Weave a Silken Web

By Judith Seul

Karla Elliott, author, left home ten years earlier. Her parents attorney, Dave McMullen, calls to tell her that her parents were killed in an accident, and he asks her to come. Upon arriving in Rostenville, she learns that her parents were murdered and whoever did the deed is now trying to kill her. She spends her time trying to untangle the web of her life. She learns that her parents were not who she thought they were and that she herself isnt who she believed herself to be.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Jun 1, 2018
• ISBN: 9781973624202

Book preview

ONE

W ind blew in her face from the partly open window, filling the car with odors of freshly plowed earth and newly mowed grass. Karla felt invigorated, her senses alive with the smells of a land awakening.

A wayward strand of hair had pulled out of her headband and it whipped around her face. She reached up to tuck it back in, without success. The wind continued to toss her hair into a riotous dance, rendering her effort useless.

Her eyes hungrily absorbed familiar sights as she drove, dredging up feelings of nostalgia. Over the past ten years, since leaving home, she thought she’d let go of old wounds. She realized that it wasn’t the land she’d run away from but her parents’ rejection.

She’d left Springfield, Illinois, forty miles ago, and as she approached her exit south of Jacksonville, she saw the prison at the far side of a fallow field to her right. The massive structure was nestled back from the road. It appeared stark and lonely against the blue sky.

In all the years she’d passed by the prison, she’d never seen activity around the structure. Her father had assured her that inside the daunting walls, it was a different story.

Karla turned south onto Route 74. She was less than thirty miles from her hometown of Rostenville. She felt a thrill of excitement at seeing her childhood home again, yet she also had a niggling sense of trepidation at revisiting it—especially now.

Normally, she’d have refused to come back but yesterday when she got the call from Dave McMullen, her parents’ attorney, she had mixed feelings. McMullen had called to break the news to her that her mother and father had been killed in a car accident.

When she’d left home, Karla swore she’d never return, but here she was on her way. As an only child, Karla had the solitary duty of dealing with her parents’ internment and handling their affairs. She wished that she had a sibling or two, who would do the job for her, or at least share the task, but it was hers alone.

Her father had always been meticulous with his business dealings and subsequent paperwork. With any luck, he would already have everything in good order. One could hope.

Oh, why did I agree to make this trip? she asked herself. Whining won’t help—I need to get a grip. I’m not a kid anymore, I can do this.

In spite of her resolve, she shivered as she remembered how cold and distant her mother had often been with her.

But that’s history; my folks are gone now and I’m a different person than I was ten years ago.

When she’d left home at eighteen, there had been no anger between Karla and her parents; it had all been civil. But it was obvious that her parents were glad to see her go.

The Elliotts supported Karla after she left home. They called occasionally and had generously helped her through school. Upon graduation, they sent money so she could rent an apartment and furnish it. After lightning fried her computer during a storm, her parents sent money for a new computer, and after her car finally died, money appeared for a nice used car. Karla was sent a generous allowance to live on until her career as a novelist took off.

It was nice having their financial support, but she preferred having their emotional support and love as well.

Karla had never once been invited back home for a holiday or short visit. Nor did her parents ever visit her at school or in her apartment since. She had told her parents they were welcome, but there had always been an excuse why they couldn’t come. It just wasn’t normal, even in the most aberrantly behaving family.

When Dave McMullen had asked her to come, in spite of her resolve to stay away, Karla found herself agreeing to leave in the morning.

She was annoyed with herself for not asking more questions about the accident. Mr. McMullen hadn’t elaborated on the details of the wreck and she could speculate all she wanted, but she’d have to wait until their meeting to get some answers.

As she drove, her mind meandered back in time. She tried to block painful old memories, but in spite of her determination not to revisit her past, the images filled her thoughts. The pain played havoc with her emotions. Bittersweet memories tumbled around in her head.

So much for my good intentions, she grumbled. Driving through familiar country triggered flashbacks from her youth best forgotten.

She imagined herself back in her bedroom, and as she stretched, she remembered it was her fifteenth birthday. The day was perfect with bright sunshine, soft breezes and birds chirping. It was a day to sit outside and watch the bees and butterflies flit back and forth. She felt glad to be alive and was filled with a sense of anticipation.

Hey, Mom, Karla said cheerfully as she entered the kitchen.

Good morning, Karla. Happy birthday!

Thanks. Karla helped herself to a cold piece of bacon left over from her parents’ breakfast.

Dad go out already?

Yes, he wants to finish up that carpenter job he’s been working on.

The conversation started out innocently enough, but it quickly turned ugly. Did you and Dad make a specific decision to have me, Mom, or was I a surprise? There was genuine curiosity in Karla’s voice.

We wanted a child. Why do you ask?

A guarded look crossed Marian Elliott’s face as she avoided giving a direct answer. It was a look Karla hated. Upon hearing Karla’s childish question, Marian’s facial expression turned into one of disapproval, laced with a large dose of fear. Marian abruptly turned away from Karla with a dismissive air, her body language a dead giveaway of her refusal to deal with the subject.

Marian stood five feet eight inches tall and she had a slim, almost boyish figure. Her hair was a short, sleek, chestnut cap. Karla knew her mom colored her hair, but she’d never seen her mother’s natural color and had always assumed that her hair was naturally brown and Marian was coloring the gray. Marian’s features were classic and in Karla’s eyes, her mother was dignified and beautiful—but aloof. Marian seemed to the young girl quite unapproachable.

Now, as an adult, Kala was able to look back at the incident and understand that her mother got that look every time Karla asked a question about the past. She wondered why her mother was so paranoid about discussing the past. Without knowing the reason, young Karla instinctively sensed her questions rattled Marian and when Marian was upset, she visibly withdrew from the world. Karla could see that now, but as a young teen, she didn’t have the experience or perception to understand her mother’s reaction.

In the past, when Karla’s questions got too personal, her mother would retire to her room with a headache. Only two things could elicit such a response from Marian: Karla’s questions and her husband’s occasional business trips. Those were what rattled the quiet, dignified woman and drove her to her bed. Karla could see that she’d upset her mother, but her curiosity, coupled with a tinge of anger at Marian for refusing to answer the question, compelled Karla to keep prodding.

You two were happy by yourselves. Dad said so.

We do enjoy each other, Marian said as she put a plate of eggs, bacon, and toast down in front of Karla. Then she turned her back again.

Karla held back a smirk trying to surface as she observed her mother’s posture. If Mom isn’t careful, her back will freeze ramrod straight. Then she’d appear stuffier than she does now.

Marian ran a dishpan full of hot, soapy water and carefully added the dirty breakfast dishes while Karla demolished her breakfast.

How come you and Dad never hug me, Mom? You guys always have this private thing between you and you don’t include me, Karla complained.

Marian turned to face Karla as Karla continued prodding. So why did you really have me? Irritation seeped into Karla’s voice. Was I an unwanted accident? Is that it?

Karla hadn’t meant to confront her mother quite so brutally, but it was so irritating for her to suffer Marian’s continuous refusal to deal with this subject. Karla felt rejected once again. What is so awful about wanting to know about family and the past? she wondered. Her mother’s refusal had been like a door slamming in Karla’s face, making the girl all the madder. Marian’s refusal to talk to Karla had piqued the girl’s curiosity. Why was her mother afraid to be honest about things?

As the memory played out, Karla found herself back in the kitchen, defiantly facing her mother, but she’d been totally unprepared for Marian’s violent reaction.

On its own volition, Karla’s left hand let go of the steering wheel and reached up to touch her cheek. She could still feel the stinging where Marian had slapped her hard enough to leave an angry, red mark. The blow had knocked Karla against a wall. A mixture of indignant rage and pain filled Karla as she remembered the incident clearly.

Marian looked shocked by her own reaction, but then her expression became hard and cold, her lips thinning and tightening into a slit. We are not a demonstrative family, Karla.

The staccato clip of her mother’s word infuriated Karla.

Marian continued, Your father and I don’t feel comfortable with public displays and I’ll not allow you to speak to me this way.

The encounter with her mother’s wrath had destroyed the young girl’s joy that day. Karla still remembered her own adolescent retort, I never asked for a public display. It isn’t public when you show affection at home. I figured you’d have some bogus answer for not caring about me.

Karla could still feel the rage she’d felt that day as she ran from the kitchen. Upstairs in her room, she’d slammed her bedroom door behind her with as much force as she could muster, knocking a picture off the wall. Then she’d turned the key in the lock.

Karla spent the remainder of her birthday locked in her room except for a couple of trips to the bathroom when her mother was out of the house. She didn’t appear in the dining room for the birthday meal of pizza she’d requested. Instead, she’d nibbled on a chocolate bar and an apple she had in her room. She didn’t emerge until everyone else was asleep. Only then did she sneak downstairs and raid the fridge.

Karla choked back her tears so she could see to drive. I knew old hurts would be dredged up on this trip, but I sure wasn’t prepared to relive them. And I’m not even home yet.

Why did I agree to come back here? The attorney surely could have settled the estate by faxing me whatever had to be signed. Oh well, she sighed, I’m here now and I need to focus on getting the job done quickly.

After a few minutes, Karla felt better and she made a conscious effort to pay attention to the scenery around her. After several minutes she felt in control and back to normal.

Automatically, Karla turned off Route 74 onto the 274 pigtail. It was a narrow two-lane hard road meandering south through some of the most beautiful farmland Karla had ever seen. Scenery immediately changed from city landscape to farmland, only broken up by a rare farm, small rural town or hamlet.

Many fields were freshly plowed, but others were not and still had last year’s stubble. The heavy spring rain had kept the farmers out of their fields for a few weeks. Some areas in the low ground were still too wet to plow.

An occasional car passed from the opposite direction, but otherwise traffic was non-existent. Karla was relaxed behind the wheel. Driving in the country certainly was easier than the Chicago suburbs where she lived. She’d forgotten how peaceful it was here. In the last fifteen miles Karla hadn’t seen a single human, only one farm dog and a few cows.

Karla loved the pastoral scenes she was driving past and took pleasure in remembering each familiar spot. She realized that this land would remain a part of her always and she was surprised at how much she’d missed living here. It wasn’t the land she wanted to get away from, she realized, only her parents and their rejection.

She approached a large field where two farmers on John Deere tractors were preparing the soil for planting. Karla automatically waved at the driver on the tractor nearest the road. He smiled and waved back. She knew that throughout central Illinois farmers were frantically trying to get their crops in as soon as possible. But even now, Karla saw the evidence of the last heavy rain. Almost every field had wet puddles that the farmers had to plow around.

When she’d lived here, she’d loved listening to the farmers talk about their crops and the weather. It all came rushing back. It was as if she’d never left.

Ahead, to her left, was a herd of Angus cattle grazing in a hilly pasture. Karla slowed her car to look at them. A small pond was nestled in the shelter of a rise, and two weeping willow trees and a lovely flowering crab partially shaded the pond. Cattails grew thickly, like menacing brown soldiers, at the south end of the pond. One cow lay under the crab apple tree taking a nap, but the remainder of the small herd grazed lazily on newly sprouted grass, their tails swishing back and forth methodically, like metronomes, to keep off the flies.

Two very young calves snuggled close to their mothers and one of them was eating his dinner of cow’s milk. Karla smiled, remembering the Angus calf she and Carol Roberts had raised for their 4H project when she was eleven. Karla had cried piteously on the night they won the blue ribbon and sold their calf, because she knew he would soon be butchered.

A few miles ahead, she spotted a sign. Tall grass grew up around the signpost, making it appear that the sign was floating on a sea of green. The sign read Rostenville, Population 1,635. The road curved to the left and as Karla followed the road bright sun hit her full in the face, almost blinding her. She reached for her sunglasses, glad she had remembered to bring them.

TWO

K arla glanced at her watch. It was seven-fifteen. By leaving at a little after three a.m. this morning to avoid running into city rush hour traffic, she’d made excellent time and she realized that she’d misjudged how long it would take her to drive from her apartment in Downers Grove, a Chicago suburb, to Rostenville, so she’d be in time for her nine-thirty meeting with the attorney.

A minute later, Karla spotted the local cafe. She was pleased to see that Maggie’s Diner was still in operation. Several vehicles were parked out front.

It’s too early to go see the attorney, she reasoned. I might as well eat. It had been almost five hours since she’d crawled out of bed. By the time she’d showered, dried her hair, dressed and loaded her car it was after three a.m. since she’d gotten in her car to leave home. Before starting the trip, Karla had gassed up and gotten herself a cup of coffee.

Her stomach growled noisily and she realized she was quite hungry. The previous evening, after her phone call from Dave McMullen, she’d been so lost in thought that she’d forgotten to eat supper. Food would taste good and fortify her for the task ahead.

Karla pulled her tan 2006 Honda into an open parking space in between a new, fully loaded, forest green Dodge Ram which sported a shiny silver roll bar and a red late model Silverado covered with gravel dust. The owners, probably farmers, certainly seemed prosperous enough if their vehicles were any indication.

The restaurant building was a white clapboard structure of undetermined vintage. It was in need of a coat of paint.

Karla stepped inside the rustic dining room and sat at a table by one of the windows. Several pairs of male eyes followed her curiously, but their owners soon turned back to their conversations and jovial horseplay, typical for close friends of many years standing.

Karla glanced around the homey room. Each tabletop contained a bud vase holding spring flowers, as well as the usual condiments. Red and white gingham café curtains covered the windows. The room was immaculate. Only the color scheme had changed in the last ten years.

The waitress, a sturdy blonde in her thirties, was the only other female in the room. She wore jeans and a red tee shirt. She carried a coffeepot over to the table and poured a cup of coffee for Karla and handed her a tattered hand-written menu.

Hi, will you be having breakfast or just coffee this morning?

I’d like scrambled eggs, hash browns, extra crispy, wheat toast and a small orange juice, please.

Karla picked up the aromatic cup of coffee and took a sip. It was hot and fresh. In a short time, the waitress returned with a heaping platter of food. Karla thought it was enough to feed a group of farm hands, but in truth, she knew that these portions were the norm in this area.

The waitress asked, Are you just passing through?

No, I’m here on business for a few days, Karla said evasively.

At a back table, Karla saw a tall, broad-shouldered man in his early thirties, who had glanced Karla’s way several times get up. He meandered over carrying his coffee cup. He stopped in front of her table and smiled, then said, Before I have the audacity to sit down at your table, maybe I better ask if you’re Karla Elliott.

Yes I am, but you have the advangage.

I’m Dave McMullen, may I? He nodded at the chair across from her.

Please do, Mr. McMullen.

Mr. McMullen’s my dad, call me Dave.

Dave pulled out the chair and sat down. His neatly trimmed reddish brown hair, in spite of having recently been combed, seemed to have a mind of its own that bordered on the unruly and his eyes were tawny golden and kindly.

He doesn’t look much like an attorney, she thought. He wasn’t wearing standard local attire of jeans and a tee shirt, but he wasn’t wearing a suit and tie either. Charcoal slacks and a light grey and green plaid, short-sleeved shirt, unbuttoned at the neck were neat but casual. Karla reached over the table and shook his hand. She was surprised as she let go. He might be an attorney but the man was no stranger to manual labor with those calluses.

I’m sorry about your folks, Karla. It was a real tragedy. The sheriff is still investigating the accident but we should know more in a day or two. Have you talked with the undertaker yet? he asked.

Yes, I spoke to him yesterday after your phone call. He said the coroner would release the bodies to him as soon as I gave the okay and I did that yesterday. I’m going to meet with the undertaker this afternoon to make arrangements.

Karla looked down at her plate, Is there a problem about the accident? Why is the sheriff still investigating it?

Tears welled up in Karla’s large brown eyes in spite of her best effort to maintain control. Dave was immediately aware that his words had caused her pain as he watched her fight to control her emotions.

Sorry, I shouldn’t have brought this up in a public place. It’ll be better to go over everything at the office.

When Karla was once again composed, she said, `No, I’m okay. I’m still not quite over the shock of my folks’ sudden deaths. I never dreamed they’d die so young, she added, her voice soft and husky.

When was the last time you saw your folks? he asked.

I left home ten years ago when I went off to college. I haven’t been back since, she said.

You didn’t come back home for holidays and vacations? Dave sounded incredulous.

Karla shook her head. She felt no anger at Dave’s surprised response. How could he know the real circumstances surrounding her relationship with her parents? She knew he would automatically assume theirs was a typical family but wasn’t.

Her parents had never been close to her; they acted like very polite strangers. They had provided Karla with a good home and had educated her but she’d never felt loved. The Elliotts were not unkind to her, but their cool and distant demeanor had stood between them and Karla like a thick wall.

Her mom and dad had never discussed their early lives with her. They never once discussed their lives from birth until they moved to Rostenville. Karla thought they had avoided discussing that part of their lives with her because it was painful for them. Once she’d asked her mom, Don’t we have any relatives? Everyone has relatives somewhere.

Marian had gotten a guarded look on hearing Karla’s childish question, but she calmly said, There is no one on either side, Karla. We were both orphans.

All the years she was growing up, Karla could never remember her mom and dad ever mentioning their childhood years. It must have been scary being little and belonging to no one. She was grateful that she didn’t have to go through that. They might not have been exactly cuddly with her but she did grow up feeling safe and secure.

Karla had never mentioned this subject to her folks. She felt it would be cruel, but the lack of information from her parents had made Karla even more curious about their background. When she was thirteen, one day while doing research on the library computer, she had tried to check her parent’s names. She had gotten a few people with the same names, but they were either too young or too old or they were the wrong race. She hadn’t found out a single thing in her searches. It had all seemed so mysterious. But, as curious as she was, she didn’t quite have nerve enough to push her mother, who obviously either didn’t know anything or didn’t want to talk about that time in her life.

Both her parents acted as if they’d had no life before they moved to Rostenville. Upon questioning Tom and Marian about their professional lives before they moved to central Illinois, Karla only received vague answers from her mother. She knew better than to push her dad. He didn’t push well. Karla puzzled over this situation. She imagined all sorts of scenarios about her mom and dad’s former lives. She even imagined that they had been in prison and didn’t want her to know about it. But, Karla knew instinctively that was impossible. They were too straight laced and stuffy for that to be a possibility.

Karla knew, however, that even though they were orphans, they still had a traceable life upon their release from the orphanage until their move to Rostenville. They had to have jobs, hobbies,