A Place Forgotten By Time

By Jacqueline Tracy

Lion Township is a place forgotten by time. Carved out of the thick forest region of the Adirondack Mountains in New York State, it is shaped like a lion. For over one hundred years it has stood still awaiting revival. But forces prevail that keep the region in stillness. This mystery novel explores this place with its secret cave, its murders, and its hidden agenda for global warfare and terrorism. A Map of Lion Township is provided to the reader to follow along as the suspense builds. Trace the characters' trips over to River Centre, or up the back of the lion, or up lion's tail road. Circle Mt. Petite with them, climb down into Kiss Cave as the mystery unfolds.
Within the township is the tiny, antiquated town of Lionsville. It is the center of intrigue. Follow along as the characters come to life running up and down its one short street in pursuit of adventure. A graphic style Map of Lionsville is provided of the town that time has left behind.
This book spans almost 60 years. There is no mystery to the timeline, so dates are clearly marked.
Part I: Evil On The Loose is 1970. A murder is committed that will be forgotten by most, but will haunt others until the end. Who murdered Laura Mason? Where did the fugitive go? Where is the decaying body of Buddy? Why is Quincy Mason locked in his own frozen world? Where did the twins go? Did the FBI sweep the murder under the run calling it solved? Then why did the sheriff put the box in cold case storage?
Part II: Until Death Do Us Part takes us back to the 1950s and brings us up to the murder of 1970. It tells of the two who are parted by different kinds of death. Did Quincy Mason love too much? Was it the blizzard that buried him?
Part III: A Den Of Lions is the present day. Looking for a quiet place to retire, Detective Thomas Beaumont gets embroiled in the cold case murder that is now over 40 years old. It is compounded by federal agents seeking his help, and assorted town characters who do not want him there. Who is the mysterious shadow that disappears when you get too close? Who are Max and his cohorts of evil? Why does Harvey Franklin report his patrons' movements to Max? Why does Onatah Marquis report her real estate findings to Mayor Donahue? How does Kiss Cave remain a secret? Why is someone trying to murder Thomas Beaumont? What surprises does the cold case evidence box hold? What does ATF hope to find in a place forgotten by time? What riddles lay deep underground? Who is the kingpin in the weapons trafficking? Is Brad Rowe guilty or was he framed? Can a death-bed confession help to unravel the mysteries?
Part IV: Morphing Of Bartholomew takes us back to 1970 and brings us up to the present day. It is time to sort out the lies from the truth. A convoluted life of deception, treachery, murder, and crime cycle until Bartholomew returns back to himself. What help did Bartholomew have? Can his spirit survive the onslaught of his own making?
Part V: The Lion Rests continues the present day. All the questions have been answered. Lion Township, once a place forgotten by time, is revealed to the world as a place of treachery and murder. The lies have been exposed; the truth is once again established. Soon that which had been publicized to the world is forgotten. The township is once again a tranquil place, a place forgotten by time.
Some of the places mentioned actually exist. There really is a New York City, Albany, Buffalo, Carthage, Baldwin, East Aurora, and Montreal.
There is no such place as Xavier County, Castle Point, River Centre, Mt. Petite, Lion Township or Lionsville in New York. But these fictional places are set within Adirondack Park, a very real and beautiful region. Let the flavor of that special region seep into these fictional places to make them seem real for you as you read.
Enjoy!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jacqueline Tracy
• Release date: Oct 14, 2011
• ISBN: 9781452432205

Jacqueline Tracy

Jacqueline G. Tracy holds a Ph.D. degree from the University of Sedona, Arizona in Metaphysical Counseling; a Doctoral Ministerial Ordained Ministers Diploma, University Seminary College; and a Spiritual Mind Treatment Practitioners Diploma, International Metaphysical Ministry, University Seminary; and a Neurolinguistic Programming (NLP) Practitioner Certificate, American University of NLP. Her approach is holistic, combining body, mind, soul, emotions, and societal impact upon clients and their needs. She is presently semi-retired after many years in individual, family, and corporate counseling, life coaching, and Akashic field readings. She enjoys spending time with her children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

Book preview

Table Of Contents

Preface

Maps

Part I: Evil On The Loose

Chapter 1 – July 7, 1970

Chapter 2 – July 8, 1970

Chapter 3 – The Summer Drags On

Chapter 4 – Not Over Yet

Part II: Until Death Do Us Part

Chapter 1 – November 1953

Chapter 2 – 1954 To 1956

Chapter 3 – The Honeymoon

Chapter 4 – 1957 To 1970

Chapter 5 – The Final Death

Part III: A Den Of Lions

Chapter 1 – Monday

Chapter 2 – Tuesday

Chapter 3 – Wednesday

Chapter 4 – Thursday

Chapter 5 – Friday

Chapter 6 – Saturday

Chapter 7 – Saturday Night

Part IV: Morphing Of Bartholomew

Chapter 1 – The Fatal Shots

Chapter 2 – A New Life Begins

Chapter 3 – The Teen Years

Chapter 4 – The Turning Point

Chapter 5 – Back To Lionsville

Chapter 6 – Plans In Motion

Chapter 7 – Stepping Up The Pace

Chapter 8 – The Final Week

Chapter 9 – The Final Day

Part V: The Lion Rests

Chapter 1 – Saturday Night Ends

Chapter 2 – Sunday

Chapter 3 – Tranquility Restored

Chapter 4 – Remembering The Past

Acknowledgments

About The Author

Contact Information

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Preface

Pay attention to your dreams. You may yet have that lucid novel revealed to you within those sleepy, remembered moments. This basis for this story came to me in just such a way. That seems preposterous, but it's true. I envisioned this as a movie, so as the reader, you can follow the actions and thoughts of each character from the screen behind your eyes.

Lion Township is a place forgotten by time. Carved out of the thick forest region of the Adirondack Mountains in New York State, it is shaped like a lion. For over one hundred years it has stood still awaiting revival. But forces prevail that keep the region in stillness. This mystery novel explores this place with its secret cave, its murders, and its hidden agenda for global warfare and terrorism. A Map of Lion Township is provided to the reader to follow along as the suspense builds. Trace the characters' trips over to River Centre, or up the back of the lion, or up lion's tail road. Circle Mt. Petite with them, climb down into Kiss Cave as the mystery unfolds.

Within the township is the tiny, antiquated town of Lionsville. It is the center of intrigue. Follow along as the characters come to life running up and down its one short street in pursuit of adventure. A graphic style Map of Lionsville is provided of the town that time has left behind.

This book spans almost 60 years. There is no mystery to the timeline, so dates are clearly marked.

'Part I: Evil On The Loose' is 1970. A murder is committed that will be forgotten by most, but will haunt others until the end. Who murdered Laura Mason? Where did the fugitive go? Where is the decaying body of Buddy? Why is Quincy Mason locked in his own frozen world? Where did the twins go? Did the FBI sweep the murder under the run calling it solved? Then why did the sheriff put the box in cold case storage?

'Part II: Until Death Do Us Part' takes us back to the 1950s and brings us up to the murder of 1970. It tells of the two who are parted by different kinds of death. Did Quincy Mason love too much? Was it the blizzard that buried him?

'Part III: A Den Of Lions' is the present day. Looking for a quiet place to retire, Detective Thomas Beaumont gets embroiled in the cold case murder that is now over 40 years old. It is compounded by federal agents seeking his help, and assorted town characters who do not want him there. Who is the mysterious shadow that disappears when you get too close? Who are Max and his cohorts of evil? Why does Harvey Franklin report his patrons' movements to Max? Why does Onatah Marquis report her real estate findings to Mayor Donahue? How does Kiss Cave remain a secret? Why is someone trying to murder Thomas Beaumont? What surprises does the cold case evidence box hold? What does ATF hope to find in a place forgotten by time? What riddles lay deep underground? Who is the kingpin in the weapons trafficking? Is Brad Rowe guilty or was he framed? Can a death-bed confession help to unravel the mysteries?

'Part IV: Morphing Of Bartholomew' takes us back to 1970 and brings us up to the present day. It is time to sort out the lies from the truth. A convoluted life of deception, treachery, murder, and crime cycle until Bartholomew returns back to himself. What help did Bartholomew have? Can his spirit survive the onslaught of his own making?

'Part V: The Lion Rests' continues the present day. All the questions have been answered. Lion Township, once a place forgotten by time, is revealed to the world as a place of treachery and murder. The lies have been exposed; the truth is once again established. Soon that which had been publicized to the world is forgotten. The township is once again a tranquil place, a place forgotten by time.

As with all fiction, the people in my story are a figment of my imagination. That is what makes fiction writing so much fun. You can make them be, do or say whatever it is that fits the situation. It is not likely then, that you know anyone quite like them.

Some of the places mentioned actually exist. There really is a New York City, Albany, Buffalo, Carthage, Baldwin, East Aurora, and Montreal.

There is no such place as Xavier County, Castle Point, River Centre, Mt. Petite, Lion Township or Lionsville in New York. But these fictional places are set within Adirondack Park, a very real and beautiful region. Let the flavor of that special region seep into these fictional places to make them seem real for you as you read.

Enjoy!

Jacqueline G. Tracy

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Maps

A Map of Lion Township is provided to the reader to follow along as the suspense builds. Trace the characters' trips over to River Centre, or up the back of the lion, or up lion's tail road. Circle Mt. Petite with them, climb down into Kiss Cave as the mystery unfolds.

Within the township is the tiny, antiquated town of Lionsville. A graphic style Map of Lionsville is provided of the town that time has left behind. It is the center of intrigue. Follow along as the characters come to life running up and down its one short street in pursuit of adventure.

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Part I: Evil On The Loose

1970

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Chapter 1 - July 7, 1970

Only The Beginning

Antonio Rizzo kicked the walls of the small holding cell. A pleasant vacation in the Vermont mountains had gone sour. A routine traffic stop and quick background check had landed him in a one-horse-town in the middle of nowhere.

Why is it always a routine traffic stop? he uttered rhetorically. He kicked the cot as if the thin mattress would answer him.

Not even air-conditioned, he complained, wiping his forehead smearing the olive oil that ran down from his thick, black hair.

Hey, he yelled, where's my one phone call?

Constable Paxton Murray complied. The sooner this smelly, hairy reprobate is out of my town the better. The heat of the day isn't improving the odor, either, he grimaced. He would have to put up with it for another day. The burly, rude guest in Cell B couldn't be transferred to a more secure county facility until tomorrow.

Rizzo made his one call, and it wasn't to a lawyer. Get me out of this stinking hell hole, he demanded. My car's been impounded. This place is so backwards, I got a ride to the pokey in the fuzz's family station wagon and sat on a lollipop. Then the pig's wife actually brought me breakfast over from her kitchen on a pink tray. By tomorrow morning, I'll be in worse shape. They're taking me to county, again in the station wagon. I'll probably end up sitting on gum.

Sit tight, we'll handle it, came the throaty answer.

Rizzo relaxed, The Family will free me, probably tomorrow during the transfer from this joke of a jail.

The county had plans to eventually transfer him from Vermont custody back to Illinois to face charges of murder, extortion, money laundering, drugs, prostitution, arms dealing, and gambling.

Rizzo sneered, Chicago will never see me again. The Family will take care of that.

tmp_05c8b8574794f9a20465da7b14307ce4_RR0P77_html_3b6f2b68.jpg A Valuable Family Member

Antonio Rizzo, born in Chicago in 1933, had grown up in survival mode. Early life had been one petty theft after another. His ingenious ways caught the attention of the Family.

The Don took a liking to the daring teenager and began to train him in more profitable pursuits. He soon graduated from extortion, prostitution, and drugs, to money laundering, gambling, and arms dealing, and then finally to murder.

Rizzo was a valuable asset to the Family. They took care of their own. They would set him up elsewhere to continue his service to them.

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Chapter 2 - July 8, 1970

Evil Takes Root

Paxton Murray would be glad when this day was over. Transferring the hairy beast would mean he could come home in the evening, relaxed. Is his breakfast ready? he inquired.

His lovely wife, Suzie, had already fed the family. Now she was putting the finishing touches on the prisoner's meal. All ready, she declared. Do you want me to bring it over?

No, thanks, honey, I'll take it. This will be the last meal here for this guy. I transfer him later this morning to county. He kissed Suzie good-bye, tousled the hair of his three-year-old son, and gave an Eskimo kiss to his daughter, still in the highchair.

Suzie handed the pink tray with the silver-domed cover over the food to her husband. He couldn't resist another good-bye kiss.

~~**~~

Another meal on a pink tray, Rizzo mumbled. But he had to admit to himself that the food was really good, even if served in a back-country way. He finished his meal and sat on the cot patiently waiting to be transferred. Transferred to freedom, he silently mused.

Constable Murray came rattling the ancient, skeleton cell keys and carrying handcuffs and leg irons. Transfer time, Mr. Rizzo.

What, no lunch on a pink tray? Rizzo sarcastically dripped. He thought, This clown makes Barney Fife look like Wyatt Earp.

Another hour and I'll be free of him, muttered Murray. He'll be the county's problem then.

Murray restrained the prisoner with both handcuffs and leg irons and took him out a side door putting him in the back of the station wagon. Rizzo didn't bother to struggle, no need. The escape will be planned closer to this dumpy town than the county seat, he predicted. Traffic will be too thick there, and the escape would be harder. He sat patiently. He had no idea what the Family had in mind, but he would be ready.

~~**~~

At the edge of town the route south dropped off to gravel. They had only gone about a mile when Murray stopped the car. Up ahead bales of hay were scattered all over the road. What the…? he muttered.

Rizzo looked out the front windshield from his backseat position. He saw the bales too and silently grinned.

A new, red 1970 Ford F-100 Ranger with Vermont plates was headed into a ditch with its tailgate open and a few bales still in its bed. A beat-up, maroon, 1965, four-door Chevelle Malibu with New York plates was angled across the road with its front bumper touching the pick-up's side door. Two men were arguing and pointing to the two vehicles and the hay all over the road. Murray and Rizzo could hear their shouts from the other side of the bales.

Would hate to be the insurance agent on this one, thought the constable.

He surveyed the situation. One was dressed in a plaid shirt, blue jeans, and straw hat, the other was in dress slacks with a summer open-collar shirt. Local farmer and vacationer, guessed Murray.

Rizzo knew this was it. He recognized Vinnie and Johnny. He half-closed his eyes in a sleepy manner of disinterest at the situation, but he was on high alert. If anyone can do the job, it will be Vinnie and Johnny. He was now in the capable hands of his two nephews, his sister's boys. They must have flown in yesterday, he guessed.

Constable Murray shook his head and mumbled, Fools. He turned to look at Rizzo. He was securely cuffed, both hands and legs in the back seat, half dozing.

Murray got out of the station wagon and called across the bales, Hey, you two get this hay out of the road. If you need to file a report, I'll be back in about an hour.

The two men walked toward the constable, moving in and out and around the many bales of hay. They were pointing back to the two vehicles and shouting, each one accusing the other of causing the accident. They were now just a few feet from Constable Murray.

Vinnie and Johnny pulled out revolvers and shot the constable. He never knew what hit him. Paxton Murray was dead.

tmp_05c8b8574794f9a20465da7b14307ce4_RR0P77_html_3b6f2b68.jpg Escape Instructions

Vinnie rifled the pockets of the dead officer and found the cuff and iron keys. While he freed Rizzo, Johnny backed the Chevelle sedan away from the Ford pick-up and headed it south. Then he backed the pick-up out of the ditch, pushed the remaining bales of hay from the bed onto the road, and headed it south away from the bales also.

Rizzo and Vinnie ran the obstacle course through the bales to the other side. Johnny gave quick instructions to the now-freed prisoner. Uncle Tony, get out of those clothes, now, he ordered. He reached into the Chevelle and pulled out a clean pair of slacks and a summer polo shirt. Rizzo stripped off his rumpled, sweat-stained clothes quickly. Johnny threw them, and they landed on a hay bale. While Rizzo was changing into his new outfit, he received further instructions.

Vinnie handed his uncle a wallet. Here, put this in your pocket. There is a new identity for you and a New York driver's license in that wallet. You are now Salvatore Catalano. There is no more Antonio Rizzo. There's plenty of cash in the wallet. There's a map on the front seat. Follow the roads marked in red on it.

The new Salvatore Catalano glanced over his shoulder at the map. The marked roads looked like his nephews had thrown spaghetti soaked in marinara sauce on it. The wiggly, red tracks were all over the map.

You will be staying off the main highways. That's where the roadblocks are going to be within an hour of someone finding this, informed Vinnie as he swept his arm to include the station wagon, dead constable and hay bales.

Johnny continued the instructions, You will be on back roads most of the time through small, almost non-existent towns. Don't speed on any paved road, and go extra slow on gravel or dirt roads. If you throw up too much dust, the residents get mad and will call the local fuzz who will come looking for you. You got that?

Salvatore Catalano nodded, Yeah, slow, got it. He climbed behind the wheel of the maroon Chevelle Malibu. Johnny slammed the car door shut.

Vinnie revealed, This Chevelle is registered to Salvatore Catalano, but it isn't clean and neither are the plates. It was the best we could do on such short notice. Try not to get stopped. There might not be a next escape. Vinnie's tone was ominous.

Johnny pointed to the map. Here, pass it over.

Catalano picked up the map from the front seat and gave it to Johnny leaning on the window frame. You will be across state lines in a couple of hours and into New York. Here is the red dot on the map about an hour northwest of Albany on a back country road. A fresh car will be waiting for you there with New York plates on it. It will be a clean car registered to Salvatore Catalano. Use it until the Family tells you otherwise.

More instructions followed. Abandon this one. Hide it in the bushes on the side road where the dot is. You got this so far? questioned Vinnie standing behind Johnny.

Catalano's head was spinning, but freedom or prison was in the balance. He focused on what they were saying. Yeah, pick up the fresh car at the red dot. Abandon this one.

Johnny stepped back from the car. Continue to follow the map. With the new car, you will be able to get onto Northway southbound. Smokey won't be looking for it. Any APB will be focused on the thruway toward Buffalo and Chicago, he theorized.

Vinnie continued the instructions, Follow 87 south and 287 across the Tappan Zee Bridge, then follow the map routes to Flatbush Avenue in Brooklyn. There's a suitcase on the back seat with a change of clothes for when you arrive. You've never been to Brooklyn before, so pay attention to the map.

Through the window, Johnny handed Catalano a piece of paper. Here's the Brooklyn address. Your Family position is being transferred to Don Enrico of New York. Carlo will be waiting for you. He'll report your arrival to the Don. Here's the Don's phone number if you need it. Don't use it unless it's an emergency.

Vinnie concluded the instruction. He reached into the small of his back and pulled out a pistol. Here's a heater; keep it under the front seat. Toss it into a ditch after you get the new, clean car. You won't need this weapon in Brooklyn. He banged the window sill with his palm, Go!

Catalano turned the key, started the engine, and pulled out slowly. In the rearview mirror, he saw Vinnie and Johnny get into the pick-up. They came up behind him, waved him to move over, passed him in a cloud of dust, and then disappeared from sight.

Catalano glanced at the map, made the next right down another gravel road, and proceeded southwest on back roads. He traveled at a slow speed as instructed. It took him almost three hours to cross into New York State and head west into Adirondack Park.

But Vinnie and Johnny had been right. So far, there were no roadblocks on these back, dusty roads. He let out a long breath, Better slow than sorry.

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It was late morning in Adirondack Park. The mountains unsuccessfully struggled to keep the day cool. Deputy Sheriff Bill Danvers of Lion Township fanned himself with a folded report. The window air-conditioner wasn't big enough to cool his entire office at Lionsville Town Hall. It hummed away, straining to complete its impossible task.

It's already another hot one, he grumbled. I'll be glad to get home tonight and cool off under the pine trees.

His thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of the phone. Deputy Sheriff Danvers, he said. How can I …

He was cut off mid-sentence. Danvers. He recognized the voice of Sheriff Russell Morgan over at the Xavier County Sheriff's Office in Castle Point.

Yes, Sheriff Morgan, what can I do for you?

There's an All-Points Bulletin from Vermont. An escaped prisoner is thought to be making his way back to Chicago in a stolen Vermont vehicle, a maroon, four-door, '65 Chevelle Malibu with New York plates. Plate number is unknown, probably stolen.

Danvers grabbed a pen and started writing down the information.

Morgan continued, "The fugitive is Antonio Rizzo. He's considered armed and dangerous. He's thirty-seven years old, five feet ten inches, weighs about two hundred twenty pounds, black hair, brown eyes. We don't know what he's wearing. His old clothes are on a Vermont road along with a dead constable.

He's probably avoiding the main highways using back roads. None of the roadblocks on the main routes have turned up anything yet. Some counties are trying to set up roadblocks on their back roads, but that's an almost impossible task. There are too many miles of them and too few officers.

Deputy Sheriff Danvers finished writing down the information on the APB. He stifled a yawn thinking, No fugitive is going to be anywhere near Lionsville. We're a long way from any roads, main or back, that would carry anyone to Chicago.

But he responded, Thank you, Sheriff; I'll be on the lookout for such a car. I'll let Jesse at the gas station know as that would be the most likely stop if the fugitive comes through town.

Remember, Danvers, armed and dangerous.

Yes, Sheriff, answered Danvers as he hung up.

Deputy Sheriff Danvers called Jesse. Say, Jesse, this is Bill Danvers. Sheriff Morgan just called me to be on the lookout for a maroon, '65, four-door Chevelle Malibu with unknown New York plates. Just give me a call if you gas up such a car. Don't say or do anything unusual, just call me.

Okay, Bill, I'll be watching.

Danvers decided to stay in his office by his phone for the rest of the afternoon, Better stay put just in case Sheriff Morgan calls again. It's going to be a long, hot afternoon. This is as good a place as any to stay reasonably cool, he thought.

He looked out his office window. The town had only one street, and it was empty. It was the same one street the town had always had. He shook his head, This place has been forgotten by time.

He looked up and down the street again. Even the few vacationers for the summer are smart enough to stay swimming or boating on such a hot day, he concluded.

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Salvatore Catalano crossed over Northway envious of those who were speeding along while he poked like a turtle. At least this part is paved. He checked his map. He was to head for Lionsville, go south from there and parallel the Northway on the west side almost to Albany where he would pick up the clean car. Seems simple enough, he stated aloud. He tossed the map into the back seat.

He soon dropped onto a gravel road. Well, the paved was nice while it lasted, he lamented. He followed the gravel road to its end. He tried to remember what the map had said, but it was on the floor in the back seat. He could only make a right or a left. The sign in front of him read:

Mt. Petite

No Trespassing

No Hiking

No Climbing

No Camping

Well, that's not very friendly, snorted Catalano.

He made a right-hand turn to go around the small mountain. After about three miles, he was sure he had made a wrong turn. He was certain he should have come to some kind of a sign post that would direct him to Lionsville.

He pulled over and fetched the map just recently tossed into the back seat. Damn, he cursed, I should have made a left back there. Lionsville, great, probably another tiny town like so many I've been through in the last four hours.

He looked at his gas gauge. He still had a quarter of a tank but it wouldn't last long on these back roads at twenty miles an hour. Towns are so far apart, maybe I'll get gas in Lionsville, if they even have a gas station.

He looked up through his windshield at the mid-afternoon sun. He was headed west. I could turn around and go back to the unfriendly mountain sign, or I can circle around and pick up the road further down from where I made the wrong turn, he deduced. Let's see what the next mile brings.

He came to the first road since making the wrong turn, made a left and headed south on it. So far, so good, next road should be another left, and I'll head east back to where I started.

In less than a mile, another road went off to the left, and he headed east, but it was a dirt road. Within a very short distance the road ended with a loop to take him back out the way he had come in. He sat at the end of the loop and checked his map. The road was not there.

Damn, he cursed again, can't get a break on this one. At the loop was a driveway with a house at the end. A barn was back a ways on the left. Thickets ran from the right side of the barn across the backyard of the house and all the way over to the foot of the mountain.

Jeez, I'm opposite the unfriendly mountain where I made the wrong turn. There's no way through. Now what? He pondered his options. I can always backtrack and go back the way I came. But there must be a shorter route to this dumb town.

He stared at the mailbox at the loop. It was hand-painted with flowers.

The Mason Family

He checked his map again. No, the road was definitely not on it. He wondered if there was anyone at home to give him directions to Lionsville. There was no car in the driveway, but he heard a dog bark from the direction of the house. Guess there's someone home, even if it's only the dog, he surmised. He looked at his watch; it said three twenty-seven. He was tired, hungry, and thirsty; he had been driving at a snail's pace all day. He opened the car door, got out, and stretched his legs. He looked up the driveway toward the house…

tmp_05c8b8574794f9a20465da7b14307ce4_RR0P77_html_3b6f2b68.jpg The Lull Before The Storm

Tulley's Saw Mill was getting ready to close for the day. The three o'clock whistle sounded, and the laborers went scurrying to clock out. Quincy Mason was Sebastian Tulley's right-hand man serving as manager and foreman for the entire mill.

Mason saw the men out, Have a good evening, see you in the morning.

Tulley thought, Not a work day goes by that he doesn't give the men an encouraging send-off. I don't know what I would do without him. He is respected, pleasant, and he gets the job done. The men work in harmony. Tulley patted himself on the back for hiring him.

When all the men had left the floor, and the machinery was silenced for the night, Mason would report to Tulley's office at about three fifteen each work day. Mr. Tulley, here is the day's activities, Mason would say. The report listed who had come to work that day, who had called in sick, who was on vacation, how production was proceeding, what problems had been solved, what problems still remained. Tulley always nodded. Mason would take care of it all.

By the time Mason got to his pick-up and pulled out of the lot, most of the men were long gone. He looked at his watch. It was quarter of four, about the same time he left each day. He headed east on the gravel road that led out of the mill parking lot, then turned left to pick up the paved road that looped around Lion Head Mountain. After about eight miles, it dropped back to a gravel road as he made a left onto the back of the lion and headed for the tail of the lion. It would be gravel the rest of the way home, a slow and crunchy ride until he turned onto his own dirt road.

He smiled and mused, I love driving the lion's tail. Only this township could have such a road with such a name. Soon the few houses along the way were left behind him. From the fork in the road that led left up the tail to his house, and right to go around Mt. Petite, the scenery was beautiful. There were no houses, no side roads; just mountains, lakes, fields, flowers, and forests. This place descended straight out of heaven, he claimed.

~~**~~

Maggie Evans never missed her favorite soap opera, 'General Hospital.' It had just ended, another episode to keep her guessing and coming back for more each day. She snapped off the TV. Three thirty, time to get some work done. She pulled the wet wash out of the washing machine into the wicker basket. This should dry quickly, she predicted. It's hotter outside than any dryer I could ever own. She lugged the basket over to the clothes line and began to pin up the wash.

Maggie heard a car approaching, a rarity on back roads. She looked up to see a dusty, dark car drive by slowly. How nice that the car is going slow, she exclaimed to herself. It won't throw up a lot of dust all over my wet wash.

As the car rolled past, she was sure she saw Buddy Mason sitting in the front passenger seat. Maggie pondered at the propped up gun on the front seat between Buddy and the driver. Is that a shotgun, or maybe it's a rifle? She waved as they went past. They did not wave back.

Probably didn't see me. Maybe Buddy found someone to take him hunting. Looks like they're headed for the southwest field, she assumed. The man driving was a stranger. She had never seen the car before either, but Buddy made friends easily.

Buddy Mason was an avid hunter. His papa, Quincy Mason, had taught him archery, and to shoot rifles and shotguns when he was eight years old. But at ten, Buddy still needed adult supervision to go into the fields.

Maggie shook her head, Quincy will be home from the mill about four fifteen. Why couldn't Buddy wait just a little bit longer? His dad always takes him hunting when he gets home. No need for him to commandeer a vacationer, she laughed. It would probably be only crows this time of day anyway, but still, hunting is hunting, I guess.

Maggie shrugged and continued to hang up the wash. Her thoughts returned to the day's soap opera episode when she saw Daisy come bounding down the road.

Hi, Daisy, come to romp and play with Buster and Sniffer? called out Maggie. But as Daisy got closer, Maggie saw that the retriever's golden fur was covered in blood.

Oh, Daisy, what happened? Did you get caught in barbed-wire? Daisy, this is terrible! She opened the gate to the hound pen and let Daisy in while she ran to call Laura Mason.

Daisy whimpered as Buster and Sniffer circled her having never seen their playmate like this before. With the whiff of blood, the hounds began to howl as though the hunt was over, and the prey was surrounded. Then they quietly lay down. Daisy lay down also and faced them with her head resting on her out-stretched bloody paws.

Maggie ran to the phone, her own wash forgotten. But there was no answer at the Mason household. Laura's probably out hanging up her own wash. Maggie waited a few more minutes and called Laura again, still no answer.

Maggie now became alarmed. She dialed Deputy Sheriff Danvers.

~~**~~

Danvers looked at the clock. It was almost quitting time. The afternoon was hot and lazy. His phone had been silent since Sheriff Morgan had called him much earlier. Time for me to get ready to go. He turned off the air-conditioner that had tried so hard that day.

The phone rang. Danvers was hoping it wasn't the sheriff again, or worse, Jesse with news that he had just gassed up a maroon car. He picked up the phone, Deputy Sheriff Danvers, how can I assist you?

Bill, this is Maggie.

Maggie and Conrad Evans were neighbors. Danvers lived just northwest of them. He was almost as close to them as the Masons were. Hi, Maggie, why the call?

Bill, maybe it's nothing, but Daisy showed up here about ten minutes ago. She's covered in blood. I called the Masons' twice, but there was no answer. Laura is always home and should have picked up, reported Maggie anxiously.

Danvers heard the concern in her voice, but he had been a deputy sheriff for over twenty-five years. Most of these things turned out to be nothing. He didn't jump easily.

Maggie, I'm sure it's nothing. Daisy probably got tangled up in some old barbed-wire.

Maggie wasn't going to let this pass so fast. I thought so too, but no answer at the Masons' is not usual. Would you stop by there on your way home to be sure? I would go, but Conrad doesn't get home for another two hours with the truck. In the meantime, I'll go check Daisy for wounds. If she has any, I'll put some salve on them.

Danvers looked at the clock, it was ten minutes to four. I'll go now, Maggie, my duty is up in ten minutes anyway. Can you keep Daisy until I find out if there's a problem?

She's out in the pen with Buster and Sniffer. I'll keep her until I hear from you. And Bill, thank you.

No problem, Maggie. Say, Hi,' to Conrad for me.

Deputy Sheriff Danvers closed down the office for the day. From four o'clock on the county sheriff's office fielded all calls. He got into his trusty, old, green Plymouth and headed out of the town hall parking lot.

One stop first, just to be sure I didn't close up shop too soon, contemplated Danvers. He pulled into the gas station.

Hey, Jesse, any sign of that maroon car I told you about? yelled Danvers out the window.

Nope, been quiet all day, Jesse called back.

Danvers waved him a thank you and headed for the Masons'.

~~**~~

Quincy Mason loved the ride home. Even though it took him about a half-hour, he used the time to think about this beautiful part of the country and his family. He knew evenings like the back of his hand.

He felt overwhelmed at the enjoyment of it. Laura would greet him. I'm so lucky to have such a great wife. Wonder what she has planned for dinner? The grand aroma of her abundant cooking skills would be wafting down the porch stairs as he went up. Then I get to hug and kiss my twins.

Their birth had been a surprise almost a year ago, but one of great joy. He smiled as he thought of pretty, dark-haired, brown-eyed Little Princess and handsome, blonde-haired, blue-eyed Little Tyke. They hardly appeared alike at all. Little Princess looked just like Laura. He always chuckled at the thought, And Little Tyke looks like me.

His attention turned to Buddy. And then there's Buddy, my buddy. We'll go out and find some crows to aim at before dinner.

He already knew what Buddy would say, Please, Papa, can we come back out after dinner and hunt chucks? Please, please?

Papa always said smiling, We'll see, Buddy, we'll see.

Buddy would recognize that smile; he knew that meant, 'Yes.'

Quincy Mason had the perfect family.

He turned into the dirt road and headed around one side of the loop. He paused by the hand-painted mailbox with the flowers on it.

The Mason Family

He was proud of that mailbox. Laura had hand-painted it earlier in the summer. He popped it open, no mail. Buddy or Laura must have already brought it in. He drove up the driveway to the house as he had done on so many other countless evenings. But this one would be different from all the others.

Quincy Mason walked up the porch steps. It was strangely silent. There was no TV coming from the living room. Daisy didn't come bounding around the corner of the house barking her greeting. Buddy wasn't waiting to torment him about going crow hunting. He sniffed the air. There was no delightful aroma of the night's meal.

Mason shook off the eerie feeling. Then he breathed a sigh of relief when he opened the screen door and saw the twins in the playpen.

All is well, judged Quincy Mason. The twins squealed with delight when he walked in. He was convinced that their babbling was 'Da-da.' He scooped them up one by one.

Little Princess, how was your day? as he gave her a hug and kiss. And Little Tyke, how was your day? as he repeated the hug and a kiss. He stirred their toys around in the playpen.

Where's Mommy, where's Buddy? he asked rhetorically. The twins had already gone back to their playing.

He looked over at the TV. The screen was smashed in, and the glass had fallen on the rug in front of it. No wonder it's silent.

He tried to guess, What happened? Did the handle of the vacuum cleaner bump it? But then Laura would have vacuumed up the mess. Did Buddy back into it by accident? But the answer was the same; Laura would have vacuumed up the mess.

Time to solve this mystery, pronounced Mason.

He called out, Buddy? Laura? There was no answer.

tmp_05c8b8574794f9a20465da7b14307ce4_RR0P77_html_3b6f2b68.jpg The Discovery

Quincy Mason walked to the back of the house where the country kitchen sprawled across the entire back width of the dwelling. He entered the kitchen. Laura Mason was on the floor in a pool of blood and mangled flesh.

He stopped; his mind snapped. He went to her quickly, leaned over her, then sat on the floor and put her head in his lap.

He began shivering and then cried out, Wake up! Wake up! You can't sleep! You won't make it if you fall asleep! It's cold, so cold, wake up, Laura! Wake up! We have to stay awake!

He rocked back and forth with her head in his lap. I will die if you die! Wake up, Laura, wake up! I won't be able to go on without you! You have to stay awake! He leaned over her in anguished grief.

~~**~~

Deputy Sheriff Bill Danvers arrived at the dirt road leading up to the Mason house. He looked at his watch, it was four twenty. Quincy should be home by now, he reasoned. He entered the driveway and saw Mason's old pick-up in its usual place.

Danvers was relieved. He parked his car behind the pick-up. As he walked passed it, he could still feel the heat from the engine. He just got home. I'll stop in and let them know Maggie has Daisy. She must have gotten tangled up in some old barbed-wire, just as I suspected.

Danvers went to the screen door. He heard the twins in the playpen giggling with each other as they played. He knocked on the door frame. No answer. He called in, Quincy? Laura? Buddy? It's Bill. Are you there? He knocked again.

Maybe they're out back, guessed Danvers. He opened the screen door, went in, and stopped to greet the twins, "Hi, Little Princess; hi, Little Tyke.