The Man Who Cheated Death

Chapter 21 The Tape

Rancho Penasquitos was located at the foot of the imposing Black Mountain range. Comfortable family homes and small farms ran up and down secluded hills and canyons, with people on horseback as plentiful as those riding in cars.

Driving down a dirt road, Bridgewater told them the rest of his story. A smart defense attorney had managed to keep Eugene out of jail, and in shame Elaine had quit her teaching job and rented a dilapidated farm in the area.

“I haven’t seen Elaine since she moved out here,” Bridgewater said. “I heard she was still giving speech therapy at the veteran’s hospital.”

A sign on the road announced the Osbourne farm. It consisted of a tiny house with a sagging front porch, a barn with fist-sized holes dotting the walls, and a doghouse with a chained mutt standing on its roof. In the yard stood a man in tattered jeans and a football jersey. Golden brown feed seeped through his fingers into the upturned mouths of a dozen squawking baby chicks.

“Who’s that?” Wondero asked.

“That’s Matt, Elaine’s nephew.” Bridgewater said. “He’s a bit slow. Let me deal with him.”

Bridgewater parked beside a rusted fence and they got out.

“Hi, Matt. Remember me? Doctor Bridgewater. How you been?”

Matthew squinted suspiciously. “Long time no see, Doc. What brings you out here?”

“I need to speak with Elaine. Is she around?”

“She’s in the ground, Doc.”

“Elaine’s dead?”

“Yup. Kicked the bucket two years ago.”

Bridgewater stared at the ground like an actor who’d forgotten his line.

“Ask him about Eugene,” Wondero whispered.

“Have you heard from your cousin Eugene?” Bridgewater asked.

“Why you asking about that piece of garbage?”

“We need to find him.”

“Eugene sent me a letter, asked to borrow some money. Like a dope I sent it to him. Never heard from him again.”

“Ask him if he still has the letter,” Wondero whispered.

“Do you still have the letter?”

In a rage Matthew picked up a feed bucket and swung it menacingly. “I don’t want to talk about him. Eugene sucks.”

“But Matt—”

“Go away.”

Turning his back on them, Matthew resumed feeding the chicks. Hardare glanced at the house. It didn’t have more than a couple of rooms, and would be easy to search.

“I’m going in,” Hardare said.

“Wait,” Wondero said.

He ignored him, and hopped the fence. The baby chicks started to squawk, and Matthew spun around.

“Get off my property. You’re breaking the law.”

“I have to talk to you,” Hardare said.

“I said scram!”

It was like arguing with a child. It gave him an idea, and he knelt down, and put some of the feed in his palm. He tossed it at the chicks, and they quickly encircled his feet.

In becoming a magician, he had learned hundreds of tricks, and exposed himself to the different ways that had been devised to fool people. As the chicks pecked at his fingers, he picked them up and stroked their fluffy stomachs with his finger, then flipped each chick on its back, and carefully laid it on the ground. The chicks remained motionless, as if hypnotized.

Matthew knelt beside him. “Wow. How’d you do that?”

Hardare saw Wondero heading for the house. Matthew paid no attention to him.

“It’s a trick. Would you like me to show you?” Hardare asked.

“First bring them back.”

“Sure.”

Hardare gently tipped over one of the chicks with his extended finger. The chick popped up and started running in circles.

“Awesome!” Matthew exclaimed.

Soon he had all the chicks up and running. Matthew was like a little kid at his first magic show, and he held one of the chicks between his cupped hands and kissed its fluffy head.

“Show me how you did that,” he said.

Hardare taught Matthew the baby chick trick. It had been invented by an Egyptian magician named Galli Galli. By the time he was finished, Matthew was hypnotizing chicks left and right.

“This is so cool. Thanks for showing me.”

“Your welcome.”

“Do you know any more?”

“A couple.”

The sound of a slamming door lifted his head. Wondero emerged from the house with a cardboard box clutched in his hands. He gave Hardare the thumbs up, indicating his search had been successful.

“I need to run. Nice meeting you.”

“You, too.”

Hardare hopped back over the fence. Bridgewater already had the car running. He and Wondero jumped in, and they drove away.

Wondero dumped the box’s contents onto the seat. Letters, newspaper clippings, some old photos, and a tape cassette fell out. The detective divided the letters in half, and handed Hardare a stack.

“I found this stuff in a closet,” Wondero explained. “Hopefully, Eugene Osbourne’s letter is here.”

Hardare thumbed through his stack. It included letters from distant relatives and old friends. At the bottom he found an envelope addressed to Matthew Osbourne, and opened it. Inside was a letter from his cousin Eugene, begging for money.

“I found it,” Hardare said.

Wondero turned in his seat. “Is there a return address?”

“No. Eugene sent his cousin a self-addressed stamped envelope, and asked him to put a check in it. There’s no return address on the letter, or the envelope it was sent in.”

“Damn it,” Wondero said.

“Did you find anything in your stack?”

“No.”

The car fell silent. They had hit a dead end. Hardare wanted to ask Wondero what they should do now, but thought he already knew the answer. They had to hope for a miracle.

He tossed the letters back into the box. His eyes fell on the tape cassette lying on the seat.

“What do you think is on the tape?” Hardare asked.

“Only one way to find out,” Wondero said.

Wondero popped the cassette into the car’s tape player. A low hum came out of the car’s speakers, followed by a woman’s voice giving a speech lesson to a man with a pronounced stutter.

“That’s Elaine,” Bridgewater said. “She must have recorded one of her therapy sessions at the V.A. hospital.”

They listened to Elaine Osbourne during the drive back. The tape was of good quality, her voice strong and clear. As they pulled into the high school parking lot, the tape ended.

Wondero grabbed the box of letters and photographs, and got out of the car. Bridgewater started to do the same, and Hardare tapped him on the shoulder. He didn’t know why, but something told him that the tape might come in handy down the road.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to keep the tape,” Hardare said.

Bridgewater popped the tape out of the player. He passed it back between the seats, and Hardare saw the sadness in his eyes.

“She was a wonderful woman,” the principal said.

“I’m sure she was.

They both got out of the car.