Return to The Quarry

Chapter Twenty-one

Diary entry of Ginny Brown

While poking around in the foreman's shed where I work, I came across a little hidey-hole in the floorboards where someone naughty used to keep a flask, I'll bet. It's the perfect place for me to hide my notes. I don't think I shall bother dating them. The WHAT I find is more important than the WHEN. This little hiding spot will allow me to speak more freely about what I find without fear of anyone figuring out who I am.

The first day on the job and I already came up with something significant. Frank took me on a tour of the grounds and showed me the areas which would be best to highlight. The lake, waterfalls, ancient trees, that sort of thing.

It seems that the Hacketts are desperate to make a go of this summer camp thing. They're going all out dolling up the family history. If my books ever embroidered the truth, then these people are crocheting a whole darned bedspread. More on that to follow.

***

Long story short, I talked to Louisa about resources I could use for writing up the family history. She showed me a whole cabinet of old books and documents in the attic. These folks have cornered the market on antiques, by the way.

I'm getting to know the family line. Some of the names! Increase of all things! Azariah. Fecundus. Then there were some paintings of the family. Here's where it gets interesting.

There was a portrait of a man, a very stern, gaunt fellow with slicked down hair and a suit with a high collar like you see in old movies. Louisa explained that he was Septimus Hackett, Frank's father. She never mentioned that he was a bootlegger. In the painting, he's holding a book on his knee. A red one as thick as a phonebook. Call it a hunch, but I wondered if that book in particular was significant.

It would turn out that I was right. And Hallelujah THE BOOK WAS THERE in and amongst all these other books! I flipped it open, low and behold: the bootlegging ledger of Septimus Hackett. I scoured the pages. Some of the names knocked me for a loop. Clearly made up names, but some had little notes next to them like senator, temperance activist, even Catholic bishop. All these fine folks secured orders of double malt gravel from him. The code was hardly a secure one, given different ways in which the words were used in descriptions of orders.

Long story short, there dated a few months before Deirdre's disappearance, an order for a one "Glamour Girl" for a bunch of gypsum. A huge bunch of gypsum. A bigger shipment than they had ever previously made or had made since. And it was to be sent by rail to Beverly Hills.

I tore out the page from the book and hid it in my notes. I managed to get a bunch of family history to begin writing the stuff up for the camp. In the meantime, as it seems to be firming up that the Hacketts poisoned Alan's inner circle, I still have no way of finding out if she ever actually came here or how. Or what happened to her after that.

That's going to be the sticky wicket. In the other ledger, the ones for the quarry's expenses bound in black, there seemed to be a lot of money spent on securing the property, most likely to keep revenuers out. She would never have gotten into the place through any conventional means. If I want this story to hold water, I have to figure out how she got in here.

***

What a night. At 3:04 in the morning, I was awakened by the sounds of screaming and running footsteps. I poked my head out the door and saw Louisa Hackett sprinting up the stairs to the third floor. Frank stumbled behind her, reeking of whiskey. I followed behind them up to the small hallway that led to Moira's room. They went into the room and closed the door behind them. Inside, I could hear Moira crying out "Forgive us, Lord, our wicked ways!" Louisa tried her best to soothe her and eventually got her calmed back down. I listened at the door for a good five minutes when a hand on my shoulder made me jump. It was Jed. I didn't even hear him approach me. He's big for a thirteen year old, and he has a voice as deep and gravelly as his father. There was something in the way he looked sternly at me and mumbled "you should go back to your room" that made me do it without question. I went down the hall, but I could hear Moira whimpering "Call Father [some name I couldn't make out]!"