Death at the Door (2 page)

May 27—The Nineteenth Hole,
Gibraltar State Park, Fish Creek, Wisconsin

Like every other nineteenth hole in the country, the Gibraltar State Park clubhouse served an abundance of beer, sandwiches, fries, and snacks. The television in the bar showed a golf tournament with Tiger Woods in the lead. Skewski and Joel went to the bar with everyone's food order.

“Bad thing about Paul Larsen,” said Ben Johnson, the young bartender who took their food order. “I wondered when someone would fall off that cliff on eight. People have thrown their clubs over it, but this is the first time someone has taken a header off it.”

“Looks like it wasn't an accident,” Skewski said as Johnson set a bottle of Coke down in front of him.

Johnson shook his head and dropped his towel down on the bar. “Is he dead?”

“Paramedics shocked him and got him back. They took him down to Door County Memorial,” Joel said.

Johnson nodded. “A couple of guys just came in and said the police questioned them out on the course. I had a feeling it was bad.”

“Did Paul stop in this morning before he hit the course?”

“Yep, he got two large black coffees to go.”

“Did he mention who his golfing partner was?”

“No. We talked about the latest round of letters to the editor in the
Door County Ledger.”

“That last County Zoning Board meeting was a rough one. There doesn't seem to be a happy medium on land development,” Skewski said. “Tempers sure burned hot that night.”

“No matter what a person's stance is, there's no excuse for threatening someone.” Ben pulled beers off the tap with a little more enthusiasm than necessary. “I listen to rich guys in here all day long talking about their latest land development schemes. Those bastards aren't going to stop until every inch of Door County is turned into a shopping center or paved into a parking lot.”

“Why don't you tell us how you really feel about it?” Skewski said.

Ben smiled at him. “Sorry, Sheriff. People come up here for the nature and the beauty of the land and the shoreline. Once it's all built up, the main attraction will be gone. Even my mom and dad are thinking about selling. They've got an offer for the orchard that is beyond their wildest dreams. I've got one more year of school and I'll have my MBA. Then I want to come home and buy them out. That orchard's been in our family for five generations.” He was interrupted by several guys shouting over one of Tiger's brilliant shots. “Anyway, I agree with what Paul Larsen was trying to do on the zoning board. We've had enough development.”

“You mentioned threatening. Who was being threatened?” Joel asked.

“Paul was. He told me he had received a couple of threatening letters and several phone calls from people telling him they were going to get him if he didn't stop voting against the rezoning of agricultural land.”

Skewski leaned across the bar. “How come I don't know anything about this?”

Ben shrugged. “Damn if I know. Maybe Paul didn't take them seriously. He didn't seem excited or upset about anything this morning. He mentioned that Rassmussen guy who wrote the most scathing letter to the editor.”

“What did he say about Rassmussen?”

“Nothing much. He called him a hotheaded son of a bitch and said hell would freeze over before he would vote for his rezoning after the letter he wrote to the paper.”

“Who's Rassmussen?” Joel asked.

“Another rich FIB who came up here to retire,” Skewski said.

The cook signaled that their food was up, and the golfers at the end of the bar needed refills. Joel and Skewski carried the food to the table as they discussed what they had heard. Once everyone tucked into lunch, Skewski put a tape recorder in the center of the table and took Lark, Ann, and John through their statements.

The sheriff pulled Joel aside after lunch and asked if the state police would help with the Larsen case. Skewski offered to coordinate his staff and the park rangers to complete the interviews with all the people golfing on the Gibraltar course around the time of Larsen's stabbing. Joel agreed to review the minutes of the zoning board meetings in hopes of developing a list of Paul Larsen's enemies.

May 27—Door County Courthouse,
Sturgeon Bay, Wisconsin

Joel sat in the Door County Courthouse with a not so happy but very cooperative county clerk. She had been pulled in from home to give him access to the County Zoning Board meeting minutes.

As he waded through the minutes, he asked himself why he had agreed to help with this case when he was up to his neck with the burglaries. The word
sucker
echoed through his head.

Skewski had told him that Paul Larsen was a local boy who had gone down to Chicago and made it good. He kept a summerhouse in Ephraim and was a controversial member of the Door County Zoning Board and the Ephraim Council on Land Development.

The sheriff had read the many letters to the editor about Larsen's stance on land development. He told Joel that land development had been an issue in Door County for decades. In all the years Skewski had been on the peninsula, he hadn't heard or read anything new about the controversy; only the names had changed.

From the zoning board minutes Joel had read so far, controversial was a kind way of describing Paul Larsen. He had been absolutely against any further development of land that was zoned agricultural. He was in the minority on the County Zoning Board, but as Door County wrestled with the delicate balance of growth versus maintaining the pristine countryside that drew tourists to the area, the issue of residential and commercial land development was becoming hotly debated.

Joel read methodically through the minutes, taking notes on all Larsen's negative votes and the people they involved. When he had completed the minutes, the county clerk suggested that he also review back issues of the
Door County Ledger.
She gave him the name and number of the editor of the paper and was kind enough to help him find the phone numbers and addresses of the twelve Door County citizens who had gotten lucky enough to get into his notes. He was able to reach two of them and made appointments to see them the following morning. The county clerk assured him she would call and get him an appointment with the editor of the
Door County Ledger
as well as full access to their archives first thing Monday morning.

Joel wasn't able to raise anyone at Larson and Associates Architects in Chicago, but left a message and his number. He assumed he'd get a call from them by Monday morning. He called the Chicago police, explained the situation, and asked them to secure Larsen's home. He then headed over to Door County Memorial to check up on Paul Larsen. With the kind of day he was having, Joel assumed it was way beyond his luck to even hope that the guy had awakened and would be able to tell him what had happened.

May 27—Edgewater Resort, Ephraim, Wisconsin

Once their interviews were over, Lark and John drove Ann back to the Edgewater Resort and left to play another round of golf. Ann lay down for a nap but couldn't sleep. She got up, grabbed her copy of the latest Elizabeth Gunn book, and headed out to the porch to read. If she couldn't read a mystery set in Door County, she could at least read one set in the northwoods.

The sun had just begun its march toward the western horizon and shimmered on the gray waves of Eagle Harbor. Ann repositioned her white wicker chair out of the direct sunlight. The sky, a brilliant sapphire blue studded with white, fluffy clouds, made the soft aqua of the porch ceiling seem even brighter against the building's white wall and railings. The present owners had carefully preserved the white exterior of the old resort while converting the interior into comfortable suites.

The Edgewater Resort, like so many other grand old hotels in Ephraim, Wisconsin, had been playing host to people getting away to Door County since the early 1900s. Ephraim, about two-thirds up the west side of the Door County peninsula, wraps itself around the coastal inlet called Eagle Harbor. The harbor is part of the Bay of Green Bay, the section of Lake Michigan that lies between the Wisconsin mainland and Door County. People who knew the area just called it Green Bay.

On a map of Wisconsin, Door County is the seventy-mile-long extension on the eastern side of the state that looks like the thumb on a mitten. Although Door County is technically an island, separated from the rest of Wisconsin by Sturgeon Bay and the Sturgeon Bay Canal, which flows from the Bay of Green Bay to Lake Michigan, most people call it a peninsula. It boasts 250 miles of coastline and ten lighthouses, more than any other county in the continental United States. It is known to the unenlightened as the Cape Cod of the Midwest. Those who know and love the area believe there is no place better than Door County, period.

Putting her book down, Ann thought about the rich traditions of the peninsula. A hundred years ago she would have come to Door County aboard a passenger steamer and disembarked at the Anderson Dock. She leaned forward and looked north toward the water where the old dock still stood. It housed the old Anderson Store built in 1858 and the Hardy Gallery, a place that had gotten way too much of her money on their last trip to Door County. She could see the dark reddish brown siding of the 150-year-old Anderson boathouse, which housed the Hardy Gallery, but she couldn't make out the weathered names of people and ships that were painted on the sides of the building.

She wasn't able to see Wilson's Ice Cream Parlor, but the more she thought about the old 1906 white clapboard building, the more she thought she could smell their delicious hamburgers. She had to remind herself that she had just eaten lunch.

She got up and looked south over the roof of the white, two-story Ephraim Shores Motel and spied the steeple of the old Lutheran church. In her mind's eye she pictured the Hillside Hotel flanked by the Lutheran church on one side and the Moravian church on the other. The two churches and the old Hillside Hotel, all in white, were one of the most photographed sites in Door County. Down the road, the oldest hotel in Ephraim, the Evergreen Beach, also all white, hung off the side of a hill facing Eagle Harbor.

The Moravian church was really what started Ephraim. In February of 1853 three Moravians led by the Reverend Andrew Iverson walked sixty miles across frozen Lake Michigan from the settlement of Green Bay to Horseshoe Island out in Eagle Harbor. They walked east from Horseshoe Island across Eagle Harbor and came ashore in the place that is now Ephraim. Ann couldn't imagine walking sixty miles in the summer let alone on the ice in the dead of a blustery Wisconsin winter. She fell asleep in her chair thinking about the Door County of a hundred years ago.

May 27—Railhouse Restaurant and Dance Hall,
Baileys Harbor, Wisconsin

Lark Swenson walked into the Railhouse Restaurant and Dance Hall with Ann and John and felt sure that he had been sentenced to hell. Joel had insisted that they make the twelve-mile trip across the peninsula from Ephraim to Baileys Harbor, telling them they would love the food at the Railhouse.

“This isn't Joel's kind of hangout. I wonder if we're in the wrong place?” Lark yelled, trying to be heard over the country music that blared out over the enormous bar and dance floor. “Do you want to go some place a little quieter?” he shouted into Ann's ear.

“Heavens no,” she replied, smiling at the line dancers. “This looks like fun.”

“God, I hate country music,” Lark muttered as they threaded their way through the crowd at the entrance.

“What did you say?” Ann asked, tugging on the sleeve of his shirt to pull his six-foot-four height down to her range of hearing.

“Nothing,” Lark said into her ear.

Joel had made reservations, and an attractive waitress led them to a table in the dining room with an excellent view of Lake Michigan on one side and the dance floor on the other. Joel was nowhere in sight but a half-filled Leinenkugel's and two dead soldiers sat at the table.

“Must be in the head,” Lark mumbled as they seated themselves.

When no one came to take their drink order, Lark went to the bar to get their first round. He slouched onto a barstool and listened to Shania Twain sing about how little she was impressed by Brad Pitt. His foot involuntarily tapped in time with the beat as he studied the dancers. His foot stopped and he sucked in a deep breath when his eyes fell on a tall woman in worn, form-fitting blue jeans and an emerald green V-neck T-shirt. Her feet, in green and navy cowboy boots, flew in time with the music, and her long, curly, dark auburn hair swung joyously out around her head.

Shania's voice faded away and was replaced by Alabama singing about how God had spent a little more time on someone. Lark watched the woman slip into the arms of a tall, blond, surfer-looking guy.

“You stare at them any harder you'll burn a hole in her shirt.”

Lark turned to find Joel burning a hole in his face. “Leave it alone Grenfurth.”

“You left it alone and see what it got you. She's dating another of her pretty boys, only this time the guy's a triple threat.” Joel raised his voice to be heard over the music. “He's great looking, he's rich, and he's a doctor.”

“I'm happy for her.” Lark waved his hand, trying to catch the bartender's attention.

“Yeah, right, I wish you could have seen your face before I opened my big mouth.”

“I was surprised to see her. You didn't tell us she was up here with you.” Lark turned accusing eyes on Joel.

“Well, why should it matter if you don't care about her?” Joel studied Lark's face.

“Never mind.” Lark took his exasperation out on the bartender who had finally drifted down to their end of the bar. He stalked back to the table clinking two Leinenkugel's together and attempting not to spill Ann's margarita.

“You okay?” John shouted when Lark slammed the two beers down on the table.

“Sorry. This music is irritating,” Lark mumbled.

“I thought that was you,” Lacey Smith, the redhead from the dance floor, said as she walked up behind Lark and patted him on the back.

“Lacey,” Ann yelled, jumping out of her chair to give her a hug. “What are you doing up here?”

“The county needed help with a string of burglaries.”

Ann watched Lacey's face as she introduced her dance partner, Dr. Gene Boskirk, to everyone at the table. Lacey had mentioned the last time they had seen each other that she was dating someone. From the way she smiled at Gene, this looked a little more serious than Ann had thought it was.

Ann had met Lacey Smith, a Wisconsin State Police detective out of the Wausau regional office, when she and Joel had come to Big Oak to assist Lark with the investigation of the boot and the remains of a human foot. Lark and Joel had worked together as homicide detectives in Chicago before Joel had married and accepted the state police job in Wausau. Lacey was a new addition to the state police force, having come from the City of Madison Police Department a year before. Ann and Lacey had become friends after the case was closed and had seen each other for lunch and shopping at least once a month since then. Lacey sat down beside Ann to catch up, pulling Ann out of her reverie.

“He's gorgeous.” Ann nodded at Gene and leaned into Lacey in hopes that the rest of the table wouldn't hear her. “Fill me in.”

Lacey glanced at her date, who was ensconced at the opposite end of the table and engaged in an intense discussion about golf with the other three men. He and Lark at the same table were drawing the eyes of most of the women in the room. Lark, a six-foot-four, blue-eyed, dark, and handsome Mel Gibson look-alike, appeared not to notice that Dr. Gene Boskirk was also drop-dead handsome. Nearly the same height as Lark, he had wavy, dark blond hair and warm brown eyes set in classically handsome face. They were both in their early forties but looked younger.

“I met him at the hospital in Wausau. I was investigating a murder and he was the physician taking care of the murderer. He's a surgeon, divorced with two kids. He and his partners take turns providing relief coverage for the surgeons at Door County Memorial. He's got a cottage on the beach over in Baileys Harbor.”

“I could fall in love just looking at him,” Ann teased, watching Lacey's response.

“His divorce was messy and he's made it very clear he isn't interested in anything serious, just a good time. We both love to dance and we're good company for each other.” Lacey's attention was diverted to the song that was just starting.

“Gene?” Lacey yelled across the table. When she caught his eye, she shook her head toward the dance floor.

He nodded and got up as he finished saying something to John. He grabbed Lacey's hand and they trotted off to dance.

“There ought to be law against that,” Joel said, watching Lacey fit her slim body to Gene's and fade into the undulating crowd.

“Bullshit,” Ann snorted. “If I could get everything going in the same direction as well as she can, you'd never get me off the dance floor. We're all just old and jealous.”

“Come on.” John pulled Ann up out of her chair. “Let's try it once and see what happens. I think we've still got the touch.”

Joel watched Lark pick at the label on his beer bottle. “What do you think of him?”

“Who?” Lark focused all his attention on removing the label from the Leinenkugel's bottle.

Joel snorted and rolled his eyes. “You know damn well who I mean. Gene, Lacey's date, what do you think of him?”

“Seems like a nice guy.” Lark gave him a hard stare. “Why do you ask?”

“They've been dating pretty steadily for the last three months. That's the longest I've seen her date anyone. If you're interested in her, you should make your move before she gets too serious about him.”

“Looks like they're already serious.” Lark glanced out to the dance floor and saw them glued to each other, Lacey's head resting against Gene's shoulder.

“I thought when you left the New Year's party to go after Lacey last year that you two might get together. What happened?”

“How many times do I have to tell you, this is none of your damn business.” Lark put his beer bottle down on the table just a little bit harder than necessary.

“Fine,” Joel snapped. “Live with Maria's ghost for the rest of your life. It's your choice. I'll get us another round.” He got up without giving Lark a chance to respond.

Lark balled the label from the beer bottle up in his hand and tried to get the image of Maria, his dead wife, out of his mind. He envisioned her as she was when they first met, young and beautiful with her curly black hair and glorious smile. His last image of her just before her death floated into his vision, bald and gaunt, her face and body forever changed from the emotional and physical pain she had endured trying to survive breast cancer. Maria had been dead a little over three years, and he had just gotten to the point where he could sleep through the night without waking up in a cold sweat from nightmares about her death. He cursed Joel for bringing her death image back to him. He tried to will it away but it wouldn't leave.

Everyone got back to the table about the same time and settled in to order dinner. Gene seemed to fit nicely into the group, and the six of them chattered away through dinner. There was enough interesting conversation around the table to pull Lark's thoughts back to the present. Gene and Lacey went back to the dance floor as soon as they finished eating, but after two dances, Lacey came back alone. Gene had gone to answer a page.

He came back to the table and leaned down to Lacey, settling his hands gently on her shoulders. “I've got to go to the hospital. The guy who went over the cliff at the golf course needs another surgery. Can you get a lift back to your hotel?”

They all offered to drive her back and Lacey walked Gene to the door, their arms around each other's waist. Ann and John left thirty minutes later, leaving Lark, Joel, and Lacey in an intense discussion about how the man had gotten to the bottom of the cliff.

“The guy had three stab wounds. He's already had a splenectomy and repair of an aortic tear. I wonder what they're doing to the poor bastard this time?” Joel waved at the waitress and pointed to his beer. “Skewski told me that Larsen's been causing a lot of controversy on the County Zoning Board. He's against any kind of development for Ephraim and Door County. There are quite a few people who are big-time pissed at him. I spent most of the afternoon reading the village board minutes. I've got a list of twelve people who might have a reason to put him out of their misery.”

“How can he be on the County Zoning Board and live in Chicago?” Lark asked.

“He also owns a house here in Ephraim and spends enough time working from up here to qualify him for resident status. That means he can participate in county and local government activities.”

An hour later they were walking to their cars when Joel's cell phone went off. “Probably Molly wondering why I haven't called.” He glanced at his watch. “I always call her at ten and I'm a half hour late.” He wandered away from them as he answered his phone. Lark and Lacey watched him mumble briefly into the phone, hang up, and trot back over to them.

“That was Gene, he thinks I need to get over to the hospital.”

“Let's go,” Lacey said, heading for Joel's car.

“No, you go on back to the hotel. You need to get some rest. I'll check this out and see you in the morning. Lark can give you a lift.” Joel was in his car before Lacey could register her protest.

Lacey gave Lark directions to her hotel, which turned out to be the White Gull Inn in Fish Creek, just south of Ephraim, where he and the Ransons were staying.

“This feels a little like old times,” she said, settling back against the seat as Lark drove west out of Baileys Harbor on County Road F. “Of course it isn't snowing and we aren't cold and exhausted and trying to solve two murders like we were six months ago.”

When Lark didn't respond, she kept talking, feeling an obsessive need to fill the stillness. “When Joel and I went back to work after New Year's, he asked me if you and I had a good time. I was puzzled by his question until he explained that you had followed me when I left the country club. What happened?”

“A four-car pile-up,” Lark mumbled, not taking his eyes off the road. The two-lane blacktop, intermittently lined with stands of hardwoods and pine, was very like the road the four-car pile-up had occurred on six months ago. Door County was also polluted with deer, and the last thing he wanted was a deer versus SUV accident. “By the time we got the accident sorted out, you were probably back in Wausau.”

He didn't tell her that he had radioed his two New Year's Eve patrols to call him if they spotted a green Grand Cherokee only to be told that they were working an accident with one. He had gone to the scene, worried sick, only to find that it wasn't Lacey's car.

“You should have given me a call when you made it over to Wausau. We could have gone out to dinner.”

“I've only been over twice since then, both times on business. I did try to call you once but you didn't answer.”

“I've been over to see Ann and John three times since then. You always seem to be out of town when I'm there.” She tried to read his face but couldn't see his expression in the dark car.

“Bad timing,” Lark said, feeling her eyes on him. “Gene seems like a nice guy.”

“Very nice. People assume otherwise because he's so good-looking. You should understand that.” Lacey glanced back over at him.

Lark grunted, glad for the darkness.

“So how have you been? Had any more murders in Big Oak?”

“No more murders. The spring thaw was our biggest problem. We've had more than our share of snowmobile and car accidents and a lot of flooding.” Lark turned on the radio and they lapsed into silence, both thankful for the music to fill the void. Lark pulled up in front of the White Gull Inn ten minutes later.

“See you in the morning,” Lacey said as she got out of the car.

“Are you playing golf with us in the morning?”

“Ann and I are going to breakfast while you and John play. Ann hates golf.”

“Amen,” Lark said as she slammed the car door and walked to her cottage.