Cecilia, Part 5
Cecilia enjoyed coaching woman’s basketball almost as much as she enjoyed teaching. She kept her lesbianism to herself for obvious professional reasons. Ms. Evans possessed a sincere desire for the furthering of the study of the English language. She also was a devout thinker in the world of Math. She kept up with the study of Math and English as a hobby. She was also able to contribute to the world of art history and its expansion.
Things were going well. Cecilia and Muria kept the physical side of their relationship completely secret. They went to the nicest restaurants, as before, and the two lovers only pleased each other sexually on rare occasion. Cecilia could not complain and Muria did not mind; it worked out. Muria got along with her husband better, even though they got along fine, anyway.
Cecilia still maintained her contributions to the city. As a person dedicated to many ideals, one being education, Cecilia made sure to take at least one day off a month to check on her small private school. One of the school secretaries was not the brightest woman. Her name was Jena, and everyone loved her. “There is something I want you to see,” said Jena, one day. Cecilia was not really planning on speaking with her, needed to return to the 2A school by noon. Cecilia had plenty of time.
“What can I do for you?” asked Cecilia. “We have a lost and found box; it has various things in it that the students or other people leave or find. I found something in it with your full name on it – a camera,” said Jena. “What kind of camera?” asked Cecilia – she possessed a high-end Canon for all of her photography and blogging needs. As someone who could afford such a toy, she was sure to have the best and use it properly. “I think it is a metallic, burgundy Nikkon, and it looks like a cheap one,” said Jena. “I will take a look at it,” said Cecilia, “Thank you, Jena.”
Cecilia brought the camera with her to school and then home. She chopped up some ingredients from her fridge and tossed them into a big salad. Cecilia poured salad dressing onto the “thing” and decided to check out the foreign object, or Nikkon. It had a memory chip in it; she removed it and put it into her computer. Without too much difficulty, Cecilia was able to pull up four pictures. Each photograph was of someone burning something late in the night; it was Muria. The photos were clear enough to tell where she was, as she was in the vicinity of the back of her property.
Cecilia did not really know what to think of it. She thought about it though. Thinking – what could it do for her? The photos were taken the night of Christian’s disappearance. The next morning was a Saturday; Cecilia woke up and called Muria. Muria did not mind sharing an early morning coffee with Cecilia; Cecilia enjoyed bringing her favorite coffees to Muria’s house. This morning it would be the Tropical Maui blend Cecilia had just recently purchased. It was sure to be a gourmet espresso that would them both well-wired.
They shared coffee and Cecilia showed Muria the pictures. The coffee was great. The photos almost freaked Muria out, however she thought about it and realized that she probably did not have too much to consider in the world of worry. She figured someone had definitely taken pictures of her; that the individual was sure to get the photos to Cecilia, somehow; and that there would not be too much to worry about.
Someone may have known of the foul play, may have even seen Muria’s actions. Whoever it was gave up the whole camera – not just copies of their photos. The person was a probable wealthy neighbor, unwilling to say too much about one thing or another. Cecilia decided that she was not in too much direct danger, though she was still a little unsettled.
“What were you burning that night?” asked Cecilia. Muria was far too cunning to be naive or anything other than logically diabolical. “I remember that night,” said Muria, “I was cleaning out a bunch of old stuff to throw out, and I came upon a painting from my husband’s college art class. It was of a nude woman; he kept it all these years, though I thought he had thrown it away. I skipped the book club to burn the old painting. I did not really know what I was doing; I burned it on the ground with charcoal lighter fluid.”
“Maybe he took the pictures?” asked Cecilia. “I doubt it,” said Muria, “I think he fell asleep watching television that night; he did not get off the couch until the next morning.” Cecilia left the small cartridge with the photos on it with Muria and went home. The two both found it to be odd, however nobody contacted them ever again. Someone knew Muria started a sizable fire, that was all.
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