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THE
TANGLEWOOD
MURDERS
THE
TANGLEWOOD
MURDERS
DAVID WEEDMARK
Text © 2010 David Weedmark
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means, digital, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior consent of the publisher.
Cover design by Emma Dolan
We acknowledge the support of the Canada Council for the Arts for our publishing program. We acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund for our publishing activities.
RendezVous Crime
an imprint of Napoleon & Company
Toronto, Ontario, Canada
Printed in Canada
14 13 12 11 10 5 4 3 2 1
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Weedmark, David
The Tanglewood murders / David Weedmark.
ISBN 978-1-926607-09-2
I. Title.
PS8595.E37T35 2010 C813’.6 C2010-904973-X
For Michael,
Emily &
Amanda
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Thirty-One
Thirty-Two
Thirty-Three
Thirty-Four
Thirty-Five
Thirty-Six
Thirty-Seven
Thirty-Eight
Thirty-Nine
Forty
Forty-One
Acknowledgments
In her dreams the river is always thick and bloated, its surface cast in the familiar blues of twilight. Along its flooded banks, thick gnarled willows are intertwined with scrap pine and coarse dead brush. As she approaches the water, the willows lean towards her, their branches like wet tangles of hair brushing across her bare shoulders. The pine trees shift in jagged angles. The bushes crowd towards her and obstruct. Hearing again the muffled cries of her friend, Jennifer wades into the water towards them, but she can see no trace of the girl, no movement in the shadows. As her nightgown rises around her thighs, the water chills her legs. Her steps are slowed by the thickness of the water and the grip of the mud around her feet. Waist deep in the water, Jennifer calls out to her friend, but the cries have faded. Her own voice is absorbed by the growing silence, which is now as thick as the water and the shadows themselves.
She turns around, and around again, searching the shoreline for any sign of the girl, scanning the water for an extended hand, or a rising face gasping for breath. But the river is overcome with silence. She sees only her own black silhouette rippling on the surface. Then the remains of a crow float slowly towards her, one wing spread upon the skin of water, the other submerged. Slowly, it circles past her and fades into the shadows. Jennifer is alone.
She calls out again, but the silence, dark and cold, has a weight, has a substance now all of its own. The water rises around her, and the shadows cover her eyes and ears. The silence
