With Love from Cindy

By Zander Buckingham

The tragic and needless death of a beautiful young woman named Cindy causes changes in many lives. Some change from anger. Some through love. Some are pushed by fear and honesty.
And some get changed just because theyre there.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jan 12, 2012
• ISBN: 9781469146492

Zander Buckingham

Zander Buckingham is 87 years old; lives in the mountains of Colorado; and has been happily married to the same woman for 63 years. When he graduated from college in 1951 he wanted to write books. But he didn't want to starve in some attic while he was trying to become an author. So he started as an advertising salesman with a newspaper -- then went with increasingly larger companies and ad agencies doing successful advertising and public relations work. (One gets a great deal of experience in fiction writing in those situations.) As a hobby he wrote a couple short stories. He never tried to get any published. They just sat around by his typewriter until he heard about Smashwords. Zander is retired and writes as a hobby.

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CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 1

Tuesday, January 26, 1988—6:30 pm

My God, Warren, she’s dead!

The cell phone slipped from his sweaty hand. He was alone. Why was he whispering? She couldn’t hear him. Could anyone else? He shivered. He was cold. He was afraid. Stooping, he picked up his phone.

She is in the garage! I mean in her car! There’s a hose running from the exhaust pipe to the window on the driver’s side! What should I do?

Did you check to see if she’s breathing? the voice asked.

She isn’t breathing. There’s no heartbeat. She feels cold!

The voice at the other end continued calmly, Now listen Henry, take it very slow. Call the rescue squad. Give them the address. Say you found an apparent suicide and ask them to send help immediately. Can you do that?

Yes, he realized he was still whispering.

And keep me out of it. I’ll be called in later because of my relationship with Cindy, but I want to talk to my lawyer first. Now, just do as I told you. Then, like an after-thought, the voice added, There’s a picture of me and another one of us together on her bed-side table. Get rid of them.

He heard a click and the dead phone again slipped from his hand. Henry shuddered. He wanted to call the police. He wanted to shout and curse. He wouldn’t do either. He did as he was told.

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Henry sat in the passenger seat of a squad car. Its rotating overhead lights alternately bathed everything around him in blue and then red. It made the medics and cops appear to dance as they hurried in and out of the house. Behind him, three more cops kept neighbors from getting too close. The police team had followed the rescue vehicle. Henry wondered if Warren knew that would happen.

Even with his eyes closed, he could still see Cindy. Long black hair that she wore pushed behind her ears to frame her heart-shaped face. Full lips, slight creases on each side of her mouth that became dimples when she smiled. She had looked like she was resting, sitting there behind the steering wheel of her Porsche Carrera. An open book of poetry rested in her lap. Over her nightgown, she wore a white cashmere cardigan with black trim that highlighted its big brass buttons. Henry remembered he had been with her when she bought it. He had reached in the car and touched her cold throat. There was no pulse. Her deep brown eyes stared up at the rear view mirror, but were focused off in space. She had put on fresh makeup, as if she were going off to meet someone.

He looked down at his shaking hands that were doubled into fists in his lap and felt tears running down his cheeks. Damn it, why did she do it? Nothing was worth that. He thought of her car. That Porsche was Cindy’s prize possession, Warren had given it to her, and she had gone out with it. It was all so damn…

The squad car door flung open, OK, let’s you and me talk. Who was she? Who are you? What were you doing here? I’m Jack Mitchell. It looks like I’ve been elected to handle this mess.

Henry looked up as a beefy police sergeant slid behind the steering wheel. He was over six feet tall and must have weighed nearly three hundred pounds. His left hand dwarfed a small notebook and pencil. Henry wondered why he didn’t have a tape recorder. Didn’t cops carry tape recorders to take statements? He took several deep breaths, wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and realized that it was shaking.

My name is Henry Thurston and I live here in Denver. I own Thurston Advertising. Her name is, or was, Cindy or rather Cynthia Downs. She worked for me as an account executive. When she didn’t show up at work today I tried to call her. There wasn’t any answer, so I stopped by to see if she was all right.

He almost added, She wasn’t. He wanted to say, I wouldn’t have dared to check up on her, because I figured she was probably shacked up with Warren Wheeler, my biggest client. It was Warren who had called the agency asking for Cindy and then told Henry to get his ass over to her house and see what was the matter.

How did you get in the house?

She kept an extra key at the office for emergencies. I brought it with me.

Were you at your office all day?

Yes. And last night I had dinner with a client. Cindy was supposed join us, but she begged off because she had a date. He immediately regretted his answer. Now this guy Mitchell would want to know who she was out with. He was right.

Who was she out with?

I don’t know, Cindy was a beautiful woman. Lots of guys chased after her, Henry replied as he looked out again at the flashing lights. He thought of how he had been one of them until Warren Wheeler got hold of her. Turned her head with all his important attention. Made her think she was in charge of all the advertising for Wheeler Software.

Mitchell was tapping the pencil on his notebook. Look, Thurston, you can’t lie worth shit. We can do this two ways: I can take you down town and we do a real confessional or you can quit mumbling and start answering my questions.

Henry snapped to attention. She handled the Wheeler Software account at my agency. She and Warren Wheeler dated. Maybe there were others, I don’t know. There, that was almost the truth.

Was she depressed?

I don’t know, he heard himself answer and knew he was lying. For the past two months she had reminded him of a kicked puppy. Smiling and dancing up to Wheeler, only to be ignored or rebuffed. Henry had wondered if Wheeler’s interest in her was cooling. A year was a long time for one of his relationships. He was brought back abruptly by Mitchell’s voice.

Quit jacking me around Thurston, I know this is upsetting to you, but we don’t have all night. Now was she depressed or wasn’t she?

Her work was good and she was usually cheerful around the office. I heard that she may have been having romance problems, but she never talked to me about them.

If she was mixed up with Warren Wheeler, she was guaranteed to have problems. His reputation stinks. But this would be the first one who did herself in. Mitchell folded his notebook, put the pencil in his shirt pocket and added, Maybe I’ve been a bit rough on you. That’s tough. I see too much of this and it pisses me off. She was just a kid with her whole life in front of her. Now she’s nothing. I can make a fairly good guess why she did it. Which says to me she was really killed, but there is no way to punish the murderer.

The answer surprised Henry. But why should it? Warren Wheeler was famous. He made no secret about his life style. He had run up a string of successes with new application software. For computers and cell phones. Henry guessed he probably even programmed robots. Warren was in a business where successes were quickly labeled genius. And genius was then rewarded with capacious amounts of money. Warren’s success drew women the way honey draws flies. And, like with flies, he amused himself, then swatted them away.

Henry had watched it happen, often. Wheeler had decent features, even though his face was heavily pockmarked from teenage acne. His was thin as a rail. His redeeming asset was his boyish smile that could charm a snake when it served his purpose. Henry always thought that Warren’s real success with women came from the power of success and money. Every woman wanted to try her hand. To get close to that power. And Warren encouraged them.

Mitchell was speaking again, Unless there’s something here that I don’t see, it looks like she did it to herself. The autopsy will tell us for sure. Since you found the body, you’ll have to come down to the station and sign a formal statement. I have some more questions, but I think you’ll be less distracted down there. You can ride with me or I’ll follow you.

I’ll drive my car, Henry said as he slowly got out of the police car and walked toward his 1986 Ford Fairlane. Tears ran down his cheeks as he took a final look at what had been Cindy being carried out of her garage on a covered stretcher.

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Henry shivered as he stood at an outside pay telephone three blocks west of the police station. His cell phone was dead. It was a cold evening, even for late January. He wondered why he hadn’t noticed before. The receiver buzzed in his ear waiting to be answered. He knew that when the answer came it would be Wheeler residence spoken by Warren’s butler with the fake English accent. Henry blew on his bare hands to warm them while he pictured the butler.

His name was Jarvis, which Henry believed was as fake as his continental manner. Warren kept him around because he was discrete. Henry figured that Jarvis secretly hated women and enjoyed Warren’s conquests. Jarvis seemed to thrive on the authority that came with being close to power. Briefly Henry wondered, was he like Jarvis? The thought was too painful. He let it go.

When Jarvis finally answered, Henry went through the ritual of iden-

tifying himself, then waiting while Jarvis went to Inquire if Mr. Wheeler was available. He stomped his feet in the packed snow to bring some feeling back to his numb toes.

OK, Henry, bring me up to date.

Always the efficient businessman. Always in control. It was like he was asking a clerk about a lost shipping carton. Henry shivered as he related the events of the past two hours he had spent at the police station.

I didn’t know who was next of kin. Cindy came from Madison, Wisconsin, and has a sister there. That’s all I know. I’m going back to the office now to check our personnel records. If I can find out the sister’s address, I guess I’ll have to call her.

Silence. Warren wasn’t going to volunteer, even though he had been closer to Cindy than anyone. She must have told him about her family. Henry gritted his teeth. He had to tell Warren that he had told the police about his dating Cindy.

There is one additional item, Warren. When I was talking to the police, it came out that Cindy worked on your account and that you and she were seeing each other.

"Damn it, Henry, can’t you follow simple directions! I told you to keep me out of it! Now they’re going to want to know where we were last night and what we did. And when she went home. You screwed this up and it’s going to make it damn inconvenient for me.

I’m sorry, Warren. They asked me. If I had lied, they might have found out. Then it would have been bad for both of us.

I don’t agree. You could have played dumb. That would be easy for you. Let’s drop it for now. But keep me informed. Find out where and when the funeral will be. I probably should make an appearance.

Again, Henry heard a click and another dead phone slipped from his fingers.

The bastard doesn’t even care, Henry mumbled to himself. Then he quickly looked around to make sure no one had heard him. He headed back to his office to see if he could notify the sister about Cindy.

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He lit his ninth cigarette of the morning and leaned back in his contour chair as the fingers of his right hand drummed impatiently on his L-shaped bleached oak desk. Immediately in front of him, he desk clock registered 10:00 am, Thursday, January 28. To his left, fireworks flashed across the screen of his idling computer. At his right, two telephones waited—one connected through the agency switchboard; the other a private line. His waiting came to an end as the private line rang.

This is Henry Thurston. He listened and then added, Of course, Miss Downs, as I said Tuesday night, this has been a terrible shock for all of us and I want to help in any way I can. I’ll wait here until you arrive. The address is 900 Main Street, eleventh floor, Thurston Advertising. I’ve cleared my schedule for the whole day. I’ll be glad to show you where Cindy lived and help in any way I can.

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He replaced the receiver. The call hadn’t come from the airport; no planes or paging in the background. He wondered where she was. He thought back to the call he had made late Tuesday evening. When he returned to his office he had checked the who to notify in case of emergency in Cindy’s personnel file. The name listed was Susan Downs of Madison, Wisconsin and the relationship said she was Cindy’s sister.

He still remembered the shock in her voice. The rapid intake of breath and the silence as he mumbled on about being sorry and wanting to help. There was never anything appropriate to say at a time such as that. After her initial silence, the questions poured out.

Where is she now?

I believe in cases like this the law requires an autopsy. He noticed that he hadn’t used the word suicide except in his original statement. Even then he had hedged, saying, I believe she took her own life. He guessed it was all part of the denial process, but he wasn’t sure what he was denying. Or whether it had something to do with Cindy’s memory or was because he just couldn’t bring himself to say the word.

When did she do it? Did she suffer? Did she leave a note?

It apparently happened last night, or early this morning. I don’t believe she left a letter. It may have been an impulse thing. I’ll be happy to talk to you about it in detail when you get here. That is, I assume you’ll be coming to Denver to take care of her things.

I can’t be there tomorrow. I’ll be there Thursday morning. And the autopsy will take at least a day. Who can I contact at the police department? I assume that they have more details.

He gave her Sergeant Mitchell’s name and looked up his phone number, but instead of hanging up, she immediately continued her questions.

Was Warren Wheeler mixed up in this?

"Ah, Warren Wheeler…

Look, Mr. Thurston, Cindy told me that she was in love with him. I didn’t approve, but that was her business.

"Well, I know that they were seeing each other, but…

Seeing each other; hell! Cindy was sleeping with him. Only he wouldn’t let her spend the night. He always sent her home before morning. That’s one of the things she was upset about. I want to meet Warren Wheeler when I’m in Denver. Please tell him that.

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His thoughts about the phone conversation were cut short by his office phone and the announcement that Susan Downs was in the lobby. That was fast—she must have been close by when she phoned. He wondered what she would be like in person. She sure sounded forceful. He hurried to the lobby to greet her.

Henry stared at Susan Downs, the striking blond seated across from his desk. Her lips and eyes were the same as Cindy’s, but her face was more oval. Her blond hair was shorter; molding her head, except for a few loose strands hanging down in front. Cindy’s hair had been black. They weren’t really bangs, just a few strands that seemed to point at her alert brown eyes. He wondered if it was she or Cindy that changed their hair color. Susan was like Cindy, but different. She was taller than Cindy, more mature—her body was more trim, more controlled. Where Cindy was called beautiful, Susan should be called striking. Cindy’s beauty was quiet. Susan would stand out in a crowd.

He attempted conversation. I can see a resemblance between you and Cindy, but…

If you mean that I’m a blond while she was brunette, we both started out as brownies. It’s the wonders of modern cosmetology. I changed to blond first, maybe that’s why Cindy became a brunette.

She continued, "Perhaps I should set you straight about Cindy and me. She was 24. I’m 29. Because of that age difference, we weren’t very close as far as doing things together when we were growing up. While she was still interested in dolls and playing house, I was already experimenting with boys. When she started wondering about boys, I had already been involved with a couple of them. So we never had those long talks that sisters are supposed to have.

But she was my sister and I loved her."

He was off balance. Her talk had thrown him completely. He never knew a woman as direct as this. Did she always talk this way? Maybe she was just tense. He tried a different approach.

What type of work do you do?

I’m in the computer business. Product manager for a manufacturer of disk drives for personal computers. And I’m acquainted with Wheeler Software and with Warren Wheeler’s reputation. However, I’ve never met him.

Your parents?

Both killed in an car accident four years ago. There was just Cindy and me. No other family. You should have asked that question Tuesday night, Mr. Thurston, when you phoned.

Her deep brown eyes were staring directly at him. He felt trapped and didn’t know why. Damn, this woman was direct. Suddenly, she seemed to release him, smiled, and then was speaking again.

What was your relationship with Cindy?

Cindy came to work for me three years ago, he replied quickly. Then he paused to light another cigarette. He offered her one, which she refused. He wondered how much he should tell her. Damn it, he could at least try to be as decisive as she was. He started again.

Cindy came here three years ago, he repeated, and wished he could be as directed and organized as she was. He tried again. As you probably know, she had worked for a newspaper for a couple of years during and after college. Anyway, I hired her as a writer. She did a good job. I, uh, well, I became personally interested and we went out a few times. I believe, she was fond me, at least a little bit. But there was a twelve-year difference in our ages. I’m 37. Maybe that’s why it didn’t develop into anything.

He paused to take a deep drag on his cigarette, and then continued, "Anyway, Warren Wheeler was in the office one day and met her. He told me to have Cindy work on his account.

"I should point out that Wheeler Software is my agency’s biggest client and amounts to more than half of its total revenues. Anyway, a few months later, Warren told me to promote her to an account executive and let her handle the client contact on his account. I didn’t think she was ready, but he insisted, so I did it.

Anyway, that left me playing second fiddle on my agency’s largest account. I wasn’t happy about it, but there wasn’t anything I could do. Anyway, once Cindy started working with Warren Wheeler, and… uh… seeing him socially, she didn’t have any interest in me, except in a business sense.

She looked at him with a trace of a smile.

Henry, you seem like a sweet guy, even if you do begin all your sentences with ‘anyway.’ Especially when you’re nervous. A twelve-year age difference couldn’t have made that much difference to Cindy. Warren Wheeler is in his mid-40s. It looks to me like he used his business with you as a way to get closer to Cindy—and you just backed right down. I wonder what would have happened if you had stood up to him. Maybe she would still be here, rather than laying in that cold morgue with her guts cut out.

She added, Did you tell Warren Wheeler that I wanted to meet him?

He felt himself losing control, Damn it, he said, now it’s my fault Cindy did herself in. No, I haven’t talked to Wheeler about you seeing him. I haven’t talked with him since I told him Cindy was dead. He’s pissed off at me because his name came out when the police questioned me. But you should go see him. You and he will probably hit it off. He likes good-looking women and you sure seem able to take care of yourself. Use my phone right now to set it up.

I like you a lot better when you’re angry. It gives you more character. You should get that way more often. She reached over his desk to pick up the telephone, but Henry picked it up for her and dialed Warren’s private number.

He lit another cigarette as he listened to her side of the phone conversation. Introducing herself as Cindy’s sister and asking to meet with him. She could be sweet and gentle when she wanted. How kind it was of him to offer to help with the funeral arrangements. However she was taking Cindy home to Madison to be buried with her parents. The service would be small and private, with just a few family friends. She was sure he understood. Yes, she could meet him for lunch. In fact, she could leave right now. And thank you for being so understanding and talking with me about Cindy.

She hung up the phone and looked at Henry.

Please don’t judge me too harshly. It’s been a terrible two days since I found out about Cindy and I have a lot of decisions to make. I came here directly from the morgue. There’s something you should know so you don’t kick yourself around about Cindy’s death. She was four months pregnant.

As he walked her to the door, she turned and offered her hand.

I’ll be leaving this afternoon to take Cindy home to Madison. But next week I’ll be back in town to settle her affairs. I’ll phone you then.

He heard himself reply, Yes, do that.

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Chapter 2

Thursday, February 4, 1988—3:00 pm

This key works a little hard, you have to jiggle it as you turn the door knob, Henry paused as he fumbled with the door to Cindy’s house. I hope you don’t think that my having this key means there was anything sexual going…

Henry, there you go again, Susan interrupted. Will you loosen up! Cindy was buried a week ago. As far as I’m concerned, she could have slept with every male in Denver. At least then she might have had some better memories to take with her.

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Susan had phoned him from the airport and asked him to pick her up and drive her to Cindy’s house. After that, she would use Cindy’s car. As he approached the terminal Henry felt strangely excited. This woman was different. Her confidence excited him. Yet it also made him want to run for his life. At least for his sanity. Or was it his comfort? He had never known anyone like her. He never knew what she was going to say. Probably that also applied to the way she acted. She knew where she stood. And what she wanted. Henry didn’t. Or, if he did, he… Henry got a grip on himself, he wasn’t going to think about that.

He quickly opened the door to let her into the house.

Susan moved from room to room through the downstairs. A quick survey of the modern kitchen, a little more time in the living room where she felt the blue velvet drapes, ran her hand over the creamy silk upholstery of the love seat with its two matching chairs and glanced briefly at the pictures on the walls, which were woodland streams and floral patterns.

Damn fool romantic, just like mother, he heard Susan mumble as she started up the stairs.

Should he follow? No, that might not be appropriate. He scouted up an ash-tray, sat down and lit a cigarette. He studied the flame stitching of the silk upholstery in his chair. It was subtle, but seemed to change color as he watched. It probably came to life with the reflection of a fire in the fireplace. The fireplace was full of ashes and two partly burned logs. He pictured Cindy curled up on the love seat watching