Secrets in the Shallows (Book 1: The Monastery Murders)

by Karen Vance Hammond

  Timmy held onto the nun’s wrists and screamed in agony as blood began to seep from his clawed scalp. “Someone, please help me! Mother Superior, come back! Help me!” he yelled in desperation. “Please, let me go! I didn’t see anything. I swear it!”

  Timmy’s screams were lost as they fainted away into the sounds of the squeaking shutter hinges swaying in the gale force winds. “I promise I won’t tell anyone! I won’t!” he begged.

  The sound of the boy struggling was overcome by the storm as his pleas for help were lost in the incoming blizzard’s howling winds.

  CHAPTER 2

  Wringing a cloth napkin with her hands, a petite woman sat at the dining room table, staring at a cup of luke warm coffee. Her crystal blue eyes had lost their normal brightness because of the worry she felt for her missing son.

  Although in her early forties, Margie Fields was still a handsome woman, despite of the smeared mascara on her cheeks, and unkept long dark hair carelessly pulled up in a blue clip. All that she could think of was that her son was somewhere in the raging storm, not safe and sound at home as he should be.

  Timmy should’ve been home no later than 4:30 this afternoon. God, I hope he is all right. Where can he possibly be? How many people have died in the past few years after getting lost in one of Maine’s blizzards? One ... Two ... Three ... Hmmm ... Actually, I think there were five; at least those are the ones I can recall.

  Many of them have gotten stuck in snow that was so deep that they couldn’t get out before freezing to death. One body wasn’t found for three months. That was horrible. Then there was that awful mess with that suicide at the pond, too.

  No! Stop thinking like that! I can’t focus on death. Timmy is just lost. He’s waiting out the storm until he can return home. He’s getting warmed up by someone’s fire, and their phone is dead so he can’t call. I can’t lose faith yet. God, please keep him safe for us. He’s our only son.

  “Where is he?!” Margie shouted as she pounded her fist on the table, startling her husband.

  Sitting by the crackling blaze that he had started earlier in the living room fireplace, Herbert Fields was reading his newspaper in his recliner. He fumbled with the paper as he got up quickly and moved into the dining room toward his wife.

  “Are you all right, Margie?” he asked with concern.

  She smiled and said, “Sorry, dear. I hate having to wait around for Timmy to come home. I don’t know what to do. I feel so helpless.”

  The antique clock that adorned the wooden fireplace mantel chimed six times. Herbert Fields, who was in his early fifties, tried to hide his growing fear of receiving bad news. He could only try to remain strong for his wife. Pursing his lips, he asked, “Have you called the school, sweetheart?”

  “I’m doing that right now, Herbert,” Margie replied. Silently saying a prayer, she dialed the numbers on the telephone, eager to find out her son’s whereabouts.

  * * * *

  Mother Superior Mary Ellen, Head Mistress of St. Francis Catholic School, sat at her old fashioned wooden desk. A crucifix hung directly on the wall behind her. She was working late, filling out paperwork and going through applications. With all of the crime and problems in the world, more and more families were seeking the protection and quality of private schools to educate their children.

  With total dedication to the Catholic church, Mother Superior expected nothing but the best out of her students. She ran the school with a stern hand and strict discipline when needed. As she focused on an application, the phone interrupted her train of thought. She put her pen down on her desk and picked up the receiver, aware that her secretary had already gone for the day.

  “Hello? St. Francis Catholic School ... This is Mother Superior Mary Ellen.”

  “Mother Superior, this is Margie Fields — Timmy’s mom.”

  “Yes, ma’am, how can I help you?”

  A soft quivering voice spoke. “Do you know if Timmy is still there, Mother Superior? Timmy called before school was out and informed us that he had to stay late. It’s getting dark, and he hasn’t made it home yet. I am getting concerned since the weather is getting so bad.”

  “Oh Margie, I spoke with him just as he was getting ready to leave about a couple of hours ago,” Mother Superior volunteered.

  “Mother, I’m really getting worried. Would you mind having someone search around for him, just in case? It would help me feel a little better if I know where he is.” Margie jerked her head back from the receiver as she heard a loud popping noise in her ear. Suddenly, the telephone connection went dead.

  Unaware that no one could hear her on the other end, Mother Superior continued to speak into the receiver. “Of course I will, dear. I’ll have some of the sisters look around for Timmy. I’d have the custodian do it, but he’s on vacation. Try not to worry. I’m sure he’ll make it home safely.”

  Bewildered by the silence, Margie hung up the phone, rubbed her forehead in desperation, and pulled the back the drape.

  Having returned to his recliner, Herbert stood up and placed his hands on his hips. His tall, lanky body caused him to tower above the petite woman he had been married to for twenty-three years.

  “What did Mother Superior say?”

  “Apparently, she spoke with him just before he left. I asked her to search around for him, but I didn’t get an answer from her. I think she might have hung up on me.”

  Puzzled, Herbert scratched his head and stared down at the floor. “That doesn’t sound like Mother Superior. She wouldn’t usually hang up like that. She doesn’t have a mean bone in her body. The weather is playing havoc with the phone lines.”

  He pulled up his sleeve and glanced at his watch just before sitting back down. Leaning back in his chair, the he closed his eyes in despair. I told that boy to come straight home. I hope he didn’t get lost in the blizzard, he thought to himself.

  “You may be right, Herbert. I also called his girlfriend, Lisa, but she hasn’t heard from him either. She said that she will tell him to come home if he calls her. I’ve spoken to everyone I know. I just hope nothing has happened to him.”

  Water filled Margie’s blue eyes like a reservoir behind a dam. Unable to hold back any longer, a flood of tears finally gave way and cascaded down her cheeks uncontrollably. Panic stricken, she felt as if someone had reached in and pulled out her heart.

  Herbert rose from his chair feeling as if his heart was in his throat. He slowly his way over to his wife, and reached out towards her. “It will be all right, dear.”

  Burying her face in her hands, Margie continued to sob. Her elbows rested on the table as Herbert enveloped her from behind and wrapped his arms around her. He kissed the back of her head and whispered softly, “Shhh … It will be okay.” He continued to do his best to console her, even though a heaviness weighed on his own heart.

  “Look at me, Margie,” Herbert said as he moved to look her directly in the eyes. “It’ll be okay. I bet he’s on his way home right now. Everything will be just fine.” The words that he spoke were as much an attempt to convince himself as they were to encourage her.

  * * * *

  After another few minutes of waiting, Herbert’s patience had finally faltered. Putting a cap on his head, he quickly buttoned his thick, brown corduroy coat, and headed to the front door. Carefully walking out onto the icy stoop, he braced himself against the fiercely blowing storm and stepped out on the lawn. Immediately, his feet sunk into the freshly fallen snow, which already measured up to his ankles.

  Looking up at a tree that stood in front of his house, the tightness in his chest constricted even more. The massive oak tree swayed as if it was a mammoth-sized ragdoll in the howling winds. A cracking sound boomed through the gales. Suddenly, a large branch fell from the tree and missed him by inches. He shivered as snow from the falling branch fell down the neck of his coat. Shielding his face from the blinding blizzard, he leaned into the wind and headed towards the end of the driveway.

  The ‘white out�
� surrounded Herbert as he tried to formulate a plan to find his son. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion, although he knew it didn’t make sense. Through the thick streaks of flakes that pounded all around him, faint high beams from an SUV were coming slowly towards him.

  Herbert walked out onto the paved road, now completely covered with inches of snow. Waving his hands high in the air, he desperately tried to grab the driver’s attention without being run over.

  The black SUV came to a stop and the window rolled down. Herbert instantly recognized the driver as his longtime friend and fellow lobster man, Jim Oats. Herbert leaned in and said, “Hey, Jim, I didn’t recognize your new car. Listen, I have an emergency.”

  “I was just on my way home. How can I help?” Jim said, alarmed by the look on his friend’s face.

  “Timmy hasn’t come home from school, and Margie and I are getting worried. I know you pass by there on your way home. Did see him walking this way?”

  “No, I didn’t, but I’ll certainly keep an eye out for him, Herbert. Did you call the school?”

  “Yes.”

  Removing his cigar from between his sun-spotted lips, Jim scratched his salt and pepper beard. “Well, I certainly wouldn’t waste any time standing here, Herbert. The National Weather Station predicts this will go on all freakin’ night. They said up to three inches an hour will be falling in the height of the storm compared only one inch per hour now.”

  “Yes, you’re right. I need to call the sheriff. I hope he is still in his office.” Herbert said as he hiked his collar up against the driving snow and wind.

  “Herb, after I get this load of groceries home to the wife, I’ll help look if you still haven’t found him. I’ll call you in a few to make sure if he gotten home yet.”

  “Sure thing. And if you see him …”

  “You bet, I’ll call you and bring him home if I see him. Now, go make your calls. I’ll talk to you shortly.” Jim rolled the window up and proceeded slowly down the road until his tail lights were completely obscured by the falling snow.

  Herbert shook off the snow as he entered the warm glow of the cozy place he had called home for almost eighteen years. After removing his coat and hat, he placed his winter wear on the coat tree and headed towards the coffee pot.

  Margie was on her phone talking to the neighbors. She quickly said her good-byes and hung up the receiver and asked, “Who was that?”

  “Jim Oats ... He drives by St. Francis on his way home every day. I asked him if he had seen Timmy. He hadn’t, but said that he will keep a watch out for him. If we don’t find him soon, he’ll come help us look for him.”

  Furrowing his brow, Herbert became even more determined. Cracks were beginning to show in his armor of stoic bravery as he said, “This has gone on long enough. I’m calling Sheriff Johnson right now.”

  Hearing the word ‘sheriff’ frightened Margie beyond words. Suddenly panic stricken, she covered her mouth as tears streamed from her eyes.

  CHAPTER 3

  Sitting back in his leather chair with his feet resting on the edge of his desk, Sheriff Johnson took a bite of his BLT. He was engrossed in the newest big storm developments being televised on the widescreen television in the corner of his office. The weatherman was adamant that everyone should go home and wait out the blizzard conditions, which were supposed to continue well into the night.

  The receptionist’s voice blurted over the intercom, “Sheriff, there’s a call for you on line one. Whoever it is sounds pretty shook up.”

  He wiped dripping mayonnaise from his chin with the back of his hand and replied, “Offay, ffank you.” Picking up the phone, he answered with a mouthful of sandwich, “FFeriffff Johnffon.”

  “Sheriff, this is Herbert Fields.” Herbert did his best to speak calmly.

  “Herff? Everything all right?” Sheriff Johnson asked as he hurriedly choked down his food. “I am watching the developments of the storm on the TV. I can’t believe we’re getting one so early this year. Global warming, my foot!”

  The sheriff used his pinky nail to pick at some bacon stuck between his teeth then he sucked it through. Finally, he covered the receiver as he let out a small belch of satisfaction.

  “Sheriff, I wouldn’t bother you if it wasn’t important, but Timmy hasn’t come home from school. I’m trying not to worry too much, but with this storm ...”

  In an instant, Sheriff Johnson removed his feet from his desk and sat up. “Okay, when was he supposed to come home?”

  “He called this afternoon and told Margie that he had to stay late.” Herbert wiped his brow on his sleeve. “Since he was supposed to leave around 4:30 at the latest, we’re really getting nervous.”

  “Have you called some of his friends? Could he be at his girlfriend’s house?”

  “We have called everyone we can think of that may know where he is. His girlfriend, Lisa, hasn’t seen him since they were at school.”

  Sheriff Johnson glanced at his watch, showing it was 6:30 p.m. “Well, we don’t want to jump to conclusions that something has happened to him. He may have stopped somewhere on his way home.” The sheriff rose from his chair, and looked out the closest window. “However, with this storm, I agree, I really don’t want to take any chances.” Twisting the rod, he opened the blinds, and watched the falling snow. “I’ll come out there right away.”

  “Well, I appreciate it, Sheriff. We’ll be waiting for you.”

  “Okay, see you in a bit.”

  Sheriff Johnson sat back down, propped his feet back on his desk, and finished eating his sandwich. Deputy Williams knocked on the half-cracked door and leaned in through the doorway. The sheriff waved him into his office as he wiped his mouth with a napkin.

  The deputy walked in and asked, “Anything going on, Sheriff? Someone stuck on the side of the road maybe?”

  Sheriff Johnson rolled his eyes. “Oh, no. Herbert and Margie Fields are frantic again because their baby boy isn’t home yet; and he happens to be eighteen, I might add. Remember the last time? We spent three hours searching for him, just to find him asleep at Lisa’s house.” Smirking, he said, “Timmy probably went over to a friend’s house, and just forgot to call home. I know that some of the residents in the area have lost power, plus several telephone lines are down.” The sheriff took another bite of his BLT.

  The deputy smiled at him. “Man, these parents wig out over anything.”

  The sheriff leaned back rocking in his brown leather chair and wiped his mouth as he chewed. His words slurred as he chewed, “Wellf, we allf wantf fo knowf wheref four kidsf aref, esfpecfiallfy whenf fthere’s fweather likef fthisf.”

  Barely able to keep the food in his mouth, he finally swallowed it. Picking up his diet cola can, he took a long drink and then belched grotesquely. The sheriff looked over at his deputy and smiled.

  The deputy laughed. “Sir, where are your manners?”

  Laughing, he replied, “I left them at home with the missus.” The sheriff sat forward and glanced around habitually as if expecting his wife to jump out from the shadows and scold him for his lack of manners.

  The sheriff smiled as he sat back again. “Back in my day, before the late show every night, a message came over the television. ‘Do you know where your children are?’”

  “Yeah, I remember that vaguely.”

  “Well, that was probably before your time, Williams.”

  Sheriff Johnson stood to his feet, pulling his pants up over his bulging waistline. “Well, I better not ignore this. I need to get out there before the roads are so covered with snow that I can’t get through.” He placed his hat on top of his gray head. “Well, I’m off.”

  “Want me to come with you, Sheriff?”

  “No, I’ll be back in a little while. This shouldn’t take too long,” the sheriff said, grabbing his winter coat as he headed out the doorway.

  * * * *

  Sheriff Johnson kicked the snow off his boots as he stepped onto the Fields’ front porch. Before the sheriff
could knock, Herbert opened the door.

  “Come in, Sheriff,” Herbert greeted him, trying to hide his fears.

  Politely removing his hat as he entered the foyer, the sheriff said, “Hello, Herbert. Sorry, I was in the middle something important when you called, but I got here as quickly as I could.”

  “Thank you so much, Sheriff.”

  “So, is Timmy still not home?”

  Margie walked into the living room holding the cordless phone. She looked like a complete wreck. “Sheriff, we’re so glad you’re here. We have been worried sick.”

  Attempting to appear calm, Herbert smiled at her softly. “He should’ve been home hours ago.”

  Sheriff Johnson took his pen and notepad out of his shirt pocket. “Did he say what time he would be home?”

  “No. Only that he had to stay late and would be home right after he was done.”

  “Earlier on the phone, you said that you had called the school already, correct?”

  “Yes, I called.” Margie said as she grasped the phone receiver tightly in her hands.

  Bewildered, Sheriff Johnson scratched his weathered forehead. “What did they say?”

  “Mother Superior Mary Ellen believed he wasn’t there. She told me that she spoke with him just as he was leaving, however, the phone went dead in the middle of the call.”

  “Hmmm … Some of the phone lines have gone down, so that may explain it.” After pausing to reorganize his thoughts, he asked, “Okay, so what was he wearing, Margie?” Sheriff clicked his pen and began to write on his pad.

  “His uniform … white shirt, red jacket, slacks, black shoes and belt. He also had his heavy, black wool coat and his backpack,” Margie said as she blew her nose with a tissue.

  Sheriff Johnson placed his pen and note pad back in his shirt pocket. “We don’t want to panic, okay? That won’t help anyone.” Shrugging his shoulders, he said, “Sometimes people will run off to someone’s house, or the library and just not be able to call home. He may even be taking shelter from the storm and might not be able to call. Nevertheless, there’s something you need to remember. I know he’s your child, but remember he’s an eighteen-year-old young man. Nevertheless, with the storm, I do understand your concern and we’ll do what we can.”