“That’s a good idea. I need to stretch my legs.”
Waiting until they were out of earshot from the house, Warren turned to Ellen and demanded, “What’s happened to you? You look like something the cat dragged in.”
“Thanks! You wouldn’t look so good either if you’d been in my shoes the past week, only to top it off by being dumped in the Ohio this morning.”
“What? We need to have a talk. Is there anyplace we can find any privacy? I see you have company.”
“And how! We could take a drive, I suppose.”
They got into his car, and Warren followed her directions until they came to the place she and Lane had parked the week before.
“This is Lover’s Point,” she explained. “It’s busy at night but isolated during the day. The view is spectacular.”
But Warren wasn’t interested in the scenery. “Start with the dunking in the Ohio River.”
Ellen drew imaginary designs on the dashboard with her fingers, and her voice shook when she spoke. “I’ve felt harried all week, and when Thompson left this morning, I saw the chance for a little privacy.”
“Where did Thompson go? I told him to watch you.”
“I thought he’d gone to report to you. That’s the time he usually leaves.”
“He knew I was coming here today. I’ll deal with him later. Go on with your story.”
“I went to the boathouse, and one of the motorboats was padlocked so I couldn’t move it. I took the other one. All seemed to be well until I picked up some speed, and the back end of the boat exploded. I was thrown into the water, and I might have drowned if Lane Dalton and another man hadn’t seen the accident and come to my rescue.”
Warren favored her with a piercing stare and she looked away. “Thompson tells me you’ve had some trouble at the boathouse.”
“The boat I was in today had been stolen, or we think it was stolen. Lane Dalton recovered it yesterday.”
Ellen’s face flushed as her suspicions of Lane surfaced again. Had the boat really been lost? Or had Lane deliberately stolen it and tampered with the engine? But if he’d meddled with the boat’s mechanism, why did he rescue her? Or would he have done so if the other man hadn’t been with him?
Warren must have observed the mixed emotions on her face for he said, “It’s time you leveled with me. What do you know about Lane Dalton?”
“I used to know him well, but as I told you before, I hadn’t had any contact with him for years until two weeks ago. Is it possible that I’ve only been here two weeks? It seems like a year.”
“Could Dalton love you enough to want to do away with your husband?”
Ellen resented Warren’s words, and in a flash, any suspicion she had of Lane disappeared.
“Lane Dalton wouldn’t kill anyone. Besides, he didn’t know I was married to Timothy.”
Warren gave her a skeptical look as he settled his huge bulk more easily in the seat.
“Why are the Herns here?”
“Supposedly, they came to protest the investigation into Timothy’s affairs, but Bruce also said he needs money, and he’s going to stay until he gets it.”
“He needs money, all right. He’s double-crossed the wrong boys, and he’s in a jam. Frankly, I figure he’s hiding because he owes Blacky Hollister some money, and Blacky’s boys are going to collect one way or another.”
“Who’s Blacky Hollister?”
“A big-time gangster responsible for racketeering from Pennsylvania to Chicago. He holes up in Columbus most of the time.”
“If you know all of that, why don’t you arrest him?”
“I can’t prove all I know. But from that little black book you found in Hern’s desk, it appears your husband was moving in on Hollister’s bootlegging business. But I figure Hollister is after Bruce because he owes for gambling debts.”
“I’m not giving him a dime. He bled his father for money, but I won’t give him anything. You can see now why I’m having a miserable time. I’m about ready to pull out and leave for Europe. I’m afraid to stay in the house. If I stay here much longer, I’ll be as bad as Fannie and start to believe Deerslayer has put a curse on all of us.”
“Give me a few more days. I’m on the track of a few things I hope will clear up this mystery. Can you put me up for a night or two?”
“I’ll try. Bruce and Margaret have the guest bedrooms, but I can send Fannie to stay with her sister. You can sleep in the mystery room.”
“Good! That’s where I’d like to be.”
The sun’s rays had turned the car into an oven, so they left the vehicle and sat in the shade of a maple tree.
“Have you learned anything about Timothy’s death? Or any reason why anyone would want to kill me?”
“I can answer your first question. That book you brought me confirmed that your husband was in the bootlegging– racketeering business. The book listed the shipments he’d already made to Cleveland and Columbus, as well as orders for the rest of the year. One of his rivals probably had him killed.”
“Why was the book at Arrowwood?”
“He shipped the liquor from this area. Although you thought Hern’s only interest in Daltonville was the house renovation, we’re inclined to believe he had other reasons for coming here. Thompson has found that out.”
“And of course Ercell would have known that.”
“Yes. I’m convinced he knew who killed Hern, but he was afraid to tell it.”
“There’s always been a lot of moonshining around Daltonville. The present sheriff, Clyde Thurman, used to operate a still, and he’s probably involved in crooked deals right now.”
“Bootlegging often flourishes when the law looks the other way. We’re investigating Thurman and his deputy, but right now I want to know about you. Is there anything in your past that would make anyone in Daltonville anxious to get rid of you? I believe we’re dealing with more than one mystery. I’ve never been on a case when we had so many loose ends leading nowhere.”
Ellen was silent for several minutes, and she breathed deeply, hesitant to unearth the past. “My mother died when I was born, and my dad raised me. He worked at the Apple Creek Mine the Daltons owned, and we lived in one of the company houses. Dad also did some farming on Indian Island. He wasn’t superstitious about it like most of the residents.
“In 1912, when I was eleven years old, local miners walked out on a sympathy strike with the miners on Paint Creek. You might remember that strike when Mother Jones was active in this state. Dad was a union organizer. The Daltons brought in Pinkerton men, and they drove the miners out of their houses and brought in Italian strikebreakers. A few days later, one of the Pinkerton men disappeared, and his body was found on Indian Island on the part Dad farmed.”
Ellen paused, swallowed hard, and stared at the ground. Why did she have to revive these memories? For years she’d tried to forget those terrible days when her father had been arrested and eventually convicted of a crime he hadn’t committed.
“Dad denied he killed the man, and I believed him, but he was sent to prison on circumstantial evidence. He had publicly fought with the Pinkerton detective on the day he was killed, and the weapon used in the murder was found in Dad’s boat.”
“Where anyone could have put the gun.”
“Yes. Even as a child I knew the evidence was skimpy, but the Daltons hired expensive lawyers, and we didn’t have any money for defense, so Dad went to prison. With a murder trial and all of that trouble at the mine, 1912 was a red-letter year for Daltonville.”
“What did you do after your father was convicted?”
“Fannie was Dad’s cousin, and she took me in, but it was unpleasant to live in a town where everyone knew my father was in prison.”
Ellen raked the heel of her shoe through the dirt and swallowed with difficulty.
“The Daltons were the aristocrats of the county, and they were angry when they found out that Lane and I were seeing each other. We were both members of the youth group
at Community Church, so we saw each other a lot. One day his parents caught me on their property talking to Lane, and they ordered me off, but we couldn’t stay away from each other. Finally, in 1918, rather than displease his parents, he gave me up and went into the army. While he was in France, both of his parents died.”
When Ellen’s voice broke on a sob, Warren cleared his throat and laid a fatherly hand on her shoulder. Ellen cleared her throat huskily and continued.
“When he joined the army, I left Daltonville, went to Columbus, found a job, and worked my way through Ohio State. About the time I graduated with a teaching degree, I met Timothy. He wanted a young wife. I was tired of being poor, and we agreed on a match. I’d been poor so long; I didn’t use any common sense.”
“Is your Dad still in prison?”
“He died two years after I left Daltonville. I didn’t have any money, and he was placed in a pauper’s grave near the prison. After I married Timothy, he made arrangements to have Dad’s remains buried beside my mother.”
“Hern must have been good to you.”
“He was always considerate of me, and I’m sorry to learn he lived a dual life. I don’t have any complaints about him. Even when I wanted Fannie to come live with us, he didn’t object. I needed someone to remind me of my roots, so I wouldn’t consider myself ‘Miss New Rich.’ Besides, Fannie’s husband was dead, and she was having a rough time.
“That’s the story of my life,” she said with a wry, twisted smile. “But I hardly think there’s anything to warrant an attack on my life.”
“Maybe more than you think. If your dad didn’t kill that Pinkerton detective, then who did? That’s a mystery someone would rather not have uncovered, and now that you have some money, perhaps they suspect you’ve come to Arrowwood for that purpose.”
“If there’s any way to clear my dad’s name, you’re right; I will do it.”
“How did the mine trouble turn out?” Warren questioned, and his gaze roved over the distant valley.
“The strikebreakers’ houses burned one night and the men disappeared. The mine shut down until Henry Hatfield became governor, and he worked out a deal with the operators to give the miners the right to organize.”
“I’ll find out if anyone who was active in the union problems fifteen years ago is still living here today. I don’t believe the key to our mystery goes back that far, but it could.”
“I can’t get Clyde Thurman off my mind. He worked at the mine, and he was active in the union. You might talk to Sid Pauley, the deputy sheriff. Sid was just a boy at the time of the strike, but his dad was a strong union man.”
When they returned to the house, Ellen took Fannie aside and told her, “I’d like for you to visit your sister for a few days. Mr. Warren wants to stay here, and I need your room.”
“Ellen, I wish you’d tell me what’s going on. I’m living in mortal fear expecting to be gunned down in my sleep.”
“Aren’t you still wearing your rabbit’s foot?”
Fannie rolled her eyes in exasperation, and Ellen relented.
“I’ll have to tell you, I guess, but keep it from Virgie. Mr. Warren is a federal marshal, and he believes that Timothy was murdered.” Fannie shrieked, and Ellen clamped her hand over the woman’s mouth. “That’s the reason I can’t tell you anything. If you want to hear the rest, you’ll have to remain calm.”
Fannie composed herself with an effort and nodded.
“He also wants to find out why this house is being burglarized, and he needs to stay here. It would be useless to put him in the kitchen wing, and since I can’t seem to drive the Herns away, I’ll have to ask you to leave for a few days.”
“Of course I’ll go, now that I know why. You should confide in me more often, Ellen, instead of carrying the whole load by yourself.”
“And while you’re at Virgie’s, find out what she knows. Try to learn how often Timothy came to Arrowwood. Talk to her about the year of the big strike and about Dad’s conviction. It’s possible there’s a connection between that murder and what’s going on now.”
“Ellen, you be careful,” Fannie admonished as she packed to leave.
❧
The next two nights passed without event, and Warren concluded, “They must have found what they wanted in this house.”
“Maybe it’s that tally book I brought you. If that’s what they were looking for, they know now that it’s gone.”
Before dark on Warren’s third day at Arrowwood, Karen breezed into the house and sought Ellen for a private chat.
“Peaches, do you know where we can buy giggle water in this hick town? We can’t locate a speakeasy.”
“I don’t know, and you shouldn’t be drinking anyway.”
“You people who don’t drink are the flat tires now. We’re young. We’ve got a right to get ossified if we want to. We’re going down on the riverbank for a party tonight. We’ll have a lot more fun if we had some hooch.”
“Karen!” Margaret stood in the doorway favoring her daughter with a contemptuous stare. “Such talk! What are you doing here anyway?”
“I might ask you the same thing. Last I knew, you were spending the summer in the sweltering heat of Cleveland.”
“I don’t want to hear any more about drinking.”
Karen walked around her mother and called, “Bye, Peaches. Come and join us tonight.”
For once Ellen agreed with Margaret who said, “I’ve never heard such ridiculous talk, and all of that paint on your face makes you look like a floozie.”
As Karen bounded down the steps and jumped into her jalopy, Ellen dropped down in a chair on the portico. What would happen to this generation of young people? What hope for the future was there when the youth of today were so intent on abusing their minds and bodies? For the first time, Ellen began to wonder what she could do about it, convinced that if she could have chosen her time to have lived, it wouldn’t be the present era.
Before she went to bed, Ellen looked out the open window and detected the glow of a campfire down near the river. When the tinkle of a ukulele and singing reached her ears, she smiled. Karen and her party!
❧
“Peaches! Peaches!” The voice wafted in through the open window, and Ellen rushed to the opening.
“Peaches, it’s me, Karen. Let me in; someone’s attacked us.”
“Go to the front door. I’ll be down in a minute.” She threw on a robe and pounded on Warren’s door. “Hurry, come downstairs.”
She was struggling with the front door lock when Warren appeared behind her, shirt in his hand. He swung the door open, and Karen rushed into the hallway.
“Allen is hurt bad.” Behind her, one young man was supporting another, whose face was covered with blood. Warren guided them to nearby chairs. A girl, her face chalky white, staggered into the room. Alcohol fumes entered the hallway with the youth, but they were far from drunk now. Ellen rushed to the rear hall and called for Annie through the speaking tube; then she turned to Karen.
“What happened?”
Gulping to catch her breath, Karen said, “The four of us were down on the riverbank cooking our supper. Suddenly we heard war whoops behind us, and an Indian came leaping out of the woods. He chased us and pitched a hatchet at Allen that cut his head.”
Annie arrived, and without asking any questions, she went to the kitchen for a pan of water. As she cleaned the blood from Allen’s face, Warren said, “It looks like a hatchet wound, all right.”
“When we got close to the house, the Indian disappeared.”
“What made you think it was an Indian? Were you close enough to see the facial features?” Warren asked.
“No, actually, it was more like a ghost, for the head was covered with something white, but he wore an Indian headband with feathers sticking out of it. Or that’s what it looked like in the dark.”
“Weren’t you kids too drunk to know what was going on?” Warren demanded.
“We were not,” Karen said ind
ignantly. “We couldn’t find any hooch. We only drank a little beer we’d brought from the city.”
Ellen realized that they had gathered quite a crowd. Bruce stood on the steps. Bentley and the maid had rushed in from the kitchen wing.
“Anyone else hurt?” Ellen asked.
“No—just scared out of our wits,” Karen said.
“We’ll have to investigate this, I suppose,” Warren said. “Mrs. Hern, could you keep these young folk for the rest of the night until I can see who’s prowling around? Give them some blankets, and let them bed down here in the hall.”
Ellen had never seen Warren so harried. “Where is Thompson?” he said. “This ruckus seems to have awakened everyone else.”
“Bentley, would you knock on Mr. Thompson’s door, please?” Ellen asked. But before Bentley could leave, Thompson rushed into the hall, tucking his shirt inside his pants and carrying his shoes under his arm.
Warren gave a brief explanation to Thompson. “We’ll need to go over the grounds to see what we can find. Look for that hatchet too.”
Thompson favored Ellen with a sardonic look. “Maybe old Deerslayer is on the loose.”
“I’m more inclined to think that someone didn’t want the young people down around the creek tonight. You might want to check that out too,” she said with a significant glance at Warren.
Annie and Ellen settled the household, but Ellen stayed downstairs to open the door when Warren and Thompson returned. Dawn tinged the eastern sky when Warren finally tapped on the door. He carried a hatchet in his hand.
“I don’t know if this was a practical joke or an attempt to harm these kids, but we do have the weapon. If we can find the joker who wielded it, he’ll face a rap of attempted murder. I’m getting fed up with all of this.”
“We should check with Lane to see if any boats moved out of the creek last night. Maybe there was a shipment of some kind.”
“I had the same thought. I’m going to see Dalton right now.”
But Warren came back from the interview in a vile humor, reporting that Lane was evasive, convincing the marshal that Lane was withholding evidence of some kind.
Love Almost Lost Page 9
