The Maestro (Cold Hollow Mysteries Book 3)

The Maestro

The Maestro

A Cold Hollow Mystery

By

Emilie J. Howard

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 and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any manner whatsoever 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

Dedicated to Paul and Vivian Breault

PROLOGUE

“One potato, two potato, three potato, four!” Maurice Gillette tapped the top of each decapitated head mounted atop the white picket fence as he sauntered by. His right hand rested atop the last head in the row. His long fingers massaged the wrinkled scalp and greasy hair. He wore a sly grin while his green eyes surveyed the remainder of the neighborhood. He noticed a red rosebush in full bloom nearby, pinched off four blossoms, and jammed one into each of his victims’ mouths.

It was the darkest of nights, and he had slithered into the homes with little to no problem. His actions had been swift and determined. His heartbeat never escalated. His breathing was slow and regulated as he dispatched his business competitors and their conniving wives. Not a single sound was made. With this rather nasty task accomplished, he was now free to travel with his trusted driver and reap the benefits those beheaded cretins had tried to deny him. He never hired thugs to do the dirty work. In his mind, it was a waste of money to hire someone when he was capable of doing it himself.

He motioned to his driver and watched as he pulled up to the curb. After he pulled off a plastic suit covering his usual attire, head, and shoes, the driver opened his door for him and closed it once he was safely inside the vehicle. He stretched in the backseat, removed a pair of plastic gloves, and tossed them, along with the bundled plastic suit, in a waste bag attached to the interior of the door, and then massaged his neck muscles.

His trusted driver took his position again behind the wheel. The driver’s eyes went to the rearview mirror as he asked, “Are we going home to the mansion now, or do you need me to do some cleanup?”

Maurice grimaced as he stared at the picket fence. “No cleanup is required. Let’s leave them on display, shall we? We’ll dump this waste bag once we cross state lines.” They were currently on the border of Tennessee and Arkansas. Home was Durham, North Carolina, so it was going to be a lengthy trip. The Cadillac Escalade was a comfortable ride, so Maurice didn’t mind.

The fact that his driver didn’t speak or turn the classical music on as he pulled away told Maurice one thing: Adam had questions again. He tolerated his questions for one reason: Adam simply delighted in Maurice’s twisted versions of childhood nursery rhymes. After ten minutes of silence had passed, Maurice asked, “What is bothering you, Adam?”

“I have questions, boss.”

Maurice relaxed back in his seat; deep in his mind, he knew this conversation was going to be lengthy. When he cleared his throat, indicating he was ready, Adam began.

“Boss, you were so swift it was almost angelic. They didn’t even suffer.”

“Well, to be truthful, Adam, it wasn’t angelic so much as it was merciful.”

“What if they had tried to fight you? How would their deaths have been?”

Maurice sneered. “Cruel, Adam. Their deaths would have been cruel.”

“How’d you do it? You didn’t bring any weapons in those houses with you.”

“I used the two hands my parents gave me, Adam.”

“Are you yanking my chain, boss?”

“If by ‘chain,’ you are referring to the male anatomy which dangles between your thighs, then I would say no. With my strength, it’s highly probable I would rip the ‘ever-so-large’ appendage from your torso simply by yanking it.”

Adam chuckled. “Where’d you get all that strength? I mean, didn’t they scream? You must have been fast.”

“To this day, I do not know from which parent I inherited my strength or swiftness. To stop a sleeping victim from screaming, you simply grasp each side of the head, give a sharp twist, and voila—the deed is complete. Ripping the cranium from the torso is a messy task. It’s never a clean tear. However, I was fortunate enough to find a nifty little coping saw in one of the homes. Didn’t you notice the jagged pieces of flesh?”

“I did, boss. That’s why I was wondering what the hell you used.”

Maurice stared out the windows as the scenery passed by. Adam stated, “There wasn’t a whole lot of blood this time either.”

Maurice’ lips twitched into a grin, and he licked them. “I know. Let’s just say I’m tidy and leave it at that.” He reminisced about the sound of the flesh as he sawed it away from the victim’s neckline to separate for mounting and sighed.

A brief silence indicated Adam was done with his questions for the day. Maurice said, “If you’d care to indulge me, I would enjoy nothing more than to regale you with your favorite nursery rhymes as we travel. It’s going to be a long drive.”

The driver smiled as he pulled on to the freeway. “That would be most enjoyable, sir.” Maurice grinned. He noticed Adam was imitating the way he himself spoke. Adam never called him “sir.” It was always “Boss.”

As they traveled, he recited the nursery rhyme “Little Bo Peep.” Adam chuckled as Maurice delved further into the story, announcing with gusto, “I have it on good authority that after she regained her sheep, she was molested for hours by two demons in the family barn.”

Adam wiped tears of laughter from his eyes as he drove one-handed. His employer had a way of twisting and embellishing a tale. The driver assumed he was done with the story, but he wasn’t. “To top it off, she later gave birth to a goat and was exiled from her village.” The driver gasped as laughter took hold. “It must have been a good time, Adam. Don’t you think? I used to read that tale to my son, Tom, when he was young.” He plucked at the fingers of his fine leather gloves as he pulled them on. He grinned. “It is such a glorious, horrid little tale.”

Adam chuckled and asked for more rhymes as they crossed state lines. Maurice did not hesitate for a moment and smoothly transitioned to “Peter, Peter, Pumpkin Eater.”

***

Delilah Gillette sullenly sat in her bedroom. Her father had not let her attend a weekend celebration with some of her girlfriends from college. She could not remember being more disappointed in her life. She turned to her nightstand, grabbed her new metal nail file, and began her manicure. As she filed, she nicked herself and stared in wonder at the color of her blood. Her file was sharper than she’d imagined. She found the blood to be dark crimson and beautiful. She raised her hand to her lips and smelled it. Hmm, it smelled like a copper pot. When she licked the wound clean, her eyes rolled. The pain she felt as she sucked on the wound sent ripples of excitement through her body.

Getting an idea, Delilah located a hand mirror, grasped the file tight within her grip, and began filing her teeth into little sharp fangs. The pain was sublime and acted like a narcotic. She gasped at the feeling as it swam through her body. She kept grinding each tooth to shark-like points and writhed in ecstasy as her gums began to bleed. She sucked the blood into her mouth and swallowed time and again until she was done. Using too much force with the pointed file, she accidently jammed it into the soft, fleshy inside of her cheek. She gazed in wonder as she stared into the mirror. The file had gone straight through and was poking out of the opposite side. It felt so good; she repeated her actions until she couldn’t keep count. When she was overcome with the feeling of contentment beyond anything this earth had ever handed her, she collapsed back on the bed into a pile of pillows in what felt like a drug-induced daze. She had never felt this wonderful in her entire life. Screw the weekend celebration; she’d bet a million dollars that none of those fashion-conscious fops had ever felt like this.

***

Reginald Denning whistled as he made his way down the highway in the dark of night. He was fleeing yet another state. He had already traveled across two state lines and was in his third state when he noticed a sign for a rest stop five miles ahead. Reginald needed a break.

After he pulled in and got out of his vehicle, he gassed up and went inside the convenience store, where he bought a local newspaper, two premade grinders, and soft drinks. After paying, he returned to his vehicle and ate his meal as he read the help wanted ads in the paper. He threw the spare meal and drinks in the backseat. Reginald needed a job in a small town where no one knew who he was. He reached for the glove compartment, grabbed a pen, and circled two ads for jobs in a town called Cold Hollow, Vermont. How fortuitous! Reginald quickly retrieved his road map and located it. Not only was he close by, in New Hampshire, but he estimated he could make it to the small town by morning if he didn’t stop to sleep. He tossed the newspaper in the backseat.

As he drove onward, he reminisced. Reginald was not naïve by any means. He knew exactly what he was, and there were times he was proud of himself. Reginald was a stalker, an uncaught killer who preyed on innocent girls. He had previously stalked a girl and followed her by tracking her cell phone. She had been a cashier at a high-end department store who was too busy to give him her phone number, so she handed it over to him during a midday rush. He tracked her, mutilated her, and left her torn-up body under an overpass. The real fun for Reginald was in the chase. She tried to give him the slip with every trick imaginable; however, Reginald was just too smart for her. The kill count was now at ten and climbing. He was on his way up north to “get away from it all” when he heard a voice coming from the backseat ask, “Where are we going?”

“To a town called Cold Hollow.”

“I’ve heard about that place.”

Reginald frowned. “How could you have heard about anything?”

“Unlike you, I read, Reginald. I read a lot.” Reginald grimaced and continued down the highway.

CHAPTER 1

              Cold Hollow was not your typical town. Inhabitants had just experienced an end to their bleak existence after the death of “Nazar,” the former sadistic town mayor. His death was listed as “accidental.” Several other inhabitants had met the grim reaper as well.

The vicious murder of three of the much-loved Barner family had set wheels 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; her job was more involved than that of a typical mayor. She monitored businesses and new inhabitants along with the town’s finances and budget. She was close with the parole officer and saw to it that all the residents who were still on parole kept their appointments. Myrna owned the bakery called Sophia’s, which had once belonged to Sophia Barner, and kept it the small success it had always been. She divided her time between her boyfriend, being legal guardian of Liam Barner, the only surviving member of the Barner family, and her job as mayor.

Some new parolees had been brought in the previous summer, and while some were success stories, one failed miserably and was killed. Robert Collins was one of those success stories. His new restaurant, Carla’s Fine Cuisine, was now the talk of the town. After the death of Carla Macy, he had taken on the role of father to Becky and Sarah Macy, and it suited him well.

However, due to an elderly woman’s death in her sleep, Myrna had a vacant home in town and had to fill it in order to stop the commissioners from sending another parolee. The town was now thriving and content, and she wanted to keep it that way. Her boyfriend, Dr. Tom Gillette, had recently asked her to marry him, and the date had been set. She’d stop at nothing to make her wedding day a major success, not just for herself, but for little Liam as well.

***

Myrna Bradbury raised her arms as Alice Dumont delicately placed pins into Myrna’s wedding dress. Myrna was going to do the final alterations on the gown that evening. Her fiancé, Tom, came in the front door from work and whistled at his bride to be. Myrna spun around and watched as Alice walloped him over the head with a toss pillow and drove him from the room while yelling, “That is cheating, Thomas Gillette! Now get out of here until we tell you to come back!” Tom laughed and rushed up the stairs to his private office.

Myrna’s face flushed, and she giggled at Alice. “I’m so glad you had time to come over today to help me. I can’t believe how fast the wedding is approaching.”

Alice gave her a quick hug and hushed her. “It’s my pleasure, and as honorary mother of the bride, it’s my duty. Now, let’s finish this up. Get your arms back in the air again. We want you to look stunning.” Myrna watched as the older woman carefully inserted the pins and was content she had agreed to stand as mother of the bride. In every sense, Alice Dumont was the perfect mother to her. With her kind eyes and pudgy disposition, who couldn’t love her? Little Liam adored her and her husband Wally.

The women had only one slight alteration to make when Chief Hanover burst in the front door. Myrna stopped Alice from growling and glanced at him. “Can’t you see I’m busy, Chief? What can possibly be wrong now?”

The chief sat at the dining room table and grabbed a cookie from a platter Myrna had put out. As he ate one, he shrugged. “You might want to know that a new guy showed up in town and is asking, on a Sunday mind you, about the jobs you posted in the paper.”

“Where did you run into him?”

“He was parked on Main Street and was walking around, checking out the shops. When I approached him, he asked where the motel was, and I directed him to the Bed and Breakfast.”

“What’s his name? Did you tell him to come to my office on Monday morning?”

“His name is Reginald Denning and, yep, you’ll be seeing him on Monday morning. Don’t worry, I’ll be running a check on him before then.” He reached out and grabbed another cookie, and then he reached into his jacket, yanked out a pile of mail, and slapped it on the table in front of him. “I emptied your mailbox for you too, so I feel entitled to these cookies.”

“Thanks, Chief. Go into the kitchen and help yourself to some coffee while you’re here. By the way, why aren’t you home with your wife today?”

“One of my officers called in sick.” He made his way to the kitchen and poured himself a big mug of coffee.

Alice held Myrna’s bathrobe in front of her so she could slip out of the dress while the chief was in the kitchen. Myrna did it in a flash, slipped into the robe, and handed Alice the dress. As Alice hung the gown up, Myrna ran to the mail and began sorting it. There were many wedding responses, which made her ecstatic. They would soon have an accurate count of all the guests coming to their nuptials. She noticed one in particular: the return address was Tom’s father. She tore into it and shrieked in happiness when she found that his father was attending, along with Tom’s sister and one guest. She began hyperventilating in happiness and ran up the stairs to inform Tom of the good news.

***

On Monday morning, Myrna had a million things on her mind as she made her way from the bakery to her office at the town hall. She had already done three hours of baking, and then Sarah Macy showed up to relieve her. She and Donnie Borges could run the place while Myrna was busy with the impending interview. She made her way down the hall to the staircase, her high heels clicking all the way. When she made it to her office, she peeled off her coat and sat behind her desk. There were papers strewn all over the top of it, and she made short order of sorting through them according to urgency and reached out for a pen. It slipped from her grasp and fell to the floor. She glanced at it, moaned, and griped, “Shit.”

As she bent to retrieve it, she heard, “Sorry, ma’am.” Bolting upright, she banged the back of her head on the underside of her desk and went into a tirade of curse words that would make a sailor blush.

The man, who had been standing there, rushed to her small refrigerator, yanked out an ice-cold bottle of water, and handed it to her. He gestured that she should place it on the back of her head to relieve the pain. She did, and it helped her gather her wits. “I’m sorry you had to hear that, sir.”

He sat in a chair opposite her desk and smiled a charming smile. “It’s not anything I haven’t heard before, and seeing what just happened to you, I can’t say that I blame you.”

She extended her hand out to him. “I’m Myrna Bradbury, the mayor of this town.”

The man reached forward and shook her hand. “You must be an impressive woman to have gained that position.”

“Thank you for thinking so. Now, let’s get down to business.” She read his application and looked back up at him. “I’m going to be straight with you, Reginald. The job I have available is a backbreaker, but you seem to be in good shape. There is a farm in town that used to be owned by two ill-tempered women. They passed away and it’s now owned and run by one, Fran O’Connor, and it’s far too large for her to take care of. She needs help. She has single handedly made that farm a success again and business is booming. I would hate to see the woman fail because of lack of staff.”

Reginald fidgeted in his chair a bit and asked, “The ad mentioned lodging as well. Does that include staying at the bed and breakfast, at the farm, or an apartment of my own?”

“It includes lodging. I have a vacant one-bedroom home that I can rent you at a reasonable price. It’s not at the farm. If you go further up Main Street and take your first right, it’s three houses in on the right. You don’t seem intimidated by the farm work. Have you worked around livestock before?”

“Yes, ma’am, I’m used to it.”

Myrna took stock of the young man. He was about twenty-eight, was well built, and had light, wavy brown hair, and brown eyes. His charming smile made her leery of him, but in order to keep that farm thriving, she needed this man. Besides, no one else had applied for the job. She glanced up and saw the chief in her doorway, giving her the thumbs-up sign, and she smiled. “You may have the job. You can start this afternoon after lunch. I’ll call the owner of the farm ahead of time and inform her. As for your lodging, here are the keys to your home and the address.” She reached over the desk and handed him an envelope containing all he would need.

He stood, shook her hand again, and turned to

leave, bumping into the chief. He smiled. “We meet again, Chief Hanover.”

The chief grinned. “Yep.” He patted Reginald on the shoulder. “Better go and eat something, boy. You’re in for a workout this afternoon.”

Reginald left and instantly grimaced as he made his way to the staircase. He was officially a damn farmer. Life was great, just great.

The chief plopped down in his usual chair and stared at Myrna, who applied the bottle of water to her head again. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I whacked my head on the underside of the desk earlier, and it still aches.”

He stood and retrieved her pocketbook from the hook it was on, turned, and handed it out to her. He watched as she shuffled through the items it contained until she found a small pillbox that Tom had supplied with Tylenol. She uncapped the bottle of water, took two, and grinned at the chief. “Thanks.”

The chief sat back, relaxed, and stretched his arms above his head. “I’m keeping an eye on that new kid. He passed the initial background check, but I’m running another one. From what I could tell from his background, he’s a roamer.”

Myrna narrowed her eyes at him. “I don’t like that charming smile of his.”

The chief stood and walked around the room. He glanced out the window behind her desk and said, “Robert Collins just showed up at the restaurant. I say we wait a few minutes and go over there for lunch.”

Myrna laughed. “He doesn’t typically open for lunch.”

“I know, but he opens for me. Don’t you have to meet with him about the reception, anyway?”

“Thanks for reminding me; you’re right. I have some last-minute changes to the menu and some minor details to the banquet hall that Tom and I agreed on.”

“Well, you two can iron that out while I fill my hungry gut. Come on, let’s get a move on.”

Myrna pushed herself out of her chair, grabbed her pocketbook and jacket, and followed the chief out the door. They left the town hall and made their way to Carla’s Fine Cuisine, which was across the street, next door to Myrna’s bakery. The chief grabbed her arm and pulled her around the building to the back door. He pounded on the door three times, and Robert opened it.

Robert laughed when he saw Myrna with the chief. “He talked you into it, didn’t he?”

Myrna entered with laughter in her voice. “Yes, he usually doesn’t take no for an answer.”

Robert pulled some stools out from under his prepping station and had them sit down as he began working on their lunch. As he cooked, Myrna reviewed the change in the menu and the decorations for the banquet hall with him. It didn’t take long for them to come to an agreement, and this left Myrna content. It was one more thing she could scratch off her to-do list. She asked, “Is Becky excited to be providing and arranging all the flowers for us?”

Robert chuckled. “Happy is an understatement. That girl is over the moon to be doing flower arrangements and bouquets for a wedding. She’s working hard on the project, and I know you’ll be happy with it. Sarah is busy working on the cake design and will show you when she’s done. She wants to give you a choice of five different designs and flavors. I’m sorry, but there will be a tasting.”

The chief muttered, “I’m going to that.”

Robert turned from the stove and put his hands on his hips. “The cake tasting is typically just for the bride and groom, Chief.” He was frowning.

Chief Hanover shrugged. “Myrna won’t care if I’m there.”

Robert bent over and pointed at the chief’s nose. “You’re becoming spoiled by the good folks of this town.” The chief just grinned and bobbed his head as Myrna giggled.

The meal, as usual, was delicious. Robert joined them, and the conversation was lively and enjoyable. Myrna had been under a tremendous amount of stress, but the small amount of time she spent with Robert and the chief made her relax, and she appreciated it.

Before leaving, the chief warned Robert, “There’s a new guy in town named Reginald. He’s working the farm down the road. Let me know what you think of him.”

“You got it, Chief. I’ll get to meet him this afternoon. I’m expecting a delivery from them today. The dairy I get from that farm is beyond reproach. Fran is doing a fine job.”

Myrna smiled. “I began ordering from there again as well. Isn’t her goat cheese to die for?”

Robert rolled his eyes and smacked his lips. “Impeccable.”

The chief groaned something about not caring what the hell was in his food, he just knew it was good and always wanted more. Robert harassed him about getting his thyroid checked by Dr. Tom, but the chief shooed him away and left with Myrna. He walked her to the bakery and asked, “Are all the responses to the wedding and reception coming in?”

Myrna beamed. “They sure are.”

“Any from out of town?”

“Three so far: Tom’s father, sister, and one guest.”

“What’s the guest’s name?”