Children Lost on The Darkest Of Nights:
The Legend of Peg Powler
(A Sewing Box Mystery)
Chapter 1: Friday, November 1, 1991, 1:51 am
Chapter 2: Saturday October 29, 2011, 11:37 am
Chapter 3: Sunday October 30, 2011, 10:30 am
Chapter 4, Monday, October 31, 2012, 8:01 am, Halloween
The dress Dorie was wearing was not conducive to car travel. She mentioned this numerous times until Missy finally pulled over to a gas station to allow her mother to change. This gave her aunt ample opportunity to steal inside and shop. Dorie emerged in a sharp, tight pair of jeans, a pair of open-toed cork wedgies, a light, sheer, see-thru blouse under which she wore a tight-fitting teddy. The outfit struck Missy as equally inappropriate for travel and made her feel like a total slob in comparison. She decided not to say anything. Missy already knew that she was going to spend most of the day biting her tongue. She didn’t want to fight with her mother, at least, not until she found out the reason for her sudden reappearance.
Jeanette emerged from the service station with a swath of gossip magazines and several large bags of snacks. As she approached the car, Missy shook her head, indicating her disapproval, and Jeanette wisely chose to put the snacks in the trunk. Or at least she would have, if Dorie would have let her. “That garbage is not going in this trunk. Not next to my luggage. Seriously, you get any of that oily junk on those bags and you will be spending big bucks to replace them. Do you have any idea how expensive these are?”
Jeanette eyed her younger sister warily. “And exactly what did you have to do to get that luggage, Dorie? Huh? Care to share?”
“Technically, they’re not mine. They belong to Christian’s wife. I sort of… borrowed them. Without asking.”
“You stole them?” The words flew from Missy’s mouth before she had a chance to censor herself.
Dorie pouted and then proceeded to justify her pilfering. “I was owed them. Serves that bitch right. Oh, don’t you judge. Besides, everybody knows... stolen candy is the sweetest kind.”
Defiantly, Jeanette tossed the bags of snacks into the trunk next to the luggage and moved toward the front of the car. “Dorie, that makes you the other woman. What you did to his wife? That was not right.”
Dorie raised her hands, as if to surrender, before slamming the trunk shut. “Yeah, okay, whatever. Leave it to you to take all the fun out of a little revenge.”
But Jeanette would not let it go. “Revenge? For what? You were sleeping with her husband!”
Dorie moved to the rear door on the driver’s side, so now the two women were yelling at/talking to each other over the roof of the car. It made Missy cringe. “Yes. A man who was paying my rent until his busybody wife started poking her nose into his finances.”
“You mean her finances. Dorie, you have a warped sense of how life works.”
Missy expected all hell to break loose. Instead, her mother surprised her by responding playfully. “Warped? Hmmm… I think of it as more of an informed view. But, hey… whatever floats your boat.” And with that, she got into the backseat. Jeanette glanced at Missy before she got into the car as well, shooting her a look as if to say ‘hey, I’m not the one causing trouble’.
Very briefly, Missy considered walking back to Minneapolis, leaving the two sisters to work it out themselves. Shrugging her shoulders, she glanced at the morning sky and said, “Hey, help me out here, will ya?” With a roll of her eyes she sighed and got into the car. Before pulling out, she decided to try and set some ground rules. “Look, we’re on a road trip, trapped in a car together for at least another hour. Can we all please try to get along? I’d like to point out that we are already more than a half hour off schedule.”
Dorie piped up from the backseat, “There’s a schedule?”
Missy grimaced and rallied her patience before responding. “Yes. We have a lot of research to do. And that’s all we’re going to be doing. So if that doesn’t appeal to Mom, now is the time to bail.”
Dorie considered this and replied affably, with a dismissive wave of her hand, “Oh, don’t mind me. I’m just along for the ride. You know… whatever way the wind blows. Am I right?”
Slipping the car into gear, Missy headed down the highway once more. She was surprised by her mother’s flexibility, but then supposed one had to go with the flow when dependent on others. Jeanette immediately hunkered down and began reading her People magazine, probably as a means of avoidance rather than out of any genuine interest. Dorie took out a nail file and went to work. Missy wanted to say something about the potential mess, but thought better of it.
They rode in silence for about ten minutes before Missy’s curiosity got the better of her. “So, who is this ‘Christian’, Mom? How long have you known him?”
“I knew him – past tense – for a couple of years, or so. He was a very nice man. A lawyer. He represents a couple of casinos in Vegas. Kind of a high roller, but very dignified, very stuffed suit. He has a thing for Neil Sedaka. We used to see his show at least once a week. A very nice man, by the way, that Neil Sedaka.” There was a slight pause, followed by a sigh. “I’m going to miss him.”
“Neil Sedaka or Christian the Lawyer?” Apparently Jeanette was listening and couldn’t resist.
Dorie chose to ignore her sister and move focus elsewhere, “So, any new men in your life, Missy?”
“Not really.” Missy decided the less said on the topic, the better, but Jeanette was not about to let it go.
“Hmmm. I wonder if a certain groundskeeper would agree.”
Missy felt herself stiffen. “What’s there to agree on? I haven’t heard from him in months.”
“Yeah, I guess all those hang-ups don’t really count as contact.”
Missy frowned. She had mentioned those calls in passing. Count on her aunt to remember; Jeanette had a mind like a god damn steel trap.
“Hang ups?” Dorie inquired.
“Yes, your daughter has a mysterious stalker. With any luck, we’ll run into him today and you can meet him. You’ll like him. He’s sort of easy on the eyes.” Jeanette was clearly enjoying herself.
“What's she talking about, Missy?” Missy simply shook her head. She refused to comment or prolong the conversation. Dorie, sensing this, moved on, which, again, caught Missy by surprise. Perhaps she’d never given her mother enough credit. “Okay. Bad subject. What about work? How’s that going?”
Missy shrugged. Well, at least it was neutral territory. “The same as it was six months ago. I go in at 7:00 and get home by 5:30, day in, day out.”
Seeing an opportunity to goad her sister, Jeanette chimed in, “She does that Monday through Friday because having a job? That’s something normal people do. And you, Dorie? What exactly is it that you do?”
Choosing to ignore this dig, Dorie kept her focus on Missy. “You’re not one of those cat ladies, are you?”
“Huh?” This seemed to come from left field.
Dorie explained, “You know, one of those women who substitute the love of a cat for... other needs. Although, come to think of it, women do the exact same thing with dogs. Isn’t that right, Jeanette?”
Missy saw the fuse her mother hoped to light and intervened. “Nope. No cat. Next question?”
“Oh, that’s good. I was afraid you were becoming one of those chronically depressed people who live through their pets and neglect their appearance. You know, wearing the same washed-out sweatshirt and sweat pants day after day, neglecting their hair, never putting on any make-up...”
“Understood, Mom. Next question.” Either Dorie was choosing to ignore Missy, or she was purposefully gunning for Jeanette.
“Are you happy?”
Missy was going to be flip and reply, ‘not at the moment’, but the question caught her off guard. She couldn’t recall her mother ever concerning herself with… well, anything other than herself. “Pretty much. I mean, I could make more money. I could be thinner. The woman in the apartment next to me could cook something besides curry. But for the most part, yes, I am happy. How about you?”
“Me? I’m kind of… between states of being. Not lost, just adrift. I was hoping to use this time as a means of regrouping, getting my act together. It’s hard living life… spontaneously.”
Jeanette butted in. “Yeah, those of us who know you? We get a real strong sense of that.” Turning in her seat, she asked, “What are your plans, Dorie? I mean, Minneapolis isn’t exactly a world-class destination.”
Dorie laughed. “Nothing wrong with Minneapolis. It has its charms. Does Prince still live here?”
“Yep. But he’s something of a recluse, so I doubt you’ll get to crash at his place.” Jeanette was not going to let anything slide by today.
If Dorie took offense, she didn’t let on. “Oh, I don’t need a place to crash. I mean, Mom’s condo is still on the market, right? I can live there until….”
Jeanette cut her off at the pass. “Oh, hell no you can’t,” she bellowed. “You can forget about doing any such thing right this minute.”
“But it’s empty,” reasoned Dorie.
“And so it will remain.” Jeanette was adamant. And a bit too loud, given Missy’s tiny car. “You want to live in Minneapolis? Get an apartment. Get a job.”
“Yeah? Well, maybe I will. Maybe I’ll look into getting one of my old jobs back. But then, what would you do, Jeanette?”
Jeanette visibly stiffened in her seat. “As you well know, Dorie, I am retired. Is this something you really want to talk about?”
There was something veiled in that last question. All that was missing was a sideways cock of the head to indicate that Missy was ‘in the room’. Missy had no idea what they were talking about. That was always the way it was when the subject of income came up in relation to her aunt. Growing up, Missy had no idea what her aunt did for a living and now that her aunt was ‘retired’, that part of her life remained a mystery. Missy would have asked point blank, but she always had a sense that the subject was off-limits. Grandma Jean once intimated that it had something to do with the men Jeanette kept company with; the ones who rode motorcycles. But when pressed for more information, her grandmother clammed up.
Dorie spent considerable time mulling over Jeanette’s last question, before dismissing the topic entirely with, “Eh, something will come up. It always does.”
Scoffing derisively, Jeanette twisted forward in her seat. “Yeah, that sounds like a plan.”
“Don’t….” Missy touched her aunt’s elbow and gave her an imploring look. At first, Jeanette did not react, simply staring at her niece. It was clear Missy didn’t want any more trouble. Jeanette got the message and buried her face in her magazine once more.
Meanwhile, Dorie had put away her nail kit and was now examining her face in the mirror of a tortoise shell compact. Missy caught sight of this in the rearview mirror and thought in that moment that she had to give credit where credit was due. For a woman her age, her mother looked really good. Hollywood good. Something in her face had definitely hardened, but Missy could still see the very pretty girl she grew up admiring in Grandma Jean’s photo albums, the very same girl - who with the help of cosmetics, hair coloring, and careful grooming - Dorie was desperately trying to keep alive. It gave Missy pause. Why weren’t those factors that guided her own life? This need for beauty, had it skipped a generation? It was in moments like this that Missy wondered how much differently she might have turned out had her mother been a regular presence in her life. Would she have mirrored her mother’s myopic, narcissistic world view, trapped in a world of designer labels and beauty regimes? Or would she have still defaulted to the common sense approach to life instilled in her by her grandma, Jean, and her similarly bent Aunt Jeanette?
Missy contemplated having that conversation right there and then, but didn’t get the opportunity. She was cut off by Dorie, who asked, “Did you guys have breakfast? I didn’t. And I’m starving. Breakfast really is the most important meal of the day, you know.”
From the front seat, without taking her eyes off of her magazine, Jeanette hurled a bag of chips over her left shoulder in Dorie’s direction.
“Here. Have some Cheetos. It's the freaking breakfast of champions.”
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The next hour passed by rather quickly. Though the autumn leaves were a bit past their peak, it was still a rather lovely drive, especially once they hit Red Wing. Commenting on the sights as a means of making small talk, Missy grew more comfortable with the idea of being a trio, rather than a duo, for the day. In fact, she found herself thawing considerably where Dorie was concerned. The same could not be said for Jeanette, whose only conversational contributions for the rest of the main drive were the occasional grunt, tsk, or heavy sigh, all frequently accompanied by an emphatic eye roll. Dorie seemed to take this in stride, which, in Missy’s way of thinking, and given Jeanette’s relative obnoxiousness, put her mother in a better light. She was grateful the morning had not denigrated into an on-going, sisterly catfight. If Dorie kept minding her P’s and Q’s, her daughter just might end up developing a smidgeon of respect for her.
They soon reached the turn off for St. Petersburg. As they crossed the railroad tracks and hit the gravel road, Missy caught a last glimpse of Jasper in her rear-view mirror. So long, civilization, she thought. The rear wheels of the car kicked up a storm of dust and Dorie shrieked. “Oh, my God, are you kidding me? Gravel roads? They still have these in Minnesota?”
Jeanette looked over her shoulder and drolly replied, “Yes, Dorie. Welcome to our third world nation. A pity your Louis Vuitton is being exposed to all that dust.”
This caused Dorie to shriek again. “I am going to choke on all this. Missy, slow down. My God, you’d think they would have invested in some black top by now. Just where the hell are you taking me?”
Missy laughed, and was about to explain, but the laughter died on her lips. For there, looming on the horizon was the old Arneson farmstead. It looked just as lonely and begotten as ever. It caught Jeanette’s attention as well. The property was even more sun-bleached than the last time they’d set eyes on it. It also appeared as though one of the smaller sheds near the back was in the process of collapsing.
“What’s that?” asked Dorie.
“Just a ghost,” Missy responded mutely.
Dorie was intrigued. “Does it have to do with that boy you found?”
Missy was surprised that Dorie made the connection, but then she was aware that her mother had picked up on the story when it was in the national news, going so far as to grant interviews as the mother of one of the women involved with solving the centuries-old missing child case. “We didn’t actually find him. We sort of… found out what might have happened to him.” Missy felt the need to clarify, for there were so many unanswered questions.
She slowed the car as they passed. The fields around the farm, probably rented out to and tended by area farmers, had been mowed down. What remained was flattened, parched, and as void of life as the farm itself. Missy didn’t feel the shiver she had felt during their last visit, as if driving past a graveyard. Instead, she merely felt a kind of profound sorrow, quiet and still where it rested and lived deep within. She stole a glance at Jeanette. She, too, was transfixed, her eyes searching for something. A spark of life? Something.
For a brief moment Missy imagined a small blonde boy shyly peeking out from behind the corner of the barn. No doubt Jack had played hide and seek on the farm many times and done exactly that. Maybe he’s hiding still. There was so much that seemed unsettled about the whole case. The bones of the unknown children found in the furnace of the Monastery, for one. And Jack’s bones. What had happened to the boy’s remains? The likelihood of there being no trace of his body in the furnace seemed far-fetched and called into question Kathleen Tollefson’s account of the whole ugly business. That nagged at Missy. What if Kathleen, the woman who had more or less confessed to the crime, was nothing more than a convenient scapegoat? And not only for the death of Jack Arneson back in 1987, but also the more recent ritualistic death of Boyd Dean? Missy had a hard time believing that Kathleen, alone, could have managed such an elaborate murder. It would have required a lot more strength, not to mention, additional hands.
These thoughts occupied her brain as they grew closer to St. Petersburg, helping to block out Dorie’s numerous questions and comments. Something told Missy that her mother must have been used to not being listened to, for it didn’t seem to bother her that Missy and Jeanette were tuning her out. Perhaps that was the price one paid for always being the mistress in a rich man’s world.
As they began their descent onto the old iron bridge that spanned the River Tees, the magnificent vista opened before them, and even Dorie grew silent. It was beautiful. The pine trees stood in stark contrast to the rest of the brilliant foliage. If the fall colors had peaked elsewhere in Minnesota the previous week, then time must have been standing still in St. Petersburg, for the view was breathtaking. Rich reds competed with brilliant yellows as they coasted down toward the town. Near the bottom of the hill, as the road began leveling off, the antiquated bridge came into view. The warm-colored rust that clung to its every girder added to the existing palette, creating a vision picture-perfect enough to be captured as a scenic puzzle, the type Grandma Jean had been so fond of putting together on a card table in her living room.
Missy and Jeanette remained silent, basking in the beauty around them, but not Dorie. “Wow, now I see why you guys like coming here. This is really pretty. I haven’t seen anything like this in ages. When you don’t live here, you forget what the four seasons are really about.”
“I know what you mean,” Missy’s voice caught with excitement. “Every time we approach this bridge I get a strange feeling in my heart. Is it that way for you?” she asked Jeanette.
Jeanette, who was busy looking straight ahead, shook her head. “No, not really. I mean, it’s nice. But I might be spoiled. I’ve seen a lot of back roads.”
From the backseat, quietly, came, “No kidding.” Dorie then burst out laughing.
This was apparently not something Jeanette cared for, because she went from being mildly interested to full on snarky. “Something I say amuse you, Dorie?”
Missy was intrigued. “Yeah, what?”
“Oh, nothing. Your aunt, she… she used to go on a lot of ‘road trips’.” Again, Dorie laughed as Jeanette glowered.
For some reason, Missy chose to ignore her aunt. She wanted dirt. “What do you mean? What kind of road trips?”
But then, Jeanette, never one to go ignored, spoke sharply. “Never mind.” Her edict rang in the tiny interior. In a more reasoned voice, she rushed to explain, “Dorie was just jealous. I used to pick up the most interesting souvenirs on those trips. How about you, Dorie? You ever pick up anything interesting during your travels? Hmm?”
There was something pointed in Jeanette’s line of questioning and Dorie grew quiet. And so they all remained, as they made their way across the river to the sole accompaniment of the creaking bridge.
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