The Murder Pit (5 page)

EIGHT

“Are they gonna be here all day?” Will asked.

It was the Monday morning after Olaf was found in the chute and we were headed to a 4-H meeting. The police and whoever else was involved in the investigation were just arriving as we trudged through the snow, making our way to the dilapidated, detached garage and the SUV that was parked inside.

The bitter cold had abated just a bit, a blanket of clouds providing a thin layer of insulation, but we were still fully outfitted for the elements, even for the quick drive to the church where our meeting was. Coats, hats, boots and gloves, all in various colors. We looked like a walking rainbow.

“Why are they staring at us?” Sophie asked. Her face was barely visible under the pink hat perched on her head.

I glanced at the group of people gathering in our yard. Sure enough, several sets of eyes were trained on us. Detective Hanborn was already there, a cup of coffee in her hand as she barked orders. She caught sight of us and lifted her to-go cup in our direction as a sort of greeting. I nodded my head primly and kept walking.

“They’re staring because we’re not in school,” Grace announced. Her coat was a hand-me-down from Sophie and was still a couple of sizes too big.

“No, they’re not,” Will said. “Lots of people homeschool.”

Our family stood out in Moose River for a number of reasons. The old house. The blended family. We we were one of a handful of families that didn’t belong to a church. And we homeschooled our kids.

Well, three of them. After ten years at home, Emily had decided that she wanted to go to high school and enrolled at a local charter school. She was having a great time and I was trying not to miss having her at home, but I was glad that she was getting what she wanted out of school. Not the academic stuff: she wanted more friendships and boys and a more complicated social life. She was getting it.

But the other three were home with me during the day. Jake worked in management at our local recycling plant and although his schedule could be a little flexible, it was usually just me and the younger three hanging out together. Sophie had gone to public school in Texas but had jumped right into the homeschooling after saying she wanted to try it when she and Jake moved. If anything, she’d energized all of us because I felt like she’d come to it with fresh eyes and I didn’t want to let her down.

So when we were at the grocery store in the middle of the day or at a museum or at the lake during warmer weather, we were used to the raised eyebrows and the unasked questions on the lips of people we encountered. As mainstream as homeschooling had become in recent years, there were still naysayers who felt the need to stick their noses in when it came to our kids’ education. I ignored them. We liked our lives and we’d carved out a great community of friends and families who also homeschooled.

“Then why are they staring at us?” Grace asked loudly.

Will frowned. “Uh, because they found a dead body in our basement?”

“No, they didn’t,” Sophie pointed out. “Daisy and Dad did.”

“Which meant they had to come and check things out,” Will told her. “So, technically, I’m right.”

“Well, I like them,” Sophie announced as I wrestled with the garage door.

“Why would you like them?” Will asked.

“They seem nice,” Sophie said. She climbed into the open passenger door and climbed into the car. “One man waved to me through the window.”

“He waved to me, too,” Grace said. She made a face. “I stuck my tongue out at him.”

“Excellent,” I said, hoisting myself into the driver’s seat. “That should win us some brownie points.”

“Brownies?” Grace’s ears perked up. “You’re making brownies?”

I just shook my head and adjusted the seat warmers to high. The inside of the car was so cold, we could see our breath. I let the engine warm up for a few minutes, just enough so that the needle on the temperature gauge moved a fraction of an inch. I turned the heat on and the air that blasted from the vents was finally a little warmer than the interior. I shifted the car into reverse and backed out of the garage.

We made the five minute drive on the freshly plowed roads to one of the local churches. I parked and the kids vaulted out of the car and hustled into the building, anxious to both get out of the cold and to see their friends. I was glad to see they were still excited about their normal routine and not focusing on what was going on at the house.

“There’s a dead man in our house!” Grace screamed as we got to the door of the meeting room.

All heads turned in our direction. So much for not focusing on what was going on at the house.

We shrugged off our coats and hung them on the pegs on the wall and the kids disappeared into the crowd of kids, no doubt to explain Grace’s announcement.

“Fun weekend?” Carol Vinford asked.

“I’ll just assume everyone knows already?” I asked, sighing.

Carol smiled. I’d met her shortly after Thornton and I moved to Moose River from Atlanta. We weren’t close friends but she was always sweet and helpful, the epitome of Minnesota Nice. She was one of the 4-H club leaders and her girls, Megan and Sara, sandwiched Emily in age.

“Pretty much,” she admitted. Her brown eyes were full of empathy. “You know how it goes.”

I nodded.

“Plus, if anyone didn’t know, pretty sure Grace has now informed them,” she said, nodding her dark head toward the group of kids. I couldn’t even see mine, tucked in the center of the throng of kids, but I could hear Grace. Her eight year-old voice could move mountains, it was so loud.

I chuckled. “Good point.”

“You and Jake okay?” Carol asked. “I was going to call last night, but I figured you had enough going on.”

“We’re fine,” I told her. As fine as we could be with an active crime scene in our house, I thought. “Thanks for asking.”

She patted me on the shoulder. “If you need anything, let me know.”

She stepped away and started organizing the kids so they could start the meeting. I had no doubt that if I’d told Carol I was too stressed out to cook, she would’ve had a month’s worth of dinners organized in fifteen minutes flat. If I’d said I was so busy with the investigation that I couldn’t get my kids to their next activity, she’d arrange for transportation, no questions asked. It was how most people in our tiny town were—eager to offer a helping hand to any stranger who needed it.

But friendships? Real, true friendships? Those were hard to come by.

I found a chair in the back of the room as the kids took roll and started going over their agenda. The kids had participated in 4-H for six years, ever since we’d moved to town, and I still didn’t wholly understand the ins and outs of what they did. It was a kid-led and kid-centered meeting and they were always discussing things like projects and budgets. Will had run for the position of vice-president this year and had run a successful bribery campaign: he’d handed out lollipops with the slogan, “Will WILL Do It!”and had won the position by a landslide. As vice-president, he got to look important and lead meetings when Megan, Carol’s daughter and the elected President, wasn’t there.

Annabelle Kingston came and sat down next to me. I didn’t know her that well, even though I saw her nearly every week at one event or another. She had four boys under the age of ten and always looked exhausted.

“I was so sorry to hear, Daisy.” She set her hand on my elbow.

I smiled. “Thanks.”

She folded her hands in her lap. She wore a pair of black sweats and a purple t-shirt with her church logo emblazoned on the front. She was very religious and I was not so our interests didn’t tend to converge except for the kids activities.

“We saw the police there this morning on the way over,” she said. “The boys nearly came out of the van.”

“They can come over and watch if they want,” I offered.

She laughed. She’d made an attempt to put on make-up that morning but her lipstick wasn’t blended and I couldn’t help but stare at the spot on her upper lip that was devoid of color. “Might be a good learning experience,” she said.

“Yes. Hands-on forensics. Or something.”

She nodded. “Yeah.” She smiled and the bare spot on her lip stretched wider. “We’ll pray about it for you.”

“About the forensics?” I asked, confused. Was she going to bless the instruments, like priests did with the holy water?

“No, Daisy. About…the
situation
.”

I nodded. “Oh. Right. Um, thank you,” I said awkwardly. I didn’t know—did you thank people when they offered to pray for you?

She lowered her voce. “I heard you knew Olaf.”

“What?” I tried to act surprised but I knew better. In the span of less than a day, I was certain Connie had blabbed what she knew, or what she thought she knew, to every willing listener in town. “Let me guess. You heard about my date with him.”

“It might have come up,” she said vaguely. Annabelle had a little more tact in the gossip department than Connie. She bit her bottom lip. “I…I knew Olaf.”

I shifted in my chair. “You did? I didn’t know that.”

She glanced at the kids for a moment. Megan was talking, a wooden gavel in hand. From the looks of things, they were getting ready to vote on something.

Annabelle turned her attention back to me. “Our families were friends when we were kids. So I’ve known him for a long time. He was a nice guy.”

I nodded. “He seemed like it.”

“He was,” she said. Her hands were still in her lap and she folded them together. “But he was…struggling.”

“Struggling?” My overactive imagination immediately kicked into full gear. Did he have some sort  of problem? Addiction? Gambling? He’d seemed normal enough when we’d talked over pizza that night. Maybe his life had taken a downward spiral. Maybe I’d been the one to cause it; another fruitless date that hadn’t amounted to anything.

A sympathetic frown crossed her face. “He was still in love with Helen.”

Helen? Who on earth was Helen?

“His ex-wife,” she explained before I could ask. “They were divorced for a number of years. Don’t think he ever got over it. I’m friends with her, too.”

“She lives here? In Moose River?”

“Yeah, over behind the high school. She’s told me on several occasions how he still wanted to get back together,” she said. “They didn’t have any kids. But apparently he really wanted to stay married.”

Sympathy seeped into my body. I immediately felt sorry for Olaf. I couldn’t get out of my marriage fast enough and I’d probably waited too long, but I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to have the other person walk out on you and still want to be with them.

“About once a month, I guess, he’d show up unannounced and ask her if there was any chance,” she said, shaking her head. “Helen would tell him no and he’d slink away like a shamed dog. I felt bad for him. I prayed about it a lot.”

“That’s terrible,” I said. And then, quickly, “The situation. Not the praying.”

She nodded. “And Helen hasn’t exactly been a wallflower since they separated. She didn’t remarry or anything but she’s been…out there. Dating and whatever else she does.” She pursed her lips and then took a deep breath, as if she was physically reminding herself to not judge. “I remember her mentioning your name when you and Olaf went out. He’d told her. She was hopeful.”

It was like she’d just rolled in a wheelbarrow full of guilt and dumped it squarely in my lap.

“But I think maybe he just told her with the hope that it might spark something in her,” she said, her eyes trained on the kids sitting in a semi-circle around the officers’ table . “It didn’t.”

I turned to look at the kids, too. Hands were popping up and down. But I was thinking about Olaf. He’d mentioned his ex-wife at dinner, but hadn’t said much else and I hadn’t asked. Discussing our divorces was the last thing I wanted to talk about so I hadn’t asked anything about her. I assumed he’d felt the same way.

Sitting there with Annabelle, processing what she’d just told me, I suddenly wondered if I should’ve asked more.

NINE

The strange woman was watching our house.

We’d been home from the 4-H meeting for a couple of hours and, after a quick lunch of grilled cheese and tomato soup, I’d sent the kids upstairs to play. They’d done enough preening at the windows, watching the goings on around the crime scene in the backyard and I wanted them to do something else. Will had disappeared to play his allotted time on the computer and Grace and Sophie had hightailed it to their room, squealing about Barbies and Polly Pockets. I was in the kitchen, making cookies and thinking about dinner. Emily was due home within the hour and, for once, we had nothing on the evening agenda. I wanted nothing more than to pour a glass of wine and curl up on the couch with Jake and get lost in something else—a movie, a game with the kids, whatever.

I checked on the tray in the oven before turning to the sink to tackle the mountain of dishes that had accumulated. I glanced out the side window and that’s when I saw her, walking by on the other side of the street. She moved slowly, her gaze locked on the house. I washed the dishes and was just finishing the last of the mixing bowls when the timer sounded. I pulled the last tray of cookies from the oven and looked out the window again. She was walking the other direction this time, her head swiveling toward the house as she walked. I bit back a sigh, realizing full well that a driveway of police cars and copious amounts of caution tape draped around the snow-filled year would draw some extra attention.

But as I was putting the dishes back in the cupboards, I saw her again, ducking behind a car on the other side of the street, still watching.

I stacked the bowls inside of each other and stowed them in one of the lower cupboards. I straightened, flopped the dish towel over my shoulder and walked to the window. She was crouched down, bundled up in a purple down jacket, watching intently.

And it just irked me.

I knew the scene was attention-grabbing, but I thought it was rude to just stand there on the sidewalk and gawk. And I thought it was weird and even ruder that she now appeared to be trying to hide herself as she watched.

So I pulled on my jacket and boots and went outside.

The wind hit me full-on in the face and my eyes watered. The morning might have been mild but the temperature had taken a nose-dive. I felt the hairs in my nose freeze and I tucked my chin into my jacket, trying to deflect the blow of the icy blasts assaulting me. I loved seasons but winter in Minnesota was like winter on steroids. Every year, as the snow piled up and the temperatures dipped even lower, I’d inevitably hit a point where I’d start thinking about warmer places so I wouldn’t have to dress like a sherpa every time I went outside. I was at that point this winter.

The woman didn’t see me come down the stairs off the porch, her hard gaze fixed on the police workers who were traipsing around in the snow. I stood at the hedges for a moment, thinking she would notice me and move on. But she didn’t and, for some reason, this just irritated me more. I crossed the street and came up behind the car she was hiding behind and stood behind her.

“Can I help you?” I asked.

She jumped a foot off the ground and her entire face colored red, both from the cold and the embarrassment of my catching her.

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “No.”

I took a good look at her. She was about my age and about thirty pounds overweight. Small eyes, pug nose, a small circle of a mouth. Her hair wasn’t visible, tucked inside of a knit beanie. Her coat stretched across her ample midsection and her cotton sweatpants were shoved into the tops of her boots.

“Then why are you staring at my house?”

“I’m not,” she said, glancing across the street, then at me.

I shoved my hands in my pockets. “You’re not? Really?”

She started to say something, but then her expression morphed from embarrassment to anger. “Why did you do that?”

I lifted my eyebrows in confusion. “Do what?”

She pointed a gloved finger at me. “You know what.”

“No, I really don’t.”

“Yes, you do. Yes, you do.”

I took a step back. I wondered if she was mentally unstable and if maybe it wasn’t such a good idea that I was confronting her. “I’m going to let one of the police officers know you’re over here. I’m sure they’ll be happy to come speak with you.”

She made a face like she didn’t care. “You go do that.” And then, under her breath, she muttered, “Killer.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” she said, raising her voice and pointing the gloved finger at me again. “Killer.”

I blinked several times. “I’m going to get the police now.”

“Good!” she said, sneering at me. “Good! Then I can tell them you killed Olaf.”

“I didn’t kill anyone,” I said, anger bubbling up inside me. “And who
are
you?”

“None of your beeswax,” she said. Before I could process her childlike comment, she reached out and pushed my shoulder.

My eyes widened in surprise. She pushed me. She actually reached out and pushed my shoulder, like we were on the playground and we were going to fight over who was going to be the line leader. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been pushed. Fourth grade? Third? I wasn’t sure. And I wasn’t sure what my reaction was then.

But this time? After a grown woman had accused me of being a murderer, told me to mind my own beeswax, and then pushed me?

I reached out and pushed her back.

“Don’t touch me,” I said.

Her hand connected with my shoulder again, this time harder. “Don’t
you
touch
me
.”

I should’ve been the bigger person. I should’ve just walked away and crossed the street and gone back into the house and let the police deal with her. I should not have pushed her with two hands.

But I pushed her with two hands.

She took a step back, her brows furrowing together, her eyes narrowing to the size of seed beads. She steadied herself.

And then she charged at me.

I tried to get out of her way, but she got an arm around me and we both fell into the snow. Wet cold seeped through my jeans and clumps of snow stuck to my hair. The woman reached for my face, her nails poised like small daggers, but I caught her wrists and held her away. We stayed locked in that position, her face contorted with rage, before several officers jogged across the street and pulled us apart.

I got to my feet and brushed the snow off my pants. My chest was heaving and my hands were shaking. I hadn’t been in a fight since…ever. And I was an adult and here I was wrestling with a stranger on the snow-covered sidewalk. Not my finest moment.

The woman’s face was bright red and she was almost vibrating, her jaw locked and her eyes fixed on me. She tried to lunge at me again, but the officer next to her had hold of her and she didn’t make it very far.

The officer closest to me took me by the elbow. He wore sunglasses and an overpowering amount of Old Spice. “What’s going on?” he asked.

I brushed snow from the side of my face. “I came over to ask why she was watching the house. I saw her from inside. She was out here for easily fifteen minutes before I came out.” I didn’t want to mention that she’d called me a killer. I cleared my throat. “Anyway, she pushed me several times. And then we went down in the snow.”

He kept his hand on my elbow but looked at the woman. “That right?”

“She pushed me, too,” the lady muttered, still staring at me like she wanted to hurt me.

My cop looked at her. “Do you have any identification, ma’am?”

She paused, then shook her head. “No.”

“What’s your name?”

“Olga.”

She didn’t offer a last name and, for some reason, the cop didn’t ask for one. “Can you tell me what you were doing here on the sidewalk?”

“Minding my own business,” she said defensively. Her beanie had slipped a little and strands of brown hair were plastered to her cheek.

“Minding
my
business,” I said.

She glared at me, then turned to the cop who was holding her. “Are you arresting her?”

He looked confused. “Ma’am?”

“For murder,” she said. Her gaze bounced between the two of us. “Are you arresting her?”

The officers exchange confused looks and the one next to me said, “Well, we can’t really talk about the investigation.”

“She did it,” the woman said again. “She killed him.”

“I did not,” I said.

“Liar!” she yelled.

The fact that she was so insistent that I had done it was unnerving. A person I’d never seen before was accusing me of killing someone I hadn’t. And she seemed to believe it so certainly that she’d bet all the money in the world on it. What did she know that I didn’t?

The officer holding onto the woman cleared his throat. “Ma’am, we’re going to ask you to move along at this point. You’re interfering with…”

“She killed my brother!” she said, pointing at me. “She killed Olaf!”

Brother? She was Olaf’s sister?

The officer took her by the elbow and started walking her down the block. She kept turning around, twisting her neck, her face a red mass of fury and anger.

Olaf’s sister?