“Ok, Shane. Let me know as soon as you know something.”
“I will Dad.”
Chapter 3
Tim Sells met Detective Travers at the front gate of Twin Maples. With Tim was his canine partner Bambi, a fawn colored German Shepherd. Having no keys to unlock the gate, the men and dog managed to squeeze through a gap between the gate posts and the fence. The road leading up to the house site shows sign of frequent use, Shane noted. On the walk up the long driveway, Shane filled Tim in on the situation.
“That sure does look like a fresh grave,” Tim concurred. “The daughter is sure that picture was taken here?”
“Yes, Professor Collins planned to spend the day here. That text is the last one he sent to here.”
“That was sent over four hours ago. Why is she just reporting this?”
“Leni Collins was doing field research today and keeps her phone on silence. She was not aware of the text until much later.” Shane explained.
“This Professor Collins is not a dementia patient, is he?”
“Nope, Tim. The Professor is definitely not demented and, before you ask, his daughter is not one to given into bouts of hysteria about anything.”
Under different circumstances, the Shane would enjoy the walk. The sunny day had given into a cloudy evening creating a spooky atmosphere perfect for visiting the haunted farm at night. Add to the unnerving fill, there was just enough chill in the night air to encourage drawing your girl a little closer to your side, for warmth, and protection from things that go bump in the night. He smiled to himself. It would take a special girl, though. Shane could not see Bethany Allan out someplace like this. She would not be able to wear her spike heels, and he was sure Bethany would not appreciate the moonlight as much as she does neon light. I will pay for deserting her tonight.
The house loomed ahead with black windows watching the men and dog’s approach. With their raggedy canopies showing the ravages of wind and ice storms, and age, the twin maples were no longer the stalwart giants Lenore Wilkes played under. Professor Collins’ car sat in front of the old manor house, its doors locked, and two flat tires. It looked like someone slashed the tires. Travers and Sells walked around the house, shining their tactical lights in the windows. Nothing.
“Tim lets split up the cleared area around the house and see what we can find letting Bambi go off on her own.”
“Sounds good. With the full moon and mowed field, it shouldn’t be too hard to find a man who has fallen and hurt, unable to get up from the ground.”
Tim gave Bambi a smell of the Professor’s baseball cap and kept her on the leash as she led the search around the field. Bambi had no trouble finding the Professor’s scent. The man had been in the field earlier for sure. Shane reasoned the Professor would have gone to the woods and the bluff after the field. He told Tim as much.
“Lenore’s Bluff plays a prominent role in the legend. I have no doubt the Professor went there. The trail is more grown up than usual, I am sure, but still should be navigable.” Shane explained to Tim. “I know the way but let Bambi do her thing.”
“I have heard that legend of Lenore Wilkes many times, from a cop’s point of view there are too many loose ends in the story.” Tim declared. Tim enjoyed talking about something other than police work and dogs occasionally. Folktales on a haunted place was as good a topic as any as the two made their way through the ‘navigable’ path. After nearly tripping once on a snag, Tim had to watch his feet. He let Shane lead the way on the trail and Bambi to listen for trouble.
“It was different back then, Tim. Family loyalty superseded about everything. Professor Collins says there are parts of the story left untold and that James Wilkes did his best to play down the events. That is one reason he wants to include the story in his book, to shed light on what really occurred with Lenore and Charlie.” Shane explained. “Professor knew the last living relative of the Wilkes, Paul. Paul handed over most family letters and journal to the Professor Collins before he died. Told him that with his demise, there would be no more family to hurt with the real tale. After going through the papers, Professor Collins discovered references to Lenore’s diary, but not the diary itself. The diary has not yet surfaced. Professor thinks the diary will tell the real story behind Lenore’s suicide.”
“You know the Collins family well, then?”
“My father and Professor Collins are best friends from childhood. He is more of an uncle to me than a neighbor. I sure hope he is okay.”
Tim did not miss hint of sadness in his detective’s voice.
“What about the daughter?” Tim was curious. “What is she like?”
“Leni? Why?” Shane puzzled.
“Well, I have known you for eight years, Detective. You’re levelheaded and not impulsive. Yet you leave your blond bombshell at a wedding reception after a call from a woman in NY. That means she must be something special to you.” Tim ventured.
“Leni and I grew up together. She is a couple of months younger than I am. We are frenemies, as Collins likes to say. We are friends and but sometimes enemies.” Shane laughed then spoke concern. “Leni is a rational, levelheaded woman not given to worry unless her gut tells her something is not right. When she called me tonight asking for my help, I knew something was up. So here we are.”
“What kind of a woman is she? She married?”
“You interested, Tim?” Shane teased.
“Just curious. What does she do in New York?”
“Tim, I believe you are more than just curious.”
“Not really. I figure if this Ms. Collins was really something, you would have nabbed her before now.”
“Watch you head Tim,” Shane warned as he pushed a low hanging tree branch out of the way. “Leni lives in New York while she is working on her doctorate degree in anthropology through Columbia University.”
“Like father like daughter?”
“You’ve got it. As to the kind of woman she is, Collins is really something. She is smart and pretty; funny and serious; and disciplined and impulsive all rolled up in one person. Collins is a loyal friend. She can also be stubborn, sharp witted and has tongue as sharp as her wit.” Shane paused thoughtfully before concluding. “She is just Collins. That is all I can say, she is just Leni Collins.”
Shane grinned at Tim. “She is flying in tonight. If you want, I can introduce you to her.”
“I don’t think so, Shane. I am about half scared of her now after the sharp tongue bit.” Tim avowed.
“She won’t eat you, Tim. The two of you may hit it right off. Collins is not hard to get along with,” Shane said.
“Did you ever date her?” Tim was curious. He has not missed the undertone of pride and admiration in his detective’s voice while speaking of Lenore Collins.
“No.” Not for the first time, Shane wondered why they never dated. “She’s a friend, Tim, just a friend.”
I do believe he doth protest too much, Tim mused. He thought Shane Travers did not recognize or acknowledge his true feelings for this Collins, as he calls her.
“Here we are Tim, Lenore’s Bluff.”
“A rock over hang.” Tim did not bother to disguise the disappointment in his voice. He expected a monstrous range of rocks jutting well out into the river.
“That is all it is to us today,” Shane was thoughtful, “but to Lenore Wilkes, this place was her special haven. Her secret garden.”
“Damn, Shane. Don’t go getting all poetic on me here.” Tim teased before asking about the slave cave. “Is the cave of lost slaves still open? Maybe Professor Collins went into it.”
“The damns upstream took care of the old cave. A good scuba diver could find it with no trouble. If it looks that he may have gone down the steep trail leading to it, we will need to call in water rescue.”
“It’s all up to Bambi from here, Tim.”
Tim waved the baseball cap under Bambi’s nose again, not that she needed it. Bambi circled the area on top of the bluff a few times, th
en yelped.
“She has picked up the direction,” Tim announced.
Shane fell instep behind Tim this time, following the occasional bark of the dog. A few hundreds, yards farther up the trail, Bambi gave three sharp yelps.
“She’s found something,” Tim yelled rushing forward.
Shane followed at a near run, praying the entire way that the Professor was okay. He stopped dead in his tracks watching as Tim spoke to Bambi and snapped the leash on her collar. Shane closed his eyes tightly then opened them quickly, hoping to see a different ending to this story. It didn’t help. In front of them was a fresh dug grave. Off to the side of the mound lay a man’s white handkerchief.
Tim looked at Shane. “Do you think that handkerchief belongs to our missing man?”
“We will soon know. Professor Collins is an old-fashion kind of guy; sticks a fresh monogramed handkerchief in his pocket every morning. Shane replied removing a pair of vinyl gloves from his pocket. Travers picked up the soiled, white cotton handkerchief with the initials JC embroidered on one corner. With reverence, Shane placed the cloth in an evidence bag. He had not missed the toe of a boot protruding from the ground at one end of the grave. Shane cautiously brushed away dirt from the mound revealing a man’s leg.
“The handkerchief is the Professor’s, for sure. But, is this the grave he found? Or it is his own grave?” Detective Travers mused. “As much as I want to see who or what is under that dirt, we need to wait for CSI. While we wait, let’s see what else Bambi can find.”
On the ground one side of the mound of dirt, the officers noted scuff marks, and indentions on the mound consistent with knee imprints. Had the professor tripped over the grave. Is that how he discovered it? That would explain the soiled handkerchief; Professor Collins used it to clean himself up some. Shane marked GPS coordinates for the grave and followed Bambi, already back on the scent of the Professor. She followed the scent trail to the tree line separating yard from forest, stopped and gave her alert bark. Bambi stood by a cell phone Shane recognized as Professor Collins. From the smashed condition of the phone, Shane suspected someone had stepped on the phone, smashing it. Accidentally or intentionally? Shane marked the area and Tim urged Bambi forward. Bambi lost the trail a few yards from the house. They need to get a search warrant for the house in the morning. Thus, began the impatient wait for CSI. The locked gate will not be a problem, Joe Trent’s tool box always included bolt cutters.
CSI arrived within twenty minutes. Removing the dirt from a grave can be a slow process with each shovel full of dirt emptied on a tarp beside the grave for examination looking for trace evidence. Thirty minutes later enough, the team removed enough dirt from the grave for Shane to see the body below. The battered face of a male stared up at Shane with lifeless eyes. This man had been dead days, not hours. So, where is Professor Collins?
“What now, Shane?” Tim asked.
“First thing is to get a search warrant for that house. Next, we need to find Professor Collins.” Shane paused looking around. “I called for another K-9 unit, so we can cover more ground. Then, if you are a praying man Tim, we could use some now.”
Bambi had not picked up Professor Collins scent on the front porch or back door stoop. Where is Professor Collins? Would the K-9 unit find more graves? What is he going to tell Leni?
The old plantation was crawling with CSI and the K-9 officers with their handlers. There was nothing else for Shane to do here now. There was still time to meet Lenore Collins at the airport.
Chapter 4
Lenore Collins had spent the last two days at a work site in the city. Excavation work for a new parking garage led to the discovery of an old tenant building, complete with the remains of an old outhouse. An anthropologist and archeologist dream, digging through the old crapper for discarded items telling a story of bygone days. This Friday night, she wanted nothing more than to take a hot soaking bath and scrub the grime away. Unfortunately, she did not have a tub. A hot shower would have to suffice.
Arriving at the shoebox size flat she called home while in New York, Lenore stripped off the day’s dirty clothes and tossed them in the apartment size wash machine. The combo washer and dryer unit were the main reason Lenore chose this tiny studio apartment in an attic. She detested taking her laundry out. The place was comfortable despite the small size. The attic once served as storage space for the old building. Unlike attics in modern homes, this space had enough ceiling height for Lenore, standing at 64 inches tall, and her tallest friends to walk upright down the ten feet wide center of the room. A daybed along one end of the room did double duty as her bed and sofa. Since Lenore rarely entertained, she had no need for a dining table. Instead, she ate her meals at her desk. The kitchenette, though small, had everything necessary for her lifestyle: a two-burner range, a microwave, a small refrigerator, and a coffee maker.
Twenty minutes later dressed in her favorite pjs, she combed out her thick chestnut hair. Knowing her father would expect her call at eight PM on the dot, Lenore nuked a TV dinner, poured herself a glass of wine, and opened her laptop to prepare. Dad will want to review all his notes from today’s outing with her, so Lenore scanned the emails from her father as she ate the very much non-gourmet meal. At eight PM, she hit favorites on her phone and clicked on her father’s name. No answer. That is odd, Dad usually answers first or second ring. Maybe is in the shower. I will try again in a few minutes. In the meantime, Lenore checked her missed texts noticing for the first time an earlier text from her father. James Collins must have added a short addendum to one of his notes.
If one’s heart could flip, Lenore’s did at the site of a fresh grave and her father’s text. I have stumbled upon a grave, Lenore. This could get interesting. She tried his phone again and received no answer. James Collins knew she called at eight PM on Friday night, their weekly Facetime call. Lenore secretly suspected the Friday night calls were her father’s way of being sure she was home safe and not out partying. He did not know when she completed her work day at the university, Lenore went to her second job as a bartender at a high-class nightclub and that Sunday is her only free day per week. That had all changed four nights ago, though, when the boss’s brother decided to change Lenore’s job description from bartender to ‘hostess’ for his private parties. Other employees had warned Lenore of Luis’ private gatherings and she wanted no part of them. One waitress said it was an honor when the boss or his brother chose a hostess from the workers. They usually hire high-class call girls to play hostess. Lenore was not naïve and suspected what the hostess’ duties would most likely entail. Luis called her to his office with plans to change her mind. Lenore continued to adamantly refuse his offer. He had grabbed the woman bartender and tried kiss her. She slapped him and quit on the spot. End of story. She now had all her evenings free. She would borrow money, if necessary, from her father to get through this last month of her time with Columbia.
Lenore rang her father again on his cell. No answer. Oh well, he may have forgot to charge it. The land line rang the usual six times before the answering machine picked up. Ok. Five minutes, and then I will try again. Still, no answer on either phone. Could he have forgotten tonight is Friday? Not likely, James Collins did not forget anything.
Lenore’s next call was to Bill Travers, her father’s best friend and next-door neighbor. No, Mr. Bill had not talked to her father today. Jim told his friend yesterday evening he would be doing research today.
“Mr. Bill, would you mind just going next door and check on Dad. It is not like him to miss our Friday night call.” Lenore worried.
“I don’t mind at all, Lenore,” Bill Travers assured her. “Now that I think of it, I did not even see Jim drive in this evening. I will walk over and check on him and call you back.”
“Thank you, Mr. Bill. I am probably overreacting, but Dad was so excited about his adventure today and I know he wanted to discuss his day with me tonight.”
“Don’t worry, Lenore. Knowing Jim, he found someone
else to exchange stories with. I will call you in a few minutes.”
The intervening ten minutes was a life time for Lenore. Mr. Bill’s news when he at last called back was not good.
“Lenore, you father is not home and does not look as if he has been home since this morning. His car is not in the garage. I am concerned now myself,” he told her. “Do you want me to call Shane and have him look around for your dad?”
“No, but thanks. I’ll try Dad again on his cell and if I still don’t get an answer, I’ll call and talk to Shane. Thanks, Mr. Bill.”
“It was no problem, child. Please let me know if you hear anything, no matter how late.”
“I will Mr. Bill. Kiss Miss Jenny for me.”
One final call to her father with no answer and Lenore called Shane Travers.
Of course, she knew Shane would tell her to sit tight and he would call her when he found the Professor. And Shane knew Lenore would do no such thing. Something was going on with her father, and Lenore Collins booked the first available direct flight from LaGuardia Airport to Louisville, Kentucky. It did not leave New York until eleven PM.
The took about two and one-half hours, but to Lenore it felt like forever. Thoughts of her father were foremost in her mind. Where was he? Had Shane even found him? My God, what if he had a car wreck and he is laying in a ditch, hurt and alone? Less than six hours after reading her father’s text, Lenore was exiting the plane at Louisville International Airport (SDF). She heard a familiar yell, “Collins.” Shane Travers waved at her over the head of other passengers. She weaved her way through the crowd to him.
“Travers,” she greeted him. “Have you found my father?”
“No, Collins,” he informed her. “His car is still parked at the old place with two flat tires. We found the grave in the picture, however.”
“And?” she coaxed, worried.
A Tale of Two Lenores Page 3