Weaving The Web: A Cold Hollow Mystery (Cold Hollow Mysteries Book 2) (6 page)

He chuckled. “It was about a month ago when I took him on a tour of the hospital and my office. We passed the obstetric department, and he was sad when he saw all the bassinets were empty. He said we should fill them up with babies.”

Myrna leaned in for a kiss as she ran her right hand through his dirty-blond hair. She felt Tom’s hands beneath the covers, raising her nightgown and running his fingers over her hips and abdomen. As his hands made their way up to her breasts, he pulled out of the kiss and said, “You said you would marry me, so I think we should try to start filling those bassinets now.”

Myrna couldn’t disagree when she gazed into his blue eyes. She’d had such a wonderful day with her family and a wonderful night. She would have done anything to make Tom happy. After they made love, she had the soundest sleep she could remember having.

CHAPTER 8

He had visited the Carlisle farm much earlier in the day for a polite discussion and found the Carlisle sisters to be so disagreeable he went back in the dead of night, dosed the oldest one, and dragged her out of her first-floor bedroom window. The dunce had left it open to allow the fresh air inside. It was only a matter of removing the wobbly, dilapidated screen. She weighed a ton, but he was fit and carried her to the back of his vehicle. When he arrived at his home, he dragged her bulk down to the basement and began his work. He had decided she had caused enough trouble for the town. With the awakening of spring, he too had awakened. Not in the ordinary sense, but he felt a feeling of rebirth was necessary for him to continue living in Cold Hollow.

He had her restrained upright upon a massive web of silk supported by heavy chains bolted into the first-floor support beams. He had already woven the first layer of silk with suffocating tightness around her body. Yes, he had to remove her nightgown before doing this, but it gave him no pleasure. He tried to stick his little finger beneath the layered silk straps to find it would not yield. She had yet to waken from her drug-induced slumber, and he was grateful. He had diligently wrapped her at the feet and made his way up to her neck. He pushed her hair back and wrapped her head, leaving only her face exposed. Her chin rested on her chest, and she softly snored as drool dripped from her lower lip. He had tested the integrity and strength of the entire web beforehand to make sure it would withstand her weight and found it held true.

She was in for a rude awakening, rude indeed. She would start to feel pins and needles, followed by numbness from the toes up. Her breaths would have to be taken in short, calm sips as the silk wraps restricted her normal lung function. She was about to pay the price and suffer for her brutish behavior with whomever she encountered in town.

He turned on his video recorder and left the basement. However, the excitement he felt thrumming through his body again had him looking forward to applying the second layer of silk around her the following day. He calmed himself and knew he had to sleep while also knowing the entire venture had been worth it. His fervent wish was for this victim to last much longer than the previous ones had, so long ago.

As these reflections lulled him to sleep, he dreamt of past accomplishments, as well as losses. When he woke, the home was quiet, and he knew someone was craving his attention, could even feel it. He made his way to the basement, eager to watch the overnight footage. He picked up his video recorder, rewound it, and watched a dozing Bernadette Carlisle slowly wake up, look at her surroundings, and panic. She tried to tug on her bindings and the web, breathe, and shout simultaneously. Finding it futile, she tried to take small sips of air into her lungs, but it was difficult. The lack of oxygen made her go in and out of consciousness. Each time she woke, it was in a state of sheer terror. She swore as much as possible before she was lost to unconsciousness. He snickered and approached her upright, slumbering body. He lifted her eyelids to see some broken blood vessels in the whites of her eyes. He reached out for more strips of silk and began wrapping her again from the bottom up. This time, the second wrap would be more restrictive. He was confident if she woke and tried to scream, “Armageddon,” to the rooftops, no one would reply. The small room was soundproof.

CHAPTER 9

The following morning, someone was pounding on Myrna’s front door. She raced from the kitchen to answer it and found none other than Belinda Carlisle standing there, shaking her fists at Myrna. The beefy farmer’s hair was grey and permed. She wore her usual work garb of rugged farmer jeans and a T-shirt. She screamed, “My sister’s missing! What have you done to her?”

Myrna planted her feet and waited for the brute to swing at her, but when she didn’t, Myrna asked, “When did you notice her missing?”

Belinda growled, “First light. I always have to wake her up, cuz she’s always dug into the mattress like a tick. I went in her room and the bed was empty! I searched the barns and the entire farm. She’s gone!”

“Did you call Chief Hanover?”

“No! I ain’t stupid! You’re the mayor and know what’s going on behind everyone’s back round here!”

“I can assure you, Belinda, I don’t know anything about any of this. I will contact the chief and tell him you’re on your way to the station to file a missing person’s report. Oh, and don’t touch a thing in your sister’s bedroom.”

“I ain’t stupid, you bitch.” She turned on her boot heel and went to her truck parked beside Myrna’s vehicle. Myrna watched as the oaf kicked one of Myrna’s tires on her way by.

Myrna heard Tom’s approach from the kitchen and his arms embrace her from behind and Liam’s hand slipping into hers as she stood in the doorway, watching Belinda pull away. Tom whispered, “I see the big old bundle of bitch visited us this morning?”

Liam rubbed sleep from his eyes with his free hand and said, “She swore. She’s a bad lady with a bad tongue.”

Myrna said out of the side of her mouth, “She sure is.” She hugged them both and kissed them good morning before calling Chief Hanover to notify him Bernadette Carlisle was missing.

***

Myrna had washed and dressed after breakfast. She tied her hair back in a ponytail at the kitchen sink and saw Tom and Liam in the back gardens, rearranging the gnome family. She smiled and shouted through the screen, “I have to go into town for about one hour. Will my men be happy and busy while I’m gone?”

Liam gave her the thumbs-up as Tom shouted back, “We’re going to plant the vegetables today, seeing as we got all the flowers in yesterday.”

“Okay, love you!” She turned, picked up her pocketbook, stuck the police radio inside of it, and grabbed her car keys on her way out the door. She had already called Chief Hanover, and if she knew him like she assumed she did, he was at the Carlisle farm bagging whatever evidence he could find and getting whatever information he could out of Belinda. Myrna was going to the town hall to take a closer look at all the newcomers’ files to make sure she and the chief had not missed a thing when reviewing them. The regular townsfolk who had recently bought homes and rented stores had already had formal background checks done on them and nothing out of the ordinary had shown up. This only left three thick files to review, and she hoped she found some useful information.

She parked in front of the town hall. Keeping her keys in her hand as she ascended the steps, she unlocked the front door. Myrna was stunned by the silence of the building. During the week, it was always bustling, but on weekends, it was vacant and she wasn’t used to the quiet.

She sighed and made her way up to her office. She was grateful Tom was supportive of her jobs and understood when she was called away from home for a weekend emergency, just as she understood when he was called away from home for the same reason.

She made her way to her office and sat behind her desk. She bent low, unlocked the safe in the room, and pulled out three files. She couldn’t take the lack of noise, got up, and turned on the radio. It was an oldies station, and she returned to her task.

She stared at Sylvia Rossini’s file first and shook her head. She was now living with a police officer—she thought his name was Ted—and surely, he would know if she had been out of the house last evening.

She picked up Warren Measly’s file and began flipping pages and reading each word. She noticed something about his parole meetings. It was as though he knew the perfect answer to each question the officer asked him ahead of time. She would bet he recited them in his sleep. In page after page of his meetings, she saw correct answers to the questions. The man was smart, and he was outwitting the parole officer by providing him with all of the perfect answers. She put a sticky note on the pages to remind her to discuss this with the parole officer at his next scheduled meeting. She wanted him to come up with new questions different from the ones he had previously asked Warren. Afterward, she continued rifling through the remainder of his files to see the list of courses he’d taken while incarcerated and how he’d spent his free time, but nothing was out of the ordinary. He went to the gym, read more books, and he took a short culinary class. She stared at it and flipped open Robert Collins’s file to see they had been in the class at the same time, but Warren had opted out of it early on because he apparently decided Robert was superior in the kitchen. She didn’t think Warren liked it at all.

She spoke aloud to no one. “Hmm, our Warren is a little competitive.”

When she finished reviewing the reasons for his incarceration, she shrugged and pushed his file aside.

The final file was Robert Collins’s and his was, by far, the thickest. She read each page carefully. He did some hard time for assault and rape before being sent into the rehabilitation facility. She noticed the victim’s name and gasped. She leaned in close to the paper to make sure she had not misread it. She shook her head and whispered, “No, it can’t be the same woman. What are the odds?” She flagged the page with a sticky note.

He also had been linked to a possible homicide, but the evidence didn’t hold up in court. The rehabilitation facility was where he flourished. There were nothing but glowing reports about his advancements as a chef. She flipped back a few pages and noticed something she hadn’t before. She read it twice and put another sticky note on it for the chief. Robert Collins was not his given name. His birth name was Bartholomew Sanders. As she examined the form and reviewed his past deeds, she found he came from a wealthy and demanding family. She assumed they forced him to have his name changed while imprisoned in order to spare them the humiliation of tarnishing their bright, sparkly, wealthy world.

She sat back and said, “Well, I’ll be damned.”

“You say something?” She jumped in her seat as Chief Hanover entered the office. “I swear, woman, you have some kind of weird psychic ability. I was going to call you and tell you to meet me here when I saw your vehicle parked out front.” She watched as he took his usual seat and placed his hat atop her desk next to the files. “I’ve got Hugo searching the trails for Bernadette Carlisle. I also searched her home from top to bottom for clues. I told the men to start a house-to-house search from Artie’s orchard, all the way through town. With only two men on the day shift, this is going to take forever.” He grimaced.

She pointed at the files on her desk and said, “Look at what I found.” She watched as the chief paid particular attention to what was written on her sticky notes in both files; his face flushed with anger. He slammed the files down and asked, “Please tell me you have these saps’ home phone numbers.”

“Yes, I have them right here.” She held up a little black book.

“Call Robert Collins first and tell him to make his best meal for six.”

“What?”

“You heard me! Do it! The wife, you and your family, and I are going to see how good this guy is, because if I have to eat at the tavern with my wife tonight and have meatloaf and mashed potatoes again, I am going to puke! This is only the first stage of my plan.”

Myrna’s eyes widened. “You have stages to your plans now?”

“Yep, now make the first call.” He motioned with his fingers toward the phone.

Her hand hesitated over the phone, but she picked up the receiver and dialed Robert Collins’s number. It took him five rings before he picked up. Myrna began the conversation. “Robert, this is Mayor Bradbury. I have a request to make of you.”

His deep voice asked, “What is it?”

“The chief would like you to make your best meal for six. He has a plan, but won’t tell me what it is.”

“Is this some kind of setup?”

Myrna let loose a nervous laugh and replied, “No, of course not. He wants to try your cooking skills because the food at the tavern makes him want to puke. Those are his words.”

“Fine, then I’ll expect you at six thirty. You bring dessert and two bottles of white wine. I’ll show him what real cooking is all about.” He hung up.

Myrna placed the receiver back and looked at the chief. “We have dinner reservations for six thirty at his cabin. I better call Tom and Liam to warn them.” She picked the phone back up and notified Tom they had dinner plans and to wash and dress for six thirty.

She hung up the phone again and asked, “What is stage two?”

He crinkled his nose and asked, “Is there anyone in town who can take his job at the nursery?”

Myrna sat back in concentration. She spoke to the ceiling and said, “There is a new family who moved to town a while ago. They run the sporting goods store. They have two sons, about sixteen or seventeen, who could probably work for Carla.”

He snapped his fingers and pointed at the phone. “Call their father.” He watched Myrna turn the pages of her black book, pick up the phone, and speak with the father. The man was elated because school had let out and his boys had no interest in the sporting goods store at all. He told Myrna they would report to the nursery on Monday at eight o’clock sharp.

Myrna glared at the chief. “Is there another stage?”

“Yep, call up Carla and tell her to expect new employees on Monday. Tell her Robert is starting a new career. We’re going to rent him the empty building next to yours. I hope the guy has money, because he’s going to need a lot of new equipment to get it up and running.”

“But we haven’t even tasted his cooking yet!”

“Myrna, it has to be better than the slop they serve at the tavern and the pizza joint! Now do it.”

“What has this got to do with Bernadette Carlisle disappearing?”

The chief leaned forward over her desk. “Everything.”

She reluctantly made the call to Carla, who didn’t seem to mind at all. She was actually grateful for two workers instead of just Robert. She did express she hoped Robert would be successful in his new venture.

Myrna sat rubbing her eyes and asked Chief Hanover, “Are you going to tell me what to do next?”

“Yep, get on the phone with the parole officer and tell him to bump up Warren’s next meeting. I want to jar the little weasel and throw him off course. Next, tell him I’m going to write out a list of questions I want him to ask Warren instead of the lame ones he’s been asking. I think you were right. I think Warren is far too intelligent and knows the system.”

“I may not reach the parole officer on a Saturday.”

“If you don’t, then call him again on Monday.”

She tried and sure enough, there was no one home. She marked her desk calendar for Monday to remind herself. As she did so, she said, “Now tell me what your plan is.”

His forefinger pointed up toward the ceiling. “First off, we get Robert Collins away from Carla Macy and her girls. Haven’t you noticed one kid looks nothing like the other? I know Carla has a different last name than the victim in Robert’s file, but the kid looks like him! Have you asked her about her husband?”

“Well, her last name is Macy and the girls both talk about him like he was the best dad in the universe, but I don’t know his first name.”

She watched him flip back to Robert’s file and look for the arresting officers’ names. His eyebrows rose, and he smiled. He also noticed the town in which the offense took place and snatched up Myrna’s pen and a sticky note. He wrote down the officer’s name and shook it at her. “I’ll do a background check on him. Her husband’s name was Harold Macy, a police officer. We need to know what happened to him.”

Myrna frowned. “He’s dead.”

“How?”

“Cancer.”

The chief crumpled the note and tossed it into the trashcan as if a basketball game was going on. He then sat back, made a teepee out of his interlaced fingers, and tapped both forefingers together. Myrna sat patiently and ran a few things through her mind at the same time. She couldn’t believe neither Carla nor Robert had recognized each other, but eighteen years was a long time. He didn’t look like he did when he was arrested. His once full youthful face had turned to one filled with hard chiseled lines. His hair now had a few streaks of grey in it and he
had
changed his name, so it was plausible.

The chief had been silent for too long, so Myrna changed the subject. “I have to make a strawberry-rhubarb pie. Do you think vanilla ice cream would go good with it?”

The chief continued tapping his fingers and said, “If I get a slice, then yep.” She audibly sighed, puffed her cheeks, and let the air out again. He finally stood up and said, “Keep your eyes and ears open tonight at supper. See you at six thirty.”

***