Chapter 8

Seconds passed like hours as he waited for someone to answer the line. What should I say?

"Collinwood estate, this is Mrs. Stoddard. To whom am I speaking?" a familiar voice answered the other line.

Trying his best to contain the relief and excitement in his voice, he cupped his hand over the receiver. "Mrs. Stoddard?"

"Yes, this is Mrs. Stoddard, and who might you be?" the woman asked, puzzled as to the identity of a caller at such an early hour.

"Mrs. Stoddard, it's-it's me, Jerry Trask, the private eye you hired. It's important I gotta talk to you. There's been a..." he held the phone desperately, trying so hard to keep his voice down.

"I'm sorry, but I don't take solicitation over the telephone. I have guests staying here and I won't be bothered at such an early hour. I could arrange a meeting with you in person." Elizabeth stated firmly.

"What? Oh, I see...he's there, huh?" Trask nervously asked.

Silence.

"Well, how's about I meet you at Widows' Hill in say, an hour or two? It's somethin' that just can't wait. If the police find the body, it ain't gonna be good for either one of us, Ma'am." Trask pleaded.

"I'll arrange to meet you at two," Elizabeth replied.

"Wait a minute...you...do you mean two as in 2:00pm, or as in two hours?" Trask stammered.

"The second." She responded.

"Okay, Mrs. Stoddard. Widows' Hill in two hours. Be sure you ain't followed. I'll see you then," he replied.

"Yes, thank you. Goodbye, ma'am," Elizabeth bluffed as the call was disconnected.

Trask left the phone booth and looked up at the clock hanging above the counter inside the hotel coffee shop. It was 7:30am. He started to ask for a cup of coffee, but he realized that he had given the last of his money to Stiles.

"Have a wild night, Mister?" A brunette appeared from behind the kitchen door and called across the room.

Startled, Trask gave a quick turn. This beautiful woman smiled at him. She stood with an apron around her slender waist and a striped uniform. She pulled a pencil from behind her ear and a notepad from her apron as she spoke. "Looks like you could use one on the house. The first cup of the day always hits the hardest, and you look like you could use a good pick-me up."

Trask returned her smile. "You don't know the half of it, toots. A cup o' coffee would be just dandy."

"Well, I'll share what's in the pot with you." Shaking her head and yawning, she watched the steam rising as she poured. "I could use a good kick, too. I've been up all night, too, with my baby girl, Maggie. She's only six months old, but, boy, she can sure wail like a big girl. She doesn't like staying in her bed at all or feeling like she's being babysat. My husband Sam is an artist and likes to paint at all hours of the night, so I just tend to her myself usually." After pouring the coffee, she sat down at the table with him.

Trask raised the steaming cup to his mouth, drinking slowly. Feeling the effects of the coffee kicking him like a mule, he coughed slightly as the swallow burned all the way down. "It's, uh, it's good. Thank you, Mrs...?"

The waitress smiled. "Evans. I'm Kathryn Evans, and you're kind to say so. Most fellas that have one sip outta that first cup usually hit the ground running right out that door. I learned to make coffee pretty strong to keep Sam sobered up."

Trying to be nonchalant, he recognized that name from Betty's journal. "Yeah, I suppose so. He, uh, does he paint many personal portraits for people?" Trask inquired.

"Well, sometimes. The last time he did was for the daughter of that Collinwood servant that got killed on his way home from the Blue Whale, but that was months ago. You want me to ask him about one for you, Mister?" Kathryn tilted her head, leaning back in her chair.

"Well, maybe so," Jerry grinned. "I don't think it's a good idea to paint my picture until after I've had my coffee, but do you mind if I have the address? Maybe someday I just might show up and commission him for one." Trask nodded with a smile, thinking to himself. Here's another piece of evidence to give to Mrs. Stoddard if she wants to check into it.

Taking the pen from behind her ear again and scribbling down the address on a napkin, she slid it over to him on the table. "Here you are, sir. Is there anything else I can get for ya?" She stood up, straightening her apron.

"No, Mrs. Evans. You've been more than enough help. I've got to go meet a client for the day. It's been swell, Kathryn." Trask smiled and shook her hand. "I'll see ya around soon, and I'll give you a double tip next time. You've been very kind. Thank you, Ma'am." Tipping his hat, he walked out the door.

Looking out over the horizon, the morning sun was deceptively looming over the chilly atmosphere of the town. There over the ocean stood the pinnacle known as Widows' Hill. Taking a deep breath of the chilly sea air, he walked steadily through the streets of the town and into the woods leading to where he would come face-to-face with the dame who hired him—Elizabeth Stoddard.

With the sting of chilly winds blowing through the branches, Trask pressed onward, feeling determined to settle the matter. A myriad of emotions and thoughts raced about how he would begin the conversation. He felt angry at Paul Stoddard for involving him nearly seamlessly in murder. He was angry about the poor girl, Betty Hanscombe, whose lifeless body was lying haplessly inside of a car trunk. He felt sorry for the baby girl, Victoria, who was born into all this mess. She would never know her mother, and would probably have to grow up in a home just as he did when his Aunt had given him up.

He thought of his own infant son, Anthony, whom he called Tony for short. His mother, unable to bear the danger of his investigative career and demanding schedule, took little Tony away, remarrying another man whose last name was Peterson. More than ever now, as many things had gone wrong in his life, he was determined to make this right.

Although he knew that pursuing this could not fix his own past, he felt a chance at some redemption by bringing Miss Hanscombe's killer to justice. Someone had to be her voice, and he felt that he was the one. As the sun faded quickly behind gathering storm clouds, Trask's pace quickened until he found himself pacing in the woods near the summit of Widows' Hill.

Staring out over the sea, Track paused a moment. He took Betty Hanscombe's book from his inside pocket and skipped near the end. He had to do this. He looked up at the sky, his thoughts speaking directly to her. You thought your whole life brought shame and chaos. You're setting things right now, Miss Hanscombe, and you're the hero of the whole thing. You were so much smarter than they were, and you did everything right to fix your mistake. I swear on my life that I will finish what you started.

The winds blew harshly and the sky turned the darkest mix of black and gray. In the distance, lightning crashed as the ground shook beneath him from thunder. The rain started falling steadily and trickled down the brim of his fedora hat. Within half an hour past the time that Elizabeth was to meet him, the winds started blowing fiercely, and the rustling and cracking of branches in the woods surrounding him echoed in between the quakes of thunder. Lightning crashed around the trees not too far from where he stood, Trask decided to move out toward the edge of the cliff. He felt the grip of the wind slowly moving him closer and closer to the edge of Widows' Hill.

Nervously pacing back and forth, he weighed his options for his next move. He wasn't sure what to do. The time was well over an hour past their meeting time. If he went back in to the woods by Widows' Hill, he could possibly be struck by lightning. If he stayed near the summit of Widows' Hill, the winds would surely drive him over the edge and on to the jagged rocks below. If he went to Collinwood, the case was as good as gone because Paul Stoddard would know that something was amiss.

As his hands pulled his coat together, Trask felt the press of Betty's journal across his side. Looking upward again, he knew he had to do the right thing by this poor girl. He couldn't allow her death to be for nothing. She had worked too hard and taken so many chances to bring her case to this point, and he was willing to do whatever it took to make sure everything was delivered to Mrs. Stoddard, just like Miss Hanscombe wanted it to be.

As the tide rolled back from the shore, the sound of a racing motor could be heard in the distance. Ducking for cover, Trask knelt behind a rock and watched two headlights heading quickly in the direction of the great house of Collinwood. He decided to follow them on foot since it would be difficult to see him during such a tumultuous storm.

(DISCLAIMER: I do not own the rights to Dark Shadows. This story is a creation of my own within the universe of Dark Shadows with the sole intention of entertaining the reader. I do not profit or receive any royalties from the owners of the property, Dan Curtis Productions)