The Halloween House

by Kathi Daley

  I didn’t want to think about my dad being a fugitive or a foreign spy, but the more we found out, the more it looked as if he might not be one of the good guys. Tony had tried to warn me about that possibility from the beginning. There were times I considered dropping the whole thing and getting on with my life, but in the end, I knew that wouldn’t be possible until I knew one way or the other.

  By the time Titan, Tilly, and I returned to the house, Tony had completed the kitchen cleanup. We got all four animals settled with toys in front of the television before going down to the basement, where Tony had built his clean room. It contained millions of dollars’ worth of high-tech equipment, so in addition to being free of dust, it was secure.

  “What did you find?” I asked in an effort to get the ball rolling the minute he sat down at one of the many terminals strategically placed around the room.

  “Have a seat.” Tony pulled up a chair next to him.

  “Remember the photo we found last February, of the man with a beard standing on a bridge in Norway?”

  “The one we matched with the passport photo of the man named Jared Collins, dated 1981?”

  “Exactly.”

  “I remember. He looked as if he could have been my father when he was younger, but we didn’t have any conclusive evidence of it. You were going to look for additional photos of Jared Collins, as well as additional photos of a young Grant Thomas.”

  “Which I did. If you remember, I found out the photo of the man we believe was Jared Collins was part of a surveillance report conducted by a private investigator working for Galvin Kline, a state senator.”

  “You said you were going to look for more photos as well as an explanation for why Kline was following Collins. Did you find something?”

  Tony entered some commands into his computer program. “Not about Jared Collins. Not yet. I did find out, however, that Grant Walton Thomas didn’t seem to exist prior to 1981.”

  I frowned. “What do you mean, he didn’t exist?”

  “I mean your father, Grant Walton Thomas, who, as far as you knew, was born on April 12, 1957, in Saint Louis, Missouri, doesn’t have a paper trail of any sort until shortly before he married your mother. There are no school, work, financial records, nothing. If Grant Walton Thomas existed prior to 1981, it wasn’t in this country. At least not under the name Grant Walton Thomas.”

  I put a hand to my racing heart. “So my father either lived in another country before 1981 or he lived in this country under a different name.”

  “That’s what I suspect. If he came to the US from another country, I doubt he did so legally. I couldn’t find evidence of a passport, visa, or anything else under the name Grant Walton Thomas. And there’s more: If Grant Walton Thomas is still alive, which I suspect he might be, he’s no longer using that name. Officially and legally, Grant Walton Thomas died in the truck accident. Whoever is walking around with your father’s face is someone else now.”

  I put my hands on my head, as if to keep it from exploding. This was so surreal. “How? How does someone just disappear and then reappear as someone else? Don’t you need things, proof, that you are who you say you are? How could he get a job or a driver’s license or even a bank account without proof? How could he have obtained a marriage license?”

  “There are ways to get fake IDs. Good ones. And I’m not just talking about a piece of paper but an entire history.”

  “If he had a fake history, wouldn’t you have found it?”

  Tony shrugged. “Maybe. Until we know more about what’s going on, it will be hard to pinpoint what information might be real and what’s been fabricated.”

  “What’s the oldest paperwork you can find under the name Grant Walton Thomas?”

  “A Montana state driver’s license issued to a man using that name on May 17, 1981. He must have shown a birth certificate to obtain that, but I’m assuming it was fake. Currently, a certified birth certificate must be presented to obtain a driver’s license, but back then, a legitimate-looking document was all that was needed. Grant Walton Thomas owned his own eighteen-wheeler. I found a tax return filed in that name in 1982. He was living in Bozeman when he married your mother that year. Mike was born in 1983, and shortly after, your parents and brother moved to White Eagle and bought a house. A second child, you, was born to the couple in White Eagle in 1990. Legal and financial records in the name of Grant Walton Thomas were filed regularly and consistently until he died in 2003. It’s at that point that the paper trail ends. If the man who keeps popping up in photos tagged by my software is your father and not simply a look-alike, he has to be using a different name and identity now.”

  I took in a deep breath, held it, and then blew it out slowly. “Okay, what do you think? Is my dad a foreign spy? He didn’t have an accent or the look of a foreigner. Or do you think he’s a fugitive? Could he be in witness protection? Or even an asset of the United States who’s so valuable they asked him to sacrifice his family to serve his country?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Maybe to which part?” I asked, frustration evident in my voice.

  “Any of it.”

  I leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes. This search for answers was exhausting. Once again, I had to ask myself if I wanted to go on. “So what now?”

  “If you want to continue—and I’m going to suggest you think about that question seriously—I think our next move is to try to track down the private investigator Galvin Kline hired.”

  “Do you know his name?”

  “I didn’t when we discussed this before, but I do now. I sweet talked the woman who was Galvin Kline’s assistant at the time the photo was taken into telling me who he would have hired to conduct personal and private surveillance. She gave me the name of a firm that turned out not to be involved, but one of the clerks gave me the name of a man who operated under the radar. It took me a while to track him down, but he’s living in a small town in Minnesota. He’s unwilling to tell me what he considers to be confidential information, but I think I can get him to talk.”

  “How?” I asked.

  Tony glanced at me. “It might be better if you didn’t know the details.”

  I frowned. “You aren’t going to hurt him, are you?”

  Tony shook his head. “No. At least not physically. Give me some time and we can revisit this again.”

  “You’re going to dig up some dirt on him so you can use it to blackmail him.”

  Tony raised a brow but didn’t respond. I hated to have Tony do anything illegal for me, but I really wanted to know whatever he was concealing. If Kline was trailing the man I suspected was my father, chances were he knew something we didn’t. I hoped something would lead to the answers I needed to have the closure I desired.

  Chapter 3

  Saturday, October 20

  I’d been a volunteer for the local animal shelter since I was in high school. Back then, Brady’s uncle had owned the veterinary hospital and the shelter, but when Brady bought his uncle’s practice last December, he took on the management of the shelter as well. While I thought Brady’s uncle had done a wonderful job, Brady has brought a new enthusiasm to the otherwise routine adoption events. In February, we’d had a Valentine’s party for the animals that were scheduled for adoption as well as any prospective doggy parents who wanted to attend, and in April, Brady organized a speed-dating event. We don’t do a theme clinic every month, but this time we decided to bring some Halloween spirit to the clinic by sponsoring a costume party. While it would have been fun to dress up the dogs, we didn’t want to let costumes get in the way of interactions between the animals and their perspective humans, so only the volunteers dressed up. I decided to come as a vampire and Julia, my assistant coordinator, was an evil clown, which was just a bit too creepy if you asked me.

  “We have three applications for the Sheltie already,” Julia informed me. “They all look good. Perhaps we should remove her from the mix.”

  “That’s fine. Let’s see if w
e can process the applications we already have before the clinic is over. The two families who aren’t chosen might want to consider one of the other dogs.”

  “All three applicants are local. I think any of them would provide a good home.”

  “Here, let me take a look at those.” I held out my hand. The first application was from a woman who taught fifth grade at the elementary school. She was married, and she and her husband owned their own home. They had three children ranging in age between four and ten. I saw no reason not to grant her permission to adopt, but I wasn’t sure the Sheltie was the best fit. The second application was from one of the young woman who worked at the local coffee bar. She was single and lived in an apartment, but I was familiar with her building and knew dogs were allowed. She’d specifically requested a smallish dog with low exercise needs. The Sheltie fit the bill for both; the dog was older and slept a lot. The third application was from a man named Colton, who I knew was now retired but used to work at the local furniture store. He owned his own home, his yard was fenced, and he was looking for a walking partner and companion. He, like the coffee bar employee, had requested a dog on the smaller side.

  I turned to Julia. “I agree. All three would provide loving, safe homes. It’s my opinion, however, that the first applicant might do better with a younger dog. Not a puppy exactly, but with three kids who are going to want to play with the new family member, a dog as old as the Sheltie might not be the best fit. How about that Border collie Brady just released from quarantine? He’s similar in size but quite a bit younger.”

  “I think the applicant is still here. I’ll see if she wants to spend some time with the Border collie.”

  “Okay, great. As for Colton, he wants a dog he can walk with. Again, I’m not sure the Sheltie is the best fit. I’m not sure of her exact age, and she’s very healthy, but I’m willing to bet she’s inching into her teens. Let’s see if he wants to take a look at the golden mix.”

  Julia agreed with me there as well. Which left the young woman who worked at the coffee bar with the Sheltie who seemed to prefer napping to almost any other activity.

  I sent Julia to talk to the applicants, then went to the exercise area, where people who wanted to spend time with the dogs could walk and play with them. It was a beautiful autumn day. The countryside was brilliant with color as the trees turned bright yellow, orange, and red before shedding their leaves. The local radio station had predicted a storm later in the week, but today was about as perfect a day as you were likely to find at this time of year.

  After a while, Colton, the applicant I’d suggested might be better suited for the golden mix, came over to talk to me. “I understand the Sheltie is no longer available.”

  “I’m so sorry if you had your heart set on her. She’s an older dog who isn’t likely to want to go on lots of walks. At least not long walks, and you indicated that was one of the reasons you wanted to get a dog.”

  The man chuckled. “I did say that, and I get that an older dog might not be interested. Most days I’d just as soon skip it myself, but my doctor insists I get more exercise.”

  “The golden mix is a nice mellow dog who shouldn’t demonstrate any behavior problems, and she’s a lot more likely to want to get outdoors.”

  “She does seem like a sweetheart. I didn’t think I wanted a dog that big when I came in. I was concerned about being able to control a larger dog on the leash, but she doesn’t seem to pull the way the last golden I had did.”

  “If you’d like, we can do a conditional adoption. Take her home for a few days, and if it doesn’t work out, you can bring her back.”

  The man nodded. “I might just do that. I’ve been thinking about taking a drive out to the old Harrington place. I guess it might be nice to have a dog along for company.”

  “Do you know Jordan Westlake?” I asked, curious to find out what, if anything, Colton knew.

  “Never met him, but I know he needs some furniture repaired. He called the store where I used to work, and they referred him to me. I don’t have the stamina to work full-time anymore, but I still have a woodworking shop in my garage, and I like puttering around with things I pick up at flea markets and yard sales.”

  “You’ve lived here a long time. Do you know much about the history of the house?”

  Colton nodded his head of white hair. “Sure. I guess most folks who’ve been around for any amount of time have heard the stories.” His blue eyes grew thoughtful. “It was a tragedy really. Such a damn shame.”

  “My mom told me the oldest daughter went missing almost sixty years ago and was assumed murdered, and the oldest son was shot when he confronted the man he believed had killed his sister.”

  Colton reached down to pet the head of the dog who was standing quietly beside him. “That much is true. It was a terrible time for the entire community, with everyone wondering if we had a killer in our midst.”

  I brushed a stray hair from my face. “I heard all five siblings died while living in the house.”

  “That’s true if you assume, as most do, that the daughter was murdered.”

  “I’ve been told the youngest son, Houston, jumped from the third story to his death when he was fourteen. He was the last survivor and lived in the house by himself with only a caretaker.”

  “That much is true too. Never did understand why his father didn’t come for him. Doesn’t seem right to desert your own kin like that.”

  I agreed with that. It seemed both strange and wrong. “Do you know what happened to the other two? Their names, I think, were Henrietta and Hannah.”

  “Henrietta Harrington fell down the stairs and died I guess a couple of years after Hudson was shot. The official cause of death was an accidental fall, but most folks around here thought she was pushed.”

  “Pushed? By whom?”

  Colton shrugged. “Don’t know. There were some who thought it was one of the household help, others one of her siblings. No one knew for certain what happened, but everyone suspected there were some strange things going on in that house. There were even some who thought it was the ghost of one of her dead siblings who caused the tumble. Whatever it was, the whole thing was swept under the rug much too quickly.”

  “What about Mr. Harrington? Did he come when the death occurred? Wouldn’t you think a powerful man like that would demand answers?”

  Colton shrugged. “Don’t rightly remember hearing that he was around, but I was just a young’un then, so everything I heard was secondhand.”

  “And the others? The mother and Hannah?”

  “Mrs. Harrington died shortly after Hudson was shot. Most say she died of a broken heart, but I suspect there may have been more to it than that. That was when a caregiver was brought in to look after the three younger children. The last girl died two years after her sister fell down the stairs, and the youngest child killed himself shortly after that.”

  “How did the last girl die?”

  “Now that’s a good question. There was a lot of speculation about what exactly occurred. Some say she got sick and never recovered, while others are certain foul play was involved in her death.”

  I frowned. “Wasn’t there a police investigation?”

  Colton shook his head. “No. The family just buried her. I’m not even certain how long she’d been gone before anyone other than those living in the house even knew about it.”

  “That doesn’t sound right.”

  “I agree. But you need to keep in mind, White Eagle was a tiny little settlement back then, not the booming metropolis it is today.”

  I raised a brow. White Eagle was far from booming, even today.

  Colton went on. “The only law around then was Peter Bennington. He was hired by the merchants in town to keep a level of law and order. Up to then, there hadn’t been a budget for law enforcement, so folks took care of things in their own way. When the town, which was just springing up, began to flourish, they hired Bennington. Of course, the Harrington house was outside his ju
risdiction. Bennington did look into it when the first daughter went missing, and he followed up when the brother was shot, but other than that, I don’t think he had a lot of interaction with the family. When the girl fell down the stairs, the family buried her. When the last girl got sick and died, the family took care of that too.”

  “So the father of these five children just left them out there in the middle of nowhere to die? That doesn’t make sense. What kind of man would do such a thing?”

  “An evil man with plans of his own. There was a lot of speculation about the passing of all those Harringtons, but there was no speculation about Hartford Harrington using the house as a dumping ground for the family he’d stopped wanting. I don’t know if he ever came back to visit once he left them here. He seemed to take care of them financially. The house surely was a grand one, and I don’t remember ever hearing they wanted for money. It could be in his own mind, he thought he was doing for them what the head of a household should. But he must have had a soul of granite to leave those kids here the way he did, even if he had fallen out of love with his wife.”

  I couldn’t agree more. He sounded like a monster, and all the Harrington deaths were suspicious to me. I wouldn’t be at all surprised to learn there was a whole lot more going on than anyone at the time knew. I thought of Tony’s offer to look into it and decided that was a good idea for sure.

  By the time the clinic was over, we’d managed to find humans for all but three of the dogs. Two of them had just been released from quarantine and were likely to find homes within the next few weeks, but the other, an adolescent pit bull mix, had been at the shelter for a while, and I was concerned about his ability to find his own happily ever after. The main problem, I realized, was that he was shy and standoffish, a tough-looking dog that was attractive to some of our male applicants, but when you approached him, he hid and cowered. I had a feeling he’d been abused, but I hoped that with some quality one-on-one time and a bit of retraining, I could help him through the psychological issues he’d been demonstrating. I didn’t have time to work with him today, but I didn’t think it would hurt to bring him to Tony’s, where he could be integrated into a family situation. Maybe Frank would take him if I could nudge him out of his fear and shyness. Frank didn’t have a dog, but he seemed to love Tilly. He’d recently bought a house, so I knew he had the room for a dog, should he want one.