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
Chapter 12: Saturday, June 18, 2011, 8:00 am
Chapter 15: Saturday, June 18, 2011, 10:51 am
Missy slipped into the driver’s seat of the car, her heart still racing. Whether it was due to their recent near-escape or because of her developing feelings for Peter, she wasn’t sure. As for the items in the basement of the old bakery matching the items on Grandma Jean's list? Missy was pretty sure that was more than just a matter of coincidence. It was too bad they didn’t get to spend more time at the Monastery. Well, with luck, maybe they would later.
Buckled in, Missy started the car and asked, “Now what?”
“Just go!” Jeanette was obviously still jazzed from the chase, her voice shrill and tight. “Drive! We can talk and drive at the same time. Let's just get out of here.”
Dutifully, Missy peeled out of the parking lot with a roar as the tires kicked up the pebbled gravel in their wake. Instinctively, she headed back to town. “Okay,” Missy said, trying to fight panic by keeping her eyes steady and glued to the road, “so you're making me feel like we’ve done something wrong.”
“We have.” Jeanette sputtered, before leaning forward in her seat. She began rooting through her big bag, searching for something as she continued to talk. “On some level we are guilty of trespassing... and on another, some form of blasphemy, I'm sure.”
“Trespassing? It’s not trespassing if... Peter let us in.”
Jeanette reared up dramatically, her eyes wild. “Then why were we running?” And then, as if noticing that the vehicle was actually in motion she admonished, “Oh for God’s sake, Missy, slow down or you are going to get us killed.”
Missy pressed the brake - a little too hard. Jeanette flew toward the dash, but caught herself just in the nick of time. Her aunt braced herself against the dash. “What is wrong with you?” she screamed.
“Nothing. I was just... I got scared.” Missy took a deep breath, collected her thoughts and asked, “Why were we running?”
Exasperated, with her anxiety pouring fourth in a rush, Jeanette spat, “That's what I asked you! Look at me! Do I look like someone who should be running?”
Missy paused for a beat before answering. Her aunt was sweating profusely and appeared somewhat disheveled. Then she reminded herself that her aunt was much older than she was and not exactly in the best of shape. “No.” She didn’t see the need to elaborate further. Feeling ridiculous as well as thoroughly chastised, Missy resumed driving at a normal speed.
“Thank you.” With that, Jeanette returned to searching through her bag as they wound along the tree-lined back road. After a minute had gone by, Missy, still feeling stung, asked sulkily, “Where are we going?”
Jeanette, now wrist-deep in her box of Triscuits, shrugged her shoulders. “I'm thinking there are a couple of people we should probably try talking to - that Boyd Dean character and the old groundskeeper - what was his name?”
“Abe Longren.”
“Right, Abe.” After tossing a couple of the salty treats in her mouth, Jeanette folded down the top of the wax paper bag and shoved it to the bottom of the box in an effort to keep the remaining Triscuits fresh. While doing this she glanced at the dashboard clock. “It’s eleven,” she mumbled. “Think we can get two interviews done before noon?”
"I have no idea. I guess we can try. So, where am I going first?”
“Well, Abe is the closest, but my hunch is that Boyd Dean’s is the story with all the juice. I vote we head back to Jasper and see if we can track him down.” Jeanette grabbed her latte. Finding it empty, she grimaced and returned it to its holder.
Missy considered the logistics at hand. “Okay, that's forty minutes of drive time right there. Sure we can swing it?”
“Don't worry about it.” Jeanette was once again busy digging in her massive bag. She came up with a Diet Sprite, untwisted the cap, and took a swig before continuing. “That gives us an hour and something to track down Boyd. We talk to him and then head back to downtown St. Petersburg. We can talk to the old groundskeeper after we have lunch with the current one.” As she spoke, in order to make a place for her newly opened soda, Jeanette, took her empty latte container and nonchalantly tossed it in the back seat.
Missy took note, and wanted to remind her aunt of their agreement about not making a mess in the car, but the matter of Peter and their upcoming lunch took precedence. “Oh, yeah. By the way... thanks for that.”
“What?”
Missy’s eyes narrowed. “You know.”
A self-satisfied smile broke across Jeanette’s face. “You’re very welcome. I was just helping you out.”
“Next time I need help, I’ll ask for it, okay?”
It was now Jeanette who felt chastised. Her smile vanished. “Fine. It just seemed to me that you were kind of tongue-tied back there - which is very unlike you.” This last bit of information was delivered as a slight dig, one that didn’t escape Missy’s notice.
Missy’s brow furrowed. Did her aunt really think she was a Chatty Cathy? Keeping on point, she grumbled, “You didn’t have to accept.”
A sharp laugh, almost a bark, escaped Jeanette’s mouth. “Like you were going to turn him down?” Not waiting for an answer, she added, pragmatically, “Besides, we might get more info out of him. Also, we're gonna need him if we ever plan on getting back into that basement. Something tells me we’re not through there yet.”
Missy nodded in agreement. “Yeah, something tells me the same thing. It’s all too much to be just a coincidence, huh?”
“Be a hell of a one, if it is.”
The two drove in silence as they contemplated the meaning of what they had found in the Monastery basement. Missy also wondered exactly what connected Grandma Jean to this strange little community. As they approached the town proper, a more practical matter came to mind.
“How are we going to find Boyd?”
Clearly Jeanette had already considered this, for without missing a beat she proposed, "We'll stop at one of those convenience stores along the highway and ask for a phone book. Or, we could just ask somebody, because I bet everybody knows who he is.” Not waiting for an answer, she continued weighing the possibilities. “But what do you ask someone? ‘Hey, do you know where that boy all those monks messed around with lives?’ Not a good idea,” she concluded “We'd probably get the stink eye, if you know what I mean.”
Missy couldn't argue with that. Without bothering to offer a concrete solution, she merely reconfirmed their general direction, and drove on. “Okay, so Jasper, it is.”
Once back in St Petersburg, driving along the main road, the two women took in the same sites, but this time from a different perspective. In doing so, they also managed to discover a few new ones. Decidedly, the Town Hall was strange and intriguing from any angle, but to its north, they caught sight of what must have been the college, a rather modern looking amalgam of white, stucco-like, geometric shapes which appeared to have had a number of additions. Jeanette wondered aloud just what it is they taught there. A seminary? Isn’t that what their web site said? Next to that stood the High School; a rather uninspiring, typically bland, long, expansive, brick affair.
As they drove past the community park. Missy couldn’t help but get swept up in its vague, turn-of-the-century air of romance. For a brief moment she allowed herself the fantasy of walking through it hand-in-hand with Peter. But that fantasy was short-lived, for soon her attention focused on the building across the street from it, next to the barber shop. It was an adobe colored building, with a grand swoop of stone stairs which led from the sidewalk to its front door. This odd embellishment, along with a couple of cone-roofed turrets, made it look like a tiny fairy-princess castle. Upon closer inspection, Missy realized it was nothing more than the post office. It sure was unlike any she had ever seen before. Apparently, whatever it was they chose to build in St. Petersburg, they did it in a big way.
The rest of downtown flew past them. As they came upon the Ma and Pa station, Missy thought maybe they should stop and ask Sam if he could help them locate Boyd Dean. He had said that he expected to see them again. But maybe that was a favor to be used another time. That’s when Missy realized she knew exactly how to find Boyd’s address.
“My phone! My phone has internet access! Let’s just Google him and see if an address in Jasper comes up.” She spotted the gravel parking lot in front of the diner where they would later meet Peter for lunch. “Here, let me pull over, and you can take over driving while I look.” The gravel crunched beneath the tires as they came to a sudden stop. Without waiting for a response from Jeanette, Missy flung open the driver’s door and exclaimed, “Chinese Fire Drill!” Jeanette rolled her eyes, sighed, and pushed her shoulder against the car door. Apparently, she did not share Missy’s enthusiasm.
Once the two women had exchanged places, they were soon back on the road, headed toward Jasper. Missy quickly turned her attention to her Google search. She pressed the button on the screen of her phone to bring up the internet, but nothing happened. Looking at the top of the screen, she noticed that the tiny ascending bars, which were normally lit up in bright green, were dormant. “Hmmm. No signal.”
"It’s probably because of all the metals in the rock that makes up this valley,” Jeanette speculated. "Wait until we get over the bridge and up the hill to see if it’s any better.”
Sure enough, as soon as they were on the crest of the ridge. Missy’s phone sprang to life.
A Google search for ‘Boyd Dean, Jasper, MN’ yielded a few results: one article about a recent arrest for drug possession and another regarding a DUI. In the article concerning the drug arrest, his home address was given as 1453 Radcliffe Road. Given that he'd been a minor at the time of the molestation scandal, Missy wasn’t surprised that there were no news stories connecting him to the events of 1986. She switched to Google Maps, entered the address, and got a GPS map indicating the house’s exact location. When she clicked on the street view, she grimaced; it did not look like the kind of neighborhood she would ever want to spend any time in. The house itself was very small and seemed to be leaning a bit to one side. It was surrounded by other houses in similar states of disrepair and neglect. Almost every lawn appeared littered with trash and in need of a good mowing.
Missy contemplated sharing what she’d just learned. Keeping it from her aunt really wouldn’t be fair; it would be like entering a field of landmines without telling the other person that you were about to enter a field of landmines. Risking the possibility that Jeanette might refuse to continue, Missy chose to do the right thing: she spilled the beans about Boyd's recent drug arrest and the appearance of his home and neighborhood.
Jeanette seemed unconcerned “Lemme see.” She made a hasty grab for Missy’s phone.
“No!” Missy yanked the phone just out of reach “You’re driving. Concentrate on the road, woman. You can look at it in-person soon enough.”
“Is there a picture of him?”
“Nope. Not any I can find.”
Jeanette, paused, pouted and then added, “Well, that’s probably a good thing.”
“Why?”
“Missy...” The sudden shift in her aunt’s tone told Missy to pay attention. Softly, Jeanette continued. “You have to keep an open mind and remember what this boy’s been through.” At just that moment, they happened to be driving by the old Arneson farm. The sight of it and its neglected mailbox, so empty of promise, sent a shiver through Missy. Her aunt took note of the farm and cautioned, “Don’t jump to conclusions and don’t assume anything.”
Missy took a moment to mull over the meaning of her aunt’s words. “You mean connecting Jack Arneson’s disappearance to what happened to Boyd Dean?”
“Allegedly happened to Boyd Dean...” her aunt corrected. “Allegedly.”
That was the period which put an end to that line of discussion. Missy decided that in order to avoid jumping to conclusions it was probably best not to think about it at all. As they approached the highway, her mind turned to other thoughts. “If a man lives an hour and a half away from you, does that make it a long distance relationship?”
Jeanette’s brow furrowed “Depends - if by land or by sea.”
“Decidedly land.”
Her aunt stifled a quick, knowing laugh "Why do you ask?”
Missy fidgeted in her seat “I've heard that those kinds of relationships never work out ”
Without looking at her niece, Jeanette shook her head. “Don't count your chickens, Missy. The eggs they hatch from haven’t even been pooped out yet."
“I suppose you’re right.” Missy felt herself blush. It was silly, presumptive, even. And so like her: to jump ahead in any given story. She’d always wanted to know the outcome, the endpoint of a relationship before even dipping her toes to test the water. Maybe that’s just human nature. Or was she trying to protect herself? From what? Grandma Jean had always told her that life was meant to be experienced by feeling everything - all of it: the bad and the good. And at this point in time, anything that might happen with Peter was just speculation on her part. She should just enjoy it. Wasn’t that part of the good? Her aunt’s surly voice brought her back to reality.
“Hey! Where am I headed?”
Missy refocused her attention on the phone in her palm. She was able to give Jeanette accurate enough directions that they arrived at Boyd's house with only a few minor miscues and a minimum of heated banter. As they approached the house, a feeling of discomfort enveloped the car. The house Boyd was living in was, to put it mildly, in a state of decline. It looked tired, and, indeed, did lean a bit to the right. In fact, the whole place had a very helter-skelter feel to it; the peeling, chipped paint, the rusted screen windows, and the overgrown brush gave one the impression that the house was abandoned. The only sign of life was a non-descript, tan sedan that sat in the driveway.
“Let’s get this over with.” Jeanette got out of the vehicle and began to amble up the unevenly heaving sidewalk toward the sloping, open porch. Missy, with a tightness gripping her chest, followed.
Up close the house and yard was in much worse shape and seemed more dangerous than it had appeared from the safety of the car. Hidden among the overgrown shrubs and weeds were large plastic bottles which at one time held bleach or some kind of chemical astringent, along with an assortment of oddities: cracked music CDs minus their covers, a single seat cushion from a couch with a large burn mark, a child's Big Wheel - minus one wheel, and the faded remains of discarded boxes of cereal, snack bags, fast food wrappers, and sun-bleached soda cans. There were actual holes in the rotted steps leading to the porch, the floor of which was warped and askew, the ancient boards curling and straining against the nails which held them in place.
Taking a deep breath, Jeanette rapped on the screen door. When she did, the door shifted in its frame a bit and both women took a swift step backwards, fearful that it would come off its hinges and fall on them. From the dark behind the rusted screen sprang the face of a man, his eyes so wide that if given a voice they would have been screaming in terror. His voice hissed forth, in a conspiratorial tone. “Hey, hey... whatta ya want? What’s up?”
For some reason the sight of the man did not illicit as much fear as the screen door. Maybe this was due to his thin frame; for he looked like a twig that could very easily be snapped in two. He pushed on the screen door and moved onto the porch, looking about quickly, as if he feared someone else might be watching. Instinctively both women did the same, unsure exactly who it was they were on the lookout for. That they did so was a testament to the sense of paranoia which seemed to permeate their host.
“You wanna come in? No, wait, not a good idea. Not a good idea.” His movements and words were swift and chaotic, bearing no relation to one another. “We should go sit in your car. Don’t you think? Can we? Can we sit in your car?”
Missy felt the hair rise up on her neck. Her immediate reaction was to run away as quickly as possible. Fortunately, Jeanette remained unfazed by this man’s demeanor. Her aunt immediately adopted a manner that was matter-of-fact, as if she had a job to do and wanted to accomplish it as quickly as possible.
“Your name Boyd Dean?” she asked, her voice flat and monotone.
“Yeah, yeah. . maybe.” His face scrunched up in distrust, squeezing the pupils of his blood shot eyes. Then, just as quickly, it opened wide, a mask of fright. “But what's in a name, am I right? What do you want? Who sent you?”
The women exchanged a brief glance. Something was definitely not breezy-easy in the world of Boyd Dean. He seemed to be vacillating quickly between being overbearingly welcoming and extremely suspicious. But Jeanette took it in stride, sighed, and stated, “Nobody sent us. We were just wondering if we could talk to you for a bit.” Jeanette’s approach remained assured and direct. Hopefully this would have a calming effect on Boyd.
As Boyd continued to twitch about, Missy studied his face and was surprised to see that there was still a trace, albeit a tiny one, of the boy who had become this man. He must have been really cute when he was little. That tiny glimpse into the past seemed totally out of step with the empty husk of a man which stood before her, scratching away at his emaciated limbs. Peter had mentioned that he was only a year younger than Boyd. That must have been quite the year, she reasoned, for Boyd possessed the look of someone much older. Was that due to the events in his past, or...? A glaze of sympathy colored her view and she asked herself: did anyone deserve to live like this? This was the kind of poverty she’d only caught sight of in the deepest crevices of North Minneapolis.
“Talk? Talk about what?” His voice, now sharp and panicked, jolted Missy back to the present. “I got nothing to say. Nothing for free anyway. Who the hell are you?”
“Nobody special.” Jeanette remained steadfast. “We’re here trying to help a friend of ours. I was hoping maybe you might want to help him, too.”
“Only if he’s a friend of mine And that’s unlikely. I got no friends. Not any real ones.” Having revealed more than intended, Boyd grimaced, scratched his head, squinted at Jeanette, and, in a real calm and genuine manner, asked, “Who is he? This friend of yours?
“Nobody you know. Or maybe you do? A little boy named Jack?”
The name must have resonated with Boyd, for he actually seemed to track the nature of the conversation before relapsing into his established pattern of alternating between paranoia and over-familiarity. “What is this? Ooooo, I get it. I get it. You’re looking for somebody. A little lost fella, huh? I can relate. I can relate.”
Jeanette stepped closer to him. “I know you can. That's why we came to see you. We were thinking you might have some answers.”
“Answers?” Boyd seemed to like the idea that he might actually know something of value. He sat down on the top step of the porch before continuing. “Well, not sure I ever figured out any. But I’ll tell you what I know. You want to know what those monks did to me, huh?”
Jeanette looked back at Missy quickly. Whether this glance was a need for reinforcement or a desire to share their possible good fortune, Missy couldn’t tell. Jeanette moved to the steps and, with some effort, sat down next to Boyd. With her hands clasped in her lap and a degree of sensitivity she said, “Only what you’re willing to share.”
Jeanette’s proximity seemed to ignite a flash of panic in Boyd, for he sprang up as if his pants had at that moment caught fire. Maybe he didn’t like people sitting next to him. “So, say I do share. What's in it for me? Huh? What's in it for me? You got any money?”
Bouncing on the balls of his feet like a prize fighter, he directed this last question to Missy, who was flummoxed by her sudden inclusion. “We. . we're...” She strained to catch Jeanette’s eye, fairly certain that what she was about to say was the truth. “We’re not in a position to pay for information. We're sort of doing this as a favor.”
This was clearly not the answer Boyd was hoping for. “Well, I don't do no favors. You do somebody a solid and all you get is grief. And trust me - I got enough grief as is.” He turned toward Jeanette, “You with the cops’’”
Jeanette remained poised. “No.”
“Newspaper?”
“No.”
Suddenly, Boyd’s posture shifted, as if a huge weight had been placed on his shoulders. Looking about, his neck craned right and left as his paranoia got the best of him. “We shouldn’t talk out here,” he whispered. “Not a good idea. People listen, you know. People talk.” He pointed a cautious finger to the front door. “Let’s go inside and sit.” Without waiting for a consensus, he sprang past Jeanette, who was still seated on the steps, and made his way to the dilapidated screen door.
Missy made a move toward the porch, but once she reached the steps, Jeanette, who remained seated, grabbed hold of her sleeve and held fast. With one shake of Jeanette’s head. Missy knew not to continue.
“No, that’s okay,” said Jeanette, peering over her shoulder, keeping her voice as nonchalant as possible “We can talk here. There’s nobody around to hear anything. Trust me." Swiveling back, her eyes caught Missy’s and she gave her a small, knowing smile. Missy stepped back as Boyd returned to the porch steps. In doing so, she almost tripped on the raised lip of one of the slabs of sidewalk. This place was dangerous in more ways than one.
Oblivious to all else. Boyd took a quick survey of the lay of the land around them. There was something about the way he did this that reminded Missy of a good hunting dog. Then he sank back to his original place on the steps, beside Jeanette. In a hushed voice he said, "Okay, Okay, I will. I will trust you.” He turned to face Jeanette and looking directly into her eyes for the first time, asked, “What do you want to know? Huh? It's all been trash-talked about. It was in all the papers. Sure, they didn't print my name, but they might as well have. And think how that made me feel?” There was something desperate and pleading in his tone. Again, Missy caught sight of the frightened, abused boy who lived inside this man, and who now seemed to be doing the talking.
“Why me? Don't you think I have asked myself that over and over again? What did I do that caused this? Am I to blame? Do they blame me?” Jeanette stole a glance at Missy. Her aunt seemed unsure how or if to respond. Boyd rambled on. “That's why I had to leave, to get out of St. Petersburg. You can’t believe how many of those people hated my guts. Blamed me for what those men did to me. They didn’t want to have to admit what had happened. They wanted me to keep my mouth shut... to keep it all inside. They wanted me to disappear. Well, fuck 'em. Like they did me.” With this last bit, the man - a hardened, bitter soul - reappeared. After pausing for maximum impact, he continued.
“I never saw a cent of that settlement money. Not a dime! My dang Dad burned through that dough like it was flash paper. All I got was my head shrunk and a bunch of attention from the D.A..” Lost in thought, he shook his head. “All that money. And look where I am. Look how I live. Well, I guess they got their wish didn't they... I disappeared.” Boyd’s eyes had grown moist with impending tears. Missy felt her throat close tight with an ache she knew she should not express. Taking her cue from her aunt, who remained stoically detached, she resisted the urge to physically comfort Boyd. For, like an injured animal, one could not be sure how he would interpret any attempt at solace.
Moments passed. The heat of the day was just arriving, the dew on the grass now merely vapor Finally, Jeanette broke the silence, her tone, kind and knowing. “We’re sorry for your troubles, Boyd. What you’ve been through must have been just awful. I get a sense that you feel you’ve lost your way. But see... you have an opportunity here to contribute something good to the world - a way to help others. We’re here because we don’t believe you were the only one. We think there were others. Do you remember any of the others?”
Boyd's face closed up quicker than a government office on Memorial Day. He stared hard at Jeanette for a moment, and then turned and walked back into the house. A breath of air escaped from Missy. That had been intense. Jeanette rose and moved to speak with her niece, but before she got so much as a word out of her mouth, Boyd was back; his arms rigid at his sides, his hands balled into fists. His energy was such that, as he moved toward them, the women stepped backwards in kind.
“Others?” he spat. “Others? You wanna know about others? Well, what about me? Don’t you care what happened to me? What I went through? What I had to do? Those men... they. They...”
Sensing that he was on the verge of collapse, Jeanette moved swiftly towards the unstable man. “They did what...? What did they do, Boyd? We care. We do. We want to know.”
The moment Jeanette touched Boyd's arm, his whole demeanor transformed and melted, as a strange, evil smile spread across his face. His body relaxed, and his eyes now seem lit from within. He stared at the women, his eyes moving back and forth between them, before quietly saying, “Nothing. They didn’t do nothing.” The moment passed, as if lifted on the slight breeze which blew through the porch. Boyd’s gaze followed that breeze and lost his way into the sky. “Not your worry. Not your problem.” He spoke with a sense of resignation, before reverting to the Boyd they had first encountered. “Hey,” his face lit up with an injured smile, “you wanna smoke a little something-something? Huh? Come on. Come on in. Let’s hit it? Whatta ya say?”
As Boyd made a move toward the deteriorated screen door, Jeanette, fairly certain of just what he meant, declined. “No, that’s okay.” Boyd turned back and looked at her quizzically. “You do what you need to do, uh. but we’re, we’re fine.”
He took a moment to allow this information to sink in before shrugging it off. Then his eyes went dead “Suit yourself, suit yourself. Hey, we done here? I got stuff to do.”
Jeanette turned and looked to Missy “Well, we .. ”
Missy decided that her aunt had carried the ball for long enough. It was time for her to get in the game. She stepped up to the porch. “Were there any other boys that you know of, Boyd? See, there was a little boy who went missing a few years before you came out with your allegations...”
“ALLEGATIONS!” Apparently that was not the word to use, and Missy regretted it almost immediately. “Wasn’t no allegations. I spoke the truth!” he ranted. “What I spoke was the truth. You, you might have wanted me to keep quiet...”
Unsure of what had prompted this reaction, Missy attempted to placate, “No, we never...” But Boyd continued to rage right over the top of her objection.
“.. but what I said. It was the truth. And if we’d gone to court... if I’d ever had a chance to tell my side of the story...” His voice trailed off. Suddenly he seemed as lost as the opportunity his mind was trying to imagine. Then he bent over, as if in pain, using his index fingers to plug his ears. “Shut up. Don’t say another word. I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to hear it anymore...” From his crouched position, his face, a mixture of pain, anguish, and fear, found theirs. “You don’t know. You probably wouldn’t believe me, but I was good. Once. I was a good boy.”
His eyes frantically searched theirs for some type of agreement. Finding none, his hand dropped to his side as he stood taller than ever before. Offering up a closed mouth grin, he said simply, “I should get back to... what I was doing. You ladies have a good day.” With that he ambled back towards his front door.
Missy, unsure what more they could get from the damaged man, decided to throw in the towel. “Oh, okay. Well, thanks for your help, Boyd.” She sounded inappropriately upbeat, but it was probably just nerves and she couldn't help herself. “We really appreciate it.”
The screen door screamed as it stretched open. Boyd paused before entering. Not looking directly at them, he said, “And you know what I would appreciate? I would appreciate it if you dropped this whole thing. Sometimes the past should stay in the past, know what I'm saying?”
Jeanette answered before Missy could reply. “We do, Boyd. But see, there are some things, some people, who cannot stay in the past, because there are simply too many unanswered questions. Do you know what I am saying?”
Boyd turned and stared at Jeanette with a weary look, as if the weight of what he knew sat directly on top of his eyebrows and was threatening to crush his face. “Who else you planning on talking to?”
If Jeanette was surprised by his interest, she didn’t show it. “Who else do you think we should? Next on our list is the former groundskeeper, Abe Longren.”
“Abe Longren!” Boyd’s bark sent Missy's head whipping back. He seemed to take note of this and immediately softened his tone. “He still alive? I... I thought he was dead.”
“According to the current groundskeeper at the Monastery, he’s alive and kicking, living on the edge of town near Maiden Rock.”
“Moved, huh? Okay. Okay.” Boyd's eyes shifted back and forth processing the information like something out of a cartoon. Then, just as suddenly, he sprang back into the real world, with an upbeat smile on his face. “Well, I gotta get back to what I was doing. You tell old Abe, I said 'hello', okay ladies?” With that, Boyd sunk into the darkness of the inside of the house.
The second he was gone, Missy ran up to Jeanette and whispered in her ear. “Let’s get the hell out of here before he brings out a gun or something.”
For a moment, Jeanette stood staring at the door Boyd had disappeared behind, before agreeing. “Yeah. I bet he's got some pit bulls in the backyard. Let's move."
Once they were safely ensconced in the car, Jeanette appeared to physically deflate. Missy, on the other hand, was still feeling the full magnitude of their encounter with Boyd. “That was awful. What the hell is wrong with that man?”
“Crack.” Jeanette volunteered pragmatically. “The man is a total meth-head. I bet he’s making his own rock, too, from the look of things.”
Crack? Missy searched her mind for some personal reference. All she knew of that world was what she’d heard and seen on T.V. Still, she knew it wasn’t good news. “Oh, that is so sad. Isn’t there anything we can do?”
Jeanette sighed. “Yeah,” she said as she buckled herself in, “leave him the hell alone.”
Missy paused and stared at her aunt until their eyes met. Jeanette continued nonplussed “Just shows you how dangerous it is to let sleeping dogs lie. Eventually those dogs get hungry and come looking for you. And when they find you? Well, be careful, because they’re liable to sneak up on you and bite you in the ass.”
Missy stared at her aunt. “Speaking from personal experience, are we?”
Jeanette’s calm remained unchanged. It was like she was channeling Clint Eastwood, or something. “I’m just speaking... which I probably shouldn’t be.” With a nod of her chin toward the windshield, she added, “Drive, will ya? We got a lunch date.”
Missy put the car in gear and sped away. She glanced in the rearview mirror and caught sight of the house one last time The sight of it made her shudder. As she did, she noticed Boyd getting into the tan four-door in the driveway. Probably off to score or whatever it is crackheads do. In any case she hoped to never set eyes on either Boyd or his creepy old house ever again.
Lost in thought, Missy retraced their route back to the highway.
In some ways, small towns are a lot more dangerous than big cities. In big cities, the dangers are tangible, obvious. Small towns? Well, you never know what lies beneath the surface until you scratch it.
And once you do?
Well, you best pray it doesn't scratch you back.
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Next: Chapter 16
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1 comment:
Holy shit.
That was intense. So did the men fuck him or not???
XOXO
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