Letter to Belinda Read online

“Your toe?”

  “Don’t even ask! Just get over here!”

  “Okay, I’m going to get my shower. See you soon.”

  Travis’ better judgment told him that he should call her back and tell her that he had changed his mind, that he going home instead. At some point in one’s life, one had to start making the conscious decisions to avoid doing stupid things. But on the other hand, he realized that in his late 40’s it was futile to try teaching an old dog new tricks. Besides, he was curious to see what kind of stupid situation Miranda had gotten herself into this time. At least it would be a diversion from the problems he was having with Jenny.

  2

  Travis found Kellerman easy enough, having been there before. He followed her instructions, drove up County road 18, then turned off on River Road, counted three driveways, then at the fourth saw a mailbox with the name Monroe. The next driveway was where she said she would be. He stopped with his headlights on the next mailbox. Yep, 312. This was it. The name on the box was Rosewood. He pulled into the cobblestone driveway and drove slowly through a beautiful wooded area before arriving at a very nice looking (and very expensive) house nestled against a hillside. By the moonlight he could see that there was a panoramic view of a bend in the Warrior River on the north side.

  There was only one vehicle in the driveway, a red Mercedes convertible, with the top down. The most prominent detail he noted about the house itself was that there was not a single light on anywhere. He wondered if this was really the right house. He got out and walked around in the front yard, looking at the windows, trying to figure a way to get into the house. He proceeded around to the back yard, careful not to disturb anything. As he did so, he couldn’t help feeling like he was being set up for something. Suppose he breaks into this house and the police catch him here? What if a crime had been committed here, and he gets blamed for it? Miranda was certainly upset about something. It wasn’t like her to call him out here like this, especially after he had not heard from her in almost a year. Winning the lottery had changed her in a lot of ways. One good way was that it had taken her mind off of him. Something must be bad wrong for her to call him up and ask for help in this manner. But he trusted her, so he was going to try to help her if he could.

  He knew that any security system would have an invisible and impenetrable wall around the outside of the house, but that usually extended just to the eves of the house. The roof was vulnerable. He went around to the back yard to examine the tool shed for a possible ladder, and found it also locked. If there was a ladder, it was locked inside the shed, and he had no idea if the security system also covered the shed, so he didn’t want to risk it. He would have to find another way to enter the house. The roof was the key. If he could get on the roof, he could enter through one of the three ventilation turbines mounted on the roof. But the trick was getting on the roof.

  He scanned the woods surrounding the house. There were no large trees near enough that he could access the roof from them. But on the east side there were a few tall slender sweetgum trees which, if bent far enough over might reach the roof. One in particular looked promising. He made his way around to the base of the tree and started to shimmy up the slick bark of the tree. It was a lot harder to shimmy than he remembered it being when he was a kid, but then, as a kid, he wasn’t carrying around forty pounds of excess body weight. And he was in a little better shape when he was a kid. He could climb like a squirrel and think nothing of climbing a tree like this one in just a few seconds. His years were showing as he labored to reach the first small limbs, and rest awhile before going again. As he got higher, he moved around to the side facing the house, so his weight would cause the tree to lean toward the house. Which it started to do once he had reached two thirds of the trees height, yet it wouldn’t fall over, so he climbed higher and higher, until he was as high as he dared go, for fear that the top would break out. He tried rocking the tree, but it wouldn’t go on over. Looking down he saw why. It was a wire. Crap! What kind of wire is that? Am I about to get fried? In the darkness he had not noticed the wire before, but now he did. It was not connected to the tree he was in, but it was preventing his tree from falling over as he had planned. It seemed to be stretched to the point of breaking. He visually followed the wire back to a power pole toward the front of the house in one direction, while the other way it went to a tree, then to the side of the house. No, it couldn’t be a power cable. Most likely a cable TV line. That was a relief. At least he knew he wasn’t going to get electrocuted. He began rocking the tree again.

  When the wire connections broke loose, it came all at once. Travis braced for the impact with the roof, but it was a lot harder than he expected. It actually knocked the wind out of him, and had to have shaken the whole house. He had just alerted anyone inside the house that a 240 pound man had arrived. He let go of the tree and it swished back to an upright position, leaving him stranded on the roof. Phase one on the mission accomplished: he was on the roof. Now for phase two: to get into the house.

  He rubbed his bruised hip as he stood up and examined one of the ventilation turbines. Two screws held the turbine in place, and using his pocket knife, he had them out in no time, and had the turbine off. Inside the duct were two stiffener bars, but they were only spot-welded in place and he easily broke them out of the way. He took out his pocket Brinkman and shined its beam down into the dark attic. He could see 2x6 ceiling studs protruding above the blown-in insulation about four feet down, but nothing else in the way. The only question now was, could he get his fat ass through this ventilation duct? It was going to be a close call. The only way to find out was to apply the ass, so he grabbed the sides and stepped into the duct, lowering himself down. His hips slid tightly through the duct, aided by gravity. One thing for sure, once he got in, he would have to find another way out, because this mode would only work one way. If there was no way into the house from the attic, he would have to make a way. He felt for the studs with his feet, and found them, and put all his weight on them, squatting down fully in the attic.

  The light from the Brinkman revealed a virtually empty attic, which was not a good sign. Usually if there was an access door to the attic, there would be a pile of junk stored there. Here there was nothing. But he did see a protrusion on the far side that looked like it could be a folded set of steps. He duck-walked across the attic, wiping away spider webs as he went and discovered, to his glee, that it was a set of folding attic stairs. It looked as though it had never been used, and the homeowner probably didn’t even know it was there, but Travis was about to put it to use. He pushed down on the steps, causing the large retracting springs to give off a resounding groan, but it couldn’t be helped. It appeared to be a pantry closet it opened into, as there were shelves of cleaners and junk on both sides of him as he descended the ladder. Not wanting to make any more noise than necessary, he left the attic steps down as he cautiously opened the closet door.

  The closet door opened into the garage, where he discovered Miranda’s car. Why was her car closed up in the garage, while his car was left outside? Perhaps he had kidnapped Miranda, and was holding her against her will. Nah, it was most likely the other way around.

  Using just his Brinkman, he walked around her car and tried the door leading into the kitchen. It was unlocked, so he slipped into the kitchen. Everything was neat, and nothing out of place.

  But in the living room it was a different story. It looked like a party had gotten out of hand there. An empty wine bottle was on the coffee table, along with two empty wine glasses. Clothes were everywhere, both men’s and women’s apparel. Shoes, a shirt, a tie, a skirt, a blouse, it looked like the site of a strip-tease, but there was no signs of life now. He picked up a blouse and sniffed it; it was Miranda’s all right. Travis moved toward the bedrooms. In the hallway he encountered more personal apparel, underwear and socks, and felt that he was closing in on her, so he called out, “Miranda! Where are you?”

/>   A muffled voice came back from the far end of the hall, “Travis, is that you?”

  “Yeah, where are you?”

  “Back here! The last bedroom!”

  He went to the last room and tried the door, but it was locked. “Here?”

  “Yes! The door is locked!”

  “So unlock it.”

  “I can’t!”

  “Want me to break it down?”

  “No! Don’t break anything! When I leave I don’t want anyone to know I was here.”

  “So what are you doing here?”

  “Just get the door open! Can’t you pick the lock, or something?”

  “Hold on.” He backed up to the bathroom and turned on the light, trying to find a hair pin or something small to pick the lock. He found a coat hanger, which would do. He straightened out the hook and used it to pick the lock. He turned the knob and the door opened. He was reaching for the light switch when she said, “No! Don’t turn on the light!”

  “Why not?” He asked, but by the profusion of a security light coming from the window, he got a pretty good idea why not. It appeared that she was stretched out on the bed naked.

  “Because the covers have fallen into the floor, and I can’t reach them, that’s why. Would you be a gentleman and retrieve them for me?”

  “Why can’t you reach them?”

  “The same reason I couldn’t unlock the door, or disarm the security system, or handle this entire situation without having to call you!”

  “Are your hands tied to the headboard?” he asked with a smirk.

  “No, they’re not tied to the headboard, they are handcuffed to the headboard, and no, I didn’t do this to myself!”

  “You’re friend did this?”

  “Of course! The covers are on the floor on the other side of the bed, in case you want to be a gentleman and cover me up!”

  “I’m just amazed at the situations you get into, Miranda. So he just left you here like this while he went out to get cigarettes?”

  “Something like that.”

  “I see your choice in men hasn’t changed much.”

  “Look, just throw the covers over me, and find the key to these handcuffs and you can go, Travis! I knew I shouldn’t have called you!”

  “No, you did the right thing. I see now why you couldn’t call anyone else . . .” As he spoke he was walking around the bed to retrieve the covers, and bumped into something on the dark floor. He clicked on his brinkman and was shocked to see a totally naked man, dead and cold, his eyes and mouth still open, as though exclaiming ‘oh’, his penis erect as a flag pole. “. . . Actually I see a little more clearly now, why you couldn’t call anyone else.” He stepped over the dead man and picked up a blanket and threw it up over her, then pulled it up to make sure she was covered.

  “Is he dead?” she asked.

  “I think that’s a safe assumption. How long has he been there?”

  “Since about 10 P.M.”

  “So he’s been dead for an hour and a half?”

  “No, Travis! Since 10 P.M. yesterday evening!”

  “So you’ve been here over 24 hours? Why didn’t you call me sooner?”

  “I was afraid, and ashamed! I wanted to just die, but not in this situation!”

  “How did you call? That’s what I want to know.”

  “See the phone on the nightstand? I knocked the receiver off and used my big toe to hit the speaker button, then punched out the number. To hang up, I used my toes to grab one of those medicine bottles and sit it on the hang-up button.”

  “How did you get the number to the mine?”

  “I called information.”

  “That’s amazing.”

  “No, what’s amazing is that I haven’t peed all over the bed yet! Can you please find the key to these handcuffs.”

  “Where should I look?”

  “How should I know?”

  “Where does he usually keep it?”

  “I don’t know! This is the first time I did this! Look in his pockets, on his key ring, anywhere!”

  “Okay, I’m turning the light on.” He clicked on the lamp on the nightstand, and Miranda winced at the bright light. “Where are his pants?”

  “Probably in the living room.” Travis went to get the man’s pants, and returned with them, and the keys in his hand. “I don’t know. All these keys look like car or house keys. I don’t even know what a handcuff key looks like.”

  “It’s got to be there somewhere. Let me see them.” He held them up in front of her, but she had to agree, none of them looked like a handcuff key. “Can’t you pick the lock, like you did the door?”

  “I can try, if you’re not in any hurry. Let me look in a few other places first.”

  “Look on the dresser.”

  “I am. But I don’t see anything. Let me try the top drawer.”

  “Use your head, Travis! If you had done something like this, where would you put the key?”

  “Use your head Miranda! This situation is a little out of my league! I’ve never had to hand-cuff Janice to the headboard! And by the way, let me take this opportunity to congratulate you! You have finally done something stupid enough to surpass what you did in following me to Colombia! And furthermore . . .”

  “Oh, shut up and look for the stupid key!”

  “I’m looking, just be patient! And just for the record, you are hardly in any position to be ordering me around. And in the future, if you are tempted to accuse me of doing stupid things, I hope you remember the present situation you find yourself in!”

  “Okay, I admit it! I have finally done something as stupid as you would have done! Satisfied?”

  “Try again!”

  “Okay, this is more stupid than anything you’ve ever done! There! Are you happy now?”

  “Can I get that in writing?”

  “Travis Lee! Just find that key!”

  “I’m looking! Don’t you see me looking?”

  “Look harder!”

  “What’s this on the dresser?”

  “If it’s not the key, then I don’t care!”

  “It’s a letter, addressed only ‘to Belinda’. Who’s Belinda?”

  “Belinda is his wife’s name.”

  “I wonder what the letter says?”

  “Who cares, Travis! If it won’t unlock these handcuffs, I don’t care!”

  “You’re not even curious to see what it says?”

  “NO! Have you tried looking on the bookshelf.”

  He lay the letter down and turned on the overhead light and scanned the shelves, even dumping out the contents of a vase, which contained a hodgepodge of odds and ends, but no key. He ran his hand over the top shelf, which was above his sight, and felt an object in the corner. It was the key. “I found it!”

  “Oh, thank God! Hurry, Travis, I’ve got to go bad!”

  He unlocked one hand, and then the other, and she wasted no time in gathering up the quilt and dashing off to the bathroom. While she was gone, Travis threw a blanket over the dead man after noting that he had gray hair, and actually seemed to be pretty old. He picked up the man’s pants and removed his wallet. Several $100 bills caught his eye. The drivers license said he was Leonard Archibald Rosewood, and had a Vestavia Hills address. That seemed like a familiar name, though he couldn’t remember where he had heard it before. He heard Miranda leave the bathroom and go to the living room, presumably to gather her clothes. He gave her a minute then went to join her. She was dressed and in the kitchen, pouring herself a glass of milk. He sat down at the table with her to talk this out.

  “Do you feel better now?”

  “As well as possible, under the circumstances. Thanks again for coming to help me out! I don’t know who I would hav
e turned to if you hadn’t helped me!”

  “Why didn’t you just call the police?”

  “Are you crazy? This would be all over the newspapers if I called the police!”

  “Well, you’re going to have to call them anyway. I mean, the guy is dead, and that’s something you need to report to the authorities.”

  “So you’re not going to help me dispose of the body?”

  “Dispose of the body! Good Lord, why would you do that? Just call the police, they will call the coroner, and he’ll determine that it was a death by natural causes, and that will be that! He did die of a heart attack, didn’t he?”

  “I guess he did. After he hand-cuffed me to the bed, he clutched his chest and fell into the floor. He never got back up.”

  “You’re just knocking ‘em dead, aren’t you girl!”

  “Don’t say that! I had nothing to do with it! I think it was the Viagra he took though. He said he wanted this to be a memorable experience for me!”

  “I guess he got his wish. Too bad he won’t remember it.”

  “Yeah, too bad.”

  “So where did you meet this guy, and who was he?”

  “It doesn’t much matter now, does it?”

  “Just humor me, because I helped you out.”

  “His name is Leon. He is a federal judge.”

  “Judge Leon Rosewood! That’s where I heard his name before! Wow, he’s a pretty big fish! Isn’t he the federal Judge that was nominated for the U.S. Supreme Court a few years ago?”

  “Uh-huh, the same guy.”

  “I remember the Senate rejected him because he was considered to be too conservative, because he refused to remove a plaque of the Ten Commandments from his courtroom.”

  “Same judge.”

  “Wow, if he had told the Senate sub-committee about his sex life, that might have gotten him confirmed!”

  “Please, let’s not go into all that!”

  “And you say he’s married too?”

  “Well, sort of. He and his wife are considering a separation.”