Let Sleeping Dogs Lie
FICTION
Once upon a time, I was someone who, out of curiosity, would rush to pick up a lost object. Whose was it? How did it end up here? Was the owner missing it? That eagerness has since left me. Lost objects are a doorway through which you set foot into other people’s lives. While you are enjoying an abundance of contentment and peace, their life may be full of turmoil and danger.
I made the move to Panama City Beach two months ago. Previously a long-time resident of New York, I felt the time had come to escape the city for a more idyllic environment. My work I can do remotely. I write weekly columns for three magazines and am working on my fifth novel. I spent three vacations at Panama City Beach. It is a beautiful spot and an obvious choice.
The catalyst for change came when on an early morning walk along the shore of Panama City Beach, I noticed a notebook floating in the water, washed back and forth in the waves. Gingerly I retrieved the sodden notebook from the water and managed to get it back to my apartment without it disintegrating. Four hours hanging on the clothes horse over a heater, and it was dry enough for a closer inspection. The cardboard cover had to a certain degree protected the inner pages. All the pages were blank except the first three. Each of those pages had three long lines of letters and numbers written vertically. A…
