Chapter 13

© Copyright 2006 by Kendra Cornell



Karen slipped down the alley. Her pink velour jogging suit was rumpled, but at least she looked somewhat normal- if one didn’t notice the fact that she wore no shoes. Her feet were getting shredded by the sharp rocks and gravel that paved the alleyway, but she didn’t want to stop. Every so often, she looked over her shoulder making sure that no one came rushing over the gate. After what seemed to be an eternity, she reached the end of the street and had to make a decision. Staying away from the main routes of transportation was a must- if anyone saw her, thinking she was involved in a murder, this was over.

“This is so surreal,” muttered Karen under her breath. The sun shone brilliantly in a cerulean sky. White clouds floated majestically- perfect for children lying on their backs seeing pictures in the puffy shapes. And here she was, walking through a quaint, upscale little neighborhood barefoot and running for her life. Again.

What I need right now, is somewhere I can rest for a while. Somewhere I can do some research without calling too much attention to myself... The answer presented itself immediately. The library, she thought with a burst of inspiration. She had to find a library. Karen tucked the file into the front of her jacket, as it seemed too awkward to carry any longer. She knew she made a peculiar enough sight as it was.

The library nearer to her own house was not all that far, and not knowing where to find one any closer, Karen decided to set off in that direction. It's a risk. But anywhere is a risk right now, and at least I'm familiar with that one. The entire situation was beginning to frazzle Karen's nerves. Her head throbbed from the blow it had received last night, her feet were scratched and achy, and she was exhausted. It seemed that only pure luck had kept her safe thus far. She longed for sleep, for a deeply warm soft bed with a pillow that would cradle her aching head. Thick soft blankets to draw up around her shoulders seemed like her idea of heaven right now. Not that she had ever really given any thought to heaven.

Karen's mind meandered as she walked along the sidewalks that led her in the direction of her home. Home- now it was simply a place to lay her head, albeit an exceedingly comfortable and plush place. When she was young, it had been an embarrassment. She was never able to bring her friends there- they would have looked with disdain at the stained, threadbare silver and blue couch that amounted to the sum and substance of the furniture in the living room. The carpet had always been ragged and thin. And their television was fifteen years older than she was. Not to mention the fact that her father had always been there, drinking beer and staring at reruns while her mother worked long hours as a nurse just trying to make ends meet.

Her parents hadn't been abusive, they just hadn't really cared. Her mother and father seemed to stay together more out of laziness than love. She had never seen them hold each other, express affection, or have a conversation about more than that week’s grocery list. Over it all, a pall of unhappiness drenched their home like a thick, invisible fog. Their home hadn't been comprised of a family- it was only a drab, grungy little house. Karen had promised herself never to marry- she never wanted to repeat that cycle, and in rare moments of candor, she knew she was petrified of hurting another human being that way.

After Karen had grown up and left that place, she had seen the same looks on the faces of street people that her parents had worn for all the years she had known them. It was a look that spoke less of desperation than just straight hopelessness. Desperation implied some kind of emotional engagement. But the hopeless... they had just given up. Had it been weakness on their part? Or had life been too much to handle... had the pain and struggle simply forced them to withdraw into a shell, drawing their next breath the greatest conflict with which they could cope?

It seemed the greatest irony- that she, a woman who had come from nothing, had worked to create stability and a home for herself, and because of one misplaced entrance into the wrong situation, she was now in danger of losing everything. Her home, her control, perhaps even her life. Would this be the situation that broke her? The situation that turned her into the useless wreck that was her father? All she knew was that right now, she was operating on autopilot. Karen no longer really knew what to do or where to go. She simply focused on the next goal and achieved it, with little idea of the bigger picture. Unless something happened soon to give her some clarity, Karen knew she was in danger of making a big mistake. And that mistake might ultimately be her undoing.

Karen bypassed the local university, opting instead to take smaller side streets that supported little traffic. Slowly, she made her way to her side of town. Her head throbbed more and more with every step. Thankfully, she was growing accustomed to the pain in her feet, and didn't notice it as much as she had before.

Finally, the diamond leaded-glass windows of the small brick library came into view. It had been there for over seventy years and was a throwback to days gone by. Generations of children had come to escape the summer heat or to find respite for a few hours in fantasy worlds that bore no resemblance to their own.

In the last few years, a revitalization campaign had begun in the city, and the library had received money to upgrade its facilities. As a result, computer kiosks had been added, comfortable window seats installed in the library's four bay windows, small groupings of wing chairs had been collected in out of the way alcoves, and the interior had been decorated in plush shades of green and gray. The overall effect was soothing and inviting, and just what Karen's aching psyche needed.

Although it was midday on a Saturday, it seemed the normal throng had opted instead to spend the day in the gorgeous outdoors. Thankfully, Karen entered the calming, quiet space relatively unnoticed. Threading her way between shelves of books, she found a secluded niche containing a computer that was otherwise unoccupied. Hiding her feet under the desk, she pulled out the folder that housed the information on Jeff Yendale and pulled a sturdy but comfortable chair up to the terminal.

Not having any idea where to start, she used one of the small yellow pencils the library had provided to make some notes:

1. Who is Jeff Yendale?
2. Who is behind the attacks?
3. What role does Elizabeth James play?

Karen decided these were enough for the moment. More questions would undoubtedly reveal themselves as she did some research.

Entering Jeff's name into a search engine yielded few interesting results, mostly links to Channel 8's website. Karen bit her lip, thinking. Jeff's folder was thin, containing about thirteen pages of information. She started at the front, noting Jeff's unshaven jawline and significantly younger face. Evidently, whatever his transgressions, they had occurred some years ago, but with all the names, dates and locations blackened out at the tops of the pages, she didn't know any of the specifics. Playing on a hunch, she lifted the first page to the fluorescent light, hoping that perhaps she could still make out the typed text underneath the censored information. She tried each consecutive page, hoping for at least something legible that she could use to cross-reference her search.

The seventh page produced something: Fort Braxton, Nebraska. Karen frowned in thought. She'd never heard of it. Putting that name through a search engine, she located one thing- Fort Braxton Junior College. There was no website for the town itself, but the primitive homepage for the College showed that it served mostly students in the area- many of whom went on to enter major universities. Might Jeff be an alum of the school? It was a possibility...

Clicking on the alumni search button, Karen entered Jeff's name and waited a moment for the results. Hmmm... Nothing. Okay, let's try something else, thought Karen. Instead of entering Jeff’s full name, she tried only Yendale, but came up with nothing. Entering only his first name produced a list of fifty-three Jeffs and Jeffreys- none of whom had the last name of Yendale, as she expected. So what was the connection between Fort Braxton and Jeffrey Yendale? Apparently, there was nothing else of note in the town besides the college, so what on earth had he been doing there? Karen printed the list of fifty-three results and placed it in the folder, promising to give it better study later on. Fearing a dead-end there, she turned to the second question. Who is behind the attacks?

Obviously, whoever it was had some connection to Jeff Yendale. He had placed a call to her attacker the night before... or had he? Was she making too many assumptions? Perhaps Jeff had spoken to someone else- someone who was in charge of this entire mess. Someone, maybe, who had hired the attacks on her. Maybe Jeff had never even known who the attacker was.

Karen blew out an exasperated sigh. She was talking herself in circles. She thought quickly of Ackham's Razor- a theory she used often in her line of work that basically stated that all things being equal, the simplest explanation tends to be the right one. She needed to think linearly rather than allow entry to every single possibility that presented itself. Okay, then. She turned over one of the sheets in Jeff’s folio and made a crude timeline.

1. Witness to argument between E.J. and Tom
2. Informed Jack and Tom that I would go to police.
3. Attack at home
4. Attack by Jeff
5. Held at Jeff's home, whereby someone came to see me
6. Escape from Jeff's
7. Now sitting in a library, utterly frustrated and wanting to scream in frustration, but paralyzed by childhood fear of cat-eyed librarians ready to flog at any auditory indiscretion.

Karen scribbled this last in irritation and tossed the pencil across the desk.

There were more she could add: Did her introduction to Jeff have anything to do with this? Had it been somehow been orchestrated, or was it just a random occurrence that played into this by accident? Should she add her call to the police? If so, how involved were they in this? Who had been behind releasing her name as a person of interest in the murder of Elizabeth James? There were too many questions and not nearly enough answers. Think linearly. What is the simplest explanation here?

Still drawing a blank, Karen turned to the last question on her list. What on earth did Elizabeth James have to do with any of this?

Karen turned back to the computer, and felt an eerie sense of daja vu. She had been sitting at her computer the night before in the same clothes trying to find out exactly who Elizabeth James was, and what she had to do with this. Scrolling down the results of the newest search, she clicked on one entry she hadn't had time to investigate before. It was the Chamber of Commerce Businessmen and Businesswomen of Colorado website. It listed Elizabeth and Dirk James (deceased). Following that, Elizabeth's name was listed as an associate. That was odd... What business had she been involved in following the death of her husband? It was published information that she and her late husband had sold James Construction shortly before his death- apparently intending to enjoy retirement. How very ironic, thought Karen with a touch of disbelief that the businessman had died so soon after he retired.

What had Elizabeth gotten involved with after her husband's death? Obviously, something having to do with Tom Delaney, but Tom Delaney wasn't a businessman. He was a public personality, but not a businessman, was he?

Karen scribbled in this latest with interest. How could she find out if Tom Delaney had owned a company without the public's knowledge? Could it be that he had donated to his own campaign, as a corporate entity, thus breaking the new campaign finance reform laws? She was grasping at straws now, all the possibilities swirling together with no obvious front-runner.

Forget it! I quit. I have always been able to do this- identify the problem- find a solution. What is the matter with me? Am I losing a grip on reality, or is it just that I can't function when I really need to? Completely confused and irked beyond definition, Karen tossed the pencil onto the desk again and uttering a foul expletive, she cupped her head in her hands.

"Maam, is there something I can help you with?" said a voice behind her.

Without turning, Karen shook her head. "Uh- no thank-you. I was just looking for some information, and came up a little short. It's really no problem, but thank you anyway."—Blood rushed into Karen's face. She hadn't meant to call attention to herself.

A stocky middle-aged woman with curling brown hair streaked with gray came up behind her. "Well, that's why I'm here. What exactly were you looking for?"�

Karen looked up at her nervously. "Nothing really. Thanks anyway. I should be going."

The woman looked at her, and placed a hand on her shoulder gently pushing Karen into her chair. "Please sit down. There's no rush. If you have any questions, please don't hesitate to ask. I'd be happy to help." The librarian's eyes scanned Karen's face one more time before she walked away and began to push a cart full of books that needed to be reshelved.

Did she recognize me? Karen thought not- the woman had seemed innocent enough. But what do I know? I've made more mistakes in judgment in the last twenty-four hours than I've made in the last three years of my life.

As Karen was sorting the papers, Blanche the Librarian was trying to act as nonchalant as possible. As she moved her rather buxom backside to the desk, her hands shook in excitement. Nothing like this had ever happened here before! Quickly looking up the non-emergency number for the police department, Blanche spoke quietly.

"Uh, hello? My name is Blanche Lockhert and I'd like to report something. You know that blonde lady that they want for the murder of that other lady? The rich one... yeah, her. Well, she's here. No... not the dead lady, the other one. She's here... Where? In my library."

Karen quietly finished organizing the paperwork, and rose. Pushing her chair back under the desk, she turned to leave. The librarian was staring at her from across the library and gesturing wildly to accentuate whatever she was saying to someone on the phone.

Panic shot through Karen's heart- was this about her? Had she been recognized? Karen walked quickly toward the entrance hoping to elude the woman's frantic calls.

"Wait! Wait, Miss! You can't leave here. No! Somebody stop that woman!"�

Karen quickened her pace, rushing at the heavy glass-paned oak door. Shoving on the crash bar, she charged through the door and down the sidewalk amidst the stares of a few startled onlookers. Blanche's protests weakened as Karen lost sight of the library, not knowing where to head next.




HEY! and don't forget to e-mail Kendra Cornell if you have a comment! She would really like to hear from you.





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