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 18: Saturday, June 18, 2011, 3:36 pm
Lord love a duck.
Missy’s head throbbed. It was her sinuses acting up. Allergies? Stress? Or was it the hotel air conditioner? Probably the latter, she reasoned. The Country Inn and Suites they had been put up in was very new and very clean, but Missy had a natural aversion to hotel room air filters. She didn’t trust them. She believed they simply trapped the essence of all those that had stayed in the room before her, thus creating and perpetuating a kind of free-floating human soup. Then again, maybe it had nothing to do with where they were, but where they had been. The air quality in Abe Longren’s cabin had been absolutely wretched. She supposed that her sinuses could’ve been triggered by exposure to some mold or due to the copious amount of nicotine residue that clung to the cabin walls like a thick coat of paint.
She shut her eyes tightly at the thought. No, she did not want to go back there. Not even in thought.
It had only been a few hours or so ago, but it felt like a lifetime had passed since Missy and Jeanette tore out of that cabin helter-skelter style. Every time Missy would try to pause to get more information out of her, Jeanette would give her a hard push toward the car. Once in the car, Missy realized she couldn’t possibly use her cell phone due to the lack of reception in the area. They could have gone back into Abe’s cabin and searched for a phone, but neither had any interest in doing that. And since they hadn’t seen any other houses or cabins on their way to Abe’s, they would have to drive all the way to the Sheriff's office to report what had happened.
Fortunately, the Sheriff’s office was on the same road that had brought them to Abe’s cabin. They had passed by it on the way. It was very close to town, right across the street from the B&T Bakery complex, and just down the street from the Country Inn and Suites, where Missy now lay, head throbbing, as a guest of the local Sheriff's department
On the way to the Sheriff's, Jeanette began blurting out the horrible details; how Abe was lying, bleeding in a pile of trash - literal garbage. He’d been shot in the groin and half his head was missing. She went on and on about the brain matter, the blood, the torn flesh, and how she could see the jagged edges of actual bones, her thoughts pouring forth as fragmented as Abe’s skull. It made Missy feel edgy and out of control, for the woman simply would not shut up.
But that all changed dramatically once they got to the Sheriff's office. Jeanette’s trauma- induced case of Tourette’s cured itself and she completely clammed up. It was like she’d suddenly been struck mute. Missy had to do all the talking. The female officer at the front desk was all business, taking them seriously from the get-go. She yelled toward a back room for someone and when they didn’t appear she got on the ham radio and told someone named Paul that he needed to get back to central ASA P. After that, she tried to place Missy and Jeanette in separate rooms, but Jeanette would not let go of Missy’s arm, so they ended up sitting side-by-side in the lobby until the Sheriff arrived. Fortunately they didn’t have to wait long.
Paul Muntz was an odd sight. At six-four and skinny as a rail, you knew that not a day went by that he didn’t meet someone who asked him if he’d played basketball in high school. Now, in his mid-forties, he still possessed a kind of gangliness that even his sharply pressed Sheriff's uniform could not disguise. Of course, the short sleeves of his shirt didn’t help matters. He was super serious. Briefly, Missy imagined that she was being questioned by Roy Rogers. It had something to do with the hat. She wasn’t exactly sure what Roy Rogers looked like, but that whimsy allowed her to put some distance between herself and the grisly reality at hand.
An ambulance was dispatched. Missy and Jeanette soon found themselves in the backseat of the Sheriff's squad car. He kept asking them questions through the metal grated divider which separated them. Missy stared at the back of Sheriff Paul’s head and surmised that he must be ex-military, because, from what she could see. his head was buzzed bald. His long neck was just as thin as the rest of him. Given that, you would think that his head would appear oversized, but that was not the case. Missy tried to figure out how old Sheriff Paul might be. She kept her thoughts to the shallow end, because she was unwilling or unable to dip her toes into the deep end of her current reality pool.
Jeanette stared straight ahead, her eyes focused on nothing specific, her mouth twisted into a knot of worry and disbelief. She still would not let go of Missy’s hand. With her free hand Missy petted her aunt’s arm, trying to be of comfort. She could only imagine what was going through the woman’s mind. Sheriff Paul kept eying Jeanette warily in his review mirror, all the while directing his questions to Missy. Missy answered them as best she could. What business did they have in town? Why were they visiting Abe? Who else had they visited? What time had they arrived at Abe’s? Who else was at the diner? Who all did they know in town? On and on the questions flowed, rapid-fire and precise. Missy grew weary of the onslaught and began to respond with one-word answers. From that point on it was she who got the evil eye in the review mirror. She wanted to point out that the back of a squad car, on the way to a possible murder scene, was not exactly the greatest time and place to be interrogated, but she also knew better than to try to tell an officer of the law how to do his job. She suspected that Sheriff Paul might have a short fuse and she was loathe to be the one to light it.
The squad car came to a crunchy halt as white rock flew about, making pinging sounds as it hit the exterior of the vehicle. Missy winced. It reminded her of gun fire, or, until today, what she used to think gun fire would sound like. Now she knew only too well that the real thing had a lot more weight and resonance to it. The ambulance was parked near the front door of the cabin. An attendant was seated on the concrete steps, his head bowed. Missy thought to point out that securing the crime scene first might have been a good idea, but then, the attendants probably had held out hope that they might actually be able to help old Abe. Based on the current posture of the attendant, however, that was obviously not the case.
Sheriff Paul got out and ordered Missy and Jeanette to stay put. The women watched anxiously as he strode over to where the attendant was seated. The attendant looked up and shook his head as he spoke. Another man appeared in the doorway of the cabin. He must have been the EMT or something. He also shook his head as he spoke. With that. Sheriff Paul looked to the ground for a bit, remaining silent as the white rock in the drive stared blankly back. As he stood there, something about his stance reminded Missy, once again, of Roy Rogers. Maybe it was the way his elbows stood out from his body when he placed his hands on either side of his gun belt, but something definitely made her think of a cowpoke ruminating about a horse or a dog that had just been put down.
After a brief moment, Sheriff Paul hitched up his belt and made his way into the cabin. The attendant and the EMT followed close behind. Missy looked over at Jeanette, whose eyes met hers for the first time since they had arrived at the Sheriff's office. “I feel bad,” she said, her voice tiny and full of remorse. “I feel responsible.” Missy’s brow furrowed. Where did she get an idea like that? Missy opened her mouth, to protest, but Jeanette cut her off. “I know, I know. I wasn’t the one that pulled the trigger, but still...” Her voice trailed off.
Missy could see her reasoning. If they hadn’t come to town poking around, maybe Abe would still be alive. But then again, whatever motivated the killer was probably a boil set to burst some time, so if Missy and Jeanette were guilty of anything, it might be calling attention to it. Or maybe it was just a coincidence like that blue glass ashtray on Abe’s coffee table. Missy hadn’t mentioned it to Jeanette yet. In fact, in all the excitement, she had put it out of her mind. As much as she didn’t want to set foot in that house again, and she knew she would probably have to, she did want to see that blue ashtray one more time, just to make sure it was real.
The two women sat in silence. Waiting. Finally, Sheriff Paul reappeared. He asked Jeanette if she would mind coming inside to point out where she had sat, anything she might have touched, and to help recreate the scene. Jeanette hesitated, and Missy asked if it would be okay if she came with. The Sheriff's mouth closed into a tight knot. He shook his head. “It would be best if we did this one at a time.” Of course, thought Missy, so he could determine if their stories matched.
At that moment another squad car raced up the drive. Out of it piled two uniformed Deputies and a tiny mole of man with a giant camera around his neck. Was he a reporter? Sheriff Paul met them halfway and they conferred with one another for a bit. The man with the camera stood a bit away from the uniformed huddle, as if he knew that he was not to take part in the conversation, though he did appear to be listening all the same.
Two small packages were given to Sheriff Paul, who then returned to his squad car “If you ladies wouldn’t mind, we’d like to test your hands for gun powder residue. Just routine stuff, so we can eliminate you as suspects.” Neither Missy nor Jeanette objected. Just the thought of being a possible suspect made Missy uncomfortable. She remembered hearing so many stories about people traveling in the south and having run-ins with small town Sheriffs. Surely law enforcement in Minnesota was above railroading the innocent.
The test was quite simple; sterile cloth was rubbed on their hands and then placed in a small plastic tube with a plunger. The plunger was pushed down, breaking a vial inside the tube, releasing some kind of clear liquid which then soaked the cloth. Missy and Jeanette were informed that if the cloth turned blue, that would indicate the presence of gunshot residue. The whole test took only a matter of a minute or two - both women passed. This seemed to make Jeanette feel better, or at least she appeared to relax a bit more.
Jeanette was escorted into the house first, while Missy waited, leaning her backside against the rear of the Sherriff's car. She took a closer look at their surroundings. She was still amazed by the contrast between the exterior and the interior of the cabin. The landscaping was impeccable - professional, in fact. If someone from the county had been checking up on him, she was amazed they had not done something about the interior of the cabin. Weren’t there agencies that specifically looked after the elderly? Or was it the remoteness of the cabin that prevented such intervention? These questions only raised an even larger mystery; why would someone so incapacitated live in such a remote place? Based on what she'd seen, Missy felt Abe belonged in a nursing home, at the very least.
As Missy allowed these questions to tumble through her mind, the Deputy who had remained outside kept a careful eye on her from a distance. He looked like a former Marine, with his square jaw and wide shoulders. One would have thought that, having passed the gunshot residue test, she was now above suspicion, but that did not appear to be the case. Maybe they had a policy about small talk with witnesses. Missy thought the Deputy appeared too young to be much of a threat to anyone. But then, given recent events, she knew only too well that looks could be deceiving.
Just as Missy was beginning to grow impatient, Jeanette and the Sheriff reappeared. Jeanette’s head hung like a guilty prisoner. Even the way she held her hands in front of her as she walked gave the impression of someone wearing handcuffs. As she approached the car, she raised her head and gave Missy a tiny, resigned smile before reseating herself in the back seat.
“This way, Miss.” Sheriff Paul cupped her left elbow with his right hand and softly guided her toward the front door of the cabin. Once inside. Missy dutifully identified where she and Jeanette had sat, repeated what she remembered of the conversation, and then reenacted what had occurred after the gun shots had been fired, showing the Sheriff precisely where she had intercepted her panicked aunt, as well as the pathway of their swift exit. She had just finished doing so when the little mole of a man stuck his head out from the kitchen. “Sheriff? When you have a moment .” Sheriff Paul excused himself and Missy watched as he disappeared behind the kitchen door. She waited a moment and then made a beeline to the coffee table.
Sure enough, there it was - the blue glass ashtray. It was one of those thick glass ones that they made in the sixties. Missy had seen them in antique stores and also knew that they were rather popular with the bowling alley/martini-shaker kids in Minneapolis. It was triangular in shape, just as described on Grandma Jean’s list, but Missy could not determine if it had a chip in it or not. She knew better than to actually touch it. This was a crime scene after all. But her curiosity got the best of her. With one eye on the kitchen door, she swiftly reached down and picked up the butt-loaded item. Scanning about, she noticed a small plastic waste can sitting next to the chair where Abe had sat. Turning her back to the door, she leaned forward, tossing the contents into the waste can. Just as she did this, she heard the kitchen door opening. Fearing she would get in trouble, Missy whipped the dirty ashtray under her shirt before slipping it under the waistband of her pants. ’Oh, Lucy. You gonna be in so much trouble!’ The voice of Desi Arnaz rang in her head What the hell was she doing?
Slowly she turned around to face the Sheriff, who, fortunately was still talking to the mole man in the kitchen. Missy carefully crossed her arms over the front of her stomach in order to hide the protruding item under her shirt. Her eyes met the Sheriff's and she studied them briefly to determine if he was onto her. Seeing no such recognition, she looked away and turned her body toward the front door. Sheriff Paul issued a few final orders and then approached Missy. Again, guiding her gently by the elbow, he steered her toward the front door as he spoke. “And now Miss, if you could show me exactly where it is you parked your car.”
Missy showed him the general area where she'd been parked, which also happened to be pretty much where Sheriff Paul had parked his vehicle. She then took a seat next to Jeanette in the back of the squad car.
As she sank down next to her aunt, Missy was careful not to appear too awkward, which was quite a challenge, given the ashtray concealed in her pants. Thankfully, Sheriff Paul was distracted at the time, as he was busy talking with the Deputy who had been assigned to watch whomever was seated in the car.
“What’s wrong?” Jeanette could tell that something was up and was in Missy’s face in an impressive instant. Missy simply shook her head and kept her eyes on Sheriff Paul. Jeanette then demanded, “Missy! What happened in there? Are you all right?” It was a bit loud and grating, in other words, she was sounding more like herself. Apparently her aunt was no longer in shock over what had happened to Abe.
“I’ll tell you later. Now, Shhh!” Missy hissed. With that, the two women turned their attention to what was going on outside the car.
From inside the cabin, a sheet-covered gurney was being pushed through the front door with a great deal of difficulty. The Sheriff and the Deputy who had been guarding the car ran to help. Apparently the gathering of forensic evidence had been completed and it was now time to transport poor old Abe to morgue, presumably to do an autopsy - that is, if they could manage to get him out of the cabin. Missy briefly wondered why they hadn’t tried to take the body out the back door, rather than drag it through the cluttered living room, but then maybe they had indeed tried to do exactly that and failed
With everyone’s attention on the dislodging of Abe’s body. Missy decided to seize the opportunity and rid her body of the illegally obtained ashtray. She quickly removed it from the waistband of her pants and shoved it into an outside pocket of Jeanette’s purse, which was sitting at her aunt’s feet on the floor of the car. Her aunt protested, “Hey, what are you doing? Don’t put that dirty thing in my bag!” It was then that Missy noticed just how filthy the ashtray was, for it left the front of her blouse full of soot. She began to panic. What was she going to do? She looked over to Jeanette, whose face was slowly registering the depth of Missy’s predicament. After a few beats, her aunt spoke “Take it off.”
“What?”
“Take it oft”, she repeated. “Take your blouse off now.” Her aunt was curiously calm.
“Are you insane?”
“Not at all. They're distracted. Take your blouse off. Hurry.”
Missy, not knowing what else to do, complied, slipping the soiled piece of clothing over her head. As she was doing this, Jeanette bent forward and began rummaging through her huge purse. She pulled out a large white t-shirt and presented it to Missy “Here, put this on and give me that.” She snatched the soiled blouse from Missy’s hands. Missy was about to protest, but then, considering that she was about to be discovered sitting in the backseat of a Sheriff s car in her bra; she realized she had no other choice. Missy was about to grab the t- shirt from her aunt’s hand when Jeanette pulled the item away. “Waitaminute,” she mumbled.
She placed the t-shirt in her lap and went back to rummaging through her bag. She came up with a small packet of wet wipes. Peeling one from the pack, she handed it to Missy. "Clean your hands and tummy or you’ll have ash everywhere.” Missy marveled at how quick and calm her aunt could be in a crisis - well, this crisis.
Missy ran the moist towelette over her hands, cleaning them as best she could. She then reached for the t-shirt. Instead, Jeanette handed her a second wipe and Missy dutifully wiped her stomach as well. After that, Jeanette snatched the used wipes away from Missy and gave her the t-shirt. Missy quickly slipped it over her head. She was going to be amazed if no one outside the car had noticed all the activity in the car. The soiled wipes and blouse disappeared into the cavernous mouth of Jeanette’s purse.
The two women sat up straight and tall, as if nothing had been going on in backseat of the car. Simultaneously peering over in the direction of the cabin, they were relieved to see that the EMT, the attendant, and the two Deputies were still struggling to get the gurney with Abe’s body out of the cabin. The Sheriff, clearly frustrated, yelled, “Well, just take him off the doggone thing and carry him out. Now do it!” The gurney vanished back into the cabin. Moments later the two Deputies reemerged carrying Abe’s sheet-covered body, followed by the EMT and the attendant carrying the collapsed gurney. Order was soon restored and Abe’s body was then loaded into the back of the ambulance.
With her eyes glued to the scene outside, Jeanette spoke in a tiny, overly-polite voice through clenched teeth. “I have no idea what you have just done, or why you did what you have just done, but I am putting you on notice here and now; I will not be going to jail for you, honey. So I hope whatever it is you've done is worth it. That said, I have done all I can do for you.”
Missy answered in kind, “And I appreciate it. And your gigantic purse. I’m sorry I ever said anything bad about the purse. I’ll explain later, but right now, I am terrified that the Sheriff is going to see that I am now wearing a different shirt.”
Jeanette dropped her reserve, poo-poohing the idea “Don’t worry about it He’s a man with a lot on his mind. Ten-to-one he’ll never notice.”
Missy doubted this very much. “Yeah, well, ten-to-one is what I'II be doing in prison if he does.”
They both laughed at that - later, in the safety of their hotel room, which was something they would not be seeing for another hour or so. First they were taken back to the station, where they were questioned yet again: this time in separate rooms. Neither Jeanette nor Missy mentioned anything about Grandma Jean and the list as both had too much sense to bring it up. Why complicate things even more and risk coming across as a couple of loons? Instead they passed themselves off for what they, in fact, were, tourists who had just gotten hold of a good, juicy story and wanted to know more.
The Sheriff seemed to buy it, telling them that they were not the first people to come to town and start sticking their noses where nobody wanted them. Both women were apologetic and promised to mend their ways once they returned home. That’s when the Sheriff informed them that they would be spending the night as guests of the Sheriff's department. Both women grew alarmed. Surely they weren’t going to have to spend the night in jail? The Sheriff was quick to explain that they would be housed at the local Country Inn and Suites right next door until all the paperwork was completed and they could determine whether or not Abe’s death was going to develop into any kind of a news story. Why this last item was of concern to the Sheriff s department puzzled Missy, but she knew better than to ask.
During the questioning, the Sheriff brought up the fact that Missy was now wearing a white t-shirt instead of her previous blouse. So much for a man distracted. Missy, thinking quickly, explained that exposure to all the nicotine inside Abe’s cabin had made her nauseated. She had changed into the t-shirt because the blouse she’d had on seemed to have soaked up some of the nicotine smell and it made her feel ‘icky’. He didn’t question her explanation, or, at least, he didn’t ask about it again. And thus far, the stolen ashtray had also escaped detection. Of course, Jeanette had a lot of questions - like what in the world would possess you, etc., but nothing Missy couldn't handle.
What she wasn’t handling? Her head. Her face hurt. Stupid cigarettes. Why does anybody smoke? She rolled over on her side and stared at the bathroom door.
Missy had noticed that Jeanette had been quiet, but more herself since the shirt-changing challenge. She’d protested the most when they were informed they’d be spending the next 24 hours in St. Petersburg. Jeanette was now on the phone, which she had dragged into the bathroom, the long cord stretched tight across Missy’s bed. Behind the closed door she was negotiating with her dog sitter, attempting to extend the girl’s services. This sudden need for privacy, Missy didn’t understand, but then her aunt seemed to work in mysterious ways.
Weary, Missy got up and moved over to her aunt’s bed. There, she began rummaging through Jeanette’s gigantic purse. She threw aside the soiled blouse, thinking that even if she rinsed it out in the sink, she’d never be able to wear it later. Her heart sunk at the thought of being stuck in an over-sized t-shirt for the rest of her stay in St Petersburg. Then she remembered that Jeanette had half her closet in the trunk of Missy’s car, so maybe things fashion-wise weren’t so grim. But then again, given Jeanette’s taste in clothing, maybe they were.
Rooting around in the outside pocket of the bag, her fingers came upon the gritty, blue glass ashtray. Taking it out, she marveled at her own daring. She’d tampered with her very first crime scene! What exactly had possessed her to do so, even she wasn’t quite sure. Was this really the time to start questioning exactly what the hell she thought they were doing? Still, the ashtray seemed yet another coincidence, another link to Grandma Jean’s dreams - one that could not be easily dismissed. Missy was repulsed by how dirty the ashtray actually was and could not wait for Jeanette to get out of the bathroom so she could wash it. She also wanted a shower - desperately. The warm water would do wonders for her poor sinuses. She turned the ashtray over and over again in her hand. Funny, she thought, she couldn’t find a chip. Jeanette opened the door to the bathroom and Missy rushed passed her to the sink.
“Now what are you doing?” Jeanette moved to return the phone to the nightstand between the beds.
The hot water felt good on Missy’s hands. First she tried simply rinsing the ashtray, but the layers of ash and nicotine clung to the glass. Realizing that a bit more effort was going to be required, she grabbed a white wash cloth and began to scrub. Jeanette crowded back into the bathroom looking over her niece’s shoulder. “I still can’t believe you did that. What in the world was going through your head?”
Concentrating on the task at hand, Missy replied, her voice louder and harsher than she would have liked, but wanting to be heard above the streaming water, she knew she had no choice, “I wasn’t. Thinking, l just did it. It was instinctual.” Missy turned off the water once the ashtray was free of grime. “But I had to know that this was real. That it was there.” She turned the ashtray over in her hands several times, her eyes intent. “Only, this isn’t the one.”
“What do you mean?”
Moving past her aunt. Missy handed off the damp ashtray to her. “There’s no chip. The list mentions a chip and that ashtray has none.” She plopped down on her bed. “It’s not the right ashtray.” And then, a bit more bitterly, she added, “Maybe there is no ‘right’ ashtray. I want to go home This is nuts.”
Jeanette stared at the ashtray. “It is. Nuts.” Missy was surprised her aunt agreed. Jeanette continued, “But now I feel...” She struggled to find the right word “Compelled. Does that make sense?” Missy merely blinked. “I need to see this through.”
“But look at the trouble we’ve caused.”
Jeanette’s face took on the look of a pit bull about to bite. “We’ve caused nothing,” she snapped “Whatever is going on here was in motion long before we crossed that rusty old bridge.” She moved toward her bed and sat down on the end of it, her back to now to Missy. “Does that mean I don’t feel bad about what happened to Abe? Of course I do. But I have a feeling, and not much to base it on, but I do have a feeling the old man got exactly what was coming to him.”
“So you think he was involved with...”
Jeanette swiftly cut her off. “Don’t you?”
The question hung between them. Missy wanted to dismiss the whole thing, but then why else were they there? If Abe was the one who kidnapped Jack, then didn’t they owe it to the boy’s mother to prove it? And Grandma Jean, too? They owed it to her memory. “I did get the sense that he was about to spill the beans about something.”
Her aunt nodded. “Yeah. It was in his voice, like he wanted to get something off his chest.”
Missy rolled over on her side, so she was facing her aunt’s bed. “And that thing he said about wanting a change of scene? Wow. Careful what you wish for, huh?”
Jeanette turned and looked back at her. “Maybe he was directly involved, or maybe he saw something. The brothers - maybe he was going to implicate them.”
“You think a bunch of monks killed Abe Longren?”
“A bunch of monks? You mean, like a ninja fighting force?” Jeanette laughed “I don’t think the Vatican would fund that.”
Missy’s eyes narrowed. “No, I mean, one of them.”
“Sure, if one of them had something to hide. They did know we were in town today, although, I don’t think they knew exactly why.”
“If not one of the brothers, then who? You think somebody was keeping tabs on us?”
The phone on the night stand rang. Missy picked it up, her mind full of other thoughts. “Hello?”
“Hello. This is Kathleen Tollefson. Whom am I speaking with?”
“Oh!” Sitting up abruptly. Missy was suddenly wide awake and alert “This is Missy.”
“Missy? Yes. I think we spoke on the phone briefly the other day.”
“Mmm hmm,” demurred Missy. Missy supposed that was one way to look at it. Kathleen’s current tone was crisp and subdued. Nothing like the woman she’d spoken to previously.
Kathleen continued, “Yes, well, I heard about that nasty business out at Abe Longren’s cabin. So sorry you had to be a part of that. It must have been just awful.”
“Yes, it was... pretty awful.” How had Kathleen found out about...?
“Suicide is such ugly business.”
Missy was stunned.
Suicide? The word ricocheted around the inside of her head, setting off a new wave pain. Keeping her voice level, Missy asked, “Who said it was a suicide?” Now she had Jeanette’s undivided attention as well.
“Well, that’s what the Sheriff s department said. That was their finding.”
“Are you serious?” Missy glanced wild-eyed to her aunt, who stared back at her with a look of puzzlement.
“Yes. Absolutely. You seem surprised.”
Ignoring this, Missy asked, “When exactly was this announced?”
“Announced? Well...” Kathleen stumbled, at a loss for words, but only for a moment. Picking up the thread of conversation, her precise, distant manner returned. “I don’t think it was actually announced. That seems rather... formal, doesn’t it? Which, we’re not, here, in St Petersburg. Such a small community. Needless to say, news travels fast. And bad news? That spreads even faster.”
“So who exactly...” but she didn’t get to finish her question, for Kathleen cut her off
“Anyway...” she said, a bit floridly, like a queen overruling a subject. “I was calling to invite you to visit us over here, at B&T Bread. I understand you’re going to be in town for a bit and I would really like the opportunity to, uh... clear the air between us. I feel like we got off on the wrong foot, and I’d like the opportunity to make it right between us.”
Now’ Missy was even more puzzled. How in the world did this woman know exactly how long they were going to be in town? The whole conversation struck Missy as strange as hell, but then she reminded herself that so far, strange seemed to be the norm here in St. Petersburg “As we’re not under house arrest or anything, we’re free to come and go, right?” she whispered to her aunt. Jeanette merely shrugged her shoulders as if to say, ‘I’m game’.
Missy turned her attention back to the phone. “Sure. We’d love that. What time were you thinking?”
“I usually work until quite late, in fact, sometimes I feel like this place is my life.” She laughed, but Missy heard something in it that made her feel sad. “So, feel free to drop by as soon as you can. Just sign in at the security desk in the main lobby. They’ll be expecting you. Adam, my assistant, will come down and escort you to my office. Does that sound like a plan?”
“Works for us.”
“Oh, your aunt will be joining you then? Very good. I’ll let security know. See you soon.” With that she hung up.
Missy cradled the receiver in her hand, still trying to figure out how Kathleen Tollefson figured into all this. She smiled at Jeanette. Well, there was only one sure-fire way to find out.
“What kind of clothing do you have in that magic bag of yours? Anything fit to visit a queen?”
--- ---
Next week: Chapter 19
-screenshot.jpg)
1 comment:
Oh shit.
That ashtray. And suicide????
XOXO
Post a Comment