Chapter 1: The House on the Hill

No one in the town knew how long the house on the hill had been there.

"As long as I can remember," said the octogenarian occupant of one the rockers on the front porch of the hotel at the end of Main. "Yessir, as long as my grandaddy could remember and he's been cold in his grave 70 years and more." Then he made liberal use of the brass spittoon between his chair and the next. The occupant of that chair was a spry youngster of 70 or thereabouts.

"You're about to get involved in a story that might take three or four days to tell," he grinned. "That is, if old Jason can remember where he is in the telling."

"Hush your trap," Jason exclaimed. "My memory is as good as it was 50 years ago. I can still drive, can't I? I mightn't be as spry as you, Jake, and I might have to resort to this cane when the weather turns, but I get around."

He swung the cane at Jake, who proved just how spry he was by ducking, laughing all the while.

"Well, son, if you're going to stick around," said Jake ... then he laughed and made his point, "Since the bridges out are flooded you don't have much choice. Go get you a room in this hotel, stop at the bar, get us three beers and pull up that rocker and we'll spin you a tale about that house."

I had arrived in town on the heels of a tropical storm pushed north by contrary winds. The state closed the roads ... actually, the whole damn state closed. I wasn't in any hurry. I had sold my patent to a military equipment conglomerate, and banked six mil after uncle sam.

Six million doesn't sound like much but it was a lot in 1963 ... it was an enormous amount for an unmarried 1960 high school graduate still wet behind the ears.

Anyway, I'd splashed and slithered that backroad into town, turned west on Main and saw that house sitting there ... it was love at first sight.

The house looked tall and thin. Perhaps it had been built in sections, a prominent 4 story center section with a pyramidal tower with a dormer clock and a recessed niche with a balcony railing flanked by two recessed 3 story wings with 4 brass "witches hat" round towers and curved glass mirrored windows. It had a myriad of tall thin windows and it was topped by many tall thin chimneys. Built of cut but rough faced consolidated limestone, it presented an erie but imposing picture against the sunset sky. I knew I was going to live there. There was a light on in the back of what might be the kitchen, but I could raise no answer to my knock.

No one knew who owned it. The county clerk in the court house said the taxes were paid every year by a holding company in Zurich. She even knew the address. I didn't have to bribe her, she just wrote it out for me and gave me the card.

"We get four or five folks interested in that house every year but no one has been able to get a response from Switzerland. The taxes come on time and that's as far as my involvement gets."

Temporarily stymied, I made my way to the hotel and the old men on the porch.

I stepped off the porch and keyed my trunk, gathered my cases and stepped into the lobby of the old hotel. In it's own way it was as imposing as the house. Walnut, oak and quarter sawn maple greeted my amateur gunsmith eye ... very impressive, very well done. A sweeping staircase descended to the lobby from a mezzanine fronting a ballroom. The lobby was old leather and high-backs ... stiff but welcoming furniture for heated dancers. Off to the right was a tidy restaurant of white and black marble. I stepped up to the desk and rang the bell. Jake, from the porch, stepped from an office behind the desk and...

Chapter 2 »