Family Skeletons: A Spunky Missouri Genealogist Traces A Family's Roots...And Digs Up A Deadly Secret (19 page)

“Yes. Why else would she be so interested in her?” She threw her cigarette butt on the ground and smashed it with her navy blue heels.

“And you have no idea who the mystery lady was?” I asked.

“The only thing I can think of was one evening when I was at John's office, a woman drove up in a red car all mad about something.”

“Was it Norah?” She nodded negative. “How do you know that the woman was angry?” I asked.

“She damned near ran over us. Came out of nowhere like she was waiting in the parking lot the whole time.”

“Did you get a good look at her? Could you describe her to me?” I asked persistently.

“No. She called John a bunch of names and took off. He ran after her, she stopped, they screamed at each other, she took off again.”

“Did he explain who she was to you?”

“Didn't ask, he didn't explain.” She looked around nervously. “Look, my cig is smoked. I need to go back to work.”

“Sure thing,” I said. “And thank you very much. It means a lot to me.”

“Yeah, whatever,” she said. She headed back toward the building.

“By the way,” I said. “Do you really play bridge?” I asked her. I found it very difficult to imagine Miss July sitting around playing bridge on Fridays.

“Love it.”

*   *   *

Sheriff Brooke sat in a booth in the corner of Velasco's. He was off duty. At least, I assumed that he was because he wasn't in uniform and he was drinking a beer. It was one of those dark beers that look more like beef broth than a brew.

I sat down across from him, and he pushed the file toward me. That action alone sparked my imagination. I felt as if I were in a spy movie, and couldn't help but glance around the dining room looking for a man in a trench coat and sunglasses and holding a newspaper.

“You can either stomach through the grotesque details and photographs, or let me summarize them for you.”

Staring at the yellowed folder, I flashed back to the day I found Norah Zumwalt. Since finding her, I've had a terrible aversion to red.

“You do the honors,” I said, pushing the folder back at him.

Just then, Kurt Emery came to our table. Kurt is African American, and attending Washington University Medical School. He's about twenty-four and works at Velasco's half of his life so that he can go to Washington University the other half. He was dressed in jeans and a shirt that said, “Just Too Sexy.”

Velasco's is a jeans and T-shirt type of place.

He pulled up a chair from an empty table and straddled it. “What can I get for you today, Torie?”

“Kurt, you know the sheriff?” I asked.

“Of course,” he said. He nodded at Sheriff Brooke, who nodded back.

“I hear that Sylvia is having heart failure over the museum,” Kurt said to me.

“Why?” I asked. I suddenly realized that I hadn't talked to Sylvia or Wilma in quite a few days.

“Something about she wanted to do a display of original documents that concerned the different founding families of New Kassel, for the museum opening.”

“So? What's the problem?”

“She's lost a whole file or something,” he said as he rested his chin on the back of the chair.

“Oh, she probably just doesn't remember where she put it. I'll go over in the morning and help her find it,” I said.

Kurt laughed. It was a sneaky sort of laugh, the kind that teenage boys give in the classroom when the teacher has chalk dust on her nose or something. “She's pretty peeved at you,” he said. “If you go over there, you better go with a broadsword and shield.”

“I'll be careful. I've fought off Sylvia more than once,” I said. Looking at Sheriff Brooke, I noticed he seemed a little agitated and had a death grip on the file. “Uh, Kurt. We'll have the special. Make it a large, extra cheese.”

“Okay, whatcha want to drink?”

“The usual.”

“Be right back,” he said. He stood up and returned the chair to the other table.

“All right, do not repeat this,” Brooke said. “Any of it.” He glanced around the room, eyes landing on the jukebox. Velasco's can be very diversionary, as it is decorated with James Dean and Elvis Presley. The entire theme is 1950s. Chuck even went so far as to hang some of his old 45 records on the walls.

Sheriff Brooke gulped down half of his beer as I waited for him to begin.

“Gwen Geise was number three.”

“What?”

“She was the third girl that year to be killed in the exact same manner. Except that she was the only one in Partut County. One took place just across the river, in southern Illinois, and the other in eastern Tennessee, which is just across the river as well.”

“So they were all within what? An hour from Ortlander's home?”

“Yup,” he said. “They were also raped.”

“Oh, God.”

“The authorities were very successful about keeping the details out of the papers. For one reason, the Tennessee woman was the governor's daughter. He paid big money to keep the rape part quiet,” he said. “Sergeant Heinze nearly lost it on this one.”

“I suppose every cop must have a case that haunts him,” I said. “What's yours?”

“This one, if I don't nail the bastard,” he said. He drank the last of his beer. Running his fingers through his hair, he sat back against the booth. “I talked to the captain down there who was a rookie when Sergeant Heinze retired. He said that Heinze is dead now, so I can't even talk to him.”

“Was Ortlander one of the suspects?” I asked.

“He was at the top of the list. Ortlander knew the girl well and was seen with her the day she disappeared. Heinze didn't have enough evidence to arrest him. Ortlander took off for the war and never came back.”

“So Heinze thought that his suspect got killed and dropped the investigation.”

“Yup. I have to admit, I never would have made the connection to Eugene Counts if it weren't for you. And I never would have known that he was actually Ortlander. I'm indebted to you.”

“Don't mention it.” I suddenly felt incredibly guilty that I'd been keeping things from him. “So you think that Ortlander killed Norah? She wasn't raped, nor were the wounds alike.”

“Well, if he did kill these women, which we can safely assume considering Eugene Counts was killed with the same type of wound, I think it establishes that he is capable of committing Norah's murder.”

“Heartbreak Hotel” came blaring from the jukebox. “Have there been any other murders with this modus operandi in the last ten years?”

“No. But if he's still killing, he may have changed his MO or just made sure the bodies were never found.”

Chills went down my spine. This was giving me the heebie-jeebies. “Why get sloppy now?”

“Sloppy? We have virtually nothing in the way of physical evidence. Granted, if I can get the okay to have him arrested, I might be able to match some fibers or something up to him. But I wouldn't say he was sloppy.”

“Well, why not get rid of her body? Why not abduct her, kill her somewhere else, and dump the body? It doesn't seem like his style.”

“Maybe he was frantic. Maybe she made the connection that he wasn't Eugene and confronted him, and he wanted her silenced immediately. Maybe he got interrupted and couldn't get rid of the body. There are all sorts of possibilities.”

Kurt brought us our pizza. Mushroom, pepperoni, sausage, and onions. That was the Velasco Special, and it was the best pizza in a hundred miles.

“It's hot,” Kurt said.

We ate in silence for a few minutes. Sheriff Brooke seemed to enjoy the pizza thoroughly.

“Okay, all right. I confess,” I said.

“What to?” he asked. “Damn, this pizza's good.”

“I had lunch with Zumwalt. Don't look at me like that. He invited me.”

“Did he confess to the murder of his ex-wife?”

“Don't give me that condescending attitude, Sheriff. Of course he didn't confess.”

“Well, John Murphy confessed to you but not to us, that he was having an affair. I just thought maybe Zumwalt might follow his example.”

“Murphy told me he was having an affair so that I could lay my own demons to rest. He had no intentions of any of you finding out. He told me he'd deny it if it got to police level.”

“So? What did Zumwalt say?”

“He said we were investigating the wrong family member.”

“Who does he want investigated? Jeff and Rita?”

“I can only assume,” I said through a piece of pizza. “He alluded to a lot. And he told me everything with the risk of being exposed wholeheartedly as a pervert.”

“They don't put you to death for being a pervert,” he said.

“They should.”

“Well, they don't. But they do put you to death for coldblooded murder. I think I would choose the same way he did.”

He always finds the string to unravel my carefully crafted theory.

“I'd like to talk to some of her employees at the antique shop,” I said.

“We already did that.”

“Yeah, but did you ask them about Jeff and Rita?”

“What do you know?” he asked.

“Nothing. Something just doesn't feel right, that's all.”

Kurt came back to the table then, smiling his contagious smile. “Need anything else?”

“You can refill this soda for me. Otherwise we're okay,” I said.

“Sure. Just leave when you're finished. You know your money isn't any good here.”

Sheriff Brooke raised an eyebrow at that statement. I smiled sweetly. See? Some people like me.

“You tell that gorgeous mama of yours that I said hello,” Kurt said as he walked away.

“I will.”

Sheriff Brooke gave me a strange look. It was as if he had seen me for the first time.

“What?”

“Is there nobody in this town that looks at you the least bit objectively?”

“What the heck do you mean by that?”

“I think they should make you honorary mayor. You have the entire town eating out of your hand.”

“I do not.”

Do I?

After several moments of silent contemplation he finally said, “So, how is that gorgeous mother of yours?”

“Too old for you.” Oh God, I couldn't believe I actually said that. I turned a deep red; I could tell by how hot my face suddenly became.

“You're so protective of her.”

“Look, can we get back to the investigation here?”

“Hey, don't get any bright ideas. The only reason I shared this part about the girls with you was to show you how dangerous Ortlander is. I want you to promise you'll stay away from him.”

“I have no intentions of ever going back to see him,” I said.

“Good,” he said. “'Cause this is my investigation. You are a civilian and I could throw you in jail for interference.”

“You won't,” I said, and smiled. He did not smile at me. Instead he gave me the scowl that is his trademark.

I get the funny feeling that he hates me.

 

 

NEW KASSEL GAZETTE

T
HE
N
EWS
Y
OU
M
IGHT
M
ISS

by Eleanore Murdoch

My deepest sympathies to Mayor Bill Castlereagh, whose restaurant, the Old Mill Stream, finally succumbed to Mother Nature. It is such a calamity. But thanks to our own Torie O'Shea, Elaine Dinwiddie, Chuck Velasco, and others, the Castlereaghs were able to save most of the contents within the building. The museum is opening soon. Volunteers are needed. Sign up at the Gaheimer House.

Ricky Reaves, owner of the Birk/Zeis Home, is pleased to announce that his wife gave birth to a darling little girl that looks just like him. He is particularly pleased that she looks nothing like his mother-in-law. After sixteen hours of labor, the beautiful girl weighed in at seven pounds and 14 ounces. They named her Katherine Rose. Until next time.

Eleanore

Eighteen

It was Friday morning and I was at my office at the historical society. It was too early for the Pershings, I was hoping. I thought I'd find Sylvia's missing file and catch up on some work before they came in, and maybe that would make up for my slacking off lately. Besides, my father and his buddies were coming for the jam session that night, and I wouldn't get anything done all weekend.

The Midwest had made the covers of every major news magazine that there was, because of the flood. Our levee was still holding, and it actually seemed like the water had gone down a few inches.

I thought I would do a flood theme for the museum opening. Surely there had been a flood in the past that made the news, and that would tie in quite interestingly. Sylvia kept all of the newspapers on file downstairs in the basement, so I headed down there to see what I could find.

It's not a basement, really. It's more of a cellar. The steps are just unfinished boards, and the floor and walls are concrete, resulting in a musty odor. A lightbulb hangs from the ceiling, exposing wires. I have no idea how Sylvia can stand to come down here.

Filing cabinet number one: nothing of interest. Filing cabinet number two: newspapers. I opened the drawer and inside was every page of every copy of the
New Kassel Gazette
that had ever been printed. Each one had been laminated so that it wouldn't tear or yellow, and was filed according to year.

Well, I didn't know what year a flood had occurred, so I would be there all day or I'd have to ask Wilma when she came in. But I was hoping to be finished before they came in. I glanced around the room, and my eyes landed on the filing cabinet on the other side of the room, which I had never looked in. It was the one filing cabinet that had no tags to tell me what was inside, and the one cabinet that was usually locked. Only this time, the top drawer was open by about an inch.