Dark Places: From the Ashes

Part Two

In the morning, while Dan took her car and picked up some breakfast, Trixie tried to interview those neighbours that she hadn’t had success with previously. The one she suspected had called the police was uncooperative and suspicious, and the only other house where she had not talked to anyone still seemed to be unoccupied. She was crossing the yard to re-enter the house when a voice called her.

“Oh, hello again, Mrs. Overton,” Trixie greeted, seeing the lady who had given so much information the day before leaning over the back fence.

“I’m so glad you’re still here,” the lady answered. “You really got me thinking and I remembered a lot more after I spoke to you.”

“That’s great!”

The lady smiled. “I don’t know how much use it will be to you. It’s just that I remembered the names of the two Randall girls – though I can’t tell you which was which; they were always so alike.”

Trixie shook her head slightly, not understanding. “What Randall girls?”

“The grandson’s mother and her sister, of course. One of them was Edie and the other was Ellie. I think it might have been Edie who married the doctor, or missionary, or whatever he was, and had the son who lived in that house, and Ellie who never married and was a teacher somewhere south of here. The teacher died young, I recall.”

“That’s really useful. So, then, I’m probably looking for Edie Frayne, or maybe Ellie Frayne.”

At once, the old lady looked confused. “Frayne? No, I’m certain that wasn’t the name. It was the same as the president’s surname, I’m sure, but no relation, of course. But which president I can’t quite remember…”

“The President of the United States?” Trixie clarified, hoping she wasn’t referring to the president of the local chamber of commerce, or something equally obscure.

“Yes. I’m absolutely certain. I remember him joking about it once when he was visiting – that would be before the boy was born, I think.”

The smile had left Trixie’s face, to be replaced by a slight frown. “In that case, I think I’m totally on the wrong track. I was working under the assumption that the red-headed grandson was Winthrop Frayne, known as–”

“Win!” Mrs. Overton’s eyes widened. “That was his name. Now, I remember.”

The frown deepened. “His first name was Win, but his last name was the same as the President’s?”

“Well, not the current President, but a former one. But, yes, that’s right.”

“That’s not at all what I was expecting to hear,” Trixie muttered, almost to herself. “So, did you know anyone called Frayne back then?”

The lady paused, thinking. “Not that I can recall.”

“Well, thanks for that,” Trixie answered. “I’m sure it’ll all help to get this sorted out.”

“No trouble,” the lady replied, and turned away.

Trixie trudged back to the house, not even noticing that Dan was waiting for her on the front doorstep.

“What gives?”

She jolted in fright. “Don’t do that.”

Dan rolled his eyes. “Well? What did you just find out?”

“That there’s something wrong with the story I’ve just been told?”

She opened the door and let them both inside. Dan closed it behind himself and went about setting out their food on the floor, which was the only available flat surface. Trixie picked up one of the cups of coffee he had brought and inhaled its aroma appreciatively.

“So, tell me. What’s wrong with the story?”

Taking a sip, she began repeating the neighbour’s information. Dan listened intently, but did not interrupt. When she had finished, he was silent for a time, thinking it through.

“What are you thinking?” Trixie asked him, when her curiosity could be suppressed no further.

One of his shoulders shifted a little. “Just sorting through the possibilities. I can think of a few explanations.”

“Like, this is totally the wrong house,” she suggested. “There was a totally unconnected red-headed guy, who just happened to be called Win, who lived here.”

He shook his head. “But that doesn’t fit in with the later history of the house, which you already know.”

“You’re right. I’d forgotten that part. This house really was owned by Jim’s father, and by his grandparents before him. So, how do we explain what I just heard? And who was the President before Jim’s father was born?”

Dan laughed. “That depends on when he was born and how long before we’re talking. I don’t think it was George Washington.”

“Ha, ha.” She shook her head at him. “But seriously? Who would it have been?”

He thought for a moment. “It could be Eisenhower. There can’t be that many of those around, can there?”

She cringed. “But it’s more likely Kennedy, or Johnson – both of which are common names. Or maybe it was even Nixon.”

He shook his head. “I don’t think so. Not Nixon, unless Jim’s father was really young when Jim was born. Like, about fourteen.”

Trixie made some calculations and then laughed. “No, you’re right. But I think we’re probably going in search of Edie or Ellie Kennedy or Johnson. And I’d guess that they weren’t really called Edie and Ellie, but Edith and Elizabeth.”

“If you say so,” he answered. “So, what’s the next thing to do?”

“To find out what happened to them? No idea.” She brightened. “Unless I call Jim and get him to call Mr. Rainsford and ask whether there’s any documents in the file that might help. The Fraynes had apparently been with his firm for generations.”

“I meant about the other stuff,” Dan clarified. “Though I don’t suppose it can hurt to make that call.”

She nodded. “Well, I’m not sure there’s all that much more to do here. I mostly didn’t want to drive back in the dark. But I guess I could go back to the library and look for information, now that I have some other names to look for.”

He frowned. “Sounds dull.”

“Yeah. Especially since I was already looking out for the name Randall and didn’t find anything.”

“Well, how about if you skip that and we go looking for whoever’s behind this instead? I kind of have an idea about that.”

She looked at him, hard. “What do you know?”

He shrugged. “Know? Hardly anything. Guessed? Well, that’s a different story.”

“Wait. It’s a weekday. Why are you able to be here?”

Dan looked away. “It’s not important.”

“Yes, it is. Did you lose your job?”

He shook his head. “I don’t want to talk about this, okay?”

Trixie stared at him for a long time, but he remained unmoved. “Fine. So, where do we need to go?”

He glanced around the room. “Pack up your stuff and put it in the car. I don’t suppose we’ll be coming back this way.”

Dissatisfied with the non-answer, but certain that she would not fare better for repeating the question, Trixie did as suggested. In a few minutes, she had locked up and waited by her car to see what would happen next.

“How did you even get here?” she asked, as the point occurred to her. “Did you drive?”

“No, Trixie, I flapped my arms and flew.” He rolled his eyes. “Of course I drove. I borrowed Uncle Bill’s truck. I’m parked three or four blocks away. Give me a lift back there, will you?”

She nodded and they both got in. “Are you going to tell me where we’re going? Or do I just have to follow along like a puppy?”

“I don’t know exactly where we’re going, so I can’t give you a place name or anything.” He shook his head. “I saw a sign on the way here, which I think was for that guy’s business. My idea is that you’ll follow me until I think we’re close and then we’ll park one of the cars somewhere and go together.”

“I’m not sure why I’m agreeing to this, but okay.”

They soon reached the place Dan had parked and then followed the plan he had outlined. After about half an hour, Dan pulled into a parking space and Trixie found one nearby. They met halfway between them.

“What now?” she asked. “Are we nearly there?”

He shrugged. “I need a coffee. I thought this place looked okay.”

Trixie rolled her eyes. “I didn’t know we were just stopping to fuel your caffeine addiction, but if you must.”

A slow smile teased his lips and he sauntered into the place he had chosen. Trixie followed along, sighing audibly, but getting no response from her friend. Dan ordered his drink, and one for Trixie, and they waited for the order to be filled.

“There’s a place called Marshall and Co. somewhere near here, right?” Dan asked the barista. “Not far along the highway?”

The man nodded. “Yeah, that’s right. Long-time local company. They make fancy glassware.”

“Are there any of the original Marshalls still in it, do you know?”

“Not sure.” He set down the first coffee and started on the second. “I guess so. There’s plenty of Marshalls work there, but I couldn’t say if they were the originals. The old man who used to run the place is a bit of a local hero; he retired a few months back. I don’t know what his son is like, yet.”

“Thanks. That’s probably the right place, then. Do they have a store attached to the factory?”

“Yeah, and it’s worth a stop, if you’re into that sort of thing.”

“Great. We’ll check it out.”

Trixie tried to keep the surprise off her face during this exchange, but the whole time her mind was whirling, trying to find out where Dan was going with this. The second cup was made and with thanks they left.

“You were sleuthing,” Trixie accused, as soon as they were out of earshot. “That was nothing to do with caffeine and everything to do with information gathering.”

Dan shrugged and, taking her arm, guided her to his uncle’s truck. “Maybe. Hop in. I’ll drive.”

She growled and snatched her arm away, but complied. A short time later, they pulled up in the parking lot of the store. They both hopped out and Trixie let Dan take the lead. She was still wondering where he was going with this, as he had not been forthcoming along the way.

Entering, they began to examine the merchandise: bowls, vases, drinking glasses and more, in myriad shades and designs. Trixie spotted a beautiful blue bowl she thought her mother would like and wondered whether she should buy it, or if the later parts of the investigation might cause her to regret her purchase.

She glanced across to Dan, who had picked up a brochure from the display next to the register. He noticed her looking and wandered across to her.

“This is the guy,” he told her, in a low voice. “Frank Marshall. He’s in the fourth generation to run the company. He looks about the same age as Honey’s Dad, don’t you think?”

He handed her the brochure, back upwards. A smiling man was pictured there, along with a blurb on the history of the company. She looked through the rest of it, before returning to the picture.

“Yes, I guess so. Maybe we could take this back and ask. They obviously knew each other.”

Dan nodded and seemed to lose interest.

“Do you think my mother would like this?” Trixie asked, holding up the bowl she had found earlier.

This seemed to startle him out of his reverie. “Yeah. I guess so. Maybe you should get it.”

“I think I will.” She took it over to the register and noted that Dan followed along.

“Just this?” the woman on the register asked, and Trixie nodded.

The transaction was made and Dan offered no comment. They returned to the truck and got in before Trixie turned on him.

“What was that all about?”

He did not answer as he manoeuvred out of the parking space. It was not until they were back on the road that he spoke.

“I mostly just wanted to see what it looked like. Was it in good repair? Was there enough merchandise? Was there enough staff?”

Trixie thought for a moment. “It looked great. The gardens are neat, and the building is clean and in good repair. I could see people working in the next room when the door opened at one stage.”

“And the staff car park is pretty full,” he added. “I don’t think they’re in financial trouble, though it could be well-hidden.”

She spent a few minutes digesting this. “And, other than that, what did we just achieve?”

“You got a present for your mother.”

“And?”

He shrugged. “And nothing.”

Trixie huffed out a breath. “I’m getting nowhere.”

“You could always give up,” he suggested.

Tempted as she was to hit him, she restrained herself because he was driving.

She watched his face for a moment. “What now?”

“I drop you back at your car and you go home,” he answered.

“And you?”

“I’ll think of something.”

“Why aren’t you at work?” she asked, again.

He kept his eyes on the road. “Let’s just say that I thought this was more important.”

“More important than making a living?”

He grunted in reply and she could get nothing more out of him.

By the next day, Trixie had put a number of questions to Jim and given him a few tasks to carry out. She had also reported her progress to Matthew Wheeler, and he had promised to follow up on a few things. That left Trixie to try to make something of all the disparate threads. Her first task was to look for people called Eisenhower, since Jim had told her that his father was born in 1959.

After a frustrating couple of hours, she came to the conclusion that either Eisenhower was the wrong name, or these people were deliberately hiding from her. There did not seem to be an Edie or Ellie Eisenhower to be found who could be linked in any way to a town in upstate New York no matter which way she spelled the names.

Grunting in annoyance, she typed “Edie Kennedy” “Maple Grove NY” into her search engine and scanned down the first page of results. The second from the top caught her attention and she clicked on it. The site which came up belonged to a school.

‘The Alf and Edie Kennedy block is dedicated to the memory of two people who made an enormous contribution to the field of plant ecology. Their vital research in Venezuela was tragically cut short on June 14, 1978, when they were both killed in a road accident. Alf Kennedy attended the school during the 1940s and excelled in all areas.’

The article went on to list the man’s achievements, then switched to his wife.

‘Edie (nee Randall) grew up in Maple Grove, New York, with her parents and one younger sister. Her passion for scientific research made her the perfect companion to Alf. She attained qualifications in chemistry and biology, sharing the work equally, in a day when women were still expected to follow more traditional paths.

‘While they had no children of their own, Alf and Edie wanted to ensure that future generations continued to pursue excellence in science and their endowment is being used to this purpose to this day.’

Trixie’s mouth dropped open as she read. “This just has to be them,” she declared, aloud.

She frowned, considering the points which did not match what she had been told and the points that connected with what she had found out from other sources. To begin with, the statement that Alf and Edie had no children contradicted the story she had heard of Win being their son. Since Win’s last name was Frayne, and not Kennedy, this was an advantage, in Trixie’s book.

But the lady had told her that the other sister died young. Could she have mixed up this detail, also? Or did both sisters die?

She typed “Ellie Frayne” and the town name into a new search, but got no results. Next, she changed it to “Ellie Randall”.

“Bingo,” she whispered, opening one of the links. “But why the maiden name?”

Her eyes widened. “But, this is a cemetery!”

She saw a photo of the plaque, a map showing the location in the town cemetery and a transcript of the inscription.

Elizabeth Mary (Ellie) Randall,
Beloved younger daughter
of John and Mabel
1937 – 1977
Always remembered

The photo had her scrabbling through her papers, looking for key dates.

“Oh, no! She must have died while her father was still alive.” She flicked back to the page about Edie and her husband. “And so did her sister – by three months. That poor man. No wonder he didn’t want to go on living.”

She used the links provided to look at the nearby graves and soon found John and Mabel buried next to Ellie. Their dates of birth and death tallied with what she already had. But if Ellie was called Randall, how did Win come to be called Frayne? There did not seem to be an answer.

By the next day, information was coming in thick and fast.

Trixie located the town where Ellie Randall had taught and an obituary for her. She had been a beloved teacher and the town was shocked by her sudden death from complications after appendicitis.

Jim had been in contact with his lawyer and passed on the information he provided. George Rainsford had reviewed all of the Frayne paperwork he held. There was no indication of the existence of a brother for Win Frayne, but there may have been a cousin. Win’s father was the youngest surviving son in the family and his uncle James was the eldest and ten years older. Another brother and a sister had been named in one of the older family wills, but Mr. Rainsford’s company had never done any business for either of them and he could not say how long that they might have lived.

He also mentioned that his company had not provided any legal services for Win’s mother, or any other Randalls. Additionally, they had not acted for Win’s father since shortly before his marriage. He suggested obtaining copies of the probate records for at least some of these people and gave some instructions on how to do this.

Trixie suggested at once that Jim start on that, and he agreed.

Matthew Wheeler had gone in search of information on Frank Marshall and found that on the surface everything looked above board and that the family company he now ran seemed to be in a secure situation. He had also listened to Trixie’s concerns about unearthing skeletons in Jim’s family closet and, in his call to her that morning, tried to set her mind at rest.

“I’ve thought about your reservations,” he told her. “I don’t think Jim would be so shocked, considering you’re talking about people he didn’t even know. I’ll speak to him about it, though, when I get the chance. He should be prepared for unpleasant surprises, at least.”

“Yes,” Trixie agreed, “like whatever it was that caused his grandmother to revert to her maiden name. That can’t be good, can it?”

He hesitated a moment. “Probably not. But you never know. Have you got an idea of the date of his death, yet? And a location? From what Jim told me, you’ll need those to get the probate records.”

“No. And no clue, really, on where to start.” A thought occurred to her. “Unless…”

“Well, if you’re having ideas, I’ll leave you to it. Keep me posted, please.”

“Of course,” she answered, and they ended the call.

She began typing various combinations of names and locations into her search engine until she got a hit. But when she examined it, it caused her to doubt that it was right.

“Could he have died in 2001? Really?”

A knock sounded at the door and, abandoning her search, she went to answer it. She found Dan leaning negligently against the wall.

“Why are you here?” she asked, bluntly.

“That’s a nice welcome.” He strolled past her into her apartment. “I came to see how you were doing.”

Trixie huffed in frustration. “I’ve got a whole lot more information, but it doesn’t help. Jim’s going after some probate records for his relatives, only there are some that we don’t have enough information on – like his father’s father – and I’ve just found something that suggests he died in 2001.”

Dan thought about that for a moment. “Well, he might have. What evidence do you have that he didn’t?”

She opened her mouth to argue, then closed it again.

“What do we know about the guy?” Dan continued. “His wife reverted to her maiden name. He didn’t raise his own son, but left that to his in-laws. And either he didn’t know, or didn’t care, that his son had died and left an orphan son. He’s not exactly Jim’s ideal relative.”

“No,” she responded, slowly. “But just because he doesn’t seem like an all-around great guy doesn’t mean he wasn’t.”

Dan raised his eyes heavenwards and ran a hand through his hair. “You really are a little ray of sunshine, aren’t you? How many times do I have to tell you that this guy is bad news?”

“How many times do I have to tell you to prove it?” she countered, rolling her eyes. “But since you’re here, you can help me go over all this stuff. My head is about to explode with all the different theories I’m coming up with.”

Heaving a sigh, Dan sank onto the sofa and pulled some of the paperwork towards himself. “So, what have you got?”

She pointed to a page scrawled with names and connecting lines. “Jim’s great-grandparents were Henry and Pearl Frayne, and they lived in Rhinebeck – it’s on the Hudson, nearly half-way to Albany from Sleepyside. They had at least three sons: James Winthrop, who lived next to my parents; Arthur, who is named in Pearl’s will, but seems to disappear after that; and George, who was Jim’s grandfather. There was a daughter called Myra named in Pearl’s will, too, but she also disappears. The other side of Jim’s father’s family you already know about: John and Mabel Randall, who had daughters called Ellie and Edie. Edie married Alf Kennedy and had no children. Ellie married George Frayne, but was buried under her maiden name.”

Dan frowned, staring at the page. “Pearl died before Henry?”

Trixie nodded. “By about fifteen years. Mr. Rainsford said that Henry’s will names three heirs: his sons James and George inherited the bulk of the estate between them and there was just a token legacy to his grandson Aiden King.”

“The mysterious brother or cousin,” Dan noted. “The sister’s child, you think?”

Again, she nodded. “I think she must have died in the time in between, and probably the other brother, too.”

“It’s a good theory.” He tapped a finger against the page. “So, the guy who died in 2001? Where did he live? Do you know?”

“Rhinebeck.” She gave a shrug. “I don’t have the exact address for either him or the parents, but it’s kind of suggestive, don’t you think?”

He nodded. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

“But I still have a whole lot more questions than answers. Like, why did Jim’s father live with his grandparents, if his own father really was still alive? And how does Jonesy connect to them? And what happened to make Jim’s father’s parents separate?” She pre-empted his objection. “I know you don’t think I should find that out, but I’m still aiming to.”

Dan glanced away. “If you’re determined… and I know that you are… well, I think a better question to be asking would be, ‘Why did Jonesy think that property was so valuable?’ I don’t think that’s been adequately answered, yet.”

At his words, she became thoughtful. “You’re right. It just doesn’t make sense at all. It’s an ordinary house in an ordinary location, with nothing to make it different from the ones around it. There’s no development happening, no resources to be exploited. And I’m pretty sure there’s nothing much hidden in it; Jonesy would have found it if there was and he’s still complaining about being hard done by.” She sighed. “I get the feeling I’m going to have to go back and take another look. We must have missed something.”

“Leave it for the moment,” he suggested, “and get on with finding out whether this is the right George Frayne.”

“To do that, I think I’ll be heading to Rhinebeck – and maybe to the county courthouse; I think it’s in Poughkeepsie. Jim said he’d do that part, but it might be easier if I drop by there on the way back.” She started sorting through her papers. “But first I need to get all this information in some kind of order.”

Continue to part 3.