A Mind's Eye Witness

A Mind’s Eye Witness

Rosanne L. Higgins

Copyright © 2019 Rosanne L. Higgins

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To The Turner Boys and all of the wonderful women who are still with them.

Your love and support through thick and thin are very much appreciated.

Contents

Prologue

Part One

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Part Two

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Part Three

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Acknowledgements

Other books by Rosanne L. Higgins

About the Author

Prologue

Buffalo, New York, 1924

Captain Thomas McNamara began to think better of using his own car as he pulled up to the back of the massive sandstone asylum. It was a Model T sedan, an indulgence from when he served as the Chief of Police a few years back. Being one of three people living on Colvin Avenue who owned a car wasn’t worth the stress of being Chief, and McNamara resigned the position in 1922, instead taking over as Captain of the Fourteenth Precinct. Would the Ford be recognized as his? He couldn’t have used one of the Buicks from the police depot. At this late hour, it would have attracted attention. Patients were not typically transferred in police vehicles to the Buffalo State Hospital in the dead of night. It was well past curfew, so most of the inmates, attendants, and administrators were asleep. That made him feel a little better about his decision. Just Dr. Detweiller would be there to receive the new patient. They had been altar boys together, and McNamara trusted him to keep this secret.

As the car moved closer to the building, the passenger in the back seat began to get nervous. I don’t know, Captain. Are you sure this is a good idea?

They got to you already, Tocci. You’re safer here than any place else at this point. McNamara seemed unable to suppress his mirth. There was some justice after all in the deal he had struck with this thug. Luciano Tocci and his cronies had broken the law more times than McNamara could count, but he was willing to offer evidence against Joey Saladino, the gang’s leader, who had been identified in the robbery of Community National Bank on Hertel Avenue. During the course of the robbery, the bank’s manager, Arthur Lemke, had been shot and killed.

Tocci was married to Saladino’s daughter, Sylvia. Joey had warned him more than once to keep his hands off the booze and, more importantly, off his daughter. She had come to one too many Sunday dinners wearing dark glasses to hide the bruises on her face. Fearing for his life, Tocci was actually relieved when he was pinched by the police a week ago. He had been identified as the driver of a car seen speeding away from the scene of the crime three nights before that. To save his own hide, he admitted during questioning that Saladino had indeed pulled the trigger of the gun that killed Lemke. That wasn’t all he had told McNamara; he knew many of Saladino’s secrets. Captain McNamara saw this as a real opportunity to learn more about Saladino and his clandestine group of thugs, if he could keep Luciano Tocci alive long enough to put a case together.

Patrolman William Cooper, sitting in the passenger seat, had yet to speak. He wasn’t about to side with Tocci in front of the captain. Hiding Tocci in the insane asylum seemed risky to him. Nobody really knew what went on there, but Cooper would never question Captain McNamara. Willy would do what the captain asked of him, whether he thought it wise or not.

Dr. Detweiller was waiting for them when the car pulled up at the back of the administrative building. There was a quick nod between he and the captain as Tocci was handed off in shackles. Stepping aside to reveal Cooper, who wasn’t exactly hiding, the chief said, This is his cousin; he’ll be around to check on him regularly. Both Cooper and Tocci were surprised that no more was said between the two other men, but neither felt the need to add anything, although they both had plenty of questions about daily patient life at the asylum.

What could go wrong? Cooper had asked himself that when the captain first told him of the plan. Tocci would hide out in the insane asylum until a case could be brought against Saladino. Cooper had reluctantly agreed to be the link between Tocci and the captain. He was fair skinned, with freckles and red hair, so nobody looking from the outside would guess the family member he visited weekly at the Buffalo State Hospital was really Tocci, who was, of course, no relation. Cooper had been publicly relieved of his position as a patrolman so that nobody would wonder what a policeman was doing regularly visiting the asylum. He was just a man visiting his cousin. Only the captain would know better. Plenty had already gone wrong and they hadn’t even left the asylum.

Part One

Chapter One

May 1, 2020

Maude and Don Travers each took a seat in their usual booth at their favorite diner in North Buffalo. When they lived in the neighborhood, they ate breakfast there nearly every weekend. They enjoyed the 1950s theme and creative daily specials. This morning they returned to the neighborhood to celebrate. For Maude, it had been a full year without any vivid, historically accurate dreams of the past, revelations regarding past lives, or spirits from the other side with cryptic messages of unfinished business.

The past few years had been a whirlwind of adjusting on the fly to life-changing events for both of them as they came to realize Maude’s unique abilities, and a return to normalcy was welcomed by both. To anyone who might ask, they would simply say they were in the neighborhood and had to stop by for a fix of the diner’s famous homemade corned beef hash. It really was addictive. After all, few, if any, of their old friends would have even believed them if they had wanted to share their adventures since leaving the neighborhood.

Mysterious dreams of the past and visits from nineteenth century ghosts had been a regular occurrence in her life since Maude was involved with a study of the inmates of the Erie County Poorhouse during the nineteenth century a few years earlier. Over the last seven years, the messengers in these dreams and ghostly visitations brought to life a period of Buffalo’s history Maude had studied most of her professional life as an anthropologist as well as the owner of an antique shop. The most startling revelation was that she had been an important figure in that time period. One of the spirits from the other side revealed that Maude had been a poorhouse inmate turned physician in a past life. It also became clear that she and Don were soul mates, destined to find each other throughout eternity, and, in this life, committed to accomplishing the tasks that Spirit placed before them.

While the couple had come to accept these otherworldly interruptions in their lives, it had become difficult to keep their adventures, which had taken them as far away as a remote island off the west coast of Ireland, a secret. Their two college-aged sons, as well as the rest of their family, friends and colleagues remained unaware of this aspect of their lives. Twelve months spirit-free was a welcome change. If Maude was being honest, it had been quite a year. A perfectly uneventful, dare she admit, boring year.

I’m not sure we have ever been here without the boys, Don mentioned as he pushed the menu aside. There was no need to examine it; he ordered the same thing every time.

We haven’t, Maude confirmed. Their oldest son, Glen, was attending college in Ithaca, New York. Much to his parent’s dismay, he still hadn’t declared a major. Billy was living at home and majoring in Education at Buffalo State College. It seems kind of weird without them.

This is just the beginning, Maudie. We’re this close to being empty nesters. Don held up his hand with his thumb and first finger less than an inch apart. Without those two hay burners to feed, we can eat out every night and still save money!

Who are you kidding? You’ll be devastated when the boys finally leave the house and you know it.

Maybe at first, but I expect I’ll get over it when we start to realize the savings. Boys are expensive. There’s food, sports equipment, and let’s not forget private school and college tuition. Don’s list of child-related expenses was interrupted when a tall woman with flaming red hair approached the table.

Their waitress recognized them immediately. What brought you two back to the neighborhood? she asked.

Why, Lisa, you, of course, and the corned beef hash! How are things? Maude asked, holding up her coffee mug to be filled.

There have been some changes in the neighborhood. You should take a walk down Hertel Avenue if you have time. There’s a lot of new shops and a few bars, too.

That’s a good idea, Don agreed.

The big news is that the Italian Festival is being moved to Wilkinson Point, Lisa told them.

Wow, I hadn’t heard that, Maude said. The Italian American Heritage Festival was held the second weekend in July along Hertel Avenue in North Buffalo and had been for as long as Maude could remember. From Colvin Avenue to Delaware Avenue, the street was jammed with vendors offering cannoli, sausage, ravioli and other delectable Italian nibbles. What’s the buzz in the neighborhood? Its relocation to the outer harbor, along the shores of Lake Erie, was bound to elicit strong opinions among North Buffalo residents.

Some people are pleased, and some are not, Lisa reported. That remark prompted comments from a few of the other diner patrons. Conversations were seldom private there; it was part of what Maude and Don loved about the place.

We lived west of Colvin Avenue, where the festival began. We were right on the corner, so it did get a bit noisy, but it was just for a few days each year, so it really didn’t bother us, Maude explained.

It was great to be able to walk out our front door and grab Italian sausage and a cannoli, Don added.

On what street did you live? The woman behind them asked. When Maude told her, the woman asked, It wasn’t by chance number 215, was it? She had heard a few years back that 215 had sold and wondered whether its secrets had been passed from owner to owner.

Yes, it was. Don’s smile faded quickly as he watched the woman’s expression change.

Did you know someone was murdered in that house in the 1920s? She had lowered her voice so as not to be heard by the other patrons.

No. Maude and Don answered in unison.

Oh, it was quite the scandal, the woman continued as she rose and moved to join them. You see, we lived at number 221. My parents bought our house in 1950, just after they were married. Even all those years later, folks were still whispering about it. They had changed the name of the street, but that didn’t seem to hush the gossip.

The woman went on to tell them that the owner of the house had been a doctor for a local crime gang. When he retired, he made it clear that he would no longer treat the gunshot wounds or stitch up the lacerations they had brought to his door in the dead of night so many times before. His decision angered the mob and they put a hit out on him. Well, one day there was a knock on the door and the doctor’s wife went to answer it. How was she to know the man on the other side had a loaded gun pointed at her? You see, he was expecting to see the doctor and he fired the instant the door opened. Of course, he fled immediately when he realized he had shot the wrong person. Can you just imagine that? The woman sat back and sipped her coffee while her audience of two soaked in what she had told them.

Did she die instantly? Don asked.

What about the hit man? Was he ever caught? The words were out of Maude’s mouth almost before her husband finished speaking.

Oh, I really don’t know, the woman answered. It turned out that the old woman could not recall any other details of the case. Well, you see, I haven’t spoken of it in ages, and of course, we’re over in Elmwood Village now.

Can you believe we lived in that house for all those years and never got any inkling that a person was murdered there? Don said as they were walking up Hertel Avenue after breakfast.

Yeah. Given the connection I have with the other side, I am actually surprised. Maude stopped to look in the window of one of the shops. It had been her favorite flower shop and was now a high-end dog boutique. Feeling stuffed from breakfast, she could imagine herself curling up on one of the luxurious dog beds for a nap.

Maybe you weren’t ready yet, Don told her as they continued down the avenue. You may have had a dream or two and not remembered.

Maybe. The intrigue of a murder in their former home faded as Maude took in all the changes in the neighborhood in the short time since they had moved downtown. They were pleased to see some fresh new restaurants and shops and relieved to see so many of their favorite places still thriving. Remember, we considered opening our shop right here on Hertel Avenue.

Yeah, but it appears that Spirit was leading us downtown, Don reminded her.

The building they currently worked and lived in downtown had been Nolan’s Dry Goods Emporium in the nineteenth century. Another revelation from her dreams was that the building had been owned by Maude and Don in their past lives. Was Spirit now leading them back to North Buffalo, and if so, why?

Later that evening the story of the murder made its way into their after-dinner conversation. A mob hit in Buffalo during the roaring twenties… It’s a great idea for a book, Don suggested as he emptied the bottle of wine between their two glasses.

I don’t know if I want to get started with another book. I’m remembering how much I enjoyed being Maude Travers, antique shop owner. It’s less work than Dr. Travers, anthropologist or Maude E. Travers, writer of historical fiction.

Are you sure it’s not because you are afraid to break the streak?

So, what if I am? Don, it has been a nice year, a quiet year.

A boring year, he added. Don had always been more open to the beckoning of Spirit and considered himself a Modern Spiritualist, although it was his wife who had the ability to summon the past and communicate with the dead.

Maude had spent the previous two years frequenting Lily Dale, the Modern Spiritualist community just an hour south of Buffalo. Her mentor Charlotte Lambert and other gifted psychic mediums helped her to understand her abilities and learn their application and boundaries. Somehow while embracing Modern Spiritualism and her particular gifts - something she had previously been afraid to do - she had severed communications with the other side. There were no more dreams that pointed her in the direction of understanding some aspect of her past life in the nineteenth century and provided the inspiration for her novels. She had written a few books, which, it seemed, would never be enjoyed by anyone outside her small circle of friends and family. Perhaps that chapter of her life had come to a close, pun intended. In the year since she had limited her trips to Lily Dale to the summer season and occasional weekends, Maude had enjoyed embracing her former life as a wife, mother and business owner.

Are you saying you would be happy if life continued on the way it has been this last year? No more insight into the past, no more research, no more writing?

Don, we don’t even know if the story we learned today is true.

There’s one way to find out. Do a quick newspaper search. A murder would certainly have been reported in the papers.

With Billy on campus cramming for finals, they would have the evening to themselves and Maude didn’t want to spend it arguing. Alright. Tomorrow I’ll do a quick search at least to verify the story. She picked up her glass and took a long sip for no other reason than to prevent her from crossing her fingers behind her back. She would not lie to Don. If things were quiet at the shop tomorrow, she would search the period newspapers. Of course, there was that closet in the back of the workroom that needed to be cleared out and the basement was long overdue for some reorganizing.

As she drifted off to sleep, it was not images of flappers and gangsters that occupied Maude’s mind. Instead she was contemplating what she might find in the closet at the back of the shop. It was in the workshop where Don repaired and restored the antique lamps acquired during his travels or were brought in by their clients who trusted him alone to breathe life into a family heirloom. She had been after him for months to clean out that closet so she could use it to store holiday decorations. It was time to tackle the job herself. Tomorrow was the day, she decided.

The next day Maude was sitting on the floor of Don’s workroom taking inventory of the boxes in the back of the closet. There were three, all still sealed. I can’t believe we never unpacked these, she said out loud to no one in particular. Whatever was in them hadn’t seen the light of day in years, so she decided to open them and determine whether there was anything worth donating to charity.

The first box contained old linens, which Maude knew would be of use at the women’s shelter downtown. The second box was full of Don’s high school and college yearbooks, which went straight back in the closet. The third box had some old family photos wrapped carefully in well-worn towels.

Maude made herself more comfortable on the floor and prepared for an unanticipated trip down memory lane. There was Glen’s kindergarten graduation; he looked adorable in his little cap and gown. Billy’s third grade soccer team featured her son in the front row holding the championship trophy. Then there was Don’s thirtieth birthday party. Maude smiled, remembering their own private celebration after the guests had left. She laughed out loud at the family camping trip to Algonquin in 2005. Each of them wore a broad brimmed hat draped with gauze to cover the head and neck. The bugs had been formidable that summer and they had to be completely covered head to toe to avoid being eaten alive.

Carefully placing the pictures to the side, Maude felt around in the box to determine whether she had found them all. There was one more at the bottom. The frame felt heavier than the others as she peeled away the layers of terry cloth. It was an old carved wooden frame. Wow, I’d forgotten all about this, she said examining the photo. It was of a family: a husband, his wife, two older children of high school age, and two younger children. They were seated at a table in a restaurant, a fancy one by the look of it. Maude had never been any good at identifying the fashion trends of any particular era, so she carefully removed the photo to see whether it was dated. In tidy script was written Twins graduation 1923. She remembered now; they had looked at the date when they first found it in their old house nearly fifteen years ago.

The older boy and girl looked about the same age, so Maude assumed them to be the twins. The little boy looked to be older than his pint-sized sister, but not by much. Two boys and two girls… They looked to be the perfect family. It didn’t make sense that Maude felt sad to look at them.

Whatcha got there? Don asked, peering into the workroom.

Maude hadn’t heard him approach and looked up in surprise. She held out the picture. I thought we agreed to leave this picture in the old house. They had found the picture in the basement when they first moved in, along with a few other treasures that had apparently been left by past owners of the house.

Oh, wow! I’d forgotten all about that. Do you suppose that’s her?

Who? Maude asked.

The woman who was murdered in the house.

Flipping over the photo to show Don the date, Maude replied, I hadn’t thought of that, but, yes, I guess so. The photo was taken in 1923. They are celebrating the twins’ graduation, so this would have been nearly a year before her death.

Maude looked at the photo again. Well, now I understand why I feel emotional when I look at this picture. They seem so happy, but I felt sad just now, and I remember having the same feeling when we first found this picture. That’s why I left it in the basement. I wonder how it ended up in this box. It was pretty carefully wrapped, so someone put it in here.

Well, it wasn’t me. Don took in the pile of old towels and the neatly stacked frames on the floor next to his wife. The picture of all of them draped in gauze caught his eye. Now that’s a blast from the past. He sat down next to her and began sorting through the photos. The next two hours passed quickly as they reminisced over each one. It was a very slow day in the shop and neither one felt the need to return to doing anything else.

When Billy came home that night, he saw the picture sitting on the dining room table. I’m wondering how it got packed in with our stuff. We all agreed it should stay with the house, remember? Maude asked him.

I packed it, Billy admitted.

Why did you do that? Maude asked.

I just wanted it. It was a typical Billy answer, to the point, with no explanation.

Later that night, as Maude thought about the woman in the picture, her curiosity got the better of her and she began to wonder about the events that had taken place in her old house all those years ago. She had spent months in guided meditation classes that had helped her shift her consciousness into the past, but could she direct it towards events she hadn’t experienced in a past life? Perhaps it was time to find out.

Don was already fast asleep, and their bedroom was dark and quiet. After a few deep breaths, she began to think about what her old neighborhood might have looked like during the 1920s. There wouldn’t be as many houses as there were now. The streets would be brick instead of asphalt, and trees would be much smaller. She imagined few, if any, cars parked in the driveways. Silently, she asked for Spirit to guide her to the events that transpired the night of the murder.

In her mind’s eye she recognized her old house just off Hertel Avenue. Something was different; there were no trees on the front lawn, and the skinny saplings that lined the street couldn’t be more than a few years old. A man was walking up the driveway. He had on an overcoat and a black derby, a large box balanced carefully in his arms. He was definitely not from the twenty-first century, but Maude didn’t know enough about men’s fashion to identify the time period. Certainly, it was twentieth century, but that’s as close as she could get. She had asked Spirit to guide her to a specific time and she had faith that her attention was focused where it needed to be.

Thoughts of chronology left her mind as the sound of voices could be heard from the upper floor of the home. Somehow, she knew that the voice was that of the woman in the picture.

"Young lady, you will not leave the house in that dress! Eva Barstow called out as her daughter, Nina, tiptoed past the master bedroom just at the top of the stairs. You’d better change before your father comes home and sees you."