In the Still of the Night--The Supernaturals II

by David L. Golemon

  “Halloween.”

  Everyone turned to see Gabriel as he continued to pace. He stopped and saw that he had inadvertently spoken aloud.

  “That’s the deadline. It’s gearing up for that point in time. Why now, after all these years? We may never know, but I suspect that all the clues point to Halloween and a supposed homecoming party for our Mr. Hadley.”

  “And everything revolves around that night?” Julie asked.

  “It’s been staring us in the face the whole time. Leonard, what is the current population of Moreno?”

  Sickles looked at his notes. “Sixteen—mostly migrant families that have squatted there illegally, and several hangers-on, not counting the two security plants. There are four operating business, but the rumors of contamination have been successful in keeping most sane individuals out of there. Moreno is like the strange brother that California has hidden and chained in the attic.”

  “We have to get out to California and see what’s up out there firsthand. We need to speak with survivors and the people who work there.” Kennedy picked up his own notepad and looked it over until he found the section he wanted. “I especially want to interview this Bob and Linda Culbertson, the security team.”

  “Gabe, we don’t have the time.” John stood up, angry that he was being thwarted by his best friend. “That woman is relieving us in”—John consulted the grandfather clock and its swinging pendulum—“two hours.”

  Leonard stood and passed Gabriel the same folder he had produced earlier. “I think you need to start playing by the old rules, Professor Gabe. If this bitch wants to play hardball, play that way.”

  Kennedy slapped his hand down on the folder, and a smile slowly crossed his lips.

  “I have a feeling we may find our asses right back in jail. Anytime we start taking advice from Mr. Spock here, we get into trouble,” Damian said, referencing Leonard.

  “Why, I’m just turning in a report the First Lady may or may not appreciate.”

  Damian shook his head at Gabriel and decided that it was close enough to noon, so he went to the bar. “God help us, blackmailing the First Lady of a grieving nation. We are truly wonderful people.”

  A knock sounded on the door, and the First Lady’s assistant popped her head in.

  “The White House Press Corp is out in front. The First Lady has called a news conference to inform the nation of the medical decision to move the president to hospital care in New Hampshire. She expects you to be available in case anyone has questions about your participation. It starts in fifteen.” The sliding door closed.

  The second battle for the soul of Moreno would start then.

  11

  MORENO, CALIFORNIA

  Bob Culbertson hung up the phone. They had had to go to the old landline inside the radio station to get a clear message out. Their cell service, spotty at the best of times, was completely out. Bob picked up the heavy plastic handset and slammed it down again, feeling his first gesture of frustration was not good enough. For emphasis, he did it one last time as Linda watched from the record stacks that she was inventorying.

  “I take it the office didn’t give you good news,” she asked as she moved her bulk from the stacks and made her way to the front of the radio station.

  Bob angrily stalked to the window and looked out upon the overcast day. The entire valley had been covered in a fine mist most of the last two days, which didn’t improve anyone’s mood.

  “There has been some sort of financial takeover of the company.” He turned and faced his wife. “They say we may not have replacements, that we may be the last security detail assigned to Moreno.”

  “What does that have to do with us? Our contract is up as of November 1. Fuck them.”

  “I would normally agree, but I was informed to take a gander at section five, paragraph two of that contract. We are obligated to remain on station until we are officially relieved by the new security team. They are holding us to that clause until they find out what new ownership wants to do with the town.”

  Linda turned away and in an almost panic looked around the radio station that was disguised as a used record store. She shook her head. “This place is like sour milk; it’s getting worse, not better.” She turned back to face her husband. “You feel it as well as I do, Bob. We have to get the hell out of here,” she said with finality.

  “Well lose that ten-thousand-dollar bonus if we do,” Bob said as he watched Linda blatantly light up a joint. Lately, she had become far more than an actress playing a part; she was starting to live the alias. He decided to join her.

  Bob had just taken a hit and was coughing when he heard the music and the voice. He dropped the joint on the tattered rug between the record aisles as he looked up and back at the glass partition of the old DJ booth. It was completely dark inside.

  “A friendly reminder from your favorite radio station, a day of freedom this Thursday, the day after Halloween! No school, no work. We are officially off so we can party hearty the night before. So, tune in for the announcements of the fright fest planned for Moreno. We are gonna party all night as the anniversary of the birth of Moreno happens right here, covered live, Halloween night on K-Rave. A special hello from the grateful town of Moreno to the president of the United States, John F. Kennedy, who faced the Russians down, and I mean faced them down, and sent them back to Russia with a swift kick in the derrière! What a country, what a town! And now to serve that very point on this cloudy October day, here is the Everly Brothers, and ‘Crying in the Rain,’ this is Freekin’ Rowdy Rhoads at K-Rave!”

  As they listened to the speakers overhead, the old song by the Everly Brothers started, and they jumped when they heard the tapping on the glass. Their mouths fell open when they saw the light in the booth was on. They could see the telescoping microphone, and most disconcerting, there was that same beatnik bearded man with the headphones on his ears tapping the glass just as he had three days before. Bob and Linda stared wide-eyed.

  “Hey, I told you kids before you can’t be in here!” he said through a static-filled intercom. “Roberta, what in the hell is going on out there? Do I have to run the reception area too?”

  Bob finally looked at Linda, who was frozen to the spot as she watched the angry DJ pound on the glass hard enough that it shook. Both startled people turned around to see if someone was behind them, but they soon saw that the DJ was speaking only to them. They turned back and faced the angry man. Freekin’ Rowdy Rhoads threw off the headset and stormed toward the soundproof door. Bob’s eyes widened, and Linda took a step back as the door flew open and then—nothing. The light in the booth vanished as fast as Freekin’ Rowdy Rhoads had as he exited the booth. The door creaked closed on its ancient hinges and then closed completely as the Everly Brothers’s melodic voices faded to nothing.

  Security for the town of Moreno stood rooted to the spot for at least a full minute as they stared into the darkness of the DJ booth. None of the equipment inside was seen, because it had been removed in the decades prior to Bob and Linda taking the job. Bob took a very long and deep breath as he finally turned to Linda, who was shaking from her massive thighs to her feet.

  “I feel like lunch,” he said, shaking and nodded toward the doors of the radio station. “You feel like lunch?”

  Linda turned without a word and headed for the double glass doors of the station. As Bob opened it for her, there was one last insult to their sanity.

  “And get a haircut, you damn beatnik!”

  The casual stroll from the record store as if nothing had happened only moments before turned into free flight.

  VIRGINIA COUNTRYSIDE

  The gaggle of reporters pushed and shoved as all the decorum they had shown during press conferences at the White House was a thing of the past. They all needed closing chapters written about the last days of the American Caesar, Dean Hadley.

  The president’s press secretary was still on the job, working for the new administration and was not available. Instead,
the First Lady had representation consisting of her personal assistant and the lead medical doctor. Catherine stood by with a neutral expression, nodding and looking sad at the appropriate moments. She turned her head slightly as Julie, followed by Gabriel, stepped out onto the front steps underneath the large portico. Kennedy held the report that was supplied by Leonard. The rest of the Supernaturals remained inside.

  Gabriel took a sly step toward the First Lady, and she dipped her head for the benefit of the gathered reporters. As the lead physician gave his report on the president’s condition, Kennedy discreetly handed Catherine the large folder.

  She smiled and leaned into Kennedy. “And what is this?”

  “The opening page will give you the gist,” Gabriel said as she placed her hands over his and the file and then smiled as if greeting a friend for the benefit of the reporters.

  Catherine, still smiling, opened the folder and read. She looked up, never missing a beat with the offending smile. “Speculation that would be torn apart in a court of law.”

  Kennedy smiled. “But not the important court—the court of public opinion.” He smiled and nodded as if he and the First Lady were having a nice and friendly conversation. “This could dog you for quite some time. As a matter of fact, the assets may have to remain in trust for years until this is figured out. It’s an awful lot of wealth. You would have gotten away with it if you had Avery stick with the insanity thing.”

  Catherine closed the file folder and nodded, again playing her role as professionally as possible.

  “Do you think you have that much credibility with the public?”

  Kennedy smiled, and this time, it was no act. “I direct the same question to you, Madam First Lady. Do you have the credibility to fend off the innuendos printed there?” He eased closer. “Your Mr. Avery left tracks in the snow, so to speak. This report will attract attention. With as many enemies as you and the president have collected over the years—him through actions, you through rumor—I think CNN would have a field day investigating this little gem.”

  Showing her teeth but smiling nonetheless, Catherine handed the folder back to Gabriel.

  “What do you want, Professor?”

  “Time. Not much to ask considering what you stand to gain.” He smiled and then faced her fully. “You give us until November 1, and you can have that file and the two copies we made. It will be our little secret. On the condition, of course, that we don’t find any evidence of your collusion in the president’s predicament. That’s three days and a flight to California. Also, if we find the need, we want to take the president back home.”

  “To Moreno? You’ve got to be kidding.”

  Kennedy tried to hide his astonishment, realizing Catherine knew exactly where Hadley was from—not the purified, made-up story everyone else knew but the truth.

  The First Lady saw the shock on Gabe’s face. “Oh, don’t look so shocked; there’s nothing Hitchcockian about it. Dean always talked in his sleep, the poor tormented bastard. And I know about that little blind slut he cries over too. As I said, the insane son of a bitch talks in his sleep—some things even his maniac father and his cronies in D.C. couldn’t cover up.”

  Kennedy remained silent as Catherine made her point. He slapped the file on his thigh as he awaited her answer.

  “So, to explain things more on the personal side, I give you the First Lady of the United States, Catherine Hadley.”

  She heard the announcement from her assistant, and then without missing a beat, she half turned back, still smiling, and nodded at Gabriel.

  “November 1, Professor—not a day later.”

  Kennedy took a breath and then turned away as the press corps was fed a line of crap from the First Lady about how a mistake on dates had been made, much to the doctor’s standing alongside of her confusion about the timetable to move Hadley to a hospital for special care. He failed to hear the rest of her presentation as he entered the house.

  “Well?” Julie asked as she and the others joined them.

  “We’ll be heading to California tonight. We have our two days.”

  Sickles’s plan of blackmail had worked, at least for the time being. How long it would last until the First Lady gathered her senses and courage, no one was sure. It would be at least until Catherine got real legal advice from the five-million-dollar-a-case law firm representing her. They could only hope their delay reached the thirty-first of this month—in three days.

  “Well, let’s see if we can save this man’s life and find out just what in the hell Hadley’s father brought to the small town of Moreno that killed it in 1962.”

  The Supernaturals were again going into the field, all with memories of Summer Place and the horrors discovered there still as fresh in their minds as if it happened yesterday.

  VIRGINIA COUNTRYSIDE

  After the White House Press Corps returned to Washington, things at the country house settled down. The bedroom upstairs had been quiet after it was decided to monitor the president’s condition remotely. The deaths surrounding Hadley’s illness were garnering attention, and the new administration was finding it exceedingly difficult to keep the details from public view.

  It was after ten at night when Gabriel could get everyone together in the study. The arrangements had been made by the Secret Service and the FBI to fly the team to Moreno. They would arrive in Ontario a little after five in the morning and be inside the town no later than seven.

  “Before we get started, I think I’m needed out there with you guys. I’m the detective here. You need me,” Damian said, looking far fresher than he had that afternoon after getting a good five hours of sleep. Damian had been informed earlier that he and Leonard would remain behind for security reasons to keep the team informed directly of any change in Hadley’s condition.

  “I need you here with Hadley. More to keep an eye on”—he hesitated as he looked toward the back door Catherine Hadley had a habit of popping out of—“certain family members.”

  “Babysitter,” Jackson corrected angrily.

  “Yes, a babysitter with a gun and legal knowledge. I need you to make sure that woman sticks with our agreement. We all may dislike that man up there in bed just as much as the country—and the world, for that matter—but we need to know what is happening to him. We can all agree we have never seen anything this intense before that is being done remotely.”

  Damian shrugged but finally nodded.

  “Leonard was able to dig up a little more.”

  Leonard Sickles turned away from the two PCs and three laptops he had up and running. He stood and went to the conference table and sat with an armful of papers. He dropped a few, and John Lonetree picked them up. Before he handed them back to Leonard, he saw the agency logo at the top of the page. Leonard smiled when he saw John take notice of the header. He winked at Lonetree, who pursed his lips and whistled softly.

  “We have rumor, innuendo, and speculation, but nothing really solid about Hadley Sr. and his wartime activities. For a man with a college degree and no money before the war, he seemed to come out of it in pretty good shape.”

  “Did you find out where his windfall came into play?” Gabriel asked as he lowered his glasses and looked over the rims at the computer whiz.

  “Again, speculation only. We have a how, but not a why.” Leonard pulled a sheet of paper out and passed it down the line. “Moreno sits on land once owned by the federal government, even before the State of California got involved over the local historical aspects of the area, meaning the old mission and winery. The government had owned it since late 1928.”

  “Why would the feds be interested in old ruins?” Jennifer asked as she received the old papers that Leonard had dug up from the National Archives.

  “It wasn’t the ruins; it was the small deposits of a mineral found in the hills surrounding the future town. This source of mercury occurs in deposits throughout the world, mostly as the mineral cinnabar, or mercuric sulfide. The red pigment vermilion is obtained by
grinding natural cinnabar or synthetic mercuric sulfide into a thick paste. The government needed all the mercury it could find for the war effort in the forties. Thus, the small work camp known as the Alfred Moreno mining concern was started. It was named after some local Mexican cowboy from the western days.”

  “The work camp that eventually became the town of Moreno, I take it?” George Cordero asked, not too enthused about his impending trip to the town.

  “That clairvoyance never fails you, does it, George?” Leonard joked, and George shot him the finger. “Anyway, I suspect that was the initial basis for Hadley Sr.’s interest in the area. It’s the mercury he needed for his high-tech gauges and meters—not too mention mercury for lighting and temperature variance applications.”

  “Was Hadley’s father a chemical engineer?” Julie asked, smelling something fishy in the story.

  “No. As a matter of fact, he didn’t even run the day-to-day operations of the company; he was too busy investing elsewhere. And get this—investing before the gauge and meter company even started to turn a profit, meaning—”

  “He had a lot of money before he should have,” Gabriel said, heading Leonard off at the pass.

  Sickles cleared his throat. “Yeah, that’s right. Where did all of this come from?”

  “Obviously, the feds, right?” John asked as he to finally read the investment report.

  “Again, speculation only. It’s hard to follow a paper trail when that paper is just money. There is nothing other than a bill of sale in the national accounting office.”

  “What did Hadley pay for the land?” Julie asked.

  “One dollar in 1946.”

  The others looked at each other when they heard that Hadley Sr. had gotten something free from a federal government that was flat broke at the time after the long and costly war.