“The gun that killed those people was at the bottom of the pit, and Lane Dalton’s name was scratched on the barrel. He admits the gun belonged to him but says it had been stolen before the mine incident.”
“But he was only a boy in 1912, and his own father had hired the Italians.”
Thompson laughed shortly. “Ready to defend him, aren’t you? He was almost fifteen years old. He may not have had a thing to do with the killing, but he knows something, and Warren is going to keep him in jail until he talks.”
God, Ellen prayed silently, help us. She was trying to hold onto her faith that God was still in control of the world.
Ellen drove into Daltonville for Sid’s funeral that afternoon. Community Church was crowded with mourners, for Sid had been well liked. Ellen sat by an open window and listened to the joyful song of a cardinal, while Reverend Truett quoted softly, “ ‘The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. . . . Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil.’ ”
Ellen had heard those words at every funeral she’d ever attended. Hopefully, they brought some comfort to Carol, who sat with her head bowed, holding Charlotte on her lap. Reverend Truett’s words were brief, but his closing words stuck in Ellen’s mind.
“The world is full of evil, and you may wonder why God allows such evil things to happen.”
He’s right. I do wonder.
“God has supreme authority over heaven and earth, yet He expects us to be His witnesses, His representatives here on earth. Have you asked yourself, ‘What could I have done to prevent this tragedy?’ I would venture to say that there are those in this congregation who know the key to the crimes in our community, yet none of you will step forward and tell what you know. The time is at hand when God’s people must make themselves heard. It’s not enough to sit silently and expect God to intervene. If you’re concerned and want to prevent more senseless killing of Daltonville’s finest, do something.”
Ellen walked behind Sid’s family to the open grave near her parents’ plot. As she stood there on the hill, looking over the Ohio Valley, she wondered anew if there could be any connection between the false charges against her father and Sid’s death.
After kissing Carol and promising to see her soon, Ellen went to the temporary office Warren had set up next door to the jail. The marshal was talking to another man when Ellen entered the crude room, and she perched uneasily on a straight chair until he left.
“I expected to see you,” the marshal said.
“When are you going to release Lane?”
“Not until he tells me some things. I’ve thought all along he knew more than he was telling.”
“It seems a flimsy reason to jail a man just because you think he knows something.”
“I’ve been suspicious of him right from the first. Why would he come back here after all of this time and set up camp so close to Arrowwood? And it seems strange that he would just happen onto that mass grave.”
“Are you going to post bail?”
“Not just yet.”
“I want to see him.”
“Not just yet.”
Ellen was seeing an unyielding side to Warren that she hadn’t detected before. Nothing she could say would persuade him to set Lane free until he was ready.
“I’d have to see Lane Dalton commit a crime before I’d believe him guilty. You’re making a mistake.”
“Maybe. But I don’t happen to be in love with him, so I take a different view.”
“At least you can take him a note.” She tore a page from a notebook she carried in her handbag and wrote briefly, Lane, I’m on your side. If you need money for bail or lawyers, you know where you can find it. Ellen.
Handing the note to Warren, she said, “I’d appreciate having you give this to him. I don’t want Thurman and his cronies reading it.”
Taking the note from her, Warren said, “Thurman’s not too happy with me, but I’ll see the boy gets it.”
“What do you make of Sid’s death?” Ellen asked.
He shook his head angrily. “I’m ready to resign and start selling pencils. I’ve been here for weeks, and it seems like the county is coming unglued, and I can’t stop it. There’s something we’re overlooking.”
“Have you figured out what the ‘L’ stands for in that letter?”
“No.”
“Is there a possibility that we have two gangs feuding, and we’re caught in the middle?”
“It’s a distinct possibility.”
Although she had hoped for a peaceful night’s sleep, that night Ellen heard strange noises in the house, and a suffocating, sour smell filtered into her bedroom. With Fannie right behind her, clutching Ellen’s arm, the two of them checked the lower floor, but it was only in their two rooms that they noticed the smell. Ellen finally went back to bed, but not to sleep, and throughout the night, at intervals, she heard muffled sounds.
Thompson had spent the night policing the grounds, and she eagerly waited for him, hoping he might have an answer to this new mystery. He didn’t come in for breakfast, and when he hadn’t appeared by ten o’clock, Annie advised Ellen to notify Warren. In less than ten minutes, Warren and a half-dozen of his men swarmed over Arrowwood estate. They found Thompson, bound and gagged, lying on the path between Arrowwood and the boathouse.
“I was leaning against a tree, listening for any unusual sounds,” he explained, “and all of a sudden, it seemed like the sky fell on me. When I came to, I was trussed up like a chicken. I awakened in time to hear a lot of activity going on in the creek. Several barges moved out. I suppose they were loaded with coal.”
Warren made a telephone call to the Apple Creek Mine and learned that the mine hadn’t shipped any coal all week. The marshal’s face turned a dusky red, and his voice hardened. “I’ll get to the bottom of this if it kills me. Somebody’s going to find out they don’t attack federal marshals.”
Two days later, Lane was released from jail, and Ellen expected to see him right away, but Lane didn’t come by or telephone. The next morning, when Ellen walked on the grounds, with Thompson as her shadow, they saw Lane down at the creek. Thompson put out a cautious hand to detain her. Lane walked around the boathouse several times, looking at the creek bank and at the roof of the building. Staring intently at the ground, he walked up the hill, passing out of their sight at one point, and when he came back, he got into a boat and paddled out of the creek.
Ellen watched him breathlessly.
“What do you make of that?” she asked Thompson.
He shrugged his shoulders without comment, but she detected a crafty gleam in his eye, causing Ellen to wonder if Warren had released Lane to have him watched.
That night after dinner, Margaret and Bruce followed Ellen and Fannie into the small living room. The Herns hadn’t heckled her much lately, but she still wanted them to leave.
Bentley strode down the hall to answer a knock at the door, and Ellen’s hand tightened on the magazine she was reading, wondering what had happened now. But her tension eased when Bentley announced, “Mr. Lane Dalton, Ma’am.”
Lane looked crestfallen when he saw the roomful of people, but he rallied and said, “I wonder if you’d like to go to the movies, Ellen. Charlie Chaplin’s Woman in Paris is showing at the theater in town.”
Remembering that Lane could be involved in the crimes, Ellen momentarily questioned if it were wise to go anywhere with him. In spite of Warren’s suspicion, she couldn’t believe that Lane would do her any harm.
“Yes, I’d love to go,” Ellen said, ignoring the warning noises Fannie made. “See you later,” she called over her shoulder and left the room with Lane.
“You’ve rescued me,” she said to Lane as he helped her into the car.
“I see your company is still here.”
“They may be permanent residents. I think Bruce is afraid to go back to Cleveland.”
As he drove down the winding drive, Lane said, “I hadn’t intended to go to
a movie, but that was the only excuse I could think of to be alone with you.”
“I was sure of that, and I don’t want to go to a movie.”
“I’ll drive around while we talk.” He stopped for a moment and flashed a light around the backseat. “I wanted to be sure someone hadn’t crawled in while I was in the house.”
“Lane, how are you mixed up in all of this?”
“I’m an archaeologist, but that’s just a hobby. Right now, I’m an undercover federal government revenue agent. My real purpose for coming to Daltonville this summer was to uncover a bootlegging operation. I had to tell Mr. Warren before he released me from jail.”
“Was he hard to convince?”
“He kept me behind bars until he checked my story.”
“There have always been moonshiners around Daltonville.”
“But this is a big operation, and it’s connected to Arrowwood. I feel sure that the barges going out of the creek have hauled liquor. As long as I stayed on the island, I was in a good position to watch the creek, and that’s the reason we were harassed. Somebody didn’t want us that close to Apple Creek.”
“Where do you think the still is?”
“Somewhere underground between your house and the creek.”
“What?”
“Remember, I told you about the old tunnel that opened from the cellar. I believe, when your husband renovated this house, he found that entry and turned the tunnel into a place to make moonshine.”
“But the basement walls are solid. Thompson has spent hours going over them. There can’t be an opening.”
“Not in the cellar, but there’s an entrance somewhere in the house, and that’s why you had those break-ins. When you showed up unexpectedly, the moonshiners were caught outside the cave. I figure, on the night of the fire, somebody got into the house, went through the door and opened the other entrance that had access only from the inside, and fixed it so they don’t need the inside entrance now.”
“That sounds reasonable.”
She mentioned the unusual odor she’d smelled the night before, and he said, “Probably the smell of moonshine brewing.”
“Warren suspects Timothy of racketeering and believes his headquarters were at Arrowwood.”
“It all fits in, and I’d like your help in solving this case.”
Without pausing to consider the danger involved, Ellen agreed. “What can I do?”
“I want to search the house for that entrance. I can’t find the other one, although I think it’s connected with the boathouse. The outside entrance is probably guarded now, but they won’t be expecting anyone to enter from the main house. I want to find the tunnel, as well as who killed those strikebreakers and put my gun in that pit.”
“Is there a connection between their deaths and this bootlegging movement?”
“Not directly perhaps, but I wouldn’t be surprised if the same people are mixed up in both incidents.”
“I’m hoping to clear Dad’s name before this is over. I’ve never thought he killed that guard.”
“Neither did I. Ellen, I’m going to tell you something that I didn’t even tell Warren. I asked for this assignment because of something that happened a year ago.”
Ellen buried her head in her hands. “I’m not sure I can stand any more mystery,” she moaned. “I can’t sleep at night now with all of this turmoil.”
Lane put his arm around her shoulders, and she nestled close to him. But Lane wasn’t in the mood for romance while a tragedy of the past occupied his mind.
“You know there were several children with those Italians?”
“I remember the three who came to school one day, and the kids mistreated them so badly, they didn’t come back.”
“I met one of those boys in San Diego last year. He’s a man now, of course, and he told me that, because of the threats they’d received, the men sent the women and children away. His mother took her family to Indianapolis where they had some relatives, and they waited and waited for his father, who never did show up. He knew another family where the same thing had happened.”
Ellen gasped, and she pulled away from Lane. “That’s terrible! I felt so sorry for those people, probably because I was being mistreated too.”
“His mother couldn’t speak English, and she was too poor to force any kind of investigation into the disappearance of her husband, so they never knew what had happened. The more I thought about it, the more I was convinced that those strikebreakers hadn’t left this area. And considering the fact that the guard your father was supposed to have killed was found on Indian Island, I figured the key to the disappearance of the Italians might be there too. I didn’t happen on that mass grave—I was looking for it.”
They’d been circling the same roadway for an hour, and the next time they passed the entrance to Arrowwood, Lane turned in.
“You can count on me for any help, monetary or otherwise. Since Timothy’s money seemed to have come from ill-gotten gains, I might as well use it to help clear up this mystery.”
Lane stopped the truck and took Ellen’s hand and leaned toward her. “Are you happy, Ellen?”
She wanted to scream at him, How do you think I could be happy when you’ve held the key to my happiness for half of my life?
Instead she said, “That’s a strange question. How could anyone be happy with such a mystery hanging over them?”
“But even before that, were you happily married?”
“I’m not sure I’ve ever been happy. My mother died before I could so much as remember her; my father was accused of murder and sent to prison, and I might as well say it—the way things turned out with you nearly ruined my life. No, I’ve never been happy, but I’ve learned to be content. Or at least I was before I returned to Daltonville.”
“You deserve some happiness, Ellen, and I understand how you feel, for I’m not happy either. The condition of our country worries me, and I’ve come to the conclusion that I must try to do something about it. I’ve been talking to Reverend Truett, for I believe God is calling me into His ministry. The gospel is the only hope for our country.”
The news surprised her, but she encouraged him, “You’d make a good minister, Lane. Even as a youth, you were influential in our youth group.”
“I made that decision before I met you again. Now I won’t make any plans without considering you. Is it too late for us to start over?”
Her heart hammered, and she wanted to throw herself into his arms, but she demurred, “I don’t know. Let’s wait and see.”
He started the car again. “I’m worried about you. There’s too much danger here. Why don’t you return to Cleveland until we solve this crime?”
“I’ll see it through. Three of Warren’s employees are staying in the house, so that’s some protection. Thompson poses as the gardener, but he’s been busy with other responsibilities, and the landscape needs some attention.”
“A gardener? I don’t believe I’ve seen him.”
“He’s a redhead and wears a heavy beard. He’s not much taller than I am and probably around forty years old. He was over on the island quite a lot during that investigation.”
“I don’t remember seeing him, but there were lots of people milling around then.”
He walked with her to the door. “Good night, Ellen. Better times are ahead for us.”
A swirl of ecstasy spiraled through Ellen’s body during his gentle kiss, and she prayed that his words were prophetic.
Nine
Lane and Ellen started a comprehensive search of the house the next morning. Ellen experienced the serenity she’d always known in Lane’s presence, and she remembered the days when they’d searched Indian Island for arrowheads. Her comradeship with Lane was one of the things she’d missed. Not only had they been in love, they’d been confidantes, which Ellen had especially valued in the days after her father went to prison and many of her acquaintances shunned her.
They started in the basement. Lane walked around
the concrete walls. He ran his hands over the blocks; he pecked on the walls with a hammer; he looked inside the furnace, then went outside and shouted through the coal chute. He pecked again on the wall behind the furnace.
“I’m sure the entrance to the big tunnel was about here, but this is a solid wall now.”
On the first and second floors, they looked for trapdoors under all the carpets. They examined the walls for secret entrances but found nothing. Lane entered Timothy’s room for a second look.
“This room used to be mine, and it looks smaller.”
“Everything seems larger when we’re children.”
“Perhaps, but the room looks different somehow.”
“Was there a bathroom between these rooms when you lived at Arrowwood?”
“No, and that’s probably the difference. Well, I don’t know where else to look.”
“We haven’t looked in the attic. It’s almost time for lunch, so let’s eat and tackle the attic this afternoon.”
Lane looked down at his crumpled, dusty clothes. “I’m not very presentable.”
Ellen waved aside his protests. “Wash up here, if you like, and come downstairs when you’re ready.”
After lunch, Lane carried the ladder upstairs, and they climbed through the trapdoor into the attic. Two bulbs hanging from the ceiling provided a murky light, but Lane carried a powerful lantern, and he crawled around the eaves of the attic. Ellen sat on a discarded chair and watched his progress. After an hour’s search, he dropped on the floor beside her.
“No secrets up here! I didn’t believe a tunnel entrance could originate in the attic, but I couldn’t overlook any possibility.”
“Whoever has broken into the house didn’t come up here. I checked the attic after the second break-in, and the room was undisturbed. No tracks in the dust such as we’ve made today. Since Timothy didn’t renovate the attic, it must look as it did when you were a boy.”
“That’s true. We had some of this furniture downstairs.” He pointed to the cradle Ellen had seen on her first inspection of the attic. “That was mine, or so I’ve been told. Belonged to my grandfather and father.” He indicated the trunks. “Hard to tell what’s in them.”
Love Almost Lost Page 11
