“She specifically mentioned it during our last phone call.”
Moses excused himself and crossed the street over to a city park where a group of men, working-class judging by their clothing, were gambling with dice. They were mostly white, but a few black and Chinese men were among their number and they invited Moses to join them. Stone smiled ruefully.
The office of the Seattle Spokesman was small, neat, and smelled strongly of ink. A young man in a cheap suit greeted them politely and asked their business.
“Brock Stone to see Mister Griffith.”
“I am Mister Blinn. May I help you?”
“No.” Stone didn’t intend to be rude. He simply saw no point in wasting time. “It is Mister Griffith we need to see.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“Mister Blinn,” Constance said gently, nudging her way in front of Stone, “our friend and your colleague in the newspaper industry, Trinity Paige, is missing. We know she had a recent meeting scheduled with Mister Griffith. Did you, by any chance, meet her?”
Blinn’s demeanor suddenly changed. “I remember her. Quite a tomato, that one.” He grinned and waggled his eyebrows, but froze under Stone’s cold glare. “I’ll take you to Mister Griffith right away.” He turned and led them through a bright green door into a smoke-filled office.
“There are people here to see you,” Blinn said to the surprised-looking man seated inside.
Griffith was a stocky, bald man with a few strands of hair clinging stubbornly to the top of his shiny pate. He fingered his walrus mustache and stared at them over the top of a tiny pair of reading glasses.
“I wasn’t expecting anyone,” he rumbled.
“Brock Stone. It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.” Stone stepped forward and gave him a firm handshake. “I appreciate you seeing us on short notice.”
“But I didn’t…”
“We are here about Trinity Paige,” Stone continued, not permitting the man to finish his sentence. “She’s missing and we understand you were the last person to see her alive.”
“Now see here.” Griffith rose from his seat, an unimpressive sight considering the top of his head came up to Stone’s chin. His tone and demeanor suggested he was accustomed to bullying and browbeating his underlings, but he faltered under Stone’s gaze. “I did meet with the woman,” he continued, softer this time. “But that’s all.”
“Why did you meet with her?” Stone kept his tone firm but polite.
“Because she showed up unannounced and barged her way in here, just like you did. I warned young Blinn here,” he nodded at his employee, whose face had turned a fine shade of pale, “not to let something like that happen again.”
“It’s my fault, I’m afraid.” Constance moved up to stand beside Stone. “I’m terribly worried about Trinity and Mister Blinn was so kind to me.”
Griffith’s face softened as his eyes fell on Constance. “I’m sure he was.” His tone was lascivious. Stone glared at him and the newspaper man’s face turned scarlet.
“What can you tell us about the work Trinity is doing out here?”
“She’s investigating an east coast businessman named Kane. I couldn’t tell her much, just rumors.”
“Any idea where she went?” Stone pressed.
“Kane has been conducting business in this area for about a decade. One area that has raised suspicion is his logging business.”
“Why would that be suspicious?” Stone asked.
“It’s not so much the business, but the rumors that surround it.”
“What sort of rumors?” Constance said.
“Most of them are absurd, not even worth mentioning. One persistent rumor is that the company is covering up deaths inside their camp. Injuries and even deaths aren’t uncommon in logging, but the men who do that kind of work all know the risks. Rumor has it the company is burying the bodies and claiming the men just walked off the job.”
Stone wasn’t sure what to make of this. “Mister Griffith, in your opinion, is this something worth investigating?”
Griffith shrugged. “I doubt it. Miss Paige seemed to lose interest in that topic fairly quickly. After that, she started asking ridiculous questions.”
“That doesn’t sound like Trinity,” Constance said.
“What sorts of questions?” Stone asked.
“About monsters and ghosts. Nonsense and absurdities. I finally had to show her the door. Politely, of course.”
“And you have no idea where she went when she left here?”
“None.” Griffith forced a tight-lipped smile. “Now, if you will excuse me, I am a very busy man.”
They thanked him for his time and left the office. On their way out, Blinn accosted them.
“I couldn’t help but overhear part of your conversation.” His cheeks turned scarlet under Constance’s disappointed frown. “All of it, actually. The walls are thin.” He cast a nervous glance in the direction of Griffith’s door and lowered his voice. “Mister Griffith lied to you. Miss Paige did tell him what her next stop would be.”
“More thin walls, I take it?” Constance said.
“Never mind that,” Stone said. “Where was Trinity going next?”
Blinn grimaced. “It’s a strange place. Some even say it is haunted.”
10- The School for Insane Girls
It was a beautiful day on Mercer Island. The sun sparkled on the waters of Lake Washington as Alex brought the rented Ford Model A Roaster pickup to a halt in front of a long, curving driveway that led to an imposing, three-story brick building.
“There it is!” Alex proclaimed. “The Martha Washington School for Insane Girls.”
“That was never its name,” Constance said. “And it is no longer a girls’ home. It recently became a home and care center for babies.”
“That Blinn fellow from the newspaper said it’s haunted,” Alex said.
Moses shuddered and made the sign of the cross. The big man wasn’t afraid of much, but the subject of ghosts made him especially twitchy.
“They said the teachers were cruel to the students, violent even,” Alex said, his voice suddenly husky, “and the students retaliated in kind. There were murders, suicides, and some even say occult rituals were performed here.”
“I doubt that’s what Trinity was here to investigate,” Stone said before Alex launched into one of his lectures. “Constance and I will inquire inside. The two of you can wait for us.”
“Fine by us. At least we didn’t have to dress like we’re going to church,” Alex said.
Stone had traded his preferred khakis for a light brown summer suit with a six-button vest and a silk tie that had belonged to his grandfather. Constance was clad in a simple navy dress with wide shoulders and a belted waistline. She was all business.
They were greeted at the door by an officious-looking man in an ill-fitted black suit. He looked them up and down, frowning.
“Mister Stone, and Miss… something, I take it?”
Stone forced a smile. “I am Brock Stone and this is Constance Cray. We have an appointment with Mrs. Carroll.”
“I am Mister Ward.” Ward tilted his round, balding head, and peered between them. “Why did your driver not drop you off at the front door?”
“Our truck was leaking oil and we didn’t want it fouling your driveway,” Stone invented. “He has gone to make repairs.” The truth was, they didn’t know if the presence of Moses would create a problem.
Stone had been around the world and tolerant people were getting harder to find. In Germany, a fascist named Adolf Hitler was running for president. Remarkably, Hitler had led a failed coup against the government almost a decade earlier, and had served time in prison, yet he had now enjoyed tremendous popular support. It was like Stone’s grandfather used to say, “Never underestimate the power of telling disillusioned people exactly what they want to hear.” Other European nations were also facing similar right-wing uprisings. Upon returning home, the fuzzy memories of Stone’s youth gave way to the reality that the nation he loved was battling the same forces of fear, mistrust, and intolerance that seemed to be driving Europe toward a second Great War.