Barn Burner: Jubilant Falls Series, #1

By Debra Gaskill

Barns are burning on farms all around Jubilant Falls, Ohio —but that's the least of newspaper editor Addison McIntyre's problems. The daughter of  Golgotha College president Dr. Seaford Thorn has come up missing — along with $500,000 from the college's endowment fund. When Addison's own daughter Isabella, already suspended from school for assaulting a teacher, attempts suicide , Addison must come to terms with the real meaning of family secrets— her own and others.

Barnburner tackles the legacy of mental illness  in a small town, the secrets everyone  keeps—and the damages that all of those secrets can do.

"Debra Gaskill's small town Jubilant Falls reads as true as Faulkner's Jefferson, Mississippi. From the first page, Addison makes the reader long for her next crime to solve or mystery to unravel."

—Douglas Savage, author of the novels The Court Martial of Robert E. Lee (History Book Club main selection)

• Language: English
• Publisher: Debra Gaskill
• Release date: Feb 3, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524285692

Debra Gaskill

Debra Gaskill is the former managing editor of the Washington Court House (Ohio) Record Herald, which earned two Associated Press General Excellence awards during her tenure. She was an award-winning journalist for 20 years, writing for a number of Ohio newspapers covering the cops and courts beat, and the Associated Press, covering any stories thrown her way. Gaskill brings her knowledge of newspapers to her Jubilant Falls series. The mysteries 'Barn Burner' (2009), 'The Major's Wife' (2010), 'Lethal Little Lies' (2013), 'Murder on the Lunatic Fringe' (2014) and 'Death of A High Maintenance Blonde' (2014) all center around crimes committed in the fictional small town Jubilant Falls, Ohio, and often center around the damage family secrets can do. 'The Major's Wife' received honorable mention in the 2011 Writer's Digest Self-Published Book Awards and 'Barn Burner' was a finalist for the Silver Falchion Award at Killer Nashville.. Her next series, featuring the private investigator Niccolo Fitzhugh, brings her cops and courts experience together in a mystery that "creates complex characters and places them in real settings" according to customer reviews. That series includes Call Fitz (2015), Holy Fitz (2016), Love Fitz (2016), and the 2018 Silver Falchion Award winner for Best Suspense, Kissing Fitz (2017). Gaskill has an associates degree in liberal arts from Thomas Nelson Community College in Hampton, Va., a bachelor's degree in English and journalism from Wittenberg University and a master of fine arts in creative writing from Antioch University, Yellow Springs. She and her husband Greg, a retired U.S. Air Force Lieutenant Colonel, have two children and three grandchildren. They raise llamas and alpacas on their farm in Enon, Ohio. Connect with her on her website, www.debragaskillnovels.com, as well as on Twitter and Facebook.

Book preview

Prologue

P unky, could anybody be as lucky as me? The little girl clutched her dog’s leash in one hand and a crisp new dollar bill in the other, her tongue fumbling through the empty space where her lower front tooth had been just last night.

A whole dollar! And I get to go spend it all by myself!

She knelt at the reflecting pool across the circular drive from the big white house where she lived with her mommy and her daddy and pulled her lower lip down to look in the water’s reflection at the bright pink spot of gum.

The water reflected the gap in her smile, as well as her blue jeans, her favorite top festooned with blue flowers, and her new white Winnie the Pooh tennis shoes. A breeze whipped her thin blonde hair into her face and the little girl shook her head to remove the wispy strands so she could continue to look at the hole where her tooth once was.

Of course, Mommy hadn’t wanted her to walk across the campus all by herself, but Tina had said it was OK, that she was a big girl and, if she took her dog, she’d be just fine. Besides, this was the last tooth she’d ever lose—she was a big girl now.

Mommy was having one of her headaches again. This morning, she’d rubbed her eyes and looked at Tina strangely, like it hurt to use her eyes or something. There’d been a lot of headaches this week.

The little girl liked Tina. She worked at the house where the three of them lived. She knew that Daddy was president at the college, but Mommy said it wasn’t like the president of the U.S., whose picture hung beside the flag in her first grade classroom at the Greater Grace Christian School. The president ran the country and lived in a big white house in Washington D.C. The little girl and her family got to live in a big white house, too, Mommy said, but it was here in Jubilant Falls. They had people like Tina working for them because Daddy’s job was so important, because God had told him to come work here, not because people voted for him.

Tina was smart and pretty, but she didn’t tell a lot of jokes or giggle like Mommy when her head wasn’t hurting her. Tina was very serious and she knew a lot about Jesus, like Miss Norton, her first-grade teacher. Daddy and Mommy said that it was important to know a lot about Jesus, so that must be why Tina worked at their house.

Mommy told her it was the tooth fairy that left the dollar bill under her pillow. Tina didn’t like that at all.

That goes against God, she’d said. That’s sorcery and Satanism and that’s against Jesus. I wouldn’t have told her that. I would have told her it was the tooth angel.

Mommy rolled her eyes and laughed. Why, who ever heard of a tooth angel?

The little girl looked up from the reflecting pool toward a brick-edged road that wound past a pair of dormitories, toward two old cast iron gates that opened onto the main road and the edge of town. Nobody ever closed the gates, not any more Mommy said. So even if it was late at night, people could come to the college where Daddy worked.

Out the gates and across the road was Pop’s Carryout, where the little girl would spend her dollar.

The dog pulled on his leash as if to remind her of their adventure.

OK, OK! The little girl let herself be pulled along down the road.

When they got to the gates, the little girl stopped at the curb and picked up the dog. Like Mommy told her, she looked both ways before crossing the road.

A few more steps and they were at the front door of the little carryout. She started to walk inside with her dog, but the clerk stopped her.

Hey, kid! You can’t bring any dogs in here! Get that mutt outa here!

She turned somberly to her pet. You have to stay out here, Punky. I’ll be right back. She tied the Pomeranian’s leash around a bike rack.

It didn’t take long to figure out what she wanted—a root beer and a Baby Ruth candy bar. She wanted to pay for her purchases and get home, but just as she got into line, The Crazy Man stepped in front of her. She’d seen him before at the college gates—Mommy said not to worry about him, but he was old and dirty and he smelled bad. He was shouting something and waving his arms.

Get outta here, you old drunk! The cashier yelled back and pointed toward the door. The Crazy Man stopped yelling and slunk outside.

She put her candy bar and her soda pop on the counter and laid the new dollar bill beside them.

Dollar thirty-five, the cashier said. You need more money than that.

The little girl was stunned, her face coloring bright pink in embarrassment. I don’t have any more money.

An older man beside her in line fished through the pockets of his dirty jeans and tossed two quarters on the counter. Here, kid. He smiled and laid his hand on her shoulder in a way that made her feel uncomfortable.

Thank you. The little girl grabbed her purchases and ran out the door. She reached for Punky’s leash, ready to untie him and head back home.

She never saw the hand that grabbed her shirt, pulling her back behind the carryout. Barking furiously, Punky was suddenly just beyond her reach. Another hand covered in a brown leather glove wrapped across her mouth; she dropped her root beer and candy bar. She struggled to pull the hand away and scream for help, but couldn’t. Back behind the carryout, no one could see her and come to her rescue.

Kicking and flailing her arms, she tried to scream, tried to bite the gloved hand that covered her mouth.

Ouch! It was a man’s voice. The gloved hands let her go and the little girl fell to the ground, tearing the knees of her jeans and scratching her knees bloody. Sobbing, she tried to get up, run—back to her dog, back to the safety of the big white house. A few terror-filled steps and she saw she was trapped between the tall cedar fence hiding the carry out’s Dumpster and a parked car. The car had blue paint, its side panels were rusted and the trunk lid was open.

Frantic, she tried to squeeze between the parked car and the cedar fence. A voice boomed behind her: You can’t get away this time, little girl.

Another set of hands, big man’s hands, with calluses and nasty smells, grabbed her, hoisting her with one arm around his waist, the other smelly hand slapped across her mouth. Her eyes widened as she looked back at her captor.

You! she cried.

Yeah. Me. With a smirk, the man threw her in the trunk and slammed it shut.

As the trunk slammed shut above her head, surrounding her in darkness, the little girl could only scream for her Mommy.

Chapter One

An early summer sun shone hot across the expansive back porch, a semi-circle of pristine white tiles enclosed by ionic columns. Addison McIntyre, editor of the Jubilant Falls Journal Gazette, watched the maid, a twenty-ish blonde Golgotha College coed dressed in a conservative black dress and white apron, bring a silver tray holding a glass pitcher of tea, a pair of ice-filled glasses and slices of cheesecake toward the small cast iron table where she sat with Jaylynn Thorn, wife of Golgotha’s president, Dr. Seaford Rochambeau Thorn.

Thank you, Tina. You may go now. Jaylynn waved the maid away. As the French doors closed, Jaylynn reached across the tiny patio table and, with her perfectly manicured hands, took the Marlboro pack from Addison’s hand. An overstocked charm bracelet on her wrist tinkled like wind chimes as Jaylynn nervously pulled out a cigarette, lit it and drew the smoke deeply into her lungs.

Oh, Addie, he says he's going to take my baby. Blue smoke circled her perfectly coiffed hair.

Jaylynn Thorn's soft Georgia accent made marital problems sound elegant.

The charm bracelet tinkled again as she inhaled.

I swear he's got them all turned against me, Addie. He's told the whole household staff just hateful, hateful things about me. And now he says he's going to take my baby, she hissed. I have no authority in my own house! This morning, Tina told Lyndzee Ruth she can walk across the campus by herself after school to go to the carryout and I don’t think she’s old enough to do that! But nobody listens to me—not even my own daughter!

Lyndzee Ruth was the couple’s six-year-old daughter. Even naming the child had been a conflict. Jaylynn had insisted on the obscure, cutesy spelling of the girl’s name, but acquiesced to Seaford’s request for at least a Biblical middle name. The result, Addison thought, sounded like a fall down the stairs.

So you let Lyndzee go?

Jaylynn’s hand still shook as she placed her cigarette in the ashtray to serve the iced tea. Yes, I finally gave in—she’s on her way over there now and I’m nervous as a cat. Seaford said she’d be safe, but I’m still not sure. I made her take the dog with her though.

Addison McIntyre, the editor of the Jubilant Falls Journal-Gazette, inhaled deeply on her own cigarette as she watched the amber liquid cascade into the glasses. She wished it was bourbon but appreciated the enormity of Jaylynn’s rebellion in that one single cigarette. Your body is God's temple, Seaford would thunder. Keep it always fit for worship.

And Jaylynn Thorn was worthy of worship. Lithe and tall, Jaylynn had perfectly tinted blonde hair that never looked out of place. Her pastel Ann Taylor suits never wrinkled and her fingernails and toenails were always perfectly painted in matching colors.

Today, however, Jaylynn's nose ran and her shaking wouldn't stop.

Jaylynn and Seaford really must have some serious problems for this kind of backstairs crap to go on, Addison figured. It’s like something from a PBS drama.

Addison McIntyre was anything but elegant. Her hands were stained with ink and nicotine, and an angry phone call from her publisher J. Watterson Whitelaw earlier that day had left her gnawing the Firecracker Red nail polish on her left thumb. So much for the manicure she'd gotten for Thursday night's Kiwanis Club dinner.

Too many burgers at her desk on deadline and too many beers after the Friday night paper had been put to bed didn’t sit well on Addie McIntyre's short, boxy frame. Lately, her childhood friend Suzanne Porter was forever suggesting ideas to make her short graying hair more attractive.

You look like a damned lesbian with that haircut, Suzanne, who still called herself the antiquated term ‘beautician,’ had said more than once. A little mousse, maybe a little color and style, you’d look fabulous.

She might not be as good-looking as Jaylynn Thorn, but Addison had other positive traits. Her best was the motherliness and patience she reserved for her friends and for the staff at the Journal-Gazette, characteristics that built a loyalty and a sense of family she was proud of. If only I’d been raised with the same thing, Addison thought.

And now she was sitting here offering advice on whether Jaylynn should leave her husband.

Addison shook her head as she exhaled. Golgotha: The place of the skull. What a horrible name for a college. Somehow it was fitting that the place where Jesus died would also be the place where the Thorn’s marriage headed toward crucifixion.

I know we haven’t known each other all that long, Jaylynn continued. But I really don’t have a lot of friends here that I can confide in. You’ve lived here all your life and—

Don’t worry about it. I understand dysfunction, if nothing else.

Jaylynn and Addie had been good friends for several years, the kind of friendship born of joint activities in community organizations. They’d met after the Thorn family had moved from Georgia to Jubilant Falls, Ohio so the Rev. Seaford Rochambeau Thorn could take the helm of the fundamentalist Golgotha College on the east end of town.

Addie had taken a shine to the woman early. After all, what could you say about a former alcohol-and drug-abusing ex-stripper who found religion and true love with the chaplain at an Atlanta dry-out bin? She wasn't afraid to tell her story how Jesus and Seaford Thorn had pulled her from the slough of sin and had brought her into the light.

Addie appreciated that, particularly in light of the perfect image the college worked very hard to present.

There was never any crime on campus: no sexual assaults, no out-of-hand fraternity drinking. Hell, according to the school's public information officer David Horatio, another blonde-haired, blue-eyed, Viking type with perfectly white teeth, nobody even cheated on tests. He supplied Addison's staff with dean's lists and press releases on mission trips to small, grindingly poor, third world countries, and never confirmed anything except success and salvation for Golgotha students.

Jaylynn, he's not going to take Lyndzee, she said. Every man who's afraid his wife will leave threatens to take the kids from her.

But you don't know Seaf like I do! Jaylynn's lower lip quivered.

Then pack up and tell him you and Lyndzee are going to your mother's for the summer and file divorce from there.

The charm bracelet jangled as Jaylynn wiped her nose and sniffed. I could do that?

In light of what I put on the front page this morning, you visiting your mother’s could be a good thing for Seaford. Addison said.

Jaylynn brought the cigarette shakily to her lips and raised her eyebrows. What do you mean? she asked as she inhaled.

Seaford had a regents’ board meeting last night, didn't he?

Jaylynn nodded and exhaled, tilting her chin skyward.

Did he say anything when he came home?

It was late when he came in. I was already in bed. In my room.

Addison mentally filed away that sign of deeper marital discord and continued.

Well, there's nearly half a million missing from the endowment fund. He's got sixty days to make it right or the regents board will take action.

Jaylynn again drew deeply on her cigarette and arched her eyebrows.

There’s going to be a lot of media attention and not just from me. The state AP bureau and the Cincinnati Enquirer will be all over it within a few weeks, once the state’s education governing boards hear about it. Golgotha gets some state and federal funds, you know. This would be a perfect time for you to get away. You could say you’re going on the pretext of keeping Lyndzee out of the limelight.

Addison started to speak again, but the French doors behind her opened suddenly and Seaford burst through, clutching a newspaper in his fist.

Addison turned the ashtray quickly and picked up Jaylynn's cigarette. Seaford believed his wife didn’t smoke. If the little maid was telling tales, the least Addie could do was to protect Jaylynn.

You! Seaford thundered, waving the paper at Addison. What are you trying to do to me?

Tall and once athletically built, age was beginning to creep up on Seaford. His once-tight stomach was going soft, but crows’ feet hadn’t begun to appear around his eyes. Still attractive to many of his female staffers who fawned disgustingly over him in the administration building, Addison knew he had gotten at least one facelift before coming to Golgotha College.

What's the matter, Seaf? Addison's gaze met his coolly. Is there anything wrong with the article?

She knew there wasn't. She grilled reporter Elizabeth Day last night when Day, breathless from the tense meeting, called Addison at home. There was no doubt Seaford Thorn was in deep trouble with the regents’ board, so if he didn't clean it up, he would find himself preaching at dry-out bins again.

Only the fact that you and that rag of yours are working to run me out of Jubilant Falls! Dr. Thorn thundered.

Is what we printed not what happened at the regents’ meeting? she repeated.

Seaford's face colored to the roots of his hair plugs, a gift from Jaylynn over Christmas break, when staff was gone and he had no public appearances.

He looked her straight in the eye, blood still coloring his perfectly sculpted face.

'Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord,' Seaford hissed. Jesus threw the money changers our of the temple because they were making a mockery of the house of the Lord. That's what you're doing, Addison McIntyre, making a mockery of this fine institution the Lord has called me to lead.

I'm going to ask you once again, Seaford. Addison’s steely blue gaze met his hard eyes. Her tone was cool and she spoke clearly and slowly. Is there anything wrong with the article? Or is it the fact we printed it that’s bothering you so much?

It's lies—all lies! And you will be hearing from the Golgotha attorney.

I don't think so, Seaf. I talked to that doddering old fool you've had on retainer since the crucifixion—

Don’t you blaspheme!

Addison held up an ink-stained hand, Jaylynn’s cigarette between her index finger and middle fingers.

Let me finish, sir. Winston Blytheman confirmed everything to me last night on the phone. You've got sixty days to repay or justify everything you've allegedly—and you’ll notice the headline says allegedly—taken out of the endowment fund, or you’ll face charges. You’re the only one with access to that account Seaford and you know it.

Seaford was silent as Golgotha's staff physician, Dr. Rachel Wiseman, stepped through the French doors onto the patio, her right hand in her lab coat. She stood on her tiptoes and whispered something in Seaford’s ear. He nodded then looked her up and down appraisingly—more than a little inappropriately for a college president and a married man who claimed to be such a good Christian, Addison thought. Out of the corner of her eye, Addison caught a pained look flash across Jaylynn’s face.

I suppose Jaylynn has shared some of our recent marital problems with you? Seaford spoke with a sudden icy calm. I'm aware of your friendship with my wife, despite what you're trying to do to me professionally.

Jaylynn's eyes widened and darted from Addison to her husband. Seaford, you must understand! Addie!

Seaford held up his hand.

You, as well as all of Jubilant Falls, know Jaylynn's previous problems with substance abuse. She's made no secret of her addiction in the past—much to my chagrin, at times. You must know that she is considerably less than blameless here.

Seaford! The charm bracelet chimed as Jaylynn covered her mouth in horror.

Have you told Mrs. McIntyre why your nose hasn't stopped running for the past two weeks?

Addison shot a look at Jaylynn. Cocaine? It couldn't be! But falling off the wagon was a common occurrence for addicts—just look at the rehabbed celebrity stories that came off the Associated Press wire. If that was the case, and Jaylynn had started back on drugs, Addison couldn't blame Seaford for wanting to take six-year-old Lyndzee away from the situation. Could Jaylynn have anything to do with the missing half million? That's a lot of blow to put up your nose. Jaylynn wouldn't do that, would she? How difficult would it be for her to get access to college money? Golgotha’s largely male administrators liked their wives to be what they considered the Christian ideal: nice, quiet—and submissive. She shifted her eyes back to Seaford as he continued speaking.

In fact, Dr. Wiseman and I would like to speak to my wife in private right now.

Addie! Don't believe him! I'm not using cocaine! You can't believe what he's saying; I'm just having sinus problems. It's springtime! The pollen is just awful! Addie, you've got to believe—

Seaford and the doctor reached over and pulled Jaylynn from the seat. Addison jumped to her feet. The blonde maid was suddenly at Addie's side, steering her through the wide French doors.

Get your hands off me, you little creep! Addie struggled to pull away from the girl's grip, but her hands were stronger than they appeared and Addie couldn't break away.

The doors parted and the maid hustled Addison through them. She let go of Addison long enough to close the doors behind her. As she did, Addison heard Jaylynn cry out, then caught a glimpse of her sagging between Seaford and the doctor who were holding her beneath her shoulders.

You dirty sonuvabitch! Addison gasped and tried to get back to the porch, but the maid’s strong hands kept her moving through the expensively furnished house and to her Taurus parked in the circular drive in front.

That's not what you think it is. Mrs. Thorn has a demon inside her, Dr. Thorn said, and he's only trying to save her before she falls.

You and your fundamentalist cohorts don’t really believe that, do you?

Dr. Thorn wouldn't lie. He only has his wife’s best interest at heart. Tina raised her chin defensively.

Addison shivered. And that’s how he shows he loves her? She turned again to look back through the French doors, but the threesome was gone.

Chapter Two

Y es chief. No Chief . I’m sorry Chief. Addison tried to get a word in edgewise to Jubilant Falls’ Fire Chief Hiram Warder. I’ll see that it doesn’t happen again. She jerked the phone away from her ear as Warder slammed his receiver down on the other end.

It was a few hours after her conversation with Jaylynn, just after the Journal-Gazette's press foreman brought today’s paper, still damp and pungent with new ink, up to her office. On top of trying to understand the scene between Seaford and Jaylynn, Addison had one more item on her plate than she cared to deal with.

Back in her office at the rear of the newsroom, Addison repeatedly dialed Jaylynn's private number until Chief Warder called, but Jaylynn never called back, despite Addison’s numerous messages. Addison didn't know whether that was because she and Lyndzee finally did pack up and go home or because that creepy Wiseman woman had done something, like sedate her. But right now she had to deal with something else.

Running her stained fingers through her short hair in exasperation, Addison dialed Suzanne Porter, her best friend since childhood, one spent in this small southwestern Ohio town on the banks of Shanahan Creek.

The name Jubilant Falls came from the tall bright waterfalls where the town’s founding father, McGregor Shanahan built his first log cabin in the days just after statehood came to Ohio in 1803. Some called him a pioneer and a visionary, but others knew him as a patent medicine peddler and con man who tried to finance a second Erie Canal from his self-named creek to the Great Miami River to help local farmers get their produce to market.

The scheme had failed miserably, after only fifty feet of canal and one lock had been constructed. Shanahan’s Folly, as it was known to local school children had at least resulted in Canal Days, a three-day festival in the center of town over Labor Day weekend.

Just a block from the courthouse and the city building that flanked it, the Journal-Gazette was on South Detroit Street, in an old building that had once been a hotel in stagecoach days. The paper itself was a rarity in the world of corporate journalism, owned by the Whitelaw family since 1875.

Everyone seemed to have some connection to the paper at some point in their lives: they’d delivered it, bought ads or seen their faces on the front page.

Even Addison’s best friend and beautician, Suzanne. She was married to the Journal-Gazette’s police reporter, John Porter. Last year’s Christmas photo of John and Suzanne, along with their five boys, adorned not only Porter’s desk, but Addison’s as well. Addison grimaced as she looked across her desk at Suzanne’s smiling face, her hands resting on the shoulders of