Brownstonelit's Blog

10/31/10

Tomorrow is the feast of All Souls Day and so tonight is All Hallows Eve, where millions of people will celebrate the thinning of the veil between the living and the dead. This is the one night of the year that celebrates those who have passed on and so Valdosta will be a very busy place tonight. Hallow’s Eve is the night we welcome back into our lives the souls of our ancestors and wear costumes and masks in an attempt to ward off the evil spirits that may try to accompany the good as they enter our homes…

Tonight I expect to learn more from those who have passed on- both from the good and the evil souls that escorted Charley to his grave and drug Roxy and Jessica kicking and screaming to theirs. I imagine each will have a tremendous amount to say, so I will listen carefully to the whispering winds as they whistles their way amongst blackened limbs festooned with Spanish moss … heed the warnings of the crows that have now followed me for days, as they watch from afar and look for inspiration from the moon in all her glory as she peers between wispy clouds of celestial gauze to watch me on my hallowed haunts.

There is an air about this day I have not felt before…a sinister undercurrent as the veil continues to thin… thread by thread as the layers between Grim and I continue to lean, until we are face to face. Me with the absolute blackness of his soul and he with his demons, his tormentors and his fears.

‘…the scarecrow goes up near the location this time of year. Where the pool used to be could now be on someone’s farm- their property… the name H______________ may appear on the mailbox…’

Happy Halloween Valdosta…
I’ll be waiting to hear from you, Charley…If you do not recognize me behind my mask…I’ll be the one divining the position of Jessica’s bones as they lay buried in fallow fields.

Anyone got a compass and a shovel?
A… bloody shovel?

10/30/10

You know when I receive some of my information, sometimes I get things like numbers; which may become parts of addresses. Or sometimes R get parts of a name- or a glimpse of someone’s job or career path and she passes that on to me.

Take for instance Rox. Now several clues came through about her. Long blonde hair, injured hand or arm- necklace with a V- small white dog- two roses. She had a thing for baking- but the best clue of all turned out to be a complete address of 1223 Bakers Way- it led me to the American Baking Institution in Manhattan, Kansas. Now, Rox of course didn’t come from Kansas, but she did work in a bakery and this clue was meant to confirm that! But what bakery? There were so many little mom and pop bakeries back then, how was I to know? Ahhh, the good old days! Folks love remembering them- that’s how I learned the next clue. Someone pointed out to me that the larger grocery stores back then had bakeries too and BINGO! I found her at the Harvey’s store bakery in______________. Neat, huh?

The other nice thing about the good old days is that some folks try to remember why they wanted to forget the good old days to begin with! And that’s when they really start to talk. Seems the closer they get to death- the less they keep their mouths shut. Anyway, I digress.

Another favorite thing of mine is antiques. I like collecting all kinds of old things. Obviously, I like to collect old typewriters- why? Because I am an author. But I like to collect other things too- like old fashioned kitchen utensils and kitchen equipment. I love old painting, old toys… I love old books. Why my most favorite these days is a 1966 Valdosta phone book! Why? Because it has everybody listed and important information. Things like…what folks names are… where they worked… where they lived. You just don’t get that kind of information anymore with the privacy this and the privacy that.

Don’t you just love the good ole days?
I do!

Now… let’s see where old so and so lived in 1966. And let’s see where the pools used to be. And while we’re at it…let’s look up who the woman named _________________ was married to. That oughta help with figuring out why the chandelier got broken and maybe even whose hand was shaking in the hall just inches from the gold boxes that lined the hall the day they went to break into Charley’s P.O. Box. Why golly… I bet before the day is through, I’ll know a lot more than I do now and that’s a whole lot! Don’t believe me?
Ask Charley!

10/29/10

For some odd reason, I began my day rummaging through Hazel’s materials and curiously was very drawn to the funeral registry. I have not perused this document in many, many months. Now in the light of hindsight… names jump out at me and I am amazed at what I did not see before that now glares at me from the yellowed pages. Names that before were like so much scribble scrabble on a bathroom wall, now speak to me of mock compassion and blatant defiance. People, whose secrets were shielded prior by assumed innocence, now lurch off the page with utter contempt and I wonder now how half of them didn’t choke on the bile of the beast as it rose in their throats as they sat in a holy sanctuary in silent vigil knowing their sins of omission. Knowing what we believe to be true now, it is amazing they did not spontaneously combust in their hypocrisy.

Shall I list them for you… these people who played charades with other’s lives? Amongst the cherished friends and local gentile… there, penned in blood tainted ink before me now read the signatures of the following:

The alleged mistress.

The driver of the car who was there that night at the gas station/general store as G exchanged guns with the red headed go to man- the man who played tennis and painted signs- the man who told the shooter to shut up, go home and not come out till he was contacted.

The man who lied in his statements and misrepresented others and kept official records.

An FBI agent who rubber stamped the investigation.

The banker who ran the porn ring.

The man who lives next door to Rox’s final un-resting place.

The man who lied about where and what he was doing in Charley’s office that night at 1:00 in the morning.

The retired judge who withheld information that Charley was murdered- that it was a homicide and the judge that never told Hazel the truth- preventing the shooter from being prosecuted while he was still alive… the same retired judge who told me to back off and leave things alone- not to dig- not to pry- to let the children and the grandchildren of key players go to their graves thinking their namesakes were heroes and good guys.

Flowers sent from someone whose family farm now cradles the bones of Roxanne under water.

Flowers from the first witness who saw Charley’s body propped up against the front right tire of his vehicle on his way from work.

Flowers from an agent who looked the other way.

Flowers from the prison warden who pushed his parolees on Charley and Hazel for work.

Flowers from the alleged mistress.

Remarkably… not one of the four in flannel who killed Jessica and Rox, nor those that took part in the actual murder of Charley, the subsequent cover-up and beating of the MOT, sent flowers or were present at the funeral. Guess they were too busy tearing apart Charley’s house, his car and his office searching for the tape!

10/28/10

Today is October 28th… and while in the scheme of things it is just another day, for me this is a very special kind of day. As a young teen growing up in Iowa, I always remembered this date as being one of the most fabulous fall days of the year. Hardwood trees of every kind were ripe with color, especially sugar maples that were ablaze with fire and each breath of air held the crispness of a McIntosh apple within it. In fact, Oct. 28th was always such a glorious day that I often thought I might marry on that date.

I never did, mind you. I got married on a Labor Day weekend, because it was raining, we couldn’t go sailing and I didn’t want to do laundry! Ahhhhh… the extent I will go to get away from a washer and dryer!! Anyway, what I wish to say is that these last few days have been a whirlwind of information and discernment. I am appreciative for every piece to this puzzle and in my gratitude I am always humbled by the forces and the process by which I receive them–mostly by R who has held my hand and helped guide me along in this new path of discovery. It’s funny that all this has happened and yet maybe not so. When I was a kid- good Catholic girl that I am, I used to pray to be the first kid on the block to have a vision of the Blessed Virgin. Why? I don’t know… I just thought if the kids at Fatima could do it- why not me? Was I not just as special as they in my “mother’s” eyes? Anyway… the Holy Mother never appeared to me in person, but she sent the next best thing. My mother… who appeared before me each day with her whimsical smile and childish curiosity. She was the joy of my father’s life and a mentor and sage for me. Alone… a small spitfire, but together with my father… a dynamic duo to be reckoned with! Their loss for me was devastating. I often joke that I am a 52 year old orphan and as we are now doing the show of Annie… I look at those 22 young girls on stage and am comforted by the fact that they do not truly understand the role they now play. This is where Charley entered my life… orphaned, still with children of my own to guide and mentor… I needed something more than duty and obligation to hold onto; to divert heartache and to distract my every thought from.

To Charley I am forever indebted for his patience and his trust. You see, Charley entered my life when I needed him most. Julie obviously has always needed him in hers, but maybe… just maybe Charley understood that by entering mine- he might have a greater segue into hers. In order to see how grand life is, look at the long path this soul has traveled to get here.

Forget that it took until 1995 to get me to Jefferson where we bought a lovely 30 acre horse farm… forget that I had 3 children that went through the city school systems, one or two through her doors and forget that all 3 of these children ended up being theatre geeks. Now… toss in a few more years and you have one of Julie’s son’s, who while not a theatre geek in the slightest, happened to enjoy technology! Sound and lighting to be exact… theatre style! Thus, I employ him- reconnect with Julie and share one pizza and a bottle of wine over his birthday and… the now ever famous quote:
“Let me tell you a story about my daddy!”

All this to say that for the rest of my life, no matter the road that rises to meet me or the gutters that occasionally try to swallow… I know in my heart that I have others with me. That we each are not alone. I always suspected such to be true, but now I know and in that knowledge… I walk in trust. I know that my parents who have passed watch over me and try to buffer my ignorance with their wisdom- my imaptience with life, with their eternal outlook advantage and my sorrows with their compassion.

How do I know this? Because at the exact same time I received a message from R last night- direct from my parents, my sister sent me a photo she had found of my father through a text to my phone. They arrived at the exact same time to one heart, through two dfferent technologies.

So for Charley and my mother and father… on this most glorious fall day of the year… may I send you all my trust, my loyalty and my utmost affections and gratitude, asking that you all continue to guide and protect me from those who might wish to do me harm. Especially now when so much is at stake and when the stakes are so high. For I have so much more information to process and tell you about. In two days another report will wind its way through cyberspace and through the mail system… the wheels of justice turn… slowly… but they turn none the less and the book may beat them all to the punch- but they will have no choice then but to catch up! True justice will be served for those still alive… I promised Charley and as he has never let me down thus far, how could I possibly do less for him?

Here’s another few riddles for you:
What can you eat at, sit on and brush your teeth with?

Give up?

A table, a chair and a toothbrush!
Sometimes the obvious answers escape us! Now, here’s another one.

Apply the same rule…

What looked like a pool, acted like a grave and now appears as a farm?

Give up?
I don’t!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Hmmmmmmm…

10/27/10

At exactly 1:11 P.M. today I received confirmation that my investigation is on target. Not just on target, but according to Charley-
I hit the Bull’s-eye!

Now onto plugging holes and watching Grim and his fellow cronies… let me see how to put this? Normally I try not to be vulgar or use swear words arbitrarily, but as a direct quote I guess it would be alright. Sooooo….as Hazel used to say… “Grim should be about to shit a squealing worm”!!!

Stay tuned. I am not done.
By the way Grim- don’t you just love Google Earth? It’s a wonderful thing. You just click and bingo… a satellite zooms you right in! You can see houses and roads… swamps and pools… why I bet you could Google yourself right down to the bones under that water.
I told you from the beginning. I made a promise to Charley:
No stone left unturned… no victim left without help… no criminal left to run loose.

Make peace with your maker Grim…your days are numbered! And to think I sat across a table from you… from several of you. Now who’s afraid?

10/27/10
Do not cheat yourself by thinking this is over… or not starting from the beginning of this blog if you are new to it. You must begin, where I began in order to understand it all. Go back to the beginning. Follow the crumbs… remember the clues… the dates. There is still more to this and I still have many holes to plug, but as I said in the beginning… I am a patient woman and the dead aren’t going anywhere.

Charley has more to say.
Rox has yet to let her family know what happened to her.
Jessica never had a chance to speak and the MOT… well, I’m certain his family has no idea why he was in a hotel room left for dead and found by a hotel maid.

Oh yes… there is more. Aren’t you curious to know why certain people never came to Charley’s funeral? Why some names never appeared in the funeral registry book? And why did they barricade Hazel’s driveway the night Charley was murdered? Can you imagine? I can see them not wanting her to drive, but not to offer to take her to identify her husband? For two days? Hmmmm… and what about the house keys and the P.O. Box key??
And what and where is lockbox #________________? Who’s hand is it that shakes and shudders as he looks down the corridor to see if anyone is watching? Gold box upon gold box… all in a row.

“Where is it? Where is it?” they all scream. What they do not know is…How many are they looking for? Last night someone claimed to have loaned Charley a tape recorder in September of 1966 and it was returned with a new tape. Gosh… I wonder what he was recording… and how many tapes he went through? If you can bury a body… you can bury a tape too!

Still think this is just a fairytale?
Perhaps…. a Grimm’s fairytale??? Hmmmmmmmmm….

Don’t you just love a murder mystery? I do!

10/26/10

Multicolored leaves cuddle together in the street gutters in various levels of decay… much like the bodies of Grim’s victims in Valdosta those long 44 years ago. How many gone, how many murdered we are forced now to ask. How many banded together to protect the guilty… to deny their own culpability in the debauchery of a town? And how many knew the secrets? How many whose lips remained silent- while the victims lay gasping for air in the moonlight? How many whose consciences betrayed them on a daily basis?

When I write a book I generally write it backwards… thus the delay. Every time I build the final few sentences… they whisper in my ear…”there’s more…so much more…” and I am stalled by my own curiosity to see this to the end. As you have read before, I build my stories first with title- find the corresponding font- then write the ending and backfill. Originally this book started as, ‘The Covington Conspiracy’… but the more I learned (which now I see as so minimal, it amazes me I could fabricate a title at all) the more it became hinged on one cup of coffee- and then all the cups of coffee in Charley’s life. While the title of, “The Coffee Pot Conspiracy” sends you images of Hugh Beaumont and Barbara Billingsly (of ‘Leave it to Beaver’ fame-recently deceased- God rest her soul) sitting down to coffee with Ozzy and Harriet Nelson to discuss last night’s episode of the Jackie Gleason Show- it now symbolizes so much more. Of course, I understand that you have not had unfettered access to Hazel’s journal and so your impressions will be hindered greatly- but you do remember that that was the last conversation-the last words between husband and wife that night? The mutual consent to share a cup of coffee, delayed by the interruption of a by a drive by moonshine investigation and an agreement to reconvene in the kitchen after his arrival home later that night? The timeframe ETA of ‘shortly after the pot had percolated’? A projected window of 45-55 minutes-tops? The cup of coffee they never got to share? The pot and the body that grew colder as the night went on? The unresolved marital issues? The breakdown of true communication? The uncertainty of a couple who had lost two children, blessed with two more and about concerns about how they could navigate the future with new understanding and appreciation for each other’s needs? And so it is not only fitting, but as I will explain to you- the absolute thread that binds all in this mind numbing ride.

Let us go back… not to the beginning, because in truth I cannot tell you when that is. I can only pick up the thread mid-stream and run with it. Let us begin with the summer of 1966. Our most recently discovered victim, Jessica was most likely murdered somewhere around the 4th of July in 1966. It fits the timing and the excessive heat she felt- the rapid sense of decay to her damaged face and skull as denoted by my dear friend R. So let’s conjecture for a moment shall we and find the common timeline for all this- want to?

As Betty Davis once said, ‘You better hold on tight… it’s going to be a bumpy ride!’

Ok… Jessica is murdered and beaten with a shovel somewhere around the holiday of the 4th. This fits- then they move her from where she was murdered- which was near someone’s home. (Just who’s, I will not say as yet.) She lays there in the woods- but he can see her. It excites him…maybe too much. He can see her from his window. He cannot tell his wife or children… but he likes it. This voyeurism… this lust for the dead. He keeps it to himself. He shares this with no one but Jessica. She lying dead outside his window… him enjoying the site of her mutilation and decay.

Then, the rumors begin to fly. Everybody hears, everybody knows… but nobody wants to get involved because they suspect  certain law enforcement members have their bloody little fingerprints all over this one. They wait a few days- then they bury her… oh, let’s just say possibly at a public works site. A friend reports her missing- but no one cares. She’s a hooker and a whore. Nobody cares about the lower class- not in this town. It’s all about the power and the money.

The four in flannel operate under their own power. The farther they get from the crime, the more they begin to miss the thrill. They plot for another. All the while Charley is working his AATD job and building houses on the side; they are pumping released prisoner workers on him, asking him to use them as ‘labor’. Hazel is forced into running a prison farm atmosphere and she talks about this in her journal. The unease of having so many violators on their property- she is worried with Charley gone so much of the time. Now- let’s get back to the timeline.

Jessica is probably murdered in the early portion of the month. Then buried at or under a local…. well, I know where and you will find out later. Then, G suddenly pops into the picture much more often. If Charley goes for coffee- so does she. G works for the P. O. at the courthouse. My how convenient! The same office whose prisoner’s work on public works projects- where Jessica is buried! Incredulously, they are the same people who are there that night at Charley’s murder searching for evidence- or shall we say- creatinng and destroying evidence. Stay with me now…The town is dotted with café’s and tiny restaurants that border the courthouse. The then county seat of injustice, as I like to call it. State and Federal Treasury agents all working together for the common cause, with the local law enforcement in support. Like an 18 hour bra, they support only their own though and those that hang over the sides are left to fend for themselves…

The ravens hob-knob and chatter. Who’se cheating who in and out of the bed. In and out of office. Suddenly now when Charley goes to drink coffee- everybody goes to drink coffee. At least everyone who is interested in what Charley knows and does not know about the missing girl. Take for instance, the PO boss who suspiciously arrives every time Charley steps into the P________ restaurant. He drinks with him and maybe calls his secretary over to join them- or she meets Charley and then calls her boss to join them. How very cozy this all seems. This continues for weeks- this dance of tempting and teasing information from one another. Even more odd is the fact that in mid July, G and her husband show up at Charley’s home to drink coffee, talk about construction loans and ask to borrow a gun of Charley’s to go camping with that next day. Seems nice and friendly- doesn’t it? Sure… if it hadn’t been for the fact G had filed for divorce from her husband the April before! And that it was after 10:00 at night when they showed up unannounced to borrow a gun. And that they had left 4 children home alone at the time to come and do it. Odd, right? I’ll say… don’t you find it curious that a woman who wants to divorce her husband so badly she has separated from him several times, is willing to go into the deep, dark woods with the same man she is wanting to gift with someone else’s weaponry? Hmmmmm….

Odd, but not even close to what else happens. G dogs Charley everywhere he goes- G loves sex…but apparently with everyone but maybe Charley. G continues to bait Charley with it though- flirting and teasing. Charley falls- maybe not to heavy- but heavy enough for her to begin to have some emotional influence. The coffee drinking continues- a lot and everyday. It is the way they can be together and still be innocent. G knows everything about Charley- but more importantly- she listens for what Charley knows. She’s been hired to keep tabs on Charley by people in high places- high positions. Where he goes, what he does; finding out who and what he knows. They get kinda cozy here and there- Charley gets comfortable, G hopes he will slip up and tell her things… but Charley is not stupid. Meanwhile Grim and company begin to get a bit uneasy… they worry the murder of Jessica may be a problem. But who is gonna dig up an entire _____________to find her?

August rolls through and the rumors still swirl about what happened to the pretty little girl from the American Legion Club. Rumors fly about cops messing with local ladies of the night- young ladies of the night-girls- and I don’t mean arresting them! Girls go missing- people talk. Charley listens and finds out a few things. Not enough to send someone to the gallows- but he’s got some dirt and he keeps quiet about it until September rolls on through. The heat waxes and wanes just like the Indian summer moon and suddenly the boy’s club gets a little braver. If one hooker can disappear and nobody gives a _______, then what about two? What about a club? The club of killer’s?

This is where poor Roxanne enters the picture. Dear sweet young Roxy- pretty little thing that works at the bakery- likes older men- likes badges and a man in uniform. The boy’s club gets even braver. The banker and the sheriff run a tight ship- the porn ring business seems to be just as successful as the illegal gambling and booze. High rollers from Hollywood like to fly into this sandy little burg and play high stakes poker. They like drinks, cigars and pretty girls. So… what the customer wants, the customer gets and if along the way- the local boy’s club gets a few of the bread crumbs left over… whose the wiser?

Rox spends the night with one man that ends up being accompanied by three more… it is the initiation into the boy’s club. She says something wrong and before you know it- three sets of hands are on her throat- crushing her windpipe. She fights back leaving a scar beneath Grim’s left eye. There in the mud, they kick and beat her. The air escapes her lungs one final time as they toss the coin on who gets to finish her off, but the b________ dies before they can be satisfied. Angry, the kick her some more and when they are done with her, they roll her body into a swampy area. Where you might ask??? Oh, silly children… did you really think I would tell you?

This is where the MOT comes in. The MOT (man on tape) was there with her that night. He sees, he knows and he is scared to death that he is now involved in a murder- not just a sexual tryst. The MOT panics and makes a tape- calling them all out by name…telling everything these men have done- who the mastermind is and who his minions. Grim doesn’t know whether to sh______ or go blind he is so enraged and frightened. He, the fair haired boy… the golden child… caught with is pants down and his ________ so far from home! How can he explain this? Who will believe him that is was an accident? That he didn’t mean to strangle her- just rough her up a bit? What will his wife think? What will his church think?? Funny, how he never seemed to care what God would think, isn’t it??? Funny how now that’s all he thinks about!!!

The MOT gives a copy of this, ‘spilling his guts’ tape to Charley. Charley makes several copies and then foolishly takes one to a law enforcement official outside the city, thinking it the lesser of two evils. Poor Charley- he chooses wrong. G has done her best to keep Charley on a short leash, but he is fast becoming a problem for everyone. What if he digs further? What if he finds out where Jessica was buried- or where Rox was dumped??? What if he can tie the entire law enforcement system for an entire city to these two murders? What if it goes higher… say to high ranking state officials???? Then what?

Something must be done about the coffee drinking ATTD agent. He is too smart to leave untethered for too long. The MOT and Charley meet… Charley begins to piece things together. Grim is young- ruthless and stupid. He thinks he is clever and with the arrogance of youth- immortal. The brotherhood band together- they plot, they plan… the leave the sleaze factor to G. She passes money for the boy’s club. Hush money- bribery money- one hand washes the other…they are all dirty now. All, but the guy who walks the line and drinks coffee; the one guy who could destroy the kingdom. But they have to be careful. They have to build the plan- set the mood. He has to fall for G, so that the affair will stick. So that when they do the deed, they can manipulate the press. He died of a broken heart… he couldn’t live without her or live with the shame… It was almost too perfect. They could have it all and get away with it. It was the perfect crime.

A call is made. The hook is baited, the lure cast and the black widow reels him in… nice and slow. So slowly he barely knows what is happening to him as she winds the thread tighter and tighter around his throat- pulling him closer… ever closer to her fangs. They meet… they gather… they murder… they manipulate… they lie and malign. Then 44 years later- they forget.

So we have Jessica in early July, Rox in the end of September- then Charley on October 9th, 1966. It doesn’t take long- they close the investigation in less than 3 weeks- they declare it suicide. But the MOT knows different. He holes up in a hotel hiding- hoping they won’t find him- but they do. Six days later they demand he tells them ‘Where are the other tapes? Where did Charley hide the other tapes? We know there are copies!!! Where are they?”

Their faces are red with anger. Lips afire with cursing, their hearts black as coal. They have already committed three murders in their game, one more will never matter. But he dies of a heart attack before he can give them the location.

They begin the search… house to house… intimidating and beating those who will not comply.

Have I got it right so far, Grim????

Law enforcement entered the home without permission. She knew them, but that didn’t give them the right. They broke the chandelier… “Where is it?” they kept asking. “Where is it? Tell us where it is or else…”

The woman who holds the broken glass from the chandelier could not tell them, but that did not stop them from searching the house anyway. They told her, her husband would be in trouble if he didn’t turn it over.

10/24/10

As the full moon continued last night and begged that I heed its warning, I have decided it best not to tell you all that I have learned, but suffice it to say that I spent a very fitful evening contemplating where I must now tread. I know that sometimes it may appear as though I make light of those who have passed in my imaginary conversations with them… It is in part to bait the field and also to impart information. Last night though, after seeing the movie “Hereafter”, I received further information that not only confirmed some things but set up a whole new host of threads I must follow and I can tell you now that there feels little left about this case that would surprise or, disgust me more than what I now know. So here before all, I recommit to my vow to bring these folks to justice and to bring whatever peace can be found by their victims. Note, that bringing someone to justice implies that they are still alive… they are. Not all of them, but I shall leave those to God for their rightful punishment and to the system and public court for those who would now rather join them. How close and how terrified you must be to find out you are not immortal, nor that of your legacy. How many nights will you shudder at the limb that pecks at your window sill and not know if it be the real Grim Reaper to call.

You wear the cloak of such a specter now my dear Grim, but you too shall quake at his footsteps when they come to your door for your Hell shall not be to die… but to live. To live within the horror you placed upon others. To have your beloved wife and your children know the evil that courses through your veins. To see the maggots of corruption slither amongst your crooked teeth and to know that your closest of allies would sooner toss your limbs to the dogs and save themselves than keep your sacred brotherhood oath alive.

No… for you I will save the book. You will be the starring role as you desire, but it shall be for all the wrong reasons. I know what you’ve done and how far you have gone… but I am not alone. There are others now who know- others who shall follow you just as closely as I. Those that have already passed know your secrets too and they have no allegiance to you or your warped brotherhood.

May death become you and life betray you…

The shovel and the compass now fit within the picture. The heat was brutal on her…decaying… rotting her flesh before you buried her. Was it July? August??? Or was it just the flames of Hell licking at your feet that made you sweat so?

10/23/10

Last night was a full moon and I slept, but my slumber was frustrated by bits and pieces of dreams and information that seemed to tempt and taunt, but not to solve. It was an uneasy rest that left me almost more tired upon waking, than when I went to bed!
Whatever the dreams- they were lost to me by dawn and in their wake I felt certain Charley had imparted information in them. My assumption may have been correct for in the early stages of my first cup of coffee, I received a message from R. It simply said:

“From Charley… lockbox #_ _ _ _”

Now I know what you’re saying. Darn! Why won’t she print the freaking number? Foolish mortals… why should I? The man whose hand is nervously reaching to unlock such with a stolen key knows what the number is. I know what the number is too and so… for now that is enough. Oh… and by the way. One of my most devoted readers pointed out to me that there were no “tapes” in 1966. True. It is a matter of semantics- though the error is dully noted. Of course there were no ‘tapes’ in 1966. It was a reel to reel. For those of you my age- the transferred impression is understood. For those more contemporary, the word tape should suffice to demonstrate; a documentary of sorts, a filming of…

Do not go jumping to conclusions about what this revelation means. Let it simmer on your minds for a bit, because you cannot imagine where it will lead me… although I can!!!
Perhaps all the chatter about the locks and boy’s club yesterday shook the heavenly branches last eve for today again… there was more information about Jessica revealed. This is one anxious soul. And do know what she had to say???

“Come on in… the water’s fine!” she said.
“Hey,” I said. “That sure is a mighty bad bump on your head.” And she pointed to a gash. “Oh this? It doesn’t hurt anymore- but it did like a b—- when I got it! Come on in… the waters warm.” she insisted.
So I said, “What’s that Jessica? It’s after Labor Day, silly… no pools are open now my dear girl!”
And do you know what that silly dead girl said in reply???

“Neither was this one!”

Hmmmm…..until later then!