Schuyler Square Day 118 The Box in the Attic

Peter climbed the narrow staircase that led to the attic slowly.Although he hadn't been up those stairs in over two decades, he remembered them. He was starting to remember a lot, possibly too much and it was scaring the daylights out of him.

"If you could put that box in the corner near the chimney," Mary Austin had asked him. "I'd really appreciate it. It's too heavy for me to lift. Please push it way back, as far out of sight as you can manage. I don't want anyone to find it."

Of course fifteen-year old Peter had been happy to help Mary out. She was pretty and friendly and had given him a ten dollar tip at Christmas even though he often threw her newspaper in front of the garage door instead of her front door. Peter had lifted the box and almost gasped. "What's in here, rocks?" he asked Mary.

Mary shook her head. "Just a lot of old junk. Thanks, Peter. Come down when you're through and I'll pour you a glass of milk to go with the chocolate cake I bought today."

Peter had been tucking the box into the corner as far as it could go when he heard a man's voice downstairs. He paused, not sure of what he should do. He strained his ears to listen. It sounded like the man was angry about something and he could hear Mary responding but he couldn't make out what she was saying.

Peter waited for Mary and her guest to stop talking. It would be way too embarrassing to go downstairs if they were having a fight. Peter hated it when people fought. It made his stomach hurt. After a few minutes the voices stopped and Peter figured that it would be all right to make his way back to the kitchen. He didn't really want milk and cake like some dorky kid but he hoped that maybe Mary would tip him. Peter was going out with his friends that night and it would be nice to have some extra cash on hand.

Walking back down the stairs he noticed how quiet the house had gotten. Maybe Mary and her guest had gone out? But wouldn't she have told him?

Peter paused in the hallway between the kitchen and the living room. Something was wrong. The air felt different, heavier and he had an uneasy feeling, like someone was watching him. "Mary?" Peter called. "Are you still here?"

Outside a car door slammed. Looking out the window, Peter saw a dark haired man who was almost identical to Burt Reynolds backing down the driveway. The man was alone. So where was Mary? Peter stepped into the living room, heading for the side door. He stumbled over something on the rug as he moved. Looking down, Peter saw Mary lying on the carpet, her arms spread out and her eyes open. Peter stared. Mary didn't move. She looked strange. She looked...dead.

Walking backwards until he reached the door, Peter didn't make a sound. He knew he should tell someone, knew that he had to tell someone but he didn't. Instead he went outside, climbed on his bike and rode away. By the time he reached his own house two miles away, Peter had wiped the past hour out of his memory completely.

Peter stood in the same corner of the attic, his eyes glazing over as he stared down at the box. It was still there, covered with dust and apparently ignored for all these years. He reached for it, his hands trembling. He wasn't sure what was inside the box but he suspected that its contents would give the name of Mary's murderer, although Peter didn't really need to look. He already knew who had killed Mary Austin: his co-worker and colleague, Jim Waterston.

Schuyler Square Day 58 Peter's Worried

What a nightmare. What a complete, freaking nightmare. Of course, if Peter was honest with himself--something he'd been avoiding for the past few months--his life had become a freaking nightmare ever since he'd stupidly gotten involved with Mavis Schuyler. Now with Ron dead, Peter didn't know what was going to happen next but he had a sinking feeling that Mavis was going to dig her talons into him even deeper.

"So who do you think did Schuyler in?" Jim Waterson asked. Peter was in the break room at the station, exhausted from the night behind him but reluctant to go home. He knew that Chelsea would be waiting up for him with a million questions to fire at him before he was all the way through the front door. Questions he either couldn't answer or didn't want to.

"No clue," Peter replied.

Jim looked at him shrewdly. Jim had been on the force longer than Peter and little got past him. "Probably the wife. She's in line to become even wealthier than she is now."

"Possibly," Peter replied. He could feel pools of sweat forming under his arms. They were going to charge him extra cleaning fees when he returned his tux but the thought that Jim knew about Peter and Mavis was making him sick. It wasn't like they'd been all that discreet and if anyone thought about it for more than a minute or two,  Peter made just as likely a suspect as Mavis did.

"Of course," Jim added, "rumor has it that Mavis had a boyfriend on the side. It's possible that either her boyfriend took care of Ron or the boyfriend's wife did." Jim shot Peter a penetrating glance. "If the boyfriend was married, that is."

Damn. Jim knew. And if Jim knew, more people in Schuyler Square knew too. Peter's only hope was to play dumb. "I need to go home," he said, getting to his feet. "It's been a long night."

"Yeah," Jim nodded. "You should get home and talk to your wife. I'm sure you two have a lot to talk about. Say hi to Chelsea for me. Tell her she looked very...nice tonight. Very festive."

Jim didn't add that Chelsea also looked very desperate but Peter sensed that he wanted to. He decided that he'd never really liked Jim. The guy was a know-it-all and a detective wannabe in a one horse town. Not a good combination. "I'll do that."

"And Peter," Jim said when Peter was almost out the break room door, "get a good night's sleep yourself. You look like you've been through the wringer. Almost like--forget it."

"Almost like what?" Peter asked. "What were you going to say?"

"Nothing, really. Just that it was almost like you were then when Ron Schuyler bought the frm."