As I relished the silence, I took a sip of my Manhattan and stared at Dewey’s journal. I still couldn’t believe what he had discovered. I flipped through the journal to his last entry, and then noticed an old newspaper article taped to a page. It was a funeral notice. I wondered if Clara had taped it into the journal…
CHAPTER THIRTY
1955
A warm morning sun bathed the grounds of Fort Logan National Cemetery as a small crowd milled around a fresh burial site, some whispering to each other, some waiting patiently for the woman who stood in front of a silver casket covered in an American flag. They were all concerned about Clara Webb, but she didn’t notice.
Clara took a deep breath and her shoulders stooped with a sadness that was emphasized by her black dress, small black hat and gold band on her left ring finger. She held tightly to Sam’s hand. He stared at the casket, then up at his mother.
“I miss Daddy.” The little boy’s small voice broke the stillness.
Clara nodded, her face hardened against the pain she felt. “I miss him, too, Sam,” she murmured.
“Why can’t he come home?”
“He’s in heaven.” Sam’s lip trembled and she squeezed his hand hard. “We have to go on,” she said. “That’s what your father would want.”
Sam nodded, but he didn’t understand. They stood in silence for a while, and then Clara backed away from the casket, still clutching Sam’s hand. A man in a black suit approached. He quickly took off his hat. It was Richard Hensler, one of their neighbors.
“Mrs. Webb, I want to express my sympathy to you and your son.”
Clara looked up. “Thank you.” She forced a smile.
“Clara, I –” he stopped, then said, “I lost my wife a year ago, so I know what you must be feeling.”
“Thank you,” she repeated. “I know you understand.”
“If you need anything,” Richard began and then his voice faded away.
“I appreciate that,” Clara said as they began walking down a row of white marble and granite tombstones.
“What do the…police know?”
Clara glanced at Sam, then waved at an older man with a shock of white hair. “Dad?”
He quickly moved toward her. She put Sam’s hand into his grandfather’s. “Go with Grandpa.”
Sam trotted off with his grandfather. Clara watched him, then slowed her pace. “The police don’t know much. From what I can tell, the case will never be solved.”
Richard shook his head. “What a shame.”
Clara bit her lower lip. “Dewey was a good man. He deserves justice.” She turned around for one final look at the casket. “I hope someday he gets it.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Reed – 2015
Lorraine Fitzsimmons looked cross when she opened the door.
“Mr. Ferguson, if you don’t quit harassing me, I’m going to call the police,” she said by way of greeting. The door started to shut.
I smiled my most charming smile and held up a hand. “Please, just give me a moment,” I said hurriedly before she slammed the door. I was not going to shove my foot in the doorjamb and get it smashed. “I came to apologize.”
That stopped her. “Apologize?”
“Yes. If I could take a minute to explain.”
She gnawed at her lip, then reluctantly stepped aside. I slipped past her and into the living room. She sat down in one of the leather chairs and I perched on the edge of the couch.
“Well?” She arched her eyebrows and waited.
“Your grandfather did what he was accused of.”
“We’ve established that,” she said slowly.
“But I thought Powell was also involved in a scheme to steal artwork from Jewish refugees before and during World War II.”
Her jaw dropped. “That’s awful! My grandfather wouldn’t have done that.”
I nodded. “That’s true. He wasn’t involved in any of that. All he did was buy some artwork from the Halloways. They were the ones who were stealing the artwork.”
“The Halloways? You’re kidding.”
“I wish I was.” I proceeded to explain the rest of the story, and concluded with, “I felt like I owed you an apology because I suspected your grandfather, and I told you as much. But I had it all wrong.”
She gazed at me with eyes that slowly softened. “I appreciate that,” she finally said.
“There is one more thing.”
The softness froze. “What?”
I hesitated. “Your grandfather’s death wasn’t an accident.”
“What happened?”
I told her, and by the time I’d finished, she had tears in her eyes.
“It’s unfortunate that my grandfather had all the problems he did, and his connections with the Mafia…” her voice trailed off. Then she met my gaze. “But I do believe my father and uncle learned from that, and they lived better lives. And I believe I have, too.”
I smiled again. “That’s all that matters, then.” I stood up to go.
“Thank you for telling me this,” she said.
“You’re welcome.”
When I left, she was still sitting in the living room, a faraway look in her eyes.
***
I asked Brad Webb to meet me at The Cruise Room, still located in the Oxford Hotel, but completely renovated since its decline in the ’50s. At six o’clock, he came in, glanced around, and saw me sitting at a booth near the back.
“This is an unusual place to meet,” he said as he slid in across the table. He studied the Art Deco style and the bas-relief scenes still on the walls. “It’s different.”
“The martinis are still recommended,” I said.
“Still?”
“This place was first known for its martinis.”
“Okay.” A waitress in a black tuxedo and red lipstick came up and we ordered classic martinis. Then he clasped his hands together, rested them on the table and looked at me. “Is there a reason to meet here?”
“This is where Dewey came to find out where Walt Cummings worked,” I said. “That was the fence who sold Floyd Powell’s artwork.”
“Right,” Brad said. “I remember you mentioning Cummings.”
“And that ultimately led to the Halloway family.” For the second time that day, I had to deliver the news about the Halloways’ involvement in stealing artwork from the Jewish families and their involvement in a murder, this time Sam Webb’s.
Brad kept shaking his head as I talked. “Unbelievable,” he said when I’d finished.
I sighed. “Robert Halloway had to get rid of Dewey because Dewey had it figured out. And all these years later, his son, Rob Halloway, had to keep the secret as well.”
“So Halloway came after my dad when he started asking questions,” Brad said.
“The initials W.C. were written on Sam’s list. I think he contacted Walt, and Walt told Rob someone was asking questions,” I said. “So Rob had to get rid of Sam.”
He swore. “He killed my dad.”
“I doubt Rob did it himself,” I said. “He’s too smart for that. I called my friend who’s a detective with the Denver Police Department and told her everything. Lakewood Police are going to reopen the case, but she doesn’t have much faith that they’ll find anything new. Rob’s people were very careful.”
Brad stared at his hands and then said, “Well, knowing is something, I guess.”
The waitress returned with our martinis and we sipped them in silence. I would’ve preferred my usual, a beer, but when in Rome…
“What about me?” Brad finally asked. “Why come after me?”
“Once your dad started asking questions, Halloway had to get the files, once and for all.”
“He admitted to that?”
I shook my head. “Not in so many words, but he did pull his gun on me in order to shut me up.”
“What’s going to happen to him?”
“Since the evidence is circumstantial, I don’t know if any charges will be
brought against him.” I shrugged. “He’s incredibly wealthy and he’s already hired a team of high-priced trial lawyers, so he’ll probably get off. But the scandal may ruin him. And no one’s going to come after you again.”
“When would the murders have ended?”
“Who knows?” I said. “Rob Halloway was desperate to keep the family’s past a secret.”
“What happened to all the artwork?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know. So much of the artwork stolen during that time has never been returned to the rightful owners.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” Brad said. “What a shame.”
I picked up the files and journal I’d set on the seat beside me and slid them across the table. “These are yours.”
He rubbed a hand lightly over them. “Who knew all the secrets these held?”
“You were right, though. Someone was after you.”
He smiled. “Thanks for your help.”
“Sure,” I said.
“It’s been an interesting journey, and I found out a lot more about my grandfather.”
He held up his glass. “How about a toast to Dewey Webb and my father?”
“I’ll drink to that,” I said.
I’d bet it was one of the best toasts that night.
***
When I got home, Willie was on the phone. I didn’t have to give her my most charming smile, but I did anyway. She grinned back.
“Who is it?” I asked quietly.
“Your mother,” she mouthed.
I started to make my escape into my office, but she grabbed my arm to stop me.
“Reed just came home,” she said into the phone. “I’ll put you on speaker so we can all talk.”
I glared at her and her grin grew even bigger. Then my mother’s voice blared through the phone.
“Reed, dear, Willie said you’ve finished up your case.”
“Yes, Mother.”
“It’s going to cause quite a stir in the society pages,” she said.
“Are there still society pages?” I asked innocently.
“Don’t be fresh, dear,” she snipped. “What will happen to Rob Halloway?”
“He’ll probably get off.”
“That would be terrible,” she said. “Although it would be nice if their foundation could continue. They’ve done some good work over the years.”
“That’s true,” Willie said.
“Anyway,” Mother continued, “Willie and I have been talking about places to have the rehearsal dinner, and now you have some free time, so you can go look at them. We’ve got a list, and I don’t think it’ll take too much time to check them out.”
“Oh, I can’t wait. It’s every man’s dream to help plan his wedding.”
“Don’t be fresh, dear,” she repeated.
THE END
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AUTHOR’S NOTE
Detective Sarah Spillman appears in three short stories that you can read in the short story collection, Take Five. It also includes a Reed Ferguson short story, Elvis And The Sports Card Cheat. You can also buy the stories separately.
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What Others Are Saying About Nephilim Genesis of Evil by Renée Pawlish
5 Star Review
Stephen King and Dean Koontz have long been known as masters of horror. I believe you can add Renee Pawlish to that list… The plot is entrancing. It grabbed my attention from the beginning and held it to the end.
Readers’ Favorite
A Spooky Blend of Biblical Intrigue and Modern Paranormal
This book is clearly written by a pro. The scenes are colored with rich description, depth of character and a cast that is reminiscent of Henry Fonda's On Golden Pond. However, there is an evil in this story that FINALLY brings the Nephilim to life and uncovers the dark secrets that scripture has kept hidden for millennium. If you enjoy reading supernatural fiction that meshes our distant past and the present, you will enjoy this most excellent book.
Kindle Book Review
I Couldn't Put It Down!
This book grabs you immediately and it doesn't turn you loose until you've read the last word. Carefully plan when you will begin reading it because it's more than likely you won't be able to put it down. Renee Pawlish is now on my favorite writer list and it's not a long one.
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Nephilim Book Two Available Soon
The long-awaited second book in the Nephilim Trilogy will be released soon! Visit www.reneepawlish.com for more information.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Renée Pawlish is the author of The Reed Ferguson mystery series, Nephilim Genesis of Evil, The Noah Winter adventure series for young adults, Take Five, a short story collection that includes a Reed Ferguson mystery, and The Sallie House: Exposing the Beast Within, about a haunted house investigation in Kansas.
Renée loves to travel and has visited numerous countries around the world. She has also spent many summer days at her parents' cabin in the hills outside of Boulder, Colorado, which was the inspiration for the setting of Taylor Crossing in her novel Nephilim.
Visit Renée at www.reneepawlish.com.
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