Norway to Hide (5 page)

The store was called Aarikka, and the shopfront displayed a unique assortment of Finnish-made necklaces that were strung with wooden beads stained in eye-popping colors.

“Ooo,” Jackie cooed. “See the fuschia-and-plum one? That has my name on it. Or maybe the seafoam and teal.”

“Tell me something, Jack, how did you know I was still ticked off about my sweater? If we were still married and I’d said I wasn’t upset, you’d have believed me.”

“That’s because I’ve learned the secret code. ‘No’ means ‘yes.’ ‘Yes’ means ‘no.’ ‘No, I’m not upset,’ means, ‘Of course I’m upset, you moron.’ It all makes so much sense now. No wonder I acted so dense when I was a guy. I didn’t know there was a code.”

“You wanna go inside?”

She studied her soggy reflection in the plate glass. “They’ll never let me in the door dripping seawater. Tell you what, you stay here and shop for a new sweater on my dime, and I’ll change clothes and meet up with you later.” She reached inside her purse and handed me a fistful of currency. “If that’s not enough, I’ll make up the difference back at the room.”

“You don’t have to do this, Jack. I know you meant well.”

“I ruined your sweater, so I need to pay for it.”

“You’re making me feel guilty.”

She flashed a smile with her blindingly white teeth. “I’m gettin’ good at this female stuff, aren’t I?”

“What time do you want to meet up?”

“Let’s just wing it. I’ll call your cell.” She trotted off, pausing after a few steps to turn back to me. “Did Vern, Gus, and Reno really love my book?”

“I kid you not—three huge thumbs-up.”

“So they lied to Portia.”

“Through their teeth.”

After chewing on that for a moment, she headed off again, the look on her face hinting that she intended to find out why.

“For a city that was founded as a trading post in the sixteenth century, Helsinki has blossomed into one of the most cosmopolitan capitals in the world,” Annika told us as we trooped back to our hotel later that night. “So now that you have seen most of the attractions, what did you like best?”

“I liked the buildings that looked like gigantic pastel butter mints,” said Lucille Rassmuson, obviously feeling the effects of her diet. “They looked good enough to eat.”

“I liked the street performers,” said Grace Stolee. “I thought that couple who were painted gold were actually statues until Emily threw a coin into their bucket and they broke out in a minuet.”

“It’s nice that street people have a way to take your money other than mugging you,” Helen Teig conceded. “Maybe that’ll catch on back home.”

“I liked the electric trams,” said Osmond. “But I can’t figure out if they’re green and yellow because they’re made by John Deere, or because the Finns are Green Bay Packer fans.”

“I liked that Bernice decided not to come with us,” said Dick Teig.

Bernice was so sullen after her run-in with Portia that she’d decided to skip Annika’s walking tour.

“It’s too bad she’s missing this,” I commented as I strolled beside Nana and George. “It’s not every day you get a chance to visit Helsinki. What can she possibly be doing in her hotel room that’s more fun than soaking up local color?”

“Sulkin’,” said Nana.

“Or complaining to the front desk,” added George. “She’s figured out that’s a good way to get an upgrade.”

“Could take her a while to get over her hurt feelin’s,” Nana predicted. “That Portia cut her right to the quick. All’s I hope is that the bad blood between ’em don’t end up causin’ you problems, dear.”

I shuddered at the thought of keeping the two women apart and their tongues in check for the rest of the trip. “How’s your nose?” I asked George to divert my mind.

“Don’t feel a thing.” He fingered the purple bruises beneath his eye sockets and tapped the hard plastic nose guard the medics had given him to strap around his face. “Can’t believe it’s broken.”

Nana gave his hand a squeeze. “Jackie done a crackerjack job pullin’ him outta the harbor.”

It would have been even more crackerjack if she hadn’t broken his nose in the process. “In the interest of self-preservation, George, the next time one of Nana’s Polaroids blows away, would you just let it go?”

He shook his head in disgust. “I woulda been okay if I hadn’t run out of real estate. Another five feet—that’s all I needed.”

“Where
is
Jackie?” asked Nana. “Wasn’t she supposed to call?”

“That’s what she said.” But I’d shopped all afternoon, dropped my packages off at the hotel, eaten dinner, and taken the walking tour without hearing a peep out of her. I checked my cell. “She hasn’t left a message.”

“Could be she hooked up with some a them Florida folks,” Nana suggested. “They seemed real anxious to suck up to her. None a them is here neither, so maybe she’s off readin’ to ’em somewhere.”

I’d thought it odd that the Floridians hadn’t participated in the walking tour, but I’d attributed it to din
ner schedules. Since none of the seniors had to worry about night blindness in Helsinki, they could actually hit a restaurant later than four o’clock.

We huffed and puffed our way up the slight incline to our hotel and pushed through the sparkling glass doors to the lobby. “Check the itinerary board before you head to your rooms,” Annika advised. “It lists all your departure and arrival times for tomorrow.”

As everyone crowded around the whiteboard, I asked the desk clerk for directions to the sauna, which she pronounced “sow-na,” then made a proposal to the group.

“Anyone want to tag along while I check out the sauna? We can’t visit Finland and not indulge in their national pastime.”

“You’re not getting me inside any steam room,” Helen scoffed. “I just had my hair done.”

“I don’t think there’s any steam,” I corrected. “It’s a dry heat.”

The ladies exchanged meaningful looks with each other. “Do we have to strip?” Lucille finally asked. “Because there’s no way us girls are going to sit in a room together without any clothes on.”

“According to what I’ve read, the sauna is traditionally taken in the nude, but—”

“Is it coed or segregated?” asked George.

“In a family sauna, it’s usually coed,” I said, “but hotels might have different rules for—”

“If Emily gets naked, you can count me in!” whooped Dick Teig.

“Me, too,” said Dick Stolee.

“I hope they have towels,” said Osmond.

“I hope they have blindfolds,” said Nana.

“You suppose they allow cameras?” asked Dick Teig. “Damn, I need film.”

I rolled my eyes. “Okay, here’s the plan: we’ll find the sauna, read the house rules, then decide if the experience is for us. How does that sound?”

Everyone liked the plan, so we exited the lobby down a long corridor lined with fancy boutiques and rode the elevator to sub-level one—a well-lit underground concourse with passageways shooting off in every direction. “To the right,” I said after reading all the signs.

“Yeah,” said Margi Swanson, “but to the left is that huge shopping complex we passed on the way back to the hotel. We can reach it underground. Is anyone feeling the need to buy a bathing suit?”

“I am,” said Helen.

“So am I,” said Lucille. “Maybe we can find a Lane Bryant outlet.”

“I can buy my film,” said Dick.

“I’m gonna look for dark glasses,” said Nana, “just in case they don’t got blindfolds.”

“Guys!” I called as they all began to scatter. “What about the sauna?”

“Dick and me will meet you back here in ten minutes,” said Dick Stolee, pressing the push-pin of his stopwatch. “Don’t strip down without us.”

“Read the signs if you get lost,” I yelled after them. “Establish landmarks!”

Normally, Iowans don’t get lost, but I didn’t know if their internal directional systems would work underground.

My phone started chirping halfway to the sauna. “Jack?” I said when I connected.

“Hi, Em, can you guess who this is?”

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.
“Mom?”

“That’s right! I’ve never spoken to anyone overseas before, so I wasn’t sure you’d recognize my voice.”

“What’s wrong? Is it Dad? Oh, my God, do you need me? Should I come home?”

“This is an excellent connection, Emily. You sound as if you’re right next door. I bet you’re paying big bucks for mobile service like this.”

“Mom! What about Dad?”

“Your father and I are fine, dear. He’s right here, waving hello.”

“Steve and the boys. Mary Ann. Are they okay?”

“We saw them this morning. They’re fine, too.” She hesitated. “Under the circumstances.”

Eh! Here it was. The phone call you always dread when you’re traveling. “What circumstances?”

“Well, you know how Main Street cuts right through the center of town and passes by the church, the funeral parlor, and Lars Bakke’s grain elevator?”

“I’m familiar with Main Street, Mom.”

“We had a twister touch down last night that kind of rearranged things.”

“Oh, my God. Was anyone hurt?”

“It was a miracle, Emily, but there was only one injury. Your friend Sharon missed a step on her basement stairs and ended up breaking both legs. But her mother tells me she’ll be up and about in a few months, after they remove the pins and she goes through rehab.”

I blinked numbly. “My maid of honor can’t walk?”

“The wonderful thing is, not one house was destroyed. That pesky twister hopped over the residential district completely, so you can tell the Teigs, and the Stolees, and everyone else that there’s no need to rush home, because their property is just fine. It’s the rest of the town that’s been declared a disaster area.”

“Disaster area?”

“You’ll notice such a change, dear. But like your father was telling Lars this morning, some of those buildings were so old, they needed to be torn down anyway.”

I winced. “Did a lot of the buildings collapse?”

“All of them, dear. Windsor City Bank. Holy Redeemer Church. Skaartvedt’s Roto-Rooter and Used Books. The funeral parlor. The bridal shop where you ordered your dress. Main Street is still there, but it’s pretty much buried under rubble.”

My vision dimmed. My head went fuzzy. “What about Ashgrove?”

“If the tornado had lifted up a hundred feet sooner, it would have been fine.”

“It’s gone?” I asked weakly.

“Flattened.”

“Oh, God, Mom. How can I get married? I have no church, no dress, no reception hall, no maid of honor!”

“Don’t you worry, sweetheart, I have it all figured out. Are you sitting down?”

“No, but…hold on.” I rounded the corner toward the sauna. “They probably have chairs in—”

I tripped over something and went flying into the opposite wall with a bone-jarring
thunk
.

“Are you sitting down yet?” my mother chattered away. “I’m going to arrange everything while you’re in Scandinavia. New church, new dress, new reception hall. I’m so excited, Emily. It’s going to be even better than before.”

I turned around, my back pressed to the wall for support. Portia Van Cleef lay faceup on the floor, body inert, eyes fixed, tongue lolling from her head. She was wearing the fuschia-and-plum necklace that Jackie had admired in the Aarikka store today, with one tragic difference.

Someone had used it to strangle her.

I let out a cry that could wake the dead.

“You should hear her, Bob,” my mother gushed to my father. “She’s thrilled with the idea.”

“
A
t nineteen-hundred hours you had dinner reservations at Raffaelo, where Ms. Van Cleef ordered the chicken breast with Swiss vegetable cakes.”

“We would have eaten earlier,” April Peabody informed the policeman in charge of establishing a time line for Portia’s activities, “but Portia insisted on stopping at a little jewelry store to buy a necklace she’d seen earlier. Who knows why she was so taken with it? Not her signature style at all. It was made of wood, for God sakes.”

I’d given my statement to the chief investigating officer an hour earlier, but I was so rattled that I’d decided to attend the informal inquiry being held in the hotel’s conference room rather than return to my room. Annika had knocked on doors, rousting every
one, so all the guests were present and accounted for, except for Jackie, who was mysteriously AWOL.

“You left the restaurant around twenty-one-hundred hours,” Officer Rajanen continued. “Did your entire group walk back to the hotel together?”

“We sure did,” said Joleen Barnum. “Me and Jimbob were a little afraid of getting lost, so we never let anyone out of our sight. Wasn’t easy with Reno leading the way, though. He walks so fast, no one can keep up.”

“He does it to show off,” claimed June Peabody. “He doesn’t want anyone to forget he’s a world-class athlete. I’m surprised he’s not wearing his medals.”

“I thought about packing them,” Reno quipped, “but they would have put my luggage over the weight limit.”

“Enough with the wisecracks,” August Manning chided. “How about showing a little respect for the dead?”

“Did you try callin’ Jackie on her cell?” Nana whispered to me.

“I don’t know her number,” I whispered back. I was getting a very bad feeling about the reason for her absence.

“Where did Ms. Van Cleef go after returning to the hotel?” probed Officer Rajanen.

“We all stopped in the lobby to read tomorrow’s itinerary,” Lauretta Klick volunteered.

“And then we rode the elevator back to our rooms,” said Vern Grundy. “End of story.”

Officer Rajanen jotted something on his notepad.
“Do you recall who stepped off the elevator with Ms. Van Cleef?”

“We all got off at the same time,” said Curtis Klick. “They put all of us Florida people on one floor and the Iowans on another.”

“Portia’s room was closest to the elevator,” added April Peabody. “The rest of us were farther down the hall. She always made sure she got the plum rooms. Location, location, location.”

“Did she enter her room alone?” asked Rajanen.

“August challenged her to a game of gin rummy,” said Curtis, “but she declined. Seemed pretty obvious he was trying to get her alone.”

“Who knows for what sinful purpose?” added Lauretta.

“Don’t try pinning anything on me,” August called out. “Portia’s in the gin rummy club with me. I throw out that challenge all the time because no one has ever beaten her and I’m aiming to be the first, even if it’s not officially documented.”

The officer made another notation. “Did any of you see or speak to her after she went inside her room?”

“That’s the last I saw of her,” Reno spoke up.

“Me too,” said Vern, heads nodding in agreement around him.

“So no one saw Ms. Van Cleef again until Ms. Andrew found her outside the sauna. Is that correct?”

More head bobbing. George patted my shoulder. Nana squeezed my hand.

Officer Rajanen closed his notepad, his expression
pained, his tone apologetic. “Please accept my condolences for what has happened to your companion. I regret the black mark it places on our city, because other than for a few unlawful pickpockets, Helsinki is extremely safe.”

“That’s the line they gave us about Switzerland,” scoffed Helen Teig, “
before
Emily found three dead bodies.”

“She found four in Italy,” Lucille bragged.

“She only found two in Australia,” said Osmond. “That really brought down her average.”

I slunk down in my chair, hoping to become invisible.

“Unfortunately, there are individuals who make the streets less safe in any country,” Officer Ranjanen continued. “We’ve noticed an escalation of youth crime in our city center in recent years. Nonviolent crime, but crime nonetheless. When our youth feel disenfranchised, they seem capable of anything.”

“Where’s your city center?” asked Dick Stolee.

Rajanen spread out his hands. “You are sitting in it.”

The room grew palpably quiet.

“Would have been nice if someone had told us that,” barked Vern. “Portia might have been more careful. She might still be alive.”

“What an ugly way to go,” Jimbob empathized. “Garroted to death.”

“Garroted?” said Bernice. “I thought you said she was strangled.”

April Peabody stabbed an accusatory finger at Bernice. “You ought to know. What with the way you were
talking to her earlier today, I wouldn’t be surprised if you were there!”

Nods from the Floridians. Shock from the Iowans.

Rajanen paused in front of Bernice’s chair. “Would you care to tell me about your exchange with Ms. Van Cleef?”

“Give me a break!” Bernice whined. “Those people stole our chairs at the waterfront market. I said I wanted them back, and Ms. Van Cleef said to forget it, so I told her she’d be sorry.”

“How did you intend to make her sorry?”

“How should I know? People say stuff like that all the time. ‘Switch the channel and I’ll break your arm.’ ‘Eat that last Twinkie and I’ll kill you.’ Don’t you ever say things like that?”

“No.”

“Maybe they don’t have Twinkies in Finland,” offered Margi.

“You are Bernice Zwerg,” Rajanen said, reopening his notepad and making a notation as he read her name tag. “Would you tell me where were you this evening between twenty-one hundred hours and the present?”

“You’ve got me all wrong,” Bernice protested in a minor panic. “What could I do to make someone sorry? I’m old. I’m forgetful. I’ve got an arthritic back and bunions.”

“I’ll tell you how forgetful she is,” Nana said helpfully. “She can’t even remember that she had them bunions out last year.”

Officer Rajanen grew ominously quiet. “Forgive me for asking again, Ms. Zwerg. Where were you—”

“I was in my room! That woman upset me so much, I went into seclusion.”

“Can you provide a witness who will testify that you were in your room at the time Ms. Van Cleef was murdered?”

Bernice gave him a hard look. “If someone had been in the room with me, I wouldn’t have been in seclusion, would I?”

Rajanen returned the look. “No, but at least you would have someone to verify your alibi.” He stowed his notepad in his shirt pocket. “Would you mind coming with me, Ms. Zwerg?”

He was taking Bernice in for questioning? This wasn’t good. My escort’s manual didn’t have a section covering incarceration etiquette! I stood up in protest. “You can’t take her to jail, Officer. Bernice isn’t capable of committing murder. Ask anyone.” I prodded my group to back me up.

“Killing’s not Bernice’s style,” agreed Dick Teig. “She’d rather grate on your nerves ’til you feel like killing yourself.”

“Or cheat you,” said Grace.

“Or insult you,” added Margi.

“Or talk about you behind your back,” said Lucille.

“Or lie about something she’s dumping on eBay,” said Dick Stolee.

“Wouldn’t that go under cheating?” asked Margi.

“You hear that?” Bernice pleaded with Rajanen. “These people are my friends. They know me. You’ve gotta believe them.”

Rajanen motioned her to stand up. Dick Teig hit
the Record button on his camcorder. “Here’s Bernice, getting her ass hauled off to jail.”

I looked on futilely, unable to think of anything that would save her butt.

“I’m telling you, I didn’t do it!” Bernice cried as Rajanen escorted her away. “It wasn’t me. It was the author!”

Blame someone else! That might work. But how did she know about Jackie’s run-in with Portia? She hadn’t even been there!

“She’s got a point,” said Lauretta Klick. “We all heard Jackie Thum threaten Portia.”

“I had to cover my ears,” said Curtis. “If she uses language like that in her book, I’m not reading it.”

Officer Rajanen paused. “This is true?”

“I saw the whole thing,” said June.

“So did I,” said April. “Jackie was so mad at Portia that she swore to get even.”

“She didn’t swear,” corrected Joleen. “She ‘promised.’”

“I thought she said ‘vowed,’” said Vern. “Seems to me an author might come up with a punchier verb than ‘promised.’”

“The verb was irrelevant,” said June. “The critical point, Officer, is that not only did Jackie Thum bear a grudge against Portia, she’s physically capable of carrying out a vendetta because she’s eight feet tall.”

Rajanen looked out over the group, obviously trying to spot our resident giant. “Is Ms. Thum here?”

“Excuse me, Officer,” Annika spoke up, “but I mentioned to you before that I was unable to locate Ms. Thum.”

“Aha!” chortled June. “That should tell you something.”

“She’s guilty as sin,” Lauretta accused.

“Probably skipped town,” said Reno.

“Or went on a killing rampage and murdered more people,” Bernice offered happily.

“Or had a late dinner!” I shouted to be heard above the escalating rumble of voices. “What is wrong with you people? Whatever happened to the concept of a person being innocent until proven guilty? Did you toss it out the window when you crossed the Atlantic?”

Awkward silence. Downcast eyes. Self-conscious foot shuffling.

“Emily?” Margi looked puzzled. “My airplane window wouldn’t open. Do you think it was defective?”

Officer Rajanen dug out his notepad again. “Please, could I have a description of Ms. Thum other than her height?”

“She wears them real stylish high heels,” said Nana. “But she’s gotta order through the catalog on account a her feet are so big.”

“Great legs,” said Gus.

“Huge bazongas,” said Vern.

“Skintight clothes,” said Reno.

Those lechers. They
did
want to sleep with her!

Tilly rapped her walking stick on the floor. “I’ll give you her description, Officer. She’s mesocephalic and leptoprosopic, with no alveolar prognathism. Her nose is leptorrhine with a high nasal root. She has a non-Mongoloid eye with no epicanthic fold, and her
hair is shoulder-length and brown, wavy as opposed to woolly or peppercorn. Is that exact enough?”

Vern scratched his head. “Did she mention the huge bazongas? I couldn’t tell.”

The door swung open and Jackie
clickclacked
breathlessly into the conference room, looking as if she’d just run a marathon. “The front desk clerk told me you were having a meeting in here.” She sank into a chair and fanned her face. “So, what have I missed?”

“I can’t figure how the locals sleep when it’s so light out.” Nana pulled the drape back on my bedroom window. She’d phoned a couple of hours ago, asking for an over-the-counter sleep aid, but when she’d arrived at my door with Tilly and George, I’d realized the visit had had more to do with keeping me company than coping with sleeplessness. “Looks more like six p.m. than one a.m. You s’pose that’s why we’re all awake?”

“I’m too creeped out to sleep.” I sat cross-legged on my bed, hugging my pillow. “Every time I close my eyes, I see Portia sprawled on the floor, staring at the ceiling.”

“Try this,” said George, who was stretched out on Jackie’s bed. “Keep your eyes open.”

This is what I loved about men. They were so basic.

“Have you thought about your plan of action should the police find evidence that implicates Jackie or Bernice in Portia’s murder?” asked Tilly. She sat on the settee with her feet elevated to relieve the swelling in her ankles. “Would you stay in Helsinki with them or fly to Lapland with us tomorrow?”

Annika had announced that her tour company was contractually bound to fulfill their obligation to their guests, so despite the misfortune with Portia, the tour would continue and refunds would
not
be given to those who terminated their trip prematurely.

“My escort’s manual isn’t exactly clear about where my duty lies. It kind of skips over all the scenarios where tour guests get jailed for murder.”

“Call Mr. Erickson at the bank,” Nana suggested. “He’ll—” Her voice faded suddenly. “What am I thinkin’? The bank’s not there no more.”

“If the bank’s not there, does that mean our travel club’s not there either?” asked George.

I caught my breath as reality smacked me in the face. He was right. Without the bank to sponsor it, there
was
no seniors’ travel club, which meant—“Oh, my God. I have no job.”

“I imagine all of Windsor City’s Main Street merchants are facing that same dilemma today,” said Tilly.

“You’ve got somethin’ more valuable than a job, dear,” Nana soothed. “You got your young man.”