Loonies (34 page)

“Just a little shaken up. It’s been one hell of a day.”

“Take Steem’s advice. Go home and try to relax.”

“Easier said than done.” He stood.

“But stay alert. This guy must have known Dudle was talking to you. He knows where you live.”

Brian thought of Darcie, and that made him anxious. It would be dark soon. Not that the daylight was any more comfort after a day like today.

When he got home, she was on the phone in the kitchen but hung up as soon as he entered. She looked like she had been crying. His immediate concern was that something had happened to the baby.

He went to her. “What is it?”

“I just—” A sob choked any further words.

“Take it easy.” He rubbed her arms. She felt cold.

She gathered herself and tried again. “I’m sorry. I need to tell you something, but I’m having trouble starting.”

“Start with the phone call. Who was that?”

She looked at him, her eyes wet, but did not answer.

His stomach dropped. “Was that him?”

“Yes,” she said. “I needed some advice.”

Brian backed away. “Isn’t that what your husband is here for? Can’t you get advice from me?”

“You’ve been too absorbed in everything. You’re not even around half the time.”

“It’s my job!” He didn’t want to yell, didn’t want to sound angry.

“I know. And I’m okay with that.” She took a couple of quick breaths. “And what I’ve been struggling with has to do with your damn job.”

This threw him off track. “What?”

“Just listen,” she said. “Don’t interrupt and let me get this out.” She looked at him, and he nodded. “Can we sit down?” she asked.

They sat across from each other at the kitchen table.

“First, you need to stop worrying about the past.”

Easy to say, he thought. The past in Smokey Hollow was causing a lot of worries.

“I love you,” she continued. “Nothing has changed. I’m excited to start a family with you.” She paused, looking at him for reassurance. He nodded. “I needed some advice because there’s something I’ve been keeping from you, and it’s been eating me up.”

He was anxious but confused by what she was talking about.

“You know how you have your sources at the newspaper, and you keep them secret?”

He nodded again, not knowing what that had to do with anything.

“You can speak,” she said with a smile.

“Thank you,” he said, smiling back. “So what are you getting at?”

“I’ve been keeping information from you that might be helpful, but I swore to the person who told me that I wouldn’t say anything.”

“But you changed your mind?” He squirmed, dying to know what information she had.

“The flowers that were left on our front steps that day, I know who they were from.”

He leaned forward, mouth dropping open but so surprised he didn’t know what to say.

“They were from my new friend, Gwen Husk, the waitress from the pub. She believes she’s the mother of one of those babies found in the trunk.”

Brian walked into Cully’s Pub, scanning the tavern for the waitress with gray streaks in her hair. He was shocked that Darcie had kept the information from him, but he had tried to understand. She had given her word to the woman, just like he had given his word to Corwin Dudle. But lives were at stake, and there were already too many secrets in Smokey Hollow.

He walked to the bar and ordered a beer. When Hale Cullumber placed the mug in front of him, he asked if Gwen was around.

“Somewhere,” the gruff bartender said. He was drinking from his own mug.

For Friday night, it was quiet in the pub. That was usually the busiest evening of the week. Maybe the murders were keeping people at home. Definitely not good for the economy. He spotted Gwen carrying a tray of drinks and motioned to her.

She gave him a worried look and took the tray to a table of customers. He thought maybe she was going to ignore him, but after serving the drinks, she came over to the bar.

“I know about the baby,” he said quietly.

Her frown deepened.

“Don’t be mad at Darcie,” he said before she got a chance to say anything. “There have been a couple of deaths today, and it’s no good keeping things quiet anymore.”

She nodded. “I know, I heard.”

“Do you have a few minutes?” He looked around again at the scattered customers.

Gwen looked at Cullumber. “Hale, I’m gonna take five.”

“Counts as your break,” the bartender fired back.

She ushered Brian to a table in the corner.

“She didn’t tell me too many details,” he said as he sat across from her.

“What I’m going to say is not to you as a reporter, is that understood?”

He nodded and kept his notepad in his pocket. “Fair enough. So what’s the story?”

She took a deep breath. He could tell she was hesitant to talk. But she did.

“I lived in a girl’s group home as a teenager. It was a place for troubled kids, mostly runaways, girls with drug problems.” She shrugged. “I was in a lot of foster homes before that, shuffling from one to another. My parents died when I was young. I ran away from a lot of those foster homes. A lot of the people put in charge of me were, well, let’s just say not too nice. So I was finally sent to the group home.”

“Where was that?”

“St. John’s,” she said. “In the old-folks’ home behind the church. Father Scrimsher and Sister Bernice ran the place. It felt more like a jail at times. They had pretty strict rules.”

Brian kept silent, nodding when appropriate. He watched her expression as she told the story.

“Girls came and went, but there were usually at least a dozen or so at a time. Sister Bernice ran the place mostly, teaching classroom lessons, cooking for us. We all kind of pitched in with chores, cleaning, cooking, and laundry. That was pretty much expected. And then there was our job training.” Her lower lip trembled.

“Job training?”

She nodded. “It was a program started by Selectman Winch. He helped open a cosmetology school downtown.” She paused.

“Helped how?”

“There was a vacant building, and he found an investor to purchase it and open the school.”

“Was Leo Wibbels involved?”

She thought for a minute and shrugged. “I think so, maybe.”

“Who ran the school?”

“His name was Preston Creech.”

“Where was he from?”

She looked confused. “What do you mean?”

“Was he from town, or—maybe from away?”

“I don’t recall,” she said. “I didn’t get the impression he was from around here.”

Brian could guess where the man came from.

“So we were sent to the school to learn a trade…hair styling and coloring, manicures, pedicures, makeup. It was a chance for us to get some career training so we could function in society.” She laughed, but it was not cheerful.

“What happened?”

“Let me preface this by saying I was not like some of the other girls. Some of them were a little rough.”

“How so?”

She huffed. “I guess ‘trashy’ would be a better way to put it. Some of the runaways had been living on the street and getting by however they could.”

“I see.”

“We didn’t get paid very much at the school. I guess they figured we were getting an education. We got to keep tips when we practiced on customers, but that was it.” Here she drew in a very deep breath. “But there were other ways to make extra cash.”

He waited for her to go on.

“Mr. Creech used us to help entertain.” Her face reddened and her head dipped.

“Are you saying—?”

She looked up. Tears shimmered in the corners of her eyes. “This is a part of my life that I’m not very proud of.”

“It’s okay,” he said, trying to sound soothing. “Go on.”

“We would meet with men, usually men from out of town. Most of them were visitors, older men connected with the shoe factory, investors, suppliers, that sort. We’d be like their escorts.”

“But you were teenagers?”

“Hey, with the right makeup and hairstyle, you can make yourself look years older.” She bowed her head again. “Anyway, you can probably guess what was really going on. It was a chance for some of the girls to make some good cash.” She looked up with a sheepish grin. “Me included.”

“And you got pregnant.”

She nodded. “It happened to a few of us over time. You get careless when booze and drugs are involved.”

“Did Father Scrimsher and Sister Bernice have any idea this was going on?”

She laughed. “I don’t know about Sister Bernice, but let’s just say Father Scrimsher had his own dealings with the girls at the group home.”

“What are you saying?”

“You have to understand, Father Scrimsher was very young back then, and new to the priesthood.” She leaned back and her lips spread. “And he was very good looking. A lot of the girls had huge crushes on him.”

“And you think he slept with some of the girls?” That was too incredible to believe.

“I don’t know for sure, but some of the girls would brag about it. But you have to realize girls are catty at that age and make things up.”

He wanted to think, but knew he didn’t have much time. “So what happened after you got pregnant?”

“Anytime one of the girls got knocked up, they’d be sent away. At first, no one knew where. And they usually didn’t return. Maybe that was punishment for getting preggers. But when it happened to me, I found out.”

“The Mustard House?”

She nodded. “Apparently Father Scrimsher had an arrangement with Dr. Wymbs.”

Brian knew all about that arrangement.

“Before the girl started showing, they were shuffled off to the institute to hide out in that house of freaks.” She shook her head and exhaled deeply. “It was a nightmare.”

“So you lived there until you gave birth?”

“Yes. It was surreal. Months of mostly being confined to your room, trying to keep your sanity until it was time to give birth.”

“Who assisted in the births?”

“Nurse Snethen. She used to be a midwife before working at the institute. And Hettie Gritton helped, along with this creepy male orderly.”

“Creepy how?”

“He was obsessed with the fact I was having a baby. He knew I wasn’t keeping it, and he wanted to have it. He said he had asked  Dr. Wymbs if he could have the babies after birth, but he wouldn’t let him. The orderly said he just wanted a baby of his own, but he was told our babies were evil.”

The devil’s spawn, Brian thought. That’s what the orderly told Sherman Thurk when he saw a baby being taken away in the middle of the night. It must have been the same orderly.

“Do you know the orderly’s name?”

“If he wasn’t so creepy I wouldn’t have remembered him at all. But it was easy to remember because he had the same last name as the new police chief.”

Brian’s mouth dropped open and his head grew light. “Treece? Are you sure?”

“Yes. I wouldn’t forget that guy.”

Brian rifled through his memory bank. Could it be a relative? Noah said he was from Ohio and had no connections to Smokey Hollow. Was it a coincidence? That didn’t seem possible.

“So what happened to your baby?” That was the big question, though he knew where it ended up.

“As soon as the baby was born.…” She stopped, and he could see from her eyes how hard it was to relive this part of her story. “As soon as the baby came, they took it away. Didn’t even let me hold it, not even for one second.” Tears dropped from her eyes and rolled down her cheeks.

“What did they tell you they were going to do with your baby?”

“They said the baby would be placed in an orphanage run by the church. Nurse Snethen wrapped the baby up and handed it off to Sister Bernice.” She wiped the tears from her face.

He wanted to reach out and pat her hand but thought that would be improper.

“Dawn!” Cullumber yelled from behind the bar. “Break time’s over!”

“I have to get back to work,” she said, rising.

“One more thing,” Brian said. “Are there any of the other girls around who got pregnant at the group home?”

She shook her head. “Most of the girls left Smokey Hollow after leaving the home. They didn’t want to stick around. But there was one girl I befriended who left the group home without telling anyone she got pregnant. She said she didn’t want them taking her baby. Plus she had turned eighteen right after finding out, so she was free to leave. She got to have her baby.”

“Do you know where she is now?”

“Yeah. In the cemetery.”

“Damn,” Brian said. Could this story get any worse? “And where’s her baby these days?”

“That’s the really sad part. Her baby was Timmy Birtch.”

Police Chief Treece was still in his office when Brian arrived at the station. Everything he had just learned was swirling around inside his head, and it must have shown because the chief gave him a queer look. But Brian couldn’t think of what to let out first—his jaws kept opening and closing like Simon Runck’s marionette.

“What is it, Brian?” Noah finally asked, standing up.

Brian paced before the chief’s desk. Finally he stopped and glared at the chief.

“Do you have family here?”

Noah looked at him, confused. Either Brian was way off or the chief was trying to cover up something. “What are you talking about?”

“An orderly who worked at the Mustard House had the same last name as you.” He waited for the chief’s reaction.

The chief sat down.

“Where did you hear that?”

“I learned a lot tonight. Missing pieces to this whole damn puzzle, but some of it is still confusing.”

“Settle down,” Noah said, motioning to the chair opposite his desk. “Take a seat and start from the beginning.”

So that’s what Brian did, sitting and relating the conversation with Gwen Husk about the girls’ group home behind the church, the prostitution ring, and the babies delivered at the institute. That’s when he got to the part about the orderly with the same name as the chief. When he finished, he took a deep breath and leaned back, but only for a second before bounding upright.

“Do you know this orderly?”