The Hayloft. A 1950s Mystery

I tried to think of a plan, but I couldn’t seem to focus enough to come up with anything. I wondered what had happened to Ed. Was he really intent on killing two families in hopes of getting some money from gas wells? He must have flipped his lid.
    And did this tie in to Ralph, who was already dead? And the necklace? My mind kept going over the map that Ralph had created for finding the necklace. Except that the necklace wasn’t in its hiding place, and judging from the old spider webs in the hole under the floor of the hayloft, it hadn’t been there recently, if ever.
    If the necklace was nonexistent, why had Ralph created the map? I suspected that the answer was very simple. Ralph had been a prankster. He had created the map to have fun with Ed. Unfortunately, this prank had cost him his life.
    I moved the cot against the wall, so that I would have support for my back. I didn’t want to lie on it and go to sleep. I needed to stay alert, even though I couldn’t think of anything to do at the moment. What if Ed decided to come back for me during the night? If I heard somebody at the door, I had to be prepared to leap into action.

    CHAPTER 28
    I spent a restless night, filled with weird mental images and quasi-dreams. I must have dozed some, because I saw a little light at the bottom of the ventilation shaft sooner than I expected. I felt cold and stiff. I had to get up and move around.
    Eating cold canned food appealed to me about as much as jumping into the Arctic Ocean, but I knew I should eat something. I would need all the strength I could muster. I took a can from a box I had identified last night as containing baked beans. I ate them and drank some water. I peed in the far corner of the shelter, because the chemical toilet was still in its original container and I couldn’t figure out how to assemble it in the dark. I had done this last night, also. I managed to splash some urine off the wall and onto myself.
    There was enough light from the shaft so that I could dimly make out the items in the shelter that were near it. The boxes of supplies looked different than they felt. The sense of sight and the sense of feel give somewhat conflicting images to the brain. For example, the cardboard box with the batteries in it, which was clearly labeled “BATTERIES” in black crayon, looked too deep to be holding only batteries. That hadn’t occurred to me when I could only touch it.
    I went over to the box and placed my hand inside. There were batteries in packages of two. I knew that already. Underneath the layer of batteries was cardboard. Previously, I had interpreted the cardboard as being the bottom of the box. But it wasn’t deep enough. I shoved both hands through the batteries and found that the cardboard wasn’t part of the box at all. It had been laid above something else.
    I dug my fingers into the edges of the cardboard until I could get a grip on it. Then I pulled it out of the box, spilling batteries all over the floor in the process. I thrust a hand back in and felt something metal. Like a toolbox. My heart thumping, I found the handle attached to the lid and pulled it out. It was heavy, like a toolbox.
    I set it down directly under the ventilation shaft and opened the clasps. Upon lifting the lid, I could see a number of tools, neatly organized. I didn’t have time to sort through them. I upended the box and dumped the tools onto the floor. I quickly found a hammer and a pair of pliers. There were several screwdrivers. I selected the sturdiest one with the largest blade.
    I carried these tools over to the door. The light from the shaft didn’t reach this far. I had to work by feel again. I found the middle hinge of the door. It was a convenient height to start with. I had to extract the rod that went through the hinge holes on the door and the frame.
    I used the pliers to attempt to pull the rod up out of the holes. After losing the grip of the pliers on the rod several times, I managed to pull it up a fraction of an inch. At least it was fairly new and not stuck in place. I placed the screwdriver blade under the head of the rod and tapped the handle of the screwdriver with the hammer, trying not to tap my fingers. In this I was not totally successful, but little by little, I knocked the rod upward, until it fell onto the floor with a clang.
    I uttered a silent cheer and went to work on the lowest hinge. After five minutes of effort, I extracted this rod. Now for the highest hinge. This one