Fatal Storm (3 page)

“A haircut?” John’s pen tapped several times
on the notepad. “Maybe she rescheduled.”

“Oh no. It’s very hard to get in to see
Enrique. He comes in from Chicago once a month and he is booked
from seven in the morning until seven at night. Sheila and I have a
standing appointment at eight o’clock.” She ran a hand through her
nest of curls, suddenly aware her hair must look a mess. “We’re
going to miss it,” she sniffed.

Leyton wrapped a beefy arm around his wife.
“I tried calling the outfit she was doing the story with, but all I
got was their recorder.”

“I’ve tried Sheila’s cell phone. She isn’t
answering,” Anna said between sniffles.

“What about her boyfriend?” John knew Sheila
dated one of the homicide detectives. Her current squeeze was Joe
Spagnola.

“She doesn’t have any boyfriends.” Leyton
shot a glare at his wife, daring her to contradict him. Unless the
boyfriend was a duke or an oil sheik, Leyton never acknowledged his
daughter was dating.

“Back to the story she was working on.” Padre
felt John had been away from interrogations for too long because he
had forgotten the golden rule to take control of the interview.

“She was spending the night at that mansion
with a ghost hunting group,” Leyton said, his voice lowered to a
whisper for fear he might be overheard by the officers in the outer
office.

“Ghost hunting?” John’s bushy eyebrows
crawled up his forehead. Why would the
Daily Herald
be doing a story about ghosts? “What
group is that?”

“That Indiana Paranormal Investigators were
spending the night at the Sebold mansion. They were setting up
cameras and filming anything and everything that moved. Sheila
planned to spend the entire night there. I thought it was a waste
of time and energy, but Sheila convinced me it was a hot topic for
our magazine section and she had an ulterior motive. She wanted to
debunk them.” Leyton checked his watch. “She said they usually
break down around five in the morning and the IPI group goes back
to their bat caves to catch some sleep before going over their
film. When Sheila didn’t show to pick up her mother this morning,
we got concerned. She usually comes early, around seven o’clock to
have breakfast with Anna. I called the doorman at Sheila’s building
but he didn’t see her come home. So we drove over and used our key
to check her condo. She wasn’t there.”

“That mansion is on the east side of town, in
an unincorporated area. Some parts of the area lost power last
night so the storm might have knocked out a couple towers.” John
went back to his list of questions. “Give me her license plate
number so I can see if we can track her car’s location.”

“HOTSTUF,” Leyton replied, another blush
rising on his cheeks. “What can I say? She’s had that vanity plate
since she was a teen.”

Padre wrote the number down and walked out of
the office.

“Any idea what she was wearing when she left
yesterday?”

Leyton looked to his wife who shrugged. “She
was going to go home and change into her grubbies first,” Anna
replied.

“Did you check out this group? Are they
legitimate?”

“Sheila did,” Leyton replied. “She showed me
their web site, but I have to confess, I thought the whole story
and what the group does is a bunch of hogwash.”

John picked up his phone and punched the
intercom. “Lou, run a check on,” he checked the notes he had
written, “Indiana Paranormal Investigators and call me ASAP.”

Padre returned and announced, “Her car is on
the east side of town, probably still parked at the mansion. I’ll
take a ride out there.”

“I’ll go with you.” John shoved the notepad
aside. The Monroes hadn’t told him anything useful.

“I’m coming with you.” Leyton stood and moved
toward the door.

“Me too.” Anna followed suit.

“Anna.” Leyton struggled to adjust from
irritation to concern. “I think it’s best if you go home, dear.
Sheila may call or stop by and no one will be home. You can call me
on my cell if you hear from her.”

John’s intercom buzzed. He answered, not
hearing anything worth writing down. “That’s it? Run a background
check, names, bios, addresses.” Satisfied, he hung up and reported,
“We don’t have any complaints or reports on the IPI. They appear to
be a reputable organization but I’m having the members checked
out.”

Leyton scoffed. “They may not have committed
any felonies but an organization that searches for anything that
goes bump in the night is hardly reputable.”

Sheila woke with a start. She took a deep
breath, letting her eyes adjust to the light. It took a few seconds
for her to remember where she was and what had happened to her. Of
course. The Sebold mansion. But why was she there? The last thing
she remembered was walking down the staircase when the flashlight
died, but then what? She raised herself up on one elbow, then
groaned and touched a bump on the back of her head. The room
started to spin and a wave of nausea forced her back down. She
didn’t remember being struck with anything. Perhaps she passed out
and banged her head on the floor. Maybe she fell down the
staircase. She vaguely remembered slipping on something, maybe the
flashlight she had dropped. She gave her eyes a few minutes to stop
spinning and focus. For one thing, this room was small, no larger
than six hundred square feet. There were bookcases so it was
probably a study or library but the library at the Sebold mansion
was huge. Perhaps she passed out and someone carried her to another
room, but who was she with?

She tried again, slowly this time, propping
herself up on one elbow, waiting for the nausea to subside. The
Persian area rug was plush and expensive. If it was one thing
Sheila was an expert at it was recognizing what was real and what
wasn’t and this rug was the real thing. The brocade couch was shiny
from wear but she didn’t recall seeing this fabric at the
mansion.

She carefully maneuvered her body to a
sitting position. No snags in her angora sweater or stains on her
black leather pants. She felt her neck. Her three hundred dollar
silk scarf was gone. She checked her wrist. The thousand dollar
watch was still there so she hadn’t been robbed. However, her watch
had stopped. She tapped it several times. The second hand didn’t
move. “Must need a battery.” Her surroundings were sparse. An
ornate lamp was on the end table and another on a writing desk.
There were two leather high-backed chairs. If she had paid more
attention to her mother’s interior decorator she would know if the
chairs were Queen Anne or Louie the Fourteenth.

She pushed herself to a standing position and
tested her legs. So far so good but she wished she had a bottle of
Tylenol about now. Shutters were folded back from the two windows
but Sheila didn’t remember any of the windows having shutters. The
windows at the Sebold mansion had velvet drapes held back by swag
ties. Not one window at the Sebold had shutters. Outside the sky
was overcast, but the light hurt her eyes nonetheless.

A chill crept through her body as she looked
out onto a field of wild flowers. One large oak tree in the yard
had a tire swing hanging from a branch. The trees should be ripe
with fall colors and the wild flowers should be nothing but yellow
stalks. These leaves were a vibrant green and wild flowers stood
strong and colorful. She moved cautiously to an adjoining room
which was twice the size of the study. A dining room table was
situated in the center of the room surrounded by ten ornate
high-backed chairs. A large buffet rested against one wall, the
glass doors protecting floral-print China. This dining room was
large but still nowhere near the size of the Sebold dining
room.

Sheila backed out of the room and stumbled
her way into the foyer where a staircase led up to another floor.
Where was her purse? Where were her keys? Thank god her Jaguar only
required her thumbprint to start. She yanked open the door and
stepped out onto a rickety wooden porch. Where was the brick
veranda? A trench of mud surrounded the house. The rain had
lessened to a slight drizzle, but where was the driveway? There
weren’t any cars. This was all wrong. There should be a street at
the end of a long driveway and street lights. Instead, an aged barn
listed in the distance, its foundation struggling to keep the
remaining clapboards held together. She held onto the railing as
she made her way along the porch to the corner of the house. Her
boots clacked along the wood. Where were the oak benches? The
overgrown hedges? She suddenly felt faint. She held onto the
railing until the dizziness subsided. This definitely wasn’t the
Sebold mansion. She wasn’t even sure she was still in Cedar Point,
Indiana. She leaned against the post and sighed. “I think I just
fell down a rabbit hole”

The three men stood on the circular drive and
studied the mansion sprawled in front of them. It was a hulking
two-story building of dark stone, sharp peaks and gargoyle-topped
turrets fitting of a Stephen King novel. Shrubs of spiked thorns
hugged the front of the mansion as though guarding it from
intruders. Ominous couldn’t even begin to describe the place. They
had driven past the entrance twice unaware of what was beyond the
tall evergreens and thick brush. The mansion was tucked in back of
acres of overgrowth.

They made their way up the drive in silence,
past the two vans with IPI printed on the sides. Leyton and Padre
stopped to inspect Sheila’s silver Jaguar. It was unlocked. Padre
punched the button to unlock the trunk. Leyton took several steps
back and let Chief Wozniak lift the trunk lid.

“Clear,” Wozniak declared. He moved several
cleaning towels aside as Leyton joined him. “Anything out of the
ordinary, Leyton?”

“No,” he replied with a sigh, almost sounding
disappointed that they didn’t find Sheila’s body stuffed in the
trunk.

Two patrol cars pulled up behind Wozniak’s
Buick and Leyton’s Mercedes. Four officers from the Cedar Point
police department emerged from each of the cars. Wozniak held up a
hand to signal them to halt. “Thought we could use some manpower to
help in the search.”

They trudged up the five stone steps to where
three people huddled on an oak bench outside the front door. A
uniformed state patrolman stood guard over the three. He was tall
and thin but stood ramrod straight. Somewhere on his resume was a
military background.

Padre could see Leyton prepare to pounce on
the three so Wozniak stretched his arm out and blocked Leyton from
advancing, but it didn’t stop the distraught father from moving
back and forth on the balls of his feet like some prize fighter
waiting for the bell to ring. The chief introduced himself, Padre
and Leyton.

“Sergeant Jack Jackson, sir. They called our
department an hour ago. Our desk sergeant told them to leave all of
their equipment and belongings in the house. We haven’t touched
anything since your call.”

“Thanks. Is your commander sending anyone
else to assist?”

“I’m the only person they could spare, but I
see you brought help.” Jackson nodded toward the two patrol
cars.

“Where’s my daughter?” Leyton yelled,
pointing a finger beyond John’s outstretched arm.

“Leyton,” John cautioned. “You can stay only
if you let me handle this. If you cause a disruption I will have
you escorted back to Cedar Point. Is that clear?” Leyton Monroe’s
right eye twitched as he grimaced in anger. John repeated his
order. “IS THAT CLEAR?”

“YES,” Leyton snapped.

A cool breeze chased leaves across the stone
veranda. The sun struggled to burn its way through the overcast sky
but the clouds were too stubborn and thick. Weather forecasters
predicted more rain and severe storms for the next two days.

“Let’s move this party inside.” John motioned
toward the door.

Padre studied the three as they stood. One
Lurch, one geek and a flower child. How could they expect to be
taken seriously? The flower child examined Leyton as though he were
a fabric swatch.

“Your aura is very dark,” she announced.

“What?” Leyton drew back and glared at
her.

“Inside, now.” John motioned everyone to
move. He flashed an unspoken message at Padre.

A stale, musty odor rushed to greet them in
the entryway. A grandfather clock loomed in the corner, frozen at
three o’clock. Dark wood paneling and faint light made the entryway
appear like an entrance into a tunnel, if it hadn’t been for what
lie beyond. A spacious room which might have been used as a
receiving area had a staircase in the middle which swept up to a
landing. From there it branched off in two directions. They craned
their necks as though admiring the Sistine Chapel.

“I don’t like this house,” the flower child
whispered.

John turned to the eight patrolmen trailing
them. “Four of you start on the first floor. The rest of you hit
the second. Look for signs of a struggle, blood, any personal
belongings of Miss Monroe’s. Don’t touch anything. Just log what
you see and report back. Got it?” They all nodded and separated
into two groups.

John sequestered everyone in the library to
the right of the staircase. The room was wall to wall bookcases
with a stone fireplace against one wall and groupings of plush
furniture dotting the floor. Various pieces of equipment littered a
long conference table. On the wall by the fireplace was a family
portrait. The man and woman were seated on a couch, one of her
hands rested on his arm. Her other arm was wrapped around a toddler
seated on her lap. The child was around two years of age. Her eyes
were bright and her hair strawberry blonde. The father had a scar
just above his right eye.

“The Sebold family, I presume?” Chief Wozniak
said.