Death at the Door (20 page)

June 3—Edgewater Resort, Ephraim, Wisconsin

The phone rang twice. Ann rolled over in bed half-asleep. Her arm swept the nightstand for the phone, thinking it was work calling. The phone quit ringing but she was half-awake and unable to go back to sleep thinking someone from the hospital was trying to get ahold of her. She stumbled out of bed and, as her surroundings came into view, realized she was in a hotel room and remembered she was on vacation. She staggered out into the living room and caught sight of Lark and John sitting at the bar. Lark, deep in conversation on the phone, did not see her, thank God. She went back into the bathroom, pulled on her robe, and combed her hair into some semblance of order. By the time she went back to the kitchen, Lark was off the phone and standing at the door of the condo.

“Who called?” she asked as she walked past them and got a diet Coke out of the refrigerator.

“Ann, I'm so sorry that phone call woke you up,” Lark said.

“Who was on the phone?” she asked after enjoying her first sip of soda.

“Joel. He was reminding me about my interview at the nursing home this morning. He called here when he couldn't get me in my suit.”

“Nursing home.” Ann yawned. “You all really are desperate if you think someone in a nursing home murdered Paul Larsen or pulled off these burglaries.”

“It's nothing like that. Skewski and I are going to interview Minevra Larsen. I should have called you last night but your lights were already out when Joel asked me to do this and I didn't want to disturb you.” Lark turned to John. “As I was saying, I apologize for running out on our golf game again. Maybe you and Ann can go instead.”

Ann sucked soda up through her nose. “Uh, don't look this way,” she choked out. “I've made a midyear resolution to never play golf again. We'll have to think of something else to do.”

Lark caught the grin that passed between them and headed for the door before he conjured up images he didn't want in his head. It was sometimes painful to watch their togetherness.

June 3—Bay Haven Nursing Home,
Sturgeon Bay, Wisconsin

Lark thought about how routine the trip down to Sturgeon Bay was becoming as he drove south on Highway 42. He ran into a rainstorm ten miles outside of Sturgeon Bay and marveled at how the weather could turn on a dime on the peninsula. He sat in the lobby of the nursing home for ten minutes before Skewski walked in the door. That gave him ample time to make some decisions about his life. Despite the bright and cheerful sailboat theme of the nursing home, he decided that he would probably shoot himself before he would go to one. Of course if he was confused, he decided he might not know the difference. Ray Skewski's arrival ended his morbid thoughts on old age.

A secretary showed them to Minevra Larsen's room. She cautioned them that although Minevra had been told several times about her grandson's death, she had not acknowledged it and did not seem to remember it from one minute to the next.

Lark and Skewski found her sitting up in a chair beside the window. She was a tiny woman and looked even smaller because of the slumped position her dowager hump forced her into. She seemed to shrink into her long, dark blue robe and slippers. Her white hair was still thick and piled up on top of her head. She smiled when they entered and her face reminded Joel of one of those wizened-apple dolls. Her pale blue eyes appeared quite large through the gold-rimmed, Coke-bottle-thick glasses she had perched on her nose. The lenses made it easy to spot the sparkle in her eyes. She looked every day and then some of her eighty-six years.

She held out her hand and squeezed each one of theirs gently. Lark noticed that the bones in her hand felt as fragile as a bird's wing. “The nurse said that my grandson sent you two boys to see me.” She looked at them expectantly.

“He asked us to talk with you about the letters in your safety-deposit box from Mr. Williams,” Skewski said.

She shook her head and frowned down at her lap. “Paul wasn't supposed to get into that box until after I'm dead.” She glanced up at them. “That boy never could keep a secret. I should have known better than to tell him about the box. I should have just had my lawyer deal with it after I died. Of course he's dead now too.”

“Did you ever discuss Mr. Williams's letters with Paul?” Ray asked.

“You want to know if Paul knew that Joshua was his grandfather?”

“Yes,” Lark said.

“We never talked about it.”

“Did the DuBois girls know they were related to Paul?” Ray asked.

“Heavens no. It would have killed them to know that their precious grandfather had an affair with the hired help. Hyacinth was mighty stuck on herself and her position in society.” Minevra strung
society
out to its full four syllables. “Camellia was such a sweet little girl, but she didn't turn out much better than her mother. She married that poor Robert DuBois and dragged him around like he had a ring in his nose. Those girls were always pretty and they knew how to get a man. They just didn't want much to do with them after they got a ring on their finger and a baby in the nursery.”

“Joshua never asked Hyacinth for a divorce?” Lark asked.

A smile creased Minevra's face. “Joshua never really wanted to divorce her. He just didn't want me telling her about the baby. Truth be told, I wasn't much interested in marrying him either. Hyacinth would have made my life pure hell if I'd busted up their marriage.”

“You wrote in one of your letters that you saw a barrel of glass being taken up to the attic,” Lark said.

“Iris's brother and my uncle Ludwig liked to never got that thing upstairs.” She smiled, her eyes far away. “It was awful when they drowned. My mother and Iris cried for days after they finally quit looking for their bodies.”

“Do you know who removed the glass from the attic?” Lark asked.

Her eyes became wary. “All but a few pieces should still be there unless someone took them.”

“They're turning the house into a bed-and-breakfast and the attic has been gutted. No one has found the barrel,” Lark said.

“I can't believe Paul would ever let them make it a bed-and-breakfast.” Her hands began to flutter around in her lap. Her eyes darted around the room. “Where is Paul? Why didn't he come with you? What are you two doing in my room?” Someone walked past the room and she waved her hands and yelled at them for help.

The nurse came and in shooed Lark and Ray out of the room.

“That was productive,” Ray said as the walked to their cars.

“Do you think she was faking it when she suddenly got confused?” Lark asked.

Ray took off his ball cap and scratched his head. “It did seem sudden, but I just find it hard to believe Minnie would be that devious. She was quite a looker right into her fifties. I can see why old Josh would have had an affair with her. Hyacinth always struck me as being colder than the polar ice cap.”

With nothing else to do in Sturgeon Bay, Lark drove to Fish Creek to check up on Lacey.

June 3—White Gull Inn, Fish Creek, Wisconsin

Lark called Lacey just before he got into Fish Creek. He wanted to stop by and make sure she was all right. He also wanted to get the names and telephone numbers of the people Joel still had to interview. When Lacey didn't answer her phone, he got worried. He knew she was either very sick or out doing something she shouldn't be doing. If she was too sick to answer the phone, she needed help. If she was out doing something, he was going to give her a piece of his mind. He made good time until he got to the town limits of Fish Creek. He was then slowed to a snail's pace by cars creeping along to check out the sights.

No parking was available when he got to the White Gull Inn. He fumed as he drove up and down until someone finally vacated a spot. He whipped his Jeep into the parking place and trotted to Lacey's cottage. The door was standing open when he got there. He burst inside and scared the maid to death.

“Where's Lacey?” he asked, forcing himself to control his voice.

“She went to lunch with a friend,” the woman said. “She's feeling much better this morning. If she didn't have that bruise on the side of her head, you wouldn't know anything had happened to her.”

“Do you know where they went?” Lark paced the living room.

“They went to the dining room. Is something wrong?” the woman asked, taking a few steps back from Lark.

He stopped pacing, concerned about the woman's reaction to him. He gave her one of his most dazzling smiles. “I'm sorry if I frightened you. I tried to call Lacey a while ago and I got worried when she didn't answer the phone. It concerned me even more when I found out she wasn't here. She's not supposed to be doing anything until she sees her doctor tomorrow morning.”

She relaxed and smiled back at him. “Go on over to the dining room. Seeing how she looks this morning will make you feel better.”

Lark walked to the restaurant seeing red that Lacey had gone to breakfast with that lech Russ O'Flaherty. The bastard sure hadn't wasted any time moving in on her. His conscience told him he had done this to himself, which pissed him off even more. He walked into the packed dining room and scanned the tables. Lacey was nowhere in sight. He talked with one of the waiters, who led him to the back room. He was stunned by what he saw. He didn't know what to do. She was sitting at a table near the back wall laughing and talking with Gene Boskirk. Empty plates sat in front of them and a credit card lay at the edge of the table near Gene.

Lacey glanced up and saw Lark standing in the doorway. Her face lit up in a smile and she waved him back to their table.

“Joel called last night to let me know he was going back to Wausau for the night. He said you might be stopping by to get the names of people we still need to interview.”

“That's what I'm here for.” Lark studied her face. He wasn't sure how much of the improvement in her color was due to her recovery and how much was due to her artful application of makeup. The maid was right, even the bruise on the side of her face looked better.

The waitress cleared their table, picked up Gene's credit card, and placed a menu in front of Lark. She was gone before he could give it back to her.

“Why don't you have some breakfast and then we'll go get that list,” Lacey said.

Lark was hungry and decided to go ahead and order something. Once he'd figured out what he wanted, he put his menu down on the table and fixed his eyes on Gene. “I thought Lacey had to be on bed rest until Monday morning. How come she's out eating breakfast this morning?”

“For crying out loud,” Lacey said.

Gene held up his hand to stop her tirade. He turned his eyes back to Lark “That's a legitimate question. I stopped to check up on her this morning. Probably for the same reason you did.”

Lark nodded.

“She was going stir-crazy. Her nausea was gone and she was starving. She's still got her headache, but as long as she takes her pain meds for a few more days and doesn't drink and drive with them on board, she should be fine.” Gene glanced down at his watch. “I've got to go make rounds so I can get back to the cottage. My kids are coming up to spend the next couple of days with me.”

The waitress brought Gene's credit card slip for him to sign and took Lark's breakfast order.

“How's Sophie?” Lark asked as Gene got up to leave.

Gene shook his head. “Look, I'm really sorry about the other night.”

Lark waved off his apology. “Sophie and I hadn't seen each other in years until a few nights before that. It meant nothing to me. I just want to know what she's up to.”

“Haven't you been watching TV?” Gene asked.

“Nothing but ESPN.”

Gene nodded and sat back down. “WKZ sent a film crew up here and she's been doing a series on crime in Door County. I'm surprised she hasn't tried to interview you.”

“She knows better.”

“She's really going after this story. She spent Friday at the courthouse and at the
Door County Ledger
office.”

“You're kidding me,” Lacey said. “Why didn't you tell me this sooner?”

“I figured you all knew. She did a report last night on the WKZ news about all the people who had a reason to dislike Paul Larsen because of his zoning board decisions. I figured you all saw it. She talked about a Chicago transplant to Door County who was arrested for assault in Chicago.”

“Who was it?” Lacey asked.

“She didn't give a name on the air,” Gene said. “She just put the idea out there that someone had killed Paul because of his stance on land development.”

“As soon as I'm done with breakfast, we've got to call Joel,” Lark said. “I hate to ruin his Sunday, but he's the best person to get a copy of her tape. Then I'll try and get the rest of Joel's interviews done.”

“I'll help so we can get them done that much faster,” Lacey said.

“You can help by scheduling and organizing all the interviews. That way you can continue to rest.”

Exasperated, Lacey looked over at Gene for help.

Gene put his hands out in front of him, motioning her to cool it. “Lacey doesn't have to be on bed rest anymore. It'll do her good to get out. She can help with the interviews, but she can't drive while she's taking her pain meds. She can certainly ride with you.” He glanced at Lacey to see if she understood.

She nodded. “I'm clear on that. The pills make me loopy, but I have the mother of all headaches if I don't take them.”

Gene got up to leave. “Lark, I'm having the waitress put your breakfast on my bill.” When Lark started to protest, Gene interrupted him. “It's an inadequate way for me to apologize, but it is the best I can do. Please accept it.”

Lark understood. He finished his breakfast and he and Lacey went back to her cottage to call Joel and get their interviews scheduled.