[stylist] detective short fiction "Sense of Murder" some language, alludes to sexual content

[Bridgit Pollpeter]

Hey guys,
 
I'm taking a detective fiction class this semester for an upper lit credit.  We had to write detective shorts and I thought I would share mine with you.  Keep in mind that this is not my genre and also, I wrote it in about a 12-our time span.  Yes, I'm a procrastinator!  *smile*
 
It was fun though so enjoy.
 
Bridgit P
 
Sense of Murder
            
Ayden sat in his father’s leather wingback chair rolling a large key between his fingers.  The metal key had been cold, but now was warmed by his hands.  He gripped the key in his palm and rubbed a thumb across the rough , rusty surface.  Three weeks ago, Ayden had merely been researching the mysterious death of his grandfather for a book he was writing.  Now, he sat among items wondering if his grandfather had been murdered.
Ayden’s father, Nick, had found Henry, his grandfather, lying at the bottom of the staircase in his home.  Nick never spoke about the incident after reporting it to the police.  He would not speak to Ayden about Henry’s death either, but he was allowing Ayden and Salma to search through any items Nick kept.
No one had been sure what happened.  Lucy, Ayden’s grandmother, had been present too when Henry’s body was found.  The police recorded the death as an accidental fall.  Many silently pointed fingers at Lucy though.
Lucy had grown distraught during the past few months before Henry’s death.  Friends and family reported that she had been distracted often or in an irritated mood.  This was unlike the warm and tender grandmother Ayden had grown up with.
When Nick found his father’s body, Lucy had gone wild, screaming, unable to leave Henry’s lifeless body.  Eventually Nick placed her in a care home.  Here Lucy had reached an almost catatonic state until she too had passed.
Gossips spread the news, sweeping far and wide.  Lucy was crazy, they said.  She went mad, she killed her husband.  It was juicy, just what a small town needed.  The police never looked into the possibility, but Lucy died with a scarlet letter attached to her memory.  Ayden could never believe that Lucy would hurt anyone.  Lucy had been fond of Ayden, guiding him, encouraging him.  “You’re so full of potential, Ayden.  I can see fire in your eyes,” she used to tell him.  When Ayden lost his vision, Lucy had been the one person who supported him, still encouraging.
For years, though,  there had been whispers of foul play, but no one ever spoke about the rumors.  Vague insinuations were the closest anyone came to mentioning “murder.”  Ayden, though, had never played by the rules.  His mother referred to him as the “black sheep of the family” whenever she threw a dinner party.  Ayden never felt like he fit in his family’s world of snobbish dinner parties, elite country clubs and preferential treatment at most Ivy League universities.  He had already been a disappointment to his family before a car accident left him blind.  Seven-years later, Ayden had come to terms with his blindness, but his family accepted him only out of duty.  His father had been clear when saying, “This condition of yours is not suitable for the courtroom, but the firm can take you on in a capacity for research, perhaps.  Maybe a paralegal position will be suitable.”
Ayden was not able to live with this attitude hanging over him.  After completing his bachelor’s in literature, Ayden took up a career writing for any newspapers or journals that accepted his entries.  Writing for a small literary journal allowed Ayden to work on his novel which had turned into a fictionalized account of his grandfather’s death.  Asking his father for any information about his grandfather’s life, was the reason Ayden now sat in his father’s study.  He found more, he thought,  than his father knew about though.
“So what’s next?” Salma asked.  Salma lived across the hall from Ayden in his building.  They had become friends, and Salma now was helping him research his grandfather’s life.
Tapping the key in his palm, Ayden said, “I’m not sure.  This letter says a lot.”
Ayden closed his eyes thinking on this letter.  It was evidence, even if circumstantial, that suggested, if Lucy knew about it, she could have killed Henry.
There was a pause then paper crackled before Salma spoke.  “It’s pretty clear from this letter that your grandfather was having an affair.  I wonder if we can figure out these initials, A. W.”
Ayden shut his eyes thinking, trying to remember anyone he had ever met with A. W. for initials.  “I don’t know,” he sighed.
As Ayden and Salma leafed through pictures and notes, they had found an old copy of Wuthering Heights.  Ayden remembered the year Henry had given the third edition book to Lucy for Christmas.  Lucy had sat unwrapping the gift, then exclaimed, “Oh,” before looking up with tears in her eyes.  Wuthering Heights had always been her favorite novel.  Lucy had been the one person to encourage Ayden to follow his dream and take up writing instead of joining the family law firm.  “You’re meant to follow your own path,” Lucy had told Ayden once.  Twenty-years later, Ayden and Salma found a letter enclosed in the pages of the book.
Ayden touched the thick, but stiff piece of paper and held it out to Salma to inspect.  She told him the letter appeared old, but not as old as the book.  A few of the torn edges of the letter were turning yellow.  The letter was simple as she read:  
Henry, my love,
I can not wait to see you again.  I hoped and when I saw you coming down the road, my heart leaped.  I still feel your touch.  How much longer must we wait?  Please, my darling, give me what I ask before it is too late.  
Love, A. W.
“What now?  Where do we go next?” Salma asked.
Ayden held the rusted, copper key up in front of him.  “We visit the old Templeton mansion.”
The Templeton mansion was the Victorian home Henry and Lucy had lived in for years.  The family still owned it, but it had sat empty for years.  Ayden thought that maybe more secrets were hidden within the walls of the Templeton house, eager to be discovered.
 

 
Ayden sat in the car as Salma drove.  Neither spoke as Ayden’s fingers slid across the pages on his lap.  Reading his Braille notes, Ayden wondered where to start once they reached the small town where his grandparents and father had grown up.  Henry had started a small law firm in town, but eventually it grew.  Henry and Lucy had moved when Nick had been ten.  Nick never spoke about his childhood though.  Ayden really didn’t know much about his family’s past.  Lucy and Henry had moved back to their old house once Nick took the firm over, but Ayden had rarely visited the home.  After Henry had died, Lucy, unable to cope with his death, had moved into an upscale nursing home in the City, and Nick left the house untouched.  The house had sat empty now for ten years.
As the car slowed, Ayden looked up at Salma.  “Are we there?”
“Yes.  What’s our first stop?”
“I’m  figuring this out as we go along.  I guess the police station.”
Salma was silent before saying, “You okay?  I know your dad wasn’t happy.”
Ayden had questioned his father about the letter, but Nick had gone quiet and cold before telling Ayden, “Leave it alone.  We don’t dig up family history.”
Ayden tried to coax Nick to say more, but the subject was closed.
“Yeah.  I wish he would have told us more.  Explained something,” Ayden said.
“Maybe he just wants to keep your family secrets, well, secret.  Some people don’t like giving out info about anything.”
“I just feel like he knows more than he’s letting on.  Mom just played dumb too.”
“We’ll find something.  Don’t worry.”
Salma was always reassuring Ayden.  She had become a constant in his life.  The only real constant he had.  She had shown up one day, knocking on his door, holding a dish in her hands, offering Ayden some home made enchiladas.  That had been the beginning of their friendship.  They had spent many nights talking until three in the morning and hanging out on weekends.  Salma was the one connection Ayden had to the outside world.  Once moving away from his family, he had become a recluse of sorts.  He showed up to the office for work, attended cocktail parties required for work and even dated a couple of girls, but Salma was the one person he truly felt comfortable with.  Her infectious way of always looking at things positively seemed like a novelty to Ayden.  She could always make him smile.  When he began writing the book about Henry, Salma had offered to assist in anyway she could.
“I’m really glad you’re here,” Ayden said.

“Yeah, yeah.  I’m waiting for my pay check.”  Salma giggled as she pulled into a parking stall.  “I think we’re here.”
While Salma dropped coins into the parking meter, Ayden tapped his cane along the brick walls looking for the door.  Hearing the clink of glass as his cane tapped, Ayden was sure he found the door.
“No Braille, is this it?” he shouted back to Salma.
“I believe so,” she answered rushing to catch up.
They entered the quiet, almost lazy-like atmosphere of the police station.  Ayden moved towards the sound of  clacking as some one pressed keys on a computer keyboard with a practiced efficiency.  This, he thought, must be a reception desk.
Stepping up to a smooth feeling counter, Ayden said, “Excuse me.”
“Can I help you?” a woman’s bored voice said.
“We were wondering if we can speak to some one who worked the Henry Templeton case,” Ayden said.
The woman stopped typing and a long silence followed.  “Who’s  asking?”
“I’m Ayden Templeton, Henry’s grandson.”
“One minute.”  A chair creaked as the woman stood.  Her shoes clacked as she walked away.
Salma touched Ayden’s arm.  “She had a weird look when you mentioned your grandpa’s name.”
Ayden said nothing, not sure what he was doing there in the first place.
The woman’s shoes clacked once more as she returned.  Another footstep joined hers, but this person shuffled slightly.
The person shuffled towards Salma, saying, “Hello.  I’m Sheriff Jenkins.  How can I help you?”
Ayden stepped closer towards Salma, extending his arm to Sheriff Jenkins.  “I’m Ayden Templeton and this is Salma Juarez.  We have some questions about my grandfather’s death.”
There was a pause before Sheriff Jenkins shook Ayden’s hand.  “Step into my office please.”
Ayden followed the sheriff into a room off the main section of the department.  His cane swep the inside of the door frame, indicating the width so Ayden avoided bumping into the edges of the frame.  Ayden asked where a chair was and turned in the direction Captain Jenkins indicated.  Once again, his cane found the chair and sliding the cane across the seat, Ayden determined where the front of the chair was.  Salma’s arm brushed his as she sat next to him.
“Can I get you anything?” Sheriff Jenkins asked.
“No, but thank you.  Salma?”
“I’m good,” Salma replied.
Ayden felt a tension fill the room as the three sat there, not speaking.  Sheriff Jenkins began tapping the edge of the metal table in the interrogation room.  Ayden twisted his cane between his fingers.  Salma bobbed her foot which was lightly kicking Ayden’s shin.
“We’re hoping to learn as much as we can about Henry Templeton’s death.  I’m researching the story for a novel I’m working on,” Ayden started.
“I worked the case.  There’s not much to tell,” Sheriff Jenkins said.
“I know you eventually reported it as an accidental death, but was there ever any evidence suggesting otherwise?” Ayden asked.
“No.  We questioned friends and family and there was no reason to believe Henry Templeton was murdered,” Sheriff Jenkins said sharply.
Ayden shifted his head towards Salma before saying, “I know there was-uh-speculation that maybe my grandmother did it.”
“Lucy Baldwin?  She never hurt anyone.  We were all shocked when she married Henry.  She could have had anyone she wanted.”
Ayden leaned against the table looking straight in the direction where Sheriff Jenkins sat.  “I thought Henry was a catch?  You know, a lawyer from a wealthy family.”
“He was a playboy.  Always was, never changed.”
“Who did you question about his death?” Salma broke in.
The sheriff’s chair creaked as he leaned back.  “Well, of course Lucy and her boy Nick.  They were there.  Found his body and all.”
Ayden shot the sheriff a questioning glance.  He was talking like he had forgot who Ayden was.
“Then there was Zelda, the housekeeper, and Avery Mayer, he came around about once a week to help Lucy with the lawn.  She loved her garden.  Her roses won prizes around here,” Sheriff Jenkins continued.
“Anyone else?” Ayden asked.
“Oh, his work associates, but Henry was retired so they didn’t see much of him anymore.  Alice Whitley, she had been his personal secretary for years.  She still did stuff part-time for Henry.”
Ayden had pulled out a three-by-five plastic device that had six rows of cells containing three holes on each side of the cells.  A pop-pop-pop sound was made as Ayden poked a pointed awl-like object called a stylus through the holes as he took Braille notes.  “Are any of these people still around?”
“Not everyone had the same opportunities as the Templeton’s to leave town.  Other than Henry’s work associates, I think most of them still live around here.  At least the one’s who are still alive.”
“Is there anything else you can tell us?  Was there anything strange you noticed?  Any evidence that suggest something other than an accidental tumble down the stairs?”
The sheriff laughed.  “I know you city folk like to dream up seedy happenings in small towns, but Henry Templeton’s death was nothing more than an accident.  Nothing dark about it.”
“Thank you for your time,” Ayden said extending his hand again to shake Sheriff Jenkins’s.
Sheriff Jenkins sighed.  “Look, don’t go digging anything up.  Just let the dead rest.”
Salma’s bracelet tinkled as they stood.
“We understand.  I’m just trying to find things out about my grandfather for the book.  You know, no stone uncovered,” Ayden said.
“Are you two married?” Sheriff Jenkins asked.
Ayden, confused by the switch, replied, “No.”
The sheriff chuckled.  “Like your grandpa, I see.”
Ayden blushed, but Salma said, “Ayden is nothing but a gentleman.  Clearly something he did not pick up in this town.”
“I know the kind of men the Templeton’s are,” the sheriff said.
Unsure of what to do, Ayden turned to leave.
“At least he has a better chance of touching what you have been admiring this whole time,” Salma snapped.  She turned quickly and Ayden felt a rush of breeze as she left the room.
 
Out in the car, Ayden apologized.
“I’m sorry.  I didn’t know what to say.”
“It’s okay.  He was a pig.”
“I didn’t realize-“
“I know, its okay.  Where to next?”
Ayden could tell Salma was upset, but he left it alone.  “The house, I guess.”
As Salma pulled back out into the street devoid of traffic, Ayden wondered why she had told Sheriff Jenkins what she had.  Was it simply said in a moment of anger, or was there any truth in her words, he thought.  He has a better chance of touching what you have been admiring.  For the first time, Ayden thought of the possibilities with Salma.
 
 
Ayden stood before the house remembering the bright blue it had been during the few visits he had made during his childhood.  The house had always stood out even among the street full of bright, cheery houses complete with emerald lawns and award winning gardens.  The Templeton house had a wrap-around porch with a veranda to the back opening onto a large lawn complete with a British garden.  Its three stories reached majestically towards the sky.
 
 
Ayden now gripped the rough, wooden railing of the house.  The feel of the railing did not match his memory of the sleek, smooth dark wooden banister.  The stairs creaked as he stepped on them.  Reaching the porch, he felt a slight dip and quickly stepped sideways in fear of falling through the porch.  Children played nearby and cars languidly drove down the street, but a strange silence surrounded the house.  It was as though Ayden were underneath water trying to make out the distant sounds.  The scent of jasmine passed briefly through his nose as Salma stood next to him.
“How does it look?” Ayden asked ignoring the scent.
Salma took a deep breath.  “It’s run down, that’s for sure.  I can’t believe no one has lived here for years.”
“My family still owns it, but after my grandfather’s death, no one wanted to do anything about it.”
Ayden placed his hand on the cold handle of the dilapidated Victorian house.  He dug in his pockets for the rusty key he had found in his father’s office.  As he inserted the heavy key in the lock, a quiet click was heard.  Ayden pushed the solid door open.  He looked in Salma’s direction before stepping inside.  Shutting the door, the house engulfed all sound like a tomb.
“Creepy,” Salma said as she shivered.
Ayden walked forward tapping his long white cane, arcing wide so as to not run into anything.  Dust filled the air and Ayden coughed as he inhaled.
“This has been sitting for years,” Ayden rasped.  “What’s it look like?”
Salma looked around.  “It’s really dark, but it’s almost completely empty.  What do you think you’ll find?”
“I’m not sure.  Sheriff Jenkins wasn’t much help.  I just thought, maybe something…”
Salma’s sandals clipped-clopped as she walked over to a window to open it.  “Well, if we are going to be here long we need fresh air.”
Ayden felt a rush of summer breeze as the window clambered up.  The sound of kids jumping rope ruined the house’s stolid silence.  Life entered the house again as Ayden began to feel around searching for any clue.
Salma clumped up the stairs as Ayden moved from room to room feeling walls and any remaining furniture, hoping to find something, anything.  He rifled through drawers and cupboards.  So far his hands had only found dust and cobwebs.
“Ayden, Ayden!” Salma shouted a couple of hours later.
Ayden hurried towards the staircase.  “Salma!  Are you okay?”
“Get up here!  I found something!”
Ayden clambered up the grand staircase.  Reaching the top, he shouted, “What room?”
“Um, it’s a bedroom.”
Hearing her voice off to his left, Ayden moved down the hallway.  At the end, he found a door open.
“Salma?”
Salma’s clapping sandals moved towards Ayden.
“Look at this,” she said excitedly.  Her bracelet tinkled and paper crackled as she shoved something in Ayden’s hand.
Ayden grinned.  “Um…”  He handed the paper back to Salma.
“Oh-sorry.  I just-you won’t believe this.”
It was another letter; a love letter to Henry.
Henry, My love,
I miss you.  I grow restless with each day.  I have waited years to be with you, really be with you.  Let’s stop the pretending, stop the lies.  Don’t be mad with me.  I would do anything for you, but we must stop hiding.  There is no harm in this.  I will wait to hear from you, but don’t take long.
Love,
A.     W.
Salma rushed through the letter almost in one breath.  Ayden was not quite sure what her excitement was for.
“We already know Henry was having an affair of sorts,” he said.
Salma sighed impatiently.  “Ayden, think about it.  Don’t you see?”
“Not really,” he said slowly.
She grabbed his wrist.  Her slender fingers gripped him with a strength Ayden would not have guessed at.  She moved in closer and once again, Ayden took in the scent of jasmine.  This time he smelled something else with it.  Vanilla, he thought.  Salma shook his arm slightly bringing him back to attention.
“Ayden, A. W.  Don’t you see it yet?”
“A. W.?”
“The initials,” she said exasperated, “A. W.  Alice Whitley.”
“Who’s Alice Whitley?”
Salma smacked her forehead.  “Ay-where are your notes from today?”
Ayden pulled out the three-by-five note card from his back pocket.
“Now read through it,” Salma said as though talking to a small child.
Half way through his notes, Ayden stopped and looked sharply up at Salma.
“See?” Salma asked.
“I can’t believe we didn’t realize it then.  His secretary.  And Sheriff Jenkins said she’s still living in town.”
“Think we can find her?”
“Give me a minute,” Ayden said reaching for his mobile phone tucked away in his pocket.
An electronic hum came from his phone as he maneuvered through the menus on his phone.  A screen-reading program specific to mobile phones, helped Ayden utilize the functions on his phone.
“Got it.  There’s only one Alice Whitley that shows up in town.”
“Thank God for technology,” Salma said.  “No wonder no one could ever solve this case.”
Ayden smirked at her.  “Thank God for accessible technology.  Come on.  She doesn’t live far from here and it’s not too late.”
 
Ten minutes later, Ayden and Salma knocked on a door.  The house was less substantial than the Templeton house, but Salma described its well-kempt lawn and cheery exterior.
The door opened and a woman’s voice gasped, “Oh.”
“Miss Whitley?  I’m Ayden-“
“Templeton,” she said.  “You look like Henry.”
Smiling, Ayden said, “Miss Whitley, this is my friend Salma.  We’re working on a book about my grandfather, and we would like to ask you some questions.”
“Oh, of course.  Come in, come in.”
As the door shut behind Ayden and Salma, he smelled a flower scent that he couldn’t place and a clock ticked nearby.  Alice Whitley ushered them into a sitting room off the entryway.  Salma sat next to Ayden on the soft couch while Alice sat across from them.
“Can I offer you anything?  I just made lemonade.”
“That would be wonderful,” Salma said.
As Alice left the room, Ayden turned towards Salma.  “I’m sorry, I didn’t even think to ask if you were hungry.”
“Hon, it’s okay.  I didn’t think about it myself until now.”
“We’ll have dinner after this; I promise.”
“Promise?”
Ayden grinned as Alice returned.  She placed an ice-cold glass in Ayden’s hand.  Ice chinked against the side as he took a gulp.  The cold liquid felt good down his throat after the dust of his family’s house.  He could only imagine how dirty he and Salma looked.  He felt the mingled grime of sweat and dirt on his body.  Why had it not occurred to them to stop somewhere first and wash up, Ayden thought.
“So, what can I help you with?  Henry was a dear friend and I miss him.  You must call me Alice.”
“Well, Alice, we specifically are interested in his death,” Ayden said.
Alice choked on her lemonade.  “Why would you be interested in that?”
“I believe that maybe his death wasn’t accidental.”
“Oh dear, don’t buy into those silly rumors.  Pete Jenkins conducted a thorough investigation and no foul play was to be hinted at.”
“And yet the rumors persist,” Ayden said.
“Silly gossip.  Housewives bored out of there minds.”
“You know Sheriff Jenkins?” Ayden asked.
“Darling, it’s a town of ten-thousand; everybody knows everybody.”
Ayden sipped on his lemonade as Salma clicked her nails against the side of her glass.
“We have reason to believe maybe there is more to the story,” Ayden said.  He affected his best courtroom demeanor.  He had seen his father like this hundreds of times.
Alice swirled ice chuncks around in her glass.  Her voice had lost some of its cheeriness when she responded by asking, “What makes you say that?”
Ayden found the love letter in a folder.  He removed the Braille label, setting the letter on the coffee table dividing Ayden and Salma from Alice.
The room grew still.  The letter rustled as Alice picked it up.  When she spoke, she sounded choked as though she were holding back tears.
“Where did you find this?”
“It was in some old boxes in the Templeton home,” Salma said.
A long silence followed in which Ayden could hear Alice sniffling.
“I suppose the truth has to come out sooner or later,” Alice said quietly.
“We don’t need-a-details of anything, but is there any reason to think Henry was killed?” Ayden soothed.
“Your grandfather hired me when I was eighteen,” Alice began, ignoring Ayden.  “I instantly fell in love with him, but he was that type.  Dashingly handsome, charming to a fault.  He was a few years older than me, but I knew how all the girls waited for their chance to rope Henry into marriage.  I felt so lucky to see him everyday.  I started out as a simple receptionist, but eventually he promoted me to his personal secretary.”
“Did you move with my grandparents then, when they moved?” Ayden asked.
Alice sighed.  “Yes, but after-things happened-I moved back.  I remained in his employ, working from the office here in town.  Before your father took charge, Henry’s headquarters had always been based from here.”
Ayden nodded his head.
“I never meant to hurt anyone.  Things happened.  Henry loved us both, Lucy and I.  I tried to end it for years, but Henry always showed up with that smile of his.  Then I tried to make him choose.  I should’ve known better, but I was in love.”
Alice continued to spill her story, hoping for redemption perhaps.
“The final straw came right before his death.  We had carried on for almost forty-years and I knew it had to stop.  We fought.  I threatened to tell Lucy and that was that.  He left me promising to choose.  I waited for an answer, but a week later, Henry was found dead.”
“Did you ever tell anyone?” Ayden asked.
“No.”
 
Ayden and Salma stood by the car outside Alice’s house.  A breeze tousled Ayden’s hair and Salma gently combed her fingers through his dark tresses.
“Seems like all you Templeton men are irresistible,” she said teasingly.
Unsure of how to respond to her comment, he grinned, but before he could make a remark, Ayden heard her car door click open.  He slid into the passenger seat, heart pounding.
“You promised me dinner,” Salma whined playfully.
 
After devouring diner-style hamburgers and fries, Ayden and Salma found themselves walking through the downtown area.  Salma kept up with Ayden’s stride as his cane tapped in a shoulder-length-arc.
“Sometimes I think it would be nice to live in a small town,” Salma mused.
“Really, you?  Ms. Have-to-go-shopping-every-other-day,” Ayden joked.
“I could drive to the city.  I don’t know.  It seems like a nice place to raise a family.”
Ayden had never heard Salma speak about kids or families.  As well as he knew her, Ayden realized there was plenty he still had to learn about Salma.
“Yes, we could raise happy little kids who will grow up to cheat, lie and murder,” Ayden scoffed.
“We, huh?”
Ayden blushed, feeling the heat creep up his neck to his face.  He hadn’t caught his blunder.  He sputtered, but before he could make sense of his words, Salma grabbed his hand.
“Maybe we can live in the Templeton mansion,” she said.
They walked silently back to the car.
“It’s pretty late, what should we do?” Salma asked.
Ayden flipped the crystal face of his watch up.  Feeling the raised dots and arrows with his pointer finger on his Braille watch, he said, “It’s a quarter to eleven.  I’m beat.”
“Me too.  I don’t really feel like driving back tonight though.”
Ayden scratched his head.  “I guess we can stay at casa-de-Templeton.”
“Okay, but no funny business,” Salma joked.
Sitting in the car, Ayden said, “By the way, unlike some men in my family, I’m more of a one-woman type.”
 
They stood on either side of the king-size bed in the master bedroom.
“Sure you don’t want to sleep in another room?” Ayden asked.
“Hell no!  This house is creepy.”
“I thought you wanted to raise children here?”
“Shut-up.  Scared to sleep with a girl?”  The bed creaked as Salma lay down on it.  “A bit musty.”
They had found spare bed linens in a box and had attempted to shake them out as best they could.  Ayden had noticed a lingering wispy scent of flowers that he could not place.  It may have been the remnants of something used to launder the linens years ago, he had thought.
Without thinking, Ayden removed his shirt and handed it to Salma.  “Here.  You can wrap your pillow in it.”
“Thanks,” Salma said drawing the word out.
Realizing what he had just done, he blushed for the millionth time that day.  Not able to turn back what he had done, Ayden lay slowly down, sticking close to the edge.
“Keep your hands above the blankets,” Salma yawned.
 
Ayden woke disoriented at first, but comprehension quickly dawned as he felt Salma’s small body nestled against his.  She snored quietly and Ayden smiled.  This was nice, he thought.  He extracted himself gently from the bed, trying to not wake Salma.
He needed to use the bathroom, but it struck him that the bathrooms would not be in working order.  It was primitive, but it would have to do, he thought as he found his way downstairs and out into the back garden.  Hoping no neighbors were awake to see him, he relieved himself.
Half asleep still, his eyes snapped open as a slight shuffle came from behind him.  Finished with his midnight chore, he listened intently, but no sound came again.  He turned around, gripping his cane in one hand.
“Hello,” he said.
No response came.  He turned back towards the house and as he walked, Ayden felt his back tingle.  It was the sensation he felt as a child when terrified, feeling a presence behind him.  He was an adult now, he chided himself.  Forcing himself to walk calmly back into the house, he reached the French doors and entered.  As he went to shut the doors, a soft shuffle started in the darkness again.  It could have been the long dead foliage rustling in the breeze, but Ayden placed himself in the doorway again.  The noise instantly stopped.
Slamming the door and locking it, Ayden flew to the stairs, taking three steps at a time.  Heart pounding, blood rushing in his ears, Ayden felt a cool breeze cut through the stuffy air of the bedroom.  DeMint, he swore to himself.  They had opened windows before going to bed, hoping to air out their lodgings for the night.
Salma still was sleeping peacefully on the bed.  He sat on the bed resting his head on the large carved headboard, listening.
Crickets chirped outside and the breeze rustled the leaves of trees from time to time.  Salma continued her snoring.  Silence loomed around the house.  Ayden waited to hear the shuffle noise again or a step on the stairs, but nothing came.  He relaxed after fifteen minutes of vigilante guarding.
Laying back down on the bed, one arm behind his head, he smiled when Salma threw an arm across his chest.  Thinking only of Salma by now, Ayden drifted back off to sleep.
 
The second time Ayden woke he knew where he was, but something was not right.  Salma still snored next to him as he spooned her, but an acrid odor filled his nostrils.  A loud crack made him bolt up in bed.
“Salma!  There’s a fire!”  He shook her until she woke up.
“We need to get out of here,” Ayden shouted as she slowly regained a conscience state.
Ayden flew to the open door.  Smoke filled his nose and made his eyes water.  “Salma, I can’t tell if we can make it down the stairs.”
Standing next to him, she said, “All I can see is smoke.  Can we jump out the window?”
“We’re on the second floor.  It’s pretty high up.”
Now across the room, Ayden heard Salma cry, “Oh-my-god!  Ayden!”
“What?”
“I can see flames around the base of the house.”
“Shit.”  Trying to think, Ayden gathered up the sheet from the bed.  Dousing it with water from the couple bottles purchased last night, he threw the sheet at Salma.  “Wrap yourself in this.”
“Why?”
“Just do it.”
Making sure her long hair was covered, Ayden threw Salma over his shoulder.  Grabbing his cane by the door, he moved into the hallway.  Hoping the shirt tied around his face would keep out smoke, Ayden ran to the top of the stairs.  Despite the situation, Ayden could not help notice the harlequin-romance-like predicament.
He heard Salma say something, but her face was muffled and he could not understand her.  Tucking his cane underneath his arm, he groped the banister which still seemed intact.  Finally reaching the bottom, he found his way to the front door and opened it.  A rush of fresh air greeted him.  Feeling heat, he hoped he could make it off the porch.  At the top of the stairs, panicked, he placed Salma upright again.  She struggled to loosen the sheet around her.
“Are the flames here too?” Ayden asked.
“No, but there coming from behind.”
At the end of the drive, Ayden dialed 911 on his phone.  Neighbors could be heard coming from their own houses.  A few ran up to Ayden and Salma asking if they were okay.
Standing at a distance, Ayden could hear the roar of flames.  Salma held his hand as they waited in silence for the sound of sirens.
 
Ayden rested on the back bumper of Sheriff Jenkins’s police cruiser.  The mid-morning sun warmed his face.  Still shirtless, a blanket draped his shoulders.  A gritty smudge crossed his forehead and he could still smell the smoke embracing his body.
Once the firemen had extinguished the fire, Sheriff Jenkins and his deputy, a man about Ayden’s age, drove Salma and Ayden to the police station.  Each gave a report before Nick was contacted.
Salma approached Ayden now offering a cup of water.  He gulped the cool liquid down as Salma rested her head against his shoulder.  Sniffing her hair laced with a flower scent and smoke, Ayden protectively placed an arm around her.
“Ayden,” Salma said in quiet surprise, “Alice Whitley is here.”
Ayden pulled the blanket closed as he waited for Alice to approach.  A new scent filled his nostrils.  This too smelled of flowers, but it was not the framiliar jasmine and vanilla Salma wore.  Through the fog of his brain, he tried to place where he had smelled this scent before.
“I’m glad you two are alright,” Alice spoke quietly.  “I can’t believe this.  Do you need anything?”
“Thank you, but we’re okay,” Salma said warmly.
“Pete phoned me this morning-“
“Sheriff Jenkins?  Why?” Ayden asked.
Alice didn’t respond.
Waiting for an answer, Ayden finally recognized the flower scent that had lingered in the closet where he and Salma had found bed linens.
“Alice, did you visit the house after we left you yesterday?”
Alice made a noise as though she were suppressing it in her throat.  She never answered and before Ayden could ask anything else, he heard her muffled footsteps on the grass as she walked briskly away.
“Ayden?” Salma puzzled.
“Her perfume, it’s the same smell I noticed in the closet last night.”
“Ayden, that’s where I found the letter too,” Salma whispered.”
Ayden heard the swish of grass as someone else walked towards them.  It was Nick.
“Are you crazy?” Nick asked, bewildered.
“I’m fine.  Nice to see you too, Dad.”
Nick let out a long breath before saying, “Your mother and I went crazy when we heard what happened.  We’re glad you’re okay.”
“Is the house ruined?” Ayden asked.
Salma shifted and sat upright next to Ayden.
“It’s mostly the garden that was ruined, but there is damage to the house.”
Ayden felt his chest tighten.  The garden had been Lucy’s favorite place.  Ayden remembered playing among the walk-ways and tall bushes as Lucy tended to her beloved flowers.  Interrupting his thoughts, Ayden heard a shuffling footstep approach.  Another memory pushed itself front and center in his mind.  As Sheriff Jenkins stopped his pace, Ayden gave him a hard look.
“Tom says it will take a few weeks to get reports back, but there is some structural damage to the house, Nick,” the sheriff said.
“Taken any midnight strolls to clear your mind lately?” Ayden directed to Sheriff Jenkins.
No one spoke.  Salma gripped his hand.
“Any reason why you’d call Alice Whitley early this morning?” Ayden continued.
“Drop it,” Nick hissed at Ayden.
Thrown off by Nick’s tone, Ayden squeezed Salma’s hand, unsure what to do.
“I’m sure we’re all tired and need to collect our thoughts,” Sheriff Jenkins said.  “Maybe you ought to take these two home, Nick.”  Ayden heard the lumbering shuffle again as Sheriff Jenkins walked away.
 
 
Ayden sat in front of the computer.  A buzz issued from the speakers as JAWS, a text-to-speech program, sounded off with each command Ayden typed.
“Still working?” Salma asked from behind.
Ayden leaned his head back against her stomach.  She was wrapped in a large soft towel.  He slipped his hand through the folds, but she turned swiftly away, laughing.
Spewing a torrent of Spanish at him, Ayden chuckled.  “That just turns me on more.”
“I called you a great big moron whose brain is the size of his-“
“Doesn’t matter.  Still sounds sexy.”
Salma whipped another towel at him before scampering to the bedroom.  Turning back to his work, Ayden decided to check his email.
As he clicked on the necessary links using Hotkey commands, he thought over the past few weeks.
Ayden had told his father what happened, but Nick said that everything was circumstantial.  Ayden knew this, but he also knew he had opened something up.  Something that had been meant to remain secret.  Nick refused to open any investigation and he remained tight-lipped about anything he knew.
The fire was officially reported as an unknown accident since no evidence, either way, had been found determining a cause.  This, at least, was how the police report read.  Ayden, though, had inquired into the fire-chief’s report.  It too was inconclusive, but this report did mention that a match book had been found near the premises.  Salma had advised Ayden to wait before attempting any further investigation.
Salma had been the reason he was able to let the weeks slip by without searching for more clues.  Once they had returned to the city, Ayden had found the courage to express his budding feelings towards Salma.
They had sat on the couch talking; a typical Friday night for them, except this time Ayden could feel a growing anticipation between them.  Salma had stood to get another beer from the kitchen when Ayden reached for her wrist.  His large palm had felt bigger next to her slim wrist.  Both had stared silently at one another.  Ayden, thinking he would win this game since he couldn’t see, broke first.  Grinning with a smirk, he had pulled Salma to him and kissed her.
Three weeks later, their routine was continued as normal, yet something was different.  They had transitioned into this new element with ease, as though it were meant to be.  Their friendship was strengthened by the new romance.
Still reminiscing, Ayden did not recognize the name given for the first email he came across.  Opening it up, he read the following:
Your journey has just begun, but it is advisable that you stop your investigation immediately.  Heartache and harm can only befall you.  Thank your luck and live long and well with your beautiful new love.
There was no signature.  Alarmed, Ayden checked the From field, but the only information this provided was aconcernedfriend at gmail.com.  Ayden’s pulse quickened.  Hearing Salma pad lightly back into the room, he closed the window he was in.  He thought it was best to not alarm her just yet.
Holding Salma close against him, wrapping her in a bear hug, Ayden knew this was just the beginning.