Jaclyn Hill Mystery
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When I was sixteen, my grandfather died. His body lay in a coffin at the front of our house, surrounded by friends and relatives who had come to pay their respects. We’d known for years that he suffered from dementia and his mental decline had been rapid over the past year or so.
Still, I found myself struggling to reconcile this image of him with my memories – those moments when Grandpa’s mind was sharp as an arrow, firing off one hilarious line after another in the family dinner table banter. He hadn’t been there much these days, but still, he was always Grandpa to me.
So it wasn’t until we were all gathered together on our front porch for the memorial service that I finally understood why Grandpa was no longer here with us. Because even though Grandpa was gone, his ghost lingered around every corner of our home.
The funeral procession made its way up to the cemetery where we would gather to watch Grandpa buried beneath the earth alongside my grandmother. In between tears and prayers, we talked about what a good man he’d been, how everyone liked him because he didn’t gossip and he never lied.
My sister told me how she’d once asked her parents if they could adopt him because she loved him so much, but Dad said no. And Mom just smiled through her grief, saying how Grandpa had always treated her like a queen and how he had been so proud when she went into politics. The last thing anyone wanted to hear about on such a terrible day was how great my grandfather was.
As if sensing the need for something different to discuss, Grandma turned to me and said, “Your father says you’re going back to school next week.” I nodded in agreement and looked down at the red velvet dress I wore under my jacket.
“I’m nervous,” I admitted. “It’s hard being away from everyone else. What happens to people when they graduate?”
Grandma patted my knee before standing and walking toward the cemetery gate. She stopped and looked back over her shoulder. “Don’t worry, Jaclyn. You’ll be fine. Just follow your heart.” Then she walked inside and closed the gate behind her.
Jaclyn Hill Mystery
My mother stood in the kitchen holding a plate of cookies. It wasn’t clear whether it was to comfort someone who was grieving or simply because there were only two guests sitting at our breakfast nook table that morning.
Grandpa had died earlier that year, and now my grandmother lived alone in a small apartment near the hospital where she worked. Her mind was sharp as ever, but she’d fallen victim to a series of minor strokes that left her unsteady on her feet.
“Did you eat enough yesterday, dear? Do you feel well?”
My mother took a seat next to me while I poured a glass of orange juice and then set aside the cookies.
“Yes, I ate plenty. And I’m feeling fine,” I said. But my stomach felt like something crawled out of it during the night and decided to make myself comfortable. I pushed down the lump forming in my throat.
Mom smiled and leaned forward. “You look exhausted, darling.”
That wasn’t true. I felt rested for the first time in weeks. Not tired, not worn-out, not anything other than calm and confident. But I couldn’t say any of that yet. For months since my granddad had died, my life had spiraled out of control and I’d spent the majority of my days in bed.
Now though, for the first time in ages, I was awake and aware and feeling almost normal again. And so I gave my mother the most honest answer I could muster: “No, I haven’t slept much lately, that’s all.”
“Oh, sweetheart, you don’t have to lie to me,” Mom said. “We know you’ve been suffering from insomnia.”
My eyes widened at this news. “How did you—”
“Everyone knows,” she said. “What happened is terrible and you should never talk about it, but I think everyone would rather know about this than wonder why you look half dead these days. You can tell me everything later, you know.” She leaned closer and placed her hand on mine.
“But for now, let’s just focus on getting you up and out of here. You’re going to the beach for a few days. Don’t forget that your father booked your flight yesterday afternoon.”
She got up, leaving me with my thoughts. When I glanced up at her, she said, “Now hurry. The taxi will be here in thirty minutes. Oh, and Jaclyn?”
“Yeah, Mom?”
“Just go and enjoy yourself.” She smiled.
After she’d disappeared through the kitchen door, I finished my juice and headed upstairs to pack the bag Grandpa had packed for me two decades before. As I pulled on jeans and sweaters, I couldn’t help thinking about Grandpa. He’d been so smart—so knowledgeable about everything.
His death meant nothing now, though. All my life, even before I knew what Alzheimer’s was, I’d worried that one day it would happen to Grandpa too. We weren’t close by choice – it had simply been impossible to spend as much time together as Mom wanted us to. But every Christmas and Easter, we sent cards and gifts and called each other on birthdays to exchange presents.
When he was alive, Grandpa and I were friends in the sense that we shared a love of reading. We’d talked endlessly about books and authors and how their works reflected certain periods in history.
Grandpa had been fascinated by the early twentieth century, especially the First World War and the Spanish Civil War. He had a collection of books and magazines covering his favorite era and always offered me a copy of anything new he bought.
In fact, Grandpa had done more than anyone else to teach me about history. He’d taught me about the great powers of the world before World War Two; how England ruled Europe until the Second Great War; the rise of Russia in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, including the Soviet Union, and the fall of communism.
He also spoke extensively about the wars between America and its neighbors in the South, the Civil War, and the Mexican American War. And his knowledge extended to the Middle East, Africa, and Asia. Even before becoming an avid reader, he loved listening to the radio and watching old movies of the period.
And now his brain was gone, destroyed by something I didn’t fully understand and never would. I wondered if Grandpa’s illness might somehow lead to my own dementia and then, years later, death. Or maybe it was some kind of curse that had afflicted him. Maybe that’s what I needed to find out. That’s where his journal came into play.
I went downstairs to the study and flipped through the pages. I found the entry I’d read dozens of times over the past few months, only to realize I hadn’t made it halfway down the page before the words began blurring together.
Jaclyn and I are going south to Florida for a few days. It will do me good to get out of town, even for a short while. I’m hoping Jaclyn agrees.
***
The trip to the coast was uneventful enough, but I was still glad when I finally arrived. Dad and Jaclyn picked me up at Miami International Airport, and I spent two weeks at Grandpa’s former home – just north of Key West.
I was determined to discover exactly what happened with my grandfather and why he’d written his journal in such detail before he died. I was also curious about his relationship with my grandmother and what had led them apart. They’d been married for sixty years. What caused them to divorce?
It seemed obvious that Grandpa’s condition had been accelerating after his wife’s death. After they’d been apart for twenty-five years, he met his end in his home, alone, surrounded by the same books I’d seen him reading for so many hours in his later life.
It was a lonely death that had left his last thoughts of Jaclyn confused and angry. And there was another question I needed to ask myself. Why had I not told him that I loved him before he passed away? My mother would have insisted.
While I searched through Grandpa’s journals, my mother and brother stayed in Miami with Jaclyn, enjoying themselves at the beach or shopping around town. On most nights, they’d all go out for dinner and cocktails afterward.
Jaclyn had arranged for a car service to drive me from the hotel to the hospital every morning, which gave me time to work on my book. I had no idea what it was going to be, although I did know that Grandpa had planned to write a memoir of his own.
But that changed when he started to write his journal. In fact, he’d stopped writing the memoir altogether, choosing instead to focus on the events of his final years. And that made sense since Jaclyn was living with him at the time.
The journal revealed a side to Grandpa that wasn’t discussed much in our regular phone conversations and emails – an emotional and often anguished man who’d lost both the woman he loved and the ability to function in society as he once had.
My search yielded little in the way of answers. I was hoping to find evidence of Grandpa’s illness, proof that it had been a curse, but instead, all I could find were notes on his daily activities and thoughts about his future. Nothing concrete.
But one day during my fourth week down at the Keys, I happened upon a note about Grandpa being interviewed by a journalist friend of his named Jim Rafferty.
Jaclyn had mentioned that her father and Rafferty had spoken before, but I’d assumed they’d discussed Grandpa’s memoirs and not politics. So I read on.
Mr. Rafferty had called last month to invite me to speak with his class about President Roosevelt, World War One, and the assassination of John F. Kennedy. He asked if I’d consider speaking at a school in Key Largo near their vacation house – the same place they stayed in December.
The students were interested in learning about the First World War and its impact on American history. Mr. Rafferty said he would pay for any travel expenses and even suggested that he might offer me a job teaching in one of the area high schools next year.
The thought of leaving New York made me uneasy, especially because of how long it took to get here and back. But the more I considered it, the more appealing it sounded. If Jaclyn could find a way for us to live in this wonderful house full-time, I was willing to give it a try.
Grandpa wrote that Jaclyn had encouraged him to speak with Rafferty about giving lectures again, and she wanted him to go ahead with it. Jaclyn had been right. I’d done some research online to see what kind of jobs were available in Key Largo and found an elementary school that required a math teacher.
I emailed the headmaster of the school, explaining that the position would require relocation, especially considering how long the drive was from Florida City. The response came less than an hour later.
“This is great news!” he wrote. “We’d love to have you as part of the team.”
That night Jaclyn and I went out for dinner at a local Italian restaurant. She didn’t mention anything about my interview, but I knew she must have spoken to him while I was doing my searches.
She brought up the topic again the following evening as we watched TV together. “So how do you feel about moving to Key Largo?”
I hadn’t expected that question, nor did I expect the answer I gave. “What do you mean, Mom?”
Jaclyn looked at me with wide eyes, clearly surprised. “Don’t you want to move down there with me? It’s only an hour’s flight away from Miami.”
There it was again. The old familiar fear gripping my insides. What if she finds someone else down there? What if my family doesn’t welcome me with open arms because I’m not the perfect daughter anymore?
I felt the tears welling inside my eyes. “Mom, it’s not that simple,” I tried to explain. “You know I love you very much. You’re like my sister.”
She held her hands out wide, pleading with me to understand. “I know! That’s why I think I should move to Key Largo too.”
“No! No, Jaclyn!” I shook my head, trying to stop myself from crying. “It’s not a good idea.”
Her mouth turned down in disgust. “Why not?”
Because you’ll leave me behind. Because she’ll make fun of me and tell people you forced me to come down here. And I can’t handle any more humiliation after everything I’ve already endured.
Jaclyn stood up from the couch, her face red with anger. “How many times do I need to say this? It’s your choice, but I’m going anyway.”
Jaclyn left the room and closed the door behind her. I sat frozen, holding the picture frame in front of me. My hand trembled as I stared at the two faces staring back at me. I could almost hear them calling me a loser and telling me to get lost. Then I heard Jaclyn shout, “Stop it!” and then something hit the wall hard enough to crack the drywall.
Jaclyn must have kicked it. And now I couldn’t ignore my own feelings.
***
The next morning I packed the few things I’d brought down to Florida with me, then walked downstairs with my suitcase to find Jaclyn waiting for me, ready to walk the short distance to the airport. Her hair was combed neatly, and she wore a navy blue dress with matching shoes.
We exchanged small talk about Key Largo and Jaclyn’s plans for the day, then walked out onto the beach. She told me she wanted to take me to visit the ocean before we flew to Key Largo. I didn’t respond, choosing instead to look down at the ground in silence as I watched my feet tread through the sand. After several minutes, Jaclyn spoke again.
“What are you so worried about?”
I raised my head and looked at her over my shoulder. She had a smirk on her face. It wasn’t funny. Jaclyn was always saying things like this when she didn’t understand something or felt uncomfortable about something she saw in others. But I didn’t have time to deal with her. “I just want to go home,” I said. “Now.”
Jaclyn sighed loudly and leaned against one of the wooden chairs by the pool, crossing her legs. “All right. We can do that, but first I’m going to show you around the island.”
Jaclyn started walking, her heels tapping on the sand as they made their way toward the sea. As we passed by the pool, I glanced inside and noticed that a group of kids was swimming underwater with goggles on and flippers strapped to their ankles, making big circles in the water.
Their laughter echoed into the sky, and some adults were watching from the sidelines. When I looked back out at the ocean, Jaclyn was still there, standing beside me looking out at the waves rolling in, the sun shining above.
“Where exactly am I going?” I asked.
Jaclyn pointed to the white sailboat moored near shore, its mast rising higher than Jaclyn’s head. “The marina is just across the street here. There’s a yacht club too.” She nodded towards a cluster of palm trees lining the road, then pointed to the beach. “That’s where you’ll be staying. And there’s a golf course close by. I’ll show you where it is later.”
“And I get to choose who I live with?”
Jaclyn laughed, “As long as he’s nice.”
“He’s not a friend.”
Jaclyn stopped abruptly and turned back towards me. “What did you just say?”
I swallowed hard. Now wasn’t the time to mention it, but I’d already done it once before. “A friend of mine will be living in Key Largo.” I paused for a moment, unsure how to continue. “Someone you know.”
“Who?” Jaclyn demanded.
“Your dad.”
Jaclyn stared at me for a long time and then finally spoke. “Are you joking?”
I shook my head. “Not really.”
Jaclyn opened her mouth to speak, but I interrupted her and added, “Look, he needs me.” I took a deep breath and looked away from Jaclyn. “I don’t want him to think I’m a burden.”
“Jaclyn!”
She turned her attention back to me and put an arm around my shoulders to comfort me. “You’re not a burden. I love you – we all do.”
But the way Jaclyn’s words sounded – as if she’d said she loved herself rather than everyone else – it wasn’t enough to convince me.
Jaclyn guided us towards the marina where a man wearing shorts and sunglasses leaned casually against one of the wooden docks, chatting with another man dressed in more formal clothing. The other guy held a cigar in his hand, puffing it occasionally as he listened to what the man in the shorts was saying.
Both men appeared old, but they seemed to be having fun. They both chuckled at whatever the other was saying while they drank tall glasses of orange juice from bottles, passing them back and forth between their mouths. I didn’t notice the woman with them until Jaclyn pointed her out.
She smiled when she noticed Jaclyn’s attention, and waved at her to join the conversation. Jaclyn motioned me closer and whispered in my ear:
“This is Tom and Martha – the couple you saw on vacation. She’s Tom’s wife, and she works for the marina.”
I could only stare at the two older people as they talked, unable to tell them apart. All I heard was gibberish. Then Jaclyn reached over and slapped me on the backside of my bare leg, and whispered again: “Go ahead and meet them.”
The man holding the bottle of orange juice stood up straight, and I realized he must be Mr. Tipton, owner of the marina. He was taller than Jaclyn and younger than I’d expected. His hair was thinning and his cheeks were slightly sunken beneath his chin, giving him a more mature appearance than the other two.
The woman standing behind him, with a red flower tucked into the hair on top of her head, was Mrs. Tipton – Tom and Martha’s daughter. I couldn’t see her eyes very well because of the large brimmed hat she wore, which was pulled low over her head and covered half her face. But I did catch sight of a flash of silver teeth through her lips as she grinned at me.
“Welcome,” she said in a loud voice, her accent sounding like a mix of British and American English.
My mouth gaped open as if I’d been slapped in the face. “Uh…” My brain scrambled for something intelligent to say. After all, this was Mr. Tipton who was about to sell me a boat, so Jaclyn had probably told me to act normal. Or maybe I should have been nervous because this was Mr. Tipton, who owned the marina. A place in which my father worked.
Mr. Tipton laughed out loud at the awkward silence that hung in the air between us, and the woman with him joined in, nodding and laughing. They both seemed pleased with themselves, and even though Jaclyn had warned me about the Tiptons, they made me feel uncomfortable.
Jaclyn cleared her throat and broke into a broad smile. “Well, we’ve met, so we can go inside now.” Jaclyn tugged on my arm again, forcing me forward.
Jaclyn led me down a small flight of steps to a concrete dock. On the ground beside us lay several boxes filled with supplies and equipment. It appeared the marina was preparing for its busy season since it was spring break week on Miami Beach and tourists would soon flock to the water in droves.
Jaclyn gestured toward the boxes with her thumb. “That’s what he sold us. And those are things you need. We’ll get your dad to help us set the whole thing up.”
I followed Jaclyn inside the marina building to pay for the boat before returning to the parking lot, but once there, we discovered our truck was gone. Jaclyn cursed loudly.
“How did it get here?” she asked.
I peered around the marina building to the parking lot. “There’s no sign of it.”
Jaclyn sighed heavily and rubbed her forehead with two fingers. “Great,” she muttered, turning away to peer out at the road that circled the marina property. Jaclyn looked at me and shook her head, shaking her arms as if she couldn’t believe the mess she’d created by telling Mr. Tipton we needed a boat. Her expression suggested it wasn’t going to end well.
I felt helpless, and my stomach tightened in worry over how much trouble Jaclyn was in, which made me feel even worse.
Jaclyn grabbed my hand and dragged me toward the edge of the parking lot where a group of teenagers in bathing suits clustered along the seawall near the beach. “Where did they take your truck? Can you see it anywhere?” Jaclyn asked one of the guys in the group, and then another.
She pointed in different directions until someone finally remembered seeing the truck driving past them. The kids agreed it drove north on Ocean Drive and turned left onto the MacArthur Causeway.
Jaclyn took off running down the road after the truck. I ran beside her, trying not to trip over myself on the uneven pavement. “Wait!” I yelled as I fell behind her. “Stop! Wait, Jaclyn!”
But she didn’t stop. The wind from the Gulf of Mexico whipped through Jaclyn’s long blonde hair, pulling it across her face as she sprinted hard down the street. When I got to her, she was already in the grassy median of Ocean Drive with the road stretching behind her and the road ahead of us.
Jaclyn slowed down, breathing heavily while her hands fisted her hair to keep her curls from flying all over her face. “It just drove straight down the middle,” she said as she bent over. “We can cross it when we get back.”
She waved her hand toward the ocean side of the road and then pointed back to the marina side of the street. “And we can walk along the seawall until we find someplace to hide,” she added hopefully.
Jaclyn looked at me, still panting hard. “You’re welcome for getting rid of that stupid truck.”
The End