Murder Under the Tree (11 page)

Viktor came into the building. I stood up. “My office is this way,” he said.

We went down into the basement. His small windowless office, filled with bright fluorescent lights, held two metal desks. In one corner was a work table with tools attached to it. Other tools hung from the wall. He took off his scarf and put it on an old brass hook near the door. “I shared this office with Les.”

How could two men work in such a small space? And the harsh lighting...I wonder if they had many headaches. “It's bright.”

“Would you like some coffee?” He motioned to a small coffee pot over in the corner which stood on a small, rough sawn table.

“No, thank you.” I unbuttoned my coat.

He poured himself a cup of coffee, then said, “Please, have a seat.” He waved one hand towards a straight-backed chair that stood in front of his desk. He took milk from his small refrigerator and poured a fair amount into his cup.

I sat down in one of two chairs in the room.

He looked up at me, took a sip of his coffee, then sat in the other chair behind his desk. “What can I do for you?”

“First off, thank you for agreeing to speak with me.”

He nodded. “No problem. What is it you need?”

Nothing like getting down to business. “I talked to a few women from the kitchen. One was Chelsey who said she was a good friend of Les' and another, a red-haired young woman, I didn't get her name, who said she was friends with you.”

“Megan...Her name is Megan. They're both good people.”

He looked at me expectantly.

I smiled. “Chelsey mentioned that Les thought something strange was going on between Nancy Reinhardt and some of the male residents. I thought Les might have talked to you about that.”

Viktor hesitated before speaking. “Les...” He then looked towards the door. He stood up and closed it. “You never know who might overhear what. That might be what got Les killed.”

“I'm not following. What might have gotten Les killed?”

“Les told me some things he had overheard.”

“About Nancy Reinhardt?”

“Yes.”

Then he lowered his voice. “Les didn't like Nancy. She always gave him a hard time. He never could figure out why. He was leaving Hawthorne for a better job. First, he said he wanted to get her fired. Didn't think what she was doing was right.”

Victor looked towards the closed door. “Said he wanted to catch her in the act.”

I pulled my chair a bit closer to his desk. “In the act of doing what?”

Viktor straightened out some papers on his desk. “Les mentioned about seeing Nancy cuddling up to certain male residents here.”

What!
“What did Les mean...cuddling up?”

He hesitated and looked at me. “What if I misunderstood? Maybe I shouldn't say anything. But if what he said is true, it could be important.”

“It could be important, really important.” I wished he would just come out with it.

“I don't want to get in trouble talking to you. I need this job.” He hesitated again. “But I want to help. I want to do anything that will help you find Les' murderer. Not that I'm saying that Nancy is his murderer, but...”

“This must be so hard on you. Take your time,” I said, hoping he would hurry up.

“Okay...” He shook his head. “Here's the story.” He began like he was driven. Like he
needed
to get this out to someone, to me. “Les had overheard Nancy talking to a resident a few days before he died. He was mopping the floor in an alcove on the first floor. Les heard her mention to him about putting Hawthorne Hills in his will.”

Oh my gosh! My eyes must have gone wide open. He watched me. I knew I had to contribute. “Seems like something she shouldn't have been involved in,” I said, stating the obvious. “Please go on.”

“Then she told this resident that to avoid some kind of tax, he could put her name in his will and she would transfer the money to the Home.”

I leaned forward in my chair. “That sounds like some pretty serious corruption. Why didn't Les report Nancy to the owner of the Home?”

He nodded. “Seems like it. He wanted to do more investigating first. Les also heard Nancy set up a time to meet that evening in his apartment.”

“Did Les give a name?”

Viktor looked down at his watch, then continued without answering my question. “So that evening, Les watched Nancy enter the resident's apartment. His was a garden level apartment. Les stood outside, freezing his butt off.” He looked up at me. “So he related to me.” Viktor cleared his throat. “Les saw the two embrace. More than embrace.” He stopped for a few seconds and looked down at his hands. “It was...it was…” Then he stopped. “I think I've said enough. I need to think more on this.”

“I understand.” I hesitated. I wish he had gone on. After a few moments when I saw that he wasn't going to say anymore, I said, “Thank you, Viktor, for talking to me. Can I call on you again?”

He didn't answer right away. “Okay.”

“You're very kind.”

He started shuffling the papers on his desk. I stood up and left his office.

I walked up the steps and buttoned my coat in the lobby. Viktor was so close to giving me a name; why had he decided against it? If I had pressed him on it, I felt he would have ended our conversation immediately. He already seemed hesitant to meet with me again. Something must have him too scared to talk; perhaps he really, really needed to keep this job. I passed Dr. Lee's office. His light was on, but the room was empty. I needed to talk to him. I left through the front door with a feeling of accomplishment. It was possible this scam was the reason for Les' murder, if Nancy knew that Les suspected or knew anything... What might she have done?

Crack! Crack!
I heard a loud crackling noise overhead. Startled, I jumped aside a good foot. Several large, wicked icicles, hundreds of pounds in weight, landed right where I had been. A wave of intense nausea jolted through my body. My feet slid sideways on the ice that glazed the ground, then I fell, knocking all the air out of my lungs. I let out a gasp, and swore under my breath. I looked up and saw a shadow pull back from the overhang on the roof.

Nausea turned into fear. Fear crept through my body.

Ignoring my pain, I picked myself up and ran back into the lobby. The thumping of my heart in my ears was all I could hear. I pushed the elevator up button repeatedly. The elevator was on the third floor. I kept pushing it and then ran to the stairs and up to the top floor, taking them two by two. Out of breath, I looked around for an exit out to the roof. I couldn't find one. Damn!

I
knew
someone had chopped the icicles down. This was no accident. Someone wanted to scare me, or even worse, kill me. If I hadn't jumped... A cold shiver ran through me. I took the elevator back down to the lobby and went out the front door, looking up to make sure there wouldn't be any icicles coming down on me.

Still shaken by the experience, I got into my car, my back and hip throbbing, and sat there for a few minutes running the window defroster. A layer of ice had accumulated on my windshield. My heart still pounded in my chest. What, did Hawthorne Hills specialize in perfect crimes? Of course my body would have been discovered before the ice had melted, but it would have looked like an accidental death just as Les' did. I felt unnerved and a terrible exhaustion descended over me: mental, physical, and emotional exhaustion.

There was a bang on my window. I jumped. Martin. His car was next to mine. I lowered the window a couple of inches.

He had a big smile. “Kay, are you coming up to see us? I picked up a chocolate almond cake at Marissa's.” He lifted the box up to the window. I could see Marissa's logo on the box.

I got out of the car to scrape the ice and tried to give him a smile. “Thank you, Martin. You're sweet, but not today.” I finished scraping the windshield. “I'm sorry, I've got to go. Talk to you soon.” His smile wavered.

As Martin walked towards the entrance to the Home, I saw Robert Peterson coming down the front steps and turn the corner. Was it Robert's shadow I saw on the roof? Was he the one who broke the icicles? But why would he?

Still shaken, I got back into the car. Holding the steering wheel tight, I started for home trying to stay calm. All I wanted to do and could think about was getting into a hot shower and washing this nightmare away. But when I reached my block, I made a quick U-turn, almost sliding into the curb, and headed straight down Maple Street to the police station.

* * * *

When I arrived, I asked to speak with Sudbury Falls' Chief of Police.

Kirk came out to the reception area. “Kay, you're back. What's wrong?”

Fear must have shown in my face. “I'm not doing well.” He looked at me with concern. “Come back to my office.”

He closed his door and pulled out a chair for me. I sat down. “Now, tell me, what's wrong? You look terrible.”

“I was just at Hawthorne Hills Retirement Home. Someone tried to kill me!” I blurted out.

He hesitated, with a look that was a mixture of concern and disbelief, then said, “Who? How so?”

I told him about the icicles and seeing the shadow on the roof.

His look of skepticism did not lessen. I saw him eye the coffee pot and go over to fill up a cup. “Want some?”

I shook my head.

“You'd better start from the beginning,” he said.

I told him about looking into Les' death and our suspicions of murder, since the others with peanut allergies weren't affected. About the jar of peanut butter hidden in the back of the cupboard after Nancy and Sheila's denial that it was ever used in the kitchen.

He sat and listened attentively. Our last coroner, who I helped put in prison two months ago, had also listed a murder victim as an accidental death as well. Of course, he had been in on the murders.

“I don't know. Maybe they hadn't gotten to those particular food items yet. Kay, this case is closed. Killing a person with peanut butter...”

The phone rang. “...Come on, it seems unlikely.” He picked up the phone. “Yeah, I haven't forgotten my appointment. I'll be leaving soon.” He glanced at his watch.

After Kirk hung up the phone, I told him about Les' suspicions of Nancy and certain male residents.

“Any evidence of this?”

I remained silent. Like the missing peanut butter jar, there was no evidence to prove my story about Nancy either. Kirk looked up to the ceiling. His attitude was plain. He wasn't willing to reopen the investigation. Sweat ran down from his forehead.

“Kay, you were lucky with the ginseng murders. That doesn't mean that you are solving a sensational crime here as well. Not every accidental death in Sudbury Falls is murder.”

“Lucky?” How condescending. “I came up with almost every piece of evidence in that case through hard work and diligence.” I felt like adding...and you got all the credit. This guy owed me and he knew it.

“Sorry, Kay. I didn't mean it that way. I know how you have helped in the past, but now please leave this to the police.
Stay away
from Hawthorne Hills for a while.” He raised an eyebrow at me. “It's safer for you that way.”

I looked at him squinting a little. The way he said it. “Stay away from Hawthorne Hills for a while.” Did he know something wasn't right and wasn't letting on, or does he just want me to forget all of this and quit being a pain in his side?

We sat in silence for a few moments, looking at each other. “As far as the alleged attempt on your life, we can send an officer over to the Home to search the roof, but icicles falling, in the dead of winter, isn't a strong case. This is Wisconsin. And you saw a shadow, not a person, specifically. A shadow could have been a squirrel on the roof or a bird flying overhead.”

I stood up. This wasn't going anywhere. Then I thought, why not? “A new neighbor moved into Ted Michael's house next door. Robert Peterson. Do you know anything about him?”

“Robert Peterson. That's who I have my next appointment with,” he looked down at his watch, then stood up, putting on his jacket, “in ten minutes at City Hall. I'd better not be late.”

“About what?”

“Kay...” he paused, “the mayor wants me to meet him.”

“The mayor? Who is this guy?”

“Some rich philanthropist from....”

“Chicago.”

“Maybe they want to get some money out of him. Sponsor some projects. Who knows?” Kirk started putting on his jacket. “Hope Marissa caters the meeting.”

“I suppose the mayor would like to cultivate a wealthy philanthropist.”

“Right. It's not every day a big shot moves to our town. Did I mention, he's the new owner of Hawthorne Hills Retirement Home?”

No! “What?”

“Robert Peterson signed a letter of intent to purchase the Home a month ago. The owner, a friend of mine, wants to retire. The acquisition is to be completed next month.”

I left the police station and drove home, my mind full, thinking about how close I came to being skewered and about Viktor and Robert Peterson. So Peterson was to be the owner of Hawthorne Hills. He was turning up everywhere: on Elizabeth's doorstep, at the retirement home when someone tried to kill me, and at City Hall to meet with the mayor and chief of police.

What was his agenda?

Monday, December 29

The windows rattled as the dawn sky bore a purple hue. I watched Phil next to me, the gentle rising and falling of his chest, listening to his breathing. Twenty-eight years with this man as of today. I had never loved him as much as I did right now. He was truly a good person, honest and loyal. Phil opened his eyes halfway, and caught me scrutinizing him. I smiled.

“Good morning,” he whispered. His warm smile made me feel good. He put his arm around me. “Happy Anniversary, Hon. I love you.”

We kissed. “I love you, too.”

“Kay, you know, I've never been happier being anything but your husband.”

I put my head on his chest, moved a little closer until the curves of my body fit into his, and fell back asleep to the rhythm of his heart beat and the wailing of the wind outside.

An hour later, on my way to the bathroom, I heard the thud of a car door closing. I looked out the window, past our driveway, over to Elizabeth's. Pristine snow had covered everything during the night. Elizabeth's car backed down to the end of her driveway, and then waited while a snowplow passed, simultaneously clearing the street and trapping Elizabeth behind a wall of muddy snow. After a pause, she gunned her engine, sending her car over the snow mound and then turned the corner. Today was her once-a-week work day. This past autumn she had cut her work schedule down to accommodate her courtship of three different men. Her work schedule cuts remained in effect even though she had narrowed the field down to just one.