The Labyrinth of Blue Towers:
The Disappearance of Jack Arneson
(A Sewing Box Mystery)
Chapter 1: Friday, June 10, 2011, 7:21 pm
Chapter 2: Saturday, June 11, 2011, 8:38 am
Chapter 3: Thursday, June 28, 1984, 10:10 am
Chapter 12: Saturday, June 18, 2011, 8:00 am
Chapter 17: Saturday, June 18, 2011, 1:06 pm
It wasn’t what Missy had expected.
Given the buildings she had recently seen, she was very surprised to find a simple, modest, well-kept cabin. For some reason she had expected it to have gargoyles and turrets. It had to be the right place, because the road only went the one direction, with no turn-offs or side roads. She was also pretty sure that she’d followed Peter’s directions to the letter.
The cabin itself looked like many she had seen in northern Minnesota - nothing much to talk about, simply a small, white, one-story rectangular structure with a front door plumb in the middle. The sort of thing a child would draw if you asked them to show you what a house looked like. It even had the two, obligatory, four-paned windows evenly spaced on either side of the door. Still, it was striking, mainly because the grounds around it were so pristinely cared for - manicured, like something out of a magazine. If Missy had seen this in a realty ad, she would have termed it picture perfect, with great curb appeal.
In a way it was a huge relief. After Boyd’s house of horrors, she had not been looking forward to any additional visits. However, Jeanette seemed determined to see this through, whatever that meant. Missy very much doubted that they would learn anything worthwhile here, but a neatly kept cabin in the woods felt far less intimidating than Boyd’s palace of meth, or the austere, stern beauty of the abbey. And if their visit proved to be a total wash, then it would at least be a pleasant waste of time.
Abe’s cabin was on the absolute outskirts of the town, which is why Missy had expected something more neglected and downtrodden. The white gravel in the large, circular drive appeared practically virginal, as if no one had ever set foot on it. It reminded her of something, but she couldn’t place it at the moment. She parked her car in a shady area. There were no other vehicles in sight. Nor was there a garage or storage shed to store a car or truck. So this man had no car? This puzzled Missy. Living way out here, how did he manage to get groceries?
She was about to voice her concern, but didn’t have time to, for Jeanette was already out of the car and headed toward the front steps of the cabin. Her aunt had a bad habit of trudging off unannounced. Maybe this was true in real life as well and Missy had just never noticed. Based on what she had observed thus far. her aunt seemed to be a very task-oriented individual, prone to take action before taking in her surroundings. Missy wasn’t sure if this was a good trait or not. Given the circumstances, exercising a little caution might be a good idea. She’d have to speak to Jeanette about it.
As Missy closed the car door, the entrance to the cabin opened a crack. Jeanette leaned forward and said something quietly before turning back to Missy, and beckoning her to hurry along. Then, much to Missy’s chagrin, her aunt disappeared, alone, into the cabin of this total stranger. What was the woman thinking? With a rising sense of panic, Missy strode toward the concrete-poured steps. Pulling open the wooden screen door, she paused for a moment, in order to allow her eyes to adjust, before stepping inside
It was dark inside. The unmistakable odor of stale nicotine assailed her nostrils. And what else? Urine Dirty clothes. Something damp.
“Don’t stand there gawking, for God’s sake. Come on in and close the door. Missy,” her aunt reprimanded.
Closing the door behind her, Missy turned back to face her aunt who was already seated on a worn, misshapen beige and yellow couch. It, along with everything else that fell into view or stood out from the shadows, seemed washed in a sepia tone of yellowing nicotine. Was this really the same house? The outside had been so carefully maintained, while the inside appeared to be anything but. Tall stacks of newspaper towered like a pair of mildewing pillars on either side of the front door Missy was afraid to move for fear of toppling them. From where she stood, she could make out a coffee table which sat in front of the couch and took up the bulk of what must have been considered the living room. The table was littered with an odd assortment of medical supplies in various stages of use, bric-a-brac, tall, plastic drinking glasses, and styrofoam take-out containers. Jeannette sat facing someone seated in the opposite corner of the room. All Missy could make out of him were his slippered feet.
Taking a tentative step forward, Missy stopped short, taking note of the frayed strings beneath her feet. It appeared to have once been shag carpeting. She also noticed the brittle, mottled remains of the pad beneath it. It reminded Missy of the asbestos insulation Grandma Jean had once had removed from the house in North Minneapolis. There was also a stray Cheeto and a couple of pennies lying there The pennies were tails side up, not a good sign, thought Missy.
“You gonna stand there staring at your feet, or would you like to meet our host?” Her aunt’s voice boomed with a kind of strained mirth. As Missy moved towards the framed archway that led to the living room, the figure of Abe Longren came into view. He looked old. Very old. He was sitting, hunched forward, his body folding in on itself. His skin was incredibly pale, almost translucent. What remained of his hair was now mere wisps of yellowing white. His eyes peered up at her. They were bright and liquid, glowing hotly at her from the depths of the rolls of pasty flesh which made up his face. A guttural rasp preceded his speech. Missy wondered if it was the sound people meant when they spoke of a death rattle.
“Hi. How are you, young lady? Name’s Abe. Have a seat.”
Each short phrase was accompanied by a struggle for breath. Missy suddenly understood why the interior of the cabin looked the way it did; this man was very, very ill - probably incapacitated and unable to meet his own basic needs. Then who did? Maybe he had a nurse - a nurse who should be fired, thought Missy.
Jeanette patted a spot beside her, and Missy dutifully sank into place. It sure was hot in the cabin. She guessed opening a window was probably out of the question. The whole place reminded her of a childhood friend’s house. The girl’s mother had asthma, or some condition, which was probably brought on by all the dust and strange smells which saturated the house. Anyway, the mother was not a very good housekeeper, or her condition kept her from it, for the house was in a permanent state of decay. They were perfectly pleasant people, or so Grandma Jean would say. It was their house that left a lot to be desired. Missy remembered feeling queasy at the sight of their darkened dining room, the table’s center filled with condiments, jars of pickles, relishes, jams and jellies; all items which Grandma Jean had always seen fit to keep in the refrigerator. Missy recalled being invited to stay for dinner many times, but always declined. The idea of actually eating anything off that table had made her sick to her stomach. The fact that the family cat was allowed to sit in the middle of all those sticky containers didn’t help matters either.
When she mentioned this on-going dilemma to Grandma Jean, her grandmother had simply shrugged and told her that different people had different standards of cleanliness. And, while those standards may not meet our own personal ones, as a guest in their house one needed to be respectful, even when repulsed. That’s just what Missy intended to do now. God, she hoped she didn’t start to sweat. Of course, the moment the thought appeared in her head, it was already too late. She felt her forehead and cheeks break out with perspiration as a trickle made its way down the side of her body. With an inane smile plastered on her face, she decided it was best to let Jeanette drive the bus, for now. That way she could concentrate on not sweating.
“Abe was just telling me that he doesn’t get many visitors.” Missy was not surprised
“And when I do it’s usually people from the county checking up on me, or somebody from the Sheriff’s department making sure I’m not dead yet.” His smile revealed a mouth full of tiny, yellowed teeth replete with dark brown stains. Missy couldn’t help but stare, his mouth seemed so tiny in comparison to the rest of his face, but maybe that was because the man was so obese. She’d always assumed that people smoked in order to maintain their weight.
Clearly that was not the case with Abe.
“So. what exactly brings you two lovely ladies to my doorstep?”
Jeanette didn’t hedge at all “We understand that you were the caretaker at the Monastery.”
“Yes, for a number of years.”
“We’re looking into ...”
The old man raised a hand to stop her.
“.. .that nasty business up at the Monastery, am I right?”
Jeanette’s mouth closed. After a beat, she opened her mouth to speak again, as if to apologize, but the old man once again raised a hand to stop her. “It’s okay. It’s not like you’re the first. But, I suppose at this late date,” and with this, his eyes seemed to drift, as if to recall some distant time, “you should be the last.” He paused to catch his breath. Something about this last statement struck Missy as odd. She looked over to her aunt, who sat stiffly, with a prim, tight smile pressed on her face. Missy was about to ask if she was all right, when their host continued.
“You know. I’m getting tired of living out here all by myself. Maybe it’s time I had a change of scenery. It might be nice being taken care of for a change. Even if it’s at the state’s cost. What would you like to know?”
‘We understand that the brothers at the Monastery used to bake bread.”
“Yep. Some of the best. At one point I was drafted to deliver it to the stores in the area. It was pretty popular.”
“Then why did they stop?”
The old man’s face went flat, like a door closing. When he spoke again, it was with an air of reserve. “They sold the rights and recipes to Old Ray, old man Tollefson. I believe they continue to use some of those recipes to this day. Of course Ray and those greedy little kids of his mucked it all up by adding all sorts of chemicals and preservatives to increase the bread’s shelf-life, but, that’s progress for ya.”
Jeanette pressed, “But the timing..
“He sort of had ‘em where he wanted ‘em, huh? Tollefson, I mean. Not too many people would want to eat their peanut butter and jelly on bread made by a bunch of perverts.” Abe seemed to relish this last word, and with it checked in with the women’s faces to gage their reactions. Seeing little, he continued, “That nasty business? With the boys? That was the end of their business.”
“Boys?” Missy blurted. The question flew out of her mouth before she’d given it any thought. “You mean there was more than one?” The old man looked at her with tired eyes for a moment. Then a creepy, tiny smile stretched his lips thin, as if to say, ‘I know something you don’t know’.
Jeanette jumped on it. “Which sort of brings us to why we are here today, Abe. You see, we recently came into possession of a list which may, or may not, tie what happened up at the Monastery to the disappearance of another young boy, about that same time."
Abe’s eyes narrowed “A list?” The way he held onto the ‘ssst’ at the end made Missy’s skin crawl. What was he? A snake?
Jeanette, undeterred, continued, “Yes, I was wondering if I might read it to you and then you tell me if any of these items make any sense to you.”
Jeanette launched into the list The first item, about the statues didn’t trigger any reaction from the old man But the second item - the chipped blue triangle ashtray - caused the old man to stiffen in his chair. If Jeanette noticed, she didn’t let on. After a slight shake of his head, Jeanette proceeded to the next item, but Missy kept her eyes on the old man’s. She followed his eyes as they came to rest on something among the clutter on the large coffee table that dominated the room. Missy’s eves scanned the table until her eyes caught sight of a hint of bright blue glass, an ashtray, overflowing with smoked butts. Missy looked back to the old man, and their eyes locked. Jeanette, oblivious to this, repeated the third item on the list, and waited for a response. Her words fell on deaf ears. The old man was no longer listening to her. He knew that Missy was onto him.
“Well,” he drawled, holding out the word for effect, “that’s that I guess it’s time. Everybody’s time comes sooner or later. To pay for the deeds of our past. The choices we make. The things we have done.” He spoke these words, more to himself than to the women. “It’s like me, with my smoking. That was meant to catch up with me, I suppose. And all that exposure to asbestos? Not that we knew anything about that stuff back the day, but then...” and, with this, he fixed his eyes on Missy, “when do we ever really know what the hell were doing huh? How it will affect others? How it will affect us?” As a means of explaining, he offered, “We used to get away with a lot of things in the old days.”
With that, a switch flipped. Abe’s body suddenly relaxed. He sank back into the chair Then he clapped his hands together, startling the women, before resting his chin on his raised clasped hands. It struck Missy as a rather child-like gesture, almost girlish. “Besides,” his voice betraying a strange pleasure, “as I mentioned before, I am ready for a change of scene. I get tired being cooped up here all by myself. Hidden away. Cloistered... like a monk.” He laughed at his own joke, one lost on the women “Ironic, huh?” He continued to stare into Missy’s eyes as he spoke this last bit and she wasn’t sure what to make of it, but managed to produce a half-hearted laugh, more out of a sense of obligation than comprehension.
With a great deal of effort, Abe struggled to get to his feet. Missy felt compelled to assist him, but he made no bones about not wanting any help. Once he was on his feet, he dragged out a small, portable tank of oxygen that was on a cart from beside his chair.
“Would you ladies care for anything to drink? A soda? Some water perhaps?”
Both Jeanette and Missy declined. Based on the overall condition of the house, Missy didn’t feel that anything stored within these walls was necessarily hygienically safe to consume.
“Very well I’ll be right back. I just need to get myself something in the kitchen.”
Jeanette volunteered to fetch it for him, but again, he refused help. The women watched as the old man entered what appeared to be a maze of trash and stacked items before slowly disappearing behind a tall hutch loaded down with dust-coated kitsch. The cherubic face of a Hummel figurine caught Missy’s eye; it’s blank, dead face, encrusted with a combination of fuzz, cobwebs, and nicotine, frozen mid-kiss. Once Abe was out of sight. Missy felt her body relax.
“Okay, this is creepy as hell. We need to get out of here,” she hissed,
“Oh, sit tight, we might actually be on to something this time.” Jeanette really seemed to be in her element; totally at ease despite their odd surroundings. “I have a feeling Abe has just been dying to talk to someone. So, if nothing else, we’ll make an old recluse happy for a few hours.”
“A few hours!” Missy was mortified at the thought of having to breathe the fetid air in Abe’s house for that long, but her aunt would have none of it.
“Shhh. Okay,” she compromised, “an hour. We’ll listen to his stories and then we’ll leave. Be nice to the elderly,” she chastised, “For one day, God willing, you’ll be joining their ranks.”
The sound of angry, muffled voices drew their attention to the area where Abe had just vanished. This was followed by the sound of something breaking and a heavy thud.Both women were on their feet in a flash. Jeanette was just about to go investigate when a loud explosion of some kind rang out. A strange, guttural scream rang forth, followed by two more explosions. Missy froze in place. In the silence that followed, they heard footsteps accompanied by the squeak and slam of a screen door. For a single beat, with eyes wide, both women stared at the other. Simultaneously, they sprang into action Instinctively, Missy began moving toward the front door. Frantic, she wanted to get out of there immediately.
She was about to open the front door, when she turned and realized that her aunt had headed in the exact opposite direction! Missy barely caught sight of her aunt before Jeanette’s body was swallowed up by the mountain of debris she would have to navigate in order to get to the kitchen.
Missy yelled Jeanette’s name and was moving swiftly in the direction of the kitchen in order to grab her aunt’s arm and drag her out of there, only to come face-to-face with her.
Jeanette appeared white as a ghost. “Trust me, you don’t want to see what’s in there. Let’s get out of here. We need to call the police.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Abe Longren’s dead!”
--- ---
Next week: Chapter 18
.jpg)
