Today is June 2,2020 and i sit here alone writing this book. Aparently ive made enormous mistakes and im useless to men because i look like a porn star but i am not! Ive been searching for my ride or die and Im now officially giving up! The sorrow in my heart after the torment of my journey.. Im planning on leaving for Texas but in my heart i really wanted to be with this person. They seemed concerned and he was surprisingly good at predicting my needs! I wish him well , but right now i hurt like hell!🔥🔥🔥 I hope yhat he knows that I care for him alot! I will miss him annd wonder . Always

The following clue was given to me in a yellow envelope with the help of a plump grey-haired woman averaging about 80 years of age. The envelope simply said “Piper Malone, C1 from Beatrice Brown” Here is how it happened. While AC went to find some cute lifeguard to engage with and ventured over to the nearby historical society with Tom's key in hand. Not really quite sure why I had to bring the key, just that I needed it for if nothing else luck. I certainly had no idea was I was going to do when I got to the historical society, but it seemed like a grand place to start.
When I first met the mentioned grey-haired lady she was outside sitting in a rocking chair looking half asleep. She nodded her head to me as I went in. A few moments later she came in and when I saw her sit behind the main desk, I figured I should ask her. So I went up and asked if she had any information about Dr. and Mr. Timothy (that is Tom's real name. His middle name is Owen and his last of course is Morris. That is how he got the nickname TOM.) Morris. Before I could even bat an eyelash she put her fingers to her lips to “shush” me, while at the same time looked around to make sure no one heard me. There was no one else in the whole building that I could see. Besides I was asking about long time dead people, not drugs. Though from the way she acted you would have thought they were just as bad. Never saying a word she got up and motioned for me to follow. We walked in silence through the “Staff Only” door, down a narrow musty hall dimly lit, and filled floor to ceiling with boxes that showed more age than my guide. Finely after a few twist and turns, along with some near misses with boxes that had moved on to the makeshift path. We came to a room with a door numbered 2100 just like on Tom's key. “I assume you have the key”, she said more to the door then to me. I pulled it out of my knapsack and started to hand it to her, but she backed away as if it had suddenly turned into a snake. “You open it”, she said coldly. “I want no more to do with this”. With her last word she turned and walked away. “Part of what” I wondered as I turned the key and unlocked the door, which opened into a tiny poorly painted white closet with bare shelves. Well almost bare, sitting propped up by the back of the wall was a very yellow and very very musty smelling envelope. The must smell was so strong I could not stop sneezing. I had to hold it at arm's length while opening it with shaking hands. I was so terrified that it would just fall apart at any moment. Inside was a not so yellow, but still quite musty piece of paper. Like the one from Tom's lawyer, this paper was also torn. This time however the letter was from Laurie's niece. Here is what she wrote. “All think my aunt was buried at sea, but a different truth I shall tell to thee. In a world they think not to go, we have hidden her from friend and foe. A place her eyes never did see, except in dreams of thee. “ “Great!” I thought.“Just what we need another poet who gives weird clues”. I turned the note over and found a travellers check for 1000.00 simply made out to “Cash”. Hum, I wonder if they still even cash these things” I said to my self as I examined the letter again. That is when I found in a very tiny script the words. “Head to Miami”
“Miami!!” Laurie is in Miami” AC nearly screamed those words after she read the note. Suddenly she pulled out her phone and started searching the internet for directions to Miami. While she was looking I noticed another key. This one was so very small that if I had not felt the weight of its brass making, I would have missed it altogether. I quickly took a picture of it that I sent to the MyBook group Memories. Almost immediately one of their antique experts said that it was a skeleton key for a type urn called a “Coffin Box” “They were very popular in the 1940s” he also added in his IM. “How appropriate” I could not help think as I wrote him a quick thank you IM. I then began another search this time using PicKode. I was searching for pictures of coffin boxes and boy did I find them. I felt an icy chill pass over me when I saw one that had been painted black with a red medical cross on the lid. My mind immediately flashed back over 60 years to when I had seen that exact same box in real life. The night I found Tom filling it with sand. “But he had glued the lid shut. Why would he need a key?” Where just a few of the questions fighting for space in my head at that moment. It seemed as if the longer I was in Florida the more mysterious this whole thing became.

there's sand in between my toes, woah isn't that neat? the waves are crashing against the shore did you get it yet? well i'm at the beach. can the same 3 notes in a song, get even more annoying? the answer is yes. there's basic white girls of all ages trying to get a tan, they never will have. but, the most interesting thing was just two nerds and a metal detector.

I sat alone on a isolated stretch of beach, knees pulled tightly to my chest, staring out at the vast, alluring ocean. I was mesmerized by the sunset kissed swells as the last breaths of daylight slipped past the horizon at my back. Wind whipped off the water and past my cheeks. The smell of salt induced nostalgia that enveloped me like a warm blanket. I reached down and grasped a hand full of sand, squeezing it gently. A controlled flow slid out of my clutch like an hour glass, each grain a tick of a clock as it spilled back to the earth. I've always loved the sea. It's beauty, the sound of the waves crashing, transforming the shoreline with each crest and fall. I remembered running alongside my cousins from the sprawling foam as it washed away our footsteps, leaving behind a beautiful, glistening clean slate, a fresh start, a new beginning. As a person grows many venture further into the water. Some dip a toe, others may wade out to their knees, but many go deeper. Unfortunately as beautiful and majestic as it is, the ocean can be both unpredictable and dangerous. A riptide can tear your legs out from under you and pull you out to where it's so deep your feet no longer reach the bottom. A huge wave may crash over you and send you through a spin cycle. You'll lose track of which way is up, down, left or right. When you finally reach the bubbling, white aftermath on the surface, you're gasping for air, your strength and will depleted. Simply praying there's not another one coming. However, If you know anything about waves you'd know it could have been different. You'd know that very same one which destroyed you, through strength, timing and embracing its power could have carried you all the way to the safety of the shore. You may skim your chest on the sand but soon enough the sun will dry your skin and in no time you'll be swimming again. Maybe you'll stay closer to the shallows but that's ok, you're different person now. The last of the sand trickled from my palm. I stood while rubbing my thumb and forefinger together until I felt the ridges of my fingerprints meet again. I walked slowely off the beach as the last crest of the sun dipped behind the bay. I took one final look over my shoulder as a wave receded. What it left behind was a beautiful, glistening, clean slate. A new beginning. And I couldn't help but smile.