Paradoxical Lies

By Judy S Grossi

Karla Elliott, author, left an unhappy home at eighteen, never to return. Upon receiving word from her parent's attorney, David McMullen, telling her that her parents were dead, she returned home with mixed emotions. On arrival, she learned her parents had been murdered and soon whoever did the deed wanted her dead, too. As the mystery unfolds,

• Language: English
• Publisher: Judy S. Grossi
• Release date: Apr 30, 2021
• ISBN: 9781955205115

Book preview

One

Wind blew in her face from the partly open car window, bringing in odors of newly plowed earth and freshly mowed grass. Her senses were invigorated with the smells of a land awakening.

Karla dreaded this trip back home. She didn’t want to revisit painful memories she thought she’d let go of years earlier. But as she drove her mind was filled with images from the past she’d rather forget. Why did I let mom and dad’s attorney talk me into coming back here again? Oh well, I’m almost home now. I’ll have to facilitate everything quickly so I can go home again as soon as possible.

Karla glanced at her watch. It was seven-fifteen. By leaving at a little after three a.m. this morning to avoid running into city rush hour traffic, she’d made excellent time and she realized that she’d misjudged how long it would take her to drive from her apartment in Downers Grove, a western Chicago suburb, to Rostenville, so she’d be in time for her nine-thirty meeting with the attorney.

Her eyes hungrily absorbed familiar sights she was passing. She realized that she wasn’t running away from the land, only her parent’s rejection. As she passed the sign for Rostenville, she noted that the high grass growing up around the signpost made it look as if the sign was floating on a sea of green. It read Rostenville, population 2135.

A minute later, Karla spotted the local cafe. She was pleased to see that Maggie’s Diner was still in operation. Several vehicles were parked out front.

It’s too early to go see the attorney, she reasoned. I might as well eat. It had been almost five hours since she’d crawled out of bed. By the time she’d showered, dried her hair, dressed and loaded her car it was after three a.m. since she’d gotten in her car to leave home. Before starting the trip, Karla gassed up and had gotten herself a cup of coffee.

Her stomach growled noisily and she realized she was quite hungry. The previous evening, after her phone call from Dave McMullen, the attorney, she’d been so lost in thought that she’d forgotten to eat supper. Food would taste good and fortify her for the task ahead.

Karla pulled her tan 2006 Honda into an open parking space in between a new, fully loaded forest green Dodge Ram, which sported a shiny silver roll bar and a red late model Silverado covered with gravel dust. The owners, probably farmers, certainly seemed prosperous enough if their vehicles were any indication.

The restaurant building was a white clapboard structure of undetermined vintage. It had the look of a tired old lady and it was in need of a coat of paint.

Karla stepped inside the rustic dining room and sat at a table by one of the windows. Several pairs of male eyes followed her curiously, but their owners soon turned back to their conversations and jovial horseplay, typical for close friends of many years standing.

Karla glanced around the homey room. Each tabletop contained a bud vase holding spring flowers, as well as the usual condiments. Red and white gingham café curtains covered the windows. The room was immaculate. Only the color scheme had changed in the last ten years.

The waitress, a sturdy blonde in her thirties, was the only other female in the room. She wore jeans and a red tee shirt. She carried a coffeepot over to the table and poured a cup of coffee for Karla and handed her a tattered hand-written menu.

Hi, will you be having breakfast or just coffee this morning?

I’d like scrambled eggs, hash browns, extra crispy, wheat toast and a small orange juice, please.

Karla picked up the aromatic cup of coffee and took a sip. It was hot and fresh. In a short time, the waitress returned with a heaping platter of food. Karla thought it was enough to feed a group of farm hands, but in truth, she knew that these portions were the norm in this area.

The waitress asked, Are you passing through town?

No, I’m here on business for a few days, Karla said evasively.

At a back table, Karla saw a tall, broad-shouldered man in his early thirties who had glanced her way several times, get up. He meandered over carrying his coffee cup. He stopped in front of her table and smiled, then said, Before I have the audacity to sit down at your table, maybe I better ask if you’re Karla Elliott.

Yes, I am, but you have the advantage.

I’m Dave McMullen, may I? He nodded at the chair across from her.

Please do, Mr. McMullen.

Mr. McMullen’s my dad, call me Dave.

Dave pulled out the chair and sat down. His neatly trimmed reddish-brown hair, in spite of having recently been combed, seemed to have a mind of its own that bordered on the unruly and his eyes were tawny golden and kindly.

He doesn’t look much like an attorney, she thought. He wasn’t wearing standard local attire of jeans or bib overhauls and a tee shirt, but he wasn’t wearing a suit and tie, either. Charcoal slacks and a light grey and green plaid, short-sleeved shirt, unbuttoned at the neck were neat but casual. Karla reached over the table and shook his hand. She was surprised as she let go. He might be an attorney but the man was no stranger to manual labor with those calluses.

I’m sorry about your folks, Karla. It was a real tragedy. The sheriff is still investigating the accident but we should know more in a day or two. Have you talked with the undertaker yet? he asked.

Yes, I spoke to him yesterday after your phone call. He said the coroner would release the bodies to him as soon as I gave the okay and I did that yesterday. I’m going to meet with the undertaker this afternoon to make arrangements.

Karla looked down at her plate, Is there a problem about the accident? Why is the sheriff still investigating it?

Tears welled up in Karla’s large brown eyes in spite of her best effort to maintain control. Dave was immediately aware that his words had caused her pain as he watched her fight to control her emotions.

Sorry, I shouldn’t have brought this up in a public place. It’ll be better to go over everything at the office.

When Karla was once again composed, she said, `No, I’m okay. I’m not quite over the shock of my folks’ sudden deaths. I never dreamed they’d die so young, she added, her voice soft and husky.

When was the last time you saw your folks? he asked.

I left home ten years ago when I went off to college. I haven’t been back since, she said.

You didn’t come back home for holidays and vacations? Dave sounded incredulous.

Karla shook her head. She felt no anger at Dave’s surprised response. How could he know the real circumstances surrounding her relationship with her parents? She knew he would automatically assume theirs was a typical family but it wasn’t.

Her parents had never been close to her—they acted like very polite strangers. They had provided Karla with a good home and educated her but she’d never felt loved. The Elliotts were not unkind to her, but their cool and distant demeanor had stood between them and Karla like a thick wall.

Her mom and dad never discussed their early lives with her. They never once spoke about the time from their birth until they moved to Rostenville. Karla thought they had avoided discussing that part of their lives with her because it was painful for them. Once she’d asked her mom, Don’t we have any relatives? Everyone has relatives stashed somewhere.

Marian Elliott had gotten a guarded look on hearing Karla’s childish question, but she calmly said, There is no one on either side, Karla. We were both orphans.

All the years she was growing up, Karla could never remember her mom or dad ever mentioning their childhood years. It must have been scary being a little kid and belonging to no one. She was grateful she didn’t have to go through that. Her folks might not have been exactly cuddly with her but she did grow up feeling safe and secure.

Karla had never mentioned this subject to her folks. She felt it would be cruel, but the lack of information from her parents had made Karla even more curious about their background. When she was thirteen, one day while doing research on the library computer, she had tried to check her parent’s names. She had gotten a few people with the same names, but they were either too young or too old or they were the wrong race. She hadn’t found out a single thing in her searches. It had all seemed so mysterious. But, as curious as she was, she didn’t quite have nerve enough to push her mother, who obviously either didn’t know anything or didn’t want to talk about that time in her life.

Both her parents acted as if they’d had no life before they moved to Rostenville. Upon questioning Tom and Marian about their professional lives before they moved to central Illinois, Karla only received vague answers from her mother. She knew better than to push her dad. He didn’t push well. Karla puzzled over this situation. She imagined all sorts of scenarios about her mom and dad’s former lives. She even imagined they had been in prison and didn’t want her to know about it. But, Karla knew instinctively that was impossible. They were too straight-laced and stuffy for that to be a possibility.

Karla knew, however, that even though they were orphans, they still had a traceable life upon their release from the orphanage until their move to Rostenville. They had to have jobs, hobbies, something. They each had graduated from university. Karla had seen their diplomas. While in school, surely they had roommates, friends, or co-workers.

When she’d left home ten years earlier, Karla swore she’d never return. Being around her folks was too painful. As an only child, Karla had the sole task of dealing with her parent’s internment and final affairs. She wished she had a sibling of two to do the job for her or at least help her make these decisions. But the task was hers alone.

By the time Karla was fourteen, she had become quite critical of her parent’s beliefs, their attitudes, and their behaviors, much as any teenager felt as they began to think independently. She began to break away emotionally from them. Even though she was quite critical of her folks in her thoughts, she kept her opinion to herself.

She finally stopped searching the internet and looking for information on her parents former lives because she kept hitting a dead end. She thought it quite strange that her parents seemed to be hanging in limbo. What mysteries were they hiding?

Tom and Marian Elliott relocated to this quiet farming community when they were in their late thirties and for all intent, had semi-retired. Were they rich in their former lives? Since they were orphans it seemed improbable. Thinking about it now, Karla realized that she’d never know the answer now that they were dead.

Maybe that’s why they were so close to each other but it made her sad that she wasn’t included in that closeness. When she left home to go to college, her folks seemed very relieved to see her go. She had no explanation for their lack of visits to see her. She was never told she wasn’t welcome to come home to visit, but Tom and Marian had never invited her to come either.

There were occasional phone calls and a rare letter but that was the extent of any communication that Karla had with her parents since leaving home. Dave wouldn’t know all this. He probably wouldn’t understand either, how could he? She didn’t understand herself.

She finished her meal and the waitress removed her dirty dishes and refilled their coffee cups while Karla and Dave discussed her life in the Chicago suburbs, her profession as a novelist and her trip down to Rostenville.

Dave was curious about Karla’s life as a writer and he asked several questions about her work. He seemed quite fascinated that Karla had been published several times and was earning a living with her writing. Finally, Karla turned the subject back to her parent’s estate.

I want to settle the estate and put the house and contents up for auction as quickly as possible so I can get back to work.

Except for a few pictures and a hand full of mementos, Karla had no attachment to her parent’s house and belongings. She wanted to get rid of the entire problem as quickly as she could and forget this place ever existed.

We can discuss all this at the office, Dave told her.

Is there a problem? Will we have to wait for the investigation to be finished before I can sell the house? Since my folks were killed in an accident, everything should be pretty straight-forward.

Hey, I need to get going and get my office open. Gerry, my secretary, has a dental appointment and can’t come in until noon. So, if you’re free right now, why don’t we finish this conversation in my office? Dave suggested.

Two

Karla was pleased to push up the meeting with Dave. She’d be able to get things moving quicker. Once she’d located all important papers and removed the pictures she wanted to keep, Karla felt she could sign whatever papers Dave needed and leave for home. Before she could leave, she would set up the contract with the auction house and for the removal of household items from the house. Then there could be a sale of the house and contents without her being in attendance. From her past experience with auction houses, Karla knew their crew would do all the packing and removal of things from the house. Her job would be done when the contract was signed between them. The quicker she finished, the quicker she could get out of here.

She followed Dave’s truck to his office located on Main Street. He pulled into a small parking lot off the rear alley. Karla pulled her car in behind his. Dave grabbed his briefcase then walked with Karla to the back door. After opening the door, he turned on the light and led her halfway down the hallway to his office. He turned on the light and said, I’ll get your file. Please, make yourself comfortable.

She looked around the room curiously. It was a nice room, very masculine, and it suited Dave. The walls were creamy beige and the bulk of the room was filled with his oversized mahogany desk and chair that fit his large frame. The file cabinets and shelving units, where he displayed his law books, were a dark walnut. Along one wall, a gas fireplace was inserted into an alcove and above the mantle he had a display of ancient weapons. A large bronze statue of a rearing stallion stood on the mantle. Karla wondered if it was a Remington, it had the look of one.

Someone, probably his secretary, had placed a vase of lilacs and red and yellow tulips from a garden on the top of one of the lower shelving units. Karla took a deep breath, inhaling the sweet smell of lilacs. Behind his desk, on the wall, Dave had hung a large oil painting of Pike’s Peak in the Rocky Mountains. It was a stark but stunning rendition of the mountain. Files were neatly stacked on either side of the desktop and the center was bare of clutter and ready for him to work.

An aroma of coffee began to permeate the office from somewhere. She could hear Dave rummaging in a distant room. Karla sat back and relaxed.

If I’m lucky, my folks will have kept all their important papers on file here. It would sure make my life easier if they had. Or, failing that, maybe my dad kept things in a filing cabinet at the house. He had always been so organized and meticulous with his business papers.

Dave came into the office carrying two mugs of coffee and a file tucked under his arm. He handed her a mug, sat behind his desk and placed the Elliott file in front of him.

Upon opening the manila file, Dave’s face became businesslike, his eyebrows slightly pinched together. Abruptly he spoke, I’d like to get straight to business, Karla. I feel a strong sense that you weren’t at all close to your folks.

When she nodded, he continued, Your parents left me a key to a vault box at the bank and a will to be carried out upon their death. The will leaves everything to you—the house, contents of the house, all their bank accounts, contents of the vault box, as well as all investments and insurance they had accumulated at the time of death. I have been instructed by Sheriff Russell to have you open the vault box as soon as possible. I’d like to do that tomorrow if possible. I’m tied up today, unfortunately. Since your dad had already put you on all their signature cards, we won’t have to wait for a death certificate to gain entry into the box. Bill and I are hoping to find some clues about your parent’s backgrounds in it.

To answer your first question, Karla interrupted, her voice firm, No, I didn’t have a close relationship with my parents. I have felt like an outsider my entire life, pretty much like a stray puppy who’d wandered into their lives. Even though I wasn’t wanted, they treated me well because they are, she corrected herself, were basically kind people.

She continued, However, when I left ten years ago, although we parted amicably, my parents seemed immensely relieved to have me go. I wasn’t told I shouldn’t come back, but I wasn’t invited back either. My parents were very much in love but seemed to have no room for anyone else in their lives. I’ve wondered for years if I was an accident and disrupted the life style they wanted to share with each other.

That had to be hard on you, feeling as if you weren’t wanted.

Yes, it was. When I was small I was so hurt by the way they pushed me away, I thought there was something wrong with me. But, by the time I was a teen, not only was I used to it, but I resented them and couldn’t wait to get away from them. I never understood why I was rejected. My folks were loners and were odd compared to other kid’s parents. I had come to hate them. It’s taken a long time and a lot of soul searching to forgive them, however, you never forget, she said.

Do you know anything about your parent’s backgrounds?

Karla shook her head thoughtfully. I know nothing, but mom did say they were both orphans and there were no relatives. They never talked about their growing up years. Why is their background so important?

Your detachment from your parents might help soften the blow with the news I have to tell you.

What is it? she asked curiously.

The sheriff is still investigating your parents’ deaths because they were murdered. I didn’t want to tell you that over the phone, it would’ve been too cold and brutal.

Karla’s mouth fell open and she sat paralyzed for a long moment, staring at Dave. She was dumb struck. Finally, she found her voice and said, Why? My folks never hurt anyone; they were loners and isolated themselves but no one disliked them, certainly not enough to kill them. Who’d do such a thing?

I was hoping you’d have some insight into that. Bill and I think their deaths might have something to do with their past, but we can’t trace Tom and Marian beyond the day they arrived in Rostenville twenty-six years ago. We can’t find any reason for someone to hurt them. They were well thought of in the community. But, we need to delve into their past but we can’t find a paper trail.

I guess that would be important in finding out where they came from, Karla said.

Dave continued, When Tom did work for locals, he always did the highest quality work for a fair, modest price. Marian pretty much stayed at home. She spoke pleasantly to others, but only about homemaking and local events or the weather. Women liked her because she never engaged in gossip or petty conversation. Bill and I both think that their former life, before they came here, holds the answers to why they were killed. Certainly, they did nothing here to provoke that action.

He continued, They’ve hidden their past and left us no clues. All we know right now is that they appeared in Rostenville twenty-six years ago when you were two. Bill tried checking through social security, the DMV, schools where your folks had certificates of graduation from and we found nothing. Even their birth certificates and marriage license while valid, were a dead end. It’s as if they didn’t exist before they arrival here.

That’s bizarre. How can that be?

I have only one explanation, Karla. They had to have been put into the FBI’s witness protection program and were given new identities before moving here. It’s the only logical explanation that makes any sense to Bill and me. In witness protection, you receive a new identity, complete with birth certificates, social security cards, driver’s licenses, certificates of graduation, credit cards—the whole nine yards. All that stuff was found to be legal, yet nothing was traceable before they came here.

That would mean our name isn’t really Elliott, wouldn’t it? I would guess I’d have to be in witness protection with them, wouldn’t I? Karla asked thoughtfully.

Yeah, it would, Karla. Usually they don’t put children into witness protection but I guess they’d make an exception for a baby who couldn’t give their cover away and who might be in danger, too. What we’ve learned so far from our investigation is that Tom and Marian had no family, except you. They had no friends or schoolmates. Even though they do have certificates of graduation, there was no record of either of them having attended the colleges they had certificates from.

How weird, she said.

It is my understanding that when educational documents are issued by the government, the recipients already have earned the educational equivalent of those documents in their former lives. The certificates will be issued from other universities to divert those trying to trace relocated persons, but that person has to have the capacity to have earned such a certificate. In other words, they won’t give a PHD to an illiterate or someone with low IQ. If you are married, the government will issue a marriage certificate but in other names and from different areas of the country and so on. When we attempted to trace your folks by their birth certificates, graduation certificates, driver’s license and social security numbers, we drew a blank. None of the information went beyond the day your folks moved here. We found nothing concrete for you before the age of two. Dave concluded.

My life couldn’t have been that complicated from ages zero to two. It would have been different for my folks to make changes in life style from the one they had formerly lived. But for me it was easy. I just grew up, Karla said.

It sounds to me as if you are as much in the dark as we are. Bill would like to sit down with us as soon as possible, preferably before the funeral and do some brainstorming.

Of course, but I don’t’ know if I’ll be much help. I know very little.

Bill thinks if we brainstorm, one of us might dredge up some bit of information that might help us go forward on the investigation. It’s the only plan we could come up with.

How did mom and dad die? Karla asked suddenly. She lowered her eyes and looked at her hands, almost as if she was afraid to know the answer.

"A bomb was placed on their car engine and when the accelerator pedal was pushed down, the bomb was detonated. I’m so