Until the day my father died, this was ‘good ole Uncle Melvin’. He never said one bad word to me. Ever. Probably because he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt, my dad would shoot him and they only lived on the other side of the ‘hill’. His wife Freda, one of those present and assisting in the night of my father’s death has since passed.
The day after dad died and I had just got to West Virginia and walked up the steps of the house, out came ‘Uncle Melvin’ with Michael Murphy, Executor, my brother-in-law.
No hug. No sympathy. He turned to Michael Murphy and said with a snear, “Well lookie there, fucking scavenger! Ain’t fit to kiss the scab on my ass”.
I know they were surprised, I was supposed to on a cruise and out of the country!! I never would have known! There wasn’t supposed to be any ‘believable’ witnesses. But without telling anyone and within hours of his death, I drove the nine hours to West Virginia!
I brushed past him and into the house where I saw…. everything my dad ever had was gone! The place had basically been emptied of everything and anything. Valuables, cash, furniture and food, clothes. It had ALL been taken to Melvin’s house for ‘storage’ and safety. From what and who is still a mystery, but I never saw any of dad’s things again.
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