Toy Airplane

By: E Z Reid
 One

I’ll never forget the first time I saw the toy airplane. Little did I know what the

ramifications of its discovery would be and how many lives would be affected.

It was late fall 1999 and I still couldn’t believe it. Me, William R. Chase, “Silly

Willie” had purchased the Gregory Mansion!

After twenty-five years of flying jets I had finally retired. My compensation from

the sale of my aviation business combined with a handsome portfolio of investments had

left my wife Suzanne and I financially set. On a visit to see her mother during the fall,

we found ourselves exploring the neighborhoods of Virginia Beach, Virginia, where we

both had grown up.

It was unusually warm for October and the two of us were enjoying our day

together as we drove the streets reminiscing the days of our youth as high school

sweethearts. The years seemed to melt away as we turned off Atlantic Avenue and made

our way to 1926 Dogwood Lane and the house where I had lived for eight years. The

houses were all grand old manors built at the turn of the century for sea captains and the

business elite. Although one of the smallest, my old house was still quite elegant. A

three story Victorian, its sloped rooflines and spiral turrets gave it a charming look not

seen in the architecture of today.

We parked in front and gazed at the house and I wished it were for sale. As we sat

in silence a SUV pulled in behind us. We watched a lady get out and remove a real estate

sign from the rear cargo area. As the woman walked by carrying the sign she smiled at

us.

“You folks looking for a house?” she inquired.

 “As a matter of fact we are?” Suzanne replied.

I look at my wife quite startled. We had talked of leaving upstate New York but

the Virginia Beach area had never been on our short list of places to move.

“Can you show us this house today?” Suzanne continued as she gestured toward

my old home place.

“No, I’m sorry it’s not for sale,” she answered.

“Oh, we just assumed you were about to place your sign there,” I said

disappointed.

“Actually I was going to put my sign up across the street. My listing is the

Gregory Mansion,” said the woman.

Suzanne and I both drew a deep breath as our eyes were drawn across the street to

the steel gated mansion. Built in 1903 for shipping magnate Angus Gregory, the house

had no equal in the neighborhood. Despite its state of disrepair the structure was still

quite impressive. Through over grown hedges and the wrought iron fence that

surrounded the grounds we stared at it and found its beauty was inescapable.

“Would you like to see it?” the woman asked sensing our excitement.

“We’d love to,” Suzanne and I answered in unison.

“Great,” she said. “My name is Mary Trumball and I own Ocean Realty.”

In a practiced motion she produced a business card. After a brief introduction we

followed the diminutive Ms. Trumball across the street to the walkway gate. Ms.

Trumball produced an ancient iron key and after struggling for a moment, swung the

heavy iron gate inward and we entered. We followed her up the walk towards a side

portico.
 “Obviously there’s renovation work ahead for the lucky folks who buy this

masterpiece,” she said. “The front door is not operational. I’m told the door frame needs

to be replaced, but I’m not sure.”

Ms. Trumball's presentation was smooth. A seasoned professional, she let us

pause on the porch for an instant as we drank up the surroundings. She opened the door

and we walked through what had obviously been servant’s quarters. We followed her

down a narrow hallway and into a great foyer. The grand staircase swept up to the

second floor in magnificent fashion.

“The last owners were the O’Neil’s,” Ms. Trumball began. “When Mr. O’Neil

passed on Mrs. O’Neil closed the house and moved to New York. The house has been

vacant for five years.”

We passed through the foyer into a large study. I had only been in the house once

and that had been forty years earlier. On my previous visit as a ten-year-old trick or

treater the shelves had housed a vast library. The now empty shelves were covered in

cobwebs and dust. The walls too were all bare. In the cracking paint and plaster

discoloration indicated where paintings had obviously once hung. We moved to the

dining room.

“We will have to buy a bigger dining room set,” Suzanne quipped as we surveyed

the vast room. Her voice echoed eerily from the bare floors and row of drape less arched

windows.

From the dining room a door led us to the kitchen. It was in excellent condition.

The glass fronted cabinets maintained the originality of the house but all the appliances

were modern stainless steel.

 “The O’Neil’s renovated the kitchen shortly before Mr. O’Neil’s passing. I’m

sure you’ll find everything here in working order,” said Ms. Trumball.

After a brief inspection of the appliances we moved on to the living room. Like

everything else in the house it was designed large and upscale. Triple plaster crown

molding ran throughout and all fixtures, doorknobs, and window sashes were quite

ornate.

“Living room furniture too?” I asked Suzanne who nodded her head in agreement.

Room by room we toured the remainder of the first floor rooms. Of particular

interest to me was the paneled billiard room. It’s grandiose cherry pool table stood where

it had been for eighty years.

As Mrs. Trumball was explaining some minor point about the house my mind

drifted and I imagined myself playing pool and watching football with my friends. I

snapped out of it as I became aware of Suzanne staring at me shaking her head.

“New furniture,” I reminded her and we both shared a smile.

The electricity was off and with no flashlight handy we skipped the basement and

made our way to the staircase. As we began our ascent a feeling of foreboding came

over me. With each step the feeling became stronger to the point where when we reached

the top I was out of breath.

“What’s wrong?” said Suzanne obviously alarmed by my sudden haggard

appearance.

Flushed and short of wind, I couldn’t respond. I sat down on the top step and

tried to gather myself.

 “I’m sure you’re not the first to let those steps get the best of you,” said Mrs.

Trumball.

I smiled feebly back at her but still dared not talk. After a minute my breathing

was normal and the feeling was gone.

“I’m better now.” I said as I rose to the relief of Suzanne.

The tour of the upstairs resumed. The bedrooms were large and each boasted a

fireplace. Despite the dreadful wallpaper and peeling paint I was very impressed. At last

we came to the master bedroom. Twice as large as the others, the master encompassed an

entire wing of the house. It was situated above the dining room and billiard room. The

windows to the east were mirror images of the dining room but slightly smaller. The

windows facing Dogwood were curtain less and allowed me an unobstructed view of my

old house. It felt kind of funny looking at it from this perspective. Through a small

alcove were a sitting room, a small nursery and the grand master bath. It was decorated

entirely in black and white mosaic tile. Its claw-footed tub was exquisite. Surprisingly,

there was also a shower. Moving from the bathroom to the nursery I noticed a faint

scratching sound. Curious, I drifted back into the main room as the ladies continued on.

The sound was emanating from the fireplace, which had been crudely filled in with brick.

“Just squirrels,” said Mr. Trumball as she and Suzanne appeared from the alcove.

The scratching had stopped when her voice had broken its cadence.

“Why is the fireplace bricked over?” Suzanne inquired.

“It’s always been that way,” said Mrs. Trumball. “It’s a common practice in

houses of this type because the upstairs fireplaces can create such a draft.”
 We retreated back to the upstairs landing and took a final look around before

descending down the stairs. The feeling I had earlier began to creep in but I fought it off.

Following Suzanne and Mrs. Trumball down I heard the scratching faintly begin again.

Outside in the growing twilight we beheld the gorgeous grounds. A lot of work

would need to be done to restore the mansion to its original splendor but the reward

would be great. Throughout our showing Mrs. Trumball had displayed an unusual style

of salesmanship. She had politely answered our occasional questions but for the most

part had been silent as she let the house speak for itself. I looked at Suzanne and she

nodded in agreement.

“Don’t bother putting up your sign, Mrs. Trumball,” I blurted out. We’ll take it.”

As the words left my mouth the hair stood up on the back of my neck as I realized

I didn’t even know the price!

 Two

Boxes and boxes and boxes. I never realized how much of a persons life can be

crammed into a box. I t had been a long arduous process. Three months to the day

Suzanne and I had first met Mrs. Trumball, the gates of the Gregory Mansion stood open

as the moving vans made their way up the drive. Our five-year-old son Evan and our

fifteen-year-old daughter Emma were gleefully anticipating living in our new home. This

came as a relief to my wife and I especially where Emma was concerned. After seeing

her room in the house and discovering its proximity to the beach she quickly accepted the

move. The promise of her own car in the manors five car garage too had played a pivotal

role in her acceptance of the move.

It was great being a family again. For the month prior to our move I had stayed in

Virginia Beach with Suzanne’s mother while I supervised the maintenance on the house.

The house was in better shape than I had thought. The painting crews had done a

marvelous job. In two weeks time the interior was completely finished. Outside most of

the immediate grounds were complete. Many other projects would have to wait until

spring. Other than the usual electric and plumbing repairs as well as some minor

carpentry needs, the house was quite livable.

Evan jumped from the car and ran excitedly toward the front door that was now in

perfect working order. Once inside, the family marveled at the facelift the house had

undergone. Suzanne set up her card table in the foyer and began directing the movers to

the appropriate rooms as they came in the front door.

 For the next five hours the movers filled the vast manner house with our

possessions. Adding to the chaos, our new living room and dining room furniture was

also delivered. I spent most of my time assembling beds and hooking up computers,

stereos, televisions and phone lines. Evan delighted in “flying” up and down the grand

staircase. With arms outstretched he made a jet planes whooshing sound as he negotiated

the extra wide stairs. Emma and Suzanne’s mother Teri, worked exclusively in the

kitchen. It was after 8 p.m. when the last of our belongings had been unloaded.

I had promised Evan a game of pool so the two of us retired to the billiard room.

Although I was exhausted, I felt no compulsion to go to bed. As we played the game the

melancholy feeling returned.

I had promised the family that I would not spend a night in the house without

them so it was to be the first night in our new home for all of us. It had been an easy

promise to keep. I don’t want to say that I was scared; it’s just that the house seemed

kind of creepy. The sheer size of it contributed to this spooky feeling I would get

whenever I was alone in the mansion. These feelings had dissipated as the furniture and

my family arrived making it start to feel quite homey.

Evan and I finished our pool game and we headed upstairs for bed. Evan used his

opportunity on the staircase to “fly” one last time. With his lips pursed he puttered,

gained altitude and sputtered his way to the top. He “landed” safely at the top foyer and

“taxied” all the way to his bedroom where Suzanne joined us for prayers and tuck in. His

little eyes were heavy and he was asleep in no time.

 We softly shut Evans door and walked down the hall and checked in on Emma.

As we opened her door we were greeted with a blast of AC/DC music from her stereo.

She stopped her task of putting up posters on her wall and glared at us indignantly.

“Sorry,” I said sheepishly.

Suzanne and I had agreed that we would respect her privacy by knocking before

entering. We retraced our steps and shut the door.

I gave an authorative knock as Suzanne smiled at me.

“Who is it?” Emma asked sarcastically above the din.

“Car man,” I said just as sarcastically playing one of my most important trump

cards.

The music volume was reduced and in a much more condescending tone Emma

said, “You may enter.”

We opened the door and went back inside her room. Aside from the stack of

empty boxes, there was virtually no sign of the moving day blues so rampant throughout

the rest of the house. Her computer and desk were set up neatly inside the window

alcove. The bed was made and curtains adorned her windows.

“Wow!” Suzanne said.

The room was so large that we had given Emma some of our old living room

furniture and she had arranged it smartly in one corner making the room resemble a suite

in a nice hotel.

“I think I’m going to like it here,” Emma said.

“I sure hope so honey,” Suzanne replied.

 We said our good nights and shut her door on the way out. We walked down the

wide paneled corridor to our master bedroom. Aside from our bed being set up the room

was a disaster area. Boxes and clothes seemed to consume every inch. Suzanne went to

soak in the bath and I put on some sweats and settled in to bed. Our furniture seemed so

small in so big of a room. I dozed off reading an aircraft trade journal stirring only when

Suzanne clicked off my reading light.

“Well we made it,” I murmured dreamily.

“Yes we did,” was the last thing I remember her saying.

My eyes snapped open at 5 a.m. My mind was alert as if I was landing a plane.

My military service had always demanded a high state of awareness but I had not

experienced this sensation in years. Curious as to what had awakened me, I lay still and

silent. Suzanne’s soft slumber was the only noise I heard. For over an hour I stayed this

way. My mind raced over all the areas of the house probing searching for the cause.

Suzanne shifted from time to time oblivious to my plight. Then I heard it! It was the

same scratching sound I had heard the day we first met Mrs. Trumball. I immediately

isolated the source of the noise. It was coming from what I assumed to be where the

chimney met the roofline.

“Damn squirrels,” I muttered.

Relived I allowed my guard down and drifted back to sleep but my dreams were

not peaceful.
 Three

Saturday Morning

My first recollection of that morning was that I hated squirrels. Momentarily

forgetting the night’s woes I responded to a more basic instinct. I was hungry. Suzanne

was gone and I hoped she had gone down to the kitchen. I showered and shaved quickly.

As I was about to leave the room I shot a quick glare in the direction of the bricked up

fireplace and chimney. Dealing with the squirrels had become priority one for the day.

I was welcomed into the kitchen by the enticing smell of waffles, eggs and bacon.

Suzanne’s mother had returned and neither of them showed any ill effects from the hectic

previous day as they hustled around the kitchen preparing a breakfast feast. Our old

dining room table now served as our “eat-in” kitchen table and moments later we sat

around it brimming with excitement over our first day in the new house.

Teri soon began an interrogation of me as only a mother-in-law can.

“So Bill, what do you and the kids plan to do while Suzanne and I are at the

grocery store?”

“Deal with the squirrel problem,” I answered matter of factly.

“Squirrel problem?” Suzanne and her mother questioned in unison.

“You were snoring so you couldn’t hear them,” I kidded.

“I was not,” she blushed throwing her napkin at me to the obvious delight of my

kids.

I explained the happenings of the night and for some reason they thought it was

funny. We finished breakfast and when the dishes were cleaned up we went our separate
ways. Teri and Suzanne left for the store. Emma retired to her room for some final

adjustments and Evan accompanied me to the out building for tools. The tool room was

in shambles as one might expect. After some digging around I was able to locate my

toolbox, a sledgehammer and several empty five gallon buckets. Evan carried the

buckets as we headed for the bedroom. As I trudged up the stairs lugging the heavy

toolbox I chuckled as Evan out stretched his arms with a bucket in each hand as he

“flew” up the stairs. Today his motor sound was smooth. Laughing, I questioned him.

“Did you get your motor fixed bud?”

“I sure did,” he replied. “She hadn’t been run in a while but she’s ready to fly…”

Evan flew down the hallway and into the bedroom. We set down our tools and

began the task at hand. I opened the toolbox and retrieved safety glasses for Evan and I.

I pulled out a hammer and chisel and began chipping away at the mortar joints where the

fireplace was filled in. It was tedious but after a while I found a rhythm and it went

pretty smoothly. Once I had the outline cut out I took the sledgehammer and began

pounding the brick in the center. Evan gave a shout with each blow as the wall of brick

crumbled. Emma appeared in the doorway to watch the demolition. It came out with

relative ease and the three of us began loading debris in the buckets. It took alot of trips

with buckets but we finally cleaned it all up and had the fireplace unsealed. The fireplace

had been full of ashes, bird’s nests and evidence of squirrels. It looked like it had been

sealed up for a long time. The flue was partially open and as I forced it to open all the

way I barely avoided a shower of ash and who knows what else. My kids laughed at my

brush with disaster. When the soot and feathers had stopped falling I stuck my head in

the cavity and looked up. I could only see a glimpse of daylight.
 “To the roof,” I declared.

“Why are we going to the roof daddy?” Evan asked.

“I’ve got to clean out the chimney,” I answered.

Leaving Evan with Emma I went back outside and located one of the painter’s tall

extension ladders that had been left behind the garage. It was extremely heavy but with

some effort I managed to prop it up on the outside face of the chimney. I climbed to the

top and surveyed the situation. The ancient chimney cap was shot. Holes throughout it

allowed easy access to the chimney itself. Bracing myself with one hand I shook the cap

with the other. It came off easily as parts of it disintegrated. Unprepared for how heavy

it would be and surprised at how easy it came off I couldn’t hold it and it fell ricocheting

off the roof a couple of times on the way down. Emma and Evan immediately appeared

in the yard below to check on my health.

“I’m fine,” I called down reassuringly.

With the cap removed I peered over into the chimney. No blockage was visible as

far as I could see. I climbed back down the ladder where Emma and Evan were waiting.

I need something to poke with,” I informed them. “Go back inside and open the

window so we can communicate.”

Once more I went to the shed. I found what I was looking for in the form of a

painter’s extension rod. Armed with the “perfect” tool for the job I started back up the

ladder. Despite the crispness of the January morning, I began sweating profusely about

half way up. The breeze off the ocean sent me into a sudden shudder of chill. I reached

the top and began extending the rod downward. Almost immediately I encountered
blockage. Thrusting the rod a couple of times I felt the blockage clear. From the open

window I heard Emma scream.

“What’s the matter?” I shouted.

Evans little face appeared at the window.

“Dead squirrel daddy,” he called to me.

Confident that I had accomplished my mission, I headed down again. The

warmth of the house felt good as I opened the front door and made my way back up to

the bedroom. Atop a pile of nesting and feathers the remains of a black squirrel lay in its

death throes. It’s skinless decomposing corpse was quite hideous looking. After

removing the animal and the rest of clutter, I again stuck my head in the fireplace and

looked up. This time there was decidedly more sunlight though it was clear that other

obstructions existed.

“Back to the roof!” I exclaimed.

Once more I found myself at the chimney top probing the interior walls of the

chimney with the rod. I encountered two more pockets that required multiple prodding’s.

Each time I called to the kids inside and each time they informed me “nests and feathers”.

With the rod almost fully extended I felt another blockage. This was unlike any of the

others. It felt solid. Over and over again I pushed down but to no avail.

“Reach up the flue and see if you can grab whatever’s blocking it,” I called to

Emma.

She appeared in the window shaking her head.

“I’m not putting my hand up there,” she stated flatly in that end of discussion tone

she had learned so well from her mother.

 Back down the ladder I went. Arriving back at the fireplace I was astonished at

how much stuff had fallen. Ignoring it momentarily, I reached my hand up the flue. My

fingers could barely touch something that felt like cloth. The angle and the size of my

arm prevented me from getting a firm grip.

“Evan?” I said. “Do you want to be a big boy? There might be a treasure up

there and if you can grab it, you can have it.”

At the mere mention of treasure Evan’s eyes lit up and all thoughts of the dead

squirrel were forgotten. Without reservation, he stuck his little arm up the flue.

“I’ve got it!” he shouted.

With a hard tug he was engulfed in a shower of soot and debris. The force of his

this effort made him fall almost Indian style to the seat of his pants. Still clutched in his

hand was a decrepit pillowcase. It was unimaginably filthy as was Evan. I picked him

up and brushed him off.

“What’s in the bag?” he wanted to know.

“You pulled it out, you open the treasure,” I said.

With reckless abandon he began tearing at a hole in the fabric. It was doubled in

two layers but it ripped open easily to reveal a perfectly preserved red and white striped

antique toy airplane!

 Four

Evan the Aviator

Evan was ecstatic. Upon realizing what the pillowcase contained he grabbed the

antique plane and began flying it around the room. He jumped wildly on the bed and

back to the floor stumbling over boxes in the process. He moved the plane in a series of

loop to loops providing sound effects to match. He buzzed Emma several times to her

obvious displeasure. Again and again he went wildly around the room. I don’t know if

there’s a condition called hysterical happiness but if there is I was certainly witnessing it.

Before I could say anything to calm him down he disappeared out the door and down the

hall. Knowing exactly where he was headed and fearing for his safety I hastily followed.

Rounding the corner, I realized that I was too late. Evan had already started down the

steps loop to looping the plane as he went. He negotiated the middle landing well enough

but three steps from the bottom he lost his balance and began what was sure to be a

painful fall. Miraculously he held on to the plane and by leveling off its wings he landed

quite softly on the marble floor.

“Did you see that daddy?” Did you see it?” he beamed proudly.

“See what?” I asked in astonished disbelief.

“I did what you told me good pilots do. I leveled off and the plane kept me from

getting hurt.”

I couldn’t get over it. From the time he could walk I had always told Evan stories

of flight and aircraft. For his fifth birthday I had given him a flight simulator for the

computer. We had spent countless hours playing with it.

 With my constant tutoring he had become quite proficient with it. One of the

things I reminded him constantly about was leveling off the wings after a climb or a dive.

At this moment of truth and facing certain injury he had done exactly what I had always

told him to do albeit in a most unconventional manor. I was proud of him.

“Yes son, I saw,” I said enthusiastically. “Now before you go flying off again let

me see the plane.”

With great reluctance he displayed it to me but still held it with both hands.

Lovingly, I removed it from his tiny grasp and held it up for a closer inspection. It was a

beautiful replica of a 1918 Sopwith Camel. The antique bi-plane was hand carved out of

wood. Its lacquered paint showed almost no signs of age. Every feature including the

wire rigging had been done with perfection. After this brief inspection, I knew that this

was a special plane. I had seen similar planes bring thousands of dollars at air show

auctions but none of them compared to the one I now held in my hands.

“If you promise to be really careful with it I’ll give it back,” I said to Evan.

“I will daddy, oh please I will I will,” Evan replied.

His voice almost had a sound of desperation. It was if his life depended on

getting his hands back on the plane. With just a little reluctance I restored the plane to his

grasp. Instantly he was happy again and began to scamper toward the steps but held up.

Looking at me sheepishly he stopped and with an exaggerated slow gate moved slowly

up the steps. I nodded approvingly and followed him up.

Back in the master bedroom, I looked back up the chimney. Satisfied it was

completely clear; I shut the flue and cleaned up the rest of the mess. I had many

questions but for now I wanted to finish the task. I went outside with my full five gallon
buckets and emptied them on the trash pile. After I returned the buckets to the shed, I

went and retrieved what was left of the chimney cap. I put it in the back of my pickup

truck and went to the front door and called to Emma.

“Take care of your brother while I run to the store.”

It was a short drive to a local home improvement center. Using the old flue as a

guide I found a suitable replacement cap and headed for the checkout. While in line I ran

into one of painters who had worked so diligently on my house.

“Hey, Mr. Chase,” he called to me quite good-naturedly.

“Hey Danny,” I said

“Doing a little high ladder work I see,” he said gesturing to the chimney cap I was

holding.

“Yeah, I don’t care much for it either,” I said truthfully.

“I’m heading that way to pick up the ladders anyway so I’ll be glad to do it for

you,” he offered.

Danny was a nice young man. Suzanne and I had known his mother and father in

high school.

“Sure Danny that would be great and while you’re there we can talk about the

guest house.”

Danny was a student taking night classes at Old Dominion University and during

renovation had offered to paint the guesthouse in exchange for letting him live there for a

semester. I wanted him to meet Suzanne and get her thoughts on the matter.

Followed by Danny, I made my way back to the house and in no time he had the

new cap secured. I helped him load the ladders onto the top of his van and went inside to
get the guest house keys. Suzanne and Teri were putting away groceries when I entered

the kitchen.

“Sue, there’s a young man outside I want you to meet,” I said.

“Be right there,” she answered.

We walked outside to where Danny stood in the driveway waiting for us. I

introduced him to Suzanne and the three of us proceeded to the front door of the

guesthouse where I unlocked the massive oak door. The structure was made entirely of

stone and was completely different than the main house leading me to believe that it had

been built prior to the rest of the buildings.

The interior was cold and musty. It was sparsely furnished with what seemed to

be ancient couches and chairs. The appliances were also museum pieces.

Mrs. Trumball had mentioned that no one had occupied it for over thirty years.

“Danny wants to restore this place for us and live in it while he does it,” I

explained to Suzanne.

I could see Suzanne’s mind churning. We had talked briefly about Teri moving

into it at some point. Having it renovated would make that happen faster.

“You’ll have your work cut out for you Danny,” she said and I knew the answer

was yes.

“You know the only heat is the two fireplaces and I don’t know if they even

work,” I reminded Danny.

“It’s no problem, Mr. Chase,” he said with youthful exuberance.

“You look a lot like your mother Danny. Please tell Jenny that I said hello,” said

Suzanne as I handed Danny the key.

 “I sure will, Mrs. Chase,” Danny replied. “Thank you both so much.”

Danny took the key and drove happily down the driveway. Suzanne and I walked

arm and arm back to the house. As we were hanging our coats on the hall tree her mood

became serious.

“Tell me about this plane,” she said.

“I don’t know what to tell you,” I answered cautiously. “While we were cleaning

out the chimney we found this plane.”

“You don’t think it’s a little strange to find something like that hidden in a

chimney?” she asked.

“Well yes, I think it’s very strange,” I said.

“How do you think it got there?” she asked somewhat concerned.

“I have no earthly idea,” I said speaking truthfully. “Evan sure seems to like it

though.”

“You have no idea,” she said. “When we got home from the store we found him

at the top of the stairs doing loop to loops.”

“Well I can’t see the harm in a boy playing with a toy plane. I used to spend

hours playing with the planes my dad bought me.”

“That’s just it,” she responded. “Other than the computer simulator, he’s never

shown more than a passing interest in any of the planes we’ve given him. Why is he so

taken with this one?”

“It’s probably because I told him we were searching for treasure and we actually

found some,” I replied.

“I guess,” she sighed.

 For the rest of the afternoon and evening we unpacked boxes and decorated rooms

with pictures. The billiard room instantly became my favorite as I mounted photographs

and memorabilia of my life and flying career onto its paneled walls. Looking at the

various aircraft I had flown it became impossible for me to take my mind off the toy

airplane. The sputter of its engine broke my thoughts as Evan entered the room holding

onto mommy with one hand and the plane with the other.

“A game of pool buddy?” I asked quite expecting an enthusiastic response.

“Naw dad,” he said. “Aviators need plenty of rest so I’m going to bed early.”

This surprised Suzanne and I. Evan was a night owl. He never went to bed

without a loving nudge.

“That’s fine,” I said somewhat disappointed. “I’ll be up to tuck you in.”

Evan and Suzanne went upstairs and I spent a few more minutes’ examining the

wall of photos I had just put up.

Planes of all types had always held a certain fascination for me. The planes I had

flown most recently were technological marvels. Their computerized instruments and

countless gauges had taken some of the edge off flying for me. I thought about how

wonderful it must have been in the early days of flight when all you had was the wind in

your face and a joystick. Pilots of that era were thrill seekers and I envied them.

I joined Evan and Suzanne in his room and found him fast asleep. Reluctantly his

mother had let him sleep with the plane, which was now tucked under his arm.

“Evan the Aviator,” I whispered.

“I suppose,” Suzanne said with reservation. “I’m going to bed.”

 She kissed me on the forehead and left. With Evan asleep I was finally able to

give the plane a meticulous inspection. I traced my finger over each part of it’s over and

under wing design. I marveled at the attention to detail its craftsman had given it. The

painting alone must have taken countless hours. I envisioned the artist working at his

bench lovingly committed to each stroke of his brush. Though primarily used as a

warplane, this Sopwith Camel was painted in the style of a barn stormer. The red and

white stripes gave it a unique look. I turned it on its back to examine the under carriage.

It’s landing wheels rolled in their housing. Even the inside of their rims were

meticulously hand carved and painted. I turned it back over and examined the tail. The

rudders were in working order. Other than being a little dusty, I could find no

imperfection until I looked closely at the prop. It was made out of a cast metal and it

appeared to have been bent by some sort of impact and then bent back. Minute stress

fissures bore evidence of this. Otherwise, it was in immaculate condition. As I looked

into the empty cockpit a strange sensation came over me. How I wished I could climb in

it and head for the clouds. What a thrill it must have been for the flyboy who charged a

plane like this down a grassy runway, created lift and gained altitude. I had flown a

Curtis Crop Duster once at an air show but the planes owner must have had little regard

for my piloting skills because he had flown with me and gave me very little time with the

stick. I flew it around the fairgrounds in some lazy circles, but that was it.

I gently placed the plane back under Evan’s arm. Giving one last look to the toy

plane I left his room shutting the door behind me. After this close inspection I had come

to the conclusion that this was no ordinary toy airplane. Whoever made it had been
extremely skilled. As I snuggled in next to Suzanne, I tried my best to think about

something else.
 Five

The Search for a Church

I woke up a little before dawn like I had the previous night. My senses seemed

even more keen if that was possible. I glanced suspiciously at the fireplace knowing full

well that whatever had awakened me had not come from there. My minds eye blazed

over every inch of the house. The wind outside reverberated off the east wall of the

mansion. My diligence was rewarded when I heard a bedroom door close in the hallway.

I rose softly and crept silently out to the hall. I surmised that it had been Evans door I

had heard. Working the handle noiselessly I pushed open the door to find Evan sitting on

the edge of his bed. Traces of fear streaked his face and he clutched the airplane with

both hands.

“I had a nightmare daddy. I came to your room but you and mommy were

asleep.”

“It’s ok buddy,” I said picking him off the bed. You come and sleep with us.”

I carried him back to our room and put him between Suzanne and I. Whatever he

had dreamed had scared him pretty well because his jammies were damp with sweat. In a

matter of minutes he was sleeping soundly again.

I could relate to nightmares. Up until the end of my college years I had suffered

from them. Even now I occasionally had them and they were usually pretty bad. There

was one dream in particular that I seemed to have over and over. I would be walking in a

surreal darkness when out of the shadows the image of a beautiful woman asleep would

appear. As I would move closer I always reached out to touch her hand only to find that
she was ice cold and obviously dead. Just the thought of this particular dream made me

shudder. Evan had nightmares but thankfully never to the degree I had them.

Unable to go back to sleep I laid there staring at the toy airplane. I needed some

answers about it and I needed them soon. I felt as if I was starting to obsess about it.

Reluctantly I rose again and made my way down to the library, which now housed the

computer I used for my business. I went online and for the next two hours I researched

toy airplanes. Judging from the prices being asked for various toy planes I knew that our

plane was extremely valuable. Since my knowledge of such things was very limited, I

decided I needed an expert opinion. Flipping through my Rolodex I picked out the phone

number of a friend of mine from the naval academy. He had retired from the navy

recently and moved to Hawaii.

I looked at the clock and did a quick time difference calculation. Figuring he was

still up I dialed the number.

“Ahola,” Tom Dillard answered on the other end sleepily trying to say Aloha.

“Yucca Yucca,” I said using our standard greeting.

“Yucca Yucca!” Tom said in disbelief. “Do you know what time it is?”

Ignoring his question I continued.

“How are you Tom?” I asked

 “I was doing fine until you woke me up. What do you want Willie?” he asked

acidly.

“I need to know if that friend of your fathers still does the model airplanes,” I

said.

“Ziggy Maxwell? You woke me up to ask me about Ziggy Maxwell?” Again his

voice was incredulous.

“Yes,” I confirmed.

One summer while we were at the academy, Tom’s father had taken us to a house

in New Jersey. The house had belonged to a Mr. Ziggy Maxwell. We had all been awed

by his massive collection of toy airplanes. It seemed he owned every plane ever made.

“Is he still living?” I questioned.

“I think so,” Tom replied. “He moved to Florida ten years ago. He was operating

a toy airplane museum in Pensacola the last time I heard. What’s this all about?”

“I’ve go a plane I’m researching and I need some honest answers about what it

might be worth,” I stated.

 “I thought you bought and sold real airplanes?” he remarked sarcastically.

“I do, I mean I did. This is all quite new to me,” I stammered.

“I’ll call my old man and see if I can get his number for you. Is there anything

else?”

“No that will do it. I really appreciate it Tom it’s important,” I said gratefully.

“No problem buddy. Is everything all right? You sound a little frazzled.”

“Everything’s great,” I answered. “I’ve just been dealing with the move and all.”

“Yeah I ran into Griff and he said you bought a mansion in Virginia Beach. Is that

true?” he asked.

Griff was another member of the Yucca Yucca squadron. The group had been

formed when we were in flight school. After a particularly grueling set of exams we had

gone to an all night Chinese place and ordered some weird stuff off the menu. It had

been terrible. Forever after that we had referred to the dish we had as Yucca Yucca and

the name sort of stuck.

 “Let’s just say that it’s big enough to have a guest house,” I responded to his

question.

“Cool,” he said. I’ll get back to you when I find out something. Yucca Yucca!”

“Yucca Yucca,” I said in return and hung up the phone.

The sound of Evan and his plane coming down the steps announced that the

family was waking up. I greeted them in the foyer.

“Look what I found in bed with me this morning,” Suzanne said to me smiling as

she kissed me on the cheek.

Evan seemed quite himself and it warmed me to see the events of the night were

forgotten.

“I think we should go out for breakfast and try to find a 11:00 a.m. service

somewhere,” I said.

“Do we have to dress up?” said Emma who now looked down on us from the

upstairs railing.

“Casual elegance,” Suzanne instructed her.

 Relieved Emma went back to her bedroom to begin her wardrobe process as only

a teenager can.

Going to Sunday morning church service was an integral part of our families’

structure. Leaving our church family in New York had been difficult. For the past five

years we had attended a community church after becoming disillusioned with organized

religion in general.

I grew up southern Baptist and Suzanne was Catholic. Being cross

denominational as we were, we had attended many different types of churches. We

always looked for a minister who preached from the Bible and whose sincerity for the

word was beyond doubt. We had found that in New York and now faced the challenge of

finding it in Virginia Beach. During my stay with Teri, I had attended Mass a couple of

times but I also had “scouted” two nondenominational churches. None of them were

what I was looking for. Today we would try another church recommended by Mrs.

Trumball.

We all dressed and loaded into Suzanne’s Chevy Tahoe and headed for the local

Aunt Sarah’s Pancake House. Evan had been upset when we wouldn’t allow him to take

his plane but Suzanne had been firm about it and he knew better than to argue. Over

breakfast we talked about Emma’s new school. She seemed generally excited about the

prospect of meeting new people and having new teachers. We actually knew some of the

staff at St. John’s Catholic High School so it had been an easy choice to send Emma

there. Evan on the other hand had been much more difficult to place.
 We had settled on a public kindergarten because we had been so impressed by the

teacher. We would make a decision on an elementary school over the summer.

After breakfast we drove several blocks to Oceanside Community Church. It was

currently meeting in the auditorium of a Junior High School having outgrown meeting in

a small theatre. We arrived early and were met by a series of pleasant people who greeted

us warmly. The band was contemporary and quite good. Following a brief drama the

pastor, Mr. Ryan Mitchell, gave a very eloquent sermon on the damaging effects of sin in

our lives and how it can linger for generations without God in your life. It was

convincing. At the conclusion of the service we stopped at the hospitality area for

cookies and punch. We were joined there by Mrs. Trumball, who was easily one of the

congregation’s oldest members. As different groups of people approached the

refreshment area Mrs. Trumball would randomly introduce us. This was the part of

church exploring that I loathed. It was quite refreshing not to encounter pushiness of any

kind. The people we met all had pleasant demeanors. Even Mrs. Trumball was quite

intriguing to be around. Gone was the plodding methodical real estate salesperson

persona. In its place was a kind sweet old lady aura, which you immediately recognized

as being the beauty of Christian woman. Mrs. Trumball and Suzanne were engrossed in

conversation about children’s church and some of the youth group activities for young

teens. As they spoke I watched Evan circling the cookies. He finally decided on

chocolate chip and with punch and cookie in hand, he ambled over to a bench on the wall

and seemed quite content to sit there and people watch.

Emma was nowhere to be found. Sometime during one of Mrs. Trumballs many

introductions she had slipped away. Intuition told me she had gone to hang out with the
band. Just prior to our move she had the opportunity to sing with our church band and

was very well received. I had not only been surprised by how good she was but also how

she had changed from my little girl into a beautiful young lady. Thankfully she looked

like her mother.

I had always told her that I would support whatever she had a passion for and

music would be no exception. Her mother had given her piano lessons but she only

excelled when she ignored sheet music and played by ear. Singing had just come about

recently. She was withdrawn and shy throughout most of her childhood. At the urging of

a girlfriend, she had auditioned for and won a part in her schools spring follies. The part

required her to do some singing. The thrill of being onstage and hearing applause had

stirred something in her. From that point on her passion had become music.

Mrs. Trumball was explaining about a particular missions program when my mind

began to wander. I couldn’t stop thinking about the preacher’s words about the lasting

effects of sin and how it applied to my life. I couldn’t really think of anything I might

have done that would affect generations. It was really starting to gnaw at me.

Suzanne and Mrs. Trumball were concluding their chat when the preacher walked

over to us.

“Good morning Pastor,” I said extending my hand. “I’m Bill Chase and this my

wife Suzanne. I enjoyed being here this morning and I hope to come back.”
 “Thank you Mr. Chase,” he said. “Mary told me she had invited you and your

family to be with us I’m pleased you made it.”

One of the things I’ve always prided myself on was my ability to spot a phony. I

had encountered many in my professional and personal life especially in the religious

arena. Ryan Mitchell was no phony. There was a peace about him that was a mixture of

calm and self-assuredness. He was obviously very comfortable in his skin. In his mid

thirties, he had a magnetism about him that made people gravitate towards him. I could

feel it and watching Suzanne exchange pleasantries with him it was clear she could also.

Not wanting to be left out Evan joined our semicircle and extended his hand like a

big boy.

“Evan Chase,” he said. “Very pleased to meet you.”

“Well Evan,” said the preacher. “I’m Ryan and I am very pleased to meet you too!

It was very nice to meet all of you and we hope to see you here again soon.”

We said goodbye and headed for the parking lot. Suzanne rounded up Emma and

they met Evan and I at the car. All the way home Emma couldn’t stop talking about the

band. Suzanne was very impressed by the church as was I.

“I think we’ll go here again,” I said to the approval of my family.

 As we approached the iron gate on Dogwood we were quite surprised to see two

Virginia Beach police cars in front of the house in the cul-de-sac. We pulled up and I

rolled down my window to be greeted by police officers.

“Are you Mr. Chase?” he asked.

“Yes I am,” I responded.

“We’re here in response to a call from your security company,” he explained. “It

seems an upstairs motion detector was triggered. We’ve been around the property and

can see no sign of an intruder.”

Only mildly concerned, I hit the switch on my visor and the gate opened. We

drove up the driveway followed by the cruisers. In the rear of the house I could see a

third cruiser parked at the back gate. Officers Timlin and Henkley got out of their cars

and immediately began inspecting doors and windows. When they had checked the

premises thoroughly they motioned for me to join them at the front door.

Leaving Suzanne and the kids in the locked vehicle I joined the officers and

unlocked the front door.

 A single red light on the security panel indicated that the motion detector in zone

four had been the source of the alarm. Zone 4 was the upstairs hallway and foyer. Since

no other zones had been activated I relaxed.

“Malfunction,” I stated flatly. “Evidently the system still is not working

correctly.”

“We’ll be glad to search the house Mr. Chase,” Officer Timlin volunteered.

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” I said. “You would have to cross three other

zones to get to that one so it must be a just a bug in the system.”

The officers were standing in the lower foyer gazing at the grand staircase.

“You’ve done a fine job with your renovation Mr. Chase,” Henkley said. “I

would have never recognized the place.”

“You’ve been here before?” I said somewhat surprised.

“Oh yes many times,” he said. “My parents were friends with the O’Neils and we

were here quite often. The past several times I’ve had to run kids out of here after the

O’Neils had gone and the house was vacant.”

 “Interesting,” I said suddenly remembering my family waiting anxiously in the

Tahoe and wishing the ordeal to be over.

Timlin gave the “all clear” to the third policeman outside by radio and I did the

same for my family by shouting “all clear” from the front porch. I thanked the officers

for their courteous service and soon they were driving out the front gate. I explained

what had happened as we all went inside. Evan rushed up the stairs to collect his plane.

Emma went to her room to e-mail friends and Suzanne went to the kitchen to make some

tea. This left me to do what had been on my mind since early that morning. I went to the

answering machine to check my messages.

 6

Flying South During Winter

With a heightened sense of expectation I pressed play on the answering machines

console. The first call was from Teri asking us if we would be going to church with her.

The next message was from Danny who said he planned to start working on the

guesthouse on Monday evening. Next came the call from the security company checking

on the cause of the alarm. Finally the last message was from Dillard who left me the

information I needed regarding Ziggy Maxwell. I jotted down the info on a legal pad and

got up to shut the study door. I didn’t want Evan to hear me talking about the airplane. I

dialed the phone number and began listening to the ring.

“This is Ziggy,” an upbeat voice answered.

“Good afternoon Mr. Maxwell,” I greeted him. “This is Bill Chase I…

“Silly Billy!” Ziggy said interrupting me. “Tommy told me you would be calling.

How can I help you?”

His voice was just like I remembered. He had been extremely nice to Tom and I

when we toured his home. It seemed like he had just about every toy and model plane

ever built. We had spent hours talking histories. I knew that if anyone cold give me

insight about this toy airplane that had shown up in my fireplace it would be Ziggy.
 “Well sir,” I said getting right to the point. “I have a antique toy airplane and I’m

interested in its value. I was wondering if you would appraise it if I brought it to you?”

“Must be some plane for you to want to go to all that trouble. When can you be

here?” Ziggy said enthusiastically.

I paused for a moment. In my haste to gather information I had not thought the

matter through. Emma would be starting a new school in the morning and I had

promised to drive her in the Corvette. Suzanne had commitments that would require me

to look after Evan. I too had appointments all week with contractors and my stockbroker

who was flying in on Tuesday.

“Are you there?” Ziggy asked impatiently.

“Yes sir,” I responded military style. “What is most convenient for you?”

“Well all of my literature and reference material is kept at the museum so I would

expect that would be the spot. We close at 8 p.m. so any time after that will be fine.

“Are we talking tomorrow?” I asked momentarily ignoring my obligations.

 “Son, I’m eighty three years old and model airplanes are my passion as you know,

Ziggy answered. “Still it’s very rare that I get excited about seeing another model

airplane even though I do from time to time. I can hear in your voice that you think you

might have something very special or else you wouldn’t have called me. I know the

success you’ve had in the aviation business and as a pilot. Believe me if someone like

you wants to fly down and have me look at a toy airplane, I get excited.”

“I understand. What’s the address?” I asked.

Mr. Maxwell gave me the address of the museum and some vague directions I

barely listened to. My mind was going round and round about how to get there and what

Suzanne was going to say. Our conversation ended and I hung up the phone.

After eight years in the Navy as a fighter pilot I had grown weary of the demand

that the job had required. I worked briefly for a corporate jet service but I felt as if I had

traded one hell for another. With Suzanne’s blessing I scraped together enough capital to

form my own company, which I called Horizon Aviation. Beginning with a single King

Air I moved to upstate New York and flew executives from neighboring mid size cities to

New York, Boston and Washington.

The business grew rapidly as did our fleet of airplanes. At the time I sold the

business we owned 21 aircraft including jets, turbo props and even a helicopter. Now

here I was, Bill Chase, in desperate need of a plane.

I picked up the phone and dialed a number that was indelibly seared into my

memory.
 “Hello,” a man with distinctively northern accent said.

“Calvin is that you?” I asked.

“Hey Bill,” he said his voice warming.

“Calvin I need to talk to Janice is she there?”

“Sure,” he said. “I’ll get her.”

Calvin was Janice Templeton’s husband. Janice was the first Horizon employee

and had been with Suzanne and I from the beginning. Janice was a wealth of information

regarding airports, scheduling and contacts. Her contribution had been so significant that

I had given her stock in the company over the years. At the time of the buy out her shares

had also been purchased leaving her and Calvin a very comfortable retirement package.

“Bill you never call me at home on Sunday unless its important,” Janice said not

bothering to say hello.

She knew me so well it was scary.

“Janice, I need to be in Penniscola Florida by 8pm tomorrow night,” I began.

 “Have you tried Delta or American or.”

“Very funny,” I said cutting her off. “I need to know who we know that’s flying

up and down the east coast these days.”

Efficient as ever Janice began rattling off names of people we knew that were

working on the East Coast. There were so many I could hardly keep up. She concluded

by telling me that if it were her she would call Jerry Cushman who was running a little

airport operation out of Norfolk.

“Can you fax me those numbers?” I said sheepishly.

“Don’t I always keep you in the middle of the road?” She retorted.

She knew she did and I did too.

“I’ll have it to you within the hour,” she said laughing and hanging up the phone.

It seemed like a long thirty five minutes but Janice sent me the home, office,

mobile and fax number for Jerry Cushman as well as a list of others who might be able to

hook me up with a ride. It was a pride thing really. I could’ve easily taken a commercial

flight but to me it would be like a mechanic paying someone to work on his car.
 “Cushman Residence,” a young girl answered on the second ring.

“Is you daddy around?” I asked politely.

“He’s at work,” she answered.

This was not surprising to me. Jerry had run my operations at the airport during

the early days. He was a hard working family man and I had been sorry when he was

lured away by a larger company. I had given him a glowing reference thus maintaining a

solid relationship.

“Thank you,” I said. “I’ll try him on his cell phone.”

I hung up and dialed his mobile.

“This is Jerry,” he answered.

“Have you checked all the fuel tanks?” I joked.

“The planes or the hangers?” he replied laughing.

This was a running joke between us. During his fist week at Horizon I had asked

him to make sure all the fuel tanks were full. He had assured me they were. During
preflight one of my pilots had discovered to his horror that his planes fuel tanks were not

at capacity. Jerry had thought I was talking about the fuel tanks at the hanger. Naturally I

had been very upset with him but his good nature about it had made it impossible to stay

angry with him. To this day however, I had never let him forget it.

“I need a ride to Pensacola,” I blurted. “You have anybody going south?”

“Jet or Prop?” he asked

“Either,” I said. “I just need to be there around 7 p.m. tomorrow.”

“Let me see,” said Jerry who I could envision going through his flight logs.

After a short silence he found what he was looking for.

“Do you care about riding the cockpit jump seat of a Leer?” he asked

triumphantly.

“What time does it leave?” I inquired.

“Three thirty tomorrow afternoon can you make it?” Jerry asked.
 Riding a jump seat was bad news but a ride was a ride. Then I got more bad news

when I asked whom I’d be flying with and Jerry told me.

“Captain John Turley!” I responded incredously. “He’s still around?”

“He flies for me Mondays and sometimes Fridays,” Jerry affirmed.

John Turley was one royal pain in the butt. He was a great flyer, no doubt one of

the best. The problem was that he was older and no one could tell him anything about

anything. His attitudes were old school and any deviation from the straight and narrow

caused major conflict with him. He was the type of man that just rubbed me the wrong

way. I knew he would take great delight in having me as a captive audience so he could

list his many accomplishments and further enhance the great opinion of himself he

pushed so brazenly on anyone who would listen.

“What’s he going to say when he finds out it’s me?” I asked hesitantly.

“It’s my plane,” Jerry said proudly. “If he gives me a problem, I’ll just tell him

you’ll fly it yourself.”

“Oh that’s perfect Jerry,” I said. “I’ll take it.”

“Speaking of which,” Jerry said. “When I heard from Griff you were moving

here…”
 I cut him off.

“I might fly some for you Jerry but I have to get settled in first ok?”

“That’s fine Bill,” he said catching the tone in my voice. So when are you and

Suzanne going to have us out at the mansion for dinner?”

“Perhaps I should have you and Griff over at the same time,” I said feinting a hint

of sarcasm. “I haven’t seen him in a long time.”

“Well you’ll see him tomorrow he’s in the second chair.”

“Awesome!” I said jubilantly.

Griff was a great friend of mine and was sure to balance out the battering I was

going to take from Turley.

“Can’t wait to see you Bill,” Jerry said winding up the small talk.

“Likewise Jerry,” I said. “I’m looking forward to it. What’s the name of your

little airport?”

“Norfolk International. Maybe you’ve heard of it,” he joked.

 “I mean the name of your company?” I said correcting myself.

“Executive Air,” he said.

“Catchy,” I barbed and hung up the phone.

I now had a meeting with Ziggy and a way to get there. In the span of about 7

hours I had overcome two major hurdles. Now I faced the most difficult obstacle of all. I

gazed out the window and stared at an old thermometer that stood at 21 degrees and tried

to figure out how to tell Suzanne.

 7

A Busy Day

My black Corvette roared north on Atlantic Avenue. Beside me Emma enjoyed

the ride. I was keeping my promise about giving her a ride to school on her first day. As

we pulled up to the front entrance of St. John’s she kissed me on the cheek.

“Bye Daddy,” she said and like a flash was headed toward the door.

“Bye E,” I said trying to sound encouraging.

Minutes later I was back on Atlantic Avenue and thinking about the events of

earlier that morning. Suzanne had said that I was being irrational, irresponsible and

foolish and she was right. I had tossed and turned all night over why I was going so

overboard about the toy airplane. There was no good reason whatsoever for my

obsession with the planes history other than I felt that I needed to know and I needed to

know now.

As I turned into my gate I waved politely to the neighbors who now lived in my

old house. I probably should have stopped but I had a lot to do. I had rescheduled all my

appointments but one. A man was coming to give me an estimate on repairing the

driveway and I didn’t want to miss him.

Inside the house all was quiet. Suzanne and Evan were gone. Entering the

kitchen I found a note on the table telling me that my anvil case and overnight bag were
on our bed. She also stated that she loved me and hoped to hear from me later. Suzanne

was great about such things which is why our marriage had lasted and been so rewarding

for both of us. Suzanne was always able to speak her mind and express herself in no

uncertain terms. She had made painfully obvious her displeasure about me going to

Florida yet she had laid out the things she knew I needed in total support of my decision.

She knew that when I was bound and determined about something not to interfere since I

always treated her with the same respect.

I left the kitchen and headed upstairs to Evans room. The plane was placed

lovingly on his bed with a note from Evan telling me to be very careful with his plane. I

chuckled and went to my bedroom and opened the anvil case. I felt strange placing the

toy in the case as if putting it in there would somehow diminish its magical properties.

Closing the case securely I checked my overnight bag. As usual Suzanne had it packed

perfectly. Luggage in hand I returned to the first floor and retreated to the study. I went

on the Internet and accessed directions to Ziggy’s museum. While I was studying the

print out I noticed a fax in the tray. Janice had sent me a brief note explaining that she

had arranged for a car to meet me at the airport in Pensacola. She had spoken with Griff

to confirm my plans. It made me feel good to know that Janice could still be counted on.

The doorbell alerted me that my driveway contractor had arrived. Picking up my luggage

I met him at the side door and he walked with me as I placed the bag and the anvil case in

the trunk of the Corvette.

“What’s in the anvil case?” he asked curiously trying to break the ice.
 My mood immediately stiffened and I became immediately suspicious.

“Just some personal items,” I said not wanting to reveal to anybody the contents

of the case, least of all to him.

“Cool,” he said wisely not pressing it.

For the next hour we went over what my plans were for the driveway. The man

made several quality suggestions and promised to provide me with a written proposal by

the end of the week. I thanked him for his time and he left.

Back in the house I again became aware of how quiet it was. It felt a little creepy

but a good type of creepy, if such a thing was possible. It was almost as if I was doing

exactly what I was suppose to be doing. I felt satisfied.

I returned to the study and sent several e-mails to various people. I wrote several

checks and placed them in envelopes for Suzanne to mail. Glancing at my watch I

quickened my pace and headed for the car. It was a forty-minute ride to the airport and I

would be having a pre-flight lunch with Turley and Griff and I dared not be late.

I arrived at the Executive Air terminal to find Griff waiting for me.

“Bill!” he exclaimed. “This is indeed an honor.”

 We exchanged our usual banter as he took me outside and showed me where to

park my car. His eyes went immediately to the anvil case when I removed it from the

trunk.

“What’s in the case?” he asked with a grin.

Again I felt a great reluctance to disclose anything about the purpose of my trip to

anyone. Griff was a good friend but I couldn’t keep myself from wanting the toy

airplanes existence to remain a secret.

“Just a little surprise I’m working on for Evan,” I said.

Griff was not as easily repulsed as the driveway contractor and pressed on.

“Can I see it?” he asked.

Perturbed, I responded with an uncharacteristic gruffness.

“I just want to go to lunch. Can we just do that?”

The look of hurt and surprise on Griff’s face told me I had been a jerk.
 “Look we’ve got the whole flight to chat. What are your plans for the evening?” I

said with a much more mellow voice.

Now pleased, Griff’s smile returned and he said, “we’re staying overnight and

heading back in the morning so I’m wide open.”

Griff was a great guy who would do anything for a friend. His propensity to tell

tall tales and still keep secrets made him an ideal confidant and it would be interesting to

share this little adventure with him. Over lunch I decided to tell him everything.

“Wow!” he exclaimed when I had finished. “Can I see it?”

“Yes, but lets go someplace private.”

We walked into an empty pilots lounge and I set the anvil case on a coffee table

and opened it.

As I peeled back the soft layer of Styrofoam, Griff looked as wide eyed as a kid at

Christmas. The toy airplane had the same on Griff as it had on me the first time I had

seen it.

“May I?” he said with great respect as he reached to remove the plane from the

case.
 “Of course,” I said trying to sound enthusiastic, though suddenly I felt a great

reluctance to let him touch it.

Griff lifted the plane up gingerly and held it admiringly with both hands. He

inspected its detail for several minutes as I had done in Evan’s room two nights before.

Totally intrigued he placed it back and recovered it.

“That’s some plane Bill,” he said stating the obvious.

“Let’s just keep it all between you and me,” I said looking him directly in the eye

leaving no doubt about the degree of my seriousness.

“No problem Bill,” Griff said in the same tone and I knew my secret was safe.

Lunch had gone down easily and shortly after we were ready to do preflight. As

we started across the tarmac we were greeted by Jerry Cushman and my best pal Captain

John Turley.

“Hey hot shot,” he said with his usual callousness.

“Captain Turley,” I said extending my hand in courteous respect.

 He gave me a surprisingly warm handshake and seemed genuinely glad to see me.

We ascended the stairs to the cockpit and I took my place in the jump seat. After all the

procedures were complete we relaxed for a moment and I initiated some small talk.

“Who we flying today?” I asked.

“A couple of suits and their wives,” was Turley's response. “I think they’re

getting ready to board right now.”

I leaned forward and peered outside the cockpit window. A Cadillac limo had

pulled up to the stairs and Jerry was monitoring luggage being loaded from the trunk.

The chauffeur opened the rear door and two middle aged couples emerged and prepared

to board the plane. The men had a different appearance than most of the corporate

executives I had flown at Horizon. They actually seemed pleased that their wives were

accompanying them. They walked casually up the stairs but instead of turning to the

passenger compartment one of them stuck his head in the door of the cockpit. Looking at

me, Tyler Elliott introduced himself and asked if I was Bill Chase. When I responded yes

he invited me to join his party and I accepted. Looking triumphantly at Griff and Turley,

I gathered the anvil case and went aft.

The flight to Pensacola was smooth and fast. The company was charming and

pleasant. Jerry had informed Mr. Elliott that a third pilot would be making the flight.

When told of my qualifications and identity, Elliott’s wife had graciously insisted that I
ride in comfort. I owed another favor to Jerry for this. His planting of a seed had saved

me from a hard flight listening to Turley.

They all had asked about the anvil case but my now standard answer about the

surprise for Evan had easily satisfied their inquiring minds.

We touched down in Pensacola at 6:21 pm. I said my goodbyes to the passengers

as they disembarked the aircraft after thanking them for their hospitality. It was kind of

nice following them out and seeing my limousine parked next to theirs. I surrendered the

overnight bag to the driver but kept the toy airplane with me. Settling into the rear seat I

called Suzanne to let her know I had arrived safely. I then called Janice to thank her for

arranging the car. When my calls were finished I opened the privacy glass and handed

my driver the directions I had printed out. After a relatively brief wait, Griff and Captain

Turley left the plane. As they passed by I rolled down the window.

“You fellows need a lift?” I called grinning.

Griff walked over followed by Turley.

“I guess I need to start calling you big shot,” Turley commented dryly.

The driver put their flight bags in the trunk and they went inside the terminal to

complete their post flight paperwork. When this process was finished we were finally

underway. It was a short drive to the hotel and since I had made no reservations, Griff

was adamant I share his room. Wishing only to get to Ziggy’s on time I agreed.
 Now it was just Griff and I in the limousine. We exchanged a little small talk but

mostly we were silent as we passed through the quiet streets of Pensacola. We arrived at

The Maxwell Aviation Museum just before 8 p.m. Case in hand, Griff and I got out near

the entrance. The building was old but in immaculate condition. Inside was a dazzling

array of model and toy airplanes. The ceiling was covered with every fighter imaginable.

P-51 Mustangs pursued German Mescherschmidts with guns blazing. Russian

migs flew in formation against a squadron of F14 Tomcats. All eras of flight were

represented in neat, proportioned sections. Along the walls were historical photographs

and display cases filled with model aircraft. The last of the museums patrons were filing

out when we were approached by a security guard dressed appropriately in the uniform of

a World War II era shore patrol.

“Are you Mr. Chase?” he asked.

“I am,” I replied.

“Won’t you follow me please.”

The guard led us through the maze of exhibitions to a doorway that led to a

shallow corridor. Ziggy Maxwell was waiting for us outside his office door. I couldn’t

help noticing the seemingly endless amount of pictures and memorabilia associated with

aircraft that hung on the wall. He was much older looking but still had the same sparkle

in his eyes I remembered from our previous meeting years before.

 “Come in, Come in,” he motioned to us. “How was your flight?”

“Fine,” I said. “This is my friend Griff who flew me down.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Ziggy said kindly.

Ziggy’s office was a continuation of what I had seen throughout the museum.

Hundreds of autographed pictures of pilots posing by their airplanes and with Ziggy

obscured every inch of the walls. We made ourselves comfortable in some high back

leather chairs and our attention turned to the matter at hand.

“So,” Ziggy said calmly though barely containing his excitement. “Let’s see it.”

I dutifully produced the anvil case and set it on the desk before him. With a deft

touch he lifted the latches and removed the plane from the case. A short sigh escaped his

lips as he examined it. Reaching across the desk he picked up a magnifying glass and

began closely inspecting the planes underbelly. He sighed again when he found what he

was looking for. All color left his face and his breathing became labored.

“Shut the door,” he whispered to Griff pointing at the entrance to his office. “Shut

that door right now!”

 8

A Rare Plane Indeed

“Where did you get this?” Ziggy was demanding in a now animated tone.

Not wishing to reveal how I came to possess the plane, I fabricated a story about

my wife purchasing it at a yard sale. He raised an inquisitive eyebrow but continued.

“This gentlemen, is one of the rarest planes of its kind in the world. It was made

by a German craftsman named Ruvin Heinz. Ruvin Heinz began his career making

models for German Aircraft companies in WWI. His skill was so great that virtually

every plane of that era was brought to life from blueprints based on his models. After the

war his skills were highly sought by the movie industry in Europe. Just about every air

combat movie made during that time period contained models made by him. As Hitler’s

power became more menacing he left Germany aboard the Hindenburg and immigrated

to the states. Naturally he settled in Hollywood and for a short time continued his craft

there. Heinz had an interesting quirk. He refused to produce anything other than German

planes. This changed when he was commissioned by 20th Century Fox to be in charge of

all models associated with a movie called “Death of an Eagle.” The contractor charged

with producing the Sopwith Camels for the picture failed to meet Heinz’s expectations so

with a burgeoning budget and a strict deadline he was forced to make the planes himself.

Only three were ever known to exist. One sits in the Ruvin Heinz museum in Stutgart.

One now sits here on my desk.

 “What about the third one?” Griff interrupted.

“We’ll get to that,” Ziggy said annoyed by the interruption. “As a model plane

designer he had no equal. His attention to detail is unsurpassed. The planes he made had

to be perfect to pass the scrutiny of the camera. While he was in production of the third

plane, this plane, the film was cancelled. He was in the process of painting it when he

received the bad news. To make matters worse his health was failing. He painted it in

the red & white stripes you see today. Not long after its completion Ruvin Heinz died

leaving your plane as one of only three English planes ever made by him and the only

one ever in his long history of making model airplanes to wear civilian colors.”

Griff and I exchanged an excited glance and Ziggy continued.

“Not much is known about what happened to this third plane after Heinz’s death.

He had one surviving brother in the states that inherited all his wealth and possessions.

Heinz’s will specified that several of his planes be sent to family members in Germany

but no mention was ever made about this one. It was always assumed that his brother had

it at some point but its exact whereabouts have been unknown for over fifty years. His

family gave the first one to the Heinz Museum, when it was created in the late fifties. It

is being shot down by a Fokker in one of the museums exhibits.”

“And the second?” I said.

 “Well of course I own the second one,” Ziggy said somewhat indignantly.

He rose spryly from his chair and opened a large safe built into the wall.

“I own thirty seven Heinz originals,” Ziggy stated proudly. “This one however is

the best and most expensive one.”

From the safe he brought out a plexiglass case from which he took out a toy

airplane just like mine and set it side by side with my plane. Aside from the paint they

were identical in everyway with one other notable exception. Ziggy’s plane had a pilot

and mine did not.

“This plane is my prize possession,” Ziggy announced passionately. “And now

sitting next to it is probably one of the rarest planes in the world.”

“How much is something like that worth?” I inquired.

“I paid eighty thousand for mine in 1971,” he answered.

I sat in stunned silence.

“Today on the open market I’d probably start the bidding at a half a million for

yours,” he finished.
Our jaws dropped in disbelief and it was my turn to take a deep breath.
 9

A Tough Decision

I sat for a moment trying to absorb what Ziggy had just told us. I couldn’t believe

it. The sickening thud of reality crashed down upon me. I had a five year old boy at

home who had been promised he could keep whatever “treasure” he found in the

chimney. To find out that his toy airplane was worth at least a half million dollars was

truly amazing but it didn’t distort the fact that the plane wasn’t mine it was Evans.

“What about the pilot?” Griff asked breaking the silence.

“It’s unknown whether or not a pilot was ever made for it, but I do know that

almost all his planes had one,” Ziggy replied. “What are your plans for the plane?”

“I don’t know right now,” I said. “I need to digest all of this before I made any

decision. I would appreciate you keeping this meeting private.”

“Of course I will,” Ziggy said in compliance. “I would ask that you let me know

if you plan to sell it and allow me the courtesy of first refusal.”

“Mr. Maxwell, any plans I make about selling the plane will absolutely go

through you,” I said reassuringly.

 “Thanks Bill,” he said with a measure of gratitude. “That’s quite an airplane you

have there and maybe someday you’ll tell me the real story of how you got it.”

His smile and wink let me know he hadn’t bought the yard sale story.

“Maybe,” I said smiling also.

Back in the car Griff and I couldn’t stop talking about the plane. It was hard to

fathom that this tiny relic packed in the case beside me was worth more than some of the

real planes I had owned.

After explaining the Evan situation, Griff began suggesting solutions.

“Why not get him a substitute plane?” he offered.

“He’d know the difference,” I stated flatly recalling his moments of hysterical

happiness when he had found the plane.

“How about you tell him how much its worth and see if he wants to sell it,” Griff

countered.
 “That’s a lot to put on a 5 year old boy,” I said. “All he knows is that his daddy

made him a promise and to go back on it over any amount of money would send the

wrong message.”

“I guess so,” Griff agreed showing a little empathy for my dilemma. “I’m sure

you’ll do the right thing you always do.”

I chuckled at this. While I had tried all my life to do the right thing, there had

been many times I indeed had done the wrong thing with disastrous results. In this case I

knew enough about myself to realize that the issue here was not money but something

more sinister. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it but it felt as if I was following

instructions.

“Griff, do me a favor,” I commanded impulsively. “Go get my flight bag from the

room. It’s only 9:30 and I’m going to try and get a ride out tonight.”

With a look of disappointment Griff complied with my request.

“You’re sure you won’t stay and fly back with us in the morning?” he asked

handing the flight bag in to me through the open limousine window.

“Nah, I want to get back,” I said casually trying to conceal my growing anxiety.
 “Ok Bill, lets fly together sometime soon,” he said.

“Count on it. Thanks buddy. I’ll see you soon,” I replied.

Having parted company with Griff I felt relieved. A feeling had crept over me

that put me ill at ease. My thoughts turned to my family alone in the Gregory mansion

and that too made me uncomfortable. I knew if I could just get myself the toy airplane

home safely, everything would be all right. This strange sense of paranoia had begun

shortly after leaving the museum. Even though I knew the planes value and origin I still

didn’t know why it had been in my chimney or the reason Evan and I had become so

infatuated with it. The answers were back in Virginia Beach and I refused to waste

another second there in Pensacola when I knew that if I were at home I would feel a lot

better about all of it.

When the cab pulled up at Dogwood Lane it was 3am. Despite the late hour I was

wide awake. I paid the driver and punched the security pad opening the gate. I shivered

against the cold as I walked down the driveway. Slipping through the front door silently,

I let my eyes adjust to the dim light. I moved cautiously up the staircase pausing at the

middle foyer to listen. A panic hit me with full force as I heard a man’s voice coming

from my bedroom. Rage and fear flooded my heart at the same time. I crept silently up

to the first floor. The voice was oblivious to my presence as I crept along the hallway.

Walking by Evan’s open door, another shot of ice water ran through me as I realized that

the room was empty. I placed the case and overnight bag on the floor and moved closer.

The door was closed and there was no visible light emanating from under the jam. It

dawned on me that the voice was familiar. It was Danny the “nice” young man who was
to be occupying the guesthouse. The fear was gone but the rage turned jealous and I

threw open the door and hit the light.

Never in my life have I felt so badly as I did for poor Danny. I found him

sprawled out on a sleeping bag in front of the fireplace talking on the phone. The look of

horror on his face upon my intrusion was comical yet terrifying. He spilled a drink trying

to get up and lost his balance. He fell back in the fireplace against a jumble of phone

cord and fire screen.

“What are you doing here?” I demanded. “Where’s Suzanne and Evan?”

Stammering and still quite unnerved Danny tried to answer from a somewhat

sitting position but could not quite find the words.

“Well!” I demanded again more sternly which only made it worse for poor Danny.

“I… I..Suzanne…I…I mean…uh…Mrs. Chase uh she I mean I thought …I ..you

were out of town and she thought I guess….I…she’s at her moms.” He blurted out finally.

Danny managed to stand and reiterated, “she’s at her moms with Evan and Emma.

I..I mean she came and got me from the guesthouse and told me that there was some kind

of animal in the chimney. After I checked it and didn’t find anything she packed up and

left. She asked me to stay in this room and see if I heard it. This weird noise had just
started. It wasn’t scary it was just weird. I opened my eyes about ten minutes ago wide

awake. That was pretty strange.”

I understood completely.

“ I called my girlfriend to see if she made it home safe from work. While I was

talking this noise started. It was kind of like a scratching noise. I was feeling sort of

creepy about it when you burst in and turned on the light.”

Even hearing this rational explanation I was still in disbelief.

“Carry on,” I instructed and left the bedroom.

Moments later I was headed down Atlantic Avenue for Teri’s. Something must

have been terribly wrong for Suzanne to take the kids and leave the house. Just blocks

from Teri’s house the blue lights of a police cruiser appeared in my rear view mirror.

Pulling my pickup to the side I tried to contain my anxiety as the officer approached the

window.

“May I see your license and registration?” he asked professionally.

I immediately recognized the officer as Timlin from the Sunday alarm incident.

“Timlin!” I said with a familiar friendly tone. “Are you always on the job?”
 “Mr. Chase,” he replied in recognition. “Where are you going in such a hurry?”

“There was some kind of incident at the house that scared my wife. She’s gone to

her mothers and that’s where I’m headed.”

He moved his flashlight across the seat and onto the floorboard illuminating the

flight bag and anvil case. As a trained professional Timlin had learned not to take

anything at face value and to be suspicious of everything.

“You coming or going?” he asked referring to the flight bag.

“I’m just returning from Florida if that’s what you mean,” I replied with some

irritation.

“What’s in the case?” he asked focusing the light on it.

My patience was at an end. Feeling the same uncontrollable anger I had felt with

Griff earlier in the day I snapped at Timlin.

“Are you going to give me a ticket or what?”

 Timlin was far from intimidated. On the contrary it was if I had given him the

response he was looking for.

“No, Mr. Chase,” he said. “You just need to slow down.”

“Thanks Timlin,” I said sheepishly. “I’m sorry I was so testy it’s just been a long

day and I’m anxious to see my family.”

“I understand sir,” he said. “Have a good evening.”

I breathed a sigh of relief as Timlin returned to his car and the blue lights went

out. It was not so much the thought of a ticket but more my reluctance to show anyone

the plane that worried me the most.

As I drove the last few blocks, I tried to analyze my paranoia. Money no doubt

was a factor but to my core I knew it was something more. Their had to be some sort of

principal or character test going on here. I could feel it.

I pulled into Teri’s driveway and parked my truck. For the first time since making

the decision to return home in the back of the limo, I could relax. Teri’s kitchen light was

on and I could see her and Suzanne sitting at the table through the bay window. I knew I

was where I was supposed to be.

 10

Things That Go Bump in the Night

It’s amazing about things that go bump in the night. At the time when you’re

hearing them they can be the most frightening things in the world.

As I entered the side door with my key and Suzanne met me in an almost panic

stricken embrace I knew she had been a victim of this “bumpy” phenomenon.

“Oh Bill,” she said almost crying. “We all got so scared.”

“What happened,” I said in a soft voice trying to sound sympathetic yet strong at

the same time.

Taking me by the hand she set me down at the table. I nodded politely at Teri but

didn’t interrupt her.

“I woke up to a weird sound. It was coming from the fireplace. I got up to

investigate. When I peered up into the chimney some sort of large bird thrashed it wings.

I was so startled I fell on my butt,” she began slowly.

I would have giggled save for the serious face. I let her continue.
 “For some reason I looked at the doorway and Evan was standing there in the

shadow of the hallway. I’m telling you Billy it gave me the creeps. I literally felt my

skin crawl. He told me he was sick. I went over to him and he was burning up with

fever. I put him back in bed and was joined by Emma who said she couldn’t sleep.

When I asked her why she said that she had been having a nightmare and was afraid to

even try to go back to sleep. When I questioned her further about it she couldn’t

remember what it was about. Meanwhile, Evan was miserable. I tried to get him to take

some medicine but he refused. He said he wanted to go to his grandmas and wait for his

daddy to come home. When I asked him why he said he didn’t feel comfortable in this

house with his daddy out of town. I tried to explain how silly it was but he gave me those

big crocodile tears and here we are. Do understand Billy?”

“I understand completely,” I said putting my arms around her reassuringly. “ It

sounds like the same feeling that brought me home tonight. I knew there was something

wrong, I could feel it.”

Teri put on another pot of coffee and I took the plane out of the case and placed it

in the center of the table. For the next hour I shared the information I had gained from

trip. Suzanne’s and her mother’s eyes lit up when I told them the possible value the plane

might bring at auction. We all had a good laugh when I told them the plight of poor

Danny although it was nervous laughter. The mood grew serious as we fell silent.

“Did Emma remember her dream when you tucked her in?” I inquired.
 “She said there was a man chasing Evan,” Suzanne replied. “It was all she could

remember.”

“Tell me more about the bird in the chimney. Did you get a look at it?” I asked

Suzanne.

“No it was more like I felt the sensation of wings fluttering near my face as I

looked up the flue,” she answered.

“I think you need to have the chimney checked by a professional,” Teri interjected

like a good mother in law is prone to do.

“I assure you that it will be handled in the morning first thing but right now I’m

going to bed, I’m tired,” I said rising from the table.

We all said good night and Suzanne and I slipped upstairs to check on the kids.

Over a mild objection from Suzanne I put the plane on Evan’s dresser so it would be

there when he woke up. She checked his forehead and was comforted that his fever had

gone down. We moved down the hall to where Emma lay sleeping on a sofa in the sitting

room. From the time she was little, she had insisted on this spot whenever we visited

Teri. At last we settled into bed and Suzanne snuggled in under my arm.
 “Do you think I acted foolish?” she whispered.

“Not at all,” I said with true conviction. “I know I shouldn’t have gone to Florida

so soon after the move but there’s something about this plane that’s making me act

weird.”

“Its making Evan act weird too,” she confided. “He was lethargic all day long.

He didn’t eat much and he kept asking when you were coming home with the plane.”

“I’m sorry I put you through this. Let’s get some sleep and we’ll get a fresh start

tomorrow,” I said turning off the light.

My last thoughts before dozing off were of course about the plane. It was starting

to make me crazy but I had no intention of letting up on my quest. I had never felt so

compelled to do anything in my whole life. I had noticed that all my anxiety and fear had

dissipated when I put the plane in Evan’s room. It had just felt right. My wife slumbered

at my side and the wind howled outside unable to get in. All was right and I was glad I

had come home as we drifted off to sleep.

 11

Poor Danny!

The ridiculous chiming of the new cell phone I had received for Christmas awoke

me angrily from a blissful sleep. Fumbling my way across the darkened room I managed

to get it out of the flight bag not knowing how many times it had rung.

“Bill Chase,” I answered in a hoarse voice barely audible.

“Mr. Chase. This is Beverly from Nightwatch Security. I’m glad we found you.

We’ve been contacted by the Virginia Beach Police Department. They’ve caught an

intruder in your house. Are you in town?”

I had to gain my senses for a moment. What would I be doing in Virginia Beach I

wondered before realizing I lived there now?

“Yes, I am,” I said after a short silence

“Would it be possible for you to go to your house?” Beverly asked. “The police

are holding a man there and they’re requesting your presence.”

“I’m on the way over, thanks,” I said hitting the end button.
 “What now?” groaned Suzanne coming to life.

“Poor Danny,” I said. “Now the police think he’s burglarizing the house.”

“You’re kidding,” she said in disbelief. “Do you want me to go with you?”

“No, I’ll go,” I said dressing hastily. “I’ll be back hopefully in time to take Emma

to school.”

I met Teri in the hallway and explained what the commotion was. She giggled as

she headed back to bed. I quickly peeked at Emma who seemed to be sleeping peacefully

enough. Moving toward the stairs I looked in on Evan who to my surprise was fast

asleep clutching the plane in his arm. I wondered about this but I was in too much of a

hurry to worry about it.

Outside in the frigid darkness my pickups motor roared to life. I envisioned

Danny being grilled by the police as they awaited my arrival. This night seemed to have

no end and I was beginning to feel the effects of no sleep bear down upon me. When I

turned on Dogwod I barely avoided a cat than ran directly across my path. Even though

it wasn’t black I still considered it a bad omen.

Officer Timlin was waiting at the front door when I pulled up. He escorted me to

the kitchen where another officer stood behind Danny who was seated with arms folded

at the table.
 “I’m sorry Mr. Chase,” he said. “I tried to explain that I was house sitting for you

but they weren’t buying it.”

“It’s ok Danny,” I said soothingly. “Officer Timlin, Danny here is living in our

guest house. We asked him to stay in the main house to monitor an animal problem. It’s

quite alright.”

“I see,” said Timlin in the same suspecting tone he had used earlier.

Annoyed slightly by his youthful exuberance and by my sleep deprivation I

volunteered to walk him and the other officer to their cars. Intuitively sensing my

displeasure but holding his ground nonetheless Timlin challenged me when we got

outside.

“What’s going on here? This whole situation is very strange,” he said.

“Look,” I said. “My wife and kids got scared in this big old house alone and went

to stay with my wife’s mother. We’re having problems with some kind of animal in the

chimney and we wanted Danny to make sure that whatever it was didn’t get loose in the

house. It’s as simple as that. What I want to know is how you even knew he was there?”

It was Timlin's turn to back up. The house was barely visible from the street. I

was extremely curious to know what had drawn Timlin there in the first place.
 “After I stopped you on Atlantic, I had a very odd feeling. Call it a hunch if you

will,” Timlin countered. “It was an extremely slow night so for something to do I

decided to patrol the back neighborhoods. I found myself on Dogwood and when I

pulled into the cul-de-sac I noticed your gate was open.”

“Yes, I left it open,” I said in explanation. “My remote was on the visor of my car

which is still at the airport. The other one is in my wife’s car. Please continue.”

Undeterred Timlin began anew.

“Well I didn’t know that and since you had acted like you were hiding something

earlier, I took my flashlight and walked up the driveway to look around. I was walking

by the east wing when a light came on in an upstairs bedroom. I radioed for backup and

moved around to the side door where I caught your “house sitter” just as he was coming

out. His story sounded funny so I wanted to check it out. I hope you can understand Mr.

Chase.”

Again that night I was forced to say that I did understand.

“I do,” I said mellowing a little. “I appreciate your vigilance actually. I assure

you I’m not hiding anything it’s just that things have been a little strange since we moved

here that’s all.”

 “That’s just it Mr. Chase,” Timlin said dropping the professional demeanor. “I’ve

been working this area for five years and during that time there have been lots of

occurrences at this house.”

“You alluded to this before, can you be more specific?” I questioned.

“Two years ago my partner and I responded to a call from the neighbor behind

you,” he said in a suddenly hushed voice. “They claimed to have seen lights on in the

mansion. We responded and proceeded to search the grounds and the house itself. Not

being completely sure that we had covered every nook and cranny we brought in a dog.

When it arrived the dog was reluctant to enter the house. It’s handler finally got it to

obey and it immediately went to the basement door. With guns drawn we searched every

inch of the basement but found nothing. The dog then became indifferent again. We

almost had to drag it up the stairs. Once on the second floor it sniffed its way around the

entire second floor but found nothing. It was the same for the third floor. Everything

seemed all right until we tried to return to the first floor. The dog refused to go down the

steps. We had to carry it down. We’re talking about a trained German Shepherd attack

dog that turned to mush. They retired the dog after that because he was never the same.”

“Are you saying the house is haunted?” I asked not really wanting the answer.
 “Not at all,” he said. “I’m jut saying that since the house was vacated by the

O’Neils there’s been at least two other incidents where neighbors have reported activity

on the grounds and we’ve found absolutely nothing.”

“Well I can’t worry about it now,” I said. “I need to get some sleep.”

“I understand sir,” Timlin said realizing the conversation was over.

I waved in acknowledgement as the police cars headed down the driveway and

onto Dogwood. I went back inside to comfort Danny. I found him behind the bar in the

billiard room shaken somewhat but none the worse for wear. He had made himself at

home by pouring us each a shot of Old Grand Dad.

“To an outrageous night,” he said holding his shot glass up in a toast.

“You have no idea,” I said joining him.

 12

Bats in the Bellfry

(The Next Day)

The ride back to Terry’s was a blur of emotion and deep thought. It was after 5

a.m. when I crawled back into the bed. My mind and body were spent after dealing with

the events of the past twenty-four hours. Suzanne murmured something but sleep came

quickly.

When I awoke it was after 11 a.m. and the house was quiet. On the dresser was a

note from Suzanne.

Didn’t want to wake you. Knew it was a rough night. After we take Emma

to school, Teri, Evan and me are going home! See you there soon.

Sooze.

Her note made me smile. The fact that she had underlined home and signed the

note “Sooze” let me know that all was right with her today. I dressed and headed home.

When I pulled in I was delighted to see a van with a large fiberglass bee on top.

The letters on the side boldly stated Bat, Bee and Hornet Removal. Suzanne had worked

her magic. I found her speaking with the man beneath the chimney in question. Danny

had told me there was definitely something moving around in there and I was eager to

hear the man’s diagnosis.

 “It’s quite common,” he was telling Suzanne as I approached. “Sometimes when

you put a new cap on a chimney you actually trap bats inside.”

“We had three bats in there,” Suzanne said to me excitedly.

“I’m sure glad they didn’t get in the house,” I said.

I was relieved that at least one mystery had been solved.

“How’s Evan?” I inquired.

“Much better,” Suzanne replied. “He’s making lunch with Teri right now. Are

you hungry?”

“I’m starving,” I said in earnest.

We asked the Bee man to give us a bill, which Suzanne gladly paid by check. We

promised to contact him in the spring to handle all our Bee, Bat and Hornet needs and

thanked him profusely for responding on such short notice to our call.

Suzanne and I walked to the side door arm in arm. It was a cold blustery day at

the beach and I wanted to get inside. As we were about to enter Suzanne stopped me by

pulling on my sleeve.
 “Let’s not talk anymore about the plane or nightmares, ok?” she said softly.

“Neither Evan or Emma knows anything about what you found out in Florida. I think its

best if we just give it a rest.”

Her eyes were pleading and I never could resist her but my need to gather

information seemed greater than ever.

“You won’t mind if I continue my research in private will you?” I said in my own

irresistible pleading tone I saved for special occasions.

“I guess not,” she said unconvincingly. “I just don’t want a bunch of people

knowing about it.”

There was wisdom in her words. The less people who knew about the plane the

better. I agreed to her request. We went inside and had a nice lunch with Evan and Teri.

After the dishes were cleared, Suzanne took Evan up for a bath and a nap. Teri and I

exchanged a little chitchat over some hot chocolate.

“He’s sleeping now,” Suzanne said upon returning from upstairs. “Bill do you

really think the toy airplane is worth that much?”

“I thought you didn’t want to talk about it anymore?” I mused in mock protest.
 “It’s just that with that kind of money we could explore a lot of possibilities,” she

replied.

I could see the wheels turning in her head. Suzanne was a wizard when it came to

financial matters. Her resourcefulness had enabled Horizon to buy the first plane. Under

her stewardship what started on a shoestring had turned into a hundred million dollar

company. Through a series of shrewd investments our portfolio and net worth had grown

in astonishing leaps and bounds. I hated to throw cold water on her next brilliant scheme

but I did anyway.

“How are you going to take the plane away from Evan?” I asked matter of factly.

“Maybe your right,” she said in retreat. “We should just stop talking about it.”

Leaving mother and daughter in the kitchen I adjourned to my study to renew my

investigation. The first call was to my attorney in New York. Before any decision could

be made about the planes future I wanted to be sure about the legality of my claim to

ownership. If Ziggy was right, the planes value could theoretically exceed what I had

paid for the house. The firm Gilbert and Liebrant was an old school law practice. Now

in its third generation of Gilberts and Liebrandts they catered to a handful of prestigious

aviation firms but supplied legal advise to individual clients as well. I first met James

Liebrandt III when I had flown him and his father to Canada for a business meeting.

James Liebrandt II was the epitome of “old money” lawyers. I had been extremely taken
with father and son. When Horizon was still in its infancy they had invited Suzanne and I

to a cocktail party and she too had been impressed. When we reached the level of

needing powerful representation they had been a natural choice. As with any relationship

where both sides are making a lot of money, a great friendship had developed.

“Well Bill, how’s life in Virginia?” Jimmy III answered his private line on the

second ring.

“Fantastic,” I replied. “Is the fast lane still going fast without me?”

“So fast that it’s undetectable by radar,” he said. “What’s on your mind?”

“I’ve got a hypothetical situation,” I began.

“You know I live for that kind of thing,” Jimmy said. “Shoot.”

“What if a client of yours purchased some property and on that property he found

a treasure?” I asked. “Does purchase of the property entitle that client to ownership no

matter what the origin of the treasure?”

“What kind of numbers are we talking about?” he asked.

“Significant,” I answered.
 “Define significant,” he said.

“Client privilege?” I questioned.

“You’re serious about this?” he said changing tone.

I was very serious. Anytime we discussed anything sensitive I used this simple

term to guarantee complete privacy with regard to my business affairs.

“Yes I am Jimmy,” I answered.

“Very well Bill, client privilege. Go on,” he urged.

“Half a million or better,” I stated.

“Whew! I guess you are serious. Did you find a painting in the attic?” he asked.

“Let’s just say that a painting will work for hypothetical purposes.” I concurred.

“Let me put one of these high dollar NYU graduates on it and find out. What

makes you question its origin?” Jimmy probed.

 “I’m just being cautious that’s all,” I said.

“Fine,” he replied taciturnly. “I’ll have the answer for you before days end.”

“And Jimmy,” I said cautiously. “Keep Suzanne out of it for now.”

“You got it Bill but do you mind if I ask you a personal question?” he said.

“Go ahead,” I replied.

“I’ve known you for almost twenty years and in all that time I’ve never heard this

tone of doubt I’m hearing from you now. Is everything alright?” he asked with genuine

concern.

“It’s like this Jimmy,” I said. “For the past several days, I’ve been going a little

crazy. You might say there’s a bat in the belfry.”

I enjoyed being mysterious with Jimmy III because it made him so obviously

uncomfortable.

“I’ll look forward to hearing from you later,” I said concluding the conversation

and hanging up the phone.

 13

A Brief Respite

I spent the remainder of the remainder of the day and the rest of the week in

relative peace. Jimmy had called me as promised and assured me that all property seen

or unseen was legally owned by the purchaser unless otherwise specified in the purchase

contract. I had suspected as much but now I was sure.

Danny had taken me out to the airport to pick up the Vette and I had been

cornered by Jerry. I had reluctantly agreed to do a little flying for him in March knowing

full well I would probably renege. Evan had started kindergarten and Emma was

adjusting nicely to her new school. Evan and I went through most of the house

performing a variety of punch list type tasks.

Suzanne and Teri had unpacked and organized the entire house. Danny mean

while had begun restoration of the guesthouse. Evan and I had gone to the dump with

several loads of boxes as the house had really taken shape.

In the evening hours I had researched purchasing a twin engine aircraft. I had

found a couple that would suit my needs but Suzanne was unenthusiastic about any of

them. As for the toy airplane things had calmed down about it too. Evan was sleeping

with it still but his obsession with it was dissipating.

During this week of peace and quiet I began to jot down ideas for a book. When

it first began to look like we would sell Horizon and retire I had been wondering what I

would do with my time. Suzanne had suggested that I write a book about all the famous

people I had flown around the country and internationally. As I had tried to recall
anecdotes from all my brushes with “greatness” I began to feel it was becoming a tell all

book. Since I abhorred this kind of thing I tried to lean away from doing that. Before

long I was forced to acknowledge that unless I was willing to air dirty laundry about

celebrities, the book would be boring and find no audience. It was late Saturday

afternoon when Griff called to check in.

“Hey Griff,” I said as I recognized his number on the caller ID.”

“Yucca Yucca Bill,” he said. “How’s it going?”

“It’s been going better since we last spoke. Everything’s ok with you?” I

responded with a question.

It was always all right with the free spirited Griff. He seemed to have the innate

ability to make everyone like him. I asked about him only to be polite. I knew he had

really called to ask about the plane.

“Fine, fine, what’s going on with the plane?” he asked confirming my assumption.

“Well to tell you the truth until you mentioned it I hadn’t given much thought,” I

said factitiously.

“That’s a bunch of bull,” Griff responded coarsely.

 He knew me so well.

Just that morning Suzanne and I had discussed it. We were working on the

dumbwaiter to the wine cellar when she brought up the subject . The kids had gone to

spend the day with Teri, giving us some desperately needed time alone together. She had

begun the conversation quite innocently. She brought up the idea of buying one of the

planes I had shown her earlier in the week. Just as my enthusiasm about having her

blessing to buy an airplane was building up she had told me how we could finance it.

I had to admit the idea made perfect sense. Upon its discovery, I had grown

emotionally attached to the toy airplane. As the days had gone on however, I had become

more rational about it. Sensing this Suzanne had attacked my weakness for buying an

aircraft and made the idea sound attractive and plausible.

“I think we’re going to call Ziggy on Monday,” I said responding to Griff’s

question.

“No foolin?” Griff said. “What about Evan?”

I spent the next several minutes explaining that Evan didn’t seem as obsessed with

it and that we’d probably just bite the bullet where he was concerned.

“What about all that crap you said about keeping your promise and maintaining a

sons trust?” Griff challenged.

 “I meant that, but the thought of trading a dresser ornament for a real plane is

starting to win out,” I said marveling at how shallow the words that had just come out of

my mouth had sounded.

Suzanne was and had always been a very persuasive voice in my life. Without

thinking it through I had agreed to at least explore with Ziggy the possibility of

auctioning the plane knowing full well that I would probably renege on this promise in

much the same way I was going to renege on the promise I had made to Jerry about

flying for him.

“I hear you buddy,” Griff said not in the least convinced. “I also need a favor. On

Monday night, I want to borrow your Corvette, I have a date.”

“In Virginia Beach?” I questioned.

“Yes,” he said. “It’s a pretty special occasion and I need to make a good

impression.

This was out of character for Griff. His smile was the only good impression he

had ever needed with members of the opposite sex. I thought to myself that it must

indeed be a very special occasion.

“Who’s the lucky lady?” I said with interest.

 “Sandy Sutton,” Griff replied proudly.

Sandy Sutton was the only woman Griff had ever dated who met with Suzanne

and I’s approval. A stunningly beautiful stewardess, Sandy and Griff had been an item

for almost three years, but that had been long ago. She had surprisingly rejected Griff’s

offer of marriage much to the dismay of Griff, Suzanne and I. Her rationale had been

sound. Their courtship had occurred when both had been relatively young. They both

were flying a lot at the time and she had felt that it would be wrong for either of them to

settle down with each other or anyone else for that matter. After the initial shock of

rejection Griff had accepted it. In the ten years since then they had maintained a friendly

relationship with cards, letters and an occasional phone call, but I knew Griff still carried

a torch.

“She called me Billy,” Griff said responding to my shocked silence.

“Tell me everything,” I said totally intrigued.

“After you left last Monday night, I went back to the room and I was still all

charged up about the plane. I couldn’t sleep a wink. While I was lying there in the bed I

was thinking about you and your wonderful family and how I would like to have what

you have. The very thought that I knew somebody who would put the happiness and

trust of their son over such a large amount of money was inspirational. For the first time
in my life I longed for that kind of stability. Naturally my thoughts turned to Sandy. The

following day, I actually begged out of the return flight with Turley and went to church.

It was probably only the second or third time I had gone since Sandy and I used to go

with you. There I was at this Catholic mass on a Tuesday morning in Pensacola, Florida

sitting by myself. I was contemplating the words of the priest when the most beautiful

girl in the world caught my attention. It was Sandy Sutton!”

Griff paused to catch his breath and continued.

“For the rest of the service we couldn’t take our eyes off each other. When it was

over she was waiting for me outside the cathedral. Not knowing what to say, I kissed her.

It seemed to be the only appropriate thing to do considering what I was feeling. The most

amazing thing was that she kissed me back! Not wanting to ruin the moment with

irrelevant conversation I told her that God indeed answered my prayers. I told her to call

me sometime and left her standing there on the sidewalk.”

“You didn’t?” I exclaimed.

“I did,” Griff reaffirmed. “I had not seen her in ten years and she got a ten year

kiss. Well Jerry was really peeved that he had to find a co-pilot for Turley on such short

notice but he got over it. I flew a nonstop to LA later on in the day for him. Anyway,

when I finally got home to Baltimore I found a message from Sandy on my machine.”

“Did you call her back?” I interrupted.

 “Naw,” Griff said casually. “The thought of getting on the Sandy Sutton merry-

go-round again kind of spooked me. Then last night at three in the morning my cell

phone rings and it’s her! She told me that she couldn’t stop thinking about the kiss or me

and wanted to know if I wanted to meet her for dinner. I asked her where and she said

Virginia Beach of all places! I told her I would have to check my schedule.”

“You didn’t?” I asked incredulously again.

“Of course I did.” Griff said triumphantly. “A man has to have some pride. She

said she would be at a conference for the travel industry on Monday night and that I

could pick her up at her hotel.”

Now I understood the significance of Griff’s request. I had purchased the

Corvette from him shortly after their break up. They had gone on their first date in the

vehicle and Griff was always very dramatic.

“Of course you can use it, Griff,” I said without hesitation. “I’ll have it detailed

for you.”

“That’s great buddy!” Griff said with glee. “Can you pick me up at Norfolk

International at 2 pm?”
“No problem, I’ll see you at Executive Air,” I promised. “Yucca Yucca!”

“Yucca Yucca Bill, thanks!” he said and hung up the phone.

I stared out the window of my study and took a deep breath.

 14

Words to Remember

“Hurry up or we’ll be late,” I called to my family from the grand foyer.

One by one they filed down with Evan bringing up the rear. This seemed to

always be our Sunday morning ritual. It had improved somewhat of late but this morning

I found myself in the usual position of hurrying up the troops for church. On the ride

there we were all still talking excitedly about the news I had received from Griff.

“I just can’t get over it,” Suzanne was saying. “After all these years the two of

them back together. Amazing!”

It had been decided that we would invite them to our house for dinner as the first

guests in our new place. We liked both of them very much and had been sad when they

parted.

Also, a hot topic that morning was the subject of our Dobermans. They were

being cared for by one of the Horizon mechanics at the terminal. We had planned to

bring them to Virginia just as soon as an electric fence could be installed on the grounds.

That was scheduled to happen on Tuesday. The Dobermans would arrive that Friday.

Not wishing a repeat of the previous Sunday, I had purposely left the security system off

as we left that morning. I would be glad to have the Dobermans back. We all missed our
dogs and were quite sure that upon their arrival, the need for a security system would be

minimal.

The schools parking lot was full forcing us to park on the side street. We felt

fortunate to find four seats together and the band started as we were settling in. The

music that morning was particularly inspiring. Despite the onset of a cold, I enjoyed it

thoroughly. A short drama followed and it was good also. Suzanne escorted Evan to

children’s church when the time came but Emma opted to stay with me.

Ryan Mitchell’s sermon that morning was awesome. I felt as if he was talking to

me personally. The subject was children and our Christian responsibility to them. He

talked of our influence over them and how we as parents were obligated to protect them

from the evils of the world. His bible quotes supported this point very well.

He emphasized that Jesus had said that hell fire awaited those who would corrupt

the life of a child or spill innocent blood. Normally I tend to fight the feeling of

sleepiness during a church service but Ryan Mitchell held my undivided attention. My

emotions hung on every word. At the conclusion, I felt as if I had been fed the word. I

was still thinking about his uplifting and inspiring words as we walked down the hallway

to pick up Evan.

“Evan sure likes to fly,” his teacher told us as we signed him out. “He’s had all

the other children flying too!”

We thanked her for her patience and made our way to the hospitality area where

Mrs. Trumball greeted us.

 “Delighted to see you again,” she said in her charming voice. “So glad you made

it back.”

“We’re glad too,” Suzanne responded. “You’re preacher had an excellent

message.”

“Well if it wasn’t any good would I be here?” Mary said sarcastically as she rolled

her eyes.

We nodded politely to some of the same faces we had seen the week before. I

was glad that this was not a pushy church. The people seemed to be content with letting

us have our own space. Evan was content with his many choices of cake and cookies.

He chose a particularly large piece of chocolate cake and headed for his bench. After a

bit we were joined by Ryan Mitchell.

“Mr. and Mrs. Chase,” he said extending his hand warmly. “It’s nice to have you

back with us.

“It was a privilege to hear your sermon. Were you talking to me in particular?” I

joked.

“Hey if the guilt fits wear it,” he joked back.

 “I am curious to know why you chose the topic of children this morning. It

seemed so vastly different from last Sunday,” I pointed out.

“Funny you should say that,” Ryan said. “I was all set to expound on the

consequences of sin and home when I was inspired to switch.”

“What inspired the switch?” I asked curiously.

“To tell you the truth I don’t know,” he said. “On Thursday morning during my

devotional I was reading some scripture when I felt compelled to talk about children. I

began writing on my yellow pad and it became the sermon you just heard.”

“Well it sure was a good one,” I said.

“Thanks very much Mr. Chase,” he said with gratitude.

“No sir, thank you and please call me Bill,” I said.

Rev. Mitchell moved on to mingle with some other members of the congregation

and I gathered my family up for the journey home.

“That’s a scary thought about the blood of the innocent isn’t it dad?” said Emma

from the rear seat.

 “Indeed it is!” I responded very much surprised by her observation.

“It’s just hard for me to believe that anyone could hurt a child,” Suzanne

interjected.

“Like the pastor said, it’s our Christian responsibility to protect our children and

teach them a godly way of living,” I said. “Those are definitely words to remember.
 15

Meeting the Neighbors

It was with great relief that I found the cul-de-sac on Dogwood free of police cars.

It was an unusually warm day for January and I was looking forward to spending

sometime outside on the grounds. We ate a light lunch and Evan accompanied me

outside, plane in hand. I had been anxious to explore one of the outbuildings but had not

had the chance thus far. Today was to be the day. While I fumbled with a large ring of

assorted keys, Evan and his plane were performing loop to loops in the yard. I found a

key that fit the door and began working it in the rusty lock mechanism. Fearing that it

would break off I continued to work it ever so slowly. My patience was rewarded as I felt

the tumblers move. Evan was at my side as I swung open the heavy oak door. The

building was one of four, not including the carriage house that stood on the property. It

was the only one that matched the carriage house. Made of stone it had a depth of fifteen

feet and a width of ten feet. The inside was virtually empty much to my disappointment.

I enjoyed going into old sheds and barns because you never know what you’ll find. With

only the light from the doorway, I looked around trying to determine what its purpose had

been. Rusty pipes had been cut off as they came through the aging concrete floor. I was

trying to figure out a pattern when it came to me. The building had been a pool house.

The pumps were long gone but there was no mistaking the chlorine-etched floor. I

stepped back outside and surveyed the surrounding yard. Studying the configuration of

the trees and shrubs and comparing them to the proximity of the decrepit tennis court it
was very plain to see where the pool had been. I imagined the Gregory’s playing tennis

and sunning themselves by the pool. It was a memory I wanted to provide my family. A

new pool would have to be built.

Evan stood fascinated as I explained where the pool used to be and how the pump

house had worked to filter the water.

Crossing over the tennis court we went next to the west wall. Its brick had stood

the test of time. It’s accents and inlays were magnificent.

“Look daddy! A runway!” Evan shouted excitedly.

Evan had discovered an overgrown shuffleboard court. Beside it was a horseshoe

pit. All this would have to wait until the weather broke, but it would definitely be

restored.

We continued up the west wall toward Dogwood. At the corner, I discovered a

twelve-foot section of the wall did not match exactly. Glancing across the yard I quickly

surmised that there must have been a third gate. Peering over the wall on my tippy toes, I

wondered why it had been filled in. While doing this I looked across the street at my old

house. The residents were in the front yard with their children. I decided that this might

be a good time for introductions so Evan and I walked to the driveway entrance.

Crossing the street I hailed them and as we made it to the sidewalk they walked over to

greet me.

“Bill Chase and my son Evan,” I said extending my hand.

 “Welcome to the neighborhood,” the man said accepting my handshake. “I’m

David Sanderling. This is my wife Patty, our daughter Caitlin, our sons Dirk and

Joseph.”

“It’s so nice to finally meet you,” said Patty Sanderling.

They were a nice looking family. As we talked I stood gazing lovingly at my old

house. I had kissed Suzanne for the first time on the front porch. I remember waiting for

my dad to return from tours of duty. I would sit in the front bay window seat and watch

for his car to turn up Dogwood.

“She’s a real beauty,” I said almost to myself.

“We love it here,” David said in response.

“It looks like you’ve done a lot of work to the place,” I commented.

“Yes, it was in pretty bad shape when we bought it five years ago,” said Patty. “It

had been the victim of a terrible restoration. We’ve almost got it back to original

condition.”

“I can totally relate,” I said commiserating. “Evan and I have been walking

around looking at all the things we need to do this spring.”

 “We’re going to put in a new pool,” Evan added.

“We’re thrilled to have someone living there finally,” Sanderling said. “We’d

love to take the tour sometime.

“We’ll be glad to give you the tour of our house sometime, but I can’t imagine

you’d find it that interesting,” Patty Sanderling added jokingly.

“You might be surprised,” I responded knowingly.

“Do you like trains, Evan?” Joseph Sanderling asked.

My ears pricked up at hearing this question. Joseph appeared to be about nine and

was obviously the middle child. His reference to trains was what peeked my curiosity.

“I like trains ok,” Evan replied. “What I really like is planes.”

“Well I have a nice train set, would you like to see it?” Joseph continued.

“Can I daddy?” Evan questioned.

“If its ok with his parents its ok with me,” I said.

 Leaving Patty and the other two Sanderling children outside we followed Joseph

and his father inside. A flood of memories hit me as we entered the foyer as I had so

many times in my youth. David Sanderling was explaining how he replaced this or

restored that was we headed up the stairs. Instinctively I knew where we were headed as

we went down the short hallway to a door that led to the attic. As we climbed the attic

stairs, I realized that the room up there had been finished and I smiled because it was

something my dad had always wanted to do but never had. The train layout was massive

as it encompassed one whole side of the room. Mountains enveloped a sleepy little town

with a main street full of shops and houses. Joseph gleefully turned on the multiple

transformers and three trains sprang to life. They circled the town and disappeared

through a maze of tunnels and bridges.

“The layout was left by the previous owners,” the elder Sanderling said. “We’ve

modified it and added some things but whoever built it really did a good job.”

I did not respond but the look on my face must have said a lot as I watched the

trains run.

“Is something wrong?” Mr. Sanderling asked.

“Not at all,” I replied. “I was just remembering when my dad and I built this

layout and I had no idea it still existed.

 It was Sunderling's turn to be speechless. My revelation had almost put him in

shock.

“You and your father built this?” he said gathering himself.

“Almost forty years ago,” I said. “We lived here for almost eight years. I love

this house.”

I thought he was going to burst with excitement. For the next thirty minutes we

went through the house and he asked me what seemed to be and endless amount of

questions. It was evident that he was passionate about restoring the house to its original

state. When I had lived there the wrap around porch on the rear of the house had been

enclosed with louvered glass making it into a sunroom. It had been turned back into a

porch complete with high back wicker rockers. Gone too was the cinderblock workshop

my father built. The yard was pristinely manicured with gardens and hedges that were

asleep now but would be bursting with color with the onset of spring. Sanderling was

explaining how he had found the original landscape plan for the house and had followed

it meticulously when Patty joined us.

“You’ll never guess what Bill here just told me,” he said to her.

“What’s that?” she asked.

 “He grew up in our house in the late sixties and it was him and his father who

built the train set in the attic,” he said.

“Oh, you’re kidding?” she said taking her turn at being surprised.

I now faced another deluge of questions from Patty as we toured the remainder of

the main floor. It was great seeing the old house again and indeed they had done a

fantastic job with it but a feeling of anxiety began to creep in. It was just then I became

aware that Evan was not with us. The Sanderling children were all in the kitchen so I

became a little concerned.

“Evan,” I called out but got no response. “Evan,” I called again a little more

forcefully but to no avail.

“He must’ve gone back up to the train room,” Patty suggested and we made our

way to the stairs. After arriving on the second floor we headed to the attic door when I

heard the by now familiar sound of Evan flying his plane behind the closed door of a

bedroom. Patty opened the door and the two of us stood in shock as we viewed the scene

within. Evan and his plane were doing loop to loops all over the room including the bed

and chairs. He was behaving exactly as he had the first day we found the plane.

“Evan stop!” I exclaimed somewhat embarrassed.

 “It’s alright,” Patty said reassuringly. “Our house is kid friendly.”

“Still,” I said with remorse.

Evan continued his circling of the room jumping from the bed to the floor and

back. He seemed to be oblivious to our presence. Only when I grabbed him by the seat

of his pants did he snap out of it.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into him,” I told the Sanderling’s apologetically.

“Bill it’s no problem really,” she said and I was grateful for her understanding.

Holding Evan, who had now fallen silent, we went back downstairs. I thanked the

Sanderling’s for inviting me into their home and promised to see them soon. At that

moment, I just needed to get out of there.

 16

The Nightmare

I don’t recall just exactly how old I was when I first started having the reoccurring

nightmare but I knew it was shortly after moving to the house the Sanderling's now called

home. The scenario was always the same. A beautiful woman would always be lying in

the bed sleeping peacefully. As I would creep closer and closer to her I would just start to

reach out my hand to touch her face when I would realize that she was dead and wake up

screaming. At first my mother dismissed it as a natural part of my adolescence but when

I began having it night after night she took notice. My sleep was being interrupted with

such frequency that bags had appeared under my eyes. My parents had taken me to see a

doctor who referred us to a psychiatrist. The psychiatrist had not provided us with any

answers other than to say it was probably being caused by stress related to a new

environment. Unsatisfied, the next step was to see a sleep deprivation specialist. His

explanation had been vague and useless also. The situation had gotten so bad that our

original doctor prescribed a sleeping pill for me to take at bedtime. The thought of not

being able to wake up made me refuse to take them. I had finally come up with my own

solution. I found that if I played the radio as I drifted off to sleep, the dreams or

nightmares as it were became less frequent. I continued this practice from then on and

while it never stopped the nightmare, as I grew older it seemed to fade away and the

intensity was not that great.

Being in that house again had brought all those bad memories back. When Evan

and I returned home I briefed Suzanne on my visit with the Sanderlings. It had been
thrilling to see the train set again and I shared with Suzanne how wonderful the old home

place had looked inside. The episode with Evan was a different matter. Suzanne had yet

to see Evan and the plane act this way, but she could tell by the tone of my voice how

concerned I was about it and as we settled into bed she brought up the subject of the

planes future.

“Are you going to call Mr. Maxwell in the morning?” she asked.

I dreaded this line of questioning but I knew she would persist until she got the

answer she wanted.

“I’m going to call him and find out what the procedure would be should we

choose to go that route,” I said.

“What do you mean? I thought it was already decided?” she snapped.

“I know honey. It’s just that for some reason I’m reluctant to make any decision

about it right now. I’m just not sure we know all the facts,” I pleaded.

I knew this argument was weak, but it was the best I could muster given how

irrational the whole situation was. There was some greater purpose driving my emotions

about this plane. Suzanne was always extremely supportive of my feelings and views on

things, but I knew that in this case I was exhausting her patience.
 “Well you know how I feel,” she said cutting off the light. “That little plane is

making you and Evan act really weird and I don’t like it.”

“Let’s just sleep on it and we’ll talk about it in the morning,” I said. “Maybe

tomorrow we’ll both feel different.

Her silence told me that nothing would change her mind so I said no more and

drifted off to sleep.

******

“Bill! Wake up!” Suzanne was yelling at me as she shook me by the shoulders.

I was drenched in sweat and I knew instantly that I had been having the

nightmare.

“Bill!” she repeated as I slowly regained consciousness.

It had seemed so real, so vivid. I had moved closer to the woman than I ever had

before. So close in fact that I had actually seen a tear in the corner of one eye. With my

hand just about to touch her face, I had tried to pull back but was unable to. It was as if

an unforeseen force was pushing me closer, closer. I had screamed in panic only to hear

Suzanne saying wake up! Wake up! I shuddered uncontrollably for a moment.
 “Are you alright?” she asked with deep concern.

She knew all about the nightmare but neither she nor I had ever experienced

anything like this. It had been over two years since I had it last and even then it had been

mild compared to this one.

“I’ll draw you a bath,” she said lovingly always knowing exactly what to say and

do to take care of me.

I rose from the bed and stripped naked. Free from the damp clothes my shivering

subsided but I was still breathing heavy as I slipped into the waiting bathtub. As the hot

water penetrated my skin I was soothed. After a minute or two I felt quite myself again.

I enjoyed the sensation for a few more minutes before getting out and donning the

pajamas and robe Suzanne had left for me on the vanity. When I emerged from the

bathroom Suzanne was just finishing changing the sheets. She kissed me on the lips and

taking me by the hand we returned to the bed.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked.

“Maybe tomorrow,” I said drawing her close.

Wrapped in my wife’s warm embrace I fell into a deep sleep.

 A Fire Rekindled

When I awoke the following morning the sun streaming through the

arched windows of the bedroom told me I had slept late. Not bothering to dress I hurried

downstairs only to find everyone gone. Assuming Suzanne had taken Emma to school I

put on a fresh pot of coffee and investigated the pantry for breakfast options. Settling for

toast I popped some bread in the toaster and watched both appliances expectantly.

Finally armed with coffee and jelly bread I went to the study and pulled out the yellow

pages. It was after nine and I had to act quickly. Scanning the mobile car wash headings

I began calling the various companies to have the Corvette detailed for Griff’s’ big date

that evening. I finally found one who would pick up the vehicle and have it ready by 2

p.m. The cost would be exorbitant but at that point I didn’t care. After a shower and

shave I called Suzanne on her cell phone.

“Hey sleepy head,” she said in cheerful voice giving no hint of the harrowing

experience we had the night before.

“Hey,” I said back.

“Did you find someone to detail the car?” She asked.

 “Yes I did,” I responded. “It’s a place not too far from here. They should be here

any minute to pick it up.”

“That’s great,” She said. “Do you think steak and lobster tails will be

appropriate?”

“Sounds fantastic,” I said. “I’m just laying around a while until its time to pick up

Griff.”

“That’s fine honey. Evan and I are going to the market. We’ll see you later.

Yucca! Yucca!” She said sarcastically.

“Don’t start,” I warned laughing and hung up the phone.

Suddenly I had a dreadful thought. She wouldn’t leave a plane worth a half

million dollars in the car while she went shopping would she? I rushed upstairs to Evans

room and was relieved to find the toy airplane in its usual spot on the dresser. Feeling

unusually lazy I went back to the bedroom and made the bed. Picking up the remote

control I flipped through an endless stream of channels until I found some cartoons.

Watching the antics of the classic characters had always been a favorite pass time of

mine. This particular morning I enjoyed watching them a bit more than usual.

At 11:30 I snapped off the T.V. and decided to hit the airport early. Hanging

around airports was in my blood and I wanted to keep my mind off anything to do with
the toy airplane. I set the alarm and was heading out the door when it dawned on me that

the man from the detailing shop had not come yet. I went back inside and was just about

to call when the gate intercom crackled to life.

“Mr. Chase?” Said the voice. “I’m here to pickup your car.”

“I’ll open the gate,” I responded.

I met the two young men at the garage and handed the key to the tallest one.

“We’re sorry to be so late,” the shorter one said. “It’s been a really busy morning.

We should have the car ready for pickup around 3:30 p.m.”

“It’s no problem,” I said. “Just be careful with it.”

I watched my Corvette follow the detail van down the driveway and hopped into

the pickup. As I approached the gate I stopped and looked across the street at the

Sanderling house. Feeling no particular emotion I pulled out on to Dogwood and headed

for the airport.

When I arrived at the Executive Air terminal, I parked the truck and decided to

walk to the main terminal. I still had an hour to kill and the thought of hanging around

Jerry that long was not appealing. I spent the hour watching the jets take off and land.
Even after all my years of flying I never tired of watching them. When I saw the black

nosed Executive Air jet land I headed back to the terminal.

“Hey Bill,” Griff said as we met at the terminal entrance.

“Griff,” I nodded.

His hair was recently cut and his fingernails were freshly manicured. He looked

like a million dollars, but was a nervous wreck.

“Where’s the Corvette?” he demanded alarmed.

“Relax buddy!” I told him. “On the way to Virginia Beach we’ll stop and pick it

up from the detail shop.”

Calmed for the moment Griff threw his flight bag in the back of the pickup and

we were off. I could tell by his demeanor that he was wound tighter than a drum. I

visited a variety of conversation topics but Griff had only one thing on his mind. I knew

this condition. I had seen it many times before. Griff had Sandy Sutton syndrome and he

had it bad.

The stop to pick up the car went well and we were both very impressed. The

Corvette had never looked better. Griff insisted on paying the bill but I slipped the tall

man I had seen drive off in the car an extra $50 dollar bill. They had done me a favor on

short notice and I wanted them to be sure I appreciated it. I had invited Griff to stay with
us but he had declined choosing instead an ocean front suite. I gave him directions and

we parted ways. Somehow I knew he would spend the next couple of hours “getting

ready”.

I drove home to help Suzanne with the much anticipated dinner. When I arrived I

realized that Suzanne had really out done herself. With Emma’s help they had put out our

best china and had adjusted the lighting in the house in such a way that its true splendor

caught your attention. She had commandeered Danny and with his help they had fires

burning in three of the downstairs fireplaces for the first time. Before that moment I had

never realized how truly magnificent my new house really was. I could just imagine

some of the parties that had been held there over the years. Inspired I went to the light

control box in the vestibule closet and flipped on every switch. I had spent over two

thousand dollars in bulbs and electricians and thus was greatly rewarded when the

grounds came to life against the coming nightfall. The gate lights served as beacons that

led the visitor into the driveway, which was defined in its entirety by Malibu lighting.

Tasteful use of flood lighting cast just the right amount of light on the house itself. I

knew Griff and Sandy would be impressed. I was.

Our guests arrived at 7 p.m. to a greeting of hugs and kisses from Suzanne and I.

Sandy was as stunning as ever and Griff was the same puppy dog I had seen earlier. The

Corvette was a hit with Sandy and I knew the extra effort had been worth it for my friend.

The kids had eaten earlier so we enjoyed Suzanne’s exquisite dinner in our formal dining

room uninterrupted.
 “You’ve outdone yourself this time buddy,” Griff said referring to his

surroundings. “Suzanne, you know I’ve eaten at some of the best restaurants in the world

but I couldn’t have had a better meal than this anywhere.”

“It was so nice of you to invite us,” Sandy added. “This place is so beautiful and

its so great to be with all of you again.”

Sandy was not only charming but a lovely person as well. I completely

understood why Griff had been reluctant to fall so hard for her again.

With dinner finished the ladies went to the kitchen for more wine and Griff helped

me tend the fires. We finished up in the billiard room and decided to shoot a game.

“Do you want to know a secret?” he asked in a hushed voice.

“Sure,” I said with passing interest.

“I never got rid of it,” he said forlornly displaying a 2-carat diamond engagement

ring.

“What are you going to do with it?” I asked nervously.

“Carpe Diem,” he replied. “She’s going to agree to be my wife tonight or my

names not Griffin Alexander III!”

 Not wishing to rain on his parade, I held back my true thoughts about the wisdom

of this move.

“You better send me an invitation,” I said trying to sound encouraging.

The ladies rejoined us and we enjoyed some wine and laughs just like old times.

Emma brought Evan down to say goodnight and while doing so I snuck a peek at Sandy

and Griff. I remembered what Griff had told me about wanting what I had and his desire

to settle down. Judging from the look in Sandy’s eyes as she watched Suzanne cuddle

and kiss Evan it was apparent he wasn’t the only one.

After the kids had gone back upstairs, Griff gave me a knowing wink and thanked

us for dinner.

“Sandy made me promise not to take her on our usual kind of date,” he explained.

Suzanne and I burst out laughing. Griff and Sandy were notorious for

disappearing for days at a time back when they were together. Their access to air travel

allowed them exotic getaways from Alaska to Rio.

“I really need to go to work tomorrow,” Sandy said sheepishly.

“I thought it was just a conference?” I said argumentatively.

 “It is but I’m the one giving it,” she said shooting me down.

“Now kids…” Suzanne said kidding. “Make sure you have our number in case

you have to make that one phone call.”

We all laughed again remembering when Griff had to do that very thing when he

had been arrested in a bar outside Dallas for defending Sandy’s honor. Sandy also had

been taken in for questioning and neither one had our cell number. They were forced to

wait until Horizon opened the next day to make bail. Though cleared off all charges Griff

never went anywhere again without his book of emergency numbers.

We walked them to the car and bid them farewell. Griff gave me a little wink as

they roared off into the night.

It was cold as we watched them drive away and Suzanne began to shiver. I put

my arm around her as we walked back towards the house.

“What do you think?” I asked hoping she had some inside skinny.

“All I can say is that by the way she talked about it, that sure must have been

some kiss,” Suzanne replied.

 THE PLOT THICKENS

I awoke fitfully in the night with my head on fire. My mouth felt like the Sahara

desert. I regretted drinking a third glass of wine which I knew was the cause of my

problems. Being careful not to wake Suzanne I slipped out of bed and headed for the

refrigerator for some much needed relief. As I came to the staircase, I tripped over some

unseen object hurting my big toe. In the dim light of the upstairs landing I reached down

to find out the identity of my assailant.

To my horror I realized it was the toy airplane. Fearing I had damaged it in some

way I picked up and carried it with me down to the kitchen. To my great relief it

appeared unharmed. I poured a large glass of Evian and went back to bed. I stopped at

Evan’s room and placed the plane on his dresser. He slept peacefully enough and I hoped

I would be able to do the same.

I was the first to rise the next morning and still felt a little woozy. I was reminded

of why I’m not a drinking man. Every time I drank in the excess, which for me was any

more than two, I paid the price I was paying now.

Despite how I felt, I decided to surprise everyone by making breakfast. I broke

some eggs and fired up a griddle. Soon the aroma of sausage, omelets and bacon filled

our kitchen. As I was setting the table Emma strolled in.

“Morning dad,” she greeted me.

“Good morning, E,” I said using her pet name.

“It all smells goods, what’s the occasion?” she asked.

 “I was up early and wanted to do something special,” I replied.

Suzanne and Evan who guided the plane to a textbook three point landing on the

window seat soon joined us. After saying a blessing we all began our breakfast feast.

“I thought Evan and I would take Emma to school this morning,” I commented

between bites.

“That would be fabulous,” Suzanne said appreciatively. “I’m meeting Mary

Trumball this morning about getting involved with the youth ministry and Evan would be

bored.”

“Uncle Griff still has the Vette right?” Emma interjected suddenly.

“Yeah,” I replied. “He didn’t say when he was bringing it back.”

“I’m not going to school in your pick up!” she exclaimed with major disdain.

Suzanne and I chuckled at the realization that our “little girl” was at the age where

her parents could be an embarrassment.

“I’ll drive the truck,” Suzanne volunteered not wishing Emma any undue stress.

She had been extremely helpful to Suzanne and I throughout the move and this

seemed like a simple request.

“You’ll do these dishes when you get back right!” Suzanne said to me as she rose

to get ready.

“Right,” I retorted grudgingly because I loved to cook but hated to do dishes.

Evan and I drove Emma to school in Suzanne’s Tahoe preventing her any

permanent scars. On the ride home I asked Evan why he had left his plane on the stairs

for me to trip over.

 “That’s a very valuable plane,” I was explaining to him. “You need to take

extremely good care of it.”

Evan seemed to not pay me any attention choosing instead to fly his plane as he

stared at the passing scenery.

“Evan!” I restated with growing agitation.

He still refused to even look my way. It was if he was lost in some kind of dream

world. Exasperated, I snatched the plane from his hand.

A look of terror fell over his face. He reached for the plane, but I refused to give

it back.

“Are you going to listen now?” I asked sternly.

“Yes sir,” he replied knowing the tone of my voice and reacting appropriately to

it.

“Good!” I said with renewed calm. “I need for you to be very careful with this

plane. It’s worth a great deal and I don’t want anything bad to happen to it.

“But I always keep it safe, daddy,” Evan said convincingly. “I don’t want

anything bad to happen to it either.”

I could tell he was getting emotional. I softened a little and gave the plane back to

him.

“I know son,” I said placing my hand on his shoulder. “It just worried me when I

tripped on it last night. Please don’t ever leave it there again.”

“But I didn’t daddy,” he said in opposition. “ I’d never leave it on the floor.”

“Evan,” I corrected him firmly. “Last night I picked the plane up off the floor

after I tripped over it.”

 “I didn’t put it there,” he explained.

I was growing agitated again. Evan was denying what I knew to be fact. His

failure to own up to it was making me more upset than the actual offense.

“We’ve talked a lot about telling the truth Evan,” I said trying to coax him to do

the right thing.

Evan refused to budge and turned to look out the window again. After a moment

of silence my patience was exhausted.

“Very well Evan,” I said with great disappointment. “You leave me no choice but

to take the plane away from you until you tell the truth.”

“But dad,” Evan began in protest but I cut him off.

“Not another word right now.”

We rode the remaining few blocks in silence. Me, the father, upset by a sons

disobedience and Evan the child about to lose his prize possession.

We arrived at home to find Danny talking with the invisible fence man who had

arrived early. I parked the Tahoe and joined them with Evan by my side. He continued

doing loop to loops as I outlined the area I wanted covered with the contractor. As the

crew arrived to begin the task, Evan and I walked in through the front door. Once inside I

held out my hand for the plane, but Evan had a final card to play

“Daddy, I didn’t leave my plane on the floor,” he insisted somberly.

Willing to humor him, I looked at Evan and gave him my undivided attention.

“Well if you didn’t do it, how did it get there?” I asked defiantly.

“I think I know,” Evan said vaguely.

“Well,” I questioned again trying to pry it out of him.

 He shuffled his feet from side to side.

“When I was in that little boy Joseph’s room I saw the plane fly by itself!” he

blurted.
 TO BELIEVE OR NOT TO BELIEVE

Throughout my life, I’ve always tried to maintain an open mind about everything.

This attitude had led me to my faith in God as well as a lot of other amazing self-

discoveries. Time after time by not allowing myself to fall victim to predisposed ideas, I

had enlightened myself greatly. This, however, was not one of those times. I didn’t

believe Evan. What I did believe was that he had become so attached to the toy airplane

that he would do or say anything not to lose it.

“Don’t you believe me?” he asked as big crocodile tears welled up in his eyes.

Looking down at my son and seeing the look of painful innocence on his face, I

decided to drop it.

“Take your plane upstairs and put it on your dresser,” I commanded in a soft tone.

“Stay in you room and think about it until mom comes home.”

“Yes daddy,” he replied obediently and walked up the stairs crushed.

I watched his little frame disappear down the upstairs hall and was suddenly filled

with remorse. Nothing is worse than being a parent and not believing your child or being

a child and losing the trust of your parent. Things had been a little strange since the

minute Suzanne and I had first set foot in the house that first day. My kids and I were

having nightmares and the local police had insinuated the house had a weird history. For

a brief instant, I entertained the notion that Evan was telling the truth. I half expected to

see Rod Serling from the sixties show The Twilight Zone appear from the shadows. The

doorbell rang to bring me back to reality.

“Mr. Chase,” the fence man said when I opened the door.
 “Yes what is it?” I asked annoyed by the distraction.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” he said politely responding to the look on my face. “I

just need to get to the fuse box.”

I led him to the service wing and showed him the four fuse boxes in the utility

room.

“Can you show me the box that the outside lighting runs off of?” he asked shyly.

I gave him a brief rundown on which circuits did what and left him to work on it.

I went to the study and checked my faxes and email. The only thing of interest was a

spec sheet on a plane I had inquired about but I just couldn’t concentrate on it. My mind

was extremely troubled now by the claim Evan had made. My instincts as a father and

head of the household led me to a chilling thought. Could my family be in danger?

“I’m home!” Suzanne called from the kitchen as I heard the rattle of her keys hit

the counter.

I was relieved and joined her in the kitchen.

“Sit down,” I said to her. “We need to talk.”

 WHAT TO DO?

For the next hour, I told Suzanne everything. From my nightmare to Evans’

behavior at the Sanderling’s’ and the most recent development I left out no detail. When

I had finished I felt better. Suzanne had listened quietly and I knew she would provide

balance to the situation.

With her usual grace under fire, she got up and poured us both a glass of iced tea.

“Well you said you wanted to move here and write a book,” she said

optimistically. “It would seem you now have your chance.”

I was floored, of all the responses she could have given, I would never have

expected that one.

“The Haunting of Gregory Mansion,” I suggested facetiously.

“Don’t be so dramatic,” she replied. “We just need to play it out a while and see

what happens. There’s something definitely strange going on here. Get yourself a

notebook and start writing it down.”

It was a brilliant suggestion. Not only would writing a book give me something

tangible to do with all this energy that was starting to build within me but also by

documenting things clearly now I would be able to review them later.

“Let’s go see Evan,” I suggested and we went up to his room.

The toy airplane was laying upside down on his dresser as if in protest. Evan lay

fast asleep under his covers.

“You must’ve been pretty hard on him,” she commented.

“Believe it when I tell you it was much harder on me,” I said defensively.
 We each kissed him on the cheek and slipped out quietly.

“Why don’t we check on the contractor and have a look at what Danny’s doing?”

Suzanne suggested.

It was another good suggestion. I needed a break from the intensity the day had

supplied thus far. The crisp air seemed heavenly as we strolled around the grounds. The

fence guys were testing the system by playfully pretending to be dogs as they hit the

boundary line with the collars. I showed Suzanne where the pool had been. Walking

further I pointed out the “ghost” gate and we both had laughed. We finished our tour at

the carriage house.”

“Hello! Hello! Come in,” Danny said responding to our knock.

He was dressed in painting attire and still had a roller in his hand. A stereo

blasted out some heavy rock from the back bedroom.

“Sorry,” he said sheepishly and hurriedly turned it down.

Though the work was still in progress, I could see he was doing a marvelous job.

By using a combination of whites and earth tones he had given the interior a beautiful

classy look.

“You’ve really been busy. It looks great,” Suzanne complemented him.

“Thanks,” he replied. “School starts Monday and I wanted to be finished.”

“Are you keeping warm enough out here?” she asked.

“Toasty,” he replied. “The wood stove and the fireplace work great and there’s no

bat problem.”

We all shared a laugh and it felt good.

“Keep up the good work,” I said as we headed towards the door.

 “I will,” he said. “Thanks again for letting me stay here.”

We left the carriage house and made our way back to the mansion. At the side

door we met the fence foreman who informed us all systems were ready. We thanked

him and went inside.

The house was eerily quiet. Once again we checked on Evan. He was awake

when we entered his room this time and gave his mommy a great big hug. She sat

lovingly on the bed and did what mommies do. Evan stared at me over her shoulder. I

felt like the bad cop in a “B” movie.

“A game of pool buddy?” I managed weakly.

Evan shook his head no and continued to basque in his moms embrace. I excused

myself to go pickup Emma leaving the two of them in the bedroom. As I had left the

room I had noticed the plane had been turned right side up.

“I guess you stuck me with the dishes,” Suzanne called to me as I descended the

stairs and I chuckled wryly.

Driving to pickup Emma I was invigorated. Suzanne’s surprising suggestion had

given the whole thing purpose. It wasn’t as if I needed a reason to keep pursuing what

was turning into an intoxicating mystery rather, I now had my wife’s approval despite her

misgivings.

Emma began talking a mile a minute about what had happened at school that day.

She had auditioned for a part in the spring production of the Sound of Music. She had

auditioned for the part of one of the Von Trapp children. When she had finished the

director had urged her to also try out for the lead. Naturally she had been thrilled to do

so. The results would be posted in the morning. I was so happy for her. The adjustment
to a new school is difficult at any age but especially high school. This turn of events had

her spirits sky high.

‘That’s wonderful news!” I said with great enthusiasm. “I have some news too.”

“You bought a plane?” she guessed.

“Nope,” I replied.

“You bought me a car?” she guessed again.

“Wrong again,” I said.

“Our house is haunted?” she said half joking.

My mood changed as the words left her lips. As with Suzanne earlier, Emma’s

statement had come as a complete surprise.

“What made you say that?” I questioned.

“I was just kidding,” she said recognizing the stern look on my face.

My expression didn’t change and she realized quickly that I didn’t think it was a

joking matter.

“Do you think it’s haunted?” I asked.

“Well you have to admit Dad that things can get a little creepy around there,” she

said matter of factly.

“You’re not scared are you?” I asked growing concerned.

“Of course not,” she answered. “It’s you I’m worried about.”

“Me?” I said in shock. “You’re worried about me?”

“Yes you,” she said sounding exactly like her mother. “Ever since we found that

stupid plane you’ve been acting really weird.”

 I couldn’t really argue the point. Since we had found the place I had been feeling

really weird. I had tried my best not to show it especially to the children but judging by

her latest observation I had been unsuccessful.

“Yeah I guess you’re right,” I said smiling. “ It’s hard to explain the effect the

plane has had on me and Evan both.”

“So what are you going to do about it?” she asked again sounding exactly like

Suzanne.

“I’m going to write a book,” she replied.

She rolled her eyes in response to my answer and looked out the window.
 A Big Surprise

The sound of a phone ringing woke me from a much needed sleep. I glanced at

the clock, which reported the time as 2 am. Warily I answered it knowing that calls in the

middle of the night seldom bring good news.

“Yucca! Yucca!” said the voice.

“Griff it’s 2 am,” I said with unmasked irritation.

“Sorry buddy but I had to call,” he said in a voice filled with excitement.

Knowing his intentions from the previous night I fully expected for him to be

calling from some bar crying in his beer over Sandy. I propped myself on one elbow and

asked the fateful question.

“So how did it go with Miss Sutton?” I asked.

“You mean Mrs. Griffin Alexander III,” he said triumphantly.

“Griff that’s terrific!” I exclaimed sitting up suddenly in the bed after hearing such

wonderful news. “Where are you?”

“Where’s who?” Suzanne murmured. “What’s going on?

“Griff married Sandy,” I said excitedly.

“He did?” she said sitting up just as I had done. “Where are they?”

“Where are you?” I repeated to Griff.

“We’re in Paris of course,” he said in the happiest tone I had ever heard from him.

“We just wanted you and Suzanne to be the first to know.”

“Suzanne and I couldn’t be happier for the both of you,” I said. “By the way

where’s the Corvette?”

 “It’s at Executive Air,” he said. “I meant to call you earlier but uh..I was a little

preoccupied.”

“Understandable,” I said. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Thanks Bill,” Griff said. “Go back to sleep and I’ll call you when we get back.”

“My pleasure Buddy,” I said happily.

“Yucca! Yucca!” Suzanne said laughing into the receiver as I hung it up.

We laid there for several minutes rejoicing at the news we had just received from

our friends. It was a great end to a perfect evening. Our family had been thrilled with

Emma’s news about the school play. Suzanne had received confirmation from Mary

Trumball that her offer to help with the youth ministry had been approved by the church

elders and I had made arrangements to go look at a plane.

“There’s a case where something good came out of contact with the plane,”

Suzanne was saying.

“What do you mean?” I asked pretending to write my question on an imaginary

notebook.

“Stop,” she said banging me in the head with a pillow. “Think about it. If you

hadn’t found the plane you would not have gone to Pensacola. Griff even said that after

seeing you he became inspired to attend church. What are the odds that he would run

into Sandy Sutton at church?”

“Sandy Alexander III,” I corrected and we laughed together.

Suzanne always had a marvelous way of looking at the bright side of things.

While not a pessimist by any stretch of the imagination I tended to take a little more

cynical view of the world. Suzanne called it my “yeah right” syndrome. Once again she
had pointed out a positive side of something that I had not seen. I drew her close and we

went back to sleep.

 Fuel For The Fire

The hot topic at the breakfast table that morning was Griff and Sandy’s marriage.

Emma seemed particularly enthralled by their story. She thought it was “way cool” that

they were married in Paris.

“That’s so romantic,” she was saying as we drove down Atlantic towards her

school. “I hope that when I get married it can be some place special like that.”

It was very sobering to hear my fifteen year old daughter talk about getting

married.

“It won’t mater where you are just as long as you’re marrying the right person,” I

said speaking from experience. “Your mother and I got married in a little church outside

Annapolis.”

“I know, I know,” she said cutting me off. “You couldn’t wait one more minute to

spend the rest of your lives together. I know the story dad.”

“Fine,” I said taking offense as we pulled up to the school.

“Get over it,” she said exiting the vehicle smiling.

When we made it back home Suzanne had literature spread out all over the dining

room table. After taking Evan to kindergarten she had unpacked her youth learning

materials and was going through it. I thought to myself that Mrs. Trumball or the church

didn’t have any idea what an impact Suzanne would have on their youth program. Back

in New York her tireless efforts had doubled the size of the youth group of our church. I

knew that she would have a similar impact here now that she had taken on the challenge.
 I went upstairs and changed into running attire. When I appeared back in the

dining room Suzanne was still hard at work sorting and organizing.

“I’m going to run down to the ocean front,” I announced. “From there I’m going

to take one of those shuttles to the airport and pick up the Corvette.”

“You don’t want me to drive you?” Suzanne questioned.

“Naw, I just need a little run and besides you look busy here,” I said.

After running four blocks my muscles ached in protest. The stitch in my side hurt

worse with each stride. At 6 blocks the stitch disappeared and the sweat I had worked up

felt therapeutic. When I reached the ocean I felt tired but terrific. Placing my hands on

my hips I began walking up the concrete boardwalk. As I cooled off, the salty ocean

breeze filled me with a sense that anything was possible today.

I walked several blocks before entering the beach side entrance to the Virginia

Beach Hilton. Inside the attendant informed me that a shuttle would be leaving for the

airport in about thirty-five minutes. I offered to pay for the service but she told me it was

unnecessary. With a few minutes to kill I entered a small restaurant next to the hotel and

bought a paper from the newsstand. Since the move I had not even so much as watched

the news on television much less read a paper.

Despite the frigid temperature, I went outside and sat down on a cinder block

retaining wall to thumb through the paper. I was halfway through an article about an

erosion problem at the north end of the beach when I was interrupted by a familiar voice.

“Mr. Chase,” Officer Timlin greeted me through the rolled down window of his

police cruiser.

Folding the paper under my arm I rose and walked over to the car.
 “Keeping the streets safe from democracy?” I kidded him.

“Yes,” he said chuckling. “Actually this is my last day on the street.”

“You’re quitting,” I asked slightly surprised.

“Better than that,” he stated with excitement. “I made detective!”

“That’s great Timlin,” I said. “Congratulations!”

“Don’t worry though,” he said. “I’ve told the whole force to keep an eye out for

the blue ford pickup with New York plates. Have a nice day!”

“Thanks pal,” I said laughing as he pulled away.

The van came a little early and I boarded anxious to get out of the cold. The

sweat had turned to chill and the wind had begun to numb my face a little. During the

ride to the airport I had tried to resume reading the paper only to be interrupted by other

passengers who tried to engage me in small talk. When we arrived at the airport I was

glad to part company from them. I’m not usually anti social but I just didn’t feel like

talking to anybody. Thankfully Jerry was gone to lunch and I was able to retrieve the

Vette without being noticed.

It felt great to have my car back. The pickup was nice for certain things and

Sandy’s Tahoe was great for the family but neither compared to driving my sports car. I

was almost a little sad the drive was over as I passed through my gate and rolled up the

driveway. I had planned to spend the afternoon trying to do a little writing while the

house was quiet. This plan changed when I entered the house and found Suzanne and

Patti Sanderling in the kitchen laughing like two long lost friends.
 “Hi honey,” she greeted me warmly. “Can you believe it? I saw Patti in the yard

and invited her over for some tea and when we got to talking I found out that she’s

Nancy’s cousin.

“Your roommate from college Nancy?” I asked.

“Yes,” Susan replied. “Isn’t it a small world?”

“I guess it is,” I remarked pleasantly. “What are you ladies doing?”

I was gesturing to the piles of photographs that littered the table and filled several

boxed on the floor.

“Well you know we’re trying to restore your old house to its original condition,”

Patti explained. “Suzanne was kind enough to pull out her old photos of you in the

house. We’re particularly interested in pictures of the railing and balusters. We’ve

discovered that the current ones are not original and we’re hoping to find out what the

originals looked like.”

“Having any luck?” I asked.

“Not yet but you certainly were adorable back then,” Patti asserted.

I blushed a little as I realized that Suzanne had brought out all my adolescent

pictures for Patti to rummage through. For almost an hour we looked through countless

pictures. It was quite a trip down memory lane for me. We joked about my blue tuxedo

that I had worn to prom. There were pictures of my parents that made me miss them.

Patti found some pictures of the train set I had taken when it had been completed.

Despite all the pictures we could not find a single one that showed the stairs in detail.

“Oh well,” Patti said when we had exhausted the picture supply. “It was worth a

try.”
 “What will you do?” Suzanne asked.

“Well we do have one picture of the stairs that we found with some other old

photos when we finished the attic,” she said.

“What’s wrong with using that one?” I asked.

“It’s partially destroyed,” she answered. “All the pictures seemed to have gotten

wet.”

“Can I see them?” I asked suddenly interested.

“Sure,” Patti said retrieving them from a tin box she pulled out of her purse.

It was as she had said. The old black and white photos were in deplorable shape.

Water spots obscured the subject of each frame.

Flipping through the twenty or so pictures I could tell that they were taken inside

my old house but that was about it.

“It’s a shame,” Patti said as I viewed the snapshots. “I found them in this tin box

but moisture somehow got to them.”

I was flipping through for the third time when I realized that they were taken at a

birthday party. Curious I studied them closer. It was unmistakable that the photos were

taken in the dining room. Bits and pieces of smiling faces could be seen through the

round shaped smudges. In one of the shots a single candle was burning on what had to be

the birthday cake. Then something caught my eye and I looked closer. A blast of ice

water ran through my veins and I lost my breath. There was no mistaking it. In the

photograph with the burning candle I made out the shape of the birthday boy. In his

hands he held the toy airplane!

 Research: The Road to Discovery

“Bill! Bill!” Suzanne was saying to me with panic in her voice. “Are you

alright?”

The unfamiliar touch of a woman’s hand permeated throughout my body. From

my point of view the kitchen ceiling looked familiar. I gathered I must have passed out

but didn’t recall it. The unfamiliar touch was Patti’s. She was holding my right hand. In

my left hand was an old photograph. A flood of realization washed over me as I

remembered my last conscious thought.

“Should I call 911?” Patti asked Suzanne.

“No I’m alright,” I insisted trying to get up.

I managed to get on all fours and dragged myself back into the chair. My face

was flush but after a moment my breathing began to normalize. There was an awkward

silence as I realized that both women were staring at me in disbelief. It occurred to me

that neither had seen a man faint with emotion before. I didn’t much like the thought of

being a fainting man but at the moment my mind was still on the crumpled picture. I had

held it in my hand throughout the entire ordeal and now Patti and Suzanne especially

wanted to know what had caused my sudden collapse. Not wishing to involve the

Sanderling's at all I excused myself and headed for my bedroom.

Perplexed but undaunted Patti Sunderling remained in the kitchen with Suzanne

and continued to try and see what I had seen in the photos. I had to find a way to obtain
the photos from Patti without creating more suspicion. An idea popped into my head and

I returned downstairs.

“Feeling better?” they asked in nervous unison upon my return.

“Much,” I said truthfully. “I think I know what caused my collapse. The

chemical used in developing photographs causes an allergic reaction in me. I think the

smell of the old photographs probably just reached the point where I couldn’t take it.”

Patti Sanderling was no dummy and I knew she wasn’t buying a word of it but

had too much class to question me in my own home. Obtaining the photographs from her

was an entirely different. It was with great reluctance that she allowed me to keep them.

I had convinced her on the pretense that I would take them to Oceana Naval Air Station

where a friend would try and restore them. The hope of getting a better look at the

balusters had overridden her completely understandable distrust of me. She said that she

hoped I was feeling better and Suzanne walked her to the front door. After she had gone

Suzanne turned on me.

“What is going on?” She demanded as an interrogation rather than a question.

I had retrieved a magnifying glass from the study and had placed a light on the

counter.

“Look!” I commanded.

Suzanne looked at the photograph for a moment. Having no clue as to what I was

talking about she gave me a blank expression.

“Look!” I commanded again with confidence.

Suddenly her eyes grew big and her expression changed to one of amazement.

“Who do you think it is?” she asked.

 “I have no idea,” I said. “Shall I keep on pursuing this.”

“I think it would kill you if you didn’t,” she answered.

I wasted no time and moments later I was headed to Oceana to see my friend

Dieter Elisbach. Dieter worked in Naval recognizance photography and was an expert in

the field. The section he worked in was so classified that even with my credentials I was

not permitted in but was forced to wait for him to come out.

“It must be pretty important for you to come all the way from New York to see

me,” Dieter said as he entered the secure waiting area.” What’s it been eight or nine

years?”

“At least,” I responded. “I’m living in Virginia Beach now. How have you

been?”

“Great,” he said. “I only got a minute, what’s up?”

I handed him the tin of photographs and he looked at them with disgust. As he

held each one up individually to the light he began to rattle off information.

“Shot with Kodak Brownie I assume. Printed on Kodak paper in the late thirties

or early forties. Probably a drugstore contractor.”

“You can tell all that?” I said.

His look told me I was wasting my minute.

“Can you restore these pictures at all?” I asked.

“Doubt it, why?” Dieter said.

“I’m doing some research and these in better shape would help me,” I stated.

“If I try it will cost you,” he said smiling ruefully.

 “What do you want?” I asked not wanting the answer.

“A date with Suzanne,” he said.

“Dream on,” I replied.

Rolling his eyes in thought he began anew.

“Still have Griff’s Vette?” he asked.

“I do,” I affirmed.

“I’ll try and restore your pictures if you let me use the Vette for a weekend.”

“Done,” I said and we shook on it.

The ride home was a blur of thought and emotion. Dieter had given me a place to

start and now I was chomping at the bit to begin. During my days at the Naval Academy

the instructors there had always maintained that research was the road to discovery and I

was ready for the fast lane.

 Fish Bait!

My fast lane to discovery ran into a major traffic jam in the form of Mrs. Eunice

Hardy. Eunice worked in the records room located in the basement of the Virginia Beach

Courthouse. A prim and proper woman, her manner was Government Issue. My

attempts to warm her up with humor were met with an icy stare. It was like trying to

thaw a block of ice with a match.

After taking Emma to school the following morning I now found myself in

Eunice World. I sought to examine the history of 1926 Dogwood Lane from the real

estate and tax records. Eunice was in charge of these records. I had waited in line almost

a half hour when Eunice’s acerbic voice said.

“Next!”

I had politely explained the nature of the information I sought and had been given

brief instructions on how to find it. It had been agonizing but I finally found the property

book and was searching for the address.

I came upon it and began jotting down the chronological order of owners. The

Sanderling’s had purchased it from the Neal’s in 1994 and were the current owners. Prior

to the Neal’s, the Capice Family had owned it for two years. The Capice's had purchased

it from the Thompson’s in 1990. The Thompson’s had purchased it from the estate of the

Morgan family in 1988. I was beginning to see a pattern and realized that it coincided

roughly with the assignment times at Oceana. Franklin Morgan had purchased the house

in 1967 from Edward Chase my father and lived there for almost thirty years. To my

astonishment my father had purchased it from a Mr. Horace Trumball in 1959. I

wondered whether or not there was a connection to Mary. It was here the trail ended with

no further information. I went back to the desk marked “Help” and waited for Eunice.

After ten minutes I was forced to ring the bell to gain someone’s attention.

Eunice appeared from a side door and took her position behind the desk.

“May I help you sir?” she said in a voice that was polite and courteous but I knew

masked a deep hatred for me or anyone else who would dare to ring the bell.

“I found the book with the information I needed,” I said as delicately as possible.

“But the information is incomplete. I was wondering if you could please help me locate

the rest of it.”

“Show me,” was her curt two word response.

I led her to the large oak table where the reference book lay open. I pointed out

that the book failed to tell me who Horace Trumball had purchased the house from.

“Well it’s quite obvious that Mr. Trumball built the house,” Eunice surmised in

her nasty tone.

“I don’t think so,” I contradicted. “I believe the house was built much earlier than

that.”

Eunice shot a look of contempt at me and reexamined the book. Looking back at

me she really seemed irritated.

“Trumball must’ve bought the property prior to 1960. All transactions prior to

1960 are fish bait,” she said.

“Excuse me,” I asked not understanding and hoping she didn’t mean destroyed.

“Fish bait,” she said again hardly containing her annoyance at my ignorance.

Micro fiche, all property records prior to 1960 are stored on microfiche.”
 Relieved, I shut the reference book taking the utmost care to place it lovingly

back on the shelf under Eunice’s watchful eye.

“Well now,” I said. “Can you show me where and how to get this “fish bait”?

Eunice obviously did not like me using her term and took great solace in

responding to my question.

“Impossible,” she said with glee.

“Why not?” I said trying not to sound as angry as I was becoming.

“It’s 5pm, you’ll have to come back tomorrow.”

 A Need to Know

Suzanne seemed relieved when I entered the kitchen after my visit to Eunice

World. She had not been at all in favor of me heading out so shortly after my collapse in

the kitchen. After dinner she insisted I rest which sounded like a good idea to me. Evan

had challenged me to a game of pool but I was forced to decline. Instead I took a long

hot bath and entrenched myself in the middle of my bed. On a yellow pad I began

documenting the events of each day since our first encounter with Mary Trumball.

Suzanne spent much of her evening hanging with the kids in my absence. This

was something she had been forced to do often when I was flying regularly. Now that I

was retired I felt kind of guilty about it. I felt like I had traded one airplane obsession for

another and it bothered me.

I had just finished my seventh page of notes when Evan rushed in to say good

night. He landed his plane on the edge of the bed and snuggled up next to me. Since our

impasse earlier in the week he had been trying desperately to regain my favor. I “Dutch”

rubbed his head as he wriggled and giggled.

“Good night, buddy,” I said as Suzanne pulled him away.

“Night Daddy,” he said as he and his plane left the room.

I continued with my notes but was becoming increasingly aware that something

was wrong. It got to the point that I rose from the bed and began to walk the house.

Emma was conversing with her New York friends via computer. Evan was dozing

peacefully. The plane was in its usual spot on his dresser. Moving downstairs I checked

the security system. Everything was as it should have been.

 I continued through the rest of the first floor but could find nothing out of the

ordinary. It was then that it dawned on me. Where was Suzanne? Nervously I began

checking the house with greater urgency but to no avail. Grabbing shoes and a jacket I

checked the garage. The Tahoe was there next to the Vette. The pickup remained in its

normal spot on the driveway. I went back inside and up to Emma’s room. She looked up

as I entered without knocking.

“Where’s mom?” I asked with concern.

“Haven’t seen her since she put Evan to bed,” Emma answered.

I went downstairs again and looked out one of the front windows at 1926

Dogwood. I wondered if she had gone across the street for some reason. Abandoning

this thought for a moment I decided to check the only place in the house I had not looked.

Moving through the service hallway I took a deep breath and opened the door to the

basement. Without turning on the light I started down the stairs into the darkness. Half

way down I began to hear Suzanne softly sobbing. Still using only the light from the

service hallway I walked over to her where she sat with her head in her hands on the hard

dirt floor.

“Suzanne?” I said gently. “Suzanne what is it?”

I was not entirely shocked by her actions. Suzanne was as strong a woman as

there is, but sometimes she would go off by herself and have a good cry. Throughout our

marriage I had found her this way on numerous occasions. Normally I would just leave

her alone but I felt compelled to comfort her this time. I led her by the hand towards the

light of the stairs.

“Billy,” she whispered.

 “Yes honey?” I answered compassionately.

“Something really weird came over me,” she said. “I can’t describe it.”

“Did it scare you like before?” I asked.

“No,” she replied. “It felt like I was gripped by a uncontrollable sadness that I

couldn’t shake.”

“This has happened before,” I said trying to console her and recalling the past.

“No,” she said shaking her head. “Never like this. It wasn’t evil or even

particularly creepy but it wasn’t natural.”

“It’s ok honey,” I said reassuringly. “I know exactly how you feel. I’m doing my

best to get some answers for us.”

“I need to know Billy that’s all. We need to find out what’s going on here,” she

said crying again.

“We will I promise,” I said.

“We need to know,” she repeated.

 More Questions Than Answers

The following day we were both quite ourselves. With renewed hope I planned to

take my chances again in Eunice World. Suzanne volunteered for kid duty to allow me

an early start. Full of optimism I descended into the courthouse basement to confront my

nemesis. Armed with a flower and flattery I greeted my tormentor.

“Good morning Eunice,” I called to her good-naturedly.

“Good morning,” she replied with her usual repose. “I suppose you’ll want to

pick up where you left off yesterday?”

“That’s right,” I said handing her the flower. “I brought this for you.”

“That was totally unnecessary,” she said. “If you’ll follow me I’ll set up the

fiche.”

Eunice led me to a small cubicle with a microfiche screen. The light was on and

to my surprise a plate was already cued up.

“How did you know I’d actually be back?” I asked.

“I may be old but I can still see passion in a mans eyes,” she said. “I hope this is

satisfactory.”

“Thank you,” I said knowing I had just been dismissed.

I sat down and began where I had left off. Horace Trumball had purchased the

house from John Howard in 1957. It was here the trail got complicated. Howard had

purchased the house from the city of Virginia Beach. It seemed the house had been

auctioned based upon what appeared to liens and case file numbers that were also

included in subsequent screens. This had been done during the course of 1942-43.
Intrigued, I continued. A man and wife named Oakley had owned the house from 1908.

Assuming that the house had fallen into foreclosure I flipped the slide for the next set of

records and received a shock. Henry Oakley had purchased the land in 1908 from one Mr.

Angus Gregory!

I looked away from the screen for a moment and tried to picture in my mind the

order of events. Henry Oakley had purchased the land from the Gregory’s in 1908. He

built the house and probably lived there. Some how the house fell into receivership and

was sold to Mr. Howard in 1943. Knowing that the toy airplane was made around 1937 I

now faced the challenge of finding out all I could about the Oakley’s and what had

happened to them. I knew that the key to finding out the identity of the boy with the

plane was finding out what had occurred at the house and when.

While pondering these questions my cell phone rang. Eunice looked up from her

desk with disgust but looked away when she realized I was staring back.

“Hello,” I said softly trying to minimize the disturbance.

“Bill its me,” said Dieter on the other end. “I’ve done all I can do with these

pictures. I’ll bring them to you when I pick up the car.”

“Can you pick it up tonight?” I said anxiously.

“Well actually it was next weekend that I needed it,” he replied.

“You can use it next weekend too,” I blurted out. “I just need those pictures.”

“I hope you’re not going to be too disappointed,” Dieter said. “I brought back

most of the shapes but the details are fuzzy. What ever got on them wasn’t just water.”

“I appreciate your efforts. What time are you coming?” I asked.

“I get out of here around 3 pm today,” he answered.

 “Great,” I said.

I gave him directions and hung up the phone. I hoped the pictures would provide

me additional clues. After finishing recording the information on a yellow pad I walked

over to Eunice and thanked her for her help. She nodded but said nothing. I knew I had

been dismissed again.

I left the courthouse and was walking to my car when an idea struck me. I took

the sidewalk to the adjacent building that housed the police department. I went through

the main doors and encountered a middle-aged officer at the front desk.

“Detective Timlin,” I requested.

The officer picked up the phone and dialed an extension.

“You have someone at the front desk,” the officer stated.

He waited for a response and Timlin appeared at the steel door that led to the

inner offices.

“Mr. Chase!” he said with a smile. “What can I do for you?”

“Can we take a walk?” I said motioning towards the exit.

Timlin agreed and followed me into the courthouse commons area.

“I’ve got a proposition for you,” I began. “I’m doing some private research on

the house across the street from me and since you’re a detective and probably like a good

mystery I was hoping you would take on a little freelance work.”

“I’m listening,” he said and I knew I had him.

“I’m trying to find out why the house fell into foreclosure in 1943 and about the

people who lived there from the mid thirties until the house was auctioned,” I said.
 Timlin studied me up and down. Before he could say anything a plain clothes

detective walked by us who shook hands with the new detective.

“Congratulations,” he older detective said as he continued down the sidewalk.

“Thanks Mike,” Timlin called after him.

“I could pay you,” I continued.

“What exactly are you looking for?” Timlin asked.

“Court records regarding the Oakley family and any tax or criminal records you

might be able to dig up,” I said.

“Well I’ll do it but you know I can’t accept money for it,” Timlin responded.

“But there is one thing I want.”

“Name it,” I said eagerly.

“I want you to tell me what was in that anvil case the night I stopped you on

Atlantic,” Timlin said naming his price.

“You do me this favor and bring what you find by the house and I’ll show you

what was in the case!” I said knowing Timlin could not resist this offer.

We shook on it and he walked me to where the Corvette was parked. He was

dying to ask questions but could only manage a weak farewell as I pulled away.

The house was empty when I got back a little after three. I settled in behind my

desk to wait for Dieter and study my notes. I hoped Detective Timlin’s research would be

fruitful and that the photographs Dieter was bringing would shed some light on the

mysterious boy and his plane. Pouring over the notes I became discouraged. I had a

whole lot of nothing as far as facts were concerned. I was on overload when it came to

hunches and intuitions. I watched the driveway with more questions then answers.
 The Photographs

Evan, Suzanne and Emma arrived at the house simultaneously with Dieter. Under

my watchful eye he gave Suzanne a hug.

“I tried to get a date with you as compensation for my services but Billy shut me

down,” he told her with a smile.

Suzanne and I liked Dieter most of the time but he could be a real pain. He was

famous at parties for drinking too much and could be very obnoxious with women. He

had his good qualities also which allowed him to remain in our circle of friends despite

his social shortcomings.

“Were you able to do anything with the pictures?” Suzanne asked as we headed

for the kitchen.

“Have a look for yourself,” he said taking a set of photographs from a manila

envelope.

While he was explaining the many scientific procedures and techniques he had

used in the process I tuned him out and focused in on the photos. The splotches had

almost disappeared completely revealing lines and shapes previously unseen. The

pictures were definitely of a birthday party. There were now clearly five people in the

photographs. Unfortunately, the details of the faces were blurred just enough to prevent a

precise image. A woman, presumably the mother, stood on one side of the boy while a

slender man, possibly a teenager, flanked him on the other side. Two girls of small

stature sat on one side of the table watching the boy interact with the cake. It was quite

eerie viewing this happy scene from long ago and not seeing it clearly. The picture I was
most interested in provided no help at all. The plane was still visible but as with the

others, the faces were indiscernible. The picture of the stairs had come out the best of all

of them. With the aid of my magnifying glass the detail of the banister was now quite

visible. This would help me gain back some credibility with Patti Sanderling.

As I shuffled through the pictures for the last time I did notice in one of them that

the planes wing was quite visible. The signature stripe left no doubt that this indeed was

the same plane.

“Where are the originals,” I asked Dieter.

“I’m still working on them,” he answered.

“I hope that if I find out exactly what damaged them I can possibly do a better job

restoring them. I’ve sent the worst one to the lab for analysis but it might take a week or

so.”

“Thanks,” I said appreciatively. “Now tell me, do you have a hot date next

weekend?”

“As a matter of fact I do,” Dieter said. “A girl I knew in high school is hosting a

reunion party in Baltimore. I’m hoping that the car will make a good impression like it

always did for Griff.”

“Cars don’t make good impressions,” Suzanne reminded him. “People make

good impressions.”

“I know that too,” Dieter said a little defensively. “What I’m counting on is that if

she thinks I have a friend who would lend me a car like this them I must be ok.”

This was Dieter logic in full bloom and there was no sense arguing with him.
 “I’ll give you more reason for optimism about the car,” I said. “Last week Griff

himself went on a date with Sandy Sutton in it.”

“Sandy Sutton!” Dieter said dreamily. “I sure wouldn’t mind seeing her again.”

“I’m sure you’ll get your chance,” Suzanne said not being able to resist egging

Dieter on.

“Really,” he sputtered.

“Really,” she smiled. “When she and Griff return from their honeymoon in Paris

they’ll be coming by for dinner and we’ll invite you.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Dieter said smiling as he rose from the table. He

normally took Suzanne’s ribbing pretty well unless he had been drinking.

“The keys are in it,” I informed him and he was out the door. He promised to

keep me posted and disappeared down the driveway.

“Not much help,” Suzanne said, as we looked through the pictures for a fourth

time together.

“Not really,” I said disappointedly. “There is something familiar about the two

girls and the woman but without the faces I can’t put a finger on it.”

“I had the same feeling about the girls,” Suzanne said. “It’s like I know them but

I don’t know who they are.”

“Exactly!” I said as we exchanged the look we were growing familiar with.

It was a look that said this is really strange. It had become so frequent during this

ordeal that we almost expected it to happen at any time.

“Maybe I’ll get a better understanding later,” she said. “I’m going to fix dinner

and you should take that one photo to Patti.”

 Agreeing with her I placed the picture of the banister in a white envelope and

walked over to the Sanderling’s. Patti was delighted when she inspected the photo and

could see the detail she desired.

“Where are the rest of them?” she said suddenly, catching me off guard.

“My friend is still working on them at Oceania but it may be a week,” I had told

the truth but not all the truth and I felt that my lack of candor was being scrutinized.

“Would you mind terribly if I looked at the dining room for a moment?” I asked

searching desperately for a way out of Patti’s probing stare.

“Of course not,” she said being completely accommodating.

I walked casually into the dining room and studied every nook and cranny. Patti

watched me intently trying to figure out my true intentions. As I scanned the walls I

reminisced about all the wonderful times I spent in the room. I realized that I had blown

out birthday candles in the very spot that the child in the pictures had. It was a chilling,

creepy thought. I also remembered the many Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners my

mother had served there when I was growing up. A little smile came to my face as I

recalled how I had cheated my friends and family at cards as we played at the dining

room table. If you positioned the French doors that opened at the long end of the room

just right, you could use the reflection to see the cards the person across from you was

holding. A flash of enlightenment hit me and I was suddenly aware of a detail I had

missed. As calmly as I could I thanked Patti for letting me look and returned home. I

know she must have thought that I was a total weirdo but I didn’t care. Not bothering to

stop at the kitchen I went immediately to my study and pulled out the pictures. Going

through them one by one I found what I was looking for. The picture that showed the
greatest detail of the plane also included a clear image of the French doors, which were

open. In one of the panes you could clearly see the face of one of the little girls. It was

too small to be of much use but with Dieters help I knew I would be able to see at least

one face from the past.

 Love Interrupted

I barely made it through dinner with Suzanne and the kids. My head was racing

around in circles. I had tried in vain to track down Dieter. I knew that it would be

impossible to rest until the face in the pane could be enhanced. After dinner I showed

Suzanne what I was talking about. She seemed astonished that I had picked up on such

an insignificant thing. When I explained about my card cheating she was slightly upset.

“You mean to tell me that all those times I lost to you in cards you were

cheating?” she demanded.

“Yes,” I said grinning.

“Damn,” she said. “I thought you were just lucky.”

“I’d like to get lucky,” I said pulling her close to me.

As I was about to kiss her Evan “flew” in with his plane killing the moment.

“A game of pool daddy?” he asked innocently.

“Sure buddy,” I said. Why don’t you go and rack em.”

I tried to recapture the moment with Suzanne as Evan went off to the billiard

room but it was gone.

“Maybe later,” she said with a devilish smile as she pulled away.

“I’ll count the minutes,” I replied.

I played a couple of games of pool with Evan and we enjoyed it very much. It

seemed that he had missed our commentary over the past week. When the last pool game

was finished I carried him into the den and from my easy chair we watched a little TV.

His peaceful breathing told me he had drifted off to sleep. As he layed there on my chest
I studied the innocence of his face. His little hands grasped the plane tightly while his

head pressed firmly into my shoulder. I could not help thinking about the little boy who

the plane had belonged to. I felt at peace with Evan sleeping in my arms. It was almost

as if I had been granted permission to enjoy the moment.

“Time for bed,” Suzanne’s voice called from the kitchen shattering the blissful

silence.

Struggling to rise from the chair without disturbing Evan, I got to my feet and

followed Suzanne up the stairs. We tucked him in and shut his door. Knocking lightly on

Emma’s door I called to her.

“Big day tomorrow, huh?”

She opened the door immediately.

“I don’t know how I’m going to get any sleep. I’m a nervous wreck,” she said.

“Not to worry honey,” Suzanne said reassuringly. “From the way the director

talked you’ll be in the play one way or another so be thankful for whatever part you get.”

“I know Mom, but I’m not going to sleep much just the same,” she said.

“Good night honey,” I said lovingly.

“Good night Daddy!” she answered closing the door.

Suzanne and I crawled into our warm bed and I held her extra close. We talked

about our wonderful kids. We talked about how blessed we were to have them and how

fast Emma was growing. The conversation turned to our own relationship. She said she

was sorry that she had gone to pieces like she had the previous night.

“What led you to the basement,” I asked having saved this particular question for

a more opportune time.”

 “I just didn’t want anyone to see me that way,” she responded.

This thought seemed quite silly. In our house in New York she would always slip

up to the attic. I would find her crying there and bring her back down to bed. In our

earlier years she would often go driving but I feared for her safety and made her promise

to remain near or in the house if she felt her emotions getting the best of her.

“I was a little concerned when I couldn’t find you,” I admitted.

“I’m sorry to have worried you,” she said. “I was sitting in the kitchen and I

couldn’t stop crying. The basement was the most convenient place.”

“I understand,” I said trying to be supportive.

Our conversation turned to the toy airplane. We wondered about the little boy and

how his plane had ended up in our chimney. We created numerous scenarios but none

seemed to fit. We speculated that something had happened to whoever had hidden it

there and that it was possible we would never know the answer.

Neither one of this really liked this possibility. We both knew that somehow

someway we would need to have absolute closure in order for our lives to get back to

normal.

We briefly talked about purchasing a plane for us to fly. Suzanne was still not

totally in favor of it but agreed to explore the financial aspects should I find one I really

wanted.

With so many topics exhausted, I kissed my wife good night. Unexpectedly her

response was more passionate than I had anticipated. My passion flared as her embrace

tightened and I knew what was coming. With each loving caress our breath became

heavier as our emotional love turned physical. As we became less dressed I was suddenly
aware that we were being watched. Seconds away from the throes of all consuming

passion I turned my head to see Evan standing in the doorway staring at us.

Embarrassed, Suzanne slipped deep under the covers.

“Evan?” I said coarsely unable to disguise my annoyance at the interruption.

His eyes were looking at me but he didn’t see me if that were possible. I rose to

confront my son and he bolted down the hallway in terror.

“Evan!” I called totally angry now.

When I reached the hallway all I saw was empty darkness. I could feel and hear

my heart beating in my chest. I was startled by a noise behind me. Suzanne had come to

the doorway.

“Evan, honey,” she called. “It’s alright.”

I moved quietly toward the stairs and clenched my fists without knowing why.

“Billy!” Suzanne yelled at me suddenly sensing my hostility and I relaxed.

As I reached the landing a movement in the shadows caught my attention. As I

moved toward it a blast of pain shot through my foot and leg. I had stepped on the toy

airplane again. Evan emerged from the shadows to rescue the plane and I grabbed him as

he did so.

“Gotcha!” I said engulfing him in a bear hug.

What I encountered next can only be described as unbelievable. My five-year-old

son fought me for his life. He kicked and screamed as he bit at me like a wild animal

cornered. Despite his efforts I maintained my grip and carried him to his bedroom where

I was joined by Suzanne and Emma who had come to investigate Evan’s screams.

Only after a minute or two of his mothers caress did he calm down.
 “You were hurting mommy,” he screamed at me. “I saw you.”

“No Evan,” Suzanne offered. “Daddy was loving mommy.”

“I’m going back to bed,” Emma announced getting the picture and being totally

grossed out in the process.

Evan seemed truly terrified by me so I left Suzanne to deal with him. After thirty

minutes or so she returned to our room.

“The next time we’re going to fool around make sure you lock the door!” she

said tensely and rolled over.

 Screams At Dawn!

Sleep was hard for me to come by that night. Just before dawn I was about to

drift off when the quiet was broken by Evan screaming in his bed. We all rushed to his

side.

“My plane!” he cried hysterically. “My plane is gone!”

I shot a quick look at the dresser where it usually was parked but indeed it was

missing. I quickly remembered that I had tripped over it during our earlier episode and

went to find it. Fumbling in the dark it was nowhere to be found. I reached for the light

switch and flipped it on. The sudden burst of light made me squint. With Evan wailing

in the background I resumed my search but the plane wasn’t there.

Returning to Evan’s bedroom I grabbed his little shoulders in an effort to calm

him down.

“Where did you put it Evan?” I cried in anguish.

“I don’t know daddy!” he sobbed. “Daddy I don’t know!”

Evan was inconsolable. With Suzanne and I still holding him Emma began a

frantic search. First she checked the hallway again with no success. She looked in the

bathroom followed by each upstairs bedroom. Finding nothing I heard her descend the

stairs. After a moment I heard her shout from below.

“I found it!” Emma shouted. “I’m coming Evan!”

Emma rushed in and restored the plane to Evan’s hands. It reminded me of his

pacifier days. The moment he had the plane back in his possession he calmed down.

“Thank you Emma,” he said gratefully.

 “Where was it?” Suzanne asked suspiciously.

“It was by the side door,” Emma answered.

“Show me!” I commanded now also very suspicious.

Emma led the way downstairs and directed me to a spot on the floor where she

had found the plane.

“Here?” I said pointing to the spot.

“Yes,” she replied.

“Exactly!” I demanded.

“Yes Dad exactly. What’s going on?”

I ignored her question. I was studying the spot on the floor. It was between the

side door and the door to the basement. I first checked the side door to make sure it was

locked. Satisfied that it was I looked warily at the basement door.

“My gun,” I whispered to Emma.

Without question or hesitation Emma fetched my 357 magnum and placed it in

my hand. With Smith and Wesson confidence I opened the basement door and snapped

on the light. Moving with great purpose I hit the bottom of the stairs searching for what I

was sure had been an intruder. The basement was empty however. I walked to the cellar

doors that led to the back yard. Pushing on them slightly I discovered to my horror that

one of them was open.

Wishing to protect my family and fearful of what may be on the other side, I slid

the bolt lock into place and checked them again. This time they were secure. I retreated

up the steps and found a very scared Emma waiting for me.

“You did great honey!” I said proudly.

 My daughter had acted extremely brave despite her fear.

“Was there someone in our house?” she questioned with great concern.

“Maybe,” I answered. “Let’s go back upstairs.”

Evan was fast asleep in his mother’s arms when we made it back to his room. At

first I thought that Suzanne was dozing also but upon seeing us she rose quietly from

Evan’s tiny bed.

“What happened?” she asked alarmed at the gun she saw in my hand.

“We may have had a burglar though I can’t be sure,” I said.

“Great, that’s just what we need. Do you think they were after the plane?” she

inquired.

“Maybe,” I said. “It’s time to get up anyway. Let’s get some breakfast.”

We spent the next hour getting dressed and eating pancakes. The mood was

finally mellowing a little when the gate buzzer pierced our already frayed nerves. Going

to the front room I looked out to see a van with the familiar Horizon logo on it side. The

Dobermans had arrived!

 The Face in the Window

“Hey Charlie!” I greeted the driver of the van.

“Hey Bill,” he responded. “Nice place.”

“I didn’t expect you so early,” I said. “You couldn’t have come at a better time

though.”

We were joined by Suzanne and Emma who also said good morning. We moved

to the rear of the van and opened the rear door. Like a bolt of lightening my three

Doberman’s bolted from the cargo area fully energized from their eighteen-hour trip.

Emma and Suzanne were there to meet them and the reunion was joyous.

“Brutis,” Emma called as the 130-pound Warlock Doberman licked her face like a

big teddy bear.

The other two, Heidi and Tarzan, joined Brutis in a face licking party. Suzanne

had brought cheese with her and the three dogs sat at attention as she fed them. The three

magnificent animals and their presence here made our move to Virginia Beach complete.

Charlie and I had trained them and despite their relationship with the family they were

attack dogs of the highest order. With them on the grounds of the mansion there would

be no more threat of prowlers or intruders.

“Won’t you come in for coffee Charlie?” Suzanne invited.

“Thanks Suzanne but I’m going to head back,” Charlie replied. “I got here at 2 in

the morning and slept at a motel for five hours. I promised the wife I’d be home tonight

and if I leave now I’ll make it.”

“You should have called me,” I said disappointed. You could’ve stayed here.
 “I appreciate it Billy but I was beat and I didn’t want to wake everybody up,”

Charlie said.

As quickly as he had come Charlie was gone leaving us in the front yard watching

the dogs “marking” their new surroundings.

“Tarzan!” Evan called from the front door.

Tarzan, the biggest of the three ran to Evan almost knocking him down. He

wrapped his arms around the dog’s muscular neck and held on for dear life. Tarzan was

Evan’s dog. It was the only one of the three that slept inside the house.

“Evan! Go in the house before you catch cold,” Suzanne called to him realizing

that he wore nothing but pajamas.

“Yes Mommy,” he said. “C’mon Tarzan.”

The boy and his dog disappeared into the house and this sight made me happy. I

hoped that by having his dog back Evan would not be as emotionally attached to the

plane.

Suzanne went to the garage and pulled out the Tahoe to take Emma to school.

“Good Luck,” I called as Emma got in.

“See you later?” Suzanne asked softly.

“I promise I’ll lock the door,” I said understanding her meaning.

“Gross!” Emma said as they pulled away.

I watched the gate close behind them and returned to the house. As I entered the

foyer the sound of Tarzan barking incessantly made me race up the stairs to Evan’s room.

I was relieved to find that it was playful barking as Evan was buzzing Tarzan with the toy

airplane.
 “Are you hungry buddy?” I asked him.

“Not yet Daddy,” he answered. “I just want to play with Tarzan.”

I shut the door to Evan’s room knowing he was safe and went down to the utility

room to get the collars for the invisible fence. I had no desire to comb Virginia Beach

looking for my dogs should they get out.

As I went back outside my cell phone rang. It was Dieter calling. I had left him a

detailed message the night before explaining about the glass of the French doors and the

particular photo I was interested in. I had asked him to call me just as soon as he had the

chance to check it out. I had not expected such a quick return call.

“Morning, Dieter,” I answered brightly. “Tell me some good news.”

“You were right,” he said. “I worked over all the pictures again and paid close

attention to all the panes of glass in the doors.”

“Were you able to pick out and enhance the face,” I asked with great anticipation.

“Not only did I get good results with the one girls face but I got a great print of

the other girls face as well,” Dieter answered.

I was ecstatic. I couldn’t wait to see them.

“When can I get them,” I asked excitedly.

“I’ll bring them out at lunch,” he said. “I want to see if I can get the Vette over a

hundred again.”

Knowing Dieter as well as I did I knew better than to fall into his obvious trap.

Instead I played a game of my own.

“Just be careful,” I said. “It’s got a tendency to drift at that speed.”

“What do you mean drift?” he said somewhat alarmed.

 “Front shocks are bad. Also make sure you check the power steering fluid. It’s

failed a couple of times,” I said trying to surpress a chuckle.

“Anything else?” he asked nervously.

“Just the brakes,” I said really pouring it on.

“What about the brakes?” he asked as the pitch of his voice rose higher.

“The master cylinders got a bad diaphragm. Griff said that he experienced the

pedal going to the floor and had to use the emergency brake,” I told him.

“Billy!” Dieter said as he realized I was kidding.

Knowing me as well as he did Dieter sensed what was coming next.

“Don’t say it!” he warned.

Unswayed I said it anyway.

“Yucca! Yucca”

Ending the call I laughed. Though technically a member of the Yucca Yucca

squadron, Dieter hated the expression. The whole squad knew it rubbed him the wrong

way and never missed a chance to use it.

The barking of the dogs brought an end to my laughter. Brutis and Heidi had

chased poor Danny back inside the carriage house. Heeding my command they returned

to my side and sat at attention.

“Sorry Danny,” I called out to him and he waved back weakly.

I put the collars on the dogs and we walked the perimeter of the invisible fence

line. The area was marked with little pink flags. Heidi was hard headed as usual and got

shocked twice. With this task completed I returned to the house and checked on Evan.
He and Tarzan were still happily playing in his room so I didn’t disturb them. I went to

my room for a hot shower.

After getting dressed, I called to Evan and Tarzan to come downstairs and I made

Evan his favorite sausage gravy over toast. Tarzan exercised perfect manners by lying

with his head down at Evan’s feet. His patience was rewarded as I did the dishes and

scraped the plates and frying pan into a bowl, which he quickly devoured.

With breakfast finished, we put the fence collar on Tarzan and Evan held him by

the leash while I put Brutis and Heidi in the kennel. The structure had been magnificent

when built. It was constructed out of the same stone as the carriage house with housing

for six dogs and had heated. I had yet to figure out how it worked however and had

added it to the growing list of things I was neglecting.

With the two dogs secure I motioned for Evan to proceed with Tarzan. We

walked the property for an hour. Tarzan would be the “enforcer” should there be a

trespasser and I wanted to be sure the animal understood his boundaries. We were

making a final round when Tarzan’s ears pricked up and he went on full alert.

“Heal boy,” I commanded and Tarzan obeyed.

We watched Dieter pull up in the Corvette and Tarzan tensed up ready to attack.

“Easy,” I said patting him on the shoulder.

Dieter removed himself cautiously from the car as we walked to the front of the

house. Tarzan didn’t make the least aggressive move but his vigilance clearly made

Dieter uncomfortable.

“Can we go inside?” He asked with his nervous high pitch voice.

“Of course,” I said smiling.

 Evan turned Tarzan loose as the three of us entered the house and I shut the door

behind us.

I told Evan to go upstairs and make his bed and promised to bring Tarzan back in

a little while. He complied with my request and went upstairs.

Dieter spread out the three photographs on my desk and I studied them with great

fascination. The first two were blown up headshots of the face I had seen in the glass.

Though still slightly grainy and out of focus I was thrilled. Despite the condition of the

photograph and the fifty plus years that had passed, I recognized the face of the little girl.

Though only eight or nine years old when the photo was taken the angelic face and

piercing eyes were unmistakable. It was Margaret Simpson, the mother of a friend of

mine. Setting them aside for a moment I now looked at the third picture. As I studied the

black and white face of this little girl it seemed vaguely familiar but I couldn’t place it.

“These what you wanted,” Dieter said seeking the praise that was certainly due

him.

“These are exactly what I wanted,” I exclaimed.

I opened my wallet and handed him a credit card.

“You’ve done so well I want you to have dinner on me,” I said.

“Thanks Billy,” he responded.

“No Dieter, thank you!”

I called Tarzan in so Dieter could make it to the car safely. He ran up the stairs

two at a time on his way to Evan’s room. As Dieter was leaving Suzanne was pulling in

and had to move to the side to let him pass.

“What’s up?” She said excitedly as she got out and saw the grin on my face.
 I led her to the study where I handed her the first two pictures. She examined the

face of the little girl but no look of recognition appeared. Shrugging her shoulders she

gave me a blank look.

“It’s Margaret Simpson, Tad’s mom,” I said with authority.

“Wow!” Suzanne said in amazement. “You’re right it’s her when she was a little

girl.”

“This is the one I don’t know,” I said handing her the third photo.

This time Suzanne’s response was immediate.

“You don’t know who this is,” Suzanne asked as if I were a complete idiot.

“Honey,” she said in a disappointed, condescending voice. “That’s Mary

Trumball!”
 The Birthday Party

I had known the Simpson family since I had moved to Virginia Beach when I was

ten years old. Her son Tad and I played little league and later high school sports together.

Tad had introduced me to Suzanne, which he later regretted. From the moment he told

me her name, any chance Tad had for dating her disappeared much to his chagrin.

He had gone on to UVA and Law School and was now a successful attorney in

Richmond. We kept in touch from time to time but I had not seen his mother in thirty

years. She still lived in the family home one block over.

I convinced Suzanne to go with me to see her. After dropping Evan at Teri’s we

found ourselves outside her kitchen door huddling under the eaves as a steady rain came

down.

“Well, Silly Willie,” Margaret Simpson said as she opened the door. “Please

come in.”

Her face was much older than I had remembered and certainly very different than

the picture Dieter had produced.

“I’ve been expecting you now for about thirty years,” Margaret mused.

“I…..,” I began awkwardly.

“Relax, Billy,” she said patting my hand. “And it’s nice to see you too Suzanne!”

She motioned for us to sit down in her den and served us hot tea as we made

ourselves comfortable on the love seat. Her house was just a homey as I remembered.

The walls of the den were covered with family photos and portraits including some of

Tad and me. I was gazing at them when Margaret cut to the chase.
 “So what brings you to my door after thirty years?” she asked directly.

“I’m sorry to surprise you like this,” I began.

“Surprise me? I’ve been expecting you,” she countered.

“Expecting me,” I questioned back.

“Eunice Hardy is a dear friend of mine,” Margaret explained. “We talk on the

phone every day. She’s been telling me how you’ve been researching your old home

place and I figured it was just a matter of time before you came around to talk to me.”

“Why would you think that?” I asked curiously.

“Because you know I’ve lived in Virginia Beach all my life,” she retorted. “I’ve

lived in this neighborhood for all but two of my sixty-eight years. I just assumed that if

you wanted to find out anything you’d come and ask me.”

Her logic made perfect sense but until seeing her face as a ten year old I had not

even vaguely remembered this fact. Intoxicated with such a stroke of good fortune I

played along.

“How perceptive of you,” I said praising the old woman. “I knew if anyone knew

this neighborhood it would be you.”

Margaret perked up proudly in her chair and sipped from her tea. I could tell that

visitors were not very common at her house. Feeling needed and appreciated warmed her

on this raw day.

“So,” she stated. “What do you want to know?”

Theorizing that the best way to get as many details as possible from Margaret and

not wanting to lay all my cards on the table from the beginning I asked her to start.
 “I was born here in 1931. My father was the foreman in a factory and we lived

with my mother and older brother Michael seven blocks from the ocean on Fourth Street.

After the stock market in 1929 my fathers company failed and they shut down the factory.

Out of work my father was forced to take a job working on the docks for Allied Shipping.

Even with this job my father struggled financially and we lost the Fourth street house.

During the year he worked for Allied he inexplicably struck up a friendship with Angus

Gregory after a chance meeting. You live in his house now or so I understand,” Margaret

smiled knowingly and continued.

“When Angus became aware of our families plight he graciously invited us to live

in the carriage house. We moved there in the summer of 1932. As a little girl it was like

moving to wonderland. There was a barn and horses. They even had a heated pool. It

was paradise.”

“Who lived across the street?” Suzanne who had been virtually silent blurted out.

Shocked by her rudeness I smiled at Margaret who clearly resented the interruption.

While I was trying to figure out what had motivated Suzanne to act so out of character

Margaret went on.

“When we arrived there that summer, the house was owned by the Oakley family.

They had one son who had just graduated from the Naval Academy. His name was

Clarke and I only saw him during summer vacation and a couple of times at Christmas.

My mother told me that she was very friendly with Mrs. Oakley but that they were an odd

family. Mrs. Oakley told my mother that they had purchased the home in 1930 from

Henry Oakley, her husband’s father. Mr. Oakley, Sr. built the house. He was the attorney

for the Gregory family. Mr. Gregory himself had helped Clarke get into Annapolis.
Clarke became a navy pilot and was stationed in Florida. In January of 1934, Mr. Oakley

Jr., Clarke’s father, died suddenly. Naturally, the Oakley’s were devastated. With Clarke

gone Mrs. Oakley fell into a bitter depression. She became a recluse and it was rare that

anyone saw her after that. My mother said she tried to maintain their relationship but

Mrs. Oakley was unresponsive. In the early summer of 1936, a young girl moved in with

Mrs. Oakley. She was as beautiful as a moviestar with golden hair and a face like a girl

on a magazine cover. We saw her even less than Mrs. Oakley. We discovered at

Thanksgiving that she was married to Clarke! The gossip surrounding the marriage was

intense and really exploded when the rumor spread that a baby boy had been born. They

had a diaper service so it was pretty obvious that there was indeed a baby in the house

though no one had ever seen it.

That all changed when Mrs. Oakley died in 1938. With Clarke having been

transferred to England the young woman had no one to help her with funeral

arrangements so she called on my mother. The first time I ever saw the boy was at Mrs.

Oakley’s funeral. His name was Timmy and even as a baby you could tell there was

something wrong with him. His mother was very protective of him and they vanished

immediately after the service. Clarke finally made it home two weeks after the service

but didn’t stay long. War was erupting in Europe and his flying skills were greatly

needed in Britain. For the next three years he only returned to the house twice. The

remainder of the time Timmy and his mother lived alone. It seemed like she never left

the property. Being so little myself I often thought about how terrible it must’ve been to

be a child living in such total isolation.”

 Margaret paused and studied her teacup as she remembered details from over fifty

years ago. Our wide eyes begged her to continue.

“During the summer of 1939, I did see something strange,” Margaret began again

wistfully. “It was a particularly hot and stuffy summer night and neither my brother or I

could sleep. We snuck outside and decided to take a swim in the ocean. Our parents

would have punished us severely had they known but we didn’t care. As we were about

to go out the front gate we saw Timmy and his mother slip out the side door and head

down the back alley. Since it was 3 am we were curious so we followed them. Keeping

our distance we walked all the way to the ocean. When they got there little Timmy took

great delight splashing and playing in the water. We watched silently as he and his mom

laughed and giggled in the surf. They stayed there until the first pink showed in the

eastern sky. His mother lovingly wrapped him in a towel and he watched the sunrise in

her arms. Fearing detection we hurried home.

Over the rest of that summer and in subsequent summers the two repeated this

ritual. When my brother was in his teens he watched them 21 nights in a row. They

always made it back home before it was totally light. I followed them on numerous

occasions myself. It was always heart warming to see Timmy take such joy in so simple

of a thing. We knew there couldn’t be much joy in their world and I loved seeing them so

happy.

The world changed for everyone in 1941. The war came and Virginia Beach and

the Norfolk area turned into a bustling place of military activity. Word came that Captain

Clarke Oakley had been killed trying to get his fighter off the ground at Pearl Harbor.

Though no one knew for sure, the speculation was that Timmy’s mother had a nervous
breakdown and both she and Timmy were institutionalized. The house was tied up in

court for awhile and finally sold in 1943.”

Margaret rose and offered us more tea, which we accepted graciously. Both

Suzanne and I glanced at each other wondering if she would tell us about the birthday

party. Since these were the facts we sought so desperately, I had to bring it up.

Producing the tin box, I took out the close up of the face in the glass and handed it to her.

“Is this you?” I asked boldly.

It was Margaret’s turn to be surprised.

“Where in the world did you get this?” she asked completely astonished.

Without giving her an answer I gave her the picture that the close up had been

taken from. The look of bewilderment on her face told me that she had never seen them

before.

“Is it you?” I asked again.

“Yes,” she answered in a voice barely above a whisper. “It’s impossible for you

to have this picture but yet here it is.”

She stared at the picture and then stared at Suzanne and I. The mood had turned

dark in the blink of an eye. She squirmed uncomfortably in her chair as she recalled a

memory she had tried to forget.

“Arden Gregory was Angus Gregory’s teenage son. Along with his sister they

lived in the mansion house. One cold Saturday in December he knocked on the carriage

house door and asked if my brother and me could attend a birthday party. We asked for

who and he told us he was planning a surprise party for the little boy across the street.

We’ll we couldn’t believe it and of course we said yes. We were anxious to finally get
the chance to interact with the mysterious Oakley’s. We asked about presents but Arden

said he had purchased some gifts on our behalf. He told us to meet him across the street

at 2 pm. From the moment we got there it was really strange. The house inside was what

I can only describe as stale. The shades were drawn which gave the house a dark

foreboding feeling. My brother, me, Arden and his sister hid in the kitchen as we waited

for Timmy and his mother to come down the steps. When they walked into the kitchen

we all yelled happy birthday! Timmy was so pleased he clapped his hands and screamed.

We spent an uncomfortable hour making small talk and trying to entertain Timmy. He

just seemed so happy and grateful to be the center of attention. His mother was another

matter. She herself had been unaware of the party. Apparently it was all Arden’s idea.

She eventually warmed up to us as the effect the party was having on little Tim became

quite obvious. He was a sickly child and still very slow but he sure was sweet. He

smiled as each of us gave him the presents Arden had purchased. I gave him a paint by

numbers set of some sort. My brother gave him a beautiful brass magnifying glass.

Arden’s sister gave him a telescope. Arden gave him the best gift of all. Inside the last

box Timmy opened was a beautiful toy airplane. He took it out and immediately began

flying it around the room.

Suzanne made a noise as she grimaced and tried to surpress her emotions. I didn’t

do nearly as well as I felt my breathing get shallow. Fearing I would pass out again

Suzanne drove her thumb into the palm of my hand. The pain shot through me an

allowed me to keep my senses. Margaret stopped when she saw our reaction to what she

was saying.

“Please continue,” I said still choked with emotion.

 I was in no position to answer questions and I wanted to hear the rest of the story.

“Arden produced a birthday cake complete with candles and we sang Happy

Birthday to Timmy. When we had finished my brother took the picture you just showed

me with his brownie camera. The primitive flash startled us and we all kind of laughed

about it. As we had been singing I remember staring at Timmy’s mother. She was as

pretty as ever but the years of solitude had made her age beyond her years. It made me

sad to think what a lonely life she must be leading. Seeing her smiling radiantly at her

son and how wonderful Timmy was feeling made me vow that I would try my best to

play with Timmy if his mother would let me. Though she had been extremely cold at the

beginning, Timmy’s mom really seemed to enjoy the afternoon. Her and Timmy seemed

to slip back into their sadness a little when it was time to go. She thanked us for coming

and we promised to see them soon. She gave Arden an affectionate hug for setting the

whole thing up. Arden walked us home and he and his sister returned to the mansion.

The Gregory’s were leaving that evening for a winter vacation in Florida and would not

return until the New Year. The most lasting impression I have of the afternoon was

Timmy standing in the doorway with his little plane and waving goodbye.”

Margaret looked tired. It seemed that the effort it had taken to tell the story wore

her out.

“It sounds like an interesting experience,” I said encouragingly. “How come you

were reluctant to mention it?”

“The party was on December 6, 1941,” she stated. “The next day the Japanese

bombed Pearl Harbor and the world turned upside down. When his mother had her
breakdown after hearing the news of her husbands death she couldn’t take care of herself

or Timmy and we never saw either of them again.”

“I understand how you must have felt,” Suzanne said consolingly. “It must have

been pretty sad.”

“It was very sad for all of us,” Margaret admitted.

“What did you mean when you said that the picture I showed you was

impossible?” I asked.

“Back in those days it was much harder and very expensive to get film

developed,” she explained. “In the first days after Pearl Harbor there was chaos. The

party and the photos were forgotten for months. My father finally took the camera with

him to work one day to get them developed. His car was broken into and the camera

along with his hat and overcoat was stolen. They were recovered from a pawn shop but

the camera was ruined.”

Suzanne and I looked at each other suspecting we knew now why the pictures had

been so spotty.

Margaret could not continue. She looked so exhausted we dared not ask her any

more questions. We thanked her and rose to leave.

“You never told me where the picture was found,” she pointed out.

“They were found in the attic of my old house,” I replied.

“Well that’s a mystery for another day,” she said. “I hope I helped you.”

“You did very much,” Suzanne said.

As we were just going out the kitchen door, she gave us one final shocking piece

of information to digest.
 “You should talk to Mary Trumball,” Margaret suggested. “She was there you

know, she’s the other girl in the picture.”

While this fact was not new to us the realization that she was Arden Gregory’s

sister was.
 A Stormy Night

“That’s how she knew so much about the house on the first day we met her!”

Suzanne was saying as we raced down Atlantic toward Emma’s school.

It was after four and we were late. For the most part I remained silent. Knowing

some of the story was helpful but there was still a lot of it missing.”

We pulled up the drive of the school building looking frantically for Emma. A

few stragglers mingled by the flagpoles but otherwise the entrance area was empty. The

rain was really coming down. As I was about to jump out and begin my search Emma

appeared at my window.

“I got it!” she beamed. “I got the lead in The Sound of Music!”

We were so happy for her. The ride home was spent sharing her glory. It was

nice to think about something else than the plane. The director had called her into his

office to tell her how impressed he had been with her auditions and thought she had real

talent. He made her promise to work hard and if she was willing to do that she would get

the lead.

“He’s not a perv, is he?” I asked with great father like suspicions.

“Dad!” Emma objected.

“Stop it,” Suzanne said nudging me.

“Sorry, it’s my duty as a parent,” I said.

When we made it to Teri’s she had dinner prepared and we feasted on barbeque

spare ribs as we celebrated Emma’s accomplishment. Over pie and ice cream we talked

briefly about our afternoon with Margaret Simpson. Teri listened intently but the look on
her face told me she wasn’t liking what she heard. Evan had gone to watch TV but

Emma had remained. She too seemed to be slightly uneasy about the weird story of the

birthday party.

“And I thought our house was creepy,” Emma said when I was finished.

“What do you mean by that?” Suzanne snapped.

Emma was quite shocked at her mother’s tone. She looked down and said

nothing.

“What’s your problem?” I asked Suzanne sharply. “You were rude to Mrs.

Simpson and now you’re being mean to Emma.”

“I’m sorry, “Suzanne answered. “I don’t know what my problem is. I didn’t

mean to say it like that honey.”

Emma seemed satisfied and answered her mothers question with a question.

“You don’t think our new house is creepy mother?”

Suzanne was taken aback. Terry, Emma and I sat in silence waiting for an answer.

Before she could say anything Teri stood up from the table and banged her palm down.

“Well the whole damn thing is starting to get a little spooky for me,” she said

angrily. “I think you should sell the plane and the house and forget all this nonsense.

Your son hasn’t been the same since you moved here. Suzanne snaps at everybody

including me. There’s something evil going on and it frightens me.”

“You’re wrong mother!” Suzanne objected violently. “Whatever’s going on or

causing weird things and feelings is not evil. It’s more like a sadness. To not let this all

play out is unthinkable. The whole experience is like we’re following instructions.”
 When I heard Suzanne use these words it validated all the efforts we were making

toward investigating the plane. To know that Suzanne was experiencing the same

emotions and supported me completely was very reassuring.

“Well you all seem intent on doing it your own way but you should know that

Evan did this spinny thing with that airplane for two straight hours. I had to threaten to

take it from him to get him to stop,” Terry said in a most authoritative tone. “He’s just

acting weird.”

“We know mother,” Suzanne commented quietly. “Don’t worry. I know in my

heart that everything’s going to be alright.”

We left Teri’s and returned home. As we came up Dogwood Suzanne and I

couldn’t help but stare at the old home place with a different point of view. I tried to

imagine Timmy and his mother slipping unseen down the alley on a hot summer night. I

also thought about how the house must’ve seemed like a prison to them.

“Dad?” Emma was questioning me from the back seat.

“Yes, Emma?” I replied.

“Can we go now?” she asked sarcastically.

I had not even been aware that I had stopped before entering our gate to stare at

my old house. I looked at Suzanne whose eyes were transfixed upon it also.

“Yes honey,” I answered and pulled in.

It was a great feeling to see the Dobermans on patrol as we moved down the

driveway. The three of them barked with excitement as we emerged from the garage and

walked under the cover of the breezeway toward the house. Evan asked his mom for a
bath before bedtime and Emma went to do homework. I was tired and with the gloomy

weather outside I headed for the warmth and safety of my bed.

Under the covers I tried to clear my mind of the plane and birthday parties and

mysterious neighbors by watching a little television. I became extremely bored flipping

through the channels but could not achieve the desired effect of sleepiness. Switching off

the TV I tried to read myself into drowsiness to no avail. Giving up I took out my notes

and jotted down the facts of the day. As I did so I remembered a journalism course I had

taken in high school. You had to take the course before you were allowed to work on the

school paper. It taught basic story construction and used the framework called the five

W’s. I had not thought about the five W’s in almost thirty years. I got up and went to a

front window. As I gazed at the house across the street I thought about them intensely. I

knew who. I also knew what. I was staring across the street at where and that afternoon

when I had learned about who from Mrs. Simpson I had also found out when. I returned

to bed and shut my eyes. Now I just needed to know why!

 A Flat Refusal

As I watched the light on the elevator panel ascend, I wondered exactly what I

was going to say. I had managed to get an appointment with Arden Gregory the

following morning. As the owner of Horizon Air I had built my business “cold” calling

executives and giving them a five-minute presentation pointing out the advantages of air

travel with Horizon. Penetrating subordinates whose sole purpose in life was to keep

sales people from intruding on their bosses was a specialty of mine. The trick was

convincing the call screener that you were as or more important than their boss and that

by not taking the appointment they ran the risk of missing a valuable opportunity. I

always identified myself as Lt. Commander Chase and usually had little trouble. Getting

in to see Arden Gregory had been a little more complex. I had been asked the nature of

my business to which I used the tried and true response. I explained that I was authorized

to speak only with the party concerned and if that was not possible I would make other

arrangements. This approach had never failed and this morning I wouldn’t be there to

sell my company but rather to ask questions about a birthday party that happened 58

years earlier.

The lobby at Allied Shipping was a flashy combination of stainless steel and

glass. I was really quite impressed as I pushed my way through the front doors. I was

almost twenty minutes early so after making my presence known I enjoyed viewing the

many photos and murals that chronicled the history of the company. I was studying a

beautiful photograph of a steamship. A plaque described how Angus Gregory had

captained the ship during World War I. Risking his wealth and life he had safely
commanded the supply ship through U-boat infested waters to bring desperately needed

war material to England and later to American forces. This act of heroism was something

I could relate to.

“Commander Chase?” A handsome young man had walked up beside me.

“Yes,” I responded turning to face him.

“Will you come with me?” he said motioning me to follow.

We walked to the first door on the other side of the entrance counter. The room

was large and had a conference table in the middle. The young man sat down and asked

me to do the same. Without introducing himself he began an interrogation.

“When you made your appointment this morning you identified yourself as a Lt.

Commander,” he began stoically.

I was unfazed as I realized that this was just another wall of defense that needed

to be overcome.

“Lt. Commander Retired,” I clarified.

“You mentioned to my secretary that the nature of your business was confidential

and could only be discussed with Mr. Gregory. Is this correct?” he asked.

“Affirmative,” I replied using my best naval academy voice.

“I hope you don’t mind if I ask to see your credentials,” he said in a voice that let

me know that he didn’t really care if I did mind.

I produced a United States Navy ID card specifying my rank as Lt. Commander in

the Naval Reserves as well as winged flying insignia. He examined the card and returned

it to me and was about to speak but I had tolerated quite enough from this punk.
 “Arden Gregory will either see me or not but I have no intention of continuing

this conversation or dealing with you another second. It’s a waste of my time. Are we

clear?” I concluded.

“Perfectly!” he answered not intimidated by me in the least. “Will you excuse

me?”

I said that I would and watched him exit the room. When I was alone I began

looking for a hidden camera. It was a little game I always played while waiting for a

subordinate to deliver my ultimatum. These “spy” rooms varied in size and style but

provided a boss a first look at who was coming to his office. The tactics I used that

morning had been successful everytime I had used them. I sat with complete confidence

as I waited for the subordinate to return. As I isolated a bulb in the ceiling that didn’t

match the rest he returned.

“I’m sorry Commander Chase. Mr. Gregory regrets that you will have to make

other arrangements regarding an audience with him,” the subordinate stated mimicking

my own words.

“Unfortunate!” I replied as I rose to leave. “I can only hope that when we do

meet that this refusal will have not caused either one of us any damage.”

I left Allied’s lobby proudly though inside I had my tail between my legs. I rode

the elevator down still maintaining my game face in case the elevator was also

monitored. Once in the parking lot I got in my car and felt humiliated. Never one for

self-pity I immediately came up with a new plan. If Arden Gregory felt that he could be

the illusive millionaire and not speak with me I would do the next best thing. I looked in

my address book and, after finding the right number, placed a call.
 “Mary Trumball,” I said when the voice answered on the third ring. “Bill Chase

here. Are you free for lunch?”

 Mary Trumball

After Suzanne’s unfailing support of me and our mission I wished to include her

in the meeting with Mary. I picked her up at the house and we drove to meet Mrs.

Trumball at an upscale eatery called The Pelican near the Cavalier Hotel. She was

waiting for us at a table near the window when we arrived.

“Hey you two!” she said as we sat down. “Bill you sounded so serious on the

phone is there something wrong?”

Not wishing to beat around the bush for an instant I produced the close up of her

as well as the group shot.

“Is that you and what can you tell me about Timmy Oakley’s birthday party?” I

asked her.

The smile left her face and was replaced by a look of astonishment. Her eyes

went back and forth from picture to picture in disbelief.

“I was there,” she said finally. “What’s this all about?”

“I want to know why your brother had a birthday party for Timmy and also if you

know why the Oakley’s never had contact with anyone,” I stated succinctly.

“What possible reason could you have for asking questions like these about my

brother and the Oakley’s? It’s been over fifty years since that party and I can’t imagine

why you’d have interest in any of it,” she said most defensively.

“I’m researching my old house and while doing this research I found these

pictures. I’m curious about the party and the Oakley family who lived there,” I pressed.
 She looked at me with great suspicion. I could tell her mind was engaged in a

great debate about the issue. I wondered if she would tell me anything or stone wall me

as her brother had that morning. Her face softened as she reached her decision.

“It was one of the weirdest experiences of my life,” she stated as a beginning. “It

was a cold Saturday and my brother Arden who never included me in anything asked if I

would come to a birthday party. I was thrilled until he told me who it was for. The

Oakley’s were all very strange. When I was little Mr. Oakley died and after that Mrs.

Oakley lost it. She never went outside. Her son Clarke was a Navy flyer who was never

home, was an odd fellow too. Whenever I was around him he never seemed all together

there. The whole situation over there got even stranger when this beautiful young girl

showed up. I only saw her a couple of times after she arrived in June of 1936. I

overheard my mother and father say that she was in the family way and that Clarke was

the father. This was confirmed later that year when my mother actually saw the new

mother and baby. She said he was mildly retarded, very sickly and bore severe

birthmarks. Anyway, the first time I saw Timmy was at night. Margaret the little girl

who lived the carriage house told me that her and her brother had seen the mother and the

little boy go to the beach at 3 am once. She said that if you watched in the summer time

you could see them most any night. I didn’t believe it so I stayed up one night to see for

myself. Right on time I saw them emerge from the house and move down the alley.

After that it was quite a thing for the kids in the neighborhood to do. Just about all of us

knew about it but no matter who watched them no one every dared disturb their solitude.

One night when I had some girlfriends over spending the night we stayed up late to watch

our mysterious neighbors. We were giggling and carrying on like ten year old girls will
do. As we watched by the front gate and waited for 3 am, my brother Arden who was

home for the summer caught us. We explained what we were doing and he had to see for

himself. Right around 3 am they came out and began their walk to the beach. Having

Arden with us we followed them all the way to the ocean. We were watching them play

in the surf when the sunrise began. Arden surprised all of us by going over to them and

introducing himself. The woman had seemed angry at his intrusion and quickly took the

boy home. When Arden returned to where we were hiding he told us that she was the

prettiest girl he had ever seen. He was fifteen years old and had never talked about girls

before. My friends and I giggled when he said it and he got mad.

I never thought too much more about it. Once the newness wore off it wasn’t as

much fun to watch them anymore and we didn’t do it for a long time. In the summer of

1941 Arden graduated from high school and wasn’t scheduled to begin college until the

spring semester. All that summer and fall he had secretly tried to begin a relationship

with them but his mother wouldn’t have anything to do with him. That’s why I was so

surprised when he told me about the party.

A waiter came by and asked us if we’d like to see a menu.

“Not right now thanks,” Mary answered for all of us and she continued wanting to

get it all out.

“The whole thing was so strange. Arden had been in California on a movie set.

My father had a financial interest in the film and he had taken Arden with him to check

the progress of the investment. They were supposed to meet us in Palm Beach, Florida

for winter vacation at Christmas but had returned early. Evidently the picture was not

going as planned and my father refused to put in any more money. They had just arrived
the day before and Arden came up with this crazy idea about a birthday party for Timmy.

That’s how we all found ourselves in the Oakley kitchen that afternoon waiting to yell

surprise. Well it was a surprise all right and Timmy’s mother was really upset. She

yelled at Arden when she thought no one was listening. He apologized to no avail.

Though she was very unhappy she was forced to let the party continue especially since

Timmy was having the time of his life. The interaction with other kids was making him

happy. He was slow to be sure but very sweet. He smiled gratefully as we each gave him

the presents Arden had brought back with him from California. He had such a good time

that it was very sad to see his face when the party was over. Even Timmy’s mother was

smiling and could not have been more pleased at how happy the party had made her son.

Later that night as our family left for the train station Arden decided not to go with us.

He said he wanted to hang around Virginia Beach and visit with some friends who were

returning from school. My parents granted his wish and he stayed behind. The following

day we were in the train’s dining car when we heard the news that Pearl Harbor had been

bombed by the Japanese and were forced to return. When we got back to the house

Arden was there in terrible shape. He disappeared with my father into the study. When

they came out my father left to attend to some business matters. All Arden would say

was that Timmy’s mother had been found wandering in the street after hearing that her

husband had been killed in Hawaii. Our father had arranged for her to be hospitalized

and we never saw her or Timmy ever again.”

Mary Trumball sighed and took a drink from her water glass. Suzanne and I

watched her intently but could say nothing.

 “So Bill Chase,” Mary said after finishing her water. “Will you please tell me

what’s so important about this party?”

“These photos were found in the attic of their house during remodeling,” I

answered. “I was just trying to find out who the people were in the picture.”

Mary Trumball didn’t believe me. She knew there was more to the story and felt

cheated that she had shared her story but I wouldn’t share mine. This was of little

consequence to me. I now knew how Ruben Heinz’s plane had made it to Virginia

Beach. There was still missing pieces however. I asked a final question.

“Why did your father get involved after Timmy’s mom had her break down?

Didn’t she have any family?”

“Arden told me once that she had a sister but that the sister had refused to help in

anyway,” Mary replied.

“Did he ever say why?” Suzanne asked breaking her silence.

“No,” she stated flatly. “Maybe you should talk to Arden if its that important to

you.”

“I tried,” I said wistfully. “He refused to see me.”

 More Pieces to the Puzzle

I gave the poor waitress a twenty-dollar bill because we had occupied her table for

two hours and hadn’t ordered anything. We excused ourselves from Mary Trumball and

got up to leave. Mary still seemed miffed but had too much class to say anything.

“We’ve got to pick up Evan!” Suzanne exclaimed in panic as we left the

restaurant.

We had become so engrossed in Mary’s story that we lost all track of time. We

raced up Atlantic with purpose. When we arrived at the school, there were no children

outside.

“I’ll go,” I said and hurried inside to where Evan sat in the lobby with several

other children.

“You must be Mr. Chase!” A young lady said to me as Evan rushed to my arms.

“Yes and you must be Miss Vicki,” I said in return. “Evan has spoken very highly

of you.”

“Evan is blending in real well here,” Miss Vicki told me. “He’s been a real asset

to our class.”

“Well that’s wonderful to hear,” I said graciously. “We’re sorry to be so late but

my wife and I were in a meeting that ran late.”

“It’s no problem Mr. Chase,” she said. “Good night Evan. Don’t forget that on

Monday we have our presentation.”

“Good night Miss Vicki,” Evan told her. “I won’t forget.”

 I walked with Evan to where Suzanne waited in the Tahoe. I got him buckled in

and we headed for home. As we approached the gate on Dogwood, Patti Sundering

waved at us from her yard and we waved back. I had to fight the urge to stop and stare at

the Sanderling house. After two intense days of listening to stories about the house it no

longer seemed like the warm loving place of my youth but rather a place where a mother

and son had known very little joy.

After putting the Tahoe in the garage I spent a few minutes with the dogs. We

played their favorite game of “stick” where I would hold out a large tree branch and they

would try and take it from each other and me. They actually succeeded in taking it from

my grasp and it made me feel old. As the game wore down I studied the carriage house

and tried to imagine what it had been like for Margaret Simpson to live there as a little

girl.

“Bill,” Suzanne called from the back steps. “Telephone.”

I hurried inside and took the call in the study.

“Bill Chase,” I answered.

“Mr. Chase this is Timlin. I have the information you requested.”

Thrilled with this news I asked Timlin to come to the house and he agreed.

Knowing Suzanne would have to pick up Emma I asked her to take Evan with her and

leave the plane. She thought that Evan would reject the idea and he did until I told him

he could take Tarzan with him. This pacified him for the moment and minutes later they

were gone again. I went to the front yard to wait for Timlin. I walked to the front gate in

anticipation of his arrival. Standing on my driveway I stared at the house across the

street. I looked for any sign of Timmy and his mother but saw none. I wondered why
they had gone to the beach under the cover of darkness. I wondered what ridicule had

been so great that made them reluctant to be seen in the daytime?

A plain Chevy sedan moved up Dogwood and I moved off the driveway to allow

Timlin to pass. He pulled down in front of the house and got out of his car. Immediately

Brutis and Heidi were on him and he was forced to retreat to the safety of the sedan. I

called off my dogs and with a smile pointed to the front. Timlin nervously got back out

of the car with a leather satchel and headed for the door. I led the way to my study and

we sat down at the desk.

“I’m afraid there wasn’t much in the way of documentation,” he begun as he

opened the satchel and handing me photocopies. “Mr. Oakley died in 1933 and from that

time on no takes were paid on the property. I briefly reviewed all the foreclosure

proceedings including the auction itself but all that was pretty dry. I also spent some time

on Clarke Oakley but found little about him. There was absolutely no record of any

criminal or domestic issues and the only thing else I found was Mrs. Oakley’s death

certificate.”

Having informed me of what I pretty much already knew I regretted making the

deal with Timlin. It was my turn to honor my end of the bargain and I loathed the idea. I

stalled by asking a question.

“Was there any mention of Clarke Oakley’s wife or young son Timmy?” I asked.

“I’m sorry Mr. Chase but there was hardly any records about anything,” Timlin

explained.

Timlin’s look told me there was nothing else coming out of his investigation. I

walked to the kitchen were I had told Evan to leave the plane. To my shock and horror I
found the plane was laying in the middle of the kitchen floor on its back with its wheels

in the air. I picked it up gently and went back to the study where Timlin waited.

“Well here it is!” I said handing him the plane.

A wave of disappointment swept over his face as he took the plane in his hands.

It didn’t hold near the same fascination for Timlin as it had for the others I had shown it

to. He gave it a polite respect but didn’t have a clue as to what he was holding. He

shrugged his shoulders while giving me a blank questioning stare.

“You were paranoid about showing me this?” he asked growing suddenly

suspicious.

“Take a closer look,” I instructed him.

Timlin examined the plane more closely. I studied him as he did this. I wanted to

see if the plane had the same hypnotic effect on him.

“I will say that it’s a special plane,” he admitted after his survey. “It’s detail is

amazing and whoever made it was a master. The thing I do know is that when I stopped

you on Atlantic that night you would’ve fought me if I had tried to look in that case. My

hunch was that it contained a large sum of cash.”

“I’ve been offered a half million as a first bid,” I stated flatly as I still focused on

Timlin’s demeanor.

His expression never changed. He put the plane down on the table and leaned

forward in his chair to begin what I hoped would be a brief interrogation.

“Mr. Chase,” he began obviously enjoying being a new detective. “This plane

may be worth that kind of money but I can see clearly in your face that your interest in it

goes way beyond money. Also, completely transparent is the fact that the plane is
somehow connected to the house across the street. What I want to know is how you

came to possess the plane and how it’s connected with the Oakley’s.”

“Touché,” detective Timlin I said quite impressed.

I had debated about how much I should tell Timlin about the plane but I felt

comfortable with him and now chose to share every detail. He listened with keen

fascination as I related the stories of the two women and my trip to Pensacola. Though

he tried to hide it I noticed that he was particularly interested in the name Arden Gregory.

As I finished we were interrupted when Suzanne returned. She had picked up Chinese

and invited Timlin to stay. He begged off sighting duty as the reason. I walked him to

his car with Tarzan providing security.

“Of course I expect complete discretion Timlin,” I said as he closed the door to

his car.

“Of course, Mr. Chase,” he acknowledged. “I’m going to keep digging are you?”

“Right after dinner,” I confirmed.

Timlin started the vehicle and was about to pull out when he stopped suddenly

and rolled down his window.

“You know Mr. Chase, there was one other thing,” he stated. “It’s insignificant

I’m sure but a fact is a fact. When I was looking for a police report from the late thirties

and early forties I didn’t find anything. As a matter of fact, according to the blotter, about

the only action going on those days were the fights in the parking lots of the speakeasies.

There was one thing however. During that time Virginia Beach didn’t have an emergency

communication system in place. If you needed an ambulance you had to call the hospital

or fire department. Procedure required that if an ambulance was dispatched it had to be

reported to the police. I went through miles and miles of blotter pages and in the

summertime the books were filled with calls but in winter it went down to a trickle. On

December 6th, 1942 an ambulance responded to a call from 1926 Dogwood Lane. When I

checked the Fire Department logs no record existed on explaining the nature of the call or

that a call even existed. I thought that strange but it’s all the information I had.”

“You mean December 6th, 1941, right?” I corrected him.

Timlin turned on the cars interior light and reviewed his notes.

“No 1942,” he said. “I’m sure of it.”

“Well something doesn’t fit because the Oakley’s vacated the house on December

7th, 1941 after Timmy’s mother had her breakdown.” I countered.

“I’ll check the hospital records to see if there’s anything there,” Timlin said. “One

last question before I go. What’s your motivation for finding out about these people?”

“It’s hard to explain,” I sighed trying to rationalize in my own mind why I was so

intent on pursuing this matter. “It’s just a feeling but I guess I’m trying to reunite Timmy

with his plane.”

 Weary & Wary

I sat alone at my desk contemplating my next move. I had so little to go on but I

had to persevere. I was tired. Not so much physically but mentally tired.

I had ignored my bodies warning the day I first blurted out to Mary Trumball that

I would buy the Gregory mansion. The hair on the back of my neck had tried to tell me

something. It was a feeling I had overcome many times in the past. The first time I went

supersonic my stomach had been so full of ice that I had to literally punch myself in pre-

flight to snap me out of it. Our instructor had shared this little secret on how to overcome

nerves and it had worked. The reward had been great. I was able to experience the

exhilaration of speed.

The same was true with my first jump from an airplane. Suzanne and I had done

it together and by overcoming that fear I was able to enjoy the intoxicating feeling of

drifting on the wind. These and many other situations like it had taught me that by

pushing past my fears I would experience great rewards.

The toy airplane experience was completely different. In most cases the reward

was immediate. With the plane it seemed like the events were grinding the life out of me

at an agonizingly slow pace. Also with each passing day a great fear crept over me. My

family was suffering because of my obsession with the plane and because of the plane

itself.

Evan seemed to be the most affected. He became belligerent to Suzanne

whenever she corrected him about anything and would only change his behavior if she
threatened to take the plane. The previous evening I had heard her admonish him several

times about doing the “spinny thing” with the plane. Since I had never seen him do it I

had no idea what the spinny thing was but it plainly annoyed Suzanne. Additionally he

had lost all interest in other things that prior to the planes discovery had been integral

parts of his life.

Suzanne also was showing signs of stress brought on by the whole affair. She had

become snappy with the kids and me and even with her mother, which was a rarity. Her

constant complaint about a feeling of deep sadness in no way fit her ultra gregarious

personality. Still I knew that I had her blessing and was thereby compelled to forge on

and try to bring this thing to a conclusion.

Another thing that was bothering me and causing me to have major apprehensions

was the feeling that by somehow disturbing the past I would somehow release the sadness

that I had heard so much about the past couple of days. It was this feeling that I feared

the most.

I snapped on the computer and searched for a file. I had meticulously preserved

my entire list of Horizon clients for situations just like this. I did my best to give them all

personal service, which allowed me to get to know them a little. I always tried to find out

their occupation or business and stored it away in the file I was looking for.

I was seeking a fiction writer named Martin Breslin. He wrote various types of

fiction but had his greatest successes writing about World War II. I had flown him to

Hawaii once and Griff had flown him there on numerous occasions. He researched his

subjects with great attention paid to accuracy. I knew contacting him would be a good

place to start. I found the number and dialed it.

 “This is Marty,” came a booming voice on the other end. “Leave a message.”

“This is Bill Chase,” I identified myself after the tone. “My company Horizon

Aviation used to fly….”

“Hey Bill,” Martin interrupted. “I’m screening calls and I didn’t recognize your

number. “How are you doing?”

“Not bad,” I responded. “I appreciate you sending me the copy of your book. I

enjoyed it.”

“My pleasure Bill,” he said. To what do I owe this honor?”

“I’m researching a navy flyer who was killed at Pearl Harbor on December 7,

1941,” I asked. “Where should I begin?”

Marty listed a lengthy number of reference points to try but I couldn’t keep up

even if I had wanted to. His information sounded so complicated that I knew it would

take forever. I sought answers fast.

“I was hoping you could help me,” I said speaking plainly.

“I have no interest in doing your research for you,” Marty said objecting.

“Alright,” I said laughing. “Who did you pay?”

Marty laughed good naturally. He had always been a rather jovial fellow and

seemed to have the world by the tail.

“Name and Rank?” he asked as his laughter subsided. “And who will I send the

bill too?”

I gave him the name Lt. Clarke Oakley and my mailing address. He promised to

have his researcher in Hawaii fax all pertinent documents to me within twenty-four hours.

“How did you know I wanted it fast?” I questioned.

 “You’re Type A,” he said knowingly. “You fly jets not handgliders right?”

He had me there. I gave him phone information and stated that I was most

interested in the disposition of two dependants, namely his wife and son. He accepted the

challenge and hung up the phone. I laughed to myself when I thought of Martin Breslin.

The time I had flown him to Honolulu he had gone there on the pretense of doing

research. This had been just a ruse however. His real purpose had been to go deep-sea

fishing without his quarrelsome wife. He had paid for his research and returned to the

states with a nice tan and the information he needed. It was Griff who had discovered the

secret and Martin had made us promise to maintain our silence in the presence of his

wife. Griff told Marty jokingly that we might just have to blackmail him and Marty

invited him to go right ahead. In retaliation Marty said he would write a book about

Griff. Griff laughed it off but forever after that when I would hear of Griff’s exploits and

antics I’d always threaten to call Marty with the details and Griff would stop talking.

“Stop doing the spinny thing,” Suzanne commanded Evan harshly as they entered

the kitchen.

I got up from my desk to join them. By the time I got to the kitchen Suzanne had

snatched the plane from Evan who sat stunned on the floor.

“Take this,” she said handing me the plane. “I’ve fought him all I’m going to

today.”

Evan burst out in tears but Suzanne’s word was final so I did what I was told. I

took the plane upstairs and put it in the anvil case. Looking around my bedroom for a

suitable hiding place my attention was drawn immediately to the fireplace. Nixing that

idea as too creepy I put it under the bed for the time being.
 Back downstairs I sat down on the floor with Evan for a much needed talk. He

had stopped crying but was still visibly upset.

“What’s going on buddy?” I asked soothingly. “Why are you upset?”

“I’m afraid the plane will fly away Daddy?” he sobbed as the tears began to flow

again.

“So what if it did?” I questioned sternly.

Evan contemplated the question. I could see that his mind was churning over the

thought of life without the plane. Amazingly his face relaxed as a new thought occurred

to him.

“That would be great,” he said almost smiling.

Suzanne and I look at each other in shock. Of all the responses he could have

given this was the least expected.

“I thought you loved your plane?” I questioned. “You want it to go away?”

“I do,” he said grimly. “It’s just that it makes me feel weird sometimes when I see

it…,” Evan stopped short and looked at the floor.

“Evan, “ I said sternly. “We’ve been through this. You know the plane can’t fly,

right?”

“Yes Daddy,” he said grudgingly not wishing a repeat of our previous

conversation on the subject.

I studied my little boy intently. I was proud that he had learned that discretion is

the better part of valor. He knew not to fight this battle with me.

“Why don’t you go play in your room for awhile?” I suggested and he happily

agreed.
 When he had gone Suzanne and I went to the den and sat down.

“Bill I think we should offer the plane to Mr. Maxwell,” she said somberly.

I exploded. The fatigue and frustration of the past several days had been brought

to a boiling point and Suzanne’s comment pulled the trigger.

“I’m not selling that plane,” I said with great belligerence. “I’m going to see this

thing through no matter what!”

Suzanne’s face looked shattered and tears sprang to her eyes. I had never spoken

to her that way before. Even as the words left my mouth I knew I as wrong. I spent the

next several minutes apologizing and trying to console my wife. I was truly sorry and

had no earthly idea why I had reacted the way I did.

“I’m really trying hard to understand this Bill,” she said after silently listening to

my pleas for forgiveness. “Did you know that Emma had nightmares again?”

“Did she say what they were about?” I questioned.

“Same,” she said nodding her head smiling and crying at the same time.

I put my arm around her. She buried her head in my shoulder and I felt her gentle

sobs. After a minute or two I probed deeper.

“Did she give any details,” I asked.

“No,” Suzanne said. “It was just like before. Someone was chasing Evan and he

couldn’t get away.”

I sighed. Suddenly I wanted to take her advice and make the plane go away. This

feeling was fleeting, however. Even if the plane was gone I knew the plane would

continue to haunt us. That was just it I thought to myself. The plane was haunting us. It

would allow us no peace or rest until we finished whatever it was that we had started.
 “Do you think the plane is evil?” I asked her.

“If I thought it was evil either me or it would have to go!” she answered. “Even if

it was gone we’d still have to figure this all out.”

I nodded my head in agreement. We were obviously both very disturbed by our

situation but we remained committed now and most importantly still united. There was

no turning back.

“I think I’m going to take a nap is that ok with you?” I asked her.

“That’s fine,” she replied. “I don’t pick up Emma until 6 pm because of play

rehearsal. I don’t fell like cooking so maybe we’ll order pizza.”

“Sounds like a fine idea,” I concurred.

I was at the bottom of the stairs when the phone rang. I heard Suzanne pick it up

in the kitchen.

“Hello, Janice,” she said excitedly. “How are you?”

I ease dropped on their conversation as they chatted lightly about weather in

Virginia and various other insignificant topics. I shuddered when I heard Suzanne’s tone

change.

“Oh my,” Suzanne said with great concern. “I’ll tell Billy right away. Billy!”

Not realizing I was so close I startled her by walking back in the kitchen.

“That was Janice Templeton. She wanted to know if we knew our dogs were

terrorizing the neighborhood.”

I rushed outside to try and handle a potentially disastrous situation. Suzanne was

beside me as we walked briskly toward the gate. A neighbor had managed to get Tarzan

into her kitchen. He had allowed her to check his collar, which still had his owner listed
as Horizon Aviation along with the phone number. She had called and reached Janice

who still worked at Horizon’s office who in turn had called us. We were sweating by the

time we reached a modest brick home almost three blocks away. Tarzan greeted us

happily in the ladies kitchen. We thanked her profusely for apprehending our dog and

being kind enough to call us to insure his safe return.

Suzanne took Tarzan home to be with Evan and I began my search anew. Boris

and Heidi were usually inseparable and after an hour I found them in the alley behind the

Sanderling's. They acted funny when I called to them.

Finally, they responded to my command but still seemed kind of skittish.

Grabbing them by their collars I chose to walk through the Sanderling’s yard rather than

go around the block the way I had come. In the years I had lived in the house I had taken

this route what must’ve been a million times but rather than feel nostalgic, I could only

think that this was the route Timmy and his mother had taken on those summer nights

long ago.

I reached the kennel having gone through the Sanderling’s yard undetected. With

the dogs safely behind bars I went back to the house. My first move was to call the

invisible fence people and chew out the poor receptionist who answered the phone. For

the second time that afternoon I found myself apologizing for my actions. I was stressed

out and desperately needed that nap.

My second order of business was to check on Evan. He seemed quite himself as

he and Tarzan lay stretched on his bed watching TV. I closed his door and retired to the

sanctuary of my bedroom. I made myself comfortable and was about to close my eyes

when the phone rang again.

 “Bill Chase,” I answered almost rudely.

“Bill this is Marty,” said the voice. “I promised you a 24-hour turnaround but it

looks like now it’s going to Monday at the earliest.”

“That’s fine Marty,” I said. “Just do the best you can.”

I hung up the phone and closed my eyes. I was almost glad to get this news.

Maybe we could all have a peaceful weekend. I reached under the bed and pulled out the

anvil case. I opened it and took a quick look at the toy airplane before shutting it. The

stress I was feeling was starting to make me crazy. I laid back and thought briefly about

Timmy and his plane. I closed my eyes as the ice cubes began forming in my stomach.
 A Nice Weekend

I awoke to find Suzanne lovingly rubbing my shoulders. Somewhat out of it I

only vaguely remember going to the kitchen. The smell of hot pizza filled the room as

the tastes of sausage, mushroom and onions brought me back to life. Emma's was

sharing the details of her first day as Maria in the Sound of Music. Even Evan was acting

quite himself.

We enjoyed almost an hour of family time sitting at the kitchen table eating pizza.

Emma was flush with excitement from her first day of rehearsals. Evan was holding

pizza crust in his mouth and letting Tarzan take it from him gently. Suzanne was

relishing this time together. It was the first time that our new house had felt like home.

Back in New York dinners like this had been commonplace and it truly felt good to

recapture some of those feelings.

With dinner winding down we decided to continue our evening in the poolroom.

It was boys versus girls and even Emma couldn’t help but enjoy herself. Tarzan made

himself comfortable on the throw rug by the fireplace and it couldn’t have been a better

Friday night.

When the pool games were finished we all went upstairs for bed. There was a

program I wanted to watch on cable and Emma wanted to begin the tedious process of

memorizing her lines.

Suzanne joined me after putting Evan to bed. I was watching the TV as I drifted

off to my best night of sleep in three months.

 Saturday morning broke bright and cold on the old Gregory Mansion. Suzanne

and I desired very much to give the place a new name but had not come up with anything

appropriate. I was beginning to get the distinct impression that no matter what we might

name the house it would always been known by the name of its builder.

I ran down the grand staircase two stairs at a time. I felt so good that nothing

could bring me down. Other than meeting the invisible fence man the day was spent just

hanging out with the family. I installed some shelves for Emma that housed her final two

boxes of books. Evan and I walked to the Carriage house and inspected Danny’s

progress, which was substantial. Suzanne had chosen to sleep in and when she joined us

we had a nice brunch. Griff called in the late afternoon to tell us that he and Sandy would

be returning to the D.C. Metro area and would see us soon if he still had a job. The

evening came and Suzanne grilled out steaks despite the bitter cold. The day was

completed with us watching a movie in our den for the first time.

All in all it was the best day we had spent as a family since the packing had began

for the move back in New York.

When I woke up on Sunday morning I could hear Emma’s stereo blasting some

weird song. Suzanne was in the shower and Evan was chasing Tarzan around in the hall.

I eagerly anticipated church that morning. The pastor was such a dynamic speaker and

his messages had been very uplifting thus far. A feeling of normalcy had finally taken

hold in our new place.

At 10:00 am I found myself in the familiar position of standing in the foyer

calling to my family. The finally made it down and we walked together to the garage.
 “Spring is coming!” I said optimistically as we shivered while the Tahoe warmed

up. Suzanne volunteered to drive allowing me to enjoy the ride. The dogs watched us

pull out of the gate and began barking their disapproval. The fence had been repaired and

they dared not venture any closer to the gate.

During the drive to church the Tahoe was filled with laughter as we made fun of

the songs on the radio. Thankfully my kids had embraced classic rock at an early age

making it easy to ridicule most of the contemporary stuff. We arrived early enough to

find a parking space in the lot and we hurried inside to get out of the biting northwind.

As we found seats we were greeted with polite nods from the folks around us.

The place just made me feel really comfortable. Mrs. Trumble smiled at us from across

the room displaying no ill will from our meeting earlier in the week.

When the music finished Ryan Mitchell took the stage and spoke for twenty

minutes on forgiveness. He kept hammering the point that people sometimes live a life

of atonement seeking mans forgiveness when only Christ’s forgiveness counted. It was a

message of hope though it paled in comparison to the previous sermons. All in all it was

inspiring and I felt renewed as Suzanne and I walked hand in hand from the auditorium.

We stopped by the hospitality table to give Emma some time to talk to the band. Evan

selected a cookie and took his customary seat on the bench against the wall. As Mary

Trumball approached us I hoped she wouldn’t throw cold water on my now upbeat mood.

“Good morning,” she greeted us casually. “I’m glad you made it.”

We responded in kind and before I knew it Mary had whisked Suzanne off to talk

with several other ladies who had congregated near the exit. Now standing alone and not

wishing to be accosted by anyone I sat down on the bench next to Evan.

 “Hi Daddy!” he said munching on a second cookie.

“Hey buddy,” I answered. “Your mom may be a while so I thought I’d hang out

with you!”

We sat there people watching and eating cookies. Evan had a calm about him that

had been missing. Since taking the plane from him his smile returned and he had become

the happy five-year-old who had moved with us from New York.

Emma joined us as we waited for Suzanne to finish talking. We were all ready to

go but we had to be polite. I got us another round of cookies as the conversation showed

no signs of slowing down. When we had finished the cookies my patience was wearing

thin.

“C’mon guys,” I told my kids.

We headed toward the parking lot. Suzanne made eye contact with us as we went

by but didn’t stop talking. We sat in the car for another twenty minutes before Suzanne

emerged.

“Sorry it took me so long,” she said. “Since we’re still not finished why don’t

you all go on home and I’ll catch a ride with Mary.”

We gladly accepted this offer and soon we were home. Evan piled up on my bed

with me and we spent a lazy Sunday afternoon watching cartoons. When Suzanne made

it back she took Emma to the mall to shop for fabric necessary to make her costumes for

the sound of music. After numerous hours of Roadrunner, Bugs Bunny and Johnny Quest

I was getting sleepy. Amazingly enough the Johnny Quest episode involved a dogfight

between a Fokker Triplane and a Sopwith Camel. Evan seemed not to notice. He was

satisfied just to be propped up on a pillow and hanging out with me. When we had
grown tired of TV we decided to go downstairs and make dinner for the girls. I

rummaged around in the refrigerator and pantry and came up with spaghetti. Evan set the

table and when Emma and Suzanne arrived their feast awaited them. Over dinner we

talked about what a nice weekend it had been and how everyone was starting to feel

comfortable. I couldn’t help but feel that this new “homey” feeling directly coincided

with the toy airplane being put away. I had not so much even looked at it since Friday.

Evan had made no mention of it either. Somehow I knew this peace was to be short

lived. At the end of the evening as Suzanne and I lay in our bed I knew instinctively that

this was just the calm before the storm.

 The Dirty Little Secret

“Look at this!” Timlin exclaimed. “It’s a Davidson Airfield Drivers License.”

“Try to keep it down will you,” I told him harshly. “This room echoes through

the whole house.”

Timlin and I had four boxes worth of folders and files we were going through. At

four in the afternoon my doorbell had rung and upon answering it I had found a very

large Hawaiian man standing at my door. He was dressed casually in slacks, a sport shirt

and a light jacket. Clearly he was not prepared for February in Virginia.

“Mr. Bill Chase?” he asked through chattering teeth.

“That’s me,” I confirmed.

The man had retreated to the cargo van he driven up in and produced the four

large boxes that we now were rummaging through.

“My instructions are to deliver these boxes to you, collect a check for $4500.00

and to tell you….”

The big man had paused for a moment thinking.

“Yucca! Yucca!” he had said with finality.

Smelling a rat I had opened one of the boxes. Jackpot! The boxes contained the

complete military records of Captain Clarke Edmond Oakley! Hiding my excitement I

asked the man to whom I should make the check?

“Griffin Alexander III,” had been his reply.

Naturally in a state of shock I immediately called Griff for an explanation. He

had explained to me that research was one of his side businesses and that he had been the
one who provided Marty with all the information for his military books. Marty had

called him with the request on Friday and as soon as Marty had told him what and whom

it was for he had immediately phoned his contact in naval records.

“Did you read the note?” Griff had asked me.

I had admitted to him that I didn’t read the note. When I had hung up the phone I

found the note on top of one of the boxes.

Hey buddy!

Guess you’re surprised huh. Thought it best to send you everything. The records

must be returned by 0900 on Thursday so get cranking. Up to you to have them hand

delivered to the enclosed address.

Griff

P.S. The $4500 all went to my contact. I usually charge Marty $10,000 so don’t

tell him ok.

As I had studied the files I quickly came to the conclusion that these were no

photocopies. The files Griff had sent me were the originals. Not even wanting to know

how Griff had pulled off such a coup I had began pouring over the documents

immediately. An hour into it I had realized that it would be impossible for me to meet

Griff’s deadline. I had called Timlin and he had eagerly agreed to help me. It was now 2

am and I was trying to keep him from waking up my family. We had been at it for eight

grueling hours. Armed with yellow note pads we set out to record every pertinent piece
of info we could find about Clarke Oakley. So far the records had revealed very little that

tied him to Virginia Beach.

“Davidson Airfield, don’t you understand?” Timlin was asking. “It’s in Virginia!”

This was the first shred of information that confirmed he had even been in

Virginia, which, after 8 hours, was to us a significant find. Clarke Oakley had been a

middle of the road midshipmen at the academy. He had barely even qualified for flight

school. Only after becoming a pilot did his true talent show. From his performance

rating to remarks made about him by his superiors, two clear facts about Clarke Oakley

were indisputable. He was an insubordinate, wild card hell raiser who was also a demon

in the air.

Throughout his records there were incidents of fighting and insubordination

involving him and various other military personnel. His military record was more

befitting a marine drill sergeant that a naval officer. He had been grounded for

disciplinary reason at the time of his death. His duty station had been the aircraft carrier

Yorktown but he had not sailed with her as he awaited court martial.

The aged papers also included many glowing reports about his prowess with an

airplane. It was his skill as a pilot that allowed him to hang on to his rank.

The impending court martial he was facing would have probably ended what had

been a very tumultuous naval career.

“What was he doing with a Davidson Airfield driver’s license anyway?” I asked

looking over Timlin’s shoulder at the paper he was holding.

“Apparently he was stationed there for 6 months in the fall of 1935 and spring of

1936,” Timlin responded.

 “That means that he had to have met Timmy’s mom sometime around then,” I

said excitedly.

“Exactly,” Timlin confirmed.

We delved further into the matter. We examined each scrap of information

regarding his time in Virginia. There was absolutely no record of any kind that he had

any dependants.

“I’m getting the impression that Timmy and his mom were Oakley’s dirty little

secret.” Timlin said in speculation. “If he never married her then that would explain why

there were no benefits for his family.”

This made sense to me. It would also partly explain why the Oakley’s had been

so ostracized by the neighborhood. Maybe their isolation had not all been self-imposed.

In 1930’s America an illegitimate son born to a young mother was social taboo.

“This still leaves us nowhere,” I said after reviewing the information in the files.

“You may be right about them not ever getting married but there’s got to be someone

somewhere who knows who these people were and what happened to them.”

Two a.m. turned into 3 a.m. as our search through the remaining files wound

down. Even though it was grueling, the investigation of Clarke’s military records was

fascinating. The action report on December 7th had been very compelling. A sergeant

named O’Leary had given an eyewitness account of how Captain Oakley had tried to get

his fighter in the air during the attack but had crashed the plane in a fireball after

sustaining heavy damage from Japanese fire.

As we read the last several pages of the report we saw how he had been buried in

Arlington Cemetery in February of 1942 with full military honors. This seemed a little
odd due to the fact that most of the causalities at Pearl Harbor were laid to rest in a

military cemetery there. On the last page of his record we noted that in box marked next

of kin it read none. Timlin and I stared at each other from across the table defeated.

Frustrated and tired we had reached a dead end. Suddenly Timlin reached back in the

box.

“There is one detail here we overlooked,” he said triumphantly.

He produced an addendum that was attached to the order to bury him at Arlington.

It regarded the disposition of the burial flag that had draped his coffin. It had been

presented to a Dorothy Benton at her request. It was still not much to go on but a name

nonetheless.

“Who the hell is Dorothy Benton?” Timlin muttered as he pointed out this almost

overlooked fact.

“Who is she and why did she get his flag?” I said echoing his sentiments.
 The Needle in a Haystack

I rose early the following morning and despite my lack of sleep I was really juiced.

We now had a name to research but I felt like it would take a miracle to go back fifty

years and make a connection. My first order of business was to get the files back to

Hawaii. It was just after 7 a.m. when I began banging on the carriage house door. A

sleepy looking Danny greeted me in his underwear trying to figure out what I was doing

there so early.

“Good morning Danny,” I said brightly.

He grunted something and appeared dumbfounded.

“How would you like to go to Hawaii?” I asked him.

“Hawaii? What for?” he questioned.

“I need somebody I trust to make a delivery for me,” I explained.

“I don’t’ know Mr. Chase,” he said shuffling his feet and looking at the ground.

My girlfriend and I….”

“Take her with you,” I offered cutting him off.

I was in no mood or position to negotiate. In minutes I convinced Danny to

handle the files for me. I arranged for him to fly that afternoon with Jerry at Executive

Air. I also called Janice who arranged for a car to be waiting in Honolulu. With this

chore handled I turned my attention to finding Dorothy Benton. Before I had fallen
asleep I had the bright idea that she could be found through DMV records. Knowing full

well that it was a long shot I had called Timlin who agreed to try.

I was sitting at my desk when Timlin called back not fifteen minutes later.

“You’re not going to believe this,” he said when I picked up the receiver.

“Try me,” I said stoically.

“I found her,” he stated with pride.

Timlin had run the name Dorothy Benton in the DMV computer and came up with

eighteen matches. Cross checking by date of birth he had narrowed this list down to five

women who were the right age. Of the five only one was still living and lived in

Alexandria, Virginia.

“It’s only fifteen miles from Davidson Airfield to Alexandria,” Timlin said

excitedly. “The others were from no where near there. She’s eighty two and her license

expired a year ago.”

“Give me the address,” I demanded. “I’m going to see her.”

“Sit tight and I’ll pick you up in thirty minutes,” Timlin said. “I’m going with

you.”

It was a four-hour drive from Virginia Beach to Alexandria. We arrived just after

lunch and located the address with a street map. I was glad Timlin had chosen to

accompany me. During the trip he had rightly explained that his detective shield would

open doors that I might otherwise find closed and he was right. The address was a

modest two-story brick house in a neighborhood that had seen better days. The door was

answered by a skinny teenage boy with long scraggly hair. Despite the lateness of the

day it appeared we had awakened him.

 “Yeah?” he said in a voice sorely lacking in manners.

“I’m Bill Chase,” I said identifying myself. “Does Dorothy Benton live here?”

“Not anymore,” was the boy’s bored response.

My heart sank as my worst fear that she was no longer living seemed realized.

“Has she moved?” Timlin asked taking the lead.

“Who wants to know?” the boy said defiantly.

“Detective Timlin,” Timlin asserted flashing his badge.

At Timlin’s presentation of his detective shield the boy’s demeanor changed

before our very eyes. He explained that his mother had been Miss Benton’s nurse for

several years and when she had been put in a nursing home he had moved to the house as

a caretaker. He gave us the name and address of the home and minutes later we arrived at

the Sunny Meadow Home for seniors.

Timlin’s badge worked splendidly again and a nurse led us down a long corridor

to a small private room where we found Miss Dorothy Benton watching television from

her bed.

“Dottie,” the nurse said lightly tapping on the open door to her room.

“Yes?” the old woman responded kindly.

:”These men have come all the way from Virginia Beach to see you,” the nurse

said.

At the mere mention of Virginia Beach the smile left Dorothy Benton’s face and

she turned her face away from us.

“Miss Benton, I’m Bill Chase and I’ve come a long way to see you. I’m hoping

you can answer a question for me.”

 Miss Benton returned her gaze back to us as we stood in her doorway.

“It’s alright Muriel,” she said to the nurse who excused herself. “Please have a

seat gentleman.”

“Miss Benton we’re doing some historical research on a house in Virginia Beach,”

I stated as truthfully as I could. “We are interested in finding out why you took

possession of a ceremonial funeral flag.”

I was fishing. I was not even sure that we had the right Dorothy Benton so I

wanted to ease into the conversation slowly. Miss Benton’s reaction confirmed that she

indeed was the Dorothy Benton from Clarke Oakley’s military record.

“Why do you want to know about Clarke’s flag?” she asked suspiciously.

Elated at our good fortune I continued.

“We’re researching a house owned by the Oakley family and we’re having a hard

time finding out anything about the people who lived there,” I said stating our mission.

Miss Benton turned away from us again. She seemed to be fighting back tears

when she again looked our way.

“Clarke Oakley was a friend and since he had no family, I requested his flag,” she

said as if this would simply end our presence there.

“Just a friend,” Timlin prodded sensing there was much more to the story.

Dorothy Benton cast a cold stare at Timlin. I knew the response that was coming

would be bitter.

“Alright young man,” she said coldly. “You want to harass an old woman on her

death bed about something that happened more than fifty years ago so be it.

“Perhaps we should come back?” I interjected sensing her hostility.

 “I may be dead when you come back,” she snapped. “Do you want to hear my

story or not?”

“I’m sorry for having been so direct Miss Benton,” Timlin said trying to calm the

situation. “I had no intention of offending you in anyway. We’ve driven a long way to

hear your story. Please tell it to us.”

Somewhat appeased Miss Benton propped herself up with her pillows. Before

she even began I knew it was going to be painful for her.

“Around Christmas time in 1935 I was working as a civilian secretary at Ft.

Belvoir, Virginia. I was talked into attending a Christmas party at the officers club on

post by a friend of mine. That’s where I saw Clarke Oakley for the first time. He was

exquisitely handsome in his naval uniform. He asked me to dance and he literally swept

me off my feet.”

Miss Benton paused and I thought I detected the beginnings of a smile as she

reflected upon this happy memory.

“To say it was a whirlwind romance would be an understatement,” she continued.

“From our first dance we were head over heels for each other. From that night on we

spent every available hour together. I had not believed it to be possible to feel love like I

felt for him. The miracle of it was he felt the same about me or so I thought.”

She paused again as the remembrance of love swept over her. She was smiling

now seemingly oblivious to our presence. As quickly as it had come her good humor

passed.

“Why do you want to know this?” she asked angrily. “Why are you doing this to

me?”
 The shrillness of her voice immediately brought a nurse and an orderly to the

room. They found Miss Benton sobbing and Timlin and I sitting in shocked disbelief.

“I’m sorry you gentlemen are going to have to leave,” the burly orderly said with

finality.

“It’s alright,” Miss Benton said waving him off and trying to gather herself. “It’s

just that I’ve lived with these memories for so long without sharing them with anyone

and now here I am telling my secrets to total strangers.”

I handed her my handkerchief and patted her hand reassuringly.

“Just take your time Miss Benton,” I said. “Your story is fascinating and we’re

not going anywhere.”

She blotted her eyes and I knew she felt kind of embarrassed. I smiled at her and

she continued.

“Naturally my father didn’t like him. He said he had an intuition about people

and that my involvement with Clarke Oakley would only lead to heartache. I ignored his

warning and when Clarke proposed to me on Valentine’s Day, I accepted. He gave me

this,” she said reaching around her neck and displaying a diamond engagement ring that

hung on a gold chain.

“I couldn’t have been happier,” she continued. “Clarke was a handsome fighter

pilot and of all the girls in the world he had picked me. My father still objected much to

my displeasure but there was no way he would’ve stopped me from marrying the man of

my dreams. Clarke loved to fly. He hated the navy with all its rules and regulations, but

being in the military gave him the opportunity to fly. In the circles of people he

introduced me to most considered him one of the best. He himself was very humble
about his skills in the air preferring to let others state the obvious. After our engagement

we wanted to set a date as soon as possible because he was due to ship out. In fact a

week after Valentine’s Day he was off to Pensacola for two weeks of carrier training

before going overseas.

I received a letter from him saying that he had a three-day pass and would like to

meet me in Virginia Beach so he could introduce me to his parents. I was thrilled and

agreed. To prevent the wrath of my mother and father I took my younger sister Sarah

with me to act as chaperon. We arrived there on a Friday night and checked into the

Cavalier. How grand it was! The weekend was planned to be a perfect good bye for the

two of us but it was not to be.”

Miss Benton’s emotions now began going the other way again as sadness

overwhelmed her face and she began to cry. I got up and found the nurse and asked her

to bring some water, which she did. Miss Benton sipped from her water and after a

minute or two passed by she picked up her story.

“When I woke up Saturday morning I had come down with the flue. I was so sick

to my stomach I felt like I was going to die. Not wishing to ruin the weekend for

everyone I encouraged Clarke to take Sarah out that evening. I’m not sure about the

events of the day because of my illness. Sarah took care of me on and off as I tried to

sleep while battling a high fever. On Sunday morning I was still incapacitated and unfit

to travel. Sarah was due back at school that Monday so Clarke was forced to drive her

back here to Alexandria. Clarke returned to my bedside Sunday night to check on me. I

barely remember our last conversation.”

 Miss Benton paused again as if preparing herself for the most difficult part of the

story. She took another sip of water and looking directly at me pushed herself onward.

“Clarke shipped out the next day. I remained at the Cavalier until Wednesday

when my father came down and picked me up. My sickness had left me very weak and it

was several more days before I was up and around again. I was able to attend church that

Sunday with my family. I didn’t hear from Clarke for three weeks and when I finally did

receive a letter from him he was in England. His letter seemed vague and mechanical. I

sensed something was wrong and confided these thoughts to my sister. On that fateful

Tuesday night my life changed forever. I was with my sister in an upstairs bedroom

relating how Clarke had been so distant in his letter when she broke down. She told me

that on that Saturday night in Virginia Beach her and Clarke had gone to dinner at his

parent’s house as planned. After dinner they had gone to some kind of club and danced to

a big band. She said that she and Clarke had purchased and drank a bottle of French

champagne and before she realized what was happening they were making love in the

backseat of Clarke’s car.”

Miss Benton banged her hand in anger on the nightstand sending her water glass

crashing to the floor. Sixty-four years had not mellowed the harshness of her sister’s

betrayal. The sound of breaking glass brought the orderly back to the room.

“What’s going on here?” he demanded. “Why are you antagonizing Miss

Benton?”

“I’m ok Charlie,” she said in a whisper. “Can you please bring some more

water?”

“Yes ma’am,” he replied dutifully.

 Glaring at us with a look of contempt the orderly left. Timlin and I dared not say

a word fearing another outburst. We sat in silence until Miss Benton resumed her most

intriguing tale.

“I wanted to kill her plain and simple. I was pretty back then but my little sister

Sarah was beautiful. She could have had any man she desired but she had taken the man

I loved. I hated her. I took a clothes hanger and began to beat her with it. Her screams

brought my father to her aid or I would’ve killed her right then. I had injured her pretty

severely before father rescued her. I had broken her arm and several ribs as well as

bloodied her about the head and neck. As I watched her leave in an ambulance I felt no

remorse.”

She looked first at Timlin and then back at me.

“To this day I have felt no remorse.”

The old woman’s startling revelation had taken Timlin and I by surprise. Again

we remained silent waiting for the rest of the story to unfold. While Sarah was in the

hospital my family received even more crushing news. Sarah was pregnant. When I first

heard this it felt like my breath had been taken from me. I couldn’t eat or sleep for

weeks. My parents feared for my health. My father was furious with Sarah. He was not

the type of man who could tolerate his seventeen-year-old daughter being an unwed

mother. He did not allow her to return home. She stayed with a relative until her

pregnancy began to show. At that time my father gave her $500 and drove her to the bus

station. He refused to allow Sarah to bring shame and embarrassment to our family.

Mother and I firmly supported his actions and from that point on Sarah Benton did not

exist.”
 The orderly returned with the water, which Miss Benton eagerly accepted. Her

mood was now defiant, as it seemed she was trying to convince herself that her actions

had been justified. Failing in this effort she mellowed a bit.

“I never spoke with my sister again nor did either of my parents,” she sighed

regretfully.

Timlin and I looked at each other wondering if this was the end of the story. As I

studied the woman’s face I could see a volcano of emotions about to erupt. I decided to

risk the fall out.

“So whatever became of Sarah?” I asked softly.

“I believe she settled in Virginia Beach with Clarke’s parents,” she replied

surpressing the eruption I had suspected.

“How do you know?” Timlin asked jumping in.

The floodgates burst and Miss Benton cried uncontrollably. Through her tears she

spoke with a voice filled with regret.

“The letters,” she managed. “She sent me letters.”

The orderly and the nurse returned again.

“I really must insist that you gentlemen leave now,” the nurse said. “Miss Benton

is extremely ill and this is doing her no good at all.”

“We understand,” Timlin said as we both rose to leave.

I figured there was not much more to be gained there anyway. I now knew the

identity of Timmy’s mom and the tragic circumstances that had brought her to 1926

Dogwood Lane. Before we could leave, Miss Benton motioned for us to come close.
 “After loving Clarke I could never love again,” she said. “I taught school for

forty years and now my days are numbered. Sixty years of hate made me a bitter broken

person. I would have liked to reconcile with my sister but she died shortly after Clarke. I

just could never bring myself to forgive her betrayal.”

“I understand,” I said consolingly.

“Did you get the answers you came for?” she asked us still sobbing.

“Partly,” Timlin responded for both of us.

“There is perhaps more to the story but that’s all I can tell you. There is however

someone who can.”

“Who’s that?” I asked with unsurpassed interest.

“Sarah herself,” Miss Benton responded. “I saved her letters. They’re stored

away unopened in my hope chest. It’s tucked away in the attic of my house. You’re

welcome to them.”

My heart skipped a beat. Once again I couldn’t believe our good fortune. I bent

down and kissed her on the cheek.

“Thank you Miss Benton,” I said in a voice full of gratitude.

“Dottie,” she whispered. “My friends call me Dottie.

 “Dottie’s Attic”

Timlin and I could barely keep from wrecking the car as we raced back to Dottie

Benton’s house. We pulled up out front and knocked on the door. This time we were

greeted by a middle aged woman who was presumably the teenage boys mother.

“I’m Bill Chase and this is Detective Timlin,” I said authoritatively. “Miss

Benton has granted us permission to explore her attic.”

“Please come in,” the woman said. “The home just called so I’ve been expecting

you.”

She led us through the house to a rear stairway. As we walked through I noted the

pictures that hung on the wall in various places. Most were of Miss Benton and who I

assumed were her father and mother. Not surprisingly there were no pictures of Sarah

visible anywhere. When we reached the second floor the woman escorted us to a door

that led to the attic. We ascended the stairs and received a major shock, the attic was

huge as far as attics go and was one major disaster. Boxes and furniture filled every

available space from floor to ceiling. The rat’s nest began at the top of the stairs allowing

virtually no place to walk.

“It’s a little messy,” the woman said understating the obvious.

Our first objective was to create a space to work in. Working together, Timlin and

I brought down broken furniture and a dozen or so boxes that were in closest proximity to

the stairs. We began sifting through the boxes on the second floor. They contained a

wide variety of things such as graded papers, books, newspaper clippings and

miscellaneous keepsakes. It’s amazing what a person accumulates in a lifetime.

 When a space had been created we began the monotonous task of sifting through

the rubble. Due to the lateness of the hour, I pulled out my cell phone and called

Suzanne.

“Hey honey!” I said trying to sound cheerful.

“Bill where are you?” she answered. “I thought you’d be back by now.”

I spent several minutes explaining the reason I had been delayed. I told her about

our meeting with Miss Benton and identified our current whereabouts. The explanation

was not received well.

“You need to get home as soon as you can,” she said in a voice that seemed mixed

with anger and fear.

“What’s wrong?” I asked suddenly worried.

“It’s Evan,” she said. “He went in our room and got the plane. When I checked

in on him after lunch he was in his room doing the spinny thing. He became violent

when I tried to take it from him. When I yelled at Evan, Tarzan bared his teeth to me.”

“Were you able to get it from him?” I asked.

“No,” she exclaimed. “He ran downstairs and locked himself in the basement.

Tarzan won’t let me pass by the door.”

I was disturbed very much by this news. I instructed Suzanne to go to our room

and retrieve my walking stick from behind my dresser. I had trained all the dogs with it

and felt reasonably sure that Tarzan would respond to Suzanne’s command if she

brandished the stick.

“Call me back and let me know if it works,” I instructed.

 I briefly surmised Timlin of the crisis and we renewed our search with a greater

sense of urgency. Abandoning our previous method of going through each box we now

concentrated on anything that resembled a hope chest. Since Miss Benton had not given

us any description about what the box looked like it was a grueling process.

Compounding the difficulty was the fact that the attic was saturated with these kinds of

boxes.

Our anticipation level grew each time we managed to dig one out but our hopes

would be dashed as we found the box to contain costume jewelry, Christmas ornaments

or some other such superfluous item.

Suzanne called again.

“He’s not budging,” she said in a voice that seemed calmer.

“Put a couple of sleeping pills in a piece of meat,” I suggested.

Suzanne agreed to this course of action and to call me back in thirty minutes with

a report. I hung up the phone and evaluated our dilemma. I knew this was going to be

our final thirty minutes and we had not even scratched the surface of the many possible

boxes that existed.

“Let’s think,” I said to Timlin imploring him to stop his digging. “We know from

our conversation with Dottie that the very mention of Clarke Oakley’s name was painful

for her. If she had a box full of stuff about him or her sister where would she put it?”

“In the deepest darkest corner of her attic,” Timlin responded saying what I was

thinking.

We looked at the attic space as a whole. Where the roofline sloped the space near

the eave got smaller. In one corner the chimney rose up through the rafters creating a
small void unlike the others. Timlin and I agreed that this was our best bet and we began

working our way in. After several minutes of intense box moving our efforts were

rewarded. In the inner most corner was a mahogany chest about the size of a suitcase.

Beside it was a plain trunk that was slightly larger. They were both packed in tightly by

other boxes. The rafters prevented their easy removal.

“Which one?” I asked Timlin.

“The small one,” he answered.

I was beginning to feel claustrophobic in such tight quarters. Working together

we were able to get some of the top boxes loose but it was a real struggle. Finally, Timlin

reached the desired box and with great effort lifted it out to me. The dust on the box told

us it had not been moved for a very long time. I looked at the larger box, which was still

impossibly buried on the bottom and hoped we had guessed right.

We moved out into a space where it was easier to get around. Naturally the box

was locked and Timlin had a hard time digging in his pocket for his Swiss army knife.

He finally worked it free and began trying to pick the lock. I was watching him intently

when my phone rang.

“No dice,” Suzanne said on the other end. “He won’t eat the meat,”

“What’s Evan doing down there?” I asked her.

“I can hear him flying the plane,” she answered. “He seems perfectly happy and I

don’t think he’s in danger.”

I was about to say something when Timlin succeeded with the lock and opened

the box. My eyes caught the familiar brilliance of the stars and stripes. At the top of the

box was the triangularly folded ceremonial flag from Clarke Oakley’s coffin. Beneath it
among several pictures and various other keepsakes we found 21 unopened letters. They

were tied together neatly with twine.

“Yes!” I said slapping Timlin on the back in triumph. “Honey, we’re on the way

home.”
 The Spinny Thing

Timlin and I burst through the side door and confronted Tarzan. I had grabbed a

bamboo cane from my truck and I readied it for use. Tarzan sat up fully prepared to meet

my aggression with aggression. If you ever show fear to a dog in this situation you run

the risk of being bitten, so I increased the speed of my advance and without saying a

word cracked Tarzan on the head with the cane. Unintimidated he stood his ground. A

second blow to the head forced him to retreat slightly.

“Get back!” I yelled threatening a third strike.

Tarzan grudgingly moved from the door and I forced it open and went down the

steps. With Suzanne and Timlin hot on my heels we found Evan peacefully asleep on the

hard dirt floor. He clutched the toy airplane firmly in both hands.

“Hey buddy,” I said waking him gently. “What going on?”

Daddy, Daddy” he said wrapping his arms around my neck. “I knew you’d come,

I knew it.”

“Ok, buddy, I’m here,” I said hugging him tightly but not understanding why he

was behaving this way.

“Why did you come down here Evan?” Suzanne asked. “And why wouldn’t you

listen to me?”

“I’m sorry mommy,” Evan said pulling away from me and burying himself in his

mother’s arms. “I knew that if I didn’t come back up that you would call Daddy and that

he would come home right away.”

 Suzanne, Timlin and I exchanged puzzled looks. I had to admit his five-year-old

mind had executed a plan that had worked to perfection. Had Evan not been in crisis I

would’ve stayed overnight in Alexandria and continued the following day in Dottie’s

attic.

“Why Evan?” I asked him. “Why did you want me to come home tonight?”

Evan’s face suddenly went pale and he drew closed to Suzanne.

“Because Daddy,” he said starting to cry. “Me and the plane get scared when it’s

just me, mommy and Emma in the house.”

“What are you afraid of?” I asked.

“The bad dreams Daddy,” he said really crying now.

“What are the bad dreams about?” I probed as gently as I could.

“Somebody’s trying to get me and they want to take the plane,” he answered.

To hear Evan talk about his dream so vividly was quite unnerving to the three of

us.

“Well its ok now,” I said reassuringly taking him back in my arms. “I’m here and

nobody’s going to bother you or take the plane.”

His tears subsided and he put his head against my chest. I felt his little body relax

as he rested in the safety of my arms.

“Bill?” Suzanne said to me in a startled voice.

She had finally gotten a good look at Timlin and I. Our haggard appearance

seemed to frighten her. Neither one of us had slept or eaten much in the past two days.

We were also covered head to toe in dust and grime from Dottie’s attic. Realizing why

she had reacted this way I laughed out loud.

 “I’m sorry honey,” I said. “I forgot how bad we must look.”

I had called Suzanne on the way back to Virginia Beach to tell her about the hope

chest. Feeling slightly left out of the loop she had made me promise to bring the chest

home so she could go through it with us. Reluctantly I agreed figuring it was the lease I

could do considering all that this adventure had put her through.

Timlin had a change of clothes with him so I led him to the guest bedroom where

he could shower and change while I did the same. Suzanne got Evan ready for bed and

Emma prepared some food. That afternoon during the Tarzan episode Suzanne had been

forced to tell Emma the nature of my trip to Alexandria. When I had called to inform

Suzanne about the chest Emma had been sitting with her at the kitchen table. She too

was eagerly anticipating the reading of the letters and finding out the secrets they might

contain.

The shower felt heavenly. As I stood under the blast of hot water, I reflected upon

the day and our encounter with Dottie. I finished the shower and joined Timlin and

Emma down in the kitchen. We were eating leftovers and drinking a beer when the quiet

was disturbed by Suzanne’s shouts from the upstairs!

“Stop it!” she was yelling at Evan as I raced up the stairs. “Stop it right now!”

I made it to Evan’s room in time to see Suzanne snatch the toy airplane from his

hand. Evan screamed in anguish.

“He won’t stop Bill!” Suzanne said enraged. “He’s going to listen to me or he’s

never going to see this plane again.”

Evan howled in protest when he heard his mother’s words. He became hysterical

as if his life was being threatened. I grabbed him and set him down forcefully on the bed.
 “Evan Chase. I’m going to spank you if you don’t calm down.” I was angry now

too.

“Please don’t take the plane daddy.” he begged. “Pleeease!”

“If you don’t stop carrying on this way I’m going to take the plane away forever,”

I said sternly.

Still Evan could not calm down. He tried repeatedly to move from the bed

forcing me to keep my hands on his shoulders. He kicked and screamed like something

wild.

“I’m calling an ambulance,” Suzanne said terrified.

“Wait!” I commanded realizing that this was no ordinary tantrum but something

more serious. “Give him back the plane!”

The impact of having the plane back in his hands was immediate. He stopped

crying and sat peacefully on the bed protecting the plane lovingly on his lap. Suzanne

had been beside herself when I had taken this action but did not interfere.

“If I let you keep the plan with you will you go to sleep?” I asked him.

“Yes, daddy,” he replied shyly.

“Ok then,” I said. “You go to sleep now and I’ll let you hold on to it.”

“Thanks for keeping your promise daddy,” Evan said.

“What promise was that?” I asked.

“You promised me that you wouldn’t let anyone take the plane from me,” he

replied. “That means you and mommy too right?”

My son had amazed me yet again with his grasp on things.

“That’s right,” I confirmed. “Try and get some rest.”

 Though she disagreed totally with my reaction to the situation, Suzanne supported

me one hundred percent.

“Go to sleep honey,” she told him soothingly as she kissed him on the forehead

goodnight.

“I’m sorry mommy,” he said in a voice full of genuine remorse.

“It’s ok sweetie,” she said brushing back his hair with a mother’s touch.

We walked to the doorway of his bedroom and gave him a final smile as we shut

his door. We had not even reached the top of the stairs when we heard the tell tale sound

of Evan flying the plane. Exasperated we pushed open his door and snapped on the light.

“Evan!” Suzanne and I said in unison.

Evan was standing in the middle of his bed moving the plane obsessively over and

over again in the same manner. It was the first time I had actually witnessed “the spinny

thing”. As a pilot it was an aviation move I was very familiar with. It was a move that

no pilot ever wanted to see even from a toy airplane. Evan was staring at us vacantly as

he made the toy airplane perform a death spiral!

 Letters from the Past

It took me several minutes to recover from the scene I had just witnessed. For the

next half hour I had sat with Evan trying to get him to tell me where he had learned that

move. No matter how many times I asked him his reaction was the same. He would look

away and tell me he didn’t know. Recognizing that I was getting nowhere and not

wishing to escalate the situation I let him drift off to sleep. I was gravely concerned

about Evan’s behavior but I also had a burning desire to read Sarah Benton’s letters. I

closed Evan’s door quietly and joined Timlin, Emma and Suzanne who were waiting for

me expectantly in the den.

Timlin opened the chest and gingerly removed the flag. Next he pulled out the

letters and handed them to me respectfully.

“Why don’t you read them to us,” I suggested handing them to Suzanne.

Suzanne took the letters from my hand with great care she removed the twine and

examined the top letter. She informed us that it was postmarked November 2, 1936. The

return address was 1926 Dogwood Lane. With the deftness of a surgeon she used a letter

opener to access the envelope.

In a voice barely above a whisper she read the words of Sarah Benton.

Dearest Sister,
 I know that words can never make up for all the pain and suffering I have

caused you, mother and father. Words can also not describe the sadness I feel for

committing such a betrayal. I love you Dottie and I am so sorry. I would forfeit

my life if I could take back this terrible thing I have done. Please believe me

when I tell you that I had no intention of ever letting something like this happen.

I now ask for your mercy and beg you forgiveness. I can only imagine how you

must feel about me and I truly understand why you reacted the way you did.

Mrs. Oakley has agreed to let me stay with her as the shame of my sin

becomes more obvious every day. I can only hope that with the passing of time

your heart will soften and I will again have a place in your heart. Until then I will

wear my dishonor everyday of my life.

Sincerely,

Sarah

When Suzanne had finished I felt my eyes grow misty. Suzanne fought tears and

Emma’s cheeks were stained. Only Timlin remained unchanged though he did clear his

throat.

Suzanne placed the letter on the coffee table and picked up the next one.

“Anyone up for another one?” she asked with a cracking voice as she opened the

next letter.
 Dearest Sister,

It is now just two days until Thanksgiving. I feel that I have so little to be

thankful for. I miss you all so terribly. I know I deserve every bit of scorn that I

am receiving. To lose the love of my family has ripped at my heart. My broken

body has finally healed but my spirit still bleeds. Oh sister I think I will die if you

allow me to remain in this isolation. I know it is difficult if not impossible to

forgive this unforgivable offense but I’m begging you to try. Please try and

remember how I loved you before this and maybe you will find it in your heart to

give me a second chance.

As the baby’s birth draws near I feel so scared. My fear is more for the

baby than me. What will become of a child in this world without a father? And

what of its mother who is barely more than a child herself. How will I care for

such an unwanted child? Oh sister hear my plea. Please let me come in from the

wilderness. I need you.

Sarah

Even Timlin was crying when Suzanne finished the second letter. To hear the

pain in her words was bad enough but to know that her plea was never going to be read

much less answered affected all of us deeply. We braced ourselves for the third letter

dated February 20, 1937.

 Dearest Sister,

I have a son! Right or wrong, prepared or not, I am now a mother. Oh

Dottie how can I look at this baby boy and feel no joy. I wish to love him with all my

heart but I have no heart left. The winter days are long here but the nights are longer.

Please sister consider your nephew if you won’t consider me. His name is Timmy. He

will need a family to love him and protect him regardless of how he came to be in this

world. He needs you. I need you. Rescue my heart.

Sarah

After this letter we decided to take a break. Suzanne went for tissues and to make

coffee. Timlin and I adjourned to the bar.

“It’s amazing how these letters are affecting me,” Timlin said quietly downing a

shot of George Dickel. “Smooth as moon beams.”

“You have no idea!” I assured him.

Up until we began reading her letters Sarah Benton had only been an enigma. She

was a phantom who walked the Virginia Beach streets at night. She was a mysterious

beauty who lived in secret with her son and avoided all contact with the outside world.

Now thanks to these letters she had instantly become a living-breathing woman. The

overwhelming theme of her letters so far had been how hard it was to deal with her

family’s alienation.
 Suzanne served us coffee upon our return to the den. Now armed with a box of

tissue she proceeded to open the fourth letter. With a big sigh she began to read the letter

dated December 6, 1938.

Dottie,

Spring, Summer and Fall have now come and gone. Everyday I watch for

the postman praying that he will bring me a response from you. Today is

Timmy’s birthday. He’s such a dear sweet boy. I’m thankful that his innocence

prevents him from knowing the pain of his circumstance.

Mrs. Oakley seldom ventures from her room these days. Her indifference

toward her grandson and me makes life here unbearable most days. Still I must

be grateful to her for taking me in when I had nowhere else to turn. I have

adjusted somewhat to my solitude but I will never be whole until the day of our

reconciliation. A simple word from you would be like rain in the desert of my

despair. Oh sister can you not find it in your heart to make a place for Timmy and

I in your life.

Sarah

We stared at each in silence as it occurred to all of us how pitiful Sarah

Benton’s life had become. For the next two hours we read her letters. It was hard

not to get choked up as her pleas became more and more desperate. Never in my
wildest dreams had I thought of my old house as a place, which had been so full

of despair. We confirmed that when Mrs. Oakley had died Sarah had sought the

help of Mr. Angus Gregory who had arranged and paid for her funeral.

The letters revealed that Timmy was simple minded and because of his

mental short comings she only took him out under the cover of darkness to

prevent him from suffering the ridicule of the neighborhood kids. In one letter

she referred to the house as “a prison without warden or parole.”

In another she described how loneliness was the worst punishment anyone

could suffer. Some of the letters seemed to indicate that sometimes she had

difficulty finding the will to live. Others simply restated her need for forgiveness.

All of them were united by the ever-present overtones of melancholy. This

woman suffered and worst of all, she suffered alone. When we were down to the

second to the last letter a shocking thing occurred. We were conscious of it

immediately as Suzanne’s voice brought Sarah’s words to life.

Dearest Sister,

Everyday I long to hear you dear sweet voice but I have accepted the fact

that this may never happen. I know that I deserve the hand I have been dealt. It’s

because of my actions and my actions alone that I lead this life of lonely

existence. I write to you today because I have hope. Hope is the one thing that

can never be taken away from you. Up until recently I have had no reason for
 hope other than my desire to hear from you. My new hope has come about only

recently.

To possess what I’m sure is only false hope has breathed life back into the

corpse of my soul. I know it is wrong to place your hope in people or material

possessions but desperate people do desperate things. The summer breeze off the

Atlantic will soon turn to chilling winds that bite at your very core and my hopes

might fade but for now I will embrace them not for mine but for Timmy’s sake.

In hope,

Sarah

This letter was markedly different from any of the others. It’s tone of

expectedness and hope was in sharp contrast to the dark mood that permeated the

previous letters.

“Something happened?” Timlin remarked breaking the silence.

“She met Arden Gregory,” Suzanne asserted.

Hers was a logical deduction. Mary Trumball had given us an account of their

meeting at sunrise on the beach. The time frame matched.

As Suzanne had read Sarah’s letters, I had found myself wishing the whole thing

to be over. It was emotionally draining to hear Sarah’s sadness in letter after letter.

With the tone change of this past letter, once again I settled into my chair eagerly

awaiting the final installment. Suzanne cleared her throat and opened the last letter dated

March 25, 1942.

 Dearest Sister,

I can’t be sure of where I am not that it matters to me or anyone

else. All is lost. Once again I am paying a cruel price for my actions. The

days and nights are the same. The sterile light of my room is the final

degradation. I have thirst but there is no water. I have hunger but there is

no food. There is no love because I have no heart. My grief is

overwhelming. If only you could be here with me. Nothing else would

matter. Please come to me. Dearest Dorothy please rescue me.

Sarah

All of us had tears in our eyes again. We didn’t speak for several minutes.

Outside the sunrise was peeking through the window. My thoughts drifted to Timmy and

his mother. I imagined them walking in the night. I thought of Sarah alone in the house

unable to face the scorn of her family or the neighbors. She had been trapped with no

escape.

My eyes were scratchy and I needed sleep. Timlin excused himself and promised

to call us later. Emma insisted on going to school and hurried off to get ready. I

volunteered to stay up until Suzanne got back from taking her. I returned to the den and

gathered up the letters. As I was placing them back in the hope chest I noticed a detail
that Suzanne had not picked up. The last letter had a different return address. Adding to

the intrigue it was not written in Sarah’s handwriting.

 Yucca! Yucca!

The sound of my Corvette blowing its horn in the driveway roused me from my

sleep. It was sometime in the afternoon as best as I could tell. I put on my robe and

hurried downstairs to investigate the commotion. I opened the front door and found Griff

and Sandy Alexander smiling and holding hands.

“The newlyweds!” I exclaimed. “Come in, come in.”

Their arrival couldn’t have been timed any better. I needed a breath of fresh air

and Griff with his new bride was just the ticket. I guided them to the kitchen and went to

get dressed. When I returned Griff and Sandy had made themselves quite at home.

Coffee was brewing and Sandy was cooking omelets.

“We talked to Suzanne earlier,” she said looking up from the stove. “She told us

about your late night. She took Evan to her mothers and said she was going to take a nap

there.”

As we ate what was for me breakfast but for them lunch I told them the entire

story of the toy airplane. I admonished Griff for never telling me about his “research”

business. He had explained that if there was ever any fall out from his “gray” activities

the less people who knew the better. I appreciated the fact that he really had been

protecting me. Both of them were fascinated by the letters and insisted upon reading

them. As they would finish each one they would look at me with the same helpless

expression that we had all worn the night before.

“This girl was really bummed out,” Griff asserted. “Hope breathed life into the

corpse of her soul? Man that must have been a horrible life.”
 “Life can be very lonely without love,” Sandy pointed out.

Griff leaned over and unashamedly kissed her on the lips.

“Don’t know much about that,” he said smiling.

“Me either,” she said smiling back.

It made me feel good to see them so happy. Seeing love face to face took the

edge of all the sadness that I had been so intensely studying.

“How did you get the car?” I questioned wishing to change the subject.

“I talked to Dieter and he said I could come and get it when we got into town,”

Griff replied. “By the way he sent you this note.”

He reached into his pocket and handed me an envelope. The note said the results

of lab testing had revealed that the liquid, which ruined the photographs, was some form

of human secretion most likely tears.

“Fitting,” I murmured.

It also said that he had not experienced any looseness in the front end of the Vette

at speeds over a hundred.

I smiled at this and closed the envelope.

Suzanne returned later in the day with Evan and his plane.

“How’s he doing today?” I questioned.

“He’s doing just fine,” she replied. I’ve not seen him do the spinny thing once.”

“That’s great,” I said. “How are you doing?”

I had noticed that Suzanne looked so tired. She still supported the mission but I

knew she would be glad when it was all over.

 Griff and Sandy decided to spend the night with us. He told me he didn’t fly

again until Friday and there presence at the house would provide a pleasant diversion

from the toy airplane saga.

We spent the afternoon listening to Griff and Sandy’s account of their marriage

and subsequent honeymoon.

“She wanted to go back to the hotel early,” Griff told us recollecting the nights

events after they left our house. “I refused to take her.”

“What did you do?” Suzanne asked Sandy.

“I threatened to take a cab,” Sandy mused. “Griff promised me that he would take

me back after one dance. I could see no harm in one dance so I went along. He took me

to a ballroom on the top floor of one of those new private resorts. I knew something was

up when we arrive and we were the only people there. A ten piece orchestra was playing

and the lights were down low. One dance led to two and before I knew what was

happening Griff got down on one knee and proposed. He told me that he had searched

the world for another girl like me and that no one had even come close. Now you know

Griff. He can have any woman he wants with the exception of me and you Suzanne. I

had to believe him. Before that moment I wasn’t even sure why I had called him other

than I had never been kissed like he kissed me in Pensacola. What could I do but say

yes.”

Griff squeezed her hand like a schoolboy and gave Suzanne and I a mischievous

wink.

“What about the conference,” I asked. “Never made it right?”

 “Oh she made it,” Griff laughed. “It was the shortest keynote speech in Virginia

Beach history. I had our bags packed and when she finished we were off to Paris. We

were married by a catholic priest at 2 in the morning.

“So you had the whole thing planned?” Suzanne asserted.

“Right down to the flight at Executive Air,” Griff boasted.

“We rented a car and drove to Cannes,” Sandy said picking up the story. “After a

couple of days we were sick of the French so we flew to San Marino in the Aegean. I’m

telling you Suzanne if it had not been for my business I might of stayed there forever. It’s

the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen and you know I’ve seen them all.”

Griff sat there beaming as Suzanne reported on their honeymoon and how they

had achieved marital bliss. I was still feeling the effects of the previous day and was

growing tired of “girl talk.”

“A game of pool,” I suggested and Griff agreed.

He picked up the letters from the coffee table and placed them back in the hope

chest.

“Hey what are these?” he said pulling out pictures from the bottom of the chest.

In our haste to read the letters we had failed to examine the complete contents of the box.

We gathered around Griff as he began to pull out the pictures one by one.

The first picture was of Dorothy Benton. She was attractive in her youth with her

eyes shining as she smiled for the portrait style photo. It was agonizing to think that she

was the same shell of a woman we had met the previous day.

Griff next removed two pictures of her with Airedale Terriers. The dogs posed

proudly with their master. A picture of Dottie with what I assumed to be her parents
emerged. The three of them were smiling but their look was a façade. These people had

no joy. I studied the picture before passing it to Sandy. The next picture Griff handed me

instantly gave me the chills. It was Clarke Oakley in full naval dress. Square jawed and

fearless, his expression told me all I needed to know about him. He was happiest in the

air with his hair on fire. I knew by looking at him that life on the ground made him

miserable. It was a feeling I could relate to. In my days of landing my fighter on carriers

at night, I had felt the same way.

The next several pictures were of Dottie and Clarke together. A yellowed

newspaper clipping announcing their engagement also bore their photo. As I stood next

to Griff gazing at this picture I was quite unprepared for what happened next.

“Yucca! Yucca!” said Griff whistling at the last picture.

The blonde girl smiling back at us from the photograph he now held was

stunningly beautiful. Ice water shot through my veins paralyzing every inch of my body.

Sarah Benton was the woman from my nightmare.

 To Dig or not to dig

After recovering from the initial shock of seeing the face that had haunted me for

so long I faced a dilemma.

We now had to decide whether or not to pursue this matter any further. I felt like I

had learned far more about the plane and it’s origin than I would ever need to know. Still

I couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that I was merely following a pre-determined script.

How could I stop without getting to the last page? The romance of the adventure had

long since faded. The impact of the plane on my family had been traumatic. I now had

to weigh the cost of reaching a conclusion against the price my own family was paying

by being exposed to such a weird experience.

Further confusing the matter was trying to figure out what to do next should we

chose to continue. Arden Gregory held the key to the entire mystery. I was certain of it.

He alone could explain what had prompted him to throw the party and why Timmy’s toy

airplane was hidden in the Gregory mansion. Arden Gregory had called my bluff

however and our chances of him filling in any blanks seemed nil.

The only other course we had to take was to follow up the return address on

Sarah’s last letter. It was this course that frightened me the most. I knew that more

heartache waited for us. I wasn’t sure if I could take much more. I decided to do what I

had always done when faced with difficult choices. I confided in Suzanne.

Under the pretense of taking a walk, Suzanne and I left the mansion house and

headed for Dogwood Lane.

 “Imagine that beautiful young girl living all those years alone in that house with

her young son,” Suzanne said wistfully as she stared at the Sanderling’s residence.

That was the problem. I could indeed imagine it. Since my interview with Mrs.

Simpson, Mary Trumble and Dottie Benton I had thought of very little else.

“What are we going to do?” I asked Suzanne solemnly fearful of any answer she

might give.

“What choice do we have?” she replied.

“To keep digging or leave it alone,” I said philosophically.

“That’s not much of a choice and you know it,” she responded. “There will be no

peace if we leave it alone.”

“That’s very true,” I conceded. “But I don’t mind telling you that I’m scared to

death of what we’re going to find. And what about Evan?”

“What about him?” Suzanne asked in a surprisingly casual tone. “He seemed fine

today. As a matter of fact he told me he planned to give up the plane in the future but not

just yet.”

My frustration overcame me and I blew up.

“That’s just it!” I yelled halting the walk and smacking my fist into my palm.

“What does he mean not just yet? Do you ever get the feeling that were being

manipulated like puppets in this affair. I mean really. Everytime we turn up a stone we

realize how much more there is that we don’t know. Where will it end?”

“Calm down,” she said taking my hand and forcing me to continue our walk.

“I don’t want to calm down,” I said angrily pulling away from her. “Don’t you

see? I should be enjoying a nice walk with the girl of my dreams. I’m far richer than I
could ever have imagined. I have two beautiful children who love me. These are the

things I should be thinking about. Instead I’m dwelling on the fact that 57 years ago a

beautiful shattered woman walked this very sidewalk with her retarded son at night so no

one could see her shame. It’s obsessing me and I don’t like it.”

Suzanne again took my hand and forced me to walk. I was breathing heavy from

my tirade. As always Suzanne’s presence had a calm, soothing effect on me.

“I’m sorry honey,” I said after catching my breath. “You’ve never failed to give

the right advice. I ask you again what should we do?”

To my great surprise she gave no answer. Instead she was content to keep

walking. I knew from years of marriage that this was her way of saying that I was too

emotional. I knew that her advice would come when I was rational and able to accept it.

We purposely used the carriage house gate to avoid looking at the Sanderling

house again. We walked up the drive towards the back door when a sudden thought

occurred to me.

“I wonder how Danny’s doing in Hawaii?” I said almost to myself.

“He’s twenty years old. He’s on an all expense paid trip to Hawaii with his

girlfriend. He lives on the grounds of an estate in a guesthouse that doesn’t cost him

anything. I think Danny’s doing quite well actually,” Suzanne said with her usual

common sense and we both laughed out loud.

Back inside Griff had the fireplace in the den roaring and after dinner we held a

family meeting with Griff and Sandy included.

 “Your daddy and I are going to take a little trip tomorrow,” Suzanne told the

children. “Griff and Sandy are going with us. Grandma is coming in the morning to pick

up Emma and take her to school and you Evan get to spend the whole day with her.”

“Where are you going mommy?” Evan asked sweetly.

Suzanne looked at me and smirked. This was her advice. I was a smart enough

man to know I should take it.

“To see somebody about a plane,” she said truthfully.

 Staunton

Teri met us early as promised and we waved goodbye to Emma and Evan as they

drove away. Shortly after their departure Timlin arrived. After Suzanne had announced

our plans I had called him. He was a part of this now and had to be included. With the

gang all there we climbed into Suzanne’s Tahoe and headed west. Staunton, Virginia was

a four hour drive from Virginia Beach. Griff volunteered to drive which was fine with

me. Timlin sat up front and I joined the girls in the rear seat. I was glad Timlin was

taking the journey with us. I now fully appreciated the value of his badge. Besides that I

liked the young man. He had keen insight and also was a good person. He and Griff hit

it off right away. They talked for a hundred miles about Griff’s research endeavor. With

Griff and Timlin up front I was stuck in the back with Suzanne and Sandy. They mostly

spent the time catching up on the ten years that Sandy had been in business and some of

her and Griff’s plans for the future. I was miserable. As I watched the Virginia

countryside roll by I realized that I was going somewhere I didn’t want to go to find out

things I really didn’t want to find out. I wasn’t crazy. There were four other people in

the vehicle that were as compelled as I was to find out the complete story of Sarah

Benton, Timmy Benton and Arden Gregory. No one had given us any information about

Sarah after December 7, 1941. The address on Sarah’s final letter to Dottie was in

Staunton, Virginia.

Nestled in between mountain ranges and two major interstate highways, Staunton

still maintained it’s semi-country charm, but I knew it had looked much different in
Sarah’s day. Without interstate 64 and 81 colliding together in its front yard, Staunton

would have seemed quite private and peaceful in 1941.

Griff pulled into a convenience store to consult a map. He came out quite

convinced he knew where he was going. We all had our doubts. Griff could find the

tiniest Caribbean Island at night in a squall but traffic directions were not his thing. Griff

on the ground was much different than Griff in the air.

“I got it,” he said reassuringly as he got back in the Tahoe and saw the looks of

doubt on our faces. “The road we need is on the outskirts of Staunton though it still

maintains a Staunton address.”

We left the town and went into the foothills. The mountains rose hard beside us

as we drove along the ridge. Seven miles outside the town limit we turned onto an

unmarked blacktop road identified only as 518. Now we were headed into the mountains.

After several miles of snaking and climbing we reached Magnolia Ridge Road. Dipping

back down into some low lands again we followed the ridge this in the opposite direction.

We all were stunned by the areas beauty. The landscape seamed hard and chiseled but

even in winter it was still lovely to behold. Occasionally a house or two dotted the

roadside. Otherwise the road was extremely remote.

When we reached the end we were in a cul-de-sac. In the middle of it stood

mammoth stone columns that supported iron gates. The gates were thrust open but in no

way seemed inviting.

“Here we are,” Griff said proudly.

“Where is here?” Sandy asked.

“This is the address on the letter,” Griff answered.

 “How could you possibly have determined that this was the address by looking at

a map,” Sandy continued sounding suspiciously wife like.

“I didn’t,” Griff admitted. “I saw the name Magnolia Ridge Road on the map. I

asked an old man in the store if he’d heard of it. He said he had and gave me directions.

He told me to come all the way to the end and here we are.”

We paused for a moment and strained to see if there were any identifying

markings on the columns or grounds but found none.

“I don’t know if we should trespass like this,” Suzanne said.

“I don’t’ see a no trespassing sign,” Timlin pointed out.

I knew everyone was waiting for my opinion, which I knew would be the final

say. I pointed silently to the gate and Griff gunned the Tahoe forward.

Inside the gate we now traveled an ancient gravel road. Dry stacked stone walls

lined either side. Everything was covered in moss and leaves. We went almost another

mile before coming to another gate. Though smaller it was constructed in the same

manner as the first one we had seen. It too was open and we could see that once inside

the road led to a clearing at the edge of our sight line. From this vantage point we could

barely make out a huge stone complex that rose at the back of the clearing. Griff looked

at me again and once more I pointed forward. As we came to the clearing it revealed a

magnificent group of stone structures. The architecture was mid 19th century, complete

with turrets and bell towers. As we got closer the place showed its age. The gardens

were all overgrown and paint was peeling everywhere. We feared that whatever it was

had long since closed. We followed the road to the rear of the main building and were
encouraged to see a half dozen cars parked there. The ice water trickled a little as it

dawned on me that the place was an asylum.

 The Picnic

It was quickly decided that five strangers showing up unannounced at such an

obscure place might be a little overwhelming. Two would be plenty. Timlin and his

badge were one obvious choice and Griff with his uncanny ability to charm people was

the other. Suzanne, Sandy and I would return to town and purchase the necessary items

for a picnic. Suzanne had packed blankets and coolers for this purpose.

“Yucca! Yucca! I said to Griff, as we were about to pull off.

“Yucca! Yucca!” he replied giving me the traditional thumbs up and salute from

our navy days.

Timlin was questioning the meaning of Yucca! Yucca! as they walked up the

sidewalk. I wondered which of the outrageous definitions Griff would give him.

Back in Staunton we found a grocery store and we were able to purchase coolers

and fill our them with a wide variety of deli meats, chicken, potato salad and some soda.

“Feast!” Sandy pronounced as we loaded the cargo area with the food.

I had remained mostly silent during our shopping excursion. I was going over

Sarah’s final letter in my head. There was a particular phrase that haunted me. She had

said that the sterile light was her final degradation. I had not understood what that had

meant at the time but I was beginning to get a clearer picture. I had noticed a major

absence of windows on most of the buildings east side. If Sarah had been there it was

quite possible that she had been in a windowless room. To be surrounded by such beauty

but not able to see it would have been maddening in itself but for Sarah Benton I couldn’t

even imagine it.

 With Suzanne driving we retraced our route back to the asylum. Seeing it as we

hit the clearing for a second time gave me a truer perspective. It had been grand in its

day. Beautiful yet sinister. I imagined that it was a private institution where rich families

conveniently hid away their mentally ill. The buildings and grounds I was looking at

today were way past their prime and a mere shadow of their former grandeur.

Griff, Timlin and a lady stood in the driveway as we approached. They were

laughing and smiling.

“I wonder if it was Timlin’s badge or Griff’s personality that got them in the

door?” I asked out loud.

“Griff,” Suzanne and Sandy answered in unison.

They finished the conversation and shook hands.

“Well it was a long drive for nothing,” Timlin said getting in. “Sarah Benton was

a patient here in 1941. She was admitted at 3 a.m. on December 8th according to her

record.

“You saw her record?” Suzanne asked.

“Well Griff here is a pretty persuasive guy. He convinced the lady we were

talking with that anything we found out would be strictly confidential and that there could

be no harm done by examining such an old record,” Timlin said.

“That’s great,” I said. “So why was it a waste of time to come here?”

“Because her admission record was the only piece of information in her file,”

Timlin answered. “No treatment history, no medical records, nothing. Actually there was

no record of her being here at all.”

“Then how did you know she was here?” Sandy asked.
 “Your husband Mrs. Alexander is truly brilliant,” Timlin told her. “When Mrs.

Clayton, the lady who was helping us, couldn’t find a file Griff astutely pointed out that

all institutions like this kept a daily log of some sort. We found the logbook from that

time period and bingo there it was. Brilliant!”

“So we know she was here but nothing else,” Suzanne chimed in. “We’re no

better off than we were.”

“Oh contraire,” Griff objected. “Let’s have our picnic and I’ll give you some

good news.”

We found a nice spot overlooking a creek bed and laid out our blankets. The men

grabbed the coolers and soon we were dining on ham sandwiches and knockwurst. As we

sat there eating and enjoying the chill mountain air Griff removed a manila folder from

his jacket.

“Griff?” Sandy said suspiciously.

“What is it?” Suzanne asked.

“This is the personnel file for the custodial staff,” Griff explained.

“What’s the big deal about that?” Sandy asked.

“If you want to find out anything about anything you ask the janitors,” Griff

stated coolly.

“Griff,” Sandy said with some irritation. “What could today’s staff tell us about

something that was going on fifty five years ago.”

Griff shook his head. “Honey, honey, honey.”

He handed her the file and as she opened it an embarrassed smile flashed on her

face. The personnel file was indeed from 1941. Across the top of each page was the
letterhead “Ridgeview Sanitarium.” Each page contained a list of all medical and

custodial staff that worked there at the time in question including addresses.

“You didn’t?” Timlin said asking the question a lot of people asked Griff.

“I did indeed,” Griff confirmed.

We now had a large list of people who might shed some light on the fate of Sarah

Benton. We finished our picnic and decided that we would spend the night in Staunton

and begin our search in the morning. Timlin called in to his captain and took an

additional vacation day.

“Working on a story like this seems like a vacation to me,” Timlin explained. “It

sure beats investigating the vandalism of Port O Potties case I was working on.”

We all burst out laughing not really knowing if he was serious or not. Next

Suzanne called Teri who agreed to take care of Emma and Evan. Our responsibilities met

we searched for a hotel. We settled on a place called the Knights Inn. It was a grand ole

manor house that had been turned into a bed and breakfast. A recently retired couple had

purchased it and they made us feel right at home. Timlin as usual had an overnight bag

as did Griff and Sandy. Not wanting to be funky in day old clothes, Suzanne volunteered

to go and buy us some. Sandy went with her leaving the three men behind to forge out a

game plan.

The owners of the Inn, Grant and Shelly Oldham graciously allowed us to spread

out in the dining room. They even offered us yellow pads but Timlin had brought his

own.

“You must have been a boy scout,” Griff said to Timlin good-naturedly.

“I don’t even want to know about your childhood,” Timlin said back.
 We took the files and concentrated our search on the birth date information. Any

custodial staff member who had been thirty years or younger might still be living we

reasoned. After exhausting the list we were disappointed to have only five names that fit

the criteria we had established. Unfortunately three of them would be eighty-six years

old if living. The other two would be in their seventies respectively. Next we cross-

checked the names against the Staunton phone book. Our search was narrowed to a

paltry two names. The first was a fellow named Alfred Perkins. Mr. Perkins had been 30

years old when he worked as a food server in 1941. The other was a man named Cecil

Grubb.

“Old Cecil was working the night shift,” Griff said pointedly. “My money’s on

him.”

“Yeah, but he only worked there a year,” Timlin encountered. “Perkins was there

for twenty one years. He’s bound to know where bodies are buried.”

I bristled at Timlin’s choice of words. I had never really considered the fact that

we were searching for bodies.

“Are you suspecting a tragic end?” I asked Timlin.

“I’ve been a detective for a week, but I was a street cop for ten years,” answered

Timlin. “There’s one thing I know, now same as then. When you keep finding oddities at

every turn there’s a reason for it. My experiences tell me that the reason is never usually

good!”

His point was well taken. When it came to the toy airplane, nothing about it had

been good.
 “Perkins is black,” Griff argued. “A man in the kitchen doesn’t know near as

much as a man taking out the trash. Plus Perkins is older.”

“I think I have to agree with Griff, but it doesn’t matter,” I said. “With only two

on the list we’ll hopefully be able to talk to both.

 The Strange Coincidence

Alfred Perkins as a source of information was a complete bust. We found him

living with several teenage grandchildren and a daughter in Staunton proper. The whole

scene had been uncomfortable. Griff, Timlin and Sandy approached the house and were

confronted by a teenage son who was belligerent. Timlin’s badge had assured politeness

but only barely. Perkins wasn’t sure he had ever seen Sarah Benton before and certainly

had no recollections of her stay at Ridgeview. Suzanne and I had stayed in the car and

were quite relieved to get out of there.

“Told ya,” Griff hissed at Timlin.

Timlin said nothing but nodded grudgingly in agreement. We now focused on

Grubb. Upon arriving at his address we were dealt a crushing blow. Grubb’s story frame

home was dilapidated and abandoned. A junk car in the driveway had five-year-old dead

tags.

“What happens when you dial the phone number for Cecil Grubbs?” Griff asked

pumping life into our suddenly downtrodden group.

I dialed the number and a woman answered.

“Cecil Grubb please!” I said courteously.

“He’s working,” the woman replied.

“I’m Bill Chase,” I pushed on. “I’m from Virginia Beach, Virginia and I’m trying

to locate him.”

“Why?” was her one word response.

 “I’m writing a book and I need some information,” I said being as clever as I

could.

“He runs a truck repair business off 81,” the woman volunteered. “It’s called

Mickey’s. You can find him there.”

“Thanks,” I said and hung up.

Mickey’s was a stereotypical heavy truck repair shop. The parking lot was

littered with all kinds of trucks and truck parts in various states of repair. Cecil was

cordial enough as he greeted us. We knew that he was too young to be the Cecil we were

looking for but maybe he knew the other.

“The wife said you’re writing a book,” Cecil said after we had introduced

ourselves. “What’s it about?”

“About her,” Griff said producing Sarah’s picture.

“Well, she’s pretty, but I’ve never seen her before,” Cecil said.

“What about your father?” Timlin asked. “Maybe he would know something.

“Dad’s been dead twenty years,” Grubb pointed out.

“Does you family still own the property on Wilmouth,” Griff asked referring to

the abandoned house.

“Grand daddy’s house?” Grubb acted surprised. “Yeah he still owns it or should I

say what’s left of it.”

“He’s living?” Timlin asked excitedly.

“Yeah, but he couldn’t take care of himself so we moved him to a home,” Grubb

answered.

“Where?” Griff asked.

 “We sent him to Ridgeview. It’s where he wanted to be,” Grubb said. “Been up

there going on five years.”

Having no earthly idea who we were or what our true motive was the young

Grubb was quite taken aback by our reaction. Griff suppressed a giggle and the rest of us

lost it as we broke into a cackle of nervous laughter. Griff immediately explained that we

had just been to Ridgeview the previous day in an amazing coincidence.

He still didn’t get it and was looking at us like we were crazy as we pulled away.

Back we went to Magnolia Ridge Road. Pulling up in the parking lot it was

decided that Griff, Suzanne and I would go in this time. Timlin was concerned about

being privy to anymore of Griff’s creative research techniques and Sandy said the place

gave her the creeps.

Griff led the way inside and we soon found ourselves in a formal lobby. The

woman we had seen the day before was nowhere around.

“Good afternoon,” Griff said to the young lady who sat at the office desk. “Is

Mrs. Clayton here today?”

“She’s at lunch,” the girl replied. “She’ll be back any minute.”

Before we could sit down on some of the tired overstuffed furniture Mrs. Clayton

came through the doors.

“Well Griffin Alexander III,” she said. “ I never thought I’d see you again. What

gives?”

“Turns out you have a patient who might be able to give us some more

information,” Griff answered.

“There’s no patient here who’s been with us that long,” Mrs. Clayton said.
 “Very true,” Griff agreed. “This patient worked here at the time.”

“Cecil Grubb,” she said in recognition.

“Exactly,” Griff responded.

“I suppose you’ll want to see him,” Mrs. Clayton deadpanned.

“Mrs. Clayton if you could arrange it we’ll be forever in your debt,” Griff said

laying it on thick and heavy.

“This must be some book you’re going to write Mr. Chase,” she said to me. “Let

me go see if he’s up to having visitors.”

Mrs. Clayton was only gone several minutes and she returned saying Mr. Grubb

would love some company.

“You’ll like Cecil,” Mrs. Clayton told us as she led us to his room. “He’s a

pistol.”

As we passed through the corridors I almost had to close my eyes. Old, infirm

men and women peeked out of their rooms or gazed at us from their deathbeds. The

institution was barely a third full. Many doors were closed. At the end of a corridor we

crossed through a glass breezeway into a different section. This area had not originally

been patient quarters. The rooms here were very spacious and the residents had them

decorated with personal items and memorabilia.

“Come in, come in,” Cecil Grubb said inviting us into his room. “Mrs. Clayton

says you all are researching a book. How splendid.”

After introductions had been made we sat in Mr. Grubbs sunny room and spent

the next few minutes doing what is known as visiting. Cecil was a very engaging fellow.
His age and numerous ailments made his movements difficult but his eyes and wit were

sharp.

“So,” Cecil stated matter of factly as we exhausted the usual topics of weather and

scenery. “What secret information could an old guy like me have that would interest nice

folks like you?”

Griff took out the picture of Sarah Benton and handed it to Cecil who took it from

Griff’s hand in amazement.

“That’s Dottie,” Grubb exclaimed in a voice choked with emotion. Where did

you get this?”

Mr. Grubbs mood which had been quite jovial just a moment before now had

turned dark and sullen. He could not take his eyes from the photo.

“Her name is Sarah Benton,” Griff corrected gently.

“That may be,” Grubb said. “But around here we called her Dottie.”
 Grubb’s Tale

Having now been a veteran of three previous reminiscing sessions as well as an

all night reading marathon of Sarah’s letters I knew we would need water and patience.

With Mr. Grubbs permission we invited Timlin and Sandy to join us. Timlin came but

Sandy chose to remain outside. At my request a nurse brought a pitcher of water and we

adjourned to a day room to get more comfortable. Even Mrs. Clayton chose to listen in.

When we were settled, the room got very still as we prepared to listen to what the

old man had to say.

“The first time I saw Dottie was the day after Pearl Harbor got bombed,” Grubb

began. “She came by ambulance in the middle of the night. I was polishing the floors up

on the second floor of the main building. I didn’t think much of it at the time. I found

out later that she had been put in the dark wing. We called it that because the rooms there

had no windows. That’s where all the most dangerous mental patients were housed. That

wing wasn’t part of my duties so I never saw her much. Rumor had it that she had slit her

wrists because her husband had been killed at Pearl. No one really knew what the deal

was. In the year she was here I only saw her a dozen or so times. She was catatonic most

of the time and when she wasn’t they had her drugged to keep her calm. My first

encounter with her was quite startling. It was a month after she got here and I was

working on a Sunday for a friend whose brother was getting married. I was cleaning one

of the bathrooms on the dark wing when I heard her crying. I opened the observation

hatch of her door, which was the only way to see inside the room. She was curled up in

the corner in one of the hospital gowns. I just felt so sorry for her.”
 Grubb seemed to be breaking down. Instinctively I poured a glass of water and

handed it to him preventing his narrative from coming to a grinding halt. He sipped the

water and continued.

“One of the strictest rules we had was that under no circumstances were we

allowed to have any contact with the patients. For some strange reason I chose to ignore

that rule. The nurses on that floor all played bridge on Sunday nights so without fear of

reprimand I unlatched the bolt and opened her door. She was ruined and pathetic. When

she sensed my presence she looked up at me and even in her misery I recognized what a

beautiful woman she was. I reached out my hand to her knowing that a human touch

would be more comforting than anything I could say. I don’t know how long I sat there

with her but her crying seemed to stop.

Not wanting to get caught I rose to leave when she spoke. She asked to see the

sunrise. It was still almost three hours until dawn but to keep her from crying again I

promised I would try and return and grant her wish.

The nurse who took over the 6 a.m. shift was a friend of mine. I worked on her

car sometimes and she owed me. I confided in her about Dottie’s unusual request. With

the doctors not due until nine we quietly slipped up to her room just in time to walk her to

one of the large windows on the east side. As she watched the cascades of pink and

orange burst on the horizon a measure of calmness settled over her. Both the nurse and I

were greatly moved as we witnessed this. She just stood there staring at the beginning of

a new day. We walked her back to her room and laid her in her bed. She looked into my

eyes and thanked me. Over the next eight months I tried a bunch of times to get her out

again but for one reason or another I couldn’t. My nurse friend told me that she managed
to get her to the window a few times but her physical condition prevented it on most

occasions.

In early September I got the shock of my life when my nurse friend told me that

Dottie was extremely ill and nearly died. I tried to get more details but I couldn’t find

anyone who could tell my anything. Finally on another Sunday night I had the

opportunity to see her again. She looked horrible. She had aged so much I hardly

recognized her. She seemed glad to see me. She reached for my hand and I gave it to her

as I did the first time we met. Then she told me she had to get out of there. She wanted

me to take her to see the ocean. This was a wish I couldn’t make come true for her. I

saw a lot more of her throughout the fall but she had become catatonic and a threat to

harm herself. Then in December she was gone.”

Grubb rubbed his eyes wearily and leaned back in his seat. We all shuffled in our

seats and hoped this wasn’t the end of the most riveting story we had heard yet.

“Did she die?” Suzanne asked.

“No,” Grubbs answered. “She escaped.”

Now we were all really enthralled with so many twists and turns the story had

really become addicting. After hearing this latest shocker we weren’t leaving there unless

Grubb finished his story.

“She was only gone three days,” he explained. “The speculation was that an

orderly named Helton had aided her flight. She had befriended him at some point and he

was fired for allegedly taking sexual liberties with her. I was working the night she was

returned here again by ambulance. The next day she was dead. We buried her out there

in the cemetery,” Grubb said pointing to the hill.

 Suzanne was crying and I felt tearful myself. The look of confidence Griff always

wore vanished and even Timlin looked shaken.

“Me, the nurse and the director were the only ones who attended the service,”

Grubb continued. “It was so sad. I enlisted in the army shortly after that and I left for

Europe. It wasn’t until after the war that I ran into the nurse who told me an amazing

story. The morning Dottie died she had come to work and found a doctor tying the revive

her. His attempts were futile. The director had called her into his office and demanded

total discretion about the matter. He told my friend that reports of a suicide would greatly

damage the reputation of Ridgeview and that her silence about the matter was vital. They

were interrupted by a situation that demanded the director’s immediate attention. While

he was out of the office my friend examined Dottie’s file which lay open on his desk.

The report of her illness in September had been a smoke screen. She had almost died

giving birth to a child!”

 The Grave on the Hill

We followed Grubb silently through the Ridgeview corridors and out a side door.

We were all pretty much in a state of shock. Grubb completed his tale by telling us that

his nurse friend had done a little checking and found out that the baby had been taken

from her only minutes after birth and that she had not even been allowed to hold it. I

winced at this and wondered how much suffering one human being could endure.

We entered the cemetery through a rust encrusted iron gate. Grubb led us to a

quite unremarkable spot and pointed to the ground.

“No stone or marker?” Suzanne blurted out.

“There was a war on,” Grubb replied.” “Money was tight. She had no family as

far as anyone knew and no other information about her could be found.”

We all stood there in silence for quite a little while. Collectively we all felt a

sense of closure by being at the grave of the mysterious Sarah.

“Why did you call her Dottie?” Timlin inquired going into detective mode.

“I don’t know,” Grubb answered. “I picked it up from some of the other staff. It

was something about her not responding to any other name.”

“What about the orderly who helped her escape. Where can we find him?” I

asked playing detective myself.

“Died in the Pacific taking one of those islands,” Cecil said.

Griff reached down and tried to remove a piece of frozen sod with his bare hand.

He seemed lost in thought.

“Why did you take such an interest in her?” Griff asked him suddenly.
 “I wish I could tell you,” Grubb responded innocently. “Maybe it’s because she

was so beautiful or that she was so vulnerable. I don’t know but it was like I was drawn

to her.”

Griff succeeded in removing a tuft of grass from Sarah’s grave and slipped it into

his pocket. I shot a quick look at Timlin who was staring intently at Grubb. He looked

back at me and I sensed that major wheels were churning in his head.

“Why would there be no record of her having been here?” Timlin said trying to

find some answers.

“What do you mean?” Grubb asked in return.

“I mean that when you look through the files there is no mention of her or even a

file with her name on it,” Timlin asserted.

“Hey wait a minute!” Grubb said growing suddenly defensive. “I was just a

janitor here. I had no access to files.”

“We’re not implying that you did Mr. Grubb,” Griff said trying to defuse the

situation. “We all would just like to know who could’ve taken her file and why.”

“Look,” Grubb said defiantly. “This woman’s been dead a long time. I already

told you everything I know. She lived a sad pathetic life in the dark wing while she was

here. On a couple of occasions I provided some comfort to her as one human being to

another. That’s it.”

We knew we had worn out our welcome with Mr. Grubb. Saying he was cold he

walked back down the hill leaving our group standing at Sarah’s grave.

“Well someone took those files,” Timlin stated when Grubb was gone. “Those

files would tell us who put her in this place and who paid for her stay.”
 “We know who put her here and who paid for it,” I said boldly. “Mrs. Trumball

told us that her father had handled it after she had her breakdown.”

“That’s true but why would he want to have her records destroyed?” Griff asked.

“What was he so afraid of?”

“The identity of the babies father to be sure,” Suzanne said answering Griff’s

question.

It was a most logical assertion. Society of that era came down hard on

extramarital affairs and illegitimate children. A man as powerful as Angus Gregory could

have easily bought off a private institution like this.

“Do you think Angus was having an affair with Sarah?” I asked somewhat

naively.

“Not Angus but Arden,” Griff surmised.

This too put a lot of things into place. If this hypothesis was correct it would

explain a vast amount of things. We took a long last look at the grave on the hill and

headed toward the parking lot.

 The Ride Home

Theories and speculation ran rampant on our ride back to the beach. We talked

about all the facts we had learned from Mrs. Simpson, Mary Trumball, Dottie Benton and

Cecil Grubb. There were still major questions left unanswered. At the top of the list was

when Sarah had her breakdown, what had become of Timmy. Griff and Timlin pledged a

joint effort to check all homes for boys in Virginia to see if they could find any trace of

him. Neither seemed too optimistic. Suzanne and Sandy made arguments for both Arden

and Angus Gregory being the father of Sarah’s child. Both made strong cases. I listened

from the backseat and tried to make sense of it all. I had one nagging question that there

seemed no logical answer for.

“Does it bother anyone else that Sarah was admitted to Ridgeview on December

8th?” I asked.

“Why should it,” Timlin said intrigued.

“Just humor me a minute,” I said. “It’s Sunday December 7, 1941. Pearl Harbor

is chaos after the attack. Both Mrs. Simpson and Mary Trumball said that Sarah had her

breakdown after hearing the news of her husbands death.”

“So?” Timlin said still not following my line of thinking.

“Doesn’t it seem strange that a woman would have a nervous breakdown over

losing someone who she never mentioned once in any of her letters?”

I had them with this thought. None of them could offer a logical explanation. I

continued my question of the facts.

 “Also,” I said. “How could she have known that Clarke Oakley had been killed

the very same day it happened. Sometimes those type of notifications take weeks.”

“Intuition?” Sandy speculated.

“Hardly,” said Griff jumping in. “No one is going to go over the edge because of

an intuition.”

“You read the letters,” Suzanne pointed out. “This was a woman who had been

over the edge for five years. Who’s to say that when she heard the news about Pearl

Harbor it wasn’t the straw that broke the camels back.”

“That’s a rational theory honey,” I said supportively.

“Well, I’m not buying it,” Griff said shaking his head.

“While we’re talking about nagging questions I’d like to offer a conclusion of my

own,” Timlin stated.

“Go for it,” I encouraged him.

“I think Grubb was lying about how Sarah escaped from Ridgeview,” Timlin said.

“I believe it was him who helped her.”

“What makes you think that?” Suzanne asked disagreeing.

“Number one I can spot a liar pretty easy can’t I Mr. Chase? Just think about the

night I stopped you on Atlantic,” Timlin asserted.

I had to admit that he had seen through my lie about the contents of the anvil case

like I was made of glass.

“Secondly, you all heard the man. He was infatuated with her in some sick kind

of way.”
 “I didn’t get that impression at all,” Suzanne said. “He seemed like a

compassionate person who reached out to try and ease the pain of a person who was

suffering.”

“Maybe,” Timlin answered. “He’s hiding something though. I know it.”

After a few more brief exchanges about Cecil Grubbs character and possible

motives we rode in silence. A feeling of tension crept in replacing the optimism we had

felt throughout the rest of the trip. I should have been used to the vicious cycle the toy

airplane kept leading me into but I wasn’t. Each time I found some answers, a whole new

set of questions arose. Now my friends were totally involved and even a Virginia Beach

detective.

I personally did not feel that Grubb was lying. After too many miles of silence I

shared my rationale on the subject.

“If Mr. Grubb was trying to hide something then why would he have been so

forthcoming about all his interaction with Sarah,” I challenged Timlin. “He could have

easily denied ever seeing Sarah and we would’ve never known the difference.”

The group waited for Timlin to respond to my extremely logical premise. His

response was swift and logical in its own right.

“Most suspects in a crime wish to give the appearance of cooperation. By doing

so they attempt to divert suspicion away from themselves,” Timlin said authoritatively.

“Usually they will state some facts truthfully and mix in distorted facts. The trick is

trying to determine which facts are which.”

 Once again Timlin made perfect sense. My respect for him was growing and I

patted myself on the back for deciding to trust him and include him in the adventure. I

decided to push him and his theory.

“So in Grubb’s case which fact is bogus?” I challenged.

“There are two that don’t wash with me,” he countered calmly. “First I don’t

believe for a minute that his was just a passing interest in Sarah Benton. No one risks

losing their job and facing public scorn just because they’re a warm fuzzy human being.

Second, I didn’t buy the story about how she escaped because I found Grubb’s story of

the sexual predator orderly just a little too convenient. I bet you that if I pressed him on it

Grubb would come clean and admit that it was him who helped her and where he took

her.”

“I know where he took her,” Suzanne said with confidence. “As long as were all

speculating and theorizing let me say what I think. Where would Sarah Benton want to

be taken?”

“Home to Dottie,” I answered and the others agreed.

Suzanne shook her head.

“She knew should we find no sympathy there. She couldn’t even get a letter back

from her sister. No, she would want to go back to Virginia Beach and confront the father

of her child whoever that was.” Suzanne surmised.

“I would believe that theory if her mental capacity had been stronger but in her

frame of mind, I don’t see how that would’ve been a top priority,” I said.
 “Remember what Detective Timlin just told us,” Suzanne said. “If a person under

suspicion distorts facts to hide their own trail then it would make perfect sense that Grubb

wasn’t giving us a true picture of Sarah’s stay at Ridgeview.”

We all had to agree that Suzanne’s point could not be ignored. Our only

eyewitness who had seen Sarah Benton at Ridgeview was Grubb. Her file had vanished

and only Grubb had given us any information. The silence returned as we all reevaluated

everything Grubb had told us down to the last detail. I mulled over the facts again and

again but I knew there were facts and circumstances that had not yet been revealed to me.

As we made our turn onto Dogwood Lane we held our breath as we passed Sarah

Benton’s old house and pulled into our gate. With each twist and turn of the story the

house looked more and more sinister and less like the cozy home where I grew up.
 Tarzan

All three dogs escorted us down the driveway as we pulled around to the garage.

This concerned me greatly. Immediately following the incident with Tarzan and Evan I

had quarantined the animal by locking him in the kennel. I wanted to know how he got

loose. When I got out of the Tahoe Boris and Heidi greeted me but Tarzan kept his

distance and wouldn’t stop barking. I grabbed the bamboo cane from my truck and he

immediately quieted down. I commanded him to come and he did so obediently.

Walking to the kennel I snapped my fingers and he heeled the entire distance with out a

leash. I praised him with a pat on the head and shut the gate. He gave a final bark of

protest as I fixed the latch that had been hanging loose. Having a potentially rouge

Doberman running free was not a situation I wished to deal with.

Timlin was already in his car when I returned. He promised to call and

disappeared out the front gate. I helped the others carry in the remainder of the bags and

coolers. None of us were in the mood for conversation. Griff went to unwind in the

poolroom. Sandy went to bed. Suzanne and I retired to our bedroom for some much

needed sleep.

I met Griff in the kitchen the following day and we went for a run. There was

bright sunshine but it was still bitter cold. When we made it to the beach we ducked into

the doughnut shop to cool down and warm up at the same time.

“How did you and Sandy sleep?” I asked.

“Fine, fine,” he replied. “And you? Did you have any nightmares?”
 Thankfully I had not. With so much on my mind and so many things to consider I

feared it would be a rough night.

“Slept like a rock,” I answered.

“Do you think it would be all right if Sandy looked at the plane again,” Griff said

bringing up the toy airplane for the first time that day. “She’s having a hard time with all

of this. It’s making her feel paranoid. I’m hoping that if she holds the plane and looks at

it closely she’ll realize what we already know.”

“Sure Griff,” I said. “She never got a chance to really see it.”

When we got back to the house I went to Evan’s room to see if he had left the

plane on his dresser. He had not. I called Teri just to confirm that the plane was with

them. Such was the hold it had established on me.

“Hello,” Teri answered.

“Hey, we’re back,” I said. “How are my kids?”

“One sweet, one rotten,” she said using one of her patented phrases. “I was going

to feed them and bring them home around lunch.”

I’d forgotten that there was no school that particular Friday.

“That would be really great,” I said. “I sure do appreciate you letting us go like

that.”

“Don’t worry about it Billy. I’ve really enjoyed having them around. Thank you

for moving back here,” she said warmly.

Hearing this from her made me feel good. It was nice to know we could count on

her in time of need.

“You all have the plane right?” I asked changing the subject.
 “No,” she replied. “We dropped it off yesterday when I picked up some more

clothes. I convinced Evan that we would have a better time without it and he agreed.”

I felt the ice water began to trickle.

“Well the planes not where its supposed to be,” I said sharply. “Can you please

ask Evan where he put it?”

I listened while Teri asked Evan if he had put the plane where it belonged and

heard Evan reply “yes ma’am” in the background.

“Well its not here,” I said suddenly going into panic mode. “Let me call you

back.”

I returned to Evan’s room and did a thorough search but didn’t find it. Trying to

remain calm I went downstairs to question Suzanne about it. She and Sandy were in the

front yard. As I came out the front door I was dismayed to see Tarzan out again.

“I let him out,” Suzanne said quickly when she saw the look on my face.

“I don’t care about that,” I told her. “I want to know if you’ve seen the plane?”

Her expression told me she had not and my worry intensified. I had left the door

slightly ajar and seizing the opportunity, Tarzan disappeared inside the house. I called

after him but he ignored me. Already irritated about the missing plane, I went to my

truck and fetched my trusty cane. Entering through the side door I immediately ran into

Tarzan who stood like a statue at the entrance to the basement. When he caught sight of

the cane in my hand he withdrew and started barking. I felt like the little boy in a lassie

movie. I took a deep breath and opened the basement door. After turning on the light I

went cautiously down the steps. The dramatic moment ended as I saw Evan’s jacket and

book bag lying on the floor. On the floor beside the jacket I found the toy airplane lying
on its back. Extremely relieved I picked up the plane and stared at Tarzan wondering

why he had pointed me down here. He gave a single bark and raced up the steps leaving

me with a very odd feeling.

 The Hunch

“Do you want to do something really crazy?” I asked Griff who was sitting in my

chair drinking lemonade.

“Yes,” he said without reservation.

This was one of Griff’s most redeeming qualities. He had a dynamic sense of

adventure.

“Come on then,” I said gesturing for him to follow me.

We went outside to the storage building and I grabbed two shovels and a digging

bar.

“What are we going to do with those,” Griff questioned suddenly very nervous.

“Follow me,” I instructed.

As we descended the basement steps the odd feeling I had felt earlier returned

even stronger.

“I’m not going to like this am I?” Griff joked as he removed his sweatshirt in

anticipation of heavy grunt work.

The ground was like concrete. Ten minutes into it I knew we were in for a battle.

We took turns hitting the dirt with the digging bar and then we’d use the shovels to scoop

out the spoils. For two solid hours we dug into the basement floor and found nothing.

“Why are we doing this,” Griff said looking at the shovel handle he was leaning

on.

“It was just a hunch,” I said disappointedly. “We can stop.”

 At the top of the stairs we heard Sandy call down to us. Slightly uncomfortable

about what we were doing I nonetheless called for her to join us.

“And just what are you two doing down here?” she said as she came down the

steps.

She stopped in her tracks before making it to the basement floor. She looked pale

and sullen the moment she realized what was going on. Griff jumped out of the hole to

steady her as she wavered slightly and almost fell.

“It’s alright honey,” Griff said taking her hand.

“Why are you digging in Billy’s basement?” she wanted to know.

Before he could answer her Suzanne came down the stairs.

“Why’s everybody hiding down here?” she questioned.

Her eyes became fixed on the shovels and the hole I was standing in and she

needed no answer. She crept over to the hole and peered in.

“I want to help,” she said to the shock of everyone.

With Suzanne’s inspiration we continued to dig. Down we went until the top of

the hole was over my head.

“I guess I was wrong,” I said sheepishly. “It was just a hunch.”

With Griff’s help I crawled up and out of the hole. No sooner had I done so the

odd feeling returned.

“I’ll help too,” Sandy said sensing we were about to give up.

She got down in the hole with Suzanne and the two women kept digging. Their

effort was rewarded quickly.

“I found something!” Sandy shouted repulsed and exhilarated at the same time.
 I grabbed a flashlight for a better view and handed it to Griff who jumped down in

the hole with the girls. Using his fingers he dug lightly around the hard object Sandy had

hit with the shovel. Suzanne held the flashlight as Griff peeled back the dirt from around

a tiny skeletal hand. The little bones were wrapped around the pilot of the toy airplane!
 Chaos at The Gregory Mansion

My house was full of people. The police and the coroner’s office personnel were

busy exhuming the remains of who I assumed to be the owner of the toy airplane, Timmy

Benton.

My first call had been to Timlin who rushed right over. He had examined the

hand Sandy found and grinned ear to ear.

“Not to be morbid or anything but this is the kind of thing I live for,” he said.

Timlin had called the coroner and medical examiner via the telephone rather than

the radio to prevent the matter from being picked up on the scanner. They arrived and

began the grim task of pulling out bones one by one.

“I’d say a boy of four or five if I had to guess,” the coroner said as the skull came

up from the hole. “Any ideas on who this might be?”

“We haven’t begun the interview process yet Detective Willard,” Timlin answered

nonchalantly.

I knew Timlin well enough now to realize he didn’t want to tip his hand.

Amidst the chaos Teri arrived with Emma and Evan. I cursed myself for not

calling and heading them off.

“Bill, what’s going on?” she said frantically as I met her in the middle of the

basement stairs.

“I believe we found the toy airplanes rightful owner,” I stated alluding to the body

bag next to the hole.

 “You don’t mean…” she started to say.

“Let’s go upstairs and let these men finish this up,” I said pushing her back up the

stairs.

“Emma!” I yelled.

Emma joined us in the service hall holding Evan by the hand. She looked worried

but Evan didn’t.

“Emma I want you to take Evan up to your room and keep him company until the

people leave,” I told her.

“Yes Daddy,” she said without question and the two of them went upstairs.

Griff, Suzanne, Sandy, Timlin, Teri and I gathered in my study and shut the door.

“Well now it would seem this has become a criminal investigation huh detective?”

Griff said to Timlin.

“Indeed,” he responded. “But we must move forward with caution. If this is

Timmy Benton we have to figure out how to get past the fifty-five years of time passing

and find out how he got here. What did you find out about Gregory?”

The way Timlin stressed the word you in his question to Griff told me that both

had been hard at work in the research department.

“Before you two compare notes I want to check on my kids,” Suzanne declared.

“I’ll be back in a minute.”

I accompanied Suzanne to Emma’s room and we found our children sprawled on

the sofa watching television.

“Hey guys,” I said cheerfully trying to let them know everything was all right.
 “Hey Dad,” they said back casually quite unaware of what was transpiring below

them.

An interesting thought ran through my mind as I noticed the book bag, jacket and

toy airplane sitting on Emma’s floor.

“I just wanted my stuff,” Evan said as he realized I was looking at it.

“It’s quite alright,” I said to him smiling. I just want to know if you put the plane

in the basement?”

“Yes daddy,” he answered. “Grandma told me to put it where it belonged.”

Suzanne coughed and I shook a little when he told us this.

“What’s going on down there daddy?” Emma asked alarmed.

“We’ve found what we believe to be the body of Timmy Benton,” I told her.

Emma’s eyes filled with tears and Suzanne sat down to comfort her. Evan looked

like he could care less. With simple innocence he asked me who Timmy Benton was. I

explained that he was the little boy who owned the plane. Satisfied with this answer he

turned his attention back to the television.

I went outside and let Tarzan in to be with Evan. Free from this responsibility we

allowed Emma to join us in the study. Timlin had returned to the basement so we all sat

there waiting patiently for him to return.

As Timlin entered the room I knew he was elated to be involved in a potential

murder investigation his first week as a detective. His confidence level was at an all time

high.

“They’ve just about got it all wrapped up,” he informed us. “Bill we’re going to

need your statement.”

 “No problem,” I said laughing nervously. “I’ll just tell them I’m a crazy old ex-

pilot with battle fatigue who dug in my basement for a laugh and found some old bones.”

“Look Bill,” Timlin said sternly. “I’ve gone to great lengths to keep this as hush

hush as possible. If you don’t come up with a better story every press organization in

Virginia is going to descend on you and your family wanting to know the truth.

“Why can’t he tell the truth,” Emma asked in a soft voice.

“Because no one would believe him,” Griff answered for me.

“Why couldn’t you tell them that you were searching for the old root cellar?”

Sandy suggested. “Who’d suspect that?”

“Listen,” Timlin said waving his hands. “They’re going to ask if you know who

this could be. Say no. You don’t know for sure do you? Next they’re going to want to

know why you were digging in that spot. Tell them you had a hunch that something was

buried there by the was your dog acted. Still true right? Anything else they might ask

you say you don’t know unless you truly do. Got it?

“Got it,” I said and we went to the kitchen.

The interview went just like Timlin said. It was over in five minutes. It was

creepy watching them take the body bag full of bones out the side door to the coroner’s

waiting station wagon. Timlin finished talking with him and the other police officers as

they began to pull off. I stared across the street knowing the Sanderlings were watching.

If they thought I was weird before they’d really have something to talk about when they

heard this story. Timlin and me came back inside and rejoined the group who had moved

to the kitchen table.

 “So what’s our next move?” Sandy asked now fully engrossed in the toy airplane

hoopla.

“First, Griff and I are going to compare notes as Suzanne so eloquently put it,”

Timlin said. “Then we’re going to go and talk to Arden Gregory.”

 The Other Course of Action

No one likes to be rebuffed but for me it’s probably the most insulting gesture of

all. Arden Gregory had rebuffed me flatly in no uncertain terms. The fact that he used a

little twerp security guy to do it made it doubly infuriating. As Timlin and I rode the

polished brass elevator to the Allied shipping office I knew Timlin’s badge would soon

bring me redemption.

“Arden Gregory please,” Timlin said flashing the shield of the Virginia Beach

Police Department.

“Do you have an appointment?” the receptionist asked courteously.

“No ma’am,” Timlin said. “I just have a few questions I want to ask him and I’m

trying to do it as privately as possible.”

The receptionist called a number on her switchboard and requested assistance. In

almost no time my twerp friend confronted us..

“Well Mr. Chase,” he said with mock charm. “So nice to see you again. Who

have you brought with you?”

“I’m Detective Timlin. I’m here investigating a possible homicide. I want to ask

Arden Gregory some questions,” Timlin said taking total command of the situation.

“I will check and see if he’s available,” came the reply.

The cocky façade had remained when Timlin had revealed the purpose of our visit

but I knew he was shaken a bit because his thigh caught the corner of the conference

table during his exit.

 It had been two days since the discovery of Timmy Benton’s body in the

basement. Timlin had been successful in keeping a lid on the gruesome discovery.

The Sanderlings had been very neighborly by coming over to see if everything

was all right. They had been unceremoniously dismissed by Suzanne and Griff.

During the past two days, I had learned a great deal about Arden Gregory from

Griff and Timlin’s research. He was truly a great if not enigmatic man. He had gone to

Stanford in the spring of 1942 and he graduated with honors in 1946. He went on to gain

a law degree from NYU and in 1949 began working in the New York office of Allied

Shipping. When Angus Gregory passed away in 1954 he returned to Virginia Beach and

handled his father’s business including the selling of the Gregory mansion. Arden

Gregory had devoted most of his life to many philanthropic endeavors that benefited

children. These included orphanages, hospital trusts, little leagues and medical research.

His pet project that he put before all others was a home for mentally retarded children in

between Richmond and Charlottesville.

Griff had learned that Arden Gregory was extremely camera shy and shunned

publicity of any kind. He had been semi estranged from his father Angus and only

returned to Virginia Beach when his father died and it became necessary to take over

running the entire family business.

Timlin’s research had been far less fruitful. He could find very few people who

had even met Arden Gregory or could tell him anything about the reclusive millionaire.

His dealings with the business world were fair, ethical and above reproach.
 He was held in high regard among the Virginia Beach fire and police departments

due to his support of many of their charitable endeavors. There was no smudge or

blemish of any kind regarding his character as far as Timlin could tell.

Other than his extremely private approach to life the only other truly odd thing

about him was despite being one of the east coasts most eligible bachelors, he had never

married. He never attended social events and the few public events he did attend were

public hearings where his mere presence might sway opinion.

Angus Gregory was a different animal all together. From his days of out sailing

u-boats to his last days, Angus Gregory was an impetuous businessman. He went for the

jugular as he amassed his great fortune. He was not above venturing into gray areas of

the law either. Land deals magically came his was as candidates he supported passed

legislature favorable to his interests. Many people around Virginia Beach at that time felt

that Angus would have made a good politician but he preferred the role of king maker

and twice refused a nomination for the U.S. Senate. Angus Gregory was a man who

embodied the dangerous combination of political and financial clout. Arden had ignored

politics and not supported either party in any way.

The one thing Timlin had been able to find out was a little more of the truth from

Cecil Grubb. Utilizing a state police helicopter, Timlin and his captain flew to Ridgeview

to interview him a second time. With the case having such volatile repercussions if it led

back to Arden Gregory, the captain wanted to verify his story or dismiss it as the

ramblings of an old man.

Grubb had cracked like an egg under scrutiny as Timlin predicted. He indeed had

been the one to help “Dottie” as he called her escape from Ridgeview. He had taken her
to her old house on Dogwood on the 5th of December 1942. Grubb had sworn up and

down that their relationships had been strictly plutonic and Timlin believed him. Most of

his story that he told us had been true. The biggest difference was that Sarah had not

been the catatonic vegetable that he had described. He verified she had been quite insane

after her baby had been born and that taking the child from her by the adoption agency

had been the cruelest thing he had witnessed in his whole life. Grubb had told Timlin and

the captain that Dottie had been more like a prisoner than a patient. He also admitted that

no nurse friend had existed and that he himself snuck her out to see the sunrise as often as

he could. It was during this time that she persuaded him to retrieve the address of the

adoptive parents and with his help she mailed two letters. Poor Grubb had been under the

spell of her tragic beauty and this control she had over him was what led him to help her

return to Virginia Beach. At her direction he dropped her off at the house and delivered a

note to the carriage house and a mansion across the street. He returned to Ridgeview that

night and did not see her alive again.

Satisfied that they now had the complete story, Timlin and his captain returned to

Virginia Beach and summoned me to join them at a restaurant. At the meeting, it was

decided that I would accompany Timlin and try to gain an audience with Arden Gregory.

From the moment I had been dismissed by his twerp underling I had dreamed of

this encounter with the “great” Arden Gregory. Now as I sat with Timlin in the

conference room of Allied Shipping, I was filled with remorse. I wished I had stayed in

New York and never purchased the Gregory mansion. I would never have discovered the

plane. I wouldn’t have gone up and down the east coast pursuing ghosts and upsetting

old ladies. This feeling of regret reminded me of when I left the Navy. By leaving after
my 8-year requirement, I walked away from a career that was exciting and rewarding. I

had this feeling of regret as I struggled to find my career path. With the establishment of

Horizon and my ultimate financial success the regret had been erased. I hoped that this

would happen again as we waited to see Arden Gregory himself.

“Gentlemen,” said twerp man returning to the conference room. “Unfortunately

I’ve consulted our legal team and with no affidavits, no subpoenas, no facts and no

warrants, Mr. Gregory will not be subjected to your little fishing expedition.”

“Very well,” Timlin said rising from his chair. “The warrant for Mr. Gregory’s

arrest is waiting to be signed. We’ll return within the hour so tell your legal team to be

prepared.”

“That won’t be necessary,” said a quiet yet powerful voice from the corridor.

Coming into the room a distinguished looking man in his early seventies held out

his hand in welcome.

“I’m Arden Gregory,” he said.

 The Light of Day

My emotions were running full circle as we followed Mr. Gregory into his extravagant

office. Although equipped with all the modern amenities it exuded an aura of a time long

since past. The overstuffed leather furniture and magnificently carved teak desk were

extremely old. As we settled into the chairs across from him Arden Gregory sat down

and looked at us with a grim forlorn expression on his face. My heart raced as I knew I

was about to hear the story of the toy airplane from the man who could tell it.

“The story I’m going to tell you I’ve kept secret for 55 y ears. Before I go on may

I see it?” he said alluding to the anvil case.

“See what?” I answered his questions with a question.

“My tell tale heart,” Gregory said. “That’s what this is all about right?”

I handed him the anvil case and he took it from me. He laid it on the desk and

opened the latches. As he opened the lid his eyes grew wide. With a delicate touch he

removed the plane from the case and studied it carefully.

“Where did you find it,” he asked after a moment.

“It was in the Master Bedroom chimney,” I replied.

He acknowledged my answer and set the plane on the desk. He looked outside at

the panoramic view of the Norfolk skyline. After what seemed like a long time he

returned his gaze to us.

 “I loved her you know!” he stated flatly. She was the most beautiful woman in

the world to me. I loved Timmy too. No one living knows the truth of what happened

except me. I knew that somehow this day would come and now that it has I’m relieved.

In the summer of 1940 I caught my sister sneaking around in the front yard at 3 a.m. She

told me this incredible story about the people who lived across the street and how the

woman and her little boy would conduct this odd ritual of going to the beach and seeing

the sunrise. I tagged along and much to my surprise it was true. The first time I saw that

beautiful face the first rays of the sun were streaking across the sky and the oceans surf

created a fantasy like backdrop. For the rest of the summer I tried to get close to her and

Timmy. It was impossible. She was so sad. She lived in the house alone and never had

contact with the outside world. In the evenings I would sneak over and bring Timmy

candy but she refused to let me in the door. Undaunted I only intensified my pursuit. I

wrote cards and sent flowers but to no avail. I began following her and Timmy when

they went to the beach. Little by little she opened up to me. She told me about the night

she had conceived Timmy and how her actions had destroyed everyone’s life. Timmy’s

father wanted nothing to do with either of them. He grudgingly sent her a little money

that barely kept them alive. Timmy was mildly retarded. Simple-minded would be a

better way to describe him. He was my buddy.”

A bittersweet smile crossed Gregory’s face as he reminisced.

“By the end of the summer we had developed a solid friendship but I wanted

more. I was seventeen and she was twenty-two but age was not a hindrance. One

morning after she had put Timmy to bed, our relationship changed and we began a

beautiful romantic affair. It was my final year of highschool and I couldn’t have been
happier. Our love for each other grew stronger with each passing day. Timmy became

like a son to me. I showered him with little gifts while I gave his mother all the affection

one human being can give another. Since Oakley had never married Sarah I felt no guilt

about the relationship. I begged her to come out in public with me but she always

refused. She was fearful of the ridicule that her and Timmy would suffer and the

consequences that our relationship would have on the Gregory name. Our romance came

to a crushing halt when my father discovered what was going on. He forbade me to

continue seeing her. I ignored him. In late October he sent me to California. I didn’t

want to leave Sarah and Timmy, but my father’s pressure had become unbearable. He

convinced me that if my feelings were real, a little time apart would not cool them. He

objected to my relationship with her saying that she was beneath me and that a woman

like her could only bring me a life of misery.

Reluctantly, I left her and Timmy and spent the next month on the set of a

Hollywood movie. My father was right. After a month of separation I longed to be back

with Sarah and her son. I was walking around in a daze one afternoon when news hit the

set that all funding for the picture had been withdrawn. This was devastating news to cast

and crew alike but inside I was rejoicing. Since Sarah didn’t have a phone I had not

spoken to her in 34 days 9 hours and thirty minutes when the cancellation bomb dropped.

I knew that my father had pulled the plug. The movie was going over budget and my

father exercised a clause in the business agreement that forced others to pay off his

investment should the production go in the red at any time. My father never lost a

business deal and with his sizeable chunk of money withdrawn the enterprise folded.
Free from the movie business my father now would return home and I would be reunited

with my true love.”

Gregory got up from his desk and walked to a serving cart in the corner. His

shoulders seemed to slump a bit and the self assuredness he had possessed earlier was

now absent.

“I don’t usually drink, especially in the afternoon, but today’s a different day,” he

said placing some ice in a glass. “Will you boys join me?”

At another time under different circumstances it would have been quite a coup to

hang out and have a drink with Arden Gregory as he told an old war story. Somehow

even with the intensity of the conversation he maintained a level of charm.

“It was the 1st of December and I wanted to get back in time for Timmy’s

birthday,” Gregory began again as he poured us all a bourbon. I was supposed to fly back

but the night before my flight I fought bitterly with my father about Sarah and Timmy. I

wanted to marry her and adopt Timmy. My father became furious. He cancelled my

airline ticket and threatened to leave me in California to fend for myself.

Determined to get back I sought an alternative source of transportation. While on

the movie set, I had befriended a fascinating man named Ruvin Heinz. During my stay in

California we spent a lot of time together. He made model planes for movie props. This

plane is the last one he ever made.

When the budget cut hit the set Ruvin decided he would visit his brother in New

York. He had heard all about Sarah and Timmy as I poured out my heart to him. When

he heard of my father’s actions he invited me to drive cross-country with him.

 I was gone before my father could stop me. It was a grand cross-country drive.

Ruvin told me stories of Germany and the rise of Hitler. I told him stories of a blue eyed

angel with blonde hair.

It was after midnight when we arrived on the 6th of December. My sister and my

mother would be leaving that afternoon to meet my father in Florida. Ruvin had declined

an offer to stay the night insisting on driving at night and sleeping in the day. As we

shook hands and said our goodbyes he opened the trunk of his car and asked me to look

inside. Along with our luggage he had a half dozen of his model planes he was taking to

his brothers for safe keeping. He took out the plane you see sitting on the desk and told

me he had painted it special for Timmy. Needless to say I was speechless. It was an

extraordinary gesture.”

Gregory served us our bourbon and sat back down behind his desk.

“To love lost,” he said and we toasted albeit somewhat uncomfortably.

Most of this story I already knew or had guessed. He was getting to the missing

part and the ice was already forming in my veins.

“I planned a surprise birthday for Timmy for that afternoon,” Gregory said

picking up the story. “I got my sister and the two kids who lived in the carriage house to

come over and I even bought presents and a cake.

When it came time we all shouted surprise and Timmy was so excited. Sarah had

been less than enthusiastic. She felt that I had abandoned her and resented the intrusion.

As the party went on a bit she mellowed because Timmy was having the time of his life.

We did the birthday cake and the presents to Timmy’s full and total satisfaction. Sarah

and I shared a brief moment in the kitchen where I professed to her my love. I told her I
would never love another. She did not reciprocate. She told me my father would never

accept her and Timmy and it would be best for me to forget them. I told her that I would

never give up.

We rejoined the party and spent the remaining time playing with the toys Timmy

had received as presents. With my sister and the other kids around I couldn’t talk

anymore to Sarah but I did leave her a note reiterating my feelings for her and Timmy.”

Gregory stopped and wiped his eyes. For a brief moment I thought he would

break down but he rallied and pressed on.

“I drove my sister and mother to the train station and came home to an empty

house. Our housekeeper and butler had been given the holidays off and were not due to

return until Monday. I began playing a game of pool when Sarah came to the side door.

She fell into my arms and all was right in my world. I led her by the hand to my father’s

bedroom and we were consumed in passion. We lost all track of time as we celebrated

our love. In the heat of the moment we were startled when we looked up to find Timmy

staring at us from the doorway.”

As Gregory’s words penetrated my consciousness the ice ball exploded and I felt

faint as I realized that Evan had done the exact same thing to Suzanne and I.

“Timmy was slow witted and misunderstood what was happening,” Gregory said

unobservant of my own anguish. “He thought I was hurting Sarah. He screamed in fear

and stumbled away. Wrapping myself in a sheet I chased after him. I caught him in the

foyer at the top of the stairs and grabbed him by the seat of his pajamas. I was trying to

calm him but he kept on screaming in terror. With one hand on him and the other holding

the sheet I lost my balance and Timmy broke free. The force he used to pull away from
me made him lose his balance. He used his free hand to break the fall and as he hit the

toy airplane war jarred from his grasp. In effort to catch it he lunged forward and toppled

down the grand staircase.”

Gregory was really misty eyed now and I asked him if I could pour him another

drink. He declined the offer and pushed on.

“Sarah screamed as she cradled the body of her lifeless son at the bottom of the

stairs. She became hysterical. I held her tight trying to console her and myself. No

words could describe how we felt. On the landing we cried ourselves to sleep in the

middle of the staircase. When we awoke it was sunny outside. Timmy’s little body was

stiff and cold. I didn’t know what to do and I panicked.

My father had drilled into me my entire life the importance of character and how

you are perceived. He had instilled in me that above all I should avoid any situation that

would bring scandal to the family. As I lay there with an unwed mother and her dead son,

his words reverberated in my head. Accident or not this would look extremely bad. I

began making decisions that haunt me to this day. I walked Sarah across the street and

made her take a sedative in the hope she would calm down until I could figure out what

to do.

I returned home and carried little Timmy to the basement. As I laid him on the

cold dirt floor I felt that I would die from grief. So overcome with emotion and with no

place to channel it I took a shovel from the garden house and began digging. I don’t

know how long I was at it but I found myself in a hole over my head. I laid Timmy in the

hole and began covering him up. When I had finished I was filthy on the outside as well
as the inside. I couldn’t shake the sickness I felt in my stomach when the first shovels

full of dirt began to cover Timmy’s face.”

Gregory was weeping now. The years of guilt were crashing down upon him and

were taking a terrible toll. He tried to speak but could not. My own worst fears from

earlier were coming true. I had stirred up this mess and the wounds I had reopened with

everyone I had talked with now ran cruel and deep.

“Would you like to take a break sir?” Timlin said with compassion.

“No damn it,” Gregory said banging his hand on the desk as anger brought him

out of his stupor. “I’m going to tell this story and you boys are going to listen.”

After taking a moment to calm down the story resumed.

“News about Pearl Harbor hit hard that afternoon and evening but I couldn’t even

think about it. I knew that I had made a mistake burying Timmy in the basement. I was

on my way back to the basement when my father returned. Upon hearing the news about

Pearl he had returned immediately to Virginia Beach where he expected my mother and

sister to join him. He took one look at my dirty clothes and my shell-shocked expression

and forced me to confess everything, which I did. He told me he was proud of me,”

Gregory said shaking his head and weeping again.

“He told me that nothing we could do would bring the boy back. Our focus now

should be on protecting the living he said. I was only seventeen and devastated. I agreed

to let him take control to my eternal shame.

Our first move was to check on Sarah. We crossed the street under the cover of

darkness and entered through the porch door. We called to Sarah but received no answer.
We went to the second floor and found her in a sea of blood in the bathroom. She had slit

her wrists.”

Gregory really broke down after this revelation. He was past the point of caring

about his appearance as he removed his tie and jacket. I instinctively went to the bar and

poured us all another bourbon. He accepted it gratefully and consumed it without fan

fare.

“My father checked her neck for a pulse and found she was still alive. He

summoned his personal physician and applied a tourniquet to Sarah’s arms as we awaited

the doctor’s arrival. It was the only time I can ever remember him showing genuine

compassion for another human being. When the doctor got there he stitched her wounds

and though she had lost a lot of blood he said her life wasn’t in danger. While the doctors

attended to Sarah my father had returned home. He reappeared with Mr. Wilson who

lived in our carriage house. My father pulled me aside and explained to me that he would

handle this situation but I must trust him and do exactly what he said and to say nothing

to anyone. I dutifully agreed. He sent me home.”

Gregory paused and took a breath before continuing. Timlin and I sat transfixed

as we listened to his first hand account of events from that night.

“It was the last time I saw Sarah,” he continued. “She was barley concious when

I kissed her on the cheek. She seemed oblivious to her surroundings. I walked away and

I can still recall the image in my mind of her vacant stare.

My father came home an hour later. He told me that Sarah had been taken by Mr.

Wilson to a hospital where she would be treated for her emotional and physical problems.

He again told me not to have any further contact with her and I didn’t. January came and
I returned to California to start college. I had begged my father to let me stay in Virginia

Beach as the war effort got into full swing, but he wanted to get me as far away from

Virginia as possible.

Gregory paused again just as a lecturer might do as he gives his audience a chance

to ask questions. Timlin seized the opportunity.

“So your father simply made them disappear,” he stated.

“Like a bad dream,” Gregory countered. “It was as if they had never existed.”

“Nobody asked what happened to them?” I chimed in.

“Oh there was a little murmur,” Gregory answered. “But there was a war on. Mr.

Wilson “leaked” the story of how she had a breakdown upon hearing of Clarke Oakley’s

death. With the war on everyone’s attention was focused elsewhere.”

Gregory finished his drink and the three of us stared at each other from across his

desk. It almost seemed like a test of wills. Him trying to find the will to continue and us

trying to find the will to listen.

“There’s more,” I prodded.

“Yes, Mr. Chase,” he said reluctantly.

“In the fall of 1942 I returned home for the first time to celebrate Thanksgiving. I

became violently ill almost immediately upon setting foot in the mansion. I was

hospitalized for a week due to bleeding ulcers. I lost almost thirty pounds and my health

prevented me from returning to California to finish out the semester. I was convalescing

that December when Margaret Wilson who lived in the carriage house came to me with a

secret. She told me that a strange man had come to their door with a note for me. Her

father had ignored the messenger’s instructions choosing instead to give the note to my
father. I exploded when I heard this and angrily confronted my father. I demanded to see

the note. It was from Sarah begging me to come and see her across the street. I raced out

of the house despite my father’s shouted objections but I arrived too late. Sarah was

lying in Timmy’s upstairs bedroom. She had overdosed on sleeping pills. I slapped her

face trying to revive her. When I couldn’t I went home and called for an ambulance.

Returning to Sarah’s side I held her hand while I waited for the ambulance to arrive. I

looked out and saw it come into the cul-de-sac but it soon turned away. My father had

intercepted it not that it made any difference. Sarah was dead.”

I thought that Gregory would break down but he looked as if he was finally at

peace with himself.

“Mr. Wilson took Sarah back to wherever she had come from. I never set foot

back in the Gregory mansion again. I returned to school and for the most part had as

little to do with my father as possible. So gentlemen, I’ve laid it all out for you. The

dark secrets of my past are now exposed to the light of day. As your friend Griff has

informed you I never married. The love of my life was gone. Even to this day when I

see a small child it affects me. I’ve spent my life trying to do good with my money, but

no matter what I do my emptiness grows with each passing day. I have no heir so my

estate will leave the family and my time here on earth will have left black marks on my

soul.”

Gregory seemed content to end our visit on this note wishing only to crawl back

into his self imposed purgatory. I was curious to know how he knew about Griff.

“Who told you about Griff?” I asked in a feeble voice.

 “Mr. Chase,” he responded condescendingly. “Do you think that someone could

poke around this town asking questions about me and I wouldn’t hear about it?”

Miffed a little at his tense response I decided I would take a little shot of my own.

“So you probably think you know just about everything about what happened

right?” I said.

“Almost everything,” he smiled quite convinced that he did.

“Well your wrong about one thing sir,” Timlin said piling on.

“Enlighten me,” Gregory encouraged us.

“You said that you have no heir,” Timlin pointed out. “That’s not exactly true. In

September of 1942 Sarah bore you a son!”

 Following Instructions

Gregory looked like he had the wind knocked out of him upon hearing this news.

“Who? Where?” he managed choked with emotion.

“We have no idea,” Timlin responded. “Evidently your father was very thorough

at making things disappear.”

For the next half-hour we told Gregory all that we knew about Sarah Benton from

the time of Timmy’s accident. We identified Cecil Grubb as the source of our

information and Ridgeview as her final resting place.

Gregory was beside himself as he paced the floor asking the same questions over

and over again. We explained that there were no records of any kind pertaining to

Sarah’s stay at Ridgeview nor the birth his son. We also told him that there was no death

certificate or any trail we could follow that might lead us to the lost child. After hearing

all this he slumped back into his chair crushed by this final bit of irony about his and

Sarah’s brief relationship.

“It’s so fitting,” he said defeatedly. “I’ve spent my whole life trying to help

children because of Timmy. Now I find out that I had a son of my own in this world all

that time. Do you believe this Grubb fellow is telling the truth?”

“I do,” Timlin answered. “He’s a simple fellow and I don’t think he could make

up a story like this.”

 “Well I should like to talk with him anyway,” Gregory said. “Which leaves us to

the matter at hand. Will you have your arrest warrant signed now detective? Will you

destroy my reputation and the Gregory name by airing this dirty laundry?”

“Unfortunately that decision is not up to me sir,” Timlin said compassionately.

“The matter will be taken up by the coroners office. With you as the only living witness

to the event I'm pretty sure they’ll have to accept your version of what happened. I will

say this, I will do everything in my power to keep this private and it will be my

recommendation that this will be ruled an accidental death.”

“I appreciate that,” Gregory responded quietly.

“Not that the opinion of a rookie detective carries any weight at all,” Timlin

quickly added.

“Whatever they do it couldn’t be much worse than what it’s been like to keep the

secret of Timmy’s death for all these years. I feel much better just having told someone.”

The sun had set on the Norfolk skyline and the buildings now were all

illuminated. We excused ourselves from Gregory and headed for the parking lot. As we

had exited the empty Allied Shipping lobby my twerp friend had glared at us from the

corridor but said nothing. Timlin and I remained silent until we made it to the car.

“Do you think with his vast resources he’ll be able to track his son?” I proposed to

Timlin.

“Maybe,” Timlin answered. “Money opens a lot of doors.”

We made it back to Dogwood but before Timlin dropped me off he parked in the

cul-de-sac and we stared at what had been the Oakley residence. Knowing the events that

had taken place there and how the tragic death of Sarah Benton had occurred left me a
little less apprehensive about the place. The old feeling of “following instructions”

returned. Even after discovering all that we now knew I couldn’t help but feel that I still

had some final details to take care of.

Inside the house, Griff, Teri, Sandy, Suzanne, and Emma set mesmerized by my

every word as I related to them Arden Gregory’s account of how a body had ended up

buried in my basement.

Griff had spent the afternoon researching or trying to research Sarah Benton’s

missing child. The only proof that she had even been at Ridgeview was the last letter to

her sister and the word of an old man.

Our group broke up and Griff and I retired to the billiard room. As we passed

through the foyer I couldn’t take my eyes off the grand staircase. Now that I knew the

truth about everything that happened there all the weird things that had happened to me

made sense.

“Do you remember me telling you that I’ve felt like I’m following instructions?” I

asked Griff as I broke a rack of balls.

“Yeah and the strange thing is I’ve felt like that too at times,” he replied.

“Well I keep feeling like there’s something else I’ve got to do,” I said. “Does that

make any sense?”

Griff assured me that it did and disappeared into my study and returned with the

anvil case.

“Here’s one thing we can do,” he said unsnapping the latches and taking out the

toy airplane.
 Griff placed the plane on the pool table and reached into his pocket. He pulled

out the planes pilot that he had meticulously cleaned. With a deft touch he restored the

pilot to the cockpit. Satisfied he picked up the plane, which now seemed complete.

“Now,” he said placing the plane over on the bar. “I think there’s one final thing

we can do.”
 Closure

We buried Timmy Benton Oakley in the tiny cemetery at Ridgeview. In

attendance were Arden Gregory, Mrs. Simpson, her brother Tommy Wilson, Mary

Trumball and her husband, Griff and Sandy, Detective Timlin, Suzanne and I, Evan,

Emma, Cecil Grubb and Miss Dottie Benton who sat graveside in her wheelchair. Rev.

Mitchell spoke about forgiveness and healing. All of us wept.

Arden Gregory had Sarah’s body exhumed and her remains placed in a casket.

Side by side Timmy and her were buried in a concrete vault. In Timmy’s casket we had

reunited him with his toy airplane. Evan himself had done the honors. To prevent

anyone from trying to disturb the tomb in an attempt to get at the plane, Gregory had

arranged to have two extra feet of concrete poured around it thus encapsulating once and

for all the legend of the toy airplane. Arden himself supervised the interment.

The coroner’s office had indeed concluded that Timmy’s death had been

accidental and the incident had been kept out of the paper to everyone’s great relief.

Arden Gregory had pressed Cecil Grubb for any information he could give him about his

son but had hit the same stonewall we had. Griff pointed out to Grubb that Sarah had

written two letters that Grubb himself had sent. We knew that one had gone to Dottie but

Grubb had not divulged where the other one had gone so that remained a mystery.

We were all amazed that Dottie Benton had made the trip. I had called her to

make her aware of the proceedings hoping she might accept my invitation and receive

some sort of closure with regard to her sister. Arden Gregory seemed particularly
captivated by her as she bore a remarkable resemblance to Sarah. When Dottie and I had

been alone she had asked me about the letters and their contents. Knowing that they

would bring her only guilt and sorrow I told her that the letters contained Sarah’s love for

her sister and only asked for forgiveness. In the cold March air Dottie seemed to take

some solace in my words as she stared over the mountains at what would soon be

springtime in Virginia. She thanked me for including her in the burial and said she would

contact me in the near future. I kissed her on the cheek as I put her in her car. Her nurse

thanked me also before they drove away.

One by one the funeral party paid their last respects. Griff, Sandy, Timlin and his

girlfriend had flown in on a chopper Griff had chartered for the day. The four of them

made a dramatic exit as Griff glided the chopper over Ridgeview before slowly pulling

away.

“Should I say something to him before we leave?” I asked Suzanne as we

observed Arden Gregory standing alone beside the graves.

“No,” she replied. “I think he needs to be left alone.”

Hand in hand we walked to the parking lot as a family. We had endured an

amazing experience and it seemed to make us stronger. As we drove back to the beach

we talked in depth about how all the strange events we had experienced tied together now

that we had found out the full story. Emma seemed the most fascinated as she recounted

the series of events.

“So Arden Gregory was the man chasing Evan in my nightmare right?” she asked.

“I can’t be sure of that honey,” I answered. “If it was he was probably chasing

Timmy.”
 “And how about your nightmare?” Suzanne said patting my hand. “You think

you’ll stop having it?”

“Without doubt the woman in my nightmare was Sarah Benton,” I said. The fact

that she died in my old bedroom might have had something to do with it.”

“What about you Evan?” his mother asked. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m feeling great,” Evan replied. “The plane is where it belongs now and I’m

free of it.”

“Free of it?” I questioned.

“Yes Daddy,” Evan answered. “From the first day we found it I knew it wasn’t

mine. I thought you might get rid of it before we could get it back to the little boy who

owned it.”

A strange pall fell over our group as we listened to Evan talk so nonchalantly

about the plane.

“Did you know the little boy was buried in the basement,” I asked him suddenly

fighting icicles.

“No Daddy,” he answered. “But the plane sure did.”

We were all now feeling a little uncomfortable at the way this conversation was

going. Evan, sensing this fell silent but I encouraged him to continue.

“It’s alright Evan,” I said reassuringly. “Tell us what you know.”

Still reluctant Evan said nothing but I nodded at him and reiterated that we would

accept what he told us.

“The plane could fly daddy,” he blurted out. “Not all the time but sometimes.

The first time I saw it was in the house across the street. It flew around in the little boy’s
room before I made it stop. It only did it a couple of other times but only the spinny

thing.”

“Did it lead you to the basement?” I asked Evan now totally intrigued.

“Yes and it wanted me to stay there until you got home,” Evan answered.

After hearing this ghostly tale we were all frozen in our seats. No one said

anything for quite awhile. Emma again broke the silence.

“Isn’t it freaky about the pictures?” she pointed out.

She was referring to the tear stained pictures of Timmy’s birthday party. Before

the funeral Arden Gregory had told us that he had found them among his fathers private

files after Angus Gregory’s death. Tom Wilson’s camera had not actually been stolen

from his father’s car after all. Gregory had admitted to crying when looking at the photos

of Timmy and his mother. Not wishing to keep the pictures but not being able to destroy

them either he had taken them across the street to the Oakley house which had been

vacant at the time. His sister Mary had followed him and not wishing to explain them he

had hidden the box in the attic.

“I think the freakiest thing of all was how Tarzan led us to the basement,”

Suzanne said. “Looking back now it was really scary but I guess he wanted to make sure

I didn’t take the plane away from Evan.”

“Do you think our house will be haunted now Daddy,” Evan asked.

“No son,” I replied. “Now that the secret has been revealed, hopefully everything

and everyone can rest in peace.

 The Reward

Everything turned back to normal for the Chase family in the ensuing weeks.

Emma was sensational as Maria in the Sound of Music. The grounds of the Gregory

mansion we returning to their original splendor. A new pool was almost complete much

to my kid’s complete satisfaction. Suzanne and I’s relationship was perfect. As we

watched everything take shape it made us truly happy.

The nightmares had gone away completely and our house was finally a home. We

were pleasantly surprised when we received a wedding invitation from Timlin. He had

included a very nice note with the invitation and Suzanne and I knew that he and his new

bride would now be included among our network of good friends.

I had begun to organize my notes about our adventure into book form. My writer

friend had spoken with his publisher who had asked for the first three chapters. This was

exciting to me. I spent almost a week trying to decide what to call it, finally settling on

the story’s main character; the toy airplane.

I was sitting at my desk working on the book when I was disturbed by the

doorbell. I was irritated by the interruption but I masked it as I tried not to take it out on

the UPS man. He was there to deliver a large box that I recognized instantly as the

“other” box from Dottie’s attic. The rush of adventure again filled me with anticipation

as I signed for it and dragged it into the foyer. Taped to the side was a brief note from

Dottie stating that Angus Gregory had sent it to her presumably after Sarah’s death and

though she had never opened it she thought I might find it interesting. I finished the note

as Suzanne joined me in the foyer.

 “What’s this?” she asked curiously looking at the trunk.

“More treasure from Dottie’s attic,” I replied.

Inside the box was an interesting collection of stuff. There was a beautiful framed

photograph of Timmy at about three years old. Also there were smaller photos of Timmy

playing in the house. Most of them were of Timmy at a very young age. There were also

some pictures of Sarah and her sister Dottie with some of her dogs. I dug further into the

trunk and began pulling out personal items such as a hairbrush, jewelry and perfume.

“These are Sarah’s personal items,” Suzanne exclaimed with sudden realization.

We kept digging with great enthusiasm as we got our final glimpse of the

mysterious Sarah Benton. There was a bible given to her by Dottie. There were pictures

in crayon presumably drawn by Timmy. They depicted the ocean at sunrise. It was then

that I made an even more startling discovery. At the bottom of the trunk I found a paint

by numbers set, a magnifying glass and a gorgeous brass telescope. The hair was

standing up on the back of my neck as I realized that these were the gifts from Timmy’s

party. We had exhausted the entire contents of the trunk. Piles of pictures and such lay

strewn all around us. As I examined the paint by numbers set I noticed it was open.

Hidden in between the paints and some of the pictures was a faded envelope and a note.

Immediately I recognized the handwriting as that of Sarah Benton.

“Will you do the honors?” I asked Suzanne who obliged me by taking the note

from my hand.

“Dearest Dottie,” Suzanne began reading. “I do not have the will to go on

in this life. My love has forsaken me. My children are gone and upon returning

to my home I have been dealt the final crushing blow as I read the only letter sent
 to me since I moved here. With great delight I opened it expecting it to be at last

a letter from you. My heart was dealt a fatal blow as I read its contents. The pills

in my body are taking effect and my time is short now. I will hide these things in

the paint box so that someone may find them one day and tell you my love for

you never faded. I hope Arden may know too that I gave him my heart and that a

person cannot go on living without this most vital organ. I’m tired now. So tired.

Goodbye.

Sarah

Suzanne was crying now and I too felt misty eyed as we digested Sarah’s suicide

note. We immediately turned our attention to the other faded envelope. Knowing all that

Sarah had been through we shuddered to think that the contents of it had been what led to

her suicide. It was exciting yet chilling at the same time. Suzanne pulled the yellowed

parchment from the envelope and we read the unfamiliar handwriting together.

Dear Dottie,

It is with great delight that we received your letter. Your gift to us is a

kindness that we will hold dear to us for the rest of our lives. Your son will have a

special place in our hearts, as will you. We realize from your letter that it must be

heart wrenching for you to give up your child but please trust that he could not be
 coming to a better home. We love him with all our hearts and that love extends to

you because he is a part of you. We pray that whatever your circumstance that

you will overcome it and live a full and blessed life. We treasure the gift you have

given us above anything else and we thank God everyday for him and you. In

answer to your letter we are considering the name Timothy.

Suzanne lost it and I did too. To imagine Sarah Benton reading this last line was

almost beyond comprehension. We writhed in pain on the floor for a moment and it

wasn’t even our pain it was Sarah’s.

We quickly surmised that the second letter sent by Grubb must’ve gone to the

adoptive parents. Sarah had obviously given 1926 Dogwood Lane as a return address to

keep any response from falling into the hands Angus Gregory. The ploy had worked as

evidenced by the letter we now held in our hands. Grubb had been sneakier than we had

imagined and we reasoned he had gained access to Sarah’s records prior to Angus

Gregory getting a hold of them.

As I held the letter in my hand a peace settled over me. Throughout my ordeal

with the plane I had felt like I was following instructions. My fears had tried to stop me

from pursuing the truth but I had persevered risking my family and my own stability in

doing so. I had pushed on based on my experience. Throughout my life I had learned

that when you overcome your fear, most often you are blessed by reward. As I sat on the

floor of the Gregory mansion staring at this last letter I realized what my reward was.

The bottom of the letter was signed: Wendell & Martha Chase who were of course my

grandparents!
End