Forced Entry?

By Bill Lockwood

Henrietta moves in with her mother, Leila, on the coast of California. Leila, an actress in semi-retirement, has a bad heart, and Henrietta hopes to inherit a fortune soon. To hurry that along, she enlists help from a young man she meets at a party, has him paint messages on the house and leave strange verses hinting at murder. She orchestrates several other events in an attempt to scare her mother literally to death.

Leila calls the police for every strange occurrence, but also asks her neighbor, Max, to help solve the puzzling incidents. As the pursuit heats up, Max involves his girlfriend, her teenage daughter, his grandfather, the grandfather’s Irish friend, and even a nearby coven of self-proclaimed witches to catch the perpetrator of the scare tactics—Will Henrietta withstand the pressure?

• Language: Unknown
• Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
• Release date: May 18, 2022
• ISBN: 9781509241842

Bill Lockwood

Bill Lockwood was a social worker by day for the States of MD and VT until he retired in June of 2015. By night he was an avid amateur theater participant and writer. He wrote reviews and feature articles in a Baltimore theater newsletter, had four short stories published in obscure literary magazines in the early 1990, wrote articles on the arts, personalities, and rural downtown development in the "Bellows Falls Town Crier" in VT in the late 1990's through 2006. He also wrote articles in Vermont tourist publications. In 2006 he was Greater Falls Regional Chamber of Commerce Person of the Year in recognition of his work as Chairman of the Bellows Falls Opera House Restoration Committee. He now contributes regularly to the weekly "Shopper and Vermont journal" and to the daily "Eagle Times", both papers in his area. He now has three historical fiction novels with The Wild Rose Press, and a fourth under contract.

Book preview

Grandpa and Liam dropped off and hid themselves before Max, Evie, and Cindy arrived on Leila’s patio. It was almost dark, and a bright moon was rising in the sky. Max cleared the patio furniture to the sides, and Evie and Cindy helped him. Leila and Henrietta came out the big glass patio door. Max instructed everyone where to stand. Then the witches arrived, a group of about a dozen, led by Beltane carrying her flute. They were all in long dark robes. Some carried lanterns lit with burning candles, from perhaps colonial times. They appeared various ages. Most of them were smiling. It seemed they were all ready to have a good time.

While the witches formed a loose circle in the middle of the patio, Max and Beltane pulled two chairs together at the side of the patio away from the house. They climbed up on the seats. Max pulled on the reindeer head from the school drama department. The fake fur around the eye holes made it hard to see.

Wish I’d brought my camera, Evie was thinking. Then Max and Beltane dropped their robes, and Evie said, Oh, my God!

Max looked over and saw well enough to see Beltane raise her flute to her lips and give him a nod. Max raised his arms. All ye faithful, please assemble! he bellowed out, his voice strong despite the reindeer head. Let the ceremony begin!

Praise for Bill Lockwood

"Lockwood…does not miss a single beat in BURIED GOLD. …[T]he characters interact and move about with precision…. The dialogue is spot-on, too.…"

~Shelley Carpenter, Candle-Ends: Reviews,

Toasted Cheese Literary Journal

~*~

"GARE DE LYON will be an excellent read for anyone with an interest in the history of World War II and the efforts to combat tyranny down to present days."

~Tom Warren, Book Review, Hand by Hobby, ELF

"Lockwood deftly moves readers from scene to scene. …This is an exciting, fast-paced story [GARE DE LYON] that…keeps readers guessing until the end."

~Anne Greenawalt, Candle-Ends: Reviews,

Toasted Cheese Literary Journal

The characters are real, the situations are authentic. …[The story] require[s] a knowledge about the history of the time, and the people who survived those days and years. …[It’s] compelling.

~Mark Paxson, King Midget’s Ramblings blog

~*~

"Fans of Bill Lockwood’s breezy thrillers are sure to enjoy the setting, banter and touches of romance in THE MONSIGNOR’S AGENTS."

~Eileen Charbonneau, author

~*~

MEGAN IN THE MISTS: I could see movement as well as hear the characters: I was the proverbial fly-in-the-room hovering above them. I was there.

~Shelley Carpenter, Candle-Ends: Reviews,

Toasted Cheese Literary Journal

Forced Entry?

by

Bill Lockwood

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

Forced Entry?

COPYRIGHT © 2022 by William B. Lockwood

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

Contact Information: [e-mail]

Cover Art by Jennifer Greeff

The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

PO Box 708

Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

Publishing History

First Edition, 2022

Trade Paperback ISBN 978-1-5092-4183-5

Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-4184-2

Published in the United States of America

Dedication

I dedicate this book to Jeanie Levesque, my wife and inspiration for over forty years.

And, in a lesser way, to one of the many talented people we have crossed paths with in community theater, who will remain nameless but who gave me an idea that ended with my story here.

~

To all those who study the Dark Arts and their place in history.

Historical Note

The murder of Mary Jewett, a prostitute with a history of using aliases, lying about her past, and inventing much of her own life, in 1836 is said to have inaugurated sex and death sensationalism in news reporting. By 1970, following the social and cultural changes of the 1960s with its heightened awareness of the occult, witchcraft, ancient beliefs, other counter culture philosophies, and renewed interest in Tarot card reading and Astrology, and amid the political upheaval of protests against the war in Viet Nam, sensational journalism had become a very refined and popular art just ripe for the unsettling events in southern California. In January of 1971, Charles Manson and members of his tribe were found guilty of the murders of actress Sharon Tate and her unborn child and three friends on August 8, 1969 and of Leno and Rosemary Labicienca in a separate incident the next day. What was revealed from the investigation and trial process sent shock waves of fear through the well-to-do sections of southern California where the murders had taken place and far beyond.

The fear of home invasion and attack in what was once a promised land persisted for a long time after. Small incidents, and even noises in the night, could have all kinds of fearful consequences. For years, well-to-do people all up and down the coast in their comfortable homes were afraid. Police forces were on high alert for quite some time, and so too were many vigilantes. And vigilantes can become dangerous when they go off on their own. One can easily get caught up in events, and things can go on from there.

Beyond the fields of wrongdoing and right doing is a field.

I will meet you there.

~Jallaludin Rumi

**

Avoid thimble-riggers and three-card-trick men.

~Winston Churchill

**

Focus on the organ grinder, not the monkey.

~Paul Begala

**

If a pistol appears in a story, eventually it’s got to be fired.

~Anton Chekhov

Chapter 1

The bartender brought the drinks they had ordered, a simple white wine for the young woman and a dark draft beer for the young man. They sipped their respective drinks silently for a moment, both looking past the bar and through a big window to where the bright blue Pacific Ocean sparkled under a cloudless midafternoon sun. She was dressed in short shorts and a thin bare-shoulder top. She had sunglasses pushed up on her head above a mane of long not-true-blonde hair. He was dressed in shorts and a tank top that revealed his muscular build and a couple of tattoos.

So, your name is really Venice? the guy asked.

Naw. She quietly laughed, more to herself than out loud. That’s really my stage name, I mean, not that I really have a job on stage to use it for, right now. My mother named me Henrietta. I hate that name.

But Venice? Like with lovers smooching in gondolas, and guys pushing them along the canals singing like they’re in some damn opera?

She sort of laughed again. I first thought of Paris, but I figured that was kind of too used. So I picked another European city I thought might be just as romantic.

Better than Marseille or maybe Liverpool, I suppose.

Yeah… Paris probably would be better… You told me your name is John?

Good, simple name. He shrugged. My mother didn’t have any romantic imagination either.

Then a silence fell again.

So… The guy finally spoke up. You said something about wanting help with something?

Oh, right. You asked me if there was anything you could do for me, at the party where we met last night.

Yeah, I spotted you as a good looker from way across the room. Practically popping out of your shirt, you were.

Liked that, did you? she said with a laugh and a little shake.

He smiled, and he took a drink of his beer.

And now you say you hardly remember what went on at the party.

He shrugged.

I said we should meet today for a drink.

Yeah, I remember that much. I remember I sure did want to see you again. But I drank an awful lot last night, I think…

I think it’s a good thing I called and reminded you this morning.

Hell, I’m here.

Okay, I’ll give you that. And last night your memory was good enough to give me your right number.

I remember you found a pen and wrote it on your hand.

Henrietta glanced at her palm. It was a bitch to get it off after I wrote it down on a piece of paper this morning.

Didn’t get it tattooed to keep forever?

We’ll see about that. She took a drink of her wine as if taking a moment to think it over. We’ll have to see. She thought another moment, then went on, So you don’t remember what else we might or might not have done together last night, either, do you?

He thought a moment. Then he threw up his hands. Naw, I don’t, he admitted. Sorry if that makes you upset.

She laughed. No, but can you stay sober for a day and do something for me anyway?

Well, sure… I mean, I guess so. I mean, depending on what it is you want me to do.

It’s this sort of joke I want to play on my mother.

He waited for her to go on.

She sipped her wine. Then she said, I just want to scare her a little. Cause her some stress, maybe.

And you want me to do that?

Yes… I mean, not like you meet her or anything.

So when it’s dark I throw some stones at the windows?

She nodded. And maybe something else. Leave some notes, maybe. Move the outside furniture. I’ll have to think that up as we go along.

And for that, you’ll what…? Buy me a car?

No, I can’t promise to buy you a car. But she has a weak heart, and I think it’s getting worse. Let’s see how much the inheritance is before I make any promises.

Wait a minute, now. That sounds a little…I don’t know…maybe illegal?

No, all you have to do is help me scare her a little. Something happens to her heart, that’s all on me. You’ll be okay. I’ll cover for you, if there’s any trouble. I’ll promise you that, right from the get-go here.

Who is this mother of yours, anyway?

Leila Katchman, the old actress. It was because of her heart she stopped acting for a while. She told the press she was taking a break to better get in touch with her inner self, but the doctors told her she did too much of the wrong kind of drinking and drugging when she was young. Her heart’s going to give out, but they can’t tell exactly when.

How old is she?

Old. She shrugged. I was a mistake born late in her life.

How old are you?

Twenty-three.

There was silence again, but she could see he was thinking it over.

What I can promise to do for you, though, she said, is I can buy you some drinks, and I can let you find out what we may or may not have done with each other last night at the party.

Hmmm… He smiled. I think I might just be starting to remember.

So you’ll do it for me?

Tell me the first thing you exactly want me to do.

I’m staying with her for a while. It’s a big old house on the coast highway, up above the beach. I’ll write the address, and I’ll draw you a map. It’s not far from here. You come around after dark tonight. She just had the place painted. There’s some partly empty cans of paint in the garage. I’ll give you something to paint on the patio door. You paint it, rattle a couple doors and windows. Make her think someone might be trying to get in, and then you get out. No one will ever see you.

And that’s supposed to scare her?

Leave the rest of that part to me.

So then, when do I see you again?

We meet again, and I buy you a drink, for sure, and maybe…

Hey, I know. Some friends of mine are having a pool party tomorrow at a beach house they rent every year. You want to come?

She frowned. It’s Saturday. I have to work. Didn’t I tell you last night I work at that Mexican place?

It was obvious he didn’t remember.

My mother doesn’t just give me money. She expects me to earn my own way in life, or at least try.

He looked disappointed.

But I can come after work.

That’s great, he said. It’ll go on all night.

She smiled.

I’ll come by the Mexican place for you at closing time.

Henrietta lifted her wine and gave him a nod. Okay, I’ll find some paper and write out what you need for later tonight.

He lifted his beer and clicked her glass. Deal, he said. Then he gestured out past the big window to the deep blue sea and sky, and he smiled. God, I love living here in California.

Chapter 2

Max was in his late twenties. He stood on the screened-in porch of the house he was renting above the beach, and he looked out at the blue Pacific and the sky above. Well, it is pretty here, he said to the woman who sat in a wicker porch rocker next to him.

Pretty, today, yes. But there’s a lot more to moving here than just the beautiful weather and the view.

Evie, you said you would come along with me and give it a try through the whole semester. You promised me the whole spring semester of 1971.

I did, she admitted. I wanted my child to be able to see California…and me to see it, too.

Where is that child of yours now? Max glanced around.

Down on the beach. Evie gestured toward the water. She loves it here. But me, I don’t know.

So it’s me, not California?

It’s just like in Manhattan. We’ll never really be able to get along for any length of time.

But we’ve still got half a semester, and I got this great place for us to stay.

Right, ’cause you met this grade B movie actress who came to see your damn rock band play a club in LA on your not-so-successful last tour.

She thought we were really good, even if not many other people out here do. Besides, Leila Katchman is not a grade B actress. She’s played some really good roles.

Yeah, like that movie ‘Tacos, Tattoos, and Tea Leaf Readings.’ 

Max shrugged. I grant you, that one was pretty bad.

So you tell her you’re teaching at the community college near where she lives for a semester, and she up and offers you rental of the house next door to hers?

Max shrugged. This is California. Things like that happen here.

It’s all crazy, really. You get a job here teaching a history course on the Dark Ages because they think you’re an expert on those times.

It doesn’t involve much written history. Nobody cares much about those times, actually. Experts on those times are hard to find. I was in the right place at the right time, teaching music in New York. I know quite a bit of history as well, and they needed someone to teach the Dark Ages. I taught a course on it in New York. I established a reputation.

Spare me the details.

You don’t want to know how it all started when Alaric, King of the Visagoths, crossed the Rhine River in 405, headed to sack Rome? And how it all ended with the start of the Renaissance in Italy around 1375?

No.

A lot of Dark Ages history is about druids, and weird beliefs, and woods people. It’s a lot like the return-to-the-earth movement, and hippies, and New Agers here in California.

And nobody wrote much during those times?

Education and literacy weren’t very widespread or common even then. Beliefs were handed down orally through stories, legends, and traditions. Pretty much only the monks in monasteries and abbeys did any writing in those days, and that was mostly about God.

Spare me. So what happens at the end of the semester for you?

I get more work here. I go back to New York. I go back to Maine, where I’m originally from. My band ends its break and goes back on tour. I don’t know. It’s all exciting possibilities right now.

I think I go back to my old job and old life in New York City. And going out to Long Island on weekends and all. It’s gorgeous there too, just like here on the coast of California.

"Okay, so is Cape Cod. So is the rocky coast of Maine. But in the meantime, we’re