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"Do you want to play this crazy game?", he asked. Tom Roundtree looked up from his tablet and toward the other end of the sofa where his wife sat.
“Oh, I don’t know. It is your high school graduation class,” she said.
“I’m not sure I even like the idea,” Tom said.
“It’s not such a bad idea. Your old classmates are showing support for the current graduation class who won’t be having a graduation ceremony due to the pandemic. They just want you to post a graduation photo of yourself on facebook. Maybe you will get some warm fuzzies!”
“But I have had hardly any contact with these people since I came to the east coast years ago. When they started the Friends of Clairmont High facebook page, I contacted some of them briefly. I joined their facebook group, and I'm not really that big on social media. It didn’t take long for me to find that I had nothing in common with my old classmates. I mean we were polar opposites politically!”, Tom said getting up from the sofa. He walked to the huge window and looked out at the sea. The tide was coming in and the waves were high.
Sandi Roundtree joined her husband peering at the Atlantic and put her arm around his waist pulling him to her. Looking up at him she said, “It’s just for the kids, and you are not super busy,” she added sheepishly.
She was indeed correct in that last part. Since the pandemic, he no longer had a job to go to each day. The College of Charleston, where he was the History Department head, had cancelled all classes. He had three graduate students he was advising and that was all.
“Well, I don’t know,” he said in resignation.
Back on the sofa he picked up the tablet and was about to turn it off when he noticed he had an email message. It was from Michael Pendergrass. Pendergrass had been the class president. He had never left the small California town, preferring instead to return after graduation from Stanford to manage the family's sprawling peach orchards.
“H-m-m…” thought Tom. At least this was a personal message, not like that form email he had received before.
“Dinner’s ready, Sweetie!” Sandi called out.
He joined her on the deck and poured the pinot she had opened. Since they had started following a plant-based diet, Sandi had constantly surprised him with interesting and tasty meals. The change in diet had been good for both of them. Each had lost weight and felt better.
After dinner he relaxed on the deck.The breeze off the Atlantic was soft and salty. Invigorating. The beach was deserted. He watched a pelican dive into the water and was almost envious of the creature and the simplicity of its life. Was homo sapiens really the superior species?
Later that evening he answered Mike's email. He would play the silly game. Maybe Sandi was right. It was for a good cause.
He found himself alone after breakfast. Sandi had gone grocery shopping. Tom enjoyed what he always referred to as a continental breakfast of toasted english muffin with orange marmalade. He felt he was keeping the Victorian empire intact by enjoying a cup of black Ugandan coffee with the muffin. Today he would post his photo on the Friends of Clairmont High School facebook page. He had a bit of angst about posting his picture. Tom had no idea why. In that old trunk in the attic he found the correct school yearbook with the photo he needed. Once back downstairs it was simply a matter of scanning it into his computer. Thankfully, he did not have a problem. Sandi was much better at this kind of thing than he was. It was rather easy to upload the picture. He thought to himself it was no surprise kids were so good at this sort of thing.
The temptation to look at the photos of his old classmates was too great. Sandi found him with his nose deep in the Clairmont High School yearbook. After helping Sandi bring in the groceries. He was back at his desk and looking at the yearbook. Not everyone had posted their photo. Of course he realized that some of his classmates would have died. Some had been killed in military service. There was a special place on the facebook page for those killed in service to their country. Additional comments from some were like biographical sketches for what had happened to them since high school. There weren't many surprises to Tom. Most of those classmates voted "most likely to succeed" had lived up to the predictions. Tom had not been included in that group. However, he had been successful.
Thomas Edward Roundtree had been sent by his parents to The Citadel, the military college of South Carolina. His parents had concluded that he needed to attend a school with a strong tradition of discipline. Perhaps it was the best thing for him. Upon graduation he had been a naval officer for four years before going to grad school at Columbia and then Yale for his doctorate in History of Western Civilization. His years at the Citadel left him with a special place in his heart for the Carolina Lowcountry. When the opportunity to join the College of Charleston staff presented itself he was quick to take advantage of that opportunity. But not without a divorce. His wife of some ten years simply refused to move to the lowcountry. Returning to Charleston he had also met and married Sandi. Sandi was recovering from an abusive relationship which had ended in divorce. They accepted each other as they were and never talked of each other's past.
A few years ago they had found this beach house affordable and had fit right into the beach lifestyle. He enjoyed his work and his schedule had only a few lectures and allowed time for research. His second book would be published in the fall. The historical novel had become his genre of choice. Life was good. But somehow this graduation photo was causing him undue stress. Maybe he should just adopt Sandi's attitude. Just go with the flow. However, the next day when he checked the Friends of Clairmont High facebook page his attitude would change.
There were several new postings of old classmates' photos, including one he would never have expected. In the "Gone But Not Forgotten" section of the page was a photo of Phyllis Southerland. Phyllis had died in a tragic automobile accident following the Senior Prom a few days before graduation. He decided to contact Mike about it. After all Mike was the administrator of the page and would approve what was posted on the Friends Page. He opened the email application on his tablet and began typing.
He got up from his recliner, lay the tablet down, and as he started toward the kitchen to get a Negra Modelo he heard the tablet beep. The beep signaled an incoming email message. Picking up the tablet he saw that Mike had responded to his message.
Tom felt his muscles tense. And he was sure his face turned red. At least Sandi said his face blushed when he got angry. As he thought of how she found his rare displays of anger amusing he began to relax. But Pendergrass's condescending tone really irritated him. Old Mikey still knew how to push his buttons.
He checked the facebook page again, just to be sure. Yes, her picture was still there. He grabbed a Negra Modelo from the fridge and went into his home small office. When he had something weighing heavy on his mind, he always sought refuge there. Why was this bothering him, he asked himself. The accident that killed Phyllis was a long time ago. Why should it bother him now? So what if someone put her picture on the internet. What if Mike was right and no one else could see the picture but him? How could that happen? He was no internet guru, but it did not sound logical to him.He did not sleep well that night.
The next day he tried to determine how Phyllis's picture was only visible to him. By noon he had given up his quest. Over lunch he asked Sandi if the Robertson boy was home next door. She said that the entire family had been in the northeast when the "stay inside" order came from the governor. Cale Robertson was twelve years old and in Tom's mind a computer genius. But he wasn't available. Actually, Sandi was much better at computer problems than he was, but he didn't want her involved in this problem. He would have to call what he called the "A Team", his nephew Lewis. Lewis worked in cybersecurity for the FBI. The boy even had an advanced degree in state of the art encryption methods. Although Tom referred to him as a boy, Lewis was in his mid thirties. In many ways he was like the son Tom never had. After dinner and catching up on the news via the internet he called Lewis. His nephew answered on the first ring.
"Hello, Lewis, it's Uncle Tom. How've you been?"
"This is a surprise. Good to hear from you."
"Could you do me a favor?"
"Sure. Anything," he replied
"I don't know exactly how to ask. "
"Something technical?"
"Yes,” I said. “,Can you determine who posted a picture on a facebook page that only I can see?"
"Let me see if I understand this. Someone posted a picture on a facebook page and only you can see it?"
"That's right. I contacted the page's administrator and he said he couldn't see the picture. Also, he acted as though he thought I was nuts. I would like to know who posted the picture, too."
"I can do that,” Lewis responded. “Just give me the web address of that page and I'll get on it the first chance I get. I'm pretty busy now, give me a couple of days."
"Thanks, Lewis."
H-m-m thought Tom this was all he could do now. Nothing eventful happened the next day but he had been sleeping fitfully. Nightmares were haunting him; crazy things best not discussed with anyone. He checked the facebook page several times the next day. More classmates added their photos to the page and Phyllis Southerland's photo remained. He queried one other classmate via email and they said Phyllis's photo did not appear on their facebook feed either.
Like he had promised, Lewis called two days after their initial conversation.
"Uncle Tom,
I worked on your problem. It was really strange. Like you said, the photo was only visible to you. It took a little investigating but I did find where the photo came from. It came from your house."
"What?"
" I'm just telling you that is what I found. That photo was posted from a computer in your house."
"Okay, thanks Lewis. I appreciate what you've done. Say, "Hey" , to your dad when you see him."
"Will do, Uncle Tom!"
There were two laptops, two tablets, two smartphones and a PC in the house capable of posting the picture on the web. He spent the rest of the day checking all the files on his and found no image of Phyllis Southerland on any device. He would not look at Sandi's. She did not care to share her electronic devices, and that was okay. He did have a tendency to offer unsolicited advice and that brought forth the ire of his significant other. No, he would not check her machines. Today might be a good day to visit the local coffee shop. Walk or drive? Drive.
He slipped his feet into well-worn boat shoes and went down the stairs to the garage. The silver gray Porshe 911 even looked good in the semi-darkness. It was his pride and joy. There was a set of new floor mats on the workbench in front of the car. FedEx had delivered them the day before, and he had not had a chance to install them.
There was something next to them that caught his eye. It was a small tin of Rat-B-Gone. He had not seen any of it since they had a mouse problem a few years earlier. Actually, they had solved the mouse problem with the purchase of Rosie, the Norwegeon Forest cat. At almost twenty pounds, the mice trembled at the sound of her footsteps.
Since he was a teenager he had dreamed of a Porsche 911. And now it was in his garage. It would be good to get out of the house for a bit. He would love to take the Porsche on the mountain roads of western North Carolina but that would have to wait. Lowcountry roads were lacking challenges for driving performance sports cars. His was the last of the German sports cars with the air-cooled engines. It was almost like an extension of himself as he accelerated through the gears.
He turned around at the grocery store on Folly Road and returned to the island and stopped at the Pot-O-Brew coffee shop on the way back to the beach house. It was the only place on the beach to get a fresh brewed cup of Ugandan coffee. The place had rather eclectic decor; a mixture of beach culture and the African plains. Bud, the owner, was rather talkative and was up to date on the current beach gossip.
"Hey, Tom! Long time, no see," called the paunchy proprietor as Tom entered the coffee shop.
"Well, you know this virus thing has been keeping us a bit on edge. I think we're getting used to it now," the professor answered.
"I'll have your usual in a few minutes," Bud responded.
Tom took a table near the window where he could observe the street traffic. It was early in the spring and the onslaught of tourists was still a few weeks off. But with the pandemic, who knew when they would be back.
"Here you are," Bud said, as he set the steaming cup of coffee in front of Tom. " Mind if I join you?"
"Not at all," Tom said as the rotund middle-aged man slid himself into the chair opposite.
"How's business?"
"Look around. You're the only one here. But I'm sure things will pick up later. Besides, it takes a while for a business to get established," said the proud owner of the Pot-O-Brew.
"I'm sure you're right , Bud"
"Your wife stopped by the other day. It was good to see her. Boy, it had been quite a few years since I had seen her."
"I didn't know you knew, Sandi." I said.
"Oh, yes, we went to high school together. She was Sandra then," said the barista.
"I didn't realize she was a local girl. She certainly doesn't have an accent like you,” I said.
"She wasn't. Her father was in the Air Force and was transferred to the Air Force Base here. She just went to high school here."
" Were you a military man too?" Tom asked.
"Yep, I retired as a chief petty officer, CT chief. Lots of retirees around here."
" My cup's empty, and I need to get along home. See you later, Bud, or should I say Spooky?" Tom said as he was getting up from the table. The "Spooky" comment was in reference to Bud's speciality in the Navy.
It was a leisurely drive home. Once home he confined himself to his office. Although the college was closed there were a few projects he was responsible for. Some graduate students needed his help.
At dinner he mentioned to Sandi that he had stopped by the coffee shop while out on his drive.
"How is Bud? Is business getting better? When I stopped by I was his only customer. You know we were high school classmates? Seems like that was eons ago," Sandi said.
"You probably mentioned it, and I simply forgot," Tom said, not wanting to pursue the subject further. But why had she never mentioned it?
He did not sleep well that night. Bad dreams. Nightmares, actually. Mangled blurry images. An automobile accident. He was there as an observer. He awoke as the automobile impaled itself on a tree so close to him he felt splinters from the tree. Three in the morning found him in front of his laptop. The Friends of Clairmont High page had a new post. Not a photo but a newspaper article. The article was from the San Xavier Gazette. The headline stated: Popular Clairmont High Coed Killed in Automobile Accident. And in a smaller headline: Boyfriend Held for Questioning. Yes, they had questioned him, and he was exonerated when a Mexican sophomore was arrested for tampering with the brakes on her car. He had gone to prison for his crime.
Why would anyone post this on the page?
He threw himself into some work from the college to get his mind off things. It worked for a while, but the newspaper article was haunting. It had taken almost forty years to get that night's events behind him. So much of that night was a blur. He had learned to live with that. He did not need to be reminded of that night at this point in his life. Why? Why? Why? He seemed to be drawn to this facebook page like a moth to a flame. It seemed that he was looking at it once an hour. The most recent post was a very recent newspaper article stating that the young Mexican imprisoned for the crime had been released due to newly released DNA evidence. Should he seek a therapist? Probably not. He had an aversion to therapists.
Lewis had said that the posts were coming from his house, but that was impossible. Sometimes the electronic devices seem to do what they want to without human intervention. That could have happened. Right?
He had seen little of Sandi in the last few days except at meals. She operated her own consulting business from her home office. She was even busier than usual during the pandemic.
It was the third day after Phyllis's photo appeared on the facebook page. He left the house in mid-morning for a walk on the beach. The salt air and the noisy gulls seemed to clear his head. He determined that what he really needed was a cup of Ugandan coffee. The shop was empty again. He hoped business would improve for Pot-O-Brew, because he would hate to see the beach lose it's only coffee house. The shop was empty, but Bud seemed to be in fine spirits.
"Welcome back, Tom! Your usual, I presume?" the pudgy proprietor said.
"How about adding a toasted English muffin and orange marmalade to that, Bud."
"Will do!"
A few minutes later Bud put the food and coffee in front of Tom."Need some company?"
"Sure, sit down," Tom said and added, " So you and Sandi were high school classmates?"
"Yes we were. I only knew her. I didn't know her older sister though."
"She had a sister?" Tom became very attentive.
"Yeah, her sister was here for a year."
"Why?", I asked.
"Well, you see. They had only been here a year when their mom and dad got divorced. The father got transferred to the west coast coast. Each parent received custody of a daughter. Sandra stayed with her mother. "
"The dad and a daughter moved to California, huh?"
"I reckon. The west coast for sure!"
"Do you remember her name, the girl that went with her father?"
"I think it was Francis or something like that," Bud said looking over his shoulder, "Gotta go, Tom, a customer just came in."
On his way back home, he thought about what he had to do. One thing for sure he had to talk with Sandi about the situation. He had tried to avoid facing the fact that the photos and newspaper clippings had come from her computer. But why? Did she hold him responsible for her sister's death? Only she could answer those questions. How should he go about asking her? He couldn't just blurt out, "Are you trying to drive me crazy posting to facebook?" That would hardly be his style. No, he was the calm reserved type. But what about the rat poison? People had been murdered with that. He was so preoccupied that he hardly noticed the people on the beach on his walk home. Leaving his shoes at the door he padded barefoot into the living area. Sandi met him with a surprising hug and a light kiss on the cheek.
Dinner was great; his favorite vegan meatloaf with drunken mushrooms. Green beans sauteed with almonds and garlic as a side dish. Sandi had made some Navajo fry bread too. They had a bit of coconut ice cream with chocolate sauce for desert. A nice cabernet sauvignon aided the digestion as per the Biblical verse. As the sun set they had their coffee as the evening tide went out.
"Sandi," he said hesitantly, "There's something I have to talk to you about!"
"Okay," she said as she folded her legs under her and settled into the sofa.
He looked at her, the woman he loved, waiting patiently on the sofa.
"It can wait. Maybe some other time."
"You can talk to me anytime." Sthe got up from the sofa and opened the door to the downstairs garage. "I want to make a quick trip to the grocery store. I forgot something when I was shopping yesterday."
"Don't forget your mask!" Tom said.
"I have one in the car. I'll be back in a bit!" Authorities had recommended that everyone wear a protective mask when in public during the pandemic.
He felt he should have followed through and talked to her about his suspicions. He noticed that she had left her tablet on the coffee table. It could verify some of his suspicions. Luckily he did not need a password to open her files. He navigated quickly to her stored photographs. Sure enough Phyllis Southerland's photo was there. He quickly found the newspaper articles he had seen posted on facebook as well. He attempted to look at her facebook page but realized he did not have her facebook password. After turning off the tablet and replacing it on the coffee table, he went to the liquor cabinet and poured himself a double shot of scotch. It was a special bottle. The one he had bought at the distillery in Oban when they went there shortly after they were married. He gulped about half of the drink before returning to the sofa. What to do? How do you confront the wife that is trying to kill you? Maybe not confront, just pack a bag and leave. He didn’t get a chance to ponder very long before Sandi came back. She placed some items in the kitchen pantry then joined him on the sofa.
“You said you wanted to tell me something?” she asked.
“Yes...yes I do. I just don’t know how to start,” Tom said hesitantly.
“You used to always tell me ”’When in doubt, blurt it out!’”
“Sandi, I think you are trying to either kill me or drive me insane! Let me tell you how I know. I found out from Lewis that the photo of Phyllis and the newspaper items on the facebook page came from this house. Yes, I was interrogated by the police after Phyllis’s fatal accident, but that was because someone told them we had a fight at the dance. That was true. I’m sure things would have worked out the next day. But she had driven away with tires spinning and all that. I loved that girl. While you were gone I checked your tablet and sure enough I found both of them there. And then there was the rat poison in the garage. People use it to kill people. I think there was some in my coffee tonight!”
“Oh, you poor dear!” she said as she arose from the sofa and approached him.
He moved away.
“The coffee tasted different because it was not your prized Ugandan but another African coffee. Due to this pandemic the supplier could not get your special coffee. I okayed a substitute. How the pictures and things got on the facebook page, I have no idea. I have never seen the page. myself. I wish I had told you that Phyllis was my sister but it was so long ago, I didn’t think it mattered. About the rat poison, I found it under the kitchen sink and decided to get rid of it, after all we have Rosie. I was taking it to the trash when I got a business call on my cell. I had to go back to my office and left it on the bench. Phyllis was my sister and I loved her. Her picture and the newspaper articles were just keepsakes, like something someone would keep in a scrapbook. I would never hurt you, Tom. I love you! You’re the man I chose to spend my life with. Who told you Phyllis was my sister?”
“Bud, down at the coffee shop.”
“I should have known. Did he tell you about what a big crush he had on me in high school? Probably not. I went out with him a couple of times but that was all. But he continued to call and write me notes. I tried to get him to stop, but he was incorrigible. It was almost to the point of harassment. I was at my breaking point when we graduated and he went into the Navy. He wrote me letters but I just trashed them. He made a career out of the Navy I guess, and I never saw him again until he opened the coffee shop here. He seemed to have lost all interest in me and that was fine with me. But, I’ll bet he is somehow involved in this."
He allowed her to melt into his arms as he said, “No doubt about it. Once a Spook, always Spook!”
