The Note (Unsolved Mysteries Book 1), Kim Knight [love letters to the dead txt] 📗

some ways, he thanked God it wasn’t John.

“What? Why? Wait, where are you?”

“In my fuckin’ car.”

“What’s happened now?” Lance signed. “Look, before you answer, have you thought about that money. I really need it?”

“Shut up, Lance. Stop going on about the fuckin’ money. We’ve got bigger problems.”

Lance grabbed a cloth from off the chair and balanced the phone on his shoulder. He wiped his hands to remove the engine oil. “What do you mean?”

“They found a tape of us together. The detectives are sniffing around again. They pulled me in for questioning just now.”

“So, what’s that got to do with me? I told you what I wanted Chelsea.”

“Lance will you get a fuckin’ grip.”

Chelsea banged what he could only assume was the steering wheel of her car.

Shit, what now? He thought.

“I’m in the hotseat again. What don’t you get?”

Lance pushed the end button, hanging up the call, dropped the phone on the desk, then slumped down into the chair behind his desk. He placed his head in his hands and closed his eyes so tight, he felt like he would burst a blood vessel.

The phone’s loud and shrill ring penetrated his ear, but he ignored it, pushing it to one side. He rose to his feet and paced his office space, and as he did, the phone rang again. This time, he snatched it up.

“Chelsea this has nothing to do with me. I told you months ago we—”

“Shut up, Lance,” a man’s voice boomed over the line. “I’m not one of your little side pieces.”

Lance shot up to his full height, ran to the office door, and then peeked out. “John, where are you?”

“That don’t matter. Now, where’s my money? How ya gettin’ on with that?”

“I, John, please, I need more time to—”

“Times ticking, Lance. Tick-tock.”

“John, come on, man . . .”

The line went dead.

Lance stared at the phone in his hand as if it were a foreign, unknown object.

The phone rang again. This time, he answered it and waited for the caller to identify themself.

“Lance, stop playin’ around. The police are sniffing around again. What don’t you get? Huh? We need to get our story together and quick.”

Lance breathed a sigh of relief, almost, at Chelsea’s voice. At least he could handle this situation better than he could John. The only language the loan shark understood was cash and money, bashin’ in faces, and breakin’ bones.

“Look, Chelsea, just don’t worry. How much do they really know? And what video tape of us?”

“Somehow they got hold of a tape of us in the car, messing around, ya know.” Chelsea giggled.

“Oh, they know about the affair then?”

“Seems like it. But that doesn’t matter. We just need to get our stories straight. I told them we just had a fling and that’s it.”

“Right, they don’t know anything about your little plan then?”

“My little plan?” Chelsea scoffed. “Lance, you couldn’t wait for him to die, either. You wanted that money as much as I did. And by the sounds of it now, you’re desperate.”

“You gonna give me the money or not Chelsea?”

“If you play ball, we’ll see.”

8

The Loving Wife

Manisha

Manisha rolled her car to a stop in the parking area of the cemetery. She climbed out and loaded her arms with the flowers and fresh potted plants she’d bought and stored in the boot of the car. As she slammed the boot shut, she glanced around her.

The overcast day brought a shadow over the cemetery.

Her eyes moved over the fresh graves that had appeared since she last visited. She tried to come as often as she could, but it had been several weeks. In the time that had passed, she noticed five new graves.

After locking the car, she slowly made her way up the gravel walkway, taking the time to read the fresh head stones.

“Wow, not even forty.”

The corners of her lips turned down sadly, and she read the headstone of the man who had recently passed away

“Life’s too short.”

She shook her head and moved forward up the walkway. Briefly, she stopped and struggled with her handbag that was balanced on her shoulder. Once situated, she continued her walk over to Tony’s grave.

The leaves needed clearing, and some weeds removed. She sat the bags down on the grass, then pulled out her gardening gloves and set to work.

Manisha knelt down on the grass, looked over the headstone, then ran a hand over her late husband’s picture smiling back at her.

“You mean old bastard.” She laughed, then glanced around to make sure no one had heard her. “Sorry, where are my manners?”

Manisha pulled up the dead weeds around the headstone.

“So, how have you been, my beloved? Laughing at me from beyond the grave, no doubt?” Manisha glanced over at his picture.

“I’ve not heard a word from Chelsea in a while, and as you probably know, they never found your murderer.”

“Anyway, I guess it doesn’t really matter does it. I fought as hard as I could for what’s mine and the kids.”

Manisha reached in her canvas bag, and fished out a plastic bag to put the weeds in. She stuffed them in with force, then turned her attention back to the headstone. She cocked an eyebrow at Tony’s picture.

“Let’s just hope the kids are okay after all this is over. This is your fault, ya know that, don’t you?”

She patted out the pot plants from the plastic containers, then dug some shallow fresh holes around the side of the grave. Here she pushed the new baby daffodils and geraniums into the soil.

“There, that’s better.”

A smile blew across her lips, then it faded away. She sat on her knees for a moment, staring off into space—into a daydream.

“This is too difficult, Tony. I came here to try and do what’s right and expected of me. Tend to your grave, be the grieving widow everyone imagines I am.” She laughed again, then glanced up at the grey clouds.

“Truth is, no one understands how hard it is to forgive you. Or even what it was like to be