Death on Mt Pleasant Read online

  “Sounds fair enough.” He laughs. “If I knew I was paying for your room, I would have said I’d get you a room at The Hampton Inn instead of Shaw’s. Just kidding. Call me when you get here.”

  I think for a few seconds. “Don’t tell anyone I’m coming. It’ll give me a chance to nose around first before we tell Lancaster Mickke D is back.”

  “Good idea. Things have changed here, Mickke D. You won’t recognize most of the town. Have a safe trip.”

  Before I leave, I tell Jim, my neighbor, a retired FBI special agent and the person in charge of my private investigation company, Grand Strand Investigations, that he is in charge of the office, as well as my dog Blue. I ask Mark Yale, the guy who runs my landscape company, who like me was Special Forces and spent time with me in Colombia chasing bad guys, to oversee a couple of bids coming up while I’m away. I ask Jannie, Mark’s wife and the office receptionist, to cover the real estate end of my business. I talked her into getting her real estate license not too long ago, so she will have no problem with that assignment.

  Chapter 2: Lancaster

  The trip to Lancaster is uneventful, but also very relaxing. It is my first time piloting my new Cadillac SRX on a road trip and it is fun. Of course, I have no idea how to make anything work on the vehicle. I can’t even figure out how to play a CD. The only thing I figure out is the built-in GPS. It takes me right to Shaw’s front door. I leave the South Carolina Lowcountry, the flat landscape, the marshy smell of the coast, and the massive live oak trees, and drive into the hills and mountains of North Carolina, Virginia, and the beautiful mountain scenery through West Virginia. I have forgotten how beautiful hills and mountains could be.

  Jake was right about change. I notice quite a few changes before I even get into town. I can’t believe it, but there is a new road from Ravenswood, W.Va. to Athens, Ohio, and a bypass around Nelsonville, and a bypass around Lancaster. I take Business 33 directly into town and the first thing I notice is that Lancaster Glass is gone. You used to be able to see the roaring flames from the huge furnaces right from 33.

  Shaw’s is located right off the tree-shaded town square in downtown Lancaster. It is the place in Lancaster to stay. The rooms are very nice and they have a great restaurant and bar. Casual elegance and the comfortable, welcoming style of a classic small hotel greets you as you enter the front door.

  I call Jake after checking in and he wants to know if I would like to grab a bite to eat. “Sure, Jake. Where to?”

  “How about pizza at the Pink Cricket?”

  “Sounds great. They always had the best pizza, along with Kingy’s in Canal Winchester. Do you want me to meet you there?”

  “No, I’ll pick you up in twenty minutes in Shaw’s lobby.”

  I almost don’t recognize Jake. He has put on a little bit of weight and he doesn’t look as tall, but there is one glaring natural feature missing. He has lost almost all of his hair. He is as bald as a golf ball with no dimples. After a handshake and hug, I blurt out, “Jake, what the hell happened to your hair? It’s gone.”

  “Yea, it happened about five years ago. It just disappeared down the shower drain. However, on the bright side, I don’t have to pay for a haircut. Wow, look at you, though. Still the All-American stud, I see.”

  “Well, I don’t know about that. Some days I feel old and not able to do the things I used to do, and for the past year, every time I turn around, someone is trying to kill me. I hope things are a little bit more peaceful up here.”

  I usher him out the door before he has a chance to ask me who was trying to kill me. As far as I’m concerned, that’s history.

  On our ride to the Pink Cricket, I figure I’ll start my investigation. “So Jake, tell me what you’re doing, are you still married? Tell me about your sister. Was she married? Where did she work? What did she like to do, and who may have had a reason to kill her?”

  Jake has a look on his face like, “which question do I answer first?” He tells me he is divorced and that he owns an insurance company in town. He then fills me in on the life and times of his sister. “Sissy got a degree from OU in journalism and got a job at the local newspaper right out of college. She was married for about ten years, and her husband died in a suspicious car accident on his way home from work in Columbus. They had no kids and she never remarried. She became the editor for the weekly newspaper magazine, Fairfield County This Week, and she was a senior investigative reporter for the paper. She enjoyed taking photos in the Hocking Hills and canoeing on the Hocking River. I can’t think of anyone who would want to harm her. She never talked much about her job, but I think she was working on some big stories for the paper.”

  “You said she never remarried. Did she have a significant other?”

  “No, not really. She dated several local guys, but she wasn’t serious about any of them. She never quite got over the tragic death of her husband.”

  We arrive at the Pink Cricket, find a booth over in the corner, order a couple of beers, a large pizza with the works, and double anchovies on my half. I look around the restaurant and don’t recognize anyone. I whisper to Jake, “Tell me if there’s anyone here I should know or if someone comes in I should know.”

  “No problem, got you covered,” he whispers back as he scans the crowd.

  I think for a minute. “Tell me about the car accident that killed Sissy’s husband.”

  “Well, let’s see. It was about five years ago. Her husband, David, was driving home from work in December. He always came home through Pickerington, cut across on Allen Road to 33 and then on into Lancaster. It was around 6:30 and dark outside. He went up over a railroad crossing on Allen Road, lost control, and slammed head on into a tree.”

  “Why did you say earlier that it was suspicious? Were there any witnesses?”

  “The reason it was suspicious was that David drove that road five days a week and he knew it like the back of his hand. There were no witnesses, but a woman came upon the accident just minutes after the crash. She called 911. When the police asked her if she had seen anything or any other cars on the road, she said she had seen a large, black limo coming toward her about a mile down the road from where she found the crash site. The Sheriff’s Department searched the area but found no limo.”

  I reach for straws. “Did they check the car for any unusual mechanical problems?”

  “Yes, they did and everything was working.”

  “Did they do an autopsy? Could he have had a heart attack?”

  “No, they said the cause of death was blunt-force head trauma.”

  Again, I reach. “Were there skid marks on the road? Had he tried to stop?”

  “Actually, there was a light rain at the time and the investigators could not be sure. They said they found quite a few skid marks on both sides of the tracks but most had been there for a while. He may have hit his brakes, but they weren’t positive. Even if he had hit his brakes, it could have been for a deer for all they knew. What does David’s death have to do with Sissy’s death?”

  “I don’t know, Jake. Just trying to look at all angles. Was that pretty much the end of the investigation?”

  “That was about it. The Sheriff asked the public if anyone had seen a black limo in the area of the crash and no one came forward.”

  “Do you remember the name and address of the lady who came upon the accident?”

  “No, I don’t, but I’ll bet the newspaper has it in their archives somewhere.” Our crispy thin-crust pizza arrives, and we chow down on one good pizza.

  Chapter 3: Mt. Pleasant

  Jake picks me up around 7:30 the following morning. He suggests we go to Root’s for breakfast and then I suggest we go up on Mt. Pleasant and have a look around. Jake agrees but I can tell he is not looking forward to going back to the scene of the so-called “accident.”

  Root’s Restaurant is located on the north end of Lancaster not far from where I grew up. It is a locals place and has a great family friendly atmosphere. It has not changed mu
ch from what I remember. Again, I ask Jake to keep me advised if there’s anyone here I should know.

  We are seated in a booth next to a table of seven middle-aged to mature old guys and one young lady who appears to be there with her grandfather. They are discussing some golf bets for an upcoming golf match at Valley View. I whisper to Jake, “That girl is going to clean their clocks later on today.”

  “And how do you know that?” he asks.

  “Because she’s agreeing to all of the terms. Did you ever take up golf?”

  “No, I just stuck with fishing and chasing girls. That’s why I’m divorced.”

  I change the subject while waiting for breakfast to arrive. “Do you have any idea what stories Sissy could have been working on at the paper?”

  “No, I don’t, but I think one of her close friends at the newspaper may be able to help you. Her name is Donna Walton Crist, but everyone calls her Dee Dee. She and Sissy were tight.” He writes down her name and phone number for me.

  After a great breakfast, we journey over to Rising Park. We arrive around 9:00 and start our trek up the mountain. Jake weathers the climb much better than I do. I had to stop twice to rest, while he could have made it straight through. I blamed my stops on the big breakfast I had at Root’s. Jake starts laughing and says, “Remember the night we sneaked into the park and brought the Crook twins up here?”

  “Oh, my God, Jake, yes I do. Judy and Peggy. Those two girls were scared to death. I don’t know if it was us or the mountain, but they were hanging on to us for dear life. That night will be etched in my mind forever.”

  After reaching the top of Mt. Pleasant, I determine things haven’t changed much since I was growing up and bringing girls up here. I suggest we sit down and rest. Jake agrees. As I am resting, I ask, “Remember when you, me, and Twanger Delong used to come up here and search for caves?”

  “Oh, hell yes. Every time you would read that book Forest Rose we would all have to come up here and look around because you thought the Indians and the early settlers stored food up here and used caves to hide from each other. How many times did you read that book?”

  “Probably three or four times. It was a great book written in 1848.”

  “Mickke D, it was fiction.”

  “Maybe, but there was an actual battle up here in 1790.”

  My mind starts to drift. I am thinking that since I’m in town, maybe I’ll look around some more if I have time. It might be fun.

  “By the way Jake, what happened to Twanger? Is he still in town?”

  “Well, you know if you would come back to visit or come to a reunion once in a while, you might find out.”

  “Yeah, I know. My bad. So where is Twanger?”

  “The last I heard he was in Florida, still married to Carol, has two kids and is an ordained minister.”

  “That makes sense. He was always trying to get us on the straight and narrow.”

  After a few minutes, he takes me over to the edge and shows me where the police think Sissy fell. He turns around and walks back to where we were resting. I venture under the railing and look over the edge. The view looking down scares me, so I am sure it would scare someone like Sissy, who was afraid of heights. I’m beginning to think Jake was right. Sissy would never have come up here on her own, let alone get close enough to the edge to fall to her death.

  Jake starts to get up as I get close to him. I motion for him to stay where he is. “Hey, stay where you are. I’m going to look around for a few minutes.”

  He raises his hand and says, “If you find a cave, let me know.”

  “Very funny.” I continue on my way. While in Special Forces, we were taught to look for things that at first glance weren’t there. This is one of those times. It’s been almost two weeks since Sissy’s death so the possibility of any clues still being around are remote. I turn to Jake and yell, “Has it rained in Lancaster since her death?”

  After several seconds, he finally answers. “No, I don’t think it has.”

  I wave and continue my search. I go to the edge of the tree line and start looking for anything out of the ordinary. After about five minutes, I find the thing that shouldn’t be there. About waist high on a six-foot-high bush, I see what looks like a Kleenex. I take a picture of it with my cell phone before picking it out of the bush. I notice several dark spots, which could be blood. I take out my clean, unused handkerchief and wrap the Kleenex carefully inside. I take great care not to touch the spots.

  I continue my search along the tree line and then I move into the trees about ten feet and travel the same path. I stop about halfway through and look closely at what may be some matted down grass and broken twigs. I scan the area from where I am standing and it’s a straight shot over to the edge of the mountain to where Sissy supposedly fell or was pushed to her death. To the untrained eye, there is nothing here, but to my eyes, I see a spot or an imprint where someone was sitting and waiting or where possibly a deer had bedded down. I back up about five feet and gaze at the ground from left to right and then right to left. The high weeds and ground cover had been disturbed. Someone or something had been there. I don’t want to get Jake’s hopes up so I keep my findings to myself for the time being.

  I return to where Jake is sitting. “So, Jake, should we leave and head on up to Allen Road? I want to see where Sissy’s husband died.”

  “Sounds good to me. I’m ready to leave.” He quickly replies.

  Chapter 4: Allen Road

  As we navigate our way up a crowded and busy Route 33, I ask Jake, “Do you know anyone on the police force who I might contact about your sister’s death and maybe her husband’s as well?”

  “Sure, Steve Reynolds. He graduated with us. He was the one who called me about Sissy. He is a detective with the Lancaster Police Department but David’s death was investigated by the Sheriff’s Department.”

  “You don’t mean big Steve Reynolds, do you?”

  “Yeah, he was in the Military Police while in the Army and when he got out he went to work with the police. Made detective about ten years ago.”

  “Wow, that’s great. He and I had a lot of fun together while we were in high school. I guess I should have stayed in touch with everyone after moving away.” Jake stares at me but does not comment on my statement. I get the point.

  We make the turn onto Allen Road and proceed toward Pickerington. We cross two rather dangerous intersections before arriving at the railroad crossing. The two intersections we just crossed over seemed like more of a risk for an accident than this crossing.

  The railroad crossing is elevated and one cannot see the road on the other side until you are actually on the tracks. As we drive by, Jake points to the tree that David hit and then goes down the road and turns around. “He was going in this direction when the accident happened.”

  I ask him to pull over and park the car. Just as we are ready to exit the car, we hear another vehicle coming our way at what sounds like an excessive rate of speed. Suddenly a red pick-up truck comes up and over the crossing. I can see at least two feet of space between the truck and the tracks. I hear screams inside the truck as it lands on the pavement. Jake remarks, “I guess the kids think it’s fun to jump the tracks. I suppose we may have done that a few times back in the day.”

  “Not me Jake, I was the perfect child.”

  “Right and pigs fly.” He replies.

  We get out and walk up on the tracks. Jake points at the tree. “He came up over the tracks and then for some reason veered right into that tree.”

  “And you said it was dark at the time of the accident?”

  “Yes sir, 6:30, winter, Ohio.”

  “And no snow on the ground, just a light cold rain?” I ask.

  “No snow, no ice, just rain.”

  “So even though he would have been able to see headlights coming at him, he wouldn’t really know if they were on the wrong side of the road until he got up on the crossing.”

  “So you’re saying he could have
been trying to avoid a head on crash?” A puzzled Jake exclaims.

  “That’s about the only theory that makes sense to me. I wonder if that black limo had anything to do with it.”

  “But the black limo was going in the same direction as he was, according to the witness.”

  “Well, Jake, he could have turned around, just like we just did and checked out the crash. Maybe he decided to cut and run. People do crazy things in a time of crises. I need to talk to that witness and find out how fast the limo was going.”

  Jake hesitates and then says, “I bet Dee Dee can get her name for you.”

  “I’ll call her tonight. Is the number you gave me her home number or work number?”

  “It’s her home number.”

  “Good. Let’s drive on up Allen Road and see what’s there.”

  Just as we are getting back into Jake’s car and preparing to leave, a large black SUV slowly passes us. The windows are all tinted and I can’t make out anyone in the vehicle. The SUV passes slowly over the crossing and then continues down Allen Road toward 33.

  A chill ripples up and down my spine. An inner wisdom makes me suspicious. I had a bad encounter with another black SUV with tinted windows not too long ago. It was not pretty. I ended up in the hospital and two men from Colombia died.

  I look at Jake. “You didn’t by chance see the license plate on that SUV, did you?”

  “No, I didn’t. Do you want me to catch up with them?”

  “No, let’s go on up Allen Road and see where it goes.”

  We cross over Route 256, which runs between Pickerington and Baltimore. Not much to see, just a couple of nice homes on the corner lots and then ordinary corn fields until we get to a creek and what looks like a new concrete bridge. Jake tells me the bridge is new to him and that he remembers the old one was not much more than a one-lane bridge. He says he hasn’t been this way in many years. Large trees begin on the far side of the creek and the road becomes tree lined and completely shaded. Then all of a sudden, it’s as if we just passed into another dimension.