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 11: Thursday, June 16, 2011, 4:14 pm
Chapter 12: Saturday, June 18, 2011, 8:00 am
Chapter 13: Saturday, June 18, 2011, 9:45 am
Chapter 14: Saturday, June 18, 2011, 10:32 am
Chapter 15: Saturday, June 18, 2011, 10:51 am
Chapter 30: Saturday, October 22, 2011, 9:39 am
In the aftermath... once the dust had settled, Missy and Jeanette continued to learn more about the case.
Fearing what would happen to her father’s bread company, Kathleen had placed Jack's body in the furnace along with the mallet she’d used to subdue him. It was a particularly chilly winter that year, and Brother’s Bread was in full operation in order to meet the holiday demand for baked goods and sweets. The ovens and the furnace were both going full blast, day and night, and the smell of all those baked goods must have been overwhelming, because no one noticed or complained of any unusual odors wafting through the air ducts.
The Sheriff had no choice but to call in the FBI and other state authorities. The bone fragments found in the furnace were gathered, placed into evidence, and sent to a lab, along with what remained of the mallet. Kathleen’s beloved Easter book was taken, too, and examined for fingerprints. Sure enough, there were multiple sets of unidentified children’s palm and fingerprints on its pages. It was sent away to a DNA lab in Switzerland, where it was cut up and examined for possible trace evidence. Missy thought the irony tragic; the very thing Kathleen had killed to possess would now be destroyed.
When the lab reported their results, the fingerprints in the book proved to be enough of a DNA match to Valerie Arneson to conclude that the fingerprints were those of Jack. The pillow he had been suffocated with had also been sent to the lab and it, too, proved to be a match. The army blanket, which the second statue of St. Peter had been wrapped in, revealed DNA belonging to Jack, Kathleen, Ray Tollefson, and Abe Longren, along with dozens of others which were untraceable.
However, when the results on the bones found in the furnace came in, they turned out not to be a match for Jack. They turned out to be the remains of several other children, whose identities still remain unknown.
The story made national news, causing a beacon of unwanted media attention to come St. Petersburg’s way. For the next six months. Missy and Jeanette would return to the town in order to assist with the on-going investigation. With each trip, they felt the resentful eyes of the local community on them. They did their best to keep their involvement to a minimum.
Keeping a low profile seemed like not only the right thing to do, but the smart thing, as well. Still, they could not completely extradite themselves from the case altogether
So many unanswered questions remained. And with Ray Tollefson and Abe Longren both deceased, that left only Kathleen to answer for all that had happened. Unfortunately for officials, her brother, Larry and a fleet of high-powered lawyers swept in, carrying Kathleen away. She was placed in a private, high-security health care facility, where she was examined by untold armies of physicians and psychologists. Eventually, she was declared unfit to stand trial due to mental deficiency and ordered, by a judge who was a family friend, to remain under the care of doctors at the family’s expense.
In a way, Jeanette and Missy were relieved to not have to go to trial. If the townspeople resented them at the beginning of the investigation, the two could only imagine how the community would react once a trial, which would prove salacious beyond any news reporter’s wildest dreams, got underway.
Still, it may have shed some light on the mysteries that remained. The FBI seized all the AV equipment and the tape Missy had found in the VHS camera. The tape apparently was of the last session recorded using Jack. Missy wondered if Valerie Arneson had ever gotten to see it. The boy’s mother had wanted to, and, in fact, had taken the FBI to court, demanding that they allow her to view it, but her request had been denied. Still, Missy could imagine some soft-hearted agent allowing a mother to view her child's final moments... at least the less prurient ones.
Missy often wondered how Valerie, now a high-profile advocate for missing and exploited children, had reacted when she learned that the disappearance of her son had possibly, finally been solved. She also wondered if the woman was grateful. One afternoon, at the FBI headquarters in Brooklyn Park, MN, where Missy had been brought in to record some testimony, Missy ran into Valerie in the women’s bathroom. Missy was exiting a stall when Valerie came in. She recognized the woman immediately and then took her time washing her hands, waiting for Valerie to come out and wash hers. For a brief time they stood at opposite ends of the line of sinks. with Missy stealing furtive glances in the long mirror they both faced.
Valerie seemed much smaller in person, and, in this most candid moment, without the glare of the press or the eyes of the world upon her, she also appeared incredibly defeated. Had she really held out hope all this time that Jack might still come home? If so, what a blow it must have been to learn the truth. Or maybe it was the fact that her son’s body still remained missing. Missy wanted to ask, to learn more, but the woman dried her hands and left without acknowledging her at all.
Missy never heard another word regarding the identity of the other children whose bones had been found in the furnace. In an otherwise lurid, over-sized story it ended up being a mere footnote; one that had been given only cursory attention by the media.
As for the other two murders, those of Abe Longren and Boyd Dean? Well, they remained under the jurisdiction of Sheriff Paul. And without so much as an official inquiry or any further investigation, he promptly closed them. He said he didn’t see the sense of wasting another minute or another dime of tax payers’ money on any of it. To his way of thinking, Kathleen Tollefson had the necessary motive and most likely the opportunity. At this point, it would be difficult to determine her whereabouts at the times of the murders because she was now locked away in a nut house and her lawyers were refusing to allow her to talk to anyone.
Sheriff Paul figured she’d already committed one murder, and, in order to cover it up, had committed two more. That was good enough for him.
Missy wanted to argue with him, but Jeanette explained to her what happens to mouthy, inquisitive women in tiny towns. He was the law, and to say otherwise would only bring grief and possible trumped-up criminal charges. Missy decided she had spent enough time in St. Petersburg and the idea of being the on-going guest of the local Sheriff s office, ad infinitum? No, thank you.
In the ensuing months. Missy grew to appreciate her Aunt Jeanette more than ever. She'd become more of a mother to Missy than her own mother, Dorie, who, at one point, took it upon herself to give interviews with several news organizations, much to the chagrin of both daughter and sister. Jeanette put a stop to it. Exactly how her aunt had accomplished this. Missy never learned, but she remained truly impressed; for no one else had ever been able to tell Dorie what she could and could not do. Missy treasured not only Jeanette’s strength and humor, but also the kindness and wisdom the woman used to deal with the world at large. She felt she had much to learn from her aunt and they had grown incredibly close
The same could not be said for Peter. Missy felt that perhaps it was due to the many odd things which had occurred in the hours immediately following Kathleen’s arrest. His odd reactions, his behavior? She had a feeling... one she could not shake.
--- ---
A few months after the story of Jack Arneson had faded from the headlines. Missy was on her way to Einstein’s Bagels. It was a beautiful day, as late into the summer as one can go without actually calling it autumn. As she opened the door to exit her building who should she see, but her Aunt Jeanette, carrying what appeared to be a bag of groceries.
“Well, to what do I owe the honor of this visit? Do you possess some sixth sense which tells you when I’m about to go and get my calories on? Oh! Did you bring me bagels?”
Jeanette laughed “Sorry, kid. No bagels. But if that’s what you have in mind, I’m game Where are we headed?”
As the two walked to the bagel shop, Jeanette let her niece in on the real reason for her visit. “Look, it’s taken me awhile to work up the... what? The ability? Yeah, let's go with that... the ability to part with a certain something. I've been going through some serious emotional withdrawal when it comes to anything that once belonged to my mother. You can understand that, can’t you?”
Missy sure did. Even as estranged as she felt from her own mother, Dorie, if anything were to happen to her, Missy would have a horrible time saying good-bye or letting go.
“Thing is,” her aunt continued, “I happen to know your Grandma wanted you to have this particular item. I took it and I've been hanging onto it all this time because I have so many wonderful memories of her using it, of seeing it in her hands. But I know, in my heart of hearts, it belongs to you. So here, you go.” She handed Missy the grocery sack. “Just do me a favor and don’t look at it right now or I’ll start to cry. Deal?”
Missy smiled. “Deal.”
The two women spent the next hour and half at Einstein’s mulling life over while enjoying a pair of toasted asiago cheese bagels smothered with veggie cream cheese, along with a couple of latte’s. Neither had heard from Peter, though Missy had gotten a series of rather strange phone calls in the past few months. She’d answer and there wouldn’t he anyone there. When she’d star-69, the phone on the other end would ring and ring, but no one would answer and there was never a means to leave a message.
“That sounds creepy. Missy. Can’t you block it?”
Missy promised to look into doing exactly that. “I don’t think long distance relationships work, anyway,” she grumbled.
Jeanette raised her eyebrows and gave her a knowing grin, “Not if it’s with a certain groundskeeper who lives in St Petersburg, that’s for sure.”
Later, alone in her apartment, sitting on her bed. Missy opened the grocery bag. Inside was Grandma Jean’s sewing box. She pulled it out carefully. Initially, she was elated by the thought of owning it, but then the reason for it coming into her hands dawned and a kind of blue over took her enthusiasm. For the longest time she sat simply staring at the sewing box sitting in the middle of her bed.
Missy had never sewn so much as a hem or attached a single button, so, really the object itself held little value for her. So how was it this box full of bobbins and spools, snippets of ribbon and elastic, pins and needles... how could it hold so much weight and meaning in her world? And so it is with the things we pass on to those left behind, thought Missy: it’s not the actual thing that matters, but the person it once belonged to.
Melancholy as hell, she reached out and flipped open the lid. It looked so homey and domestic. It screamed 'Grandma Jean'. She picked up the box and held it under her nose. She could even smell something, an odor, trapped in the thread, the pin cushion, and the satin puffed lining, which reminded her of Grandma Jean. Setting the box on her lap, she began going through its contents, spool by spool, item by item. Her fingers moved along the rim of the box and around the outside of its lid, as she marveled at the multi-colored pin heads stuck in the lid’s silky lining and the decades each represented. She was heartsick to learn there was a tiny slit in the otherwise pristine satin lining the lid. Not that it was something unexpected, for the box was at least 80 years-old and had seen a lot of use.. She gently moved her index finger over the tear, caressing it, as if to heal it.
Missy stopped short.
There was something inside the tear! Something under the cushioned satin.
With great care she investigated, painstakingly removing a tiny, rolled up piece of paper. Unfurling it, her eyes immediately recognized her grandmother’s fluid cursive.
She immediately recognized that this note had been written some time ago, for the handwriting bore none of the shakiness which had invaded Jean’s penmanship during her later years.
It was a poem. Missy read it aloud...
Beware ye little children
The shores of the River Tees
There lurks an evil woman
Betwixt the tawny reeds
With teeth as sharp as daggers
Her fingers, talons long
Swift as Satan's fury
Her arms be twice as strong
She‘ll grab thee by thy pants cuff
Or methinks thy petticoat
Then drag ye underwater
And rive thy very throat
No eye shall see thee vanish
No ear shall hear thee screamin’
For the evil-eyed Peg Powler
Tis in league with a demon
A crafty hag from hell
She steals ye young babe’s breath
And drags ye down
And there ye‘ll drown
To sleep the sleep of death.
Missy sat, stunned.
Peg Powler.
But why did Grandma Jean have this poem? Where did she find it? And why hide it? Who was this Peg Powler? So many questions. However, there was one thing Missy was certain she knew - and that was the ‘where’ of it all. She reached across her bed to call her Aunt Jeanette right away. Time for another road trip.
Yep, it looked like they’d be paying another visit to St. Petersburg... and just in time for Halloween.
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Next week:
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1 comment:
That *69 sent me!
OMG the nostalgia.
And are you saying... there's another mystery coming????
XOXO
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