The Silver Lake Murder by Gregg Matthews (different ereaders txt) 📕

messy, and gray. I had a full gray beard for years. My skin from working outside in the variable temperatures of New England is like leather. I have been wearing work boots, jeans and a T-shirt to work my whole life. I reached into the small cooler in the passenger seat and felt the cold water at the bottom of the cooler and nothing else.

Reaching forward, I pressed in the cigarette lighter on the old dashboard of the truck. Retrieving a cigarette from the pack in the top pocket of my T-shirt. Turning the ignition key to the on position, the old pickup truck struggled to start, but after some time, it did start. I pulled away from the job site and began to drive the back roads towards Silver Lake.

The cigarette lighter popped out and caught my attention. I looked down and reached forward to retrieve the lighter. When I did that, I swerved the truck into the lane next to me. I could hear the horn in the car next to me, letting me know my mistake. I waved my hand up in the air, letting the driver know I acknowledge my mistake. Taking a long drag off the cigarette, I blew the smoke out the window. As I crossed the state line of Massachusetts, coming from the job site in New Hampshire, I was swerving within my own lane,” Pete says, taking another swig from a small flat bottle of whiskey.

“Keep talking,” Blake says angrily to the ground.

The truck seemed to be on autopilot. I was stopping at the same places on the way home for years. I took the exit for Lowell. Up ahead, I saw the sign for here, Worthen. Pulling the truck into the parking lot of Worthen, I was relieved I made it without incident.

The Worthen has a long history dating back to 1834 with some connections to famous writers like Edgar Allen Poe and Jack Kerouac.

The crushed stone parking lot felt familiar to me. I was comfortable where I was. The city of Lowell has lots of bars. I have been to them all but was comfortable at the Worthen for now. Shutting the driver’s side door, I walked across the parking lot to the side entrance. Stepping into Worthen, I walked across the floor, my tired old body collapsed into one of the bar stools.

“Hey Pete, happy July 4th. What can I get you?” the bartender said cheerfully.

“Thanks. Can I get a draft beer and a whiskey, please?” I said.

“Sure thing.”

“Thanks!”

I acknowledged some friends and continued drinking into the night. The conversation, beer, whisky, and cigarettes kept flowing. Late into the evening, I saw Sam, the bartender walking towards me with a sad look in his eyes.

“Pete, no more beer and whiskey. You are cut off. It’s 12:00 a.m., go home to your wife,” Sam said.

“Yes, my wife was waiting for me,” I said, not wanting to go home.

Leaving the Worthen, I stepped back into the truck. I took an hour to gather myself for the thirty-minute ride home to Silver Lake. Reaching forward, I pressed in the cigarette lighter on the old dashboard of the truck. I retrieved a cigarette from the pack in the top pocket of my T-shirt and lit it when the lighter popped out, I looked at my wristwatch and saw it was 1:00 a.m., the early hours of July 5th. I needed to drive south on Route 38 to get home to #8, North Shore Drive. I was going to be home by 1:30 a.m. if all went well. Turning the ignition key to the on position, the old pickup truck started on the first try. It must be my lucky night!

The truck I was driving seemed to be on autopilot again; I was close to home. I made it back to Silver Lake safely.

As I reached the front of the lake on Route 38. I saw a young woman running in my direction on the sidewalk. She was running from the sidewalk onto the streets of Route 38 in front of the lake near the new, Welcome to Silver Lake sign.

I flicked the nub of my cigarette out the window. Reaching forward, I pressed in the cigarette lighter again on the old dashboard of the truck. Retrieving a cigarette from the pack in the top pocket of my T-shirt. The cigarette lighter popped out and caught my attention. Looking down, I reached forward and retrieved the lighter to meet the end of the new cigarette I pulled from the pack,” Pete says, looking sideways to see if Blake is listening to him.

“Keep talking,” Blake says angrily to the ground.

Standing up, Blake takes a couple of steps and stretches his arms and legs. Pete’s back makes contact with the bed of the truck. Some cars drive by with music blaring from their windows. Looking out at the city streets, he tries not to attack Pete. He needs Pete to tell him the rest of the story.

“Come on, Pete, sit up and keep talking,” Blake says quietly.

“Okay, Blake, one minute,” Pete says, taking another swig from the flat bottle of whiskey.

CHAPTER 15

Pete swigs his whiskey and continues talking.

Luke came here to find me. He told me everything that happened leading up to the collision. Luke gave me some money to keep my mouth shut. But I don’t care anymore. I want to tell you what happened. You have the right to know.

The four waitresses Cindy’s friends also came here and found me. They told me everything that happened from their perspective leading up to the collision as well.

Cindy was running down the dirt road of Shady Lane with the Lakeview Lounge fading in the background. The lake was quiet and peaceful. She looked at her wristwatch and saw it was 1:30 a.m., the early hours of July 5th. A couple of leftover skyrockets raced across the front of the moon. She was running for her life.

Running north onto Route 38, she was pulling at