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

some of the places he and Rose used to go. With the hope she will be at one of them. There is a small secluded manmade beach he and Rose used to meet at. The name of the beach is Town Beach. Town Beach is tucked in a small cove to the right side of the lake.

Getting himself ready for the day, he steps out of the car and opens the trunk reorganizing some clothes and tools. He has some small trash bags; he needs to discard when he gets a chance. He throws on a fresh T-shirt to start his day. He pulls his long, curly brown hair back into a ponytail. Boots and jeans have been on for a couple of days. Grabbing a toothbrush, toothpaste, and a bottle of water. He combines the three components, brushing his teeth. He spits out the backwash and closes the trunk. He sits in the driver's seat again.

Turning the ignition key to the on position, he starts the engine. He drives the car down the long winding dirt roads of Silver Lake. He can see the sunshine peeking in through the trees. He puts his aviator sunglasses on. This time of year, the trees and bushes are at their growth peaks. Long leafy branches hangover, shading the dirt road. Flashes of blue lake water peek out through the trees as well. The familiarity of his surroundings is making him more comfortable about being home.

Up ahead, he can see the opening for the Town Beach parking lot. He pulls the car into the dirt and crushed stone parking lot. He parks the car as close to the water as he can. He looks around the beach area for the first time in a few years. In the parking lot, there are several sixty-gallon drum barrels overflowing with trash and empty beer bottles. He sees one of the trash barrels has a little room. He removes the trash from his trunk and puts it into the barrel.

Looking out over the beach, he sees the old wooden dock he and Rose used to jump off of. There is an old wooden lifeguard chair in the middle of the beach. It’s tilting to one side like the Leaning Tower of Piza. No one has been able to sit in the chair for years. Why don’t they remove it from the beach? Looking out into the water, he can see the safety rope around the beach area. He remembers as a kid the first time he swam out to the rope and how big of a deal it was. How innocent they were back then. In life, he is out way past the rope now.

His heart sinks at the thought of Rose. Being here reminds him of her and how much he misses her. He has a pain in his midsection when he thinks of her. He pictures her here, walking up to him. He can picture her in his mind. When they were younger neither one of them had a care in the world.

Gazing out over the water, he sees the tall green pine trees at the water’s edge. The trees line the perimeter of the water. Looking across the water, he can see the old rope swing with a couple of teenagers launching themselves through the air, into the water.

Little Rock Island is seen off in the distance, with smoke streaming out of a couple of different smoldering fires from last night.

There are some young mothers with several children playing in the shallow water. The young mothers don’t look familiar to him. He walks over to them to start a conversation. Maybe they have seen Rose.

“Hi,” Blake says awkwardly.

“Oy,” one of the women says.

“I am looking for my friend. Maybe you have seen her?” Blake says, showing her a picture of Rose on his smartphone.

“No English,” the woman says.

“Oh,” Blake says awkwardly.

Walking away dejected after showing them a picture of Rose, he sees someone else at the beach. An older man, wearing an overcoat and headphones. He is walking the beach waving a long metal stick with a metal detector on the end of it. Looking closer, Blake realizes he knows him. Slowly he approaches the man. He doesn’t want to scare him. He is within five feet of the man. He waves his hands, trying to get the man’s attention. The man keeps walking, waving the metal detector over the sand. The man doesn’t see him; he is going to have to tap him on the shoulder. Reaching out, he touches the man's shoulder. The man is startled but stops waving the metal detector over the sand and takes the headphones off.

“Mr. Robins?” Blake says to his old neighbor.

“Blake?” Mr. Robins says.

“Yes, it’s me, Blake Rivers.”

“Jesus Blake, you scared me half to death.”

“Sorry, Mr. Robins.”

“I have not seen you in three or four years, right?”

“Right, me and Rose moved to New Orleans.”

Surprised by how much Mr. Robins has changed since the last time he saw him. Blake thinks they better sit down while they talked. There are several picnic tables off to the side in the shade.

“Do you have a minute to talk, Mr. Robins?” Blake says, pointing to one of the picnic-tables.

“Yes, I have all day.”

Blake helps Mr. Robins over to one of the picnic tables and helps him sit down.

“Thanks,” Mr. Robins says, sitting down awkwardly.

“You’re welcome.”

Sitting across the picnic table from Mr. Robins, he watches him remove his vintage sunglasses. He can see the confidence in his eyes is gone. His look has changed since the last time he saw him. He is wearing a dirty fisherman’s hat and an overcoat in the same condition. A stained white T-shirt, jeans, and canvas sneakers. Something has changed since the last time he saw him. A few years ago, Mr. Robins was arrogant. He had all the

answers for everything, a know-it-all. Today he is disheveled. Blake wonders what happened to him.

“You OK, Mr. Robins?” Blake says to get the conversation started.

“Do I