January 21st, 1937
Greenwich Village, Manhattan
I felt an unusual sense of foreboding as I approached Phillies Diner. The night was frigid, and I was shivering so badly. I felt as if my bones themselves were shaking. This neighborhood was generally safe, and I'd never felt such unease walking down Greenwich Avenue. The streets were empty, and most stores were dark besides a couple of restaurants that stayed open to catch the late-night stragglers and night shift workers who had yet to eat. Each step I took echoed off the stone walls, and I drew my coat closer to keep out the chill.
I entered the diner, and a small bell jingled to announce my arrival to Phil who was working the counter and the two other patrons in the restaurant. I hung up my coat in the back and had a seat near the bend in the counter. I ordered a black cup of coffee and began to observe my fellow patrons. The first customer that caught my eye was a woman in a red dress with fiery red hair wearing red lipstick. She flirted with the other customer who was a man in a dark blue suit and grey hat. He was a fairly handsome man with a sharp nose, a strong chin, and dark brown eyes that smiled as he talked to the woman in red. The woman's name was Charlotte Winthrop, widow to the late Peter Winthrop who had unexpectedly committed suicide only two weeks prior to this date. The man was Jack Eckart, Peter's best friend. I had been investigating these two upon the request of Peter's sister Cassaundra who had suspicions about Charlotte being involved in Peter's death.
My coffee arrived, and I brought out a book pretending to read and sip my drink. I was, in all actuality, listening to the hushed conversation between Charlotte and Jack. "I was always very uncomfortable with the way he said things to me," said Charlotte.
"Yes, he could be quite brash, couldn't he," Jack replied.
"He always gave me what I wanted though; he was very giving, but it seemed that clothing and jewelry were the only things he had to offer. He was lacking in the romance department," she giggled. "One time on Valentine's Day, he took me to a baseball game and ignored me the whole time."
"I remember you telling me about that," said Jack, "and then the next Valentine's Day he took you to that really expensive restaurant and bought you some nice wine but then fell right asleep when you got home." They both laughed quietly, and then Charlotte grabbed Jack's hand.
"But you were there, when he was passed out drunk on the bed from drinking all the wine he bought me plus some whiskey. You came over, and we danced to the radio. You held me in your arms, and for once I felt happy."
Jack smiled at her and then kissed her on the lips. "I love you, Charlotte," he said.
"I love you too, Jack."
I was a little bit wary to take on this case because I didn't want to investigate this poor woman just after her husband had died, but after hearing this conversation, I was invested. She had the motive; she was unhappy in her marriage. Peter seemed like a bit of a drunk and obviously had no romantic bone in his body, but is that enough to murder a man? And Jack was there the whole time, picking up Charlotte and whisking her away at every chance he could get. I decided to covertly glance over at the couple, who were obviously too infatuated with each other to even see that I was there. It was probable that they hadn't even seen me enter, and that's when I noticed something.
They were both wearing such nice clothes; her dress was absolutely stunning, and the jewelry she was wearing looked extremely expensive. This could be due to what she had mentioned about Peter only being able to offer her expensive clothes and jewelry. But Jack was just an accountant, and his clothes were just as nice as hers. Peter was a fairly wealthy, man and it was absolutely not far from the realm of possibility that Charlotte had killed him to collect money and then live her life in wealth and happiness with Jack. Which one was the likeliest of the two scenarios?
Suddenly, the couple stood, payed for their meal, and were headed out the door. I hadn't prepared for them to leave, and I had to think fast. I decided my best choice of action was to wait for a little bit after they left and go after them. I waited for about 30 seconds before I payed for my meal and went out the door. A cold gust of wind disoriented me for a second, but I soon saw them rounding the corner on Seventh Avenue. I jogged a little bit to get closer and then peeked around the corner to make sure they hadn't noticed me following them. Luckily, just as in the restaurant, they were not aware of the outside world; its was as if they existed in their own little bubble. It seemed as if even the freezing wind couldn't pierce the spell of passion that surrounded them. Along they went, like lovesick puppies, towards the river, and I followed at their heels like a basset hound on the hunt, listening to their every word. They soon reached the river and sat on a bench, and I waited behind at a distance. They sat in silence for a minute just staring at the water, and I began to wonder why the mood had changed so suddenly.
Then Charlotte spoke. "I did love him, you know?" she said. "Peter may not have been a good husband, but he was a good man. He never hit me, and he made sure I was always cared for." She choked as if holding back tears. "After what happened, I don't know if I can live with myself."
"I feel the same way, almost as if it were my fault."
"It is our fault!" said Charlotte. She moved to the railing by the river and stood there looking across it. Jack stood up, slowly walked to her, and put his arms around her comfortingly. Pain and sadness could be seen etched on his face in the moonlight reflecting off the water. "I know Charlotte. He was a good friend for many, many years. He was loyal, and he never let a fella down." Charlotte hugged him, and the wind began to howl. The biting cold of it stung my eyes, and I had to squint. I could barely make out Charlotte and Jack saying something to each other.
The wind died as quickly as it picked up, and I heard Charlotte say, "When he caught us together that night, we killed him. The two people he loved the most in this world lying to him and going behind his back together. We might as well have pulled the trigger ourselves." They let go of one another and stared across the water as if searching for consolation in the endless stars above.
Suddenly, Jack took a deep breath and said, "Are you ready Charlotte?"
"I'm ready. I love you Jack."
"I love you, too," said Jack.
And they flung themselves over the railing into the freezing waters below. I jumped from my post behind a tree and ran to where they had stood only moments before. I looked over the railing and saw nothing but rippling on the surface of the water. I ran to a pay phone that wasn't far and phoned the police. They came and questioned me, and I told them my story and went home in shock at what I had seen. A week later, Cassaundra came to me and apologized for sending me on this tragic errand. I told her that it was my job and that she had nothing to be sorry for. She said that the police wouldn't tell her anything and asked if I could tell her. All I told her was that her sister-in- law had not murdered her brother. No, it was not murder that killed her brother, but it was passion that killed him. And it is passion that may one day kill us all.