Cruelest Month Read Online Free PDF Page B

group, how he could fix anything. I asked if my father had ever been on a mission, had flown over Germany. He said that occasionally a ground crewman would sneak on an aircraft so he could experience combat. But he had no knowledge as to whether my father had ever truly participated on a mission.
    “And his Indian get-up,” Barton said, nodding. “It’s just another story. And if you talk to him, he is not part of the local band. He is a descendent of what I like to call the movie Indians, Crazy Horse and Sitting Bull. And then there’s Al Capone.”
    “Al Capone?”
    “Yes. One of Dad’s stories is that he was the driver for Al Capone, and not only in Chicago, up here, too. I’ve checked, not that I ever believed it would’ve been possible. The dates didn’t match up. He wouldn’t have been old enough. He did grow up in Chicago, that’s his only connection. But he’s got this great story of how he worked for Capone. When big Al was under pressure from the Feds, my father helped him hide millions of dollars in northern Michigan. In fact, he wrote a book about it. He’s even sold a few copies.”
    “Let me have this again,” said Ray. “Your father wrote a book about Al Capone stashing money in northern Michigan? When did he do this?”
    “Just in the past few years. He said he wanted to write his memoir before he died. He took one of those life story classes at the library a few winters ago. My sister and I bought him a Mac. He loves that machine. He had no trouble learning how to use it. Occasionally he’d get in a bit of a mess, and we would sort it out for him.” Barton laughed, this time to herself.
    “When I started to read the stuff he was producing, I was amazed. It wasn’t a real memoir. It was all about Al Capone. Of course, I confronted him, but he just laughed. He said the stuff he was writing was a lot more fun than what actually happened to him, growing up poor in Chicago. When he finished it, he found a woman who does this kind of thing, you know—helps people put together memoirs and family books. She formatted the book for him. Initially, he got 10 copies, print on demand. Dad buys a lot of stuff at that little bookstore in the village. He got the owner to take a copy or two on consignment. Turns out Dad has sold or given away a couple of dozen over the last six months. He’s been having so much fun with this. I hope people don’t start digging up the beaches….”
    “Does he give locations? Are there maps?”
    “No, nothing like that. But he hints at what the places look like. You know, sand and beaches, headlands, and islands.” She laughed. “Almost everything around here fits that description.”
    Ray took another moment to make notes.
    “Has your father ever gone missing before?” he asked.
    “Never,” she responded emphatically.
    “How’s your father doing cognitively?”
    “What do you mean? Like is he getting senile? Alzheimer’s?”
    “Yes.”
    She shrugged. “Other than his rather bizarre fantasy life, he’s pretty sharp.”
    “Has he ever had a stroke, anything like that?”
    “No, not that I’m aware of. But he’s close to 90.”
    “How about his spirits? Depression?”
    “No. He’s one of the happiest people I’ve ever met.”
    Ray nodded. He could see it in the daughter as well. “There’s just one more thing. I need to clarify something, When you got to the house, was the door locked?”
    “Yes, like I said. I used the keypad to get in.”
    “Did you check other entryways, the doors and windows? Any evidence of forced entry?”
    “Quite frankly, I didn’t look that closely. I think I was in panic mode by then. I wasn’t thinking clearly.”
    “Do you have a photo of your father?”
    “Not with me, but I can get you one. I’ll put it in an e-mail as soon as I get home.” She stood up again, slowly this time. “What happens now?”
    “We will alert our officers and other police agencies to be on the lookout for your father. We can