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
Chapter 13: Monday, October 31, 2011, 11:02 am
Chapter 17 - Monday, October 31, 2011, 12:43 pm
Chapter 26 - Monday, October 31, 2011, 6:03 pm
Missy felt numb.
Her eyes kept drifting from his mouth, which was moving, smiling, talking, and his eyes which glowed with life. He was happy.
So why couldn’t she be happy for him?
Whatever he was saying - something about how they came up with idea for the costumes, or something - whatever it was, it simply washed over and past her. The words were connected to one another, but… not connected to her.
Jeanette touched her niece on the shoulder, explaining that she was going to continue down the hall, to check the other doors. But before she left, her aunt asked Peter if he’d seen a woman with long hair who was running around with Ray Tollefson. Peter shook his head, ‘no’.
What was on his head? Something made of construction paper, she guessed, to give him a flat head, like that of the monster he was pretending to be. Even given the situation, Missy had to admit… he looked good. Like Patrick and Adam, he, too, wore an outfit which left little to the imagination; a pair of small black nylon running shorts cut to look theatrically tattered with some green body paint strategically smeared over his sculpted torso. On his feet, big clunky thick-soled goth boots, adding a good 3 inches to his height.
Missy looked up at his face, which was still smiling, still talking, now to Jeanette, who congratulated him on his upcoming nuptials before giving Missy another pat on the back and walking further down the hall.
After Jeanette left Adam and Patrick excused themselves, off to look for more toilet paper to complete Adam’s costume.
Leaving her alone with… the monster.
Peter, leaning on the inside of the door frame, fixed her with his most beatific smile, the one that used to make her melt.
But now? She felt nothing.
Sensing something was wrong, Peter reached out, touched her arm and asked, “Are you alright?”
Missy involuntarily flinched and backed away from him, a step or two, effectively removing his hand from her arm. When she did this, Peter’s brow knitted with concern. And then he actually asked, “What’s wrong?”
What’s wrong?
Everything.
Missy closed her eyes and began to shake her head back and forth. In that moment, she doubted if there had every been anything between them. Had she made it all up? Was it all in her head? Her left hand found her face and with her thumb and index finger she began to vigorously rub her eyes. What was she doing? What did she expect?
Pete, thinking she was crying, moved in to hold her. His touch felt like ice and fire. She pushed him away and turned to go, to leave, to make it back to the stairs and disappear. When she tried to do so, Peter grabbed her left upper arm, to stop her.
It worked.
Without looking at him, for it was easier to say without looking at him, it all began to rush out. “I met Darlene, today. She’s pregnant. She’s having a baby. Your baby. You’re getting married.” Then, looking over her left shoulder, she fixed Peter with her eyes, and when she asked the question, it came out more accusingly than she intended, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Peter’s posture changed. He was now on the defensive. His hand dropped from Missy’s arm. Even hidden behind his green makeup, she could tell he was a little stunned.
“What? Wait. I… I did,” he sputtered. “Or I tried.” Then, with just a touch of anger, he said, “You never answer your phone.”
It was true. She never did. “You could have left a message. Something like… ‘Hi. This is Peter. I’ve knocked up a girl and now I have to marry her.”
The moment it came out of her mouth, she regretted it. But it was too late.
Peter hit back with, “I don’t ‘have to’. I want to.”
Missy was now facing him head on. Maybe he wasn’t a monster. Maybe she was. She felt something melt away from her shoulders. Suddenly, she didn’t feel angry. Just… disappointed.
He ‘wants’ to marry her.
She allowed the thought to resonate for a moment.
“Well, then.” Missy felt contrite. “Sorry. And? Congratulations. I’m sure the two of you will be very happy.” Her voice cracked on the word ‘happy’ and she felt a hot rush behind her eyes. Was she really going to cry? “I have to go find my mother. Good luck with your...” she waved her right hand to indicate his costume, “party, or, contest, or, whatever.” Again, she turned to find the stairs and then, hopefully, a way out.
“Missy.” Peter began to follow her, but stopped after a few tentative steps.
She paused, with her hand on the large wooden ball of the newel post at the top of the stairs, and looked back at him. “I did the math.” For some reason, she felt the need to let him know what she knew. “The timing?” She closed her eyes, trying to find the words necessary. “You… you were seeing me at the same time you were seeing her.”
Peter looked doubtful. “Okay….”
Why wasn’t this sinking in. As if someone else were in charge of her body, Missy began walking back to him, her right index finger, stabbing the air in an accusatory manner. “That… that makes you… not a nice man. Not a good person.”
Crossing his arms over his chest, Peter smirked. “Okay? So?”
So? So? Missy thought. So I should matter. My feelings. My hurt. Her hurt soon found voice, “So? So, what if I told her. What if she finds out. Shouldn’t she know?”
“Don’t you…” Peter started to move toward her, again, but stopped himself short. He closed his eyes and collected his thoughts, then tried reasoning with her. “There’s no reason for her to know.” He smiled a tight smile. “She’s the one who’s pregnant. You’re not.”
He seemed resigned to his situation, and that was just enough for Missy to let it go. “I just thought I mattered,” she muttered, more to herself than him. She then geared herself up, exhaled through her nose and admitted, “I guess I was wrong.” She looked him up and down one last time. Some dreams remain just that. She added, “Have a good life,” before turning away and taking that first step down. Now? Now, she just wanted to find her mother and get the hell out this place.
She met Adam and Patrick, carrying two rolls of toilet paper, on their way up as she was going down. They remained gleefully unaware, caught up in the excitement of playing dress-up. She wished them well and then waited at the bottom of the stairs for Jeanette. She knew better than to hope that Peter would come after her. Still, she couldn’t help but look up at the top landing, wondering if his face would appear. Instead, it was Jeanette who came into view, gesturing, looking back at where Peter, no doubt, still stood. Her aunt, from the look on her face, was saying something stern, which Missy, thanks to the loud music playing in the dining area, couldn’t hear.
With concern in her eyes, Jeanette descended the staircase. Upon reaching the bottom, without saying a word, she embraced her niece, drawing her in close, for just a moment, before holding her at arms length and taking her measure. She was of the same mind as Missy. “Let’s find your mother and get the hell out of here.”
The two women moved to the basement door, each taking a solid breath before opening it. If the upstairs was eerie, then the basement was positively creepy. The moved down the set of brightly lit, bare wooden stairs. The first room they encountered served as a sort of lobby with a series of doorways. On the walls hung various leather straps and paddles, the type used in BDSM-type activities. Missy grimaced. Maybe it was just for show. Maybe no one ever actually used them. These things, they were nothing that fit into her way of life or frame of reference. Loud, trance music pulsed forth from unseen speakers completing the scene.
Jeanette sighed. “I told you she’d be down in this basement.” She then looked at her niece. “Are you sure you want to be here?”
Missy spat out a reply, a little more sharply than she meant to, “I just want to go home.”
“Then let’s get her.” Jeanette moved through the first door on the right and Missy dutifully followed.
It was a dark hallway with makeshift plywood walls which had been painted black. Here and there, a tiny sconce of red light provided a bit of guidance. Missy would have felt her away along the wall, but was afraid to touch it, for she could see holes of various sizes which had been cut into the plywood. Whatever their purpose, Missy made a conscious choice to remain ignorant. Some things? You just don’t want to know.
As they moved further through the maze, Missy began to hear the sound of a woman’s voice. No doubt, it was Dorie - making the sort of sounds no daughter wants to hear. Jeanette turned a corner and stopped abruptly, causing Missy to step on her aunt’s heels. Her aunt swiftly turned around and gripped Missy by both shoulders. “Okay, kid,” she said emphatically. “I’ve got this. You go back and wait upstairs.” As her mother continued to moan, Missy felt herself go dead inside. She nodded mutely, turned around and began making her way back down the hallway, as her aunt turned the opposite way to begin raising holy hell. Heightened voices soon competed with the icy techno beats, the thin walls failing to act as any sort of privacy barrier.
Missy swallowed hard as she crept along, attempting to retrace her steps. At one point the wall gave way to a black abyss which Missy didn’t recall at all, but, thinking she may have lost her way, she braved on. She soon found herself standing in the middle of an open space with a drain in the middle of the floor. Illuminated by a single blue light from above, she looked of an opening, some way out. As her eyes adjusted, she found she could just make out the impression of a doorway to her right. However, as she made a move towards it, a figure appeared, blocking her way.
Her heart racing, Missy stood stock still. It was a man, or she presumed so, based on his stature and shape. He was dressed in a full leather body suit, while, over his face, he wore a fitted leather hood with a large closed zipper covering his mouth, a small tent for his nose, allowing him to breathe through his nostrils, and two eye holes. Instinctively, she slowly began backing toward the doorway where she’d entered the room, but when she turned to exit, she found that she had misjudged and ran into solid wall instead. That’s when the man in the leather hood, who made no sound, darted forward, grabbing at her. She screamed and ran around the edge of the lighted floor, trying her best to keep out of the man’s reach. Still, he managed to come in contact with the back of her arms a number of times before she made it through the doorway where he had first appeared.
This led to a short hallway which then opened to the lobby area at the base of the wooden steps. Not looking back, she took the steps two at a time, until, with only four steps to go, she felt a weight pull on her left ankle. Again, she screamed, as she lost her footing and began sliding face down the stairs. The pain of the sharp edges of the steps on the front of her calves and thighs was excruciating. Without thinking, she flipped to her side and began kicking. It was the same hooded man, who was now stumbling backward, eventually striking the frame of the doorway they’d both come out of before disappearing into its murky shadows.
Too overwhelmed with fear to give chase, Missy scrambled back up the stairs and out the door. Once safely on the first floor, she slammed the basement door behind her and with her back against the wall opposite, she sank down to the floor. She wanted to cry. She wanted to cry out, for help. Breathing heavily, she stifled both impulses. She didn’t need anyone to come to her rescue. Her mind raced. She’d almost been assaulted. No. She had been assaulted; he put his hands on her. What? What did he want? Fleeting images of the attack flickered in her head. Did he think it was funny? Fun and games? A Halloween prank?
And who was he?
Sweating profusely, she began taking an inventory of her injuries. Her left ankle throbbed from where the man had grabbed it. There were scuff marks, splinters of wood, and a few small holes on the front of her jeans. A tiny bit of blood had begun to seep through one of the holes. The scrapes hurt like hell, especially the ones on her hip and just below her left armpit. She was lucky she didn’t break a leg. She needed wet wipes.
Her purse!
Where was it?
It was at that moment that Missy heard Jeanette yelling for her on the other side of the door. With a great deal of effort and a modicum of pain, Missy hauled herself up and made her way to the basement door. She had to warn her aunt. That man might still be down there.
The door opened with a whoosh, and Missy used the door’s cold, brass knob to steady herself. She began to scream for her aunt, who was on her hands and knees, picking up items which had fallen out of Missy’s bag. Dorie, thankfully fully-clothed, was doing the same. They had their backs to the doorway where the man in the leather hood had disappeared only moments ago. “Leave it. Leave it. Get up here, now!” she pleaded.
Her aunt and mother, still on their knees looked up at her with puzzled looks on their faces.
“What are you talking about? What happened?” Jeanette was slowly rising to her feet. She had Missy’s purse in her hands, its contents restored. Dorie was also rising up, when the man in the leather hood suddenly reappeared in the doorway behind them. Missy shouted for them to watch out, but it was too late.
The man stepped forward and grabbed Dorie’s upper left arm before dragging her toward the doorway. Her mother screamed, causing Jeanette to spin about. Before Missy so much as had a foot on the top step, Jeanette had leaped forward while swinging her right arm, landing a solid chop to the man’s Adam’s apple. She hit her mark, hard. Choking, he immediately let go of Dorie and began to fall back through the doorway as his hands moved to protect his neck. At that moment, Missy felt someone appear in the doorway at the top of the steps. It was Duane. His eyes grew big and his nose flared as he quickly assessed the situation. Rapidly moving down the steps, he pushed past Missy. Meanwhile, Jeanette had a hold of Dorie and was rushing her up the steps. The three collided near the bottom of the steps, with Duane giving way to Jeanette, who was in no mood to be reasoned with. Effectively blocking Duane from pursuing the hooded man, her aunt rushed up the steps with her sister in tow.
“Are you ladies alright?” Instead of going after the perpetrator, Duane began to follow the women up the stairs. Missy wanted to scream at him to go after the guy, but was too concerned about her mother and aunt to give her thoughts voice.
With the door to the basement shut behind them, Jeanette began to read the riot act to Duane as a crowd of costumed on-lookers began to form in the entry hall. She was right in his face, demanding to know why they would have a space where men could casually physically assault women. Duane just stood and took it, keeping his eyes on the floor. Looking past him, Missy could see both Deputy Patrick and Sheriff Paul among those in the crowd, but neither lawman stepped forward. Finally, Duane held up his hands, as if to surrender. “Look… look… I agree, I agree.” Jeanette stopped talking, as Duane continued. “That is unacceptable. That should never happen down there. But…” Missy clenched her eyes tightly shut. She knew exactly what that ‘but’ entailed. She braced herself. Heaven help that man if he makes the mistake and goes there. “But if you go down those steps, you damn well know what you’re walking into.” Every woman in the small crowd gathered in the front hall let out a low groan. Missy’s opinion of Duane had just soured.
Jeanette was about to launch into another tirade, but stopped herself before a single word came out. She eyed Duane with all the righteous fury she could muster before turning heel, grabbing Missy by the hand and storming out through the front hall. As she walked past Sheriff Paul, who was in full regalia, she snapped at him, “And you! You’re a disgrace to that uniform.” Without waiting for a reply or looking back, they sped through the dining room, through the theatre, and through the kitchen with Dorie struggling to keep up.
Once outside, Missy realized that the sun was in its final throes, this day had finally come to an end. For that matter, so had her enchantment with St. Petersburgh. She felt violated. Disrespected. How could have she been so foolish? There had been times when she actually imagined a future in this town, but no more. Not only had Peter put an end to such a possibility, but this latest incident in the basement of the Sleep Inn felt like some type of self-fulfilling, self-inflicted prophecy.
Missy was a little disappointed that no one was more concerned about what happened to her, but then she also realized she’d not had an opportunity to tell her story. If Jeanette thought what had happened to Dorie was unacceptable, then she could only imagine the ruckus her aunt would make if she knew all that Missy had just been through. Missy mulled it over. Maybe telling Jeanette wouldn’t be helpful at this juncture. Maybe it would be best to simply get in the car and go home.
Not that doing so seemed currently possible. Jeanette and Dorie were having it out. “We wouldn’t even be in this situation if you hadn’t been so selfish. Is there ever a time when the world doesn’t revolve around Dorie? I’d ask how you could be so irresponsible, but then, what, for 35 some years you’ve managed to avoid all responsibility. Here, Mom. You take care of this child. Here, Jeanette, you clean up this mess.”
“I know, I know. I get it.” countered Dorie. “And I’m sorry. I really am. It’s just… I really thought this guy might be my next big thing. He’s a CFO who owns his own company.”
“In St. Petersburgh!” spit Jeanette. “Small fish. Small pond. Small mind.” Jeanette and Dorie were standing in front of the car. Miss thought it best to simply fade into the background, so she moved to the drivers side of the car and waited. “I can’t believe what you were doing. Do you have any idea how badly that could have ended? I mean, you have pulled some stupid shit in your lifetime, but that? How desperate do you have to be to find yourself in that kind of a situation?”
“Oh, that was nothing. It was harmless. We were just play-acting.” Dorie took Missy’s handbag from Jeanette and, smiling, walked over and handed it to her daughter.
“Nothing?” Jeanette’s voice was now booming. "Did you even have a safe word in place?"
Dorie looked at sister as though she were crazy. "A safe.... whaaat? What are you talking about?"
“Do you have any idea how many women I have rescued in similar situations? And those women? They bear the scars. They end up in the hospital. They know exactly how dangerous that crap can get.”
This seemed to piss off Dorie, who shot back, “Look. I’m not one of your whores, okay, Jeanette. Not your monkey, not your circus. But man, you sure went full motorcycle mama on that dude in the basement. And for that…” she snottily added, “I thank you.”
Jeanette’s face fell. Silence followed. Jeanette bowed her head and looked at the ground to her left. For some reason this caused Dorie to gasp. “What? She doesn’t know? You’ve never told her?”
Still looking at the ground, Jeanette said evenly, “There are a number of things I have never told her."
Dorie began to laugh. Then she stopped abruptly, stole a look at Missy, before turning back to Jeanette and laughing some more. “Oo-ee! Okay, well… alright then. Are you going to tell her? Or am I?”
Missy, believing she knew what this was about, couldn’t hold her tongue. “Stop it.” This was directed at Dorie. Dorie the interloper. Dorie the stranger. Missy felt like something between her and her aunt was about to change and she didn’t want her mother to be any part of it. Missy moved to confront Dorie. “Just stop it.” She then looked at Jeanette. “Nobody needs to tell anybody anything. At least not until they’re ready to.” She then looked at Dorie with a great deal of contempt and ordered, “Now get in the car so we can go home.”
Dorie wasn’t quite ready to let this go. “Aren’t you the least bit curious about what your auntie does for a living?”
Missy looked from Jeanette to her mother. What was this about? “She’s a social worker.”
Dorie snorted and doubled over with laughter. She covered her mouth with one hand and between guffaws asked, “Is that what she told you?”
“Dorie that’s enough.”
Missy’s mother, still chuckling, waved both her hands in the air, as if to dismiss the whole thing, and began to steal around to the rear passenger side door of the vehicle.
Missy’s eyes were now glued on her aunt, who was meeting her gaze head on. There was a weariness in Jeanette’s eyes that Missy was unused to seeing, for Jeanette always seemed so strong. It frightened Missy, though she was unsure if she was frightened for herself or for her aunt. The big red buzzer was sitting right in front of her. She knew all she had to do was to push it.
So she did.
“What’s she talking about?”
Jeanette said nothing.
“Oh, let me tell. Please?” pleaded Dorie, who was enjoying this a little too much.
“No,” said Missy, firmly. “I want to hear it from Aunt Jeanette.”
Jeanette, not looking at Missy, not looking at Dorie, simply shook her head.
“Oh, for Christ's sake. Missy, your aunt used to be a madame. At a whorehouse. Run by the Hell’s Angels!”
Missy looked to her aunt to see if it was true. Jeanette remained mute. Staring at the ground.
“Is that true? If it is, I don’t care. I don’t think less of you.”
Jeanette moved to the hood of the car, leaned her backside against the car’s grill and crossed her arms across her chest. She sighed.
Missy went to join her, placing an arm around her shoulder.
Jeanette cleared her throat and shot Dorie a look before speaking. “Yep. It’s true. I’m retired. But, still involved. Those women and I? We watch out for one another.” She then turned her head to look Missy directly in the eyes before continuing. “I, umm, when I was younger? I was in a relationship. A bad one. With a biker. Hell’s Angels? They’re good guys. They don’t put up with men abusing women. But, I…” she shook her head and smiled. “I had a habit of always picking the wrong guys.”
“Happens to a lot of us, honey.”
“Shut up, Dorie,” said Jeanette, curtly. She then continued. “One night, it got especially bad, and those women, well one of them was summoned to help me and… they did. They brought me back to their house over on 2nd Avenue North and patched me up. They saved me. Turned my head around. Taught me to respect myself. Helped me heal in more than one way. It made me want to… pay it forward, I guess they say now. So, yes. I started working there. I had their back the way they had mine.” She checked in with Missy before continuing. Her niece gave her an encouraging smile. “I became their madame. I helped with client flow and kept track of the money. If a girl was having trouble with drugs or booze, I hooked them up with services to help them. I took self-defense classes so if anyone got to rough with one of the girls, I just tossed their ass.” She pursed her lips. “I was good at my job. They loved me. And I loved… love, them.”
Missy reached over and took her aunt’s hand. “I’m sorry you had to go through that… with that man. I’m glad those women were there for you.”
Jeanette squeezed Missy’s hand. “I hope someday you have someone looking out for you the way they did me.”
Missy smiled. “Oh, I do.”
Jeanette smiled, too. “We good?”
“Yep.”
“Then let’s get the hell out of here, so I can still make my Halloween party!”
Jeanette walked over to the passenger side of the car and opened the door to the front seat, bringing her face to face with her sister. “Dorie. You’re not the only one who knows someone’s secret. The difference between us? I’ll never tell. Never.”
Missy looked to her mother with raised eyebrows, “Do you have something you want to tell me?”
Dorie, not taking her eyes off Jeanette, replied coldly, “She said ‘someone’s secret’. She didn’t say it was mine, dear.”
They were about to slip into there respective seats when a large black truck with an enclosed trailer came down the alley and blocked their vehicle’s way out.
Jeanette stared in disbelief. “What the hell?”
Missy reassured her aunt. “Just give me a minute. I’m sure they’ll move.” Missy made her way to cab of the truck, approaching the driver’s side with a smile on her face. “Hey, if you don’t mind, we were just leaving. You can have our spot if you…”
Inside sat Donna; she of the spider lashes, one of the women Missy had just met at Pearl’s House Of Curls. “Oh. Hi, Donna. What’s up?”
Donna looked to Missy. It was obvious she’d been crying, because all that mascara was running down her face, making it look like she was going as Alice Cooper for Halloween.
“I need your help. It’s my sister. She’s about to do something real wrong. They all are. I need you to help me stop them.”
Missy was taken aback. No. They were just about to step out of the fire. “But… we don’t. We’re not…” She paused. This cry for help. This seemed real. She decided to try a different tactic. “You know, if you need help, just go to Sheriff Paul. That’s what he’s there for.”
Donna fixed Missy with ‘you know better than that’ look. “That man could not stop water from boiling. I need real help.”
“Well, what kind of trouble? I mean, is it something we can even do anything about? If you’re sister’s in a cult, well… there are experts who know how to deal with that sort of thing.”
“It’s not that.” Donna turned away from Missy and looked out the front windshield. When she spoke again, she seemed completely resigned to the situation.
“If you don’t help me, tonight…”
“Some poor girl is going to die!”
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1 comment:
Ohh
You went from romance drama to full American Horror Story to the Best Little Whorehouse.
I'm in.
XOXO
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