C. E. Zaniboni
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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.
WEBSITE: czaniboni.com
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Ex-cop turned P.I., Cy Walleski, thinks he
has it bad enough when he has yet another fight with his
girlfriend, Connie Gaglioni, but his night goes from bad to
worse when he discovers a body with a carrot deeply imbedded in
its ear. A noseless snowman is the only witness to the crime,
and he isn’t talking. Cy takes on the job to find out who the
dead young man is and why anyone would want to kill him in such
a bizarre way.
Excerpt
Word Count: 54620
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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?
Excerpt
Word Count: 56856
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| Excerpts |
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| Iced at
Midnight |
Chapter One
I looked up at the stars twinkling in a cold December sky and
kicked at the dirty snow that a lumbering plow had just
deposited in my path. Thanks a lot, pal. I shoved my hands into
the pockets of my worn parka and exhaled. Right now, I should be
enjoying the comfort of a warm bed and an even warmer female,
instead of trudging down the winter streets of my hometown,
Gammil’s Point, Maine.
“Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Walleski,” I muttered, pulling
my watch cap down tight over my ears. I’d had another fight with
my girl and she’d sent me packing. At least we don’t live
together. I couldn’t seem to please her no matter what I did.
Just the other night she’d flown into a tizzy when I’d smiled at
a girl at the pizza place downtown. It was just a smile, for
heaven’s sake. Dames. I shook my head.
I drew abreast of the old Pike place and stopped. A snowman
leered at me from the front yard of the abandoned property—minus
a nose. He had all the other usual stuff, just no nose. Only an
empty hole where one had been.
I frowned, looking around for the poor guy’s honker. Shit. I
really needed a cigarette. Too bad they were in the glove box of
my car. I pulled out a stick of gum and unwrapped it. Poor
substitute, but it would have to do. I folded it up and popped
it in my mouth. I walked closer to get a better look at the
snowman and gulped. There, partially hidden in a snowdrift was a
man’s body with something sticking out of his ear. A carrot. I
almost swallowed my gum as I did a double take. Shit! My night
had just gone from bad to worse. I yanked my cell from my pocket
and dialed.
“Hey, Smitty, it’s me, Walleski. I’m out at the Pike place
looking at a snowman without his nose and the stiff whose ear is
wearing it.” I listened to his smart-assed reply. “No, his name
isn’t Frosty. Look, send a car. It’s freezing out here.”
I ended the call and eyed the dead guy. Young. Late twenties,
early thirties. I stomped my feet to try to keep the circulation
going. It was damned cold out. As a former cop turned private
investigator, I’d seen a few bodies in my day, but none done in
with a carrot. Pretty strange choice for a weapon, although I’d
read about another case where a guy was killed with an icicle to
the ear, so I knew it was possible.
Good thing I’d decided to take a walk to clear my head,
otherwise the poor guy might have laid here for days. Where the
hell are the police?
As if in answer to a prayer, a squad car glided to a stop in
front of me. I hadn’t realized I’d been walking in the middle of
the road. The massive cop who got out looked like a tank with
legs. Dexter Phillips. I’d tangled with him on more than one
occasion, here and when we’d been in the Army together,
stationed in ’Nam.
“Okay, Walleski, where’s the body?” He stood like a statue in
front of me, hand resting on his piece. I knew he had an itchy
trigger finger.
I motioned for him to follow and led the way. I got the creeps
looking at the frozen face of the snowman while a body lay not
far away. Dexter bent down and felt of the corpse’s neck. Did he
think the guy had miraculously come back to life? What an
asshole.
“Okay, he’s beyond help.”
No shit, I thought, wriggling my toes in the beat-up sneakers
I’d foolishly worn. I watched him pull out his cell phone and
punch in a number. He saw me looking at him and turned his back.
Dickhead.
He turned to face me, a frown on his face. “The rest of the crew
is on the way. Why don’t we have a little chat, Walleski,
starting with what you’re doing out here in the middle of the
night.” Dexter waved me toward the unit. I started to get in the
front seat. He shook his head and opened the rear door.
I got in. “Not good enough to grace you with my presence in the
holy front seat?” I asked.
“Shut up, Walleski. Let’s cut to the chase. Give me your story.”
He twisted in his seat and eyed me while he pulled out a pack of
cigarettes and shook one free. Lighting it, he took a deep drag
and blew the smoke toward me.
I inhaled and groaned. “Hey, can I bum one of those?” I asked,
leaning forward and gazing hungrily at the pack he’d laid on the
dash. He offered me the pack. Greedily, I snatched one out
before he could change his mind. He lit it for me and tossed his
lighter on the seat. I closed my eyes and felt I’d gone to
heaven, as I drew in a lungful of smoke and held it.
“Well?”
I opened my eyes and exhaling in a rush, nodded. “Me and Connie,
we got into it again. Had a doozie of a fight and I left. I knew
I wouldn’t be able to sleep, so I took a walk. To rethink a few
things. Found myself out here and saw the snowman. Started
looking for the missing nose and bingo, I found it. Didn’t think
it’d be in somebody’s ear.”
Dexter eyed me as he tapped ash from his cigarette out the
window. “Didn’t see anyone hanging around? Running away?”
“Nothing. Just me and the ice man.”
Dexter glared at me and crushed out his smoke.
I savored mine, sucked on that baby ’til it was almost gone. I
wasn’t wasting a bit of that stick of gold.
Suddenly, the area was festooned with the bubble lights of
emergency vehicles and the angry squawks of police radios. The
troops had arrived. “Okay if I go?” I said, pinching the last of
the cigarette between my fingers. Couple more seconds, and it
would burn me.
“Yeah, get out. I know where to find you.” He jerked his head
toward the door and laughed.
I glanced at the handle-less door. “I will, when you open the
door.” The burning butt seared my fingertips. I held my breath
and counted to ten. Hurry the hell up.
Dexter came around and let me out. I dropped the butt like a hot
potato and sucked on my singed fingers. He laughed.
Asshole. I pulled out my cell and dialed my good friend Tack, a
detective with the force. He answered and the sounds of a
distant game of pool and clinking glasses muffled his voice. I
knew where he was. The Hot Tamale, a local haunt we both
frequented. I could hear Dave, the bartender, bellowing at one
of his regulars. Yeah, bellowing. Picture a bull. Big thick neck
and shoulders that barely clear the doorway—that’s Dave.
“Cy, that you?” Tack’s voice was clearer now and the sounds of
the bar faded. I figured he had stepped outside.
“Yeah. You got a minute?”
“Sure. What’s up?”
“I’m down at the old Pike place. I just found a body.”
“You what?” I could hear Tack’s heavy breathing across the line.
“You heard right. The Ten-Ten over the radio? That was me
calling it in. I found a guy with a carrot stuck in his ear.”
“Are you shitting me?” Tack’s voice went up an octave.
“I walked here. Can you come get me?”
“Be right there.”
I heard the click and buzz of the disconnect and snapped my
phone shut. Now I’d just have to wait.
###
I glanced down at my watch and was shocked to see it was after
two. I was starving. Strange, considering I’d just discovered a
body. My stomach started to growl. Where can I get something to
eat at this hour? I thought of the little store I always went
by. What was the name of it? Clover’s Mini Mart. Yeah. I headed
for the center of town and dreamed of a hot sub. Or pizza. Tack
will find me. He knows I can’t stay still.
It’s a good thing I like to walk, I thought, slipping on a patch
of ice, but then regaining my footing. I kicked at a cola can
and watched it tumble in the wind.
My footsteps crunched as, deep in thought, I continued down Old
Beach Road. That guy wasn’t much more than a kid, and from the
looks of his clothes, he hadn’t been doing too badly for
himself. Wasn’t a local, and none of the guys had recognized
him, either. I’d like to get another look at the body. Check the
labels in his things. Maybe that would get the ball rolling to
find out who he was. Why was a stranger at the Pike place? And
what was the significance of the snowman?
Maybe Tack could pull some strings and help me get somewhere.
He used to be my partner in the good old days before the chief
found out I was dating one of the key witnesses in a case, and
kicked me off the force. I didn’t use much smarts then, not that
I do much better now, but at least I’m my own boss.
Clover’s Mini Mart wasn’t doing much business at 2:15 in the
morning. A beat-up old Volkswagen bug, painted a hideous shade
of green, sat partially covered by the newly fallen snow, and no
other cars were in sight. As I walked through the door, the
clerk looked up, glassy-eyed and yawning. He looked out of
place, I thought, like a hippie leftover from the sixties. Long
black hair hung almost to his waist, and some of those love
beads hung around his scrawny neck. I could feel his eyes follow
my every move as I picked out a pizza from the freezer and
grabbed a six-pack of Bud. I snagged a couple of Hershey bars at
the register, too.
“How’s it going?” I said, reaching into my back pocket for my
wallet.
“Okay,” he said. He glanced up at me with disinterest, as he
finished ringing me up and started to bag my groceries. I swear
a turtle could have gone faster. Once he was done, I thanked him
and headed for the door. Behind me I heard a kind of grunting
noise I interpreted as some form of you’re welcome. Maybe in an
alien language? Kids nowadays. I shook my head as I started down
the icy steps. Lazy kid, couldn’t even throw salt down.
I guess maybe I was a pain in the ass to all the adults when I
was his age, but at least we’d had to have some kind of dress
code when we went to work for somebody else. For crying out
loud, he had on old ripped jeans that looked like they hadn’t
seen the inside of a washing machine in a long time.
The sound of a car pulling up beside me broke my ruminations.
The warm air that belched forth from the interior as the window
opened smelled of cigarettes and Drakkar aftershave. Tack leaned
over and opened the door. “Hey, thought you were gonna wait for
me?”
But hey, I’ve got to tell you about Tack. He always looks like
he just stepped out of a men’s fashion magazine. No kidding. No
matter what time of day, there’s Tack, looking like a Greek god.
He’s got an eye for great clothes and sexy ladies. Ah, maybe not
in that order, but I guess you catch my drift.
The guys on the force used to joke with him about his choice of
partners; after all, we were as different as night and day. But
that’s one thing I can say for Tack. He sticks up for his
friends and I’m glad I can count myself as one of them. Even
though I’m not one of the gang, Tack keeps me in the loop and
helps me out when I need special favors. Like parking tickets.
It helps to know somebody.
I pulled up the backseat and stowed my bags in the back, getting
in the front. “Sorry about that. I had to have a snack. Knew
you’d know where to find me. What’s going on back at the Pike
place? Heard anything?”
“Just the chief slinging insults and screaming about them
messing up the crime scene. Seems everybody’s been tromping
through the snow, not being careful. Same bullshit. Different
day.” He tapped the bottom of a fresh pack of Marlboros, and I
looked on hungrily. He shook one out and offered it to me. I
grabbed it greedily and, with the lighter he offered, lit it.
While I sucked on my cigarette like a hungry babe at its
mother’s breast, I watched him flick ashes out the window.
“Were you going to walk home with all that stuff?” he asked,
motioning toward the back.
“Well, I wasn’t gonna fly,” I quipped. “Seriously, I could use
the exercise, but it’s damned cold out. Glad you came along.”
“No problem.”
The glow from the end of his cigarette was like a tiny beacon in
the dark interior of the car. I leaned back and stretched out my
legs toward the warmth blasting from the heater as we cruised
down Willow Street and headed toward my house.
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Iced at Midnight |
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| Twanged
at Twilight |
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.
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