ONE The Ashes
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ife is filled with awkward moments of uncertainty when the right words are elusive. Sometimes, there are no right words, and silence is the only option. Mark Miller chose silence on this particular afternoon, as he tried to preserve the dignity of the task at hand. An elderly woman stood quietly nearby, as he pried the lid from a gold metallic box and removed a plastic bag of ashes from within it. A burnt medallion identified the ashes as the remains of one Verner Nicely, husband of Eva, the woman at his side. Mark understood Mr. Nicely to be a long retired government employee who lived in modest means with Eva for thirty-one years, but when he opened the metal container, he unleashed a secret that was to become his obsession for years. Were these the ashes of a retired government servant or the final chapter in a story of espionage and identity manipulation that allowed one of the wealthiest and best-known figures of the twentieth century to quietly disappear into obscurity? Mark wasn’t looking for a mystery in June 2002, and he certainly didn’t need a six-year research project. It was through his employment that he met Eva. Mark was working for a nonprofit organization for the past three years. She had several acres of wooded land in Alabama that she bequeathed to the foundation. His first contact with her was in 1999, when he called her on the telephone from the foundation to thank her for her generosity. In the course of their conversation, she mentioned that she had a disabled husband and wanted to see if the Veterans Administration would pay to have a ramp built to the door of their home. Mark told her that he was a brigadier general in the Air National Guard, and he would be happy to contact the VA and inquire about how to get the process started. The VA subsequently built the ramp, but Mark never met Eva in person until January of 2002, two months after her husband died from cancer. He visited with Eva over the phone many times in the previous three years. They became friendly, so she turned to him six months later to assist in the final act of her marriage, the spreading of her husband’s ashes. Mark liked Eva and was honored that she came to him at this emotional moment in her life. He packed a bag and set out for the steamy southeastern United States. 11
Boxes
Dothan, Alabama, is the self-proclaimed Peanut Capital of the World. A thriving community of business, agricultural, and community interests, steeped in Southern hospitality, eighty miles southeast of Montgomery. Eva and Verner, who everyone knew as Nik, moved to their Fieldcrest apartment in 2000 after what Mark would soon learn had been a seminomadic lifestyle. He drove the rental car to the address on the south side of the Highway 210 loop to pick her up, and then Eva and Mark drove to the nearby Waffle House Restaurant at the intersection of South Highway 231 and the 210 loop. They had a substantial breakfast and discussed their planned journey. Eva wanted to return to a location where she and her late husband enjoyed a wonderful escape together. She cherished the memories of the happy winter in 1975 that they spent in Navarre Beach, Florida, on the Gulf of Mexico. She wanted to return to this site one last time, and it was there that she intended to spread the ashes of Nik in her last act of devotion to her husband. They drove southwest on Alabama Highway 52, eventually going through Laurel Hill, Florida. The conversation was slightly superficial, since this was a new friendship, but it was not mournful. In her mid-eighties, Eva was remarkably sharp. She impressed Mark as a woman of intellect who was as self-sufficient as her years would allow. The effects of age that were beginning to attack her body had thus far spared her mind. The conversation quickly turned to Nik. Thirty-one years is a very long time to spend in someone’s arms, only to have death pull them apart. It was not a shock, because he had been going slowly. Nevertheless, thirty-one years is a very long time, and the parting hurt. As they neared the Gulf at Navarre, Mark could sense Eva’s excitement. She pointed out local landmarks and told him stories. Sometimes, she smiled and kept her thoughts to herself. Finally, they came to their former neighborhood, a row of beach houses baking in the summer sun. They reached a house she recognized as close to the one where she and Nik lived long ago. Mark found a parking place, and they set out on foot over an old, weatherworn bridge and down to the broad, sandy beach. They kicked off their shoes and stood barefoot in the soft, warm sand and began the distribution ritual. Eva provided a screwdriver to pry the lid off the metal box. Inelegant, but effective. She decided to remain by the bridge, as Mark walked into the warm Gulf water to complete their mission. As he began to distribute the ashes, a passing jogger asked what was in the bag. 12
Douglas Wellman
“A man’s ashes,” Mark replied. The jogger had an awkward moment. He said nothing. After a respectful pause, he resumed his jog. It took about fifteen minutes to distribute Nik’s remains. Mark prayed as he performed his task. It was a spiritual, moving moment for him, standing in the warm sun on a beautiful beach, returning a man for eternity to a place that had given him joy. He retained a small quantity of ashes in the bag at Eva’s request and returned to her with them. They put their shoes back on, returned to the car quietly, and started the drive back north. Eva was silent, and Mark understood. This was an emotional moment, and she was obviously lost in her thoughts. Finally, she spoke. “Mark, I have been keeping a secret for a very long time, and I feel I need to confide in someone. I would like to tell it to you.” “Certainly, Eva,” Mark said with some surprise. “Those ashes…my husband was not Verner Nicely.” “Really,” he asked, “who was he?” “I was married to Howard Hughes.” Mark wished he had a picture of the look on his face when Eva shared her secret. In all of his dealings with her, he found her to be sharp and in possession of her mental faculties. This was a new wrinkle. Howard Hughes? Why not Santa Claus? Everyone likes Santa Claus. “When you say Howard Hughes, you don’t mean the Howard Hughes do you?” “That’s exactly who I mean.” “But Eva, Howard Hughes died over twenty-five years ago.” “Yes, that’s what everyone thinks. That is what they were supposed to think.” Another awkward moment. He liked Eva very much and would do nothing to hurt or offend her, but this was too much. Should he play along? Should he change the subject? Mark shifted uncomfortably in the car seat. “I’m sorry, Eva, but that’s kind of hard to believe.” “Yes, I know, but it’s the truth. I can explain.” And that explanation became the story that changed Mark’s life, and that will change history.
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