Here’s the story I remember:
Mr. Tingle was a jeweler in Louisville, but lived with his mother on Knob School House Road. She was confined to a wheel chair. He was not married.
One evening, my dad was on the back deck of the house in which I spent every other weekend, and six weeks in the summer. He was looking north across the fields and saw three men going east to west across them. They were close enough to wave.
He learned the day after that Mr. Tingle and his mother had been murdered in their home, less than a quarter of a mile away as the crow flies but hidden behind an outcropping of trees.
Mr. Tingle, everyone assumed, was loaded. He had a safe in his house full of money and maybe even jewels.
The three men he had seen had gone into the house. Mr. Tingle refused to open the safe. They’d taken Mr. Tingle’s mother across the road into a barn and tortured her, breaking her fingers with pliers. Mr. Tingle would not open the safe. They killed his mother by bashing her head in with post hole diggers. Mr. Tingle didn’t open the safe. They killed Mr. Tingle the same way.
I can’t recall if they took the safe with them or not. They were caught a few days later.
The house on Knob Schoolhouse Road always creeped me out. It was bought and sold several times, even undergoing a renovation. I remember there were apple trees in the yard. I remember one time driving by and deer being in the yard eating the apples. My dad stopped to watch and take pictures. I just wanted him to keep going. It’s since been torn down.