Chapter 39

“There is nothing new under the sun. It has all been done before.”

-Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, A Study in Scarlet

Tom glanced at Wolfie in the mirror. “Stop at the next McDonald’s, DD.”

“You’re hungry? That’s a good sign.”

“Not me. Wolfie. He likes their burgers.”

I swear Wolfie licked his chops just then. “Wolfie is quite a package,” I said, watching him in the rear view mirror.

“He outranks us in a lot of ways. His sense of smell is about a hundred times better than ours.”

“To help him find McDonald’s,” I interjected.

“True. Other types of prey as well. And his hearing is more sensitive and he’s got better peripheral vision than we do. Way better night vision too.”

“I repeat, better to find prey. Up there’s a Burger King. That okay?”

“No. He’ll only eat McDonald’s.” He pointed. “There’s one in the next block on the other side of the street.”

I pulled in the drive thru. “What’s your pleasure? Or Wolfie’s pleasure, I should say.”

“I’ll have a Big Mac off the menu. Then order five single burgers for Wolfie, no buns and no extras.”

“They’ll do that?”

“Sure, but DD, keep the window rolled up as much as possible, ‘cause he can smell those burgers.”

Wolfie waited for me to unwrap each patty, then neatly dispatched one after the other. I still had all my fingers when he finished. I hadn’t ordered anything for myself so I sat and watched them both eat heartily.

“The Haven,” Tom said as we were on the road again, “is west of Lake Michigan and a bit north of the Wisconsin Dells.” He was wiping the hamburger residue off his pants. Apparently his injured arm wasn’t cooperating.

I headed for I-90 to avoid Milwaukee and the congestion in eastern Wisconsin. Madison would be the first big city we’d hit. Tom’s van was easy to drive, and soon we’d merged into I-90. I knew the route so far but would have to rely upon the GPS when we got north of Madison.

Sunset in April was around 7:30 PM, so we didn’t have any daylight left. But rush hour was over, so traffic was light. As we drove, I briefed Tom on the pocket 3-D video cam, in case he had to use it.

“You sure know your gadgets,” Tom said approvingly. “I think I’ve got the hang of it, and I like the idea of recording the find for posterity.”

Wolfie was snoozing and after a bit Tom dozed too. I inserted a Mozart CD and glanced at Tom. He was undoubtedly still feeling the effects of the meds he’d been getting. When the drugs wore off, I wondered if his pain would be bearable. Advil was all I had in my purse.

The drive, I estimated, would take about four hours. I wasn’t sure Tom would hold up. I kept to the speed limit, and not one mile above, all the while feeling a little sick knowing I was about to break restrictions. Cook County is the most populous county in the whole United States except for LA County, so it took awhile before we passed through Elgin on its northwest limits. When the sign read Lake County, I officially became a fugitive.

It was time to contact Morgan. After I told him where I was and what we were doing, a wall of silence descended.

“Morgan, you still there?”

“I’m still here, DD. Maybe as long as you’re already out of Cook County and de facto in trouble, I’m thinking maybe it’s not such a bad idea for you to go check out the Haven - that is if Tom’s really up to it. I’d like to know what’s going on up there. Keep your eyes and ears open and report back to me. In fact, call me on a regular basis. I drove up there after the Dowager’s death just for the heck of it, but it was virtually deserted except for the caretaker, a nice old guy named... Starts wish a ‘B.’ B something. I’ll think of it in a minute. Anyway, find out what you can and then get back here without incident. That’s an order. I’m here if you need me. Oh, Bates. That was his name. I remember. Marlow Bates. He’s probably still there and might help you. Be careful, whatever you do.”

I was relieved. Morgan had agreed to back us up. I signed off and, heeding his advice not to get into trouble, flipped on the van’s cruise control and drove carefully. I was a fugitive and couldn’t afford to be stopped. We now were across the state line into Wisconsin on the way to Madison.

Tom stirred and shifted position. “I heard your end of the conversation, but not Morgan’s. What’s all the fuss about your leaving Cook County?”

“You know they arrested me when I broke into the Grange mansion, right?”

“Yeah, but that’s all taken care of, isn’t it?”

“Not exactly. See, that’s when they found Mrs. Toller’s body, which complicated things. I’m out on bail now. I guess they expect you to stay home in bed, don’t wear red and keep your hands at your side until you go to trial.”

“DD, I didn’t realize the full impact of asking you to come along.” He lowered his head. “I didn’t think about it. I’m sorry. But I can’t let Green win.”

“Tom, you know me. I couldn’t sit at home until my trial. And we’re committed now. I’m not worried about it, so you shouldn’t be either. We’re not gonna get into any trouble. See, I’m not even speeding. I’m using your cruise control.”

“I did notice that. It’s not like you at all.”

“What do you know about the Haven, Tom?”

“Not much except for the few things I heard around the mansion.”

“As long as you’re awake, why don’t you Google it. The more we know, the better I’ll feel when we get there.”

Tom finally got his laptop going using only one hand. The computer screen lit up, and Tom tapped a few keys. “Here it is,” he said.

‘The Haven - place of shelter - is the official name of the David J. Grange Estate, a wilderness resort area located north of the Dells. It was a summer retreat built by David Joyce Grange of Chicago, who amassed a family fortune from timber. The Haven consists of a thousand acres of forest and lakes, and 40 buildings constructed in the first half of the 20th century.

“It’s huge, Tom. How the hell are we going to find the Doyle stuff in all that?”

He grunted. “Let me finish reading this. Maybe there’s a clue.”

‘The main part of the estate is a collection of Rustic Adirondack Style buildings built with native logs and stone. It includes a sprawling lodge with a huge library, guest cabins, a gazebo, and a caretaker’s residence, a greenhouse, an airplane hangar, a nine-hole golf course and tennis court. The Haven’s elaborate site plan and extensive service facilities allow the complex to function as a small, self-contained village.’

“It’s totally isolated,” I said. Now I was really worried.

“That’s good for us,” Tom said. “Nobody will be around.”

“Maybe,” I interjected. “Or maybe not.”

“Locating the main Lodge should be easy. According to the write-up, it’s the biggest building.”

“It’s a place to start,” I reluctantly agreed. I hoped I was doing the right thing.

Tom nodded. “And that’s where I’m betting Philip Green started too. I can’t let him win. We’ve got to catch up with him. Listen to this, DD.”

‘The Haven is remote. Few have ever seen it, and it remains surrounded by a certain mystique since its construction.’

“I wonder what they mean by mystique?” I asked.

“You and your ghost stories, DD. Forget it.” Tom resumed reading.

’David Joyce Grange had two sons, one of whom died before marrying and one who married but was rumored to be a playboy. His widow, Beatrice, known as the Dowager, stayed at The Haven full time after her husband died. She moved to Chicago shortly before her death at age 97. Recently The Haven Estate established a charitable Foundation that is working to turn over the site for management to the US Forest Service, thereby making it eligible to be placed on the National Register of Historic Places.’

“So they’re going on the Historic Register. That makes me worry about getting in, Tom. We could have problems.

I could feel Tom’s eyes on me. “You know more about that sort of thing than I do. I trust you to find a way around any security.”

I guess it’s nice to have a reputation - good or bad. “The place is in the middle of nowhere. It might have extra heavy security or it might have minimal security,” I speculated. “Let’s hope it’ll be lax - after all, it’s not the bigs.”

Tom nodded. “We have to get in - no matter what. If Phillip Green can get in, we can too.”

“That’s assuming Green has even gone up there. By the way, how about a pit stop? We can let Wolfie out and change his water.”

“If it wasn’t for Wolfie, I’d say let’s keep up the pace, but okay, we can stop. But let’s make it quick.”

We stopped, but it wasn’t exactly quick. Tom was slow getting out and then back into the van. He swallowed three Advil while Wolfie took a quick run. Then we were back on the road.

“By the way Tom,” I asked, “if we catch up with Philip Green, what are you going to do?”

“I don’t have that part figured out yet,” he said.

I kept hoping we were on a wild goose chase, and I could be back in Cook County before anyone missed me.