The Labyrinth of Blue Towers:
The Disappearance of Jack Arneson
(A Sewing Box Mystery)
Chapter 1: Friday, June 10, 2011, 7:21 pm
Chapter 2: Saturday, June 11, 2011, 8:38 am
Chapter 3: Thursday, June 28, 1984, 10:10 am
It had taken a little bit of pressure and solid reasoning, but Missy was finally able to convince her Aunt Jeanette that Missy’s Honda Civic was the car to take on their road trip to St. Petersburg. Missy’s car was not only much newer, it also still had a little of that new car smell; something Missy much preferred over the many odors that clung to the interior of Jeanette’s silver Saturn. They were to start very early in the morning, well, at least early for Missy on a Saturday. Having survived the week at work, Missy always looked forward to sleeping in on Saturday mornings, but for the sake of their venture, she was willing to give up this luxury for a single weekend.
As promised, she was in front of Jeanette’s house at precisely 8:00 am. From the driver’s seat, she watched as her aunt struggled to tear herself away from her dogs and home. The dog sitter—a young, short, stout woman sporting a severe pageboy, a wife-beater, and a series of tattoos on her fleshy arms—stood in the doorway holding both Pancho and Lefty as Jeanette imparted final instructions regarding the dogs’ care and feeding. Her aunt told each mutt to be good before puckering up, leaning in, and giving each a kiss. The dogs responded in kind, lavishing their master’s face with needy tongues. Not the kind of good-bye Missy would ever welcome, but, she figured, to each their own.
Tottering towards the car. Missy thought her aunt made quite the sight; weighed down with a small Coleman cooler in one hand, a Trader Joe’s grocery bag full of snacks in the other, a stuffed to the brim duffle bag slung over one arm, and a purse the size of Oregon slung over other The purpose of all this baggage was a total mystery. Missy was certain they had agreed that this was to be only a day trip. Having made it to the edge of the curb, Jeanette stood outside on the passenger side. After a moment, she leaned down in order to glare at Missy and barked. “Aren't you going to get out and help me?”
Missy thought for a moment before leaning over, unlocking, and cracking open the passenger side door from the inside She did this for several reasons: 1/ she didn't understand why her aunt felt the need to bring all that stuff, 2/ she was comfortable and all set for the trip, and 3/ she thought it was funny and wanted to see if, along with the kitchen sink, Jeanette had remembered to bring her sense of humor. Unfortunately, her aunt failed to get the joke. Flabbergasted by her niece’s apparent lack of concern, she leaned down a second time to glower through the passenger window and barked, “Really?”
Missy laughed, popped the trunk, got out and came to her aunt’s aid. “So, are things so bad at home that you have to run away?” Taking the Coleman cooler from her aunt, she continued, “You know, no matter how bad it is at home, life on the streets can be a whole lot uglier for a hot mama like yourself.”
Jeanette, clearly not a morning person, shot back, “And what is that supposed to mean?”
“It means, you have enough stuff here to survive on a desert island for a year. You know, they do have Wal-Marts and Burger Kings between here and St. Petersburg.”
Meeting at the rear of the vehicle, Jeanette remained a humorless ball of nerves. “Just be a good girl and put my stuff in the trunk.” As Missy did, Jeanette, unburdened, save for her humungous purse and a box of Trisciuts, circled back towards the passenger door. Before ducking inside the car, she blew kisses and waved good-bye to Pancho and Lefty, who were now anxiously poised on the back of the couch, looking out the big bay window in the living room. Once inside, as she was buckling up, she glanced at the empty cup holder to her immediate left. “Did you forget my latte’?”
Missy froze entering the driver’s side, half in, half out of the car.
Oops.
Missy started to make excuses, but Jeanette was having none of it. “It was the last thing I said to you last night. When you stop to get your bagel, get me a latte. Remember? Am I right?" Missy apologized and promised that they would stop at the fist coffee shop they spotted, but her aunt wouldn't let it go “And I don't want truck stop coffee, either Or that syrupy crap that comes out of those machines at the rest stops. I want a real god damn latte’. See this...?” she groused, holding the box aloft. “I have Triscuits and nothing to drink with them.”
Missy looked at her aunt incongruously and proffered, “Maybe Triscuits aren't the best thing to start your day with?”
Her eyes ablaze, Jeanette shot back, “They’re fiber, aren’t they? You’re supposed to eat fiber for breakfast. It’s supposed to be good for you.”
Missy giggled. “I think they’re referring to things like oatmeal and bran muffins. I don't think I’ve ever seen Triscuits listed in that part of the food pyramid.”
Digging her heels in, Jeanette pursed her lips and said rather pragmatically, “Just get me my latte’.”
They drove away in silence, but several blocks later. Missy was now the one that could not let the whole latte’ thing go. In the hopes of hitting her aunt’s funny bone (and wanting to have the last word) she said, “That purse of yours is so huge. I’m amazed you don’t have a cappuccino machine in there.” It failed to get the response Missy had hoped and they continued to drive in silence until they reached the first Dunn Brothers they set eyes on. After stopping, they settled in for the ninety minute drive.
It was a straight shot on Highway 61, which then turned into Highway 63, going due southeast. As they got closer to Red Wing, the scenery became a little more interesting, the roadside punctuated with the jutting, ragged rock formations left exposed when the road was hewn from the various hills and peaks The layers of sedimentary rock that formed them added interest and texture, a welcome relief from the monotonous miles of waving wheat, empty railroad track, and corn fields
Once the caffeine started to kick in, Jeanette proved to be a much better traveling companion. Her personal appearance suddenly became a priority - hair was brushed, mascara applied - all activities Missy had seen fit to do before leaving home. Well, mused Missy, her aunt was out of practice, out of her element, and, hopefully, now out of her rut. She saw this sudden interest in appearance as a good sign and was now sure that this road trip would prove beneficial on more than one level for Jeanette.
“So, what’s the plan, Stan?”
Missy didn’t get either reference - the musical one or the subject. “What do you mean?”
Jeanette pressed on, “Once we get to St. Petersburg? What are we doing? Where do we start?”
Missy frowned. She really hadn’t thought about the trip in terms of step by step. “I guess we feel our way around first. You know, stop in at a few of the shops, mingle with the locals, ask a few questions.”
“I hope you’re not planning on walking around town showing people that map my mother drew, or asking them if they recognize anything on that list. That would be a little hard to explain.”
Missy laughed. “Yeah, I guess it would.”
Jeanette grumbled on, “They'll look at you like you’re crazy and run you right out of town.”
“I guess you’ll be trotting right behind me, if they do.”
Now it was Jeanette’s turn to laugh. “Hey! We run this operation just like soldiers going into battle, kid. Leave no man behind. Got that?” With that and a smile on her face, Jeanette relaxed into her seat. “You in the mood for a little music?”
For the next twenty miles the two women fussed over the radio. Missy loathed the generic, corporate-programmed radio stations that played the same twenty songs over and over again. Then there was the matter of genre; Jeanette seemed to veer toward the kind of country music that Missy found banal and pandering, while Missy, on the other hand, was pretty much game for anything but. However, hands were slapped and batted away from the scan button on the dashboard, until, from the depths of her purse, Jeanette produced a slew of CDs. They settled on a Stevie Nicks CD. Missy forwarded the disc to one of her favorite songs and as Planets of the Universe poured forth, she related all she'd learned about the community of St. Petersburg via the internet.
The valley the town nestled in had been carved eons ago by a single river; an offshoot of the Mississippi River called The Tees, which cleaved from its tributary at a point called Maiden’s Rock. The Tees rejoined the Mississippi about twenty miles northwest of St. Petersburg.
The town had been founded in 1853 by an Irish/British sect of Catholics who broke from a congregation and settlement established at that time in Mendota, MN. Current population, based on the most recent census, stood at 1,881 and, as stated by Adam the Admin (Missy's nickname for him), B&T Bread was indeed the only game in town when it came to a major employer. There were a few smaller companies in town, most notably a religious book and bible distributor, but nothing as large as B&T. St. Petersburg was also home to a small private college; a seminary called Oswig University. The university specialized in prepping seminary students for positions within Vatican City.
Jeanette listened intently as Missy rattled on like a tourist guide, scarfing down Triscuits and draining the last of her latte. Missy couldn't help but notice the food crumbs flying about, but said nothing; a little mess on a road trip was something to be expected and nothing a quick vacuuming couldn’t fix later Just as Missy finished the last of her history lesson, a sign announcing the town of Jasper appeared on the side of the road.
Highway 63 went right through the heart of Jasper. The community was much larger than Missy had anticipated. No doubt, the highway served as its bloodline, for it looked no different than any of the other small towns that fed off the highway and those traveling on it. Its landscape was dotted with temporary, hastily-built-looking buildings housing a myriad of hotels, diners, truck stops and fast food outlets. The lack of natural landscaping was a big giveaway. A bit further on, a different sign pointed out that to visit downtown Jasper one turned right, while an arrow indicated that St. Petersburg laid in the opposite direction. Missy turned left onto a road that was initially blacktop, but soon morphed into a well-worn gravel road.
After a few winds and turns along the dusty, crop-lined lane, they came up on a farm. It looked abandoned; its buildings left in disrepair, their paint faded and peeling. Missy instinctively slowed down as they approached it. There was something very sad about the place. Jeanette startled her with a deep intake of breath. “You know what? Slow down and take a look at the mailbox. I got a hunch about this place.” Missy did as directed. Around the post that held the box aloft was a wide, faded ribbon; its tattered tails flexing in the breeze. The name painted on the side of the mailbox was still legible in spite of its weathered condition. It said ‘Arneson’s’. The font it was written in was meant to be cheerful, but in its current state and given its history, it now seemed a touch eerie.
“Should we stop?”
“1 don’t think we can,” said Jeanette, as she pointed at a sign attached to a chain stretched across the entrance to the drive leading to the farm. ‘No Trespassing—By Order of the Sherriff s Dept.’.
Missy’s lower lip jutted out. She was disappointed, but realized that, due to the number of lookie-loos the farm must attract and the trouble that could cause, it only made sense to impede access. Her eyes again settled on the sun-drenched ribbon. It had once been a shade of brilliant orange and served as a symbol for the search for and hopeful eventual return of Jack Arneson. Once upon a time smaller versions of the same ribbon had adorned countless car antennae throughout the state But the beacon of hope had long since dimmed and the practice discontinued. It made Missy sad and also more certain of her mission. Shrugging her shoulders she said, “Well, that road's closed. On to St. Petersburg!”
They began the slow descent into the valley which cradled the town. It made for a magnificent entrance. The craggy, sand and clay-colored rocks, dotted with spindly pine trees, rose on either side, defining the sides of the valley. The view unfolded before them like one of those children’s pop-up books - the ones where things begin simply enough, but as you begin to pull the tabs, more and more of the picture is revealed in all its complicated, fascinating glory.
“Man, I would not like to drive down this hill in the winter,” mused Missy.
After crossing a rusting, triple-span iron bridge at the bottom of the hill, they were greeted by a large, stone marker welcoming them to St. Petersburg. Moments later they came upon an ornate wrought iron archway announcing "Main Street’. “I feel like we’re entering a cemetery,” whispered Jeanette, as they passed beneath it and the town opened before them
Creeping slowly into town, their eyes fell upon a series of old, quaint storefronts which, despite numerous minor alterations and updates, still held a touch of a frontier feel. First up: an antique store -a rather plain brick building with rustic windows. Though it had recently been sandblasted, Missy could tell it was very old due to the irregularities in its yellowish-hued bricks. Next to the antique store stood a bowling alley and then a diner, both, squat, wide buildings with architectural features that placed their origins firmly in the late 40’s/early 50’s.
Across the street: a station with two old-fashioned milk-glass topped gas pumps sitting in front. Despite the pumps, it still reminded Missy of something out of Little House on the Prairie. The building’s tall, wooden, square facade had been painted a pale cornflower blue. Both the paint and building had been weathered by the ages. Blooming annuals, an. assortment of marigolds, petunias, and pansies, sprang from boxes lining the windows, serving as the only signs of life in this otherwise desolate landscape. Above the rusted screen door hung a weathered oval sign identifying the store simply as ‘Ma & Pa’s’ - as if no other explanation was needed.
Figuring this was as good a place as any to start, they pulled up to the pumps. As they did the car ran over a black rubber hose which rang a bell alerting those inside. “I haven’t been to a gas station with one of those in ages,” beamed Jeanette. Missy stared at her with a puzzled look. Jeanette explained, “The hose you just ran over, the one that rings the bell? Gas stations don’t have those anymore. Just like..." And as she said this, the twang of the spring on the store’s screen door announced the appearance of a grizzled old man from inside. Jeanette smiled and continued, “Just like they don’t have full-service stations with attendants like that guy.” The hunched, elderly man, dressed in a pair of oil-stained, standard issue, blue pin-striped Osh Kosh B’Gosh overalls ambled toward the car. His unshaven face appeared at the passenger side window as Jeanette ordered Missy to roll down the window.
"Morning," he said cheerfully, his smile betraying a mouthful of less than photo-ready teeth. “What can I do fer you today? Fill ‘er up?”
Missy knew that the gas tank was still quite full, so she was about to decline when Jeanette, putting her best Minnesotan forward, answered “You betcha!” With that, and not a word more, Jeanette got out of the car and headed toward the store. Missy, not knowing what else to do, followed.
Stepping inside, it took a moment for Missy and Jeanette’s eyes to adjust to the relative darkness. The place smelled of motor oil, penny candy, fresh produce, and bread. There was something comforting and familiar about it. The planks of the worn wooden floor creaked a bit as they ventured toward the counter, behind which sat a rotund, woman with a round, teased coif dyed a color yellow not found in nature. Her thin hair sat about her head like a permanent, fluffy, frozen soufflé. She wore a simple, sleeveless dress shift, her large, fleshy arms flowing like white, pasty dough from the armholes. The homemade cotton dress featured a pattern of tiny bouquets, violets floating in a sea of soft orange. The arms and neck were lined with lime green ric rac trim, reminding Missy of the outfits Grandma Jean used to make for her Barbie dolls.
“Morning, gals! Let me know if I can help you with anything." There was something in the woman’s tone that rang false and Missy immediately mistrusted her. She could also tell that the woman, perched on a stool, offered assistance with no intention of ever coming out from behind that counter. In fact. Missy doubted she ever moved any further than the leave-a- penny-take-a-penny plate that sat beside the register. Jeanette, on the other hand, seemed oblivious, and immediately began to roam up and down the aisles. As the woman behind the counter fanned herself with a copy of the National Enquirer, Missy glanced about and immediately spotted a huge rack of B&T baked goods; an assortment of pristinely packaged doughnuts, pastries, and fruit pies.
Seizing this as a good opening. Missy casually noted, “I see you have a lot of B&T products"
“We sure do,” sighed the woman, as if the effort of conversation was more than she could muster. “This is a B&T town. Now.”
Picking up on the woman’s inclusion of the word ‘now’. Missy innocently asked, “Oh... that wasn’t always the case?”
“Well, let’s put it this way, this town has been through a lot of changes over the years.”
Nothing more seemed forthcoming, so Missy pressed on, “How long have you lived here?”
The woman’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “All my life. Where you from?”
Missy chose to ignore the warning in the woman’s tone, answering brightly, “Minneapolis.” Seeing this as an opportunity to ingratiate herself further, and since they were exchanging personal information. Missy, offered her hand, “My name is Missy. What's yours?”
This didn’t get quite the reaction hoped for. Behind the counter, the woman stiffened, her head rearing back sharply. Needless to say, a handshake did not appear to be forthcoming. With a hint of disgust, the woman asked pointedly, “You a reporter?"
A huge smile broke across Missy’s face. She couldn’t help it. She found the notion so flattering. "No, just visiting.”
This didn’t seem to put the woman at ease. Instead she pressed for more information. “You got family in town? Business?” These questions were spat out with a level of seriousness that surprised Missy. In fact, the woman’s tone had become so severe that it caught the attention of Jeanette, who, sensing trouble made her way to the front of the store. She answered the woman’s question before Missy could form a response.
“We’re just here on a day trip. Playing tourists, you know? I’m her Aunt Jeanette.” Jeanette placed her body between Missy and the counter. “We’re here looking for information about the history of bread in this town - kind of a hobby of ours. Local specialties.”
“Well...” hemmed the woman, now no longer in attack mode, but with no intention of giving up any further information either. “Good luck with that.” And then, rather dismissively, she added, “Let me know if you need help finding anything here in the store. As in anything you might want to buy.” Great emphasis was placed on the word ‘buy’, making both women feel ashamed. At that moment the old man came in and ambled up to the counter. “They got gas, Hedda. Four-fifty worth!” His eyes moved quickly back and forth between the three women, as if sizing up the situation. As Missy moved to pay Hedda, the old man shuffled over to Jeanette. Politely, and with a glint of meaning he spoke. “Miss? If you wouldn’t mind stepping outside with me. I noticed something on your vehicle that might need some attention.”
Jeanette was immediately suspicious. “Something wrong?”
“Nothing serious. You can have your mechanic look at it the next time you take your car in. Step this way, and I’ll show you ”
Before exiting, Jeanette glanced over her shoulder and shot Missy a look that said 'this old man is about to take us for a ride, honey!' Praying that was not the case. Missy thanked Hedda and quickly followed.
Missy felt a flush of panic sweep through her as she approached her car. The pair was standing in front of the car with its hood up. “What's going on? My car was just in the shop for a routine checkup and passed with flying colors. You better not be...”
Jeanette held up her hand to silence her niece. “Whoa. Settle down, Nelly!”
The old man looked sheepish as he addressed Missy, “Sorry to worry you. Miss. There's nothing wrong with your vehicle. I just wanted to get you away from Hedda, in there. That gal’s milk went sour a long time ago. Didn’t want you to get the wrong impression of the town.”
Missy exhaled sharply. “You almost made me lose it.” She was about to launch into a rebuke, but then saw how sincere the old man was and had a change of heart. “Okay, whatever,” she smiled. “Ma certainly did seem a little put out.”
The old man chuckled. “Oh, hell, that’s not Ma. God forbid!” From a pocket in his overalls, he pulled out a well-used, white handkerchief, which he used to wipe the corners of his eyes and then his glasses. “My sweet Clarice passed some ten years ago. Hedda is just a body to sit behind the register, so's I can get my work done. Pay her no mind.” Placing his glasses back on his face, he looked up and squarely into Missy’s eyes. “So, as I understand it, you come looking for information about B&T? Now, you’re not one of them reporters are you?"
Missy blushed “No!" she said emphatically. Why does every keep accusing her of that, she wondered “I assure you, I am not ”
The old man explained, “St. Petersburg is a very private place. Those of us that’ve lived here a long time? We keep to our own.” This last bit was delivered as much a warning as it was a statement.
“Actually,” Missy eased her way in between Jeanette and the old man, “I’m just here to find out about the companies that B&T bought out. On their website they mentioned something about acquiring some local businesses”
“Acquirin’, huh? Is that how the put it? More like sabotage and swindle.” Clearly, this memory was a volatile one; the old guy's posture changed abruptly, becoming almost defensive. With his chin raised defiantly, he continued, “Well, for your information the “B" in B&T doesn’t even belong to ‘em. Stands for Brother’s Bread.” Missy glanced over to catch Jeanette’s eyes, but apparently the name failed to register with her aunt. The old man continued, “Recipes that go back for ages; recipes those damn Tollefsons got no business having. Up there at the Monastery, about five miles down the road here, they used to bake. Some of the best bread you ever ate. Folks’d come from miles around just to get a slice. But the order, the brotherhood, they ran into some trouble, bit of a scandal and they had to stop. Some say the Tollefsons had something to do with it, but nothing nobody could ever prove. All the same, those Tollefsons are mean sons-a-bitches. You be careful around them folks.”
Missy felt like her face had just been burned, but was pleased with the information given. “Alright, if you say so, I will...” and then, looking to include Jeanette, “...we will!”
Jeanette wasn’t so easily swayed. “But I thought St. Petersburg was a B&T town? That's what people keep telling us. Isn’t it the only major business in town?”
The old man frowned. "True enough But what most don’t realize is the majority of the people that work there don't even live here. Live over in Jasper. Not that I mind. I make a bundle off the ones that forget to fill up a'fore they come to work. See that road?’’ He turned to indicate the road Missy and Jeanette had just driven in on “See how quiet it is? Well, it gets busy as a highway with every shift change. Only time you see any traffic on it at all except for the annual raspberry festival. That road, Old Main, it takes you right out to that plant of theirs. And that’s as much of this town as most B&T’s employees ever get to see. Or care to see.”
Jeanette smiled. “Not much of a tourist attraction, huh? Nothing much to see?”
The old man’s eyes narrowed in amusement as his face broke out in a sly grin. “Tell you what, you take a drive down Old Main and when you get to the courthouse, you drive down each one of them roads that branch off of it. Then you come back and tell me whether you think there’s anything to see in this town.”
“That sounds like a challenge. What’s your name? I’m Jeanette. And this here’s my niece. Missy.”
“Pleasure to meet you. Call me Sam. Everybody does.” He bowed his head slightly, out of old-fashioned courtesy.
“Well, Sam, it has been a pleasure. Thank you for all the information.” Jeanette shook the old man's hand before moving toward the passenger side of the car. “Something tells me you’ll be seeing more of us before the day’s through.”
Sam laughed. “Something tells me you’re right.” Then his demeanor became serious once again, like a father lecturing his daughters before they travel to the big city. “Now you mind your P’s and Q’s. Something you need to understand about St. Petersburg: we have always been a very small town. And we liked it that way. When the Tollefsons got all greedy and started to stir up trouble, folks didn’t say nothing, but they didn't like it, either. What they done to the Oswig family? Trust me, that's gonna bite them in the butt someday"
“Who are the Oswigs?” Missy asked
Sam looked at her as if she was daft. “Only the founders of this town. Sure, they ain't much anymore. Just the three sisters left. But everything great about this town is thanks to that family.”
A light bulb went on in Missy’s head. “Are they the ones the University is named after?”
“Named after!” Sam now appeared flummoxed. “Hell, they founded the damn thing. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg.”
“Really? What else?”
“Ehh...” Sam batted her away with a wave of his hand. “You just take a look around Some of the buildings here. They may have had their edges rounded a little, but they remain mighty impressive. And those Oswigs? They’s the ones responsible. The college. The library. The opry house. They had big ambitions for this town.” He shook his head with regret as he continued, “Had that bridge over the Mississippi been built like was promised, this place woulda really been something. Damn politicians.”
Unsure just how much more information she should get out of Sam (after all, he was the first person who’d opened up to them), Missy decided to visit the well one more time. “Something fell through?”
And sure enough, it was one question too many. Sam changed course and answered, “You might say that.” He stared off into the distance, his eyes focusing on something down the road a bit before continuing. "Look, I been talking too much. You best be going. Can't have Hedda catch on to all I told you She never gives me a moment’s peace anyway. If I were you, I'd start out at the Town Hall and then the Monastery. Just head up Old Main there, toward the Mississip’. When you come to the Town Hall, veer right, going northeast, that’s the road that takes you there. As you drive along take a look at some of the buildings ‘round here. Trust me, you’ve never seen nothing like ‘em.” Missy thought the old man’s eyes were misting up just a tad as he spoke "Beautiful. Just Beautiful ” Then, catching himself, he became all business and dismissed them with a curt, “Take care now.” Missy and Jeanette watched as Sam ambled off toward the store. With a squeak of the spring and a bang of the screen door, he was gone.
“Missy!” ordered Jeanette. “Get in the car. We’re going sightseeing!”
Missy got in and immediately grabbed her purse. Pulling out the Xeroxed copy of Jean’s map, she flipped it over and pointed out an item on the list to Jeanette. “Look. Brother’s Bread. Did you catch that? It’s on the list.”
Jeanette read aloud. “Brother’s Bread Matches. Okay”, she shrugged. “But matches what?”
Missy put the car in gear and steered toward the road. “I guess we'll have to pay a visit to a certain Monastery to find out.”
Jeanette grinned. “Well, I sure hope the Brothers are friendlier than Hedda.” And then, popping a Triscuit in her mouth, she added, “’Cause that woman’s a total bitch.”
--- ---
Next Week: Chapter 13
.webp)
1 comment:
OMG this is very True Crime.
You just KNOW that family has more than one skeleton in the closet!!!
XOXO
Post a Comment