Riddle (32 page)

Epilogue

              Tony entered the house carrying a small bag. “Mother!” he called as he went to the sunlit kitchen.

              She turned from the counter where she was preparing a pot of tea. “Good morning. I thought I’d make us some tea.”

              Setting the bag on the table he marveled once again at how wonderful she looked. She’d been clean and sober for over two months now and the change was remarkable. “I went to get us a breakfast treat.”

              She laughed and the sound of her laughter filled his heart with joy. “Great minds and all that?”

              “I thought we might take a drive later and look at the Christmas decorations downtown.”

              Taking his hand she nodded. “I’d like that Tony. I’d like that very much. But a group of us are getting together for a meeting. Maybe tomorrow?”

              Slightly disappointed but pleased that she was getting out, he nodded. “That would be fine.”

              “I’m going to run upstairs and get dressed while the tea brews. Then we can have breakfast before I go.” He watched her back, straight and confident as she walked gracefully from the kitchen.

              Sitting at the table Tony opened the bag and withdrew a warm muffin. As he slowly pulled back the paper muffin cup he smiled. Even as he remembered all it took to get to this moment he smiled.

              He recalled that day in the woods when he watched Norma and Desiree struggle by the river. He had overheard Desiree tell Norma she’d just been with Kort. He listened as Desiree lied, taunting Norma with a story of how easy it had been to seduce Kort, how he couldn’t keep his hands off her body.He had watched Norma’s face and was amazed that Desiree did not see the flash of some dark emotion in Norma’s eyes. He had been preparing to confront Desiree when Norma showed up. Stunned and disappointed that his plan seemed to be going awry he’d slipped back into the cover of the trees.

              He’d listened as Norma had told Desiree about her feelings for Kort, how no one and nothing would stand between them. Desiree had laughed. She’d laughed at Norma and told her Kort would never want her, with her boyish figure and bad complexion. And then Norma was on her. She was beating Desiree with her fists until she picked up a rock and began pounding her face furiously. Desiree flailed at Norma’s hands, tossing her head from side to side trying to avoid the blows that rained down on her.Standing, Norma looked down at the unmoving body and she was visibly shaking. After a few seconds she turned and ran toward the road. A flock of birds rose into the sky, screaming against the intrusion into their world.

              Tony remained quiet wanting to be certain Norma was long gone before he made a move. Just as he prepared to leave he saw Desiree move. Her arm rose up and her hand touched her damaged face. She slowly sat up, her hair wet from the muddy riverbank. Her face was covered in blood. It ran down her face and neck and covered the front of her pale pink sweater in dark maroon. She was no longer the pretty teenaged cheerleader.

              Tony approached her little by little and she must have heard him because she turned her head slightly. It was obvious her nose was broken and when she opened her mouth to speak he could see several of her teeth were broken. “Tony?” Her voice was fuzzy as though her tongue was too big for her mouth.

              He didn’t answer but his hand moved to the pocket of his jeans. If she realized what he was doing she gave no indication. When he reached her he said softly, “Let me wash off your face so we can see how badly you’re hurt.” His voice was calm and steady even though his heart was pounding. Slipping his arms under her armpits he pulled her closer to the river.

              “No Tony. Please. It hurts. Get help.” The words came out in short gasps.

              “I will. But let me clean you off. Let me see how badly you’re hurt.” He stepped over her, his legs straddling her body. She looked up at him, her eyes slightly unfocused.

              “How bad?” Her vanity shone through even in that moment. Her vanity helped him make his final decision.

              “Lean over the water so I can splash some on your face,” he murmured gently.

              And when she did he placed both hands on the back of her head and dropped to his knees pinning her body to the ground. Then he held her face under the icy cold water. Her body arched and convulsed beneath his, almost sexual in its movements. It was strangely arousing. Was this how she felt beneath his father’s body as they betrayed his mother? It didn’t take long. She was already weakened from her fight with Norma. When she ceased to struggle he turned her over almost gently. Her eyes were wide and pooled with water as though she was crying for the loss of her short and ego filled life. He stared into those eyes and while he was certain she was dead he lifted the knife and plunged it repeatedly into her chest. Then he used it to saw off chunks of her hair, tossing the strands into the river and watching them float away on ripples, dancing in the sunlight. Quickly rinsing his hands in the river he cleaned off the knife thoroughly and stuck it back into his pocket.

              Tony could hear his mother’s footsteps as she came down the stairs. Shaking his head he pressed the memory of that day deep into the recesses of his mind.

              Tony’s mother came back into the kitchen smiling brightly. “Oh muffins!”

              As she brought the tea pot and cups to the table he removed the rest of the muffins from the bag. Pulling a piece off one he popped it into his mother’s mouth.

              “Blueberry!” she exclaimed. “My favorite.”

              Smiling back at her he nodded. “You know I’ll always take care of you Mother.”

Reviews

for

“View From the Sixth Floor: An Oswald Tale”

“ I was smitten with the plot, the love story, and the humane views author Elizabeth Horton-Newton presents. It is beautiful.”
Gisela Hausmann
Top Amazon Reviewer

“
A wonderful story of love, suspense and what might have been!
”
Michelle Medhat, Author “The Shift” and “The Connected”

“This is one of the best historical books I have read in a while and will highly recommend.” Stormi, “Boundless Book Reviews”

“
Compelling, with an Ingenious Plot! Passion meets Alternate History!
“ Mark Fine, Author “The Zebra Affaire”

“What starts as a weird hybrid of middle-aged romance cum road trip, turns into a paranoid thriller in the style of The Parallax View, and gets faster and faster to a breathless denouement.” Charlie Flowers, Author Riz Sabir thrillers

If you enjoyed “Riddle” the author would greatly appreciate a review at

Amazon.com and/or Goodreads.com

Excerpt: “View From the Sixth Floor: An Oswald Tale”

Chapter 1

The world is made up of two classes - the hunters and the huntees.”
― Richard Connell,
The Most Dangerous Game

I’d always wanted to see London at Christmas. When the boys were small George and I didn’t feel as though we could leave them at Christmas. We believed, as many young people do, there would be plenty of opportunities to have adventures when our sons were grown and had their own families. Then the boys finished college and got married and there was debt and soon grandchildren. And we couldn’t bear to miss those holidays with the little ones. Soon after Matt moved to Boston with his family George started to get sick.

At first he was just more tired than usual. He had retired from his state job and took a part time job at a local construction business as an accountant. I had cut back my teaching hours years earlier working only as a substitute teacher. We took a couple of short trips; once we went to visit Matt and the family in Boston. Another time we went to visit Jesse in New Mexico where he was on a dig. But George was always so tired. Always a stubborn man, he resisted going to the doctor. By the time he gave in to my constant pressure and the combined pressure of our sons and his good friend, our neighbor Bill, his heart was in bad shape. A week before his scheduled by-pass surgery he had a massive coronary. That was almost two years ago. I was fifty-eight years old.

Matt tried to convince me to leave North Carolina and move to Boston. I said I would think about it although  I knew I wouldn’t leave my home; the home where I had raised my sons, shared a wonderful life with a man I loved, a place I decorated, gardened, and loved for over thirty years.

 I had great friends who were there for me, sometimes trying to set me up with older gentlemen. I had a great neighbor who wouldn’t let me mow my yard or even change the porch light bulb. Bill had been there with George right through to the end. In the almost fifteen years he’d been our neighbor he and George had bonded closer than brothers. They’d gone to ball games, gone fishing, and seen more movies together than I had seen in a lifetime. They read books and discussed them ad infinitum. Bill didn’t drive which was unusual for a man in our town. But Bill had moved down South after an early retirement saying the northern winters were too much for his old bones. I was never quite sure what kind of business Bill had been in and I suspected he had inherited some money somewhere along the way. George once told me it was some kind of corporation. I knew he had no living family. He’d been an only child and he had never married.

When George passed away Bill was there for me. It was Bill who sat there at George’s bedside as George said what would be his last words to us.

He was pretty doped up and most of what he said made no sense. He talked about hunting which wasn’t something he or Bill did. I remember his eyes being a little unfocused as he told Bill, “Some hunters never stop hunting. Sometimes they will go right into the bears den to pull him out when he’s hibernating.” Then George had looked from Bill to me and back. “Livvy is a good woman Bill. You can always trust her. But you watch out for her.”

I had put a finger to his lips and told him to hush. “You’re the one needs watching out for you old coot.” And he had smiled.

It was a sunny day and the blinds were partly opened. The sunlight cast bars of light and dark across the white sheet that covered George. I was holding George’s hand and it seemed so small and frail, the skin gray and loose. Bill stood on the other side of the bed and when I glanced up I saw the concern in his eyes. For a moment he looked up and our eyes met and the message was there; we both knew George might not make it. Less than an hour later we were hustled from the room by a cadre of nurses and doctors. We stood in the hall and I was aware of Bill holding my hand and I know I was squeezing it tightly. That heavy antiseptic scent of hospitals that we all know so well was making me nauseous. When the doctor came out of George’s room I knew instantly my husband was dead. It was Bill who held me as I sobbed, it was Bill who got all the information we needed to prepare for what came next, it was Bill who sat with me as I called my sons to tell them of their father’s passing.

It was a natural transfer for Bill to become my friend. And that is all it was. My friends would sometimes tease me, asking when Bill was going to put his slippers under my bed. I think many people believed we had a romantic relationship.

Now I was alone. George was gone. Bill was gone. And I was in London watching the snow fall lightly over the ice skating rink in front of the British Museum. I can’t say I was lonely. I can’t say I wasn’t lonely. I guess I was in a sort of limbo.

So, you are probably wondering where this is going. I guess I should rewind a little and fill in the details.

Available at Amazon

http://www.amazon.com/View-From-Sixth-Floor-Oswald-ebook/dp/B00NPCZW6W

Createspace

https://www.createspace.com/5010415

About the Author

Elizabeth Horton-Newton was born and raised in New York City. She began writing when she was a child, writing stories for friends and family. In the 4th grade at P.S. 151 in Manhattan she wrote an essay about her dream job; she wanted to be an author. She continued to write short stories over the following years as she raised a family. After attending Long Island University in Brooklyn, NY studying Communications/Media Arts and East Tennessee State University where she acquired a degree in Interdisciplinary Studies, she worked in the social work field for thirteen years. She also holds a certification in Forensic Document Examination. She currently lives in East Tennessee with her husband, author Neil Newton, and a collection of

rescued dogs and cats. Her first book,
"View From the Sixth Floor: An Oswald Tale
", was published in October 2014.
“Riddle”
is her second novel. She is currently working on her third novel, “
Stolen
”
,
a riveting tale of kidnapping and murder.

Author Webpage:

http://www.elizabethhorton-newtonauthor.com/

Blog:

http://elizabethnnewton.wordpress.com

Facebook:

https://www.facebook.com/pages/Elizabeth-Horton-Newton/368956446609506

Twitter:

https://twitter.com/redqueenliz