Death at the Door (17 page)

June 2—Edgewater Resort, Ephraim, Wisconsin

The night passed uneventfully. Lacey slept soundly except when she was awakened for her neuro checks. She had gotten used to everything about them but the flashlight in her eyes. She became nauseated with every check but was so tired that she was able to relax herself out of it and quickly get back to sleep.

She awoke at 5:45
A.M
. to the rich smell of fresh coffee. She opened her eyes to see Lark staring at her face. He broke into a smile when he saw her eyelids flutter.

He put his coffee mug down on the side table and leaned down toward her. “I worried that the smell of coffee might bother you, but I couldn't stay awake unless I had some. You okay?”

She stretched her legs and moaned when pain shot though her side.

“What's wrong?” Lark moved over to sit on the edge of the sofa bed beside her.

“When we catch that bastard who did this to me, I'm going to hit him in the head with a tire iron the way he kicked me in the gut.” Her hands pressed her side. She pulled her left hand back and stared at the palm. She saw the two-inch cut Gene had sutured up the night before and grimaced. “We'll see how he feels with a big knot on his head. With any luck he'll spend a lifetime wishing he'd never met me.”

Lark took her left hand and studied her palm. He enfolded it in his two hands.

“Careful, Swenson. I don't need any cooties in that wound.”

He laughed and she pulled her hand away. He smoothed her tangled hair away from her face, noting the bruise and the stitches near her hairline. “How's your head this morning?”

“Help me up and we'll see.”

He helped her sit up and put his arm around her as she teetered on the edge of the sofa. She groaned and leaned her head on his shoulder. “I'm very dizzy. I do believe a freight train has made a detour through my head.”

Lark put his hand up to steady her head against his shoulder as he put his other arm around her. He thought about how he could kill the son of a bitch who had done this to her.

Ann found them sitting together like that when she came out of her bedroom dressed for her 6
A.M
. shift. Lark was so focused on Lacey that he didn't notice Ann was there until she whispered his name. She was standing right beside them.

“How's she doing?” Ann whispered.

“I've been better.” Lacey's voice was muffled against Lark's arm.

“Let's have a look at you.” Ann sat down on the coffee table in front of them.

“If you shine that damn flashlight in my eyes one more time, I'm going to hit you with it,” Lacey said as she disengaged herself from Lark's arms.

Ann laughed. “I think we're through with the flashlight and the rest of the neuro checks.”

John came out of the bedroom, fully dressed. “This is a first.” He made a beeline for the coffeepot. “My wife up and dressed before I am. I can't remember the last time that happened.”

Ann grinned and gave him the finger. “You're a funny, funny guy. You'll pay for that later.” She turned her attention back to Lacey. “John has his coffee so he is now going to go out on the porch and smoke one of his cancer sticks. Lark is going with him so we can have a little privacy when you walk to the bathroom.”

“What if she passes out and you need help?” Lark asked, putting his arm back around Lacey.

“I'd roll my eyes if my head didn't hurt so bad,” Lacey said.

“If we need help, we'll yell.” Ann shooed Lark out of the way. “You'll be right outside, glued to the door. You'll hear us and ride to the rescue.”

“Come on, Lark.” John held up two mugs of coffee.

Lark followed him out on the porch. “I still think someone ought to stay in there with them. What if she falls or passes out?” Ann had pulled the door shut behind them. Lark turned around and stared at the door as if he had X-ray vision.

“Ann won't take any chances with her.” John took a big puff on his cigarette and watched Lark's face. “She'll yell if she needs anything.”

Lark ignored him and stared at the door.

“How long was your wife sick before she died?” John asked.

Lark whirled around. “What did you say?”

“Sorry if I'm prying.” John waved his hand in dismissal.

“Nearly three years.” Lark stared down at the ducks paddling along the little stream in the garden. “She was pretty cavalier about mammograms; she thought she was too young to get breast cancer so she certainly wasn't going to have one unless there was a reason. I was the one who found the lump and she waited a month to get it checked because of her flight schedule. We had a big fight over it so she finally went in.” He took a sip of his coffee.

“The radiologist didn't like what he saw on the mammogram so he did a needle biopsy and it came back cancerous. They did bone and brain scans and they were clear. She had the lump removed and her lymph nodes biopsied to find out if the cancer had spread. They were negative. We were overjoyed. At my urging she decided to have radiation therapy and chemotherapy. She had a terrible time with both.” He paused and John saw his jaw working.

“She was nauseated and exhausted for the entire first year but there was no sign of cancer.” Lark laughed but it was without mirth. “She was ecstatic that she didn't lose her hair. The second year was wonderful. She felt good. Her scans were all clear.” He glanced over at John and back down at the ducks. “Things were wonderful between us. I couldn't have asked for anything more. The third year went downhill with a bullet. Her cancer marker test skyrocketed and her bone and brain scans showed metastasis.

“She took another medical leave from United and went through chemo and radiation therapy again. During her last three months we had hospice with us to help control her nausea and her pain. She lost a lot of weight and, to her never-ending anger, she lost her hair. She died eleven months after her bone mets was diagnosed.” Lark put his coffee cup down on the railing and brushed his hand under his eyes.

They were saved from further comment by Joel's arrival. “How's the patient?” he asked, noting Lark's flushed face.

“Ann's helping Lacey to the bathroom. She must be doing well since we haven't gotten any distress calls.” John waved his coffee mug at the door.

“Skewski called me this morning. They found Lacey's purse two hundred yards into the woods from where she was attacked. It was about a hundred yards away from a gravel road on the other side of the woods. The road had indentations that looked like a vehicle had been parked there, but, of course, we won't be able to get any impressions since it's gravel. Her wallet was in her purse but all her cash is gone. There are several credit cards and her driver's license in the wallet so we're assuming none were taken. Her house keys were there but her badge and state police ID were gone. We need to have Lacey go through it to see if anything other than her cash is missing.”

“That'll give her something to do today,” John said.

“Fred Johnson's in the clear,” Joel said, studying Lark's face and trying to figure out what was going on with him. “He closed the shop as soon as she left and was on the telephone for an hour after that. He didn't know anything had happened until we pulled him in last night. The telephone company did a stat review of his records. He was talking to a number in Florida for fifty-six minutes during the time Lacey was assaulted. It wasn't him.”

“Do you think this could be connected to the robberies or Paul Larsen's murder?” John asked.

“Anything's possible,” Joel said. He patted Lark on the shoulder. “Hey, buddy, are you okay?”

“I'm fine,” Lark said, not meeting his eyes.

Ann opened the door and waved them inside. Lacey was sitting on a barstool at the counter dressed in a polo shirt and jeans. She was sipping a cup of tea. A half-eaten piece of dry toast lay on a plate in front of her. They heard someone come up the steps and turned around to see Gene.

“How ya doing, Red?” he asked Lacey as he came through the door. “Is there someplace we can go so I can do an exam on you?” Ann took them into the bedroom and stayed in the room at Lacey's request. Ten minutes later they were back.

“Lacey is going to need to be off her feet for at least two days,” Gene told the group. “I want to see her before she goes back to work.” He kissed Lacey on the cheek and told her to call him if she had any problems. He left so he could get to the clinic on time for his first appointment.

Joel sat down beside Lacey. “Let's get you back down to your cottage so you can begin your two days of R and R. Organizing your purse to see what's missing ought to take you at least half a day.”

“It might if I had a purse to organize.”

“The sheriff's department found it in the woods. If you'll agree to follow Gene's orders, I'll go get it for you. We need to know what's missing besides your cash.”

“That's extortion, but I was planning on following his advice anyway, so you can go get my purse.”

Joel left after John and Ann offered to drive Lacey to the White Gull Inn. Ann got a call from work just before they left and got stuck on the phone dealing with an employee issue. John and Lark took Lacey to the White Gull without her.

June 2—Sturgeon Bay, Wisconsin

The dispatcher pointed the way to Skewski's office and told Joel to make himself at home. Joel marveled at how well organized the office was. Papers were stacked into neat piles, and file folders not stored in the old brown filing cabinet were in a file holder on the side of Skewski's desk.

Pictures of his wife and his children hung all over the walls. As Joel scanned the pictures, he felt as if he were watching Skewski's kids grow up in fast-forward. Photos of two chubby-cheeked infants sat in a frame on Skewski's desk. They looked recent and Joel assumed they were his grandchildren. He was jolted out his study of the Skewski family when the sheriff entered the office and sat down behind his desk.

“Lacey is champing at the bit to get her purse back. She's on bed rest for two days so I thought getting it organized would give her something to do.”

“My wife would probably have sprouted wings and flown down here to get her purse. She and the queen of England are exactly alike. They're both surgically attached to their damn pocketbooks. I'd reach blind into a coon hole in a tree faster than I'd get in my wife's purse.” Skewski called his dispatcher and asked her to have someone bring in Lacey's bag. “I'll give you an update while we're waiting.”

Joel relaxed back in his chair.

“We finally found one of Larsen's safety-deposit boxes at First State Bank of Wisconsin in Sturgeon Bay. It was rented by his grandmother five years ago and he's continued to make the payments.” He opened the evidence bag he had on his desk and pulled out two stacks of letters. The large stack was tied with a red ribbon. The edges of the envelopes were foxed a brownish gold color and smudged from multiple readings. The other set of envelopes was much smaller. They looked crisper and newer and were tied with a blue ribbon.

“I've read some of these.” He lifted up the stack tied with red ribbons. “I know why Mr. Williams gave the cottage to Paul Larsen's grandmother. They were having an affair. Her son was his kid.”

“You're shitting me,” Joel said.

“Old Josh Williams was getting a little on the side,” Skewski said after an officer dropped off Lacey's black leather shoulder bag.

“No shit,” Joel said.

“It looks that way from the letters. After Minevra's husband died, Joshua offered to divorce Hyacinth and marry her. Minevra, Paul's grandmother, must have declined, because that never happened. There are also references in his letters to some glass. He tells her to keep the glass because Iris and Hyacinth have more than enough.” Skewski began sorting through the envelopes. “Glass comes up in another letter where he again tells Minevra to not worry about keeping it because he hates the cheap stuff and Iris and Hyacinth already have way too much of it on display in the house.”

“I wonder if it's that carnival glass Rose Gradoute and Paul Larsen were arguing about?” Joel pulled out his notebook and began flipping back through the pages.

“You mean that missing barrel of glass that supposedly came off the Card Line steamer umpteen years ago?” Skewski snorted.

“Yep.”

“The old-timers have discussed that off and on for years. Rose and her grandmother were obsessed with it. It's a bunch of crap. Either that barrel never made it here or somebody stole it or dropped it and everything in it was broken. If it was around, it would have showed up by now. Something that big would be hard to hide from as many busybodies as there are in this county. I can assure you Iris and Hyacinth tore the old Card House apart looking for it.”

“John Ranson has the attic torn back to the studs. He didn't find an old barrel.”

Skewski nodded and held up the smaller stack of letters tied with a blue ribbon. “These are letters that Minevra wrote to Joshua. There are four of them. He must have given them back to her.”

“Probably so Hyacinth wouldn't find them.”

Skewski shrugged and unfolded one of the letters. “This one is dated June twenty-third, 1939.” He read from the letter: “‘I remember my uncle Ludwig helping Thomas roll the barrel up to the attic. It looked very heavy and they were groaning and laughing as they shoved it up step after step. Uncle Ludwig shook his finger at me said it was a secret and not to ever tell anyone where it was. I never saw Thomas or Ludwig again. The Bay swallowed them up a few days later.'”

“He must have been the guy killed in the boating accident with Thomas Lee, the one Rose told us about,” Joel said.

Skewski nodded and opened another of the letters from the small pile. “This one is dated August thirtieth, 1939. This is at the end of the letter: ‘I will do as you ask and say nothing. You are right that Iris and Hyacinth have rooms full of glass that is worth much more than what is in the barrel. Maybe our grandchildren will enjoy it long after we are gone.'”

“What does this have to do with the murder of Paul Larsen?” Joel asked.

“Damn if I know. Maybe this is nothing more than a bunch of old love letters that mean absolutely nothing to the case. I'm sure Rose Gradoute would like to know that the barrel of glass did exist and that it should be somewhere in her attic. I'm sure she'd shit if she found out her grandpa had an affair with the household help. She'd probably have a stroke if she knew it produced a bastard child.”

“What if her grandfather gave her precious barrel of glass to the help he was screwing around with?”

“You mean maybe Paul was killed because he read these letters and knew he was an other-side-of-the-blanket member of the Card family and the owner of the missing barrel of carnival glass? Wherever the hell it is?” Skewski asked.

“Do you think Rose would kill over that?”

The sheriff looked at Joel in dismay and shook his head. “I'd have to see it to believe it, but stranger things have happened. Does Rose have an alibi?”

“She told us she was home alone,” Joel said.

“Damn, this could turn out to be a real cluster.” Skewski put the letter back in the evidence bag. “I'll put these in lockup until we figure out who they belong to.”

“I'd guess they belong to Minevra Larsen.”

Skewski shook his head. “Not anymore. Paul was her legal guardian and his ex-wife is the executor of his estate. The letters now belong to her, as does his property. She and her children will be in Chicago for the funeral day after tomorrow.”

“I can talk with her then.”

“I wonder if old Minnie Larsen is out to lunch or if she can still talk sense?” Skewski asked.

“It might be worth a trip to Bay Haven Nursing Home to find out.”

Skewski called the nursing home and was told that Minevra was “in and out” but always her most alert in the morning. They made an appointment to see her at 8
A.M
. the next day.

“I'd like to make copies of the letters and have Lacey go through them. It will give her something to do and it might help us figure part of this out. Do you have any objections to me taking a copy of them with me?” Joel asked.

Skewski had one of his deputies copy both sets of letters. While the copies were being made, he and Joel discussed the rest of the keys. They had checked all the banks in Door County without success. They concluded that the next logical place to look for a safety-deposit box was in Chicago. They spent another half an hour putting together a plan for how they would begin the search.

No one had seen or heard from Bazil Rassmussen or his wife, and Skewski and Joel were both getting nervous about what that meant. They decided to notify the state police as well as the city and county officers in Chicago and southern Wisconsin to be on the lookout for them.