As she headed downstairs, she found Ann in the kitchen, over the stove, stirring a pot of oatmeal as she did every morning. Cindy sat at the kitchen table. It was covered with a red checked tablecloth and placed near the window, in the sun.
“I’ve got a theory I want to run by you, Ann,” Cindy said.
Ann kept stirring. This was Cindy’s third theory this week . She knew Ann didn’t like it, but had to continue anyway.
“We can’t rule out that someone in the family got Clint killed,” Cindy started.
“Oh God,” Ann breathed.
“They dwell on me, they blame me, but I’m just a convenient cover. When you think about it, there’s a lot they get by making it seem like there’s something wrong with me.”
“Who made you the detective here?” Ann breathed out heavily. “Go back to work. Research stories at the paper. Keep all your fact checking there.”
“And, don’t forget the insurance money,” Cindy barely heard what Ann said . “If Clint is gone and it’s my fault, the money will all go to them.”
Ann stopped stirring the oatmeal, and spun around. “Think a minute about what you’re saying, Cindy. Clint’s own family, who love him, would have him killed for insurance money? Why? They have plenty of money on their own.”
“Someone in the family could be pathologically jealous—”
Ann’s voice grew shriller. “Enough to have him killed?”
“We have to consider every angle.”
“No, you don’t,” Ann tossed the wooden spoon down on the table. “You sound as if you’re losing your mind.”
“I’m thinking things through.”
“You’re becoming obsessed, “ Ann continued.
“Listen, time is passing. I can’t stay here forever. You’re making it harder and harder for me to go.”
Cindy knew what a strain she’d been on Ann, and she felt badly about it. Ann always brought a sense of balance and normalcy to her days. Cindy felt safe around her. She’d been dreading the day when Ann would tell her that she had to go.
Ann’s voice had a thin edge to it. “I can’t go home with a peaceful heart with you thinking these terrible thoughts. You sound paranoid.”
Ann turned back to the stove. The oatmeal was ready. She turned off the fire, poured the oatmeal into two earthenware bowls and put them on the table. Then she went to pour fresh coffee for both of them, in two hand-painted mugs. The mugs were engagement presents from Cindy’s old friends, back in Wisconsin. For a moment, Cindy felt homesick.
“I don’t mean to be a burden,” she said.
“Forget it,” Ann said. “Eat your breakfast.”
Ann loved to prepare food, and Cindy loved home-cooked meals. It was something their mother never had any time for. She’d been too busy working and running around town with her friends, and boyfriends, after Cindy’s dad died . Ann had taken on the role of mother in Cindy’s life.
Cindy and Ann starting eating breakfast. Cindy hated defending herself, having to prove she was just like everyone else. She never wanted to be just like everyone else. She just wanted to be who she was.
“I’m NOT crazy.”
“Listen, I think you need to reach a point, and I’m not saying it’s today, where you are just going to have to accept what happened with Clint, and move on,” Ann declared.
Cindy knew Ann had her best interests in mind, but her words hurt. She would never move on. How could she?
“I’m doing just fine,” said Cindy.
“How?” Now Ann was annoyed. “ You haven’t been able to open one gift from the wedding. You haven’t been able to write one thank you note. You refuse to consider leaving this place. Clint’s mother and sister live one mile away - and they’ve been calling too much. Way too much.”
Cindy’s stomach dropped. “Really?”
“Sometimes they call three or four times a day. You’d know if you ever checked your cell. Now they’re calling my cell, too. Not to mention the landline. “
Cindy’s body clenched .
“They want to come here and grill you again, get fact after fact.”
“They’re turning everything around,” said Cindy, “pointing the finger at me.”
“I can’t stay here and protect you from them forever. They’re devastated and furious.”
“That’s what I mean,” Cindy said.
“It doesn’t mean they killed their son,” Ann seemed as if she were on the verge of trembling. “It’s natural to feel that way after such a horrible loss.”
Cindy fell silent.
Ann came closer, put her hand on Cindy’s arm. “Cindy, listen to me, I really think it’s time for you to go back to work. It would be good for you. You loved your job and it would take your mind off Clint.”
“I don’t want to take my mind off Clint,” Cindy shot back, alarmed . “I want to remember every little thing. Take good care of him.”
“He’s not here to take care of,” Ann breathed.
“I can take good care of his memory, though.”
“Okay,” Ann relented, “You want to take care of Clint’s memory? Fine. The best way to do that would be to sell the house, take his things with you, and get away from his family. Take money from the sale of the house and come back home for a while. That will buy you some time. You won’t have to work for a while, you can unwind, go through all his things and make some kind of memorial.”
Cindy wasn’t having it. “There’s no way I’m selling this house or leaving it behind.”
Ann’s face was getting red . Her voice got louder. “Okay, fine. In that case, clean this place up! Unpack the gifts!, Throw out the empty boxes, send thank you notes, remove the clutter. You haven’t unpacked your luggage from your honeymoon for Christ’s sake!”
“Please,” Cindy said, holding her head in her hands. “I’m not ready.”
“Well, the time has come! You have to be ready. Whether you want to or not,” Ann said, over her limit. “You have to open your mail, answer phone calls, fill the fridge with food, set a time when you’re going to go back to the office—start your life over again. You can’t just lay around here, dreaming up theories on what might have happened to Clint.”
Cindy put her hands over her ears. “I hear you,” she yelled back.
Ann pulled Cindy’s hands away. “Really hear me, Cindy,” she yelled. “You’re in limbo and it can’t go on.”
Ann’s voice was shrill and painful.
“Do it for me,” Ann suddenly looked tearful.
That stopped Cindy cold. Ann had done so much for her .
“All right,” she said, softening, “I’ll do it. I’ll get started.”
“Good,” Ann said, relieved . “Because I’ve bought a plane ticket. I’m going home.”
“Go home?” It was as though someone punched Cindy in the heart. “When?”
“The day after tomorrow,” Ann said. “I have to, I have no choice.”
“Oh God,” Cindy ran to Ann and threw her arms around her, giving her a huge hug.
“It’s okay, Ann, I understand.”
Tears started falling down Cindy’s face.
“You’ve been the most wonderful sister in the world, and I’ll never forget all that you’ve done.”
“You’re a wonderful sister, too,” Ann sounded teary. “And I can’t bear the thought of losing you.”
“You’ll never lose me,” Cindy was taken aback.
“Sometimes when one person dies, they take others with them,” said Ann. “Some people never get over a loss. I just mean, I need you strong and healthy. Please.”
Chapter 7
The next day Cindy let Ann borrow her car, and Ann left early in the morning to go into town and pick up a few things she needed to pack.
Now the house was completely silent, except for the sound of the rain. For the first time, Cindy was alone.
It felt odd. She paced the empty rooms, seeing reminders of her life with Clint everywhere, and finally, she r
ealized that she couldn’t go on like this. She had to do something, or else risk losing her mind.
It was a good time to start putting things in order, she thought. She put on jeans and an old tee shirt, and brought the boxes of gifts into the living room, piling them high . She made trip after trip, her arms full of packages, not realizing how many they’d received.
She got a pad and pencil to make a note of who to thank. It was strange to open the gifts alone, they were for a marriage that barely got started. A marriage that had lasted less than a week.
As she placed the boxes out on the living room floor, Cindy thought of the day they became engaged. It was only three months after they’d met. A regular weekday, they were going to meet after work at Central Park, go for a walk, and then grab a quick dinner. When Cindy saw Clint walking towards her, she knew something was different. He had a huge grin on his face. Clint wasn’t one to hide his emotions, ever.
“We’re going for a horse and buggy ride,” he told her and practically picked her up and put her into the buggy.”
Cindy had laughed. She loved his surprises. She loved everything about him.
So, when he’d asked her to marry him in the horse and buggy, it felt completely natural. She was ecstatic. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that he was the one. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind either.
Cindy had looked at Clint and felt how grateful and fortunate she was. From almost the first moment she met him, she knew he was the man she wanted to live her life with. Tall, rugged, handsome and determined, he was the most honest and caring man she’d ever met. There were many new doors Clint had opened for her, and she’d walked through them gladly, always excited to find out about something new. He’d introduced her to new food, friends, ideas, activities and encouraged her in everything she did.
“You’re a brave woman, Cindy,” he once told her. “That’s what I love most about you. “
That shocked her. She’d never thought of herself as brave. She just loved discovering new things and Clint had been a wonderful guide .
Now she sat down on the floor and opened the box closest to her. Inside was a large, crystal punch bowl . The card read: “Love and congratulations. To years and years of happiness. The Jennisens.”
Cindy held the punch bowl in her arms. It was round and sparkling, full of happiness. There were so many wonderful occasions they could have used it for. She looked at it for another moment, then she put it back in the box, making a note who it was from. She would return it.
Next she opened a long, thin box. In it was a beautiful, ceramic vase. The card inside said, “May your new life be filled with beauty.” Cindy stroked its smooth surface and envisioned the fresh flowers from the garden she and Clint could have filled it with.
A long wide, heavy box contained silverware. “Congratulations to a beautiful couple,” signed from a friend of Cindy’s mother.
She wrote the name and address of each person who sent the gift, then re-wrapped it in its box, to return. With each gift she returned, she felt their marriage slip further away.
As she opened packages, Cindy heard the phone ring. She let it ring. She couldn’t stop every time someone called. And she didn’t really feel like talking to anyone anyway.
There were linens, glasses, wall hangings, picture frames….
She’d opened and closed about seven gifts before something odd caught her eye: an eight by ten envelope, stuck between two boxes.
Cindy picked up the envelope and looked at it. It was addressed to Clint, postmarked six weeks ago, with no return address. Someone had sent it before the wedding. She didn’t know how it landed here—probably misplaced in all the confusion.
What could it be?
She quickly opened it up and took out a piece of paper. A photo was inside of it. On the paper was scrawled - For You .
She held up the photo and saw a candid picture of a beautiful woman—tall, dark haired, walking down the street with a little child at her side.
Cindy held the photo closer, looked at it at different angles, turned it to the light. Her hands shook as she realized that the little boy looked startlingly like Clint.
She turned the photo over to see if there was a date. There wasn’t. Her heart started beating faster.
Who was this woman, and when was the picture taken?
Who sent it? Why? Did Clint know her? Was something going on between them?
Cindy stared at it, trying to make sense of everything.
Her heart started to break, but she stopped it. She refused to jump to the worst conclusions. She knew that Clint had had girlfriends in the past. He’d told her those relationships were all over, didn’t care about anyone but her anymore. No woman he knew was anything like her. She was the one he wanted .
She had to stay calm and keep a clear mind. She wasn’t going to let one photo destroy her memory of Clint, or let him be smeared in any way. But she did have to find out more about it. For sure, something strange was happening. And this photo confirmed it. Had they sent other envelopes like this? Had Clint been hiding them?
Cindy decided to go into Clint’s study to check it out further. She hadn’t been able to spend time in it before . It was his private space, full of his belongings and memories. She felt like an intruder even at the thought of going in. But this photo jarred her. Someone had wanted him to have it before the wedding. She needed to know more.
Cindy got up and went straight into the study where Clint’s computer, papers and files were stored. The room had a slanted, white wooden plank ceiling, smaller windows, and a knotty wooden floor, with a shaggy, navy throw rug. Clint had loved this room. The rug belonged to him since college. He’d taken it with him everywhere.
His files were stored in boxes along the back wall under the white wood bookshelves he had put up. There was a small desk in the corner, catty corner to the window with his computer, a little cactus plant, and all kinds of papers strewn on it. The window was open and you could smell the wisteria outside, wafting in. She could hear the light rain falling on the roof. It soothed Cindy.
This room was just for Clint. He loved having privacy and separate space, said it would keep the marriage strong. He always said that a good marriage always needed time together and time apart. Cindy had no problem with that. There was another small room, next to Clint’s, that was going to be Cindy’s study. She could sketch, make her collages, read, or do whatever she wanted in it. That room stood there empty, waiting to be filled . Cindy had no desire to go in it now. Clint’s study was the place she had to be now, near him in any way she could.
It felt good to go in, sit down on the shag rug and breathe the damp, spring air. Cindy felt Clint’s presence everywhere. She wanted to put the photo on Clint’s desk, but it was messy. First she stuffed some of his papers in drawers and pushed others to the side. Then she sat down at the desk, put the photo in front of her and opened the computer.
This photo was a find. Clint had to have known the woman in it. She might have been one of his old girlfriends. The family probably knew her, for sure. Did they send the photo to remind Clint of her? Cindy wouldn’t put it past them.
Cindy had to find out who the woman was. She didn’t know where it would lead, but she was grateful at last, to have something specific to focus on .
She scanned the photo onto the computer, then logged into Facebook and used the face recognition software. The woman’s name popped up - Heather Krane. Cindy went to her Facebook page to find out more.
The page was blocked. Private.
Distressed, Cindy thought a minute about what to do. She could Friend her, but she didn’t know the woman, and doubted that she would accept. And besides, there wasn’t enough time to wait and see. Cindy wanted to talk to her as soon as possible.
Then she had an idea . Heather Krane could be one of Clint’s Facebook friends. He had hundreds and hundreds of them. Cindy could log back into Facebook as Clint and check his page.
Her hands trembled
as she typed Clint’s password to get in as him . His Facebook page quickly appeared. There he was, smiling out at the world, and there Cindy was, standing beside him, announcements of the wedding all over, messages of good wishes from friends. Cindy couldn’t bear looking at any of it.
She quickly checked his friends and suddenly found her: Heather Kane.
Cindy took a quick, deep breath. She remembered once hearing that nothing could be hidden forever, every crime leaves a trace. Especially with computers, she thought. She was definitely onto something.
She clicked onto Heather’s page and her picture appeared, along with her husband, friends and family. Cindy looked at all of them closely. Heather seemed to have a good life. She was married, lived in Philadelphia, had a lovely husband and little boy. Cindy looked at the little boy for a long time. It was strange to see him. He was beautiful, with strawberry blonde hair. And he looked just like Clint. Or was Cindy imagining things?
Whether her mind was playing tricks or not, she had to go forward . How did Clint know this woman? Had they remained in touch? Was it the family who sent him this photo? Or could it have been someone else? Heather, possibly? Did this beautiful child have anything to do with Clint?
Cindy quickly wrote down Heather’s contact information, including her address. She wanted to talk to her.
Cindy looked at Heather’s phone number. She could call immediately and introduce herself. But she had no idea how Heather would react to the call. Why would she talk to a complete stranger? And, if Heather had been following Clint’s life, she might recognize that Cindy was Clint’s wife and freeze up.
Cindy realized she’d have to go to Heather’s home, in person, take her by surprise, meet up face to face.
She was actually staring at Heather’s number, when her phone started ringing . Unsettled, Cindy grabbed it and immediately picked up. A male voice was on the other end. She didn’t recognize it.
“Is this Mrs. Cindy Blaine?”
“Yes?” Cindy said. The voice sounded official.
“This is Officer Judd Lawson. I’m calling from North Alliance hospital. Are you the sister of Ann Blaine?”
Cindy’s heart started pounding. Why would an officer be calling?