Breadcrumbs and Bombs

by Susan Finlay

  OTHER BOOKS BY SUSAN FINLAY

  The Outsiders Series:

  In the Shadows (Book 1)

  Where Secrets Reside (Book 2)

  Winter Tears (Book 3)

  The Forgotten Tomb (Book 4)

  Project Chameleon Series:

  Liars’ Games

  The Bavarian Woods Series:

  Inherit the Past (Book 1)

  Tanglewood Grotto (Book 2)

  The Chambre Noir Series:

  The Handyman

  The Tangled Roots Series:

  Breadcrumbs and Bombs

  Look for more books coming soon, including the next books in her various series, and maybe a book or two in a young adult or middle grade series.

  Breadcrumbs and Bombs

  Breadcrumbs and Bombs

  A Tangled Roots Historical Mystery

  By

  Susan Finlay

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Breadcrumbs and Bombs is Copyright © 2018 by Susan Finlay.

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written approval of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  First Edition

  Cover Design by Ken Dawson

  Paperback ISBN-13:978-1981992508

  Ebook ISBN-10:1981992502

  Published in the USA

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Although this is a work of fiction, the historical figures and the war itself are real and I’ve tried to make this story as realistic as possible. I’ve read many nonfiction and fiction books about World War II and how it affected everyone, on all sides. I’m particularly interested in the lesser known stories of the ethnic Germans living in the former Sudetenland and their expulsion from their homeland at the end of the war.

  My American father and one of his sisters worked on their family tree many years ago. On one side of the family, they were able to trace back to early 1800’s. On the other side, they were able to trace back to the 1600’s. My mother, who came from the former Sudetenland and Germany, was able to also provide some history for her family tree, but only back a couple generations. Years later, after she’d passed away, one of her brothers obtained some old WWII-era Identity Cards that his grandparents had carried. He made copies for me and for one of his sisters. From those, I was able to fill in some missing information from that side of my family’s tree.

  I tell you this, because I understand why people have an interest in genealogy. As I worked on this book, I got out those old records and photos and dug deeper around my family tree, in a similar way to what my protagonist does in this book. My historical research, and the story I wrote, helped me better understand what my German relatives may have endured.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Lucas Landry, June 2017, East Sacramento, California—

  LUCAS LANDRY PULLED his Jeep into the driveway of his father’s pale blue Victorian house. Sucking in a deep breath, he turned off the engine and sat there, brooding, staring at the house fraught with painful memories.

  For five of his teen years, he’d lived with his family in this house his father had inherited, but when he’d left home for college ten years ago, he’d never looked back. Not once. Back then, he couldn’t wait to move out of the house where his mother had died, where everything was a constant painful reminder of her suffering.

  Leaving also meant he’d get away from his father’s incessant complaining about the house. Lucas had once asked him, “You grew up in this house. Why did you move us here if you hated the house?” His reply: “Because I got it for free, that’s why. I can suffer it because it doesn’t cost me anything but what I spend on repairs and property taxes. Someday you’ll understand.”

  Sitting in the car, hands still gripping the steering wheel like a life raft, he shook his head. I’m not making that mistake. Moments later Lucas’s eyes were drawn to something shiny in the small window at the top of house above the second-story roofline, the window his mother had always called a decoy, whenever Lucas or one of his friends had asked about it. She’d shrug and tell them, “There’s no attic. The design was just intended to make it look like it had an attic.” Lucas had always thought it odd, but what did he know about old houses? Maybe she was right. Maybe houses were like people, not honest, never really showing their true colors, putting on façades and hiding their dirty secrets from the world.

  So if there was no attic, what was shining in the window? He leaned forward to get a better look through the windshield. As it turned out, the ‘something shiny’ was only the sun hitting the glass at the right angle and it disappeared seconds later. Losing interest, his eyes wandered back to the wraparound veranda, complete with white railing, porch swing, and hanging pots of flowers, where he had hung out a lot as a teen. He realized his hands felt cold and clammy at the thought of going inside the house.

  He didn’t want the house, didn’t want anything from the old man. Hell, his father certainly hadn’t wanted anything to do with Lucas for the past five years, not even when Lucas made him a grandfather. He sighed and chided his reticence. It was just an old house. In today’s real estate market—2017—in Northern California, Lucas knew he could easily sell it, provided his father hadn’t let it deteriorate too much in the ten years since Lucas had gone off to college and started his own family. Only first he had to through all his father’s belongings and figure out what to do with them. That was the hard part, the part he dreaded.

  Guess I should get this over with.

  Sighing again, he got out of the car and closed the door harder than he’d intended, making a loud smack sound, making him jump slightly. He looked around but nobody appeared to be watching. No nosy neighbors. Okay, you need to calm down. Steel yourself and get the job done. Simple enough. A few hours and then you can call a realtor and never have to go back. He pushed the lock button on his key fob and gave a backwards glance at the car as it beeped, before walking away. He did a double-take. Oh no, Bianca! She was sitting in the backseat, looking bewildered. Poor kid. He’d forgotten she was there. He pushed the button again unlocking the doors.

  “Bianca, I’m sorry. I forgot I’d picked you up at daycare. Come on sweetie, let’s get you out of that car seat.” After unstrapping the buckle, he lifted her out of the seat, relocked the doors, and carried her down the sidewalk toward the front porch.

  “Where are we going, Daddy?”

  “To your grandpa’s house.”

  “Yippee! I didn’t know I had a grandpa.”

  Lucas didn’t know how to respond. He let it go and continued walking.

  The scent of flowers wafted in the air as Lucas stepped onto the bottom step. Taking a big whiff, he let the heady perfume fill his nostrils and somewhat ease his nerves. Memory of his grandmother’s house—his mother’s mother—came to mind. Her garden had smelled like this, back when Lucas was young, maybe four or five. Good memories there.

  He reached the front door and rang the bell. Crap! Why did I do that? Obviously nobody is home.

  After a moment gathering himself together, Lucas reached into his pant pocket and withdrew the door key, inserting it into the lock. As he opened the door, he froze, his mind’s eye remembering his father standing there, refusing to let Lucas inside with his then one-week-old daughter, Bianca. How could Dad turn his back on us? He wouldn’t even look at the baby. She was adorable, dressed in a pink dress with ruffled bloomers and a bonnet, and wrapped in the softest lavender baby blanket. If he’d only looked at her . . .
.

  Tears welled-up in Lucas’s eyes. For some reason, he’d desperately wanted to share the joy of becoming a father with his father back then. But that would never happen. He shifted the now three-year-old Bianca in his arms.

  He tried to step into the house, but his legs felt like anchors chaining him to the spot. He braced himself with one hand on the doorframe, his head drooping down, willing himself to forget the past. It doesn’t matter anymore, he told himself.

  After several moments and several deep cleansing breaths like he usually instructed his patients at the clinic to try when overwhelmed with emotion, he inched forward into the house and stood in the entryway, looking around in the house that used to be home.

  It looked the same, at least for the most part. He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

  He walked over to the cream-colored brick fireplace and stared at the family photo sitting on top of the mantel, one of the few professional family photos they’d had taken. For a moment he was back in time, watching his mother hang their four Christmas stockings from the mantel their first year here. Lucas, Seth, and Dad were stringing garland along the front of the fireplace, giving the room a festive feel.

  “Is that you, Daddy?” Bianca asked when Lucas picked up the frame.

  “Yes, it is. And that’s your grandma and grandpa.”

  “That’s not my grandma!”

  “Oh, sorry, let me explain. You’re right. That’s not Grandma, the one you see all the time. That grandma is mommy’s mommy. The grandma and grandpa in this picture are my mommy and daddy. They aren’t with us anymore. I’m sorry you never got to meet them, baby girl.”

  She nodded and stuck a finger in her mouth, then withdrew it and said, “Who is that?” pointing to his brother.

  “That’s my brother, Seth.”

  “Is he not with us anymore, too?”

  Hmm, that was harder to answer. Seth was alive, as far as Lucas knew, but they had severed ties with each other four—or was it five?—years ago.

  “I haven’t seen Seth in a long time, sweetie. Maybe someday I will again.” Was it wrong to tell a little white lie? He doubted he would ever see his brother again. That they didn’t see eye-to-eye would have been an understatement, and one she wouldn’t have understood if he’d said it. “I wish you could have met my mommy and daddy. Grandma would have loved you, little munchkin.”

  She looked at the photo again and then at Lucas and smiled her big beautiful smile. His little angel. So sweet and innocent.

  Speaking of angels, in the photo his mother looked happy. The photo had been a Christmas present for the family and it was taken a few months before her diagnosis. Luke sighed. Six months after the diagnosis, the cancer took her. She didn’t make it to a second Christmas here.

  He set the frame back on the mantel and picked up the only other frame. In this one was a photo from his high school graduation, four and a half years after the family photo was taken. Just Lucas, Seth, and Dad. When Lucas was a kid, people often said he and his brother looked like their father. Yeah, right. Seth looked like him, but Lucas never saw any resemblance between himself and them. Sure, they all had the same blue eyes and brown hair, but his own hair was darker and always longish and with some waves and curls, while Dad—and Seth—had worn their hair extremely short. Dad had always kept his hair short, though, partially because of his time spent in the military. But whenever anyone asked him about it, he told them he didn’t want to look like a girl with long curly hair. Lucas suspected Seth had copied him to win his approval.

  Bianca didn’t comment on that photo. Maybe she noticed the sadness.

  Setting the photo back down, Lucas tried to push memories away. Nothing to be gained by dwelling on the past.

  He strode to the kitchen, still carrying Bianca, and stopped in the doorway.

  “Eeww, Daddy, something stinks.”

  “Yeah, I noticed.” He put his free hand over his nose as he walked into the kitchen to check it out. Dirty dishes cluttered the counter top and sink. Trash was strewn all over the floor. Had his father turned into a slob toward the end?

  Lucas’s eyes searched for the trash can. It was beside one wall of cabinets, lying on its side and trash spilling out everywhere. That didn’t explain how the trash got all the way across the room. And how did the can get knocked over? No ants or bugs or mice, that Lucas could see, which was a blessing considering it must have been that way for weeks. His father had been dead almost that long, having been found unconscious on the living room sofa by a concerned neighbor. An ambulance ride and a few hours in the hospital . . . and he was gone.

  Lucas looked around, trying to decide what to do with Bianca while he cleaned up the mess. “Honey, I need you to sit here at the kitchen table for a few minutes, okay? Stay put.”

  After setting her down, he pulled the old garbage bag out of the trash can and tied it shut. Looking underneath the sink, he pulled out a box of trash bags and quickly filled it with the overflowing trash on the floor. Making an instant decision, he started dumping the dirty plates, silverware, dirty glasses, coffee mugs, and dried up food stuck on dishes and in the sink. No use trying to salvage the dishes. They were old and mostly scratched and chipped, anyway.

  Once finished with that chore, he took Bianca by the hand and led her through the rest of the main floor—the living room, a small study, and a half bath. His wife Tawny had suggested he check out the house to see if anything in it was worth selling. She said she knew of a company that held estate sales for people. He’d actually wanted to just hire someone to come in and haul everything away that wasn’t attached or that wouldn’t go with the house when they sold it, but he’d listened to Tawny. She was always the voice of reason, when he was too emotionally involved to think clearly.

  Well, the house itself was old but, now that he had bought his own house and knew a bit more about houses and the housing market, he recognized the Victorian charm and artisan details, like wainscoting, chair-rails, cherry wood stairs and railings, and large walk-in closets. The downstairs might have a few furnishings worth selling, but nothing great. A couple of antiques, he guessed.

  He picked up Bianca and strode up the stairs. At the top, he glanced into his old bedroom. Small, mostly empty, except for a twin bed and a chest of drawers that had served their purpose but held no sentimental value. He continued on, passing Seth’s old bedroom. Something darted across his path and he stumbled backwards. What the . . . hell was that? The mess in the kitchen sprang to mind. Oh God . . . a rat? Eeww. He gritted his teeth and tiptoed into the master bedroom, set Bianca on the bed, then bent down, and braced himself as he looked underneath the double bed. Two shiny green eyes with black slits looked back at him. A cat. Huh? Dad had a cat? Dad hated animals and would never let Lucas and Seth get a pet.

  “Come here, kitty. I won’t hurt you.” He held out his hand, trying to coax the cat out. After a few moments, it crept toward him, and Lucas reached out and petted the animal.

  “You must be really hungry. I’ll get you something to eat, okay?”

  That elicited some purrs.

  Lucas stood up and said, “Come on.”

  The cat ran out from under the bed toward the door.

  Bianca jumped up and stood on the bed clapping her hands. “Kitty. Can we keep it?”

  Lucas grabbed her off the bed and followed the cat, without answering. The last thing they needed was a pet, especially now that he and Tawny were expecting their second child in five months.

  The cat ran down the stairs and into the kitchen, where it turned and looked at him, as if saying, “Well, are you going to feed me?”

  “Okay, if you live here, there must be cat food around here somewhere.” He went into the walk-in pantry/storage room where his family had always kept food, cleaning supplies, etc. Here, the smell was even worse than in the kitchen. An overflowing cat litter box was stuck in the back corner of the panty and it stunk to high heaven. The floor was covered in cat pee and poop, too. Yuck!
That certainly explained some things.

  Finding a bag of dry cat food, he searched for and found the cat’s food and water dishes and filled them both, then emptied the litter box into another trash bag and poured fresh litter in the pan from an open box of litter he found in the pantry.

  While the cat chowed down, Lucas stroked her fur and was rewarded with more purrs.

  Bianca tried to reach down and pet the cat, but the cat backed up, causing Bianca to pull her hand away. “She doesn’t like me.”

  “She’s scared, honey. Give her time to get to know you.” Oh God, why did he say that? They weren’t keeping the cat.

  After the cat calmed, Lucas reached out and touched her collar and found a name tag. He turned it over. Hallie. “Hey there, Hallie. You’re gonna be okay. I won’t take you to the pound. Promise. We’ll find you a home.”

  The cat of course paid no attention. She finished eating and drinking, licked her paws, then sauntered out of the room.

  Bianca and Lucas followed her into the kitchen, Bianca finally getting to pet the cat, while Hallie groomed herself. “We’re gonna be friends, Hallie,” Bianca said.

  “Stay there a minute, okay.” Lucas went back into the storage room and cleaned up the floor the best he could. He would have to find or buy a bucket and mop later to really scrub down the floor, seeing as how he didn’t see either in the supply room. The kitchen floor needs a good scrubbing, too, he thought as he walked back through the kitchen to the foyer.

  “Okay, all done. Let’s go back upstairs and look around.”

  He started to pick up Bianca, but she pulled back and said, “I’m three years old. I can do it myself. Grandma lets me at her house.”