IN THE BEGINING 

“My parents- did they survive?”  Clive’s eyes strained to remain open, his voice jagged and desperate, barely squeezing through the air wheezing from his lungs. Moments later he was unconcious and being dashed to London's University College Hospital.   

Carley, his sister, 7 years his senior had gotten the call two nights ago but wasn’t able to get a flight until the following morning, 3 a.m., U.S Eastern time.  It was now misty and 10 a.m.   Rushing away from Heathrow’s Airport to the hospital in a cabby, the only thing she knew was that her father and step-mother had been tragically killed after an intoxicated driver careened into their lane.  She hadn’t seen the car, but her father’s mechanic of many years lamented over how mangled it was.  Should he transport it to salvage or were the police going to pick it up? He cried, his Irish accent giving his comments a unique rhythm, then his voice choked up when he added what a blessing it was that Clive survived. 

After hearing the condition of the car, visions of her father’s wilting blood covered body kept finding its way into her mind’s eye.  Her imagination even went so far as to create the sounds of the accident, the gasps escalating to blood curdling screams.  And finally the awful sound of screeching tires and crushing metal as fingers gripped car seats and arms extended a halting hand like Superman failing to stop the vehicle in its tracks.  Oh God, let these visions stop!  Were her thoughts.  Now she was scurrying quickly down the hospital hall, her long ginger curls flying backward in the air currents that her body created as it moved quickly and intensely.  Clive was in room 345 and she’d just passed room 327 so close was she, that she was nearly running now, her heart racing with the anticipation of seeing him, throwing her arms around him and consoling him.  Clive was sensitive.  He was special in that way.

Finally she was outside his door, her chest heaving rapidly, her eyes shooting up and then around her as she touched the cool metal knob. She wouldn’t burst through the door in some maniacal fashion.  She’d wait for the breathing to subside, get her bearings and walk in like the cool headed older sister she always was.  Carley’s mouth parted, a long wind of air entered the deepest part of her lungs and the seal of the door softly parted from its frame.  She heard it shut, the bolt latch sliding into the metal encasement. It wasn’t loud, but it should have been noticeable in the quiet convalescent atmosphere.   Carley’s response was mercurial, all-consuming jitters, heavy devastating sadness, so heavy it could’ve buckle her knees. She was hoping beyond hope that though Clive hadn’t a broken bone in his body, he wouldn’t become dead to the world.  Not again. But he was.  He was a walking comatose, all his loveliness all his brilliance gone in an instance!  She wept inside, she wanted to turn around, run down the hospital corridor and scream aguishly at the top of her lungs before collapsing into a sobbing pile of rubbery muscle tissue.  She adored Clive.  Everyone who knew him did.

Instead of that, she just stood there willing the strength hiding behind the jitters to rise up like a phoenix from the ashes.  She was eyeing him from behind as her spine straightened and her head titled proudly upward. His tall athletic body made his diagnosis seem so unlikely.  But he was gazing out of the window, the sound of the door closing shut not evoking even a flinch of his muscles proved it so.   

“Clive?”  Carley called out.  Her voice was high pitched, lyrical, almost as though she was about to sing a lullaby.  It was the third sweet beckoning that merited a slight adjustment of his head.  He didn’t turn fully to look back, instead it was as though he’d suspected he had heard something, some sound or far off noise.  He’d become like the little boy he’d been so long ago. Stricken by Asperger’s, he’d struggled for years to socialize normally, to speak even.  But her step-mother, a Black English Attorney, and her father a Scottish American businessman accessed every resource and therapy known to man to help him break out of the cocoon that had imprisoned him.  And Clive did it, he conquered it.  More than that, he conquered it and found a genius had been living silenced inside the darkness all along.   He surprised them all.

“Clive?”  She was standing at his side as she reached out to grab his hand, then wrapped both hers, around it.

“Carley?” He turned, startled by the warmth around his hand.  His voice was quiet but there was a raspy desperate tinge to it.  His arms wrapped around her fragile frame, hard, as though they could melt into each other.  He was alive, he believed that now!

Clive knew he was in a hospital, and he knew his parents were dead. But something was wrong with his brain and it made him fear that maybe he too was dead. But it also reminded him of the sensations he experienced inside his head when he was a child, old enough to speak but held back by some barrier.  It prevented him from seeing words with his minds eyes, and so he was unable to speak. He’d forgotten that he used to live in a darkness that precluded seeing letters and sentences.  But he’d returned to that place, except now there were times when he couldn’t hear either! He would see mouths moving, expressions forming on faces that would close in on him, smiling then lines of worry around the brows and mouth came next.  He couldn’t hear them, and worse, he didn’t care to.  They were just nameless strangers as dead as his parents.  But Carley.  That was different.  He could see and hear her.  And as he held her in his arms, her body was warm and full of life.

“I’m taking care of everything.”  She said feeling a warm gentle swooning sensation inside her at hearing him speak.  Some part of her wanted to laugh squealing wildly like a child, while another part of her held back her tears and steadied her voice. “We’ll sell Salisbury Place and you’ll come to America, to stay with us at Hill House.”  This was the big sister talking.

They were still embracing, but she felt him shaking his head.

“Okay?”  She checked despite his acquiescence, unwrapping her arms from his neck and looking deeply into his dark eyes. His mixed heritage left his skin the color of golden honey and his jet black hair with curls as round as plums when it was long, but it was rarely long. 

Carley was thin, like a ballerina, she had attractive oval shaped blue eyes and a mane of red-blonde ringlets.  Most would say she was the opposite of strong and warrior-like, but she felt ready and able to rescue Clive from any and everything. She looked into his eyes and felt her face soften, the tough brave expression disappearing into nothingness as she reached out, gently touching the left side of his face, black and blue from the impact of the collision. She watched his eyes close as if the contact moved him deeply or either hurt.

 “Yes,”  he said agreeing to coming to America and giving her even more hope because he’d spoken again.  Perhaps his bout with muteness was only temporary despite the prognosis of the psychiatrist who’d been treating him in conjunction with his physician.

“It’s as though he’s deaf and blind to the world.”  Said the psychiatrist in a Yorkshire, English accent.  “We walk into the room and he registers no acknowledgement at all.” He added that Clive might remain in his present state forever.  Not only had he lost his world when his parents were killed, but he alone survived.  The Psychiatrist said survivor’s guilt for someone like Clive could be catastrophic. Someone like Clive.  She knew what he meant. Clive understood Game Theory mathematics and could calculate a probability for nearly anything be it in business, world trends or financial markets, but would place his bills and checks in his desk for months expecting nothing bad would come of it.

“It’s going to be okay.”  She added.

“I’ve never met him.”  Clive said turning to look out of the window again. He was referring to Carley’s husband of three years, a detective in the small town of Princeton, New Jersey where Hill House was located.  The estate had been in the Monroe family for three generations, and after their grandparents passed away, Carley took it over. Clive adjusted his bathrobe, pulling the lapels to cover his chest as he wrapped his arms around himself. Hill House belonged to them now, making her husband the Master.  His eyes lowering to stare at the cool white linoleum tiles.

“I know.  But he’s looking forward to meeting you.”

His eyes lifted, looking into hers.

“He would’ve come but he was in the middle of a case.”  She assured him.

“Just promoted.”  He said recalling the conversation he and Carley had a little over a month ago. 

“Yes.  Yes, and so he couldn’t come. But he wanted to, so desperately!”

He gave her a small smile.  He wished it could’ve been a warm wide grin, but his smiles were always reticent, even when things were cheery.

 “Truly everything will be fine.  Like always.”

~

Before the accident Clive held a position in their father’s firm as an Outcome Consultant.  His job was to use mathematical algorithms to predict his father’s competitor’s weakness and strengths.  But everything had to be neat and tidy for Clive, so he went even further than that, and turned in documentation about highly likely trends in the field of their interests, what companies would be beneficial to merge with and even how particular opponents would behave under certain circumstances.  In just 3 years, his talents took Monroe Technologies to the apex of success and articles written about Clive.  He was coined the Millennium Wonder boy. Yet in spite of the hefty salary he earned, he continued to live at Salisbury Place, the home of his parents.  He was quiet, looked perfectly normal and genius like at picking up on personality patterns, it was people that were the puzzle for him.  Their facial expressions and behaviors rarely matched and unlike others, Clive couldn’t understand that’s just how it was.

But his detached personality didn’t preclude his Oxford classmates of the fairer sex from finding him attractive. He was a talented soccer player, the typical tall dark type, and fortunate that most mistook his brevity and stoic expression for a brooding personality.  But for Clive a woman’s flirtations were no different than a deaf man listening to music.  If a woman wanted to serenade his sexual athleticism, she’d have to be bold enough to take him by the collar and plant a wet kiss on his lips, otherwise, her ques might as well have been Egyptian hieroglyphics.  

But he was leaving all of this behind him now, the bustling London scene, his fulfilling career and all the family friends who knew and understood his eccentricities.  He was sure his mathematical talents would never find another purpose because it was impossible for him to know that his ability to calculate the probability of anything would make him a proficient at not only solving crimes but eventually learning to prevent them.  For Clive his life was over.

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THE MURDER OF PROFESSOR BRIGHT

Mathew climbed from the jeep and headed toward Clive. He was surrounded by luggage, six pieces and three garment bags that probably held a sleuth of fine suits. Clive’s head turned toward him, his placid features not altering their position even a nudge.  Showing no sign of recognition except to bend down and grab one of the bags next to him, he started for the other one when Mathew extended his hand still a few feet away.

“Hey, I’m Matt.”  He said in a cheerful voice wondering why he used his nickname.

Clive’s eyes were aimed at Mathew’s hand, he shook it, then bent down for the second bag and headed for the trunk of the jeep.

Clive walked passed Mathew in a perfunctory manner, the black and blue marks on his face looking as though he’d smeared ash on his cheek all the way down to his neck.  Mathew looked away from Clive, then hustled towards the remaining luggage.

“Do you want to listen to any particular kind of music?”  Mathew asked, starting the jeep and pulling out of the parking space.  Clive shook his head, his gaze on the cars outside the window as he buckled up.

They’d been driving in silence just long enough for Mathew to begin feeling that awkward sense of his brain being gnawed by his thoughts ricocheting back and forth like his skull was a pinball machine. After clearing his throat he asked Clive if he was hungry.  It would be nice if they could converse, the drive to Prince was long, he thought.  Besides Carley’s hoped that they would bond and he didn’t want to see her disappointed.  She’d been through enough with her father and step-mother being killed.  But it was beginning to seem hopeless, because Clive just shook his head, this time turning his face as far from Mathew as possible, solidifying his thoughts about Clive being a snob.   

After a half hour passed, Mathew’s Chief called.  Oscar’s voice coming through the speakers of the jeep clear and jarringly loud.

“What’s going on with the new case?”  His gruff timber always reminding Mathew of sandpaper rubbing against the insides of his vocal chords.

“Well,” Mathew adjusted himself in the seat, glancing quickly towards Clive who, to his relief was still distracted with whatever he was looking at.  Maybe Mathew could avoid mentioning the words, ‘dead’ or ‘killed’.  He didn’t want to be the one to give Clive any un-necessary reminders of his parent’s accident even if he was a rude prick.  “There’s no sign of a break in, no marks on her so far as Madeline could see.”

“So you think the death is accidental?”

Mathew grimaced. “I think so.”  He answered just the same. “Just a fall down the steps…”

“Yeah?”

“Well, Madeline will do a full examination of the body at the lab.  We’ll know more then.”

“Right.”

“But from what we could see, there were no bruises on her face or shoulders.”

Clive had heard what Mathew said.  A woman had fallen down the steps and whoever examined her was able to see her face and shoulders.  He turned to look at Mathew, his brows furrowed as he concentrated on what he wanted to say.

“I’ll keep you informed.”  Mathew said.

“Good. Anything else?”  The Chief said, having no idea that the papers he’d begun to sort through could be heard on the car speaker. 

“We’re checking to see if there’s any surveillance in the underground parking garage, and her phone was charging.”  He added noticing from his peripheral view that his brother in-law had suddenly found his profile more interesting than the road outside his window. “We’ll check her phone to see who she called, or who called her.  But so far that’s all we have… no witnesses at this point…”

“Okay, well keep me up to speed.”

“Sir.”  Mathew said just as the call disconnected.

Clive turned to Mathew again, their eyes meeting for a brief moment.  Mathew noticed Clive’s mouth part, then he turned away to look back out at the cars zooming by like snatches of color.

Mathew saw the exit for Princeton about one hundred feet away when he got another call.  The number belonged to Madeline.  He was eager to hear what she’d found.

“So…?”

 “We’ve confirmed her identity.”  Her voice sounded more nasal than usual through the car speakers and Mathew’s face cringed for a split second.  Then his ears acclimated to the pitch. “Her name is Judith Bright.”  She informed him. “And she’s a professor at Princeton.”

“Really?” She didn’t look like the Professor type.  

“Yup.” She answered, pausing and looking over the data. “She’s thirty-nine years old, unmarried and no children. And I’d put the time of her death between 8:30 and midnight.”

“Thanks, but I can tell there’s something else you’d like to tell me Maddy.  What is it?”

Her laugh came through the speakers like shards of glass shooting through his eardrums. “How could you tell?”

“You took a deep breath after you finished just then.”

“Ha, funny!.. I see a bruise on her right upper arm.  It’s a new bruise judging from the color.”

“What are you thinking?”

“I’ll leave that up to you.” 

She was smiling, Mathew could hear it in her voice and he felt Clive’s eyes on him again.

“I don’t mind.”  Clive said, his voice almost too low to hear.

Mathew frowned wondering if Clive could have possibly guessed he was just about to ask him if he wouldn’t mind him stopping by and seeing Madeline before taking him to Hill House.  “I need to make a stop.”  Mathew said just in case he needed to clarify.

“I don’t mind.”  Clive repeated having known he was going to ask.

~

Mathew parked in the lot of the hospital where Madeline’s lab was and Clive remained in the car.  Looking around at the surroundings was a little disappointing.  It wasn’t at all like London, bustling with people in all sorts of fashions and with skin colors of every shade.  There was hardly anyone to be seen, no pubs or restaurants either.  Then his eyes took notice of a legal pad perched precariously on top of the cup holder. It looked as though it might fall to the floor of the jeep at any moment, and Clive straightened it out.  Then a moment later he curiously reached for it and began perusing through the notes Mathew had on the dead woman. 

By the time Mathew returned to the car Clive had had more than enough time to read through all his notes and even conjure up a few curiosities of his own.  He watched Mathew put the key into the ignition but instead of starting the car, he sat there.  Clive watched him as he thought about something that made his eyes look like they were shooting Superman lasers into the dashboard.

Then Mathew picked up his cell and dialed a number.  The call transferred to the Bluetooth of his jeep, the ringing sounding muffled.

“Hey Chief, so the woman’s name is Judith Bright, and she’s faculty at Princeton.  Joe said that the only calls Judith Bright made were around 7 p.m. and they were to the Princeton Art Museum. There was a conference there last night and Joe confirmed that Judith Bright was in attendance.”

“Maybe someone at the conference went back to her place with her.”

“May be.  But the conference was over at 9:15 and several people saw her heading for the parking lot alone at 9:30 p.m.  Madeline put her death between the hours of 8:30 and midnight.  In that she lives only a few blocks from the campus, if she went straight home, she would have been inside her condo by 9:45 p.m. So for now we have her death between the hours of 9:45 and midnight… Also, there’s a bruise on her right arm.”

“So, she went to her car alone, but someone followed her, or took his own car after being invited.  Things took a turn and he bruised her arm during the struggle.”

Mathew could feel Clive’s eyes boring holes through the side of his head. “That’s a possibility.”  Mathew said, his instincts not corroborating with his boss’s assessment.

 “Keep me up to snuff.” Said Oscar, it was one of his famous sayings.

“Definitely.”

As the call disconnected Mathew felt Clive’s eyes on him again.  “Are you okay?”  He asked, a quizzical look on his face as his eyes searched Clive at the same time.

Clive shook his head yes, but Mathew could see there was something in his expression that was different.  Clive looked a little less forlorn. Maybe the case was a reprieve that took his mind off his own troubles, he surmised vaguely, but there was something on his mind other than trees they were passing by.

A few minutes later and they were turning onto the long graveled driveway on the property of Hill House.   After Mathew parked, Clive got out of the jeep slowly, his focus directly on the large white Victorian with the black shutters and the trees that lined the promenade that led to the porch. He stood there, motionlessly as his heart pounded madly.  Everything had suddenly hit him like a punch to the jaw.  His parents were dead.  He didn’t have a job, and he no longer lived in England. And to make things worse, it was a gray bleak day.  His eyes darted to the front door. Like a shock of light breaking through dark stormy cloud Carley burst through the doors like a sunbeam.  Half smiling, half crying, she opened her arms as though Clive were close enough to hug and came running down the path towards him.  Her long, spring frock was gracefully trailing behind as though a wind was accompanying her as she trotted to her brother’s side.

“Oh Clive!”  Her voice was full, free, as if she were singing the verse of a song.  Her arms wrapped around him as she stood on her tippy toes.  And she felt his face warm against the crook of her neck.  They stayed like that for a long time.  For enough time for Mathew to get all the luggage out of the trunk, place them on the grass and begin to make his way awkwardly down the path as he carried the large bags toward porch steps.

Before stepping away, Carley touched his face.  “You’re home now… You remember the last time you were here don’t you?”

Clive nodded, his eyes staring up at Hill House again.  Then the smallest of smiles cracked the ice of his solemnly set features.  “Two Christmas’s ago.” 

And then their Pop-pop died right after the New Year, and by the summer their Nana had passed too.  But he recalled that Christmas morning when everyone was alive.  Even Carley’s mother, Anna, the free spirit hippie living in India visited that year.  It was the best holiday ever. And right after the morning breakfast, he and Carley stole away from the others as usual, taking the trial from Hill House that led into the woods following the creek until their feet felt like frozen ice cubes.

~

“I think he enjoyed hearing me talk about the case.”  Mathew whispered.

It was safe to talk. Clive was downstairs in the guest quarters. It was much like an apartment really, but long ago it housed a billiard table and cocktail bar.  After Carley and Clive’s father left American for England in 1978, the Monroe’s converted it into a two-bedroom suite with a living room nearly the length of the house.  Gaige played the piano, and his instrument was still there, sitting where it always had been, perched towards the glass doors which looked out on the west side of the garden. 

“What makes you think so?”  Carley’s face was soft with relief and intrigue.

“Well, a few times I had to take calls about the new case.”

“What is the case?”

“Oh, that’s right. God Carley, I hope you don’t know her.”  Mathew just realized the connection and how Carley might actually know the woman.

Carley’s eyes widened as she braced herself.  “Know whom?” 

“A Princeton Professor was found dead…”

“What?  Who?  Was she murdered?”  Her hand was poised over her mouth as she braced herself.

“We don’t think so.”

Her shoulders lowered as she exhaled deeply.  “What’s her name?”

“Judith Bright?”  He stated, answering and asking Carley simultaneously if she knew her.

“I don’t know her.  But I’m sure I can find out some things if you need me to.”

Mathew was taken aback.  Carley hadn’t taken an interest in his investigations since the case of the pilfered award.  In fact, he actually began to think that it was what he did for a living that made him less worthy of her.  “Sure, I’d like that.  Maybe you could find out if she was dating anyone.  We know she’s unmarried and doesn’t have children.”

“I think I can find that out.”  Carley nodded. “But Clive seemed interested too?”  She added, that was important too. 

“I think so… When I picked him up, at first he was…”  Matt shook his head. “Really out of it.  But then I got a few calls about the case and he seemed kind of… I don’t know, captivated.”

Carley stepped so close to Mathew his Polo cologne gently lingered.  She tilted her head back as she looked up at him.  “Maybe when you get home tonight, during dinner you can test your theory.”  She was smiling cleverly.

Mathew liked that.  He loved psychological games, he was a Detective, after all.  But he also had a playful nature and the thought of testing his theory gave him a sense of excitement, but mostly because Carley was part of it.  Maybe Clive might not drive a wedge between them after all.

~

During dinner Mathew did as Carley suggested, and began discussing the case.  

“I spoke to Katlin and Bonnie.” Carley put in after Mathew had gone over the particulars. “They both the Professor well.”

“Really?”  Mathew was surprised, Katlin and Bonnie were pretty close with Carley.  Their husbands were Professors but the women served on the board of trustees along with Carley.

 “Yes, apparently she attended the last cocktail party we had at the Lewis Art Museum.  But I don’t recall her.”

“Yeah, me either, but I didn’t stay long.”

“You rarely do.” Carley said, but she didn’t mind that Mathew could only bear those types of things for a little more than an hour or so.

Clive was attending to their every word as he ate his dinner. Some of the details Mathew was discussing could be helpful in building up a set of algorithms.  It was similar to what he did at his father’s firm when he was asked to determine financial trends, or the likely behaviors his father’s competitors would have in response to something the company or his father proposed.  His accuracy was at 97% then.

Clive opened the app on this phone and began formulating equations that the app could run, thinking maybe it would be just as accurate in solving the mystery around Professor’s Bright’s death.

“Yes, well, Judith and Bonnie talked on a regular basis and Bonnie said Judith Bright had just broken up with someone by the name of Charles Mueller.” 

“Interesting.  Do you know if they broke up on good terms?”

“Bonnie said he’d been trying to get an engineering position here, or close by, but couldn’t.  He was offered a job outside of the State.”

Mathew grunted.  “Well, she might not have been happy about it, but everyone has to work.  How far away?”

“L.A.”

“When was that?”

“About a month ago.”

“We’ll double check that.”  He was studying his wife, his eyes amused and cautiously delighted by what he saw.  If he didn’t know better, he’d say she enjoyed talking about his job. “Maybe he came back to visit her, he may know something.”

Carley was quiet, she was thinking about what he’d just said.

After dinner Mathew went upstairs. He’d had a long day, and he left Carley and Clive alone while he took to the bed falling into a deep heavy asleep as soon as he dimed the lights.

Once they were alone, Clive and Carley sat upon the long red “L” shaped sofa that sat to the side of the fireplace.  In the winter months it was one of Carley’s favorite places to sit as the warmth from the burning logs made the room glow and filled it with a coziness made perfect if one had a glass of wine was well.

“I glimpsed Mathew’s notes when I was in the car earlier.” Clive felt completely at ease with his sister and had no problem finding the words to communicate when with her. “I am certain she was murdered.” He added, his gentle, deep voice sounding surprisingly confident.

 “Really?”  Carley’ said popping her head from his shoulder with astonishment. “But Mathew thinks she died from the fall.”

Clive nodded. “But the Professor was found on her back.  She was facing upward.”

Carley nodded. “How do you know?”
              “Because Mathew informed his superior that the coroner checked her face, neck and shoulders.”

“Oh, right. If she checked her face she would have to have been on her back.”

“And one typically falls as they descend. Hence they fall face ward.  Also, I feel certain I know who the culprit is.”

“No!”  Carley gasped. “Does it have something to do with these?”  She said taking his phone from his hands and squinting at the odd symbols in a long equation.

“Indeed it does.”  He confessed.

“Tell me!  You must tell me.” She insisted.

He smiled warmly for the first time in weeks. “I shall… So it has been established that she hasn’t family close by, and neither is she involved.” He began with some measure.

Carley nodded in agreement.

“Unless of course, we discover that Charles Mueller returned.”

“But that’s not likely, I take it from your expression.”

 “Correct.  He’s just taken a new position, he’s preoccupied with getting the hang of things.” Clive was utterly certain of this.

Carley nodded.  That made sense to her too.

“And because of the kind of society in which we live, no longer is it expected nor wanted for callers to pop over without proper invite.”

Carley’s brows knitted as she thought on what Clive had just said.  “I agree.  No one really visits unannounced.”

“I believe that if Matt checks the phones in the Princeton Art Museum where the conference was held, he will find that a call was made sometime after the staff’s departure.  And that call will have been made by the Professor.”

“Matt?”  She smiled.

“His colleagues refer to him as Matt.  Sorry, would you prefer-“

“No… I sort of like Matt too.”  She grinned. “But who do you think she called?”  Carley inquired.

“I’m not sure. But she invited someone to her condo.  She was in bare feet and her door was open, and his notes say that a glass of wine was on the coffee table. Whomever visited didn’t warrant a formal appearance on her part.”

“How did you see his notes?”

“He needed to see someone about the case and left the notepad in the jeep.”

“So she was home long enough to start to unwind…”

“And since the Professor is no longer involved with anyone, and the hour of the night was quite late, it’s highly improbable she was very familiar with them.”

Carley nodded slowly, her eyes gazing blankly outward as her mind turned over Clive’s assessment.

“But whomever it is, would be a key suspect.”

Carley stood up and paced with great excitement.  “Mathew- Matt is going to be so relieved to hear this.”

“No…”  He murmured, his former good mood collapsing from sight.  He pulled himself to the edge of the sofa and began rummaging his hands through his hair in an agitated fashion leaving it with a breezy appearance.  “I can’t.” He added, and his voice sounded strained but soft.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not ready to…” Clive began, resting his elbows on his knees now.  Then he dropped his face into his palms and buried it as though to block out the world.  “I’m unable to…”  He said, again not completing his thought.

“Talk?”  Carley finished quietly as she felt a pang of fear riveted through her heart.  She felt worried, worried that he might not recover from his affliction.   But she didn’t show it.  Walking over to him, she sat down and put her arm around him. “Well, I have an idea.” She smiled as brightly as she could. “What if I type it up for you on my notepad? Could you tell me what you’d like Mathew to know?”

Clive nodded. “That would be spectacular.” He said, sniffing and rubbing the tears from his eyes.  Then he examined his hands as if to ascertain the amount of wetness the tears produced.

Carley took a deep breath.  They’d survived this unscathed and even found a way around for Clive to add what he could and maybe even help solve the woman’s death.

The following morning Mathew stayed for breakfast at Carley’s request.  It was a nice change in fact, and the view from the pavilion windows in the dining room showed the willow trees blowing in the spring breeze along with the morning sun and a perfectly cloudless day.

“I never noticed how beautiful the view was in the morning from this room.”  Mathew said after taking a sip of his coffee.  “Look at that sky.” He marveled.

Clive was facing the window but Carley at the far end of the table, turned her head in the direction of the view that had captured her husband’s appreciation. “Our grandparents always had breakfast here, and I remember when those trees were just planted.”  She looked on Clive, her face brilliant with warmth.  “You were just an infant then…”  She proclaimed, as she fastened a stray curl behind her ear.

Clive was buttering his toast and gazing on his sister as he listened to her and then noticing Mathew as he looked on Carley with doting eyes.  Mathew seemed a good bloke, Clive had deducted.  He appreciated him sharing his life’s work with him and Carley last night, and then allowing this departure from his routine, this having breakfast with his wife and her shattered brother.  He was a good man, and his father would have wholeheartedly approved had he the chance to meet him.

“Matt, I was thinking about that poor woman last night.”

“Matt?” Mathew chuckled.  “Where’d that come from?  You never call me Matt.”

Carley slyly glanced to Clive. “Well, I’m told the people you work with call you Matt.”

He laughed again, then squinted as his noticed his wife looking at the sleek silver notepad and mouthing something as if rehearsing.

 He was brimming with curiosity. “What is it?”  His voice expressive with noticeable intrigue.

 “Clive wanted me to …” Carley was still reading what had been dictated the night before. “Okay, so Clive wanted me to tell you that maybe the woman was murdered.”

Really?”  He mumbled right before taking a bite of the scrambled eggs and glancing over to Clive who was eating and behaving as though the conversation had nothing to do with him.

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