CHAPTER NINE
Thomas Miller was the lead detective at the Saint Cloud police department. A rather tall and brawny man of fifty-four, who had a stout roman nose with a slight balding forehead, putted golf balls in his side yard. His quiet disposition only served to highlight his overall honorable respect he received from the townsfolk. Enjoying this early morning pleasure as it seemed, he could never find the time to spend a morning, or afternoon for that matter at the big city golf course in Millersburg, and he cherished his large yard and comfortable home they lived in.
It was built in the early 1920's by the Deep Vein Mining Company for its top executive. Years later, after the mining company closed down its operations and moved on, it was sold off with the rest of the land and buildings. Its two stories and three bedrooms suited him and his wife Nancy just fine.
Nancy Miller was a foot shorter than her husband, and about twenty-five pounds heavier than when they married so many years ago. She was very self-conscious of her weight, and her husband learned over the years, never to raise the subject unless he was prepared to spend time in the proverbial doghouse.
Wavy-brown hair with strands of gray, now very apparent, worn mainly short, never touching her shoulders was her basic style. Now in her mid-fifties, her once sharp eyesight seemed to be getting a little worse each year, but for reasons of vanity, she refused to get glasses. The sparkle they once commanded, had now faded from her brown eyes over the years, as well as her general disposition.
As the older model 1949 Ford black-and-white police cruiser came to a stop in front of his house, he made an unpleasant expression and frowned. After nineteen years on the police force, he recognized the sound of the old eight-cylinder engine, and the last dying cough it crooned out when the engine was cut off.
Rookie Officer Sherry Hendrix, in her new tailored uniform with navy blue pants, powder blue shirt, black patent leather shoes, and starched cap squared on her head had been sent to deliver a message.
Spying Det. Miller, she strutted to the side yard and stood at attention. "Sorry to break up your game sir. The Chief wanted you notified about a murder of a woman at the North Side Park. She's been identified as Martha Camp, the wife of Beau Camp, the insurance agent. Her husband hasn't been notified yet. The Chief wants us to find and tell him sir," Sherry said in her practiced voice.
"Okay, it'll take me a minute or so to get ready," he said as he lit up a Camel cigarette. "Wait in the car and I'll be out shortly."
With a snappy hand salute, she pivoted and marched to the police cruiser.
Sherry Hendrix was born in Millersburg some twenty-two years ago, and moved here with her father at an early age. From a young age, she was fascinated with anything and everything to do with police work.
Shoulder length light-blond hair, with soft emerald green eyes that seemed to dance around the boundaries of her charming face. Standing five feet six inches, and unnaturally strong and athletic, she was also quick to react to any situation confronting her; a shrewd and clever mind to be sure.
A child of divorce, she lived with her father, Lester who worked as the butcher at the Franklin Market.
Sherry adored her father and was too young to remember her mother, whose whereabouts are unknown since the divorce. There had been rumors of abuse inside the home, but no inquiries were ever conducted or complaints filed with any jurisdictional authority. In those days’ people minded their own business, and kept family matters to themselves.
Yet, as many people know, things of that nature can fester until they spill over into the light of day. Sherry was beautiful and caring on the outside, but anger was seething just beneath the surface; anger over her mother’s diary, which she had discovered packed away in their basement. Time would tell if she could control it, or it would control her; for her frame of mind concerning her mother ran deep; so many unanswered questions, so many repressed feelings she had to contend with. The day would come, when those feelings would erupt and make themselves known; anger would then rule the day and night for this little princess.