In the years of being a housewife, Dianne could rotate a load of laundry, flip the omelet, wake her children for school and have her husband's coffee and vitamin at the table in less than two minutes—yes, all of those activities in less than two minutes! And at the very moment that her husband spoke, “Where's breakfast?” his perfect omelet would be placed on the table. Dianne was proud at that.
With the greatest of ease, she grinded the beans, filled the baskets of the chamber and pressed the automatic brew button. And by the time that had all been done in less that 4 minutes the first customer of the day stood outside the door that was locked.
Dianne was about to pour a cup of coffee for herself. But the customer comes first! She dashed over to the door and unlocked it.
“Good morning!” Customers were always pleased with the service and friendly greeting as they entered. But on this morning, a small inconvenience would be brought to the customers' attention. Dianne apologized, “Sorry, we had a little problem with our ovens this morning. The first batch of pastries won't be done for another 45 minutes or so.”
Throughout those early morning visits, Dianne apologized to the regular customers who were used to their jalapeño and cheddar bagels, cinnamon rolls or muffins. But she remained graceful and held down the fort—a one man (excuse me!) one woman band that could proudly do it all!
By midmorning, the rush of java addicts had ended. Where was Sara? Dianne peeked her head out the door and could see Sara's car. This wasn't right! Surely Sara wouldn't leave the shop unattended.
At exactly 10:30, Sara's boyfriend, Mark, entered the coffeehouse with his usual, energetic greeting. Asking for a tall pumpkin spice blend with two shots of espresso, he next asked Dianne, “Where's Sara?”
But Dianne didn't know. “I don't know. I was hoping you could shed some light. Her car is outside.”
Chapter 35
With two recent disappearances in town, there was no delay in adding Sara's mysterious absence to the string of investigations led by the Mapleview police. All it took was a phone call from the concerned Dianne who grew increasingly worried as the day progressed. Sara's car was in the back parking lot and she evidently entered the coffeehouse in the predawn hours. But it wasn't like her to suddenly vanish. Something was wrong, and Dianne felt it was her responsibility to convey the phenomenon to police.
It might be easy to conclude that cameras would have recorded the business owner's final moments that morning, but it was an expense that Sara hadn't invested in. From what detectives Tom and Larry could see, there was no sign of struggle much less a hint of anything which suggested foul play. And the only item that might have provided evidence was the establishment's records of transactions of the week (and month) that contained times of the days and hopefully names of customers who used debit or credit cards for purchases. At the time, this request was considered merely procedure by the pair of detectives. But when they returned to the station, the guiding hand of events would encourage a diligent examination of the Mapleview Coffeehouse's sales records that would lead to the first suspect in the Mapleview disappearances.
* * *
Officer Ralph had been a clerk of the Mapleview Police Department for many years. Despite his lifelong ambition to fight crime, the poor man worked the beat of traffic patrol early in his career until it was decided that the pudgy and good natured member of the police force was better suited for office duties. But he never lost sight of his ambitions and refused to accept the fact that a lifelong career of desk duty was his destiny.
Such was the case on the day when Detective Tom and Larry returned from the Mapleview Coffeehouse with nothing more than records of transactions. Officer Ralph had some information that he hoped would blow the case of the Mapleview disappearances wide open. “Gentlemen, we had a visit from one of the bouncers over at Hotlicks earlier.”
“Oh yeah; what'd he say, Ralph?” Detective Tom's skin often crawled when approached by the office clerk who sought every chance to, one day, become a detective like him
“It's not what he said, it's what he provided. This is the name of a customer who harassed that Hotlicks girl who disappeared. According to the bouncer, he used a debit card that night to pay for his beer. And he was parked outside, waiting for her, a few nights before her disappearance.”
Detective Tom's expression of disinterest suddenly changed as he looked at the report. “Steve Coldsworth, huh? Well why wasn't the bouncer so forthcoming with this information before?”
Only moments ago, the veteran detective entered the station with a heavy gait and the burden of another disappearance. Now he was supercharged, spewing out orders and creating a plan of action. “Larry, why don't you and Ralph go through the coffeehouse sales records and see if the name Coldsworth pops up. I want to look up the address of this guy and see if he has any records.”
Coffee which had sat on the burner for over 8 hours was poured into a Styrofoam cup with a packet of Sweet and Low. Most would cringe at drinking such a nasty beverage, but Detective Tom needed the elixir which provided a boost of his noteworthy intuition.
Not more than five minutes had passed as Detective Tom looked up the name of Steve Coldsworth who lived in downtown Mapleview at one of the old apartments. Soon, Detective Larry entered his partner's office with the excited Officer Ralph trailing behind.
“Hey Tom, Steve Coldsworth visited the coffeehouse on Saturday and purchased a medium coffee with a shot of espresso.”
Officer Ralph quickly gloated, “That's right Detective Tom! He used his debit card! I found it while searching the receipts!”
The seasoned veteran of the Mapleview Police briefly glanced at the computer screen, “Coldsworth, huh? Well Larry, should we pay this guy a friendly visit? It's late in the afternoon and he's probably home.”
Detective Larry agreed, “I think we should.”
The pudgy, good natured office clerk who aspired to join the detective force could hardly contain his excitement, “You want me to come with, too?”
Detective Tom was so mean, “No Ralph; it's dangerous out there. You better stay in the office and monitor any possible updates to the case.”
“Okay; but Detective Tom, can I go home now? It's past my shift.”
“Sure you can, Ralph.”
* * *
It was near 6:00pm on a Tuesday twilight in October. Steve stood alone in his one bedroom apartment, before his masterpiece mural in the living room with a frozen pizza cooking in the oven. The sounds of neighbors could be heard from the outside hallways along with the muffled babbles of TV news anchors in other apartments. Steve preferred silence and loathed the disturbances from those who lived around him.
The Tree Goddess paining was nearly complete; only the head was needed. Still, the effect was all wrong. Something was disproportionate with the painting; and the more Steve examined it, the more frustrated he became.
And then to further disturb his much, needed silence a loud rap was made at the door.
Steve would have ignored the knocking, assuming it to be a door-to-door salesperson or some kid selling candy for a school function. But the announcement of, “Mapleview Police” inspired him to quickly answer.
“Steve Coldsworth?”
“Yes”
“I'm Detective Tom Morehausen with the Mapleview Police Department, and this is my partner Detective Larry Copperwright. I was wondering if we could have a word with you.”
Steve opened the door all the way. “Yes, of course. Please come in!”
Immediately the pair of detectives was drawn to the mural-sized painting of what appeared to be a half-tree, half-human that stood in the middle of a clearing in the woods. Very careful detail had been given to the painting and every aspect and tone of human limb representation had been created. Steve Coldsworth was a very gifted artist, indeed.
Although impressed with the work of art, Detective Tom had a case to solve. He flashed a picture of Kelly in front of Steve's face. “You ever seen this girl?�
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Uh-oh! Steve certainly did recognize Kelly as evidenced by his expression of anxiety. He could only tell the truth at that moment, “Yeah, she's a waitress down at Hotlicks.”
Detective Larry corrected him. “No; was a waitress down at Hotlicks. She's missing. You can't tell me you don't know that. It was all over the news!”
Steve appeared so surprised and even apologized. To make matters worse, he provided an excuse for his lack of knowledge. “I don't pay attention to the news. It's the same crap every night: corrupt politicians and CEOs, global warming along with the Middle East about to blow itself up. I'm a painter who gets involved in his work. I wasn't aware that she had disappeared.”
Detective Larry took the conversation in a different direction.” Tell me something, Mr. Coldsworth; where do you find inspiration for a painting like that? Why does the tree have women's body parts painted on it?"
Steve was quick to answer, “I do nature hiking. I found the tree in the woods and the way it was shaped reminded me of a half-human, half-tree goddess. That's why I am calling it the Tree Goddess.”
And then Detective Tom attempted to hex his suspect with the ole' Jedi Mind Trick. “Mr. Coldsworth, there is no need to get defensive, here. We're just asking a few questions. You have a guilty conscience or something?”
It was Steve's first indication that he was a suspect in the waitress' disappearance. But he wouldn't fall for the detectives' tricks as he answered a firm, “No!”
Without asking, Detective Tom walked over to the mural painting and carefully examined it while appearing to admire the work. Then he turned around while reaching in his coat pocket, “Well, Mr. Coldsworth, if you have anything you might want to tell us about this missing waitress down at Hotlicks, you give me a call. I'll be all ears.”
Detective Tom handed his business card to Steve. Accepting it was the most insulting thing Steve had ever experienced.
Once the pair of detectives made it back to the car, the seasoned veteran of the Mapleview Police Department made mention of his key impression which labeled Steve Coldsworth as the prime suspect. “Larry, did I ever tell you that I spent two years of college, pursuing an art degree before deciding on law enforcement?”
“Why no, Tom; I don't believe you ever did.”
Detective Tom pulled onto Mapleview Road while continuing. “Yeah, and I found art to be fascinating. Let me tell you something about that mural in Coldsworth's living room. There's a problem with it and he knows it. The entire tree and body parts are exquisitely detailed; so much, in fact, that the various body parts don't match. It's sort of a twisted Mona Lisa, a collection of various women. And I bet the body parts painted on that tree belong to the missing women.
He has them, Larry. He's got the women buried somewhere or maybe even hiding in his closet."
* * *
The following morning, Detectives Tom and Larry stood over a fresh pot of coffee at the Mapleview Police Station.
Detective Tom was not happy with the brew, “Ralph, this coffee is weak! Can't you make coffee right?”
Detective Larry came to the clerk's defense, “Well you need to let it sit for about 10 hours, Tom. I thought you like the stale, burned stuff.”
“Very funny!” Detective Tom took a sip from the Styrofoam cup, hoping the morning elixir would bestow the secret powers of intuition. “I just wish I can get a warrant based on the tree painting. I'd love to go through Coldsworth's apartment.”
“You really think he's got the women in there?”
“I know he does, Larry.”
Just then, Larry suggested a brilliant idea. “Well supposedly it's a real tree out in the woods. Maybe he goes there and talks to it. Maybe we should find the tree and ask what it knows about Coldsworth.”
Detective Tom didn't find the suggestion helpful. “You're a real comedian this morning, aren't you, Larry?”
Just then, Officer Ralph appeared. “Gentlemen, did I hear you mention something about a tree in the woods?”
Detective Tom rolled his eyes, “Oh boy…”
Detective Larry encouraged the office clerk to continue.
“There's some kind of urban legend about an old tree in the woods, something about an Indian massacre which had taken place because of this tree. I guess there's some sort of ancient well that's next to it where victims were sacrificed by being cast into it. I say that if you find this tree and ancient well, you'll find those missing women.”
“Well where is it Ralph?” Partly humored, Detective Tom was willing to explore the possibility.
“Look, I'm not trying to say that the tree and ancient well is really out there. But if your suspect believes he found the tree, then maybe he's burying the bodies nearby. Maybe you should pay him another visit and ask him to bring you to it.
Chapter 36
As do many regions of the United States, Mapleview has a history spanning hundreds of years as it was occupied by civilizations long before the New World was explored by the white man. And most of these civilizations remained scattered about the country long after it was given the name of America. You've taken history classes, I'm sure of it. Our country is thousands of years rich in Native American history.
Like most tribes of Native Americans, the ones that existed along the regions of Mapleview, Sillmac and beyond were peaceful people. This is why the supposed legend which, at some point, was passed down to the modern day residents of Mapleview is so unusual. It would suggest that a disturbed individual had led a small cult into a killing spree. Believed to have taken place some 300 years ago, modern day historians in Mapleview immediately discredit the tale because of its inconsistencies and lack of evidence.
The name Nukpana would have been most unlikely for the supposed Native American serial killer who terrorized the region of Mapleview before the arrival of the white man. Nukpana is a Hopi name, and Hopi is a tribe that is primarily located in Arizona and quite some distance away from Mapleview. Further more, why would someone be given the name of Evil (English translation of Nukpana)?
But according to the persistent urban legend, Nukpana was a Native American tribesman who lived some 300 years ago and had become obsessed with an unexplained hole which, as far as inhabitants of the region knew, had always existed. People had a fear and aversion of the deep, dark hole in which a stone could be dropped into without the splashing sound of water. Its purpose and origination was a complete mystery.
Often dreaming of the fearful place, a need to face the hole alone in a moment of conquering was an appealing prospect. And so Nukpana ventured from his people and village for an afternoon in solitude with the mysterious entrance into the Earth.
Sitting at the very edge and gazing deep into the blackness, Nukpana thought about his own life. He examined events, memories and the current state of his people's village. Every face of his own family and neighbors had appeared as daydreams. Each person had been labeled by Nukpana's own likes and dislikes. The hole, he concluded, possessed a spirit which he had befriended. There was nothing evil or to fear of the anomaly. It granted the power of omnipresence or that of all knowing.
Nukpana returned to the village, seemingly altered and changed, almost as-if a wise man who was many years beyond his age and so aware of everything around him. To the actual elders and wise men of the tribe, the altered and changed Nukpana was nothing more than a wiseass who needed to be cut back down to size.
Within a day, the previously enlightened and omnipresent tribesman was the laughing stock of the village. As the elders saw it, any gift of nature should have been accepted with humbleness and humility, not boasted while arrogantly insulting members of family and neighbors. If he had gained some insight in his private moment with nature, he was not wise enough to understand its purpose. The elders saw to it that arrogance was knocked back down.
Returning to the anomalous hole in the Earth, Nukpana pleaded with whatever perceived spirit that existed. There had to be a way to restore the power of omnipresence. Was there a cost
?
He imagined of a payment that would ensure a more perpetual state of greatness. Surely, he speculated, there were people in his village who residents could have done without. Perhaps the purpose of the hole was to discard these individuals. In return for eliminating those who, Nukpana believed, were a waste of life, the spirit, he imagined, would grant a more constant state of omnipresence.
It was a young boy who unfortunately was born deaf and mute. And although nothing particularly troublesome with the boy, Nukpana always maintained a strong dislike towards the child. Why should he be allowed to live while burdening family and tribe people with his handicap? Nukpana carefully led the boy some distance from the village, where he was murdered and then dropped into the deep hole.
Returning to the village with an imagined restoration of being all-knowing and wise, the man who sacrificed the deaf and mute child felt respect and regard which came from the tribe people. In reality, many people associated him with the disappearance of the handicapped boy. And as time went by the man who imagined himself to be, once again, omnipresent concluded there to be an additional cost that he hadn't considered for his greatness.
Due to his arrogance, Nukpana interpreted everyone's negative feelings as a certain jealousy and animosity for the power which he possessed. In reality, they were the wiser ones who had sneaking suspicion of Nukpana's evil deed. For Nukpana, the solution was so clear. Younger members of the tribe needed to be inducted into this strange cult that involved a perceived spirit in the deep hole.
A handful of boys who were at the threshold of becoming men were one-by-one persuaded to join Nukpana out into the wilderness. The task of persuasion was nothing easy as it needed to remain secret. And it took quite of few days to convince each boy that a mystical event out in wilderness would guarantee reaching manhood with ease.
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