The Girl Through Whom Sweet Mysteries Flow: A Mystery/Romance

By Robin Calvert

Most of the main characters in the story are in the early twenties. While some of the plot deals with their romantic problems, the main thing is their attempt to solve the mystery of the murder of Nancy Bonwit, a former girlfriend of Mark Forbes. They come to believe the poems Mark Forbes wrote about Jean Bauer while they were separated have hidden meanings. They believe they can be read as parts of a puzzle, a solution of which will help lead the police to Nancys killer.

Mark Forbes is the earnest but flawed main male character in the story. Jean Bauer is the main female character. She and Mark went steady during her Junior and Senior years in high school. Marks clueless indifference to important things like Jeans birthday and Christmas finally result in a dramatic break up on Jeans Prom Night. Jean decides to attend college in New Jersey to get away from Marks and his indifferent ways. After her sophomore year she comes back home to her parents house in Maryland feeling that she has severed her ties with Mark. She transfers to another college near her home where she is befriended by Brenda Cranston who, like Jean, is in her junior years. It proves to be a faithful meeting. It is Brenda who first notices the dual meaning of Marks poems about Jeans and the mystical chemistry that seems to flow between them. And it is Brendas experiments with Jean acting as the guinea pig that prompts Jean to explore caverns , visit Marks first girlfriend, and come dangerously close to a hooded young men who maybe Nancys killer.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jun 28, 2011
• ISBN: 9781463409258

Robin Calvert

The author, like the character Mark Forbes, delayed her college education a few years. And like him he went to school at night and took summer courses. He got his degree in a little over five years and any other similarity to Mark Forbes is purely coincidental.

Book preview

CHAPTER I

Something Familiar

Mark Forbes bounded down the apartment steps, his lanky legs moving swiftly. He was feeling good. It was February but the temperature was up in the sixties. He stepped outside. The sun was shining brightly on his dark blonde hair. He shaded his blue eyes from the sun and turned his tall, thin frame to his right. Sitting in a lawn chair on the porch was a pretty young girl. Mark recognized her. She had the apartment below his. There were two more apartments on the other side. He never saw the occupants. The porch was so small most people put their chairs on the lawn in front of the apartments. She was reading from a thick book. Mark figured her to be about twenty, a little younger than him. She was one of those people who ignore the calendar, just open the door or window and dress accordingly. Mark took note of her black shorts and red short sleeve shirt. In contrast, he was wearing khakis and a long sleeve navy sweatshirt. To Mark February was February. The girl had pretty green eyes. Her dark hair was parted on the left side. The hair combed to the right fell just above her right brow. She had it cut not quite shoulder length. Very attractive!

His neighbor shaded her eyes from the sun as she looked up and smiled. Good morning! Nice day, isn’t it?

Yes it is, Mark replied. Are you studying?

Sort of. I’m reading poetry. Since I’m an English major I guess reading any poetry is helpful.

Hey, I’ve written a few poems myself, Mark responded enthusiastically.

She glanced up with interest. Really? What kind?

I’ll go up and get a few. Mark returned a few minutes later and handed his neighbor some typewritten pages. She read the poems with interest.

These are really good, Mr.__?

Just call me Mark, Mark Forbes.

My name is Brenda Cranston. I’ve seen you carrying books. Are you going to school?

At night, he replied. I’m taking a full schedule at the community college. This is my first year. I have to study for hours on end just to keep up. But, I’m almost through the first year. I landed a job with the government last year and saved a whole year for tuition.

Brenda observed, I know it’s hard, but I think you’re doing the smart thing. Do you mind if I copy your poems? I have a printer right inside. Please come in.

Mark followed her into her apartment, leaving the door opened. Her place was much neater than his. He noticed a picture on the end table. He had seen the guy before on the parking lot and out front. Must be her boyfriend. Brenda turned the printer on. She noticed Mark looking at the picture. That’s Jeremy Franklin, my boyfriend.

I thought so. I’ve seen him around, Mark commented.

Funny, one of your poems reminds me of an old boyfriend, of how I met him.

The scene at the dance? Mark asked.

Yes, Brenda replied. We met at a dance. It was very romantic . . . like your poem.

She was the most romantic girl I ever knew, Mark said pensively.

I guess in my relationship I was the romantic one, Brenda pointed out.

How long did you date him? Mark asked.

Over a year.

That’s a long time, Mark said. I guess I should offer condolences.

Oh, I’m okay, Brenda said defensively. Jeremy is a wonderful guy.

That’s great.

Are you still dating the girl? Brenda wanted to know.

Unfortunately, no.

Gee, I’m sorry, Mark. That was such a promising start.

I wrote another poem about the end, Mark said. I’ll show it to you someday.

Maybe I don’t want to see that one, Brenda said displaying a mock frown.

Some of the best poems are about the endings, Mark smiled back at Brenda’s frown.

Like ‘Plaisir d’Amour?’ Brenda observed. Ever heard it?

"I have. In fact there’s great version of it on YouTube by Yulia Townsend. Not Julia. Yulia."

I’ll check it out tonight. Do you agree with the words? Brenda asked rather pointedly.

Well . . . I don’t know, Mark paused, then said, I don’t think so . . .

Brenda made the copies and handed Mark the originals.

Thank you so much, Mark. If you don’t mind I’m going to show these to my professor. I think she’ll like them.

Hey, I don’t mind at all. Let me know what she thinks. I can take it.

They both laughed as he headed for the parking lot behind the apartments. Mark drove off as Brenda returned to her chair. As she reread the poems she thought of the latest two men in her life: Bob Martinez with his dark hair and hazel eyes that always seemed half-closed. Brenda thought they made him look romantic and sexy. Jeremy Franklin had blonde hair and blue eyes. Brenda hated to admit it but Jeremy’s eyes had a shifty look to them.

Mark took a seat in Pigs in a Blanket, a fast food place outside the beltway and sat near the windows. He liked the feel of the sun on his face. He sipped on his coffee as he reached into a plastic bag for one of the poems. As he gazed at the top one he considered Brenda’s remarks about Plaisir d’Amour. The pleasure of love is brief, the pain endures forever, or something like that. The girl in the poem at the dance, the girl in all of his poems was Jean Bauer. He had dated her about a year and a half; he had never gotten over her. She suddenly decided to attend college in New Jersey. He sent a letter to her house that was never answered. She had wanted Mark to enroll in college when she was still in high school. But Mark kept putting it off. So, to keep himself busy, to keep from going crazy over losing her, he decided to finally enroll after saving enough money. To speed things up he decided to take courses in the summer. He wanted to do all of those things earlier but he couldn’t concentrate on anything but Jean while they were dating. The breakup was not about another guy or girl: it was something that had transpired between them. He wasn’t sure exactly what it was, but it had to have been his fault. Mark looked out the window at the cars pulling onto the lot. I don’t want to think about it, he muttered softly. He just wanted to remember the good times, the fun times, and the many, many long hours in Jean’s living room . . . kisses that never seemed to end. Oh, my God, I miss her so much!

A few miles away, Jean Bauer was ensconced on the couch in the living room so heavy on Mark’s mind. She had moved back from New Jersey to Maryland after her sophomore year. Her reasons were varied: she missed her family and home; she could transfer into a college a few miles from her house; she could live at home and save boarding fees; and finally, she felt she had severed all ties with Mark Forbes, her high school sweetheart. She hadn’t seen him in over two years. He had sent a letter to her house but Jean told her mother not to forward it. None of her friends really knew Mark and none of his friends knew she had moved back home. She was sitting on the couch in her living room trying to study. She couldn’t help but remember sitting there with Mark . . . so many hours . . . Time to study, Jean, she sighed to herself. She was halfway through her junior year and no sign of him. Maybe he moved away. That’s fine with me, she said to herself. But, she was surprised that the thought made her feel sad.

Jean reached for her cell phone. It was Brenda, a girl she had met in her new school. Hi, Jean! What’s up?

I’m trying to study, but not with much success, Jean responded.

Same here. It’s such a beautiful day I thought we could go hang out in the mall.

Boy, does that sound like a great idea, Jean responded. Since you’re near the mall I’ll drive down and pick you up at your apartment. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes, Jean said as she turned her laptop off.

Jean arrived at Brenda’s apartment in the promised fifteen minutes. She remarked, You know, Brenda, your apartment always feels strangely familiar.

Brenda replied, Speaking of strangely familiar, the guy upstairs showed me some poems he wrote. One of them reminded me of my old boyfriend, of how we met and everything. In fact, two of them remind me of him. Would you like to see them?

Sure.

Brenda watched as her friend sat to read the poems. She noticed her eyes widen as she scanned the lines. Then she sort of gasped, looked over at Brenda and cried, Oh, my God! These are about me . . . and Mark . . . about things we did together.

Jean, believe me, he’s not home. He left over an hour ago, Brenda explained.

Jean looked at the poems again and said more to herself than to Brenda, He put spaces where my name should be but these are about me. Then she looked at Brenda and said, What if he comes back?

We’ll be gone . . . to the mall, Brenda pointed out.

What if he sees me bringing you back?

All right, Jean, I’ll take my car so you won’t have to drive back.

Thanks, Brenda.

Does this mean we won’t be studying together? Brenda asked.

We can study at my house, Jean offered.

And I can’t tell him you’re home?

No. It’s over between us, Jean said. Brenda noticed Jean’s eyes were on the poems in her hand.

Over for you, maybe. He sounds like a guy who’s in love. By the way, Jean, you can keep those copies of the poems. I’ve got them on my laptop. They’re very romantic, Brenda pointed out.

He was never that romantic when we dated . . . at least not verbally.

Maybe he realized it and is trying to make up for it, Brenda remarked.

I’ll give him one thing. He has a good memory.

A good memory of the girl he loves, Brenda smiled wickedly.

Brenda, please stop! I spent two years away from home to avoid this guy.

Brenda countered, He saved a year for tuition and is going to college at night. He’s almost finished his first year at the community college.

Well, I am glad to hear that. I knew he could do it if he set his mind to it.

Brenda continued, He says he studies for hours at a time. He seems to be taking it seriously.

I’m impressed, Jean said, unenthusiastically. He never seemed to take anything seriously.

Jean, are we talking about the same person? Brenda wanted to know.

You just met him, right? He makes a good first impression. Now, let’s get out of here before he comes back, Jean said as she placed the poems in her purse.

As Brenda and Jean walked through the door, Mark was standing on the porch.

There was a long, awkward silence as the three of them looked at one another. The coy look that was on Brenda’s face was transformed into an almost frightened one. How would Jean react? Mark looked to Brenda as if for help. Jean seemed to be searching for an escape route. They stood there about fifteen seconds. Jean was wearing a black sweater and a clinging red skirt that flattered her curvaceous figure. Mark was transfixed by her sudden appearance. He finally summoned the courage to address her. Jean, I’m so glad to see you. He and Brenda looked at Jean. Mark noticed her dark hair was slightly shorter than the night of her senior prom. Although he couldn’t see it clearly, he could tell it was cut in the style of figure skater Dorothy Hamill, a wedge cut. Most people in Baltimore knew at least a little bit about Dorothy Hamill since she had made her home there. Mark knew more than a little bit about her since he started ice skating once a week while Jean was away and watched segments of Dorothy’s skating on YouTube. It was an appropriate cut for Jean since it exposed the swanlike neck Mark knew so well and was perfect for her heart-shaped face. She looked stunning with her beautiful face half-shadowed by the sun, hair blown lightly by a breeze. She finally directed deep blue eyes at Mark. He moved toward her and spread his arms to embrace her. It was an awkward moment at first. Jean kept her arms at her side. So Mark put his arms around her and her arms. Then he kissed her. Jean could not resist since her arms were trapped by his. He pressed his lips against hers until he felt them soften. Then she kissed him back. Jean lifted her head back and smiled. Mark smiled back as he watched the little crease form across the bridge of her nose. And just as she had once done long ago while in the same embrace, she began swaying side to side: "It’s good to see you again, Mark. Brenda’s face was now beaming. Jean, you can’t fool me, she thought. You two were meant for each other."

Brenda’s own love life was a little more complicated. She, Jeremy Franklin, and Bob Martinez all attended the same school. She was dating Jeremy Franklin but had some classes with Bob Martinez, her ex-boyfriend. Seeing Bob every day was a little uncomfortable and led to many questions from Jeremy, who suspected Bob was trying to steal Brenda back. And little did any of them realize that a girl Mark dated while Jean was away had made a decision, a decision that would have far-reaching effects for all of them.

When Jean went to New Jersey and never answered Mark’s letter, he figured it was possible he would never see her again. He thought she might decide to live there after she graduated, or worse, marry some guy in college. So Mark began dating again and met a cute girl named Nancy Bonwit. She had short dark hair that turned up at the ends, a face like a pixie and big, brown eyes. Mark saw a French actress on YouTube that reminded him of Nancy. She was talking to puppets in a movie as if they were real. Her name was Leslie Caron. Nancy liked the same kind of music and books Mark did and was a great conversationalist. They dated for over half a year. But it ended abruptly when Mark decided to date another girl. He reasoned he and Nancy weren’t engaged or anything, so why not? When he asked Nancy if it was all right it was all she could do not to cry; yet she agreed. He dated the girl just once and asked Nancy out the following week. She said yes but a fury was building inside her. Two weeks later they had an argument right out in public. They both made it clear that it was over. Although Mark really liked Nancy the argument was so vitriolic he was glad it was over. That was about nine months ago.

After her breakup with Mark, Nancy dated Hal Chambers, a guy her mother really liked. Nancy’s mother never cared much for Mark. She thought he was just drifting through life. But, after awhile Nancy kept remembering how nice Mark had treated her all those months before his stupid cup of tea with that girl. Hal took her to the nicest shows and restaurants. But something was missing. Even though Hal had a better job and a college education, he was a little dull. And Nancy knew that she could never really like any guy that her mother liked. Nancy was warmed by her memories of how Mark hummed along with the music when they danced. He had a deep voice and she could feel the vibrations in her chest. She remembered how Mark could make her smile and laugh. And she could almost feel his tender kisses: he appealed to her ardent romantic streak. As these pleasant memories accumulated, her anger began to ebb: the strong feelings she had had for him gradually returned. She was told that he had moved; but, her source did not know exactly where, only that it was nearby. And she was told he was not dating anyone. Nancy Bonwit resolved to make up with Mark Forbes.

Mark made the short drive to Jean’s house. It was raining hard. He recalled walking up these streets when they first started dating. He pulled into the driveway, picked up the flowers from the car seat and ran to Jean’s front door which she had opened for him. She was wearing a red blouse with white stripes, a grey skirt and a black cardigan. Mark handed her the roses. Oh, Mark, you didn’t have to do that.

Are you serious? Seeing you the other day was like a miracle. I had to do something. I have some for your mother, too. Jean’s mother, hearing Mark’s voice, swept into the living room with her usual aplomb to welcome Mark back. She had on a soft looking beige sweater and brown slacks. Mrs. Bauer, like her daughter, had an hourglass figure. But Mrs. Bauer didn’t have the tiny waist her daughter had; her waist was larger as befitting a more mature woman. Mrs. Bauer’s hourglass figure was the result of having wide hips and a very full bustline. Her face was oval shaped with strong sharp features and bright blue eyes. She was friendly and outgoing, quick with a smile or a laugh and always looked you straight in the eye. Her dark blonde hair was streaked with grey but was wavy and beautiful.

Mrs. Bauer gave Mark a big hug and a kiss. He filled her in on what he had been doing the last couple of years. She looked over at Jean when he mentioned going back to school. She tried to hide the wink directed at Jean but Mark caught it. She asked if he wanted a drink. Mark said no they were heading for Pigs In A Blanket. Before you go, she said, I’d like to get a picture of you and Jean on the couch. I told Jean many times what a shame it was that we didn’t have a picture of you two on the couch where you spent so many hours. Now don’t just sit there, Mark Forbes, kiss her! Jean’s mother always called him by his full name when she really wanted his attention. Mark took Jean in his arms. This time Jean opened her arms and put them over his wide shoulders. Mrs. Bauer took the picture and showed it to them. I’ll get a copy for you, Mark. The roses are beautiful! Have a good time.

As they drove to the restaurant Jean began speaking in a measured cadence as if rehearsed: Mark, I’m now glad to see you again and go out with you again. When you took me in your arms outside of Brenda’s apartment, all of my resentments vanished. I was where I wanted to be. But I must tell you something.

Is there someone else? Mark asked, afraid of Jean’s reply.

No.

Mark breathed a sigh of relief.

But you must know this. I was not going to try to find you. In fact, I was trying to avoid you the other day. I’ve been back in town for over six months. If I hadn’t bumped into you at Brenda’s apartment I wouldn’t be here now. I can’t lie to you. I was trying to forget you. I do admit it was hard. But my point is, knowing this, do you still want to date me?

Mark stared straight ahead. "How does one reply to a statement like that? he thought. Then he remembered the letter. Jean, did you ever read the letter I sent to you after you went away?"

I’m sorry, she replied. I just couldn’t. I asked my mother to tear it up but she may have put it away if I know her.

Okay. What I basically said was no matter how you felt about me then or before—now I can add ‘now’—I always wanted you. That still holds true. And remember, Jean, in the long time we dated, I never once raised my voice to you or argued with you. I was never abusive to you physically or verbally. I was always faithful to you. I never criticized anything you did, or the way you looked. Of course, that was easy since you always did the right thing and always looked terrific. I made no demands on you and was always there. I’m sure I made some mistakes but I don’t think I need a complete overhaul . . . just a few adjustments . . . a few tweaks . . . ?

Jean had to laugh at that last remark. But . . . he was right. A lot of girls nowadays have abusive, unfaithful boyfriends. Mark was never like that. Jean let out a long sigh and said, You are the sweetest guy I’ve ever known. But we did have issues.

What issues? Mark asked, lulled by Jean’s previous comment into expecting her to mention something trivial.

How would you like to be in high school and have to tell your girlfriends that the guy you had been dating for almost a year forgot your birthday?

Mark almost choked. Oh, my God!

Taking me to a high school football game instead of celebrating my birthday.

Oh, Jean!, I remember now. You were born in November . . . around Thanksgiving

I told you when we first started dating. And you said, too bad it wasn’t in February, your birthday month.

Jean.

You said all the important people were born in February: Washington, Lincoln . . . you.

Jean, I pulled that on everyone who mentioned my birthday. You knew I was kidding, didn’t you?

Why should I have? Jean quickly replied. You went on and on about it. Like you did when I said we should have a song of our own. You turned a romantic moment into a dissertation on . . . on . . . I really don’t know what you were talking about. All I know is you spoiled the moment. Remember?

Mark cringed at the memory. What made it worse, she picked out a perfect song, Kelly Clarkson’s A Moment Like This.

Jean continued, And your idea that Christmas was for families and that we shouldn’t date on Christmas Eve or Christmas day. So you came to my house like The Grinch two days before Christmas and . . .

Jean, please, I can’t take anymore. Now I know why you acted so distant at the prom. I’m lucky you didn’t break the prom date. Can you ever forgive me?

"I have or you wouldn’t be here now. But I won’t go through that again. I just want you to show that you care. Those poems went a long way in convincing me that you do . . . I’ve never had a poem written about me."

I’ve written a lot more. One involves your grandmother. I call it ‘Cassandra.’

Jean responded, That’s not her name.

Mark countered, That’s the name of the Prophetess of Troy. Because she wouldn’t give in to the amorous advances of one of the gods, he gave her the gift of prophecy but a curse that no one would believe her. You told me about your grandmother’s prophecy about you and me but apparently you no longer believe it.

Jean’s mind was reeling. "He remembers that," she thought, "but forgets my birthday. The way he had reacted, I thought he didn’t believe me."

Mark was almost reading her mind. Jean, I never forgot. And I do believe.

Jean said, But you never mentioned it again. I was so disappointed. Do you know how much courage I had to summon up to tell you that story? I had only known you a few weeks.

Mark replied, I’m sorry, Jean. I didn’t really understand what you were saying at the time. But, I’m mentioning it now. In fact I’m showing it to you now. I’d love to hear you read it.

Mark pulled a sheet of paper out of his pocket and handed it to Jean. She looked it over and said, I see you put my name in this one. Why didn’t you put it in the other ones?

Out of respect for your privacy. I’d never write personal things about you and show them to complete strangers. I didn’t mind showing the poems to Brenda. She didn’t know who you were. At least I thought she didn’t. But this is yours.

Jean smiled and began reading haltingly, holding the page near the dashboard lights. She had to wait at times for better lighting . . .

CASSANDRA

Jean, do you remember

The treasured prophecy?

The unusual message she gave you . . .

An old lady’s legacy.

She described to you in detail

The look of your true-love-to-be

You invited me to your house to tell:

Her description was of me.

You showed me your family album

A young girl holding a daisy

To whom the message was given

Its meaning then vague and hazy.

I asked you for the picture

I wanted it to be

My silent witness to the pact

Laid out for you and me.

{And as you cut it out,

I imagined us wrists together,

Intermingled drops of blood, let,

To bond our fates forever}

And throughout our teenage years

We lived out our prefigured romance

Your breath was mine and mine was yours

Our hearts in a dreamlike trance.

I never did find out

Why the spell was finally broken:

No heart-wrenching final scene

No hurtful, bitter words spoken.

I gaze at the little triangle

(Why did you cut it that way?)

Your pretty face and the daisy

Sweet images of yesterday.

I can still see your soulful eyes

Looking up and telling me, true,

I was the very one

The old lady picked, just for you . . . remember?

Mark, Jean asked softly, how long did it take you to write this?

Several months to get the basics and several weeks revising it . . . and a couple of years of suffering through it.

Mark, this more than makes up for the forgotten birthday and Christmas card. You’ve given me a part of yourself.

Jean, believe me, it was a labor of love. Now about forgotten dates. Do you remember when we met?

We met at a teenage dance . . .

When? Mark asked.

Jean thought for a minute. I think those dances were on Sunday night.

That’s right, Mark responded. Do you remember the date?

You asked me to go with you to a New Year’s Eve party, Jean answered with assurance.

But do you remember the date we met? Mark asked as he stopped at an intersection.

I remember our first kiss was at 12 midnight New Year’s Eve.

I’m glad you remember that, Jean. Do you recall what room we were in? And do you remember the day we met? Mark asked as he crossed the intersection.

I guess we kissed in the living room. I can’t remember the date we met.

Mark replied proudly, The kiss was in the kitchen, the date we met was December 19th. I can’t prove this but I think we met around 8:30. Jean, that was the only time at a dance I ever walked in and went directly to a girl without standing around for awhile talking and looking around at the crowd. I saw your face on the other side of the room and headed right for you. You were talking to another girl and didn’t see me coming. When I tapped you on the shoulder I startled you. You looked at me and gave me a funny kind of smile, not the kind you give to a stranger asking you to dance. Maybe it was then you remembered your grandmother’s story. And we talked and danced the rest of the evening. After the dance ended I walked you out to your father’s car and reminded you I would be at your house at eight on New Year’s Eve. I had to wait twelve days before I could see you again. I didn’t want to interfere with any plans you and your family may have had for the holidays. Those were the twelve longest days of my life. Jean, I may have been forgetful about some things, but the night we met and our first kiss will always be burned in my memory. Mark stopped again, this time for a red light.

"Mark, I don’t always know how your mind works, but it sounds like you were kind of drawn to me."

How about you, Jean? Do you remember your grandmother’s story? Do you believe?

You really do fit her description . . . tall, thin, blonde hair, sometimes light, sometimes dark . . .

Mark cut in, That was the clincher! Yeah, in the summertime my hair does get lighter.

Jean added, "I’ve seen it get lighter when you run a