Amelia Forever

By Richard M. Brauer

Detective David Withers is called in to investigate a routine case of bathtub drowning. The deceased is James Armstrong, married to a much younger wife, Amelia. As soon as Withers arrives on the scene, he feels somethings not quite right. Maybe this drowning wasnt an accident. It might just be murder, and somehow, Amelia is involved.

Withers digs into Amelias past as well as doing his best to learn a little about James Armstrongs son, George. The deeper he digs, the stranger things get, especially when his own father tells him about a case in 1975 involving a drowned man named James with a wife named Amelia. Stranger still, the Amelia from 1975 looks just like Withers suspect.

Soon, Withers is convinced Amelia Armstrong is a cold-blooded, devious woman whose personal history is so bizarre, he finds it difficult to believe. Is it possible for Amelia to be the daughter of the previous Amelia, or is the woman somehow impervious to age? Following leads, Withers realizes the impossible is certainly possible if he accepts what he sees.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Apr 15, 2016
• ISBN: 9781491790762

Richard M. Brauer

Richard M. Brauer was born and raised in Boise, Idaho. He served twenty-two years in the Military Intelligence Corp of the United States Army. After retiring from the military, he spent twenty years at the Boeing Company in Seattle, Washington. Richard and his wife, Barbara, now live in Kenai, Arkansas, with his son and daughter-in-law.

Book preview

One

2007 – Seattle, Washington

Amelia Armstrong came along the hallway of the Puget Sound Hospital. She turned into a room and approached the doctor standing beside the bed of an elderly man.

Doctor? How is my husband? the young woman asked. I was so worried. He has always been such a strong man.

The tests indicate what I had told you earlier, Mrs. Armstrong. Your husband suffered a stroke, but I believe he has many years left if proper care is taken.

Will he fully recover, Doctor?

Not fully. The doctor shook his head. There will be a notable decrease in his normal activities.

My poor darling. Amelia gazed sadly at the sleeping patient. Tears ran down her cheeks as she turned to the doctor. Thank you for being candid.

I’m so sorry, but it isn’t as bad as it could have been. He looked at the young woman sympathetically. Your husband should enjoy life for years to come. If there is anything I can do, please don’t hesitate.

She waited until the doctor left the room then stroked her husband’s hand. He opened his eyes and smiled at her. Amelia smiled back, but her thoughts ran quite differently ‘I’m sorry my darling, but I’ll not spend the next ten or twenty years watching you wither away.’

My darling wife, he whispered. I heard what the doctor said. I truly regret this sad state of affairs.

Tut, darling. Amelia laughed softly. Now you just put that right out of your mind. We’re together and that’s all that matters.

A sad end to a wonderful life. he sighed regretfully. We certainly had some good years didn’t we?

Yes, dear. It has been wonderful. You’re simply the best husband a wife could ever hope for. She sat down beside the bed. Now, why don’t you take a little nap? I’ll sit right here and wait until you wake.

Perhaps you’re right. He closed his eyes then opened them again to gaze up at her. My forever young wife. I have loved you all the days of my life.

Go to sleep, she commanded in mock severity, gentle fingers pressing his eyelids. She sat watching her husband, waiting until she was sure he was asleep. When his breathing became slower and deeper, she reached into her purse. At the same time she glanced over at the other patient in the room.

A fierce looking old man met her gaze. They stared at each other for a moment then she smiled, nodded, and turned back. She drew a book from her purse and settled back to read. After twenty minutes, she glanced over at the other bed. The old man was still watching her. A grimace of irritation crossed her pretty face as she realized she would have to wait for a better opportunity.

Two

Police Detective David Withers drove into the parking lot of the Hospital. As he got out of his car, the sound of water splashing in a fountain came to him from a flower garden hidden behind a tall hedge. He followed a broad walkway past the fountain to the double glass doors opening into the receiving area. Coming through the vestibule, a rush of cool air carried soothing, soft music. The receptionist smiled warmly at the tall, handsome man in a dark suit.

Detective Withers, good afternoon. Is it terribly hot out there?

Perfect weather, he answered, if you’re an Arab. How’s my father today?

Feisty as ever. She wrinkled her nose and grinned. He’ll be glad to see you.

And take some of the pressure off his nurse?

Yes, well, that too, she agreed, watching him walk down the hallway.

He grinned at the thought of his father, a retired cop with a taste for bourbon and tough broads forced to behave in the sterile atmosphere of a hospital. His dad had complained of being treated like a child, but Withers didn’t hear any complaints about the cute nurse who looked after the sixty-five year old. The only drawback was two patients to each room. Although his dad groused about crowding, Withers suspected the old man welcomed the company.

After forty-five years as a policeman, Norm Withers had retired from the Seattle Police force to enjoy hunting and fishing into his old age. Just a month ago, his car was T-boned in an intersection by a drunk driver. Severe injuries to his back and legs left him paralyzed from the waist down. After several surgeries, his doctor expected Norm to be released in another week or ten days. The old cop would be confined to a wheel chair for the rest of his life.

Upon entering the room, Withers saw the nurse talking with his father.

Dave, his dad called. I was just telling Julie here about that bank heist you busted up.

Detective Withers, the nurse greeted him. Your father is terribly proud of you.

She bent down and fluffed her patient’s pillow, the top of her blouse hung open, presenting a view of her bosom to her patient.

Norm, you visit with your son while I go get your medication.

She glanced at the two men, mentally comparing son to father. There was no doubt they were related; the same dark blue eyes, muscular build and black hair. Norm had told her the Withers clan emigrated from Wales in the early eighteen hundreds.

God damn, the old man said with a sigh, watching the nurse leave. What a body. Wish I’d met her twenty years ago.

If you were twenty years younger, you’d still be married.

Yeah, well. His dad grinned. I loved your mother dearly, but I can dream can’t I?

How’re you doing?

Oh great, the doctor says I’ll live another thirty years. Norm shook his head. Damn fool. Say, I want to talk to you before cutie gets back.

Okay. The younger Withers settled in a chair. Don’t start about getting out of here. The doctor said you’ll be released in about ten days, so don’t bitch.

Naw, nothing like that. His father leaned toward him and lowered his voice. My new room mate. There’s something weird going on.

Always the cop. His son laughed. Okay, weird how?

Yesterday this guy by the name of George Armstrong was brought in.

So what’s weird? Withers asked. I never heard the name before but it sounds okay.

No, no, that’s not what I’m talking about. His father glanced at the door. I knew this guy previously. In l975 I investigated an accidental death. This George was the son of a guy who drowned in his bathtub. Listen, I want to tell you the story.

Okay, so tell me. Dave leaned back in his chair, preparing to listen to another of his father’s stories from the old days.

Let’s see, Dave’s father leaned back against his pillows and stared at the ceiling. "It was in the summer of l975…...

Detective Norman Withers walked past the aid car parked in the driveway and nodded to the policeman at the front door of the home at 117 Pine street, Seattle, Washington. What’ve we got, Officer Saunders?

The deceased is a James Armstrong, the officer read from his notebook. His wife found him in the bathtub. My initial investigation indicates a drowning victim.

Okay, so what’s the problem? he asked as he entered. Withers glanced around the living room of the modest home, seeing a pretty blond woman sitting on the couch, watching the two officers through tear-stained eyes. Is she the wife?

Yes, Detective. The cop shrugged. I can’t find anything definite. It’s just that the whole scenario is a little too perfect.

Let’s take a look. Withers followed Saunders down a hallway to the bathroom. An ER medic nodded to him and stepped out of the bathroom to give him space. A naked man lay in the tub, his face partially submerged in water. The detective knelt by the tub, examined the body then looked up at the medic. How long do you estimate he’s been dead?

Probably two hours, the medic answered. He’s got a bump on the back of his head. Probably slipped and fell. Head struck the tub.

Withers nodded. Could it have been from something else? Maybe struck from behind?

Maybe, but it looks like he slipped, fell, bumped his head and drowned.

That’s a long time to be left without someone wondering if he was all right.

It’s possible he was left that long. The medic pointed toward the living room. There are empty liquor bottles and the guy stinks of alcohol. If everyone else was drinking, they might not of thought to check on him.

Withers came out of the bathroom and stopped Officer Saunders in the hallway. So what else can you give me?

The guy is fifty and the wife in the living room says she’s twenty-three, Saunders whispered.

So? Young women marry older men all the time.

Well, there‘s nothing I can put a finger on. Saunders looked toward the living room. It’s just that she’s awful young to be married to this guy and she said he’d been drinking, then decided to take a bath. It just doesn’t feel right to me.

You’re right to trust gut instinct. Withers nodded. Anybody else in the house?

Yeah, the deceased had a son age twenty. Saunders opened his notebook. His name’s George. The wife is a stepmother.

Let’s interview the step-mother then the son. Withers led the way back to the living room.

-

Mrs. Armstrong? Her pain filled eyes looked up at face him. I’m Detective Withers. Please don’t get up. I know you must be devastated by the death of your husband, but I need to ask you just a couple questions. He sat down beside her. Officer Saunders told me you have a son?

Yes, George is my husband’s son. He’s in his bedroom, she answered in a trembling voice. Please call me Amelia.

Yes Ma’am. He took out his notebook. If we could have your step-son join us?

Certainly. She started to rise.

That’s okay. He raised a hand to stop her. I’ll send the officer for him. He motioned to Saunders. Now, could you tell me what happened?

Yes, of course. She choked back a sob. My darling had been celebrating his fiftieth birthday. Her face crumpled in grief and she leaned forward, covering her face. Oh, my darling James, how will I ever live without you?

Withers waited a few moments for her to compose herself.

I’m sorry. She raised a tearstained face. This is just so sudden.

Could you describe the events leading up to your husband being in the bathtub?

Yes, of course. She lifted a trembling hand to her cheek. As I told the officer, today was Jame’s birthday and we had been celebrating. He spilled a drink down the front of his shirt and trousers. I wanted to get clean clothes for him, but he insisted on taking a bath.

She hesitated, swallowing a sob.

He was so happy, laughing and joking. I told him to be careful. He said he wasn’t that drunk, went into the bathroom, and ran the tub full. I was in the kitchen when I thought I heard a thump. When I called to him, I heard something like an answer, so didn’t worry. She looked stricken with grief. Oh, if I had only gone in to check on him, he might still be with us.

So you didn’t go in the bathroom when you heard the thump? Wither asked.

No, foolish me. She wiped tears from her cheeks and sighed. When he didn’t come out I waited a while then went in. She started to cry again. It’s all my fault. James was lying with his face in the water. I knew George was in his bedroom reading so I ran to get him. He telephoned for help.

Officer Saunders came into the living room followed by a young man.

Detective, Saunders said. This is the son, George Armstrong.

Withers rose and shook hands with the young man. I’m so sorry to meet you like this. It’s never easy to lose a loved one.

Thank you, Detective, George said. The officer said you wanted to ask me some questions?

Just a couple if you don’t mind. Withers looked at what was written in his notebook. Your mother said you were in your bedroom when she found your father?

Yes, I was in my bedroom reading when Amelia screamed for me. He glanced at his stepmother. When I ran into the bathroom, I saw Dad lying in the tub with his face in the water. I called for help. The officer and ambulance arrived just minutes later.

Thank you. Withers closed his notebook. I’ll talk with the officer for a minute then I think we can wrap this up.

Officer Saunders followed Withers to the front door.

What do you think, Detective?

Your gut feeling is right. Those two have identical stories right down to George reading a book. They both described the deceased lying in the tub with his face in the water. Withers looked down the hallway toward the bathroom. Too damn pat. They probably smacked the old boy on the head and left him in the tub.

You want me to call forensics?

No.

Why not?

There’s insufficient evidence to bring charges. Withers shook his head.

You’re not going to follow up? Saunders asked.

There are four detectives in the homicide department. The detective rubbed a hand across his face. I’ve got a dozen cases on my desk. All of them are marked priority and I’ve been working twelve hour days without time off for the last two months.

These two are going to get away with murder?

If they drowned the old boy, it would be tough to prove. Withers patted the officer’s shoulder. Fight the battles you can win.

Three

That’s the story? Dave grinned at his father. You’re telling me the patient in the bed over there is the son of a guy who drowned in his bathtub?

Yeah, that’s what I’m saying.

I still don’t see what the big mystery is.

Just shut up for a minute and I’ll tell you. His father looked at the doorway again. When I investigated that drowning in l975, the husband’s name was James and his wife’s name was Amelia.

So the son married a woman named Amelia too?

No. What I’m trying to tell you is this woman is the same person I saw in l975.

Wow. His son sat back in surprise. You think the son married his own step-mother?

Yeah. But that’s not what’s so weird. In l975 this Amelia was in her mid-twenties. This woman who came in here looks to be in her mid-twenties.

So you think this Amelia might be the daughter?

I don’t know. Norm shrugged and frowned. I would swear she’s the same woman I saw in l975 and you know I’m good with remembering faces and people.

But that’s not possible. Withers thought for a moment. Probably a close family resemblance?

Yeah, could be, but I got the craziest idea that she’s the same person. He stopped talking as Julie came through the doorway.

Here’s your medication. The nurse handed Norm a paper cup and a glass of water.

I don’t need no more pills, her patient complained.

The doctor prescribed pain medication for another week, she explained. Don’t be too quick to refuse. Your back was severely injured. It’ll be some time before you’ll be comfortable without drugs. Besides, the prescription is really strong, so you can get a good nights rest.

Listen to her, Dad, Withers said. Sounds like she knows what she’s talking about.

The old man swallowed the pills with water and handed the glass back.

Thank you, Detective. She smiled at Dave then turned to his father. If you need anything, just call. I’ll be back later. They watched her leave then the old man reached out and caught his son’s sleeve.

Listen to me. I got to tell you before they bring this Armstrong back.

Where is he? Withers looked across the room at the empty bed.

Some more tests. Norm gripped his son’s arm. I was a cop for over forty years and know when something’s not right.

I think you simply misunderstood what you heard, but I’ll go along with you. Was there anything else?

Yesterday evening when the curtains were open, this Amelia watched me real close, like she was waiting for me to go to sleep. I got the feeling she was going to do something to her husband, but I was watching. Something’s not right. I want you to check this out, okay?

Okay, I’ll check it out, Dave assured him.

An orderly pushed a man in a wheelchair through the doorway followed by a young blond woman and a nurse. Dave got a look at the man in the wheelchair. He appeared to be in his sixies, but sick looking. The nurse and orderly helped him onto the bed and made him comfortable. The blond stood back and waited until they finished then thanked them. She sat beside the bed, reaching out to take the man’s hand.

Better? she asked in a gentle voice. Darling? Are you comfortable? Would you like a drink of water?

The patient whispered something and the woman laughed softly. I declare, you are such a tease. She held a glass while he sipped a little water. Leaning forward, she kissed him full on the lips.

Dave felt his dad’s hand touch his. He nodded and turned to him.

Here, Dave said, taking a pint bottle from his jacket pocket and slipping it into the drawer in the nightstand. I got to go, Dad. He stood up. I’ll come back in a day or two.

Do that little thing for me?

Okay. Dave nodded. You got my attention. Don’t give the nurses too much crap. See you later.

As Withers walked out, he glanced back at the bed on the other side of the room. The young woman was leaning over her husband with a hand on the side of his face. Her expression was one of caring for a loved one.

On the way out he stopped at the registrars office.

Hello. You’re Margo, right? He smiled at the plump redhead sitting behind the desk. My name’s Withers. My father, Norm Withers, is a patient here.

Yes, Detective Withers, she said with a friendly smile. I know who you are. How can I assist you?

I wanted to verify my father’s health insurance. He leaned over her desk and looked into her eyes. Can you help me?

Of course. Her smile widened. I’m, ah, willing to do whatever I can. I mean, what did you want to check?

I got a letter from his secondary health coverage indicating a large amount is owed on his surgery.

The telephone rang.

Excuse me, please. She turned to answer the telephone.

Withers glanced behind her at a four-drawer file cabinet. The front of each file drawer was labeled alphabetically. Stepping behind her, he reached to open the top drawer marked ‘A – D’ when he noticed a stand of trays. In the top tray marked ‘file’ was a folder labeled ‘Armstrong, George’. Glancing at the girl to be sure she was still busy on the phone, he opened the file and read the top page.

The registrar spoke on the phone, answered a query about a patient’s status then swung around on her swivel chair. I’m sorry to keep you waiting. Now, you had a question about your father’s health coverage?

Yes, I got a letter stating the amount owed for the surgery. He shrugged helplessly. I really don’t understand the wording. At the bottom of the form read a statement; ‘amount owed’ and I wondered if we have to pay that.

No, she said. That is the amount not paid by Medicare. Your father’s secondary coverage will pay anything not covered by Medicare. If ever the patient owes something not covered by either Medicare or secondary medical insurance, a separate letter will be sent to you stating the individual must pay a given amount. Wait for that letter before you pay anything.

Oh good. He nodded. Thank you for clearing that up.

You’re welcome. She smiled. Any time you have a question I’ll be glad to help.

Four

Amelia sat looking out the window as the afternoon faded into evening. She glanced across the room at the patient in the other bed. He appeared to be asleep, head turned away from her. Yesterday the nosy old bastard had been much too alert for his own good.

For the last two hours, since the dinner tray was taken away, she had waited patiently for her husband to fall asleep. It gave her time to reminisce on the past years. There had been troubles in their marriage. The first problem had been his moralistic refusal when she tried to convince him to have a child by another woman. Even when she reasoned with him that she was barren, he remained adamant. Now he was too sick to father a child. It infuriated her after all these years; she would have to search for a new husband. She stared at George with an expression of distaste. How she hated sick, old people. He lay flat on his back, mouth open, snoring softly. George had continued to keep her sexually satisfied until the last six months when his health had begun to fail. Now that he had suffered a stroke, he was of no further use to her.

Rising quietly, she drew the curtain around the bed, shutting off the view of the other patient. The trash basket next to the bed held a ball of cotton and a cotton swab the nurse had used. Amelia retrieved both swab and ball, laying them on the nightstand. With another glance at the drawn curtain, she