The House on Cobblestone Lane

By Richard J Johnson

The House on Cobblestone Lane is a gripping story of the strange and macabre events experienced by the new owners of an old and depressing mansiona place that had previously been owned by an eccentric mortician who had mysteriously disappeared several years earlier

In a misguided attempt to hide a series of bizarre discoveries from his wife, Rick Braden becomes entangled in a sticky web of lies and deception that abruptly intensifies and turns his life into a maze of anguish and intrigue.

If one has ever hesitated to delve into the history of an old house before buying it, he will hesitate no longer after reading about the events that had transpired within the House on Cobblestone Lane.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: May 15, 2013
• ISBN: 9781466993570

Richard J Johnson

Richard J Johnson is a physician and scientist who lives in Centennial, Colorado. He has written two books on the science behind sugar—“The Sugar Fix,” Rodale, 2008, and “The Fat Switch,” Mercola.com, 2012. Here, he tells a mystery loosely based on historic sites and myths and legends from Egypt and other countries.

Book preview

The House on

Cobblestone Lane

52695.jpg

A Novel by

Richard J. Johnson

Order this book online at www.trafford.com

or email [e-mail]

Most Trafford titles are also available at major online book retailers.

©

Copyright 2013 Richard J. Johnson.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author.

Printed in the United States of America.

ISBN: 978-1-4669-9358-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4669-9357-0 (e)

Trafford rev. 05/10/2013

7-Copyright-Trafford_Logo.ai www.trafford.com

North America & international

toll-free: 1 888 232 4444 (USA & Canada)

phone: [phone] * fax: [phone]

Contents

Chapter 1.   A Change of Residence

Chapter 2.   Moving In

Chapter 3.   Meeting Dave Farrell

Chapter 4.   The First Discovery

Chapter 5.   Disposing of unwanted items

Chapter 6.   The Second Discovery

Chapter 7.   Meeting Hector Bates

Chapter 8.   Meeting Blake Cranshaw

Chapter 9.   A question of ethics

Chapter 10.   More Discoveries

Chapter 11.   Second Thoughts

Chapter 12.   The Removal

Chapter 13.   The Plot Begins to thicken

Chapter 14.   The Visitor

Chapter 15.   The Burglary

Chapter 16.   Trying to solve the puzzle

Chapter 17.   A few more pieces of the puzzle

Chapter 18.   A startling discovery

Chapter 19.   Framing the puzzle

Chapter 20.   A Vengeful reaction

Chapter 21.   The final pieces of the puzzle

Chapter 22.   Closing the case

About the Author

~Chapter One~

A Change of Residence

H ad I known what problems were awaiting us within that property, I never would have agreed to buy that dismal and depressing old house. I did it only to please my wife Elaine who was determined to have her way. First impressions are important, and I should have acted upon the deep sense of melancholy and morbid gloom that overcame me when I first set my eyes on that house. Looking back, it seems so long ago but in reality it all began but a few short months ago.

It was an early Sunday morning last spring when I had finished my breakfast and put my newspaper aside. Gazing out the window, I watched as dozens of snow-white clouds skidded across the azure-blue sky almost as if they were racing with one another. It would have been a great day for me to enjoy some rest and leisure, but that was not what Elaine had in mind for me. Another very busy week at the office had left me fatigued, and finishing the yard work yesterday had really done me in. I felt I deserved some time for myself; however, Elaine’s plans for me did not include lounging around the house that morning. I would have loved to have gone back to bed and pulled the covers over my head and got another forty winks of sleep. Well, I supposed I had better get myself moving or there would be no peace around the house. When Elaine makes up her mind to do something, there is no swaying her!

For the past two months, Elaine had practically been driving me insane about finding another house for us to buy. As a matter of fact, ever since our two boys grew up and got married, Elaine had been after me to find another home in the suburbs. Luckily for me she was willing to scout around by herself with a real estate agent while looking at a variety of properties which saved me the trouble. Finally, in a weak moment I promised her that I would accompany her to look at an old Victorian house she had seen and liked. For the life of me, I could not imagine that she could ever be happy living in an old house after having a modern home with every convenience possible. The upkeep of a place like Elaine had a vision of could probably bankrupt us, and if nothing else, my Sunday cookouts would end in order for me to keep up with just the exterior maintenance alone.

Before I delve deeper into this story, let me introduce myself to you. My name is Rick Braden. I am a forty-eight-year-old accountant, and I have been employed by the Raymond Bennett Engineering Company since I finished college. It is not a particularly exciting job, I will admit, but the pay is good, and it has been steady employment for me since I started working there. Elaine is working part time as a sales clerk in a high-line woman’s apparel shop at the nearby mall. Soon after our two boys left home and went off on their own, she insisted on going to work. It was not for the money, but more to keep herself busily involved. She said that she was too lonely during the daytime while I was at work. I did not like the idea of her working, but her working only part time did not seem to be a problem for us.

Elaine and I have a good marital relationship and we enjoy a happy marriage. We both enjoy many of the same things, like books, music, playing bridge with friends, and watching our favorite television shows in the evenings. In college, Elaine studied architecture and interior design, but she never pursued either of those fields after she graduated because we were married within a week of her graduation.

We have been blessed with two fine boys who have both completed their higher educations, and Elaine and I are darn proud of that fact. It was not always easy for us financially, but we still managed. We often have them over to our house for dinner on Sundays, That is, except for this weekend.

Ronald, who is our older boy, is an accountant—like I am. He and his wife Paula have a son named Henry, who is almost a year-and-a-half-old. Our youngest son Glenn is pursuing an art career, and he is presently employed by a large advertising agency. Glenn and his wife Martha have no children yet, but they are hoping to change that situation soon.

At our family social gatherings, we usually cook outside in our backyard whenever weather permits; otherwise, my wife Elaine will do the cooking in her kitchen. I like our outdoor cookouts the best because that is when I get to show off my culinary skills while using our new barbecue pit with the electric spit. I thought I would be cooking ribs on that outdoor spit, so I made it a special point to buy two large racks of them at my favorite butcher shop located near my office.

The backyard rib roast had been planned for quite some time, but Elaine cornered me at this morning’s breakfast table to agree to look at a house instead. Her house hunt had been going on for so long that it was finally beginning to get Elaine down, so I did not want to disappoint her by refusing to go along with her to see the house she seemed very interested in buying.

It’s just perfect! That was her excited description of the place after she came home a few days ago after seeing it with her Realtor. I promise you will also love it, Rick! Elaine said. We have an appointment with the real estate agent for Sunday morning for you to take a look at it. I was hooked! What could I do but agree to go there with the ladies to check it out for myself?

I suppose that I am nothing more than a creature of habit, at least that is what Elaine always tells me. The appointment for me to see the house will be disruptive to my normal weekend plans, and that did not make me too happy. It seemed that Elaine had already taken upon herself to call the boys and tell them not to come on Sunday. If the truth is known, they are probably happy about the change in our plans because I sometimes think their wives have had enough of our Sunday cookout routine. Elaine has been having a hard time adjusting to the change in her life from being a full-time mother. One would think she would be used to it by this time since both boys were away at college before they were married.

Sunday morning finally arrived, and I was finishing the last gulp of my coffee when the door bell chimed. It was the real estate agent, and she was right on time. Elaine introduced her to me as we locked the door to the house behind us. Pat Driscoll was a middle-aged, rather plump woman, with long bottle-blonde hair. Under her arm she carried a thick book of real estate listings, and I could clearly see a number of page markers sticking out of it. I quietly moaned as I wondered how many other houses she planned to show us, in addition to the one Elaine was so set on seeing again. After Elaine and I got comfortably settled into the back seat of Miss Driscoll’s late model, Lincoln Town Car, we were on our way.

May I ask where are we heading? I asked casually.

Forest Oak, Mrs. Driscoll replied cordially.

I think that suburb is located pretty far from the Bradenton business district? I said.

Before Pat Driscoll responded to my comment, Elaine took my hand in hers and she said affectionately It’s not all that far from your office Rick, and the place is just perfect for us. You’ll see when we get there. You’ll love it! It has a big back yard with huge oak trees, so it will be an ideal setting for your Sunday afternoon cookouts. Immediately after making that statement to me, Elaine turned her head toward the side window on her side of the car. I was a bit agitated by her dismissing the subject in that manner and without any further conversation with me about it.

I knew that Elaine was interested in an older house like the one we were heading to because she wanted a place that she could completely renovate. Since she graduated from college, Elaine never had the opportunity to use her decorating skills, and now that our children are raised and living on their own, this would be her opportunity to fulfil that desire. It was a dream she had talked about to me for the past twenty-five years. In spite of my own misgivings, I knew I would go along with her program, but only to a reasonable degree. I had no intention of stretching our funds beyond our ability to keep up our savings program for my retirement; after all, I had less than sixteen remaining years to work until I planned to retire. The passing years have taught me that time flies by pretty darn fast, and we have to look ahead and be prepared. Elaine and I had thoroughly discussed that important aspect of our future when we talked about buying another house, and at that time Elaine had been in total agreement with me. Since our present house had appreciated beyond all of our expectations, we hoped to be able to financially make this house exchange almost a lateral move. Of course, the biggest expense we anticipate will be the cost of remodeling and redecorating an older house. After twenty-five years of use, most of our present furniture is also ready to be replaced for new, and I am a little worried that Elaine’s remodeling plans might not fit into our budget.

There was another thought that began to nag at my mind. That was the idea of planting us in an older suburb like Forest Oak. The residential area where we have lived for the past twenty-five years is a relatively young development, and everything that we may need or want is conveniently located within a large, and fully up-to-date shopping mall. That mall is also well within easy walking distance from our house, and as a matter of fact, Elaine works part-time in a woman’s clothing shop in that mall. With all of those rather disturbing thoughts fresh within my mind, I posed the question to Elaine. Of all the nice suburbs we can choose from Elaine, why Forest Oak? That place is the same today as it was a hundred years ago, and to my knowledge there is not even a shopping mall within its limits. We will have to travel all the way into Bradenton to do our shopping. In addition, the only entertainment that is available in Forest Oak, that I know of, is a small movie house which probably shows nothing but old westerns on Saturday nights. I suppose that even the television reception will be bad, and we will be forced to buy one of those large, directional TV dishes for installation on the roof, or on a tall post in the front yard. And, not that it is at all important to me, Elaine, but you know that you will have to give up your part-time job at the mall. Have you thought about those things? I asked Elaine that question as I finally realized I should have taken the time to go with her during her house hunt, rather than having relegated that job to Elaine. If I had done that, perhaps I would not now be heading to Forest Oak to decide upon buying an old run-down house in that town.

Which one of your questions do you want me to answer first, Rick? Elaine asked in a voice tinged with sarcasm.

Oh forget it! We can talk about it after we have seen the house, I mumbled in defeat.

The drive to Forest Oak took us about forty-five minutes. Rather than head there through the center of town, Mrs. Driscoll decided to drive the scenic route through the countryside. During our drive, Elaine and Mrs. Driscoll chatted about meaningless trivia. Outside of the car, the sunshine bathed the landscape in a silvery hue, and as we breezed steadily along the highway I could watch farmers working their newly-plowed fields. Here and there, we glimpsed groups of cows grazing in the shade under the trees. At one point, I saw a shiny black stallion galloping freely across an open field of lush, green grass. I supposed people like me could eventually get used to that kind of a lifestyle, and for Elaine’s sake, I will try to be a little more positive about it. But I will still hesitate and think very carefully before I agree to our buying an old run-down house in a mid-Victorian suburb like Forest Oak.

While we were driving through the small, downtown section of Forest Oak, I was surprised to see that the movie theater had been turned into a VFW hall. Further along near the corner of the main intersection, we saw a newly opened drug store with a brightly painted Walgreen’s sign, The Grand Opening banners were still hanging across the store front windows. The few pickup trucks I saw in town that morning were all parked diagonally in front of a quaint little storefront with a sign that read Belamy’s Family Restaurant. I imagined that the breakfast counter would be lined up with farmers who worked their fields nearby. Deeper in my mind’s eye, I could see them dressed in their blue denim bib overalls, with their red-and-white, polka-dot ’kerchiefs sticking from their hip pockets. I knew farmers were usually nice friendly people, but I worried that I would never be able to fit into this near-rural setting in a million years. That thought was very disquieting to me. Elaine seemed to sense my uneasy feelings over what I was seeing and feeling because at that moment she took my hand in hers and gave it a firm reassuring squeeze.

Upon our leaving the business center of the town, we drove along a grassy embankment next to a railroad right-of-way, and just as we got to the rail crossing, crossing gates started to close, bells began clanging, and red lights began flashing. Mrs. Driscoll slowed her car to a stop, and we sat there and waited while we looked out the car’s window at the exquisitely beautiful and serene countryside. In a matter of only minutes, a big, powerful, locomotive, which was pulling a long string of box cars, appeared along the track in the distance. Almost as soon as the train appeared in front of us, it passed us by, and we watched the caboose as it lurched its way down the track and faded off in the distance.

When the crossing gates lifted, Mrs. Driscoll moved the car slowly and carefully over the rough set of tracks, and we continued on our way. Within several more minutes, we entered an attractive paved lane, which was just off of the main street. Cobblestone Lane was narrowed by enormous oak trees lining each side of its narrow grassy parkways. What a picturesque setting! I said to Elaine as I reached over to her and took her hand in mine. As we continued driving along, I noticed several very large, wooden mansions that had been built in the popular style of the late eighteen hundreds. That was at a time when there was plenty of cheap lumber available to build those houses, and the cost of labor to build those houses were quite low. Even the cost of heating them was not an important factor in those days when coal was plentiful and cheap. I cringed when I thought about the cost of heating a home of that size today.

The mansions along both sides of Cobblestone Lane were set well back from the street, and they were framed by those huge oak trees that shaded neatly-groomed lawns. At the entryway to several driveways, I could see old, iron-horse hitches, which were probably relics from the days of horses and carriages, long before automobiles came into fashion. A few of the properties which we glimpsed at had separate buildings behind them, and we guessed they had probably been servant quarters, or maybe fancy horse barns. Most had long since been converted to garages to house the owner’s automobiles. It was easy for me to visualize a team of horses hooked up to a fashionable carriage, and a lone horse pulling a spindly surrey. I could almost hear them galloping over the cobblestone street in front of us. What a perfectly quaint setting this is, I thought to myself. No wonder Elaine likes it here so much. It is certainly different from the area where we now live with the tiny residential lots, asphalt streets, small driveways, and much smaller, and more modern homes.

This area was once the Gold Coast Section of Forest Oak, Pat Driscoll said over her shoulder. Her comment immediately disturbed my train of thought. Pointing a well-manicured finger toward a very large, ugly brownstone mansion on our right, she continued. That’s where Governor Walden was born, in that house right there.

Governor, who? I asked never having heard that name before. When was that, Mrs. Driscoll?

Oh, he was the governor of the state way back at the end of the last century. The house you are looking at was built back in the late eighteen hundreds by his father Augustus Weedan. I had learned that he was a state representative for this district. There were quite a few prominent families who owned homes in this neighborhood over the years. Forest Oak’s Historical Society has an entire section that contains some very interesting old photographs, and a variety of other information about those prominent families. It may be well worth your while to stop in there and read about them sometime. That is, if you have an interest in Forest Oak’s local history.

We may decide to do just that, Mrs. Driscoll, I answered in a disinterested manner. In a matter of minutes, Mrs. Driscoll brought her car to a stop in front of a huge, red brick house, which was almost hidden in a fenced lot that was heavily overgrown with a maze of thick shrubs, and dozens of mature oak trees. A high wrought-iron spear-topped fence, crawling with thick vines, further obscured the house from our view. Looking through the glass of the car window, I could see the dark, multicolored slate roof tiles that capped the house, and an immense, octagonal turret that made up the third level of the house. From the top of its roof, I could see tall, red brick chimneys jutting upwards toward the sky. At the back of the yard, there was a converted barn with three bays for automobile, and a loft with glass windows. Looking carefully at the property, I could not help but think that the house and its setting were a scene right out of an old Frankenstein movie. A cold chill ran all the way through me at that very moment!

Well! What do you think? Isn’t it a darling house? Mrs. Driscoll asked as she half-turned in her seat to look at my reaction.

Before I could respond, Elaine answered for me. It has wonderful possibilities, Pat, but I wouldn’t exactly call it a darling house—not at this time anyway. If Rick and I decide to buy it, you can tell me that sometime next year after we’re finished renovating both the interior and exterior. The yard is also a mess, but Rick is very handy with gardening, and he could change it into something of a botanical garden.

Are you really serious about our buying this place, Elaine? I asked in an incredulous voice as I looked firmly at her. If the inside is only half as bad as the outside, I can tell you right now that I hate it! I had no sooner said that to her when I regretted having said it.

Elaine turned toward me with a wounded look on her face, as she said, Please Rick, I’m asking you not to jump to any conclusions until you’ve seen the interior of the house. I know it will take a lot of hard work to get it in shape again, but that’s exactly what I’m hoping to do. As for the yard, I’m sure our boys will be more than willing to help you there. You will also be quite surprised at what a good cleaning and a fresh coat of paint will do to spruce up the exterior of the house, and make it look bright and cheerful.

All right! All right! I responded feeling somewhat defeated. I am willing to keep an open mind on the matter. I want us now to get out of the car and check it out. I opened my side of the car just as Elaine and Pat got out, and the three of us walked over to the big iron gate. It was locked with a chain and a padlock. Pat pulled a key from her purse, and with it she opened the lock and then removed the chain. As she pushed the heavy gate open, it made a loud squeaking noise which caused us all to laugh. That helped to ease the tension that had been building up between Elaine and me since my first sight of the house.

Proceeding directly to the front landing steps, we approached two very interesting and ornate leaded-glass doors. Centered in each door was a beautiful coat of arms created entirely of small, colored pieces of leaded glass. Under a silver knight’s helmet, and sprouting big black feathers, were two prancing brown stallions that faced each other haunch-to-haunch. Both of the stallions were covered with a black cloak emblazoned with a gold dagger pointing downward. Below each of them, enclosed within a large silver scroll, was the name Burns in bright golden letters. According to Mrs. Driscoll, Burns was the name of the man who had built the house back in l882. Other than that, she had no information about the previous owner. She said she knew that much because it was part of the real estate background she had read in the county recorder’s office at the time she did the title search.

Taking another key from her purse, Mrs. Driscoll opened one of the entry doors for us to enter. The first thing that captured our attention as we entered the foyer, was a massive winding stairway straight ahead of us. Its wide base looked like a giant cornucopia which beckoned us toward the dark shadows of its upper reaches. Darkly carpeted stairs wound their way in a semicircle upward toward another level. Directly overhead in the foyer, hung a heavily-tarnished, brass chandelier, sprouting a dozen or more candelabrum-styled lights. The entryway floor was made of a greenish gray slate, which terminated where the drab brown carpeting forward of the stairway began. On either side of the foyer there stood tall oak curio cabinets with leaded-glass doors. Both cabinets were empty except for a thin layer of gray dust which blanketed the shelves. Obviously, they were built as part of the original house, just as were all the thick crown moldings, door frames, and mantels. They were all age-stained and black in color, with a finish of heavily-cracked varnish. As I stood there surveying the area, I mentally tabulated all the work and expense it will require to make the house merely livable. I winced at the thought of it.

In a minute, Pat Driscoll’s voice broke the silence. Since Elaine’s been here before, Mister Braden, I think it will be a good idea to have her show you through the house. I’ll wait for you two in the living room, if you don’t mind. Now, if either of you have any questions at all, please give me a holler.

Thanks, Pat! Elaine said as she took my hand in hers and slowly led me down a long and narrow hallway. After commenting negatively on the condition of the faded and peeling wallpaper, I followed closely behind Elaine like an obedient little puppy dog as we entered the first door. It was a sitting room with a native stone, wood-burning, fireplace. I was surprised to see that a few of the old and dusty furnishings still remained in the room. I thought this place was empty, I said to Elaine in a surprised voice.

Oh, most of the furniture in the house has already been disposed of. Elaine quickly responded. There are only a few rooms like this one, where the previous owners left a few things. Anyway, most of it isn’t worth saving—just as you can see, Rick. However, they did leave a few pieces which appear to still be in good shape, and I have plans to have them refinished. It will be a lot cheaper for us than buying everything new, and they will also fit so well into this setting. You’ll see!

Do you mean to tell me that you plan to redecorate this place just as it was done originally, Elaine? You know darn good-and-well that I hate antiques. I think that you are going a bit too far with me. I am willing to go along with a lot, but there is a limit to my indulgence. I said angrily.

I didn’t say that Rick! Elaine responded to me in her familiar wounded-sounding voice. I only said only that there are a few pieces of furniture which I want to save and have restored. If we decide to buy this place, I plan on doing the house completely over in contemporary styling. That’s what you always told me you liked best, and I know how important your comfort is to you, and I respect that. Now let’s go on with our tour of the house, Elaine said in a rather forceful manner.

As we continued looking through the big, old house, I was constantly reminded of the absolute dreariness and bleakness of the place. Each room we entered seemed to be darker and gloomier than the last, and by the time we finished with the five bedrooms on the second level, I was ready for a breather. Finally, we found an old, dilapidated, couch in a back hallway. While we sat there resting, I shook my head in bewilderment. I could not possibly imagine what had possessed Elaine to ever want us to buy this dreary looking, old, mausoleum. After another minute of thought, I thought I may as well ask her that question again.

Do you really believe you can turn this depressing and run-down house into a home for us Elaine? I made it a point to speak very softly and very deliberately since I wanted her to completely understand my serious doubts about buying this house, and her plans to completely renovate the place.

Positively! she responded with the force of absolute conviction in her voice.

Not wanting to get involved in an argument with her at this point, I decided to drop the subject for now. I decided to take it up with her later after we return home. Besides, I was not anxious to get into a row with Elaine in front of Pat Driscoll.

Would you like to look upstairs at the attic now? Elaine asked as she pulled herself up from the davenport. That big turret room on the third level commands a view of practically the entire area. I have come up with some great ideas for that room.

I do not think so. I responded with a heavy sigh. But I would like to check out the cellar and the foundation for possible water leaks. I would also like to take a look at the heating plant. By the way, is there a central air-conditioning system in the house, or have you not asked Pat about those very important questions? My remark was not made without a note of sarcasm.

I think there’s an air-conditioning system, Rick. Elaine answered. It’s supposed to have been installed in recent years. Anyway, that’s according to what Pat told me.

Leaving the first level of the house, we then went down into