Lisle Priestley Annette Van Neder, youngest daughter
of Louis George Brentley
Van Neder II and his wife, Annabelle, died yesterday
from a deep stab wound in
in her chest. It is not known at this time who
committed the crime. It is thought
that someone broke into the house and finding her
there, murdered her. Suspicion
has fallen on her older sister, Stella Elizabeth,
although no formal charges have been
made. Suicide has been ruled out. Lisle
Priestley was born in our town in late
December 1889 and was only 16 years of age. We
send our condolences to the
family. We shall miss her sunny smile and
cherry disposition.
OBITUARY
Barrows Corner
News June 21, 1905
Barrows Corner - Funeral services for Lisle
Priestley Annette Van Neder, 16,
will be held on June 24th at 4 P>M> at
the Corner Church. Rev. Toby Silas will
be
conducting the service. Lisle Priestley died at Brentley House yesterday from
a
deep stab wound. The instrument thought to be the weapon was an old
bronze letter opener that has been in the Van Neder family for many years.
Lisle
Priestley was born in Barrows Corner in late December 1889. Survivors
include her father, Louis Geroge Van Neder II, her mother, Annabelle Sheila
Goodwin Howe Van Neder, his sister, Stella Elizabeth Annette, and her brother,
Louis
George Brentley Van Neder III as well as her aunt, Marybelle Lisle
Marie
Van Neder Bell for whom she was named. Her grandfather, the founder
of
famed Brentley House, Louis George Brentley Van Neder I, and her
grandmother, Sarah Catherine Napier Van Neder preceded her in death.
CHAPTER ONE
August 24, 1965
Victoria
Elizabeth Van Neder was a stunning woman even at the age of twenty-one.
She stood tall,
statuesque, her long, dark hair swirling around her shoulders. She carried
herself with an
aristocratic aura, her stance regal with head held high, her walk a purposeful
step. And
indeed, she had been born into the highly aristocratic, wealthy Van Neder
family that had
withstood the tests of time for four generations.
She stood beside her sister's grave, refined and stately
even in her sorrow, silent
and self-absorbed,
tears long since spent. The funeral had been a quiet affair, well attended
mostly by her sister's
friends and the family who had long since left the cemetery.
The dark-haired
man watching her wondered that she still lingered. The rest of
the mourners had
left long ago, and the grave diggers had finally asked her to leave so
they could lower
the casket and fill in the grave, but still she had stood there. Finally,
exasperated, the
grave diggers had gone ahead with their duties, lowering the casket
and covering it
with dirt. They had piled the many flowers on top of the mound of
fresh earth and
then they, too, had left the cemetery. And still she stood there as if a
heavy weight held
her to the ground, unable to move. Patricia had been so young.
Only
sixteen. Why had she died? Had she, Victoria, been the cause of her sister's
death? Her
body sagged under the weight of that guilt.
Emerson Strum, his brow furrowed, wondered again why
she stayed so long.
Anxiety and concern for her etched his craggy face
and he longed to join her, but she had
forbidden it. Was
she all right?
***
Victoria couldn't
exactly recall the day her sister was murdered. Had it been only
three days
ago? It had been a Saturday, she was sure, a beautiful spring day filled with
sunshine and warm
breezes carrying the fragrance of honeysuckle through the open windows.
She had been on
the patio curled up in the lounge chair reading when she heard a loud noise
from
upstairs...like something falling. She had called to Patricia without receiving any
response.
Victoria had angrily flounced out of the chair thinking Patricia was up to her old
tricks...ignoring
her...or playing some prank on her. She remembered going to the stairs
and calling
Patricia's name repeatedly...with no response.
She had moved
cautiously down the hallway peering first into her room neat and
simply done in
lavender and white, the flowered bedspread adding a touch of cheer to the
otherwise
pristine room-and she recalled, to her surprise, finding the bed rumpled as though
someone had been
romping on it. Mother had always insisted that she and Patricia make
their beds and
keep their rooms straight and she was sure she had made it up neatly that
morning-as she
always did. Patricia was always complaining that she was overly neat.
As she continued
down the long hallway, she peered into the guest room next to
her parents'
bedroom, then into their room at the front of the house. No one was there.
She
had not even
bothered checking the back guest bedroom as no one ever used that room or
went in
there. It had been shut up for as long as she could remember.
She recalled
stopping in the hallway listening-to the silence. The stillness bothered
her. It
was unnatural. She had realized, too, to her astonishment, there had been absolutely
stirring of
motion up there on the second floor although she had felt a pleasant breeze wafting
in through the
patio windows while she read. The house had become stone quiet, still as an
empty tomb.
There wasn't the ripple of a curtain or the creak of a board in the old house.
There were no
sounds at all-only the deathly silence and her own loud rapid breathing.
Victoria
remembered calling out to Patricia again, this time with a tinge of fear
creeping up her
spine, shouting in an effort to be heard. As before, there was no answer.
She had moved
tentatively across the ahll to Patricia's room calling constantly now, her voice
growing softer,
trembling. She didn't understand her fright. What was there to be afraid of?
Yet something was
wrong. She had approached the bedroom, stuck her head into the open
doorway, calling
Patricia's name again, softly, her eyes scanning the empty room which
reflected
Patricia's personality and carefree attitude. The walls of light blue were covered
with pictures of
every kind and teddy bears graced every corner of the room. Although
neat because
Mother demanded it, the room had a 'lived-in' look to it.
Then she saw her
sister.
Patricia,
vivacious, willowy Patricia, lay on the floor, sprawled out, unmoving,
covered
with blood.
