When Darkness Falls
A Mystery
By:
DALLAS RELEFORD
Published by
Dallas Releford at Smashwords.com
When Darkness Falls
Copyright (C) 2010 Dallas Releford
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This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, places, events, organizations, areas, or locations are intended to provide a feeling of authenticity and are used in a fictitious manner. All other characters, dialogue and incidents are drawn from the author’s imagination and shouldn’t be accepted as real.
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without explicit permission from the author or publisher except in brief quotations used in an article or in a similar way.
Smashwords Edition, License notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. The ebook may not be re-sold or given to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
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Dedication
I would like to thank my wife Sharon for her understanding while I was writing this book. She passed away on August 18, 2010. She is dearly missed.
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When Darkness Falls
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“The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.”
Edmund Burke
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Chapter One
FRIDAY
Stella Hanson walked down that same trail from her big house on the hill to a small lake every morning for five years before someone put a forty-five slug in her body on a cold, September day in 1942. Each morning, no matter if it was raining, snowing or the sun was shining, she took a walk through the woods and enjoyed a visit with nature by the lake before going to work at the nearby machine shop where she was involved in the manufacture of ball bearings for the military. Stella lived just outside of Peyton Falls, West Virginia on a hill and I lived down the street with the rest of my family. Those were tough times and Stella Hanson did what most everybody else did, she worked in industry trying to keep our ships sailing, our planes flying and the enemy dying.
Her father owned the Hanson Machine Production Company just south of town and everybody knew Stella Hanson and knew her well. Quiet and intelligent, she attracted the attention of many men who would have loved to take her out to dinner and show her a good time. Stella ignored their stares and concentrated on taking care of family business. Most of the time Stella was exactly what she wanted to be, a ghost gliding gracefully amongst the living even though she was often the unwilling center of attention. How she managed to disregard those who favored her attention for reasons of personal gain or for personal satisfaction escapes me as I recall my early association with her. She was indeed a beautiful and resourceful woman who gave her time and energy to helping others even though her family was considered rich. Stella could have enjoyed a life of ease, except she chose another path. It was true she didn’t have to work, Stella had everything any pretty young woman could want, nonetheless, she chose to spend her hours trying to make a difference in a cold, harsh world enshrouded in war. In those days before and during the war, most rich people maintained a position above the common folk. Stella wasn’t like that. She wasn’t like that at all. Her effort to distance herself from most of the population was simply a longing for an environment of isolation where she could think and plan. She was determined to win the war, even if she had to do it by herself. I suppose that she was driven by her own reasons.
Prior to December 7, 1941, Stella finished high school, helped her parents at the machine shop and dreamed of better things. I guess she was like the rest of us. We all had our heads screwed on backwards and didn’t see—or maybe didn’t want to see—what was coming before the Japanese attacked us. Jerrold Hanson was Stella’s father and Susie Hanson was her mother. She had two older sisters and a brother. Karen was twenty-seven and owned a local gift shop. Jean was twenty-two and was employed as a secretary at the plant. Stella was only twenty. We all had jobs in those days. You couldn’t avoid them. Her brother, Joel was employed, too. He joined the Marines after Pearl Harbor and was killed on an island somewhere in the South Pacific a few months after the Japanese took it over.
I suppose that one of the reasons for her apparent longing for isolation and her aggressiveness was the fact that the enemy had taken her brother from her. Driven by memories of the life they had shared, she plunged forward with all the strength and determination she had. That was Stella. Her desire to be separated from everyone else was simply an urgent attempt on her part to gain more time in which to find ways to help the war effort. Too often, I wondered if her departure from most human contact wasn’t a matter of a strange sickness that I could not hope to understand.
Like I said, everybody knew Stella and I knew her, too. Everyone could see the change in her after her brother died. She seemed as distant as that island that took him away from us. Stella didn’t ignore everyone. She had an association with her family, and she had a friendship with me even though that relationship wasn’t as active as it once had been.
Stella and me went back a long way. In fact, we had known each other since the first grade. She was a little older than me, except I knew that age didn’t matter much just as she knew it wasn’t important. We were friends and we just let it go at that. We didn’t have much time to think about romance or anything else except the war that was taking so many lives. We never knew who might be next or if any of us would survive or not. I loved to walk around town with her and impress the other guys. They all wanted dates with her, however, I was the only one she talked to. Stella was withdrawn and distant. She avoided any discussion of her brother and rarely mentioned personal matters such as feelings, emotions and problems. Trying to avoid words that hurt was difficult because life then was just one big blister waiting to explode. Stella and me talked mostly about what we were going to do after the war was over. The last time I saw Stella alive was on that Friday afternoon when we left the plant together. We always had a soda or grabbed a sandwich at Fields Restaurant on Tremont Street before going home. As we walked out of the plant into the misty rain, the dismal afternoon and the fog, neither of us knew about what was going to happen.
My mind flashes back to the images of that day just as if it were a movie. Fog was so thick you couldn’t see the mountains that cascaded high above the plant and the little town. Gloom of fog and rain clouded my mind and being with Stella enlightened my heart. A warm spell brought the fog off the river that flowed by the town and pushed it up from the surface of the water. We tried to ignore the rain, fog and the other workers. Workers from the machine shop rushed by us talking excitedly, however, the only thing I heard was her sweet voice and the steady rhythm of my beating heart. Most of the workers didn’t own automobiles in those days. They depended on their legs and a haphazard bus service to get them where they were going. Stella laughed and took my arm as we tried to keep from colliding with the other bodies that were all around us. Everyone wanted to get home out of the rain and the miserable weather. I wanted to get Stella somewhere so we could talk.
I watched her as I walked beside her amongst dozens of other workers from the factory her father owned. Most people just called it the machine shop although the name on a sign over the top of the entrance said Hanson Machine Production Company. They manufactured lathes and other production machines before the Japanese hit Pearl a year ago. Stella was tired. Her eyes looked like they were trying to hide from the world. She wore an old scarf tied around her long blonde hair. Stella wore a silk, multi-flowered dress and a green trench coat her father had given her on her birthday last year.
I misinformed you about Stella making ball bearings. Ball bearings were only a few of the things we made in that plant to assist the war effort. Stella worked in the office as a secretary to her father’s plant manager, Nathan Green. Stella was the type of girl that fit into that job the same way she fit into the dress she was wearing. She didn’t want any special privileges and insisted on working in the plant running machinery. Her father wouldn’t hear of it and told her that her talents could be better used in the office. And that was the way it was.
After we graduated from high school the same year the Japanese attacked us, she went to work at her father’s plant. I lazed around for a couple of months looking for work a few hours each day. One afternoon I was in a local restaurant down on Bixby Street when she walked in after work. I invited her over to my table and we talked for a long time. She suggested I go to work at her father’s machine shop. Two days later, I was working in the stock room supplying tools and materials for the workers. I saw her occasionally when she walked through the plant. One afternoon, she invited me to have a Coke and a sandwich with her at the restaurant. It became almost a daily routine with us. We became better friends than we had been except even I could detect that something was bothering her.
We walked down to the gate and turned right on Bixby Street as a cold, steady drizzle fell. We were drenched before we finally found ourselves sitting in our regular place in a corner by a dirty window that looked out on Tremont. The name of the restaurant was the Right Eating Place. Taking a seat at the table across from her, I glanced out the window. People were busy trying to do a little shopping before going home after a hard day. The waitress, Doris Johnson, a woman with stringy auburn hair and puffy cheeks waited patiently for us to order our meal. We typically ordered a soft drink and a sandwich every day so Doris knew what we normally had. Today though, Stella surprised me by ordering her regular sandwich, a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and ice cream. I asked for the same. Doris wrote it down on a pad, looked at us as if we had committed a great sin and walked away. As we sipped our coffee, waited for our sandwiches and enjoyed the moment, Stella said something very strange. She asked me when I was going to war.
Stunned, I looked at her a moment before answering. Stella fished a sweet pickle out of a jar that was on the table and sucked on it. Crunching on the pickle, she watched me with those big blue eyes waiting for me to say something. My brain was working overtime trying to figure out exactly what she wanted to know. Before I could answer her, she was fishing another pickle out of the jar. “I don’t know,” I said. “I’ve been thinking a lot about it. I had been planning on going to college. Everything has changed now, as you already know.”
“I was just wondering,” she said with a slight smile on her face. “I don’t like surprises.” Reaching over and taking my hand in hers, staring at me with those large blue eyes that always made my heart flutter, she said, “I know they’ll call you, eventually. Please let me know if anything happens, will you, Tony?”
I thought about the situation even though it had always been on my mind. Most young men my age thought about our obligations. Most of them ran down to the local recruiting station and signed up the day Pearl was destroyed. My father told me to wait and finish school. That’s what I did. Just because my father’s name was Stewart Powell didn’t mean that I wouldn’t do my duty. When my time came, I would do what I had to do, just like all the other guys that were joining up and dying on foreign shores. Pulling her hands away from mine, she removed her soggy scarf and tried to comb her long blonde hair with her slender fingers. I could feel her presence as if she were my sister or someone I was in love with. Being close to her gave me a warm, sensuous feeling inside. “Hey, would Tony Powell lie to you, Stella? I mean, aren’t we best friends? Of course, I’ll let you know.”
“Of course,” she replied taking a sip of her coffee. Her blonde hair, deep blue eyes and creamy white skin reminded me of a movie star. I had often told her that she belonged in Hollywood, not in some office. I meant it and wanted better things for her. Stella never took me seriously about such things. She was that kind of girl, beautiful, kind and troubled. “I just wanted to make sure we understood each other. You could stay here and work for your father. The police department is usually the last to be called for duty.”
“That wouldn’t be fair, Stella,” I protested. “Just because my father is the Chief of Police in Peyton Falls doesn’t mean that I should hide behind a badge. Now look, Stella. I know you’re concerned about me. Nonetheless, I’m going to have to make a decision real soon. I turn twenty next month. To be truthful with you, well … I’ve been considering joining the Army Air Corps.”
“No,” she blared before I could finish what I was saying. “Sorry,” she apologized with tears streaming down her cheeks. “It’s just that I was hoping you would go into the regular army or something. If you join the Army Air Corps they will send you right over to England. You will be flying night raids against overwhelming odds. Your chance of survival will be better on the ground. Something tells me you won’t change your mind, though. Everything is just so … so, irrational, terrifying and I’m not sure I can deal with it.”
‘You’ll be all right,” I said. Before she could answer, Doris brought our food. Stella grabbed a sandwich off her plate before the waitress had time to put it on the table. She ate voraciously taking large bites and then washing it down with her soft drink. I hadn’t even finished my sandwich before she was eating her peanut butter and jelly sandwich. “You must be hungry,” I replied. “Didn’t you have time to eat lunch?”
“Yeah,” she told me while still chomping down on her sandwich. “I’m just hungry more these days than I normally am.”
“Too much work takes a lot of energy,” I admitted. “I thought you hated pickles.”
“Love them,” she replied with her mouth full of food. Taking another gulp of Coke, she devoured the pickle she had fished out of the jar. The jar was empty and I wondered if she would order another one. She waved at Doris and I felt embarrassment approaching. If she ordered another jar of pickles, I would croak. “Bring the ice cream,” she ordered. “Make mine extra large, please.”
After finishing the food I had ordered, I sat for a long time taking baby bites of the delicious Maple Walnut ice cream. It was my favorite and I almost asked for seconds as Stella ordered another bowl. Watching her eat almost made me sick. Gorging herself, she hardly had time to talk between bites.
When she finished, she sat back and looked at me with a guilty look on her face. “That was good,” she replied.
“Did you get enough? Do you feel better now?”
“Yes, of course,” she said. “That will do until dinner. What are we going to do, Tony? I don’t want to lose you too.”
“We’ll make it. You won’t ever lose me. We’re like two peas in a pod and we belong together,” I assured her even though I knew she didn’t believe in miracles any more than I did. Stella seemed frantic and I wondered why she was so concerned about me joining the Army Air Corps. My chances of survival were probably the same no matter where I went. War was war and you couldn’t hide from it. None of us knew for sure what tomorrow would bring. I think Stella lost her faith in miracles that day when a soldier delivered a message about her brother that she hoped she would never receive. I suppose I took the place of her brother when he died. Now I was trying to fill the void and was having a great deal of difficulty understanding exactly what she was feeling. Loss was one of the things that troubled her, I suppose, except Stella seemed to be content to be with me and her work seemed to take her mind off things. We all did that. We all tried to ignore the newsreels, the newspapers and the talk about Hitler winning the war in Europe and about Japan invading America. As I gazed into those large blue eyes like a snake eyeing a bird, I realized what my obligation to Stella really was. I was more than a brother because I was the only true friend she had. Haphazardly, an idea struck me like a bolt of lightning. “Say … Stella, why don’t we go for a walk in the park and get some fresh air after we’re finished here?”
“Are you crazy?” she asked pointing out the window where rain was turning the street into another Lake Michigan. “We’ll drown and besides that, it’s chilly enough to give us pneumonia.”
I laughed. I didn’t do that often. It was just the way she looked at me as if she thought I was really crazy. I wasn’t crazy, though. Tony Powell had a rational, logical head on his shoulders. It was just the thought of walking in the rain with her that gave me the romantic blues, something I’d never had before. I think I mentioned that I felt completely in her power when we were together. Everything seemed, well, all right when I was with her. She gave me a certain sense of security, too and that made me feel good. You see, when I was with Stella, I didn’t think that anything could ever happen to separate us. That just goes to show you how wrong a person can be. Even though I didn’t know it at the time, I was talking to a dead person. The fact of the matter was that death allowed me a little time with her before he came for her. I wish I could have done something that afternoon to prevent death from winning, except I didn’t know he was coming for her. “Nah,” I said. “We’ll just get a good drenching and if we hurry, we can make it to the old covered bridge out on Short Road before we drown. It’s just a good old-fashioned steady rain. Think about it. A walk in the rain with the one you love. Now, what could be more romantic than that?”
Stella stared right through me. What did I say to perturb her so much? Love? Was that it? I didn’t know what I said that caused her such alarm. We’d teased each other since we were kids about loving each other and she hadn’t objected before. Women are funny sometimes. Just about the time you think you have them figured out, you find out that you haven’t even read the introduction yet. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I just meant that we could spend some time together and then go home all soggy and nobody will know what happened. I love the rain, especially when it falls gentle-like.” I wondered as I sat looking at her about what was really bothering her. I thought a walk in the rain would loosen her up and she would tell me about her troubles. Stella Hanson wasn’t normally a big eater and she wasn’t normally as emotional as she was now. Her attitude troubled me a lot.
“It’s not the rain,” she informed me before turning her head and staring out the window. Without a word of warning, Stella got up from the table, grabbed her purse and went to the bathroom that was located down the hallway. If she had walked out that door, I think I would have died right then and there. That was what I thought she was about to do, walk out the door and out of my life because I had said something stupid.
Alone at the table, I stared out the window trying to figure out what I had said that had caused such adverse reaction in my friend. Before I could really get my mind functioning at a speed faster than a tortoise in hot desert sand, Stella returned. Placing her purse on the table, she sat down and smiled at me. “Tony, you aren’t really falling for me, are you?” See, I told you women were sometimes crazy.
Startled, maybe just a little appalled, I hesitated before answering her and she knew right then that anything I said would be untruthful. My nervous eyes, twitching lips and shaking fingers gave me away like Judas must have done just before he betrayed Jesus. “Don’t worry about it,” I said. “Everything is under control. I know the circumstances and I don’t want to see either of us getting hurt. We’ve always been friends and I guess I do love you—in my own way—and I don’t see nothing wrong with that, do you?”
Without a word, she got up, put her coat on, took three dollars from her purse and dropped it on the table. As she walked toward the door, my heart sunk like the Titanic. Before she was more than fifteen feet away from me, she stopped, turned around and faced me. “Well, what are you waiting on?”
“I was just waiting to see if you would look back at me,” I explained putting on my own coat. “I thought maybe you had forgotten all about me.”
“I don’t think so,” she replied. “Let’s go get wet. We have a lot to talk about.”
As we stepped out into the street, a steady, cold drizzle fell. Cars were everywhere and we had to walk all the way down to the intersection so we could cross over to the other side. I could hear the railroad yard at the southern end of town as yardmen hooked boxcars to engines. Horns honked and impatient drivers fought the rain and traffic. “Have you seen Casablanca?” I asked trying to keep up with her steady pace. “They say Ingrid Bergman is the best.”
“”Bogie, um … Bogart is supposed to be good, too,” she admitted. “Are you asking me out?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I just thought we might go see it tomorrow.”
“We’d have to drive all the way over to Charleston to see it, but I think it would be worth it, don’t you?”
“Of course,” I said. “Do you think your father would let you go?”
“I’m old enough to make my own decisions,” she said. “How will we get there? Neither of us have a car?”
“I’ll think of something,” I said knowing my father would lend me his car just to get rid of me. He never liked me sitting around the house on a Saturday night. He liked to have some time alone with my mother. I sort of spoiled that for them. My sisters usually spent Saturday night with friends. “Don’t worry about it. Just be ready about seven.”
“I’m sure you will come up with transportation,” she said splashing through one deep puddle after another. “The bridge is just ahead.”
The old covered bridge Stella was referring to was located about half-a-mile from town. The bridge wasn’t used anymore since they put in the new highway. The old road was ancient with a row of weeds and bushes running down its center. The road was nothing more than two paths separated by growth. The bridge ran across a small creek and was in amazingly good shape considering its age. The only visitors to the bridge were occasional lovers and an assortment of birds and small animals.
We walked under the roof and tried to wring the water from our coats. We were soaked, but that didn’t seem to matter to Stella. Her smile brightened the dismal atmosphere beneath the roof of the old bridge. Stella hung her coat on a screw in one of the vertical beams and stood shivering with her arms wrapped around her body. Putting my coat near hers hoping some of the water would drain out of it, I took her in my arms and held her. Stella didn’t resist. Her wet skin felt soft against mine. In a little while, we had shared enough body heat to feel a little better. “Now, what’s this all about?”
“What do you mean?” she asked trying to pretend that she really didn’t know what I was talking about. “Everything is as fine as it can be, under the circumstances.”
“I think you’re depressed,” I said. “You haven’t been yourself for a long time. I know that terrible things have happened to you, however, it’s time to put it aside—if you can—and move on. Look at all the things you’ve accomplished in your life. Besides being beautiful and intelligent, you’ve become a symbol of feminine progression, a person who cares and someone who people look up to. Why, the way you organized the women in this town to help the war effort was ingenious. Those clubs you founded are finding new ways to help. I heard they had earned over eight thousand dollars last month. Now, that’s miraculous. You’re a blooming genius, Stella Hanson.”
Stella seemed impressed that I knew so much about her. Everything I said was the truth. Stella had organized several women’s clubs in the county before her brother got killed. After December 7th, 1941, everybody was trying to do something to help win the war. Stella—as any person in Peyton Falls will be happy to tell you—did more than her share. The clubs collected scrap iron and other metals, held cake bakes, and ran several stores that sold their merchandize at a lower price than anyone else in town. Stella wasn’t happy with what they were doing. She figured they could do more and make a profit while doing it. Soliciting the government for contracts, she convinced them to let her organization make parachutes, belts and other gear for the army. Since her father was already changing his factory to produce war materials, she had little trouble getting the contracts she wanted. With money earned from their many projects, the club bought an old abandoned factory across the creek from the town of Peyton Falls. Within months, she had the business up and running. Hiring a business manager, a woman named Paula Simpson, she left the daily operation of the business in her hands and continued her work at the plant working for her father. Stella kept strict control over her business and worked for her father at the same time. She was a remarkable young woman. Several months after she had founded the Peyton Falls Manufacturing Company, Stella Hanson made plans to start similar companies in other small towns across America. Her father was appalled. I knew her father well and I almost became hysterical when I thought of him having to live with the knowledge that his daughter had such great talent. Knowing his demeanor, I would suppose that she really made him feel less than happy. Hanson wanted his daughter to help operate his business. Now, she was branching out on her own and he didn’t have control over what she was doing. He wanted his family to support him in every way in an effort to help win the war. He didn’t understand that Stella Hanson had a mind of her own. She was an independent woman.
Sometimes, I wondered if Mr. Hanson really cared as much for the war effort as he did his profits. He was a profit driven industrialist with few moral values. He was the opposite of Stella.
His family had immigrated to America from Germany in the 1800s and had established themselves as successful industrialists. His grandfather and his father worked hard to build the companies they now owned. Jerrold Hanson saw an opportunity to become even richer than his family had ever been before. His aggressiveness toward fighting the war in the machine shop wasn’t totally a patriotic one. Of course, he’d always loved America, except he knew a good thing when he saw it. He would be able to make millions from government contracts, if he played his cards right. Jerrold Hanson planned to contribute some of the profit from his endeavors to the war effort after he’d tucked a sizable chunk of it in his bank account. Now he had a dilemma. His very own daughter was running her own company instead of staying home and helping him run his business. He thought the same way his father and his grandfather thought. The business was a family enterprise and each member of the family was expected to support the business and do what was necessary to see that it was successful. Now his daughter intended to give all the profits from her business to the government and other worthy institutions. As a strict, experienced capitalist, he could not understand her attitude. After all, doing business was supposed to produce a return on your investment. He couldn’t understand anything about her giving it all away. Greed must have had a hand in convincing him that he had to get his hands on some of those enormous profits her business was reaping. It must have torn his gluttonous soul apart to know that it was impossible for him to share in her good fortune.
As I stood under that bridge that day with the soft, gentle rain hitting the tin roof, I was immersed in my thoughts about Stella and what she had accomplished. Somehow, I felt as if I were in the presence of a goddess. Who knows? Maybe I was. Many people in the town worshipped her because of all the good things she did. Many saw her as a modern Joan of Arc with a golden sword held high over her head as she rode her white stead through the town dispensing all evil, conquering all wrong and making the sick well again. “You have done a lot for this town and for America,” I said trying to arouse her from her stupor. She was staring across the creek toward Peyton Falls that now was hidden from us by a dense forest.
“I suppose so, Tony,” she said. “There is so much more to be done. My father isn’t too happy about it, though. I think he wants me to devote more of my time to the family business. I work at his place thirty hours a week. I don’t know how much more I can give him.”
“How do you feel about that?”
“I think I’m doing everything I can do for America,” she said. “The objective is to win the war not make ourselves rich. I believe that my father is more interested in getting rich.”
“That might be,” I agreed. “You just do what you think is right and don’t worry about it, Stella. Is that what has been bothering you?”
She nodded her head. “That’s part of it,” she said. “I think we better be getting back home. It’s getting late and I have a lot of things to do.”
Putting our soggy coats back on, we headed out into the rain. We held hands mostly because we were friends and because the muddy road was slick. I didn’t want her to fall. I didn’t want to see her hurt at all. As we walked toward the main street that led into town, we were surprised to meet Candy Johnson, Janet Long and Regina Lawson coming down the road. I suppose they had intended spending the night, or part of it, under the old bridge. Sometimes they build fires on the concrete floor and camped out all night.
I remember hearing tales told by other kids in school about some of those outings. Most of the kids we went to school with were decent, responsible people. Nonetheless, there were those who took advantage of the old covered bridge. It became a place where they could party all night away from the prying eyes of their parents. Sex and beer were the worst they could come up with as a means of enjoying life. I suppose there is nothing better than that when you are young and restless. When the war came, this became a way for young people to escape from the horrors of life that drove them to find as much pleasure and relaxation as they could find.
It was too late to duck into the bushes because they had already seen us. I don’t know why their sudden appearance disturbed me, but it did. Stella didn’t seem to care. She just squeezed my hand and pulled me forward hardly acknowledging the other three people. Regina Lawson smiled and spoke. I wondered if she was curious about what we had been doing under the old covered bridge. Candy Johnson looked back at us after they passed and yelled, “Did you guys have a good time in the shelter of the bridge?”
“You bet,” Stella answered. “At least it’s dry under there.”
We walked forward in silence as their chatter and laughter faded away behind us. “What do you think they will say about us?” I wasn’t concerned for myself because I knew that just about everyone knew what everybody else did in a small community like we lived in, however, I didn’t want those people to get the wrong idea about us. Janet Long was probably already conjuring up an interesting story she could spread around town about us. We had all gone to school together. I never liked Janet very much. Her tongue was as deadly as any other weapon man had ever devised once she got it going. I hadn’t seen them since we graduated from high school. I figure that it wasn’t a great loss.
“I don’t care,” Stella said. “We’re adults now. I’m sure they aren’t going to have a picnic out there. They probably have beer hidden in the creek. They do it all the time.”
I didn’t answer. We walked on in silence hating the cold rain that soaked our clothes and chilled our souls. The voices behind us faded like a radio when the power is turned off as we hastened along the road as fast as we could walk.
As we neared Stella’s home, the rain came down harder. I was wondering if I’d ever see a sunny day again. Stella pulled me up the wooden steps. The house was white and had six large, round columns that supported the porch roof and added a little southern charm to it. Wrapping her arms around my neck, she pulled me closer to her. Our eyes made contact and we stared at each other briefly before our lips met. I could feel her soft, warm lips on mine and I melted into her arms. Knowing I should pull away, get away from her for her sake, I found that I could not resist her. We kissed for a few minutes before she retreated and stood looking at me. She was hard to figure, except I wasn’t thinking about her mentality at that exact moment. I wanted to hold her, kiss her and make love to her. I knew it was the wrong time to let such a thing happen. Her father might come home and then she would be lost forever. Holding my hands in hers, she looked at me with those big blue eyes. “Do you want to come in and get dry?”
I wanted to go in with her. What red-blooded American male wouldn’t? Regardless, it wouldn’t do for her father to catch us alone in the house. I knew that he was still at work. He always worked late and his wife was busy in social circles trying to drum up more business for the war movement. “I guess not,” I said as if I were a little puppy that had been scolded. “Maybe some other time. I’ll pick you up tomorrow night. Don’t forget.”
“I won’t,” she said. “It’s not often I get a date with a nice looking guy like you and I get to see Bogart at the same time.”
“That’s refreshing,” I said not knowing what to say. I still couldn’t believe that she was going out with me. “I’ll see you later.”
She stood watching me for a long time. I turned around and looked back, smiled and waved at her. She looked like the goddess that she was standing there on the front porch with the rain coming down like somebody had dumped the Atlantic Ocean on me. That last image of her stuck in my mind and I still see it every time I think about her. She was beautiful, intelligent and had a good heart. I don’t think that anybody would dispute that. She was a good example of the All-American Girl and I knew then that I loved her. Maybe we’d never be more than friends, however, that didn’t matter to me. Nothing could stop me from loving her, not even death. Little did I know when I walked away from her that I would never see her alive again. Sometime next day, Stella Hanson would be dead and my life would take a new turn. My life would become chaos.
* * * * * *
Chapter 2
FRIDAY NIGHT
The last time I saw Stella was on that Friday afternoon. Of course, I didn’t know what was going to happen then. If I had known what tomorrow would bring, I would have done something about it. Her death was one of the most harrowing events in my life. The rain poured down on me as I walked back to where my family lived on Hastings Street. I couldn’t get Stella off my mind because I finally had a date with her. My own future was in doubt and I felt that I didn’t have a right to think about marrying her when so many of my friends were dying on foreign shores for a just cause. My mind could not accept the fact that such horrible things were really happening to so many people. I was one mixed up kid back then. My course of action was clear to me, though. I had to join the service and hope that I survived the ordeal. After the war was over—if it ever ended—and if I survived it, then I would ask Stella Hanson to marry me. As I plodded on through the rain, I knew what I had to do. I had to talk to my father.
My father, Stewart Powell usually worked until after five o’clock every day of the week. As Chief of Police, he was often called out in the middle of the night. On this soggy, miserable day, he had come home early to help my mother pack boxes to be shipped overseas. It seemed that everyone in Peyton Falls was involved in that war effort in one way or another. My father respected the work that Stella Hanson did and I hoped that his admiration for her would stiffen the blow when I told him that we were dating. I didn’t really need his approval, except that I knew my father considered her a little above our station in life. Her father was worth millions and my father was a public servant. I was worried that he might not approve of our relationship. My mother was even more aware of our social status than he was. In those days, social status was important. A poor boy from Hastings Street simply did not get serious about a girl from Indian Creek. Indian Creek was a small collection of expensive houses west of Peyton Falls where all the rich people enjoyed their lives oblivious of their destitute neighbors. Some people referred to it as, the Hill because it was located on an elevated area outside of town. When you moved up in life in Peyton Falls, you moved up to the Hill.
I opened the front door and trudged across the threshold with my soggy shoes leaving tracks in the hallway. Before I reached the stairs, I noticed that my parents were in the front room. Removing my coat, I hung it in the hall closet. Knowing that my mother would tell me to do it anyway, I pulled my shoes off and put them in the closet. She was a woman that kept her house clean and the last thing you wanted to do was walk through the house with mud and water on your feet.
“Is that you, Tony?” she asked.
“It’s me, Mom. What are you guys doing?”
“Packing some things for our boys,” she said. I could hear the tension in her voice. I heard it every time the subject of war was brought up. “Put your shoes in the closet, go upstairs and change into something dry and come on downstairs. Dinner will be in about an hour.”
“Sure, Mom,” I said heading up the stairs very quickly because I didn’t want to get caught up in a lengthy conversation. I was shivering and I could feel a cold chill coming on. “I’ll be down in a minute or two.”
I can’t remember everything that happened that night. We sat around the table talking as we always did as we enjoyed our meal. We were a close, loving family. We loved, respected and tried to understand each other. When one of us hurt, we all hurt. That was typical of most American families in those days. Family—in most cases—was all that we had. Speaking of family, I was blessed with two younger sisters to keep me honest. Tammy was only ten and Kathy was sixteen. Tammy liked to tease me every chance she got. She had my mother’s azure blue eyes, blonde hair and I’ve often thought she got her inquisitive nature from our mother. Kathy was just discovering boys. She was a knockout with her dark hair, blue eyes and milky white complexion. I loved my sisters, however, they got on my nerves sometimes. They asked too many questions.
I mentioned the date with Stella to my father. Smiling, he told me to proceed with caution. He knew what I was thinking about the war and probably figured that the relationship would be good for me. My parents had saved every penny they could for my college education. That was a rarity in those days. Mostly rich kids went to college. I was expected to pay some of my tuition with money I earned from my job at the Hanson business. Kathy and Tammy began harassing me about Stella right away. Relentless in their pursuit of making me uncomfortable, they didn’t shut up until my mother told them to go into the living room and finish packing. My mother looked at me with a sad look in her eyes that chilled me. Steeling myself, ready for anything, I waited for her to release her fury on me for even thinking about going out with a rich girl, especially one as beautiful as Stella Hanson.
“Are you sure about this, Tony?” she asked resting her chin on her hand. “I mean, she is a beautiful girl, but you don’t know what is going to happen. What about the military? Will her father allow her to marry while this war is going on? Oh, there are just so many questions, so many things you have to consider. And, what about that job, Tony? Do you really want to work for her father for the rest of your life?”
“He has a job with a future, now,” my father grunted, “and he’s going to college at night.”
I don’t know which one of us was shocked the most. My mother sat dumbfounded trying to figure out what he was talking about. “Okay, what are you up to now, Stewart?”
My father finished chewing his food and then swallowed. Taking a sip of coffee, he put his cup on the table, pushed his plate away from him and appeared as if he were about to address congress. My father was a big man—not what you would call fat—with broad shoulders, a jovial face and a weathered complexion. His deep brown eyes were nestled just below bushy eyebrows that showed traces of grayness in them. Even though I could see kindness, understanding and love on his face, I could also detect starkness there that many criminals had seen in him. I knew from past experiences that my father was brave, intelligent and wasn’t someone that you wanted to get mad at you. He had always treated me fairly and I loved him. “Well, with this war going on, Peyton Falls has become the center of one of the most active manufacturing areas in the country, thanks to our Mr. Jerrold Hanson and his daughter, Stella. Of course, I would imagine that Mr. Hanson sees an opportunity to add even more gold to his own coffers, but that is my personal opinion. So, don’t repeat it.”
I wasn’t sure I knew where he was going with what he was saying, however, it didn’t take Einstein or a scientist to see that it had something to do with the war. I could also see that my father didn’t have much respect for Stella’s father. A cold chill washed over my body. Was he sending me away to college where I would never see Stella again? “What has the war got to do with me?” I asked.
“Quite a lot,” he explained. “This area has become a hot bed of German activity. We think that German agents are either here now or soon will be. The mayor and me spent some time talking about it today and he wants me to hire two more detectives to help with keeping our community safe from foreign intrusion. I told him about how Tony had spent several summers working at the police department and how he wanted to go to college to study Criminal Justice. We both agreed that Tony might be a good candidate for one of the positions because he’s a high school graduate, has some understanding of police procedures and has an interest in going to school to further his knowledge. He can work with me and the other detectives as part of his training, go to school at night and he can earn a decent wage while protecting us from the enemy.”
Everything was happening so fast. I couldn’t even comprehend me as a detective even though I had aspirations that would have taken me in that direction, eventually. It was true that I had worked in the police department for a couple of summers. Things were liberal back then. You didn’t need a college degree to become a cop or a garbage man. However, most of that time had been spent doing clerical duties and things like that. These were jobs that the regular staff didn’t like to do, so I got stuck with them. My father would never let me go out on any real cases where I might get hurt. My mother would never have forgiven him for that. Disgruntled, I learned as much as I could by watching the other officers and talking to them whenever they would talk to me. George Stevenson, one of the detectives had taken me under his wing and taught me a lot about police work. George had been on the Peyton Falls Police Department for twenty-seven years and he was a virtual walking encyclopedia of knowledge. George was also a prankster with a sense of humor, an arsenal of jokes and a shrewd delivery method through which he made his jokes available to any person that might wander into his domain. The problem I was having was that my father had seemed to solve all my problems with just one single suggestion. Images of rescuing Stella Hanson from dangerous, dark men wearing black fedoras and black trench coats inundated my mind. After all, I was still just a kid who read mystery novels and listened to The Shadow on the radio. Was it going to be this easy?
“Tony, your father is talking to you.” My mother said, interrupting my thoughts.
I looked up and they both were staring at me as if they thought I was sick or something. In actuality, I was sick. I was sick of the war, the prospect of being a cop for the rest of my life and of not being able to marry Stella. Would someone like Stella Hanson really want a cop for a husband? Maybe my father was trying to drive a wedge between us. Perhaps he was trying to shove me into a position that he knew she wouldn’t approve of. Then I remembered that Stella had actually suggested that I become a cop in the first place. “Oh,” I said, surprised. “I’m sorry. I was just thinking about the war. The other guys will accuse me of being a coward if I don’t join up, and soon.”
“Don’t worry about that,” he told me. “You will be doing a great service to your country. Somebody has to stay home and fight the war here. The enemy will do anything and everything possible to disrupt our industrial capabilities as well as our transportation and communications systems. We have to do our best to keep those things working. Without them, we don’t have a chance of winning this war. Nobody is going to accuse you of anything. We need for you to start work next Monday. Do you think you will be ready by then?”
“Of course,” I said before I realized I had committed myself without thinking about it. “Will I carry a gun and a badge?”
My father seemed amused by my question. Before he could answer, a voice spoke from the door that led into the dining room. “He doesn’t need a gun,” Kathy said. “He’ll shoot himself or someone else.”
“I don’t think it will be that way,” my father replied turning his head slightly to address his oldest daughter. “Tony will have to study hard and pass a state test before he can carry a weapon. He’ll have a badge, though. Most of the time, I’ll keep him with me or he’ll be with one of the other investigators. Most of our work will be routine, inspecting water towers, checking on illegal workers at factories and things like that. He’ll be lucky if he can stay awake.”
“He sleeps real well,” Tammy said. “Daddy, do they pay people to sleep?”
“I don’t think so,” my father said. “We’ll be sure to keep him busy. Okay?”
“Sure,” Tammy said as she lost interest and went back to packing boxes full of clothes and other needed items for our boys. “I just wondered,” she added as she walked away. Kathy looked at me suspiciously and followed her younger sister back into the living room. Neither of them wanted me to be a cop. My mother wasn’t too happy about it either although she supported my father’s decision. They had seen the long, hard hours my father worked and wanted something better for me. Good jobs were hard to find. I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life working in a factory.
As I finished my bath in the bathroom across from my upstairs bedroom, I wondered if I had made the right decision. My father had been a cop all his life and I always wanted to be a detective. However, I hadn’t expected the opportunity to be dumped in my lap the way it had been. Going to college for four years, returning home as an educated, conquering hero was what I had in mind. Now, Stella Hanson would know that I hadn’t gone off to war. She would know me as the kid that stayed home to help his old man save the country from invisible spies. Would she buy such a thing? I didn’t know. That night I drifted off to sleep and dreamed about chasing dark phantoms through dark warehouses and through factories filled with silent machines. It was the beginning of my nightmare.
* * * * *
Chapter 3
SATURDAY
My mother pounded on my door as she usually did trying to rouse me. I turned over under the warm covers and tried to figure out what the noise was, what day it was and why I felt like I had just gone off to sleep. Feeling comfortable with the routine once I realized that it was only my mother at the door and that it was after eight o’clock in the morning, I jumped out of bed and headed for the shower. Yelling at my mother, I told her I was awake and that all was well. The warm water made me anxious to go back to bed again. Remembering that I was supposed to help my father at the courthouse, I sighed wondering why I had agreed to such a thing. My father had discovered that I was good at sorting and filing records so every time he had a lot of paperwork to do, he somehow talked me into helping him. Good help was hard to find because just about everyone that had any clerical experience at all was either overseas or was already employed. The fact I could type was an additional benefit for him.
Standing in the hallway, buttoning my shirt, I looked into the kitchen where my mother was preparing a meal for me. I assumed that my father had already left. I felt lucky to have someone like my mother and a father that really cared about me. My two sisters were still sleeping upstairs. My mother was tall, slim and beautiful. Her long, soft blonde hair and blue eyes always made her look even younger than she was. Many years of hard work, stress, worry and raising three kids was taking its toll on her. “Come on in and sit down,” she said. Sometimes, I just knew she had eyes in the back of her head.
“Dad gone?”
“He left earlier. He’ll meet you at the courthouse after you have your breakfast.”
Mom and me were close. Neither of us mentioned the date I had planned with Stella that night, nonetheless, it was foremost on my mind as I finished my breakfast and left the house. Shivering from the early morning dampness, I pulled my jacket on as I walked up the street toward the courthouse. The rain had subsided during the night. Fog clung to the ground and was so thick I could hardly see the buildings on the other side of the street. Just when I thought I was going to become lost, I heard sirens and the sound of automobiles coming down the street. Peyton Falls didn’t come alive until almost nine in the mornings—on weekdays—when shoppers and office workers descended on the town. On Saturdays, such as today was, things happened a little later when some shops and stores opened around ten in the morning. Four factories were located outside the city limits so their traffic didn’t bother us much. That’s why I was so surprised to hear racing engines and the sirens. The only time I had heard them before was when there was a wreck or a fire.
Before I could figure out what was happening, two police cars passed by me heading toward Indian Creek. A black 1940 Plymouth screeched to a sudden halt near me splashing water upon the sidewalk where I was standing. A back door opened and a voice yelled at me. I recognized the voice immediately.
“Hop in, Tony,” my father said. “Something happened out on the hill.”
I stood dumbfounded for a few seconds before my father stepped out on the sidewalk and shoved me gently into the car. After he got in beside me and slammed the door shut, the driver gunned the engine and we were headed toward Indian Creek. “What’s going on?” I asked not quite grasping the situation and still a little confused. Wondering what could have happened that would bring out the entire police department, I figured it had to be something really bad.