While Sheski and Mike were busy interviewing Dr. Stone and his daughter, Doug went in search of Barry, the gardener. The trooper drove to the three-room shotgun cottage that Barry rented near the now abandoned armory at the end of West Mahoning Street in Danville. If he was hiding out there, Doug wanted to get to him before he was involved in more violence.
It was dark when Doug arrived, making the small home, sitting back from the road, appear spooky to the young trooper. He stepped onto the front porch and peered through the door window. He reached for the white glass doorknob and, finding it unlocked, pushed it open, and called loudly for Barry to come out. The statie waited for a reply. Receiving none, he called out again and then slowly stepped inside. He reached around the doorway and groped the wall for a light switch.
The ceiling light came on, casting a muted yellow glow around the small cottage. Doug cautiously moved from one room directly into the other. There was no sign of the occupant. Used furniture that Barry had purchased at the Salvation Army was polished and carefully arranged in each of the three small rooms. Doug shuffled along an outside wall of what appeared to be the main sitting room, pausing to rest his hand on a dark Mission-style end table. The cottage interior was eerily neat and clean and gave no clue to its inhabitant's whereabouts.
Doug's heart was pounding. He pulled his gun from its holster near his right ribcage and continued slowly through each of the three rooms, to the back door, and out into the yard. He warily stepped onto the brick sidewalk in the tiny grassy area, looking back and forth for signs of the gardener. Several stray cats, waiting at dishes that had been placed near the back of the house, screeched and scattered out of sight, frightening the policeman. Sweat beads rolled down his fair skin and onto his dark uniform. The home's occupant had obviously been feeding quite a few of the strays regularly, judging from the eight or ten empty aluminum pie plates in view, Doug thought. Licked clean, they didn't look like food had been placed on them recently. The young statie walked the outside perimeter of the neatlykept house, detecting nothing of interest. He looked for Barry's truck, but it was nowhere in sight. Hearing Mahoning Creek gurgling nearby, he gazed in its direction through the shadowy woods behind the cottage and decided to look no further.
Relaxing from having found the property empty, and eager to stay in Sheski's good graces, Doug immediately telephoned the lieutenant to keep him posted.
Sheski listened closely as Doug reported in, turned to observe Mike keeping Dr. Stone occupied, and then told Doug to continue his search. Frowning, Sheski made his way back to the others.
"Oh, by the way," the doctor said to Sheski when he got within hearing distance, "I made up a list for you of the jewelry that Rose was wearing today." He showed the lieutenant a paper with hastily-scribbled words on it. "I'll have it typed and faxed to your office by tonight." Sheski thanked him for responding so quickly to his request.
The trio stepped up to the front door of Karen Stone's farmhouse and knocked. Her father was a few steps behind the state troopers.
Opening the door was an attractive young woman, obviously distraught, but composed enough to invite them in. She eyed her father, who immediately reached out to hug his daughter. With her arms at her sides, she let him embrace her and tell her how sorry he was. Karen started to cry and said nothing to him. She soon pulled away and motioned for them to sit down on an expensive-looking yellow sofa. Karen remained standing, anxiously pacing back and forth.
Sheski and Mike sat on the couch while Dr. Stone lowered himself into a nearby cherry rocker. The home was decorated in Early American antiques with plenty of chintz and soft cushions to make it cozy and comfortable.
"I'm Lieutenant Thomas Sheski and this is my partner, Lieutenant Mike James," Sheski said, motioning toward his partner. "We're sorry about your mother."
Mike extended his hand to Karen, murmuring his condolences. The young woman shook his hand.
She had regained control of her emotions enough to ask what she needed to know about her mother's death.
"Do you know who killed my mother?" Karen asked. Without waiting for an answer, she said, "I can't imagine how they got into the gated community without being seen. Unless they came in by that back road. I told you to get that road closed off," she said, turning to her father.
He looked uncomfortable but did not reply.
Her face and voice softened as she then asked how the murder happened.
Mike began to work the magic for which he was known by his peers. He calmly, gently, and with great care told Karen what details he could of her mother's murder. Leaning forward toward the young woman, he looked her in the eyes and his face presented an empathetic, understanding expression. His hands were relaxed on his legs and he occasionally provided her with opportunities to ask questions.
Mike left out critical privileged information and some of the gruesome details. Until the murderer was brought to justice, the police could not reveal everything.
Karen listened silently, her face belying her inner pain as the story was told. Skillfully, Mike walked her through the crime scene. How the body was discovered, the APB for Barry Brown, and the missing jewelry. It was at this point that Sheski saw her fingering an exquisite one-carat diamond on her right pinky finger.
Noticing the lieutenant's glance at her ring, Karen held it out for him to see. Tears were streaming down her face.
"This is an exact replica of my mother's stolen diamond. Father gave Mother hers when I was born. On my tenth birthday he presented me with this."
The two policemen admired the flawless stone set in platinum. Neither could fathom a ten-year-old receiving such an expensive gift. Neither lived in the same world as the Stones.
"Miss Stone," Sheski began.
"Call me Karen, please," she said.
"Karen, I have some questions that I must ask you. Please don't be offended; we must ask these of everyone close to your mother."
"I understand" Her misty eyes were downcast.
"Where were you today between the hours of three and five P.M.?"
Dr. Stone got up off his chair and said firmly, "She doesn't have to answer anything. What do you mean asking her that kind of a question at a time like this? Can't you see how upset she is? Karen, don't say anything until I get Jerry here."
Both staties knew Jerry Smithson, the Stones' family attorney, from past cases. He was a hard-nosed, capable lawyer but could quickly become annoying. He was always trying to drum up business wherever he was. In the grocery store, on the street corner, wherever, it didn't matter to him. Everyone was a potential client.
Karen spoke up. "Father, I can take care of myself. I have nothing to hide. Now, please," she said pleadingly, "wait out back in my studio while we finish this interview."
"I will not. You can't order me around. I'm your father," he said. Dr. Stone looked concerned as he added, "You don't know what they might ask you without Jerry present. You might say something that they could use against you later."
"I have nothing to hide," Karen replied. "Wait quietly in the studio while I talk with these men, or just go home"
Unwilling to leave at this point, Dr. Stone shot the troopers a frown. He went down a hallway to a room in the back of the house and they heard the studio door bang shut before they resumed their questioning.
Sheski rephrased the original question. "Can you tell me about your afternoon?"
"I was here working in my studio." She motioned to the back room. "I have an art show coming up in the spring and I was preparing for it."
Sheski then told her that his colleagues had tried to contact her by telephone right after the body was discovered, but got no answer.
"I didn't hear the phone. When I'm concentrating on a project, I turn the ringer off so I won't be interrupted."
"Can anyone vouch for your presence here? How about your fiance, Jess Walter? Your father told us about him."
"I'll just bet he did," Karen spat out. "Did he tell you about their shame? How I embarra
ssed them by getting involved with a black man? The bigots." She began to get intense, causing Sheski concern that Dr. Stone would hear her. Karen recounted her version of what happened on Valentine's Day, the last time she had been in her parents' home.
"You see, this is a small town we live in. And there are still a few people in our community with small minds. That includes my parents. When they saw who I brought to meet them that evening, they threw us out!" she exclaimed. "And for the first time in my life, my mother raised a hand to me. She slapped me hard across the face when I told them I had no intention of leaving Jess. I couldn't believe it! She slapped me! Did he tell you that?" she said, looking in the direction of the room where her father waited. "I bet not"
At that point, farm walls without insulation did their deed. Dr. Stone came flying out of the studio and practically ran up the short hall to the parlor where they were talking.
"You had it coming, Karen," he shouted at her. "You broke our hearts. We gave you everything. You could have had your pick of men. Your mother never got over that scene. She died with that on her mind."
"I see you haven't changed, Father." She looked sad and her face clouded over. "You still can't get past your prestigious community standing. My happiness means nothing to you. It just might get in the way of your making more money. That is all you care about. I thought maybe ... Oh, never mind. I want you to leave now."
Without looking back, Dr. Stone hastily left the house, leaving the front door ajar. Karen firmly pushed it shut behind him.
They heard the engine noise as his car went flying up the lane, stones and dirt scattering behind it. Tires screeched when contact was made on the paved road above the farm. Looking out the front window, Mike could see the headlights heading back toward town.
Sheski took his seat again and the detectives waited for Karen to calm down. She walked into the kitchen, silently made coffee for all of them, and invited the policemen to sit around an oak pedestal table. She brought cups of dark, aromatic coffee for the three of them and placed them on individual placemats. Sheski stirred his coffee and stared at the Bucknell University bison on his mug.
Mike got out of his chair to look at the various pieces of artwork on the knotty pine walls. There were colorful watercolors of children and local points of interest, but what had his attention was a two-by-two oil painting hanging above a pine dry sink filled with cut glass. A P could be seen in the lower left corner of the scene, with a child's face staring out from the loop. So detailed and realistic was the visage inside the capital letter, that viewing the tiny angelic face alone was worth the look.
Noticing his interest in the artwork, Karen said, "The watercolors are mine. I did them. That's an original Pratt you're looking at," she explained. "It was a birthday present to me from my parents" She then proceeded to tell the lieutenants the gruesome Pratt history, ending by explaining the value and rarity of his artwork. "There are only a few paintings around," she went on to say. "The historical society has them all catalogued if you're interested in learning more about them"
"I saw some of his work at the hospital, in the halls and in your father's office," Sheski said. "It's hard to believe that such a disturbed person could produce such fabulous art"
"Sometimes all that manic energy can produce artistic results. Remember Van Gogh," Karen said. "He was insane, too, but produced the most sought-after paintings of all time."
"Your grounds here at the farm are beautiful, too," Sheski said. He was a little surprised when Karen told him that John Deadly had prepared the layout for her landscaping.
"He doesn't look as if he would know anything about flowers, but he is brilliant with plant placement and landscaping. He designed the ponds here, also. When he found out that I had purchased this place, he volunteered his expertise. I couldn't pass it up. He's that good"
That man is full of surprises, thought Sheski.
Karen appeared relaxed, so Mike redirected the conversation to their investigation. "Can you tell us where Jess Walter is?" he asked.
Karen explained to the detectives that Jess had been at Bucknell University working all day. She also told them of her unsuccessful efforts to contact him. She no sooner finished her sentence when a vehicle was heard coming down the driveway toward the house.
"That had better not be Father again," Karen said. "If it is, go tell him I don't want to see him right now. No, wait. I'll tell him myself," she said determinedly, getting out of her chair.
Sheski went to the kitchen window, hoping it wasn't Dr. Stone. He looked out, turned back to Karen, and said, "It's a new black sport utility vehicle."
"Thank God," Karen said soberly. "That's Jess" She hastened to the door to greet him.
Jess Walter parked next to the lieutenants' car and came through a side door. He was about five-feet-eightinches tall. A good-looking black man, who appeared to be in some distress.
Karen threw herself into his arms when he got inside the house. Jess lovingly held her, looking anxiously over her shoulder at the two men at the kitchen table. They, in turn, were looking back.
Eyes widened, Karen looked at Jess. "Where have you been?" she asked. "I've been trying to get a hold of you."
"And so have we," Sheski said.
"I've been working at my office. I haven't felt good for the past couple of hours so I took a short nap at my desk. I still don't feel well, Karen, I need to lie down," he said wearily. Murmuring an apology, he wandered down the hall to a bedroom.
"Can you please come back another time?" Karen awkwardly asked of the policemen. Looking anxious, she advanced to the door and opened it for them.
Mike and Sheski exchanged skeptical glances but agreed to return when Jess was feeling better. "We'll keep you posted with any news we may have, Karen. We'll be talking to you and Mr. Walter again ... soon."
Karen nervously observed the staties get into their car and exit the driveway onto the upper road. Only after she was sure they were really gone did she hasten to the bedroom for an explanation.
SATURDAY MORNING
Lana awoke early, feeling better and eager to enjoy her day off. In her robe and slippers, she stepped out onto the porch to retrieve her morning paper. The headline was not going to make Tommy happy, she thought. "DANVILLE SOCIALITE MURDERED," it said in big block letters. Underneath that provocative headline, in smaller type, was a zinger. "Town Fearful as Police Investigate." A large picture of a much younger Mrs. Rose Stone peered out from the center of the page with a caption noting her numerous charitable activities. Lana read the article twice, paying particular attention to their mention of her own role in the nightmare. She put it aside when she found herself getting a headache.
After working for a couple of hours on Stone Haven paperwork, Lana had the remainder of the weekend free to pursue her personal interests.
She fed Bunky, who was prancing around her heels, and went upstairs to get ready for the day's activities. After showering and putting on makeup, she donned blue jeans, a scarlet Rutgers sweatshirt, socks, and black leather boots. Small gold earrings and a bracelet and watch finished off her outfit.
Lana observed herself in the mirror and was pleased with what she saw. Counting calories was an everymeal event in order to keep her trim figure, but it paid off. She still carried her high school weight and could get into her old cheerleading outfit.
She was looking forward to meeting her friends at the The Bridge Stop, their favorite diner, for their 11 A.M. soup and coffee klatch. She turned to hurry down the curved stairway and picked her gold cross off her jewelry box. Saying a silent prayer for the murderer's apprehension, she placed it about her neck.
Ever since Lana had returned to town, the group of old friends met on Saturday mornings at the same window table of the diner. Included in the group besides Lana were Connie Thomas, Barbara Clark, and Cindy Fox. Connie's friendship with Lana was the longest and dearest. Their relationship went back to the third grade at the now-razed brick school in Riverside where they clapped e
rasers together on the iron fire escape and played jump rope at recess.
Connie was married for thirty-plus years to her high school sweetheart and had two children. A petite blond, the once-skinny classmate of Lana's now was plump. She didn't care. Her job as a clerk at the Montour County courthouse and her family kept her too busy to worry about the extra pounds. Besides, her husband loved her just the way she was. Connie was fun to be with and could be counted on to keep a secret. Their friendship had endured Lana's departure to college and years of working in other cities. When Lana returned to town, they picked up as if they had never been separated.
Barbara Clark, a first grade schoolteacher, was also with Lana and Connie in the class of '65 at Danville High School. The three of them had been cheerleaders together, and shared many fond memories of their school years. Unlike Connie, Barbara was quiet and introspective, though somewhat nosy. The brown-eyed brunet still kept her slim figure, much to the happiness of her accountant husband, John. This was Barbara's second marriage, neither of which had produced children. That was by choice. She enjoyed teaching everyone else's offspring, but wanted peace and quiet when she came home.
Cindy Fox was the last of the foursome. Cindy was a year younger than the other friends, something which she happily held over their heads like a hammer. When birthdays rolled around she reminded them that she was the youngest of the group. They all had a good laugh about it and would kid her that she looked older than they, so it didn't really matter. Cindy was tall, willowy, and a natural redhead. A business major, she had married her college sweetheart. Together they had opened a restaurant/motel on the edge of town, which flourished until she caught her husband of five years in bed in room 113 with their accountant. The shock of the confrontation nearly killed her. She wouldn't come out of her house for two weeks, barely eating a thing. If it weren't for the good friends gathered with her today, she would probably still be there. They'd dragged her out of bed, bathed, dressed, fed her, and cried with her. With their help, Cindy had the strength to recover and face the future. She convinced her husband to quietly sign over the business and divorce papers, and she hadn't looked back. Presently, she had been dating an old school friend who was now a partner in a law firm in Williamsport. The last she heard of her ex, he had moved to Harrisburg and opened a small gift shop.
Stone Haven Page 5