"Evil is not something superhuman, it's something less than human. Your criminal is someone who wants to be important, but who never will be important, because he'll always be less than a man."
- Agatha Christie
7 hours ago
Showing posts with label Crime. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Crime. Show all posts
Wednesday, June 18, 2025
Saturday, June 08, 2024
Weekend Onesie: Front Page Detective!
Weekend Onesie:
Front Page Detective!
I do believe these people invented salaciousness!
I adore these covers and their taglines - every one a winner. Every cover? I don't know why, but I can't help but imagine our own Miss Maddie gracing every cover!
Brought to you by the good folks at Dell Publishing (it was even a television program in 1951 on the Dumont network), as magazines go, Front Page Detective had a long shelf life. It's rather fun to look as the covers change with the times. Those 1970s issues! They ditched the glamor and went with the clamor - yes, fear mongering was indeed in vogue. Still, the taglines remained what hooked readers hungry for the gritty details.
Enjoy this small sampling from the magazine that put the 'dirty' in dirty deeds done cheap!
Another weekend.
Another June.
The season and I, are happily in tune.
- uptonking from Wonderland Burlesque
Dirty Deeds - Joan Jett
Dirty Deeds Done Dirty Cheap - AC/DC
Wednesday, June 05, 2024
The Third Candle: Christmas Tableau at the Opera House - (Preview Chapter)
The Third Candle:
Christmas Tableau at the Opera House
A Sewing Box Mystery
--- ---
Chapter 1Monday, December 8, 1986, 3:33 am
Immaculate Conception of the Blessed Virgin Mary - Solemnity
Immaculate Conception of the Blessed Virgin Mary - Solemnity
Jean woke with a start.
She was safe, curled up in her husband’s old armchair, snug and warm in her worn flannel nightie with a knitted shawl wrapped around her shoulders.
Another night of dreams.
She’d moved from her bed to the living room, thinking they wouldn't find her, that they wouldn’t follow.
But they did.
Every night?
It seemed so.
She couldn’t remember the last time she got a full night’s sleep. No doubt, that was why she was always so tired, especially by the end of the day. She’d thought about asking her doctor to prescribe something that might help, but she doubted she could afford it, not without medical insurance. Was sleep really a luxury?
As it was, things were stretched so tight, she turned the thermostat down to 62 degrees at night. Extra blankets would have to keep them warm as they slept, blankets being much cheaper than the ransom Minnegasco was demanding these days. While the house still had good bones, it was old, with the original windows still in place. No doubt much of the heat escaped between the woodwork around the windows and the walls. Last year she’d purchased a new product from 3M, and covered the windows in a clear plastic. But it left her feeling walled in and claustrophobic all winter, and in the spring, upon removing the plastic, each window was left with a sticky frame of adhesive surrounding it which looked like hell. On top of all that, she was never sure it had actually made a difference, for the gas bill seemed as high as ever - an expense one could not escape this time of year.
And then there was Christmas coming up.
Jean looked over at the pitiful artificial tree propped up on her old hope chest in front of the big bay window. It had seen better days, most of its wire branches had been bent so many different directions over the years that it looked like it didn’t know if it was coming or going. Still, wrapped with a garland of silver tinsel and a string of lights, and with years and years worth of homemade decorations courtesy of her girls and the public school system filling in the blank spots, it still looked good from the street.
At its base sat the family creche, handed down from her mother. It was made of thick paperboard, with each figure fitting into its assigned slot. In their youth, the girls had acted out the story of Mary and Joseph coming to the inn with no room - a manger in a stable for His bed. Playing in such a way, the two-dimensional figures had taken a bit of a beating, but they still managed to convey the season, withstanding the test of time. Somehow, it wouldn’t be Christmas without it.
If only that were enough. But, no. There were presents to be bought: things needed (clothes, mittens, boots), things wanted (a Cabbage Patch Doll, a talking bear named Teddy something or other), and things soon to be used and forgotten (Shrinkie Dinks, a fingernail salon set). Ever since Missy started kindergarten last fall, the list of things required to be a successful five-year-old girl had grown exponentially. And it was all on Jean’s shoulders to supply.
Dorie? Missy’s mother? Not only didn’t she have a job, but half the time Jean had no idea where her youngest was, staying out all night, running around with who knows what kind of people. And Helen, of course, had her own young family to contend with. At least her eldest had married well. And Jeanette?
Well, to be honest, Jean wasn’t sure what was going on with her middle daughter these days. She sensed something had happened - a bad break-up? She couldn’t be sure because Jeanette had curled up inside herself and stopped confiding in her after Jean let her know that she didn’t approve of her latest boyfriend; a man too old for her with a motorcycle and a bad attitude. He frightened Jean, so full of himself she couldn’t imagine what Jeanette saw in him. He was a bully. She let Jeanette know that she didn’t like the way he treated her - he was so gruff and bossed Jeanette around like a servant. Jean hated to see Jeanette behave that way, kowtowing to a man’s needs. It was so unlike her. Jeanette had always been headstrong and independent… and proud. Jean hated to think she’d raised that girl to end up being little more than someone who fetched beer for a lout like that.
No, the girls were no help at all this year. If Christmas was to happen, Jean would have to take care of it herself.
But where would that money come from?
She wished she qualified for a credit card. But Jean also knew, based on the troubles of some of the folks at church, that depending on credit was merely borrowing trouble down the line. She’d get a part time job - wrapping presents at one of the department stores, but who would look after Missy? Plus Jean’s energy felt so limited already - doing so was something she couldn’t physically afford to do.
If only she could sleep.
A sleep without dreams.
Had there ever been a time?
Even as a child, bits and pieces, shards of an image, would fly at her in the night, moving out of the darkness and presenting themselves like pieces of a puzzle meant to tell a story - like a movie, or a play. They’d visit her night after night, filling in more details over time. Sometimes she inhabited the dreams, which allowed her to discover more about the story. At first, she found it entertaining, but as she grew older, they began to consume more and more of her nights, until sleep itself became the rarest of things.
This time of year, year after year, her nights were filled with the same recurring nightmare.
An angelic presence, descending from the heavens. A beautiful face, surrounded in diaphanous splendor. Lit from within, a gift to the world, the herald of great joy, the figure seemed to hold all the promise of a new year. Voices abounded, a choir, grandly accompanying her gradual descent. Such jubilation present, that tears fall from the angel’s eyes, as candles are lit, one by one…
But the third candle.
There is trouble.
Heavenly voices cry out, now in pain.
A foreboding weight fills the air, as the world is set afire.
All around the angelic figure, stars fall from the sky.
Screams fill the air.
As the sky itself is set aflame, all hope vanishes, and the angel’s tears turn to…
Blood.
--- ---
Coming October 2025
The Third Candle:
Christmas Tableau at the Opera House
--- ---
Dreams - Fleetwood Mac
Wednesday, May 29, 2024
Children Lost on The Darkest Of Nights: The Legend of Peg Powler - Chapter 30
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
Chapter 13: Monday, October 31, 2011, 11:02 am
Chapter 17 - Monday, October 31, 2011, 12:43 pm
Chapter 30: Wednesday, October 31, 2012, 6:01 pm
Nine months had passed since the funeral, a whole year since the night Missy almost drowned in the river Tye. Missy’s life had finally returned to what she considered normal, though she was still getting used to the idea of having a half-sister.
Initially, Missy didn’t know how to feel. She was angry with Jeanette for not telling her sooner, especially in light of Dorie’s funeral, mainly because she felt that might have been a bonding experience for her and her half-sister - a real missed opportunity. She didn’t speak with Jeanette for a full week, the longest they’d ever been angry with one another, but Missy then decided she was being foolish. After all, Jeanette was now all she had.
Except, that wasn’t quite true.
As it stood? Well… Missy could only describe it as ‘uncomfortable’. Oh, things between Jeanette and Missy were good… fine, in fact. Cassandra, on the other hand?
Missy decided to break the ice by inviting her half-sister to coffee. They met at Missy’s favorite coffee shop in uptown on Hennipen Avenue and from there had planned to show Cassandra her apartment. It felt like a sisterly thing to do. She’d hoped to impress Cassandra a little, coming off as the sophisticated older sister… well, sophisticated for Minneapolis.
Things got off to a rocky start. Cassandra was over fifteen minutes late. She then launched into a rant about how coffee beans are sourced, taking advantage of people in underdeveloped areas, and how coffee wasn’t good for your health. Missy tried not to take offense, writing it off as their twelve-year age gap showing.
They were such different people. Sitting there in that coffee shop, with Missy still in her office clothes, the two must have looked like polar opposites. Looks-wise, no one would ever peg them as related. Cassandra sported a badly-bleached spiky mass of short hair with lots of dark roots showing. She had a tattoo of some anime character on her neck, some type of tribal band on her upper right arm and an anarchy symbol on her left wrist. Her right wrist was festooned with layers of wrist bands, some made of woven fabric, some bright rubberized plastic declaring her support for this cause or that charity. Cassandra’s uniform of choice always seemed to be a t-shirt with short-sleeves rolled up like a 1950’s greaser featuring the logo of a band Missy was unfamiliar with, a pair of carpenter pants complete with hammer loop, and a pair of men’s work boots. But the most off-putting thing about her half-sister’s appearance, for Missy, were all the body piercings; she had a small ring in her right nostril, a bar of some type in her left eyebrow, numerous ones in her ear lobes and along the edges of her ears, and, on the left side, a tiny ring in her lower lip. Missy wondered what the maintenance was like for all that metal meeting flesh, but never broached the subject.
Actually, she never got the chance to.
Cassandra took control of the conversation, and, really, never allowed Missy to do anything other than ask the occasional question for clarification. In fact, Missy didn’t get to share much of anything about her life, her job, her history, or her childhood and her invitation to come see her apartment was sharply declined, Cassandra explaining that she had other (rather vague) plans and wouldn’t have time.
Missy learned that Cassandra, now in her Junior year at the U of M where she was managing a full-time class-load focused on women’s studies, had been dropped off at Jeanette’s by Dorie when she was sixteen years old, something Missy already knew, because, in the course of patching things up, Jeanette had given her the whole story. Her aunt knew about Cassandra shortly after her birth, but had been sworn to secrecy by Dorie, giving Jeanette a bit of leverage when it came to her little sister. However, what really amazed Missy was how her aunt had managed to keep her half-sister a secret for the past four years. It demonstrated to Missy that her aunt was far more sly than she’d ever imagined.
Back in the late spring of 2007, Dorie had shown up on Jeanette’s doorstep in the middle of the night with Cassandra in tow. Details were few and far between, but apparently Dorie was on the run due to some type of falling out with her latest lover. To make things easier for herself, Dorie begged Jeanette to take care of Cassandra until she was back on her feet. She would have gone to her mother, but Grandma Jean was by then living in a small condo and at an age when taking care of anyone but herself was out of the question. Truth was, Dorie still couldn’t face her mother, wanting to spare herself of having to deal with Grandma Jean’s unavoidable judgement. So, Jeanette took Cassandra in, promising not to tell either Grandma Jean or Missy about the girl. And Jeanette had kept her promise, taking it right to the grave… Dorie’s grave.
The arrival of Cassandra in Jeanette’s life prompted another change: Jeanette decided to retire from her duties at the Hell’s Angel’s brothel. She simply couldn’t reconcile having that element in her life while trying to raise a sixteen year-old girl. The organization had always treated Jeanette with the utmost respect and took good care of her financially. In turn, Jeanette had also been very careful with her money, so, while she didn’t have a lot to spare, she had enough to live comfortably.
It had been hard to say good-bye. So many memories. It was funny, but Jeanette had never really noticed that through the years, the women who worked the brothel had gotten younger and younger as she grew older. She ruled that place with an authority which was unquestioned. Protector, accountant, bouncer, social worker, therapist, midwife, nurse, mother… her job description covered a lot of ground. As the women aged, she’d seen them through cancer scares, medical emergencies, and in two cases, actual death. It all stemmed from a kindness she felt she needed to repay, for those women had been there for her in her darkest hour. After surviving the abusive relationship which had brought the brothel into her life, Jeanette never allowed a man to have power over her of any kind. And due to some of the injuries she’d sustained during that tumultuous relationship, she knew she could never have children of her own, so… what did she need a man for?
Instead, she poured all her maternal feelings into the care of the women in that house, which was sorely in need of help when she first came on board. Sexually transmitted diseases were terribly common at the time, so mandatory weekly testing became one of the first things Jeanette implemented. She organized the place, ran it like a real business. Learned how to handle people and stand her ground. The bikers recognized her value, so they always did right by her and, to this day, she still held a place of esteem in the organization’s eyes.
When she retired, the Hell’s Angels were really sad to see her go. She was family because of all that she’d done on behalf of the women associated with the organization - which went way beyond the walls of the rather secretive/stealthy house off Second Street North - for any woman associated, be they wife or girlfriend, could come to Jeanette for help.
It was that dedication to the welfare of other women which now drove Jeanette’s current obsession: the whereabouts of Darlene. Apparently, Jeanette had adopted the motto ‘leave no woman behind’ and that applied to Darlene, who still remained missing. Jeanette hounded Sheriff Paul weekly, demanding answers. After what Jeanette had witnessed in that field, she couldn’t fathom how a twenty-something woman carrying a child could disappear without a trace. It brought out the mama bear in her. In fact, Jeanette was chomping at the bit to return to St. Petersburgh, something which Missy kept vetoing. For Missy had lost her taste for sticking her nose in the business of the citizens of that particular town and had no desire to return.
When she thought of the events of a year ago, each incident was like a kick to the stomach.
Missy hadn’t spoken to Peter for a whole year. She had no idea how he was doing or how he was coping with Darlene’s disappearance, but then, she also felt that it wasn’t her business anymore. When she was in the hospital, Peter had sent both a card and flowers; she’d thrown them both in the trash.
She and Jeanette, as victims and witnesses, were both still very much involved with the on-going investigations in St. Petersburgh. Sheriff Paul had visited or called them a number of times with questions, in need of more information or clarification. That gave Missy ample opportunity to keep tabs on the goings-on in that town.
One of the things she’d learned was, after discussing it among those involved, The Sleep Inn had decided to keep the sex dungeon in the basement open, but with a new list of rules - which Duane promised to enforce - in light of the attack on Missy and Dorie.
Another bit of news was that the Oswig sisters’ fortunes had made a turn for the better. Buzz in the town was that old investments had suddenly found new life, or they must have decided to sell off a few of the family’s lesser real estate holdings. Those were the only explanations the town had for all the renovations taking place over at the old mansion. For it seemed every week something new had been accomplished, slowly restoring the manor to its former glory.
In light of that bit of news, Missy was still surprised to find an invitation from the Oswig sisters in that morning’s mail. Among the usual junk and bills, it certainly stood out - it was beautiful - printed on lovely paper, a matching decorated envelope containing an elaborate Christmas-themed fold-over.
The phrase, “In honor of recent events…” had been written by hand at the top of the invitation in an elegant, sure, cursive, followed by the typeset invitation in a festive font.
You are invited to participate in
The Oswig Family’s
*Revived*
Annual Christmas Tableau
Friday, December 14, 2012
At the newly renovated Oswig Opera House
Rehearsal: 10:00 am
Luncheon: Noon
Second Run-Thru: 1:00 - 3:00 pm
Final Dress Rehearsal: 4:00 - 5:00 pm
Informal Dinner: 6:00 pm
Performance: 8:00 pm
A reception to follow.
RSVP by November 14, 2012
(Please include any dietary restrictions in your RSVP)
--- ---
Missy had no intention of going, but it was nice to be asked.
But it wasn’t the only interesting piece to arrive that day; a note, in a much smaller envelope with no return address nearly escaped Missy’s attention. She would later learn that the postmark was from the main branch of the Minneapolis post office, meaning there was no way of tracing it’s origins. Scrawled in block letters, it read:
“Those who dabble, invite trouble.
Leave well enough alone.”
Missy had no idea what to make of it, but, as it made her feel ill at ease, she decided she’d pass it on to Sheriff Paul at some point.
Jeanette called right as Missy was making dinner. She, too, had received an invitation from the Oswig sisters and was rather excited at the prospect of returning to St. Petersburgh. Missy hated to disappoint her aunt, but there was no way she was going. Given that, she decided not to tell her aunt exactly why. Missy felt the anonymous note and the invitation arriving on the same day was too much of a coincidence to ignore. The whole thing felt like a trap and Missy wanted no part of it.
After dissuading a very dismayed Jeanette, Missy decided to put the anonymous note and the invitation in Grandma Jean’s sewing box, figuring out of sight, out of mind. She also grabbed the poem about Peg Powler which had recently been returned to her from Sheriff Paul along with the kitchen witch, with the intention of returning the poem to its secret hiding place under the box’s satin lining.
With the lift of the box’s lid, while sitting on her bed, Missy became mesmerized, sorting through the various items in the box, just as she had as a child. She examined each pin cushion, each button, each thimble, turning them around in her hands with great care. They all sat side by side with the map detailing the whereabouts of Jack Arneson and now, the poem, the note, and the invitation. Her eye gravitated to a Christmas-themed thimble in the shape of a bell, with tiny evergreen trees and a wiggly border painted on its porcelain surface. However, when she tried to place the thimble on her finger, she noticed that there was something lining the thimble’s interior. Taking a needle, she coaxed it out; there were three pieces of paper, each about the size of the fortune in a fortune cookie.
The first read:
Bring A Burial Bouquet
And the second:
Stay Far From The Third Candle
And the third:
Those Lost Are Found
The handwriting was unmistakably that of Grandma Jean, though none of the messages made any sense.
Staring at the pieces of paper, a sense of dread settled in Missy’s chest. She remembered how elated she’d been when she’d discovered the hidden poem. She’d been so excited about returning to St. Petersburgh. Now, that seemed ages ago. So much had changed, so much blood under the bridge. For some reason, it brought to mind a pair of couplets from T.S. Eliot’s Murder In The Cathedral which Missy had been assigned to decipher in a freshman lit class at college.
Now is my way clear, now is the meaning plain:
Temptation shall not come in this kind again.
The last temptation is the greatest treason:
To do the right deed for the wrong reason.
She wasn’t entirely sure how it applied to her current situation, but then, at the time, she hadn’t been all that sure what it meant in terms of the play. She simply preferred Eliot to, say Shakespeare, because at least Eliot’s stuff rhymed and therefore, stayed in your head. Maybe it was her subconscious' desperate attempt to change her mind about attending the Christmas Tableau, the thought of which brought to mind the Oswig sisters.
That tea party with the sisters.
Missy yearned to feel the way she had felt in that moment. In that house, in the presence of those women she had felt… golden. And there was something else, a spark, one she had not felt since that time. To Missy, it seemed all that came after - Peter, the man in the basement, the stoning, that push into the river - had all robbed her of the joy and sense of personal power she’d enjoyed while in the company of those women.
Closing the sewing box, Missy thought of something else; something Grandma Jean had told her once, while trying to teach her to darn a sock, “When you drop a stitch, just pick it up again. That’s the only way to continue.”
Was this Christmas Tableau her means of picking up what she’d lost? Grandma Jean’s note promised that those lost would be found and Missy was indeed feeling lost. Her way? Currently, so very unclear. But there was one thing she felt certain; she’d left something in St. Petersburgh, something that belonged to her. And the only way she could think to get it back, to get that feeling back, to find herself again, was to return there, picking up the stitch she’d dropped. For, as Grandma Jean had said, “That’s the only way to continue.”
With that in mind, she put the sewing box back in it’s special place, the same place Grandma Jean had always kept it. She then made her way into the kitchen to grab her cell phone, lighting the burner under her tea kettle on the way. She called her aunt, who failed to pick up. Undaunted, Missy decided to leave a message.
“Hi. Hey, I’ve changed my mind. I think… I think we should RSVP ‘yes’ to that Christmas Tableau. I have no idea what to expect, but I have a feeling we weren’t included on a whim. You want to find Darlene? Let’s find Darlene. Call me.”
Missy strode over to the cupboard next to the stove, where she kept her tea. Lemon? No. Orange Spice? Yes. ‘Tis the season and all that.
As she waited for the kettle to wail, she stared at the kitchen witch sitting on the counter next to her canisters of flour and sugar. That blue dress. Something about it bugged Missy. It’s little berry eyes seemed to beam at her, daring her to learn the little poppet’s secret.
Maybe she should donate it to the museum in St. Petersburgh, as requested. A nice Christmas gesture?
But then she thought about that cryptic note. The anonymous one, with its odd warning.
Maybe she should hang onto it.
And maybe she should return that kitchen witch to it’s rightful owner.
It’s intended target.
--- ---
Next Week:
Preview Chapter
for
Book Three:
The Third Candle:
Christmas Tableau At The Opera House
Rise - Katy Perry
Wednesday, May 22, 2024
Children Lost on The Darkest Of Nights: The Legend of Peg Powler - Chapter 29
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
Chapter 13: Monday, October 31, 2011, 11:02 am
Chapter 17 - Monday, October 31, 2011, 12:43 pm
Chapter 29 - November, 2011
Missy’s recovery took longer than expected. Complications arose, keeping the medical team on their toes, as days turned into weeks. During that time, as Missy’s energy and concentration slowly returned, she and Jeanette began grieving the loss of Dorie while piecing together what had happened that horrific night.
“Are you sure you’re up for this?” asked Jeanette, who was very concerned that Missy was still too fragile.
“Yes,” affirmed Missy, reasoning, “Look, I’m stuck in this hospital bed for who knows how long. It’ll help me pass the time. Besides,” she said, knowing that what she had to share might upset her aunt, “I’ve got things you need to know.”
Because everyone was wearing identical robes when Missy was pushed into the river and due to the frenzied state of the crowd, no one had a clue who exactly fell in. At that moment, finding the person you came with became everyone’s number one priority, including Jeanette, who began yelling both Missy’s and Dorie’s names. Dorie appeared almost instantly. She, too had been calling for her sister and daughter. With a sense of rising panic, Jeanette then began also yelling for Donna. Devastated by the thought that it might be Missy who’d fallen in the water, and with that fear swiftly becoming a certainty, Jeanette moved into action. Once Donna was located, Jeanette asked the woman to drive her to the nearest phone - time was of the essence.
As Jeanette turned to inform Dorie that she was going for help, she saw that her sister had taken off her robe and shoes was now removing her earrings. “What are you doing?”
Her eyes wide with fear, Dorie yelled, “What does it look like?”
Jeanette ran to her sister, to reason with her. “You can’t do that… the water’s too rough.”
Dorie jerked herself away from the grasp of her sister’s hands. “I have to. She’s my daughter.”
Jeanette looked on helplessly as her sister dove into the rushing water. Wanting to follow, she quickly stopped herself short - now the clock really was ticking - she had to move fast. As she and Donna ran to Donna’s truck, those who remained - for about half the crowd had fled the scene - began to move along the river’s edge in search of whomever had fallen in the water.
Doreen made a bee-line to The Sleep Inn, not a place Jeanette wanted to visit ever again, but Doreen thought it their best bet, since Sheriff Paul was last seen there. Once they arrived, Jeanette explained to Sheriff Paul, who was dressed as sexy cowboy, what had happened and the man quickly made his way to his patrol car where he radioed for help. The dispatcher then contacted the first responders in Jasper, who were on the scene within twenty minutes. Twenty-five minutes after that, Missy was discovered washed up on shore, a mile and a half down river.
Jeanette rode in the back of the ambulance with Missy as the search for Dorie continued into the night. Shortly after 9:00 pm, her body was discovered wrapped around a large rock in the middle of the river a half mile down from where Missy had been found. By the time the rescue team got to her, Dorie was dead. And, based on her injuries, which were substantial, it was doubtful she would have made it even if help had arrived in time, for her body was a mass of broken bones and torn flesh. Her beautiful face, half of which was missing, had been rendered unrecognizable due to the impact of the tree debris and rocks in the volatile waters.
Once the helicopter arrived from Minneapolis and Missy was on her way to North Memorial Hospital, Jeanette was informed that Dorie had been found. Stoically, she rode with Sheriff Paul back to St. Petersburgh in order to identify her sister’s body, a difficult task, for Dorie’s injuries were so severe Jeanette was only able to so so based on Dorie’s hair and fingernail polish.
On the drive back to St. Petersburgh, Jeanette had to fight all the animosity she felt towards Sheriff Paul, who was now back in uniform, and do the right thing - report all she had seen and experienced at the golden field that night. It took a bit of convincing, but eventually Sheriff Paul accepted Jeanette’s version of events.
“I knew they had something planned,” said Sheriff Paul, “but I thought it was just a religious gathering to protest Halloween. Those people, Pastor John and his flock? They’re nuts. We know they’re nuts, but we’ve always just let ‘em be. No sense in poking a hornet’s nest.”
“Well,” reasoned Jeanette, “now you know these hornets can kill. So, maybe you should do something about that.”
Sheriff Paul clearly didn’t like the implication that he wasn’t doing his job, but, given the circumstances resisted the temptation to argue. Instead, he merely begrudgingly said, “Sure thing. I’ll get right on it.” He then promised to launch a full investigation into the matter - not that Jeanette was going to hold her breath.
Sheriff Paul took Jeanette to the coroner’s office where she identified Dorie’s remains. Taking one of her dead sister’s battered hands in hers, Jeanette wasn’t sure how to feel. So much had passed between them over the years. Dorie had always seemed so strong, so independent, her casual carelessness masked by a confidence Jeanette had never possessed. Dorie had lived such an exotic life, and left so many untied strings in her wake. To see her now, physically destroyed, robbed in death of her greatest pride, it struck Jeanette as a cruel twist.
After that, only upon returning to Missy’s car, which she had planned to drive back to Minneapolis, did it dawn on Jeanette that Missy had the keys.
And that’s when she lost it.
All the traumatic events of the past twelve hours flooded over the top of her determination to move forward, get things done, fix what could be fixed, salvage what could be salvaged… and she simply broke down. First, came a wave of anger. To foreign eyes, it would have appeared she was merely angry because she’d been locked out of the car, as she brought both fists down on the top of the vehicle before savagely kicking its door. She screamed and ranted in frustration. Here she was, in a town she had wanted to leave hours and hours ago, her sister dead, her niece in a coma. She hated this town and cursed the day she’d first set foot in it. Leaning on the car for support, she then hung her head and began to sob. As Sheriff Paul looked on helplessly, she continued crying, big body-wracking waves of grief and regret, spilling out of her. Then she turned around, and, leaning her back on the driver’s door, allowed her head and body to go slack, slowly sliding down to the ground. This was unbearable, with so much to be done. What was she going to do? Why hadn’t she done more to prevent this?
As blame began to crowd out her grief, Donna drove up in her pick-up truck. She had Lucille, Boyd’s mom, with her. Recognizing what was happening, the women quickly got out of their vehicle and came to Jeanette’s aid. After a few soothing words, they convinced her that she needed to be strong, for Missy, and that she needed to get to Minneapolis, ASAP. Donna kindly volunteered to take her - for she felt horribly guilty for having gotten Jeanette and her family involved in the whole golden field affair. She knew very well that if she hadn’t asked them for help, Dorie would still be alive and Missy wouldn’t now be at death’s door.
Lucille told Sheriff Paul to grab his slim jim and open up Missy’s car so Jeanette could grab her things. Once that was done, the three women piled into Donna’s truck and took off for North Minneapolis. On the way to the cities, Donna filled in Jeanette and Lucille on all that had taken place after Missy hit the water. People, wishing to remain anonymous and not wanting to get involved or associated with the stoning, fled the scene. Those who ran through the golden field to get to their vehicles didn’t see any sign of either Darlene or Pastor John. And while the pastor was seen later that night, standing across the street from The Sleep Inn, no one seemed to know what had happened to Darlene.
“I might,” offered Missy. “Did you… did you notice the three people standing behind us that night? They were wearing cloaks, too, but different than the ones we were .”
Jeanette shook her head, ‘no’.
“They joined in when we first started trying to distract the crowd. And then, once we had them all riled up, I thought I saw them…” Missy stopped. Clearly Jeanette wouldn’t be able to corroborate her story. In fact, parts of that night remained a fog for Missy. “I don’t know. I mean, I’m not certain. It could be nothing more than a figment of my imagination.” That appeared to be the case, for Jeanette had no recollection of seeing anyone standing behind them at the field. “Well, maybe I’m not remembering things correctly,” admitted Missy. Still, the idea would continue to gnaw at Missy’s thoughts. Who could it have been? The women from Pearl’s House of Curls? Seemed unlikely. If they did exist, if she’d seen what she thought she’d seen, then they were most likely members of Pastor John’s flock who had opted out of participating in the stoning.
On their road trip to North Memorial, Lucille told Jeanette that if anyone at The Sleep Inn had a clue about what was going on at the field that night, no one let on. The Halloween contest went on as planned and a good time was had by all, despite some of the evening’s activities being canceled. After Missy, Jeanette and Dorie left The Sleep Inn, Duane had closed the basement for the night, much to the disappoint of some of those gathered.
Missy nodded her approval. She then brightened, “Who won the costume contest?”
Jeanette laughed, “Adam and Patrick. I guess they did this Magic Mike sort of dance and charmed the pants off the crowd.”
“But… what about Peter?”
“What about him?
Missy was confused. “He was part of the act, with Adam and Patrick. He was going to be Frankenstein.”
Jeanette shrugged, “I don’t know, Missy. Lucille didn’t mention him.”
This troubled Missy, though, in light of all that had happened that night, maybe it wasn’t important. Maybe she had misunderstood. However, at the mention of Peter’s name, Missy’s mood darkened. She then wondered how Peter was taking Darlene’s disappearance, especially in light of her pregnancy.
Jeanette, realizing that Peter was a sore subject, promptly changed the subject. She shared that both Doreen and Lucille had remained incredibly supportive as Jeanette waited for Missy to come out of her coma-like state, visiting her at the hospital, bringing her food, sitting and listening. They were among the first people Jeanette called when Missy finally came around. At some point in the future, Jeanette promised to show Missy all the cards that had arrived for her and share whom all the flowers were from - most of which had come from the people they’d met in St. Petersburgh.
North Memorial credited the first responders and the people at the out-patient clinic in Jasper for saving Missy’s life. Their actions had proven paramount during the critical moments after her lifeless form had been discovered washed ashore. Early the next year, in honor of those efforts, the North Minneapolis chapter of the Hell’s Angels donated a brand new fire truck to the citizens of Jasper.
Sheriff Paul, true to his word, did, indeed, launch a full investigation into the events of October 31, 2011. He wanted to interview Missy, but Jeanette kept putting him off, telling him that Missy wasn’t strong enough yet. That worked for awhile, but on a bright, crisp day in mid-November, Sheriff Paul called to let Jeanette know he was on his way to the cities to interview both her and Missy. She let Missy know.
“He wants to know what you remember before and after you fell into the water.”
A shiver ran through Missy’s body. This was the Pandora’s box she had thus far successfully avoided opening. For, while her recollection of the three cloaked figures remained shaky, there was no doubt about several things which had happened to her that night. Missy decided it would be best if Jeanette heard it from her first.
“You keep saying that,” Missy said quietly.
“What?”
“That I ‘fell’ in the water.” Afraid of how her aunt would react, Missy paused.
Sensing there was more, Jeanette gently prodded her niece, “Yes? And…?”
In a flood of words, tinged with a bit of anger which surprised Missy even more than Jeanette, Missy blurted out, “I didn’t ‘fall in’ the water. I wasn’t nudged. It was no accident. I was pushed - pushed, from behind, hard and on purpose.” Jeanette’s eyes flared with alarm, as Missy continued, “Someone… I don’t know who. I didn’t see. There were too many people around me. But they pushed me. Someone wanted me out of the way, for good.”
Jeanette sat on the edge of the hospital bed and held Missy’s hand as her niece connected the rest of the dots.
“And my mother wasn’t the only one attacked in that basement at The Sleep Inn that night. That man, in the leather mask? He attacked me before you and my mom found my purse. I got lost in the maze and he came for me, trying to grab me and he kept on trying. I managed to run up the stairs, but at one point he had me by my ankle, so I kept kicking and kicking.”
Jeanette listened in horror, her outrage resurfacing as her niece continued.
“I think the two things… well, they could be related. And…” Missy stopped. She had to consider the implications and possible fallout for what she was about to say. What had happened when Pandora opened the box? She didn’t want to point fingers, for there were certainly other possible suspects, but one name kept floating to the top.
Peter.
But, maybe that was something for someone else to discover. Maybe it shouldn’t come from her. In that moment, possibly because she still had feelings for him, Missy decided it was best not to say anything. Instead she concluded, “And, that’s all. That’s all I can remember.”
When Sheriff Paul arrived for the interview, Jeanette was asked to leave the room. Missy shared only that which she was absolutely sure of. She omitted the three cloaked figures and never indicated that she thought Peter might be the man behind the leather mask.
While talking with Sheriff Paul, Missy decided to use the opportunity to turn the tables a bit. She peppered their conversation, which she tried to keep upbeat, with questions of her own. She didn’t want to intentionally mislead Sheriff Paul, but she also didn’t want to draw attention to Peter. Why she was feeling so protective? It was her heart; it simply couldn’t bear the thought. Still, she wanted answers.
“So, how was the costume contest?”
Sheriff Paul laughed. “Oh, it was something. People went all out this year. Adam and Patrick had been rehearsing that dance for a full month.”
Missy decided to risk revealing part of her hand. “It’s a shame Peter didn’t participate.”
“Yeah…” Sheriff Paul recalled, “Adam said he wasn’t feeling well. Was upset about something. He stayed upstairs most of the night.”
“So you didn’t get to see his costume?”
“No. He was in street clothes by the end of the night.”
“What time was that?”
Sheriff Paul clammed up and gave Missy a knowing look. She was asking too many questions. To deflect she added, hurriedly, “I saw his costume. It was so cute,” before trying to change the subject, "Any word on the whereabouts of Darlene?”
Sheriff Paul spoke to her sternly. “Look. You just concentrate on getting better. You leave the investigating to me, you, hear?” His last words struck Missy as a bit of a warning. “Now, about this masked man in the basement of The Sleep Inn and your belief that you were pushed into the river? You have to keep in mind that you stirred up quite a bit of mud in our town. There’s a number of folks who might have been out to get you. I have a list. And it’s my job, mine,” he emphasized, “to ferret out who’s behind this. You leave that to me. You get involved, in any way, I will arrest you for interfering in an on-going investigation. Understood?”
Missy dutifully smiled and nodded her head. Be the good girl, she thought. But she knew better than to trust Sheriff Paul to get to the bottom of anything. Also, she resented that he thought she’d brought this on herself.
Later, when alone, Missy and Jeanette went through a list of possible suspects. Jeanette was quick to raise the possibility that it was Peter, but Missy was just as quick to to point out that it could easily be one Pastor John’s henchmen or, for that matter, Ray Tollefson.
Jeanette cackled at that thought, “Oh, no, trust me… it was not Ray Tollefson.” Missy looked at her aunt questioningly. Sobering, Jeanette continued, “I, umm… I left him in the same condition I found your mother; gagged, chained and in shackles. So, no way it was him. Huh?” she pondered,
”I wonder who found him?”
The thought of her mother trussed up in bondage gear was not something Missy wanted to contemplate, so the subject was quickly dropped, although they did clear Duane as a possible suspect; there was no way for him to have been in the basement and at the top of the stairs at the same time.
During Sheriff Paul’s initial interview, he asked Missy what she remembered after she hit the water. Up until then, it hadn’t occurred to Missy to tell anyone about the glowing rocks and the floating children. She was still unsure if they had been a product of her mind as her body was shutting down or if they were real. It had certainly seemed unreal. She decided to share it and, in doing so, she brought about partial closure to one St. Petersburgh’s longest mysteries.
It would take a full seven months, but by the summer of 2012, a team of limnologists, geologists, climatologists in conjunction with Minnesota’s DNR and several other associated state agencies were brought together to explore the River Tye. What they found bore truth to Missy’s story. The pocket of bitterly cold water Missy had been sucked into was an aquifer in combination with a thermocline; a true geological anomaly. The temperature of the average aquifer in the midwest is 44 degrees, however due to the depth at which this one was found, and the stillness of the water, conditions created a radical thermocline, plunging the temperatures to near freezing. The low temperature not only helped preserve the bodies of the children, but also discouraged aquatic life, which would have hastened their decomposition, from populating the aquifer.
As for the glowing rocks, the geologists were shocked to discover a wall of stone rich in hackmanite, a mineral which possesses glow in the dark like qualities. The only other place in the world where this mineral had been found in such a large quantity was Afghanistan.
Thanks to the rocks’ illumination, divers were able to swiftly reclaim the fourteen bodies of the drowned children floating in the aquifer. However, once on dry land, as their body temperatures rose, all their soft tissue had rapidly deteriorated and they’d quickly turned to gel. As such, identification through normal means proved impossible. However, DNA samples were taken and then matched to relatives of missing children in the area. All three of the Washington/De Hartburn children were identified. Their remains were eventually entombed at the Catholic cemetery along side of their parents.
And Hedda’s boy was also identified. This brought some much needed closure. Donna and Lucille both told Jeanette that recovering the boy’s body had softened her. Hedda now seemed more at peace and happier. So much so, that she - along with many others, including Donna’s sister, Marie - left Pastor John’s congregation. Hedda returned to the Catholic church where she held a small service in honor of her boy.
Dorie’s funeral took place on a relatively mild day in February. Helen, the oldest of the three sisters, demanded a full church service be held, insisting it was what their mother, Jean would have wanted. Jeanette and Missy both protested, knowing full well that once Helen made up her mind about something, it was going to happen no matter what. The service was held at the same Catholic church where Missy had occasionally attended mass as a child. The place, hushed, bathed in the multi-colors of the stained glass, felt familiar, even though she had not set foot inside since Grandma Jean’s funeral years earlier.
The altar was a mass of flower arrangements, each one competing to be the most-fitting tribute to Dorie’s beauty. They made Missy think of male turkeys displaying their tail feathers. Most of the flowers were from men, names Missy was unfamiliar with. However, there was one from a famous 1980’s guitarist, one from an actor who had a sitcom on one of the major networks in the 1990’s, several from politicians still in office, and one, the most ostentatious of the bunch, from a movie mogul responsible for some of the most popular disaster films in the 1970’s. Given some of the messages on the cards it was clear that Dorie had broken a number of hearts in her time.
Men also made up the bulk of those in attendance, their solo figures peppering the back half of the church. Included among them, Missy’s father, who, other than offering rather standard condolences, said not a word to her.
There was also a very striking woman, in a large-brimmed veiled hat. Dressed in a fashionable manner which Dorie would have approved of, the woman struck Missy as very Spanish telenovela, especially in light of the way she stood at the back of the church, apart from everyone else, observing, but not participating. After the service, she humorously remarked to Jeanette that perhaps it was Paulo’s wife, wanting to make sure that Dorie was, in fact, good and truly dead. But Jeanette had no idea whom Missy was talking about, as she hadn’t seen the woman.
And that would be because Jeanette had brought her ‘dog sitter’ to the service; someone Jeanette had paid as much attention to as she did her niece on that day. Throughout the service, the two had their heads so close together that Missy was simply waiting for Jeanette to come out and declare themselves an item. Missy had made peace with the age difference. She was happy for Jeanette and thought they made a sweet, if unlikely couple.
The service was relatively short. The priest was warm and theatrical, and the church’s music director, who was quite personable, sang and played the piano. Missy had requested one song, which, because it was non-secular, was sung during the part of the service reserved for people to say a few words on the deceased’s behalf - not that anyone did. For while Dorie had had a great impact on people’s lives, it was always short-term, and therefore, Missy doubted anyone, including herself, truly knew her mother - so what was there to say?
In addition to all the men in attendance, there had been a few people from St. Petersburgh. Donna and Lucille were there, as was Adam and Patrick, along with Duane and his wife, Loretta.
Later, going through the basket of cards with Jeanette and Helen, Missy saw that there were condolences from Pearl and the other two House of Curl girls, Sheriff Paul, Libby, from the diner, Ray Tollefson, who had also sent a lovely arrangement of white lilies, and the Oswig sisters, who had also sent a large spray of gladiolus - which struck Helen as odd, given the season.
A few days after the funeral, Missy, with Jeanette in tow, had a meeting with the funeral director to make final payment for the services. When they arrived, the man, while maintaining his professional demeanor, couldn’t help but share his amusement, explaining that there was no bill to settle. In fact, he said, “Given the amount of interest, your mother’s expenses could have easily been covered a good twenty times or more.” And while many men offered, it was a woman, who wished to remain anonymous, that ended up settling the bill. Missy immediately thought about the mysterious woman at the back of the church. Perhaps there was more to her mother’s story than she was aware of.
As Jeanette and Missy walked back to the car, Missy commented, “You know, you’re all I have now. I don’t know what I would do if something happened to you. I’d be alone.”
Jeanette’s mouth twisted to one side, as if contemplating saying something. Finally she shared,
”No, you wouldn’t, hon. You’d have my dog sitter.”
Missy laughed. Finally, the moment she’d been waiting for. “Wow. So, do you have something you’d like to share with the class, today, Jeanette? Hmm?”
Jeanette’s demeanor sobered, as she said, “No, really. Missy? There’s something I have been trying to find the right time to tell you. And I think you’re well enough to hear it now…”
Missy grinned. “You know, I think I know what you’re about to tell me. I’ve been here waiting the whole time. I will love and support you, just like always. I don’t have a problem with… any of it.”
Jeanette fixed her with a puzzled look, and then continued, “Umm… okay. Not sure what you’re thinking but, let’s put a pin in that and circle back. Thing is…”
Jeanette grimaced, as if anticipating a bad reaction.
“My dog sitter?”
Missy smiled and nodded enthusiastically.
“Her name is Cassandra…”
“And she’s your half-sister.”
--- ---
The Blood Of Eden - Peter Gabriel feat. Sinead O'Connor
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