The Mourning Mail (final release candidate #8)

Chapter 4

After taking a break to grab a quick bite and start the dishwasher, I returned to Bubba's letters.

I found it a little odd that Bubba had never mentioned his mother. I guessed that "Sis" was an older sibling and possibly a parental substitute. Whatever his approach to other aspects of his life, he seemed open and honest with her, even verbose. I wondered if writing in invisible ink helped with that. Maybe it gave him a sense of freedom? The name he signed with, "Bubba," could have been his real name, but somehow, I doubted it. It was just as likely that it meant simply "brother," as Southerners often use it. Or, it could be a nickname.

The last letter Dad collected gave me pause, just as it had him:

"Sis, do you remember that neighborhood you worked in back when you were doing the in-home care services? The last one before I left, that old man? Now, that guy had some money! I went there to check out the house three doors down from him on the corner lot. It's pretty nice and has a hidden alley in the back. I think it's for the garbage trucks, so people won't see the trash bins on the street. The place looked good to me. Lots of ways to get in and out of there, probably some great stuff inside."

If I could find the gravesite where Bubba was dropping off these letters, I could get the sister's name from the headstone. This letter told me his sister was a registered nurse and worked for a temp agency. I needed to cold call the agencies in the area to run down the last one she worked for. From them, I could get the address of her final client. I should be able to locate the house Bubba is describing. I'll need to do some legwork at the memorial gardens to figure out Sis' name. Some time spent on the phone should get me the rest of the information I need. The letter continued:

"I wouldn't have done it if you were still here—I'd never let anything come back on you or Mikey. You know that, right? But, one night, I went to do the job. While figuring out what to take, I checked out one of the side bedrooms upstairs. It had a sweet computer setup. I was getting ready to grab some of the equipment when I saw this light flickering on the walls. Shit, somebody else was robbing the place. At least, that's what I thought.

"They were amateurs. You can't just wave a regular flashlight all over the place. It makes weird light patterns people can see from outside. Maybe realize what's happening. Remember Ted, the douchebag who used to date your friend Ellie? That's how they busted him—a nosey old lady down the street saw the lights and called 5-0.

"If these idiots caught me in the house, that was one thing. They outnumbered me, so that was a problem. Otherwise, what would they do, call the cops on me and get themselves busted? But what freaked me out the most was that these rookie assholes would send us all to jail because they didn't know what they were doing. I'd have to go back in to finish my parole time and do another nickel for this B&E. I wouldn't have any way to get my letters to you.

"I was stuck in the far bedroom on the second floor. Where these people were was right in the middle of my escape route. I just stayed in the closet to ride it out. Nothing better I could do than sit there listening to these people.

"There were three of them, two men and a woman. They weren't from our neighborhood; I didn't recognize anyone's voice. They were trying to keep quiet, but they weren't doing a great job. The woman kept getting upset and raising her voice. One guy was getting angry at the other two.

"I thought it might be some insurance scam because the older guy kept talking about everything like it was his stuff. He knew where everything was in the house. I heard him call one guy Rickie. That was the one he sent to get the duct tape out of the kitchen closet.

"Then I figured out they were trying to move something wrapped up in an oval rug. I'm pretty sure it was a dead body. They all kept referring to it as 'her,' and they were worried about leaving a trail."

Bubba's chosen profession had significant downsides. But I doubt anyone could have expected the situation he was in. Two sets of criminals sneaking around the same house in the dark of night. It didn't seem like it would turn out well. But of course, Bubba survived whatever happened long enough to write and deliver this letter. Fascinated, I continued reading:

"I could see the room I was in had a window. Maybe I could raise the bottom sash and not make any sound. I could climb through the opening onto the little stub roof, jump down, and run for it. The same way we used to sneak out as kids. If I made a big enough racket as I was getting away, it would draw attention to the house. They'd be too busy covering their tracks to worry about chasing me.

"But what if they had guns? So, I stayed put.

"Now they were in the bedroom across from the one I was in. From what they said and what I heard somebody had already rolled a body into the rug. It was sealed up with tape. The three of them were trying to push and pull it out of that room. Once they got it out, they slid the whole thing down the stairs. After they finished, the woman vacuumed the other bedroom, the hall, and the steps. I guess they wanted to leave the same pattern on the carpet as the maid left. That way no one could tell they had done anything.

"Once I knew they were all on the first floor, I looked out the window. I watched them carry the roll out of the house through the back door into the alley. I could see the corner of a dark van. I saw them yanking and shoving the roll into the back of it. One guy returned, and I heard him lock the rear door of the place. He went back to the van, and the two guys took off. The woman walked out to the sidewalk by the street, and I couldn't see her anymore.

"Once they were gone, I went into that master bedroom to see what they did. I couldn't tell. But there were diplomas and plaques on the wall, so I knew the house belonged to some doctor. I figured, screw him for making me wait. I took everything I could carry from the place. I was pretty sure they wouldn't report the theft. They wouldn't want the police looking into anything that went on that night.

"But if they killed somebody, I didn't want them trying to pin it on me. They could say, 'See, somebody broke in, and they must have killed that woman.' You know how this goes, Sis. Nobody's going to believe me over a rich doctor and his friends.

"So, before I left, I took a scale and one of the throw rugs out of the upstairs bathroom. I used them to replace the drag marks from the master bedroom down the stairs to the living room. I scouted out the utility room off the kitchen to see if there were any power tools I could take. There was some paint in aerosol cans. I sprayed 'Doc killed a woman and hid her body' on the wall and the carpet in the living room. I went to my car and grabbed my cell phone. I snuck back in and took some pictures. That way I could show I tried to set things right if they pointed fingers at me."

"Jesus, Bubba, why were you screwing around?" I asked myself out loud. "It's not a video game—you should have just gotten out of there and called the police." As if to answer my question, the letter continued:

"I wanted to call 911 to report an intruder, but I'd already cut the phone wire when I broke in. I didn't have a burner phone in my car. The only phone I had was the one in my name. So, I just blew it off. Maybe Doc wouldn't be the first person to return to that house. Or the painter or carpet guy he hired to cover up my messages could report them. Even if the doctor found my graffiti and got rid of it, at least he would know somebody else witnessed what he did. Maybe he'd turn himself in. Or he might get nervous and make a mistake that would get him caught without my help."

The thought again crossed my mind that perhaps Bubba hadn't fully matured into adulthood. I didn't know him, of course. Still, it disappointed me. His response to a likely homicide relied on hoping things might work out without him getting involved.

Just one step above the lowly "thoughts and prayers."