Free Terrors by Richard A. Lupoff Page B

There is plenty of coal in the city’s warehouses and it will be delivered to all who need it.”
    After a momentary pause, Van Horn moved on to the next headline.
    “Far from Seacoast City, the latest war news from Europe—green clad, iron-helmeted armies have moved across the borders of several small Balkan kingdoms. Political leaders in those nations have appealedto the world body in Geneva but to no avail. Observers on the scene report streams of refugees leaving bombed-out cities, fleeing to the countryside with their pitiful possessions piled precariously on horse-drawn carts. The dictator who sent those bombers and tanks against those little countries has shown them no mercy, nor given any sign that he will be satisfied when he has their bloody corpsesin his pocket.”
    Van Horn’s eyes flicked to the oversized clock above the control booth window. He was an experienced professional when it came to his trade, and he made it a rule to have an extra story or two in reserve, should there be time to spare at the end of a newscast.
    “Here’s one that should be good for a chuckle. You may have heard of the Army’s new experimental bomber, the B-16. Thisone is a flying behemoth, with two tail booms and six engines. Going to go two hundred miles an hour or so. Well, Uncle Sam wants to experiment with rainmaking to relieve heat-parched and drought-stricken farms in theMidwest. New plan is to fly a squadron of B-16’s in a circle and shoot little clouds of ice pellets out of them, trying to coax Mother Nature into doing the same.”
    The broadcastergave one of his famous pauses, then added, “Heat-parched? Drought-stricken? Seacoast City could offer some relief from that!”
    Another pause, then he resumed “And now, here is WSCR’s resident meteorologist, Mark McCracken.”
    “Thanks, Joe.”
    McCracken’s voice was half an octave higher than Van Horn’s, his delivery friendlier and less portentous than the chief newsman’s.
    “There’s still no explanationof our sudden cold spell, and no indication when it’s going to end. Today’s high temperature was thirty-six degrees. Expected low tonight in the high teens or low twenties. There’s a steady snowfall taking place, with expected accumulations of ten to twelve inches. Tomorrow is expected to be just like today.”
    McCracken paused for a beat, then ended with his customary tagline, “Here’s wishingyou clear skies and pleasant breezes, Seacoast City, and we’ll see you tomorrow, sure as the sun comes up!”
    Mention of the death of the unidentified man found by the children ice skating on the frozen Saturn River, and that of the unfortunate Mary Esther Jamison in her elevator car in the Mercury-Baltic Building, would shortly disappear from the city’s newspapers and radio reports. Word was aboutto go out from City Hall to the media moguls of the metropolis. In the name of maintaining public order and avoiding panic, the mysterious deaths were about to be hushed up.
    But word of the third mysterious death would not be so easily suppressed. The victim this time was none other than Ellen Hansen van Burckhart, heiress to the van Burckhart department store chain. Her body was discovered byher maid, Betty Wilson. Mrs. van Burckhart was ninety-four years of age at the time of her death. Her husband, the founder and builder of the van Burckhart chain, had left his entire fortune to her, much to the displeasure of assorted children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and assorted relatives and hangers-on. Mrs. van Burckhart had further disappointed these heirs by outliving her husbandby more than four decades.
    In view of the millionairess’ advanced age and fragile health, the maid had not been excessively shocked by her discovery. Shehad brought her employer’s breakfast of tea and toast with just a touch of strawberry jam, to Mrs. van Burckhart’s bedroom. Such was the millionairess’ preference, and had been for many years. Betty Wilson had placed the