Rochester is the “biggest small town” that I have ever known. It is vast in area and dense in population, but that doesn’t stop the common traits of small town from being evident within its boundaries. This can be a bit of a challenge in the fact that it means knowing anything and everything embarrassing you have done in public, will come to bite you in the ass one day. “Weren’t you that girl I saw dancing on the bar lip singing to I will survive at the last drag show?” You can try all you want to pretend that you knew no one that night and therefore you were protected by the shadow of unfamiliarity, but unfortunately someone knew someone etc. It also means having to vet each one of your possible suitors as if they were receiving clearance for entry into the CIA, FBI or another highly restricted government agency. Doing your do-diligence to check and double check that they are not related to, or friends with your girlfriends or past flings not that I had any of course. Because you can be sure that by six degrees of separation, there is some already established connection to your life, and you don’t want to go into that situation blind. Yes, there are some faults at the “small town” aspects that Rochester carries, but it can also be very lucrative. Because it is true, that we as humans are creatures of habit, and so becoming invisible, lost, or attempting to reinvent yourself in a small town society… well that would be difficult. This knowledge of information was of great assistance to me as I started on my next task of the day; finding Martin.
As I allowed the car some time to warm, I scrolled through my phone in search of Martin’s number. I hadn’t tried to call him in some time, but the great thing about a cell phone and the ever mysterious “cloud” is that your contacts even from long ago, remain visible to you. As my fingers landed on his name, I paused briefly to contemplate what I was going to say. Surely he had heard about my father’s passing, perhaps I could open with something about that. He wasn’t going to be a dick when it came to a loss, especially one so fresh. I could improvise from there. My goal was to get him talking, maybe even meet for coffee. That way I could gauge his reactions based on body language. If I played Steve off as a shitty husband (well not really played, because let’s face it… he was) then maybe I could make Martin think I was going to pin it solely on Steve. If he thought he was in the clear, he might just give up some good Intel. I pressed my finger down over his name and waited to hear the ringing connection, instead I heard a familiar female voice on the other end of the line. It was that unbelievably obnoxious woman who tells you “I’m sorry, the number you are trying to reach has been disconnected or is no longer in service.” Yeah, I bet she is really fucking sorry. I am sure whoever Robo – Woman is felt sorry when she recorded her voice and knew it was going to be so irritating to people across the country. I am sure she continues to carry that burden with her to this very day! I was caught in a trance for a moment listening to the recording, you know because if you don’t hang up she just repeats herself like you are fucking stupid and couldn’t understand her the first time. I groaned aloud at having seemingly hit a wall with Martin until I remember when I knew about Rochester and the fact that is true what is said… humans are indeed creatures of habit. A smile formed across my lips, or course it was a little devious, but hey it was a smile ! Martin, or Martin Voss if we were using full names, became my friend in the past through that whole six degrees of separation thing. I told you, you have to vet everyone in this town! Well one of those degrees was that he played Volleyball with my father. In the same tournaments, same leagues, all hosted by the only indoor volleyball facility in the city. Hot Shots.  And as luck would have it, I was just one street over and about three blocks down from my Dad’s old stomping grounds. If Martin was true to his habits, and Rochester would live up to it’s small town stigma, well then someone in that building would know how to get in touch with Martin.

My drive was quick and I was sloshing my tires into the parking lot of the warehouse looking building in no time. It was exactly as I had remembered it to be, tall two-story brick building with a single entry door on the side wall. A small and outdated sign read HOT SHOTS VOLLEYBALL, in all capital letters above the door. It didn’t need to be flashy, if you were coming here then you already knew where to go. I gathered my purse and headed to the door, walking that same narrow path I had so many weekends in the past. Only this time I wasn’t able to hold my Dad’s hand for support, and ironically this was the one time I was going into Hot Shots when I thought I would need it the most.

To my surprise the inside of the facility had changed greatly. They had evolved beyond volleyball and now offered basketball and dodge ball leagues as well. The tiny snack stand that once offered popcorn you served yourself and a few select cans of domestic beer had morphed into a full bar that was the length of the entire first volleyball court. I was impressed. It was midday during the week so there was not much going on. A few kids rec leagues that were obviously offered over winter break and what I could only imagine were bar “regulars” were the only other patrons I could see. I took a seat at the bar, placing myself close to the pod of “regulars” in hopes that any and all conversations with the bartender might be overheard and added to if necessary. A nice looking guy about my age greeted me and placed a beverage napkin in front of me. I ordered a diet soda so that I wouldn’t have to endure the remnants of last nights binge being forced up with the taste of alcohol, and because I didn’t want to have a water and come across as cheap. Nothing is free, especially information. I chatted up the bartender for a few moments about how much the place had changed since I had been in last. He seemed eager to be involved in conversation as He didn’t have much else to do. And all my past years of bar tending told me he already knew the life stories of the gentlemen seated near me. I waited what I thought was an acceptable amount of time for the ice-breaker conversation before telling him about an old friend that I was hoping to run into there. “He played here all the time when I lived in Rochester, and I wasn’t able to get him on the phone. I recently lost my father that was going to earn me sympathy points, and I was hoping to tell him about it before I left town.” I gave both the bartender and the gaggle of men the sweetest damsel in distress smile I could muster. I reached into my purse and grabbed my phone. Scrolling through the pictures of my wedding puke, I landed on one of Martin and zoomed in on his face. Turning my phone around to be visible to all parties I asked “Maybe you know him? Martin Voss?” Was it my imagination or did the bartender looked shocked at my question? He looked right at the picture, yet it took him a solid minute to respond. “I guess you two really did loose touch.” He finally said. “Martin was a regular here, played on the Wednesday and Friday night leagues. He would even play pick up games sometimes.” My heart was in my stomach, fluttering with excitement. “Really? Great! So maybe I could get in touch with him Wednesday then, what time does their league start?” I was trying my best to maintain composure and not let the emotion escape within my voice. I finally had a lead! The bartender continued, “That’s why I said you must have really lost touch, Martin hasn’t played here in about a month. He actually had his going away party here just about three weeks ago. Apparently someone in his family passed away and he was needing to move to Florida in a bit of a hurry to take care of some things. There was some family business involved and it sounded as if he was going to take it over. Man, it’s like you guys just missed each other.” The bartender sounded as disappointed as I felt. Sure he was morning the loss of a reunited fictitious friendship, while I was grasping onto the last shred of hope I had at finding a lead to prove my theory. Okay, maybe our levels of disappointment didn’t compare, but he was nice enough to try. I tried one last grasp and asked “you don’t happen to know where in Florida he moved do you?” I was hoping a location might at least yield some success with an internet search. “No, I’m sorry. I wasn’t friends with him really, I just knew his drink order and worked his party.” I thanked the bartender for his help. Before I left I gave him a ten dollar bill to cover my soda and his time, and I left my number and first name just in case he discovered anything new. It couldn’t hurt. My legs felt heavy and each step felt like my shoes were made of concrete, as I heaved myself off the bar stool and made my way for the door. I couldn’t help but feel defeated that I had hit another dead end. Martin was going to be my only source of information to possibly expose Steve and McCrabben for their involvement in my father’s death. With him gone, I was not only back to where I started, I had actually started this race a lap behind.

I climbed into the car and dialed Mimi’s house. I had to tell someone about this and so far my only choices were my Mom and Kim. I felt like Kim could use an emotional break from the drama and so I opted to share the disappointment with my mom first. thankfully, she answered so I didn’t even have to fake the happy small talk with Mimi and find ways to avoid the where, when, who questions of the events of my day. My heart was heavy as I explained to my mom how I had lost all trails leading to Martin. I could feel the tears forming behind my eyelids and threatening to come crashing down with every word I spoke. “I’m sorry Mom, I really thought I had something here.” I choked the words out through sobs.

“Fib, you have to relax.” She said this like I was calling about having missed a deadline to a paper in college or gotten yet another speeding ticket, or crashed her car into a parked vehicle on our street when I was 16…. each and every one of these instances resulted in my tears and her calming voice telling me it was going to be okay. Although this time it didn’t feel the same, this time I didn’t automatically believe her because I wasn’t searching for her approval or forgiveness as I had before. This time I shed tears over loosing information about the people who conspired to murder my father. Even the calm, soothing voice of my Dali Lama Mother was no match for my sobs.

It took a while for me to calm my tears, and my mother waited with the patience of a saint. “Dana, you need to look at this with a different lens. Martin was born and raised in Rochester, lived here for 34 years and suddenly takes off to Florida three weeks before your Dad dies? You and I both know that people don’t leave here that easily, and people who are established, have jobs and own homes, they don’t get out in three weeks. If Martin is truly gone, then he didn’t leave to help a death in the family…. he ran.” As calm as my mother’s voice was, the shock to my brain as her words registered sent me yet again into “fight” mode. She was completely right! No one could sell a freaking house in Rochester in under 3 months, let alone 3 weeks! And as my brain caught up to what she was saying I went on to finish her thoughts for her.”So if he ran, then Steve and McCrabben are surely going to be flustered and worried that he might tell what he knows. Maybe they are even looking for him!” The excitement had started to build inside my stomach again but this time I was letting it all out through my shaking hands and trembling legs. “Maybe it’s time I start working a new angle, one that leaves Steve and McCrabben at odds. They murdered for money once, I am sure they each believe the other capable of it a second time around.”

“I have to stop at the post office to ship some stuff to Texas. I am going to send it to your house okay Mom? Then I will be home and we can work out the rest. Maybe we need to bring all of our brains together and see what Kim thinks.” If two heads were better than one, well then three would get us ahead in the race, even if I had started a lap behind.

When I researched this song title, I noticed that although it was part of the Christian influence that Dylan produced, he had some interesting insights at the time. He refused to do a second take on any of songs during production, claiming “I will not sing the same song twice in a row, that’s terrible.” -Dylan.

I fond myself feeling this way as I recited my recent discoveries to the people in my life. And I knew that in the end, I too would not sing the same song twice. I was going to get closure, and not be fooled again.

 

You know when you have to give a speech in high school or a presentation in your adult life, or any time when you have to be the sole conversationalist in front of a large group of people? Everyone gets nervous, I don’t care who you are… there are always nerves about something. And if you have ever shared your fears with someone, chances are they have told you to “picture them in their underwear.”  Not only does that completely fail to work EVER, but I really wish we would stop handing out that old line of advice because it really is weird. My fear is usually that someone I am giving a speech to will stare at me blankly, not even giving me the slightest nonverbal cue that everything was going to be okay. This same feeling washed over me when I sat for twenty whole minutes at the dining room table in Kim’s house. While I poured out my theories to her and justified them using my ever so technologically advanced beverage napkin. I waited for her to stop me mid sentence, to throw me out or worse, call for mental assistance. I worried she would never talk to me again, that I wouldn’t be allowed to be part of her life. All of these anxieties rushed through me as I spilled the words from my mouth, detailing my beliefs. In the end, she smiled, although it was not given solely to comfort me, as I could see the pain, disbelief and pity in her eyes. But she did not throw me out, she did not call to have me mental health arrested, and the hug she gave me, the tight embrace that lasted for several minutes; well that told me that I was going to be a part of her life forever. And that was it. I spoke, she listened, and we shared a hug that told me this was the right thing to do. A million pounds of worry and stress washed right off of me in that moment. I had told what I believed to be the truth, my truth, to the people closest to me in my life and they had both understood. In fact, they did more than offer their blessing, they got on board to help. I know, and interesting trio we were; the daughter of a deceased man and his two ex-wives going after suspected killers. Even in my mind now I can see the memes of us all dressed in black and snooping around alleyways. But I didn’t give a shit. This felt right, this felt necessary, this felt like saving my father’s legacy.

I told Kim about the plan I had made with my Mother to return back to Texas and stall the move as long as possible. I explained how we didn’t want Steve to get suspicious, and we certainly didn’t want him running off to California without seeing me first, so I had to leave Wednesday. I had 48 hours to take care of the immediate needs here in town, before I went off to catch a killer. Sounds dramatic right? But honestly, that is what we were doing. Kim asked me if there were any of Dad’s belongings that I already knew I wanted. She said she would be sure to check the inventory for them, and work with my already set platoon of Polish women to obtain them from the auction. “They are looking to inventory tomorrow or Wednesday and have the auction house booked for Friday.” she explained. “It’s such bullshit!” my words came out a bit stronger than I anticipated. “I’m sorry Kim, I just can’t believe that this is what he would have wanted. He was a smart man, I can’t believe he didn’t know this was going to happen by giving McCrabben a controlling percentage.” I had managed to lower my voice, but I couldn’t stop it from shaking as I spoke the words. “I agree with you Dana, but then again I can only speak of the man I was married to for all those years. He started to change when he left, and I don’t know what he could have been thinking when he drew up this will.” As she spoke, her gaze moved from me to the window. It was as if she was looking for the answer to just write itself in the fresh blanket of snow covering the back lawn.

“I would really like to have his iPOD and his guitar.” I told her. I know that Dad loved music and I think it would be great to have something that held all the songs he listened to and loved. Plus, the last time I saw him he was playing the guitar. It would mean a lot to me to have those things. Is that okay with you?” I asked the question because it was the right thing to do, but secretly I was crossing my toes that these were not items that she was already interested in. I would have given them up to her of course. ” That’s absolutely fine.” Kim agreed. “I was also hoping for his white English Laundry long sleeve button down. But when we were in the house picking out clothes that day, I couldn’t find it. ” It was true, I had already eyeballed the closet for this shirt. It was the shirt my father wore each time we went somewhere special together in my adult years. It was linen with some designs stitched into the front. I had many fond memories of him wearing that shirt. “It’s probably at the cleaners, she said. He used Julian’s Dry Cleaners on Blossom Road. I thought about this for a second. Wow, my father was gone and his clothes were sitting at the dry cleaners. I wonder how many orders they have compiled over time of people who just never cam back? Did the people at the cleaners ever wonder what happened to these people? Because let’s face it, if you aren’t dead you want your clothes. I had never thought about that before. Well I wasn’t going to let my father’s beautiful white linen sit among the other forgotten garments. I would visit Julian’s after leaving here.

Kim and I finished up a few more details and planned to talk again soon. She said she would let me know when the inventory was complete, and the time that the auction was finalized for. We said our goodbyes and hugged, just in case I didn’t get back over here before Wednesday. It wasn’t as sad as it had been in the past, because I knew I was going to be back here soon. Hopefully to testify against the conspiracy trio in court. Saying goodbye to Kiera was a bit more challenging. She was in her room playing and watching tv (a great multitasker that kid). I knew I wasn’t going to be able to hold back the floodgates of tears for long so I gave hugs and kisses and promised to see her soon. As I closed the door to Kim’s house behind me, I gave in to the emotion and allowed the sad tears to fall. Yes I hate the snow, yes there are NO jobs in Rochester, but I do miss my family.

As I walked to the car I noticed that yet another fresh blanket of snow had covered the windows. Fuck. Honestly, it is as if you never want to stop driving because it inevitably means you are going to have to brush your car off…AGAIN. I repeated the usual routine and hopped in the car to begin warming my extremities. I checked out my list about going to UPS and calling Steve. Finding Martin was another bullet listed, but none of these things appealed to me at the moment. I have time, I think I will head to Julian’s. I could use a little good in my day and having that linen shirt I coveted so much would be just the thing.

Julian’s on Blossom hasn’t moved in basically forever, so although I had never been there, I still knew right where to go. I pulled into the parking lot and swore to myself that this was going to be a quick stop. I was not in the mood to do the snow brush song and dance again. A bell on the front door announced my arrival, and a lovely Italian woman greeted me within moments. She had a small frame and thick auburn hair that was laced with grey. Perhaps she had tried to color it, but it really suited her. Glasses hung from her neck on a rose gold chain for easy access and her brown eyes were warm as she spoke. “Can I help you dear?” Her words were calm and soothing. “Yes please ma’am, I would like to pick up an order for Jeffrey Smith.” I tried to hide the anticipation in my voice, being this close to his shirt was the most excitement I had felt in over a week. “We don’t normally release clothing to anyone other than the owner dear, are you related?” Her voice remained polite and warm as she explained the rules to me. “I am his daughter, and he has recently passed. There is a shirt that I am hoping was laundered here recently and I was hoping to have it to remember him by.” I tried to keep my voice as matter of fact as possible. I didn’t want her eyes to change from warm to pity, I had experienced enough of that. “Why of course dear, do you have any identification bearing the same last name?” Was she fucking kidding? Seriously, is she trying to make a joke? Yes ma’am, I can prove to you I am related by showing you an ID with the last name of Smith. We are of course the only Smith family in Rochester, probably in the whole state of New York!. I pushed the thoughts from my head, no time for sarcasm now, I needed a favor and if she needed to see identification bearing the ever common last name of Smith to grant it, well then I was happy to oblige.  This was the first time that I would realize that my laziness of getting my ass to the Department of Motor Vehicles for a name chance was actually going to work in my favor. I reached into my purse and pulled out my drivers license. I handed it to the kind woman and she started typing in her computer. Since I obviously didn’t have a claim ticket, she was going to have to look one up. “Oh dear,” she said, almost in a whisper. My head snapped up to attention and I stared at her waiting for her to finish the words that would follow. “It seems that someone has already called about this order and asked that it be put on hold. She doesn’t have the same last name but she stated on the phone that she had paperwork to prove she could have it.” I sucked in a deep breath trying to calm the adrenaline that was beginning to pump through my veins. ” Her name wouldn’t happen to be Kim McCrabben, would it?” I asked the question even though I was certain it was probably rhetorical in a sense. “Why yes, ” the woman replied, “do you know her?” My body was shaking by now, from my trembling fingers to my wobbly knees that were threatening to give way at any moment. I was so close to having something, one fucking thing that was going to make me happy, and she was going to try and take this as well? The emotions of my recent discoveries and theories flooded through my brain fogging my vision to the point that I thought I was going to pass out. I reached out and grabbed onto the counter for support. It felt cold under my hand and I finally realized I was so angry I had started to sweat, or maybe it was all the layers, but the cold counter felt good against my bare hand. “Are you okay Ms. Smith?” I could hear the concern in the woman’s voice.”Should I be calling for medical assistance? You don’t look very well.” She reached across her register toward the phone. “No,” I breathed, “I will be fine.” I knew I had to say something, anything, to get my hands on that shirt before the bitch from beyond waltzed her double wide ass in here to take it. She would probably just throw it out anyways. Or re-gift it. Yes, she seemed like the type to re-gift.

I steadied myself back to standing position so that I could look the kind woman in the eyes. I explained to her that I was his daughter and (in the nicest way I could muster in front of my elder)  how McCrabben was a dirty little hooker who was trying everything in her power to make my life miserable. I told her about my connection to the shirt and how I just wanted to finally have something to remember him by. You know that weren’t golf clubs or beer steins. “I realize you have rules ma’am, but since I am here and I have proof that I am his daughter, couldn’t we just say that I got here first and there was nothing you could do?” I gave her the best smile I could at the moment, even though I was seething about my current situation. She paused for a moment, clearly contemplating the options. “I’ll be right back,” she said, and turned on her heel disappearing into the racks of clothes. When she finally emerged she was holding a bag containing four dress shirts. I held my breath as I reached for the hangers, hoping with everything I had that I would find my beloved white shirt mixed into the pile. I turned back the hangers to the middle and gasped. I sucked in the biggest amount of air and exhaled with relief and smile. There it was, the white shirt with the designs embroidered on the front. She shirt that made me think of my Dad in every positive way, the one that reminded me he too was a person. I peeled away a little bit of the bag at the top and stuck my nose inside the plastic. There it was, the distinct smell of his Clinique Happy cologne. It occurred to me for a brief second that it was odd to pay for “cleaning” of a garment if it was returned still smelling of the person, but for this particular time, I did not care. I was glad that whatever they do to dry clean a shirt clearly wasn’t washing. This meant I could keep the smell bottled inside the plastic bag for as long as I wanted. My day dreams were interrupted by the bell chiming from the door, announcing another customer. I quickly paid the woman for the clothes and collected the receipt. As she handed me the change I touched her hand and smiled. “Thank you,” I told her “you will never know what you have done for me.” She didn’t say anything, she didn’t have to. I could read her kind response through her twinkling brown eyes.

I made my way back to the car and carefully hooked my treasure in the back seat. Whoever invented those hooks for cars truly was a genius. I stopped for a minute to gaze at my surroundings and take in the scene of triumph I had just won. I took a mental picture of the building and began to think that maybe in some moments the snow really wasn’t that bad, maybe in some moments it was even beautiful. My heart filled with warmth and victory I turned to open the drivers side door and for the first time since I left the building I noticed that the car was covered in snow, yet AGAIN. And in that instant I changed my mind, it wasn’t beautiful, it was still fucking snow. Cold, horrible, pain in the ass SNOW. And as victorious as I was against McCrabben in that moment, I was still a loser in the battle against mother nature.

 

As we made our way up the stairs to “my bedroom” to use the computer, I took a chance to look out the window for the first time. Snowing again. I wanted to blame the snow for my shitty mood, the lack of sunlight and the air that was so cold it hurt your face to go outside. I wanted to blame the weather and Mother Nature for the deepening feeling of despair that was growing inside my heart. I wanted to blame it all on the view form the window because…. well then because I wouldn’t have to actually acknowledge that my life had really gone to hell in a matter of a week. I wouldn’t be forced to face the fact that it was my current reality that was causing me so much pain, that I was actually about to find a flight home to my suspected murderer of a husband only so I could work to execute an iron clad plan that would land him and his co-conspirators in jail. Alas, as much as the weather truly does suck in Rochester, New York, I knew my mind would not allow me to blame my current state on seasonal depression.

The computer was ancient, and took forever to load. I am pretty sure there are mice in the back running on a wheel to fuel the computer with energy; and we had just woken them up. It was a slow start, but eventually we were perusing the airline websites in search of flights home. We had decided to travel together for comfort. Although a part of me still believes my mother didn’t want to take the chance that I would divert my flight to an alternate destination just to escape what had become my current reality. I wouldn’t have, but I won’t deny that the thought crossed my mind. You know the amazing thing? A week ago I couldn’t find a flight under $900 to get home for my father funeral. The airlines wouldn’t help me and they definitely wouldn’t honor discounts in accordance with bereavement flights. Still have to remember to write a letter thanking them for that.  But one week later and flights were available any day of the week for less than $200 one way. There were even some available today, you know in case I was in a rush to get back to my lying piece of shit husband. Now there is an emergency! Another joke on me; Universe- one point!

It was Monday, and a shitty day to travel. Add the snow and we were sure to get stuck somewhere. Plus I don’t think Mimi would have been to thrilled if we had met her at the bathroom door after her shower and told her we were packing to leave today. Who were we kidding, she wasn’t going to be happy no matter what day we left because, well, we were leaving. We decided on Wednesday afternoon. That would give us time to have another family dinner, say our goodbyes and tie up any loose ends. As I clicked the button to confirm our reservation I felt the nausea begin to rise in my stomach. At first I attributed it to the Gin that was being soaked up by, well nothing. But then it occurred to me that as true as the BAC of my body right now, was the feat that I was leaving things unfinished. That I was going to walk away and this whole thing was suddenly going to be forgotten about. I felt the tears welling up in my eyes once again, this was beginning to become an annoying habit. My Mom leaned over and draped her arm across my shoulder. “It’s going to be okay Fib, we are going to finish this.” She whispered these words in my ear and it was almost as if she was inside my head. She knew exactly where my pain was coming from without me even having to speak. I guess this must be another one of those “tricks” of motherhood.

We agreed not to tell Mimi anything for fear of sending her into an early grave. Mom said I could talk to Kim, and that I actually should because we might need her help in proving some things. As next of Kin, she had the most access to Dad’s estate and I was going to need her on my side to bring these people to justice. She would be my next call, or better yet, the next conversation I had face to face. Probably it was not best to tell someone your conspiracy theories over the phone. Mom went downstairs to talk to Mimi and let her know our travel plans. I checked my phone to see that the day had made it’s way into early afternoon, 1:00. It was time that I got myself together and started figuring out the things i absolutely needed to have done before I left. I sent Kim a quick text asking if she had time to talk today. She told me she was staying home and fielding phone calls from her attorney and the auction house and to come over anytime. Give me about an hour, I wrote back, and added a smiley face emoji to demonstrate that I was being positive and cheerful. I stole glance at the mirror that hung on the back of the door.  Okay, I was going to have to work on that one a little more. But it was nothing some makeup and little happy pill couldn’t fix for today.

I showered and dressed for the day. After my visual of outside, this meant layers… lots of layers. Ugh! Maybe some of my pissy mood could be blamed on Mother Nature; now she was affecting my wardrobe. I made a quick list before I left the house so that I knew what had to be done before I left. 1.) See Kim 2.) Go to UPS store (to ship all my “acquired” items from my Dad). 3.) Call Steve  4.) Find Martin

The third item on my list all but made me tear up again or maybe vomit; possibly both. But I held it together, reminding myself that this situation was temporary. And the one I was going to create for him, the punishment he was going to suffer for his heinous actions, well that was going to be permanent. I wonder if we could have him prosecuted in Texas so there would be the option for the death penalty. “An eye for an eye,” Right? As for Martin, well it had definitely been a while since I had spoken to him, but it was safe to say he more than likely remained in Rochester. It is rare that anyone leaves, and when they do, it is even more rare that they stay gone. Look at me? I was going to wind up right back here if I couldn’t put Steve away. No way was I living in the same state as that asshole unless he was under lock and key; preferably 23 hours a day in solitary confinement with the exception of one hour yard time to be granted only on good behavior, and only alone. Even in prison I worried he might hurt someone if left to his ways and allowed to interact with other people. Nope, in my day dream he was going to serve out his time alone as he counted down the days to his execution. Even if you are not normally a death row advocate, you can still sympathize with my point right?

Once I was layered up I checked to make sure none of my skin was exposed with the exception of my eyeballs. This was how I lived in Rochester, for about 5 months out of the year. One look at my get up in the mirror and I had yet more drive to get this plan going. The faster I had Steve put away, the faster I was going to get out of these layers and stay out of them. Man this weather sucks.

I made my way down the stairs and looped the car keys off the hook by the back door. I gave Mimi and Mom a kiss, made assurances and promises to drive slow and safe, and trudged through the snow out to the car. After I completed the song and dance of brushing the mountain of snow from the windows, I hopped in and began warming my appendages over the heater. I needed to be able to feel my fingers in order to keep my promise of driving safe. Once I felt the blood start to defrost and move through my body once again, I carefully eased out of the driveway and I was on my way. Armed with my ever wilting beverage napkin as a visual aid, I was going to deliver the same speech to Kim that I had to my mother just a few hours ago. Even though I had a trial run, I still felt sick about having to say it aloud again. I whispered a little prayer that she was going to respond well. I realize I had not always been a follower of Christ, but I thought maybe in this moment he would take pity on me and maybe offer some support, for Kim not for me. I had already made my peace with my theory, but Kim was going to hear this big ball of crazy for the first time. I let out a deep exhale and reached for the radio button, I could use a brief distraction from my own mind. Mimi had it set to Warm 101.3 as always and as I turned the volume up I felt a chill run up my arm and tingle my skin. It was the voice, the sound, the words; Tangeled Up In Blue was flowing from the speakers and Bob Dylan’s voice was ringing in my ears and warming my insides. I wiped a stray tear from my face and glanced up at the sky, “So you do hear me.”

Disclaimer: Up until this point of my writing, all of the events that I have talked about and the people included have been real and true (with the exception of name changes of those that requested or weren’t asked). Unfortunately, there was never truly an ending to the story that you have been reading, or definitive closure to this part of my life. And although my mother and I have spent many of nights talking about what we truly believe happened, no one was ever brought to justice based on our beliefs. As I move forward with the story, this is a depiction of what I believe would have happened if I had the ability and strength to continue on with this crusade. Alas, my victory may just have to settle on the pages of a novel  and justice be gained in the idea that it is for anyone and everyone to read. 

 

I found my mother and Mimi in the kitchen. They were chatting about life and the daily things they missed out on by not living in the same state. Mimi was steadied over the stove, stirring her infamous sauce. There is no recipe, and I couldn’t recreate it even if I watched a thousand times (which I had), but it was absolutely always delicious.

Even though I had managed to get myself a bit together, and I was feeling better than when I first woke, it was evident by their reaction that I hadn’t done the best job and making myself look presentable, and of course not hungover.

“Late night?” Mom asked, although I was pretty confident Papa had already told her the late hour in which I had come stumbling in, literally.

“Yeah, it was kind of late I guess. We were busy talking and time got away from us.” I tried to force my voice to sound more casual and less hysterical because I had so much I needed to say. “Mom, I need to talk to you, do you think we could have a few moments?”

“Of course,” she replied. “I actually need to talk to you as well. It is about time I get going and get back to work and I would like to know your plans before I go.”

Well, that was going to complicate things a bit, as I was not yet ready to burst into “I am not going back to my husband because I think he is  murderer.” I steadied myself for a moment and thought of the best way to approach this, especially with Mimi in the room… standing… over a hot stove. The events of the last week had been enough, I didn’t need this news to send her crashing into that delicious pot of sauce.

“Kim called,” I said suddenly. This seemed like a good transition into my news. “She told me that we were needing to prepare for an estate auction.” Mimi stopped stirring and Mom stopped talking. They both kind of stood there looking at me with these robotic eyes. It suddenly dawned on me that they were waiting for me to collapse! As if this news was going to be the part that finally sent me over the edge. “I’m okay,” I tried to assure them. “I just need to explain it to you so that we can have a system of support, a front line of troops, available should this take place beyond my current visit in Rochester. The three of us took our usual spots at the table and I explained to them the details that Kim had shared with me. We sent some messages to Aunt Becky, Aunt JJ and friends, inquiring if they would be interested in attending on my behalf if I was unable to go. It was reassuring to know that my family was going to stick by my through this, no matter what. We made the final arrangements and set up our platoon with smiles on our faces. All the while I sat with a damning piece of paper tucked under my leg, knowing I could not get up without bringing it forward. When Mimi excused herself to shower, I asked my mom to stay. I knew this was going to be my only opportunity to share my findings with her in confidence.

It took me a few minutes to start, pulling the paper from beneath my leg as if it weighed 2,000 pounds. But once I started to speak, and use the poorly designed diagram to assist me as a visual aid, the words began to flow from my mouth just as they had the evening before. I felt a touch of relief that it still made the same sense in a sober state as it had to my Gin infused brain last night. I would stop momentarily to gaze up at my mother for a reaction, but she sat perfectly still with her face a flat line. She was intently listening to every sound coming from my mouth, but there was no indication on what she was thinking. When I finally finished explaining my conspiracy to murder theory and informing her of Steve’s new plan and sense of urgency to move, I took a final deep breath and stopped. I just stopped talking. It felt like eternity that I sat there looking at her face, waiting for a response. After what seemed like hours, but was probably more on the scale of less than five minutes I saw her mouth begin to open and I knew the calming voice and infinite wisdom of my mother, the Dalai Lama, was going to settle over me.  “You cannot divorce him Dana, not yet anyways.” Her tone was firm, not calming. Her eyes were fiery, not kind. And her words, well they weren’t exactly what I was expecting.

“I’m sorry, what?!” I exclaimed slamming both of palms down on the kitchen table and instantly regretting it. I knew the noise would draw Mimi’s attention and concern and I didn’t want or need that right now. “I just told you that I am pretty sure my new husband conspired to murder my Dad for inheritance money and that he wants to move me completely away from everyone I know and love and your only response is telling me I CAN’T divorce him?!” I was trying to convey my building emotion in the tone of a whisper which was both difficult and did not exactly do justice to my words.

My mother continued, “I know this is difficult, but if you push for an immediate divorce, you will not be able to testify against him if this goes to court, under spousal privilege. The divorce process in the state of New York already takes forever, once Steve knows what you are trying to do he will do everything in his power to keep you married. That will be his only out.” I tried to let my mother’s response sink into my brain. Her words made sense in my head, but this was not the reaction I was expecting, at least not at first. Where were all of her questions, you know like the millions I asked aloud last night when I put this whole idea together. Why wasn’t she asking me more about Martin, Steve and McCrabben. Why wasn’t she asking me why I thought foul play to begin with? Why the hell wasn’t my mother trying to talk me out of these crazy delusions and convince me that my father’s death was indeed a suicide, as ruled by the medical examiner?! My head was going through the same spiral of thoughts and emotions and I again felt myself slipping away from reality when suddenly I was brought back to attention with a jolt of realization. “Holy shit,” I breathed almost silently. “You already knew.” My mom sat across from me and gave me that look, the kind where she spoke to me with her eyes and affirmed my words without having to speak. “You had already pieced this together and knew!” I was crazy with emotion and shock. “But how?”

“There are instincts that develop with motherhood Fib, those in which we cannot shake. I have learned to follow the ones that I cannot easily push aside, or make justifiable reasons for. Many of the events since your wedding and those leading up to and following your father’s death have given me these uneasy feelings. You should know by now that I would stop at nothing to protect you, and so I have worn my detective hat a few times in the last few months, but even more in the last week.” Her voice had returned to that calm tone that I was able to become lost in. Her eyes were pleading with me to understand her, and I sensed that she was silently hoping I would not be angry with her for not sharing her suspicions with me earlier. Angry? How could I possibly be angry? If nothing else in this moment I felt immense relief. That someone else could see beyond the physical and believe there was more to this saga than was present on the surface. I was not crazy. I was not delusional. And I was no longer alone.

“What now?” I asked, hoping Mom had an answer for this because I sure as hell didn’t know the next step.

My mother smiled, the one that showed me that not only did she have an answer, but that she was going to make it all okay again. “Now we plan to go home,” she said. “We both get back to Texas to present as normal as possible and we work on delaying that move of yours long enough to get us concrete evidence to support our working theories.”

“Seriously?” I asked surprised. We can’t just go to the police here and stop all of this before it gets any worse? I have to go back and share a home with that man? How can that be our only option?” I was hoping she would sense the pleading in my voice now, the part that was screaming that I just wanted this to be over now.

“Because Fib, if we want true justice, we are going to have to nail them all to the wall, and that is going to mean taking a bit more of a difficult path. Now let’s go look at flights home, we can talk more about how this is going to look exactly later.”

My already empty stomach that was lined solely with Gin and bile started to somersault. How could it be that there was so much evil in my life right now, and I was going to be the one suffering for just a little bit longer?