Will you be gone all day then?" "No, I just have a morning dress rehearsal, and I''m free again until around six tonight." "Would you like to go out to dinner with me before the show?" He asked. Yes, that sounds lovely." She stood up. "I better go; I''ll see you later."


    She walked into the hall and saw Lucy. Lucy kept to herself mostly since she revealed what she knew from reading the letters. She used to be a busy body, but it was as if reading those notes taught her a lesson. She didn''t want to be a part of a murder investigation, and she was constantly worried she was in danger. Clara noticed that she looked like her life had been beaten out of her. "You don''t have to worry." She said to her. "No one''s going to fire you. I''m still in charge of the estate at the moment." "It''s not that... it''s just... one of you might be the killer..." "Yeah, that''s true." "Honestly, It''s so far out of my comprehension. I am just apathetic to keep myself sane, I suppose." Lucy felt unnerved at her answer. She wondered if Clara could be a cold-blooded killer or just naive. Her response could have easily been a traumatic reaction to the limbo they were subjected. A limbo they wouldn''t be freed from until the murderer was caught.


    Clara realized she had made her more uncomfortable. "I''m sorry, I''m fatigued. It''s exhausting trying to constantly analyze every breath and comment to try and read in between the lines to see if there are any clues that could bring justice sooner."  Lucy felt relieved at her answer and decided to ignore her odd musings and keep cleaning.


    Clara''s driver was waiting for her at the roundabout. She got into the back of the car and told him to drive her to the police station. She didn''t tell Edward that she planned on going there; in fact, she didn''t tell anyone. Her head hurt every time she tried to determine who she could trust. The murderer could have easily been anyone in her eyes. Before she could delve deeper into her valid paranoia, they reached the station. She thanked her driver and told him to wait until she came back out, adding that she wouldn''t belong.


    The station was no longer the unfamiliar, intimidating place it had been when she first went there. She was becoming very familiar with the cops and the atmosphere. The building itself was built very well. It was stone on the outside and inside; cherry wood adorned all of the support beams and wainscoting. The desks in the bullpen and lobby were made of cherry wood too. There were a few desks that were being used; the rest were temporarily vacant. The officers that were at their desks were pouring over files and filling out reports. Clara thought having a desk job in the station could have been fun. She figured that they were safe from the street violence but still got to see some action. She knew she would be good at categorizing evidence and outlining timelines. She was very into lists and had a strong desire to organize everything. She walked to the front desk. The officer standing behind it was Officer William Jones. They had come across each other several times at that point. She asked to see Detective Frede. He told her to wait for a moment while he went to the detective''s office. She watched him knock on the door but couldn''t hear what he was saying. He returned and informed her she was welcome to enter the office. She walked through the pen quickly. She didn''t like to draw attention to herself. She kept her head down so she wouldn''t have to talk to anyone. It only took a few seconds to reach the detective''s door, and before she had the chance to knock, he said, "Come in." "Hello," she said. "I''m sorry to bother you, but I have some important information." "Please sit down."


    Detective Frede was very professional, but he got caught up in various things that distracted his mind, but he didn''t let it show. He found Clara very attractive, and even more importantly, he enjoyed chatting with her. He asked her what was going on and why she was there. She sat down in the chair on the other side of his desk and placed her purse on the ground. Her hair was very thick and was pulled up into pin curls the night before, so that day, her hair looked like a dark cascading waterfall slithering down past her shoulders. Clara mentioned that Lucy returned and told him why she ran and the letters she found.


    He made her go through the events exactly how she remembered them. They slowly talked through everything, and he outlined her words very inordinately on a piece of paper. He was already surrounded by dozens of articles full of notes; they were labeled with numbers. She never realized how many minor parts were necessary when putting a case together. She tried to read some of them, but his handwriting was too messy. Even though she couldn''t read most of his notes, it was undeniable that it was a complete collection of everything he learned about Michael''s murder. He asked her to go through everything one more time to record everything correctly. He thanked her and told her he would go to the house and talk to Lucy after he looked into something else first. Halfway through the sentence, he stopped. "Oh wait¡­" He told her that he and Michael''s lawyer would be going to the house to read the will later that day. "Honestly, I can''t believe I forgot that was today." He quickly shuffled the papers around and then picked up the slips he just took notes on and shoved them into his pockets. Clara thought that was odd, not just because he was shoving papers into his pockets like a mad man, but she hadn''t seen or heard of anyone ever having their will read formally. She wondered what sort of things were in it. Michael loved being dramatic; she knew there were going to be some major bombshells.


    Clara ate then went to rehearsal. The only thing she hated about rehearsal was the building temperature. They kept the studio super cold in the winter, and it was torture changing into leotards and tights. Once they began to dance, it was always a little bit better but only because they were exercising.   The worst was when they didn''t finish until it was already dark out. It was cold and depressing. That day she didn''t have to worry about that. On the day of a show, they reversed on the bigloe stage, and they cranked up the heat so it would soothe their muscles while they went through the dance steps lightly.


    After rehearsal, her best friend Cecilia sat down next to her on the bench in the dressing room. "How are you doing?" She asked. "I''m ok." She responded. "Want to come over to my house until the show?" She looked at her. "That sounds nice, but I have a date." "Oh my goodness!" She smiled. "You have a date! Who is it with?" Everyone in the dressing room looked at them. "It''s with Edward." She said under her breath. Clara kept Cecelia informed of everything that happened to her; she knew about all of the people in Michaels family. They talked for a bit, then walked out of the studio together.


    The air was brisk but not hauntingly cold. The trees were primarily orange, and the ground was wet from the rain that morning. It was a beautiful depiction of autumn. Her skin was wet from the heat in the theater, and the cold air confused her body while it determined what temperature in which to adjust. She took a deep breath and the cold air traveled into her lungs.   She relaxed; it made her feel a lot better.


    She waited outside while Cecelia got her car. She offered to drive her home, and she was determined to do so; therefore, Clara didn''t fight it.   She drove to the side of the building where Clara was standing. Clara hopped into the car.   The seats were leather, and there was a lot of legroom. She placed her dance bag on the floor.   Clara didn''t want to talk about anything; she genuinely just wanted to bathe and take a nap. Cecelia didn''t say much on their ride; she was pretty good at feeling out what Clara was in the mood for; she knew the less she pestered her, the better.


    They arrived at her house; she thanked her for the ride, and just as she was about to open the door, Cecelia placed her hand on her shoulder. "If you need anything, just ask." She said Clara gave her a half-smile then got out of the car.  She stopped to look at her home before going inside. Clara walked into the house and took off her jacket and gloves; she sat on the bench by the door for a few minutes, trying to decide whether she should bathe or sleep first. Bathing then sleeping would be the clean thing to do; she wasn''t sure if she would make it without falling asleep in the bath. As she walked away from the entryway, someone knocked on the front door. It was the detective, Michael''s lawyer, and two officers. She greeted them cordially.  She talked to Jeffery Maddock away from everyone else. "Have you ever read the will to a family before?" He smiled. Jeffery Maddock knew both Michael and Clara very well, and he could tell she knew there was going to be some drama. "Yes, you are right. It''s very odd to have both a lawyer and detective show up at a victim''s house for a will reading. Despite that, I have done will reading before, I think twice. Both times were in my office."  "Why are you doing it this way today?" She asked. "Michael and I discussed the contents of his will in depth many times; he personally explained the reasoning for everything in the text." He said while putting his hand against the side of his briefcase. "He made sure I was fine with his stipulations for coming here and reading the will in front of everyone. Honestly, how could I turn that down? We were so close." She nodded.


    Everyone was summoned to be there at that time in The dining room. Sarah dressed up, thinking it would somehow make a difference in the outcome. She even tried to flirt with Maddock. The detective sat in the corner looking over some notes again, and one officer stood by the door trying to eavesdrop. The other officer was sent to canvas the house again. Jeffery sat at the head of the table. "Ok, I have a few things to go over, but Detective Frede wants to speak to you first. "Oh, right." He stood. Your father''s body will be released today. You may proceed with the funeral arrangements." "Finally," Sarah said. "You can continue, Jeff."  "Thank you." He said. "Firstly, Michael wanted to make sure everyone was here." He called each person''s name, and they answered "present" like they were taking attendance in school. When he got to Elizabeth, they realized she wasn''t there. "Oh, she''s not coming." "She doesn''t want to be here, so let''s keep going," John said. Clara wanted to see what Elizabeth looked like; she was disappointed she wasn''t going to show up."  "Ok, now that everyone is ... mostly here, I can begin. This is the will and testament reading for Michael Vallow. The following words were written by Michael himself."The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    "Good day, you leeches and wastes of space." John laughed, Sarah rolled her eyes, and Edward immediately felt a pang of nostalgia. Michael said that to them a lot as children; both were like pet names, he usually said them as a joke. "I had no doubt you would humor me in this manner, especially since there is money at stake, lots of money. Imagine my death being the only thing that would be able to bring everyone together, assuming Edward did show up. If he didn''t, no harm done; he''s not my son anyway."


    Everyone froze. Clara looked at Edward. He didn''t look shocked at all. He assumed he meant figuratively. He stepped away when he was 18, so he believed Michael cut him out of the family. "That''s right, all you freeloaders, Edward is not my biological son, neither is Linus." The lawyer paused for a moment. Edward''s facial expression changed from smug to surprised. "Congratulations, John, Greg, and Sarah; you are my biological children, oh and of course, Clara." "What¡­" Clara said. Sarah stood up, "What the hell is this?" "Are you serious?" She yelled. He continued. "Don''t worry, I am not confused, Clara; you are my daughter by blood. Why do you think I wanted to take care of you? It''s my fault your mother died, and I couldn''t live with you not having someone to rely on."


    Clara sat with her mouth agape. "This is ridiculous; this is so stupid. Clearly, this is some joke," Sarah yelled. The lawyer looked at her. "Sit down. Before I continue, I want to let everyone know this will is ironclad; there is no appealing or contesting. Michael had this will witnessed by a judge, me, and a police officer. Several copies were hidden around, and they are all the same." He took a deep breath and continued reading. "Now, Sarah, John, Linus, and Greg. You get equal shares in my home and land." Sarah smiled when she noticed Clara was omitted. "Elizabeth gets all of the furniture; she may sell it off or keep it; I don''t care.


    Lastly, my money. All of my money and investments go to Clara Marie Costello." Clara gasped, but it was drowned by everyone else talking and making loud noises. Sara and John were angry. Linus and Greg were somewhat heartbroken. Edward was less affected but still felt hurt that he wasn''t left a trinket of any kind.


    Clara stood silently; she was utterly shocked. She wasn''t even thinking about the money. All she could think about was Michael and all of the time she spent with him. She didn''t know he was her father; she felt like she missed enjoying that fact while he was alive, she felt like it could''ve meant so much more. She started crying. Sarah stood up. "Oh my goodness, what a spoiled little bitch, she''s crying, and she got everything," Sarah yelled. Greg smacked her. "Shut up, you insufferable bitch; she''s probably crying because she just found out who her father was." Clara ran out of the room. "Not everyone is a shallow harpy like you," Greg said, looking at Sarah with disgust. Sarah was enraged and started tearing the room apart; she pulled open the drawer to the buffet table and pulled out table cloths and random trinkets. She tossed them everywhere. She yanked out the drawer and reached back behind it, and pulled out a gun. "Don''t mess with me." She said as she pointed the gun at the door Clara had just left through; it looked like she was about to run after Clara when the police tackled her. "No, Sarah! John yelled. "Grab that gun, and don''t get any prints on it," Frede ordered. "Let''s go." The police took the gun and Sarah to the station. Carl followed.


    The room was filled with chaotic energy. Edward left to find Clara. He wanted to make sure she was alright. He found her sitting on the back steps outside in the garden. Her cheeks were stained with tears, and she shivered as she held her face in her hands. Edward grabbed a blanket from the green room before he walked outside.


    The garden was mostly dead, save for the rare collection of fall flowers. The sky was a pale blue, and the sun had been pushing the clouds away all afternoon. He quietly sat down next to her and placed the blanket around her shoulders. She looked up at him without changing her expression. He put her arms around her to keep her warm. She rested her head against his chest. They sat there a few minutes before Edward spoke. "Come inside with me; I don''t want you to get sick." He helped her up, and they walked back inside. They stood in the green room, and she began to fix her hair.


    "I guess I have to go back into the dining room, don''t I?" She said, trying to compose herself. "I don''t think I can bear being near Sarah." "I don''t know how to put this, but Sara was arrested and taken to the police station." He said. "What?" She said, looking at him. "After you ran out,  she started tearing the room apart, and then suddenly she had a gun in her hand. They tackled her and took her away." "Oh my goodness." She said, putting her hands to her face. "I''m glad I wasn''t there." "Honestly... it looked like she was going to come after you, so it was good you were not there." Clara began to use her hand to wipe the tears off her cheeks, but Edward pulled out a clean handkerchief and gently dabbed her eyes. She smiled. "Do I look ok?" She asked, "perfect." He said.


    They returned to the dining room. Clara sat quietly at the table. She felt guilty for receiving all of Michael''s money. She knew that every one of them felt like they deserved it, even Edward. She knew that they all resented her in some capacity.  Maddock got everything back in order and continued reading. When he finished, Linus stood up. "Would anyone like a drink?" "Everyone but Clara stood up to grab one. He offered Maddock a glass, and he accepted. They talked a bit, and he told them some stories about Micheal.


    Clara and Edward went to the kitchen, and they both sat down at the table. "There is something that is bothering me." He said; she looked at him, urging him to continue. "Did Sarah know the gun was there? Was she tearing apart the drawer because she knew the gun was there or did she happen to find it while she was tearing through and just went with it?" Clara realized that was a very valid question. "That''s terrifying." She said, "She may have known that the gun was there." "Which leads to an even more haunting question." Clara nodded, knowing what he was going to say. "Was that the gun used to kill Michael?" Greg entered the kitchen." Could you two join us back in the dining room? We have to decide on funeral details." Clara was suppressing the news that Michael was her father. She had too much going on to deal with that. But it kept slithering back into her brain.


    John, Linus, and the lawyer were still in the dining room when Greg led Clara and Edward over. "Ok, I think you guys can handle this; I''m going to try to get Sarah out of jail," John said. He grabbed his coat and quickly left.


    "Ok, well, let''s see if we can''t work this out," Greg said. Edward was happy it was just the five of them; he knew everything would remain civil. They laid out what needed to be done, and after a bit, Clara had to excuse herself to get ready for that night.


    Clara started to run a hot bath in the bathroom closest to her room. It was decorated with different shades of blue, surrounding the palate of aquamarine mostly. The floor and walls were a Moroccan tile that Michael had shipped straight from Morocco. He was very fond of all of his bathrooms.


    The clawfoot tub was able to hold the biggest of men, which meant Clara could completely engulf herself in it. She slowly took off her clothes and reached over to the counter. Sitting on the marble was a canister of bath salts; she grabbed it and the glass bottle next to that. The glass bottle held scented oil; it was her favorite, mandarin orange. There were large chunks of spiral clippings of orange skin floating in the bottle. She closed her eyes and sniffed it. The vibrant tropical aroma transported her to a summer scape. It reminded her of flavored ice and the beach. She drizzled it across the surface of the water.


    The hot water hitting the cold porcelain created tufts of steam that leaped up around her.


    She closed her eyes and lied back. In the coma of orange and salt, she drifted off for a moment. She saw Edward enter the room, he was wearing suit pants, and a white blouse tucked into them neatly. His sleeves were rolled up like a detective working the night shift. He wasn''t wearing a tie, and his shirt was partially unbuttoned. The room morphed into an ancient Roman-style bathhouse. The tub became a hot spring pool of sorts. He slowly waded into the water. The steam was still swirling around them as he, completely dressed, made his way to her. She, in turn, was wearing a white slip and nothing else. They met in the water, and their lips touched. As they sunk into the water, embracing Clara awoke gasping for air. She ran some cold water and splashed her face. She looked in the mirror. It was extraordinarily extravagant. Michael fell in love with the mirror when he first saw it. He went through a lot of effort to buy the mirror for her. She smiled, then began to cry. She spent most of her life trying to connect with people that could hold the place for her family. She was so angry that he never told her while he was alive. She felt like she was robbed of knowing he was her father. They lived together all of that time, and he didn''t say anything about it. She thought about what she would have done if she had known while he was alive. She figured she would''ve hugged him more, but she also realized that even though she didn''t know he was her father, he treated her incredibly well, and they created the father-daughter connection even if she didn''t realize it at the time. She pulled a brown plush towel from the towel rack and began to dab herself dry.


    She didn''t like to wipe herself with towels; it dried her skin and made her feel uncomfortable. Dabbing also helped keep the oil absorbed. Her dress for the night hung on the back of the bathroom door. The slip and base layers were silk, and it slithered down her body like a stream of water. The second layer was a thin sheer black tulle that was light and fluttered when she walked. Both layers draped to the ground and a bit behind her.


    Edward, outside her dream,  was wearing an all-black suit,  white dress shirt, and pale blue tie. She walked down the stairs, and he stood at the front door admiring her. She felt fluttering in her chest. He held out her jacket, and they walked outside to his car. The wind whirled around them. He opened the car door for her, and she smiled. "I''m so excited to ride in this." She said Edward smiled; he couldn''t believe that she was interested in his car, the car he had put his heart and soul into. He promised to give her a proper ride when they had more time.


    They drove to the restaurant. The lights flew by the window, and she felt like she was entering the future. The restaurant wasn''t that far from the estate and was closer to the theater. It was a classy Italian restaurant that was dimly lit with candles. He escorted her by holding her elbow. Her coat was wool and had a beaver fur trim around the collar and down to the first button near her ribs. She liked the coat because it allowed the pairing of brown and black together. At dinner, they sat silently for a few minutes, but that didn''t last long. They seemed to have everything to say. Edward told her about his job and why he came back to America. They talked about everything except the murder.


    "What was Michael like when you lived with him?" She asked. Edward hesitated. "I don''t know if I should tell you... you seem to have a pretty positive opinion of him, and my experiences may destroy that." "No, it''s ok; I want to know." She said,


    He told her a story that he felt defined what sort of person Michael was. He couldn''t remember the details exactly, but he tried his best to remember everything. "Dad took John to work with him when he was around fourteen years old. When they returned, John began to beat me frequently; when my mom found out, she yelled at John and demanded to know where he learned what he was doing. My father... I mean, Michael took him on a trip to an associate''s house to pick up something, but the man didn''t have what he wanted to beat him while John watched. My mother was so mad at Michael for teaching him that sort of behavior. She took all of us kids away, and we stayed with her mother for about a week. When we returned, everything went back to normal, except my mom acted a lot colder towards Michael. There were a lot of contentious instances with John and Michael specifically. John wanted to be as clever and powerful as our dad, but he was young, which was a difficult task for a young boy. Michael was involved in highly complex business scenarios.


    It was a very aggressive personality vs. another. When he was older, Michael allowed him to join his company as an associate of some kind, and he used the opportunity to try and manipulate the other employees. Of course, they were all loyal to Mike and told him.


    That was the last straw for him, and he cast him out. He moved away. And didn''t return until recently. He seemed to have changed a lot. "WOW. It sort of makes me feel like not growing up with him may have been safer than with him." "You might be right." The conversation went back to Edward''s business, and he talked about the cars. They both felt like they connected when they were alone together. They eventually finished dinner and left for the theater. Edward invited Linus and Greg to see the show, and they all sat together in the fourth row. The house lights were dimmed, and the symphony started playing.


    Those moments in the dark before the show started were exhilarating and energy-fueling. It was a familiar feeling that every performer felt, no matter the medium. It was a magical tingle that haunted performers. A sensation hard to recreate anywhere else.   The lights rose on stage, and the dancing began. It took no effort for Edward to pick Clara out of the dozens of dancers that ran on and off the stage. He watched her delicate limbs and graceful movements. She was fueled by passion and music.

 Chapter Seven: The Shot

    Thomas and William sat in the living room silently. A rare occurrence. It was an odd dynamic without Edward, but it did not hinder them from having fun at his expense. "I wonder when he''s going to return?" William asked, honestly wanting to know the answer. "Eh, who knows," Thomas said as his body slouched even further into the couch. "Well, what are we going to do about production? The team is coming here next week." "Well, we can''t wait for him; if he''s not back, then he''s not back. We are starting either way." William opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, Thomas jumped in. "I know what you''re going to say; it''s Edward''s design, I know. If this weren''t a time-sensitive scenario, I wouldn''t do this." William nodded. "He would do the same if it were one of us." "That''s true; he would." "I''m not going to worry about it until we need to; we have time. Why wouldn''t he return soon? He wasn''t close to his father." "I don''t know much about his family." The men both sat facing in the direction of the bay window. It was opened a tiny bit, and slender snippets of air slithered into the room.


    The wind was a refreshing touch on a sunny day. Their silence was interrupted by the sound of someone''s knuckles rapping on the front door. William stood; Thomas put his hand out, a gesture telling him not to bother. "I have to...." He said. "What if it''s important?" Thomas rolled his eyes. "You''re too nice, and it never is." William politely listened to his words from the hallway then continued to the front door. Another tap occurred just as he pulled open the door. "Can I help you? Oh, good afternoon Carol." "Aw honey, you''re so polite; how''s Edward coming on?" She handed him a canvas bag. "He''s still away. I did talk to him on the telephone the night he arrived in Butler." He looked down at the bag she was holding. "Just some homemade dinner for you boys. I figured you could use it." "Oh my, that''s so nice of you." Would you like to come in?" She peered past him and lowered her voice: "Is, um, is Thomas home?" "He is." He said, laughing. "I better not then; he scares me quite a bit." William put his head down, nodding. "I understand." "Are you sure I can''t offer you anything?" "There is one thing, I''m alone a lot. Would you come to my house tomorrow night for dinner, alone... obviously?" "Oh, of course, I would be happy to." "Good." She said. "Well, enjoy the food, see you tomorrow. Let''s say around five." "Sounds lovely." He said, a bit surprised by her overwhelming influx of kindness. "What was that about?" Thomas asked, annoyed that he answered the door in the first place. "What''s that?" He said, pointing to the bag. "It was Carol; she made us some dinner." Thomas bent his lip down and nodded his head with an approving frown. "Not bad, maybe she isn''t that horrible...No; actually, she is." William shook his head and went to the kitchen to unload the bag. "Does that mean you''re not going to eat what she made?" "No, I''m not stupid; a free meal is a free meal." William laughed. They sat in the dining room.


    To break the awkward feeling, they started to talk about Edward. "How much do you want to bet Edward really has found a wife there and is not coming back. ". "Oh, I hope not; he would unquestionably do that... Eh, that makes me sick; we don''t need anyone else here." "I''m sure he will be back before he finds a woman." "Let''s hope, I mean he''s so short, maybe he won''t even come across a woman shorter than him." They laughed. Thomas and William spent at least an hour making fun of him. In the end, they realized it was not nearly as fun as when they made fun of him to his face.


    They had little to do the next day. William had dinner with Carol, which was uneventful. She asked him about his work and he asked about her son. She asked him to come back again. He agreed. William didn''t have much work since Edward''s design was picked and not his. They just had to wait to work out the details for their deal.


    William sat on the edge of his bed. The lights were off, and the window was shielded by the drapes; they weren''t nearly as thick as the drapes in the living room, but they kept a decent amount of the light out.


    The bedroom was shadowed but not dark because it was still daytime. There was about a centimeter gap between the curtain and the window, which let in natural light. The natural light from that one window was the only source of light, which left the room in a murky shadow. It was like the haze of an evening in the summer. When William returned to Carol''s house the next day, the dynamic was a lot different. It was less friendly and much more tense. They were joined by Carol''s son David Ray. He was in his late twenties and seemed very overprotective of his mother. William could quickly tell he did not like any surprises or uncertain outcomes. Even his clothes were meticulously ironed. That night Carol wanted to talk about the car company. No matter what the topic changed to, she would bring it back to the Copan. William thought it was odd, but he figured she was very isolated from anyone with his car knowledge, so he humored her. It wasn''t until her son interjected, trying to quell her odd obsession, that William''s former thoughts were verified.


    Dinner finished without mentioning the topic, but when her son went to take out the garbage, she lowered her voice and leaned In. "Don''t mind him; he''s not any fun." William pursed his lips flat. "So, how fast do they go?" William laughed. He shook the notion of her questions being oddly obsessive and went back to thinking she was just a quirky old lady. "I can take you for a ride." She smiled at his offer but also looked taken aback. "Oh no, those are too monstrous for...."." I don''t think so." Her son said. He returned abruptly as though he was listening in on them. She glared at him. William eventually left. He didn''t like the dynamic Carol''s son brought. . William told Thomas about David Ray. While William droned on, Thomas thought about other things.


    That night the air got a lot colder than it had been. It was very dark out, and they had barely breached the late hours of the night. William wrapped himself in a thick blanket and snacked on popcorn while listening to the radio. Thomas was asleep, so he had to keep the volume very low, and to hear it, he was practically touching it with his ears, hunched over and anticipating every word.


    They were both in the living room. Thomas has a habit of falling asleep on the couch. William would not have been so considerate, but he didn''t want to deal with Thomas. When his program finished, he quietly clicked off the radio and walked into the hall. He walked over to make sure the front door was locked, and when he turned the knob, he saw a glimpse of someone or something moving around near their garbage can. He stood still watching for a moment and then realized that he wasn''t watching a raccoon but a person. He stepped outside; the woman continued to dig. He walked closer. "Carol?" He said, completely confused that an old lady was digging through his garbage at night. Carol looked up. "Oh, hi, William." She said, smiling. She greeted him like they were casually passing in a department store. "What are you doing?" He asked, wondering if maybe her son was right to be concerned by some of her actions. "Trying to see what he was looking for" "Who?" William asked, partially curious and partially humoring her. "My son. I woke up to use the bathroom and saw a beam of light flash past my window. I looked out and saw my David digging through your garbage cans. He was very fast about it and left with some crumpled-up paper balls." William furrowed his brow; he tried to figure out if Carol was losing her mind or if she had uncovered something odd. "Does your son live with you?" He asked. "No, but the last few weeks, he''s been over a lot, a lot more than he''s ever been. You know... I''d like to think he''s finally taken an interest in me, but I think he''s obsessed with those." She gestured to the cars. "Interesting." He said to himself. "Would you like me to walk you home? She stood up and brushed off her knees. "Thank you," William was left with a disgruntled look on his face. His eyes were so scrunched they were almost closed.


    He couldn''t get the image of Carol digging through the garbage out of his head. He wanted to know what was happening with her and her son.


    The next day when Thomas returned from lunch, William told him about the encounter. They realized that the only papers he could''ve pulled out of the garbage would have been scratched car sketches and specification information. Thomas called Sean to discuss the situation. He thought it would be better to talk to someone who knew them before he addressed them himself. William walked into the room just as Thomas hung up the phone. "Sean''s going to investigate." "Ok, good. I''m glad you took my advice and called Sean before dealing with them yourself." "Well, that''s not my style, but we don''t have the time to deal with it. Are you ready to go?" "Hold on. I''m still cleaning up our breakfast plates." "Come on; we just ate; the food isn''t going to rot while we''re gone." "I guess..." William said.


    William strode outside to start the car; he saw Carol fiddling with her mailbox. "Hi, sweety." She said, "Where are you headed out to?" "Oh, we are going to finalize the car deal." Carol looked shocked. "You mean you are setting up here permanently?" "Yeah, why?" He asked. "I thought you were just scouting this location; I didn''t realize this was your final choice." "Yup." He said. "Ah, that''s good!" She said, smiling.


    They drove to the factory to check it out before they signed the final paperwork. It was a textile factory years before, but the company that owned it expanded, so they moved to a more prominent place, and the factory closed down. It had been for sale for a while, and it was rented out to various companies.


    Roger was standing outside the factory''s office entrance. He waited for the men to arrive. He had no idea that they would be driving there in a Copan, and he got excited when they pulled up. He tried to act professionally by walking to the car to greet them, but he was just trying to get a closer look at the vehicle. Thomas researched South Catma Industries a bit more since their last meeting; they were a prominent steel company and held a considerable fortune. Roger managed the lesser business details. Roger started the tour by leading them through the office door. The office was for the floor manager. It was small and cramped. He funneled them through the other door that led to the factory floor. Everything was either a rusty brown color or gray. The brown was mainly limited to wear and tear on the ancient metal walls and large doors that allowed big products to be pulled out.


    The doors were big enough to pull their cars through. William noted that. Thomas told William to write down the features or anything he noticed during the tour. There were long tables in different sectors that were for additional production steps. There were many people in the factory; they rented it out whenever they could to smaller businesses that produced a gross of their product a few times a year.


    The product lines were pretty standard, which made it great to use for different operations. "The Lucky Toy company is making their Gregtmas toys this month. They have occupied the buildings during October every year since this building was vacated."


    They walked through the lines, and Roger suggested what sections could be applied to their production process. "You certainly did your homework," Thomas said. "That''s my job," Roger said. "I have to make sure we find a place that is feasible and works with your requirements." William and Thomas looked at each other and exchanged a look that expressed that they were both impressed. They climbed the open staircase to the second story, which was a loft that looked over the factory floor. There were two huge offices. "Here, we can remodel this area to create three separate offices or one big one depending on what your preference is." He knocked on the office door, the temporary manager in charge of the toy production opened it. They stepped inside, and suddenly, there was a loud bang. The glass that covered the front of the office shattered. They covered their faces as the glass flew past them. William was the first to look over through the broken window. He saw a person on the second-floor platforms. The person was hidden by the shadows and a gray silhouette while running away. "What just happened?" Roger said. "Look." He yelled. This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    The noise from the factory floor covered up the noise of the glass shattering. The toy manager, Clint, looked at what William was yelling about. He jumped past the other guys and hopped onto the platform. Thomas knelt looked at the wall behind them. The wall was made of softwood, and a bullet was nestled in it. "Look." He said. Roger looked, "oh my goodness! I thought the glass shattered from air pressure or something." "Nope. It looks like someone tried to shoot one of us."


    The police came about ten minutes later. By then, they had left the main offices and were standing inside the tiny floor manager''s office by their car. They figured it was the safest place since it didn''t have any windows or any sites to hide.


    The detective introduced himself; his name was Oliver Wenhom. He had been the lead detective at the local police station for ten years. In those ten years, he cycled through several partners, and at that moment, he didn''t have one.


    They explained who they were and what had happened. The detective explained that high-profile businesses often attract unwanted attention. "Just keep your eyes open."


    "We aren''t sure who the target was. It could be me or William, Roger or Clint. "Thomas said. The detective looked around. "The shooter looked like he was trying to warn someone. Do any of you have enemies or someone that comes to mind that could have the capacity to do this?" William shook his head. "I can''t think of anyone either," Roger said. "Though I work for a high profile company too, there could be thousands of suspects."


    The detective, Oliver Wenhom was about six feet and three inches tall, and his ethnicity was indeterminable. He was semi muscular, his hair was black, and his eyes were dark brown. The detective went home with the duo to get some information.


    They began to talk, and William served them food. The detective revealed that they should post an officer at their house. Thomas thought his idea was a gross overreaction. "You can''t be serious. We were shot at, and we don''t even know if we were the targets."  "There''s a little more to it than that." The detective said. "What do you mean?" "Well, there have been a string of murders. They all start the same way. The victim gets shot at but never hurt, then a day or so later they are found dead by other means." "Oh," William said. "That does make things a little more serious." He looked at Thomas. The detective continued. "It''s not really about protection per se. It''s more about getting caught in the event. "Alright, we accept the protection," Thomas said. "Good, now let''s start with some information. Have you come across anything weird lately? "I haven''t noticed anything odd." What about that garbage can thing," Thomas said. William''s eyes got wider. "Yeah, that might be something. Our neighbor Carol is a little old lady who has a son that visits her; he''s pretty mean. Some weird stuff has been going on with them. Like, he never used to visit her, but ever since we moved in, he''s been visiting her more often. Last night I saw her digging through our trash. Her son always alludes that she is senile, but when I asked her what she was doing, she said she saw her son digging through the trash and wanted to know what he was looking for. She is like the neighborhood''s private eye." He said, laughing. "She has a notebook and loves writing every movement down." "Even her sons?" "Yes, I imagine so." "I''ll check her out in the morning." They sat and ate, then talked for a bit. Everything was pretty professional until Thomas brought out the alcohol.


    The detective stayed there that night, and it turned into a party. Thomas was a bad influence in general, but he was not as dangerous as William. Thomas was unmistakably a rough person; he was a fan of drinking and anything reckless. But William did all the same things and had the appearance of a straight-laced person. The detective fell under their umbrella of fun. Thomas began to drink to get over the incident; William started out slower than him. Detective Oliver Wenhom thought it couldn''t hurt to have one scotch. That''s all it took to get him to loosen up. They had an entertaining night playing cards and joking around.


    The night trekked on, and the detective eventually fell asleep on the couch. He was offered Edward''s bed, but he wasn''t interested.


    He, like any stereotypical detective, had on a leather shoulder holster that hid his guns under his jacket, which he slept with while he was there. The fall chill moved into their bones as the morning approached. The three of them ate breakfast together.


    They sat together in the living room for a portion of the afternoon. The detective was going through papers and writing a list. Detective Wenhom was drinking coffee when Thomas darted, and he spilled the coffee on his shirt. He jumped up. "Damn it." He said to himself. He set his cup down, pulled off his holsters, and removed his shirt. He was wearing an undershirt. His skin was darker under his clothes than the skin that appeared when he was wearing a suit.


    It was not much darker, but just enough to notice that it was odd. He was distinctly Italian, and William suspected that race and appearance played a bigger part in the police force in America than in England. He knew it wasn''t ever black vs. white; it was much more complicated than that.


    He returned to the living room with his shirt and holster back on. His shirt was damp, but he didn''t care. He didn''t plan on staying around after he finished his paperwork.


    The trees in their yard had almost completely shed their leaves, and they carpeted the grass like a festive carpet. The detective put his jacket on and went to visit Carol. Carol''s son David Ray was there, and as Detective Wenhom expected, he was not friendly. "I heard you keep a journal of everyone''s activities around here?" The detective asked Carol. She smiled. "Yes! Would you like to see it?" Before she could stand up, her son shut her down. "I don''t think that''s a good idea, mom. Sit down; you''re getting over a cold." David Ray led Detective Wenhom into the kitchen and told him that all of her notes were sort of delusional, and he was trying to squash her obsessive behavior. "Would I be able to see the notebook anyway? I can determine for myself if it''s worth my time." "I would rather you didn''t." He said."


    The detective realized his efforts to see the notebook were not going to be successful until David Ray wasn''t there, so he returned to Thomas''s house.


    Carol''s son thought the detective had left the neighborhood because there wasn''t a police vehicle anywhere. Carol watched him enter the men''s house and waited for her son to leave for work. She had her notebook hidden under the living room couch cushion. Carol dug out the notebook then ran over to her neighbors. The detective answered the door and smiled when he saw what Carol was holding. He welcomed her in, but she said she couldn''t stay, so she handed him the notebook and ran back home. "That''s odd; her son treats her like she''s not athletic." He said to himself.


    The sky was a haunting gray that morning. There were substantial fluffy dark clouds spraying light raindrops at random intervals. Detective Wenhom sat down on the couch and read through Carol''s notebook. The room was very dark. There were two windows in the room, the bay window and a smaller window on the parallel wall. They never moved the thick curtain, so the left side of the room was always sulking in darkness.


    Carol''s notebook started a few months prior. Back then, she was still very active, but she broke her ankle and was starting to go stir crazy. Her nurse wheeled her to the bedroom window during the day, and she started to become entertained by the action outside. There wasn''t a lot of action, but it broke up her boredom. She ended up needing to stay off her ankle longer than she expected, so she was stuck at her window even longer. By the time Edward, William and Thomas moved in; she was deep into her stalking hobby.


    Detective Oliver Wenhom noticed that her son started to visit his mom more often since William, Edward, and Thomas moved there. He wasn''t sure if she hadn''t recorded his movements before or he suddenly started showing up. He wrote that down along with a few other questions in another notebook. Detective Wenhom left with the notebooks and returned to the police station.


    William enjoyed the peace while Thomas was still asleep on the couch. Ultimately, he decided to head to his room. His bed there was higher than his bed at his home in Longbridge. It took him a while to get used to it; he was very particular about certain things. To him, beds were essential, and the slightest annoyance while trying to sleep led to a lot of unwanted anger. He wasn''t as particular when he was drunk, but that wasn''t a nightly occurrence.


    When he was just getting comfortable, someone knocked on the front door. William groaned as he got up and slowly walked into the hallway. When he opened the door, he saw Roger standing there with a clipboard tucked under his arm. He always looked ready for a boardroom. "Oh, hello Roger, will you just give me one moment?" He asked. Roger nodded. William left the door open and ran into the living room. "Thomas!" He whispered into his ear. "Roger is here!" He placed his hand on his shoulder. "Who cares?" He said, still under the duress of sleep. "Thomas, money!" "I''m up!" He said. Thomas got up and left the room; William ran back to the door, "Sorry about that." He said. He welcomed him into the sitting room. The room was very bright that day; the windows were not covered by the thick curtains since the detective had opened them earlier. He gestured for him to sit down on the couch. "Tea?" "No, thank you." He said. "I wanted to talk about yesterday." "Yeah, that went differently than I expected." He said, laughing. Roger didn''t laugh; he was too focused on his work. "South Catma Industries is ready to set up the deal officially this week if you''re ready and if you like the factory." "Let me go get Thomas; he''s going over some papers in the dining room, I think." He excused himself and went to the dining room. Thomas just finished eating and was trying to clean himself up. "Ready?" He asked. "Why the hell not." They returned to the living room


    They set up a meeting two days away. Thomas wanted to get the deal signed as soon as possible, but he wanted Edward to be there. He figured that he could wait two days but not anymore. Thomas called Edward to tell him.


    Detective Oliver Wenhom was still at the station by the time night rolled around. He ate dinner at his desk and looked over all of the notes he took with the time frames lined out. His methods for solving crimes were pretty meticulous. He drew out timelines. He liked being able to see where everything sat in a big picture sort of way. He had a few leads and a few suspects, but he still had a long way to go and didn''t want them to panic or alert the public. He made sure all the necessary precautions were taken without revealing anything.


    The leaves were gently drifting down from the trees outside the station. They had stunning dark red leaves that were waxy and large. They released themselves from the tree slowly and smoothly floated back and forth, cutting through the air while moving towards the ground. The leaves and strands of grass were wet. Each blade of grass fluttered under the peeking son. The droplets glistened under the oddly bright fall sky.


    The air was not as cold as it was on most October days. The wind felt like a cupped hand scooping through a tepid bath rather than haunting icy daggers. William tossed on a wool scarf that did not match his wool sweater at all. His sweater was dark green with a hint of brown, and the scarf was blue with red stripes.


    He walked outside, grabbed a rake that was by standing up against the wall near the door, and started raking the leaves away from the sidewalk. He didn''t think raking leaves off the grass was necessary, but he did consider getting them away from the sidewalk was critical in preventing slipping accidents. The slick sidewalk wouldn''t have been a problem if everything wasn''t wet,


    The phone rang, and William looked through the front window to see if Thomas was going to answer it. He didn''t see him at first, but by the third ring, he popped into the room and picked up the receiver. William went back to raking.


    Looking down at the ground caused his hair to flop in front of his eyes. While he was looking away from the leaves, something caught his eye.


    There was a black car sitting in front of the empty house at the edge of the cul de sac. He froze and watched it discreetly for a few minutes. He was interrupted by Thomas, who opened the front door and told William to join him inside. Thomas brought a tea kettle from the kitchen into the sitting room. "Tea?" "Yes." The tea was full-bodied English, which was brewed in the pot.


    "Who was on the phone?" William asked, breaking the silence. "Oh, yeah... that''s what I was doing." He laughed. "It was Detective Oliver Wenhom; he said he is coming over later today to talk about the incident." "It must be serious, or he would have told us over the phone." "Maybe."

 Chapter Eight: The Page

    The next day Clara left the house after breakfast to go to the dance studio. Cecelia was delighted to see her. "Come here, girl!" She said, clearing a spot on the bench in the dressing room. She was dying to know how her date was. Clara told her about the dinner and how wonderful she thought it was to talk to him. "Talking to him was effortless; there weren''t many pauses, and no part of the evening was bad. I enjoyed all of it." She then went on to describe what happened after dinner. "Of course, you were there when I brought Edward, Linus, and Greg backstage. She looked at her. "Okay.. okay, you know," Cecelia said. "I surprisingly hit it off with Greg..." "You took him home, didn''t you..." "Ehh... we never really made it that far." "What do you mean?" "Um, well, we went and spent time in my dressing room." "Ooooh." "So, what did you two do after you left?" Cecelia asked. "Edward and I drove home in his gorgeous car, and it was sort of weird because, I mean, usually, when I go on a date, the guy will walk me to my front door then leave, but we sort of live together." "Well, you don''t live in the same room, so it''s sort of like you both live in the same apartment building." "Oh, yeah, that''s true. That makes it feel less weird. So, we went inside and stayed dressed up while we chatted in the sitting room. I started to yawn, and I stood up to go to bed, and he stood up too and kissed me hard. We were both facing each other. My hair was a mess from dancing. He pushed some of the strands back and held his hand on my cheek. Our lips met, and it turned from a gentle gesture to something more. He held my head with both hands." Clara blushed. "I went to bed after that, and of course, I couldn''t sleep."


    You know if you ever feel uncomfortable in the house you can stay with me. Clara smiled. Thanks, I think I''m okay right now. Jana sat down across from them on the bench. Hey girls. Hey, Jana." Clara said. "Oh, that reminds me, how''s the farm going?" Jana and her sister bought a farm together in Namur, not far from town. Jana kept her job as a dancer but spent all of her other time farming. "Well, I''m glad we bought after the harvest season so we can build things up and get ready for the huge task of planting. "Oh yeah, I understand that." cc said. "My great aunt owned a farm, and when I was young, I would visit sometimes, and there was a lot of work."  "Yeah, we are going to hire some workers once spring comes around." "That''s good. I couldn''t imagine just trying to run it with two people."  "Yeah, we aren''t going to drown in this; we know when we need help." They laughed. "You two should come to see it sometime; well, first, let me fix it up a bit more: I''m almost done with the main house repairs."  "How bad was the house when you bought it?" "Honestly, not terrible I mean, it looked daunting, but my sister set me straight, and it turned out she was right, and the big hole in the wall wasn''t a big deal. The only struggle now is clearing the inside of all the crap animals brought in. I''m hoping Alice has it all. Don''t mess before I get home." Clara laughed. "Hey, look, you got her to laugh." "Shut up, CeCe. I laugh sometimes." Jana smiled. "Some days, I''d bet against it," she said. Clara smiled. "I know I don''t laugh a lot, but I smile. That''s close." Clara was very quiet, most definitely an introvert among the outgoing.


    "It''s okay, Clara," Jana said, patting her shoulder. "You will get used to it eventually." "Yeah, maybe another ten years should do it." She said sarcastically. "Oh my goodness, that was so good." Cc and Jana laughed until they cried.


    Cecelia went back to the estate with Clara. She made sure she looked extra appealing; she hoped to run into Greg. When they got to Clara''s home, they were both reminded that a murder investigation was still ongoing. They put men aside for a bit to talk about the case. Clara told her all of the events and findings of the day. "I don''t know who did it. If the gun Sarah had isn''t the murder weapon, then we are at square one." I have an idea." Cecelia said, trying to suppress her excitement. "Yeah?" Clara inquired. "We should go to the alley." "You mean where he died?" She said, "Do you think that''s a good idea? I don''t know if I could face that." "Do you mind if I go alone then?" "Go for it." She said, laughing at Cecelia''s sick enthusiasm. Clara noticed Carl had returned. He left the day before when Sarah was arrested. He looked like he hadn''t slept at all. She wanted to know what happened but didn''t want to ask. He approached her and apologized for Sarah''s behavior. She accepted his sentiment, knowing it was not his fault. Clara introduced Cecelia to him, and they all sat together in the sitting room.


    It started snowing heavily; the flakes were large and stuck to the ground. The curtains usually wholly covered the windows in winter, but that day, they were half drawn. A lot of cold air slithered inside. She stood up and opened the curtains the whole way so she could admire the beautiful snow. Carl held a cup of hot tea close to his face letting the steam soothe his tired eyes. "You look beat; why don''t you head up to one of the guest rooms and take a nap?" "I will eventually; I''m just too tired to walk up there." They laughed. As dancers, they knew the pain of walking upstairs after a challenging workout. Clara opened a book and leafed through it while they all chatted casually. She stopped at a poem.


    I set Rome on fire; I ran through the streets, bringing it to life with amazing flames and embers.


    Tearing apart the fabric of life and stagnant non-existence


    I stood above and watched as everything danced in a horrid warm glow.


    Like a sunset, rising from the ground.


    The crimson hues bled through the alley, creating cuttable lusting heat. It clung to my body as I tried to fight.


    Its smothering fingers urged me that my clothes were too overbearing, and layer by layer, I freed myself.


    The ritual signaled the coming of relief.


    Nature obeyed.


    Tap, tap, simple raindrops.


    Streaming slowly,


    distorting the view.


    I closed my eyes and reached out.


    The droplets tickled my skin,


    leaving a cool hand in its place.


    I sat on the edge, closely and carefully examining the water in front of me.


    I took a deep breath and slowly extended my leg, allowing my toes to touch the water.


    I jolted back when the icy hand of a lingering winter grabbed onto me.


    It was quickly soothed by the shining spring sun.


    I daringly approached the water again.


    This time more forcefully, allowing tiny droplets


    to lightly feather the parts of my legs not completely engulfed in water.


    My hands gripped the dirt as I leaned forward.


    The water, clear like a summer''s sky.


    I could see the slow movements of the plants below the surface.


    I grazed on with my foot, it tickled, and its strands curled themselves around me.


    I sat still, letting the water become motionless.


    I looked at the flawless, smooth surface; it was admirable.


    While she was occupied reading the poem, Greg entered the room. Greg, Cecelia, and Carl started a game of cards. Greg and Cecilia made The game unbearable for Carl because of their constant flirting.


    Carl left a few hands in to lie down. Cecelia nudged Clara with her elbow, and she left the room too.


    A while back, Clara and Cecelia created a system. If one of them was in a situation where someone is a third wheel, there are two gestures they use, if one of them grabs the other''s wrist, it means that they don''t want them to leave, and if they nudge the other, that means they want to be alone. Clara was glad to escape them. After reading the poem, all she wanted to do was read some more. She sat down in the dining room and laid the book flat.


    She turned to the next page of the book.


    The booth was cold; unlike the humid air of the old carriage house,  the icy wind was funneled through the window.


    The windows were, of course, old and no longer protective of the elements like they should have been.


    The tiny cracks in the corners were widened year by year, succumbing to some kind of rot that left dusty finely ground remains in the sill itself.


    The room had one wall entirely made of glass.


    He used to stand there and look down from it.


    The vision was beautiful; past the cables and cords, there was a freshly sealed stage. The simple piece of ground was held under the brightest of lights.


    It was solid but a bit bumpy from the warping of the wood. No one noticed the flaws; to the viewers, it was the mouthpiece for the beautiful acts that spanned years and years.


    Each foot that stepped onto that stage was a cog in the larger machine,  whether they were memorable or easily forgotten.


    The heat had started to make its way back; the cold air kowtowed to its sticky tongue-like fingers as they oozed from the vents.


    There was rarely silence when more than one person was lurking about. Each footstep and movement was recorded on any available ears.


    The sounds were comforting, knowing where another person was.


    The singular venture there held a haunting air that slithered through the floors.


    There were four floors, and the higher the climb, the darker and creepier the scene.


    Then the stage was empty; the show was finally over.


    In the span of action, the scene only lasted a few minutes. The stage was never left for too long.


    The addiction and desire to return never died.


    They all returned.


    When the silence was broken, it did not rest until the stage was empty again.


    It was tedious, very tedious newcomers ask why those veterans keep returning.


    He always chuckled when presented with that question¡ªnever moving his gaze from beyond the glass.


    "I''m drawn in." He would say.


    "She magically lures me here,


    the thrill, the power. It is intoxicating."


    Like a hypnotized sailor before a harpy, he spoke then returned to his silence


    Edward entered the room. "Hello. How are you doing?" He asked. "Oh, I''m sorry, you''re reading; I''ll leave." She looked up. "No, no, it''s fine; let''s go into the green room."


    They started talking about literature. The book Clara was reading was a collection of poems by her favorite author. Edward sat next to her on the couch. "Read to me." He said. She smiled and obeyed.


    They both sat with their hips touching while she read snipers from the book.


    I stood like a board in the sand, tall and stiff.


    The breeze coming from the ocean danced around my body playfully as I remained motionless, staring out at the water.This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    Each wave convulsed inward and shuttered back out to the shore. I watched.


    The slippery, thin hand of the water slithered across the sand, meeting me at my feet. I closed my eyes.


    I could hear it now, sloshing through its foaming remnants, lightly spewing flecks of salty water against my face.


    I held back a smile as my cheeks continued to be tickled by the spray.


    I only stood there to soothe my soul from the tumultuous world behind me. For that brief second,


    I was able to forget my pain and enjoy the fickle reality of nature.


    The thin harsh grass stood valiantly in the bright sun.


    Tall knights of their time-shifted back and forth, barely quaking in the cool breeze.


    To the touch, they bite the skin but are feeble if attacked the right way.


    A hand plunged into the soft, fresh dirt like a young child into a cool pond after a long winter.


    Determination, grasping everything enveloping the space within the palm.


    The simplicity was quickly destroyed by its ally, chaos. The hand flung the roots and plant carcasses into the sky in a natural ritualistic celebration that danced down in celebration like the rain after a horrid drought. The remains return to the ground and meld into themselves.


    They started off just joking around, but as she uttered each word, he fell for her further.


    Clara finished the poem, and Edward kissed her. Their lips met. She could feel their soft texture as he pulled her in closer.


    On the other side of the hall, Cecelia and Greg were in the office and began to take off their clothes. Greg pushed the desk to the side; Cecelia was attracted to his raw strength. She jumped onto him, and they made their way to the floor. About an hour later, they were putting their clothes back on and trying to get the black soot stains off of their skin from getting too close to the fireplace. Cecelia and Greg tussled the carpet, and as she lifted up one side to straighten it, she saw a piece of paper under the rug. In her rush, she shoved it into her pocket as they cleaned up. They awkwardly parted, and Cecelia ran off to find Clara.


    Cecelia found Clara in her bedroom. She laughed when she saw her covered in soot. "You are not subtle." "You know you love me." She said; she sat down and realized she still had the paper in her pocket. She pulled it out, unfolded it, and read it. Her face changed from cheerful to concerned. "Clara." She said seriously. "What''s wrong?" She asked, noticing her sudden change in demeanor. "I think I found something important."  "This was under the rug in the study; it''s an extortion letter. "Oh my goodness, this is huge!" Clara said. "Really?" She asked, "I mean, I thought it might be, but I wasn''t sure how." "This is the writing of the person extorting Elizabeth, so that might mean we have the killer''s handwriting here."


    The snow that fell aggressively the night before had almost wholly disappeared. The only remnants were small patches in the shade, mostly under bushes that didn''t lose their needles in the winter. After breakfast, Clara and Cecelia went to the police station. It was around thirty degrees but felt a lot warmer. Cecelia''s car wasn''t anything fancy, and it wasn''t her car. The car belonged to the dance studio. They owned two cars, which were for the dancers to use whenever they needed one. Clara never noticed how lowbrow the car was until she saw Edwards Copan.   Her car was hard to drive, and the accelerator didn''t work well. It always felt like the bottom of the car was dragging against the pavement. They made it to the station and showed the detective the page they found.


    Clara sat in the games room. The fire roared in the hearth as she snuggled under a blanket in an oversized lounge chair. Greg, Edward, Linus, and John were playing pool. Clara liked being in the room with them. She loved being surrounded by people a lot of the time. It was comforting, like she had a family. Something she didn''t think much about was how being Michael''s daughter meant she was technically related to John and Sarah. She wasn''t particularly fond of Sarah, but she thought John was a nice regular man. She didn''t hate anything about him, but she didn''t know him that well.


    They took a break, and three of them went to get food. John stayed and sat in the chair next to Clara. So we''re half-siblings. He said. She laughed, I guess so. If there''s anything you would like to know about me, feel free to ask. Thank you, that''s very nice of you. I do know you''ve moved once or twice; where was the most exciting place you lived?" "Cape Town in South Africa, he said England and the USA are both lovely places, but my time in The Southern Hemisphere was very memorable. Sounds interesting, I haven''t been out of the country, but I don''t plan on leaving anyway. Have you lived in Butler your whole life? She nodded. Yes.


    The men returned, and they went back to playing. She watched them; more specifically, she watched Edward. His brown hair was slicked back lightly; he was wearing slacks and a button-up sweater with an ascot. She missed Michael. He wore an ascot often. She loved how they looked.


    Detective Frede was mailed some records, and he finally received them; he called in Detective Jones. I remember you mentioning Greta and that it was the precursor to Village? He nodded. Did you say it was founded in South Africa a few years ago? "yes." He handed Jones a paper. Read this. He looked over it. "Oh my goodness." The handwriting matches too. "


    The detective took two officers to the estate. Lucy led them to the games room. "Detective, John said, want to join us for around?" No, sorry, I''m here on business. John Vallow, you are under arrest for the extortion of Elizabeth Vallow." Clara turned around quickly. Everyone else watched the scene unfold, completely shocked. "John?" John walked over to Frede casually. "don''t worry everyone, just a silly mistake, you know how city police never get it right." he was seemingly amused as they walked him out.


    John was utterly cooperative the whole trip to the station; he was calm and collected until they entered the bullpen. He saw Carl sitting in front of an officer''s desk, and as he passed to the cells, he jumped over and started strangeling Carl with his handcuffs. The sudden action threw everyone off, and before they could get John to let go, he had killed Carl. Carl''s body slipped off the chair and collapsed on the ground.


    John took the second of chaos to grab a gun and take an officer hostage. Everyone froze, he yelled. There were three officers and the detective in the bullpen with John. Clara walked into the station as this was happening. She tried to back out, but Kohn saw her. I didn''t want you to see this, he said. I liked you. What? She said; she put her hands up. "I''m not here to assert judgments." He smiled. "Alright, get into the detective''s office. You will be safe there. She thanked him and ran behind him. She ducked behind the partition and slowly crawled under the desk. The office was its own room where the top half of the walls were glass and the bottom half wood. Crawling allowed her to remain unseen. She opened a drawer and pulled out a gun. She loaded the gun; a skill Michael taught her. A skill she didn''t want to learn, but she went along with it to amuse him one day. She was grateful.


    John was talking to the detective, and he was standing in between the two officers. He made the officers drop their weapons.


    John walked to the entrance with the officer he captured. Stay back, he yelled. I''m not ducking around. He was about to escape; he let go of the officer and shoved him forward. That was when Clara stood and shot John. The moment the sound hit their ears, John looked directly at her. They locked eyes as the bullet struck him. The bullet hit his shoulder, and he hit the floor. Frede jumped up and realized what had happened. Clara was frozen with the gun still aimed at where John was standing. Frede ordered the two officers to get John and call a medic. He ran over to Clara and gently took the gun from her, and lowered her arms. Clara, are you alright? He asked. She shook herself awake and responded. Yes, I''m fine, she said.


    Unfortunately, John survived.


    When he was bandaged, he was returned to the station, where he was placed in a cell. Clara received the call letting her know this, and she was finally able to relax. She hung up the phone and smiled. She couldn''t wait to get the whole ordeal behind her. She ran up to Edward''s room and knocked on the door. There wasn''t an answer. She paused and knocked again. She was disappointed that he wasn''t there, but she decided to go to the sitting room.


    She stood at the window, which looked out onto the front roundabout in front of the house. She liked the cold emitting inches from the glass as a contrast to the rest of the room, which was filled with the warm waves of heat from the fireplace.


    Even though there was constant heat that permitted throughout all of the house, there were many days that the cold made its way into her bones. She shivered. She was about to leave the room when her eyes were drawn to the driveway. The driveway was a half-circle that covered the front of the building. It could be seen by every window on the front side of the house. What caught her eye was a car pulling through. It was black and very notably shiny. She watched the vehicle, the car stopped by the front steps, and a man got out of the vehicle. He was very spry and probably in his mid-thirties. When she saw his face, she was startled. He looked very familiar, familiar in a way that made her uncomfortable. Unfortunately, she couldn''t pinpoint where she had seen him before


    He walked up to the door. Clara could hear him knocking from where she was standing. Lucy ran to the door. "Good afternoon." She said, "How can I help you?"  "I''m here to see Miss Vallow." He said. His voice had a hint of uncertainty coating it lightly. "Ms. Vallow?" She asked. "Yes, I have an appointment with Ms. Vallow."  "There isn''t a Ms. Vallow here." She said; he pulled out a piece of paper and looked at it. "Um...Ms. Clara Vallow?"  "Oh, Clara!" She said, glad that things were cleared up. "I think she is in the study, hold on, I''ll get her."


    Panic vibrated through Clara''s body. She knew something wasn''t right. Part of her brain knew where she had seen him before, it wasn''t a detailed knowledge, but she very obviously equated his visage to danger. Sadly, she couldn''t accurately manifest her feelings into a cohesive thought to interpret. She moved from the window.


    Lucy walked quickly to the study as Clara slipped into the kitchen. There she peered into the main hallway, where she could get a better look at the man''s face. He was looking up the staircase. "Hold on, sir," Lucy yelled back to him. "She''s not in the study; give me one moment. "No problem," he said. "Is there anyone else here?" He paused, then quickly added¡­" that I could speak with?"  "Not at the moment; it''s just Clara and me here." She said; he did not let the staircase leave his gaze during their conversation. Lucy ran up the stairs to see if Clara was in her bedroom. After a minute, the man yelled up the stairs. "I''m sorry I''m causing you too much trouble; I''ll come back later." Lucy stepped out of the bedroom. "Are you sure? I know she''s here somewhere." "Yeah, tell her to be ready; I''ll be back this evening." Lucy continued looking in each room on the second floor as she talked. "Okay, sorry about this." She said,


    Clara watched from the crack by the hinges of the kitchen door. She watched him as he shut the door, and to her horror, he remained on the wrong side. She couldn''t believe that the man had just boldly walked into her house. He looked up the stairs to make sure Lucy hadn''t seen him. When he realized Lucy went off to do something else, he let his gaze wander from the landing to the hall before him. He slipped through the first door closest to him, the living room.


    Clara moved into the hallway and escaped up the back staircase. She found Lucy in her room tending to her clean clothes. She carefully shut the door behind her and waved for Lucy to come closer to her "Lucy," Lucy noticed Clara''s panicked expression. "What''s wrong?" "That man, who came to the door. He''s creeping around the house." Lucy ran to the window. "Really? Where?" No, shh, he''s not outside. He''s inside." She said, keeping her voice quiet but loud enough to project her concern. "What!" "I thought he left; I heard him shut the door; how did he get in? The door is set to lock from the outside when it''s closed."


    "The door did shut; you heard that correctly, but he was inside when he shut it." Lucy looked around, a bit panicked. "Where is he now?"  "After he shut the door, I watched him walk into the living room, then I ran to find you; that''s the last I saw of him."  She reached over and picked up the phone receiver. She was happy Michael insisted she had her own phone in her room. She called the police station.


    She reached the man who ran the front desk, and she felt very relieved, but then she noticed when she quickly said what happened, he seemed distracted. She asked to talk to Detective Frede, but he informed her he wasn''t around. She asked to speak to anyone else. "I''m sorry...everyone here is currently busy, and mostly everyone is away from the station."  "This is an emergency." She said, very frustrated. The man brushed her off a bit but eventually said he would leave a note on the detective''s door for when he returned. She thanked him, despite his gesture being pretty much pointless since her situation was time-sensitive.


    "What are we going to do?" Lucy asked. "...I wonder why he said he was meeting with me?" Clara said, not listening to Lucy. "Wait, shush!" Lucy said in a fervent whisper while putting out her arm. "I hear something." They were standing close to the inside of her bedroom door. On the other side, they could hear footsteps. "What is he doing?" "I have no idea." She heard him pass the door." "Get into my closet," Clara ordered. "Don''t move." She turned around." "You''re not going out there, are you?" "Yes, I have an idea." She opened the bedroom door. The man was a few feet down the hallway; his back was to her until he heard the door creak, then he turned around in a bit of a panic.


    "Can I help you?" she asked a bit aggressively. He greeted her with a huge grin. At that moment she remembered who he was. He was friends with John. She immediately regretted her decision.


    "I am looking for Clara?" He said. She knew he was playing with her; he knew who she was. "What do you want with her?" She asked, trying to play along. She knew approaching him was a mistake. She took a step back, and he lunged at her. His hand grabbed around her upper arm. "What are you doing?" She yelled. "I''m under orders to bring you back with me." She tried to fight him off, but he was much stronger. He wrapped his arm around her torso and lifted her up. She kept struggling until he got annoyed and threw her to the ground. She hit the floor hard, but she knew she didn''t have time to deal with that. The man pulled out some rope, and she threw herself forward. She tumbled down the stairs. He stood still for a moment and watched her, sort of impressed by her determination, but that only lasted a second, and he ran down the stairs after her.


    She was bleeding, but she didn''t care. She jumped up and ran to the study. She closed the doors just as he reached her, and he yanked it open before she was able to latch it.


    She screamed as he pinned her against the wall with her face forward. He tied up her wrists behind her back. She tried to pull away, but he pinned her then covered her mouth. She kept struggling nonstop; she was determined not to leave the house.


    He regretted not bringing his gun with him. He assumed he didn''t need it.


    He lifted her onto his shoulder and carried her to the front door. She continued to fight him, but she was partially convinced he might successfully get her to his car. He opened the front door. He was shocked to see Frede and the sergeant parking below. Frede and the sergeant quickly got out of the car.


    Sergeant Hawthorne drew his gun and ran at the man; he was filled with pure rage. The man holding Clara saw the Burley pugilist of a sergeant barrel towards him; he dropped her and ran. The sergeant whipped off his suit jacket and ran after him. It was an awe-inspiring sight, the highly trained lawman man wearing a vest, white dress shirt, and dress pants bolting through the grass with precision. An athlete clearly trained in the army, which allowed him to catch up with the man very quickly.


    The grass was damp from the moist cold air. The man had trouble running on the slippery wet terrain with his loafers on, and the sergeant tackled him straight into some mud.


    Clara was bleeding. When the intruder dropped her to flee, she landed on her knees and was trying her best not to fall on her face. Frede ran to her, untied her wrists, and helped her up. She wasn''t very distressed since the police were there and she knew she was safe. "Are you all right?" He asked. "Yes,  I think so," she said, looking over her lower body. Her stockings were torn at the knees, and blood filtered through. She brushed off the chunks of gravel that were embedded and then wiped her hands on the skirt of her dress.


    Frede led her into the house; she sat on the sitting room couch while he ran to get her some water and a cloth. When he returned, Hawthorne entered the room from the hall. He announced t5hat the man was locked in the car. "We need you to come back to the station with us," he said.


    The detective, along with the sergeant, sat with Clara at the station. The air was somber, and she couldn''t imagine why she was there. Clara thought shooting John saved an officer''s life and was very brave. It has put you in a perilous situation. Oh, so you need to arrest me?" She asked. I guess that would be reasonable." "Oh goodness no, the sergeant said,  there is an issue. John is the head of a company called Village Values, formerly Greta Snaol, and he''s essentially a powerful man with many underlings. What he''s trying to say is that even though John is behind bars, there will always be someone after you. You aren''t safe anymore." She was silent. That had never occurred to her. What should I do? She asked