The Monarch Graveyard
James R. Nelson
Copyright 2019 James R. Nelson
All Rights Reserved
ISBN
ISBN
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locals, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual people or events coincidental or fictionalized.
Table of Contents
Prologue
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty One
Twenty Two
Twenty Three
Twenty Four
Twenty Five
Prologue
May 21, 1979
Two lines of geese honked above the prison yard. Each line seamlessly integrated into the familiar V pattern Paulie DeLuca had seen so many times before. Why were they up there in the middle of May? Usually he saw them in September and October. Their honking reminded him of the guards, and how they were always barking out meaningless orders.
Standing next to a twenty-foot wall topped with coils of razor wire, Paulie shivered in the exercise yard of the Marquette State Prison. He stared up at the sky again and hoped for a break in the fast moving clouds. On sunny days he enjoyed watching his shadow move against the wall as he slowly flexed his biceps.
He had been muscular when he was brought to the prison four years earlier, but nothing compared to what he looked like now. Every minute of his free time had been spent in the prison exercise room lifting weights.
Paulie turned to the castle-like administration building. Supposedly it was famous for being built from local red sandstone. The whole place was old. Damned old. The castle wasn’t the only thing that made the place famous. Paulie turned back to the wall. It was streaked with a disgusting combination of dark stains; dirt, mold, and what appeared to be dried blood from an inmate riot two weeks before.
Not a surprise. The joint was infamous for its bloody history and frequent escapes. In 1921, the warden and several guards were knifed in the prison theater by three convicts. Ten years later, the prison doctor was murdered by inmates, and in 1950, they grabbed the governor and held him hostage during a prisoner escape plot. The damned governor! But, in the end he got rescued. Paulie spit on the ground. Too bad.
He stepped away. It didn’t look like there’d be any sun this morning. An unexpected flash of color caught his eye. He glanced up at the razor wire. Several monarch butterflies drifted over the wall and were fliting toward him. He slowly held out his right hand. One of the butterflies came close, but a slight breeze whisked it away.
“Hey, DeLuca. Every time I see you out here, you’re obsessed with those things. What is it with you and butterflies?”
Paulie waited for the female guard to get closer. “I just like them, that’s all. I collected butterflies when I was a kid, and I never get tired of watching them.”
“Why’s that?”
“They remind me of my mother.”
“Your mother?” Sergeant Kitty Sovey asked, surprised at the answer.
“Yeah. Delicate and beautiful.”
“I noticed you don’t get many visitors. Does your mother ever come and see you?”
Paulie frowned. “Nah. She took off on me and my brother when I was a kid.”
“You’ve got a brother? Has he ever come to visit you?”
Paulie stepped back. He stared at her and liked what he saw. Her thick, black curly hair and those deep dimples. That ugly guard uniform wasn’t able to hide the fact that Sergeant Kitty Sovey was quite the voluptuous woman. But the questions. What was it with all the questions? “He’s locked up at Riker’s. He ain’t comin’ to see me anytime soon.”
“Yeah, I feel for you guys from out of state. You may get a few visitors at first, but then it gets to be a hassle, or too expensive, and pretty soon nobody comes anymore.”
Paulie nodded. “That’s what happened to me. My friend Al came a few times from New York City. But this ain’t the easiest place to get to.” He smiled. “And us murderers and kidnappers don’t have much of a fan club.” Paulie’s eyes followed another butterfly.
“Did you know there’s a place near here where thousands of monarchs stop and rest on their way to Mexico?”
He spun around. “What? Are you shittin’ me? Where’s that?”
“It’s at the end of the Garden Peninsula about a hundred miles south of here. I went there with my husband two years ago. It was amazing. Butterflies completely covered the trees and bushes. They were everywhere.”
Paulie was silent for a moment. “Now that would be something to see.” He stared at her. “We should go there some time.”
She laughed. “Yeah, right. You’re a lifer. You’d better start working on your parole speech, but you don’t have much time. The monarchs will be stopping there in a few months. August and September.”
“I’ll do that.” He studied her name badge. “You’re married to that big guard, Chuck, aren’t you?”
She turned, took a step away, and then glanced back over her shoulder. “Sometimes.”
One
Tuesday, August 20th, 1979
A few miles outside of the small community of Grand Marais, Michigan, a huge mansion stood next to a six hundred foot cliff overlooking Lake Superior. Cliffside Manor was owned by Phillip Kahle, a Hollywood movie director. He had purchased the property twenty years before because it reminded him of the Black Forest area in Germany where he grew up. The house provided a perfect getaway from the madness of Los Angeles, where he conducted most of his business.
The place had a dark and foreboding look. It had been patterned after the house in his first horror movie, The Piltdown Man. The success of that film had allowed him the opportunity to buy the 120 acres of wilderness that now surrounded his estate.
Phillip’s nephew, Stephen Moorehouse, was staying at the mansion. He followed Jeanette St. Jacques from her office down a long hallway. They stepped into a cozy room and sat down on a couch next to a flickering fire in the fireplace. Stephen looked around at the exotic animal heads which hung from the walls of his uncle’s trophy room. It was one of his favorite places in Cliffside Manor, that and the well-stocked library up on the third floor.
Stephen turned to Jeanette and pointed. “I know that’s an impala head there, but I can never remember what the other one is. The one with those huge four-foot horns.”
“Phillip said it’s a great kudu, whatever that is. He got it in Kenya.”
Stephen turned his attention to the stuffed eight-foot brown bear in the corner, and then to the head of a ten-point buck that was mounted over the fireplace. “How did his girlfriend put up with Phillip’s hunting trips when she was such an animal lover?”
Jeanette had been his uncle’s assistant since she had graduated from high school. If anybody knew the answer to that question, it would be her. She smiled. “She didn’t. Once Britt came to live here, Phillip stopped hunting altogether.”
Jeanette leaned closer to the fireplace and rubbed her hands together. “A fire in August. Can you believe it? At least it’s taking out the dampness in here.”
Stephen moved closer and put his arm around her. They had been a couple for the last four years. She had captured his attention the first time he had seen her, that fateful year he spent his first summer visiting his uncle.
<
br /> “What about this room?” Stephen asked. “I’m surprised she didn’t make him take all this stuff down.”
“Oh, she tried all right. But Phillip put his foot down. He refused. She never came in here much.”
Stephen took a sip of coffee. “Anything new about your mother?”
She pressed closer to him. “No. My sister thinks it’s almost time to bring in hospice, but I would hate to hear that. That would mean there’s no hope.”
He kissed the top of her head. “I know. I wish there was something I could do.”
Cora Ingebritzen, Phillip’s cook and housekeeper, entered carrying a plate piled high with fresh homemade apple turnovers. “These just came out of the oven. I thought you might like one.”
Stephen reached for a pastry. “They smell wonderful. Thank you, Cora. You’re making me fat with all of your rich concoctions.”
Cora smiled. “I wanted to pick some fresh beans from the garden for dinner tonight, but with this rain, I had to make other plans.” She set the plate down on an end table. “We need something warm and comforting on this cold, damp day.” She gave a start as Phillip burst into the room.
Tall, with a shock of unmanageable graying blonde hair, Phillip said, “Cora, where have you been? I’ve been looking all over for you.” He paused. “Hmm, what smells so good?”
She pointed to the plate. “Apple turnovers. They’re still warm. You’ve been looking for me? Did you think to check the kitchen? I’ve been in there baking for the last two hours.”
“The kitchen? No, I was looking for you upstairs.”
Stephen glanced over at Jeanette and grinned.
Cora stepped away. “I’ve got a pot of fresh coffee too. Let me get it.”
Phillip grabbed her by the elbow before she could leave. “Hold on a minute. I need to ask you something.”
“What?”
“I need you to clear out Britt’s cottage as soon as possible. Pack up all her things in boxes. We’ll send them to that Goodwill place. I need to get them out of here. Can you do that?”
Cora stepped backward. “Are you serious? You want me to box up all her things?”
Again, Stephen glanced over at Jeanette. This time he wasn’t smiling.
“Yes. It’s been four years now since she died. I think it’s about time we all need to move on.” He picked up a turnover and strode out of the room.
Cora turned to Stephen and Jeanette. “Did you just hear what I heard?”
Jeanette let out a big sigh. “I…I think I did.”
Stephen asked Jeanette, “Did you know about this?”
She shook her head. “No. He never mentioned anything about it to me. And did you hear what he said? That it’s time for us all to move on.”
Stephen took a step closer to the fireplace. “I know. Like it’s been us who’s been going into Britt’s place and sitting there for hours on end every few days.”
Cora turned toward the door. “I better get started. This is going to be a big job. Have you seen how stuffed those closets are?”
“I thought some of Britt’s things got destroyed when the cottage caught on fire a few years ago?”
“Some things did,” Cora answered. “But most were just smoked damaged. Phillip spent a fortune getting them cleaned. Come by and take a look. You’ll be surprised how much stuff is over there.”
Once Cora left, Stephen asked, “I thought we’d go to the movies this weekend. What would you like to see, Alien or The Amityville Horror?”
Jeanette thought for a moment. “Amityville Horror.”
He smiled. “Good. Me too.”
Two
Eight o’clock the next morning, Stephen stood next to a split-rail fence behind Cliffside Manor. Lake Superior waves pounded the shoreline hundreds of feet below. Bundled up in a long-sleeved shirt and sweatshirt, he clutched a cup of coffee that had turned cold in a matter of minutes.
Stephen was bored. The year before, he’d been offered the job of art director for his uncle’s film production company, and had been in charge of selecting the location for his uncle’s last movie. The movie had done very well at the box office. So well, that Phillip hadn’t bothered to start a new project.
“A penny for your thoughts.”
Stephen jumped. “Oh, Jeanette. You startled me. I didn’t hear you walk up.”
She glanced over the steep cliff down toward the water. “How could you with those big waves. I just came by to tell you I’m going to help Cora pack up Britt’s things again today, in case you wondered where I was. We got a lot done yesterday. Hopefully, we should be finished by noon.” She took a sip of tea from the cup she was holding. “Did you see Phillip this morning?”
“No. I asked Cora where he was. She said he grabbed an English muffin earlier and told her he had someplace to go.”
Jeanette frowned. “Something’s up. He’s acting weird all of a sudden. He’s doing all of this stuff and not saying a word about it to us. That’s just not like him. I still can’t believe he decided to get rid of Britt’s things.”
“Me either. I’ve been dying to ask him what brought this on. I saw him last night for a few minutes, but I didn’t know how to bring up the subject. I guess we’ll just have to wait and see what prompted him to do it.” Stephen thought for a moment. “I’m thinking of driving over to Marquette today. You want to come with me? I’m going to buy some oil paints and a few canvases over at that art supply store.”
She smiled. “Are you going to start painting again?”
“Yes. I need something to do.”
She gave him a hug. “Oh, that would’ve been fun, but I know Cora can’t box up the rest of Britt’s things by herself. And it sounded like Phillip was anxious to get everything out of here right away, for some reason.”
“Yeah. I got that feeling too.”
She leaned closer and kissed him on the cheek. “I better get going.” As she returned to the mansion, Jeanette detoured into the kitchen to refill her tea cup. Cora was sitting at the table reading a leaflet. “What’s so interesting?” Jeanette asked.
Before Cora had a chance to answer, Phillip came in. “Coffee. I need coffee.” He went over to the pot and poured himself a cup. “What you got there, Cora? It looks like a travel brochure.”
She held it up so they could see it. “It is. It’s a flier about the Agawa Canyon train tour in Canada.”
“I’ve heard about that,” Phillip said. “It leaves from the Canadian side of Sault St. Marie, doesn’t it? Somebody said it’s Canada’s version of our Grand Canyon.”
“I’m not sure about that,” Cora responded. “But it does look interesting. My sister wants me to do the trip with her.”
Phillip laughed. “Oh, right. Do you know how many times you’ve told me about a trip you were going to take on your vacation?” He picked up a cookie. “Let me think. If I’m not mistaken, the last time you actually took a full week off was three years ago.”
She nodded. “I know. I know. You’re always telling me to take time off.”
Phillip reached for the brochure. “This looks wonderful. You and your sister need to do this. I insist.”
“Maybe.”
Phillip stepped toward the door. “There you go again. What did I tell you?”
###
After buying his art supplies in Marquette, Stephen had lunch at a restaurant overlooking the lake. The drive back was uneventful. When he pulled up to Cliffside Manor, a big furniture truck was parked in the driveway to the left and slightly behind the cottage where Brit had lived. Several men were carrying new furniture into the dwelling. Jeanette and Cora were standing outside watching as they worked.
Stephen hurried into the house and went directly over to Jeanette’s office. How long would she be over at Britt’s place? He sat down in her chair, rolled a piece of paper into the typewriter, and started typing. Twenty minutes later he heard footsteps outside her door. He pulled the paper out of the machine just as Jeanette stepped in.
She jumped. “Oh! You startled me. What are you doing here? I thought you were going to Marquette for painting supplies.” She noticed a large bag sitting next to her desk.
“I did go.” He pointed to the bag. “I was able to get everything I needed, and more.”
She noticed the paper sitting next to the typewriter. “Were you writing me a note?”
“Not exactly.”
The tone of his voice made her curious. She glanced over at the paper. Her eyes widened. “Is that a resume?”
“The start of one.”
She glanced back down at the paper. “Really? Why do you need a resume?”
“I’m going crazy just sitting around here twiddling my thumbs.”
“You’re getting paid, right?”
Stephen picked up the paper and shoved it into his bag of painting supplies. “Yes. I’m on salary, but that’s not doing my career much good. I’m only twenty-two. Now’s the time I’m supposed to be gaining experience. Phillip was kind enough to let me do a bit of directing on the last movie.”
Jeanette nodded. “I know. I was so proud of you.”
“But look what’s happening. Nothing. He doesn’t seem to be in any big hurry to start working again. I’m afraid that when he does, I’ll have forgotten everything he showed me.”
She stared at him. “Are you serious about this? I can’t imagine how he’d feel if you decided to leave.” She took his hand. “And…me too.”
“Serious? I don’t know. I’d hate to do anything that would hurt him. But I don’t see how it would affect us?”
Her eyes got wide. “Really? Do you think you’ll be able to find work in the movies up here in the U. P.?”
“Well, no. But I thought if I did find a new job, you’d be coming with me.”
“So we’d both be leaving your uncle at the same time? How do you think Phillip would feel about that?”
Stephen stared down at the top of the desk. “I guess I was only thinking about myself.”
The Monarch Graveyard Page 1
