“Silence hangs in the air; a valuable diamond ring, taken from the skeletonized hand of a corpse, lays untouched on the Sheriff’s desk. Bergin Halverson wrestles with the ghosts of his past, and his fears that have kept him silent for decades. He recognizes that the truth, which only he knows, must eventually be told so that the ghosts of his past may finally be put to rest.
In a voice barely audible Bergin Halverson relates that it all began with the wish of a pretty young woman back in December of 1924. He says her name, almost as if it were a caress; Clara Lindgren.”
“She kept his secret.
She looked at the watch she wore on her lapel of her bodice.
The courthouse clock tower chimed out the hour. It was time.
He planned to meet her upstairs in the abandoned Rynearson Opera House. It had been their special trysting place for the last few months. Her heart pounded in her breast as she rose from the bench in the park in the square and walked to the old theater, her eyes fixed on the second floor windows.
No one was about at the moment. She had always been careful to be sure they were not seen sneaking into the building. After all, it had been closed for years and no one ever went up there. The door to the second floor creaked from disuse as she let herself in and slipped quietly up the stairs.
He would be there waiting for her.”
When it comes to murder, people in small towns have a way of keeping secrets for many years—but not forever. Someone has guarded a secret well for nearly thirty years, until 1939, when the body of a young woman was discovered in an abandoned opera house setting tongues to way and minds to speculate. No one seems to know her identity. Something about the dead woman—something from his childhood—haunts Lieutenant Yale Lockhart. As he delves into long held secrets surrounding the crime, the first person to discover the identity of the victim is also murdered. Unerringly the shadow of both murders spreads across the little community, threatening to bring harm even to those closest to Lockhart.
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An eclectic collection of short stories. Ghosts, romance, murder, dreams, events and hope…
“Jerry Wall peered through the heavy cloud of smoke that haloed about his head as the three teenagers made their way to the door of Cathy’s Convenience Store where he worked the graveyard shift. He hated the punks who came out after dark like grimy rats climbing out of the sewers. They were usually prowling for trouble dressed in their pseudo gang-style clothes of torn t-shirts with skulls, fake blood spatter and dirty words emblazoned on the front, and scuffed pants falling down from their hips revealing soiled underwear. Worst of all, their hairy butts were exposed too. Their profusely tattooed bodies complimented by multiple body piercings. As Jerry exhaled, then sucked more smoke into his lungs he wondered what female in her right mind would find any of these punks attractive.
Jerry wished he could have been more like Clint Eastwood and tell the kids: “Go ahead, make my day,” before blasting their sorry little asses to kingdom come as they deserved. But Jerry knew he qualified as a first class wimp. He’d always been afraid of confrontation so he endured their taunts and insults and even turned a blind eye to their petty thievery rather than confront any of them.
It wasn’t worth his life.
The three punks pushed open the door and stood in the doorway looking around as if the world owed them something. Jerry had seen so many young thugs think they were entitled to something just because they were breathing. He also knew that attitude would catch up with them one day.
“Hey, Tone, look at the stinking fossil behind the counter tonight.” Eddy’s cruel laugh chopped the air in staccato beats as he fixed his intimidating stare on Jerry. Eddy, a short, portly guy with greasy brown hair that didn’t look like it had been washed or even combed in months, had a heavy chin, bad skin, small close-set eyes like a rodent’s and slobbery lips that he was always wetting with his pierced tongue.”