I couldn’t breathe a sigh of relief until I was well out of the housing development. I pulled off into the closest parking lot of a Valero and exhaled he biggest breath as I put my car in park. I hadn’t wanted to waste time in the driveway deciding what to do next. Daisy was pawing at me with angst. It was clear she understood we had stopped driving and wasn’t sure why we hadn’t gotten out. I smiled at her, something I hadn’t felt myself do in a long time.

 

“Well Daisy,” I said aloud to her, “I guess we really have to get our nails done or he will become suspicious.” I guess there were worst things in the world I could HAVE to do. I did a quick Google search in my phone for local spas. I had one that I frequented, but Steve knew of it. I didn’t want to attempt any moment of possible relaxation having to watch the front door the entire time. After a bit of scrolling I found one that looked promising and tapped the address in navigation. It was a little farther away, but the farther from Steve I could get at any given moment the better.

 

I decided it was best to give Peter a call on my commute. I wanted to be sure our conversation was kept private, and it helped me to pass the time driving on the insane San Antonio roads. Plus, I wasn’t sure how long I could keep details straight in my mind, and I didn’t want to risk forgetting any moment. I dialed from my Bluetooth and he picked up within one ring; impressive. “Hey Peter, “ I greeted him in my most calm yet professional tone. “ I just wanted to update you on what transpired when I got home. “I am glad you called Dana, because I have some things to share with you as well.” His tone was matter of fact as always, but I knew that discovering the lies of my husband, his work with McCrabben, or even any details surrounding my father’s death, could not be good. I asked him if he wanted to proceed, but he insisted that I provide him with my findings first. This was probably best, as I wasn’t sure what he was about to share with me, but I knew it would undoubtedly sidetrack me easily.

 

I quickly launched into my story about Steve’s reaction to the letter, his honest surprise about the post mark date, and his feeble minded plan to contact the post master. After I was finished I took a deep breath and said, “there is one more thing.” Peter didn’t respond, but I could see him nodding in his usual way in my mind so I just continued. “I think that Steve and McCrabbed were involved in my father’s murder together.” I paused to allow him time to respond. Again, mental nodding and so I went on. “I think they were coning this whole thing together and at some point their partnership took a downward turn. It feels like they are each trying to screw one another out of my Dad’s money that they stole together.” I finished my thought, realizing this was the first time I had said the words out loud. For a brief moment I considered the idea that I was utterly and completely bat shit crazy. But it was Peter’s voice that shook me from my self reflection. “ Dana, I think you might be on to something here, because I have some interesting facts about what I discovered about Steve to share with you.” The familiar tremble of fear combined with rage reappeared in my body upon hearing these words. I did a quick mental check and told him to continue.

 

Peter stayed true to his  matter of fact tone and he delved into the history of the man I had married, the one I knew nothing about. “Let’s begin with the fact that you are not Steve’s first marriage, he was married before you to a woman named Becky. They have three young boys together, and she lives with the children in the Austin area. You would think that this would be a gut wrenching, pull over to the side of the road, vomit out the door kind of moment. But see, you must have forgotten, I believed in this moment that my husband had murdered my father. The fact that he was married with children was a damn stroll in the park and paled in comparison. Peter continued, “ He also has pending charges, three to be exact, for fraud and corruption. It appears he had pulled money scams on more than one person in his life. And lastly, when I dug into his background check, I discovered that he has five alias names. All of which could be used in any of the scams run before, and even the one we are investigating with your father.”

 

I pulled into the parking lot of the new nail salon as he finished his final thought. I needed time to process all of these words, but I knew time was not something we had an abundance of. I did a quick mental check of myself and found the words to respond. “What does this mean for our case? Does this help or hurt?” I asked him, trying to mirror his consistent matter of fact tone. Inside I was completely falling apart, but I knew there was no time to deal with trivial things such as emotions right now.

 

Peter continued, “It shows a pattern of behavior for Steve, and helps me to better understand him as a person, and therefore as a con artist. Good answer Peter.

 

“There is more.” He words trailed off as if he didn’t really want to say them at all, but his innate ability to suppress any feelings assisted him in going on. At this moment I did my mental nod through the phone, and hoped that Peter understood my silence. He did. “Dana, I contacted Steve’s employer acting as a new employer seeking a reference. I was lucky to get the chatty receptionist on the phone. I sensed her distain when I spoke Steve’s name, so I kept her talking. She wasn’t shy about her feelings for Steve, and she shared that his bad decisions with money and the company had led to his termination. She told me he had been employed just long enough for his deeper background check to catch up with him, which is when they fired him. That was about three months ago. I contacted the new company that Steve spoke with you about, and they have no idea who he is, and there is no vacancy in their company at the moment.” As Peter finished his sentence I felt my head get heavy and soon my forehead was braced against the top of the steering wheel. My mind took control of my conscious state and I found myself lost in a trace of thoughts. So why were we moving to California then? There was no real job? What the hell has he been doing for three months? Oh yeah, plotting my father’s murder. Holy shit, was ge planning to do the same to me once we were alone in California? Was he gunning after my inheritance in full with no strong attached? The last thought made me shutter, the thought of my own husband killing my Dad was already unbelievable, but realizing he wanted me dead as well? Shit.

 

Peter must have sensed my anxiety through the phone, Lord knows I could have provided the strength to 100 men with my current level of stress. “Dana, its going to be okay. We are going to get to the bottom of this. You are alive, and that is important right now. We can help you find the truth so you can begin to heal.” His words seemed clouded, as if they were coming to me in a dream. “ I know,” the words came out of my mouth with such automatic that I was surprised to hear my own voice agreeing. “So what is next?” I asked him.

“You wait him out with the plan to record the conversation that is hopefully occurring as we speak. Once you have your hands on the recording, call me so we can meet.” He sounded hopeful, as If we were going to get everything we needed from the phone call that may or may not be happening at this very moment. I agreed to his plan and promised to call as soon as I returned home and retrieved the iPod, which I hoped contained all of the evidence we were going to need to implicate my husband and McCrabben in the murder of my father.

 

As we disconnected, I found myself starting to allow my mind to wander down the path of “what if.” It was a gentle paw from Daisy that brought me back to my current reality. Again, she wasn’t sure why we had stopped moving, yet she was still in the car. “Okay,okay,” I said to her as I removed my seat belt. Let’s face it, my nails looked like shit so I was going to have to come up with a pretty damn good manicure to make Steve believe that I had taken two hours at the salon. I grabbed my book and Daisy and headed for the door of the salon. With any luck, I could use the novel I had been engulfed in previously to distract me from the soap opera that was currently my life.

The line, “I’ll get as far away from myself as I can” was something Dylan scrawled on a business card that was unearthed as part of his archive at the Center for American Research in Tulsa. This line eventually became the lyric, “I’ve been trying to get as far away from myself as I can.”

These were my exact feelings as I continued on my journey for justice.

 

Following Peter’s advice, I went back home to prepare myself to show Steve the letter. Peter agreed with Deanna that doing so would give me a good indication of who was playing the most recent “screw the other”game; Steve or McCrabben. I knew I was going to really have to monitor his reaction to gain the information I needed. Gross, this would mean looking that piece of shit in the eyes.

I returned home and mentally prepared myself for the next steps. I walked myself through the different possibilities, and I practiced keeping a straight face in the mirror. Nothing would be more of tell than my face turning bright red and smoke coming from my head when Steve showed me the reaction I anticipated. It felt like eternity sitting and waiting basically for the inevitable… and then I heard the familiar beep of the truck locking. As much as I had prepared, my stomach began to somersault again. It’s almost over, I coached myself mentally.

Steve came walking through the front door as if he didn’t have a care in the world “fucking moron” I thought to myself. He gave his best, most comforting smile for his grieving wife and displayed a bouquet of pink roses to me. Seriously dude, did you not get the memo about my most recent feelings for flowers?

Acting in the best faith and wifely attitude a possible, I graciously accepted the flowers and presented my best, more sincere smile. Clearly it wasn’t good enough, but then again, did it need to be?

“Whats wrong baby?” Steve asked.

Part of me wanted to punch him in the junk and spit on him when he fell. Even if I wasn’t dealing with the idea that my own husband was a complete fraud and plotted against my father, killing him for his money….. I had still just lost my father. I don’t think a “whats wrong” was the most appropriate question. Moron.

“I really need to talk to you,” I said as I placed the flowers in a vase. “Something came in the mail today and I honestly don’t know what to make of it. I haven’t been able to tell anyone yet.” I added the last part to try and stroke his ego a bit, as if I was only all trusting of him.

As Steve took a seat on the couch I handed over the letter, still contained in the envelope. I watched intently as he read it. Surprise filled his eyes, followed quickly by anger as he finished the last of what was said to be my father’s words. He took a moment to look at me, clearly attempting to control his emotions.

“Are you okay? This must have been so difficult for you to read.” He spoke in such a soft, warm tone… one that made me want to vomit on the spot.

“Yes, I am okay with the words, that is not the part that is troubling me.” As I spoke, I continued to watch his eyes, face, hands… trying to gauge any reaction he was going to accidentally display without knowing.  “It’s the date on the envelope that I can’t figure out,” I started, my voice shaky. Get a drip Dana, this is important. I watched Steve turn the envelope over so that he too could see the return postage. I watched his eyes travel to the top right corner of the envelope and then instantly become three times their normal size. I watched as his eyebrows became a solid line across his face and ever crease in his skin became more visible. That was it, these were the signs I had been waiting to see. He was just as surprised as I had been, which meant he wasn’t the one who had sent the letter. Fucking McCrabben.

“Dana, I don’t know how that could be possible at all.” His words were simple, he was trying so desperately to mask his emotions with that of true compassion. “Perhaps the post office made an error, maybe the letter was held up too long and didn’t get mailed on time, you know we have always had trouble with the mail system here in Texas.” He continued speaking, trying desperately to make logical excuses for the date on the envelope. He was not going to entertain at all the possibility that this was anything other than a United States Postal Service error. He continued speaking, coming up with different scenarios to explain away the hope I once had. His voice faded to a distant murmur int the background, ambient noise against my thoughts. It was then that the truth came hurling at me like a giant snowball that had been steadily gaining momentum down a hill…….. Steve WAS working with McCrabben, and SHE was the one who had sent this letter. She was trying to screw him over to take everything for herself. I knew a part of me should have been happy knowing the two murderers were trying to screw one another over…. but I couldn’t. All this meant was that there was even more proof to point to the two of these scumbags for my father’s death. AND they were so awful they were even trying to screw one another out of money that wasn’t even theirs. Scumbags. Trash.

My thoughts were broken by Steve’s voice calling out my name, apparently he had gone through every scenario that he wanted to share about the outdated letter from my dead father. “Dana, did you hear me? We can go to the post office tomorrow and check with the post master about this. I know there has to be an explanation for the date. I know you want to believe him to be alive baby, but that just isn’t the case.” He formed a sympathetic smile on his face while he spoke. No shit that isn’t the case, because you and that crazy bitch McCrabben killed him. I wanted to badly to say these words out loud, I wanted to scream them in his face and then kick him in the junk as planned. But I knew that this conversation was only a means to an ends, and once again I was means.

“I would really like that,” I said meekly. “Would you take me tomorrow?” I looked at him with the pleading eyes of a grieving wife. Surely he couldn’t turn down my request.

“Of course I will baby,” he replied softly. The pet names were really working my gag reflex.

I stood from the couch with the letter in my hand, “I am going to get a mani -pedi and try to relax,” I stated. “I think I need some time to escape my own thoughts if that’s okay with you.” My voice was confident, something I had practiced so hard in the hour leading up to him coming home.

“Absolutely baby, you take all the time you need.” He made a move to grab his wallet, “let me pay for your relaxation, you deserve it.” I relived my desire to take him down right then and there. No way was I taking money from this man. After all, it was my father’s money at this point anyways and I certainly wasn’t going to allow him to pretend he was doing me some kind of fucking favor with it. “No thanks, I have this all under control.” Probably not my best selection of words, but it was true. I finally felt as if I had some control over the situation and was gaining momentum in the “put Steve and McCrabben in jail for their crimes” department.

I retreated to the bedroom to gather my purse and a book for my spa session. At least, that is what I meant Steve to think. The reality was that I had found my old Ipod earlier when I was anxiously waiting for him to get home and it got my gears turning on how to catch the solid poof I needed. I had strategically hidden the device behind a picture frame on the shelf. I had tested the audio recording from all areas of the room and was satisfied that it was able to capture voice from every corner. Plus, I didn’t think Steve would be speaking softly to the person he called next. I was confident I had given him multiple reasons to make a phone call, and not a quiet one at that.

I flipped the recording switch to “on” as I grabbed my purse and book and headed for the door. I scooped Daisy up in my arms. She always came with me to the nail salon so Steve wouldn’t find that strange, plus I didn’t want her sitting here listening to the screaming that I was sure was about to ensue.

“I will be back in about two hours,” I said as I headed for the door. He crossed the living room quickly and before I knew it he was right in my exit path. What the hell, was he on to me? Shit, was this it? He stood solid, creating a barrier between myself and the door. I held Daisy a bit tighter and finally forced myself to meet his gaze. Pushing back the tears of fear, I looked up and asked “Is everything okay….baby?” I choked out that last word to try and appear allied with him, when in fact I was still replaying the images of kicking him in the junk and spitting on him. I don’t think those would ever grow old.

“I just want you to know we will figure this out together, ” his eyes met mine as he spoke. “I promise, we will get to the bottom of this as a team.” A smile formed across his lips that I am sure was meant to be comforting, but it made my skin crawl so badly I felt like I needed to shower.

“I know, ” I replied. “Thank you.” I moved to pass him and make my exit for the door, after all, I wasn’t sure how long the battery on the Ipod would last. He stepped in my path again, this time to place his hand on the back of my neck. Suddenly ever movement seemed threatening. He pulled me to him and kissed my cheek for what felt like forever. My insides were screaming to get his murdering hands off me. I used every bit of energy I had to force a smile in response. “See you soon,” I said.

And with that, my path cleared and I was out the door. Yep, I definitely needed a shower.

---

I had showered as quickly as possible and chose a dark pair of jeans with an ivory top to contrast. I selected some pieces of jewelry to accent the ensemble so that I could look more put together for this meeting than I actually felt. I cringed as I slid my wedding band over my left ring finger and my stomach did somersaults thinking about who I had actually married. No time to think about that now, I coached myself. I had to get to this meeting on time.

I never spent much time in Starbucks. In fact, I had given up coffee altogether when I moved to Texas. Some freaking New Yorker I was right? It wasn’t that I didn’t like it, or that I had made a change to the infamous San Antonio “sweet tea” to start my morning (otherwise known as diabetes in a cup), it was just that everything took so damn long. Stopping to get a cup of coffee would easily add 20 minutes onto my morning commute, and when faced with the decision to sleep those extra minutes of have coffee, sleep won.

I could already smell the coffee brewing as I exited my car. I remembered that Dad, who was such a coffee connoisseur, had always hated Starbucks. He would say it tasted like they burnt the beans. I laughed under my breath at the irony as I took the large steps to the front entrance. As I opened the large glass door to what I hoped to be my justice, the smell of burnt coffee beans washed over me. I took a moment to allow my eyes to adjust to the dim lighting and began scanning the tables for someone who looked like a PI. What the hell am I looking for anyways? It’s not like he is going to be wearing a sign. My brain had immediately created a large Italian man with a leather coat and slicked back hair to be the guy I was going to hire. Apparently I had watched too many old Mob movies. I truly didn’t know what I was looking for, and everyone in the place had their face buried in a book or a laptop. No one even gave a glance in my direction and so I figured that I had arrived before him. I walked up the counter and ordered a cup of Earl Grey tea. I loved the smell and I could use something to busy my idle hands while I waited. “What’s the name for that order ma’m?” The young barista asked me cheerfully. I wanted to give her a “coffee name” like Phoebe had in the TV show Friends, and I was just pondering a funny name to give her with a perfectly straight face (something like Princess Consuela, or perhaps Mildred) when it suddenly dawned on me. This is why he picked Starbucks! It wasn’t because it was close, or discrete, it was because it was the only place in the world where you could learn the names of every person in the room without having to say a word.  “Dana,” I responded to the barista with a smile on my face, and watched as she scribbled it on my cup to fill my order. Instead of choosing a seat, I opted to stand near the drink pick up area. I did enjoy watching the intricate details that went into some people’s drinks, but I also wanted to get a better look at the names. I was hopeful that a cup ahead of mine might belong to Peter .

It felt like hours that I was standing there watching the various drinks pass, all claiming an owner; Julie, Scott, Ben…..each name being called loudly as they were presented on the counter. Finally, I heard a familiar name, “Dana, your drink is ready at the counter, Dana.” As I closed the distance between myself and my steaming cup of tea, I was startled by a man’s hand that cut right in front of mine and grabbed my tea. “Let me get that for you Dana.” He said with a calm and pleasant tone. I looked up to match my eyes to the person that the voice belonged to, and landed on a gentleman who looked nothing like an Italian mobster, bummer. “I’m Peter,” he continued, “won’t you come and join me at the table?” My eyes followed his gesture to as small table located in the back left corner. There was a lap top sitting open, and what appeared to be a half gone espresso alongside it. Well, at least he had good taste in coffee drinks, Dad would have liked that. As we walked I realized that the computer and the coffee were the things that made him blend in so well, I hadn’t noticed him at all when I entered, and he didn’t have to look up to try and pick me out. He knew all he had to do was wait for my name. So far so good, he seemed intelligent and was clearly able to blend in.

As I took a seat across from him, I started to look at his features more intently. He bent the laptop cover slightly, so that I could have a full visual of my current company. He seemed average, 5’9″ maybe, auburn hair and plain brown eyes. His skin tone was fair and he didn’t really have any distinguishing features that I could see right now. He was well groomed and professionally dressed in Khaki dockers and an equally plain hunter green polo shirt. If I hadn’t taken notice of this man upon entry, then I don’t think Steve was going to be any wiser. As long as Peter would agree to take my case, I think this is going to work out just fine.

“Thank you for meeting with me,” I started. “Jen spoke so highly of you and she thinks you are going to be able to help me with a problem I am having.” My voice was as collected as I could force given the fact that I was about to spill all my personal information to a complete stranger. You were more than willing when you thought he was a mob guy, I chastised myself.

“I will let you know up front that I have to hear all of the details of the case before I make a decision. I have a very open mind and genuinely want to help people with their problems. I take personal safety into account when deciding on a case, as well as the rate of success that is foreseeable. I like to be sure I can help, before I give any false hope.” Peter seemed to be a very genuine man, and committed to his work for all the right reasons.

“I can live with that,” I told him. “It seems more than fair.”

Peter nodded to my response, “Well then Dana, why don’t you tell me about your situation and how my services might be able to help.”

I took a long pause and a moment to steal a sip of my tea. I let out a very deep exhale and launched into my story from the very beginning. As I went through the various people involved and gave their names, I watched Peter write them down on his legal pad that had previously been tucked under the laptop hiding the elements of his profession. He didn’t show any signs of emotion while I regaled him with the tales of loss and pain, and the ideas I had about how McCrabben and Steve were working together and why. He continued to nod to affirm my statements, and wrote notes when he thought something was worth writing about. I just kept going through the events, making sure that I was giving as much detail as possible so Peter could get the whole picture. I blotted my eyes occasionally to stop the tears from becoming a full on crying fit. It occurred to me while I was talking that this was the first time I had even thought about the whole ordeal from the beginning up to now, let alone say it aloud. It was difficult to even hear myself speak the words, to say all the terrible things that had come into my life in the last few weeks. I willed myself to keep going, but the ideas in my head were a strong force to fight. You married a murderer Dana. How could I be so fucking stupid? How could I let Steve into my life and allow him to take my Dad’s? How the hell did I end up here…. with a PI, asking him to help me catch my husband in the crime of killing my father? These words and many others pushed their way into my thoughts and before I knew it, I had stopped talking. I was wiping my eyes now instead of blotting and I realized this was more painful than I had anticipated. I did a quick check of Peter’s face, he was still listening. I took another sip of my tea and forced myself to finish. “And so Peter, do you think you could help me to find out what role Steve played in this disaster that is my life? And assist me in gathering enough information that I can take a legitimate case to the police? In short, do you think you have the expertise to help me take down my murdering husband and the bitch McCrabben who helped him? My voice was matter of fact when I spoke these final words, and I knew that everything I had was riding on Peter’s next response. I was down to ten days and he was going to be my only chance to get what I needed. I took a deep breath and grabbed one shaky hand in the other as I stared into his eyes.

“Dana, I don’t think I can help you….. I know I can.” A smile formed across his face as he spoke. “Let’s get some information about Steve and his daily schedule, and then I will share with you the route I was thinking of going. We will make this happen.”

I exhaled the breath I had been holding onto for the last 45 seconds and wiped a fresh batch of tears from my face. We will make this happen. 

Deanna’s words were my fuel to each step I took on the cement. Focusing on her voice was all that I could do to keep from passing out. I had this daydream in my head that all of the pain I had felt over the last few weeks was going to magically disappear. If this letter was true, if he was truly alive, then my heart was going to be on the mend. I felt that I was saved from a lifetime of tears and pain. I was going to be whole again.

“Dana?” The sound of my name prompted my thoughts to return to reality. “Are you listening to me?” Deanna’s words were calm and her voice soothing, but still direct. That was something I could always count on her for; it didn’t matter what the topic, she was going to give it to you straight. Some people would shy away from this type of friendship, but I had always come to appreciate it, especially now. “Dana. I need you to hear my words and truly comprehend what I am saying. There is no possible way that this letter came from you father. I know this is not what you want to hear, but it doesn’t add up.” I could hear the sympathy in her voice, but I couldn’t bring myself to say anything. No words came out. But I think she knew that, because she used the sound of my heavy breath as a sign that I was still listening and continued. “I know that this must have been a moment of hope for you, but we need to be realistic about this situation. You saw your father’s body in that casket. You read that police report. Dana, it detailed every line of ink of his tattoos and each scar that was left on his body from surgeries and injuries throughout his life. This is not a romance novel, this is life, and I think you know that the words I am telling you are the real truth.” I nodded my head to say yes, before I realized she was on the phone and couldn’t see me. I managed to croak out a “yes” through my tears, but that was about it. We sat in silence on the phone for a few minutes, I was trying to gather my thoughts and get my sobs under control. I was pretty sure I could hear her trying to wipe away her own tears, but I never did ask. I knew I had to speak to her so that we could work this out together. “So then who would have sent it?” My question seemed so small, but it packed a lot of of punch. “Who would have known all those intimate details about our relationship enough to forge the words? Who the hell would have been able to copy his handwriting so explicitly?” I was finding both my voice and my anger as I continued to speak. “And who the fuck is so heartless to give me even the smallest sense of hope for him to be alive? Is this a fucking joke to someone, or is there really a reason?” My face was warm now, I could feel my body temperature rising internally and trying to fight the cool air around it. Deanna remained as calm as possible while I screamed my questions. She knew that my anger was misdirected, and that I didn’t really want answers, I wanted it to be true.

“I think you should show Steve the letter. See what his reaction is. I don’t know if he wrote it,  but I think you are going to find more out by showing it to him. Dana, if you really believe that McCrabben and Steve are working together, then I think this letter was a way for one of them to screw the other. Being as they are both money hungry pieces of shit, I think that splitting your inheritance has made them both rethink their original plan. People like them, well they think of the biggest gain possible. And if that means one of them has to fuck over the other to get the whole pie instead of just a piece, well then I think they would try something….. even something this drastic.” Her words made sense to me as I listened, but I was fighting my internal voice that was pleading with me to just believe that he was in fact alive. It was what I wanted, but I knew that this was my imagination that wanted me to believe. The frontal cortex of my brain was where I needed to focus my energy, I needed to think about what was plausible, and determine the truth. “My money is on McCrabben,”  I said. “Let’s face it, women learn all sorts of things about the men we spend time with, especially if we have and agenda all along. She knew about our relationship, and I would only take a few martinis for her to get some of the personal information out of him. Anyone could do the handwriting if they had a sample. But she would have needed a fairly large writing sample for someone to make it this believable.” I felt a sudden rush of energy to my brain and I had to place my hands on a nearby tree to steady my legs. My whole body began trembling under my weight and slowly I slid down to the concrete sidewalk to rest. Holy fuck. I couldn’t believe I would have ever missed this, of course she had a fucking writing sample. My thoughts were spinning back to the night of his death and all of the things I had learned in such a short time. “Dana, are you okay? You sound like you have been running.” Deanna seemed concerned, and probably so did my neighbors passing in their cars along the street where I was now sitting. “I can’t fucvking believe I didn’t think of this before! I was practically screaming into the phone now. She had an intimate writing sample all right, the damn suicide note.” My face burned with the anger of not only realizing there was motive, but understanding now that my letter was a fraud. I had held so much anger over the last few weeks that McCrabben had received the last piece of writing, his last thoughts and emotions, addressed solely to her. I had of course seen the note, but I was angry that I too was not given a last thought. It was then that I realized I had been wanting so desperately to believe that the letter I held in my hands was real because that meant that he had loved me just as much, and that I was there in his mind right before he passed. Now, not only did I not have a token of his emotion to hang onto, I had a forged piece of shit. It was like holding a cubic zirconia in your hand that was supposed to be a match to the prestigious Hope Diamond. I wanted to throw the letter into the sewer drain and let it wash away with all the other shit, literally. But I knew it was a vital piece of evidence that was ultimately going to help me find my justice and peace.

“He didn’t love you any less Dana, just because he didn’t have a chance to write it down.” There it was, that 21 years of friendship at work, it was like she was in my head. “You know in your heart what is real and true, and you can feel that he loved you. Please don’t allow this to keep you from the path of justice. You know what you have to do.” She was always the voice of reason when I needed one, especially when I didn’t particularly want one.

“Thank you. I am going to use my walk home to steady my thoughts and get my emotions under control. I think you are right about the greed overtaking the original plan, and I am going to find out. Steve will be home soon and I plan to show him the letter. I will use his reaction to find out more. I don’t think I can do this all on my own anymore though, it might be time to hire someone. I only have ten days until he expects me to leave with him. If I do, I might never get back. And if I don’t, well then he might disappear forever.” I was talking more to myself than to Deanna, but she understood and just listened for a while.

“Didn’t you have that one friend that you used to bartend with that became a police officer?” Deanna asked. “Maybe she could help you find someone reliable to hire, and quick.” 

With all of the emotion and activity, I had completely forgotten about Jen as a resource. We had worked together for a while at a bar on the Riverwalk, and she had recently become a San Antonio police officer. She was a wonderful friend and would be a great contact to have, especially now. “You are brilliant!” 

I said goodbye to Deanna for now, and began my walk back to the house. I could feel the tears begin to dry on my cheeks, and in their place a small smile began to form. Even though I now knew this wasn’t a real letter, I had learned some valuable information to help me seek justice for my father. As I walked I scrolled through the contacts in my phone until I came to Jen’s number. She answered after a few rings and I gave her a very small synopsis of my current situation. In short, I got the number to a great local private investigator, and some hope for my plan. Jen said to keep her in the loop and to call with anything I needed. I knew I wouldn’t do that to her, but it was nice to have someone from the police force on my side just in case.

I checked my watch. I had about three hours until Steve would return. That seemed like enough time to pull together some sort of makeup and clothes and make an appointment to meet with the PI. If I was going to show Steve the letter, I needed to know what he was going to do with that information afterwards, and that was something I wasn’t going to be able to accomplish alone.

I stopped on the corner of my street and sat along the curb to make my final call. The man on the other end was nice after I gave him Jen’s full name, and within minutes we had an appointment to meet at Starbuck’s in an hour. It didn’t seem very discreet, but I figured there would be more to it when I got there. This was my first tangle with a PI, so who was I to judge protocol? My last few steps to the house were a bit lighter than the ones I had taken on my way out. Maybe I was driven by the idea that I was finally going to get some closure, or maybe it was Dad holding me up. I wasn’t much of a believer in angels, but I knew if they did exist, he was definitely one of the best. I guess sometimes you have to make yourself believe, so that you have the strength to continue.

I had to fight over the sound of my own heart pounding inside my chest to make my father’s words audible. When I concentrated really hard, there it was… his voice. The words were coming…

Source: Make You Feel My Love

I had to fight over the sound of my own heart pounding inside my chest to make my father’s words audible. When I concentrated really hard, there it was… his voice. The words were coming right off the page and his familiar husky voice was speaking them right to me.

Dana, 

I know by now you feel alone, more alone than one should ever feel, but you’re not. You will always be in my heart sweetheart. I must confess that I feel terrible about this whole affair. I failed you as a father so far in your life and have not been there for you many times I’m sure. Some part of me did that on purpose. I stayed on the sidelines of you life because I wasn’t sure how you wanted me. When you were born I made a promise that in times of grief and sorrow I would hold you and rock you, take your pain and make it my own. When you cried, I too would cry, and when you hurt I too would hurt. And together we would hold back the floods of tears and despair and make it through the potholed streets of life together. I still plan on keeping that promise Squirt. This has all been very hard for me because I know that ultimately I am to blame. I accept your pain as well as all involved. But acceptance does not come easy at night when I’m alone and the price is very high. I’ve seen so many kids, friends etc. ruin their very precious lives for no other reason than they felt unworthy of love. It’s not that they don’t see the light at the end of the tunnel, it’s that they feel they are not worthy of it. You are Dana. I have been so proud of you my whole life. That Steve character is not worthy of my daughter and I cannot let you be brought down by someone who doesn’t have the brains to treat someone as precious as you with the respect you deserve. What I am doing should show you that I will stop and nothing to ensure your well being. both mentally and physically. I hope someday you can see how hard this is for me. Someday you will have children and understand all of this. So until then, take care honey. I will kiss you every night in my heart before I go to bed and will worry and love you forever. 

Love Always, 

Dad

Tears were streaming down my face and pooling in my lap, soaking through my sweatpants. I hadn’t even noticed until now. I was so focused on the words that I hadn’t even realized my body was having a physiological reaction, or any reaction at all for that matter. I straightened my gaze out over the backyard, not because there was anything to look at, but because I had to gain some sort of control over my mind and body. What the hell did I just read? What did it mean? And where had it come from? More importantly…… when?! Realizing the answer to my question lied in my hands I flipped the envelope back over so the front was again visible to me. My eyes swept over the address and landed in the upper right hand corner on the postage. The stamp was normal, one of those “forever stamps” with the flag pictured. But that was not what I was focused on. What I was searching for was the red stamp that had been placed over the top of the stamp. Generally, these were difficult to make out because they were partially hidden by the actual postage. In any case, it was my simple bad luck that this one was especially light in color. It was like the person in charge of stamping that day was severely hungover and unable to put any pressure on the ink pad. Are you freaking kidding me? I struggled to make out the date. The month was definitely January, and it looked as if the first number was a 1. I opened the top of the envelope and held it to the sun that was quickly rising over the horizon. Much better. I felt a quick sense of joy at my ability to overcome the misfortune, but it was quickly replaced by a churning nausea in my stomach. There it was, the postage stamp that revealed the date in which the letter had been sent. The red letters were blatantly starring at me and becoming swirls of color as I felt the black begin to cover my eyes like shades on a window. This was going to mark the second time I had almost passed out in my life, and it had all happened within 2 weeks. Jan. 12. 09. What the fuck was going on?

I forced myself to place my forehead on the cool metal arm of the char I was occupying. I figured this was going to help me stay conscious in this moment. The last thing I needed was for Steve to walk outside and find me passed out with a letter from the man he had killed in my hand, dated after his death. I had enough fucking questions of my own at the moment, I didn’t have the ability to answer any of his, or risk him becoming suspicious.

But what did this all mean? Was it truly sent on this date? Maybe the post office had lost it and it was sent at a later time when it was found again. There was all that holiday mail for them to contend with. But the letter looked clean and crisp. It didn’t look as if it had slipped through any cracks in the local post office, or dug out from in between some mail carrier seat. But how? It was only in this moment did I have a small sense of gratuity for my Aunt and grandmother having gone against his wishes and held an open casket. Because I was able to talk myself off the crazy ledge. He COULD NOT BE ALIVE! Dana, wake up, you saw him with your own eyes. It;s not possible! 

But then how the hell do I explain the date? And the words…. they were so geared toward my current situation, one I would not be in had he not died. I replayed parts over in my head….“What I am doing should show you that I will stop at nothing to ensure your well being, both physically and mentally…..” Did he know someone was coming for him? Did he know about Steve and McCrabben before they got to him? “I still plan on keeping that promise Squirt.” What did he mean by that? Was that literal or figurative? My father didn’t believe in religion, although I was never clear on his views of the afterlife. I can’t imagine if he was writing his last letter to me that he would speak so much in code. This had to be more literal. That is who he was. And then there was the date, how the hell did this letter get mailed out nine days after he was pronounced dead? I know the mail in Texas is fucking slow but that is a little out of hand.

I wasn’t getting any clarity from asking myself these questions. In fact, I was making it even more difficult to understand. I needed someone else to look at it, to read it. But who? Kim was grieving and until I knew what the hell it was I was dealing with I couldn’t burden her with this. My mother had been so good about not thinking I was insane up until this point, did I dare risk another chance? I thought for a moment how that conversation would go… “Hey Mom, thanks for supporting me in my plan to take down my husband and Dad’s mistress for his suicide that I believe to be a murder covered up. But now I am thinking he might not really be dead. Wanna check this letter out with me?”  Nope, no way. That was not going to work. I hated keeping things from my Mom, but this was too fucking crazy. I was on a mission to bring Steve and McCrabben down for a murder that I was now not sure had happened. Nut my proof so far yielded that they believed it had….. so how does the letter play into all of this? My mind went back to my original question, did he know they were coming for him and so he faked his death at their hands? Let them take the fall for something they planned to do while he had the opportunity to start over? But how could he do that to us? Okay, none of this was even an ounce of logical. I needed a slap in the face and a throat punch of reality. There was really oly one answer….. one person who could give it to me straight with absolutely zero judgement in the process. But I had to make sure I was alone first.

I pushed open the back door and called to Steve. No answer. I all but crossed the living room in a sprint to the front door to check for his truck. Empty driveway. I checked every room and closet in the house just for good measure> When I was sure he wasn’t there I pulled on my sneakers , zipped up my hoodie and grabbed my cell and the letter from the back deck. Maybe I was crazy, but I wasn’t taking any chances. Who knew what Steve was capable of, and if there was a recording device somewhere in this house, I wasn’t going to risk him finding out this news. Besides, I could probably stand to have some light exercise and the fresh air on my face.

When I felt that I was far enough from the house to be safe, I slipped my cell from my pocket and opened to the contacts page. When you need answers that are blunt and not sugar coated, and you need to speak without judgement you can only count on the person you have known since you were 2 years old. The only one who knows how you feel and what you are thinking before you have even realized it. My fingers slid through the contacts until I landed on my one true, always going to answer, no bullshit, best friend in the world. I clicked on her name and pulled the phone to my ear. She answered in two rings. “Dana, what’s wrong?” See? I told you….. she always just knew. “Deanna, we need to talk. I need you to help me sort something out.” And without another word I began reading her the letter. I knew I didn’t need to introduce the problem at hand. 21 years of friendship allowed for the absence of those kinds of things. She was silent as I read. When I finished, I took a single deep breath and waited. “So…. talk to me.” And she did.

Heavy breathing woke me from a sound sleep. It felt as if I had only slept a few minutes, probably because I had. Perhaps it was the idea that I was laying next to a man whom I assumed had killed my father and was looking for inheritance money that had kept me from falling into any sort of a deep sleep. Part of me was completely disgusted, while the other part was a bit scared. What easier way for Steve to get his money than to collect from his dead wife’s estate? Was I more of a victim than I originally thought? Yes, these thoughts and many others kept me up for most of the night. Now I was forced to face the morning, and what would come from my day.

I couldn’t bring myself to roll over and look at him, hearing his breathing was enough to send me hurling toward the porcelain bowl. I kept it together and eased myself out of bed as not to wake him. I scooped Daisy in my arms and went for kitchen in search of coffee.

Steve had told me last night that his company had given him the day off to “handle moving details.” I was livid at the thought of spending the day with him, and even more so that he thought he could just continue on with this moving nonsense without even asking my feelings about it. He just kept saying “it’s all for the better, you will see.” You are going to be the one to see you shithead, I would say inside my head. Even if I had to keep my retorts to myself, it felt good to think them.

I couldn’t do shit for investigation while he was still in the house, too risky. So I took this time to mentally form the next steps of my plan. This way when the opportunity to snoop presented itself, I would be ready. Coffee in hand and Daisy in tow, I headed for the porch. One thing I did like about Texas, even in January I could enjoy the sunrise outside with a light sweater and my slippers.

Unfortunately, I wasn’t left to my peaceful morning for long. “Hi Baby,” I heard his voice from behind me as he opened the back door. I don’t think it was the chill of the morning air that made the hairs on the back of my neck suddenly stand up straight. “What are you doing up so early?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” I replied as politely as I could muster. “I guess I just have too much to think about.” I was hopeful that this answer would make him uncomfortable and bring the conversation to a screeching halt.

“I understand,” he said sympathetically. “What are your plans for today?”

Oh, not much, just figuring out how to pin you to the wall for murder and make sure you spend the rest of your life in a maximum security prison being treated like the bitch you are. Man, I had to get my thoughts in check.

“Not much, I was thinking I would start packing come of my important things. Do we have an estimated timeline for the move?” I figured I better act as if I was going along with this ridiculous plan so that he would give me some space.

“I need to be out to California in 10 days, and that is including the drive. I was thinking we could get the movers for the day before we want to leave and then get a hotel or something for our last night in San Antonio. That way we won’t beat our stuff there and have nothing to live with.” Steve sounded so practiced with these words, as if he had rehearsed them for days.

“Okay, “ I told him, “I can be ready, but if you don’t mind I would like to spend that last evening with my Mom, alone.” I added the last word so that he could understand this was not an open invitation to join my evening. Because truthfully, this meant I had ten days to get my proof in order and then run to my Mom’s house, with no intention of returning to him let alone joining him in a move to California. Although I found solace in the fact that this meant I only had to pretend to like this man for ten more days, I also realized that it put a short timeline on my plan for revenge. Shit. Ten days, I had ten fucking days to get enough information to take the DA and have him formally charged with my father’s murder. It felt like a dream, as if I had indeed slept last night and had been sleeping for days. I was brought back into my truth with the sound of his voice, “I am going to head out and do a few errands today, would you like to join me?” Spend hours in a car trolling around town with a potential murderer? Yea, sign me up! “No thanks, “ I said with the coyest smile I could plaster on my face. “I think I am going to stick with my plan of packing. I have a lot of things to go through in this house.” The last part wasn’t truly a lie, there were a lot of things I had to go through, mainly all of his shit. “Okay,” he said as he went for the door. “By the way, this came for you in the mail yesterday, I forgot to give it to you last night.” He handed over a white envelope that looked as if it belonged to another sympathy card. I was about to discard it to the side, not wanting to read the words “I’m so sorry for your loss” for the ten-thousandth time, when the front of the envelop caught my eye. I sucked in the cold air so hard that I thought I was going to choke. I looked back quickly to make sure Steve had already closed the door before I released the air from my mouth in a loud wooosh. I ran my fingers over my name and address that were printed on the front. There was no return address in the upper left hand corner, indicating that someone didn’t want me to know where it came from. But that wasn’t the strangest part. As my fingers slid over the shiny black ink I read the name that the card was addressed to Dana “Squirt” Smith. I felt tears begin to fall from my eyelids and I quickly moved the card away from their path. Squirt. It was a name I knew too well, but a name that only one other person in the entire world had ever called me, my Father. My hands began to shake as I carefully slid my index finger through the seal of envelope to reveal what was inside. Not a card, but yellow legal paper folded up neatly. That was what he always wrote to me on. Was this really happening? I unfolded the letter and starred at the handwriting that I knew all too well to belong to my father. I pressed the paper close to my chest and wiped my tears from my eyes with the back of my sleeve. I needed to prepare myself for whatever was going to be on this paper, and I couldn’t let Steve know what it was. Pull it together! I urged myself inside my head. I slowed my breathing and pushed the letter away from my chest and back into my sight. I started slowly and the words read to me as if his voice was right inside my head.

 

Getting the massive amounts of people to leave an airplane has always been a mystery to me. The immense about of time it takes for everyone to simply grab their belonging and make their way down the aisle is mind blowing. It’s as if they didn’t hear the first three messages from the pilot or the flight attendants as they announced our final departure in formal time increments. This might be the only time that I was thankful for the people who hadn’t packed up, or those that were still trying to remember which overhead bin contained their luggage. I didn’t even mind the blast of heat that was making its way through the plane now that the engines had been turned off. Out of everyone on that plane who might be sad to have been leaving family, or a vacation or even a honeymoon, I was the most upset to be coming “home” to my husband. Of course, no one would know that for quite some time.

As we followed the crowd toward the baggage claim area I could feel the knots in my stomach grow tighter. My hands were sweating from the anxiety coursing throughout my veins and the nauseous feeling grew stronger with every approaching step. I talked myself into continuing the walk and forced myself to follow the path my mother was already taking. As we rode the escalator to the bottom level, my eyes began to scan the crowd for the face of my husband. I tried to appear as calm as possible, the difficult part was going to be forcing the smile. I searched through the crowds of loved ones embracing the other passengers, but I didn’t see his face anywhere. Suddenly my Mom pointed through a group of people. I hesitantly allowed my eyes to follow, and exhaled a deep breath of relief when they landed on Dawn. As we made our way to her I suddenly wondered how much she knew. Surely my Mother had filled her in on everything right? Because I was not ready to ensure the pain of retelling the story and plan again.

Not many words were exchanged as we approached, but Dawn must have been able to read my reaction from a distance because she looked at me and said “Don’t worry Dana, something came up and Steve wasn’t able to make it, he called me just before I was leaving the house.” Her words were comforting because I knew they had bought me a little more time, which I must have greatly needed because it didn’t take her long to read my expression, and if that was true then it wouldn’t take him long either. I had to get better at forcing my smiles and playing the part, or this plan was never going to work. I felt myself suddenly burning on the inside with anger, something came up? Man, this guy was a real piece of work. He didn’t come to the funeral for his wife’s father, he barely called while I was in New York dealing with the bullshit, and now he couldn’t even show up at the airport?! What a fucking winner. I snapped myself back to reality with the realization that Steve was only proving to be the kind of person that I already knew he was; selfish, soulless, vindictive and lets not forget… a murderer. Why would I expect anything else from him? Thankfully, someone changed the subject and in no time my thoughts were temporarily relieved from the drama that had become my life, and I found myself focused on the story Dawn was telling about their crazy cats at home.

Unfortunately my reprieve was short, because we all lived only a short distance from the airport. I wasn’t sure if Steve was going to be home or not, but I imagined I would ahve some time to myself since “something came up.” I found happiness in the thoughts that I would be able to spend some time with my beloved chihuahua, who I missed dearly, and get a jump start on my plan to find out everything about Steve. I hoped he had left his computer home, and not taken it with him today.

As Dawn pulled into my driveway, I felt void of emotion. I didn’t feel anything for this house anymore. I wasn’t sad about loosing my “home” because it was built on a  foundation of lies. I wasn’t angry that my life was being swept away from me, because the truth was, my life had not been mine for some time now, I just didn’t know it. I put myself into “work mode” and vowed to execute our plan as quickly as possible. This might not be my home or my house anymore, but I surely wasn’t going to fake it in another all the way in California.

My Mom stayed true to her positive, strong, and nurturing ways as she helped me unload my luggage from the car and drag it up the walkway. We stopped on the porch and I told her I would take it from here. I could tell she wanted to argue with me on this and that she wanted to come in and check the house for herself, but she knew she had passed those same character traits of stubbornness onto me, and there was no reason to argue about it. “Remember, I am only a phone call and a very short drive away, if you need anything. ” Mom’s words were strong and confident, but her eyes showed worry. “Do what you need to, but be careful. We want to do this right and I can’t have you getting hurt in the process.” she said.

“I know Mom, don’t worry, I can do this.” I worked really hard on making my voice strong and desperately hoping my eyes matched. “I will call you as soon as I find out anything.” I smiled, we hugged and I watched her walk back to the car. I stood on the front porch waving as they drove away. They only lived a few streets down, but I felt like I was loosing them forever. I had no idea how this was going to pan out, and I for sure didn’t know what to expect from Steve. My worry was quickly replaced by a smile as I heard the familiar bark come from beyond the front door. “I’m coming Daisy,” I yelled as I fumbled with my keys.

After I spent some time with the chihuahua, getting extra sloppy kisses and squeezing her close to my chest, I decided to get to work. I knew I was going to have to keep appearances up, so this meant snooping and unpacking simultaneously. I have always been one to unpack immediately. If Steve came home and found anything different, he would be suspicious for sure. I dragged my suitcase into the bedroom and began sorting my clothes. It really doesn’t matter to me weather it had been worn or not, after 5+ hours on a plane, as far as I am concerned, everything was dirty. I loaded up the washer and began searching the house for his laptop. He didn’t always take it with him, and I was just hoping that today was one of those lucky days. I couldn’t find it in any of it’s usual spots and I began to get discouraged. I headed back to the bedroom to continue unpacking and formulate a new plan of attack in my head. As I placed the last of the paperwork in the bottom of my nightstand (which had a lock), I spotted the sleek black shine of the cover of the laptop peering our from under a blanket that had been tossed on the bed. “Yes!” I whispered in a silent cheer. I ran out to the front room to lock the door. The lock would buy me some time to put the laptop back in it’s place and provide a warning for when he got home.

I fired up the laptop and started to browse through recent documents; nothing. He probably kept a flash drive for anything important. I tried searching the calendar, but nothing stood out to me there either. I opened up internet explorer and searched the browsing history, as I scrolled through the lists of news stations that had been accessed this week, I finally landed on the Democrat and Chronicle page.  Having the Rochester newspaper on your computer was a bit strange I guess, but he could argue this away by simply saying he was looking for the obituary. I kept going, Suddenly my gaze caught a familiar webpage on the list, Compson Development. If he was an innocent party, like I am sure he would claim to be, there would be no reason for him to be researching the company my father worked for. The history was dated a month ago, and showed that it had been bookmarked on his computer. Even though I knew I was going to find more evidence that made our theory more than just plausible, it didn’t shake the knife in the gut feeling I got from finding this on my husbands computer. A month ago, an entire month before my father had died, Steve was looking into his company. My stomach churned and I could feel the anger rise in my veins. My fingers slid down the track pad to review further history when Daisy barked. I snapped out of my computer trace and realized that she was responding to the familiar sound of keys in the lock. Shit. I quit the programs I had opened on the computer and snapped the lid shut. Carefully, I slid it back into position under the blanket and started toward the door. The sun streamed through the wide open door, and I had to shield my eyes slightly from the rays, but I couldn’t shield them from the inevitable. There he was, a sympathetic smile on his face that I am sure was a show just for me, and holding a bouquet of Lily’s in his left hand. If only he had known my recent distaste for flowers.  He started toward me with his arms stretched out wide, and I knew this was the “do or die” moment that I had been preparing for. “Hey Baby,” he cooed softly, “I have missed you so much.” Before I could say a word, his arms enveloped me in a deep embrace. The feeling made me want to scream, kick him in the junk and grab the closest frying pan, high heeled shoe or wiffle bat available. But I was here to “work,” to get a job done. And I had a feeling it was going to be one of the most difficult jobs I had ever endured. I forced my stiff arms up to clasp around his neck and prepared for the first Emmy award winning moment. It was then that he pulled himself away slightly and moved his hands so that one was holding my neck and the other stroking the side of my cheek. He leaned in close and I could feel his lips touch mine. My head was telling me that vomiting in his mouth would be a great start to my plan of revenge, but I knew I was in no position to get caught. So with all of my strength I forced my mind to travel to a happier place and returned his sign of affection as any good wife would do. There would be time to cry and be sick  about this later. Right now, I was just being a normal newlywed wife, showing affection to her husband whom she had not seen for a while. Or I was on a beach drinking Gin martinis with my friends from home…. either way, the show must go on.

 

I must preface this chapter of my writing by saying that this is something my mother and I had talked about many times. We had some good laughs over these images and it was a way to release feelings without anyone truly getting hurt. I have been anxiously waiting to work this piece into my writing, and I truly hope I did it the justice that it deserves. Thanks Mom, for all the laughs.

 

“MOM, NO! STOP! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?” The words were pouring from my mouth in a panicked screams.  I couldn’t even wrap my brain around the site that was unfolding before me. McCrabben was on the ground, constantly fighting her way back to a standing position and with every attempt she was met with the force of a bat to various parts of her body.  My mother’s eyes were wild with rage, something I hadn’t witnessed from the Dali Lama in quite some time. Probably since the last time I had been in the car when she and Dawn had  trapped a teenage girl in between their bread trucks maintaining a fabulous speed of 30, because she had cut them off and followed it with a toss of the finger.  Certainly well deserved Karma for that girl. But that was ages ago, long before her conversion to her new way of being. It was as if she wasn’t even part of her own body anymore, but a hallow shell of what once was, driven in force only through her pain and anger. As I watched in horror my mother deliver blows to the ribs, kneecaps and a few especially hard blows to the spine, a flash of bright yellow color caught my eye. What the hell? I had spent a good portion of my youth playing softball, and although there were always some new crazy decorative decals on the bats, they were never solid bright yellow in color. Either this was some kind of eccentric bat that had not yet passed through the sporting goods store or….. holy shit. It was a wiffle bat. My Mother in all her rage was beating the absolute shit out of McCrabben with a yellow plastic wiffle bat. The fear began to subside from my insides as I realized no matter how well deserved a beat down with an actual bat might be, there was no way in hell McCrabben was currently in any real danger. As I smiled to myself, I took a step back from the action. There was no need to intervene at this point. The wiffle bat was about bent completely in half and had rendered itself useless.  But that minor detail did not stop my mother. She continued hurling the blows with all her force and the bent half of the bat smacked from side to side, threatening to break. So while I am sure this was a well accomplished and therapeutic exercise to express emotion for my mom, all it really was in the moment was fucking hysterical. The humor of the situation caught up to me and I began to laugh out loud as I watched McCrabben block hits from every angle as the broken plastic came raging down on her. Was she really trying to play this up as painful? Or did she just think it wise to pretend, less she look like the complete ass who didn’t walk away from the beating of a lifetime with a damn wiffle bat. My laughter overcame me in the moment and I began to look around. I hadn’t actually taken account of the scenery around me. It was not a place I recognized, not even in a faint memory. So how the hell did I get here? How did we even track McCrabben down? And what would make my virtuous mother go against our plan and of all things, choose this comical option as her relief? All of my questions were suddenly answered with the faint ringing of my phone. My alarm. I opened my eyes and realized for the first time that it was all a dream. And I laughed again. Of all the dreams to be having, this one was just down right amazing. I soon traded my smile for a muffled groan and an urge to pull the covers over my head. My phone read 5:45 am. Time to head to the airport. Time to travel “home” to my husband, a man I barely knew. If the doomsday bells could chime on command, now would be the perfect setting.

I had packed the night before and so I had only to dress and freshen up my face. I had not a care in the world what I looked like for the trip home. With any luck Steve would find me so repulsive I would be able to ward off affection for a while. The thought of having to “act the part” of his wife made the ever so common bile rise in my throat once again. Maybe I should keep TUMS on hand for a while.

True to form, Mimi and Papa rose at the early morning hour to give multiple hugs and kisses. I lingered on Mimi for a while, taking in her scent for as long as I could. I wanted to take it with me. I can;t describe it, it just smelled of comfort, home and love. As we piled into the car with Papa for the short tip to the airport, we all watched as Mimi stood in the doorway, holding her robe closed to fight the cold air. We waved until we couldn’t see her anymore, and then we blew kisses into the air so they could fly right to her. It gets harder every time you leave home, but this time I was feeling especially upset.

Mom and I slept on our first flight. We connected in Baltimore and had a brief layober to grab some food. Once we had some sustenance in our bodies, we began reviewing the plan. I know that my Mom was scared. I know that she thought terrible things about Steve and felt awful about sending me back to “play house” while we played detectives. Her emotions were written all over her face and her eyes were dark with the circles that told me it had been days since her last restful sleep. I lightened the mood by telling her about my recent dream, and before long we were laughing so loud together that tears were falling from the corners of our eyes and a small audience had taken notice. I didn’t care. It had been a long time and we needed a good laugh.

The rest of our flight was uneventful, and we read our books and magazines and sometimes spoke about the family and the weather we were escaping from. My mother shared my deeply rooted hatred for the snow; more if possible. I wished we could have just kept flying onward, forgetting all of the painful memories we had left behind and the awful things that were sure to come. But my wishes were deemed just that as I heard the captain over the speaker on the plane announcing our final departure into San Antonio. I grabbed my Mom’s hand and squeezed tight. Not because I was afraid of flying or of landing, but because I had a fear of what, rather whom, was waiting for me at baggage claim. She returned my grip and smiled, “We got this Fib. Don’t worry.” It was surreal how my mother could say so little, yet calm the fears of the world. Maybe she was cut out for this Dalai Lama shit all along. I forced myself to slow my breathing and gain control over my body and my thoughts. We had a plan, I knew what to do. And if providing justice for my father meant having to suck up a well scripted scene or two to throw my murdering husband off our trail, well then I was up for the challenge. As I grabbed my bags from the overhead compartment and got in line for the exit, I found myself desperately wishing they sold wiffle bats in the airport gift shop.

Dylan wrote this song and it was released in 1963. He said that a lot of people who listened to the words thought it to be a love song. I guess perception is all about what we want to hear. However, quite fitting for the story to unfold is Dylan’s true explanation of what the song is about…”A lot of people make it sort of a love song – slow and easygoing. But it isn’t a love song. It’s a statement that maybe you can say something to make yourself feel better. It’s as if you were talking to yourself.” I did a lot of talking to myself during the days and weeks surrounding my Father’s death. I guess I should have told myself more that it was not alright but it was definitely going to be all right.

 

 

 

 

I can understand how it might be perceived as strange or odd to have the trio of people we had seated around a table, ready to work together. I can understand how you might be confused as to how my Mother and Kim were able to be this friendly, being as they once loved the same man. If I step for a brief moment into your shoes, then I might be able to see it. But my entire life, this had been the norm. These wonderful women had always come together on my behalf. Weather it was birthday parties in the younger years, sporting events in the middle school years or conspiring a fake trip to Alaska to serve as a high stakes punishment in my dreadful teenage years (more on that another time.) No matter what the reason, if I was involved then they were a team. I don’t know if I have ever properly thanked them for that, it really shapes a person and how they grow and see the world. So yes, to you this might be a bit on the unbelievable side, but if you had ever had the chance to meet either of these women, you would understand it was just the way of their hearts. So there we sat, at Mimi’s kitchen table once again. I truly hope she never gets rid of that piece of furniture because it really has some tales to tell. Mimi was overjoyed to have Kiera around and so we were able to keep them both entertained and out of earshot.

Mom and I quickly went over the details of what I had found with Martin, or lack thereof for that matter. Then I launched into our theory about how he must have been a part of the plan but then gotten scared by something and run. Maybe deep down he had a resemblance of a heart, maybe he was scared of prison (he was kind of a pretty boy). Whatever the reason, he was now gone and there was going to be more coming to the surface between Kim and Steve once they found out; if they didn’t know already.

Kim spoke the words we were all thinking first, “Maybe they already know and that’s why Steve is asking you to move away. He wants to screw over Kim if possible, and have you as far away from any family or friends as possible.”

I shuddered at the thought. The idea that had my crazy brain not ever pieced any of this together, I might be well on my way to thew middle of nowhere to meet who knows what fate as soon as the check cleared. I pushed back some vomit in my throat thinking of the fact that I was married to this person, I had promised to give my life to them…. well Steve I didn’t fucking mean literally!

With me being lost in thought Mom chimed in next “I agree with Kim, I think that their plan took an unexpected turn when Martin disappeared. I think it will work in our favor because not only are they now scared of what or who he could tell, they have that idea of broken trust within their circle.” “Just call it a fucking murder ring Mom, because that is all it was.” I was answered back with the look that told me to stop with the language and pull it together. Yes, my mother…. the former truck driver with the mouth to match was now upset with me for saying fuck, what was this world coming to? In any case, I cast my eyes to the table to avoid her stare,  converted Dali Lama or not, she could still scare the shit out of me.

I finally found the courage to speak ” I agree with everything you have said, but we need a plan. I am supposed to be getting on a plane to go home to that asshole tomorrow.” I shot my mother a quick look….”no other word fits there Mom!” She smiled in response. I am sure she could think of a few. “So how do I go back to Texas and NOT move to California so that I can manage to carry out the rest of our plan, which by the way we need to figure out!” I could feel the panic rising in my throat, or was that vomit? The two were quite interchangeable now. “Let’s say they are scared now that Martin has bailed, and honestly, I am willing to let Karma be in charge of his punishment, Steve and McCrabben are going to fight. Neither one them is going to trust the other, hence Steve’s plan to move. I bet she doesn’t know about that bit of information. Can you imagine her fury if she did? I mean, the woman is capable of murder… at this point she only has to split her money two ways instead of three. If she thought that Steve was going to try and screw her over, I don’t think she would take the chance, not after everything that has already been done. So how do we get McCrabben to feel betrayed by Steve and cut him out? Not literally, because I don’t want to be a part of planning a murder by any means, but maybe she will pull the covers over his eyes and take it all.” I sat back in my chair feeling a bit better that I had put my thoughts into words, less to scramble about in my brain.

Mom was the first to respond, ” I think you are right. I believe these two have done so much wrong together that they cannot even trust one another to keep the secret and play by the rules they have set. I think we divide whatever shred of trust is viable between them, we divide them for good.”

“And once divided, they are far more willing to make stupid mistakes to get them caught. And we can just help with that process along the way.” Kim smiled as she said these words, and for the first time in a while I believed it was genuine. She had been so wronged by so many people for the past few weeks, I think her smiled reflected a small sense of peace that she was to gain from helping justice prevail over these two pieces of crap.

My mom kept going, “So Dana, what is the way that people your age stay in contact with one another on an almost constant basis that would assist us in feeding information to Steve and McCrabben?” Her lips curved at the edges because we all knew the answer; Social Media. You go on your Facebook account and leave some sort of message stating how sad you are that you weren’t able to get in touch with your long lost friend Martin Voss. Plead with the virtual community to pass along any information they know. If McCrabben and Steve don’t already know that he is gone, they will now. Then, put a plug in about how your time in Texas has come to and end and your move to start your chapter of your life in California. If McCrabben or anyone connected to her can see that, and I wouldn’t doubt they can, this will surely get her wheels turning.”

“Yeah, I can do that. No problem Mom. But how do I keep Steve from moving me away before we get what we need done?” I fought back the tears as I spoke because I knew they were threatening to pour out of my eyes with undeniable force at even the thought of moving away.

“I can handle that,” Kim said. Once you are back and he sees that you are actually coming home and “planning” to go with him, I can call you back to Rochester with an emergency related to the estate. Trust me, Steve isn’t going anywhere until he knows exactly when his pay out is coming.”

“What about the fact that he has already scheduled a moving van? And all of my personal things?” I knew it was silly to even say this aloud. I knew I was going to have to make some concessions for this plan to work, but I was hoping maybe someone had another, any other idea.

“Fib, you are going to have to keep the small things that you can and let the rest go.” Mom said with a painful gaze in her eyes. “Bring a few small items to my house everyday while Steve is out and I will hold on to them for you. Make sure you are careful about what and how much you take. We don’t need him to get suspicious. You need to decide if you want you things, or you want him brought to justice.” Mom had a hard time getting the rest of her words out. I knew that she realized I had lost so much already and it was just icing on the cake to loose my possessions as well. But I didn’t need any time to decide. I loved my father more than any man in the world. I could stand to start over with material items if it meant closure and justice for him. So I nodded at my mother so that she would kn ow I understood, because words to express this were going to be entirely too difficult in this moment.

“So I will leak the information on Facebook to start this in motion. Then Mom, you and i are going home tomorrow and I am going to play the part of the grieving daughter, which by the way I think I have down pretty well….maybe even Golden Globe. Sometimes I try to humor my pain away. I will lean on Steve, puke, as my husband who should be caring at this time, and I will start searching for important items I want to save. I will continue with his plan of packing the rest. When we get too close to the actual moving date, Kim you are going to call me back with some estate emergency correct?” I looked at her with pleading eyes. She nodded, “of course, and I will make it good.” Then….. I stopped talking in the middle of my speech, “then what?” I suddenly realized we hadn’t planed beyond the hopes that these two were going to end up at each others throats. And besides, I want them both in jail, not dead.

My mom and Kim looked at each other for what seemed like a very long time. It was as if they were having a telepathic conversation. Listen, I know we were all close, but this was just crazy. “Um hello???” I asked impatiently, “then what?”

Kim broke their silent conversation first, “Whenever Steve leaves the house you need to be doing recon on his life. You need to get e-mails, telephone records, text messages, pay pal accounts, whatever you can. I can walk you through the computer stuff over the phone. You can call the cell phone company and tell them some story about how your husband thinks you are cheating and you need a copy of your cell records. Just cry a lot, they will give in.” She said this so matter of fact that it almost seemed easy. Monitor his behavior and see how often he checks his phone or computer. If they are exchanging funds, its most likely through a Pay Pal account or a bank account off shores. Look for statements with routing numbers that have one zero and then an 8 or 9 following. Those usually denote international banking. I can help you search the computer.” Part of me wanted to inquire about how Kim knew so much about off shore banking and how to look for fraud, but then I remembered that she worked for a very large company that did a lot of work internationally. “If you get really stuck at how to find things, I can help you to install a ghost software on him computer that will allow me remote access to everything on his computer as long as it is on.” Kim was all business at this point. She knew technology better than anyone I knew, maybe even better than Steve,  hopefully better than Steve.

My mom was listening intently as Kim told me what my job was in our plan. We all sat back and breathed a little sigh of relief knowing we understood our roles in bringing these two down. “Man, three women at a kitchen table and we could freaking run the world, ” I said laughing. They joined in my humor and we all smiled at each other. We had worked together to be a non-traditional family for long, that this was nothing new to us, the coming together for a greater cause part that was. The conspiring at Mimi’s table to stop a murder ring from getting away, well that was very new. But hey, we had years of practice working together, this shouldn’t be all that hard!

We were still kind of hanging in the wind with deciding what would come as a next step with all of this. If what I found on Steve’s computer provided enough information to go to the District Attorney, then by all means. But in the interim, we were going to have to wait to see what kind of shit storm brewed from my online posting about Martin missing and moving to Cali. Hopefully McCrabben did have someone monitoring my feed, because it would be nice to see her fall apart with worry. The thought of her understanding she might actually be caught and thrown in prison warmed my heart immediately. My mom could tell I was having impure thoughts because she called me out of my fog, “Dana, you understand that you have to act as normal as possible on your return to Texas tomorrow right?” My mom had a look that was a as serious as a judge. I could tell that she not only wanted the same justice that I did, but that she had a fear for me being alone with Steve; pretending to resume a life that was completely fictional. “I can do this Mom,” I assured her. “You made me strong.”

Kim promised to keep us posted on the time and date of the estate sale. I gave her the list containing the whole two items I wished for from the estate; the Ipod and the guitar. “I will look for anything else that I think he would have wanted you to have,” she said warmly. It was nice that she was thinking of me in that way, reflecting on the relationship that I had with Dad.

I let Mimi and Mom say their goodbyes first, Mimi always did have a hard time letting go of children. She would be content to have them around all the time. It was the idea that they eventually all grew up that was difficult for her. That sort of “Peter Pan” thinking.

I spent a great deal of time hugging Kiera close to my chest, which she giggled immensely about. I know she had very little understanding of what had happened, and zero understanding of what we were doing to rectify it. I don’t know what would be worse for her, growing up believing her father committed suicide, or having to understand thew drama that surrounded the set-up and actual murder. Which of those would be less to treat in therapy? I would say “poor kid” like everyone else would expect, but I knew she had a fabulous mother that was going to keep her safe, happy and loved. She would grow up knowing my father loved her, and I thought the world of Kim for that.

My mom walked Kiera out to the car, playing with snowballs on their way to pass the time so I could give Kim a proper goodbye. Kim is such a strong woman, but her face does this thing when you know her heart is truly hurting. She tries with all of her strength to fight any oncoming tears, but her eyes turn instantly red, and they look wet. Her eyelids tremble because if possible, she even has muscles there to keep her strong. A few tears will fall when she tries to speak, but for the most part you can hear all you need to with a look into her eyes and the feel from her long embrace. That day, standing there in Mimi’s doorway, with the cold air creeping in from the glass door, I felt her say “be careful, stay strong, it’s going to be okay,” and I heard her whisper in my ear “I love you.” Not being as strong, I had given way to the tears that pushed against my eyelids. I nodded at her, sobbed out thew words “I love you too” and hugged her so tightly I thought our heartbeats would touch.

And then, as tradition in Mimi’s house… Mom, Mimi and I stood in doorway and waved at them drive away, until we could no longer see their car.