Twanged at Twilight

By C. E. Zaniboni

When Cy Walleski, ex-cop turned private investigator, is called by college friend Chief Stan Simmons to help with a crossbow killing case, the killings suddenly escalate. Has the killer been lying in wait for Cy? And will he be next?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gypsy Shadow Publishing, LLC
• Release date: May 15, 2017
• ISBN: 9781619503052

C. E. Zaniboni

Writing since she was a child, C.E.Zaniboni took the plunge into the world of fiction. From singer, actress, waitress, bartender, to owner of a small machine embroidery business, Chris has drawn from her many livelihoods to craft a novel set in the fictitious town of Gammil’s Point, Maine. As a singer, Chris had the opportunity to entertain many with the program she and her mother, the late Dorothy York, put together, entitled, Music Through The Years. An actress in community theater, she had parts in many plays and musicals, some of them original works by local talent. While waitressing and bartending, Chris kept her ears open for material she knew she’d use in her writing. She lives with her husband in Mansfield, Massachusetts.

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Contents

Copyright Page

Dedication and Acknowledgements

Chapter 1

Chapter 5

Chapter 10

Chapter 15

Chapter 20

Chapter 23

About the Author

Twanged at Twilight

by

C. E. Zaniboni

All rights reserved

Copyright © November 19, 2016, C. E. Zaniboni

Cover Art Copyright © 2016, CY

[e-mail]

Gypsy Shadow Publishing, LLC.

Lockhart, TX

www.gypsyshadow.com

Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

No part of this book may be reproduced or shared by any electronic or mechanical means, including but not limited to printing, file sharing, and email, without prior written permission from Gypsy Shadow Publishing, LLC.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

ISBN: 978-1-61950-305-2

Published in the United States of America

First eBook Edition: May 15, 2017

Dedication

I’d like to dedicate this book to my family for all their loving support without which my writing wouldn’t be possible, especially my biggest fan: my husband, Bill. Love you honey!

Acknowledgements

I would like to thank Ron Cedarfield for his help and expertise on all things pertaining to funerary practices. Your help is greatly appreciated, Ron, thanks. Also, a shout out to my very talented brother, Charles York, for his wonderful artwork on the covers of my books!! Charlie, you're the best! Love you!

Chapter 1

The frozen look of horror on the dead woman’s face didn’t shake me, nor did the shiny red apple balanced atop her head. What really sent me over the edge was the object protruding from her right eye. An arrow. A crazy William Tell wanna-be, I thought, as I approached the body. Propped against an oak tree, one rope circling her waist held her captive. Another bound her arms around the gnarly trunk behind her.

Leaves crackled underfoot as I moved closer to the corpse, rays from the setting sun playing over the body. I wasn’t too good at telling the difference between types of apples, but if I had to guess I’d say this one was a McIntosh. Admittedly, I’m not an apple expert. Well-polished, its skin was satiny in the late afternoon light.

I’d stumbled upon another bizarre murder the year before in my hometown of Gammil’s Point. I hoped this wasn’t going to become a regular thing for me.

The sound of crunching leaves startled me. I turned to see who was there. Stan Simmons, police chief of Millfield, Maine, for the last twelve years and a long-time friend, stood behind me with his hands in his pockets. The frown on his deeply lined face showed the strain he’d been going through in the three weeks since the first murder victim of this year had been found. And now here was another. As a former cop turned private investigator and a colleague of Stan’s, I’d been called in to help with the case.

Thanks for coming, Cy. Hell of a mess I got you into. Who’d do such a thing? And the apples on their heads. Polished shinier than a new sports car. Stan turned his gaze to me. What do you think?

Shit, I don’t know. Never saw anybody killed with a crossbow. Not your usual murder weapon. I scratched my head, bending down to get a better look. The bolt was deeply embedded in the victim’s eye and appeared to have gone completely through her skull, impaling it to the tree. It was obvious that the archer was an expert marksman. How many people could put a bolt through the eye of a squirming human target? That poor woman must have been terrified.

Know anybody who uses a crossbow? I asked.

Stan ran a hand through his thick graying hair as he stared at me and tugged on his beard. Maybe Alex Lincoln. He took lessons when he was a kid. He paused, rubbing the back of his neck. Remember Karen Bradshaw? Had all the guys running after her in high school? She and her husband, Tim Dillon, used to shoot down at the old gravel pit. I heard he even won some medals for the most bull’s eyes. Maybe they got into archery.

I listened as he continued to think out loud.

There’s an archery event every October down in Brewer’s Falls. It’s coming up soon. I talked to the folks in charge. Not much help there. You would have thought I was asking for their firstborn son or something. The angry set to his jaw said it all. He was running into nothing but dead ends.

Excuse me, Chief. We’re just about done here. Doc Warren wants to know if they can take the body yet. A young fresh-faced kid with dirty blond hair, worn a little longer than regulation collar-length, eagerly awaited his superior’s okay. His brown eyes shifted back and forth from Stan to me, as his feet shuffled the red and gold leaves.

Tell him to hold on a few minutes. I want to take a few more notes on body location and angles. Hey, make sure they’ve finished with the photos, too. Stan waved the young cop away to relay the news to the coroner.

What was her name? I asked, nodding toward the dead woman.

Beth Thoroughgood. Nice woman. Never bothered anybody. Kept to herself. She lived at the edge of town not far from the general store. Ran a little candy shop out of the front room of her house. All the neighborhood kids knew her by name. She was well-liked by everyone. Why would anyone want to hurt her? He turned to speak quietly to another young officer at his elbow.

Well, somebody didn’t like her, that’s for sure. How about the other victim? Any connection? I looked over at the officers; taking more notes, completing their tasks. The flash of the cameras lit the scene like strobe lights.

Not that I’ve found. Somebody with a grudge? Spurned lover? Heck of a way to get rid of your old girlfriends.

Finally, the body was released to the coroner’s care and we watched in silence as they took the body away on a stretcher.

Could I have the info on the two victims and the names of the next of kin? I asked.

The light was fading fast, and the forensics team was gathering their gear, preparing to leave the scene.

I’ll have Hank Warren get it to you. He’s been on the case from day one.

Stan finished writing in his little notebook and put it in his breast pocket. I could read the fear in his eyes. No one was safe while this crazed lunatic was loose. I understood all too well what he must be feeling. The murder the year before had everyone in Gammil’s Point running scared.

Let’s get the hell out of here and grab some coffee, Stan said, turning to follow the last of his men. Nothing was stopping me from following his lead. I took a last look at the tree where the body had been found, focusing on a spot of blood, and shook my head. What the hell is going on?

###

He stroked his short graying beard and stared off into space. Trails of sweat were racing down the sides of his face.

Susan Bigelow was seated opposite him, hands folded demurely in her lap.

She may look harmless, Stan thought, but I know what she is here for. Alex Lincoln. The thorn in her side. And mine. The police chief cleared his throat and leaned back, determined not to be the first to speak. See what she has to say this time.

She tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear and shifted in her seat. I need your help, Stan.

Alex again? Stan picked up the pen he’d been doodling with, and pulled an incident report form from the file in his desk. This would be the third incident in the last two weeks. The guy was really starting to piss him off.

He’s stalking me now. Popping up at my house at all hours of the day. And worming his way into my home. To talk about nothing. It’s harassment, Stan. I want to put a restraining order on him. She sat back, fingering the gold chain hanging at her throat.

Look, Susan, I’ll go talk to him. Put the fear of God in him. A restraining order isn’t going to deter someone like him. Stan filled out the form and, turning it around on the desk, handed her the pen. Sign this and I’ll take care of it. There’s not much I can do unless he gets physical. I’ll make sure he gets the point.

I hope so. He’s trying to drive me out, you know. After all, I’m the competition.

Yeah. Stiff competition. Stan chuckled.

Susan frowned at him. It’s not funny, Stan. This is getting ridiculous.

He got up and went around his desk to offer her his hand. She rose. He said, I’ll call you and let you know how it goes.

Thank you. I’ll be waiting to hear from you. She nodded at him and stalked from the room.

He watched her leave and shook his head. Alex Lincoln was becoming a problem. A big one.

###

I sat at the graffiti-covered desk in my room at The Dew Come Inn Bed and Breakfast, pictures of the two crime scenes spread out before me. The same scenario in each photo. A shiny apple perched atop each corpse’s head—just a different variety. I started to read over Hank’s notes. The first victim, Carolanne Lumbar, a forty-nine-year-old waitress, had been killed on a warm fall evening three weeks before. I plucked her picture from the desk and looked at it. Her long blond hair caught a shaft of sunlight, illuminating the scene. She had an arrow sticking out of her bloody right eye and a red apple, tinged with green, on the top of her head. Looking back over Hank’s notes, I continued reading.

The first variety had been a Macoun. Carolanne’s body had been discovered by a John and Lissa Tremont who’d been collecting leaves for Lissa’s third grade classroom. She taught at The Gardner Elementary School.

With a sigh, I got up and stretched. What a long day. I was beat. Stan and I had gone for coffee at The Corner Pocket, a little place that used to be a pool hall. We’d caught up on what was going on in each other’s life and reminisced about old times.

You oughta check out that Bigelow dame, a friend of Stan’s had said, inviting himself to our table. He elbowed me in the ribs. But watch out, she’s a tiger. He snarled, curling his fingers and clawing the air. I frowned. He laughed at my reaction. Sure is a looker, though. He snickered. I shook my head and turned to the tall stoop-shouldered man with bushy hair who’d approached our table. He cleared his throat, looking pointedly at Stan.

Hey, Hank, have a seat. Stan pulled out a chair, and Hank settled on it gingerly.

Cy, meet Hank Warren, one of the best darn workers we’ve ever had.

I reached over and we shook hands. He pumped my hand like he was trying to prime a well.

Stan’s told me a lot about you, the big man said, looking at the coffee cups we held. Any more coffee in that pot? He gestured at the carafe by Stan’s elbow.

Help yourself. Stan pushed a clean mug his way. Hank passed a folder across the table and filled his cup.

That’s all I’ve got so far, Hank said, nodding toward the papers I had taken and was sorting through. He slurped noisily as he leaned back in his chair.

Think I’m gonna call it a night, I said, pushing the papers into the folder and rising. I held up my hand.

Don’t leave on my account. I’d like to look through this stuff, if you don’t mind.

I looked to Stan. He nodded. Nice meeting you, I said, gesturing toward Hank with the folder. He mumbled a reply while munching pretzels from a sack he’d pulled out of his pocket. I headed for the door.

###

I went into the tiny bathroom and started up the coffeemaker that went with me on all my jobs. Earlier, I’d set it up ready to roll. As I stood there watching the coffee start to dribble through to the carafe, I thought about what we had so far. Two dead women with no apparent connection, killed by some lunatic with a crossbow. Are these random killings? Or is it a local with an axe to grind? Impatient, I held my mug under the stream of coffee and let it fill. The warmth of the mug in my hands felt good. Outside, the temperature had dropped, and there was a dampness in the room.

Sitting at the desk, I glanced at the calendar that hung on the wall above it. October 9th. The year is flying by so fast, I thought. I sipped my coffee in silent contemplation. What was going on in Millfield? There wasn’t any apparent connection between the victims, except for the fact that they were both women. Carolanne had been in her forties and Beth Thoroughgood was sixty-three. I examined the photos, looking carefully at the apples atop each victim’s head. The other unfortunate woman, Beth, had gotten a Pippin—not a McIntosh. What the hell is the significance of the apples? Who the hell is doing this? I didn’t think a woman would have the strength to use a crossbow, so as far as I was concerned we were looking for a man with something against these women.

I yawned. Time to call it a night. My eyes were getting so heavy I just couldn’t seem to stay awake. Surprising, since I’d just had a cup of coffee. I rinsed out my mug and left it on the desk. Pulling back the covers, I climbed into bed and reached over to turn off the light. I think I was asleep before my head hit the pillow.

###

The hunter seated on the bed lovingly rubbed the cloth over the bolt, polishing it just so. It had to be pristine for the job it would do the next day. The bright golden-red apple, free of blemishes, sat atop a snow white towel. The solitary figure hummed, enjoying the simple pleasure of a job well done. Another obstacle would be eliminated, and more shopping for the next target at twilight was necessary. A chuckle pierced the silence of the room. Twanged at Twilight.

###

Alex Lincoln held the cell phone to his ear, steering the red Porsche with one hand, trying to understand what Jackie, his wife of five years, was getting at. They’d just had another fight about her wild spending habits. He was sick of her.

Why don’t you go out to California and visit your sister?

After the constant fights and money battles, a little peace and quiet would be heaven. But she wouldn’t have any of it. Not going to that place again. Pam was a spoiled bitch and no fun. He rolled his eyes as he maneuvered a sharp corner into the drive-thru of Dunkin’ Donuts. Pulling up to the speaker, he told his wife they’d talk when he got home, hanging up before she could object. Bitch. He gave his order to the disembodied voice that squawked through the speaker. Once he was happily munching his bagel and on his way again, he felt better. Today he was determined to try to find a little peace for himself. After all he deserved it, didn’t he?

###

Susan hustled about her office, straightening things as she went by. It wouldn’t do to have the place looking like a hurricane had just passed through. The Bradleys, a couple she’d been trying to hire to assist with the dressing of bodies and other duties, were due at 10am. The grandfather clock in the hall chimed the hour. They should be here any minute. She looked at her reflection in the ornate mirror hanging on the wall behind her desk. Reaching up, she straightened it. That damn cleaning woman would have to be spoken to. She was always knocking things out of whack.

Susan examined her hair and patted a loose strand back into place. Peering into the mirror, she noted the dark circles under her eyes and frowned. Usually the long jet-black hair she’d inherited from her mother’s side of the family complimented the deep green of her eyes. But not today. It looked like she hadn’t slept at all, which wasn’t far from the truth.

A knock at the front door startled her. She took