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

Weaving the Web

Weaving the Web

A Cold Hollow Mystery

By

Emilie J. Howard

This title is dedicated to my family and dedicated readers, who continue to support my endeavors.

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously. They are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, actual events, places, or organizations is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any manner without the written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and readers’ reviews.

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only and may not be resold. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. Your continued support is what makes it possible for authors to continue to provide you with the stories you enjoy. Many thanks.

Copyright © 2016 by Emilie J. Howard

All rights reserved

PROLOGUE

In a gloomy alley between nightclubs, Bartholomew Sanders raised his fist and brought it crashing down into the right side of the girl’s face. The force sent her long blond hair flying and body spinning. She was a fighter, and this only fueled Bart’s rage. He wrestled her to the ground as blood poured from her mouth, but she didn’t stop screaming. She had curves in all the right places, and he was determined to explore all of them.

Carla stared into the eyes of her attacker and tried to raise her fingers to gouge them out, but he caught her mid-act. She knew he was too strong for her to fight for much longer. When he ripped her blouse in two, she found more strength and bent her knee to try to strike him between his legs. She had seen many men buckle in two from a blow there and hoped she would be successful. When she tried, he only laughed and said, “Honey, I am not stupid.” She presumed the bastard wore a cup. As he worked on the zipper of her pants, her mind raced back to how she had met him.

It was innocent at first. She had gone to the club on a Friday night with a few of her friends. She met him at the bar when she was ordering drinks for her group. She noticed he was well built and had jet-black hair and the prettiest dark-brown eyes she had ever seen. He smiled, she smiled, and they began talking back and forth. Because she was late returning to the table, her friends came over, grabbed their drinks, and left her alone to enjoy the man’s company. He had seemed so amicable and the bartender even knew him by his first name.

As Bart had his way with her, she woke from her memory and began screeching like a banshee. He jammed one of his hands inside her mouth to shut her up, and she bit down on it, forcing him to scream as well. Unfortunately, he had finished what he’d intended to do in the same instant and collapsed on top of her, just as bright lights shined in the alleyway. She heard a thunderous voice say, “Police! Put your hands in the air!”

She lay beneath Bart as he panted and raised his arms. A burly male police officer quickly cuffed him and dragged him off her. She remained lying down on the cold, hard cement in shock. Another officer came and hunched down beside her. He fixed her blouse as best he could and spoke in a soft, kind tone: “Don’t move. We have an ambulance on the way, and I’ll ride in the back with you if you’d like.”

Carla could only nod and lie there as the police officer fixed her pants for her. She could hear the other police officer reading Bart his rights and closed her eyes.

One month later, after Carla testified in court, Bart was sentenced to eighteen years’ imprisonment. He had previously been a suspect in a murder case, but due to lack of solid evidence the charge was dropped—but the attack on and rape of Carla stuck. The judge wanted to send a harsh message to Bart’s wealthy parents. They couldn’t buy their way out of this one or pay someone to tamper with evidence. His parents were renowned for trying to “buy” whatever it was they needed from people.

Nine months later, Carla gave birth to her first child. It was a girl, and she named her Becky. One year later, she married the police officer who had been so kind to her at the crime scene. His name was Harold Macy.

***

Thirty-year-old Warren Measly was everything his name implied. He was contemptibly small, short of stature, and plain of face. Warren was a man one would walk past and never remember. He floated through life unseen. He had no wife. Women never looked at him, but he looked at them. In high school, he had been the target of multiple nicknames and much harassment but ignored the taunts by burying himself in books. There was one thing about Mr. Measly few people knew. The man was a silent and humble genius.

Mr. Measly managed to find a job in the basement of an accounting firm, filing old ledgers with hopes of one day becoming a partner in the firm. His earnings allowed him a small, one-bedroom home and clearance-priced clothing. He often purchased scratched and dented canned goods to eat and bemoaned his meager pay, until he decided to change it. After five years of drudgery, he came up with a brilliant way to siphon funds from the firm, but unfortunately, he was caught a year later and incarcerated in a rehabilitation facility.

He had earned degrees while there and now held more titles than he cared to remember. He had managed to make one friend while incarcerated, but the man had been paroled long ago. He missed the companionship, so Warren kept busy the only way he knew how. Exercising his body was just as important to him as exercising his mind, so he used the gym regularly and had gained some muscle mass, but his stature would never change. Warren knew he would forever be short, but he did manage to get himself a new pair of stylish eyeglasses and a good haircut before leaving the institution, which was a giant stride for the man. Of course, no one noticed. No one ever did.

***

Sylvia Rossini spun around and was thrust against the counter of the convenience store. It had been done with such vehemence she began wheezing and gasping for air. Before she could gulp down enough oxygen to sustain her, she felt her arms being pulled back and her wrists cuffed. A police officer approached her and yanked on her hair. The wig gave way, revealing her real hair color. He then pulled a cloth from his pocket and wiped her face to see a thin layer of a plastic substance pull away, revealing her identity.

He patted the side of her arm and said, “Nice try, Sylvia. You had a good run. Now let’s see how fast you can run when you’re on the inside, you punk.”

As the two cops pulled her in the direction of their squad car, she thought she
had
had a good run. She was someone famous in her neighborhood. She had managed to rob a good ten convenience stores before being caught. She had been stupid with this last one and had not deliberated it enough, because she did it on a dare. Some tough bastard who lived down the street from her had dared her to do one more in order to prove herself worthy of any notoriety within the small gang he ran. She had done it, and now look, she was screwed. She began shaking when she contemplated the length of her sentence. She wasn’t a minor anymore. She had just turned eighteen. She had no way of giving the stores back any of the money she had stolen because it was gone. Her family needed it, and it had gotten them through a tough spell. Her mother would cry. Her father would disown her, but it was not as though she cared about him.

Because of her young age, the judge ended up sentencing her to eight years in a new rehabilitation facility. Sylvia took the punishment. He could have been harsher, but when she said she wished she could give back the money she’d stolen, she saw softness in his eyes. After sentencing, she was cuffed and escorted out of court to the sound of her mother crying in the background.

CHAPTER 1

Cold Hollow is not your typical town. Inhabitants had just experienced an end to their bleak existence after the death of “Nazar,” the former town mayor. His death was listed as “accidental.” Several other inhabitants met the grim reaper as well. The town’s former sadistic forest ranger had also met a rather untimely end.  Mayor Nazar had instituted till bills due each month by every working man and woman in their town. It was supposed to go into the town fund, but ended up padding the aging man’s retirement fund. They had also been victim to a once a year “living fee” due every year on Christmas Day.

After the much-loved Barner family had been murdered in vicious fashion, it set the cogs of the wheel in motion. The town stood as one and exacted revenge on the guilty as they saw fit. They elected Myrna Bradbury as the new mayor who took it upon herself to hire a new police chief and new officers. She watched over the town and quickly realized her job was much more involved than that of a typical mayor. She monitored businesses, new inhabitants, along with the town’s financial budget. She had long ago given up her seamstress duties and handed them off to a woman in town who was just as talented. The woman was so busy now she had to lease a shop on Main Street to accommodate her new responsibilities. Myrna owned the bakery called “Sophia’s” and kept it the small success it had always been. She divided her time between her boyfriend, newly-adopted son, bakery, and her job as mayor.

However, she recently had begun to feel the town getting restless again, which was never a good sign.

***

Warren Measly sat in the back of a short bus with a caged section behind the armed driver. One guard stood watch over the passengers. They wore no handcuffs or shackles, and Warren reveled in the freedom of this particular confinement. They had also been allowed to wear their street clothes. He sat beside a window and watched the scenery blow by. He had already scanned the two other people who were on the bus with him and grimaced. He did not look forward to spending more time with any of them. He looked forward to his release, a new job, and a place to call home.

He saw a sign that read, “Welcome to Cold Hollow,” and let loose a sigh of relief. He watched as they went through a covered bridge and straight up what he assumed was “Main Street.” They were almost there. It had been a long, two-hour ride from the institution, and he needed to stretch his legs. He admired the small brick shops lining both sides of the street, with their elaborate columns and front porches. Each shop had a different-patterned, coordinating awning over its large window front. It dawned on Warren there was only one main road into town, and they had to use the same road to get out. The tallest snow-capped peaks of the mountains seemed to embrace the entire back side of the town with gray, granite arms. From there, the peaks wound down and extended to encompass the farmlands and orchards. There were streets branching off Main Street, containing old farmhouses painted varying colors. They all appeared to be well maintained, and each one had a spacious yard. Warren estimated each home had at least one to two acres.

The bus stopped in front of the town hall, and the guard signaled them to stand. The guard who had been driving put the bus in park and cut the engine. He turned and unlocked the gate as the parolees slid from their seats and formed a line. The guard stood to the side and brought up the rear as they were escorted out of the bus and up the steps to the town hall. From what Warren understood, there would then be a meeting with the town mayor to dole out homes and jobs, and they would receive the money from their accounts at the institution to give them a head start in a new life.

***

Carla Macy sat in the driver’s seat of her car and rolled her eyes as her daughters argued back and forth in the back seat. She got in the right-hand lane in order to take the next exit. She had been offered a job at the Cold Hollow nurseries, and she needed the income. It meant relocating, but the boost in pay was first on her mind. They even offered to set her up in a home beside the nursery. How could she refuse? Being a single parent was hard, harder than she had ever imagined. She hadn’t become one by choice. Her husband, Harold, God bless his soul, had struggled with cancer for so long, she often imagined he welcomed his own death.

She sighed at her daughters and spoke softly, “If you’re going to argue about something, at least make it a worthwhile argument. I doubt if anyone cares about Miley Cyrus’s tongue.”

Her oldest daughter snorted. “I bet her boyfriend does!” Her youngest daughter elbowed her in the gut and she let loose a “whoosh” but continued laughing anyway.

Carla grinned and mused about the differences between the two girls. Her oldest, now eighteen, had jet-black hair, dark-brown eyes, piercings (which Carla hated), and one small tattoo.

Her youngest daughter, now sixteen, was a learned student, a diligent worker, and a bit innocent. Her complexion was fair, and she had long blond hair. She was an excellent baker, and Carla had hopes she could find some part-time employment in the small town as well.

Her eldest daughter would be her assistant at the nursery. She had to keep her within her sight, or the little devil was certain to find trouble. She had a penchant for it.

They went over a covered bridge and Carla smiled. “This is it, girls. This is our new town!”

***

After Mayor Myrna Bradbury changed into her business garb and let down her long red hair, she left her bakery to the Borges boys to run as she sloshed across the street to the town hall. The roads were still slushy from the melting snow, but it wouldn’t be long before spring arrived. It was the end of the town’s tourist season. She watched cars leaving town with their ski racks loaded down, knowing they wouldn’t be back until the fall. Most of their tourists were overflow from the big ski resorts. Cold Hollow never had to advertise. If the tourists left the town happy with their experience, word of mouth was enough. This past season had been booming for the town, and they’d had to turn a few away.

There were new inhabitants arriving who Myrna and the new police chief had to meet and greet. Myrna had been content. Two more families not connected to the Department of Corrections had moved into town. Things had worked out smoothly, and some of the families actually purchased available homes and leased out empty stores, and new businesses sprang up. The population of children was slowly increasing in their small town. She
had
been content until she received a call from one of the commissioners, who notified her he had three more parolees for Cold Hollow.

His name was Commissioner Jones, and she despised him. He was the one who had originally persuaded the Barner family to move to Cold Hollow under the guise it was a normal town. He lured Angus Barner to the town with a huge promotion in marketing at the nearby ski resorts. As anyone would have done, Angus jumped at the chance, but what he didn’t know was Cold Hollow was anything but a normal town. It was a government integration program for recently paroled inmates who often had difficulty reentering society. The program had worked for a great many of them, and failed others miserably. The Barner family had met a horrific end, and she was left caring for their youngest child, Liam. She adored the boy and loved him so much she feared becoming one of those overprotective mothers. She assumed she had done well; Liam, according to the child psychiatrist, was making great strides in recovering from the loss of his parents and sister. During her conversation with Commissioner Jones, he also warned her the team of commissioners would be coming into town in summer to check on the new program and to inspect the town and budget.

Myrna had only been in office approximately five months as mayor, and she already felt as though she were the mother of the entire town. She wanted the town to thrive, and here she was stuck with three more parolees to set straight.

Her pondering was cut short as she entered the town hall. She stopped at Amanda Borges’s office and let out a soft whistle. Amanda had had her long brown hair streaked with blond, and it looked fabulous. Amanda had also lost some of the baby weight she’d carried after giving birth to her youngest daughter. She was a single parent of four children, having lost her husband in a trucking accident, but had managed to find a nice boyfriend. Myrna giggled as Amanda blushed and continued working on the town’s new budget. Amanda whispered, “They’re here with two guards in the waiting room upstairs.” She handed Myrna three envelopes with the new inhabitants’ names on them.

Myrna took the envelopes and briefly popped her head inside the door to the day care Alice Dumont ran. “Hi, Grandma.” The gentle woman shot her a big smile and shooed her up to her office. One of Amanda’s girls was napping.

Mrs. Dumont’s new name in town was “Grandma.” It happened Christmas past when Liam asked her politely if he could have her as his grandma. She had begun crying with joy. She then blathered out it was her most fervent wish and desire to hear young folks call out for her in such a manner. Her husband, Wally, aptly became “Grandpa” to all the children. They were the type of couple Myrna would have loved to have as parents, never mind grandparents.

Myrna made her way up to her office and removed her coat, boots, and scarf. She slipped into the high heels she had left there and went to her desk. After calling the police chief to remind him about the new inhabitants’ arrival, she removed the files for the newcomers. Each one could wait in the room adjoining her office and be called inside for the meeting individually. There was a door between the two offices in order to provide them with some privacy. She had no idea how long any of this was going to take, so she was relieved to know her boyfriend, Dr. Tom Gillette, had the day off, and was picking up her son after school let out.

When Chief Hanover arrived, he sat in one of the chairs on the opposite side of her desk. Myrna often told him how much he resembled the drill sergeant from the movie
Full Metal Jacket,
and she meant it. He resembled the actor to the point of absurdity. When he barked, people jumped and moved—except for her. She would give him the eyes of the bored, just to annoy him. He took his hat off and placed it atop her desk, and then ran his hands over his white, bristly crew cut. She admired him a great deal, and they had become good friends. She handed him the first file. It was the one for the parolee Robert Collins. He flipped through it and groaned.

Myra chuckled. “I think we’ll have our hands full with him.”

He shifted in his seat to a more comfortable position and flipped through the file before handing it back to her.

When she placed the file down on her desktop, Myrna went to the adjoining room and called out, “Robert Collins, come on in.” She stood to the side to allow him to pass and smiled at the others who were waiting. She glanced at the two guards and said, “We’ll try to make this quick so you can return to work.” They both smiled. They were sitting comfortably in the waiting room chairs with their rifles laid over their laps.

One of them said, “Take your time, Mayor.”

Myrna closed the door behind her and returned to her desk. She sat down, stared at the recently released inmate, and took measure of him. He was tall, muscled, and somewhat attractive. He had jet-black hair and brown eyes. She envied his eyelashes. They were long and thick. The police chief asked the man a few questions, handed him his first appointment card for a meeting with the parole officer, and shook his hand.

Myrna leaned over the desk and handed him the address and the keys to his new home. She had given him a modest, two-bedroom cabin. It had been completely cleaned and refreshed. It once had belonged to the old forest ranger, so it came furnished. She then handed him an envelope containing all of his bank information. He grasped it and thanked her.

He stood up and asked, “Could you tell me where I can purchase a used vehicle and where I can buy building materials? I only ask because I’m handy around the house, and I’m assuming I’ll want to fix up my new home a little.”

Myrna glanced at the police chief and said, “Sit down, Robert. We’re not done here.”

Robert sat and stared at her, hard. The police chief leaned forward in his seat and distracted Robert by snapping his fingers in front of his eyes. “You can leave when we say you can leave.”

Myrna sat back, relaxed, and shot Robert a charming smile. “I need to inform you of your new job and where and when to report.”

Robert raised his eyebrows and listened as she elaborated, “You will work at the local nursery. There is a large equipment shed there, and all of the machines need to be greased, oiled, and primed for the planting season. We have a horticulturist moving to town to take charge of the nursery itself. She will be your boss. Her name is Mrs. Macy. You will work five days a week from eight a.m. to three p.m. Here is the address. You report on Monday.”

Robert’s only response was, “And what about my questions?”

Myrna pinched her lips. “There is a used car lot at the edge of town. You can find supplies you might need for your home at the hardware store down the street. If they don’t have what you need, they’ll order it for you.”

“May I stand up and leave now?”

Myrna gazed at the chief and let him answer. He eyed Robert for a long time before answering, “Yep, get out.”

They both watched him stand and exit the room. He shut the door behind him. Myrna released a long sigh and stared at the chief. “Please tell me you had ‘Car-Hop Harry’ put GPS trackers on all of his vehicles.”