Devil Walks in Daylight

Tierney Baker Eileen

Description

Trying to forget the trauma of the Great War, Dietrich Praeter hides in the small, sleepy town of Kaifeck. Here, he tries to escape his haunting past, a place where his ghosts will leave him alone and he may finally find the peace and happiness he so desperately seeks. This is not to be.On a cold spring day in the Bavarian countryside town of Kaifeck, in the year of 1922, a few concerned residents--among which, Dietrich now counts himself too--go to check on their neighbors. What they find is a grisly, bloody massacre that continues to haunt the region.In the midst of hiding from his own demons, Dietrich realizes that everyone lives haunted lives, and perhaps the devil's greatest trick is hiding in plain sight.

Sujets

• Historical fiction

Informations

• Publié par: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Date de parution: 28 février 2020
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781645368519
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 3 Mo

Extrait

The Devil Walks in Daylight
Eileen Tierney Baker
Austin Macauley Publishers
2020-02-28
The Devil Walks in Daylight About The Author Dedication Copyright Information © Acknowledgement Historical Disclaimer Prologue Chapter 1 1915, Hinterkaifeck, the Return Chapter 2 Munich, 1918, the Departure Chapter 3 Vika and Karl Chapter 4 Andrew and Cas, 1887 Chapter 5 Kaifeck Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Andrew and Cas, 1888 Chapter 13 Kaifeck Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Munich, 1908 Chapter 27 Kaifeck Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Munich, 1909 Chapter 31 Kaifeck Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Munich, 1914 Chapter 35 Kaifeck Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Munich, 1916 Chapter 39 Munich 1917, W.W.I. Chapter 40 Kaifeck Chapter 41 Munich, 1918 Chapter 42 Kaifeck Chapter 43 Chapter 44 Munich, 1918 Chapter 45 Kaifeck Chapter 46 Munich, 1918 Chapter 47 Kaifeck Chapter 48 Munich, 1919 Chapter 49 Kaifeck Chapter 50 Chapter 51 Chapter 52 Last Night in Munich, 1918 Chapter 53 Kaifeck Chapter 54 Chapter 55 Chapter 56 Chapter 57 Chapter 58 Chapter 59 Chapter 60 Chapter 61 Chapter 62 Chapter 63 Chapter 64 Chapter 65 Chapter 66 Chapter 67 Chapter 68 Chapter 69 Chapter 70 Chapter 71 Chapter 72 Chapter 73 Chapter 74 Chapter 75 Chapter 76 Chapter 77 Chapter 78 Chapter 79 Chapter 80 Chapter 81 Chapter 82 Chapter 83 Chapter 84 Chapter 85 Chapter 86 Chapter 87 Chapter 88 Chapter 89 Chapter 90 Chapter 91 Chapter 92 Chapter 93 Chapter 94 Chapter 95 Chapter 96 Chapter 97 Chapter 98 Chapter 99 Chapter 100 Vienna Chapter 101 1942 – Present Day, Vienna Chapter 102 Chapter 103 Chapter 104 Chapter 105 Chapter 106 Chapter 107 Chapter 108 Chapter 109
About The Author
Eileen Tierney Baker is a writer and educator. She is an avid reader and is fascinated with true crime and history. She currently resides in Alexandria, Kentucky, with her husband, Gary, and their children, Zack and Madelyn Kate. This is her first publication.
Dedication
For Mom
Your Bean loves you always.
Copyright Information ©
Eileen Tierney Baker (2020)
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher.
Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
Ordering Information:
Quantity sales: special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the publisher at the address below.
Publisher’s Cataloging-in-Publication data
Baker, Eileen Tierney
The Devil Walks in Daylight
ISBN 9781645362173 (Paperback)
ISBN 9781645362180 (Hardback)
ISBN 9781645368519 (ePub e-book)
Library of Congress Control Number: 2019920977
www.austinmacauley.com/us
First Published (2020)
Austin Macauley Publishers LLC
40 Wall Street, 28th Floor
New York, NY 10005
USA
[e-mail]
[phone]
Acknowledgement
I want to thank my mother, Barbara Kehew, who was always there to talk about Dietrich and Vika, and listen as their stories unfolded. You are still with me, Mom, every day.
I also want to thank my son, Zachary, who is not only wise, but also a bold truth-teller. My daughters, Hannah, who pushed me to move forward, even when I didn’t want to, and Madelyn Kate, who is the best encourager. And, of course, my husband, Gary, who is my partner in absolutely everything.
Historical Disclaimer
The following story takes place in Europe, spanning from W.W.I. to W.W.I.I. It speculates on the unsolved murders of the Gruber family at Hinterkaifeck in 1922. Some names have been modified or changed. All demonstrations and conclusions are purely speculations. This is a work of fiction.
Prologue
If love were a color, it would be blue. Blue like the water in the creek that ran through the east end of town. Blue like the spring sky. Blue like her eyes: enveloping, satiating, and endless.
This was not love – although the look in his eyes as he turned to see my first blow did set my heart a flutter ever so slightly. His face exploded in time with my rage. Again. His nose disappeared with the lower half of his jaw. He fell, twitching, as if his body was not quite sure how to respond to such brutal force. Eventually, it stopped. I did not.
I was covered; covered in his filth and metallic stench. It painted the walls and bathed the floor. I would wash it off. He never could, not living, not dead. His depravity was embedded in his very soul (which about this time should be meeting a very angry maker). I wiped my face with the back of my hand and shook off the blood as I stepped outside.
If justice were a color, it would be red.
Chapter 1

1915, Hinterkaifeck, the Return
She stood motionless in the afternoon sun, the wind freeing strands of her dark hair from the bobby pins that secured it neatly on top of her head, leaving wisps of the rescued hair lightly flogging her face with all the strength of an angry toddler. She did not appear to notice or to care.
Vika clutched the bundle tightly in her arms, unsure of her next move. She had promised herself she would never return here, yet here she was. She had sworn it to God himself, on her knees, in front of her silver crucifix that hung above her marital bed. The crucifix had been a family heirloom given to her on her wedding day: the corpus tarnished and gray, with the arms outstretched unnaturally. It always made her smile, as if Jesus were coming in for a big hug. She had prayed before it, thanking God for freeing her from this place, for the chance at something better. She had been quite wrong about the something better, and now life had brought her back to this doorway, less than two years after vowing never to cross this threshold again. Both the reason to stay and the reason to run away rested quietly in her arms, wiggling and cooing delicately. “Ssshhh,” Vika whispered softly, almost immediately soothing the child back into a peaceful slumber.
Looking around, she took in the scenery. It was deceptively beautiful. Lush, full trees bordered the farmland, separating it from the surrounding forest. The deeply shaded grass and the bare birch tree, by the path that led up to the main house, begged to be immortalized in a painting; to be hung above a fireplace and gazed upon with fondness and envy of a simpler time. The atmosphere was one of peace and incorruptibility – to the uneducated eye. Her eyes had seen the underbelly of the land she stood on, and it was far from incorrupt.
The farmhouse itself was impressive as well, three stories (including the large attic), followed by the barn and the stables. Its size and function were quite grand. Here, the human element corroded everything it touched.
Even in these depressing economic times, Vika was not concerned over her parent’s financial ability to take her home, even with added stress of a baby to feed. Neither was there an issue of space, as the farmhouse was spacious and only sheltered her parents and their maid, Zenzi.
No, Vika’s concerns, the ones that kept her from rapping on the front door for the better part of an hour now, lied elsewhere; somewhere dark and unholy, where the only ones to hear her screams were the very ones who caused them to be uttered in the first place. A place where she feared God would not even come to find her again.
She was torn. She had nowhere else to go, and the bundle to care for now. Taking a deep breath, she stepped closer to the door, reciting her justifications in her head, as she had continuously since her decision to come home: I am an adult now, I can protect us, it is only for a while – just temporary , and finally the hard truth – I have no other choice .
She knocked quickly on the solid oak door, afraid to change her mind yet again. After all this time, just entering would seem presumptuous.
The door opened and the imposing form of her father filled the frame. Instinctually, she took a step back. One might think, a father, on such an occasion as his little girl returning home, would smile and welcome her and his new grandchild into his arms and his home. One would be wrong.
He looked down at her, even being close in height, Andrew Gruber, had always had the ability to make himself appear taller, larger. He loomed over people, creating a physical dominance, morphing them into errant schoolchildren. As if on cue, Vika felt twelve years old, rather than her twenty-eight years; she was instantly unsure, fearful, and unworthy – exactly the effect her father intended. Score one for Andrew.
His mouth was set in a permanent frown. It was fitting, as he always seemed to find dissatisfaction in absolutely everything in life. Moving north from his mouth sat an uneven brown mustache that Vika used to trim back in the day, but he clearly had taken over that task for himself now. A sharply pointed nose and two close-set black eyes settled on his furrowed eyebrows that looked her over critically.
“Hello, Father,” she croaked. Bad start , she thought. It was all part of his intimidation strategy to make her speak first. She knew this but choked on her fear of him anyway. Score two for Andrew, Vika – zero. Oh, when will logic trump emotions in the confrontation of wills? In this particular case, never, but she always hoped. Void of emotions, her father would always win.
“So you’ve come home.” He stood there, stating the obvious, putting his hands in his coat pockets and rocking slightly back on his heels, yet still not inviting her inside.
“I