Ray started laughing. A twinkle came back to his eyes. He said, "Yes, the two sons were caught stealing myrtlewood. They were out on bail when they were busted again down Gold Beach way. This time no bail and as Walt had used his business for bond, they closed the place down. Ironically, there isn't any real good myrtlewood shops open anymore."
"Have you thought about opening the wood shop to a tourist trade," asked Ben.
"I've thought about it Ben, but it would be too time consuming. I'm happy playing around here and with our restaurant. I've enough to do as it is."
Rory looked at his watch and saw it was almost ten pm. It was almost time for the play to open its curtain. He decided to go wash his hands and face to wake up a little before the action began.
At ten thirty Stacy took a shower and got ready for the nights action. Easy was right behind her and then they had a homemade blueberry muffin with tea. Fran was fussing around the kitchen as usual. She had just returned from the shop where she'd left a dozen muffins for the hungry men.
By eleven pm, Connie had arrived along with the three security guys in a van driven by James. Two disappeared into the darkness with a communication device to alert those inside if anyone was coming. Connie went inside and sat down with the girls. She said, "How you doing Stacy?"
"I'm scared but that's the way I think I should feel. If this guy can get around all of my personal body guards, then he deserves to have me. It's not the first time I"ve been targeted. I really hope this is the last time however. It felt good having Easy with me. I know she has her regular duty, but sure wished we had more time together."
"I forgot who said it but it goes like this: 'Be careful what you wish for as it might come true.' Or something like that."
Stacy and Easy both were cracking up over that one. Easy said, "I've some vacation coming and maybe I'll come out and hang out in Eugene. There's one thing about this coastal climate it's nice clean air, but chilly."
Ray came in and said, "I think it's time to get ready Stacy." Stacy got up and put a on light coat to ward off the chill that might over take her while sitting doing nothing. In the shop, Rory crawled under the table. Ray drilled home the screws essentially jailing Rory in a very dark place. Ben and Sam manned two corners of the net above the table. Easy and Ray would man the other two.
It all went down faster than they thought, as they had almost thirty minutes before midnight to kill away. Outside the three security agents were wearing night glasses and on alert. By five minutes to twelve they had not seen or heard anything from the killer.
John Iron Hawk after an afternoon behind some trees away from the ground security, now waited patiently just behind and slightly under the motor home. He had been there for over an hour. The three security guys were not a problem. And he knew the owner had disconnected the security system to make it easier for him. Just before he took his place under the back of the motor home, he had seen through the kitchen window three women sitting at the table talking. His mark seemed at ease and he liked that about her. He had discovered that she was indeed a very good detective, but alas, out of his league. Iron Hawk was not quite sure how to play this out, but once inside he would let his heart run the program. His mental clock told him it was time to greet his waiting guests.
He smiled when the side door was unlocked. It really did not matter whether locked or unlocked for John the Ghost Walker.
-15-
Days, weeks and months went by trying to glean what exactly happened that fateful night with Stacy as bait for a killer. One thing for sure it was a distracter that allowed the killer into the wood shop. John had tossed a small pebble onto the tin roof of the wood shop. To those inside it sounded like a gun shot. Nobody saw or heard John enter the wood shop and hide behind the wood stove watching all the players.
From a quick glance he saw the net above the table with the girl sitting in the middle. He smiled and then his keen eyes saw the rectangle square where the trap door was. Also men were stationed at the corners with the old man not six feet away from him at the corner next to the back of the shop. The other woman stood half way down the right side of the table with her arms folded across her chest. John thought this was the most obvious trap he could imagine. It was so simple he wondered if they really were that naive about setting a trap to catch him.
His concentration returned to the game at hand. He would put the old man under his power and then take care of the girl. He almost smiled thinking about this being child's play. In a flash he was behind the old man with a hunting knife at his throat. Ray let out a throaty sound as all eyes in the shop turned towards him. John said, "Put all of your weapons on the table. Don't be stupid and try anything really dumb to cause me to end this old man's life. It's the daughter I want. She is just too big for her pants, as an old Whiteman's expression comes to my mind."
John watched as they all, including the woman standing, placed their weapons on the table. Under the table Rory could hear the voices very clearly. He wondered what Stacy was thinking and if she had a plan of escape. No way did he ever think she would be assassinated in her father's wood working shop. Ideally, he thought he could bust out of here and shoot the killer between the eyes, but realistically knew that would not happen. He took a deep breath and tried to relax under the table. He resigned himself to being unable to provide any useful hope above his head.
John said, "I know you agents all have ankle pistols and would you set them on the table as well. It's useless to play any games with me. If I wanted to I could kill all of you before you could react. So if you want to die, try me on if you so desire. The old man goes first, second is the Marshall sitting on the table and on down the line."
Two of the agents had ankle pistol and both placed them on the table. It was at that point when Stacy felt her life drain away. Is this how my life ends? How could this happen, she thought? I'm supposed to be smarter than this. If I'm killed in front of my father, his life would be over whether alive or dead. Rory would survive and most likely find another woman to admire. Stacy decided to turn and look at her father for as long as she was still breathing. This could be the last time she saw her father and she would go meet her mother in heaven. He looked back at her with the same thoughts. She felt his love cross to her, and that made her feel slightly better. It was time to say a prayer.
Unknown to everyone, behind the door to the house stood Fran with her toe in the door to keep it from closing. It was only a few inches ajar. She was watching the events unfolding with fear running up and down her spine. The thought of losing either one of her new family, was too much to bear. She could not let that happen. However, the knife at her husband's throat bothered her. She prayed that he would lower the knife and spare her husband. A few second went by and she raised her eye lids seeing the knife slowly drop away from the throat of Ray.
A loud shot rang out and the killer's body slowly dropped to the floor. Fran had shot him in the head. Ray, was frozen, as all were for a few seconds. It was Stacy, who stood up and ran to her father who caught her flying off the table into his arms. Fran opened the door and walked in with her 38 police special pistol falling to the floor. She wrapped her arms around both husband and step daughter with tears streaming down her face.
Easy, ran over to make sure the killer was actually dead and not just wounded. With a hole in the back of his head, she realized he would not regain any life. He was in transit to the happy hunting ground.
Later, when all had sort of quieted down, everyone wanted to know how she could handle a pistol so well. They were in the house sitting down in the living room. Fran, stood in front of the fireplace and said, "My first husband was ex military. He thought everyone should know how to handle a pistol for protection. We spent countless hours at a practice range until I could shoot very well. I've always kept the pistol with me and kept it in good shape in case I ever needed it. Well, it looks like I really did need it, and thank to my first husband for teaching me how to shoot."
"Murder at
the Book Worm Club"
-1-
It was the end of the summer season in Eugene, Oregon. A long five months had passed by since US Marshall Stacy Foreham had the daylights frightened out of her. Sadly, hardly a night had passed that the reoccurring nightmare has not attacked her, just as the killer did on the night he stealthy entered her bedroom while she slept.
It happened while she was investigating a homicide in her hometown of Bandon, Oregon. She had been staying with her father, the former Police Chief, Ray Foreham, and her on again off again boyfriend, US Marshall Rory Caltex. The memory of the call had come in that the new Chief of Police had been stabbed and scalped in his office. Not a clue was found. The next victim was the director of a Native American Alzheimer's clinic. He too, was found stabbed and scalped. No clue was found at either crime scene.
Stacy and her team went to work investigating with their usual vigor. The killer was not happy to have her snooping around, so he left a calling card on her chest while she slept. He used his own blood to put an X over her heart with a note saying: ''Stop looking or die.''
The case was eventually solved, but the mental scars remained. Her boss had come from back east with body guards and security agents to protect her. They all decided that to catch the killer, a trap was needed. Now, every time she thought about the trap being set, with her as bait, she had the makings for a night of troubled sleep. It was beginning to affect her work as well as her personal life. Her best friend, Cathy Wilson, head of the cities CSI unit in Lane County, was working overtime to help her friend past this rough patch.
It was fortunate, that the current summer in the Willamette Valley, and the Southern Coast had been relatively free of any major crimes. What major crimes occurred was handled by Rory and his deputy Ron Red Feather from Portland, Oregon.
Locally, a part of the team worked out of the Oregon State Police Office in Eugene. Detective Ben Razor was always on call to assist Marshall Stacy Foreham at moment's notice. The three, Stacy, Rory and Ben were the nucleus of the team.
Presently, all of her team members, office staff and family, were concerned about her mental condition. Her record of solving homicides was second to none. Her record was perfect. The worst thing that could happen now would be a homicide on her front doorstep. And that is just what happened. Would Marshall Stacy rise to the challenge; or swim in her pity.
-2-
"Come on Stacy, damn it, snap out of the wallowing you're making yourself choke on. You're too young to give up now. The bastard is dead and gone. You're just fine, and after these last months of being lower than a snakes belly, get up and let's return to life! You've a job to do," said her friend Cathy sitting across from Stacy in the Marshalls' office.
"I've tried Cath – lord have I tried. I seem to do okay if I sleep with someone, but if alone, the darkness creeps into my head while this long shiny hunting knife is plunged into my heart. And then the pounding of the drums happens. I wake up breathing hard, and cold with fear."
"Get a pet-- like a cat. The cat can sleep with you, but," as her lips formed a seductive grin, "The cat can't replace Rory."
Stacy laughed and said, "Why not. I'll get Sharon to search the internet for a cat."
It was later that night Stacy went home feeling a bit better than before. She walked around her apartment area on a very warm evening. Rory had called while she sat watching the center fountain spout water making small rainbows from the dying sun. He told her he was coming down tomorrow on a business trip and would be in her office in the afternoon. That news perked Stacy up. Now she had two things going for her tonight: one a new cat and her boyfriend coming down. She prayed that no nightmares would happen that night.
Amazingly enough, Stacy made it through the night without a nightmare. She marked it on the calendar at her office signifying her first night without Indian drums pounding in her head. Deputy Marshall Dan Swollow, who always picked her up, and drove her home after work, was so happy his boss was better. Dan, to refresh the reader's memory, came from Bandon where he was a police officer who had shown extraordinary abilities of being a law man. Stacy had needed a deputy and Dan Swollow more than fit the bill.
He said, after picking her up on a dreary late summer's day, which felt a little humid to Stacy, "How're you doing Stacy?"
"Much better, thanks. I drank a warm glass of milk and did some yoga to help relax myself before bed time. Let's see if it lasts. How're things at your digs?"
"Good, I think. With Emma back to work, it seems like she has more energy now. I'm happy that you've let her work four hours a day so she has the afternoons to take care of the youngster. You want any breakfast this morning?"
"Yes, for some reason, I'm rather hungry. Maybe this ordeal is finally over with. God, I hope so. Let's hit the bakery. I'll buy. Oh, by the way, Rory's coming down, so best get some extra muffins. You know how ravenous his appetite is."
~~~~~
Precisely at the very moment that morning, as Stacy and her office staff were enjoying coffee, tea and muffins, Ms. Kay Ommna unlocked her employer's front door in Bandon, Oregon. She prided herself on being on time her whole working life. Nothing gave her greater pleasure than someone telling her she had done a good job. There was one exception however, her present employer, Gloria Abrams, never had a good word to say to her, or anyone for that matter.
Ms. Ommna worked twice a week for Gloria. At first she thought that would not be enough time to clean a house of this size. It was so big it was called a mansion in its heyday just after the second war. However, she was glad now as anymore than the two days she would have quit. Gloria's tongue was sharper than razor. She hated it when she shuffled around the house looking for dust or something that had been missed on cleaning and vacuuming day.
Regardless, her pay was good and always on time. Ms. Ommna went around throwing open the drapes, and what windows that would open, to let in some fresh air off the ocean. The place always smelled like old people and especially after one of her Book Worm parties. And that was what faced Ms. Ommna that fateful morning.
First, she went to the kitchen to see how big the pile of dirty dishes was. The stack of dishes was pretty much what she expected. She shook her head at the notion that Daisy never would buy a dishwasher. Next, she went to the dining room, to see if the guests or members had cleaned up just a little bit. It too, was about normal with cake plates and full ashtrays sitting here and there. Daisy was a heavy smoker. So were two of the other members. They voted to have a smoke eater installed at book club expense.
It was not unusual for Gloria to not rise before eight am, after a late night party. Meanwhile, Ms. Ommna went to work cleaning house. An hour later, the dishes done, she put a pot of water on the stove to boil. She looked at the kitchen clock, seeing it was just after nine am and no Queen Bee around yet. She listened, hearing only the wind blowing through the windows. She became a little nervous and thought it best to go check on her boss. After wiping her hands on the kitchen towel, she made for the stairs to the master bedroom on the second floor.
The stairs creaked noisily after so many years of being walked on. Later she said she felt that something was not right. She felt her old heart pounding in her chest, as she topped the stairs, and slowly walked down the carpeted hall way, with ancient violet colored wall paper highlighted with flowers. Ugly would be a good word, Ms. Ommna thought, as she knocked on her employer's door. Nothing or not a sound came from within. Next she tried her name a couple of times and made sure it was loud enough for the old lady's slight hearing problem. Again, nothing. She tried the door knob and opened the door slowly. She stuck her head in and saw her employer laying face up in bed appearing to be asleep.
She called out her name with no response. Walking up to her side of the bed, she saw Gloria Abrams eyes wide open, mouth the same way with dried ooze that had leaked out, making the scene look like one of the novels of her book club. Gloria was cold to the touch. Ms. Ommna scurried out the door and down the stairs to the kitche
n phone. She dialed 911.
The new dispatcher at the Bandon Police took the 911 call. Sandy Jefferson answered the call saying, "Is this an emergency?"
"Well I guess so. My employer is lying dead in her bed. I didn't know who else to call," said Ms. Ommna.
Sandy went on to get the details and said to Ms. Ommna, "An officer will be there shortly. Please don't disturb anything."
Sergeant James Fletcher took the call and was on the scene in less than five minutes. Actually, you can drive from one side of the town to the other in around five minutes. James was downtown when he took the call. He went up the hill on the west side of town on the Beach Loop Road. At the top of the short hill the road made a right angle, down a half mile of straight road lined with expensive houses, which overlooked the Jetty and the Pacific Ocean.
The Abrams' estate was the oldest in the neighborhood. Old Abrams was the founder of the Abrams Lumber Co. He died in 1950. His only son, Junior born in 1944 took over at the ripe old age of twenty. The young Abrams was a natural at business. He acquired beach front property. In addition, he had at one time, owned half of Bandon. After he retired, the lumber business deteriorated, but he kept his vast land holding. He shut down the mill that was next to the Coquille River, dismantled it, and then he built a new dock system for fishermen and their boats.
He passed on almost three years prior to the date of his wife's passing. Their only daughter had run off with a truck driver never to be seen again. Abrams formally wrote her out of the will and that was that. Now James was parked in front of the driveway hurrying in to see what the fuss was about. Ms. Ommna met him at the front door with her apron in both hands wiping off whatever she thought might be on her hands.
"Hello, Ms. Ommna," said James. "What seems to be the trouble this morning?"
"Follow me, James. Gloria Abrams is dead as a mackerel in her bed." She led the way, puffing when she reached the top of the stairs. James waited for a few seconds for her to catch her breath and then she pointed to the open door just down the hall. James hurried over and after observing from a distance, decided that indeed she was dead. The coagulated drool from her mouth drew a suspicious look from him. He instantly thought of poison.
Murder at Police Station Page 12