Her lips tightened together, and she squished them to one side of her mouth as she thought. “I don’t ache. I just feel as though I’m missing an arm or leg.”
“Are you saying you feel incomplete?”
She bowed her head and stared at the table as she blushed. “Yes. Now could we please stop this discussion?”
Maurice stared at Big Lou while wearing a smile. Big Lou waved his hand in a circular motion, urging him to continue onward. Timmy sat in shock at what Delilah was divulging.
After clearing his throat, Maurice stated, “I just wish to have as much enjoyment as I can and to find love again. I need to know my daughter is straight of mind and has a worthy partner.”
She continued looking at the table and murmured, “Please stop talking about this, Father. I have a better idea.” She pointed at Maurice. “I’m not done plotting against the arrogant ass with the cane! I’ve got plans for the cane, and I know exactly where it can go!”
Maurice sat back chuckling at her and shaking his head from side to side. He was content knowing he and his daughter had already formulated a plan to drive Samuel Whittier mad. She was just uncomfortable talking about love in front of Timmy. Big Lou redirected Delilah’s attention to the fresh bread and warm blood.
***
While Boss Sam was out and about, Ivan used his time wisely. He dug through his duffle bag, pulled out a legal-sized pad of paper and pen, and began drawing and writing words the best way he knew how. He needed to practice because he wanted to tell Red Lady things, but didn’t know how to yet. He did the best he could. He wouldn’t be proud of some of those things, but some parts of the story would make her see him for what he truly was. He grimaced and began drawing stick figures and sounding out names and spelling them beneath each figure.
CHAPTER 8
Myrna entered the town hall, peeked into Artie and Amanda’s office, and said, “Upstairs, now. We’ve got some work to do.” She watched them gather their notepads and pens and shook her head. “Talk only. Nothing gets written down.” They warily left the room while exchanging worried glances. They went up the stairs after Myrna said good morning to Mrs. Dumont as she fussed over the children in the day care.
“Artie, shut and lock the door behind you.” She heard Artie do as she asked while she shucked off her down parka and boots. She slipped into a pair of comfortable slippers and a heavy button-down sweater she had become accustomed to keeping in her office and took her place behind the desk. Artie and Amanda sat opposite her, awaiting the news with bated breath. Myrna slipped each of them a letter of instructions and said, “Read it and burn it in my metal trash can afterward.”
Artie squirmed in his seat. “Myrna, I’m getting a bad feeling. I feel like I’ve been transported back in time to when Nazar was in power and you were plotting.” He eyed her and asked, “Are we plotting again?” He extended his hands out before him. “I mean, I’m not complaining because each time you do this, the town ends up better off.”
Myrna sat back, rolled her eyes, and said, “Just read the letter, Artie.” She watched as the two of them read their letters. When they were done, they both crumpled the letters, lit them aflame with a lighter Myrna had placed atop her desk, and sat back staring at her as the smoke wove its way up out of the trash can.
The phone rang, and Myrna held up a finger as she answered it. It was Big Lou. “You got good instincts, Myrna. I just got a call from my boys in New York. The grave is empty.” He hung up as Myrna sat there with the receiver still held to her ear.
Artie glanced at Amanda to see her shrug. He leaned forward and snapped his fingers before Myrna’s face. “Myrna? Are you okay? Should I call Tom?”
Myrna blinked, hung up the phone, and swallowed. “We may have to step up our plans.” She looked at Amanda and said, “Call the bed and breakfast and the annex. Find out if there is a guest with the last name Whittier, other than Samuel. Also, it would be a good idea for you to have Wally Dumont stay with Alice from now on during the day. He can check on his maple syrup business when the day care closes.”
Amanda replied, “I’ll get right on it. Should I tell him to arm up?” She watched Myrna nod.
Artie was squirming again and asked, “Myrna, should I get ahold of Hugo, or Dom the locksmith?”
Myrna shook her head. “Hugo is guarding Liam and the rest of the children at school to free up the police. Just give Dom the heads-up. We don’t need him now, but we might down the line.”
He bobbed his head and stared at the smoking ashes in her trash can. “How am I supposed to find this guy in town to tell him you demand a meeting with him?”
Myrna’s shoulders sagged, and she audibly sighed. “Okay, Artie. That was just a dumb question.”
Amanda began chuckling and poked his arm. “Gee, Artie, how many damn men walk around this town with a top hat on? How many use a fancy walking cane as a fashion statement? How many drive a huge black Hummer to make up for their lack of manhood?”
Myrna’s face was flushed from restrained laughter, but she released it, and Amanda joined in.
Artie chuckled, “Okay, girls, you got your giggle fit for the day at my expense…again! You know what? Someday my nerves will settle down, and you won’t have Artie Lavoie to chuckle about anymore.”
Myrna curled her lower lip and with a concerned expression, she asked, “Artie, will you ever be able to recover from our endless taunting?” He nodded vigorously. Her expression turned serious as she turned to Amanda. “I often wonder who will play his part if they ever make a movie or a show about this town and his life. They could call it ‘Artie’s Hardships.’”
Amanda lost all control and bellowed out in howling laughter as Artie blushed.
The women continued tittering and Artie realized tense situations often brought about this type of behavior from both of them. Accustomed to it, Artie blushed, stood, and announced, “I’m going to go and find him to give him the invitation right now.”
“Good because he’s been avoiding me. Oh, Artie, tell him my name is Mayor Bradbury.”
“Got it.” He then noticed something and pointed at her desk. “Better change your nameplate.” Amanda handed Myrna her nameplate. Myrna dug through the drawers of her desk, put the new plate bearing the name Mayor Gillette away, and dug out her old one.
Artie started toward the door and heard Myrna clear her throat. “Um, Artie. You need this.” She held out the formal request for a meeting on Monday. He advanced, snatched it from her hand, and headed back toward the door, tripping on his way.
When he left, he closed the door behind him. Amanda became serious. “I know you gave me the easy task, Myrna. All I have to do is make a few phone calls. I spied what you asked Artie to do, but I’m going to help him. His eyesight is good now, but with this middle ear thing he has going on, sometimes he tips over or gets dizzy. If you’re going to be part of the dangerous aspect of the plan, then so am I.”
Myrna frowned sadly. She hated the position she was putting some of her citizens in, but it was a necessary precaution. “Just be careful, Amanda.” She thought of something and asked, “Are we still on schedule for long-distance installation?”
Amanda smiled. “Yes, most homes already have it. They’re wrapping up right now before another storm hits us.”
When Amanda left the office, Myrna got on the police radio and hailed the chief. When he picked up, she stated, “The Whittier grave in New York is empty.”
“How do you know?”
She imitated Big Lou’s voice and said, “I’m tellin ya, Chief, I know people.” She only heard his grumbling and a few swears before he disconnected.
***
On Saturday morning, Chief Hanover pulled into the shooting range to see tire marks. Someone had been there earlier, practicing. He got out of his cruiser and made his way to the firing stand to see empty shells from a handgun. He pocketed one, and when he looked out over the range, he noticed a tree had toppled over. Making his way through the snow, he noticed b
oot marks leading to the downed tree and back to the firing stand. The boot size was a men’s 9 or 10. He walked beside them so as not to disturb the prints. When he reached the base of the tree, he noticed scorch marks and frowned. Bending down, he examined a hole in the center of the scorch marks. There had been a small explosion, and it wasn’t due to a lightning strike.
He staggered backward and plopped down in the snow onto his backside, staring in disbelief. He swallowed hard, grabbed his radio, and hailed Myrna. When she answered, he asked, “Have you been to the firing range today?”
“Yep. You asked me to do some target practice, so Tom and I went this morning.”
He sneered, “I just want to retire in one piece! You’re killing me. You’re goddamn killing me! I thought my soul-sucking wife was bad, but you’re gaining ground on her, Myrna, you sure as hell are gaining ground! What the hell are you up to?”
Myrna laughed aloud at his teasing and answered him in a matter-of-fact manner. “I’m just honing my skills in case they’re needed, Chief. No need to worry yourself.”
His voice rose. “Honing your skills? As what, an assassin?”
Her voice remained smooth and calm. “I wear many hats, Chief. You should know that by now.”
The chief ended up sitting in the snow with his arms over his head while shaking it from side to side. He muttered, “If this kills me, I’m haunting you the remainder of my days, Myrna.”
***
Monday afternoon came too soon. Myrna had already had her teaching session with Ivan, questioned him about his whereabouts the night of the bomb threat, and worked at the bakery, and now she was at the town hall, signing papers, getting the completion reports from the long-distance installation company, and waiting for the dreaded meeting with Samuel Whittier.
Chief Hanover was leaning against the wall on the ground floor of the town hall, awaiting Samuel Whittier’s arrival. When he walked through the doors, the chief approached him. “I have to frisk you. No one goes upstairs to see the mayor unless I perform this task.”
Samuel leered at the chief, leaned his cane against the wall, and extended his arms out by his sides. The chief frisked him and allowed him to pass. When he moved to retrieve his cane, the chief shook his head. “The cane stays here with me.” He watched Samuel turn and head toward the stairs to the mayor’s office. Samuel knocked on the door and heard a woman say, “Come in.” He walked in, eyebrows raised.
Myrna watched Samuel shut the door behind him and saunter to one of the chairs opposite her desk. He extended a hand out to her. “Pleased to meet you, Mayor.”
She shook his hand and smiled. “I invited you here today because I felt you were avoiding me. However, I just wanted to offer the town’s condolences regarding your sister. She was a gem, a jewel, and her artistry was unrivaled. It was a hard-hitting loss the town suffered when she passed.”
“Thank you, Mayor. It’s nice to finally run into someone who understood my sister and admired her capabilities.”
Myrna added, “The bakery across the street has some of her artwork hanging on the walls, and it will stay there forever in her honor.”
He thanked her. She then slid a police complaint across the desk and watched him read it. He snorted. “Oh my, Mr. Bertrand Sweeney certainly is a sensitive soul, isn’t he?”
She replied, “Sensitive soul or not, I don’t quite understand your intentions in pestering my year-round residents. It’s my understanding you were supposed to come and pick up your sister’s remains and return home. Instead, it seems you’re setting up camp and aggravating delicate situations. You seem to refuse to believe your sister’s death was an accident.”
He raised his hands and wiggled his fingers while asking, “Am I upsetting an otherwise pleasant equilibrium?”
She continued speaking in a pleasant tone. “I’m afraid it takes a particular type of individual to upset the equilibrium in this town. You don’t qualify. You’re inexperienced in dealing with the townsfolk. I want you to have a pleasant stay here, but I do not want you lingering and pointing fingers. Your sister’s death was sad, but it was an accident, and to think otherwise would be a mistake.”
Samuel couldn’t decide if she was threatening him, daring him, or being nice. He noticed she gave him a steely glare. She was a cagey thing—a red-haired vixen. He glanced at the name placard on her desk and noticed her last name. His lips twitched as he remarked, “Well, it mustn’t be easy for Mr. Bradbury to deal with you at home. You’re a formidable woman.”
Her eyes lit up and sparkled as she remembered her first husband Bob Bradbury. The abuse she suffered by his hand was horrendous, but his ultimate death by her hand was both violent and extremely satisfying. “He learned long ago not to cross me.”
“And how does he fare these days?”
“Peacefully.”
“It would be an interesting conversation Mr. Bradbury and I would have. I would love to meet him someday.”
She couldn’t wipe the smirk off her face. “You just might.”
He laughed as though they were now comrades after the exchange of a few personal details. “Well, I can’t thank you enough for this meeting and your kind words. I will heed your advice regarding Mr. Sweeney until my departure.”
Myrna stopped him from standing. “We are heading into the end of our busy season here, and the bed and breakfast facilities are packed with reservations. Tourists visit here, fall in love, and place reservations a year in advance. Do you know how much longer you’ll be requiring a room? I only ask because we extended you the room at our annex as a courtesy.”
He looked down at his hands; his fingers were curled, and he seemed to be contemplating a manicure. When he looked up, he replied, “I won’t be staying much longer. It appears I have to wait for the chief’s clearance because of an unfortunate incident that happened at the main bed and breakfast.”
She sat back, relieved, and assured him, “It won’t be long now. Chief Hanover was supposed to notify you that the case is closed. If you run into any difficulties while staying here, please do not hesitate to contact me or drop by.”
He stood and tipped his hat to her. “I can honestly say it has been a pleasure speaking with you, Mayor. I now feel assured the town is well cared for with you at the helm.”
She stood and extended her hand, and they shook. “Thank you, Samuel.”
He muttered to himself and whispered, “God bless Mr. Bradbury.”
She wanted to burst out in laughter but held it in and batted her eyelashes. “Yes, I’m sure he feels blessed each day.” As he left, she imagined her dead husband’s remains floating in the sewer system beneath the town and turned to look out the window behind her desk. Main Street was bustling.
She spied Wanda ambling down the street to the pharmacy and had to admire the elderly woman’s stamina. It was bitterly cold outside, and yet she still found the strength to leave her little shop and home to venture out into the fresh air. As she stood watching Wanda, the woman turned and glanced up at Myrna in the window. Myrna smiled and waved to her; sure enough, Wanda waved back. The woman had the vision of a hawk and an unshakable foresight. Wanda blew her a kiss, and Myrna giggled and sent one back.
She sat back at her desk and remembered the first time she had introduced her late friend, Sophia Barner, to Wanda. Sophia had been enthralled with the woman and ordered spices from her shop monthly. After Sophia’s passing, Myrna kept the tradition alive. She swore Wanda’s fresh spices were what made the delights at the bakery so desirable.
***
Delilah had remained idle long enough. She decided it was time for some action. She called out to Timmy, who came from the tavern kitchen. He followed her up the stairs to their apartment and watched as she chose a fancy dress and a full-length faux fur coat. She donned her hair in a French twist and applied heavy makeup and ruby-red lipstick. She topped the outfit off with a silk scarf around her neck, grabbed her new purse, and turned to see Timmy’s mouth drop open. He pointed at her
. “Honey, you look just like…”
She grinned. “I know. Now let’s go and run errands as planned. You shadow me. Did you drop off my overnight bag at the bakery earlier?” He reassured her he had and escorted her down the stairs to the main dining room.
Maurice gave his approval of her appearance and commented, “Be safe, and do a good job, darling.”
Big Lou’s lip curled. “Do you really want to walk around town looking like the nutjob?”
Delilah giggled, turned, and left. She shouted over her shoulder, “Absolutely!”
As the tavern door shut behind them, Big Lou leaned over the table and asked, “She’s up to no good, isn’t she?”
Maurice snickered. “The dear girl can’t seem to help herself.”
CHAPTER 9
Well, the mayor had just deflated his happy balloon. Samuel had been enjoying himself by taunting Bertrand Sweeney, but with an official notice looming in his face, he was at a loss of what to do with his time. He walked across the street to Carla’s Fine Cuisine and took a seat under the awning on one of the benches. He watched the tourists visit shop after shop, enter the bakery, go into the pharmacy. He had a good vantage point for monitoring busy Main Street. He spotted a woman who caught his attention: a blonde wearing an outfit his sister had worn. When he narrowed his vision, he swore it was her! The same coat, high-heeled boots, and purse, and she even had her hair in a French twist, as Patricia used to wear hers. He leapt from his seat and began tailing her. The woman even moved like her.
The sidewalks were shoveled, but still his footing was unsure, and he stumbled in haste. When he stood, he called out, “Patricia!” He received no response. She probably didn’t hear him because of the vehicles going to and fro along the slushy street. He picked up his steps and rushed while shouting louder, “Patricia!” Still no response. He watched her walk inside the bakery and followed along. When he entered, she was nowhere to be found. He frowned in confusion.
The Butcher (Cold Hollow Mysteries Book 5) Page 7
