Chapter Seven
Excerpt from Ch 6
… I lived with my mother until she remarried and moved to Vermont. She wanted me to go with her only I didn't want to leave California and Uncle Fen needed a housekeeper. So…it was a win - win situation in my eyes. Glad I stayed too, never would have met Carl if I had left with Mother. He's something else. I hope; whatever the problem is, he's okay." …..
The few people that were walking down the streets of Modesto paid little - if any - heed to the dark-haired young boy known as Carl as he ran towards the livery stable. The young lad was always running wherever he went. In a matter of minutes, he had led his horse out of the stable, mounted the horse and sped out of town. Within a short amount of time his horse was in their barn, and he was running through the front door of the home he and his family lived in-paying no heed to how hard he was shutting the door behind him.
"Carl!" His mother, thirty-year-old Anna Douglas, gave him a look that asked loudly, 'Have you forgotten you're not supposed to slam the door behind you?"'
"Sorry, Mother." Carl walked through the front room and poked his head into the kitchen.
"He's not home." Anna sighed; no one had to tell her who Carl was looking for.
Carl turned back to his mother. He wasn't surprised by his mother's words; she'd naturally think he was looking for his father. Only, the truth was-he'd been making sure they didn't have any unwelcomed guests again. They'd actually had a couple of men from town come out over the past few weeks, and they had to be the most obnoxious, arrogant, self-righteous people Carl had ever met. As far as the residents of Modesto were concerned, Carl's father had been missing for two months and the gentlemen -if you could call them that- were already acting if Brian 'Bear' Douglas was dead and buried. "He'll come home, Mother. Don't worry about it." He ran ups the stairs that connected to the kitchen wall and led up to the bedrooms above. Personally, Carl thought it was stupid to have all the bedroom upstairs. He'd have thought it would be better to have at least one bedroom downstairs… for anyone who might be hurt physically and not be able to go up and down stairs.
Once inside his room, Carl went over to his window and looked outside. From where he stood, he could easily see if anyone was approaching the house. If they'd had a back door, he would have had a way to check that angle of the house as well. Only they didn't. In fact, the only other entrance to the house was on the side of the house. Once he was convinced no one was coming, he pulled out his notebook, opened it up and pulled out a small yellow telegram he'd received shortly before he's sent the telegram to his 'Uncle" Fen. He read again.
Delayed STOP Had to get help to move the rocks in the fields' STOP it was signed Claws
Carl knew if anyone else had received the telegram, they might wonder about the message only they'd really make nothing of it. Only, Carl knew better. What people in Modesto didn't know was his father was a part time, *plain clothes undercover detective. Something he, himself, might not know only he was an extremely mature, inquisitive young man. He'd started putting two and two together when he was a mere six years old…though he had not confronted his father for another four years. Since then, much to his parents' dismay, Carl had insisted on keeping his eyes and ears open—even if he did have the people around them fooled when it came to his maturity level and willingness to stop and think things through. 'I may not be old enough to actually join you, Father, but I will be of help if I can' had been his exact words. Because he'd spoken with a tone of respect and discussed things maturely, 'Bear' had given in…as long as his son swore within an inch of his life to simply collect information as he could-without putting himself in danger. That part could wait until Carl was older.
His mind went back to the telegram in his hand-the telegram. Like he and his uncle, Carl and his father had coded messages. The young boy knew Claws was his father, and that Mr. Douglas had only meant that his son would have to take care of his mother longer than they'd both hoped. Only, after receiving his father's telegram, Carl had accidentally learned some rather unsettling news in town and one, very serious threat… and that had prompted Carl's own telegram. 'Hurry up, Uncle Fen, please.' The young boy made a few notes in his book and then, after placing the telegram into his book once more, closed the notebook and put it away.
While Carl was in his room reading his father's telegram and thinking, Fen, Leah and Nick were driving into town.
"Pretty quiet." Nick looked around. "I thought you said Bear and his family lived outside town, though."
"On the other side," Fen pointed towards the other side of town. "I could have taken another route only there were problems on one of the roads along the way." He threw a glance towards the end of town. "Their land is three miles from the end of town."
As Fen drove the wagon through town, they passed the bank. As they did so Nick was ninety percent sure he saw a bald-headed man by the name of Herman Stokes standing in the window. He frowned. The short, plump man had a few businesses in Stockton. While he was fairly successful, Mr. Stokes wasn't overly popular either. That man's nose was so far up in the air, Nick really wanted to knock it off. Though, as he thought on it, the deeper Nick's frown became. Herman Stokes had never had use for any small town as he 'was too good for them'. What was he doing in Modesto?
*A/N According to the internet, a formal plainclothes detective division was first organized in 1869.
