They were the talk of the town, but never appeared together. Brothers, who looked so much alike, but dressed and acted so different.
Their strange behavior was of interest to many.
But did anybody really understand . . .
The Two Sides Of The Coin
They lived together in a peaceful union for over fifty years. They seldom argued with one another. And when they did, they resolved their disagreements in a way that made them both happy.
Bright minds searching for life’s answers, they interacted as if each was in possession of one half of a complicated puzzle. If they didn’t work in tandem, the pieces remained scattered in a world that made no sense to either of them.
Thomas and Timothy Coin moved to the upscale community of Whispering Willow Glenn in their mid-thirties. Now in their late-fifties, they remain a mystery to the town.
They are a strange pair, who never appear in public together. When extended an invitation to a dinner party or town gathering, only one attends.
Physically, they look very much alike—each six feet tall, with curly blond hair and similar facial features. But that is where the similarity ends. Thomas, the dapper one, dresses in a gray pinstriped suit or royal blue sport coat and shiny black leather shoes and prances through the town like a fine thoroughbred. Timothy, on the other hand, wears blue jeans, a V-neck sweater, and brown, rubber soled loafers and moves lazily through the streets, as if going nowhere.
The contrast can be seen in other behavior as well. Timothy spends money like water rushing out of a spout, while Thomas has the attitude of a rich miser. Ever the aristocrat, Thomas charms people with his perfect manners and speech. Downhome Timothy talks in a way that makes him one of the boys. He hangs with the easygoing crowd, but divulges little about himself.
It is a sunny Monday morning in mid-April and a typical discussion takes place at the kitchen table. “I have to figure out what to do today to continue to fulfill my purpose in life,” Thomas states with flawless diction. Yet what his purpose is could not easily be detected by the town’s citizens.
“Bro,” Timothy drawls. “I don’t have any idea what I’m gonna to do today. If you’re leavin’, I guess I’ll just hang out here at home. Maybe play some games on my iPad or strum my guitar.”
“One has to do what one has to do,” Thomas replies. He gets up from the table, pulls his royal blue sport coat off the rack in the hall closet, and exits the house through the front door. About a third of the way down the driveway, he doubles back and locks the door. One cannot take chances, even in a fine town like Whispering Willow Glenn, he thinks.
Living a little over a mile from the center of town, Thomas walks with precision and looks as if he is the star of an elegant parade. As he passes the splendid people of the town, he motions with his fingers and open palm of his hand from his forehead down toward the ground as if tipping a fine hat he isn’t wearing.
Approaching City Hall, he notices the town’s mayor walking toward him. “Good morning, Mr. Mayor,” he states with conviction. “It is a beautiful day.”
“Indeed it is,” the mayor replies and smiles, as he struts by him.
Thomas continues his stroll, taking a moment to peruse the displays in each of the shop windows on Main Street. As he stares at camera equipment in the window of Domain Camera, the owner, Robert Richardson, appears in the doorway.
“Thomas, can I help you? We have lots of new equipment that will enable you to take the finest pictures imaginable.”
“I am just surveying the photographic paraphernalia you have in your window, Mr. Richardson. It is quite interesting, but I am not in the market for purchasing anything today. Thank you for asking.”
“How is your brother, Timothy? I haven’t seen him in town for awhile.”
At first, Thomas says nothing in response to the question. He seems confused. But then the words flow as if the dam holding them back has opened.
“He is doing quite well. I will let him know you asked about him. I need to continue my walk. It has been good conversing with you. Have a nice day.”
“You, too, Thomas. I hope to see you again soon.”
Thomas motions with his fingers and open palm of his hand from his forehead down toward the ground and strides, with shoulders erect, down the street.
The rest of the day is uneventful. Thomas engages in minimal conversation with the townsfolk he meets and decides to return to his abode. He marches, in perfect form, up the driveway, places the key in the lock of the front door, and enters.
Standing in the hall, he removes his sport coat and hangs it in the closet and makes sure the door is closed. He appears lost as he stares straight ahead, looking, but not focusing on anything. Then he shakes his head and annunciates, “Well, hello, Timothy. How was your day?”
“Not too eventful, bro. Spent most of it strummin’ my guitar and lookin’ out the window into the garden. The tulips are growin’ up fast. Think I might be goin’ to town this evenin’ to see what’s happenin’ there. Guess you won’t be commin’ with me.”
“No, my place is here. I need to think about the day and how what I have learned has benefitted me in fulfilling my purpose on earth. You are free to go, while I enjoy my quiet time.”
“Then I’ll just put on my goin’ to town duds and be off.” He returns from the bedroom, grabs his cowboy hat off the tall mahogany rack in the hallway, and exits through the front door. About a third of the way down the driveway, he doubles back and locks the door. One can’t take a chance leavin’ the door lock undone, even in a neighborly town like Whispering Willow Glenn, he ponders.
He ambles down Avery Way and turns onto Main. As darkness falls upon the town, streetlights begin to come on producing a radiant glow. Timothy eyes his destination—Thurman’s Tavern. He picks up his pace and grabs the tavern door’s silver handle and yanks it open. He catches the attention of a big dude who yells, “Hey, Timothy boy, get your ass over here. Got some great new brew you need to try.”
“I’m commin’ man. Just hold your horses.” He moseys up to the bar. “Now where’s this brew you’re talkin’ about.”
“Just grab that bottle and chug it.”
He hoists the bottle up to his mouth and lets the liquid flow. After two hours of drinking, he is totally wasted. His vision clouded, he looks at the guys around the bar. He thinks there are five, but who knows. He can’t see straight. “Gotta get out of here, boys. It’s gettin’ late and I’m soused.”
He rolls off the bar stool and out the tavern door. He makes his way down Main Street and onto Avery Way. The next thing he remembers is waking up on the living room floor of his house. He has no idea how he got there. The clothes he has on are different than those he had on when he left the house for his evening on the town. His head hurts and he’s having trouble breathing. “I feel like I’m chokin’ to death. What was that stuff they gave me to drink?” he mutters. Darkness invades his world and then nothing.
Three days pass and the absence of the Coin brothers on the streets of the town becomes obvious. For over twenty years, Thomas Coin made his daily trip to town to walk the streets, greet the people, and look in the various shop windows. His conversations were always brief and little was known about him, but he was a daily presence.
In the evenings, Timothy Coin would appear on the scene, ready to carouse with the town’s good old boys. Downing drink after drink to the point he could hardly stand up, he would wobble out of the tavern and somehow make his way home.
The absence of both brothers was cause for concern for they were embedded in the town’s culture—oddities to talk about over lunch by the town’s people. The mayor worried about the two, so he contacted the sheriff, who agreed to visit the Coin brothers’ home.
When Sheriff Calloway arrived at their residence, he found the door unlocked. Using caution he entered the house. A peculiar odor permeated the place. As he walked into the living room, a man, one of the brothers, lay stretched out on the carpet. From the smell and look of the body, the man had been dead for days.
As he scanned the corpse, he became unnerved, for he had no idea which Coin brother he was looking at. From the top of the body, clad in a dress shirt and tie and pinstriped suit jacket, the man appeared to be Thomas. But from the bottom up, the body, clothed in brown, rubber soled loafers and blue jeans seemed to be Timothy.
Had one brother killed the other and set up the scene to confuse the authorities? They did look so much alike. They might have been identical twins, but nobody knew. However, if they were, fingerprints should distinguish one from the other and the medical examiner would check this out. For now, the sheriff embarked on a search of the house for a second body, but didn’t find one.
The Crime Scene
Investigation team arrived on the scene and collected evidence. Two weeks
passed. With all tests completed, no conclusions could be drawn, for legal
records showed identical fingerprints for both brothers. But this was impossible,
even for identical twins. Were the records wrong? Had they been tampered with?
Or, for over twenty years, had the town been acquainted with two brothers
inhabiting the same body?
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