Jack Zane: Evil at Storm Lake

By Jan Sumner

Digging up your family history can be fascinating and terrifying. From Kansas to Louisiana to Storm Lake, Iowa, Jonathan Smyth begins a search into his past only to discover it is clouded in secrecy and mystery. Although being pulled into an ever darkening hole, he must know the truth. What he finds both devastates him and changes his life forever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jan Sumner
• Release date: Jul 26, 2011
• ISBN: 9780970319722

Jan Sumner

Jan has written ten books, two of which received special recognition. He was honored to present his book Legacy of a Monarch-An American Journey at the Baseball Hall of Fame in 2006, and his book Independence, Mantle and Miss Able was acknowledged by the Smithsonian in 2015 as part of their Home Town Team project and is also in the Baseball Hall of Fame.Jan also works with the homeless and teaches Sunday school.

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Jack Zane: Evil at Storm Lake

Author Jan Sumner

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2011 Jan Sumner and JaDan Publishing

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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Jack Zane: Evil at Storm Lake

Jan Sumner

Chapter 1

Jake Mozzetti had waited long enough. It was time to make a move. Slowly he climbed the stairs. He’d been chasing this guy for months, now at last he’d found him. At least he hoped so. All his sources told him the guy would be here. It had been a long hard road to this point. The Baker’s had hired Jake to track this guy down. The police had been unable to find him, and the Baker’s were sure he was the one who’d murdered their daughter.

As he climbed the stairs he could feel his blood rushing. His heartbeat made his neck feel like it was going to explode. Quietly he approached the door. He pulled his gun from under his coat as he grabbed the doorknob. Turning it carefully he began to open the door….

That damn phone, just when he was beginning to roll. He’d been laboring over this part and now when it started to flow - oh well, who knows, it might be his agent with more indifferent news. Jonathan reluctantly got up and answered the phone.

Hello, he said quietly.

Jonathan, this is your Aunt Tilley.

Oh, hi Aunt Tilley, how are you? My gosh it’s been… Jonathan, I’m sorry to interrupt, but I have some, well, bad news.

Jonathan Smyth hadn’t heard from Aunt Tilley, or anyone else in his family, for several years. Once he had graduated from college he’d moved away. He had wanted to see the world and broaden his horizons. Independence, Kansas was fine when he was a kid, but he'd known there was more to life than hopping in the 1954 Buick and heading to Wichita to partake in more fun than any of them could endure. It was always the same; his dad, Steve, his twin brother Matt, and once in a while his loveable, but sometimes strangely distant, grandmother, Fran, or Fannie, as he and his brother would sometimes call her when they were sure she couldn’t hear them.

Nevertheless, once he got his BA from KU, he was gone. He always knew he wanted to be a writer, and it was not going to happen in Independence. His dad owned the local drug store and was completely content in a small town. His brother was, well, psychotic and had left town before he had. No one really knew where he was, and to be honest, didn’t care. His mother, Kim, had died delivering him and Matt. Even though he’d never known her, Jonathan missed her and felt an emptiness deep inside that he knew would never be filled. He carried a small picture of her in his wallet he’d found in his dad’s dresser drawers when he was a kid. For him, it was just another reason to leave.

He’d finally settled in New Orleans. It was exciting, near the Gulf, and above all, NOT Independence. The city inspired him to write. He hadn’t been robustly successful, actually, not even moderately, but he did have two books in print that had done fairly well. Both murder mysteries, centered around his dashing private investigator, Jake Mozzetti. He was now writing his third book and hoping for bigger things.

Oh no, he thought, it’s got to be dad or Matt. Is it my dad, Tilley?

No Jonathan, it’s your grandmother, Fran. She died yesterday morning about nine. I’m so sorry Jonathan. I know how much you loved her.

He sat down in the chair next to the phone. He didn’t know what to say. Fran had been the closest thing to a mother he’d had, and now she was gone, and he’d let too many years slip by without contacting her. He could feel the guilt welling up inside.

Tilley, will you let me know when the service is? I want to come back to pay my respects.

Of course I will.

Jonathan hung up the phone and laid down on the couch. His childhood began to mist over his mind like a warm summer rain.

He remembered their seventh birthday. Fran put the party on in her backyard. There were balloons, and games and lots of cake. They were all laughing and playing when Jonathan noticed Matt coming out of the house with a quart jar full of water in his hand.

Floating on the bottom was Jonathan’s pet hamster, BJ. Matt had put BJ in the jar and then filled it with water and put a lid on to watch him drown. All their little friends took off running and screaming. Fran got so mad she put Matt in her bedroom for an hour. It ruined the party and Jonathan never forgave him.

There were times, however, he and Matt did have fun. As they grew older they hunted and fished together and could sit and talk about their beloved St. Louis Cardinals all night long. They both loved baseball and once in a while their dad would splurge and take them up to St. Louis to see a game. Those were some of the best memories he had.

Then there were times Matt would change, get mean, and disappear for days. Jonathan always thought that was probably best, because he sure didn’t want to be around him when he was in one of his moods. No one knew where he went, but he always came back and seemed to be over whatever it was that made him that way…at least for a while.

Their dad had lost control of Matt a long time ago, and Jonathan thought maybe he was hoping Matt would just go away some day and not come back. It wasn’t that he didn’t love him, he just didn’t know how to love someone like Matt. During their senior year in high school his dad got his wish. Matt took off. He left a note telling them not to worry; he just needed to get away. The family was perplexingly relieved. Even though Matt had been nothing but trouble and, at times cruel, Jonathan missed him. They weren’t identical twins, and certainly they had different personalities, but still they were brothers and they’d had some special times together. Jonathan knew however, Matt had some deep-rooted problems and for most of their family and friends it quickly became, out of sight - out of mind.

Their dad was never a warm and affectionate guy, but they knew he loved them. He didn’t always show it, but it was there. As Jonathan grew up people told him his dad had never gotten over Kim’s death. Jonathan was his saving grace; kind, compassionate, a good student, who had many of his mother’s finer qualities. This was both a blessing and burden. Blessing around his family, burden around his brother. Matt made him pay for it more than a few times. Even with this, he still cared for Matt and wished him no harm. Deep down in his soul, however, he too was glad when Matt disappeared.

Then there was grandmother Fran. A tall, statuesque woman with wonderful manners and a polite grin. She was always concerned about the boys being warm enough, and having the proper clothes for school. Jonathan found this amusing most of the time, but Matt hated it, and let her know it. To Matt, Fran was too doting. Jonathan, however, loved her like a mom; at least to the extent Fran would let him. When he was small, she’d let him crawl up in her lap on cold winter nights and they’d sip cocoa and read scary stories. It was those times she felt like a mother, or what Jonathan imagined a mother would be like. Then there were times she became very distant and detached. He’d catch her staring at him while he was reading. When he was little it scared him. As he grew up, he began to think, maybe he reminded her of Kim, her daughter. Gone forever, so he and Matt could live. She never did say anything about it, but Jonathan could feel it.

In retrospect the family was very murky. It’s funny, when you’re young everything is very cut and dried, but as you grow up the gray areas of your life become bigger and things are not so black and white.

The phone call from Tilley had stirred up lots of old memories, which had been dormant for years. He had so desperately wanted out of Independence, and now in a strange way he was actually looking forward to going back. It was just too bad it had to be for Fran’s funeral.

Chapter 2

For several days he hacked away at his novel, but he just couldn’t concentrate. He kept drifting back to his childhood, his former life that now seemed so far away. He couldn’t help but wonder how and where Matt was. And his dad; he hadn’t talked to him in over three years. During that period he’d been busy writing and living his life. Now it seemed strange, so insensitive, that they hadn’t talked. Maybe Fran’s death was a harbinger of just how time slips away. You take it so for granted that they'll all always be there, then….

Well, he was going to get to rectify the situation to a degree, he hoped. Tilley had called to give him the date for the service. He’d leave Thursday. The service was scheduled for Sunday at noon. He was going to drive so he’d be able to stay a few days if he wanted to. There was a part of him that was anxious to go, but another part dreaded it. He knew gray can sometimes be more than a mood, it can be disturbing.

With bags packed, he headed north. He hadn’t really been on a road trip since college. There’s a certain peace that comes with driving alone, watching the scenery go by. For some reason the unknown whereabouts of Matt kept nagging at him. Where was he? Would he show up? What had happened to him? For a brother who was less than brotherly, Jonathan found this curious. Why this concern…now? He hadn’t really given Matt much thought for several years. Maybe it was Fran’s death. Maybe that’s what was bringing this back.

He’d drive up to Shreveport then over to Dallas then north up Hwy. 35 until he got to 166 in Kansas, then east to Independence. It would take a couple of days, but that was fine with him. It was early September, some of the trees were already changing and the air had a crispness to it. The trip became an autumn pilgrimage. He thought back to the last time he’d seen his dad. He’d gone home for Christmas a year after graduating from college. It was, unfortunately, also the last time he had seen Fran. They’d had a big dinner on Christmas Eve. His dad seemed…far away. They all talked and had a few laughs, but it was like he wasn’t really there. Fran, as usual, did all the cooking and made all the arrangements, while the men folk sat around and talked sports and politics. Jonathan tried to talk to his dad and, they did discuss a few things, but then he’d changed, became dark and quiet. Jonathan figured with everyone gone he just felt alone. What would he be like now? That was five years ago, and as shameful as it was, he hadn’t seen or really talked to him since. He was beginning to have this overwhelming sense of being a poor excuse for a son. His dad had always been there for him and had done everything in his power to get him through college. So this was the thanks he got…ignored. He sped up a little, there was suddenly an urgency to the trip. Maybe it was just guilt, but he sensed there was something back in Independence he needed to know. He’d been so anxious to leave, now there was some strange allure drawing him back.

He sped through the night obsessed with getting there. But what if it was the same? What if it hadn’t changed at all? Oh, it had to be different, everything changes…even Independence, Kansas, he hoped.

He arrived Saturday morning. As he drove through town, it all began to pour from his memory. Running from house to house getting candy on Neewollah, which is what they called Halloween. The warm summer nights, yard hopping, just to see if they’d get caught. Trying to peak in Sharon Morgan’s windows hoping to catch a glimpse of her getting ready for bed. Having a malt at Sorenson’s malt shop. Helping his dad unload drugs at the pharmacy, wondering what some of the stuff was, and if people in this little town really took this many prescriptions. Hearing the sirens go off, as those massive swirling funnels from the north would turn the sky to black at high noon. As he cruised along the streets it looked decidedly… the same. He kept thinking of what Yogi Berra once said, It’s dejavu, all over again. Well maybe the buildings and streets hadn’t changed, but surely the people had. He would find out soon enough, as he pulled into his dad’s driveway.

Tilley had arranged for Jonathan to stay with his dad, and had told him, He’s looking forward to seeing you. Well, that was reassuring. After all these years and the way I’ve treated, or in this case ignored him, how in the world could he be looking forward to this? The house hadn’t changed a lick. Roof a little worn, shutters needing paint, and the front porch swing sitting right where he remembered it. Yogi was more prophetic than he knew.

Walking up the sidewalk he still remembered all the football and baseball games in the front yard that invariably carried out into the street and on into the night under the streetlights. He could see a note hooked to the front door screen from his dad,

It will be good to see you son, make yourself at home. I cleaned up your room for you. Dad

The screen door still squeaked like a cat was caught in it and as he entered the house it still had that familiar old smell to it. It wasn’t unpleasant, just recognizable. He put his bag down and walked around; first into the kitchen, still clean and tidy as if no one had cooked there in days, then into the dining room with its linen tablecloth and old cherrywood hutch. The living room was more comfortable. The television set looked almost out of place sitting among the various antiques, but the room was warm and made him feel… innocent. He then turned and went up the stairs. His bedroom was the first one on the right side and Matt’s old room was at the end of the hall. His dad’s room was across the hall and had its own bathroom. He and Matt had always had to share a bathroom. This had become very interesting when they became teenagers with shaving, zits and a newfound need to primp. It had to have been both laughable and irritating for their dad, but he never let on how he felt.

He opened the door to his old bedroom and peeked in. Amazingly it looked unchanged. His old bed, the dresser and what looked like the same old comforter. He set his bag down and walked down the hall to Matt’s old room. The door was closed and it opened grudgingly. It looked like a prison cell. The mattress was bare, no rugs, no curtains, and dust covering most of the furniture. It appeared no one had been in the room in a very long time. There was a sadness to it. Jonathan closed the door and went back to his room to unpack. Even though it was Saturday, his dad would be working at the drug store and should get home about six, if he remembered things correctly. This gave him a couple of hours to kill. He went downstairs and out to the backyard. It had seemed so much bigger…then. There were still all the beautiful lilac bushes, holding on to the last remnants of summer, and over in the corner were the plants he and Matt found so fascinating, the Death Camass. It intrigued them because their dad had told them, It can kill man or beast. Sure, it was poisonous, but it would take