Meanwhile, back in Columbus, Brett ate dinner alone at the Great Wall Chinese Restaurant.
Howard’s Cadillac sat in the parking lot with an excellent view of the entrance to the restaurant.
In the Great Wall, Brett’s cell phone rang. He glanced at the viewfinder. “Why can’t she leave me alone?” he said under his breath. His eyes widened. “Hello, Dorian. Before you blow a lid, I was so involved in completing that report that I lost track of time and forgot. I’m so sorry,” he said.
“I’m going to lose that house to another couple, you jackass!” she screamed from his cell phone.
People from the surrounding tables glanced at Brett.
A long pause of silence from Dorian’s end of the cell phone. He heard the call disconnect. “I’m dead meat!” he muttered, waving at his waitress.
Howard watched Brett rush out of the restaurant, then jotted in his notebook while glancing at the time.
Brett got in his Fairmont, cranked it up, and drove out of the parking lot.
Howard’s Cadillac followed Brett’s Fairmont.
Brett’s Fairmont raced down the streets of Columbus. Howard’s Cadillac followed.
Brett parked his car by the front entrance of the Residence Inn, got out, and ran inside the hotel.
Howard parked his Cadillac at a safe distance. “He rushed back to the hotel,” he jotted in his notebook.
Ten minutes passed.
Brett raced out of the hotel entrance with his camera in hand. He ran over and jumped back in his Fairmont.
He cranked it up, and the tires squealed, racing off.
Howard’s Cadillac’s tires squealed, racing after Brett’s Fairmont.
Fifteen minutes passed. Brett raced his Fairmont down Addison Street in the Wedgefield housing development fifteen minutes later.
Howard’s Cadillac tailed a safe distance.
Brett screeched his Fairmont to a stop in front of 5982 Addison. Two other cars were parked in the driveway.
Brett rushed out of his Fairmont and raced to the house’s front door.
Howard parked his Cadillac three houses down. “He drove to the Wedgefield housing development. Stopping at 5982 Addison and going inside a house,” he jotted in his notebook, glancing at his watch.
Inside the living room of his home at 5982 Addison, Realtor Ralph Stinson stood with a couple. The second Brett rushed into the room, and he handed them his business card.
Ralph and the couple looked at Brett. “May I help you?” Ralph asked.
“Ah, yeah. I’m Brett Woods. I was supposed to meet with you at four-thirty but got tied up at work. I’m so sorry,” he said, out of breath. “I really would like to snap some pictures of this house, as my wife is extremely pissed I forgot about our appointment,” Brett pleaded.
Ralph looked at the couple. “I’ll call you tomorrow, and we can set up an appointment if you’re interested,” he told them.
“We are seriously interested in this house,” the male replied.
“Great,” Ralph replied, walking the couple to the front door and letting them out.
Ralph turned around and looked at Brett. “I’m sorry, but that couple is serious about this house.”
“Just let me take some pictures to keep my wife off my back,” Brett pleaded.
“I don’t know,” Ralph replied.
Brett removed his wallet, pulled out a twenty-dollar bill, and flashed it at Ralph. “Please!” he begged.
Ralph looked at the cash and snatched it. “Sure, why not? I’d be happy to help keep a wife off a man’s back,” he replied, shoving the bill into his pants pocket. “As you can see, this is a beautiful living room. It is very spacious and has a lovely stone fireplace,” Ralph said.
Brett removed his digital camera from his pants pocket and snapped pictures.
Ralph walked Brett out of the living room.
Fifteen minutes passed.
From his Cadillac, Howard observed Brett walking out of the house. “He’s leaving that residence off Addison,” he jotted in his notebook with the time.
Brett got in his Fairmont, cranking it up, and made a U-turn.
Howard cranked up his Cadillac.
Brett’s Fairmont got close to his Cadillac, and he quickly ducked down
An hour passed.
Brett’s room in the Residence Inn: He downloaded twenty-five pictures he snapped of the house on Addison Street and emailed them to Dorian with another apology.
Brett got undressed and went into the bathroom to shower.
Howard drove his Cadillac out of the hotel parking lot.
An hour passed.
Inside Howard’s den, he sat in his chair reading the instructions for the new digital camera he had just bought at Wal-Mart.
Meanwhile, in Fort Wayne, Dorian checked her email on her computer. She opened Brett’s email and noticed the twenty-five pictures he snapped earlier of the house on Addison Street. She smiled.
Meanwhile, in Columbus, Brett glanced out the hotel window curtains. He sipped on a beer while gazing at the lit city of Columbus. “I would love to make Columbus my home,” he dreamed.
Later that night, Brett watched the “Forever Young” movie. In this scene, Mel Gibson is at the airshow in 1992 and notices a B-25 just like the one he flew in 1939.
Brett’s cell phone rang from his bedside table. “Hey, Dorian,” he answered the call.
“Thank you for getting those pictures for me,” Dorian said from his cell phone. “No problem.”
“The house looks beautiful, and hopefully, we can get it,” she replied.
“Yeah, hopefully,” Brett said, rolling his eyes.
“Well, you better get some sleep. I want you to hit that report hard first thing in the morning,” she nagged.
“I will.”
“Good night, and I love you,” Dorian said.
Brett hesitated. “I love you,” he said, cringing, then disconnected his call and stared at the ceiling.
“Please let me have a happy life here in Columbus,” he prayed.
He continued to watch the “Forever Young” movie.
“And let my dreams of Meredith continue!” he prayed again.
Fifteen minutes later, his eyes closed, and he fell fast asleep.
Brett’s sweet dream returned.
It was at the rear of Meredith’s home at night.
“Matthew!” Meredith screamed out in horror.
Matthew dropped to the ground; their eyes widened in shock. “She shot me,” he moaned.
“How could you!” Meredith screamed at Anne.
She dropped to Matthew’s side.
Matthew gasped for air. Meredith propped him up against the wall of her house.
“What just happened here?” Aaron said, walking up with Grace by his side.
Aaron walked over to Anne.
Meredith looked at Aaron. “Anne shot Matthew,” Meredith cried out. She placed Matthew’s head against her shoulder, comforting him.
Aaron and Grace looked at Anne, who stood frozen with her pistol still in her hand.
“Why did you shoot him, Anne?” he asked very concernedly.
“He was going to fly Meredith away to Fort Wayne so they could marry,” Anne softly said, staring at Matthew with no remorse.
“Fly away with him? And leave my Charles?” Grace said, pissed.
“Yes. I heard them talk about that outside the Prall house. She left the dance, and they ran off,” Anne said, staring at Matthew.
“Ahhh!” Matthew cried out in pain.
Aaron saw Meredith’s suitcase on the ground. “We must get him to a hospital immediately!” Meredith cried out.
“Use my automobile,” Grace offered.
Aaron looked at Matthew, then ran to the front of his house.
Grace glared at Meredith. “How could you want to run away with this man, leaving my Charles?” she yelled. She cocked her arm, ready to slap Meredith. The sound of an approaching car caused her to pull her hand back.
Aaron drove Grace’s 1915 Ford Model T to the backyard.
Aaron got out and opened the rear door. He rushed over, picked Matthew up, and carried him to the Model T.
He placed Matthew in the back seat.
Matthew was still conscious.
Aaron walked over to Anne and looked at her
eyes. “Anne, my dear, you better go upstairs and get to bed,” Aaron told her. He held out his hand. “This was an unfortunate accident,” he said.
“Yes, daddy,” she replied. She handed Aaron the Colt 45.
“It wasn’t an accident! She wanted to kill Matthew!” Meredith yelled.
Anne ran over to the back door and went inside.
Aaron glared at Meredith. “You disappoint me, young lady. How could you run away from your upcoming marriage to a fine young man?” he yelled, then slapped her across her cheek, leaving his hand imprint.
Meredith’s eyes widened in shock, and she placed her hand on her cheek.
“What will we tell the police?” Grace asked.
Aaron played with the one end of his handlebar mustache. “We’ll tell them a bum shot him,” he said. He got an evil smirk. “Yes, a bum shot him,” he said, then glared at Meredith. “And if you don’t go along with our story, my dear, I’ll tell the police that you shot that man,” Aaron threatened.
“I was a witness,” said Grace, glaring at Meredith.
Meredith dropped to her knees and sobbed in her hands.
“Take Meredith inside and watch over her. I’ll take this son of a bitch to the hospital,” Aaron instructed.
Grace grabbed Meredith by her arm and walked her to the back door.
Aaron got inside Grace’s Model T and drove off with Matthew in the back seat.
Fifteen minutes passed.
Aaron stopped Grace’s Model T at the entrance of the Bartholomew County Hospital.
He got out and rushed inside the hospital.
A few minutes later, a doctor, a nurse, and Aaron rushed out of the hospital.
They got Matthew out of the car and rushed him inside the hospital.
Later that night, Matthew lay in a hospital bed in a room. He was getting weaker.
Aaron stood with a police officer ten feet away. “I came home to find a bum running away from my backyard. Then I found this poor man by my house wounded,” he told the police officer.
“Do you know why this man was also in your backyard?” the officer asked.
Aaron thought for a second. His eyes lit up with an answer. “There was a ladder up against my daughter Meredith’s, bedroom window. I suspect he was trying to rob my house or maybe rape my daughter. The other man must have been his partner, and maybe they had some kind of fight,” Aaron lied.
Matthew shook his head. “No. That’s not what happened,” Matthew whispered.
A nurse approached Matthew. “Did you say something, sir?” she asked, concerned.
Matthew looked at Aaron. “His daughter,” he strained to speak, but got weaker. He stared at Aaron. Mouth opened. No words.
“He’s dead,” the nurse said.