Baby

befell three of his men; again, another shocker. The only thing left of the men he sent to the train station to pick up some freight was their skeletons. No clothes, no blood; just a macabre triangle of desiccated bones lying in the dirt. And heaping insult on injury, no witnesses. Son of a bitch .
    “Your tea, Sir.” Alice placed a silver tray with a filigree tea pot and one fine bone china tea cup on his partners desk.
    “Pour for me, won’t you, young lady?” The fifty-six year old housemaid poured his tea and returned to her duties, leaving him to savor the ambrosial fragrance in seclusion. Ah, yes, small pleasures. He sipped the sweet tea slowly, his face suffused with blood, warmed by the steam of the tea. His thoughts returned to the cause of his woefully inadequate sleep.
    The most disturbing death belonged to that of Simpson and his wife. They regularly worked late in their shop two nights a week with the help of a young female employee. Their bodies were found behind the butcher shop near the garbage receptacle. They protruded from a perfectly round hole in the ground that opened to a small tunnel that collapsed around the bodies. The coroner’s report blamed heart failure—both of them. When asked, their hysterical employee claimed she never heard nothin’.
    Robert’s blood froze in his veins every time he thought about the mysterious holes. He wondered why he remained alive. How long could one withstand relentless stress and sleeplessness? Perhaps his refusal to leave the house protected him. The commonality of the deaths suggest (they all occurred outside) he probably remained safe as long as he stayed inside. He could not know for sure but eleven years had passed since the last death.
    Discovering his teapot empty, he rang for Alice, requesting a refill and directing her to serve his dinner. As he waited for the tea, he happened to glance in the direction of the French doors that led out to the terrace and his glorious emerald lawn. The same French doors Netty fled through after first stealing his gold coin. Damn . He promised himself he wouldn’t think of her name. Concentrating on the glass of the French door, his squinty eyes widened as a looming form quickly disappeared. Was his imagination playing tricks on him ? For God’s sakes . Rising to investigate, the shrill sound of his telephone forced him to pause. Distracted, he picked up the heavy receiver, hearing the annoyed voice of his son-in-law, Edwin.
    “Hello, Robert; just a quick call. I hoped everyone would be here by now. They’re at least fifty minutes late. I wanted to take them to the new house before it got dark. I’m surprised at Judith. I made it clear to her she must keep on schedule. Did they depart on time?” Robert consulted his watch. Goodness, this was odd.
    “Edwin, they left earlier than planned, didn’t Judith call you? That was almost two hours ago. Perhaps they stopped to shop?”
    “Not with the baby with them. She gets fussy before dinner. Judith would never nurse her in public. It’s unseemly. Woops, there’s the doorbell; probably them. Sorry to disturb you, Robert. See you soon.” And he hung up. From the distance he heard his own doorbell ring. Company … at this hour ? Ringing the kitchen, he commanded Alice to see to the door.
    Anticipating a social visit, Robert ran his liver spotted hands through his still robust gray hair. He quickly donned his tweed sports jacket, covering the tea stains on his white linen shirt. To his surprise, Alice appeared, escorting two Norristown police officers. Their bearing was tense, their expressions tight.
    Robert felt a wash of fear, a growing pain in his right arm. He stood, as one of the officer spoke, hearing them clearly but failing to fully comprehend.
    “Mr. Doyle? We are sorry to inform you, there has been a tragic accident involving your family … all dead … skeletons … i nfant bones … no witnesses … undamaged vehicle …. investigation .…” the voices droned on as Robert’s ears filled with a white buzzing sound. His hand clutched at his chest, a feeble attempt to relieve the sudden pressure. As he tumbled over, his pain glazed eyes hesitated as they registered the specter of the looming mass hanging quietly over the top of the French doors, now undulating with golden striates. As he smashed his face on the corner of his partner’s desk, the excruciating pain in his fatally damaged heart could not prevent the despairing realization that