Chapter 6 - Sweethearts and Monsters
The next morning Stone jumped out his car and ran up the walk as giddy as a little boy on Christmas day. He knocked, and Ms. Maple answered. Gracey was still in the kitchen gulping down her coffee and trying to eat her toast in four bites. Gracey peeked done the hall and acknowledged Stone’s arrival as she waved around her coffee cup and chewed. “Hi, sweetheart,” Stone called out. Ms. Maple looked up at him wide-eyed, and her jaw dropped. Gracey looked at him in disapproval.
“Too soon?” Stone asked.
Gracey nodded her head yes and crinkled her nose. “Too soon,” she replied.
“What happened last night?” Ms. Maple asked quietly.
Stone leaned down to her ear and whispered, “We kissed.”
Ms. Maple shook her head, laughed and walked away. That boy has it bad, she murmured and laughed some more.
“I want to go back to the library,” Stone told Gracey as they left. “I saw a few newspaper articles in Molly’s box and want to find them.”
Minutes later, Mrs. Grady escorted Stone and Gracey to the private viewing room and unlocked the door. “More research?” Mrs. Grady asked.
“I want to look at some older articles,” Stone told her. “I would like to see August 1987.”
“August 1987?” Mrs. Grady asked fearfully. Of course, Mrs. Grady knew what had happened, but she said nothing as she avoided looking at Gracey.
“Yes ma’am,” Stone replied.
Mrs. Grady brought the microfiche reel and told Stone to call down to the desk if he needed anything else.
It took Stone a few minutes to find the article “Two Local Women Attacked, One Dead,” and printed it out. The article described how two local women, Sally Birch, and Mayra Newsome, were attacked by several men. Stone found Sally Birch’s obituary and printed it, as well. Sally died trying to stop Mayra from being assaulted. The attack had been stopped by Mr. Newsome and Mr. Birch but not soon enough to save Sally. Sally and Mayra had been out celebrating Sally’s news she was pregnant. The photo of the crime scene showed a few people in the background. Looking closer, one of the women in the crowd looked a lot like Stone’s mother. “It can't be!” Stone exclaimed. “I need to enlarge this picture.”
Stone searched the newspapers to ascertain if anyone had been arrested for Sally’s murder. He found one stating the police had a few suspects. The men belonged to a gang of bikers from out of state. And then a week later, there was another article citing two bikers had been found dead in a densely wooded area of a nearby state park. The official cause of death was listed as an animal attack. Stone printed out both articles.
Stone and Gracey sat in disbelief. Neither of them knew about these occurrences. Stone was a little over three years old at the time, and it was nine months before Gracey was born. Stone did the math silently and visibly shaken, stacked the copies and tried to find a way to distract Gracey.
Gracey reached across the table, to grab the papers and knocked over her tote. Stone saw the cover of the book she was reading and almost laughed. “So how do you like the book?” Stone asked, changing the subject from their recent discoveries. On the cover was a picture of a black wolf with vivid green eyes.
“It’s not bad. I usually don’t read this type of book, but the storyline is interesting, despite it being totally make-believe,” Gracey replied.
“Have you read any others by this author,” Stone asked.
“Molly dropped off this one and plus another before I left for Africa. I haven’t even finished this one yet.”
“Do you know who A. B. Henry is?” Stone asked Gracey. She shook her head no.
“She's my mother,” Stone answered.
Gracey looked at him, shocked. “Your mother?”
“My mother was born Abigail Henrikson. Abby, A – B. And she anglicized Henrikson to Henry. She had written the books before she met my father. She met him at a book signing in New York. And the rest is history, as they say in the movies.”
“I wonder if Molly knew your mother wrote these,” Gracey mused.
Stone thought about it, but he did have an answer. He shrugged.
“Henrikson; I have seen or heard the name before,” Gracey stated baffled. “In the box Molly had. I saw a piece of the paper that was folded in half with the words, ‘Henrikson Family Tree’ on the outside. I did not recognize the name, so I ignored it. Why would Molly be interested in your family tree?”
“We need to get that box,” Stone declared with a sense of urgency.
Stone and Gracey prepared to leave to pay Molly another visit. But on the way out, Mrs. Grady discreetly passed an envelope to Stone and whispered, “You may want to look at this.”
Once inside Stone’s car, he opened the envelope. It was a photocopy of Sally Birch’s death certificate. “Why does Mrs. Grady want me to have this?” Stone asked Gracey. It was a standard death certificate, but as he read the cause of death aloud, they both gasped, ‘Massive loss of blood.'
“It’s the same as my mother’s cause of death.”
“This cannot be a coincidence!”
Gracey did not have an answer.
“Let’s get some lunch, and then we will figure out where we go from here,” Stone suggested seeing the look of horror on Gracey's face.
Stone and Gracey stopped at a restaurant outside of Lone Hill for a bit of privacy. Stone had the papers from the envelope on the table. He was staring at the death certificate. The waitress refilling their tea glasses noticed the document. “Are you researching your family tree?” she asked casually.
Stone and Gracey looked up at the waitress, puzzled. “Death Certificates can be extremely helpful in researching your family. They have information about the parents; the spouse, if married, why they died, who examined the body and sometimes where the dearly departed was interned.” And then she walked away.
Jesse Birch was listed as the spouse of Sally, and there was a home address. “Mrs. Grady gave us this for a reason. Maybe we are supposed to talk to Mr. Birch,” Gracey suggested while shrugging.
“It couldn’t hurt,” Stone nodded in agreement.
Stone and Gracey drove to the address on the death certificate but found Mr. Birch no longer lived there. The new occupants gave them another address. They drove to the second address; again Mr. Birch no longer lived there. Standing near the road, wondering what to do next, they were approached by an older neighbor. The woman asked with a deep southern drawl, “Who ya lookin’ foe?”
“We are looking for Jesse Birch,” Stone replied, flashing his perfect smile.
“Mista Birch moved away a long time ago, darlin'.”
Looking defeated, Stone and Gracey turned to get into the car, when the elderly woman called out, “But I knows where he live.” And then she mumbled, “Dat man be crazy. He keeps talking about monsters and eyes dat glow in the dark.”
“Where?” Gracey called out. “Where does he live?”
Gracey wrote down the address, and after an exuberant thank you, Stone and Gracey drove away. As they entered the neighborhood, the property values of the homes drastically decreased. As they pulled up to the address provided, it seemed more like a shack than a house. After a few minutes of contemplation, Stone reached across and locked Gracey’s door. “Don’t get out until I motion for you,” he told Gracey before getting out of the car, and then Stone approached the door.
Stone knocked loudly, and a few moments later an older man answered the door. “Mr. Birch?” Stone inquired.
“Yes,” the man replied.
“Mr. Birch, my name is Stone Rudolph. I have Gracey Newsome with me, and we would like to talk to you for a few minutes about Gracey’s mother, Mayra.”
Jesse Birch looked towards the car and to Gracey. He paled as if had seen a ghost. Mr. Birch scowled and started to close the door, but Stone held the door open with his hand.
“We only want a few minutes, sir. It would truly mean a
lot to Gracey,” Stone implored as he looked towards the car.
“Okay, but just a few minutes,” Mr. Birch agreed reluctantly. He did not want to entertain guests let alone answer any questions. But he knew Stone would persist until he acquiesced.
Stone motioned for Gracey to join him, and together they entered the shack. The shack was dark and dirty. Mr. Birch’s appearance, much like his home, was disheveled. Mr. Birch's face was tired and wrinkled, and his eyes were dark and disturbing. He looked as if he was constantly being tortured by monsters and demons.
Gracey stayed close to the door afraid to enter any further. Stone cautiously sat on the arm of one of the chairs closer to Mr. Birch.
Stone started the conversation. “We found an old newspaper article about your wife and Gracey’s mother being attacked back in 1987. I know this is hard Mr. Birch but can you tell us about that night?”
Mr. Birch looked around the shack nervously as if looking to see if someone was watching him, listening to him.
“It was supposed to be the happiest night of my Sally’s life. Sally and Mayra were best friends; had been since they were little girls. We had just found out Sally was pregnant. Mayra and John were newly married, and Mayra was hoping to be pregnant soon as well.”
Mr. Birch paused for a moment, taking a long draw on his bottle of beer.
“We had all gone out to Paddy’s to celebrate. It was late when we left. We boys were caring for the tab, and the girls left the pub ahead of us carrying on about baby names and what not.” Mr. Birch drank again.
“John and I were joking around as we walked out and then we heard it; a murderous scream and then another. We ran towards our girls.” Mr. Birch broke down crying. Taking a deep breath, he looked around the shack again, acting paranoid.
The volume of his voice lowered, almost to a whisper. “We could hear the screams, and the sound of growling, loud growling. We ran as fast as we could, yelling. We saw three extremely large men running away. Sally was on the ground bleeding, practically cut to pieces and near death. Your mother…” Mr. Birch paused, looking towards Gracey. “I cannot tell you anything more. Your father knows the rest.”
As Mr. Birch stood to walk away, the sunlight beaming into the room spotlighted Gracey. Mr. Birch looked at Gracey, and shuddered in fear, and shrieked, “Your eyes! I can see them in your eyes!” In sheer panic, Mr. Birch ran from the room.
Stone and Gracey stood in utter confusion. “Omigod, what was that about?” Gracey asked. With no answer to the question, they returned to Stone’s car and left.
“Things are getting weird,” Stone stated, breaking the silence. “I think we need to regroup and plan what we do next.”
“I need to see my father,” Gracey said sadly.
“When was the last time you visited him?” Stone inquired.
Gracey started sobbing. “Never.”
“Never?”
“He doesn’t want me to come to the prison. He says it would be too hard on him,” Gracey replied tearfully.
“But we need to find out whatever it was Mr. Birch would not talk about,” Stone insisted.
“I know, but…”
“Let me make some calls and see what I can do,” Stone said taking charge. “But for tomorrow, let’s meet at my office, and we will figure out what we know and what we need to find out; this seems like a big circle with no end. It is as if everything is related, but I cannot figure it out.”
Gracey was feeling the same and agreed. “I will have a car pick you up in the morning, and then we will get started.”
The sleek black BMW 760Li town car arrived the next morning, as promised. Charles knocked and waited while Gracey rinsed her coffee cup in the sink and gathered her belongings. While not the first time Charles had been Gracey’s driver, she was still in awe of his size. “If I ever need a bodyguard, I am calling you,” Gracey said jokingly.
Charles drove Gracey to Stone’s home office. It was built as a guest house behind the Rudolph mansion. It was larger than the boarding house and in the same style of the main house. The furnishings were much like the Rudolph home, built in shelves, pocket doors, natural wood and lots of windows. The dining room had been converted into a conference room. The building included a fully stocked kitchen and bedroom suite with an oversized bathroom.
As Gracey entered, she observed two large whiteboards set up near a smaller conference table in the main office. A side-hutch was set up with refreshments and pastries. Stone heard Gracey arrival and placed a bag of her favorite tea into a cup to steep. He knew Gracey liked her tea strong and sweet with a splash of cream.
“Gracey, please sit, let’s talk for a few minutes. I called the prison, and I have talked to your father. He was quite reluctant at first, but he has agreed to see you tomorrow. Are you up to it?”
Gracey softly sobbed, but then her tears turned to tears of joy. The chance to see her father regardless of the reason for the visit would be welcome. After six years, Gracey wanted to see her father, and she wanted to see if he was doing well. She missed him. She worried about him.
“Yes,” Gracey replied with a small smile.
Stone looked down at the folder of documents and newspaper articles in his hands. Then looking up at Gracey Stone asked an equally difficult question, “Do you want to continue? We can stop now if you want. I think we are stumbling into something more than just who your mother’s killer was. Do we want to know it all?”
This was the third time Stone had asked her if she wanted to find her mother’s killer. “We continue,” Gracey stated with no reservations.
“Let’s look at what we know. What’s the same?” Stone told Gracey, and they started looking at each document.
“Mrs. Birch and my mother both died of massive blood loss. And both their bodies were mutilated.”
Stone wrote it on the first board.
“Mr. Birch heard growling, and I smelled the scent of an animal in my mother’s room. Is it related?” Gracey asked.
Stone replied, “I don’t know,” and wrote it on the second board. “My mother’s birth name was Henrikson, and you saw a piece of paper with the words Henrikson Family Tree on it.” Stone wrote it on both boards.
“And what was with Mr. Birch yelling ‘I see them in your eyes’?” Gracey wondered aloud. Stone wrote the word 'eyes' on the second board.
“What else do we have?” Gracey asked.
“Well, one article told about two suspects in your mother’s attack back in 1987. But Mr. Birch said there were three attackers. And this other article talks about two gang members found dead in the woods killed by an animal attack. And there are no names.”
“I am so confused.”
“Me, too.”
Then Stone remembered the photo of his mother at the scene of the 1987 attack. And he wrote it on the board. “What does your mother have to do with this?” Gracey interjected.
“I don’t know, but since we already have her name on the board, let’s not dismiss it.” Stone insisted reluctantly. “And we need to find out from your father what Mr. Birch would not tell us,” Stone added sullenly.
“We need to get back into Molly’s house and look at everything in that box. If we go back so soon, she will be suspicious. I hate to suggest this, but we may have to steal the box,” Stone continued after a short pause.
Gracey looked at Stone in shock and disbelief, but she agreed. She would not be able to pull off the ruse a second time.
“We will take care of it after we talk to your father. Maybe we will not have to be involved in a breaking and entering. At least not yet,” Stone tried to joke.