North Beach Road

By J.W. James III

A tiny community tucked away in the Southeast corner of Idaho, next to beautiful Bear Lake with a predominately Mormon population, is about to learn the difference between the religious and the secular. Two capital crimes turn this little town and surrounding community into a tinderbox of questions and fear concerning both. Sheriff Ned Williamson, a former Marine and his trusted friend, the coroner, Winston Rand need to solve two crimes. Are they related or separate? Are outsiders responsible? And is the local patriarch, Willard Jensen, who he seems to be? Will his son and daughter, Stacy and Stanley find out the truth about him?

Meanwhile the sanity of a young girl, Marcy McFadden, hangs in the balance. What is going on with her sessions with the local Bishop? How far does the word trust go? Read and find out.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Feb 15, 2012
• ISBN: 9781468544053

Book preview

Prelude

By Early spring in 1882, the railroad was trekking across the Bear Lake Valley nearly as fast as one could walk. Railroad ties had to be long enough, thick enough (8 inches) and be flat on one side to stabilize the enormous weight of the locomotives that would travel the shiny rails that guided the trains to their destinations.

Stalwart fifty-man crews literally marched across the country, sometimes covering as much as 40 miles in a day. Most of them came from various walks of life following the right-of-way path left by earlier survey crews leveling grades, clearing brush and building bridges while withstanding floods, freezing cold in winters and during summers, the triple digit heat that descended upon them. Add to that accidents like twisted rails or a foundation that would give way causing engines to ‘jump track’. But minimum life was lost during these rare occurrences.

By July 24 of that same year, the railroad officially arrived in Montpelier, Idaho and would continue there where it would be an integral part of that community for thirty some years: essentially it was the mid-way point between Omaha, Nebraska and Portland, Oregon serving as an active depot for passenger, freight and cattle shipments. Montpelier was also the largest ice-producing plant between the two great American cities at that time.

Stacy Arden Jensen heard the whistle blowing as the train made its way into the Montpelier depot. She closed her copy of Bear Lake Valley-Revisited, authored by J. Patrick Wilde, and waited patiently for the train to come to a complete stop.

Chapter 1

The Screech of the train’s brakes along with the storied whistle awoke Stanley Jensen. His scraggly mop of brown hair had stuck to the leather headrest of his 2009 Mercedes caused by sweat that had formed on his neck and collared pinstriped shirt. He was extremely uncomfortable. Not seeing his sister Stacy for 5 years was wearing heavily upon him. Many changes had occurred in St. Charles since her last visit and he was apprehensive about the reading of the family will. He had volunteered to drive to Montpelier to meet with her and try to pick up the pieces of their own estranged relationship as well as her sudden departure from her husband, Coulter. She had deliberately taken the train ride she’d explained to him, so as to collect her thoughts and feelings on a multitude of issues that he wasn’t privy to at the present time. Not being curious by nature, he was still concerned though for her mental wellbeing. No matter the differences that had developed between them, he still loved and admired his younger sister.

He exited the car and strode to the aging platform to await her arrival. This would be the last eastbound streamliner called the ‘City of Portland’ to come to Montpelier. Retirement loomed in its very near future. Stanley couldn’t help but reminisce about this particular depot he’d been to so many, many times in his life. Whether leaving or arriving, he was familiar with the mechanics of bringing a large engine and its trailing cars to a comfortable, safe rest. It was the pride of the Union Pacific Railroad. A tug of memory flashed inside his mind because he had done his tour as locomotive engineer on the ‘City of Portland.’

He recognized Buddy Yarr, the Snohomish Indian brakeman who was now chiefly an assistant to the conductor, hanging from the hand rail as the train slowed. He gingerly hopped to the platform just as it stopped. Times sure have changed in the railroad business, Stanley mused.

Buddy, long time no see, he said. Heard you were retiring along with the City of Portland," he said while shaking Buddy’s hand.

Good to see you Mr. Stanley, Buddy said, returning the shake. I had intended retiring in Yakima but UP asked that I make this last ride. Got some reporters on board.

Union Pacific always got what they wanted, Buddy, he said with a bit of nostalgia. Practically forced me out, but I got the pension.

I read ya. By the way, your sister is a passenger, Buddy added quickly.

Chapter 2

Stacy watched the scene outside her window smiling. She had talked briefly with Buddy Yarr during the ride back to Montpelier. In a small way she still had a long standing crush on Buddy. He had been a star football player for Notre Dame over 25 years ago and at one time had a shot at a Hollywood movie career. His tribal counselors wouldn’t allow that. And of course with Stacy’s background being Mormon those same counselors wouldn’t stand for her to be mingling with an Indian ( Lamanite). And as fate would have it, neither did her counselors or family see the need for the two of them to become anything but neighbors. Indeed. Bigotry, hypocrisy and the class system remained on a firm foundation in the land of the free and home of the brave: America.

Stacy exited the train and embraced her brother.

Chapter 3

Sheriff Ned Williamson was making his way to the ‘Tabernacle’ church in Paris, Idaho in anticipation of the final service and subsequent wake. Already the long line of cars and various other vehicles that gathered on narrow highway 89 made him wonder if there would be enough room for cars and people alike if this continued. The Tabernacle, now signified as an historic place was the only location that could handle the large number of people that were anticipated. Paris, itself being the middle town between Montpelier and St. Charles was chosen by the family. With the untimely death of Willard Jensen, the community at large was still in shock. The most famous and sometimes infamous Willard Webster Jensen, Junior, citizen pro-tem, and Bastard Royale to others was being eulogized. That in itself was anomalous given the simple fact the old Willard was a little bit of both. The list of those with something to say was long. Indeed, too long for most who were attending the ceremony. A eulogy was supposed to be something that addressed the praise and worthiness of an individual mainly at a funeral or a wake. The incongruity of it wasn’t wasted on Sheriff Ned. He’d had his battles with Willard. Just the same, his mission presently was crowd control and to speak to the immediate family afterward about the said untimely death of one Willard Webster Jensen, Junior.

Chapter 4

Hey sis, its so good to see you again, Stanley said. We just might make the first service.

Stacy smiled and gave him a big hug. The last train to Montpelier had to be a late one, didn’t it? she said into his ear still holding the hug.

If dad was still running this railroad, it would have been early, he answered while continuing to hold her in the embrace.

Stacy nodded her head into his shoulder in agreement while remembering the years gone by of how he and she were almost twins. Though there were years between them, they were inexorably connected together. Perhaps their mothers side provided the dominant, distinguishable characteristic. Phyllis Jensen was definitely the complete opposite of Willard: in a term, she was ’nice’. A fact not wasted on herself and her brother Stanley, she noted.

Stanley loosened the hug and looked into his sisters sorrowful eyes. Quite a load for you to deal with, he said sympathetically.

How so? She inquired wrinkling her brow looking up into his steady gray eyes. What do you mean, Stan?

"Well, for one thing your separation from Coulter and now the untimely death of dad for starters.’

Oh. I’m sorry. My head isn’t fully attached yet, she answered evenly. As for Coulter, well, I’m getting over that faster than I thought. And as for dad, well I am at a loss and sort of numb emotionally.

I understand, he said quickly. Its just that I can see the look in your eyes that you are not settled in either case. And, to add to your chagrin on these two subjects I’ve some other news for you.

She stood back a little and again searched his eyes for that comfort zone he had a knack of providing at the right time. Their past differences seemed to evaporate as she stood next to him. She liked the feeling and felt at home.

Go ahead, she said.

Sheriff Ned called me just before I came here. He said that dad’s untimely death might not be an accident and wants to get together with us later!

Chapter 5

Ned’s cell phone gently vibrated in his shoulder harness. Sheriff Williamson, he responded.

The voice at the other end was that of Stanley Jensen, Sheriff, the train finally arrived and Stacy and I are already heading your way, he said.

I understand, Mr. Jensen. I’ll advise Bishop Somerville. I’m sure he can delay the proceedings a little while longer without much consternation to the congregation at large, he said. Then the thought occurred to him that he used the word congregation when in fact it was not. It was a gathering or town meeting to most. Nevertheless, he entered the back chamber and knocked on the Bishop’s heavy oak door.

A tall, angular man opened it and instantly reminded Ned of Icabod Crane and the Headless Horseman. Knowing the Bishop all his life, he still felt that. However, the main feature of the Bishop was his deep brown eyes set in two pools of snow white. He had those kind of eyes that people trusted. That along with the steadfast look they provided without so much as a word being said: Instant trust.

"Neddie, so good to see you. Won’t you come in for a spell?’ he exclaimed.

Good day to you Bishop Somerville. It’s a pleasure to see you again, Ned responded with a handshake.

And I to see you, too, Neddie. Perhaps as the day goes on I’ll even see you with the others in the Tabernacle?

Ned knew he was ‘fishing’ and smiled. Probably so, Bishop.

So what brings you to my office before this August event?

Without ceremony, Ned explained about two of the decedent’s children being on their way and if he could hold the ceremony a little while longer.

The Bishop nodded with a smile, took hold of Ned’s hand as if to shake it again and said, Neddie, whenever you want to come to me and the church, we’ll welcome you with open arms and hearts.

Ned smiled, shook his hand and said, Thanks Bishop, for the invitation, but you have your job to do and I have mine. With that he exited the small office and went to the vestibule of the Tabernacle and waited for the two Jensen children.

Chapter 6

As the Mercedes sped along route 89 to the 8 mile trip to Paris, Stanley said to his sister, Stacy, Are you ready for this? That is to say, ready for the pomp and circumstance?

I was hoping to be ready for anything, Stan. I feel and think I have the Coulter situation under control. Seeing you at the station put some confidence in my frail attitude, she said from her heart. I hope also that I have the strength to go through the next few hours.

He reached for her hand and squeezed it. Sissy, together we will survive this. It wasn’t long ago we went through this with Phyllis. Albeit under totally different circumstances. We both truly loved her. We showed it to her and she in turn showed it back to us. Sometimes she tried to make up for the lack of love Willard failed to give or even receive.

I know, I know, she hastily said. But even so, Stan, he was our father. Though he didn’t respect us, at least we can provide some of that to him. Especially in front of what I think will be a mob scene at the Tabernacle.

Good grief. You’re right. From the sound of the background when I called Ned, the hum of cars and mumble of people talking could easily be heard.

Dear me, she said wearily, I do hope sincerely that this isn’t going to be a spectacle.

Chapter 7

Marcy Eloise McFadden sat tall on her horse Sweet Charlotte. Her blonde hair was in a tight pony tail under her white Stetson flowing behind her while her pointed nose and tanned face were well into the wind as they rode along North Beach Road: the hair color of Sweet Charlotte almost matching her own. What a wonder pair they were riding along toward the beach of the beautiful, breathtaking and azure blue of Bear Lake. A short jaunt through some crab grass and a short jump over St. Charles Creek and Sweet Charlotte’s hoofs made contact with the golden sand that encircled the famous lake shared by Utah to the south and Idaho’s half to the north.

It was early May and the tourists hadn’t made an appearance yet. The chill was unexpected for this time of year in Idaho. The growing season was sure to be late. Marcy didn’t mind the cold because it gave her and Sweet Charlotte all the time they wanted to be alone with nature and Bear Lake. The wide, clean beaches reminded her of the time she’d spent in Daytona with Hank Williamson and his motorcycle last summer. She missed him.

She rode for a few miles, turned around and headed back to the pink house. She shouldn’t be late for the funeral services today for her grandaddy. Better yet, her Aunt Stacy was coming home: coming back to St Charles after a five year absence. How wonderful and yet, peculiar how families get together for holidays and funerals. Marcy was in her early twenties and the last five years had been quite eventful. The funerals for her grandmom and grandaddy served only to sadden her after such a glorious ride.

She stalled Sweet Charlotte, brushed her, watered and oated her and headed for the pink house. She wanted to ride Sweet Charlotte to the Tabernacle but was, suffice it to say, gently talked out of that by her Uncle Stanley. Since he went into Montpelier to pick up Aunt Stacy, she was to ride with Aunt Beatrice to and from the Tabernacle and interment.

The toot-toot of her aunt’s car horn was the signal to get with it and change into some mourning clothes. When she looked into her full length mirror, she said, ‘To hell with it. I’m going in jeans, shirt and boots. He was my grandaddy and he wouldn’t be happy if I dressed like something I wasn’t.’

She winked at the mirror and strode out to the waiting car.

Chapter 8

The Mercedes was passing through the tiny town of Ovid where the local radio station began playing its usual old-oldies. When Stacy heard the song, Make Believe by Conway Twitty her mind and heart raced back to better days. She turned her head and noticed the same reaction from her brother.

She said, Like most families, times are not always peaceful ones, but the disputes don’t have to threaten the entire family. Under favorable conditions one could show individuality, inventiveness and easy communications. Daddy wasn’t like that, was he, Stan?

No darlin. Stanley added barely audible. He turned to see his sister’s eyes leaking.

She continued. In my own life I’ve learnt many things; but I still feel sad that my life is slipping away.

Stanley replied, "That too will pass; I also feel a need to see those I once loved. Somehow I know, well I feel that there are things that are