Brownstonelit's Blog

9/27/11

In the
avalanche of information, there are still so many stones yet to be removed to
get to the truth. Charley writes the word Lisbon
or maybe a name Liz Bon for her on a paper that sits at an angle on a podium
inside a room.

My guess is
that it is the funerary register at Carson McLane Funeral Home or at a
church…some sort of sign in sheet… but it must be related to his death somehow
or he wouldn’t be bringing it up.

The new
information from the box coincides with two of Hazel’s warnings:

“Look for
the paper with the hieroglyphics” and “I just threw it in there…in the box. I
had it all along! I had it all along and I never knew it.”

Charley told
me to ‘open it- just open it.’ I did. I get segue, I believe… but there is
more.

Is this
where the story of Ryan Snodgrass, my mystery emailer comes into play?

What I can’t
figure out is why they keep showing me the four roads:

Sarah Touchton Rd.

Sanders Field Rd.

Jack Henderson Rd.

and…

Robert Wetherington Rd.

Well, that’s
not really true. They are showing me the roads because of the name attached to
the roads: Touchton, Sanders, Henderson, and Wetherington.

What do
these names all have in common?

Charley!

So what is
the common thread other than that? What is there about the tires and the river
that surround a house near them all? What happened on the 17^th by
the river, Charley? What happened there?

So where are
you Ryan Snodgrass?

I have the letter
from the white envelope… the scent of fresh linens, the stains of counterfeit
money…but wish to ask a few more questions and would like for you to contact
me.

I may be
able to help you with your part of the story.

9/26/11

School
begins again for me in earnest next week and so too, the opening of my huge fall production. I
delayed my classes as far into the semester as possible so I could continue to
work on the book and get my job directives set for the remainder of the year.
Now with little time remaining for unfettered research, I must capitulate to
schedule demands and pray that Charley and the others will continue to work
within my constraints.

“So let’s
have a chat…” as Charley says.

What would
the business card of Charley’s insurance agent be doing in the room with Grim, the
pipe smoker and the MOT? What is the connection here? We know that the name on
the card has a direct tie to a high ranking state official, perhaps even a
familial tie. We know that the MOT was directly tied to both Jessica and
Roxanne… in fact he helped them get legitimate jobs. His bond with Roxanne
was paternal almost and she trusted him-so much so that Roxanne may have even given the MOT a token
of her affection; a watch with something engraved on it.

Seems to be
the order of the day, this giving of gifts.

G supposedly
gave Charley a lighter for his Birthday three weeks before he was murdered.

Roxanne gave
the MOT a watch before they both were murdered.

The MOT gave
Charley a copy of his tape.

Charley gave
his son replacement tapes for the ones he borrowed.

G gave…Hmmmmm?
Well now. We all know what G gave. G
gave everything to everybody! She wasn’t very discriminating, I guess.

The pipe smoker
gave Jessica a shovel to her face.

The pipe
smoker gave a crushed windpipe to Roxanne.

Roxanne gave
a scratch to Grim’s left eye… you can see it just under his glasses.

Charley gave
the Sheriff a copy of the tape.

The shooter
gave the go to guy the other gun.

The go to
guy gave everybody orders.

Theodore gave away Miss M’s purple orchid brooch to Roxanne.

Carlos gave
the others information.

The farmer
gave away…cheese. Or was that a cheese cutter and a lunch box that carried
what inside? Hmmmm….

And Hazel? Hazel
gave her life for her family and the dignity of her deceased husband.

So Grim?
What you will you give away today? The truth? Somebody will. Somebody is going
to begin to get very nervous, very soon and decide it is not worth going to the
grave tainted.

How about it
gang?

Rubber
boots? You want to weigh in? The farmer in the dale-you? How about you Grim?
You know about it all. You could clear up a few questions I still have? After
all, the truth can’t be any worse than something I could just make-up… could
it?

You bet it
could!

“Open the
white envelope- just open it!” Charley says. Gee…. I wonder what might be
inside.

Ohhhhhhh….
this is interesting! What? What is that??

Counterfeit
money? Wow… who knew! Maybe we should go buy a new suit with that money.
Maybe a man’s new suit. Now where would I find counterfeit money and an ascot,
all in the same building????

Until later
then….

9/24/11

Yesterday I
did what any great writer would do… I painted my master bathroom.

Now why
would I do such a thing? First of all, it needed it. Second of all, I needed to
walk away from my head and do something physical to clear my brain. I needed to
get out of the ethos and accomplish something tangible. Too many hours spent in
hot pursuit of dead men sometimes leaves me with little to show at the end of
my day… even though I have toiled long and hard.

I have a
confession to make. While going through the bins yesterday and finding the
white envelope; I also found a photo of Charley and Hazel together in their
younger years and even though I placed it right next to his 8×10… it looked
foreign on my desk. I know they are together and I know that whatever ailed
them in the flesh has been forgiven and replaced with compassionate understanding…
it just felt awkward and intrusive. So, after leaving it there overnight and
trying to adjust… I gave up the ghost- no pun intended- and put it away.

I know that seems odd, but for so long now
his has been the only silhouette upon my desk, his face the constant in my
peripheral vision and his heart my best companion. It was as if I could not
hear his voice with her in the room and being of single purpose as I write- the
distraction was palpable. I’m sorry Hazel. I cherish you both, but right now as
I am in the stretch of this book, I must be able to continue without break in thought
or tear in umbilical.

I try to see
behind the gray eyes. Is he angry that I have removed her, or does he
understand that I can serve but one god at a time?  It is difficult, this thing that I do; difficult
to walk with the dead and try to intuit their wishes. I am not R. I cannot see
as she sees- or carry on anything but one sided conversations. Well, to be truthful-
I have seen Charley twice, but because it is such a rare occurrence… I falter
and scream at his introduction. Not very welcoming, is it?

No wonder the poor
man keeps to himself. Still, I talk to the 8×10 on my desk the same way I did
when this all began and somehow I believe he still listens. So, in the interest of
keeping this conversation going…

I need a
favor Charley.

I need you
to find me your State Farm Insurance agent. Dead or alive… it does not matter.
I have questions! His card was in the room with the MOT, Grim and the pipe
smoker and I want to know why?

9/23/11

OMG…

Without fanfare and/or feather, my darling
Charley has come through again! Can I tell you how much I love this man? Just
when I worry that the threads that bind us are too worn and frazzled to be of
any further assistance, divine intuition is sent to save me from myself.

Today while writing and working on
the book, I was suddenly drawn to look through my plastic arsenal of Charley
files again. I cannot tell you exactly why. It wasn’t as though what I was
writing had a direct tie, as is often the case. Or that suddenly I had a flash
of brilliance. It was more like a tug or a pull… a peripheral feeling that I
was leaving something undone. That I had lost my touch and that my radar
was somehow faulty. Concerned that I may have misinterpreted the last segue to
the MOT’s actual identity, I felt drawn to retrace my steps. To look through
the bins for the thing/envelope with the hieroglyphics Hazel spoke of- the
white envelope that Charley continued to blather about. So, without conscious
mission I abandoned my post at the laptop and began to rummage through the
mounds of legal documents, cards and condolences letters, telegrams and copies
of errant bills and invoices…and fifteen minutes in, I spotted something that
intrigued me.

It was a white envelope that had no
postmark… no outwards sign of having been anything but hand delivered. It was
addressed to Chas Covington; a
common title for Charley I had seen on many letters and documents. For twelve
seconds, unaware of what I held, I contemplated whether Charley cared that I
called him Charley and not Chas… or that I spelled Charley different from the
traditional Charlie. No matter, I surmised. Chas seemed so much more GQ, Soap
Opera or Hollywood
than the clean shaven, balding 8×10 on my desk and so I never saw him in that
light. This was Hazel’s husband, Julie’s father and my eternal friend and
nothing else fit but the name I had given him.

Yellowed with age and lack of tacky
seal, the envelope shown nothing but his underlined name, so I opened it with
the same casual air as the last twenty or more envelopes before. It contained a
handwritten letter with poor grammar and illiterate phrasing. When I glanced at
the signature at the bottom, my hair immediately began to bristle. Another, “Oh
shit” moment in the making, I turned on the light and tried to decipher. The
handwriting scrawled lengthy about the lines and held no respect for margin or
punctuation. Words were misspelled and there was little to no cadence applied
to the contents. How had I missed this before? After the hundred times I had
canvassed this bin… how was it possible after two years of work, I had
missed this? How?

The envelope had been stuck inside a
bill from a company named Bray something that had to do with construction
materials Charley had been billed for prior to his death and negotiated by
Hazel after his death. When I unfolded the invoice, there it was. Just a plain
white envelope with his name- nothing special or significant in its exterior. Suddenly
my head spun. Was this envelope the culmination of two clues: Hazel’s
hieroglyphics and Charley’s white envelope/just open it?

I read and re-read. I asked my husband to
listen as I clumsily tried to ferret out the phonetics, trying to formulate a
coherent message.  I am reticent to share
all, but here is a glimpse and wheels are already in motion. I immediately
called R- got confirmation and then made another call I cannot share with you.
Suffice it to say, the letter is dated 3 years prior to Charley’s death. It
names places, addresses and a name. I will list here so that anyone from Valdosta might be of
service in helping place more peripheral information in my hands. I shall try
to re-assign grammatical errors as embedded in the manuscript so that you might understand better. This is but a
portion of its contents. I will break up the run-on sentences with // so that
you can read it coherently and understand its meaning.

“Dear Mr. Charlie,

 I want you to come
to my house by yourself so i can tell you a lot you don’t know far as the man
from Lakeland //  it is on all this
//  so i want you to let no one no
nothing about this but you can come to my house any day about 12 and I will be
there… (there are instructions and an address to the location they are to
meet)

Don’t let no body no nothing till you get this settled fast
__________ (something illegible or
possibly the word, sorry)

The signature was clear and it
matched a last name R had given me over a year ago! Emotionally convulsing, I made the call to her…

(For you
Miss Bonnie…)

9/22/11

If I am not
mistaken, today is the first day of the Autumnal Equinox…so walk into a new season with a new
zest for all that makes you warm inside. Cherish this season and be well, knowing
that even though the hours in our lives revolve about us in chaos and absolute
anarchy of our wishes… all is still well and orderly in the cosmos.

How do I know?

Because last
night I was reminded that even as I shine in my glory or wallow occasional in
my disappointments, I remain truly blessed. I will not be prosaic for the
simple act of being prosaic… but will tell you that I have been consumed of
late with things that seem to detour me from whom and what I truly am and my
frustrations at such have been monumental.

Perhaps as reminder or prompt to
refocus, I received a call in the middle of a rehearsal that my middle child
had had a seizure while behind the wheel of her car and an ambulance was
enroute. Fortunately the caller instructed, she must have entered a parking lot
the minute she realized things were not right and just before she began to
seize- tried to park the car- but ran into a wall instead. Beforehand she tried
to make two calls for help- one to myself and one to her younger sister. Her
younger sister got the call just as the seizure began and made it to her side,
but not until after the car had hit the wall and several people had gathered to
try and help and called an ambulance.

In the end,
the blessings were great. She could have stayed in traffic. She could have hit
another car… or a person instead of a blue wall. She could have been killed
or hurt someone else. The possibilities were endless and brutal. After several
hours at the ER she was released. But here’s the part I love. First- even in
the throes of something frightening, her instinct was to reach for family
knowing we’d be there. Second, when we were patiently awaiting her dismissal
hours later… we filled our time by reviewing several periodicals left in the
racks in her room. I new she was shaken about the public display; the damage to
her car and her dignity, the medical and legal complications that might ensue
from this episode… and so gave her a Christmas Issue of a Paula Dean magazine to comfort and distract.
There inside amidst pictures of peppermint trees, snowflake cookies with mint icing and
coconut covered cakes that sported bright red ornaments as decorations, sat the
tiny figure of a red cardinal on a sprig of holly… my mother.

I get it now.
I got it then… and so did she.

With tears
in her eyes she looked up at me from a tangle of IV wires and said, “Grandma
was there protecting me.”

Thank you
mom… I miss you.

Go forth
this day and give someone you love a hug, be they here or passed. Make the
conscious effort to connect. Your guardian angel may be someone you already
know.

9/19/11

Last night I was interrupted in my writing four times. The first call was a sister, the second a friend. The last two, one of my own back to back. While the interruptions were not terribly long, they broke my rhythm and so I reread several pages over and over, trying to re-establish my thought pattern before picking up the proverbial pen again. Once solidly connected, another call came through. The last call took precedence.

I tried to help a child with a problem and in the end, ended up helping myself. I am certain that the message I was giving her was actually meant for me and that God and/or Charley or my parents had provided her as catalyst. I listened to her concerns. I comforted and then I advised as to how I thought would be best to handle. Gratitude for what you have already and then allow surprise to be what happens if more should arrive!

Why is it we give others the benefit of our years and yet when we have need to counsel ourselves… we automatically discount our own words? Curious… isn’t it? We spent an hour on the phone working out the logistics of her issue and when completed I simply smiled at the 8×10 on my writing desk. “Ok… I got it. I’m just as bad as she is. I ask, I receive, I thank and then I ask for more.” Charley only smiled.

When I was finished, I returned to the book and picked up the thread. I was at the point of this past January when things were slower; school and packing to move were prominent and Charley had so many clues dangling in the air that had loose ends I could not follow his lead. While I was writing, I addressed certain questions.

This morning I finally saw an email that came through last night: “Message from Charley… He came through just now and showed me himself writing the word “Lisbon” on a piece of paper. Also, something like… “It is the first name on your list. You have figured it out!”

Is this Jessica’s real last name and not _______? Is this the name that applies to the intial L in the clue, an energy of an older man G was involved with, referred to as the energy LT? Is this the precursor to Granger? Or is this Lisbon, as in Portugal?

Charley says I have it all figured out. The trouble is… if I have. I just don’t know I have…yet. But I will!!!!!!

So, Grim?

What does Lisbon stand for?

9/17/11

The movie
“Field of Dreams” is on and heart strings are being pulled every which
way…back to my innocence… back to my youth… back to my roots. When did I
become so complicated? When did life become so complicated? When did talking to
dead people and solving crimes become the steady heartbeat that keeps me alive?

I seem to be caught these days
between who I used to be and who my higher self wants me to be. In between I
have to learn how to live with circumstances I never saw as possible in my
world before. Me and Ray Consella… we are as one. Perhaps that movie and my
love of it so many decades ago was a precursor to where and who I would be now?

‘If I build
it… he will come.’

If I build
what, who will come…Charley?

I know that
in order to bring closure to my world I must bring closure for Charley. That is
a given. What I do not know, is if I have the courage to commit to the whole
run. I write, I ask, I write, I beg… I need more clues, more confirmation and
yet as every turn I hear- YOU HAVE ENOUGH! But do I?

Do I have
enough information and confirmations to name names and tell what I perceive as
the truth?

With
Amaretto on the rocks and a beautiful breeze off the lake I can commit to one
thing today… I will watch this movie; remember who I used to be and try to
divine how I got from that person to who I am now.

If I build
it… maybe the person who will appear, will be me.

On a lighter note:

Who is the man Granger? Why Dalton, Georgia and who wore the olive green uniform jacket with the two yellow stars?

I am confused today…

Grateful to have spent time engaged with retired ATF agent and author, I had hoped for some sort of revelation… some hint or another clue embedded within the conversation, but no.  When I told my husband so on the drive home, he said “You’re maxed out already! What more do you need to write the book? You have enough clues, enough information… just finish it.”

I said, “I know… I just want to be sure of some things.”

Two blocks later I passed a church sign:

“A word from God-confidence.”

I thought perhaps once again it was meant for me. When I got home, I also looked at arecent list on a realtor’s site. My yellow hpouse has suddenly been listed again and my intial feeling was one of betrayal. Now another $20,000.00 higher than the week before with my proposal… I am curious what God has up his sleeve. Tired of job related  stress and uncertainty all over my personal map, I am tottering on the edge of faith.

Why do I do this? Why do I get my hopes up and then slog my way through disappointment after?

Confused by what God is trying to teach, I sometimes grow weary of his lessons. On one hand her tells me to be happy with what I have and on the other he says, strive for more. Why ask for silver when you can achieve gold?

Ok… maybe it wasn’t God who talked about the gold, but somebody did. I ‘m not asking for gold… just a yellow house? Is that too much?

9/15/11

There are now 4 roads that bear the names of 4 who are associated with this case.

What happened where the tire is half in and half out?

You must step forward again MOT. You must tell me what you know.

Take a “CHANCE” and tell the truth.

9/13/11 OK… you have been patient so I am going to share a few things with you today.

Who is Granger? Why is he so significant?

Roxanne confirmed for October death at the lake.

Jessica confirmed for July death at the pool.

The MOT finally speaks to R. “OMG…Do you understand remote viewing?” “Yes.” I say. “He’s showing me his room- the hotel room. He’s showing me the desk. There is a card- a business card. It is on the desk and it belongs to ____________. The card is there on the desk. He wants me to see it. __________ was there. They knew one another- they talked.” I recognize ____________ as a name on a card in Charley’s wallet. What is the connection? I know ______________ is tied to a high ranking state official, possibly tied to Jessica. I wait for further instructions before I write anything more.

“Again he is showing me the desk… the card. Who’s this? Who’s there in the room with him? It’s Grim. Grim and the pipe smoker…”

I ask for confirmation or denial over recent name confusion for the MOT.

 “It feels stronger when you say the name___________. The pull is greater to ____________. Jessica is here. She’s showing me a tattoo. Have we talked about a tattoo before?”

 “No… not a tattoo.”

 “She sees this from where she is … it is on the arm- the arm between the wrist and the elbow- a forearm. It is an anchor- not well done- cheesy looking… like a military buddy drew it there for him…poorly drawn. She can barely breathe. Like he is sitting on her chest- but not to say he is sitting on her chest. Now I can barely breathe. She is showing what it feels like- I am having trouble breathing.”

I tell her to stop- I do not want her harmed. I am worried. She says she is used to it and continues. My heart races… now I can barely catch  my breath.

“She is barely breathing. She sees a plate- a license plate. It is from Tennessee. She sees this- it is on a car… a big car…a Buick possibly- long, big gray sparkly kind of metal- the top white…two toned. White top, sparkly gray body- Tennessee plates. Somebody came down from Tennessee…”

 I suggest an Electra- Buick Electra. They were long cars- some two colors- body one color, vinyl top another.

“She is showing me before this. She is in the rear of the car- the backseat. She may have even been in the backseat with these men voluntarily. She moves to her face- she can barely breathe. Her face is messed up. Half of her face is smashed in- she is obsessed- it is caved in- half her face…”

I ask about the barbed wire about her (Jessica’s) ankles.

“She does not respond- she is focused on her face. You can smell the tobacco- the pipe smoker- the smell is so strong. The pipe smoker is the socio-path in the group. Gets off on doing the torture-…the beatings… the killing. The smell of pipe tobacco is so strong…her face… her face…”

 She reminds me about the map I sent the other day.

“There are three roads… three names… the tire half in and half out. Where is the river? Is the river by this house? The current is so swift- not a stream- a river. Is there a river nearby?”

I confirm. “Yes… there are three roads…three names. The river… the river…”

What happened on the 17th by the river, Charley? What happened on the 17th by the river?