CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Chapter Thirteen

From the woods, two men watched Lisa and her nephew. Lisa raked the leaves and pulled weeds. Little Louis was in a playpen, which kept him safe while Lisa worked. He had toys which included a truck from the Sears catalog.

Soon Louis would be in school. Lisa thought how she would miss them.

Then Louis tried to climb out of the playpen. Lisa lifted him from the playpen. Louis ran around her, sometimes helping and sometimes getting in the way. Lisa asked him to pick strawberries and gave him a small bucket. That should keep him busy.

“Hide and seek,” he said.

“Not now,” she smiled at the child.

While Lisa worked, the two men watched. They were careful that she not see them. That would spook her. Once before they had spooked her and then she had hidden all day in the house with the door locked. It had been days before she came back out even though the plants needed weeding and the chickens needed feed. Vonnie had fed the animals when she came home, so they hadn’t gone hungry.

Lisa was a strange girl.

“Don’t know why we don’t pick her.” Miles said. “We aren’t going to pin the killings on her brother anyway.”

“Don’t be so sure about that. Anyway I got a better idea.”

They kept watching.

Lisa had to go to the bathroom. “You stay where I can see you,” she said to Louis. “Don’t go wondering off where I have to try and find you.”

Louis stopped only for a moment to look at her, and then went back to picking strawberries. Lisa decided to take no chances. There was no telling how much mischief he could get into in the minute or two she was in the outhouse. She picked him up and placed him back in the playpen. Louis whined and then sat down with a big frown. “Me scared,” he said.

“There’s nothing to be scared of,” Lisa didn’t believe her own words, but she had to pee. “I’ll be right back. Stay right there, and you’ll be safe.”

Years later, she would remember how she had a premonition. Something was not right. Something stirred in the bushes. She would be be forever haunted by the little boy’s words and her own sense that something was wrong that morning.

“Me scared.” Louis repeated. Lisa was scared to.

She went to the outhouse, looked around one last time and glanced at little Louis to make sure he were all right. Then she went inside.

“Let’s have some fun,” Sonny said. He ran over to the outhouse and placed a heavy board against the outside. “Wish I had a great big rattlesnake to put in there.” He was giggling so hard, he could barely talk.

Lisa heard the plank hit the door. She stood quiet for a second. She heard the giggling. “Who’s out there?” Lisa started pushing at the door. “Let me out,” she called.

Miles just laughed and backed away from the door. He sat down and decided to enjoy her frustration.

When he looked around to see what his friend was doing, he didn’t see Sonny. Nor did he see the child. “Sonny,” he called. “Sonny.”

Lisa yelled . “Let me out.” Then the screams were just screams. Lisa wailed as the walls of the outhouse closed in on her and the darkness terrified her. She never stayed in the outhouse for more than a few minutes. She was always too afraid. Now she imagined hanged men dangling above her head or just outside the door. She imagined snakes on the floor.

“Stupid bitch.” Miles wanted to take out his gun and start shooting into the outhouse. That might attract too much attention. Dennis Cheney’s farm was just the other side of those trees. And to that side, Cheney Creek lay silent and glistening in the sun as it ran toward the Menominee River.

Where was Sonny?

A scream came from the direction of the creek.

“Damn,” Miles ran toward the creek. The ground was uneven in the woods. A recent rain storm had scattered branches. A log lay in his path, and he tripped over it. His fall was cushioned by a bed of pine needles. He got up and kept running.

When he came out of the woods, he ran right into the creek. Sonny and the boy were perhaps a hundred feet to his right. Sonny was holding the child’s head under water. Louis had stopped struggling and his wet clothing floated above the waters. He looked fat and bloated like an over stuffed little scarecrow.

Miles tackled his friend. He pushed Sonny aside and tried to grab for the child, but Sonny got up and pushed Miles aside. The two men struggled with Miles trying desperately to get to the the little boy and Sonny fighting him off. Little Louis’ body flopped to the side like a rag doll. In the distance, Lisa’s screams were a movie soundtrack from Hell.

“Too late, man. Too late,” Sonny said. He lay exhausted on the bank while Miles struggled to get up and get to the child. Even before Miles dragged the wet form from the water, he knew it was indeed too late. Little Louis was dead.

“You stupid idiot. What makes you think you can get away with that?”

Sonny slowly got up and walked away. His wet clothing hanging to him. “We can hide the body.”

“Don’t you think he’ll be reported missing? This ain’t like a woman walking away because she can’t stand Mommy and Daddy and the farm anymore.

There’ll be a hunt for the child. The tunnels will ll be searched like they ain’t never been searched before.”

Sonny shrugged. “So leave the body here. Blame the crazy.”

“She’s locked in the outhouse,” Miles reminded his friend. “When we leave her out, she’ll see us.”

“I ain’t leavin’ her out.” With that Sonny walked away.

Lisa 1970

Lisa was scared. This was her second night in jail. She disliked the dark because scary drowned things floated in the dark. She imagined that she awoke in a sunken ship or a downed airplane. Wreckage surrounded her.

She was hungry. She hadn’t eaten. If she ate, they would drug her. Who were they? The jailers. Miles Olson.

She knew what his dad had done; she would tell. She knew what he had done. But would anyone believe her? They hadn’t in the past.

They would kill her.

She must be very careful.

The lights went off at ten. At first she was too afraid of the dark to sleep. She lay staring into the blackness until her eyes adjusted. She could see shades of gray and the black cell bars. After a long time she slept.

When she awoke, it was still dark, but a faint light shown from some where, like someone had dropped a flashlight that was still on. Something hung from the ceiling of her jail cell.

She remembered. The hanging. His feet dangled in the air. His face was purple and the eyes looked right at her. And. And.

And wet sea weed. That’s what hung from her jail jell. Lisa started screaming.

1940

Vonnie had a bad cold, and she was feeling anxious to be home. Her chores were caught up and though Lucinda was having a difficult pregnancy, Vonnie knew she was needed at home.

“Go,” Lucinda urged. “There’s nothing more you can do here.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’d rather be alone. I hate to have anyone with me when I vomit.”

Vonnie smiled at that. She remembered her own pregnancy, and how she often needed to be by herself as nausea and cramps raked her.

“Honey, I can always be outside the door. Always there for you.”

Lucinda clutched her stomach and smiled. She was so big she could have swallowed a pickle barrel.

“Maybe you’re having twins.”

“One baby will be enough,“ Lucinda insisted. But she knew her husband’s mistress was expecting a baby, and Brad planned to pawn it off as their offspring. How would Brad explain two babies? Would he say they were twins? Lucinda didn’t feel well enough to think about that. It would be enough to just get through this pregnancy. She wished Jack could be with her.

“Go. Go home,” she told Vonnie. “If I need anything, my father’s here.”

Vonnie drove slowly home. At every bend in the road she expected to see some terror.

She knew she was letting her imagination get away for her. But since Ezekiel ’s death she felt vulnerable. Of course, she missed him. But it was more than that. Ezekiel had protected her. But surely she wasn’t in danger.

She felt as fearful as Lisa. She was imagining the things Lisa might imagine. A hanged man might dangle from a tree branch, his tongue purple; his red face horribly blotched and swollen; his eyes bulging.

A deer might lay at the side of the road, shot, its intestines dripping onto the dirt.

Why did she think some terror awaited her? She hardly remembered her real father and didn’t know how she felt about his disappearance. Yes, he was probably dead. Maybe he had been murdered like Jack and Lisa said he had been. Still a part of her held out hope that he might come back to them some day.

Ezekiel hadn’t taken the place of her real father. Ezekiel had been a friend, a father-figure and a needed influence in her life.

Ezekiel had been kind and patient. Thanks to him she had a Civil War widow’s pension which helped make ends meet. She owned a house, five acres and a small garden. Lisa had a place to stay and so did Jack when he came north. She had a son, and she loved little Louis more than anything.

Life had been good to her, she decided. So why this feeling of impending doom? It was like there might be a bad car wreck around the next bend in the road. Or perhaps an airplane might fall right out of the sky and destroy her home, her sister, and her son.

Vonnie drove her car into her driveway and parked as she always did behind the house.

Jack met with Abe Bernstein at the restaurant. They ordered steaks and whiskey. “I remember when this stuff was hard to get,” Abe said as he sipped his drink.

“You managed.” Jack reminded him. He didn’t believe for a minute that any of the Bernsteins had ever been so poor he couldn’t afford the best.

“So how is the private detective business,” Abe wanted to know.

“It’s not how I make my money,” Jack reminded him. “But it’s good to have an office and rub shoulders with real business men. They give me ideas.”

“Jackie, you are a real business man. So am I.”

“The cops asked me what I knew about the Michigan highway killings.” Jack said. “They ask from time to time. Some might think I was involved.”

“They figure you’re from the Upper Peninsula. You’ve been in prison there. You got connections. You have ways of finding out things.”

“I could be the killer.”

“You can’t be. You ain’t been back there.”

Actually Jack went back often. He needed to keep track of his sisters and Lucinda was expecting his baby though no one else knew that.

Vonnie saw the board wedged against the outside of the the toilet shed. Who had put that there? Why was it there? Had a snake crawled inside? There had been a huge pine snake in the back yard, but Dennis had killed it. Perhaps there was another snake.

As she neared the outhouse, she heard soft weeping. Someone was in there. Lisa? Little Louis? Lisa would not lock the child in here. Yet the crying sounded like that of a baby.

Vonnie tore the board away and swung the door open.

The weeping continued. It sounded like a small lost puppy. Lisa sat in the corner hugging her knees and sobbing uncontrollably.

“Who did this too you?”

Lisa didn’t answer. Instead she crawled out like a wounded animal might crawl after a severe beating. She crawled away from the stench; her fear followed her. It had been too complete, too overpowering to dismiss in a ray of sunlight.

“Lisa,” Vonnie made her voice as soft as she could despite her own mounting terror. “Where is Little Louis?”

Lisa stopped crawling, turned her thin body around and sat bug eyed for a minute staring into the trees. “He wouldn’t come. I begged him to let me out. After the men went away. When I couldn’t hear their voices anymore. I told him to come and sit by the door and we would wait. But then I remembered. He’s in the playpen. See over there.” Lisa looked over at the empty playpen.

Vonnie sat on the ground beside her. “Where is Little Louis?” she repeated. “Where is my son?”

Lisa looked around as if when she turned her head the child would be there. Then she started screaming.

Vonnie hurried into the house calling for Louis. No answer. She ran through every room. He had to be here someplace.

Then she grabbed the telephone. “Please help,” she cried. When the operator found Dennis’ number, Vonnie frantically told of Lisa’s imprisonment inside the outhouse and of the missing boy.

“Somebody locked her in there, and… and I can’t find Louis.”

“I’ll be right over,” Dennis promised.

“I’ll get the police.” the operator said. She had stayed on the line as operators often did.

At headquarters Miles Olson was waiting for the call.

It was Dennis who found Little Louis. He had Miles call Doc Tracie, so both Lisa and Vonnie could be sedated. Dancing Bear, Dennis’ girlfriend, served Camomile tea with some herbs including valerian.

Dennis didn’t want the women to know he had found little Louis until after Doc Tracie arrived. Miles had other plans. He said he wanted to get their reaction. Dennis pushed Miles away from the house. “You tell those two women they just lost that sweet little boy, and I’m going to break you in two, right here, right now.”

Miles backed away. Dennis was not quite six feet tall, but he was strong from farm work, and Miles believed that he could break a man in two. Anyway Miles saw his dad’s car come into the yard and decided now was not the time. He sure didn’t want a lecture from the old man on how to do police work.

Doc Tracie broke the news to the sisters as gently as he could. After an injection and some more tea. Vonnie settled down. She knew she had to be strong. Lisa sobbed uncontrollably.

“It looks like the little boy wandered over to the creek, and he may have fallen in.” Leo explained.

Lisa started talking in a calm almost hypnotic way. “The men did it,” she said.

Leo thought she had fresh information. Something that would help him find the pranksters who locked her in the outhouse. He had no idea what had really happened to the little boy. But if he caught the kids - it had to be kids - who pulled this prank and locked Lisa in the john - he planned keeping them in the jail on bread and water until they were old enough to get out of town. But surely kids had not killed the little boy.

“The men,” Lisa repeated.

“Who?” Leo asked.

Miles stood in the corner where he was thinking he should have killed her instead of just locking her in an outhouse. He knew he had to reign Sonny in. The man was too violent, and too unpredictable. At least this girl was a known crazy. Whatever she said would be dismissed as crazy ramblings.

Lisa spoke. “The men who wore bed sheets and hoods and they had torches. They did it.”

Leo sighed. Why had he even bothered to start questioning her? “What were they doing with torches in the daylight?” he asked. She could be feigning disorientation and shock. Maybe she had drowned the child herself. There was no telling what a crazy might do.

Lisa looked up at Leo; after a minute, she said, “You were there.”

He stumbled backward. He knew she was talking about that other time. The time her dad was killed. He had removed his hood, and he was sure she saw him. But she had been just a child. What did she remember?

Did she think he had anything to do with what happened to Vonnie’s son?

Doc Tracie said Lisa suffered from the worst case of shock he had ever seen. He considered placing her in a hospital.

“The men are in the yard.” she said.

Miles heart almost stopped. He was more spooked than his dad. Had she seen him and Sonny? She knew it was men, plural who had locked her in the outhouse. She knew some men had been in the yard. Was there a peep hole in the outhouse? What difference did it make? The girl was clearly crazy. She wasn’t making sense.

“What men?” asked Doc Tracie.

“I told you. They are wearing sheets and hoods and Pa said, ‘Don’t let her see.’ Then Pa was swinging and he is dead. They killed him. They came back for Louis. This time they didn’t let me see.”

“Enough,” snapped Leo. “Enough. She’s a lunatic. Always has been.”

Lisa inhaled loudly and stared at him. It was like she could see through Leo. Or she could see him wearing a sheet and pillow case. She saw him as he had looked and acted on a day long ago.

Dr. Tracie looked at the bruises on Lisa’s hands. “She’s been through a lot. The fingernails are clawed almost to the bone. Look in the outhouse. You can see where she clawed at the wood trying to get out.”

“Some kids playing a practical joke,” Miles insisted. “Maybe the drowned Brianka brat out there. Yeah. That’s must have happened. The dumb kid locked her in here and then drowned himself.”

Leo gave Miles a stare that shut him up.

“That was Ezekiel’s ’s little boy, and you will speak of the dead with respect.”

Miles frowned. Everyone knew that kid didn’t belong to the old man.

Leo continued. “Looks like the little boy wandered to the creak and drowned.”

“No.” Lisa shouted. “There were men outside. I heard them talking. And Louis was in his playpen. He couldn’t get out.”

“Get that crazy out of here,” Miles said.

“Accidental drowning,” Leo concluded.

The doctor led Lisa into the room where Vonnie was sleeping thanks to the sedative he had given her. Dancing Bear’s herbs had helped. “Can you stay with her?” Doc asked the Indian woman. He knew Dancing Bear was as dependable and as capable as the best registered nurse. If Vonnie needed care, Danni would know what to do.

CHAPTER EIGHT

That night Lisa went to bed thinking about all the rooms in the Rinaldi home. Lucinda had given her a schedule of when different rooms needed to be cleaned. Mostly the guest rooms were cleaned once a year and again when the Rinaldis expected guests. The kitchen had to be cleaned everyday and scoured once a month. Closets were deep cleaned once a year, but they might need reorganization more often. The main rooms downstairs needed to be dusted and swept daily.

It’s so much work, but Lisa wanted to do it. She reviewed in her mind where all the cleaning supplies were kept. Then she fell asleep. There were no nightmares. She felt safe and woke up smiling.

“You have a visitor,“ said the jailer.

“I don’t want to see anyone,” answered Jack. If the orphanage was bad, the Mountain Ridge jail was worse. While he had a cell to himself, it had not been cleaned. He smelled the waste products of the prisoners who had been here before him. Fresh air didn’t find its way inside.

In the picture shows, jail houses had barred windows, but he didn’t have a window. Instead he just had cement walls.

A shadow fell between the bars. He thought his visitor might be his sister, Yvonne who he had asked the jailers to keep out. Instead it was his former employer, Enrico Rinaldi. Jack jumped off the cot and to his feet. “Sir,” he said. “I didn’t do it.”

“I know you didn’t, Jack.”

“Is Yvonne okay?”

Rinaldi nodded. “Your sisters are both okay. They’re staying at my house and working.”

“Lisa? Why isn’t she at the orphanage?”

“It seems Hollander kicked her out.”

“The bastard. She needs someone to look after her.”

“Vonnie assures me Lisa can do the work.”

“Lisa,” Jack paused. He didn’t know how to tell his employer or rather former employer about his sister’s spells.

Rinaldi guessed Jack’s concern. “She’ll be fine; you’re the one in trouble.”

“I was set up. I think you know that.”

“You think the sheriff set you up?”

“The sheriff’s son. Miles Olson thinks I’m trash. Maybe he’s right.”

“Olson isn’t my concern. I know he railroaded you, and I talked to the judge. There’s no real evidence of armed robbery or even of breaking and entering.”

“I wasn’t carrying a gun. I don’t even own one.”

“But you had a pocket knife.”

“I’m your gardener. I use the knife doing chores and most men in this town carry knives.”

“I know. Look I’m getting you a year in prison.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Jack almost shouted.

“You courted my daughter.’ Rinaldi lowered his voice and spoke through clenched teeth.

The accusation surprised Jack. He and Lucinda had been discreet. How could anyone have found out?

“Sir, we were just friends, and I was leaving town. I swear. I was going to leave. I just had to figure out what to do with my sisters. I was afraid to leave them.”

“Here’s a the deal. The judge is a friend of mine, and he could give you 20 years. I already talked to him about making it one year, and then you leave the area. You never come back.”

“I have two sisters here.”

“They have guaranteed jobs with me as long as they want, and as long as you stay away from Lucinda. You do a year and when you come out, there’s a hundred thousand dollars waiting for you. The condition is that you never step foot in the Upper Peninsula again or live in any town where Lucinda lives.”

“I don’t want your hundred thousand dollars.”

“Son, you’ll be an ex con. Unemployable, and there are thousands of others looking for jobs.”

Jack didn’t answer.
 “I’ll do what I have to do to keep you away from Lucinda. Take the money, son.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll leave the U.P. when I’m released. I know I can’t have Lucinda.”

The men each knew they had an agreement.

Leo Olson called in Miles, “There’s more talk than ever about a treasure.”

“What? In old Rose’s tunnels? Pa, I don’t think one exists.” He poured himself a cup of black coffee as he talked to his dad. “Those tunnels were used for transferring liquor not for hiding treasure.”

“Tell that to the damn fools who we’re going to have to rescue. It’s only a matter of time before someone gets killed or goes missing for good.”

Miles had his own reasons for being interested in the tunnels; he had explored more of them than he wanted to admit to his dad. He didn’t like the treasure hunters that got in his way. He also didn’t like having Emil Mynter, the mining engineer, in the tunnels. And that stupid priest was probably going down in the tunnels.

Last month Mynter had rescued two brothers who had gone into the tunnels and gotten lost. They had come out with wild tales of ghosts and a secret burial ground.

“We blocked off the entrance of the tunnel that starts near highway US-2,” Miles said. Of course, his dad already knew that.

“There’re other openings. Talk to Mynter. See if you can find out exactly where they are. He’ll know where they are if anyone does.” The sheriff paused. “And find a way to permanently seal the one near US-2. Anyone with half a brain can figure out how to get around your signs and boulders.”

“Dad, we may need that tunnel available the next tine we need to get someone out.”

“I’ll talk to the priest. Now that he owns Almasy House, maybe he’ll let us go through the door in the basement that leads into the tunnels.”

“Yeah” Miles grinned. “That ole boy priest should be very cooperative.”

His dad looked up and shook his head. Both men were thinking the same thing. If there was a treasure, it would be close to the house and Hollander would want all of that for himself.

The Olsons distrusted Hollander as did many of the townspeople. Rose had always wanted to leave her money to the church. Then that priest got friendlier and friendlier, and she ended up leaving her money to him. Most people wondered if he would stay in the priesthood or marry that pretty little Elaine Dabb. She hung around him enough.

Anyway Hollander was now a very rich man and determined to get every cent he could out of Almasy House.

Penny 1970

If you ever want to perk up some kid’s interest in local history, just mention hidden treasure. Their eyes light up; they’re ready to grab shovels and start digging. Chances of finding buried treasure are about zero. It would take more gold than Fort Knox ever held to get me into any of those tunnels that snake beneath Mountain Ridge. I could never understand miners who went into the earth every day. Neither did I understand the rum runners who reportedly ran the booze through Rose’s tunnels. I’m far from brave enough to ever become a treasure hunter.

My idea of treasure is a tidbit of forbidden information included in a letter or legal document like a birth or marriage certificate.

Note to reader: Emil Mynter’s daughter, Mary Mynter Smith is now the head of the historical society where I volunteer. I have seen Emil’s maps, but they are not at the museum. Mrs. Smith keeps them locked up in her home. They are hers, not the museum’s. After all they belonged to her dad. I doubt she will ever give them up.)

1935

Emil Mynter knew the mine tunnels like he knew the rooms in his own home. He had mapped out most of the routes and kept the maps in a safe in his home. Other maps existed; the country kept records of the tunnels; the county records also detailed who owned them and where they went. These were mostly accurate as far as the mining tunnels were concerned. Enrico Rinaldi, Emil’s employer, and the other mine owners were especially good at providing detailed information on their activities.

But Rose’s tunnels were different. She had been secretive. Many believed she kept maps. Maybe she kept them in her head. County executives in Rose’s time were more interested in her booze than in her tunnels.

Emil considered asking Jeff Hollander for permission to exam any maps Rose may have left behind. But Hollander would refuse. He would look for the treasure himself if indeed there was a treasure to find. Hollander would be suspicious of anyone else interested in those tunnels.

Emil himself had attempted over the years to map Rose’s tunnels. He did it on his own time, knowing he was sometimes trespassing. But most of the tunnels wound through state, county or mining property. Rose owned only a few acres that surrounded her home. She and her crews had themselves been trespassing.

Emil could find his way in and out of the tunnels without too much trouble. He looked at the maps he had drawn over the years. He had a system of always turning right or always turning left. Sometimes he left subtle clues in the sand or dirt. He might pile rocks a certain way or use a stick to point in the direction he took. He didn’t want anyone to know when he was in the tunnels or where he went. Not that anyone else should be inside these tunnels. But he had to be careful.

Rose Almasy, that crazy old lady, had tunnels that were elaborate mazes. Her tunnels had a purpose - transporting and hiding illegal liquor during Prohibition. One tunnel started near the old Quincy mine and dead ended. Others intersected with the mine tunnels in places that had not been mined in years. Rose used some mine tunnels that were no longer used by the mines. Talk about trespassing. Emil was sure the owners of the Quincy mine had no idea their abandoned tunnels had been hijacked.

Some tunnels purposely led nowhere.

Were the maps only in Rose’s mind? Did she share any written maps with Hollander? The priest had been crawling around her like a pet snake. If anyone could have gotten information from Rose, it would have been Hollander.

But Rose would not give up her secrets easily.

If the maps were kept only in her mind, then there was no reason for Mynter to contact the priest. If she explained her routes to him, most likely, Hollander would not understand. But Emil would. He could help the priest if there was anything buried in there. If Hollander had drawn maps based on Rose’s recollections, they might be dangerously incomplete. If Hollander was smart, he would ask a mining engineer like Emil to accompany him inside the maze.

Emil respected Rose’s property, but the tunnels were a safety hazard. A child or hiker or more likely a fortune hunter would wander into them and never find his way out. What if a mine employee took a wrong turn into one of those tunnels?

The sheriff and his deputies would be little help. Those treasure hunters who had been rescued had all needed Emil’s help. Sometimes Emil thought Miles Olson and that state trooper friend of his, Sonny Cain, knew more about the mines than they let on. But he would not have trusted either one to lead him out blindfolded.

Emil shrugged. He really did not believe the tales about hidden treasure. If anything had ever been hidden in the tunnels, he was sure Rose had removed it years before. There was a possibility of a still being down there. There could also have been hidden bottles of smuggled booze.

Emil strongly suspected that the priest had been taking advantage of Rose in getting her to leave her fortune to him instead of to the church. Emil didn’t care about the rumors about the the priest and that little Elaine, the pretty girl who had grown up on the same street where he had raised his own children. He knew Elaine’s parents. He knew how concerned they were about Elaine. He had three daughters of his own.

Emil turned a corner; the light from his helmet illuminated the dark cave walls inside the tunnels.

Emil wasn’t doing any harm in Rose’s tunnels. He was just looking. Hollander should be happy a qualified engineer was looking into those tunnels. The county should hire Emil to explore them. That would be much smarter than sending in that dumb deputy, the sheriff’s son. Emil usually managed to avoid Miles in the tunnels.

Rinaldi and the other mine owners had warned Miles to stay out of their tunnels. But Miles had still turned up once or twice claiming that he was lost or looking for someone who was lost. Emil wondered why Miles went into Rose’s tunnels so often. There weren’t that many lost souls to rescue.

Emil also knew about the North entrance. He didn’t think anyone else knew.

He remembered when he discovered this entrance. He had found this tunnel entrance one time when he was looking over one of Rinaldi’s abandoned tunnels.

When he walked inside, he discovered that this section had spokes. It was shaped like a wheel. Spokes led to other tunnels and to dead ends. One spoke led to the basement at Almasy House where Emil had found the cellar cellar door unlocked; he had actually stood there in the basement of Almasy House. He had quickly exited. He had not intended to trespass in someone’s home.

He thought he knew all the tunnels now, but in Rose’s tunnels, there could always be surprises.

Father Jeffrey Hollander had not been inside the tunnels yet. He had emptied Rose’s bank account, and he had searched the house, but found little of value. The bank accounts themselves held much less than he had expected.

Was anything in the tunnels? Rose had often changed the subject whenever he asked her about them. Sometimes she hinted about something in the tunnels, but she was never specific.

She would sigh. “I brought some things down there. Never trusted banks.”

“What did you bring down there, Rose? Is it still there?”

She would smile and shake her head. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Was she just trying to hold his interest? Had any treasure been removed years ago? Did a treasure ever exist?

He had no idea how to explore a tunnel or how extensive her tunnels were, but he had a plan. He purchased candles, a notebook, a pick, shovel, and a miners cap, so he would be able to see inside the tunnels; he bought red paint, so he could mark his way. The paint was the same kind that loggers used to mark trees.

Carefully he opened the cellar door. He walked into the dark tunnel and lit a half dozen candles. Rose had electricity in the cellar, but the tunnels had never been wired. He carried more candles and lots of matches with him. These were for emergencies.

He put on his miner’s light. He started his journey at almost the precise moment that Emil Mynter entered the tunnels from another place. Neither man knew the other was inside the tunnels. Nor did they know that a third man was in the tunnels. That third man would kill to keep his secrets.

Jeff Hollander wished there was someone else he cold trust. But a hired explorer might steal any treasure he found. Emil Mynter seemed like an honest sort, but Emil was a friend of Elaine’s parents, and he didn’t like Jeff Hollander. The priest decided he couldn’t trust anyone.

On his first exploration, he went east for about a mile. He noticed where the tunnel intersected with a mining tunnel. Where did this tunnel exit? Was the tunnel still used by the mines?

Rose would not have ventured this far from the house. Would she?

The next day Hollander went west. He exited this tunnel in a wooded area. He saw forest paths and heard the swish of cars on a near-by highway, but decided to go back inside the earth. Upper Peninsula forests could be as easy to get lost in as an underground tunnel. At least his tunnel was marked. The mouth of this tunnel looked like a natural cave. He didn’t know who owned this property, so he could not put up a “no trespassing" sign.

He could get the sheriff to block the entry. But then that deputy would want to explore.

He had inherited no more than a half dozen acres from Rose. Her tunnels crisscrossed private and state property. Any treasure found down here would have to remain a secret. If he did discover a treasure and if anyone found out, he would have to say he found it inside the house or on the grounds. Otherwise ownership could be contested. Best to keep any finds a secret, he decided.

He followed the tunnel back. This tunnel did not seem to intersect with the mines. But it did branch off. This was Rose’s maze, and he knew he had to be careful. There were dozens of places where the tunnel branched off. Where did these branches go? Should he explore them now or wait?

Then he saw the footprint in the soft earth. Someone else had been in this tunnel recently. Who? The footprint went left. Did he dare follow it? Instead of using his red paint he took out his picket knife and put a small notch in the wood to the side. Then he followed the footprints, taking care to step carefully in each one, so he himself was not leaving a trail.

He didn’t know why, but he sensed it was important that no one knew he had entered here. This tunnel was dark even with his miner’s light. He took out a candle and lit it. The light from his miners cap danced on the walls. The tunnel curved. He found himself saying a silent prayer for his own safety. Jeff Hollander was not a man who spooked easily, yet he had to admit he was scared.

Of What? What could possibly harm him down here? There might be bats or a rattlesnake. Neither of these things scared him. He had a club and he had a pistol. He wasn’t sure if he would dare use the pistol, but the club would discourage most creatures.

He smelled something, rotten decaying. It made him want to vomit. He swallowed hard to keep his breakfast from coming up and betraying his presence to whomever or whatever might be using this tunnel.

He turned the corner and screamed.

He had never screamed before, at least not that he remembered. But then he had never seen hell before. He backed away.

Elaine had cleaned Rose’s apartment many times. Still she could not get the old lady smell from the rooms.

Soon Elaine would have a maid cleaning for her in a fancy new home. Surely Jeff didn’t expect them to keep living here.

She hated this old boarding house with its musty smell, ancient furniture and silent rooms. She knew the house had once been fashionable, but after Rose’s husband killed himself, the old lady had slowly shut down everything until she lived like a recluse here. It didn’t matter how often Elaine cleaned. The house still smelled like mice droppings and rotten cheese.

The furniture looked like junk yard rejects.

It had taken too long for the old lady to die, but now she was gone, and the house was hers - well it was Jeff’s, but she and Jeff would soon be married. They just had to get out of here soon.

Jeff had searched the house and he had not found anything of value. When Rose seemed less lucid in the last years of her life, she said she had hidden something in the tunnels, but Jeff had not gotten her to be more specific.

When had Rose hidden it? Was Rose wealthy in her younger days? It didn’t make sense that a frail older woman would go down there by herself carting a fortune in gold, and jewels. Maybe it was her husband who hid the fortune, and Rose herself did not know where it was. Perhaps the fortune did not exit. There was always that possibility, but Jeff had to be sure. She understood that.

In her dreams Elaine imagined a life of fur coats, diamond bracelets and trips across the Atlantic. They would meet kings, queens and presidents. President and Mrs. Roosevelt would invite them to dine at the White House. She would be richer than the Lucinda Rinaldi.

She and Jeff could buy a house in one of the fancy districts of Detroit or Lansing. They could travel first class around the world and meet Hollywood stars. She would flirt with Clark Gable and Rudy Vallee.

Elaine wanted to dance around the room when she thought of what was possible with enough money and with Jeff.

They would, of course, have to leave town. There was too much prejudice here. People believed that Jeff had taken unfair advantage of Rose, and that all these years as he looked after her and her estate, he was just after her money. They talked about Elaine and Jeff too.

Was it anyone’s business if she were dating a priest? There were too many gossips in this town; she hated Mountain Ridge.

Elaine was tired of being an old lady’s maid. Even with Rose dead, she was still cleaning Rose’s house. Why was she doing that?

Elaine knew the tunnels could be dangerous, but she trusted Jeff. He was smart, and he would be careful. She was not worried about him. Well, maybe a little worried. If he failed to come out of the tunnels, she would be alone and penniless and forced to remain in Mountain Ridge. She’d have to live with her parents again.

When she heard noises in the cellar, she hurried to a mirror to make sure her hair was perfect. Her new lipstick was reportedly the same shade Jean Harlow wore. That’s what the ladies’ magazines claimed anyway. Elaine had bought it at the drug store down the street where she bought all her movie magazines.

She waited for the cellar door to open.

Jeff didn’t walk from the tunnel. He stumbled. His gear fell in a puddle around him. He stumbled up the stairs to where Elaine waited, fell into a chair and sat staring at the wall like he could see the devil himself sitting there.

“Jeff, what’s wrong?” Elaine ran to him.

“Pack a bag. We’re leaving.”

“What? Why?”

“Just do it.”

“Are you sick?”

“Worse,” he replied. He would tell her no more.

Miles was unprepared for Father Hollander’s visit. “No way,” he said. “I’ll believe there’s a treasure located in those tunnels, unlikely as that might seem, but dead bodies? No way.”

“It’s got to be checked out.” His dad told him.

The two lawmen looked at Jeff Hollander who was clearly shaken. The priest’s face was chalky. His hands trembled. He had bumped into a chair when he staggered into the jailhouse.

“Ready to show me where these bodies are?” Miles asked.

The priest nodded and moved toward the door like a sick man.

Miles followed. His gun was loaded. He would try to confuse the priest once they got into the tunnels. What if he couldn’t? Hollander had become a problem. One that could not be easily dispatched. He was sure of that. Some poor women could disappear, but not a priest.

Miles got in his car and drove the priest back to Almasy House. Hollander was too shaken to drive back himself. He was so nervous, it would be easy for him to have an accident. Save that for when they were alone in the tunnels.

CHAPTER SIX

Chapter Six

Lisa felt the snow hit her face; ice cut her fingers. Someone kicked her. She looked up at her pa. A rope tightened around his neck.

“Don’t let her see.” Pa begged.

A ladder tumbled from beneath his feet. “Pa!”

She screamed and tried to run, but her feet caught in the blanket, and she fell on the hardwood floor.

The room was dark, but she heard footsteps and a candle floated toward her.

Lisa was disoriented. Where was she? Somewhere in the back of her mind, an angry old lady told her she must never tell. The lady told her that her pa had gone away, that he didn’t want his three children. Her mother was dead and her pa had left. That was what the lady said had happened.

Had Lisa really imagined the cold, the hooded figures, the torches, the rope?

She dreamed about it, and it seemed so real. Why did they tell her it didn’t happen? When was her pa coming back?

She looked around at the orphanage dormitory. The other girls had awakened and some were rubbing their eyes. Most were staring. She wasn’t flailing in the snowbank; she wasn’t at the creepy old house with the fancy lady.

Footsteps pounded down the hallway. The nuns were coming, and that could mean a beating. Lisa knew she had to stop trembling, but instead the trembling became worse. Sister Beatrice rushed at her, picked her up by the material of her nightgown and shoved her back in the bed.

“Go back to sleep. Stop this screaming.” Sister Beatrice shook her finger. “If you wake everyone up again, so help me, I will lock you in the stable.”

“Do it,” Lisa yelled . “You think I want to be in here.”

Beatrice grabbed Lisa and pulled her off the bed, down the hall and outside. The late March night was cold and Lisa wore only a thin nightgown. Just like that other night. Lisa felt she was back in the nightmare. Instead of a white sheet, the nun wore black, but her robes flowed in much the same way that those sheets had flowed that other night.

Lights from inside the orphanage gave off a glow, not unlike the torches had on that long ago night. Lisa screamed again in terror and pain.

Then a man was there. He stood in the shadows. It took Lisa a minute to recognize Father Jeffrey Hollander.

He took off his belt.

Enrico Rinaldi watched his daughter Lucinda as she embroidered scarf. She expertly moved the brightly colored threads over her fingers, and as he watched, a pattern of blue flowers and green leaves emerged. Lucinda kept each hair perfectly coiffed and her olive skin was smooth as velvet. Her black eyes were like pools of coffee.

While he would hate to lose her, he wanted her to make the best possible marriage. Lucinda was too great an asset to waste, and Brad Davies had shown a keen interest.

Enrico had made discrete inquiries; Brad’s family’s fortune should equal his own, except the Davies had been plagued with gambling debts and poor investments. Rinaldi suspected that Davies might be courting Lucinda for her money, but the Davies name could open opportunities for him and for Lucinda.

Besides that Davies was ambitious. At 32, he was already a state senator and probably headed for Washington and perhaps even the White House. Lucinda would make a great hostess and First Lady, he decided. He wanted to dance with her at the inaugural ball.

Enrico and his daughter had the dark complexions of eastern Europeans like the Italians, and Enrico had even taken an Italian name. The family had been passing for white since after the Civil War. He wanted to chuckle.

He gave Lucinda what he hoped was good news. “Brad says he can spend a few weekends here in Mountain Ridge. I told him he was welcome.”

“Of course, Father.”

“How are the wedding plans coming?”

“Okay; There are a million details. Florist; dressmaker, reception hall. That wedding planner from Lansing is doing a great job.”

“Shouldn’t you be there organizing Brad’s home?”

“We’ll be moving to Washington right away, and Brad hired an interior designer to plan that home.”

“Honey, you don’t seem very happy.”

“I like it here in Mountain Ridge,” she said gently.

“You can have the whole world, Lucinda. New York. Paris. Washington. Brad will show you things you never imagined.”

“Are you coming with us, Father?”

“I have the mine to take care of.”

“And I have you to take care of. I like Mountain Ridge.”

“Don’t you want to go to balls and wear Paris originals”


 “I have Paris originals in my closet and I don’t wear them.”

“Brad likes you a lot, Lucinda, and if you go with him, you will have places to wear them.”

“What if they find out the truth about us, Father?”

“They won’t.”

His dream was to see her dance with kings and presidents. She understood how important it was to him.

“Brad must know the truth about us.”

“No,” he shouted. “You won’t tell him, not before or after the marriage.”

“Father.”

“You mustn’t ever tell anyone.”

Elaine was almost 17 years old and her mother thought she was an old maid. Shouldn’t the prettiest girl in town be the first married? Elaine said she was waiting for the right man to come along. That’s what she told her girl friends and anyone else who asked. What she never told anyone, was that the right man, in her opinion, he had already come. She had a crush on Father Jeffrey Hollander.

Elaine was not religious, but she went to church every Sunday, and she would have gone to mass every morning if her mother let her get out of her chores.

She had even confessed her love or almost.

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” she had said in the confessional. “I am in love with a man that I can’t have.”

“Is that man married?” he had asked.”

“No, but he is unavailable.”

He paused, and she was sure he understood what she was saying.

“Have you acted on your love for this man.”

“Not yet, but I will if he asks me.”

She imagined him smiling at the other side of the grail.

“This calls for a special penance,” he had said. “You may come to Almasy House tomorrow morning. Mrs. Almasy needs a new maid. The work will do you good.”

She knew there would be something else there for her. Father Hollander stayed at Almasy House now.

“Our Father who art in heaven.” Sister Beatrice was having a difficult time keeping her mind on her morning prayers. The nuns were in the chapel. Today officiating was the old priest, Father Victor. That nice handsome young Father Hollander had driven back to Mountain Ridge. Sister Beatrice could not understand why he came north to check on that Jew brat. She shouldn’t even be here at a Catholic orphanage.

Father Victor’s voice droned on in monotone. “Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.”


 Beatrice often had difficulty concentrating. There was so much to think about.

The child’s nightmares were so bad, the nuns could not get a night’s sleep, what with those awful screams.

Her thoughts went on and on; she became more and more frustrated. and then she became angry. They had to get rid of that child. Instead of reciting the rosary, Beatrice recited a list of the child’s faults.

She had hit the child again and she knew if the Brianka girl stayed in the orphanage that she would hit her again.

She didn’t want to hit the child, but somehow she couldn’t help herself.

Father Hollander hit Lisa. Mostly when Lisa’s brother Johnny was here, Hollander had beat on him. Beatrice didn’t like the boy anymore than she liked Lisa, but despite his Jewishness and his smugness in the classroom, she had found no excuse to hit the boy, who had quickly grown bigger than she.

Father Hollander hit Johnny and Lisa to get the heathen out of them.

There had never been reason to hit Yvonne who was quiet, and except for her brother and sister stayed to herself. Yvonne was good in school. She did her chores without complaint, and she didn’t have nightmares. Yvonne could be made into a good Christian girl.

Lisa’s nightmares had not been as much of a problem when her siblings were here. When the sister crawled into bed with her, she’d be okay. The orphanage had allowed it even as the siblings grew older. Anything to keep the little one’s nightmares away.

But now Johnny and Yvonne were gone; the nightmares came almost every night.

Was there no way to stop to the nightmares?

She couldn’t stand another night of those screams.

Sometimes Beatrice heard her own screams, when the child screamed. Beatrice had grown up on the frontier. She had seen Indians who were as dark and heathen as the Brianka kids. She had heard stories about scalpings, rapes, murders, cannibalism. A family she knew when she was growing up had been killed by Indians. They had…

Startled by the thought, she inhaled deeply and too loudly.

“Are you all right?” Sr. Zita asked.

“Yes. Yes. I-I’m fine.”

She tried to concentrate on the prayers.

She herself had had nightmares when she was growing up. Her dad had tried to stop the nightmares by hitting her. The nightmares didn’t stop, but her screaming did. If Beatrice, could stop herself from screaming when thoughts and even dreams came of murdering Indians, then Lisa could stop her screaming too.

All Beatrice wanted was for Lisa to stop screaming, so she wouldn’t remind her of that other time. So she wouldn’t think Indians were coming for her.

Beatrice closed her eyes for a long time and when she opened them she looked across the church at Lisa who sat quietly.

The beatings weren’t wrong. Father Victor might be too old, too frail, and too soft- hearted to beat an out-of-control girl, but Father Hollander took a strong hand.

Beatrice had heard that a rich lady in Mountain Ridge took an interest in the Brianka brats. That was all very confusing. Mrs. Almasy had paid good money, so those Brianka kids could stay at the orphanage. Now what was a good Catholic lady like Rose Almasy doing helping Jew brats? Another rich lady, Lucinda Rinaldi, had hired both Vonnie and Jack. Why would these wealthy people show an interest in these wayward orphans?

Sister Beatrice shook her head. Those kids were being taken in like stay animals and Jew brats were no good. Everyone knew that. Surely the Briankas would bite the hands that reached to help them.

Meanwhile the orphanage was saddled with that Lisa. The child’s nightmares had increased. Every night the screams seemed to get louder.

Anyway the child would be gone soon, and then good riddance to bad rubbish.

Brad Davies had hired three musicians to play violins for Lucinda. He knew she loved music and had a natural talent for it. Her father had told him, Lucinda was a fine piano player, but she seldom played for an audience other than her maid, that shy dark girl whose name Brad didn’t remember.

Would he have to take Lucinda’s servant along with her? Surely his family had enough servants, though some had been laid off. That dark girl who worked for Lucinda was not someone he wanted working in his home. He took a sip of his wine; he had more pressing problems than Lucinda and her servants.

The stock market crash had hurt his family. Not so badly they wouldn’t come back. After all both he and his dad had their law licenses, and he had his salary from the state. But household staff had been laid off.

His mother had suggested giving some of the older employees pensions. Brad and his father had disagreed. These are hard times. Regrouping the family fortune would take a while as it was.

He needed money to win political office. He had powerful backers, but he mustn’t let them see that he had such a desperate need for money.

Actually he wouldn’t have that need much longer. Lucinda Rinaldi came from an enormous fortune. She looked like that young actress, Elizabeth Taylor with black eyes instead of the violet eyes and Lucinda had a figure that was just as stunning as that of the actress. She turned heads in every room she entered. Men responded to her with romantic or lustful thoughts; women responded with emotions that ranged from envy to hostility.

The Rinaldi fortune and Lucinda’s beauty could bring him to the White House, and what a joke that would be on the country.

At first he wasn’t entirely sure he could keep the Rinaldi’s secret from his political enemies.

But her family had covered their roots well. Whatever revulsion about marrying a Negress he felt was more than squelched by her fortune.

Lucinda smiled at the musicians; as she sipped her champaign. Her green velvet gown clung like seaweed to the delicate young body.

A diamond engagement ring sparkled on her finger. The ring had belonged to his great-grandmother and probably should have been sold to help pay for his fall campaign. But he needed her father as a contributor. This sealed their alliance.

She stared into the candle light and sighed. She did not seem happy. Brad wondered if her thoughts were on that gardener, Jack Brianka. It was time to get rid of him anyway.

Jack loved to walk at night when he could observe the stages of the moon and enjoy the company of the pines and birches that lined his path. It gave him a chance to think about his family and about the girl with whom he had fallen in love. Lucinda was the most beautiful woman in the world. She was prettier than any movie star. He could not continue to live near her, to work for her dad and to pretend he didn’t care. She wasn’t his girl and never would be except in his daydreams.

He had to get away from Lucinda.

But he had other worries too.

Lisa, his younger sister, was unhappy at the orphanage. She needed him or Vonnie there to reassure her. Lisa had deep seated fears and the nightmares came more often now. The orphanage had sent him letters. Lisa needed to go someplace else. She needed to get away form that orphanage.

Lucinda had already agreed to hire Lisa. He worried about his sisters. Vonnie had taken some kind of a beating recently, but neither she nor Lucinda would give him any details. They just said that Vonnie fell. How could he help her, if he didn’t know the truth?

He had to leave Mountain Ridge. Staying would jeopardize his sisters’ jobs. But he also knew he had to stay and protect them.

Lisa was delicate and needed him as much as she needed Vonnie. Since they had lost their parents, he had been more than a big brother to both of them.

The problem was that he was in love with Lucinda Rinaldi. She loved him back, and that could be an even bigger problem for both of them. Lucinda hadn’t told her dad yet, but if he stayed, she would have to tell Enrico. If he stayed, he would be fired. Vonnie would be fired too, and they had to get Lisa out of that orphanage. In a few months, Lisa would be sixteen and she could leave, but she would need the job Lucinda had promised. Lucinda had even tried to get Lisa out of the orphanage earlier.

Jack needed for his sisters to keep their jobs. Despite the best efforts of the president, this economic depression wasn’t getting any better, not for the millions of people still out of work.

He would tell them all his goodbyes. It would be hardest with Lisa. She had already lost both parents and she had been so tiny then. As hard as it had been for him and for Vonnie, he knew it had been harder for Lisa. His youngest sister had never completely recovered from that awful night. He only hoped her nightmares and daytime hangups would not interfere with her job.

He went to the bar on Stephenson and had a beer. The cold drink on a cold night sharpened his senses. But it gave him courage too. He would write letters to his sisters. He thought about moving to Green Bay, Wisconsin. He would not be far away if they needed him.

A radio above the bar played Benny Goodman. Shadow couples moved on the dance floor. Jack finished his beer and walked back into the cold night. He turned on Dickinson Street and started back toward his room above the garage at the Rinaldi’s. It would not take him long to pack.

As he passed the dark gas station on 4th Street, he heard noises coming from within. There shouldn’t be anyone inside this time of night. He moved toward the back door and inched around to the only window. Jack thought he might be preventing a robbery. Another noise caught his attention. This noise came from behind him. Then he heard a sound like a bat being swung. Something hard hit him. He fell to his knees and cracked his head against the cement when he hit the ground. He was dazed and tried to get up. The swishing sound of a baton came again, and he went down again.

The last thing he heard as he lost consciousness was a police whistle. This sound came from too close not to be coming from practically on top of him.

Rose lit a lantern and opened the cellar door. She entered the tunnel and left the door unlocked behind her. Usually she would have closed it firmly and locked it. She turned to the right and moved slowly. She had memorized these passages long ago. When she felt she had gone far enough she set the lantern down, watched as it created patterns on the walls. She sat down waiting.

Jeff Hollander didn’t have a lantern. He didn’t want Rose to know he followed her into the tunnel. He moved slowly and carefully. The darkness didn’t scare him, but he new he could easily trip over a loose rock. The sides of the cave might give way to an abyss. He could experience a nasty fall in here. He had to move noiselessly. He tried to remember twists and turns. He might have to reenter the tunnels later on his own.

Her lantern had stopped moving. Good. She was near the treasure then. She stepped forward. and then stopped. He could see the lantern, but he himself was still in the shadows. He saw her sitting there as if she was waiting for something. The lantern lay in front of her.

Then he saw what was in her hand. A gun.

“You might as well come forward,” she said softly. “I know you’re there. If I fire without knowing exactly where you are, the bullet will ricochet. It might kills us both.”

He hesitated. Then he moved into the light.

“Rose, I was worried about you.”

“No, you weren’t. You were hoping I would show you to my treasure.”

“Nothing of the kind.”

“Turn around and go back.”

“What about you? Will you be okay?”

In answer, she cocked the gun.

He turned around and left.

TO BE CONTINUED...

CHAPTER FIVE

1935

Investigators generally agree that 1935 was the year the Michigan murders began. The murders usually occurred in the Mountain Ridge area, but a few occurred as far away as Marquette and Houghton. Women disappeared as far west as Green Bay, Wisconsin and as far south as Detroit, but no one was sure which of those disappearances, if any, could be connected to what was happening in the Mountain Ridge area. Some reporters and police officers attempted to make a connection, but unless the bodies were found, no connection could be made. Undoubtedly many girls were leaving broken homes as the nation struggled with economic Depression.

One killer working Michigan highways couldn’t be responsible for all those disappearances. Surely some of those girls had gone to Hollywood looking for careers in the movies, or they had just drifted until they found new lives.

Some people speculated that two or more men could have been worked together on the killings. Others felt there were copy cat killers. The list of known victims grew as bodies were found.

For those girls who just disappeared, one could only wonder what happened to them. But enough bodies were found to confirm the presence of a serial killer.

Lucille Bachaek, age 17, raped and strangled in a wooded area behind Almasy House, January 7, 1937.

Mabel Vinson, 22, raped and strangled, February 1, 1935.

Jeninne Orbison, 19, raped and strangled, March 11, 1935.

The police looked at young men on the edge of survival as possible suspects. Among these young men, Jack Brianka headed the sheriff’s list. Finally after the murder of Orbison, he was arrested and questioned, but he was let go when it was discovered that he had an unbreakable alibi.

He was playing cards with his employers, Enrico Rinaldi and his daughter Lucinda Rinaldi.

Still the police watched him.

Miles Olson, the sheriff’s son and now a deputy, was determined to link Jack with the crimes. Perhaps he had an accomplice. Perhaps his alibi was false.

Jack Brianka was one suspect neither Sheriff Leo Olson nor Deputy Miles wanted to give up.

Penny 1970 “That always used to scare me,” Audrey, one of the maids admitted. I’d be alone in one of the rooms, Jack would be here in the house, and I would just get the shivers.” We were sipping coffee in the maid’s break room at Almasy House. One of the other maids mentioned that Jack had once been a suspect.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I said. “Jack Brianka wouldn’t hurt a puppy. He’s a great guy.”

“Did they have any other suspects?” I’m the one they ask when they want to know anything about the history of this town.

“Jeff Hollander was a suspect for awhile.”

“Who?”

“He was a priest here for awhile.”

Audrey sighed. People don’t like to hear bad things about priests or ministers. But the old timers here know Hollander’s reputation was anything but pristine.

“Well, they got the killer now,” Audrey said. “I’ll be glad when he gets his ass fried down there in Louisiana. How many people did he kill down there. One or two. Here the count must be close to a hundred.”

“Yeah I said. “If he had been arrested here in Michigan, the most he could get is life imprison.”

1935 Prohibition had ended. Franklin Delano Roosevelt was in the White House. Despite Roosevelt’s best efforts the Depression lingered.

Yvonne Brianka pulled her green second-hand coat closer around her shoulders. It kept out most of the March coldness. She walked home from the picture show with only the street lights for company. Claudette Colbert had been brilliant as Cleopatra. Vonnie loved picture shows and she saw each new show as it appeared. Usually she went to the movies with her brother Jack, but not that night. He had warned her to be careful. Stay to the brightly lit streets where there were more people. There was safety in numbers.

Jack always worried about her when she went to the show alone. He had told her to ask Rita, the clerk at the grocery store or that new girl who cleaned for the Rinaldi offices.

Jack had a mysterious new girl friend. Vonnie was curious. Who could it be? Why keep it a secret?

In just a few short months, Lisa would be here, and they could go to the picture show together. Jack would not have to worry about her. She knew they were lucky. Many people, both men and women, were jobless. But thanks to the Rinaldis, the Briankas would all have jobs.

Jack chauffeured and gardened; Vonnie cooked and cleaned. There was much to do, and Lucinda, who was the Enrico Rinaldi’s only daughter had wanted to hire an extra maid for some time. Vonnie had talked her into waiting until Lisa could take the job. That would be soon. Lisa could leave the orphanage when she turned 16., and then she would have a job with the Rinaldis too.

Vonnie felt sorry for the homeless men and women. She had seen many hoboes with their torn clothes and hopeless eyes. With Lucinda’s permission, she fed the hoboes hearty vegetables and chicken soups and stews. She remembered that Jack had lived for awhile as a hobo, and she always sent a little prayer along with these men.

Vonnie was not churchy, but she did believe there was a god and maybe a goddess too. She honored whatever deities existed by feeding the homeless men, and also the wildlife around the Rinaldi mansion.

She prayed every night for the unemployed and also for President and Mrs. Roosevelt. They were doing their best to get the country out of the Depression.

The movie replayed in her mind as she walked.

There was only one woman she knew who was prettier than Claudette Colbert and that was her employer, Lucinda Rinaldi. Lucinda would make a great Cleopatra. She had dark eyes and black hair like the Egyptian queen. Lucinda really should be a movie star except that girls with as much money as Lucinda had, didn’t work.

Lucinda was engaged to marry state senator Brad Davies. Some people were saying Brad was headed for Washington D.C. and that Lucinda might be first lady some day. Vonnie wondered what it would be like to work at the White House and to be the personal maid to the First Lady.

Vonnie ignored Jack’s instructions to stay on well-lit streets and around people she knew. She was tired, having been up since dawn cooking, cleaning and even sewing.

She took a short cut through a few acres of woods. On one end was Almasy House, still occupied by the spooky old lady who had hovered over Vonnie, Jack and Lisa after their mother’s death. At the other end was the Rinaldi mansion.

Vonnie wasn’t paying attention. A twig cracked. She turned to look behind her. The trees stood like tall ghosts. Something she could not see was moving in the woods with her. She thought it must be an animal. Perhaps a deer. Vonnie knew a killer stalked women in Upper Michigan. Some people thought he operated out of Mountain Ridge.

A body had been found in these woods. Why hadn’t she remembered that before she started trekking through the trees? She walked on. Something rustled among the trees. Definitely an animal, she thought.

It must be an animal. Why hadn’t she taken a stick? Perhaps it was just a dog or a cat out night hunting. She walked a little faster. Then she ran.

Something moved behind her. She tripped; stumbled; righted herself and started to run again. Something grabbed her coat. It felt like a claw as it pulled her backward and then and then pushed her down. Something heavy lay on top of her.

A heavy glove went into her mouth. “Don’t make a sound.”

Then another voice. “It’s the Jew bitch.” There were two of them. She tried to struggle.

His weight was too heavy on her. She could not move. She whimpered and when she did he pressed harder pinning her head to the cold ground. Pine needles prickled against her skin. “Quiet.” one of the voices said.

She couldn’t see the men, but she smelled the stale scent of cigarettes and beer.

Something went around her mouth. He’s going to kill me she thought. The gag tightened. She couldn’t cry out. She felt her clothes being torn off in the cold night. She shivered, and tried to scream. They were going to kill her.

Rough hands clawed at her bare legs. She felt something like a sword being thrust inside her and then thrust again and again. Her body shook like a rag doll.

He grunted as he pushed inside her.

She tried to ignore the pain.

And after the first one raped her, the second one took his turn on top of her. She felt the dirt of the forest and the dirt of their bodies as they rubbed against her. She felt their fluids between her legs. She knew she was crying, but she couldn’t stand these men on her. She wanted them to kill her so it would be over with. She even wanted to kill them.

When they were finished. One of them ordered her to lie still.

She heard her own sobs and waited for death. They didn’t kill her, and she didn’t look up to see who they were. Her tears blinded her. The night was still as dark as the dirt she stared at?

“Ever tell anyone and you’re dead. Your brother and your sister are dead,” one of them said. “I could kill you and then go get Lisa. Think I can’t get her at that orphanage?”

She lay on the ground stunned for a long time.

Had they left? The moments dragged on and she heard nothing. They must have left. She pulled the gag from her mouth.

Finally she was able to get up and find her clothing or most of it in the dark. Still stunned and cold, she limped toward the Rinaldi house. She let herself in the back door and locked it. But she still did not feel safe.

Whoever those men were, they must never come inside.

She poured hot water, washed herself and prayed she would never have to endure that again. She shivered. The hardest part was knowing that whoever attacked her, knew her, knew she had a brother and a sister, knew they were vulnerable.

At least they weren’t the killers that everyone was talking about. She was still alive.

Her body felt cold and sore and exposed. She put on a flannel nightgown and wrapped herself in blankets. She drank warm milk. Still she felt cold. After awhile she got up and washed her body again. She couldn’t get the smell of those men off her. She couldn’t forget how much it hurt. It still hurt.

A rooster crowed somewhere to the south. Some families, even wealthy ones, kept their own chickens, so they could have fresh eggs. The rooster served as her alarm clock most mornings, but on this morning, she was awake.

The nightmare of the night before had not left her. And each time she tried to move she felt the bruises. Even her face was swollen.

She wanted to wash herself again. The filth of those men clung to her. Their smell clung to her, and it made her want to vomit.

Her legs ached, but her feet were uninjured. She forced her feet into a pair low heals that she had purchased from the Sears catalog.

Lucinda Rinaldi woke up and stretched. As she combed her hair and put on a simple cotton dress, she planned her day. It was too early for planting the garden, but she had a garden plan. She would show it to Vonnie this morning after breakfast.

Spring meant spring cleaning. She was anxious to get to it.

How she liked the Briankas, Jack and Vonnie, who were hard workers and great people. She couldn’t wait to meet the younger sister, Lisa.

Lucinda knew there were those who hated the Briankas, but she also knew about prejudice, and it would never be part of her hiring decisions. Vonnie and that good looking brother of hers were not religious, but their dad had been Jewish.

Some people did not like Jewish people. The Brianka family had even been attacked by the Klan when the siblings were young. People said their dad abandoned them after that.

She herself had never been the target of the Ku Klux Klan, but she knew she could be. She and her dad were Negroes, though they passed as White.

She shuttered to think about what some people of her race endured in the South and could endure even here in Mountain Ridge where the Klan mostly drank cheap beer and met at Almasy House in what they thought was secret.

Those men were idiots and she wished that her dad would fire every one of them.

Soon she would be the wife of a very important man. The wedding was planned and it would take place in Lansing in just a few months.

It was time to start acting like a young lady. Still she bounced down the stairs, through the parlor and dining room and into the kitchen where the smell of fresh coffee greeted her.

What stopped her was the sight of Vonnie leaning against the kitchen table. Vonnie’s hair was uncombed and her face was swollen; bruises formed beneath her right eye. Vonnie had more bruises on her wrist. The long-sleeved dress hid the rest of her arms.

“What happened?” Lucinda asked. She touched Vonnie’s sleeve, but Vonnie pulled it back as if in pain.

“I fell down the stairs.”

“We have to get you to a doctor.”

“No.”

“Where did you fall?”

Vonnie knew she had been caught in a lie. The house had a cellar, but a box lift connected the kitchen to the pantry and the lower stories to the upstairs. What reason would she have had to go upstairs or downstairs? She had not been upstairs this morning. Lucinda would know that. She would suspect. And Vonnie had never lied to her employer before.

“I just fell,” she amended her story. “Outside on the cement.”

“Sit down. I’ll get the car and take you to Dr. Tracie.”

“No. No doctor.”

“You’re hurt. Now you are going to the doctor. That is an order.”

Vonnie noticed where her arm was bleeding. “I’m ruining your dress.”

“It’s your dress; I gave it to you, and I will get you another one. I saw you mooning over some of those dresses in the Sears catalog.”

“I’m all right,” Vonnie insisted. But she wasn’t.

Lucinda had Jack bring the car around, but she herself drove Vonnie to the doctor. Vonnie did not want her brother fussing over her now.

The examination at Doc Tracie’ office was superficial. He looked at the bruises and gave her some ointments. He bandaged the deeper cuts. “That must have been some fall,” he said. “Is there something else you need to tell me?”

She shook her head no.

“It looks like someone beat the daylights out of you.” Then he called Lucinda in from the waiting room. “She needs to rest for a few days,” he said.

“She will.” Lucinda promised.

Vonnie remembered the spring cleaning. “There’s so much work to do.”

Lucinda had already decided it was time to get that younger sister - what was her name? Lisa - from that orphanage. She knew from talking to Jack that Lisa was not happy, and that she needed to get away.

Enrico sat at his desk going over the records of iron ore. How much had been shipped? How much sat on the docks at Marquette? How much lay beneath the earth’s surface yet? The answers lay on the papers strewn across his desk.

His assistant came in to tell him the sheriff was waiting to see him.

It was the yearly invitation to join the Klan. Enrico always found excuses not to join. How he dreaded these meetings and disliked the tall blond sheriff who wore his gun like a gunfighter in those western movies and Zane Grey novels. Enrico believed he would be shot if he revealed the truth about his race.

“Show him in,” Enrico said after a moment. He had already put off this meeting twice by making excuses about why he couldn’t see the sheriff.

Olson walked quickly into the office, his right hand extended. Enrico tried not to look at it with distaste.

“Mr. Rinaldi, thank you for seeing me. I know you’re a busy man.”

Enrico nodded.

“We’re doing our annual membership drive. The Ku Klux Klan is very vigilant as you can probably guess.”

“I think I told you last year and the year before I have no interest in joining the Klan.”

“That is a very unusual sentiment for a White man. And here you are from the South.”

“Is there anything else I can help you with, Sheriff?”

“Perhaps a donation. We keep the scumbags out. There ain’t never been a Nigger living in this here town.”

Enrico almost laughed at that statement. “I am afraid my expenses are tight. I have a payroll to meet.”

“Of course. If you should change your mind, you just call me now.”

Enrico nodded and then he watched the sheriff leave. Should he have made a donation? He didn’t want Leo Olson to be suspicious.

The Indian woman made a poultice of plantain and placed it on Vonnie’s shoulder. As she worked, she talked about her daughter, Dancing Bear, the smartest girl at the school. “She’ll be going to college,” the old lady bragged. “She takes all the hard courses that are mostly for boys. Chemistry. Physics. Algebra. And she has to help those White boys.”

Vonnie smiled and let the old woman fuss over her. She had not met the woman’s daughter, but was sure she would like her.

When the woman disappeared into the living room to begin cleaning, Lucinda sat down beside Vonnie. “Tell me what really happened?”

Vonnie sighed and stared at her hands.

Lucinda waited.

“There were two men. I think there were two. They tackled me; they hit me.”

“Where?”

“In the woods behind Almasy House.”

“What were you doing there?”

“I took a shortcut.”

“Did they do anything else to you?”

Vonnie shut her eyes tight trying to keep the tears back. She nodded.

Lucinda held her and let her cry for awhile.

“I’m calling the sheriff, “ she said.

“No,” Vonnie grabbed her employer and held tight to Lucinda’s arm. She ignored the pain her movement caused. “I’m so ashamed.”

“What happened wasn’t your fault.”

“I should have stayed on the path. I shouldn’t have taken the shortcut. I should have been paying more attention.”

“Hush.”

“You mustn’t tell anyone. If Jack finds out, he’ll want to kill someone.”

TO BE CONTINUED NEXT WEEK

CHAPTER FOUR, "BROKEN HOMES UNKEPT GARDENS"

Rose paced the foyer at Almasy House. Martha had been her maid. She and the children could stay here; eventually they would understand that it was best that John was gone. He would be tarred and feathered and taken out of town. Perhaps they would not even use the tar or feathers. He would be warned not to come back. Martha would mourn for awhile, but she would get over it. Martha had been such a good Catholic girl.

The sheriff entered carrying a small bundle wrapped in what Rose recognized as one of Martha’s ragged blankets, a cast off from the boarding house.

“Quickly,” he shouted, nodding toward the the fireplace. “Get a fire going. I need more blankets now.” Some of the lady prostitutes had been sitting around resting, reading or waiting for customers. They hurried to do the sheriff’s bidding. “Quickly,” he repeated.

He laid the bundle on the couch. Rose recognized the child. It was Lisa, Martha’s youngest. “She’s a baby,” one of the prostitute ladies said.

“The doctor’s on his way,” Leo pulled his badge from his pocket and placed it back on his chest.

“Where’s her mother? Why didn’t you leave her with her mother?” Rose sat across from the child while the sheriff rubbed the child’s cold hands and tried to bring some warmth into them. Soon the doctor rushed into the room.

Rose pulled the sheriff away from the others. “What went wrong?” she asked.

1970 Miles

When Miles arrived back in town, a deputy drove him to the courthouse. “How’s the prisoner?” Miles asked.

“Got her in isolation. She don’t say nothing. Don’t eat.”

“I’ll talk to doc about force feeding.”

“You sure we should be holdin’ her. She should be in a hospital.”

“Shut up and watch the road,” Miles snapped. “I ain’t letting this prisoner go.”

1925

Rose assured her husband Louis that things would be taken care of. “What do you mean by things?” Louis asked. “Martha’s funeral will be here. Father Hollander has agreed to officiate even though she certainly wasn’t a Catholic in the last years of her life. He will also petition Rome to allow her soul back into the Church. Our lord is good and will forgive her for her sins.”

“Will He forgive us?” Louis asked.

“We have done nothing wrong,” Rose insisted.

“What happened to John? Where is he?”

“He left town.” It was a lie that she was not yet ready to give up. She never would. She certainly wouldn’t tell her husband the truth. It was bad enough he knew Martha was dead.

“John didn’t stay for his wife’s funeral?” Louis knew his wife was keeping a lot of the story to herself.

“She wasn’t his wife. Not in the eyes of the Church.”

“I don’t give a damn for the eyes of the church. What happened to John?”

“I told you.”

“He wouldn’t leave her. He wouldn’t leave his children.”

“He was persuaded.”

“Rose, the little girl was almost killed. How did that happen?”

She didn’t answer. But when she turned to face him, she saw that he was cleaning his gun. She hadn’t seen that gun in years. What had made him bring it out? For the first time, she was afraid of what her husband might know and of what he might do.

He placed the gun on the table beside him. “What happens to Martha’s children?” he asked.

“Father Hollander will take them to the orphanage. They’ll get a good Christian upbringing. I made a large donation.” She hurried from the room, afraid he would use that gun on her.

There was one more thing she needed to arrange. Rose had to make sure the children never talked. She was sure the two older ones knew nothing. From reports they had been hiding in the cellar when their mother’s body was found. Most likely they had not seen what happened to their father.

John’s body had been moved and hidden before the children were taken from the house. At least that stupid sheriff had gotten that part right.

But what about the child called Lisa? What had she seen? What did she know?

Louis had always considered himself a good man. He loved his wife and he had sometimes even been proud of her as she ran the boarding house and made it much more profitable than he would have done on his own. He didn’t like that she allowed ladies of the evening to stay on the top floor and to use the house to entertain their customers. He didn’t like the illegal booze that Rose ran even though the profits were more than he ever imagined.

Her vast illegal enterprises scared him as did the men who came from Detroit and Chicago. He knew they were gangsters.

But now he thought about Martha’s death. He thought about the Klan whom he disliked even though he knew they met in the house every Thursday and sometimes maybe even more often. He thought about John’ Brianka’s disappearance. He should have stopped his wife before he let it all end like this. His Smith and Wesson was cleaned and fully loaded.

His confession had been written and mailed to Father Hollander along with instructions to bring in the authorities for a full investigation of John’s so-called disappearance. Had he left his last letter at the house, Rose would have found it and destroyed it. Louis trusted the new priest, Father Hollander. So he had gotten the letter out of the house and into a mail box.

He returned to his room.

Across the hall, a music box played. He didn’t recognize the tune, but it tickled the air like cowbells. He took a deep breath, placed the gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger.

Penny 1970

The room where Louis Almasy committed suicide is now the maid’s break room. Dark brown smudges mark the walls. Some people say it’s his blood, but the room has been painted, wall papered, stripped and painted again since that time. The floor is varnished every year. No trace of Louis Almasy remains or if it does, it’s covered by layers of paint and whitewash.

The old timer I had just interviewed for an oral history had not mentioned what happened here in this town so long ago. No one now admits to having belonged to the Klan. No one admits riding with them that night.

There’s a gorgeous portrait of Rose Almasy in the foyer. Some people say she came from a rich European family; some say she was royalty. Some say she was a gypsy fortune teller when she met Louis Almasy. He bought the house for her to run as a boarding house. It kept getting bigger and bigger as she added rooms. She had grown up near a large castle. She wanted the house to look like a castle. It resembles instead a poorly constructed old house. Its unusualness makes it a tourist attraction.

Rose added a restaurant. Miners had to eat and Rose managed to serve them breakfast, lunch and supper at reasonable prices. The kitchen she added to the house is still there, but today all the appliances are state of the art. We even have a chef.

Rose opened a tavern and kept it running even during Prohibition. She had tunnels built all around the house and some connected to the iron mines. She ran booze in and out of the house through those tunnels and associated with known gangsters from Detroit, Chicago and New York.

The town loves her now that she’s been dead for over thirty years.

Prohibition ended when Franklin Roosevelt became president. The mines that once supported this town are all closed now.

All of this has little or nothing to do with Lisa Mentor or her arrest.

Okay, it has a lot to do with Lisa’s arrest. I am just trying to figure out how to connect some of the dots.

When I went to pour myself a cup of coffee, Jack Brianka came in and sat at the break table.

“Lisa is asking for you,” he told me.

“Are they allowing her visitors?”

“Family. Vonnie and I got in. Danni got in, she helped Dr. Tracie do the medical evaluation.”

“Is that necessary? Everyone in town knows she’s crazy.”

“What do you think?” Jack asked me.

I didn’t answer. I really didn’t know what I think.

Almasy House 1925

Lisa was a strange child. That first night that her mother’s body lay in the parlor for view, she had crawled in the casket with her dead mother. The ladies who used the parlor to entertain gentlemen even when there was a funeral had pulled the child out of the casket and had sat with her until Rose came to take the child upstairs.

After that, Rose locked the three children in a room. She brought them their meals, took them down to see their mother’s body and gave them bathroom breaks.

One night Rose had the two older children taken downstairs to dinner. She sat down beside the small child. Lisa at first tried to pull away. She would not look at the fancy lady. “I want my daddy,” she said.

Rose sighed. Perhaps the child did not remember or perhaps she had not even seen what happened.

“You know your daddy went away,”

No answer. Lisa stared at the floor.

“Your daddy got on a train and he went away. He went to San Francisco and when he gets to San Francisco, he will get on a big boat and go all the way to China. He wasn’t a good daddy.”

Lisa continued to stare at the floor.

“Lisa, if you think you saw anything else happen to your daddy, you are wrong. Do you understand?”

The child made no answer. Instead she jumped off the sofa and tried to flee. But Rose caught her and pulled her back. Lisa could offer little more resistance than a kitten.

“You don’t want people to think you’re a liar, now do you?” Rose wasn’t even sure that the child heard her. She would get Father Hollander and the nuns at the orphanage to work with Lisa. “I think you had a very bad dream the night your mother died. But remember what really happened. Your mother went to heaven and your daddy went to China.”

She repeated it. “Your mother went to heaven, and your daddy went to China.”

Rose felt she should hug the child. But she couldn’t bring herself to get that close to a dirty little Jew. It was enough that she had to clutch the child to keep her from running away.

The little girl’s brown eyes held some emotion. Fear? Anger? Hatred? Sorrow? Rose thought she saw all that in this little one. She had done her Christian duty. Martha’s bastards would go the orphanage and be raised as good Catholics. Jesus would be proud of her charity.

She had just finished explaining things to the child when she heard the gunshot that killed her husband.

Penny 1970

The tunnels under Almasy House wound this way and that and back again. They had been built back when Rose Almasy and her husband owned the house. Rose hired foreign laborers to build the tunnels. When they were finished those laborers were transported back to their native land.

One rumor said she murdered them and their bodies are still there in one of the tunnels.

Another rumor says she has a fortune in gold and jewels buried some place in one of the tunnels. Those tunnels are barricaded off now. They are too dangerous for recreational fortune hunters.

Emil Mynter a mining engineer, explored some and maybe all of the tunnels. There were probably a few others who know their way around down there.

The sheriff, Miles Olson has gone into the tunnels to rescue people who got lost. He found some of them usually with help from Emil Mynter. I wondered how Miles found his way around down there. He was never a miner or a mining engineer like Mynter. But then I ask too many questions.

Thinking of the sheriff brought me back to the present and Lisa’s problems. After I left Vonnie’s office where Jack, Vonnie and I discussed Lisa’s case, I tried to avoid talking to anyone. Reporters knew I spent time with Vonnie and Jack. They must be wondering about my connection to the case. I hurried through the atrium.

I wasn’t fast enough. “Excuse me,” one of the reporters called. “I understand you’re an amateur historian here.”

“Not really.” Usually my title is called local snoop.

“I was wondering about Jeff Hollander.”

“What about him?” I breathed a sigh of relief.

“Not much about him here at Almasy house or at the museum.”

“Why should there be?” It was my turn to ask a question.

“Just wondering.”

“Mrs. Smith can help you find some articles in the old newspapers. We have microfilm readers.” Mary Mynter Smith, daughter of the old mining engineer, was the president of the historical society and my boss.

The reporter grinned, “Like I said, I was just asking.”

As he walked away I thought, you’ll never know the truth. It’s too well hidden.

1925

The town was not quite sure what to make of Father Thomas Hollander. He was as young as the century, just 25 years old. He was movie star handsome, and according to some of the young women in town who were infatuated by his blue eyes and blond hair, he was even handsomer than Francis X. Bushman whom he somewhat resembled. Church attendance was up among the young girls in town and also among their mothers.

There had been a rush on confessions among the men lately. A miner had been lynched. The men in confession spoke of watching, horrified. None confessed to the actual crime. Who had put the rope around the miner’s neck? Who forced him up the ladder? Who kicked the ladder away? If Hollander was shocked, he did not show it.

He had been too young to serve in the Great War, but an older brother had served and suffered a kind of exhaustion. He knew his brother had seen death, and had even participated in the battles. Things like that broke some men. These miners seemed remorseful, but not broken.

For his part, Hollander did not know what to make of Mountain Ridge, a town unlike any other town he had ever lived in. It consisted of the very wealthy like the summer vacationers who came north to enjoy the lakes and trees. Usually they had cottages outside of town. Some wealthy mine owners had houses within the town. Enrico Rinaldi was building a new home. If only he were Catholic. Not that Rinaldi wasn’t generous. He had donated a thousand dollars to the church charity fund.

Rose Almasy ran a very successful boarding house and restaurant. She also ran booze. Everyone in town knew where they could get a drink.

Rose was a good Catholic who attended mass every morning.

Hollander often took his meals at Almasy House, but didn’t know if he had ever met Rose’s husband, who always stayed in the background like a potted plant. The Almasys made monthly and yearly donations to the church that were very generous.

A few parishioners had speculated that Rose and her husband would leave all their possessions to the church when they died. As far as Jeff Hollander knew, they had no one else to leave their possessions to. He had heard gossip about a daughter, but he could gather few details. He knew her first name, and year of christening, but beyond that the girl was a mystery. Was she still living? Where? Had she ever married? Would she visit Mountain Ridge some day? Hollander tried to get information on this daughter, but had been unsuccessful. Some people said they didn’t know; a few shook their heads and said it was a sad thing. When he pressed for details, all anyone told him was that the girl was gone.

Hollander was unprepared for the events of January 1925.

First there was that young wife, Martha who had died of a heart attack. She had left the Catholic faith and married a Jewish man. Hollander explained that a Christian burial was out of the question, but after Rose Almasy pushed an envelope stuffed with money into his hands, he agreed to conduct a funeral ceremony at Almasy House where the body lay in state. Burial was possible, he decided accepting a second envelop of money. The body could be entered near the edge of the churchyard. Surprisingly none of the towns people objected to this unchristian woman lying among them.

On the contrary, many women had thanked him, saying Martha was a good Christian woman who had been led astray by the Jew. Look how quickly he had left town and abandoned those children. Shameful.

Of course, Hollander knew the truth from the confessions he heard. Martha’s husband had been lynched.

Rose made another large donation and he agreed to take the children to the Catholic orphanage.

Martha had not been such a pretty woman. He had seen pictures of her. He had looked upon her body lying in the casket. The townspeople loved her and hated the man she chose over them and over the true religion. Was it more than John’s religion that damned him in the eye of this pious town? He was a foreigner. Some people hated foreigners. John Brianka had had been lynched. There was no doubt in his mind that each man present at the killing was guilty of the murder.

Hollander had given those men who came to him absolution. He would have done the same for Rose, had she asked for it. She seldom came to confession. But she must have known what happened that night.

No one seemed to know what had happened to the body of John Brianka. One of the men said he thought one of Rose’s henchmen “took care of it.” She had connections with gangsters; at least that is what some people said. Another penitent said the sheriff had removed the body.

Then Louis, Rose’s husband, committed suicide. Rose wanted him buried in the churchyard, and she wanted a church funeral. Hollander explained that suicides like non believers should not be buried in consecrated ground, but Rose had shoved yet another envelope of money at him. Another funeral was held at Almasy House and then Louis went in the ground beside Martha at the edge of the churchyard.

Again no one complained.

Then came the letter. It was Louis’ suicide note sent through the mail just before he shot himself.

It told of how Rose had loved Martha. How upset she had been when Martha had married. It told why Rose carried a vendetta against John, and what she had gained or rather lost by causing John’s death.

Rose hadn’t meant for John to die. She just wanted him ridden out of town. Rose had indirectly caused Martha’s death too.

If the letter were sent to the authorities, Rose might even go to prison. Indeed Louis expected the priest to contact the authorities, and present evidence.

But, Hollander decided it was a confession and confidential. He would keep Rose’s secrets. He would keep the town’s secrets.

Father Jeffrey Hollander began taking all of his meals at Almasy House. He proved a fascinating conversationalist. Soon he was invited upstairs where he ate in Rose’s private quarters. She was 57 and he was in his mid to late 20’s. But he hungered for her money and decided he would do whatever was necessary to help the poor widow who was now alone.

His charm would do more than help the church. It would also make him a rich man.

TO BE CONTINUED…