Page 65… in a fiction series
From the sidewalk in front of Miranda’s house in Petoskey, Drew Becker stood with a large pizza and a bag of Oreo cookies wondering why the place was so dark. Of course it was late, and maybe she was tired, but their Friday night pizza date had become something they both looked forward to.
Miranda had just picked up six dining room chairs at a thrift store in Alanson… European antiques so beautiful, it was worth stripping them down to the bare wood and starting over. It was supposed to rain all weekend. He figured they’d come up with a plan tonight, and in the morning get started.
He got out his key, let himself in, and turned on the kitchen light. He knew she was working in Detroit, but she would have called if she decided to stay through the weekend. Drew was starving. With a slice of pizza in one hand, he took a can of Coke from the fridge, and sat down at the table to think. Two things stood out right away. One, the light on her answering machine was blinking, and two, her orchids on the kitchen windowsill were almost dead. These observations were equally disturbing.
Drew wondered if she was drinking again. He tried to be there for her when Harry died, but Miranda grew distant and cold, as if the two of them weren’t even friends. It’s not like they were dating or anything, at least not in an official way. But the Friday night pizza routine was one they both enjoyed, and their big “kiss scene” on the dock at the Charlevoix Boat Basin was one he’d never forget.
Drew took another bite, turned on the light in Miranda’s red dining room. The room was a mess. There were old newspapers, half-eaten Eggo waffles, laundry not folded, and a pile of unopened mail. This was way out of character. Something was wrong.
He wasn’t entirely comfortable being in her house alone. While they were great friends and had alot of fun together, he had only been in her bedroom once, and that was to break the seal on a window that had been painted shut long ago. He turned on lights as he went through the house, noting empty liquor bottles everywhere. His long legs climbed the stairs two at a time, and when he reached the top he was shocked by what he saw.
For all her bragging about the big closet and all her pretty things, the second floor of the bungalow looked like a crime scene. Clothes were tossed on the floor, even her good suits for work were off the hangers and wrinkled. Drawers were left open. Pretty underwear was left on the dresser–Drew looked away.
He never planned on mentioning this to Miranda, and it may mean the end of their friendship, but while she was getting settled in the house, he went to use the bathroom and saw pills… a lot of prescription bottles… in the medicine cabinet. Drew was more than a master craftsman. He was good at computers, quickly researched the drugs, and found out what they were for. Miranda could be in great danger.
What he did next was overstepping the boundaries of their friendship. He ran back downstairs, pressed play, and listened to the message. Drew called the number.
To be continued…
*This story is based on some true events, however, has been fictionalized and all persons appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real people, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
© 2012, Shoes for an Imaginary Life. All rights reserved.