Eileen Slovak

Chapter Thirty-eight: The Discovery of a Scarlet Letter

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and locales are products of the author’s imagination. They are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is coincidental. Copyright © 2024 by Eileen Slovak.

Scott

The Walmart crew couldn’t seem to make time to meet with me. I spoke with each of them again over the phone. It was all less than enlightening. I want to cover my bases. One thing I know, if Sean was planning to move back to Rhode Island they had no idea.

      Officer Hardesty went over the police report with me again. He thinks the weather was a major factor. He noted the airbag didn’t deploy. He said he’s seen this happen before when someone left something on the front seat. That or the sensors malfunctioned. I let him know the car is being evaluated and about the backlog.

      “That’s not unusual,” he says. “The body shops are all behind with the parts coming from overseas. Also, I meant to tell you, I got a call from some woman about your case. At first, I thought you were working together, then she said otherwise. Name began with an S.”

      “Scarlet?”

      “Yup, that was her. Said she was a friend of his. I didn’t tell her anything. Just thought I’d mention it.”

      “Glad you did.”

      “It’s a shame to see something like that happen to such a young man. They don’t learn. Speed kills.”

      I waited for forty-five minutes at the repair shop before finally getting to talk to someone in service. Even then, I had to tell my story again like it was the first time they’d ever heard it.

      “It’s my next job. I swear. We’re short staffed. Another guy quit yesterday. You’re not waiting on an insurance claim, am I right?”

      “It’s not even my car. It was a fatal crash. I’m working on behalf of the family of the victim.”

      “That’s right. I’m on it this week.”

      “I remember hearing that last week. Look, I’ve got grieving parents who need some closure. Can you help me out here?” I give him my card with fifty bucks, thinking it will help jump start the guy.

      Once I finish packing everything up in the apartment, I want to make one final sweep. At least the Campbell’s should get the damage deposit back if nothing else. I go through the bureau pulling out drawers, checking behind appliances, then see arch under the bed. When I pull out the nightstand drawer, I make an interesting discovery. The corner of an envelope is sticking out from under the drawer. I pull the drawer out completely, retrieving the wrinkled envelope. Flattening it, I see a single word scrawled across the front in what I assume is Sean’s handwriting: Scarlet. 

      Mr. Zawalski lives three doors down from Sean. He’s retired, plus from what Mrs. Casey said, he doesn’t go out much.

      “Good afternoon, sir. I’m Scott Manchester. I’m investigating an accident that happened on January 1^st, New Years Day, involving one of your neighbors, Sean Campbell.”

      He neglects to invite me in, so we converse in his open doorway. I can hear the TV blasting the news in the background. He’s painfully thin. His clothes droop on his small frame. I find myself wondering if he’s ill.

      “Sean Campbell?”

      “Yes, sir. He lived a few doors down. Young guy, dark hair, moved in over the Summer.”

      “Oh, they come and go here. It’s like a damn hotel,” he says waving his hand. Then he rubs the top of his head, disturbing the few thinning hairs that he has left. They flop over to the wrong side of his comb over.

      “I wondered if you remembered anything unusual about that day. If you saw him or spoke with him.”

      “My memory’s not what it used to be. That was a while ago now. I’m getting ready to move to a retirement complex. Too much commotion here. Too many darn stairs. My new apartment has an elevator.”

      “That sounds nice. I’m happy for you.”

      “Sorry, I’m not much help.”

      “One more thing. Mrs. Casey mentioned you both saw a woman in the parking area that day, sitting in her car.”

      “If she says so.” He squints at me, starting to close the door.

      “The girl was illegally parked in a handicapped spot.”

      “Oh, her! Sure. I do remember. Nothing chaps my hide more than people parking where they don’t belong.”

      “Did you happen to say anything to the woman?”

      “I was getting ready to go down there, but then she tore off out of here. If I could’ve made out the license plate number, I would have reported her.”

      “Do you remember the make or model, or anything about the car by any chance?”

      “Sure. It was a white compact. American made I think, with out of state plates. Could have been a rental. Like I said. I couldn’t see the numbers on the plate, too hard to see from up here with my eyesight.”

      “No, that’s really helpful. Odd behavior seems like.”

      “Well, lovers quarrel, I guess.”

      “What makes you say that?”

      “Because right after she took off, that young man went after her in his black BMW.”

      I use the available cleaning products to tidy up the apartment to the best of my ability. Then, I lug the boxes I plan to ship to Mr. Campbell’s office out to the back seat of the rental car. It takes two more runs to remove all the trash. Then, I load three boxes of donations into the trunk. I check the mail one more time, then swing by the manager’s office to drop off the keys.

      “There should have been a second house key,” he says.

      “Really? I only found one. Here’s the mail key. Maybe the missing door key is on the car key chain? I can check with the mechanic.”

      “The police had the car towed. Don’t worry about it, we’ll change the locks anyway.” He hands me a pile of Sean’s mail. “This came for him. I wasn’t sure what to do with it.”

      “Thanks, I’ll remind the family to notify the post office if they haven’t already.”

      “Where should I send the damage deposit?”

      I jot down the Campbell’s address. Then, I give him twenty bucks for postage to take care of any additional mail and for his time.

      Saturday morning, I wander into the Un Pub hoping to see Scarlet. I have questions and she may have answers. The introduction at the art show opened the door for me. I only need to figure out how to explain the case I’m working on. That and why I haven’t come clean before now. By 11:30 a.m., I’ve about given up on seeing her.