A. Renee Art

The town itself was a veritable pedestrian paradise with buildings made of stone. Originally a mining town, Painscreek built up quickly and remained prosperous for decades. It seemed ready for bigger fame and expansion until the mining disaster in the early ‘70s. There were rumors as to what caused it. Some say faulty equipment, others blamed the greed of the Roberts Family, who owned the mine, and a few people, including a couple of kids, swore that they saw underground bunkers that led deeper into the mine. The bunkers were allegedly older than when mining officially began.

Either way, the disaster was not the reason for the town’s abandonment, as it remained populated until 1997, when the last of its inhabitants left. Even the hospital was closed the year before, supposedly due to fund embezzlement.

The town itself became deserted for the same old reason that most small towns in the country were dying out now—the young leaving for bigger more exciting towns and cities while the old lingered and died. But rumor had it that even the old that remained finally left due to fear. Fear of a serial killer running around in 1995.

Supposedly, a private investigator was sent here two years ago, but nothing came out from that.

The current investigators found the inn. A blue Honda was parked just outside. They were surprised that there was electricity inside the building.

“Is someone else here besides us,” Connor asked, noting the car.

“There shouldn’t be,” Janet assured him and everyone. “I wouldn’t need a key otherwise. I think it’s just abandoned like the rest of the town.”

Lydia noted the boxes and bottles of unopened wine near the front door when the group stepped inside. “Ooh, was this a wine town as well?”

“That’s not why we’re here,” Janet said. “And it’s certainly not for any of you.”

They set their belongings down while Janet checked for a way behind the counter after seeing keys for three rooms on a row of hooks. Madeline approached the counter and noticed a note with a black key in a storage tray. She picked it up and put it in her bag.

Finding the rooms upstairs, they set arrangements up as follows: the twins had their own room, naturally, Madeline roomed with Lydia, which left Merc with responsible Janet.

“I’ll sleep on the floor in my sleeping bag so you can have the bed,” he said.

Janet nodded an “Of course, thanks.”

Given the fact that the sheets were likely not washed in about two years, everyone had their own sleeping bag. After the group settled their belongings, they met downstairs to work on a game plan for the case.

Connor was ready with his camera. Lydia was ready to take diligent notes as Janet began going over the main people connected to murder victim Vivian Roberts.

She began with Charles Roberts, husband of Vivian and widowed after her death. They married in 1971 after which she became the Vice President of the Roberts Mining Company. She came from a poor background but managed to become a prominent citizen earning the love and respect of the town, decorated with various awards, etc. Naturally, most of the town was at her funeral. They had a daughter, Trisha. The father and daughter moved out of town the next year after the mother’s death.

Based on the attendees of Vivian’s funeral, there was Bernard Hopkins, the butler, Dorothy Patterson, the head servant and former nanny to Trisha, Derrick Tyler, the family chauffeur, and his mother Wanda, who died of cancer later. Wanda worked at the mansion years ago and lived in the mansion with her son for a short time. After the funeral, the town just wasn’t the same.

The real reason why Painscreek became deserted was because according to what Sheriff Howard told Janet during their meeting on the case earlier in the week, the town’s most prominent doctor and the Roberts Family’s personal physician, Dr. Henry Johnson was found to have drowned in Cherry Creek Lake and, a worker for the Roberts Family, Andrew Reed, died in a fire in his home before then. Vivian Roberts was murdered a short time after the doctor. What really put people on edge was what happened to Scott Brooks.

“Scott Brooks was a gardener for the Roberts and reportedly Trisha’s boyfriend,” Janet explained. She showed them the laminated clipping from the old The Painscreek Herald newspaper. “He was brought in for questioning, but there wasn’t enough evidence to arrest him, so he was let go, despite being the last person seen talking to Vivian on the night of July 19^th, 1995.”

“An obvious red herring, just like the butler,” Lydia quipped. A lifelong fan of Law & Order, Unsolved Mysteries and Sherlock Holmes, she had a penchant for crime stories like this one and was privy to different beats experienced in crime solving.

“Maybe. Except that Scott was stabbed by an unnamed assailant in late 1995 and ran away from town after he recovered in early 1996.”

“Maybe it was the assailant.”

“Maybe. Anyway, that was the last straw for those who still lived here at the time. It spooked them enough to think that there was a serial killer in their close-knit town.”

“The doctor and the manor worker sound like accidents, though,” Merc figured.

“To a small town, that doesn’t matter.”

“Where did Scott live,” Lydia asked.

“Painscreek Trinity Church. The local priest, Father Matthew Brooks, adopted him. Since he was questioned, that’s another point of interest to start, besides the Roberts Manor, where Vivian was found. The paper said he was residing at a hunting cabin, but I don’t know if that was temporary, so I’d start with the church first.”

“We’re here to help you cover more ground, Janet,” Caylix reminded her. “So I guess we’re splitting up, aren’t we?”

Merc shrugged. “Alright, gang. Who’s going where?”

“Obviously, I’m going to the mansion,” Janet said. “I think I might need someone sporty and fast to assist me in case of danger. What say you, Mercury?”

“Oh, sure, Ms. Janet, uh Janet.” Merc blushed.

Lydia rolled her eyes and surmised to Madeline, “So we’re going to the church?” Then she noticed her hesitance and whispered, “I think the manor would be too much for you since it is a murder spot.”

“I’ll come to the manor too, with my camera,” Connor said.

“Then I’ll go with Maddie and Liddie to the church,” Caylix decided.

“Very good,” Lydia said as she passed around small notepads and pens to everyone. “We can reconvene here when we’re done. And here are town maps for the rest of us as well. I found them behind the front desk.”

After Janet and the boys left for the manor, Caylix lamented at the girls’ lack of a digital camera, until Lydia announced, “Don’t worry, I’ve got back up,” and pulled out a Polaroid camera.

Madeline was at the front desk when she noticed a faded red light from the answering machine.  She pressed a button and a voice spoke, startling Lydia and Caylix.

This is Shiela Gishe, I forgot to let you know that I accidentally left the slim-Jim at the church after delivering some food donations. Instead of telling Father Brooks, I thought it’d be quicker to tell you since you can just let yourself in with the hidden key in one of the flowerpots there. Anyway, thanks for the job for the past ten years and wish me luck! And…good luck to you, too. Stay safe.

Hi, uh this is Oliver Gibson. I just wanted to thank you for letting me borrow your toolbox and shovel. I’m currently out of town for a few days and haven’t got the chance to return them yet. In case you need them, they’re in my photo lab. Ask Mrs. Patterson for my spare key.

“Who are those people,” Caylix asked.

“I don’t know, but I’m writing them all down just in case,” Lydia said, who was scribbling furiously while listening to the machine.

Then a third message played.

Hi, this is Sheriff Howard, I just want to make sure that my deputy delivered the package for Detective Steve Moss. And as to any additional information, I’m afraid I have nothing more to say at this time.

Hello, this is Jacqueline Holcroft. I just wanted to express my gratitude for letting me stay at your inn as long as I could. I was able to find what I was searching for, but time is not only fragile, it’s transparent. I can only hope that the world will see it too, before it’s too late. If someone out there hears this and understands, then we might all stand a chance to be remembered. Farewell.

End of messages. Madeline took the note and black key she found earlier out of her bag. While holding up the key, she read aloud, “S. Moss, Here is the key you requested. 7 Black Pine Road, Painscreek. Mind if we took a short detour?”