---

Chapter 25

“Are you sure about this, R.J.?”

R.J. turned to Jessie and gave him a look of disgust.

“You’re not chickening out now, Jessie. We’re all in this together.”

“But R.J., what if we get caught?”

“We won’t get caught if you keep your mouth shut about it! We’ve all got our alibi: we went to the movies down in Bluefield. We’ve got the ticket stubs to prove it.”

“But what if someone saw us sneak out? I could have sworn—”

“No one saw us. I checked. After we finish here we just have to go back to the theater and wait for the movie to get out, mix in with the leaving crowd and make sure someone knows we were there. Simple. As long as no one...” He gave Jessie a menacing look. “No one freaks out and slips up.”

“But what about our fathers...”

“They’re meeting with that jerk tonight. They’ve got their alibis, too, they just don’t know they’ll need one.”

Jessie was about to ask something else when he was interrupted by the arrival of Brad and Brent, each carrying an empty carboy.

“All done?”

“You bet, R.J. We soaked the place good,” said Brad.

“The car, too?”

“Yep. Time for a little bonfire or two,” said Brent with a grin.

R.J. smiled, but there was no humor in it.

“Let’s go.”

“But R.J.—?”

R.J., Brad, and Brent all turned to glare at Jessie.

“What now?”

“What if she’s in the house?”

“That’s the idea, Jessie,” said R.J. Brad and Brent shifted nervously.

“But that’s...” Jessie didn’t dare say the word murder.

“What she did to Uncle Jake, isn’t it?”

“I’m really not sure about that, R.J. I mean, come on, you don’t really think that she—?”

“I do.” R.J. looked at Brad and Brent, who nodded. “Any other questions?”

“Uh, no, I guess not.”

“Good. Now let’s get to it.” R.J. started walking towards the house and withdrew a cigarette lighter from his pocket as he did so. “That bitch is going to pay.”



Quinn and Amelia followed Mr. Woodward into the house and down the stairs to the lower level. The room they entered was lined with book shelves on three sides and contained an old leather sofa, several chairs, and a large carved wood desk.

“Please, make yourselves comfortable. I’ll be right back.”

Woodward took their coats and disappeared down the hall. Quinn settled onto one end of the sofa while Amelia chose a wing chair opposite the desk. Quinn looked around the room and was gazing at the pictures on the far wall when he felt something gently lean on his leg. He looked down and saw the dog was sitting in front of him with an expectant look in her dark brown eyes. He reached over and started to scratch behind one of her ears. She laid her graying muzzle on his knee and closed her eyes with a look of complete contentment.

“At least Matilda likes you.”

Quinn looked up at Amelia. She was gazing at the pair with an amused expression, but Quinn thought he heard a note of sadness in her voice.

“So it seems.”

“I’m not sure what her owner will think of you when he hears what you came to talk about.”

“I know what I’m doing.”

“Yeah, so you said.”

Quinn was about to retort when Woodward returned, carrying three cans of ginger ale. He handed one each to Amelia and Quinn and then set his own on the desk. He brought his desk chair around to face the two of them and sat down.

“Well, I see at least Matilda is comfortable,” said Woodward with a dry chuckle. He turned to Amelia.

“I was sorry to hear about your...work situation, Miss Harding...Amelia. I certainly hope everything gets resolved quickly.”

“Yes, so do I,” said Amelia in a low voice.

“Well, Mr. Quinn, what part of Pine Mountain’s history is of interest to you?”

“I’m interested in a rather, ah, tragic even that occurred here about 12 years ago. There was this family that was...murdered, and—”

“The Eastmans,” said Woodward, staring at Quinn with a strange look on his face.

“Yes, that’s the family. I’m looking for some background information on them as well as the event.”

“Why are you interested in this ‘event’?”

“I’m...ah...writing a book on the subject.”

“I see.”

“I was hoping that you—”

Woodward leaned forward in his chair and stared at Quinn, his heavily lidded blue eyes boring into Quinn’s own. After several moments, Quinn dropped his gaze. Woodward leaned back in his chair and regarded Quinn thoughtfully before speaking.

“What has Amelia told you about me, Mr. Quinn?”

“Um, not much...sir.”

“Then I shall enlighten you. I’m a former history teacher. I taught high school for twenty years. After that, I was a vice-principal for five years and a principal for fifteen. During that time I dealt with all sorts of students and heard all sorts of stories from those students when they had to try and explain their behavior. One thing I gained from that experience, Mr. Quinn, was the ability to immediately detect when someone is being less than truthful with me. Now, would you like to tell me again why you are so interested in the murders of the Eastman family?”

Quinn flushed with embarrassment. He glanced sideways at Amelia, who biting her lip and appeared to be trying not to laugh. Finally he was able to look up at Woodward, although he did not dare try to meet his eyes.

“I’m interested in the case because I don’t believe the official story. I don’t believe that the youngest son went crazy and killed them.”

“You and I are in agreement there, Mr. Quinn. What else?”

“A couple of weeks ago, there was a family that was murdered in my district. Over the course of the investigation, I learned of the case that happened here 12 years ago, and that certain aspects of the two cases were virtually identical. After eliminating the possibility of a copycat, I had no choice but to conclude that the same person was responsible for both.”

“So why do you need the...information you are seeking from me?”

“I need to find out what the Eastman family was like so I can find a connection between the two cases. I’m certain the murders are linked, and the information could prove to be useful. You knew the Eastmans. Please, tell me what you can. We may be able to prevent future murders if I can find the connection quickly.”

Woodward stared at Quinn for a long time, his face unreadable. Finally, he spoke.

“What do you want to know?”

“Tell me about the family.”

“Very well. Isaac Eastman was a veterinarian who mostly dealt with the livestock, and also raised sheep, goats, and rabbits. He generally traveled to see his patients, but he had a small clinic on his farm. Marie taught English at the college thirty miles north, Reliance University. She was much more outgoing than her husband, but they were both wonderful people, very dedicated to the community and to their family.”

“What can you tell me about the children?”

“They all attended my school. All except the youngest, of course. Zachariah, the eldest son, intended to follow in his father’s footsteps and was in vet school. Rita, the eldest daughter, was the practical one in the family. She had quite a head for business, and helped her father with his practice doing the paperwork and also basically ran the household. Michelle and Matthias, the twins, were in college studying nursing and agriculture, respectively. Michelle was the beauty of the family, and sometimes had her head in the clouds, but she was a good kid. She always wanted to help people. Matthias was a tinkerer, as my father would say, and was always fixing stuff around the farm and for other people. Lucas, I didn’t know all that well because he attended a school for the deaf in Charleston and was usually only home every other weekend. When I saw him with his family, he always seemed happy. They were close, despite him being away so much.”

“There was another child, wasn’t there? What can you tell me about her?”

“Eleanor was...well, exceptional. She spent most of her childhood in the library, according to her mother. She was always looking for information, always asking questions, always exploring. She also had quite a talent for repairing things, mostly radios and other gadgets. Eleanor excelled during her years in primary school, and she received special permission to start taking college classes when she was just thirteen. That worked out well, because our school didn’t have the advanced level classes she should have been taking. It kept her from being bored.” Woodward chuckled at the thought.

“She wanted to go full time, but her parents decided that she was too young to go away to college and they didn’t want her to skip high school. She attended in the morning and took one or two college classes each semester. In between all that she managed to find time to help out other students, tutoring them in math and science. She was about to graduate from high school and was planning to finish college in New York where she would be working part time at an engineering firm.”

Quinn wrote furiously, trying to keep up with the narrative. He thought a moment, then continued with his questions.

“Did any of the kids have any problems at school?”

“Problems?”

“Threats, fights, anything like that?”

“No, they were all well behaved, well liked...but there was one incident. It was relatively minor.”

“What happened?”

“When Eleanor was a junior, one of the members of the football team decided to...touch her inappropriately while she was walking through the hallways. She retaliated, and the young man required a couple of stitches.” Woodward chuckled dryly. “She was absolutely mortified by what she had done. She claimed it was a reflex action learned in a self-defense class, and apologized to the young man profusely. He decided to let the matter drop.”

“What was his name?”

“Jason Marshall.”

Amelia gasped. Quinn turned to her in surprise.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I used to work with him and... he never mentioned that incident.”

“Well maybe we should ask him about it.”

“You can’t. He’s dead.”

“What?!” Quinn almost shouted. Matilda opened her eyes to see what the commotion was all about and gave Quinn a reproachful look.

“It was a hit and run, a couple of months ago. No witnesses, no conclusive evidence.”

“Who did the investigation?”

“Darrow.”

Woodward watched their exchange with a worried expression.

“An unfortunate accident. Police work can be quite a dangerous profession,” he said, trying to defuse the situation.

“I don’t think—” Quinn caught himself.

“Right. Anyway... Did anyone in the family ever have any problems with someone from outside the town, or in the town even that has since left?”

“Not that I am aware.”

Quinn decided to take a gamble.

“Did the Eastman family have anything to do with a family by the name of Zoller?”

“Zoller...Zoller....no. They never mentioned anyone by that name, at least not to me.”

Damn it.

“Wait a moment. Zoller. That was the family that was killed in Ohio a couple of weeks ago. Is...that your case, Mr. Quinn?”

Quinn nodded.

“But they were crucified. The Eastmans weren’t killed like that.” Mr. Woodward turned to Amelia with a pained expression. “The sheriff here reported that they had just been...stabbed.”

“Apparently Darrow felt that the details of the crime should remain quiet. I don’t think he wanted the publicity.”

Woodward’s face was ashen. He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. Amelia glared at Quinn.

“I’m so sorry Mr. Woodward,” she stammered. “We really didn’t mean to come here and upset you.”

“I had...no idea. How awful.” Matilda raised her head and gazed at her owner. After a moment, she left Quinn and walked over to Woodward where she rested her chin on his knee. He stroked her head absently as he stared off into space. Quinn shifted uncomfortably under Amelia’s gaze.

“Those poor people, I can’t even imagine anything more horrible... No wonder Eleanor was so traumatized. I can’t imagine how terrible it could have been for her if she witnessed such a thing.” He spoke in a low voice, almost to himself. He was silent for several minutes. Finally he was able to look at Quinn.

“Is there anything else you need to know?”

“I—”

“No, thank you Mr. Woodward, I think Mr. Quinn has all he needs,” interrupted Amelia. “We appreciate you taking the time to answer the questions, and we’re very sorry you had to hear such upsetting news tonight.”

“It’s all right, Amelia. I’m sorry that the truth was hidden for so long.”

“One more thing, Mr. Woodward,” said Quinn. “I’d appreciate it if you would not mention this...visit to anyone. Our case is still under investigation, and, well, we need to keep as much under wraps as possible.”

“I understand.” He rose from the chair, and Quinn followed suit.

“I’ll go get your coats.” He walked down the hallway out of sight.

“What the Hell is the matter with you?” whispered Amelia through clenched teeth when Woodward was out of earshot. “You didn’t need to upset him like that!”

“I didn’t think—”

“Obviously not!”

“Look, I...forget it. I’ll explain later.”

Woodward re-appeared, carrying their coats. He silently handed them to Quinn and Amelia.

“Mr. Quinn, there is one more thing I need to tell you about the Eastman family.”

“OK.”

“Twelve years ago, a young pup was found running down the road near the Eastman’s property. She was in bad shape, and it looked like someone had tried to do surgery on her without the benefit of anesthetic. Eleanor found her, brought her to her father, and the two of them fixed her up the best they could. Eleanor was going off to college, so she couldn’t keep the dog. She brought her to me. My wife had recently passed on, and I... was not handling it well. Eleanor knew this, and she said she thought the pup and I could help each other deal with terrible things that had happened. She was right.” He paused, and looked down at Matilda. “It was one of the best things someone could have done for me. I suppose it sounds a little silly, but it really did help. Eleanor’s act of kindness won’t be forgotten.”

Quinn looked down at his feet, trying to hide the mix of emotions he was feeling.

“Now, Mr. Quinn, could you do something for me?”

He looked up at Woodward. Those piercing blue eyes were now filled with sadness.

“Yes?”

“Find who did this. Bring them to justice. That’s all I ask.”

“I...I’ll do my best, Mr. Woodward.”

Woodward led them up the stairs to the front door. When they had passed through, he shut the door behind them, and returned to his study. He withdrew a photo album from one of the shelves and carried it over to his desk. He flipped through the pages until he found the one he wanted. It showed a teenaged girl, laughing as the furry puppy in her arms was licking her face. A man and woman were standing behind her, looking on with expressions of amusement, pride, and a little sadness. Woodward stared at the picture for a long time, then glanced down at the dog at his feet.

“Bring them justice, Mr. Quinn,” he whispered. “That’s all we ask.”

---