Brett drove his Fairmont for ten minutes down Jonesville Road.
Brett passed by an area called Garden City, then drove for a mile south and spotted an old historic Queen-style house. It’s located on a massive piece of landscaped property just off the left side of the road. There’s a large sign near the road, but it’s covered with a drop cloth.
Brett glanced at that old Queen-style house. A strong deja vu feeling consumed his body.
Brett drove his Fairmont a little farther down the road, glancing over his shoulder and eying that house. He slowed his Fairmont down and pulled over to the side of the road.
Brett made a U-turn and drove back to that old house, getting near it, before pulling his Fairmont over to the side of the road.
Brett turned it off, got out, and glanced across the road at the house. He concentrated on the main home, which had a detached garage and a small stable in the backyard.
An overwhelming deja vu feeling consumed his body again. Brett removed his cell phone, opened it, and snapped a picture of the house.
“Ahh!” Brett dropped to his knees, clutching his chest from a sudden piercing pain.
The pain lasted for three minutes, then it suddenly disappeared, as quick as it appeared.
Brett stood up and glanced at the house. “There’s something about that house,” he said, intrigued.
Brett got in his Fairmont, cranked up his engine, and drove north. He completely forgot about taking that picture of that housing development for Dorian.
Meanwhile, Howard sat in a chair in the lobby of the Residence Inn, scanning a newspaper. Howard wore a suit, sunglasses, and a Fedora hat, occasionally glanced over the top of the paper, spying on everybody entering and leaving through the front doors.
Twenty minutes passed.
“This is a bust,” Howard said, folding his newspaper. Then his eyes widened, he frantically unfolded the newspaper, and peeked over the top of the pages. Howard observed Brett entering through the front doors with his laptop bag.
Howard glanced at the clock on the wall behind the front desk. “He entered the hotel,” he jotted in his notebook, glancing at the clock.
Brett walked over to the front desk.
A female clerk worked at her computer. She looked up and noticed Brett waiting at the counter. “Yes, sir. How may I help you?”
Brett opened up his cell phone. “Do you know anything about his old house?” “It’s down off Jonesville Road,” he said, showing her the picture he took.
She glanced at the picture. “Ah, yes, that’s the old Whitestone House. It’s now a museum, but I believe it’s been closed for a couple of weeks for repairs. It should be opened in a few days for visitors,” she informed.
“Did you say Whitestone House?” he asked curiously.
“Yes, sir,” she responded.
“Would you, by chance, have some type of brochure?”
“There might be one over in that rack,” the female clearly replied, pointing to her left.
“Thank you,” Brett replied.
“You’re welcome. If there’s anything else you need, we’re here to help,” she responded with a warm smile.
Brett headed over to that rack of tourist sights for the Columbus area.
Howard’s eyes peeked over his newspaper, spying on Brett standing at that rack.
“Ah, here’s something,” Brett said, finding a single-page brochure on the Whitestone Estates museum, then grabbed one.
Howard spied on Brett, glancing at the single-page brochure, before walking to the elevators. He jotted notes with the time in his small notebook, then waited.
Brett got inside an elevator.
The coast is clear. Howard got up and rushed over to that tourist rack. He scanned the location of the brochure Brett grabbed—a Whitestone Estates museum brochure.
“At the hotel, he picked up a brochure for the Whitestone Estates museum. He went to his room,” Howard jotted in his notebook, glancing at his watch.
Howard shoved the brochure, pen, and notepad into his suit pocket.
Howard strutted off through the left lobby and exited through the front doors.
“Watch out, Sam Spade, there’s Howard Bitner, Private Investigator, taking over the business,” he boasted, strutting to the parking lot.
Howard got behind his white 2007 Cadillac CTS and spied on the hotel front doors.
Ten minutes later, in Brett’s hotel room.
Brett glanced over the brochure. “A website,” he said, spotting it at the bottom of the back of the brochure.
He powered up his laptop and typed in that website address. The “Whitestone Estate Museum” website appeared.
It showed a picture of the house he observed off Jonesville Road.
It showed a picture of Aaron Whitestone. He’s a heavyset man with salt-and-pepper slicked-back hair, a thick handlebar mustache, and a white beard.
“He was married to Gertrude, his second wife, as his first wife, Wendy, died from scarlet fever,” Brett read from the website.
The webpage contained information about the Queen-style house being a historical landmark in Aaron’s life.
“Aaron Whitestone was a successful real estate developer in the Columbus area from 1897 until he died in 1919. His brother Wilbur Whitestone was a successful real estate developer in Fort Wayne. It’s been speculated that Aaron and his brother, Wilbur, became successful because of their corrupt business tactics. It was suspected Aaron utilized local Columbus thugs,” Brett read from the website.
Brett stared at the website. His eyes widened. A deja vu feeling hit like a ton of bricks. “Wait, Aaron Whitestone? Why does that name sound so familiar?” he pondered. “Crap, my dreams. Meredith stated that her mother married a guy named Aaron. Meredith’s last name was?” he said, recalling his dreams.
He snapped his fingers. “Whitestone!” “This is all too
bizarre,” Brett said, scanning through the webpage again.
Brett’s cell phone rang. He opened it, looked at the viewfinder, and cringed. “Hello, Sidney,” Brett answered, rolling his eyes.
“Are you finished with my report?” Sidney asked for the cell phone.
Brett sweated. “Ah, no, sir. I’ve been working hard to meet your expectations, but I need a few extra days. I’m so sorry,” Brett replied and cringed.
A few seconds of silence from his cell phone. “Okay. I’ll tell you what. I’ll be fair with you for once. You have until Thursday. Is that enough time?” Sidney replied in a kind voice.
Brett stared in disbelief. “Did you say I have until Thursday, sir?” Brett asked.
“Yes, Thursday.”
“Yes, sir, that’s plenty of time,” Brett smiled.
“Very good. I’ll see you Friday morning,” Sidney said, disconnecting his end of the cell call.
Brett looked ecstatic with joy. “I have more time to get to know Corrie and find a job,” he sang. “I’ll snail mail Sidney his stupid report and wait for his cell phone call to fire me,” he sang and danced across his room. “Then Dorian will divorce me! I hope,” he added.
Brett danced back to his laptop. He glanced at the article again. His eyes widened. “Whitestone Estates! I bet Aaron’s slimy brother built our creepy neighborhood,” he suggested.
Back at Sidney’s den, he sipped on a glass of scotch with a smirk. “That idiot is so predictable,” he said with a chuckle. He punched a phone number into his cell phone. “Hi, baby.”
“Hi daddy, I talked with Brett earlier, he said he’s having a good time, and I know he’ll do a good job,” she said from his cell phone.
“I also finished talking with him, and he needs some more time, so I’m giving him until Thursday to complete the report. He’ll be coming home this Friday,” he told her.
Dorian sat at the computer desk, looking at her email inbox in Brett’s den.
“Did you say he’s staying there until Thursday?” she inquired.
“Yes, Thursday,” Sidney replied.
“Okay, daddy, if that’s what’s needed,” Dorian replied.
Dorian disconnected the call, frowned, then punched in a number on her cell phone.
Back at Brett’s hotel room, he walked out of the bathroom. His cell phone rang from the bedside table, and he walked over, glancing at the viewfinder.
“Why can’t she leave me alone?” Brett cursed. “Hello, Dorian,” he answered.
“Daddy told me you needed an extension to complete the report. You’re making me scared that he’ll demote you. Then we’ll be living in some rusty single-wide trailer in Hillbillyville, USA, driving a banged-up, rusty Ford pickup that will leave a trail of black smoke down the road,” Dorian nagged from his cell phone.
“Don’t worry. I’ll get it done in time,” Brett replied.
“You better,” she said. A moment of silence. “Listen, I’ve been checking my email, and I haven’t received the pictures of that house,” she scolded.
Brett pondered for a few seconds. “I tried. I called the agent’s number on the For Sale sign, but she was unavailable today. I’m going to try to get with her tomorrow,” he fibbed.
“That’s funny; the Internet advertisement had a man listed as the agent,” she replied from the cell.
Brett cringed. “Ah, man, I must have called the wrong number,” he fibbed. “Crap!”
“I’ll call the agent and schedule an appointment for you.”
Brett rubbed his forehead. “Okay. Just let me know when the appointment will be,” he responded. “I’m exhausted, so I’m going to sleep,” he told her.
“Okay, good night, and I’ll call you when I set up that appointment,” she replied.
Brett disconnected his call and tossed his phone on his bed. “I can’t take this any longer!” he said, gritting his teeth.
Brett changed his clothes and left for dinner.
Brett returned from a nice dinner at the Tapatio Mexican restaurant several hours later.
After a shower, Brett got ready for bed early.
Brett placed his cell phone inside the drawer on the bedside table, got into bed, and turned on the TV. He flipped through the channels and stopped watching the “Somewhere in Time” movie. The movie was in progress and showed the main character, Richard Collier, who became intrigued with the old photograph of Elise McKenna that hung in the small museum of the Grand Hotel.
His cell phone rang from inside the drawer, and he ignored it. Brett looked at the drawer. “I can’t take her scolding voice,” he said. He removed his phone from the drawer, looked at the viewfinder, and smiled. “Hey, Bruce.”
“So, how are things going with his beautiful woman?” Bruce asked for the cell phone.
“She’s a flight instructor, and I took a lesson today, and I have another one in the morning,” he replied.
“Flight instructor, that’s convenient with your love of flying.”
“I’m serious about looking for a job while down here.”
“You’re getting serious about leaving Dorian?” Bruce said.
“I have seventeen thousand saved up, so that will help. Plus, I’ll get half of my four oh one. I hope.”
“Dorian will blow a gasket,” Bruce reminded.
“She might not get as mad after Sidney demotes me down to the mailroom or, better yet, fires me,” Brett said.
“So I take it you’re going to screw up on this report?”
“You bet. I’m not coming back up there. I just can’t.”
“Well, I wish you the best. Please let me know your new address. I’m coming down for a visit,” Bruce said.
“I will,” Brett replied, disconnected his call, and returned to watching his movie.
After twenty minutes into the movie, Brett’s eyes slowly closed, and he fell fast asleep.
Outside in the hotel’s parking lot, Howard reclined his seat, moved his Fedora down over his eyes, and slept.
Brett’s sweet dream.
It’s nighttime in the backyard of Prall’s House with a full moon.
Matthew stood outside and peeked into the ballroom from the open French doors, observing couples mingling near a string quartet setting up.
Matthew glanced around the room and spotted Meredith standing with Charles, amongst other couples. She stared at the floor miserably. Charles’s eyes sparkled.
The atmosphere inside the Prall house was delightful for this big social event of the month.
Matthew noticed Aaron Whitestone near the bar, sipping scotch from a glass.
Matthew noticed Grace alone twenty feet away, keeping an eagle eye on Charles and Meredith.
Matthew notices Anne sitting with a lonely woman and watches Aaron walk over to Grace.
“My dear Grace, why are you alone at this joyous event?” Matthew overheard Aaron.
“Hello, Aaron. William’s out on his weekly card-playing adventure.” “I just hope he doesn’t take all of our finances with him,” Matthew overheard Grace say.
“I’ll also pray he doesn’t,” Matthew overheard Aaron.
“Thank you,” Matthew overheard Grace.
The quartet began a song. The dance floor was alive.
Matthew noticed Aaron looking at Charles and Meredith.
“They do make a lovely couple,” he overheard Aaron.
Matthew spotted Anne, arms crossed and pouting.
“Grace, shall we meet in a couple of days to make the final arrangements for their marriage?” Matthew overheard Aaron.
Matthew saw Grace smile and nod.
“If you excuse me, Grace. My dear sweet Anne needs some attention,” Matthew overheard Aaron.
Matthew watched Aaron walk over to Anne and then extend his hand to her. She accepted his hand.
Aaron escorted her to the dance floor.
Charles and Meredith danced in the vicinity of the double French doors.
Matthew and Meredith saw each other. Her eyes lit up.
Charles and Meredith danced away from the French doors.
Matthew waited.
Charles and Meredith danced close to the French door, where she discreetly smiled at Matthew. Then he blew her a kiss.
Matthew noticed Anne and Aaron dancing close to the French doors. Matthew and Anne saw each other. Her eyes widened, then she frowned.
Matthew moved away from the French doors.
The string quartet finished their song, and they took a break.
Everybody on the dance floor stopped, mingled, and talked.
Matthew paced in the Prall House’s backyard, watching the French doors. He stopped, and his eyes lit up, spotting Meredith standing by the French doors. Matthew waved at her.
Meredith waved back. She rushed over to him. They kissed. A passionate kiss.
Meredith and Matthew separated from their kiss. “I thought that dance would never end!” Meredith told him.
“I hate watching you suffer by being with that man.”
Meredith and Matthew gazed into each other’s eyes.
“Let’s go fly off to our new home in Fort Wayne,” he said.
“I can’t wait,” she replied with a smile.
Matthew spotted Anne at the French door, watching them. “We need to go now. Anne’s watching,” he warned.
Meredith held Matthew’s hand, and they ran away into the darkness of the backyard.
“I staged a horse and buggy over there,” she said.
Meredith raced her horse and buggy down the dirt road with Matthew.
Meredith pulled the horse and buggy into a two-story Queen-style home.
Meredith raced her buggy down the front yard.
She raced her buggy to the backyard.
Meredith parked the buggy in the backyard close to the garage at the back of Aaron’s house.
Matthew jumped out and rushed over to Meredith’s side. She assisted her out of the buggy.
“I’ll go inside and head upstairs to my bedroom. Our maid is probably still awake, and I’ll tell her I came home early from the dance with a headache, and I don’t want to be disturbed until morning,” she told him.
She saw a long wooden extension ladder by the garage wall. “You can place that ladder under my bedroom window, and I’ll escape down it,” she added, pointing to her window.
“I’ll be waiting with open arms,” Matthew replied.
She gave him a quick kiss on his lips and rushed down the side of the house to the front.
Matthew rushed over to the garage.
Matthew carried the long wooden extension ladder from the garage to the back of the house. He placed it against the wall under a second-floor window, glanced up at Meredith’s bedroom window, and waited.
A minute passed, and her bedroom window opened. Meredith stuck her head out of her window.
“I take it the maid won’t be a problem?” he quietly said.
“She fell asleep on the couch,” she replied, then pulled her head back inside her room.
She held out a circular suitcase through the window a few seconds later and released it. It dropped to the ground. Matthew caught it.
Meredith climbed out the window and onto the ladder.
Matthew held the ladder while she climbed down it.
She got to the ground, and Matthew and Meredith kissed
“I can’t believe you stole him from me. And to think you’re engaged to Charles, who you also stole from me,” Anne yelled.
Meredith and Matthew turned around. Their eyes widened in fear, and they noticed Anne close by with a Colt 45 pistol in hand. Her face is red, her eyes are bulging, and her nostrils are flaring.
“What’s wrong with me, Matthew? I’m not pretty enough for you?” she yelled. “I also wanted Charles, and you stole him from me, Meredith. But he didn’t want me because I’m not pretty, just like Meredith,” she snarled.
“Anne, please let us go. You can marry Charles,” Meredith pleaded.
“I’ll spend an eternity making sure you two are never together!” she yelled.
Tears flowed down Anne’s cheeks. She aimed her Colt 45. The gunshot echoed off the walls of the house.