by Ron Finch
Lightning at 200 Durham Street
A Joel Franklin Mystery, Volume 1
Ron Finch
Published by Ron Finch, 2018.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
LIGHTNING AT 200 DURHAM STREET
First edition. May 23, 2018.
Copyright © 2018 Ron Finch.
Written by Ron Finch.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Books by Ron Finch
Important Quotes
Friday, June 1, 1928 - The Storm
Friday, May 11
Saturday, May 12
Sunday, May 13
Monday, May 14 to Saturday, May 19
Monday, May 21
Tuesday, May 22
Wednesday, May 23
Friday, May 25
Saturday, May 26 - Ottawa
Sunday, May 27 and Monday, May 28
Tuesday, May 29 to Thursday, May 31
Friday, June 1 - Ottawa
Friday, June 1 - After the Storm
Friday, June 1 - First Contact
Saturday, June 2
Monday, June 4
Tuesday, June 5 to Thursday, June 7
Friday, June 8
Wednesday, June 13 and Thursday, June 14 - Ottawa
Friday, June 15
Monday, June 18
Friday, June 22
Tuesday, June 26 and Wednesday, June 27
Sunday, July 1
Monday, July 2 to Thursday, July 5
Friday, July 6 to Sunday, July 8
Monday, July 9
Thursday, July 12
Friday the 13th
Monday, July 16
Wednesday, July 18
Wednesday, July 18 and Thursday, July 19
Thursday, July 19 to Saturday, July 21
Monday, July 23
The Rest of the Story - Thursday, October 25, 1928
About the Author
Dedication
I enjoyed writing this book. Most the time it was fun. Occasionally, since I didn’t understand the software, mysterious things would happen. I would say the wrong thing by accident and two hours of work would disappear. After a brief interlude of cathartic cursing, I would become rational again and attempt to find the problem.
One day, as I was talking to my computer in a dramatic fashion, I must have used the word ‘but.’ The idiot computer, of course, thought I’d said ’cut.’ After half an hour spent searching for my missing text, I noticed the paste symbol had become prominent. Wow. One flick of my finger and I’d recovered two hours of work.
Fortunately, I do most of my writing on the third floor (the attic) and that prevents my verbal dramatics from irritating my wonderful wife. Which prevents me from being chastised on a regular basis.
I’m dedicating this book to my wife Gloria; for her patience, for her faithful reading of my rough copy, and for her occasional suggestion that something I mentioned wasn’t possible in 1928. She’s been a constant source of encouragement and on slow days I can still hear her say to me in a loving way: ‘I’ve had no pages from you to read yet today.’
I’m also dedicating this book to my son David, who’s taken my unvarnished prose and converted it into a presentable story. He’s a truly great editor.
Books by Ron Finch
THE JOEL FRANKLIN MYSTERY Series:
Lightning at 200 Durham Street
Where’s the Rest of the Body?
Important Quotes
“There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”
William Shakespeare
“Listen!”
Everyone’s mother
“Believe nothing you hear, and only one half that you see.”
Edgar Allen Poe
“Don’t believe everything you think.”
Allan Lokos
Friday, June 1, 1928 - The Storm
I COULD FEEL IT. JUST a sense. A whisper of dread in the sky.
Was it real?
There was definitely something. Very vague. Nothing specific. But I knew. I was uncomfortable.
Maybe the feeling would go away?
I hoped so.
I looked up from the book I was reading. From where I was sitting, I could see just above the railing of our front porch. Across the quiet street the large, three-story red brick Italianate house loomed. Evening was coming. To the east, the sky was darkening, but I saw no threatening clouds. But I could feel ... something.
Was it real? Why was I so uneasy?
I could just sense the edge of it.
Maybe it’s just something in the air?
It was the time of year when things were stirring underground, occasionally peeking through to watch you with a wary eye.
I started to get up, but I didn’t want to turn my back to the sky.
Why should I feel like this? Was I imagining it? It was just a sense.
It’s getting cool.
That at least was real. That would be my excuse for going in.
Excuse to whom? To what? A sense? That makes no sense or nonsense.
But it didn’t seem like nonsense.
I crossed the porch to the heavy front door. The latch stuck at first, but the door finally opened to an ever-darkening interior.
I’m in. I’m safe.
From what? Just a vague sense of uneasiness.
I looked up the curving staircase. Nothing. Just stairs.
I should put the light on.
I needed to put the light on. I needed to put all the lights on. Not to welcome anything, but to unwelcome things I didn’t want to think about.
I slowly turned and looked to my left into the sitting room. I’d have to put the lights on in there as well. My good fortune: there was a lamp just inside the door.
I twisted it on. I could see the fireplace and my mother’s dolls. They looked peaceful. But I could feel something. Just a sense. It had an unpleasant edge.
It was only 5 minutes to 8, but already it was very dark. The rest of the family would be home soon. They’d gone out to a family picnic at the church. I didn’t go with them. I’m 17 and I had to mind the store. Right after school, I had to get down my parents’ corner grocery store and look after business until 7:00 PM. The store is only open until 6:00 PM the rest of the week, unless there’s an emergency, but it stays open an extra hour on Friday. If someone comes to the door of our home later on in the evening, then either mom or dad or I go to the store.
I didn’t like being at home alone this particular night. I wasn’t usually so nervous. There was something wrong. I could feel it. I had a foreboding sense of doom.
My room was in the attic. I liked it up there. Being the oldest, my mother said I deserved a space of my own. Mind you, there was a lot of stuff stored there, but there was room for my bed and the things that were important to me, and there was some light from a dormer window that faced almost southwest. At 5 foot 10, I could easily stand in the middle of the room, but if I grew to be as tall as some of my uncles it would be cramped quarters indeed.
I’ll go up there. I’ll feel safer in the attic.
I was a little worried about the second floor because it was very dark up there, but once I got the lights on I’d be okay.
The stairs talked to me all the way up. My dad had mentioned something about a mysterious two-way switch that involved some kind of ingenious wiring routine that allowed the hall lights to be turned off and on from downstairs or upstairs. I wished ours was like that. Fortunately, there was a light right at the top of the stairs. I turned it on.
I made my way along the dimly-lit upper hall, past my sister’s bedroom, then past my brother’s bedroom, and through the second-floor sitting room to the attic staircase. It wasn’t a very fancy staircase, but the 18 wooden steps took me up to my space in the attic. I was terrified. It was so dark, and I still had to get across the attic through the assorted piles of stored family stuff to the small light near my cot.
The storm was getting louder. Between the booms there was a crackling and an almost subliminal hiss. The lightning was closer, the wind higher, and those vague shapes in the attic more threatening than they had been on any other stormy night. I looked out the window, now very frightened. I was in the house by myself and in the path of what appeared to be a very wicked and peculiar storm.
It sounded like I was being cannonaded. The thunder was so loud and so continuous that I laid on the floor beside my cot and covered my ears with my hands. I didn’t know what to do. I’d never heard a storm so loud. My ears were ringing. The only thing louder than the thunder was the raging beating of my heart. I was in animal mode, just wanting to hide and wait. The lightning was furious. The air itself seemed energized. And there was an odour. It occurred when the air was ionized. I’d read that in a book I’d borrowed from the library when I was doing an essay on electricity for my science class.
If the storm would have abated just a tiny bit, I could have gathered my courage, gotten to my feet, and gone down to the second floor, down to the first floor, and then down to our cellar. I might have been safer there. But there was no abatement. If anything, the storm had become more intense. It didn’t seem possible. I was beginning to wonder whether the house would stand. I could see things blowing past the attic window. It wasn’t a tornado, but it was an extremely strong wind. I just needed a tiny pause in the storm, a chance to escape from the attic, but at this moment all my energy was focused on staying rational.
Suddenly there was a brilliant light, leaving me momentarily blinded. The air seemed alive with electricity and strangeness. The roar was beyond deafening. There were other crashes, and in total darkness, just before I lost consciousness, I heard a strange man’s voice shouting my name:
“Joel!”
Friday, May 11
“WHAT ANSWER DO YOU have for number six, Mr. Franklin?”
It seemed to me that Mr. Graf had spoken suddenly. I immediately stood up.
“Sir,” I said, proud of myself for paying attention, “the answer is 17.2.”
In reward, Mr. Graf said: “Mr. Franklin, this is not a game of horseshoes. 17.2 is not good enough. 17.2 is just a leaner. Mr. Franklin, please sit down. Let me see. Who thinks they have the correct answer? Mr. Jay Jarvis, what answer do you have?”
Jay, trying his best not to look smug, said: “Sir, I believe the correct answer is 17.2 square centimetres.”
“Mr. Jay Jarvis, you are correct.” Mr. Graf turned to me. “Mr. Franklin, do you see the error of your ways?”
“Yes, sir,” I said. “My answer wasn’t accurate enough. I omitted the units.”
“In mathematics, Mr. Franklin, you must be accurate. In this discipline you have a choice: you can be right, or you can be wrong. Things are not grey or off-white; they are correct or incorrect. Best you remember that, Mr. Franklin.”
It was a hard thing to forget in Mr. Graf’s class. Everyone had heard this theme – and slight variations on it – on a regular basis.
I sat down sweating. It wasn’t hot, I just wasn’t very good at handling public embarrassment. It was something I would have to work on. Especially if I planned on going into politics. I was certain Mr. Graf didn’t think of it as an embarrassment; he was merely trying to educate me. I like mathematics, but sometimes I’m not the best at remembering details. Sometimes my mind wanders. And sometimes what I’m thinking about is much more interesting than what’s going on in class. I think Mr. Graf believes that there’s no room in the black-and-white world of mathematics for humour. I enjoy humour, which means I don’t always enjoy his class. On the other hand, my friend Jay Jarvis seems to enjoy it. At least, he seems to enjoy following my incomplete answers with his own correct ones. Jay’s a clever fellow, and he’s my friend, but sometimes he’s an ass.
I should probably tell you now what makes Jay special; that is, why Mr. Graf uses his first name in class. Jay’s first name is not Jay. It’s Joseph. Up until this year everyone called him Joe. But this year, on the first day of trigonometry class, Mr. Graf asked Jay Jarvis to answer a question. The class at first had not been certain what had happened. Was there a Jay Jarvis in the class? It had soon become apparent, however, that it was Joe who was being asked the question. When Joe had attempted to correct Mr. Graf – a brave but foolish act – he’d been informed that there were two boys with the same last name in the class, and since his first initial was J, he would be referred to from hereon as Jay Smith. That had ended the discussion. Since that time, everyone calls Joe Jay. Mr. Graf likes having an organized universe. Many in the class have pondered what naming system Mr. Graf would use if he had three or four young gentlemen or ladies with the same surname. It was a challenge we were certain Mr. Graf would rise to.
Actually, the latest part of the curriculum on trigonometry was interesting. It was easy to see the practical applications. One day earlier that week, the class had gone out to the football field with stakes, twine, marker cones, and a big blackboard protractor. (A surveyor would have laughed.) Our assignment for Mr. Graf had been to determine, using a baseline and a couple of angles, just how far away a cone at the end of the field had been placed. The class had been split into teams of two, and Jay and I had gotten to work together. It had been a nice afternoon, we’d been outdoors, and it had been fun as long as we weren’t clowning around too much and drawing the ire and caustic remarks of Mr. Graf. The class had been far enough along in the trig application part of the course at the time that we’d had some formulas to work with, so Jay and I had set up a baseline. We’d used the entire width of the 10-yard line. That had given us a baseline 65 yards, or 195 feet, long. Then we’d sighted on a cone that we’d placed down the field about 2 yards wide of the rightmost goalpost. We’d known the answer had to be about 100 yards since the playing field is 110 yards in length. It had been a good exercise and a math class we’d both enjoyed.
But enough digression. The class was in progress, and Mr. Graf likes everyone to pay attention. I didn’t get all my homework done and I preferred to leave at the regular time. I was expected home promptly after school to help in the store and I didn’t want to have to dream up an alibi for my parents.
“Mr. Franklin, are you with us here in this classroom, in this school, on this planet? You seem to have drifted away,” said Mr. Graf. “Focus yourself. One more lapse and you will have to stay after school. I have many interesting mathematics questions that you can work on that will help you focus.”
“Sorry sir,” I said hastily. And I meant it. I wasn’t in favour of enjoying the privilege of Mr. Graf’s company after school.
The class continued in a relatively uneventful way. At least uneventful for me. I had one more opportunity to answer and I did so correctly this time, remembering to include the units in my answer. Mr. Graf was pleased to see his educational efforts rewarded. Though Mr. Graf had caught a few people that day who did not have exact, all-inclusive answers, he was making progress; according to the tick marks he was making beside student names, the number of acceptable answers was increasing. In its own way, Mr. Graf’s method was clever: he didn’t get volunteers very often, but he did have a quiet classroom. No one wanted to be the focus of attention. All in all, in a begrudging way, we did learn our mathematics and our listening
skills improved. Also, most of us did our homework.
WITH ABOUT FIVE MINUTES to go, Mr. Graf announced: “Please pay careful attention. I have an important assignment for you. It will be worth 25% of your term mark. Please take your pen and on a piece of paper jot down what is required. If you have questions, please stay at the end of the day and I will answer them.
“Your assignment is as follows: you are to produce a field report based on the outdoor trigonometry exercise we did on Tuesday. Recall that it involved using a baseline and angles to determine the distance to an object. You are to select a local landmark. The choice is up to you; establish your baseline, measure the angles, and determine the distances from both ends of the baseline to the landmark. This is a practical opportunity to use some of the trigonometry you have been taught. Your written report will be in the form of a scientific report and will include purpose, method, observations, diagrams, and conclusion. You may work on your own, or you may collaborate with a partner.
“I hope you have jotted all this down as it is extremely important to concisely state the purpose of this assignment, or, for that matter, any other venture you may take on later in life. This report is due on or before Tuesday, May 21st. Class dismissed.”
It was the final class of the day so there was time for a bit of a hubbub. It was the first time anyone could remember anyone staying voluntarily past the bell. The big question was: what landmarks were we supposed to use? We wanted a list of specific sites, but Mr. Graf said:
“You will determine the landmark yourselves. It could be a bridge, a tall building, a large tree, or any other suitable object. It could be any number of things. I will determine whether you have made an appropriate choice when you hand in your assignment.”
