The Hayloft. A 1950s Mystery

something to do with the necklace?”
    “No, because there isn’t any necklace.”
    “Then what—”
    “I’m not sure what he’s up to, but whatever it is, we’ve got to stop him.”
    “Gary, you’re not making any sense.”
    “I know. I can’t tell you anything more right now. All I know is that we’ve got to get to the farm.”
    At the speed I was driving, we were going to be there in about four minutes, in spite of the fact that the old crate could barely hit fifty. And it was vibrating something awful. I was glad we didn’t have very far to go. I was also glad about the scarcity of policemen as I skidded around another turn onto Sugar Road, without honoring the stop sign.
    Half a mile to go on a straightaway. I slowed down for the railroad tracks, fearing that the car would fall to pieces if it got too much of a jolt. The driveway of the farm was just ahead. I pulled into the driveway between two big old maple trees and stopped behind my father’s car. My car was nowhere in sight. Maybe Ed wasn’t here, after all.
    I jumped out and ran to the front door. It was unlocked. I opened it and went inside. I could see into the kitchen. Although I smelled the fetching aroma of Sunday dinner cooking, I couldn’t see anybody.
    “Aunt Dorothy,” I called. No answer. “Uncle Jeff. Dad. Mother.”
    Something was bubbling in the oven, but I didn’t hear any human sounds. I glanced out the dining room window that looked straight down the lane. Nobody was in the lane. I turned and almost knocked down Kate, who had come into the house behind me.
    “Maybe they’re in the barn,” I said.
    I ran out of the house and toward the barn. Kate was right on my heels. Twenty steps later I opened the barn door and went inside. Another few steps, and I was at the ladder to the hayloft. The trapdoor was open, and the loft light was on; I climbed up and onto the floor of the loft. The first thing I saw was my mother and Aunt Dorothy on the other side of the loft, attempting to peer between the bales and the wall of the barn. They were both wearing dresses. It seemed very odd that they would be wearing dresses in the hayloft.
    Then I saw a group on top of the bales—my dad, Uncle Jeff, Tom, and Archie—also apparently looking for something. Kate quickly climbed up the bales and joined them. I went over to the women, whose backs were toward me, and said, “What are you doing?”
    They jumped and turned around. Both stared at me wide-eyed, as if they had seen a ghost.
    “Gary,” my mother said, wrapping me in her arms. “How did you…?” She couldn’t finish her sentence.
    “How did you get out?” Aunt Dorothy asked.
    How did she know about the bomb shelter? I started to give a confused reply when out of the corner of my eye I saw somebody run to the ladder from behind the haystack and quickly climb down, closing the trapdoor behind him with a bang.
    It was Ed. What was he up to? I broke free of my mother and ran over to the trapdoor. By the time I reached it, I heard hammering noises coming from just beneath it. When it was closed, we opened the door from above by pulling up a bolt that acted as a handle, because the closed door was flush with the floor. I tried to get a grip on the bolt to pull it, but it had slid down almost flush with the door and I couldn’t get my fingers under it. Ed had apparently secured it from below. And it was practically impossible to open the door any other way. The hammering continued.
    “Ed,” I called. “What the hell are you doing?”
    The hammering stopped for a few seconds. “Gary?” Ed said through the door. “How did you get out?”
    “Open the door, Ed,” I said. “The time for games is over.”
    “This will work out just as well,” Ed said. “Better. I don’t have to go back to the bomb shelter to take care of you.” He continued hammering.
    I sniffed the air. Something smelled funny. I glanced toward the haystack and saw smoke drifting up from between the hay and the wall. Ed had set the hay on fire.
    “Fire!” I yelled. The others, who had started coming down from the bales when they heard my voice, now ran over. My father, Uncle Jeff, and the boys made their way along the wall toward the fire and started trying to stamp it out.
    “This isn’t a joke, Ed,” I yelled, panic in my voice. “Everybody is up here.”
    Ed briefly stopped hammering and said, “It worked out beautifully, didn’t it? They all hurried out here when I told them you had gotten