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 20: Saturday. June 18. 2011, 6:10 pm
They drove back into town before returning to the hotel. The Shopko, mentioned by Adam, was hidden off Main Street behind the block containing Ben Franklins and the hardware store. It was a shabby affair and appeared to have been built in the early 1970’s. Very little, save some sun-bleached graphics, had been done to update its appearance. Upon entering the store, much to Missy’s dismay, Jeanette grabbed a rickety grocery cart and headed off on her own, mumbling something about ‘shopping-as-therapy’. Missy fought the urge to try and control her aunt, but then, it wasn’t like the shop was so large that her aunt was going to disappear, or anything.
Missy strode off in the opposite direction, to the circular racks that made up the Women’s Department. The bad news: the place was filled with lowest-common-denominator clothing; shapeless slabs of indifferent fabrics which hung sadly on the heavy chrome hangers. The good news: plenty of items in Missy’s size. She searched the area around her. Either there were no petite women in St. Petersburg, and therefore no Petite Section at this Shopko, or the section was so small that it didn’t justify its own signage.
Missy selected two cotton-blend blouses, one melon-colored and the other, pale green. They offered just enough texture and design elements to render them wearable and appealing. The jeans she found were a brand she had never heard of, but the cut was good, and they sure beat what she had bought at Rae-Lynn’s shop. She headed to the checkout lane, paid with a credit card, and then padded over to the tiny eating area to the left of the registers, where she ordered a cherry coke which she sat and drank while waiting for her aunt.
Twenty minutes later, Jeanette rolled through the checkout with a cart loaded with boxes of snack cakes, crackers, chips, sparkling water, a 20 lb. bag of dog food, a huge pack of post-it notes, and an armful of clothing. It was all Missy could do from running up to her and asking exactly where she thought all of that stuff was going to fit in the car. But she was tired. And kind of hungry. Why hadn’t Peter called and invited her out to eat? Then she remembered that her cell phone didn’t work in St. Petersburg anyway, and also had she really been so bold as to give him that number? She couldn’t remember. Her mind a jumble, the whole day just sort of crashed in on her.
She was torn. Should they head back to the hotel and hunker down, satisfying their hunger with junk food, or succumb to the charms of the brilliantly colored photos of cardboard pizza and unctuous looking, sweaty hotdogs right there at Shopko, or attempt to find a decent place eat?
They ended up at the Country Kitchen, right next to the hotel. It suited Missy just fine.
There was something pleasantly reassuring about the familiar color scheme and the standard menu, complete with artful graphics and the occasional photo of the food. While breakfast sounded like a good idea and a salad would definitely be a good idea, it was the heavier fare that was garnering much of Missy’s attention. She needed a nap and was certain that the comfort food she was about to ingest would help her find her way to dreamland in no time. The country-fried steak looked as welcoming as a warm bath. She wrestled with thoughts of pot roast and meatloaf, before finally settling on the Crispy Orange Asian Salad. She paused to consider what a ‘crispy orange’ might be like, but actually knew exactly what she would be getting: a salad, in name only - the sweet and sour sauce, along with crunchy chow mien noodles and deep-fried chicken fingers rendering any and all dietary benefits moot. She was okay with that. It came with flat bread. She could live with that, too.
The waitress, obviously a student from the local college, was sweet, pretty, and terribly young. Jeanette tortured her with questions about the food which the poor kid was simply unable to answer. When her aunt began to get a bit belligerent about it, Missy stabbed her under the table with the toe of her shoe. Jeanette took the hint and ordered the chicken fried steak dinner. Missy felt a stab of envy course through her calorie-deprived self.
After the waitress left, the two women stared at each other. The bags under their eyes told the other exactly how tired they were - well, that and that neither was up to addressing the issue of the stolen children’s book. In fact, neither one of them had taken a second look at the book or mentioned it since it disappeared into the nether regions of Jeanette’s gargantuan purse.
Missy sipped from the glass of 'water with lemon’ she’d ordered. She’d discarded the straw because she disliked sucking liquid through a plastic tube. She imagined the toxic chemicals the straw was made of somehow would taint the purity of the water on its way to her lips. Instead, she drank directly from the glass, enjoying the feeling of the cold, slightly tart liquid rushing into her mouth. It felt cleansing and temporarily counteracted the dull ache of exhaustion that seemed to permeate her leaden body.
Jeanette stared forlornly at her niece, her bottom lip protruding like a small, petulant child’s. So tired were they, they failed to notice Sheriff Muntz as he pulled into the parking lot. Entering the restaurant, he wasted little time ambling directly over to the booth occupied by the two women.
“Evening, ladies. Mind if I join you?” He didn’t wait for answer and slid in next to Jeanette, who looked like she was about to bark at him, but then thought better of it. The waitress trotted over and took the Sherrif's order He must have eaten there often, because he didn’t bother to look at a menu and she didn’t ask any questions.
After ordering, he turned his attention back to Missy. “New outfit, huh? I like that blouse on, you. Good color. Shopko, $16.99, am I right? It’s got a nice cut to it.”
Missy threw a sideways glance in her aunt’s direction before answering, “Yup.” Her mind raced. Why would the Sheriff know the price of a women’s blouse at the local Shopko? But then, maybe he’d recently been shopping for his wife, for a gift or something. She shook her head. This day just kept getting stranger and stranger.
“They got good jeans there,” he added. “Relaxed fit.” Missy wasn’t sure, but she thought he’d blushed a bit after he said that last bit. Before she could form a question worth asking, the Sheriff cleared his throat and changed the subject. “So, how you liking St. Petersburg? Quite a place isn’t it?” Again, he didn’t wait for an answer. Obviously quaint conversation was not his real agenda “I hear you’ve been running all over town, shopping at Bainbridges and the Shopko Even paying a visit to B&T Bread. You get the tour? Folks really seem to like those free samples they offer at the end.”
There was something malevolent about his tone, and Missy suddenly found herself on guard. She was not in a mood to be interrogated. She was also not in the mood to be intimidated, though she was indeed exactly that. Sheriff Muntz struck her as a tad menacing, so she was not sure how to respond. On the other hand, it didn’t throw Jeanette for a moment. She adopted her ’Hard Momma’ persona and immediately went toe to toe with the law man.
“Look, Sheriff, we’ve both had quite a day, what with Abe Longren being murdered while we were sitting in the next room and all. So, if you’ve got something you want to say to us, just spit it out and save us all our appetites.”
Sherriff Muntz cocked his head back and gave Jeanette a bemused look. Apparently he didn’t mind it when someone stood their ground. When he spoke, there was a gentle laugh to the undercarriage of his voice. “No need to be so formal. You can call me Paul. Would that be okay with you, Jeanette?”
Missy’s aunt eyed him guardedly. “Okay, Paul,” she stressed his name with a pop of her eyes, “Let’s dispense with the formalities. Fact is. Missy and I are tired And since we’re not under arrest and have committed no crime, we can come and go as we please and talk to whomever we want.” The Sheriff was about to interrupt when Jeanette held up her hand to stop him “And, just so you know, we haven’t said one word to anyone that would contradict your little story about Mr. Longren committing suicide.” This last word was framed in air quotes by Jeanette using the standard two fingered gesture.
“I appreciate that, I really do. There’s a reason for doing that, but I am not at liberty to discuss it at this time.” His tone was curt and professional.
Jeanette continued, “Yeah, we get it, law enforcement, legal stuff, and all that, but it would have been nice to have been given a head’s up” The waitress brought Paul a cup of coffee and the table went silent. All parties stared at their beverages until the young woman was a safe distance away.
It was Paul who broke the silence. “Now why would I do that? You two have no business involved in this investigation at all. And therefore, no need to go wandering all over town talking to people like Kathleen Tollefson. Oh, yeah, you didn’t know I knew about that, huh? Need I remind you, you’re just a couple of witnesses.”
Missy was more than just a little bit concerned about all that Sheriff Paul seemed to know about her and Jeanette’s coming and goings. Who was talking? Were they being followed? Jeanette, on the other hand, seemed to take it as a challenge.
“Really?” Jeanette was now full steam ahead, “Well, I think it’s time we clued you in on exactly what brought us to St. Petersburg in the first place.”
The Sheriff s face went stone cold. “Ah, so you haven’t been exactly honest with me, have you? Okay,” he said with a resigned shrug, “let’s hear it.”
Missy bit her tongue. She wanted to protest. She wasn’t sure that now was the time to show their hand. Fortunately, she didn’t have to say anything, because the massive radio on Paul’s gun belt crackled to life. “Paul?” Missy recognized it as the voice of the female dispatcher they’d dealt with earlier. The Sheriff, who seemed really annoyed at the prospect of his dinner being interrupted, angled his elbow back awkwardly so he could push a button on the top of radio without removing it from his belt “Yeah, Shelia? What you got?”
“We got a situation over at the Monastery Possible 187. I don’t have a lot of the details, but you better get over there, pronto.”
Paul was on his feet in a flash. He ripped the radio from his belt, spitting fire into the receiver, “Are you fucking kidding me? What in the sam hell is going on around here?” He began pacing back and forth “Yes. yes, tell ‘em I’ll be right there And tell them not to touch a damn thing. You hear me!” He jammed the radio back onto his belt and began to walk away from the table, before doing a one-eighty and placing both his hands flat on the end of the table. Looking from woman to woman he hissed, “You two! You eat your meals, head back the hotel, and stay put. Not a word to anyone. No more shopping, no more chatting up folks. Now do as I say or your pretty little butts will be sitting a jail cell. Got it?” He then stood erect, smiled and, with a chivalrous nod of his head, added, “Enjoy your meals.” As he exited, he called out to the waitress. “Rita! Put their food on the department’s tab.” And with that, he jumped into his squad car, and took off, heading west, lights flashing, sirens blaring.
The food arrived. It looked wonderful. Missy stared at her salad, stealing furtive glances at Jeanette. She knew exactly what was going on in her aunt’s head. She decided to cut her off at the pass. “No.”
Jeanette looked up, adopting an air of innocence, “What?”
Missy pointed her fork at Jeanette, jabbing it in her direction for emphasis as she spoke. “This is what we are going to do. We are going to do exactly what the Sheriff said to do. We are going to eat our food, go back to the hotel, and go to bed. What we are not going to do is follow Sheriff Paul out to the Monastery to find out what is going on.”
Jeanette resumed cutting up her food. Without looking at Missy she quietly asked, “Aren’t you just the least bit curious?”
Missy placed her palms on either side of her plate. Apparently she was going to have to play the part of the adult now. “No. What I am is hungry. What I am is tired. We will have to wait and learn the details about what happened just like everybody else. Now, eat your food!”
Fortunately, that was not something you had to tell Jeanette twice She dug into that deep- fried steak smothered in pepper gravy like someone who hadn’t eaten in days. In fact. Missy noted, she seemed to be eating a little too quickly. “You know, you might as well slow down, because I have no intention of going anywhere, but back to the hotel and to bed.”
Jeanette stopped eating and let out an exasperated sigh. She then changed tact, “You’re welcome to do as you please, Missy. I am perfectly capable of finding a way out to the Monastery all by myself.”
“You’re not driving my car.”
The two chewed in silence for a bit.
“I don’t intend to drive your car.”
“Then how do you plan on getting out to the Monastery?”
More sulky silence.
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll figure it out myself. Pass me the salt, please.”
Missy felt like she was arguing with an ill-tempered teen. Or her mother, Dorie. “You don’t need more salt. That food is salty enough.” Jeanette grimaced and Missy continued, “And I’m not going to allow you to go out to the Monastery by yourself. You’ll get in trouble. You have no idea what you’re walking into.”
Jeanette’s eyes popped. “Excuse me?” Missy paused. She’d struck a nerve. Jeanette’s tone was low and just a tad menacing, “Are trying to tell me what I can and cannot do?”
Having once been a somewhat sullen teenager herself, Missy knew, now, that was exactly what she was dealing with. Maybe Jeanette was more like her mother than she’d thought. “No. You can do whatever you want. Just don’t come crying to me when you get in trouble.” With that she stabbed her fork into her salad and jammed an oversized biteful into her mouth Jeanette attempted a comeback, but Missy had had enough. “Eh! Not another word. Eat!”
The two finished their meals in silence, left a nice tip for the waitress, and drove back to their hotel.
Sinking down onto her bed, Missy felt the day’s troubles fall out of her head and into the pillow. A shower would’ve been nice, but she was just too frigging tired. Her mind wandered to thoughts of going home. She wondered when they would be allowed to leave. Beyond that, she did not care to think.
About anything.
She felt herself sinking deeper into the bed.
A sharp knock on the door woke her. She sat up. What time was it? Was it dark? it seemed dark..
Jeanette sprang to the door, opening it a crack.
It was Peter. “Hey, gals”, he whispered. “Seriously. I think there’s something you gotta see out at the Monastery. You are not going to believe your eyes!”
Missy was about to decline the invitation, when Peter dropped a bombshell.
“It’s Boyd Dean. He’s dead.”
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1 comment:
Ohhh shit!
And the sheriff was a dick. Can't wait to see what comes next!
XOXO
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