The Hidden World of Jake

The Hidden World of Jake

Foreword

This story tells of a veteran from the Vietnam War, a young man who transformed into a fighter after spending a year combating in an unsupported conflict in a small, far-off land. It differed from other wars since many of the foes bore resemblance to the civilian population. It was also unlike any other war as it was scorching, moist, and the fighting occurred in what seemed an impenetrable jungle. It also stood out as there was no clear frontline, and the lands won in battle weren't then occupied to prevent their capture by the enemy. These conditions left a deep impression on those who served.

Upon their return to their homeland, these warriors were not met with parades or any expressions of gratitude. Instead, they were faced with protesters who berated them. They struggled to adjust back to society, which was more interested in forgetting. Unfortunate was the fact that they couldn't forget their year-long ordeal in hell.

It wasn't until five years after the last American soldier departed Vietnam that a memorial to those who perished there was constructed. This didn't happen due to any congressional legislation. It resulted from volunteers who worked tirelessly to make the Vietnam Veteran's Memorial a reality. The money to fund this was obtained through donations, not congressional funding.

On this Memorial Day, it's important to remember the young men - mostly boys - who responded to their nation's call and perished, serving a country that did not officially acknowledge their sacrifices for years.

We should also not forget the veterans who have since passed away as well as those who are still among us. They're all heroes. As Billy Ray Cyrus sang, "All gave some, some gave all".

As a young boy, like many others, I went through the typical stages. I played cowboys, pretended to be firefighters, and then fell in love with the science guy on TV. During the final year of high school in chemistry class, I realized I didn't particularly enjoy science. This left me without a career path.

After graduating, my parents started suggesting it was time to search for employment. I wanted glamour and thrill, so I enlisted in the US Army. There wasn't the glamour I imagined, but the excitement was there. Basic training wasn't exciting except for the rifle and grenade range. Advanced Infantry Training was more exciting, as we learnt about machine guns, rocket launchers, and other weapons that emitted loud bangs and shattered things. Iraq was thrilling, causing me to wet my pants on occasion.

Following four years in the service, I assumed I'd experienced enough glamour and excitement to last a while. I returned to Fort Wayne, Indiana, and began my search for a job.

The classified ad read, "Set your own hours - ability to manage conflict and rejection required". It sounded perfect for me. Although I'd experienced some heated confrontations, and as a slim 5'8" and 140 lbs, I'd grown accustomed to rejection from the more appealing members of the opposite sex.

Bob Frawley, a crotchety seasoned private investigator, hired me to manage the tedious paperwork and phone calls that typically collected information for cases. He would spend hours locating a "skip" to force him back to court in handcuffs. I wanted to accompany him on most of his missions.

Bob had minimal downtime, and he had no idea how to use it. His only break from monotony was spending several hours every evening enjoying his favorite bottle of bourbon. I couldn't understand how he managed to find enough work to pay me and still have something left for himself.

I was learning a lot from Bob, even though some of the lessons were on what not to do. I picked up knowledge of where to find business, the type of work to accept, and the most important lesson - which jobs to reject. I learnt how much personal investigation work was worth, depending on the client, and how to provide a price that covered my time but didn't drive them away.

I also learned the intricacies of tailing a suspect, both in real life and by following the credit reports, phone numbers, and other pieces of life detritus we all leave behind. Sometimes, the paper trail was simpler and swifter than the actual individual. Bob frequently felt let down when that happened.

Things were going smoothly for me, according to my perspective, when after a year and a half of working for him, Bob suffered a heart attack and passed away. This unexpected turn of events left me feeling elated for a day, but Bob had one more lesson to teach. Financial stability plays a crucial role in the world of investigations. It appears that Bob was a couple of years behind in his rent payments, but the landlord seemed fond of him and probably couldn't have found another tenant, so he allowed Bob to continue living there.

Because the landlord was not interested in pursuing a career in private investigations and I lacked sufficient funds to clear Bob's debts, I lost my newly acquired inheritance and my job simultaneously. On my final day at the office, I left with Bob's .38 Police Special, his handcuffs, and the realization that this was my desired career path in life.

Bob had imparted several valuable insights about being a private investigator, at least during his more lucid moments; however, I needed some legitimacy to launch my own venture. I acquired a "managerial" position in the food industry that paid poorly but allowed me to eat for free and enrolled in the Harrison School of Private Investigation. For the next year, I wrapped tacos at night and studied during the day, religiously sending in my assignments and anxiously awaiting the results to arrive in their characteristic beige envelopes. In January, I received my diploma, ready to embark on my professional journey.

It was chilly and snowy in Fort Wayne, but I decided to travel south in search of better weather. Nashville seemed like a good option, so I delivered packages until I could afford to establish a base of operations.

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Sanders Investigations was established on a two-month rental fee, enough money to connect a phone line, and a few connections from my time as a package deliveryman. I had interacted with all the attorneys and insurance offices in Nashville, and formed ties with their secretaries, as they keep track of the investigators utilized by these organizations. After obtaining a phone number, I indulged in getting business cards printed. I then paid visits to all my secretary associates and informed them of my new venture while also highlighting my preferred jobs. I had discovered, while working with Bob, that most legal and insurance firms have existing relationships with larger, more reputable investigative firms; however, these firms are not suited for all tasks, either due to cost or personal disinterest. I made it clear that I relished handling such assignments.

This choice has turned out to form the foundation of a modestly successful private investigation company. Yes, I reside in my office, just like Bob, but at least my commute only takes a few minutes, and it's an easy trip in my shorts and socks without anyone caring.

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The sole obstruction I faced at the start of my career was Jake Wilson. Jake was another private investigator in Nashville who specialized in the same type of work I did. His arrogance resulted from my encroachment on his clients, and he made it his mission to ruin my credibility and force me out of the private investigation field. I never met Jake in person. The details of his life were shared with me by my secretary confidants. They detested him and only dealt with him when there was no other option. With me as an alternative, he would fly into a fit of rage and storm out of the office.

I tried to disregard him, and this irritated him even further, based on my secretary friends' reports. If they told him they had given me a job, he would curse at them and storm out of the office. He passed away a year after I launched my operation, and I found out about his demise because of the elegantly scripted funeral invitation. The writer's impeccable handwriting caught my attention.

It was an icy, depressing, drizzly, winter day in Tennessee with strong gusts of wind and dense fog, and I wished I hadn't even left my home. The tall, boisterous preacher was narrating Jake's life, but I was shivering so much I could barely understand his words. My "on-duty" jacket, while suitable for my typical routine, failed to hold up against the heavy wet cold that pierced through the frayed denim. [

I wasn't planning on dressing up for this occasion, even though it was a funeral service. Jake had been somewhat like the gloomy gray-purple overcast that dimmed the low sun and turned day into a black-and-white movie, where we had to imagine the colors that were present. He had been a grumpy, dark, and unpleasant man in life, and hadn't really been friendly with anyone I was aware of. I saw no reason to honor him with a suit and tie, even if I had one.

I was amazed that even three people in the world valued him enough to stand in this dismal, rainy day to see him laid to rest in the ground of Forrest Lawn. As I thought about this, I realized the overweight pastor was probably being paid and the other guy was his driver, so there was only one actual mourner besides me.

I wasn't a mourner in the traditional sense of the word. I was simply curious to see which woman would consider Jake worth her presence at his funeral. I still hadn't met her, but she had to be the woman wearing the heavy black veil who had just placed a rose on the bare coffin. The pastor in his plain black suit recited the "ashes to ashes" passage, and shook hands with the woman while offering his condolences. He and the other guy quickly got into a black Lincoln Town Car and left, leaving a hint of tire gravel behind.

A peculiar vehicle and peculiar actions for a man who'd dedicated his life to serving the church frugally, I thought. But then, I considered, he probably wanted to escape as much as I did, and perhaps the car had been bought by the congregation and was a symbol of their financial health and appreciation of the man's services. People often think they can pay their way out of the indiscretions and inappropriate thoughts to which humans are prone, and like to show the world they can afford to do so.

The woman hidden by the veil turned and approached me. She extended a slender, pale hand from the sleeve of her plain wool coat, and when I took it, her grip was firm. Through the thick veil came, "Are you Mr. Jason Sanders, I hope?"

"Yes, but you can call me Jason."

"Fine. I'll call you Jason. Jason, my name is Shelly Parker, and I'm Jake's niece. I need to speak with you as soon as possible. I have to take these flowers home, but I'm available this afternoon."

The voice was clear yet gentle, and the low tone slightly erotic. I couldn't figure out how she and Jake could have shared any DNA at all.

I informed her that I was available as well and provided her with my business card that included my office phone number and address.

She looked at my card and then put it in her purse.

"Great. I'll come to your office at one if that works for you."

At one on the dot, she knocked on my office door. It was a bit of a surprise seeing her once I opened it. At the funeral, she'd worn a black dress and a coat that did an excellent job of disguising her figure. The woman standing in front of me wore fitted jeans with black high heels and a silk blouse edged in lace, making her a very attractive woman. She'd removed the black velvet jacket, and the opening framed a pair of not particularly large but still lovely breasts. Her face, the face she'd kept hidden behind the veil, was rather model-like, surrounded by waves of dark brown hair that fell softly on her shoulders. Her brown eyes gleamed and her full, soft lips smiled.

"I see I've come to the right place."

I had to smile as well because I couldn't do anything else.

"Yes, this is Sanders Investigations. Please, come in."

I was certain it was the heels that made her walk in such a way. Each step was sort of a smooth, rolling motion of her hips and projected her breasts forward. I closed the door and followed those rolling hips into the room and then offered her a chair opposite my desk.

"Well, Miss Parker, let me start by saying I'm very sorry for your loss."

She smiled.

"No, you're not, but don't feel bad about it. I know what kind of man Uncle Jake was. He won't be missed by many people."

"You must have felt something for him."

"I did. Uncle Jake was Mama's brother. He lived in our house until Mama died, and he was the only father I ever knew. Mama lost my father in a car accident when I was two, and Uncle Jake sort of became my father figure. He was different around me and Mama than to other people. With me, he was always quiet and gentle, and he made time for me. I spent a lot of Saturdays at his office building once I was old enough for Mama to let me. Uncle Jake had a room in the back just for me. He gave me a play kitchen and a dollhouse at first, but when I got older, he bought me a stereo and a television set."

I was around ten when I understood Mama and I were the only ones he behaved that way towards. I can never forgive him for treating everyone else that badly, but I did have affection for him. He'd confide things in me he wouldn't even tell Mama. When Mama passed, he was the only family I had left. This is the reason I wanted to speak with you. Do you have any idea how he perished?

I shook my head.

"If it hadn't been for your request to attend the funeral, I wouldn't even have known. I barely knew Jake, and I really didn't want to. He didn't hold me in high esteem."

She rested her fingers on my desk.

"Uncle Jake died in Percy Priest Lake by the Anderson Road Campground. A fisherman found him floating close to the shore at seven o'clock in the morning. Upon the arrival of the police, they discovered his boat anchored across from the campground. He had a lump on the side of his head, and the police noted that he must have tripped or fallen in the boat, hit his head, and then failed unconscious. The coroner stated he'd been dead for six or seven hours. They called it an accident, and I likely would have accepted that if it hadn't been for Uncle Jake's phone call.

"Six months ago, he called me and requested that, in the event of his death, I should contact you. His tone was anxious, and he'd never demonstrated such emotional instability in my presence before. I believe whatever he was concerned about transpired last week, and I'm convinced it wasn't an accident."

I was familiar with many of the local police officers and I'd been quite impressed with how far they'd go in an investigation of any fatality. If they'd decided Jake had struck his head on his boat and then drowned, I was sure that was what killed him. People experiencing the unexpected death of a loved one often tend to seek someone or something to blame. I assumed Shelly was undergoing this process.

I had no desire to become more involved with Jake now that he was gone for good. However, Shelly seemed to be pleading me. I didn't want to take her money only to tell her a week later that the police were correct, but I also didn't want to hurt her by revealing I had no interest. I decided I could probably ascertain if there was anything further transpiring within twenty-four hours. If I didn't uncover any evidence, I wouldn't charge her. It would take a day of my time, but I didn't have anything else to do at the moment.

'Miss Parker, do you know of anyone who might wish to harm your uncle, Jake?'

Shelly smiled.

"It's easier to list those who would not, and please call me Shelly. Miss Parker sounds quite formal. I turned thirty-six this year anyhow, making the use of 'Miss' somewhat inappropriate."

"Did he ever mention any specific individual who he'd made especially angry?"

"No. He was aggravating to everyone, except his customers, and occasionally even irritated them."

"What could have been the reason for him being out on the lake that night? Did he go fishing?"

"No. Uncle Jake did not fish. He asserted that it was a waste of time because he could obtain fish at the market more swiftly and cheaply than he could procure all the angling apparatus."

"Then why did he own a boat?"

"He purchased it several years ago while observing a woman's husband. The man possessed a substantial boat on the lake, and he often claimed he was entertaining customers, but one Saturday the woman's automobile would not start, so she employing his to perform some shopping. She discovered a pair of lace underpants beneath the passenger seat. She inquired about them, and he merely joked that this particular client was known for practical jokes and he must have left them there. The woman hired Jake to find out the reality."

That made sense to me. I'd never needed a boat for this type of investigation, but there had been instances when I'd regretted not having one.

"So, could he have been engaging in the same pursuits that evening?"

Shelly shrugged.

"Perhaps it's possible. To know for certain, we need to examine his case files. Uncle Jake always maintained exceptional records. During my college summers, I assisted him, and it was captivating to explore everything about a case. We could visit his office to see if there's any relevant information."

My unease about "we" led me to question Shelly's intentions, for if she's accompanying me, it would be difficult to maintain my impartiality while she sought proof of her assumption that Jake had been murdered.

"Certainly, but I'm more accustomed to working alone."

"You're concerned I might miss something and conclude it was a murder purely based on that? Uncle Jake trained me in the craft of being a private investigator. I assure you I won't force a theory where none exists."

Directions to Jake's office were clear in my mind. This building, surrounded by brick buildings with common walls, occupied the corner of downtown Nashville's older neighborhood. I entered through the door and was unsurprised to find it had been a bank. Numerous organizations now occupy these old buildings, most of them shops offering secondhand items. The interior had lost its original bank features save for the counter area where the former teller had worked. The room also had a solitary office on one side, likely used by the bank manager.

Withered wooden chairs and a tattered couch filled the main room. What remained of the wood looked discolored, implying it had been poorly maintained. A coffee pot containing cooled coffee resided on a card table against the back wall, accompanied by a handful of faded portraits. A plastic tree close to an edge had been neglected, as there was a generous layer of dust.

Jake's picture in his camouflage uniform with Lieutenant Colonel rank was recognizably different than the man before me, his hair now gray and a third-stripe Sergeant. He stood with his unit, the 5th Special Forces Group, in the jungle. Shelly positioned herself beside me.

"Jake served in the Vietnam War. These are the pictures from his time there. The soldiers are his unit, and the other pairs are pictures of Jake and his best friend during his military deployment."

My memory on the Vietnam War is limited, but during my time in Iraq, I became acquainted with the 5th Special Forces Group. Their base had transitioned from Ft. Bragg to Ft. Campbell, close to where I was currently. Made famous for their contributions in Iraq, they were divided into separate groups for training local military forces and special missions which remained enigmatic due to classification. While rarely interacting with their members can't convey their reputation, it was well-known that units were close-knit and decisive.

"What did Jake do during his time in Vietnam?"

Shelly shrugged. "He never discussed it. All he would say was that he couldn't tell me."

Having visited Iraq without personally meeting any 5th Special Forces members, I had heard stories about the unit's activities. Its operations deterring any threats were confidential. "I don't know who was the guy with Jake in those pictures, but the 5th SFG is renowned for their distinctiveness and their significant contributions to the United States Army. All I heard about them was their tight-knit nature. He made it home, suggesting their bonds held fast."

"What else do you remember about the 5th SFG?"

Shelly shrugged. "The only thing Uncle Jake mentioned was that they trusted each other with their lives."

Jake's safe was on the opposite wall of the bathroom, appearing as though rarely used. The safe was massive to accommodate its depth. Shelly flipped the light switch near it and entered. Boxes and other items rested on racks along one wall. Inside one of the safety deposit boxes was a wallet, opened to show his Army ID. I noticed the 5th SFG emblem emblazoned on his dog tags. Shelly retrieved the items, then re-closed the box.

"Uncle Jake's dog tags and Army ID, in case you need them for his identification."

I nodded. "Thanks."

Employing a key, she unlocked a small safe within the larger one that housed import and export permits, police clearances, and other custom forms, in addition to his various licenses. All appeared legitimately obtained. After we left the building, Shelly pocketed the contents before passing them to me.

"Many of Uncle Jake's paper work revolving around his profession. Here, I'll give them to you."

I collected them and placed them in a folder on the counter.

"Thanks. I'll keep it with me. Is there anything else you'd like to see or know?"

Shelly shook her head. "No, I think you'll be able to find all you need here." Pin It

The boat was empty. When I was here last time, it was filled with all sorts of things. The keys for the car and boat are around here somewhere. I told Uncle Jake he should store his important documents in here since it's fireproof, but he preferred to keep them in his office. The one you saw when we entered the cabin. If he was working on a case that night, then they're in his office.

Upon opening Jake's office drawer, I found each case neatly organized and labeled. Each folder was marked with a case date and a short description. Inside each folder, I found Jake's notes, any documents he'd copied, and any pictures he'd taken. Additionally, there was a copy of his final report and another document stating the outcome if there was a divorce or an arrest.

Jake's investigation spanned over two decades, and sifting through his files seemed like a never-ending task. It would take a month just to go through all of them. Even if I found a few individuals who felt wronged by Jake's work, it's unlikely they would carry out their anger. The cases Jake tackled were mundane, not serious criminal matters. Ordinary people would express their displeasure momentarily, but eventually, they'd learn to accept the circumstances and move on.

A different approach might be determining why Jake was on the lake in the middle of the night. If I can figure out what he was up to, it might confirm the police's suspicions or it could reveal the existence of a more sinister plot. I asked Shelly where he might keep his current case files.

Shelly went to the desk and pulled out the file drawer on the left side.

"He always kept those in his desk, right there. There are only three."

The first one contained nothing of great importance. Jake had been trying to find a man with thirty outstanding parking tickets to serve him a subpoena. This case was relatively straightforward since the man was hard to locate. The folder contained mainly interview notes from Jake's conversations with potential witnesses.

The second folder was more intriguing. It was another case of infidelity, similar to the one Shelly had told me about. This time, the target was a woman who was having an affair. Jake had gone to a campsite near Percy Priest Lake to stake out her rendezvous with her lover. The couple was camping, so close to each other that personal space was nonexistent, had chosen to stay in a tent on the lakeshore. Unfortunately for Jake, there were other tents so close by that taking pictures without seeming suspicious would be difficult. That explained why he was on his boat at midnight - waiting for the couple to leave or capturing them in a compromising position.

He would've likely already taken pictures of their arrival, setting up the tent, and preparing their meal. He would've known what it took to convince the husband that proof of the affair existed. However, the couple's interactions rarely offered proof positive, leaving the task up to Jake to determine if they were engaging in more than just conversation. Legally, hard evidence was needed - either a timestamped photo of both leaving a hotel room or tent together, or a photo where it appeared they were engaged in intimate acts.

"Do the police have a camera from the boat?" I inquired.

"No," she said. "They gave me his wallet, keys, and clothes. The marina is holding his car, boat trailer, and the boat until I pick them back up, but they didn't mention a camera."

The third folder was unremarkable. Jake had been tracking a man claiming he'd hurt his back while working as a waiter at one of Nashville's upscale restaurants. Jake was probably just about ready to finish writing his report because he had video footage of the man changing his pickup's tires. If he were in constant pain like he claimed, it would've been impossible for him to lift the tires onto the hubs.

I closed the folder and handed it back to Shelly. "Let's go pick up your uncle's car and boat. Hopefully, they'll provide us with some more information."

Jake would've understood the law as well as I do, and wouldn't have set foot on the lake without the necessary safety gear. Park rangers often check for personal flotation devices (PFDs) at boat launches, and if Jake hadn't had both, they wouldn't have let him launch. Similarly, if a ranger had spotted him on the lake without his PFDs, he would've been removed from the lake and issued a ticket. While Jake might not have cared much about the ticket, he would've cared about potentially being seen without his gear. If his target had witnessed this incident, he might've had to rethink his plan.

If the police's account of what happened to Shelly was accurate, and Jake had collided with something hard enough to knock him unconscious and send him overboard, his PFD would've kept him from drowning, as it would've helped keep his head above water until he regained consciousness. Jake's head injury wasn't severe, according to the police's description, which also makes it puzzling why his life jacket wasn't found near the boat. Jake had two life jackets, one for himself and one for his niece, Shelly. He even let her use his PFD when they went fishing together. However, only one life vest remained.

I turned to Shelly, curious about the details of the situation.

"Shelly, did the police mention anything about Jake wearing his life jacket or life vest?"

"Yes, they did. They said if he'd been wearing one, he might've survived the mistake they think he made."

"And they didn't find a life jacket near the boat?"

"No. I know Uncle Jake had two, as we've gone boating together before. I wore his PFD, and he had one on when we went fishing that day. It makes me wonder why he didn't wear it that night."

"I could see that. Some fishing boats have wooden flooring to prevent wet feet. If a person's foot slips between the wooden slats, they can easily lose their balance. While that's a possibility, Jake's boat had an aluminum bottom with an anti-slip coating. The slats wouldn't help explain how Jake ended up overboard. But if he fell on one of the seats, he could've gone over the side. However, that seems less likely, as he would've fallen down the length of the boat rather than over the side."

I needed more information, specifically from Shelly.

"Shelly, did you see Jake in the morgue?"

"Yes, I had to identify his body."

"Did you see where he hit his head?"

"Yes. I asked them to let me see it since they found his phone and I had to make a positive identification. The wound was on the side of his head, above his right ear."

"How wide was it?"

"It was small, about the width of a finger, and had a cut in the middle."

"Do you think it was from hitting the boat?"

"No, it was narrow and didn't align with the sides of the boat. Boat sides are a lot wider; this mark would've been harder to make with the boat. If he tripped, he would've probably fallen over the side directly, not sliding head-first down into the water."

"Do you think Jake wasn't wearing his life jacket because it was an accident?"

"No, the lack of a PFD is suspicious given his practice. If Jake accidentally tripped and fell overboard, he would've hit the wooden flooring in his boat. His boat, however, had an aluminum bottom with an anti-slip coating, so that's less likely. Jake would've fallen down the length of the boat instead of slipping over the side. Still, another possibility to consider is that he was hit by something else. A narrow wound like that couldn't have been caused by any part of the boat I've seen, let alone fitting his head so precisely."

"Then it doesn't seem like an accident."

"I believe this. Let's go talk to the local marina operator to see if they saw Jake launch his boat."

After speaking to the marina operator, we were unsuccessful in finding any information linking Jake to his boat's launch that day, so we decided to wait for the afternoon shift to come in before interrogating them further. We decided to grab a cup of coffee at a nearby fast food place while we waited. Shelly added a packet of creamer to her cup, stirred it for a few moments, and then took a sip, grimacing.

"This coffee is awful."

This experience was better than some I've had. You should try the coffee at a truck stop sometime.

She smiled in response.

"I have. My ex used to drive a truck and I occasionally rode with him."

I chuckled at her response.

"How would you describe yourself? I wouldn't have thought you'd marry a trucker. You seem more like the type to wed a banker or a doctor."

"I used to be like that. My mother also thought so. But when I was younger, I believed I knew everything. Billy was good-looking, and his life sounded interesting. It was an adventure when I travelled with him. We viewed a lot of countryside together."

"So what made you two part ways?"

"I found condoms in Billy's truck's mattress one day when I was making the bed. He didn't need them for me because I took care of that, so I assumed he had other lovers. My uncle found out he had three. The revelation was painful, but less disappointing than when he sneered and commented on my body. In the end, I obtained a divorce from him just a month later. He didn't contest it and provided me with everything I requested. I think he was as relieved as I was. Additionally, this was four years ago."

"Do you think Billy is capable of hurting your uncle?"

"I doubt it. Billy liked his women, but he was quite passive about other matters. He didn't challenge the divorce and complied with my demands. I believe he was as relieved as I was. Moreover, this was four years ago."

"Could you tell me why you suspect this is not an accident?"

"The more I think about it, the more I feel something is off. The police might think this is a straightforward case, but the deeper we delve, the less it resembles an accident."

"Perhaps we should discuss this with the police."

"No, not yet. I don't have any solid evidence, just an opinion. We'll need to dig further to uncover the facts. Let's begin with the afternoon marina employee."

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The employee looking after the marina in the afternoon was a young girl. Her appearance indicated she was nineteen or twenty. She paused from her conversation on the phone, popped her gum, and inquired how she could assist us. I beamed.

"I hope you can help us. Do you remember when that boat and car in your possession, the one you've been holding, arrived?"

"Certainly. It's the man who drowned about a week ago. I recall him because he said I reminded him of his niece. He purchased a gas tank and then loaded the boat into the lake."

"Did you see if he had any other items in the boat, aside from a life vest and a seat cushion?"

"Yes. He had a fishing rod and one of those shiny cloth things they manufacture gym bags from... I mean, he had a tackle box created from that material."

"Had the police or park rangers asked you these questions?"

"No, not to me, but they found the body in the morning and I wasn't there. They questioned Joey that morning when the guy put the boat in the lake. He indicated he gave them a photocopy of the gas receipt. It has the date and time of the purchase."

I thanked her for the information and informed her we would be taking the boat and car. She asked for a release and some identification. Shelly produced her driver's license and the police-issued property release. The girl smiled.

"All set. You're good to go. I assume you are his niece?"

"Yes, that's who he reminded me of."

"Sorry about that, and I'm sorry for your loss. He appeared to be a kind old man."

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Shelly wasn't certain about tow the boat, so I drove Jake's car and the boat back to his office while Shelly trailed me in her vehicle. I found it peculiar when a white pickup exited the campground parking lot at the same time we did. The sun's reflection made it difficult to see the driver's face through the windshield, but it seemed to be a man. I became suspicious as he kept two vehicles ahead of Shelly all the way to Jake's office. When Shelly parked in the parking spaces behind the building, the pickup inexplicably drove away. Therefore, I hypothesized that he was only heading in the same direction.

We entered the office, and Shelly slumped down on the couch and removed her heels.

"The next time I undergo this experience, I'll wear my running shoes. My feet are about to drop off, and we still haven't acquired any new information."

I handed Shelly the keys to Jake's car. I smiled.

We have uncovered more than you think. We know that Jake had a life jacket and a cushion, both of which disappeared mysteriously. I'd bet my last dollar that the tackle box was actually his camera bag. It's missing as well, and I can't fathom how Jake could have taken all that with him when he fell into the lake. I suspect someone took them.

"The person who killed him?"

Maybe, or it could simply have been someone who found the boat unattended and took what was there. I doubt it though, given that it was dark when Jake fell into the lake and the girl said he had his life jacket on when he launched the boat. Perhaps he removed the jacket for some reason, but I can't see any logical reason why.

"There's something else bothering me. Percy Priest almost always has a breeze blowing down the lake, and since it's an impound lake, there's a relatively weak current. Neither is particularly strong, but they exist. That's why Jake anchored his boat. If he hadn't, his boat would have drifted away from the campsite. I can't understand why his body floated to shore, as it should have followed the same pattern."

"You're thinking someone placed it there so it would be found?"

Yes, although I can't fathom why. You'd think if someone killed Jake, they'd want to be far away when his body was discovered. That's what a professional would do, and they would have probably removed all items from the boat to mimic what the police concluded, that Jake fell and drowned without a life jacket. It does not make sense that Jake was killed by a professional unless he had connections to drugs. The professionals are expensive and usually work for those involved in the drug trade. They might have wanted him found to teach someone a lesson, but I don't know why anyone else would.

Shelly frowned.

"I don't think Uncle Jake was involved in anything like that. If he was, I think he would have told me when he called that night."

"What did he say to you?"

"Just what I told you, that if anything happened to him, I should get in touch with you."

"Anything else?"

"Well, he did ask me if I remembered telling him he should put his files in the safe. He said he'd started doing that."

My watch read six.

"It's getting late. Why don't we grab some dinner? We'll revisit the safe tomorrow."

The following morning, I met Shelly at Jake's office at eight. She donned different jeans and a fresh top, and she proudly displayed her new red running shoes.

"Just in case we traverse the entire area again."

Shelly mentioned that since Jake had mentioned his files to her, there may be something useful in the safety deposit boxes. They comprised one hundred and twenty boxes stacked six high in rows of twenty. It took some time to go through each one as we had to open the door, pull out the box inside, and then open that box. Fortunately, the boxes were unlocked, so we saved time by not having to deal with the keys Shelly discovered hanging from a screw next to the safe door.

We'd been through eleven empty boxes when Shelly opened the door to Box 12, only to find it locked.

"That's strange", she observed. "I wonder why this one's locked?"

"Perhaps Jake locked it to keep his files. His files would likely be the target of a killer."

"Well, if he did, the keys should be hanging on the wire next to the safe door."

The "Bank" key was identified, and we proceeded to check each box in order. After thoroughly examining all the keys, it became clear that the keys to boxes 12, 21, 36, and 81 were missing. I looked at Shelly.

"The key isn't here. Evidently Jake placed it somewhere else. Do you know where he might have kept it?"

"I'll go check his desk."

While she was gone, I tried the doors on the other boxes. All were unlocked and empty, except the three locked boxes: 21, 36, and 81. When I rechecked the keys, those keys were missing as well. I found Shelly in the hallway when I went to inform her of this. She shook her head.

"There's no key in any of his desk drawers."

"We're searching for more than one key. In addition to Box 12, boxes 21, 36, and 81 are locked, and the keys to those boxes are missing as well. Don't you think it's too coincidental that these particular numbers are unrelated?"

Shelly stared at me for a moment before her face lit up.

"12/21/81 is my birthday, and I'm 36 years old. This can't be simply a coincidence, can it?"

"I don't know, but if it is, it seems that Jake left you some clues, hoping you'd crack the case. That might be why he asked if you remembered him saying to put his files in the safe, to get you to check here."

She grinned.

"No, not you, Jason," he thought. "He assumed you'd be capable of solving it. That's why he instructed me to converse with you. But where could he have kept the keys? It had to be a spot we'd search."

"If he consequently passed you these hints, he would've left one specifically so you'd discover the keys as well. Do you recollect anything else during that call or perhaps even before or subsequently regarding leaving something someplace?"

Shelly shook her head.

"No. The last time I spoke with him, we only discussed what I was currently doing and if I was content. That's what he regularly inquired, whether I was happy."

"Was there anything atypical?"

"Honestly, he did inquire if I recalled playing music on my stereo here. He joked that it drove him up the wall because it was rock music and he favored bluegrass. He never mentioned anything then, so I didn't comprehend or I'd have ceased. It's peculiar that he would say anything now."

Considering Jake's actions with the security deposit boxes, it wasn't peculiar. It was likely his approach to telling Shelly where to seek. I gazed at Shelly and grinned.

"Demonstrate this room. I believe your Uncle Jake was distributing the solution to our dilemma."

The room resembled Jake's office in size and previous use as a break room for the bank employees. There was a countertop with a sink against one wall, where an antique stereo and an old television were resting. Opposite the countertop was a sofa that seemed fresher than the one in the primary chamber. Adorning the other walls were posters of the rock celebs from the late '80s and early '90s.

Shelly chortled.

"It may not seem like much today, but when I was a teenager, it was my secret hangout. I could play my music as loud as I desired, watch whatever TV programming I desired, or merely sit and muse. Uncle Jake appeared to realize I needed those things. Mom was quite stringent with me then, but here I could be whomever I chose to be. Upon reflection, I'm grateful Mom was that way. I probably would've been in deep trouble if she hadn't been. I was a little wild in some respects, not with boys, but I didn't appreciate being confined into the minuscule container identified as 'tame woman'."

"That guidance seems beneficial. I had no idea about Jake as much as I assumed I did. This is the stereo you played your music on?"

"Yes. I owned a significant quantity of cassette tapes. A few of them were so frequently played they could no longer function."

"Well, here are some tapes. Which ones were your favorite? If I was Jake, I'd have chosen one of them to leave you a message."

Shelly rummaged through the boxes and then grinned.

"This one is one I overused, but Uncle Jake purchased me a fresh one for me."

She perused the box and then brightened.

"The tape isn't here, but surf this."

Taped to the rear of the key comfy nestled in the box with foam rubber was another key. The label on that key said Box 12.

When Shelly unsealed Box 12, it was vacant and she appeared on the verge of tears.

"No, this can't be. Uncle Jake wouldn't play a prank on me like this."

I lightly touched her shoulder.

"Relax. He wouldn't provide you the key to this chamber for nothing. Permit me to search around."

I employed the flashlight I invariably carry to scan the externalk box. Imprinted to the absolute rear was another key. The sticker on that key said Box 21.

Box 21 was vacant save for a note. I read it to Shelly.

"It states 'consider your dollhouse?' Did you have a dollhouse here?"

"Yes, but Uncle Jake claimed he donated it to Goodwill once I stopped playing with dolls."

"All right, let's examine. Maybe he hadn't after all. I'll check the shelf. You check the closet."

Shelly returned as I was opening the third storage box. The initial had been packed with goods I assumed Jake had utilized in prior instances. There existed an old 35mm film camera, an old 8mm film camera, and containers for both in addition to some tapes of fresh film. In the second box I identified the 8mm projector, a couple of film canisters, and a picture frame. When I removed the picture frame, Shelly gasped.

"That's my dollhouse."

Taped to the backside of the frame was another key, this one for Box 81.

Shelly was in process of extracting the innermost container from Box 81 when I heard a sharp metallic snap and then a man's voice.

"It was considerate of you to leave the front door unlocked. I've been outside the entire time listening and anticipation for you to decipher things for me. Now, simply remove that container and place it on the table and then both of you make your way to the back of the vault."

An older-looking man stood in front of me, his face betraying his age but his body giving off no signs of his age. He gripped a 1911 pistol firmly in his left hand and pointed it in my direction. After placing the inner box on the table, Shelly and I edged away to the other side of the vault. The man surveyed the contents of the box and then turned his attention back to us.

"Turn around and touch the wall with your hands," he instructed.

As we obeyed, he mumbled to himself,

"Jake, you son of a gun, it took me 40 years to track you down, but here you are. You thought I wouldn't find you, didn't you, after keeping your mouth shut? You forgot about that little girl. I'm sure she'll pay her respects at your funeral as you helped raise her. You never told her the truth, did you? But you left her a path to follow.

"Let's see, here we are. Damn it, Jake, you should've been smarter than this. You said you liked it simple. Both of you, wait where you are. In a month or so, someone will find you. I promise you, you'll be dead by then. I've covered up the outside vent, so the cops can think you were accidentally locked in the safe, suffocated themselves. I even checked - neither of you have other friends. You won't be missed for quite some time. I'll leave the lights on for you to enjoy your final moments. I'd offer you her beautiful body, but it's too late for that."

The sound of the safe door closing echoed in the room and the next thing I heard were the bolts of the safe sliding home. Shelly held my arm and asked,

"Who was he?"

"Someone who thought Jake had something worth taking. Let's find out what that is. For now, we need to get out of this vault."

Shelly's eyes filled with emotion as she looked at me.

"We can't. Uncle Jake left the door open because the lock was broken. A locksmith had to spend an entire day fixing it for him once. The locksmith told him the tumblers were badly worn, even if he reset the combination, it wouldn't work."

"You're wrong," I replied. "I'm not concerned about the safe's door. If Uncle Jake was as shrewd as I believe, he would've created a backup plan. Let's see what's inside the last box."

Inside Box 81 was an old photo of a young girl.

"That's me when I was four," Shelly pointed out. "I've seen it on Uncle Jake's desk when I started visiting the vault on Saturdays."

I turned over the picture and read the note on the back, "You needed my help back then. You're 36 now. Shouldn't you be able to decide what's right or wrong."

Tears welled up in Shelly's eyes,

"36. That's the box with the problem. Is there a key for it?"

The key to Box 36 was found underneath the inner box of Box 81. When she opened it, there was an entirely empty box.

"Empty...what does this mean?"

I checked and found the key for Box 36 on the back of Box 81. She took the inner box and set it down on the table.

"Let's hope this gets us out of here."

Box 81 contained a screwdriver and a crossword puzzle. Beside the word clues for the puzzle were these words: "Solve 20 down first. With these six spaces, you should be able to discern the answer".

Shelly looked at the puzzle and said, "20 down has eight letters. What did he mean by that?"

"Maybe he meant to find something with 20 in its name, but with six letters. There's no such word though."

She shook her head. "No, he never mentioned any 20."

"Then we're missing something here," I thought. "The screwdriver - maybe it was a clue. Let's take a look."

I went and examined the storage racks, discovering that the screws holding the boxes in rows of twenty were missing in the rows from Box 20 downwards. I picked up the screwdriver left in Box 81. "I tried the screwdriver on one of the screw heads and it wasn't very tight. I grabbed the screw and soon had it in my hand. (Photo 1)".

"Looks like Jake's note meant '20 down' as in two-thousand down, not '20 letters' with six blank spaces. There are another five boxes beneath the one marked '20,' and all the screw holes appear to have been unscrewed before.

Half an hour later, I'd removed all the screws and placed the boxes on the floor beside the wooden frame. I turned on my pocket-sized flashlight and shined it into the open space.

The cavity seemed to be about four feet deep, long, and wide, resembling a safe compartment more than the other bank storage boxes. The builder likely made a construction blunder and overextended the cabinets depth but strategically positioned supporting beams so that the actual safe space fit in the intended spot. The in-between was a cardboard box that I picked up and examined with relief.

The handwritten note enclosed in the box read, "Shelly, your secret passageat the rear of this box reveals a door that opens into your old closet, remaining in the attic room. Be careful not to access the box until you receive protected refuge first. Rest assured, the danger lingers; he somehow tracked me down, not unlike how he likely traced you. Specially in light of these details, you should unravel Vietnam's decay and make amends. He's certain to discover you, one way or another."

Sure enough, a hidden door was present in the location described. I instructed Shelly to wait in the motel room while I inspected the room. Ten minutes later, I entered the vacant room, careful to avoid the door to the office.

The main level was deserted, so I tiptoed toward the front door, praying that we'd locked it like we should have done from the start. No one crowded the front or office door, which was undeniably a blessing. Returning to Shelly, I suggested we move to a motel.

We didn't want to travel in my car since it could be easily identified near our residences. As a different approach, I used a trademark outer container trick I learnt from my former buddy Bob. Storing a semi-dry clay container in my trunk, adding a splash or two from a bottle of water to produce red mud. Smearing the murky mix over the license plate and the car's back completed my act of camouflage. Within minutes, the license plate was difficult to decipher just six feet away; anyone scanning vehicle tags while driving would want to confirm if it was, in fact, my car and failed.

Soon enough, we pulled into a motel's parking lot. To extend our anonymity, I slathered the red clay on the license plates and the car. And just in case, I obscured the state's license plate to conceal the car's actual identity.

With my back to the room's door, Shelly was seated, cradling a handkerchief to her eyes. Wiping the tears away, she transferred three lined sheets of paper to me. And let out an aching sigh. "For all these years, I never realized."

The words that made up the notes had small print on every other line. Through a handwriting analysis course during sleuth education, I understood that minuscule handwriting characters implied strong attention to detail, likely coupled with a reticent disposition and moderately low self-esteem. Jake hardly seemed the introverted type demanded by this theory until I finished his letter to Shelly.

"Shelly, if you are privy to this, I have made my exit to be with your mother. I wanted to share some final words with you but mostly to avoid awkward conversations.

I am technically your uncle but isn't the case here. I changed my name from Jake Wilson when I returned from Vietnam. I'll soon divulge the reason, but for now, consider me a new person.

Exploring the mystery surrounding Jake's past could help you understand the man he has always been. It sheds light on why a seemingly distant father is acquainted with you."

We started flirting a bit and eventually I asked her out. At first, she was hesitant, worrying about what others would think. I suggested we go somewhere where no one knew us. We ended up in Hopkinsville, Kentucky, where we had a nice dinner. When I dropped her off, I asked her if she wanted to go out again sometime.

She said it would be challenging because of her daughter. That daughter was you, Shelly. It didn't change anything for me, so I told her that. I also told her I loved her. I hoped she felt the same, and luckily she did.

There was the issue of our age difference. Back then, and even now, an older man with a younger woman seemed wrong to many people. At the time, your mother could have potentially lost her job if we got married, so we agreed we couldn't do that. Instead, she told everyone the man who lived in her house was her brother who had moved from Alabama to Nashville.

I said your mother having a daughter didn't matter to me, but it did. Shelly, from the moment I met you, you took away the pain I felt after the war and helped me get back to work. I started my private investigation business a year after your mother and I made the decision to stay together. You and your mother both played a crucial role in helping me overcome the hardships. While others may have seen me as an ass, there was a reason for that, a reason even you and your mother couldn't fix.

I can't reveal what happened in Vietnam as it's probably still classified, and I'm not proud of it. All I can say is that several North Vietnamese officers met an early demise when I was there, as well as a few South Vietnamese officers and politicians.

During one mission, Larry Braddock (the man on the pictures on my office wall) and I were tasked with capturing and interrogating a South Vietnamese local official believed to be working with the Viet Cong. When we reached his home, he wasn't there. We searched for maps or documents linking him to the Viet Cong and found a small metal box hidden under his bedroom floor. Inside the box were documents proving he was working with the U.S. and not the Viet Cong, plus three bars of gold, each stamped with Vietnamese characters. I took the gold, and Larry took the papers.

On our way back, Larry suggested we keep the gold and send it back to the U.S., dividing it between us when we returned. Although it was against everything I've taught you about doing the right thing, I accepted.

He was caught trying to mail back some stolen jewelry from a village raid. He was court-martialed, sent to a stockade in Saigon for six months, and had to finish his tour.

While in the stockade, Larry requested I keep the gold hidden and not reveal the truth until he returned to the U.S. He threatened to kill me and take the gold if I didn't comply. I agreed, but later felt terrible about having it in the first place. We had taken what was probably his life's savings. I felt remorseful when his city was invaded by the North Vietnamese. If he still had the gold, I'm confident his family would've been able to escape.

I subsequently changed my name and moved from Atlanta to Nashville to avoid Larry. However, I should've just admitted the truth to the police. I didn't want to disgrace my parents who died a few years later and left no other relatives. After their passing, I attended the VA hospital in Nashville every month to try to heal, and I've been going there since. I had to use my real name to obtain benefits, and after my last visit, a doctor told me someone inquired whether I'd been there. Although the VA doesn't share that information, the doctor couldn't confirm or deny.

One night, I called you because I knew Larry would be the only one searching for me. He'd understand the VA's protocols and would know if I didn't visit the VA, they would claim I was deceased. When they told him they couldn't confirm my whereabouts, he'd realize I was in Nashville. I'm not sure how he tracked me down, but I'm convinced that if I haven't passed away due to natural causes, Larry was the one who murdered me.

I also believe Jason can decipher the circumstances. Once he does, I'd like you to do two things on my behalf. Ensure that Larry receives justice for what he did to me, and apologize to Jason on my behalf. I never considered Jason an evil person. It pained me that he managed to steal clients from me. I lament the inability to apologize to the man in Vietnam and return his gold, as he's likely deceased.

As Shelly, here's probably all there is to say. Hopefully, you won't disapprove of me after comprehending the truth about me. I adored your mother and you with my entire heart. If I have any regrets about both of you, it's that I couldn't convince your mother to marry me. I would've been overjoyed to be called Daddy by you.

I handed the papers back to Shelly.

"I'm truly sorry, Shelly."

Shelly brushed away her tears.

"If I'd known... But I suppose he was shielding us from his past transgressions."

"I believe he found what he desired in you and your mother. You ought to be proud that you both aided him. I'm gratified for his apology. Jake had more integrity than many assumed."

"I trusted him to be a good man. I simply wish we had had one final conversation..."

"I do as well. Is there anything else in the box?"

"No, only the letter and the military papers."

"Then the gold must have been in the storage unit as Larry claimed. He likely already has it."

"Should we try to locate him and seize it back?"

"No. He seemed rather content with his pistol and I think he wouldn't hesitate to kill either of us. I believe the authorities will manage him."

I phoned Captain Richards of the Nashville police department and shared what transpired at Jake's workplace along with the letter found within the box. I also provided a detailed account of what actually went down the night Jake was slain. Ron inquired if I'd visited his office to file a report.

Ron was intrigued but not wholly convinced until I handed over the letter for him to peruse. He read roughly halfway through before gazing back at me.

"Jason, I've never witnessed you do a half-hearted task, but until I saw this name, I presumed you might have this time. The person who phoned to notify police about Jake's body was named Larry Braddock. I'll have our patrol officers locate him if possible. I'd like to interview him again."

I informed Captain Richards about Larry possessing the address and key to the storage building, and that he likely took the gold bars. Ron suggested having a desk officer check all the storage facilities in the region to determine which one Jake had rented. Once they obtained this information, they'd check if the security cameras at those establishments had recorded Larry removing anything.

Shelly and I remained at the Franklin motel until Captain Richards contacted me a day later. They arrested Larry at a low-cost motel in Gallatin. In his truck, they discovered the address and key to the storage building but no gold. Additionally, they found a spring baton belonging to police and a 1911 pistol in the vehicle. In the glove compartment, they found a boat rental receipt from one of the marinas on Percy Priest Lake.

They transferred Larry to an interrogation room and began asking questions.

The detectives questioned Larry about the storage facility first, and stated they had footage of him entering the locked space. Larry replied that it belonged to him, although he had yet to put anything inside. They inquired as to how he managed to rent it using Jake's name, and Larry explained he didn't want anyone to know about his possession due to having items he didn't want his children to discover. He claimed he didn't need to present any form of identification since he had paid in cash.

Later, the detective presented Larry with the actual rental agreement, which included Jake's driver's license and his signature. Larry promptly requested a lawyer.

During their waiting period for the solicitor to arrive, the detectives performed some examinations of the items in Larry's truck and dealt with some background related to my theory. When they were back at the interrogation room with Larry and his counsel, they commenced questioning him about the alleged drowning. However, Larry's lawyer instructed him to remain silent, but he tried to defend himself anyway.

In my view, Larry got close enough to Jake to knock him unconscious, remove his life vest and camera, and proceeded to push him overboard. When Jake had drowned, he dragged him back to the shore and left him there. The only method he could have carried out this crime was through owning another watercraft. The vehicle rental receipt confirmed Larry had taken the boat out at 6:00 PM that night and returned it at 6:00 AM the following day.

When they inquired about this, Larry asserted he was just angling for catfish in the area, despite not catching one. They questioned how he was near the shore when he'd borrowed the vessel directly across from Jake's, observing that Larry must have been awfully tired from a night-long quest to reel in some fish. Larry simply retorted he didn't require as much sleep as others.

The police officers probed Larry regarding the baton and firearm they discovered in his truck. He explained he bought the pistol since he worked past midnight and needed protection. The investigators questioned about his place of employment, and Larry responded he was self-employed as a private detective. When they asked to view his credentials, Larry claimed he had just commenced his path to attaining his permit.

They also asked about the baton, and he mentioned it was merely a tool of last resort to avoid lethal force. They remarked that hair and blood test results matching Jake's were found on the baton. Larry's attorney insisted on discussing the case privately with him. The detectives allowed them half an hour of privacy but observed through a closed-circuit camera.

Larry, riled up due to his legal representative's counsel, slammed his fists on the table and waved his arms in disapproval after his solicitor finished speaking. His lawyer then instructed him to nod, and they exited the room. Larry's attorney tapped the table a couple of times and frowned.

"What precisely will you be charging my client with?"

Detective Will Mason, who took the lead in this case, chuckled. "He's likely to face charges for the murder of Jake Wilson, the attempted murder of Jason Sanders and Shelly Parker, possession of a concealed weapon without the necessary permit, and burglary of the storage unit rented by Mr. Wilson."

The lawyer took into consideration Larry's age and mental state before asking for a plea deal, conceding to commit Larry to a mental institution instead of prison. However, Detective Will thwarted the defense lawyer's request by stating they had additional proof from Larry's military records: both he and Jake had served in the same Vietnam unit, with job records detailing their assignment to the same team. Additionally, there was a letter from Jake to Shelly about their plans to smuggle gold from Vietnam. In it, Jake mentioned he'd received a message from Larry that suggested if he refused to share the gold's profits, Larry would murder him.

The lawyer certainly considered this as a possibility of mitigating the charges, but Larry ultimately turned down the proposition.

In short, the lead detective informed the lawyer they had substantial proof Larry had deliberately killed Jake, endangered Shelly and Jason, misappropriated the storage facility, and carried an unlicensed weapon. The only option might have been, theoretically, for Larry to mention where he had concealed the stolen gold, as that could lessen the gravity of the charges. Nonetheless, Larry was notably reluctant to accept such an offer.

"Mr. Braddock claims that no gold was found in the storage unit, therefore he's unable to provide it to you."

Will smirked.

"So, he's admitting to knowing Mr. Wilson, being aware of the gold, and travelling to Nashville exclusively for this reason?"

"True, he'll acknowledge that."

"Does he also admit to the murder of Mr. Wilson?"

The lawyer and Larry engaged in a low-volume conversation for a minute or two, and then the lawyer faced the detectives once more.

"Mr. Braddock will confess to murdering Mr. Wilson, yet it wasn't premeditated. He boarded a vessel in order to talk with Mr. Wilson out in the anchor area. Mr. Wilson asserted that he no longer had the gold. Mr. Braddock grew enraged, struck Mr. Wilson with his baton, and rendered him unconscious. With Mr. Wilson unconscious, Mr. Braddock decided it necessary to make it appear as if it were an accident. He took off Mr. Wilson's life vest and pushed him into the water. To ensure it seemed like an accident, he moved Mr. Wilson's body near the shore and wedged his hand into some rocks to keep the body in place.

"He also took Mr. Wilson's camera, camera storage case, life vest, and boat cushion. The camera and case are likely submerged in the lake between there and the dock. Mr. Braddock burned the other belongings. In anticipation of a potential investigation, he reported discovering the body the following morning."

Will furrowed his brow.

"That clarifies the demise of Mr. Wilson. Now, what about the attempted murder of Mr. Sanders and Miss Parker? That seems premeditated to me."

The attorney slapped the table again.

"As I mentioned before, my client is 72 years old. If he pleads guilty to second-degree murder, he will perish in prison. Why bother augmenting the sentence? It would simply consume our time and money."

On the following morning, Larry Braddock was in court. He pled guilty to second-degree murder and received a sentence of fifty years to life without the possibility of parole.

|||

Shelly remained distraught after receiving Jake's letter, but she took solace in the fact that his murder would never again threaten society. I met with Shelly at Jake's office on the following Monday afternoon to help her sort through his belongings. She greeted me at the entrance.

"Hi Jason. I had a dumpster delivered this morning, so we have a location to discard items we plan to dispose of. Is there anything of Jake's you'd like to have? I'm certain he'd want you to claim it, and I'm uncertain what to do with much of this clutter."

It was similar to when I had cleaned out Bob's office years ago. Jake didn't seem to own a gun or handcuffs, like Bob, but like myself, he wouldn't have found much use for them. The desk was so old it was disintegrating, and the best option was most likely to burn it along with the other furniture. The camera equipment might bring a considerable sum in an auction, but that was about everything worth anything. This was what I told Shelly. She sighed.

"Yes, I suppose you're correct. I'd still like to possess something to remember Uncle Jake by, though. I'm not fond of that artificial tree, but perhaps the pot can be used for something else. Could you lift this tree and carry it outside to the dumpster?"

I hoisted the artificial tree, while Shelly held down the pot, and was attempting to leave through the door when she clutched my leg.

"Take a peek at this!"

I placed the tree on the ground and bent over to examine it. There, in the pot's base, were the three traces of gold, yet they were not actual bars. They were roughly the thickness of a shoebox cardboard and about four inches by an inch and a half in dimension. Larry wasn't lying when he asserted they didn't find the gold in the storage facility.

I chuckled.

"I imagine Jake considered concealing it in plain sight to be more effective than attempting to lock it up somewhere. Jake was quite astute. Nobody would have considered examining the pot."

"How much is it worth?"

"I'm unsure. Did Jake possess a postal scale?"

Jake did have one in his office. The total weight of the gold slabs was just slightly more than five ounces. I pulled out my phone to look at the current gold value.

"So, Shelly, it's worth approximately sixty-five hundred, possibly five hundred to a thousand less after paying for an assessment and employing a broker to sell it for you."

"Well then, why shouldn't we report this to the police?"

"Shelly, would you want it?"

Shelly shook her head.

"It would place me in a higher tax bracket, which would result in losing a significant portion of it. Moreover, I couldn't relish in the enjoyment of the items it could procure given my knowledge of Uncle Jake's origins and motives."

When it comes to trusting the Nashville police, I've got no doubt in their ability to uphold justice. However, I couldn't say the same about the rest of the government. The city could potentially snatch the stolen goods for their own benefits or pocket the money, so I didn't feel they needed it for the investigation. Since Jake hadn't specified the location of the gold in his letter, we assumed he'd already sold it sometime before.

Larry had confessed and was heading to prison, and turning over the gold wouldn't contribute to the investigation much if we had nothing to go on. There was a possibility that Shelly could get in trouble if she tried selling the gold, along with having to explain its origin. It would be branded as an illegitimate war trophy, and I wasn't confident in the hands of the federal government.

One morning, Shelly surfed the web to unearth a non-profit organization operating in Middle Tennessee, designed to support the Vietnamese community. Their goals and previous actions pointed toward an earnest dedication to their cause.

We paid them a visit the next day, presenting ourselves as reporters. I questioned the director, while Shelly snacked on papers piled on his desk, prepping to unveil a brown envelope containing the gold bars and a note that read, "An apology from a former soldier. I can't return the stolen item to the individual I illegally obtained it from in Vietnam, so please use it to uplift the Vietnamese folks." She returned to my side, showing a contented smile. We thanked the director and departed.

Later, as we cruised back to Jake's office, Shelly heaved a breath.

"Figuring out what occurred with Uncle Jake, catching Larry, and returning the gold to the Vietnamese community felt quite exhilarating, although, obviously, Uncle Jake's passing is unfortunate. I could even develop an appetite for this detective life. I suppose Uncle Jake would've favored our actions."

"Do you think of taking over Jake's agency?"

"I wouldn't attempt to hijack it - more of a merger, your and his operations. Jake left several open cases, and I'm positive you've got fresh cases approaching your desk. I could work as your assistant, handling tasks you can't while you focus on your best skills. Take my word, I'm an expert at doing chores like computer searches, even at night. I'm also witty when engaging women and a few men, too. In that aspect."

"I understand your prowess in speaking to women and kind of men, but computer work is my go-to task during late-night meals. Anything else?"

"Oh, yes, you may be intrigued. Guys tend to operate differently, but I'm quite capable of blending in."

Shelly burst into laughter.

"Perhaps not in a way that would pass as plausible."

"I agree. Yet, what about your academic background? I recall your degree was in accountancy."

"That's correct. I'd be more than happy to make sense of your financials and manage your books. I helped Uncle Jake with that job in the past."

"That would surely be a helpful addition, but what else?"

"But wait, there's one more thing. I'm not always keen on abiding by the rules of 'behaving like a nice lady.' Do we want to test the waves of our friendship? I believe we could become more than just pals. Perhaps you might design me as your secret weapon."

"Shelly, how did we come up with that notion? Our relationship has just begun!"

Shelly flashed another grin. [I wouldn't have pegged you for a traditionalist.] I exited the parking lot of a church, brought the car to a halt, and looked into Shelly's eyes. In that moment, the novelty of our potential union became crystal clear. Could Shelly actually go against societal norms? Only time would tell.

"Uncle Jake used to think you could tell someone's personality after just five minutes of talking to them. Since we've conversed for more than that, I bet I know who you are. You share some qualities with Jake, but you're more pleasant to others than he was. You're thoughtful and considerate of others."

Shelly provides some clues to help you decipher the answer:

"Think about what you see with, what occurs before noon, what a trombone is, and what concludes play."

"You view with your eyes, morning arrives before noon..."

She hands you a notepad and pen from your dashboard.

"It may help if you jot down your ideas as they come."

You scribble down "eye, morning" and ponder.

"A trombone is a wind instrument."

You add that to your list.

"The end of play...I'm struggling to fathom. In baseball, that would refer to the third out in the ninth inning, but it doesn't seem fitting along with the other clues. If we focus strictly on 'play,' the conclusion would be..."

You furrow your brow.

"The termination of 'play' ends in 'Y'. Is that correct?"

Shelly chuckled.

"I'm not resolving your mystery for you. Keep endeavoring."

You inspect your scribbled list: "eye, morning, wind instrument, y." If the final clue was a single letter, perhaps the others were too. "Eye" seems similar to "I". And a breakthrough struck you - possibly Shelly was using sound associations to spell a word or words. You alter your list to "I, morning, wind instrument, y".

It remained perplexing. You couldn't think of a word that rhymed with morning or wind instrument. An idea struck - perhaps another description for morning. The clock on your dashboard provided the answer. You revised your list to "I, AM, wind instrument, Y", and remained seated in silence.

Shelly said, "I'm hinting that I'm an entity with a name ending in Y". You attempted to recall another moniker for trombone or wind instrument. I'm blessed with the right answer and change "wind instrument" to "trumpet." Now, your list reads, "I, AM, trumpet,Y".

With a laugh, you say, "So, are you...horny?"

Shelly smiles and shrugs her slender shoulders.

"Well, four years have lapsed."

At that point, we didn't get to Jake's office that day. Instead, I directed us to my workplace as it was significantly nearer than Shelly's residence. Once I locked the door behind us and ushered her through the entrance to the apartment region of my office, Shelly commenced doffing her clothing. She was untying her bra when she shot you a grin.

"I'm aware certain men like to enact this. Yet, after four years, I'm rather impatient. Will you remain clothed or what?"

She surpassed you to the bed by one shoe and stripped off your jeans and briefs. You were in the process of undoing your footwear, albeit it proved challenging due to Shelly sprawled across the bed.

Beholding Shelly's curvacious form was mesmerizing: her breasts, even larger as they weren't strapped down by a bra; her swollen nipples, bigger than most. Her petite waist was flat, apart from the hints of her hip bones; and the neatly trimmed thatch of dark hair above her vagina shaped like a neat "V". The erect labia just beneath were damp and inviting.

Balancing on one foot and trying to remove your shoe was proving challenging. You eventually relinquished and discarded the shoe without untying it. You eventually divested yourself of your jeans and briefs and sat beside Shelly.

She was an attractive woman in a petite frame. Her generous breasts caveated her cleavage; her erect nipples were larger than most I had witnessed. Her flat tummy had only minor protrusions at her hips; while the thatch of dark hair above her sex was neatly trimmed into an attractive, even "V" shape. The silky lips below seemed puffy, but they were shorn smooth.

Attempting to gaze at her yet maintain your balance on one foot proved taxing. Finally, you gave up and discarded your remaining shoe. You managed to strip down to your briefs and climbed onto the bed beside Shelly. She caresses your chest gently and smirks.

"So, have you reached an epiphany?"

"Almost. Bend down and kiss me."

Shelly bestows a more imperative-seeming statement than a clue. Your kiss bewitched you from your mouth to your penis. After she withdrew, a smile graced her face.

"Have you decoded the conundrum, dear?"

While gently caressing her stomach, I nibbled on Shelly's nipple and gently pinched it. She emitted a small moan, and I could feel her belly trembling. I licked the tip, causing her stomach to quiver even more, before slipping my hand down to her pubic region.

I lightly touched her copious dark curls, and then slid my hand lower. Shelly's legs parted slightly as my fingers touched her nether lips. Opening her legs a tad wider, her lips separated just enough to allow me to feel their edges with my middle finger.

Her hips shifted as I caressed the small slit, prompting a moan from her. She became more vocal when I slipped my finger in between her folds. While her outer lips weren't particularly elongated, they were already wet and slick. I caressed them gently before gradually pushing my finger deeper.

Shelly's breathing became faster when my finger penetrated her. I was slightly concerned since my penis isn't particularly large, but it was clear that she was somewhat tight.

As I resumed kissing her, Shelly whispered, "Kiss me again," which I gladly obliged. Her lips trembled, and I could tell she was growing even wetter due to our passionate embrace. My finger slipping in and out of her aided this process.

Shelly's hips began to gyrate against my fingers while I caressed her clitoris. Her hips jerked and she gasped as her hips thrust upwards. There was a breathless moment as she moaned and locked her lips to mine, surely feeling an intense connection.

Despite my focus on her clitoris, she unexpectedly inserted two fingers instead of one. Shelly gasped, resulting in her hips elevating slightly. However, once my fingers reached the depth of her inner walls, she abruptly pushed down and cried out. Her hips began to undulate rhythmically.

Shelly needed to regain her composure, so she requested a brief pause. After a minute or so, she rose from me, panting heavily while stroking the length of my cock. She playfully shuffled onto my lap, commenting, "Given how well you did with me, I'll reciprocate now."

I assumed I'd soon be receiving a handjob, but instead, she sat on my lap, beaming. Excitement swelled within me, thoroughly caught off guard by her brazen move.

Shelly extended one smooth thigh across me, straddling my body. She raised her pelvis, lifted herself up, and moved her body forward, impaling herself upon my rigid erection. My penis encountered a tight spot that made it difficult for me to fit inside, but with a little finesse, my cock soon slipped through that narrow path.

Her eyelids closed as she bore down, arching her back and reveling in the sensation. With her eyes still closed, she retired to a crouching position. She then lifted her upper body, enabling me to observe her rocking back and forth, smoothly gliding against me. Her head dipped forward, and I could detect her lips brushing my chest while her tongue was working my mouth.

Her lips met mine in a languid kiss before she resumed her thrusts. Her hips gradually increased in speed, and her moans became more intense. Her breasts swayed back and forth as she furiously rocked against my cock.

Fluidly, she leaned forward, trapping my lips in her ardent pursuit. Our mouths parted, my hands settling on her firm breasts, rubbing her nipples as she ground against me. I nestled my head between her ample breasts, sensing her breath quicken against my cheek as she began to thrash her body, inciting seismic shifting.

As the frequency of her movements began to heighten, my fingers gently tugged on her nipples, eliciting breathy cries. Shelly clung to my shoulders as her hips seemed to spasm and her breasts shuddered. She nestled her head against me, her hair falling over my chest as she turned even more animated.

Each motion of her body pushed her upper lip against mine, causing my words of encouragement to be drowned out by her pleading cries. This intense back-and-forth interaction prompted my cock to throb and one of my hands grasped her breast, squeezing it gently while my other hand maneuvered her clitoris.

By the time her satisfaction swelled, her hips surged and paused with each breath I exhaled. She leaned her head back frantically, moaning softly. Her breasts quaked against my chest as she slowly lifted herself up. Her legs locked around me tightly before eventually relaxing.

Could it be that I was nearing the finish line too? I was hanging on for dear life when Shelly gasped and exclaimed, "Oh my god, I'm almost there." She slammed her body down onto my erection and began to rapidly grind her hips. I held onto those gyrating hips and pushed up, as my member exploded for the first time. Shelly yelled, "don't stop Jason!", and eventually fell onto my chest. Her hips rose and fell while writhing from side to side with each orgasm. It had been over after three spurts, and all that remained was me lying there, stroking her hips as she continued to pant and struggle to push my phallus deeper within her.

The contractions subsided once she raised herself on her arms, leaned in to kiss me, and chuckled.

"We're not bad when we do it this way either."

"Indeed, that was something else."

Shelly traced my chest with her fingernail.

"This doesn't have to come to an end either, do you know? I'm certain Jake and Mama did this as well."

"So does that mean I should propose to you like Jake wanted to do with your mother?"

Shelly grinned.

"No, not quite yet anyway. Allow me to see how things progress in the physical aspect for now. I can assure you it will work just fine regardless."

}|{

Following a month's passage, Sanders, Wilson, & Parker Investigations started operating out of Jake's old office. Being gracious, Shelly requested that we retain his name on the business. I could not disagree as Jake had facilitated our meeting, so I acknowledge him for such.

I no longer require a lengthy period of driving to work, nor does Shelly. Since Jake owned the entire structure, the upper level was transformed into an apartment and connected with a staircase that ends in Shelly's office. Although petite in size, it suits our needs; neither overbearing nor too spacious. The top feature is that we can be in our workplace in an hour without enduring Nashville's chaotic morning rush hour.

Shelly acquired an office, where she now manages all the financials. Her paperwork deserves personal space. I realized I'd been ignoring a plethora of tax breaks these years. Shelly asserted these were legal opportunities.

The local Vietnamese organization made an announcement that they received a fictitious grant. Despite its limited size, it enables a Vietnamese student to attend Middle Tennessee State University. Jake would appreciate knowing he's aiding the community.

I'm scheduled to visit a client this afternoon. This campaign group suspects a worker is stealing money. Predictably, they wanted to evade the police. Instead, they opted to approach Shelly and me. I plan to bring back their account records for Shelly to scrutinize. Following that, I will try to gather some images of Mrs. Eggins and her paramour.

I observed them together and appear to be remunerated generously or may have a unique sexual preference. Mrs. Eggins is far from attractive, and she struggles to fit her backside into her vehicle. Although her bust size is extravagant, her hips and buttocks are obscenely large. Therefore, this individual may have a fetish for big behinds. However, I can't predict if they'll provide a more pleasing sight today; it might be as upsetting as before. The previous event was one of those instances where you wish to forget, yet can't. I don't presume this time to be any more pleasurable.

Read also:

• Is It Worth the Risk?
• Courtney Cuckolds: Gentle Seductions
• Brenna at The Academy Chapter 2
• Chapter 4: Text Analysis and Processing

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