Stone Haven Read online

  Holly Fox Vellekoop

  Trooper Kevin Kearney, both of the Pennsylvania State Police, and Thomas L. Isenberg, Retired Pennsylvania State Police Officer, for their assistance in some technical aspects of this mystery.

  And

  To all the men and women of the United States military who are serving their country around the world.

  FRIDAY, 5 P.M.

  Even in death, you knew that Rose Stone, the fiftytwo-year-old wife of psychiatrist Dr. Lesley Stone, came from money, married money, and died in a setting of wealth. Rose's petite body, a body familiar to expensive wrappings, was sprawled indecently in front of the white marble kitchen sink. Her short, ash blond hair framed a Tyrolean face, flaccid and unseeing at this hideous death scene. A trickle of blood outlined the fold of her left cheek and trailed down her carotid artery.

  The expensive black Guccis were not on Rose's sizesix, perfectly pedicured feet. Instead, one lay on the white Italian marble floor of the largest, most elaborate kitchen Lana Stahl had ever seen. The other bloodspattered shoe nestled next to Rose's lifeless body, which was clad in a black Armani pantsuit.

  Shards of what appeared to have been a glass figurine were splayed about the floor, mingling with the cooling blood. Looking closely, one could see the glass remnants of the statue's perfectly coifed head, the pale orange and blue fragments obscenely reflecting the still moist bodily fluids of Danville's richest woman.

  Rose was wearing no jewelry. Not even a watch or earrings. How strange, thought Lana, eyebrows furrowing; Rose's diamond ring is gone.

  The diamond in the setting was the well-known Darling Diamond, a nine carat square cut, flawless white diamond set in platinum. Rose always wore it on her right hand. The hand she used to gesture with as she talked animatedly about her many subjects of interest.

  You couldn't help but look at the ring. Everyone looked at that ring when Rose was near. That's how compelling it was. But there was nothing there to look at now, nothing but blood and lifeless money.

  Lana forced herself to turn away from the grisly sight, a stark contrast to the stainless steel appliances complementing the white and black designer kitchen layout. A layout that was not planned for the violence that had played out earlier this Friday afternoon.

  Fear began to seize her as she gazed about the room. Paralyzing fear. She thought once or twice that she was going to be ill, and held a tissue to her face and gagged. She tried not to look at the dead body, but her eyes kept coming back to Rose.

  Almost thirty years of nursing had prepared her for a lot of things, but not for this. As a psychiatric nurse, Lana had seen violence and blood. She had witnessed the borderline's self-mutilations, which could turn stomachs. Paper clips or staples pushed into arms clean to the bone, eventually rendering the limb useless. Selfinflicted scars across the torso from knees to shoulders, so dense that you couldn't tell where one ended and the other began. All this in some attempt to assuage one's inner anxiety and torment.

  There was even the time that Kendra, a chronic schizophrenic, performed self-enucleation by pulling her myopic left eye from its socket and devouring it in full view of shocked observers in a locked ward dayroom. As horrible as that was, it did not compare to what Lana had stumbled onto today.

  Nurses see death at times and, while it is always difficult, it is sometimes expected. This was unexpected and affected Lana on a different level. She was in shock from a recognition of the depravity of the killer of this woman.

  Lana was frantic, and gasping for breath due to fear, distress ... and the stench of blood. Her heart pounding violently in her chest, she rushed out the door. She half-ran, half-stumbled to her car, with nary a glance at her surroundings. Digging wildly through her purse, Lana came up with the keys to unlock the passenger door. She fumbled and dropped them, grabbed them off the driveway, then dropped them again. Finally, still shaking, she was able to unlock the car door, get in, and relock it behind her. Leaning down to the floor mat, she reached anxiously for her cell phone and dialed 911.

  While the local and state police milled about collecting evidence and cordoning off the crime scene with black and yellow plastic tape in an effort to preserve evidence, Lana sat stoically and silently in the living room, trying to compose herself. A young black state policewoman offered her coffee from a fast food carrier and in a comforting tone, asked her if she needed anything. Lana shook her head no. Before she went back to gathering evidence, the trooper told her it would be just a few minutes before Lieutenant Sheski, an investigator, would come in to speak to her.

  Lana looked about at the Stones' costly home. She wasn't the only one impressed. As the police completed their routine tasks, Lana occasionally heard them remarking, "What this place must have cost. . " and other phrases of admiration.

  Art deco in design, the white sprawling twenty-oneroom mansion stood out amid the expensive two-story colonials and recently-built Victorian-style mansions in the gated Sweetriver development, a cluster of elegant homes that was known for its exclusivity, gated entrance, and impeccable landscaping.

  The house had several levels, with cube glass windows and stainless steel and blue glass accents. From the high elevation, multi-tiered balconies looked out over neighboring properties.

  Lana had known Dr. and Mrs. Stone since she came to work at Stone Haven, the private hospital the psychiatrist owned and managed. Today was the first time that she had been invited to their home. They usually met at some local restaurant for their discussions, preferring neutral ground to work on mutual community projects. Lana didn't travel in the same social circles as the Stones. Now here she was, sitting on their imported white and gold Italian leather couch, averting her eyes from the doctor's dead wife.

  This is horrible, she thought, and said a silent prayer for her dead friend, and for herself.

  "Are you okay?"

  Lana looked up from where she was sitting into the handsome middle-age face of State Police Lieutenant Tommy Sheski. It was a strong face that validated his heritage.

  Sheski was Pennsylvania Dutch on his mother's side and Polish on his father's. His paternal grandparents had emigrated post-war from Poland to the heart of the Pennsylvania coal region. Somewhere en route to Centralia, Pennsylvania, their long Polish family name became shortened to Sheski.

  The trooper had high Polish cheekbones on a broad, attractive face, and stood six foot even, with a thick, strong body. A dark suit, white shirt, and dark tie enhanced his rugged good looks.

  "Sure, I'm okay. But can I go soon? I want to go home, I have work to do, my dog is waiting, and.. At this point, Lana began to cry softly. Tears streamed down her face.

  She couldn't do any work in her condition now even if she wanted to, and she knew it. She thought of the horror she had witnessed. Then her mind wandered to her tiny Yorkshire Terrier, Bunky, waiting for her to feed him his supper. It was now 5:40 P.M. and she was long overdue. Bunky would know she was late and would be waiting expectantly in the laundry room of their century-old Queen Anne house for his owner to come and fill his dish.

  Lana's medium-length auburn hair fell around her face, framing big green eyes, reddened and swollen from weeping.

  At fifty-two, she looked ten years younger, and the detective softened in response to her good looks and obvious distress. We men are such wimps about a woman like this, he thought.

  "It won't be long," he responded. "I only have a few questions to ask you right now. We can talk again later."

  Sheski turned to one of the many uniformed Pennsylvania State Police officers milling about the scene, and whispered something that Lana could not hear. He then sat down next to her and stared long and hard into her face, shifting his gaze just once to see if she was wearing a wedding set. There was none. He fo
und that interesting.

  "Tell me what brought you to the Sweetriver development today," Sheski asked slowly.

  "There's not much to tell, Lieutenant."

  "Please, call me Tommy," he interrupted.

  For some reason he preferred having her call him by his first name, although most people called him by his surname. He tolerated "Sheski" but really hated it when he was referred to as "The Polock."

  For now, the state trooper wanted to make Lana comfortable. She was the first person to arrive at the murder scene, and he would need her to relax and feel free to talk. He also wanted to be on a first name basis with her.

  Sheski found her attractive and was looking closely at her for more than just professional reasons. She appeared to be educated, and was wearing a gray pantsuit, white cotton shell, and black loafers with a deep, broad heel. He was trying to determine her age, wrongly guessing it in the forties.

  Lieutenant Thomas Sheski was a native of Centralia, a Pennsylvania coal town that had its own share of troubles. His hometown, rich in anthracite lore and history, was the unfortunate host of underground fires burning unchecked in anthracite coal veins since the early 1960s. When smoke from the fires began billowing out of the ground, blinding drivers on Route 61 and spewing toxic chemicals, the federal government stepped in. Much to the community's surprise and horror, government officials decided to wipe their coal town off the map. Literally.

  A government condemnation and subsequent buyout of Centralia properties was for the residents' own good, officials reported. Sadly, it turned the once charming little town into a big vacant lot with streets. Just a few loyal Centralia inhabitants remain today, their grit and determination an example of Pennsylvania coal town character.

  After graduating from high school, Sheski had gone on to Penn State University, nestled in the happy valley of State College, PA, home of the Nittany Lions. He had been heavily recruited for college football. Many colleges and universities appreciate the tough young athletes from the Pennsylvania coal regions. They have a reputation for strength, agility, and endurance. Sheski was no exception.

  A dean's list student, he was a first string fullback for two seasons. After graduating with a BS in criminology, he went to the Pennsylvania State Police Academy in Hershey, and on to a career as a state police officer. Coming from this background, he was hard to fool. Life experiences had taught him a lot.

  "Well, Tommy," Lana began again, "I was in my office at Stone Haven working on paperwork when it started to get late, so I decided I'd finish it at home." She dabbed at her eyes intermittently with a tissue, speaking in a quiet, soft voice. "I was preparing to leave, and while rummaging through my briefcase, found some bid forms that were supposed to go to the eight P.M. Restoration Committee meeting tonight. I knew I couldn't be there because of my workload, so I called Rose Stone to see if she could take them"

  "About what time was that?" Sheski asked.

  "That was about three-fifteen. I remember looking at my watch and wondering if she would be home. Rose was a busy woman. She had many interests and was dedicated to the restoration of Danville. Everyone knew about her projects. She really..

  At this point, Lana began to sob, her whole body shaking violently. After a few minutes, she wiped her eyes and nose with a crumpled tissue she had been holding, and regained her composure.

  "She really wanted to help revive her husband's hometown to its original turn-of-the-century look. Rose often said that the town park would be the beginning. She would bring back its original charm with a water fountain and flower beds. Rose had big plans. Plans that included a total change for Mill Street. When she gained their cooperation, she wanted to have the merchants restore their storefronts to their original Victorian-era charm. It would have been beautiful."

  Sheski nodded his head slightly, encouraging her to continue her story. "What happened next?"

  "When I told her I still had those bid forms, she asked if I could bring them to her home. The sooner the better. She said she was expecting someone and wanted some time to review the documents for tonight's meeting."

  Lana paused, then said thoughtfully, "She sounded a little nervous, for Rose. She was always so composed, so in control. Anyway, when I finished what I had to do, I got into my car and came over."

  "About what time did you arrive?"

  "It was four-forty P.M. You can ask the gatekeeper about that. When I pulled up to his station, he checked his watch and recorded our encounter in his log book, so I looked at my watch. Rose must have called ahead to him, because when I approached the Sweetriver entrance, he looked at a reference sheet attached to his clipboard and opened the gates so I could go on in. Then he got out of his booth, and as I drove past him, he peered into my car and smiled and waved me on through."

  "When you drove through the gates, did you see anyone else walking or driving along the road?" Sheski questioned.

  He was looking her in the eyes while he spoke, breaking contact only to take notes.

  "No, there was no one. I drove through the development, following Rose's directions, which I had written down. When I came to the end of Montgomery Street, I looked up and there it was. This house. You couldn't miss it. It's the most fascinating home in Sweetriver. I pulled into the driveway, up to the side, and parked. I didn't go right in though, because I wanted to look around for a few minutes. Although I've heard a lot about this place, I've never been here before and just wanted to soak it in."

  The Stone's art deco style house was known throughout the state and was frequently photographed by those who could get past the guard or sneak in on the unfinished dirt road behind the property. More than one house-beautiful magazine did a full-color spread on the showplace. It had even been featured on a television show that spotlights homes of the wealthy.

  Lana stated that she had taken her time going up to the house, enjoying the beauty. The fifty-foot-long ceramic and glass walk alone was enough to cause even the most jaded to stare at the artwork underfoot.

  "Once I arrived, I didn't think that Rose would mind my taking a little time to look around outside. I assumed she would be used to it. After all, there's no other house in our area that even comes close to this. And I love looking at houses"

  Lana paused, looked at the detective and asked, "Lieutenant Sheski-Tommy-who could do this? Rose was usually so kind. I know that a lot of people found her to be pushy and ambitious when she wanted something, but she did a lot of good for this town, and she was always nice to me."

  Evidently everyone was not as impressed as you seem to be, Sheski mused. Rose must have pushed someone too far. In an attempt to keep Lana centered on the sequence of events, he asked laconically, "What happened next?"

  Lana recognized his need for her to remain focused.

  "After looking at the walkway, I wandered off to the gardens just to the side of the house to get a better look at the grounds. They're wonderful." She emphasized the word wonderful.

  "Did you see anyone else around the place?"

  "Only a man working in the back of the garden by the gate near the road. He looked like a gardener and seemed to be trimming the shrubbery. I didn't look really closely, so I didn't see his face"

  "Did he look up at you, smile, wave, or do anything to acknowledge that he had seen you?" Sheski asked.

  "No," she puzzled, shaking her head back and forth. "I'm not sure, but I don't think he saw me"

  "What did he look like? What was he wearing?" Sheski asked quickly.

  "I told you, I didn't look that closely," she said wearily. "I think he had some sort of gardening tool, like the kind that is used to trim shrubbery. It had long handles. He was about my height and, um ... was wearing old work clothes," she said. "With an unbuttoned flannel shirt over another shirt. That's all I remember. As I told you, I was too busy enjoying the landscape"

  Lieutenant Sheski called one of the state policemen over, gave him the details about the man Lana saw in the yard, and asked him to check and see if the Stones
had their own gardener.

  Sheski turned back to Lana, looked her over, and asked her if she was okay. Did she need a break or anything?

  She indicated that she could go on.

  "After you looked around the garden, what did you do next?" he asked.

  "I went to the side door as Rose had told me to do, rang the doorbell, and waited for someone to answer it. After a minute or so, I shaded my eyes and peeked through the door window to see if anyone was there, but I couldn't see anything. I thought that since Rose had said she was expecting company, maybe she was occupied with her visitor. I waited a few minutes and then rang the doorbell again."

  Lana looked away from him, sighed, and bowed her head. Another tear streaked down her pretty cheek. She wiped it away, touched her hair briefly, and continued.

  "It was then that I looked through a larger window to the side of the door, and saw her body. I was horrified. All I could think of was maybe, since I'm a nurse, I could still help her. Without thinking about the danger, I tried the door. It was unlocked, so I went inside. My God, what a sight." She leaned her chin on her hand and sighed heavily.

  "I was too late. I could see that right away. I checked for breathing and a pulse anyway. There was neither. I touched her arm and it was still warm. That's when I went outside to my car and called 911. I locked the car doors and waited for someone to arrive. I didn't touch anything else, in case you're wondering."

  She stopped for a few seconds and looked directly at the detective. Sniffling, she asked, "What happened here?"

  "Well," Sheski began, "According to the coroner's first impression, Mrs. Stone was killed instantly by a massive blow to the base of her skull. She never knew what hit her. Her killer then proceeded to repeatedly strike her with a heavy weapon. Someone wanted to make sure the job was thorough. There are multiple blunt force wounds. The attack was savage enough to knock her out of her shoes. And, did you notice, she was well dressed, but wearing no jewelry. By the marks on her body, her rings, earrings, and necklace must have been ripped right off of her. The murderer was one strong individual."