Death on Mt. Pleasant
Death on Mt. Pleasant
A Mickke D Grand Strand
Murder Mystery
A work of fiction
Steve McMillen
Copyright © 2016 Steve McMillen
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 1537107054
ISBN 13: 9781537107059
Library of Congress Control Number: 2016913529
CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform
North Charleston, South Carolina
I would like to thank and acknowledge Bill Venrick - Historian - Complier, Lancaster, Ohio, for allowing me to use his photo of Mt. Pleasant for the front and back cover of my book.
Bill and his wife Jean are historians and they have two books to their credit: “A Place to Call Home”, a 99-year history of a county children’s home and “Echoes from the Hill”, a 122-year history of Ohio State’s Boys Industrial School.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
Chapter 1: The Classmate
Chapter 2: Lancaster
Chapter 3: Mt. Pleasant
Chapter 4: Allen Road
Chapter 5: The Accident
Chapter 6: Donna Walton Crist
Chapter 7: Detective Reynolds
Chapter 8: Rising Park
Chapter 9: The Mall
Chapter 10: First Clues
Chapter 11: The Thumb Drive
Chapter 12: Cathy S. Central
Chapter 13: Robert Dane
Chapter 14: Ginny Ridlinger
Chapter 15: The Winery
Chapter 16: Stephanie
Chapter: 17 Girls, Boats & Bats
Chapter 18: The Brothers
Chapter 19: Addicted
Chapter 20: Close Encounter
Chapter 21: Mt. Pleasant
Chapter 22: Revenge #1
Chapter 23: Papa Boo’s
Chapter 24: The Interrogation
Chapter 25: Kevin is Gone
Chapter 26: Suicide or Murder
Chapter 27: Revenge #2
Chapter 28: Call to Jim
Chapter 29: Stuart Attacks
Chapter 30: Donna is Missing
Chapter 31: Stuart is Back
Chapter 32: Revenge #3
Chapter 33: The Day Spa
Chapter 34: Rhubarb
Chapter 35: Von’s Plan
Chapter 36: Big Ed Connehey
Chapter 37: Dr. Jon Spineback
Chapter 38: Beverly
Chapter 39: Stuart is Back
Chapter 40: Donna Wakes Up
Chapter 41: Offense
Chapter 42: Setting a Trap
Chapter 43: Beverly Arrives
Chapter 44: TC
Chapter 45: Upset Brothers
Chapter 46: Beverly’s Guests
Chapter 47: Plan of Attack
Chapter 48: Beverly’s Mistake
Chapter 49: Ambush
Chapter 50: Beverly and Liz
Chapter 51: The Snare Works
Chapter 52: Close Call
Chapter 53: Now What?
Chapter 54: The Hospital
Chapter 55: Beverly and Rick
Chapter 56: The Interview
Chapter 57: Rick
Chapter 58: Big Steve & Ginny
Chapter 59: Beverly’s Plan
Chapter 60: Stephanie’s Surprise
Chapter 61: Back to the Beach
Chapter 62: Von’s Interrogation
Chapter 63: Mr. Plum
Chapter 64: Back “At the Beach”
Chapter 65: Ginny’s Plan
Chapter 66: Trip to Antigua
Chapter 67: The Salvage Trip
Chapter 68: Crowded in Antigua
Chapter 69: Evidence
Chapter 70: The Colombians
Chapter 71: Ginny is Surprised
Chapter 72: Beverly and Rick
Chapter 73: Mr. Fredrick
Chapter 74: Liz
Chapter 75: Time to Leave
Chapter 76: Von is Out
Chapter 77: Ginny and Dr. Jon
Chapter 78: Shots Fired
Chapter 79: The Confrontation
Chapter 80: News from Ohio
Chapter 81: Unexpected Visitor
Last Chapter
DISCLOSURE
PROLOGUE
It is 7:50 Sunday morning as Sissy Adams arrives at Rising Park. She drives by the public tennis courts and Rising Pond on her left, where kids fish and feed ducks in the summer and ice skate in the winter. She fondly remembers cooking hotdogs and marshmallows over the open bonfire provided by the park staff. Across from the pond, she observes the ominous, majestic sculpture of Mt. Pleasant, a 250-foot-high sandstone structure left behind by an Ice Age glacier. At the summit, a two-acre domain of coarse sandstone rocks and trees awaits each visitor. The mere sight of it never fails to send an uneasy shiver through her body.
Instead of continuing around the pond, she takes the right fork in the road, drives up the hill, and wheels into the vacant parking lot of Shelter House One. A source had called her last night saying he had some valuable information regarding a story she’d been working on as an investigative reporter for the local paper, The Falcon Express. He had not identified himself or his connection to the story, yet she had agreed to meet him anyway. As she switches off the car engine, the Ohio State fight song calls out from her cell phone.
“Hello?” she answers. On the other end is the man she is there to meet. He tells her he’s changed his mind about them meeting out in the open parking lot and tells her he wants to meet up on the mountain. She pauses a moment. Her history with Mt. Pleasant sends a coursed shiver through her for the second time this morning. She hates heights, and she is petrified of Mt. Pleasant. Nevertheless, knowing how important the story is to both her and the entire community, she ignores her personal fears and agrees.
Placing her cell phone back into her purse, she gets out of the car, locks the doors, and strides briskly back down the road toward the entrance to the trail that leads up the mountain. She notes how few people there are at the park this early in the morning. Most of the citizens of Lancaster, Ohio, this small community just southeast of Columbus, are preparing for church or already filling the pews. She knows that emptiness will change around noon as parents bring their children to the park to burn off excess energy built up all morning sitting still and quiet in church. Other visitors will pack picnic lunches and congregate at one of the two shelter houses, while others will play tennis, baseball, soccer, softball, or just cruise through to see the natural beauty of the park. Many will climb the mountain after the lunch hour just to say they did it or that they can still do it.
Once she reaches the beginning of the trail, she slows her pace and gazes at the reasonably short, steep climb awaiting her. She realizes, at age 40, this will not be as easy as it was in her teenage years. Motivated by the information she hopes to glean concerning her story, she begins the uphill trek. She begins her climb slowly but it isn’t long before she begins breathing hard, and she can feel her heart pounding in her chest and ears. When she arrives at the first stone bench set off the side of the trail, she sits down to rest. She seriously thinks about turning around and going home. She closes her eyes and forces herself to focus on what she stands to gain once she reaches the top.
“It must be extremely sensitive information,” she whispers, telling herself, “Why else would he want to meet on the mountain?”
After five minutes o
f rest, she continues her journey. Once she has gone about three-quarters of the way up and after a sharp right-hand turn, she pauses at another bench to rest again, during which she tries to build up her courage to proceed. She ventures on once more. Five very long minutes later, she catches sight of the concrete steps, that lead from the dirt and gravel trail to the summit about fifty yards away. She is breathing hard, her heart is pounding, her body damp with perspiration, and there is a throbbing pain in her side. She makes a mental note, half promising herself that if she makes it to the top and back down again without having a heart attack, she will join the local gym tomorrow and get back in shape.
After finally reaching the top of the cement stairs and the summit, she eases herself down on a rocky outcrop to catch her breath and to try to squelch her underlying fears. She scans the summit for the man she has come to meet, but just like the parking lot at the shelter house, she is alone. Her appointment is not here.
At length she gets up her nerve and slowly but bravely walks over to the railing to take in the awesome view. While holding tightly to the black-tubular single-rail barrier, she lavishes in the breathtaking panorama of the north end of Lancaster. Her eyes encompass the fairgrounds below and the racetrack where they filmed part of the movie “The Green Grass of Wyoming” back in the ‘40s. She allows a smile to flood her face as she takes in Mother Nature’s magnificent bounty. She immediately feels somewhat relaxed and encouraged.
She is so engaged with the vista in front of her that she does not hear or notice the impending danger approaching from behind her. As she boldly draws in a deep breath of the clean morning air, she is grabbed from behind. Before she can scream, a large, dark, gloved hand covers her mouth. Instinctively, she tries to bolt and escape but she feels her whole body being forcibly drawn back against her attacker. He whispers into her ear, “You were told not to go forward with your story. You should have listened.” She can feel the unnerving heat of her assailant’s breath pulsating against her neck.
Even though she is on the verge of fainting, she tries to struggle free of the man’s death-like grip. He raises a large knife before her eyes, and then brings it to her throat. The more she squirms, the more she can feel the tip of the blade penetrating her skin.
“Scream and you’ll die right here and now,” her assailant mumbles through clinched teeth.
Succumbing to shock, Sissy faints.
Feeling his victim go limp, the assailant removes the knife from her throat. Taking a Kleenex from his pocket, he dabs at the slow trickle of blood oozing from Sissy’s clammy, moist neck. He hates the sight of blood. Besides being messy, it’s impossible to completely erase once it permeates things. Awkwardly, he attempts to return the used Kleenex to his pocket as he lowers Sissy’s limp body to the ground and rolls it under the guardrail to the edge of the rock cliff.
He searches her purse and finds a stenographer’s notebook containing details about the story she’s been working on, and her cell phone. He places both items in his small backpack and places his foot against her body. Sissy’s eyes pop open. She stares blankly at him with pleading eyes. He smiles back at her blank stare, and pushes her over the edge of the mountain. He watches without any sense of remorse as her body plummets down the 30-foot drop to the narrow rock ledge below, known locally as “The Devil’s Kitchen.” After hearing the deadened thud of her body landing on the edge of the ledge, he continues watching as she topples the remaining 200 feet down to the boulder-and rock-strewn bed amid the trees and brambles below. Sissy is dead before her body reaches the tree line.
“You’ve written your last story, bitch,” he whispers under his breath.
The park staff noticed her car in the parking lot late Sunday night. They called a towing company and had the car towed to the police impound lot. The first thing Monday morning, the police ran her plates and called her condo and her office. Sissy could not be found at either location. The authorities organized a search of the park around noon, and discovered her lifeless remains later that afternoon.
The coroner performed an autopsy, signed the death certificate and proclaimed her death an accident. There was no evidence of any wrongdoing or foul play. The only strange thing was that her cell phone was missing. The police assumed her phone most likely fell out of her purse or her pocket and its shattered remains are in pieces somewhere in the trees and rocks on the side of Mt. Pleasant.
Chapter 1: The Classmate
It’s late Wednesday afternoon in North Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, and I’m in my office on Sea Mountain Highway in Cherry Grove. It’s home to my real estate office, my landscape office and my private investigation business. I’m trying to tie up some loose ends before I take off for a couple of weeks for a tour of the Caribbean with my salvage partner, retired federal judge Thomas Alan Cadium. TC has a possible salvage job to explore and I need a vacation, so I agreed to tag along.
I venture into my private bathroom and gaze at my, now lined, 45-year-old face on a 6’1” 190-pound frame. I think most of those lines have appeared in the last six-months. Yes, I definitely need a vacation.
As I return to my desk, Jannie, my office receptionist, calls and tells me there is a call on line one for me. “Mickke D Real Estate, this is Mickke D, how can I help you?”
“Mickke D, it’s Jake Tracey, Lancaster, Ohio, how are you doing?”
Jake and I played football and basketball together at Lancaster High School. We also ran around together and even shared a few girlfriends if I remember right. I hadn’t seen him, much less talked to him, in twenty years.
“Jake, good to hear from you. Are you in town?”
“No, old buddy, I’m back in Lancaster. How are things in Myrtle Beach?”
“Well, pretty good, but hey is there something wrong? Why are you calling?”
He pauses before answering. “Do you remember my sister Sissy? Well, she died about a week and a half ago.”
“Oh, my God, Jake, I’m so sorry to hear that. Wasn’t she about five years younger than us?”
His voice is weak. “Yeah, she was only 40. I remember she always had a crush on you when we were growing up.”
“I remember her well. She was a cute kid. What happened?”
He pauses again, and then answers with a stronger voice. “Well, the police said it was an accident. I think she was murdered. She fell off Mt. Pleasant. I understand you are a private investigator down your way. I’d like you to come up here and look into her so-called accident.”
I don’t know what to say. I haven’t been back in Lancaster for probably fifteen years. I went back after my stint in the Army, but I was only there long enough to get divorced from my first wife. My parents moved to Key West, and my brother and sister both live on the West Coast. I never attended any of my class reunions. I guess I just had no reason to go back.
“Well, before I answer you, tell me why you think she was murdered.”
“She was petrified of Mt. Pleasant. When she was a teenager, she and some other girls were playing around on Devil’s Kitchen and it started to rain. The other girls ran to get out of the rain but Sissy fell down and almost fell over the edge. The other girls abandoned her, and didn’t tell anyone because none of the girls were supposed to be up there. She was on her own in a thunderstorm for more than two hours before one of the girls finally called the house. I went up and helped her down. As far as I know, she never went up there again.”
I’m not sure how to answer. “Jake, I remember that and I see what you mean, but you know what, I’m supposed to go on a vacation to the Caribbean on Friday for a couple of weeks. Let me check and see if my trip can be postponed. I’ll call you back as soon as I hear something. I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“Thanks Mickke D. Say, did you ever get married again?”
“Sure did, Jake, twice. But I’m single now.”
He sighs. “Some things never change, Mickke D. Some things never change.”
“Yeah Jake, tell me about it. I’ll get bac
k to you.”.
I wait for a few minutes before calling TC. I would like to help Jake, but I’m not sure I want to go back to Lancaster. Shoot, it might be fun. I’ll get to see a lot of old friends and maybe I’ll be able to give Jake some closure.
I call TC. “Hey TC, I’ve got good news and bad news. The good news is I am really looking forward to going to the Caribbean. The bad news is, is there any way you can postpone the trip for a couple of weeks?”
“Well, I don’t know. How good is your excuse?” I can hear the disappointment in his voice.
“An old classmate of mine from back in Ohio called and said his younger sister was murdered, but the police are calling it an accident. He wants me to look into her death.”
“Mickke D, I thought you were going to get out of the PI business. Every time you get involved with one of these cases, you get yourself almost killed. Do you have a death wish or something?”
“Yeah, you’re right TC, but how do you turn down an old classmate? Besides that, I knew his sister. I haven’t been back to Lancaster in forever. It might be time, you know?”
“Okay, there’s no timetable on this salvage job, so no problem. Call me when you get back. But whatever you do, be careful.”
“Thanks TC. I will. Any new ideas about where Captain Swinely may have buried the treasure?”
“Yes, I do, but we’ll discuss that on our now-delayed trip.”
I wait for a couple of hours before calling Jake back. One thing I learned while a first Lieutenant in Special Forces was if you have the time, never make impulsive decisions. Take your time and think the whole thing through. Instead, I make an impulsive decision.
“Hey Jake, it’s Mickke D. Looks like I’m available. I need to get some things cleaned up here and then I’ll head your way Friday morning. Should be in Lancaster between 6 and 7 Friday evening.”
“Thanks, I really appreciate this. I’ll book you a room at Shaw’s downtown. Do I need to pay you something up front?”
“You don’t owe me anything, Jake. Just pick up my expenses and we’ll call it even. And if I don’t get you an answer one way or the other, you won’t owe me anything.”
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