Weaving The Web: A Cold Hollow Mystery (Cold Hollow Mysteries Book 2) (3 page)

In the evening, Warren returned home exhausted. He dragged boxes and multiple bags inside the home. He whistled for the puppy, which he had yet to name, to come inside. He didn’t know what breed it was, and neither did the person who ran the town shelter, but it was a male with pure-white, short fur and a circular black patch around his right eye. He estimated it was about twelve weeks old. By the size of its paws, it was going to be big, but the puppy took to him at the shelter and he had caved in. It wagged its tail and followed him obediently. He unpacked a new collar and leash for the dog, and put the collar on it, along with the tags the shelter had given him. One of the tags was proof of rabies vaccination and the other was a tag saying he was licensed with the town. He unpacked a soft bed he had gotten the dog and placed it in the living room. He watched as the puppy sniffed it, clawed it, curled up, and took a nap. Warren smiled and left the rest of his goods in the hallway. He needed to make supper.

Warren Measly spent the evening rearranging furniture, rubbing lemon Pledge on the antiques he had found in the attic, and putting away all of his purchases to the sound of Beethoven blaring from his new stereo system. His loyal companion followed him from room to room with his tail wagging and a chew toy in his mouth.

Warren decided he would savor the following day cooking and going through the multitude of paint swatches the owner of the hardware store had given him. Warren was a firm believer in getting one’s house in order during the cold months so the warmer months could be spent outdoors, cultivating, and enjoying the sun and nature. He could hardly wait until the hiking trails and town beach were open.

***

Robert Collins inspected his small log cabin; the man who had previously lived there had to have been a bachelor. It lacked draperies, decorations, and wall art. It had been recently cleaned, so it was one less thing he had to do. He made his way to the kitchen to find it fully stocked because he had already done the marketing. The cabinets had old dishes, pots, and pans, but he didn’t care for them. He knew he would eventually replace them all with top-notch brands.

Before coming to his cabin the previous day, he had managed to get himself a nice, secondhand pickup truck. Once the mayor had told him about his new job, he figured a truck would be useful. He inspected the living room to find a sofa, a recliner, and a television set with a DVR player and a multitude of movies on disc, but no music discs. He rubbed his eyes. He hated silence in a home more than anyone did.

As he moved about his house, he took in the views. His cabin was not far from the town lake, but set further back into the woods, and the views out each of his windows were fabulous. He saw small wildlife meandering through the trees. He saw such a variation of birds he became enthralled. He sneaked out the back door and decided to get some bird feeders and a birdbath for the upcoming warm weather. As he walked the perimeter of his home, he came upon a large, cleared, sunny patch of lawn where some raised planting beds were beginning to reveal themselves. With the snowmelt, the ground was soft and a little muddy, but it would soon straighten itself out once spring came. Robert knew it was already on its way by the sound of the birds, the scents in the air, and the signs of the small wildlife scampering here and there, hoping to snatch up a forgotten acorn or seed. He tightened his jacket around him and nodded. He had some shopping to do, but before leaving, he was going to see if the home had a basement.

He reentered his home and found the basement door, descended the stairs, and pulled on a string hanging from the ceiling at the bottom of the staircase. He glanced around and noticed the walls of the basement had been finished with moisture resistant drywall, but the floor remained cement. There was a washer and dryer and some shovels, a push mower, and a few miscellaneous items. As he walked around, he noticed one of the walls needed repair and came upon a narrow door beneath the staircase. He slid the lock back and glanced inside. There were shelves filled with cobwebs, and as he pushed them aside, he noticed varying bottles upon the shelves. As he plucked one off the shelf and rolled it around in his hand, he read the label—
chloroform
—and his lips twitched. The man who lived here previously must have been a real piece of work. He replaced it and made a mental list of all the supplies he would need at the hardware store.

***

Sylvia Rossini pushed her carriage down the aisles of the market in a daze. She was busy reminiscing about her date last night with the cute police officer. She snapped out of it when she nearly crashed into a person who had stopped to check the price on a can of beans. She glanced at her list and began filling the carriage. Sylvia believed in a well-stocked kitchen and piled items high. As a last resort, she used the bottom rack. When her list was complete, she checked out. She began thinking of a meal she would make for the cute officer who was coming over for supper. He also wanted to watch a movie after their meal. She had already cleaned her small home, not that it had needed much. Whoever had cleaned it before she arrived had been meticulous. As she paid for her goods, panic overcame her; she didn’t know how she was going to get all of the groceries to her home. She lived close to Main Street, where the market was, but there were just too many bags. She began sweating, and her inhalations were short and squeaky, her expirations were loud and labored.

The cashier noticed her expression of distress and patted her hand. “Take a deep breath. If you live close to Main Street, the manager allows you to take the shopping cart home, so long as you bring it back afterward.”

Sylvia exhaled slowly and smiled at the woman. “Thank you so much. I was ready to hyperventilate. I’ll bring it back, don’t you worry.”

She waved good-bye to the cashier as she left, pushing the cart before her. She had only been in this town for a short while, but so far, Sylvia loved it. The people were kind and the fact a police officer had asked her out on a date and didn’t try to take advantage of her during the date spoke volumes to her.

***

After Robert Collins had run all his errands, he drove around the small town and noticed a tavern. It said on the sign they also served hot meals. Robert snorted. Sure, they served hot meals, but he doubted they would compare to his. In the rehabilitation facility where he’d spent eight years, he had honed his skills as a chef, and his food was delectable. The guards who kept watch over him in the kitchen used to salivate each time he was in front of the stoves working his magic. He missed the set of chef knives he had at the training facility; they were top of the line, but he had managed to find a decent set in town.

It had shocked him when the mayor told him his new job was in landscaping. He assumed it was because of his physique, but he was a trained chef, and now he would be limited to making his own meals instead of seeing smiles on the faces of people who ate his fine cuisine. As far as he was concerned, his talents would be wasted, but he was determined to maintain his cooking skills.

When he arrived home, he emptied the contents of the back of his pickup truck. He unloaded the five bird feeders he had purchased, filled them up with seed, and hung them up in varying spots around his home. When he returned to the truck, he unloaded the special drywall he had purchased and carried it to the basement.

Before locking up his vehicle for the night, he reached in and grabbed a bag filled with CDs. He went inside, plopped a CD in the player and jacked up the sound. Before long, The Rat Pack was singing and Robert was cooking his supper with all the skill of an Iron Chef.

***

Carla Macy and her daughters spent their day doing much the same as the other new residents in town. They did their marketing, met people, unpacked, rearranged furniture, and got their new home in order. Carla was amazed the girls weren’t complaining or arguing but actually agreeing on a great many things. Carla had decided to tackle the nursery and outbuildings the following two days; after all, they had to get their home in order.

Becky approached her, carrying a gun case. “You take care of this, Mom. I don’t like it.”

Carla took the case from her daughter and said, “Your father taught you how to handle it. It’s nothing to be frightened of. Guns don’t kill people. It’s people who kill people, honey. Please remember.”

Becky returned to unpacking her boxes for her bedroom and mumbled, “I know, Mom. I just hope none of us ever has to use it. It was Dad’s. I’d like it if his prints were the last ones on it, as a remembrance of his loyalty to the police force.”

Carla smiled and went to her bedroom and put it on the top shelf of her closet. The girls knew where to find it if the need ever arose, which she hoped it didn’t. Her husband had trained both girls at the firing range in their old town. He taught them gun safety, proper stance, and how to aim and shoot. Surprisingly, it was Sarah who was an excellent marksman. Carla would have presumed the opposite because of Becky’s occasionally aggressive nature.

When Becky had come home with the news they would have a visitor named “Warren Measly” on Monday at four p.m., they rushed to get the home and property in order.

CHAPTER 4

The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, and people were dying. Life was superb, particularly for a serial killer. This had been his first notion as he opened the front door of the house with a smile on his face. “Honey, I’m home!” Clicking on some music, he made his way to the basement of his modest home. In a darkened corner hung his latest victim, strung upright in an elaborate web of fine silk. He was furious to find her eyes had already imploded and he had missed it. Frank Sinatra was crooning “The Way You Look Tonight” in the background as he stood studying his latest failure with his hands on his hips.

He reminisced about the hackled orb weaver. The spider
uloboridae
was the grandest of killers he ever had the opportunity of witnessing. Lacking venom, it wrapped its prey in strands of silk, slowly suffocating it from the bottom up, saving the head for last. He had set up a time-lapse video recorder to track its tireless movements during the night, and found it became more active during evening hours. It would rest one hour and begin again. Consuming the previously used web and prey, it would begin to weave anew. The web itself was a piece of art, sophisticated, with a meticulous spiral arrangement, and his was no less.

With a heavy sigh, he wrapped the victim’s face and shrugged. He couldn’t beat himself up too badly over this failure—after all, she had lasted the longest. Well over a week. He remembered the thrill pulsing in him and the rush of adrenaline trilling through his veins each time he returned home to find someone there waiting for him, wanting, needing his ironclad attention.

It was not as though there was a lack of willing victims in the world. It was riddled with riffraff whom, in his mind, people could live without. Just like the hackled orb weaver, he would try again until he perfected his craft. He would be a tireless, professional killer.

Untying the victim’s cocooned corpse and dragging it through the house was inconsequential to him. It was part of his newfound joy; besides, she had deserved it.

***

He rubbed his face with his hands and raked his fingers through his hair. These flashbacks to the past had been occurring more frequently now, which only meant one thing. His hunger was intensifying. He was capable of going years without these compulsions or desires, but when they arrived, his needs had to be met, or the images would continue streaming into his mind at a maddening level. He had become accustomed to hiding his problem from the public eye since youth and continued to do so now.  He currently sat alone in his darkened basement with his eyes shut while massaging his temples. He decided he had been dormant long enough. It was time to get back to work. He stood and dusted off his pants.

His fingers worked with swiftness as he wove the silk web. It was anchored to the support beams above his head, and the sides anchored into the walls two by fours. He continued to weave in an orbital fashion. Each strand was refined, beautiful, and woven with anticipation of things to come. It was big, the biggest he had ever made by far, but it had to be for what he had in mind. It also had to be the strongest. It didn’t take him long before he was on the bottom layer and had anchored the base of the web to the large eyebolts he had drilled into the cement of the floor.

When he finished, he stood back admiring his creation to find it perfect. Racing toward it, he leapt up and flung his body onto the web. Grasping it with both hands to test its weight capacity, he found it had held just as he knew it would. He smiled and released his hold on the web as his chest heaved in excitement. Beads of sweat gathered on his forehead and his fists clenched and unclenched. He was invigorated, but tempered himself as he left the basement.

CHAPTER 5

It was Sunday morning, and Myrna was in the back room of the bakery yawning as she prepped a multitude of items for the masses sure to arrive at the shop’s door on time. She poured two cups of coffee and waited for the familiar knock on the back door of the bakery at six a.m. She opened it to find Chief Hanover there and let him in. She plated a hot blueberry muffin and placed his coffee beside the dish on the prep table. She sat opposite him, nibbling on a muffin, and sipping her coffee.

He always moaned when he took his first bite of whatever she placed in front of him. He mumbled, “God bless my wife, but she can’t cook for shit.” Myrna chuckled and refilled his coffee cup.

When she sat back down, she noticed him staring at her. “What?”

“I’m glad to see the security camera out back. I’ll check the recordings daily. I have a sneaking suspicion you won’t be robbed again.  How’s your head?”

She lifted her hand to the back of her head and pouted. “It’s still tender, but Tom says it’s healing nicely.”

He placed his coffee cup down and continued, “What I really wanted to ask is, are you ready for when the commissioners come this summer and do their inspection of the accounting ledgers, budgets, and parole files?”

“Yes. I put the dates on my calendar, and Amanda and Artie have been working furiously on the new town budget to get it in line. We want them in and out of here as soon as possible.” She fidgeted with her napkin.

“Sounds good, but I want to review it with all of you a few days before they arrive.” He held up his forefinger and added, “Not that I am questioning you, but just to make sure they can’t find anything to squawk about. You know me, Myrna. If my eye catches something odd, then theirs will too.”

She raised her arms in surrender. “I have nothing to hide. You can scour all of the records, the budget, and anything else you want until your eyes bleed.”

He chuckled, “Not only can you bake, but you have a way with words. No wonder Dr. Tom is smitten.” He finished off his second cup of coffee and swallowed the remains of his muffin. He threw a twenty on the prep table and said, “Tell Donnie to bring a dozen of those muffins and six coffees over to the station house for the boys. I’m off to the range this morning.” He turned and left the same way he came in.

Myrna took the cash and stuffed it into her apron for Donnie. She knew the chief didn’t want his change. He always left it for the Borges boys to split. He’d even shown them how to open their own savings account at the bank and checked their savings book each week. Myrna thought their mother might balk about it, but she didn’t. She only said she was grateful the chief took a liking to her sons and he was a good influence on them.

After he left, she sat there, her fingers thrummed atop the prep table as she contemplated her next move. Should she tell the chief who she suspected of the robbery? No – The town was her baby and as any new mother would do, she would protect it against the malevolence churning within its innards again. Her decision was final…clear-cut. Who could blame her? The chief had once told her that she had a great poker face and it was time to put in on…again.

When the phone rang, Myrna picked it up and smiled when she heard Liam’s little voice on the other end. “Hi! Papa Tom is taking me on a tour of the hospital so I can see where he works! I can see his office and his operating room!”

Myrna replied, “Well, you have fun and listen to what he tells you, okay? Someday you might want to follow in his footsteps.”

She heard Liam’s giggle. “Mama Myrna, his footsteps are too big for me. My feet are still tiny.”

Myrna laughed aloud. “You’ll grow into them, honey. After you men are done at the hospital, what do you say you have lunch with me here at the bakery?”

“Okay, Mama, we’ll see you then, and Papa Tom says we’ll have bells on. I don’t know what it means, because I don’t have any bells.”

Myrna giggled and said, “I’ll see you both then. Have a good day.”

“Okay, bye.”

She heard him click off and placed the phone back in its cradle with a chuckle. The boy was precious to her and slowly stealing her entire heart. His twinkling hazel eyes and curly blond hair were hard to resist, not to mention his personality. She could hardly wait for the bakery hours to change in the spring and summer. Then she would have weekends off to spend with her family. The only reason she remained open on weekends in the fall and winter was to accommodate the tourists.

***

Warren Measly woke with a long stretch, a yawn, and a smile. His puppy had managed his way into his bed and was curled up beside him, snoring.

He ran his hand down the dog’s side and said, “Wake up, Hercules. It’s almost time for breakfast at the bakery.” The puppy yawned, and Warren heard the thumping of its tail against the mattress.

“We’ll go outside first, so you can do your duty.” The pup jumped from the bed; if Warren wasn’t mistaken, the dog had grown a bit in the past few days. After Warren put his bathrobe and slippers on, they went downstairs where the dog’s leash was. He took him out the back to the yard, where Hercules promptly emptied his bladder, sniffed around, and did his duty. Warren was swift to scoop it up so it wouldn’t destroy the spring lawn when it came in. He disposed of it in a special trashcan beside the barn.

When they returned inside, Warren filled Hercules’s water bowl, fed him, and turned on the coffeepot. He left the dog so he could wash and dress for the day and returned just in time to drink his first cup of coffee.

Before leaving his home, Warren scooped up his list of the last-minute items he had to get while he was out. When incarcerated, he had worked out with weights and wanted to keep up with it, but he had forgotten to buy some when he went out the day before. He hoped some of the stores he visited would be open. He also hoped they delivered. He didn’t want to use the car; walking was good for him, and the town was so small, he could walk anywhere within five miles and get a good workout in the meantime. The problem was carrying things home. He only lived two side streets up from Main Street, so getting to town was simple, but he had a feeling the nursery he was to visit the following day would be much farther away. He would ask his boss at the pharmacy on Monday morning.

***

Sylvia Rossini stood at her stove with her bathrobe on as her new boyfriend, Ted Cutler, drank his coffee. She flipped the omelets and buttered the toast. She believed in a good breakfast each morning. Yes, Ted had slept over, but only because they had stayed up far too late into the evening talking. He’d slept on the sofa when she took to her bed. Oddly enough, she was comfortable with him being around when she woke in the morning.

She served him his breakfast and turned to retrieve her own. They sat across from each other and resumed their talk of the previous evening. Ted asked, “So, you’ll come with us to the range? There will only be a few of us there, and we like to do it for a couple of hours on our days off in order to stay sharp.”

She nodded as she swallowed her coffee. “I’ll go, but I don’t know how your chief will feel about it.”

He shrugged. “I’ll ask him when we get there. He comes on Sundays too. So long as you’re under supervision, I don’t think he’ll mind.”

“So long as you clear it with him. I’m not taking any risks to blow this chance I’ve got.”

Ted stared at her. “I would never put you at risk. I told you I believed what you said about your youth. When you’re on the mean streets and have parents who are never home when you need them, you get into trouble with gangs. I don’t judge people on their past. I only judge them on their recovery and current situation. I read your file. You did great and have come a long way.”

“Thank you. I am looking forward to working on Monday. I hope I like the head seamstress.”

He smiled. “You will. She is a peach. She’s about fifty, soft-spoken, and a gem. I think you’ll become great friends.”

“Good. I need a few more supportive friends.”

“The mayor is good people too. She’s running this town like it’s nothing.”

“She’s smart.”

“She’s smart
and
slick. Chief Hanover thinks the world of her, and so do most of the townsfolk.”

“Most?”

He snarled, “There are still some troublemakers in this town, so just stay away from them and you’ll be fine. If you run into trouble, don’t hesitate to speak with Myrna or Chief Hanover in private. They are there to help.”

Sylvia smiled and said, “It makes me feel safe to know I have someone to run to when I need to.”

He displayed a shy smile. “You’ve got me too.”

“Oh, that’s right! I almost forgot!”

Ted laughed as he swatted her with his napkin. “Let’s get moving. The boys will be heading toward the range soon.”

She finished her meal, drank down her coffee, and ran up the stairs to wash and dress. She threw on a pair of jeans, sneakers, and a tight pullover sweater. She grabbed her keys and jacket on the way out the door with him right beside her.

***

Robert Collins spent the early part of Sunday morning working on his basement. He repaired all of the walls, relined the closet at the base of the staircase, cleaned it out, and began the task of painting all of the walls. He contemplated putting some kind of flooring down. Once the first coat of primer paint was done, he took to the kitchen, put on some music, and cooked for the rest of the day so he wouldn’t have to worry about meals for the week. He had to work Monday, and he didn’t know when he would get to enjoy himself like this again.

***

Sylvia and Ted showed up at the shooting range at the edge of town just as three officers were getting out of their vehicles. Sylvia tensed, and Ted took her hand and walked with her to the shooting range.

He called Chief Hanover over and introduced Sylvia. The chief shook her hand and said, “We’ve already met, but it’s good to see you again.”

Ted cleared his throat and asked, “We want your permission for Sylvia to join in with us and do some target practice. She won’t do it unless you approve.”

The chief measured her up and down and stared into her eyes. “No nonsense. I will be standing right behind you, and I’m the quickest with a gun, young lady. You behave yourself and do as I say, and I don’t think we’ll have a problem, do you?”

Sylvia blushed and shook her head. “No, I don’t have a problem with it at all. Thank you.”

Ted escorted her to the shooting range and fitted her with ear protection. The chief pushed him aside and handed her a rifle with a scope on it. He pulled one of her hearing protectors aside and said, “Take a deep breath and wait for my signal.” He motioned to Ted to go and set a target two hundred yards out. Ted’s expression crinkled, but when the chief barked, he ran.

When the chief saw the target set, he waited for Ted to get out of the way and gave her the signal. The other two officers were standing and watching how she did. She took her stance, raised the scope to her eye, licked her left forefinger, held it up to the wind, and slowly brought it down. When she fired the weapon, she hit the bull’s-eye.

The chief shouted to Ted, “Set up the moving targets at the three-hundred-yard mark!” He wanted to gauge just how good Sylvia was and so far, he was more than impressed. He wanted to smack her upside her head for being so stupid when she was young. He watched Ted place the moving targets, on a track. They were metal ducks, like the ones you would see at a carnival, and difficult to hit at three hundred yards. When Ted set them in motion, the chief waited until he moved out of the way, signaled Sylvia, and watched her repeat her prior actions. When she exhaled, she let three shots fly in succession and the chief heard the sounds
ping, ping, ping
in the distance.

He watched Ted raise his arms in victory and moaned aloud. Sylvia was much better than he thought. The girl could have been a sniper.