couple had their arms around each other's waists as George turned out the light in the kitchen. They passed the livingroom on the way to the stairs. Kathy stopped. She could see the crouching lion in the darkness of the room.
"George. I think we should continue with our meditation. Let's do it tomorrow, okay?"
"You think that way we can find a logical explanation for all that's happened?" he asked, drawing her upstairs.
There was no logical or scientific explanation. for Father Frank Mancuso as he prepared to go to bed. He had just prayed in his own rooms, searching and hoping for an answer to the question of why his palms were itching so terribly.
12 December 31 -The year 1976 was just around the corner. The last day of the old year dawned on a heavy snowfall, and to many people that was the signal that a fresh, clean start would usher in the new.
In the Lutz household, there was a completely different mood. George hadn't slept well, even though he had been active enough for the past two days, inside and outside the house. He awoke during the night, looked at his watch and was surprised to find it was 2:30 A.M., not 3:15, as he anticipated.
George awoke again at 4:30 A.M., saw it was beginning to snow, and tried to fall back to sleep under the warm covers. But, tossing and turning, he couldn't find a comfortable position. In her sleep, Kathy was bothered by his restlessness and rolled over against George so that he was pushed to the edge of the bed. Wide awake, he kept having visions of discovering secret caches of money around the house and using them to solve all his financial problems.
George was beginning to choke with the pressures of mounting bills; for the house he had just taken on, and for the office, where he would shortly have a very serious payroll deficit. All the cash that he and Kathy had saved had gone toward the expense of the closing, an old fuel bill, and paying off the boats and motorcycles. And now the latest blow-the investigation of his books and tax returns by the Internal Revenue Service. Small wonder that George dreamed of a simple magical solution to the bind he was in. He wished he could find Jimmy's money. The fifteen hundred would be a lifesaver. George stared at the falling snow. He had read in the newspaper account that Mr. DeFeo had been extremely well off, with a big bank account and with a very good position working for his wife's father in a big car dealership.
George had examined his bedroom closet and discovered Mr. DeFeo's secret hiding place under the door jamb. The police had found it first at the time of Ronnie's arrest and now it was empty, just a hole in the floor. He kept wondering where else the DeFeos could have stashed away some of their cash.
The boathouse! George sat up in bed. Maybe there was a meaning behind his being drawn there every night. Was some-some thing dragging him there? Was the dead man somehow urging him to look in there for his fortune? George was desperate, he knew, even to contemplate such a screwy idea. But why else would he be driven to the boathouse, night after night?
At six-thirty, George finally gave up and got out of bed. He knew he would never fall asleep again that morning, so he quietly slipped from the room, went down to the kitchen, and made some coffee.
It was still dark outside at that hour, but he could see the snow was beginning to pile up near the kitchen door. He saw a light on the ground floor of his neighbor. Maybe the owner also had money problems and couldn't sleep, he thought.
George knew he wouldn't go to the office that day. It was New Year's Eve and everybody would be leaving early anyway. He drank his coffee and planned to search the boathouse and basement for some clues. Then George began to feel a chill in the house.
The thermostat automatically dropped the temperature between midnight and six in the morning. But now it was almost seven and the heat didn't seem to be on. George went into the livingroom and put some
"George. I think we should continue with our meditation. Let's do it tomorrow, okay?"
"You think that way we can find a logical explanation for all that's happened?" he asked, drawing her upstairs.
There was no logical or scientific explanation. for Father Frank Mancuso as he prepared to go to bed. He had just prayed in his own rooms, searching and hoping for an answer to the question of why his palms were itching so terribly.
12 December 31 -The year 1976 was just around the corner. The last day of the old year dawned on a heavy snowfall, and to many people that was the signal that a fresh, clean start would usher in the new.
In the Lutz household, there was a completely different mood. George hadn't slept well, even though he had been active enough for the past two days, inside and outside the house. He awoke during the night, looked at his watch and was surprised to find it was 2:30 A.M., not 3:15, as he anticipated.
George awoke again at 4:30 A.M., saw it was beginning to snow, and tried to fall back to sleep under the warm covers. But, tossing and turning, he couldn't find a comfortable position. In her sleep, Kathy was bothered by his restlessness and rolled over against George so that he was pushed to the edge of the bed. Wide awake, he kept having visions of discovering secret caches of money around the house and using them to solve all his financial problems.
George was beginning to choke with the pressures of mounting bills; for the house he had just taken on, and for the office, where he would shortly have a very serious payroll deficit. All the cash that he and Kathy had saved had gone toward the expense of the closing, an old fuel bill, and paying off the boats and motorcycles. And now the latest blow-the investigation of his books and tax returns by the Internal Revenue Service. Small wonder that George dreamed of a simple magical solution to the bind he was in. He wished he could find Jimmy's money. The fifteen hundred would be a lifesaver. George stared at the falling snow. He had read in the newspaper account that Mr. DeFeo had been extremely well off, with a big bank account and with a very good position working for his wife's father in a big car dealership.
George had examined his bedroom closet and discovered Mr. DeFeo's secret hiding place under the door jamb. The police had found it first at the time of Ronnie's arrest and now it was empty, just a hole in the floor. He kept wondering where else the DeFeos could have stashed away some of their cash.
The boathouse! George sat up in bed. Maybe there was a meaning behind his being drawn there every night. Was some-some thing dragging him there? Was the dead man somehow urging him to look in there for his fortune? George was desperate, he knew, even to contemplate such a screwy idea. But why else would he be driven to the boathouse, night after night?
At six-thirty, George finally gave up and got out of bed. He knew he would never fall asleep again that morning, so he quietly slipped from the room, went down to the kitchen, and made some coffee.
It was still dark outside at that hour, but he could see the snow was beginning to pile up near the kitchen door. He saw a light on the ground floor of his neighbor. Maybe the owner also had money problems and couldn't sleep, he thought.
George knew he wouldn't go to the office that day. It was New Year's Eve and everybody would be leaving early anyway. He drank his coffee and planned to search the boathouse and basement for some clues. Then George began to feel a chill in the house.
The thermostat automatically dropped the temperature between midnight and six in the morning. But now it was almost seven and the heat didn't seem to be on. George went into the livingroom and put some
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