River of Possibilities

By Marti Lawrence

Elizabeth Cunningham watched her parents applaud and smile as she graduated college. Two months later she watched their caskets being lowered into the ground. She is left to wonder - why had their new car plunged into a ravine? Why had her father recently updated his Will, adding a strange postscript that directed her to move to the city? The codicil included a note that said she would, “find the truth”. Liz discovered nothing she was certain of is true. Her family was not the strong, loyal unit she thought she knew. Both of her best friends have been hiding things from her. Dirty politics, the CIA, and giant corporate interests could end her dreams and put her life and the lives of her friends and family in danger. Worst of all, her parents’ deaths may not have been an accident. Her beliefs will be assaulted when she has an encounter with a ghost, a mysterious Tarot reading, and discovers her father’s connections to the paranormal.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Marti Lawrence
• Release date: Jan 31, 2011
• ISBN: 9781452453408

Marti Lawrence

I grew up in Independence, Missouri, and was strongly influenced by Harry Truman’s straight talk and honest action. I have worked as a registered radiological technologist, pre-need counselor, webmaster, humor columnist and blogger. I am published in the Examiner newspaper, The Writer’s Blog Anthology and as a featured columnist at USA Deep South and Southern Humorists. I live in rural Jackson County, Missouri.

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RIVER OF POSSIBILITIES

A tale of death, deception and the paranormal

by

Marti Lawrence

***

This is a work of fiction.

All of the characters in this story are fictional, and any resemblance

to any person living or dead is purely coincidental.

River of Possibilities

A novel by Marti Lawrence

Copyright 2011 by Marti Lawrence.

Smashwords Edition

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

***

CHAPTER 1

My father’s voice whispered in my ear, A single moment.

I nearly wet my pants.

I leapt up from the cemetery bench. My heart pounded, and my eyes darted around, but all I saw was the placid landscape.

What the hell was that?

It sounded like my father’s voice. The voice I’d heard all my life was talking into my ear, just like he was standing right there. Only he wasn’t standing right there, he would never be standing right there again. He’s dead.

It had to be my imagination. After all, Daddy had uttered that phrase a thousand times. Yes, that’s it.

Breathe. Breathe.

Jumping up so fast made me lightheaded. I plopped back down on the bench, making it tip, which caused my heart to do another flip-flop. The wind blew a wisp of golden brown hair across my face, frightening me again. I pulled a compact from my purse and attempted to fix my face. Staring back from the tiny mirror were two bloodshot gray eyes, pupils dilated from fear.

This is insane. You’re just overwrought.

Consider the possibilities, the voice whispered again.

The compact clattered to the ground. My head swung around to - nothing. There was no one there.

Mother of God, I’ve gone insane.

I always thought dementia would feel different.

I heard my father’s laughter, distant, from across a field.

I clutched the sides of the marble bench so hard it made my fingers ache. I was afraid if I loosened my grip I would die. Wouldn’t that be ironic? I could see the headline, Woman found dead in cemetery.

A chuckle escaped my lips, and from somewhere, I gathered the strength to attempt to reason with my insanity.

OK, crazy person inside of me, just calm down.

We don’t hear dead people talking to us.

It’s just stress, right?

No answer came, thank God, and I loosened my grip. I had just heard voices of the dead, shouldn’t there be some sort of apocalyptic visions to go along with such mystical auditory hallucinations?

I guess not.

That your kin?

My butt cheeks clenched so tightly I nearly launched myself into orbit.

I swung around and saw a middle-aged man wearing a stained blue uniform. It bore the cemetery logo and had the name, Bill embroidered over the pocket.

I’m sorry ma’am. I didn’t mean to scare ya.

No, it wasn’t you, I mean, you didn’t frighten me, I was just…

What? Was I going to tell a complete stranger that I was hearing voices of the recently deceased?

Yeah, right.

It’s alright ma’am, I understand. Lots of folks get to feeling real strange when they come here. He shuffled his feet, and ran his soiled fingers over his thinning brown hair.

No, really, it’s not you, and it’s not this place. I love it here. It’s so beautiful.

He relaxed a bit, and straightened his posture. Well, thank you ma’am. We’ve put a lot of work into it the last few years. He stretched his hand out in greeting. Bill Brent.

I shook his hand. Elizabeth Cunningham. Liz. Nice to meet you, Bill.

That some family of yours? I ain’t meaning to pry, it’s just kind of unusual for us to get a married couple at the same time, but if you don’t want to talk...

No, it’s OK, I replied, relieved to have someone with flesh and blood to converse with.

My parents were killed in a car wreck down by Flintrock. That’s where we live, well, used to live.

Bill derailed my maudlin train of thought. Yeah, I know where that is, he said, as he raised his hand and pointed south. I go fishing down at Truman Lake every now and then. I seen something on the news about a wreck along there over the Fourth. There’s all kinds of damn fools running that road over the holiday. I don’t mean your folks was...

I cut him off. It’s OK. There are a lot of damn fools running up and down that road over the Fourth of July. Everybody wants to get away from the city. Except my parents, who were heading up here.

I’m awful sorry ma’am. That’s gotta be real hard, losing both of ‘em like that. Did they ever find out what caused the accident? Seems like there was some witnesses that said the car just went right over a cliff.

I sniffled, and he realized that recounting the gruesome scene was probably not on my Top Ten List of Fun Things to Do.

Aw shucks, I done it again. Damn! I’m always sticking my foot in my mouth.

I pulled a tissue from my purse, blew my nose, and tried to look compassionately at Foot-In-The-Mouth Bill.

No, really, it’s OK.

The news coverage had been extensive. Daddy was a well-known businessman; Mama had won many awards at American Royal horse shows here in Kansas City. Plus the crash was a spectacle: Brand new Cadillac flies over precipice along well-traveled route.

Bill took a couple of steps towards me, sympathetic and determined to be less gauche. It’s a terrible thing, to lose your kin. I know. I had me a sister; she was killed in a car wreck too. ‘Cept hers wasn’t no accident. He shook his head mournfully.

Curious, and looking forward to changing the subject away from my parents’ untimely demise, I patted the stone bench, suggesting he sit down. Tell me about her.

He took me up on the offer and eased himself onto the seat. It was awful. Lot like your folks. Her car went off the road and into a gully. She wasn’t no drinker and there wasn’t no bad weather. We just didn’t see how it could have happened. Then them investigators figured out that bastard - pardon my French - her husband, had caused it! He wanted her dead. That... He sputtered for a non-swear word.

My brow wrinkled. Why?

Cause he was a prick! Bill exclaimed, then ducked his head self-consciously.

I’m sorry ma’am, I just get so damn mad when I think about what he done to my sister.

What happened?

My sister, she was a good woman. She’d had a hard life, but she kept trying real hard. She’d gone and got herself a good job. She was gonna do right by her kids, have health coverage, and life insurance. That’s what he killed her for, that damned life insurance. She went and put him on as the beneficiary. God DAMN, why did she do that?

I shuddered, a cold chill running down my back. My parents had recently updated their coverage and the payoff to Tom and I increased. But my brother wouldn’t...I mean, he couldn’t...

My mind reeled, and I must have looked dizzy. Bill reached to steady me. I stiffened my back and tried to control my quivering chin. How did you learn it was sabotage?

We figured there had to be some kind of mechanical problem. She wasn’t no head case; there wasn’t no reason for her to want to kill herself. That’s what he tried to make them think. Turns out he was just trying to cover his own ass. Oh, pardon me again ma’am.

No, go on.

Well, he’d messed with her car. Thought nobody would find out. He loosened up her steering-wheel bolts. Sorry son of a bitch never did nothing right. He used the wrong size socket, scratched the heads up real bad, and got grease from her car all over his tools. He didn’t even clean them up. Them investigators seen what’d been messed with. He paused, and sucked in a deep breath.

They went out to their house, and he was sitting there getting drunk! And her, not more than a week in the ground.

God, that’s horrible. What did they do to him?

Oh he tried to let on like he worked on her car all the time, but everybody knew he was too damn lazy to do her any favors. He ended up getting 20 years for second degree murder. He’ll probably be out in 10 though; he didn’t have much of a record before he killed my sister. I just can’t understand how anybody can do that. I mean he didn’t hate her, he just wanted that damned money.

I don’t understand it either, Bill.

Trepidation roiled and bubbled within me.

Accident. Sabotage. Death.

It’s just unbelievable, I said.

You ain’t thinking your folks’ accident wasn’t no accident, are ya?

Considering the possibility that someone could have wanted my parents dead was preposterous - wasn’t it? I - I don’t know.

Now the thought was planted though, and already laying down roots. I would fertilize it regularly with fear and conjecture, and watch it grow into Hypothesis Gigantus.

Well, from what them news people said, they sounded like real nice folks. I’m awful sorry for going on about my troubles.

He stood up and wiped his forehead with a handkerchief.

I smiled at him and said, No, thank you for sitting with me. My condolences on your loss.

Well, same to you ma’am, it’s been real nice talking to ya.

He glanced at the lengthening shadows then his wristwatch. Just about quitting time. You heading out now?

Yes, I should go.

You take care of yourself, hear?

I smiled and nodded as he trudged off, then became apprehensive again. My mind scampered over previously inconceivable scenarios. Tension worthy of a violin's high E string, vibrated within me.

I definitely needed to leave before something else freaky happened. My freaky cup runneth over. With a final look back at my parents’ graves, I got in my car and drove away, but I couldn’t drown out the incessant questions which refused to stay buried with them.

CHAPTER 2

The air conditioning blasting in my face intensified the Nissan’s new car smell, still fresh after my month of ownership. The sunset blazed golden-red, but with my mood, I couldn’t appreciate it.

The basement garage door of the brownstone building rose with a touch of the remote clicker. I pulled into the building and caught a whiff of the musty basement, still wondering why I was here. Ordinarily, I love old structures like this, and this building was in great shape; Daddy made sure of that. He had modernized all of the mechanical systems, only to hold all of this…crap. I just couldn’t understand why he continued to sell those books about supernatural nonsense, in the retail unit on the first floor.

Why?

Why was I here? Why had my father left me this God-awful place? Why were he and my mother dead? Why was I hallucinating about hearing his voice?

It’s just nerves, I told myself. After all, my whole life had been crazy these last few weeks. Apportioning so many deposits and withdrawals in and out of my soul’s inventory had left my emotion accountant exhausted.

I was fatigued from dealing with college graduation, new business ventures, and that other thing. Being the beast of burden for Tom’s mercurial nature and recent divorce had worn me out. Tom had insisted on having the Will read the next day. Aunt Barb and others were shocked, muttering, It just ain’t right under (but not very much under) their breath.

All of which had landed me here, a hundred miles from what I thought would always be my home.

A pile of boxes laid along the wall, dropped off by the moving company. I passed by the crates holding my past life, and trudged upstairs.

Tom had inherited the horse ranch - lock, stock and barrel racer. Following the funeral, Tom said I should plan on packing up my things soon. He said it was what our parents wanted, and I should honor their wishes. Indeed, Daddy had recently written a special codicil, with instruction for me to move into this building in Kansas City. It included a cryptic note saying I would, Find the truth.

I flipped on the lights in the store on the main floor. It gave me the creeps, looking at the book covers with images of ghosts and aliens staring back at me.

An intense urge to escape overpowered me, and I ran out the shop’s front door. I’d fled about twenty steps when someone yelled, Hey you! Stop!

Startled, I stopped and turned so quickly I tripped over my own feet. A short, dark man stood on the stoop of the adjacent Italian restaurant, smoking a cigarette. He reminded me of Mario from video games. He scowled at me. The strong smell of garlic drifted out his open door.

Who are you? Why are you running? Are you stealing? He dropped the cigarette and started toward me.

No, I own the store. I - I just needed some air.

The man stopped his approach, but continued to glare at me. Better lock your door then. Thieves everywhere, he said.

Embarrassed by my awkward behavior, I fumbled in my bag for keys, forgetting that the electronic door lock required using a keypad. I blushed and attempted a weak smile as I headed back. Umm, yeah. Thanks.

Focused on my own doorway, I took a few clumsy steps, and felt foolish about my neophyte urban conduct. Liz, you’re in the big city now, I chided myself. Kansas City’s River Market area is not your little Ozark horse ranch, where you never needed to lock the doors.

Feeling guilty for not acknowledging my neighbor any further, I glanced back up to see his door slamming shut. .Great.

I typed the code into the keypad, so I was now protected from thieves (and with all that stinking garlic, vampires). I walked around the block. I didn’t want to return to the loft, but I had nowhere else to go.

Halfway up the stairs to the apartment, I stopped in my tracks. There was a knock at the door. I inched back down the steps and wished I had a weapon.

The shades were drawn on the door and storefront windows, which blocked all views. My heart raced as I approached the door. A noise caused me to catch my breath, and the muscles in my neck flinched.

Why do the damned floorboards have to squeak?

Who could it be? What do they want?

I had to do something. I raised the shade to see two familiar faces mugging it up outside. Liz! Let us in, we’re suffocating out here! said Grace Collins, one of a longtime trio of friends. Girlfriend #2, Kathy Crawford, paced up and down the steamy sidewalk and fanned herself with a folded roadmap.

I fumbled with the alarm and electronic lock, relieved to see familiar (and earthly) faces. They burst through the door and brought with them the heat and humid scent of evening.

Oh my God! Look at this place. Look at you. How are you doing? God it’s hot out there. Who’s the hunk next door?

I laughed at the jumble of questions, then hugged my two oldest and dearest friends. Grace is so thin and frail, I’m always afraid I’ll break her, but Kathy’s athletic arms clasped around me with such force it was almost painful.

You scared the stuffing out of me. I said.

Oh Liz, everything scares the stuffing out of you. I’m surprised you’ve got any stuffing left, Grace said, as she reached over and poked my ribs.

So - who’s that good-looking salami next door? asked Kathy. She grinned and motioned toward the Italian restaurant.

I pictured the scowling neighbor, and frowned, puzzled over how my flirtatious friend could find him appealing.

That old man? I asked. The one with the drooping mustache and dirty apron?

Both friends laughed so hard they careened onto the reading couch, a comfortable place for the bookstore customers to peruse books and magazines.

Oh sugar, we gotta get you some glasses, Grace said. There is an absolutely gorgeous hunk of a man sweeping the walk out there. He asked us if we needed help.

And honey, he could sure help me, Kathy added.

I guess I haven’t met him.

Well how are you going to introduce him to me then? Grace asked, still giggling.

I need to use the bathroom, Kathy said, as she crossed her legs to emphasize her immediate need. We both had a Big Gulp on the drive up here, and I am about to bust.

There’s one down here, but it has a note in it that the water is turned off. I haven’t had a chance to figure out why. You can use the one upstairs. Go up, turn right, go all the way - oh wait, you’ll need the passcode.

As I scribbled the numbers down. Kathy snorted and said, I’ve never needed a passcode to go all the way.

She plucked the slip of paper from me with her manicured fingers and bounded up the steps two at a time.

I flopped onto the couch and fell against Grace. Oh, girlfriend, she said, as she brushed hair away from my face, You look like hell.

I don’t doubt it, I feel like hell.

Grace sat up straight to take a hard look at me. You can’t possibly feel as bad as you look, she said, teasing.

Thank God for two such wonderful friends.

I managed a weak laugh and said, I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow.

We got a wild hair and decided to drive up tonight, Kathy said upon her return.

Well, I’m glad you did, I’ve been about to lose my mind up here. This place, all this stuff, it’s creepy, I said, as I gestured my hand towards the rows of books.

Kathy and Grace decided to look around the shop and survey the inventory. Soon, they were calling out titles and topics. Oh look! Ghosts! Aliens! Vampires! Witchcraft! Psychic powers! Liz, how can you not be fascinated by all of this? It’s incredible. Look at this – unbelievable.

Yes, I said, that’s it precisely, it is unbelievable. How can people spend good money on this stuff?

What do you care? I bet this stuff sells like hotcakes! How much money did the store make last month?

Not a dime.

Why not?

The guy Daddy had running the place died. Well, he was killed…

Right in here? Kathy asked, her eyes widening.

Yes, my agitated little friend, right in here. Somebody came in right at closing time. Pulled down the shades, robbed the place, and killed the manager.

Eww, do you think his ghost is still hanging around? Grace asked.

Ghosts. Daddy's voice.

My Autopilot Dismissive Response did not receive clearance for takeoff on Brain Runway #1. Hold for Ambiguous Emotions Check, please.

Oh that's just - absurd.

Isn't it? I don't believe in ghosts. It's just not logical.

I can't understand how anybody as bright as the two of you…

Oh come on Liz! We're just yanking your chain. We know how sensible you are.

Yes. Sensible Liz.

Well gee, you don’t have to say it like it’s a dirty word, I said. Anyway, after the guy was killed, Daddy hadn’t hired anyone new to manage it yet. He’d been real busy you know, so much going on, the three of us graduating together…

Kathy switched topics. So show us the rest of the place - the apartment upstairs!

Don’t act like such a hick, Grace said. It’s called a loft.

Loft, schmoft, I just want to see if I can window peep on the hunk next door from up there, Kathy said.

OK, let me reset the alarm, I said. I felt uneasy, thinking about the recently murdered manager.

I hate things with PINS and passwords, Grace said. I never can remember them, and then I can’t remember the meaning of the hints that are supposed to tip me off.

Daddy and I always played code and cipher games, so I was able to figure out what the passcode was here.

I miss you, Daddy.

You mean your dad didn’t tell you the code? asked Kathy.

Well, he changed it regularly, and the codicil that declared I was to move here, didn’t give the specific number, just a clue that I would understand. It had all kinds of ciphers in it.

I tapped in the numbers to unlock the door at the top of the staircase, and we entered the living quarters.

Whoa, Grace said. God almighty, who painted this place? Jackson Pollock?

Yeah, I thought I’d go blind the first time I saw it, Kathy said. Loud, bright colors of every hue pierced our retinas.

I know, it’s hideous.

Maybe someone killed the former manager for his bad taste, Grace said.

Oh, he didn’t live up here, I told them. Daddy kept the apartment private, for when he came up here on business trips. Seemed like he was gone a lot lately.

Your dad painted this? both friends said. They giggled at speaking the same thought at the same time, a knack the three of us shared.

No, it’s been this way for as long as I can remember. I think Tom said that Gypsy woman painted it.

What Gypsy woman? Grace asked, as she wandered around.

Tom said there was a Gypsy woman who rented the whole building from Daddy, back around the time I was born. She lived up here, and she ran the store downstairs. She sold crystals, those metaphysical books and junk like that, and did Tarot card readings.

How cool! Kathy exclaimed. I would love to get my fortune told!

Grace asked, Where is she now?

She’s dead.

Oh my God, did she die here too?

No. I mean, I don’t think so. I don’t know for sure. They never talked much about her.

Oh, more mystery, Kathy said, as she rubbed her hands together in mock glee. Now tell me, are there any windows that face that way? She pointed towards Mario-world.

You’re incorrigible. I said, and threw a small pillow at her.

I hate to be a party-pooper, said Grace, but I’m beat. Where are we sacking out, girlfriend?

There’s a king-size in there, I said, as I motioned towards the bedroom. I’ll sleep out here. This futon makes into a bed. We said our goodnights, and soon my friends were asleep. I tossed and turned for hours.

Stop thinking about the voice at the cemetery.

It was just stress. Go to sleep.

Then the noises came. Downstairs, in the store, bumps and shuffles, with an occasional thump thrown in for bad measure.

It’s an old building; it’s going to creak and rattle.

What’s that racket?

Ack! I gasped, and spooked Grace as she crept in to join me.

I’m sorry Liz, I didn’t mean to scare you.

It’s OK, Grace, at least I know I’m not losing my mind. You heard noises too?

Yeah, what is it?

I’m not sure, this is my first night here. I guess we could go see.

Oh sure. Just let me slip into a negligee and get a wobbly candle first.

I laughed, and then we heard it again, louder.

Oh shit.

No shit.

Well?

I don’t know. Go get...

What in God’s name is going on out here? Kathy asked, as she wandered out of the bedroom, yawning.

THUMP.

Three pairs of eyes were glued to the loft entry door, as we huddled together on the futon, listening to more noises. Finally, after a few thumpless minutes, we