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Chapter 5

Mother’s Day—issued May 2, 1934

Franklin Delano Roosevelt and Postmaster General Farley designed a stamp in honor of James Abbott McNeill Whistler’s hundredth anniversary and to honor Mother’s Day.

The words on the stamp are the president’s.

August 2, 2001, at 9:12 p.m.—Bangor Highway

This evening was less tiresome than usual. At dinner, Ed convinced himself that the price was too low—he had actually sold the album to a sucker. By the end of his fifth beer, he actually believed the story. He even told it to his favorite waitress, Carlene, hoping to impress her. She always waited on Ed when he came in to eat. He noticed that she seemed to flirt with him, and he thought often of asking her out on a date. But he had never had the nerve. He was sure she was out of his league.

Ed was thinking of this when Carlene stopped at the table and stared at him in a strange way. “Ed, this may be forward of me,” she said, “but I don’t care. I like you, and I think you like me so why don’t we go out some night?”

Carlene was not tall, and her figure looked attractive, even in the pink waitress dress that clashed with her red dyed hair and bright ruby-red nails. Trying to hide his shock, Ed stumbled over his words as he responded, “Carlene, I would very much like to take you out on a date. How about tomorrow night?”

“That would be fine with me, Ed. I am glad I broke the ice! You can pick me up at seven. Here is the address. I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

“Great, we can go over to Chico and dance at that country western club by the college…if that’s okay with you.”

“That is wonderful! I love to dance,” Carlene said as Ed walked toward the door. Her eyes followed him as he crossed the street and got into his car. She wondered what Ed would wear…surely not his normal old clothes.

The drive home was short and lonely out on Bangor Highway to Ed’s ten acres. By the time he pulled into the drive of his home, the daylight was almost gone, and shadows were cast about the yard. Walking up to his door, he was met by two men in dark-blue suits, who appeared out of the shadows. One was tall, and the other quite short. After the initial shock of seeing them come out of nowhere, Ed relaxed a little bit. They looked official—not like the kind to cause trouble.

“Who the hell are you guys?” asked Ed.

“Are you the owner of the coin store in town?” the taller man, asked ignoring Ed’s question.

“Yes, I am,” replied Ed. “And who are you?”

“Did Stan Larson sell you a stamp album earlier today?” asked the shorter man, again ignoring Ed’s question.

“Who wants to know?” asked Ed suspiciously, wondering what Stan had gotten him into with the album.

“Just answer the question,” replied the taller man, again in a forceful tone, which caused Ed to take a step back.

“Yes, and I paid a fair price too,” Ed said defensively. “Listen, you guys, I do not know who you are or what this is about. But I’m not going to stand here and talk with you about this any longer until I see some identification.”

The taller man produced a black leather case from his inside coat pocket and held it out to Ed. As Ed stepped forward to take a look at the wallet, he didn’t notice the smaller man’s move. The pain was brief…and then the darkness came.