Past Imperfect (26 page)

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Authors: Kathleen Hills

Tags: #Fiction / Mystery & Detective / General

BOOK: Past Imperfect
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XXXVI

McIntire first noticed the cranelike figure of Mia Thorsen, her knees drawn up under her flowered skirt, perched high above him. Only when he anxiously approached the jump did he stumble upon the twisted body of Wylie Petworth sprawled among the weeds. He passed by with hardly a glance and rapidly mounted the ladder.

Mia's lips were blue in her waxen face, and she shivered violently. He sat down on the boards next to her and wrapped his raincoat around her shoulders, holding her tight to his chest. At length the shaking gave way to a soft sobbing and finally to an occasional sniffle. After a long time, she lifted her head and gulped for air. McIntire produced a handkerchief. She blew her nose robustly and leaned her head back against his chest. “Is he dead?” she asked. Her voice was hoarse and barely louder than a whisper..

“I don't know. He wasn't moving.”

She rested against him for a time before speaking again, “John, I still don't get it. I sort of know why he killed Cindy, but why Nels? They were like brothers.”

“Not brothers exactly,” McIntire informed her. “Cousins. Something like, let's see…half first cousins once removed would be close. Wylie's great-grandfather—you know, our old friend Gutter—was Tina Bertelsen's grandfather.”

“Tina?”

“Christina Bertelsen, Nels' mother. She's still alive, Mia, and with Nels dead, Wylie is her next of kin. He could inherit her estate.”

“I never heard that they were related.”

“I suppose they didn't realize that they were. Wylie must have figured it out when he got the old records from the apple business. Nels' grandmother, Tina's mother, was called Sigrid Guttormsdatter, or Guttorm's daughter. Her father left Norway for good before Tina was born. Wylie's grandfather came from Norway about that same time and his first name was Guttorm.”

“That doesn't prove a thing. The Norwegians only have about twenty names that they divvy up amongst themselves. They just juggle the order.”

“Which is why they needed to choose a family surname when they came to this country. Like a lot of people, Guttorm adopted the name of his home village, Gulsvagen. An extremely small village, I might add. The letters in the Bertelsen records show that Christina also came from Gulsvagen. Wylie just put two and two together; maybe with some help from Nina at the library.”

“You mean Christina Bertelsen lived practically next door to her cousins and never knew it? That's pretty hard to swallow.”

“According to Laurie Post, Guttorm's first wife—Sigrid's mother—died. He remarried—to Wylie's great-grandmother that would be—and emigrated to the United States after Sigrid was already grown up and married. Tina thought that people from her village had settled somewhere in this area. That's why she came here. She probably didn't know that her own grandfather ended up in this part of the world, but it's not such a coincidence that he did. Many people who lived together in communities in Europe stayed near one another when they came to America, and it wasn't hard to lose track of family in those days. Maybe it still isn't.” He smiled. “Do you think Nina Godwin's descendants will recognize you if you meet them on the street?”

“Depends on who's running for office,” Mia observed. In response to McIntire's questioning look she only went on, “I still can't believe Wylie would have murdered his best friend for a few acres of sand and rock.” She shivered again, and he wrapped the coat more tightly around her. “Is it true, has Cindy's body been found?”

McIntire told her about the burial under the apple tree. “She was so small that he was able to bundle her up with the roots and put her right in the truck with the other trees. I suppose he had left the burlap hidden back in the woods when he met her. When he left the scene of the murder, he was leaving to fetch it. He just tied her up with all her belongings—except her coat, it was too bulky—and carried her out. I still can't understand why he felt he had to dispose of the body in such a hideous way. He wasn't going to be able to keep her death a secret for long. He could at least have allowed her family to bury her.”

“The magnanimous murderer? He had strangled her, John. He knew an autopsy might show that it was done with only one hand.”

Mia let her head fall back upon his shoulder. McIntire's hand went up to smooth back the strands of hair tear-glued to the side of her face but was arrested by her words. “John, we can't just let him lie there. He might still be alive. At least,” she added, “I don't hear the approach of the Valkyrie.”

“Valkyrie? So Wylie's our Nordic god, too?”

“Tyr, Norse god of war—how fitting. He had his arm chewed off by a wolf or something. Annie called him Mr. Tyr. I thought she was stuttering.”

“Good grief. Nina Godwin was quite the romantic soul after all, wasn't she?”

They gingerly descended to solid ground and turned to the place where Wylie Petworth lay. His position hadn't changed, but his eyes glittered in his ashen face.

“Well, if it isn't Tweedledum and Tweedledee. God, you two still look like a pair of scarecrows.” He attempted to raise himself, but fell back, his face contorted with pain. When he spoke again it was through clenched jaws. “Lend a hand, will you?”

“I don't think you should move.” McIntire bent over him. Wylie lay on his back in the wet grass. His right shoulder was twisted up and caught on the rotting trunk of a fallen tree, leaving his unsupported head hanging to the side. A deep purple bruise blossomed from his left temple. The arm that had until recently been undamaged dangled uselessly, and his left leg below the knee was bent at a revolting angle.

“You think it matters now? Just get something under my head.”

Together McIntire and Mia lifted, turning him until his head and shoulders were supported on the log in a half-sitting position. McIntire removed his hat and rolled it into a fat sausage which he slid under the injured man's neck. Lastly, he took off the raincoat and tucked it around the inert body.

“Thanks, Mac, you're a real prince. I don't remember you being so generous with the covers when we all shared a bed. Those were the good old days, eh?” His words burst forth in short explosions, like a water tap with air in the pipes. “But that's a tradition the two of you carried on, isn't it? From the cozy pair you make, I imagine you've picked up where you left off. What would the proper English lady say if she knew you'd been screwing each other since you were fourteen?” His laughter sounded hollow and ended in a choking cough. “You never dreamed I knew, did you? You thought you were being so cagey when you'd get rid of me and sneak off together. There are plenty of people that would be surprised at what I know…and the secrets I've kept.”

“Like the fact that you and Nels were related?” Mia ventured.

Wylie's eyes widened. “Well, aren't we clever? God, I would have loved wringing your scrawny neck, Mia.” He sucked in his breath, and spoke through his teeth. “The whole world would have found out about the Bertelsen clan being my dear cousins before long. I made sure of that when I brought those records to Warner Godwin.”

“But how could you have done such a thing, to Nels Bertelsen, of all people?” Mia persisted. “You were such close friends. After all he—”

“Saved my life. Jeez, if I had a nickel for every time I've had to hear that! Nels, the great hero. Rescues bumbling Wylie from death by fire, and then goes off to save the world from Kaiser Wilhelm, leaving the poor crippled kid home to watch the sheep and play Prince Charming to a bunch of giggling females!”

Mia gaped at him, uncomprehending. “But if it wasn't for Nels you'd be—”

“He'd be whole, Mia.” McIntire recalled Laurie Post's puzzling statements about a young boy's short memory or forgiving nature. It looked like Wylie had neither forgotten nor forgiven. “Nels Bertelsen started that fire. Is that what happened, Wylie?”

“Ah, the great detective strikes again.” He suddenly gasped, then held his breath for a time before he went on. “We'd been fishing through the ice, and we were in the shack. I mentioned to Nels that the nurse that was looking after his mother seemed to be taking pretty good care of his father, too. He came at me like a wild man, slammed me into the kerosene stove. It went up like a torch. He held me down until the oil soaked my coat and was burning right through to my skin, and he still wouldn't let me up. When the hut caught fire, I guess he came to his senses and got us both out. I'd passed out by that time. When I came to, I was in the snow and he was there with that whore. They threw me into the sled and hauled me into town.”

“But why didn't you say anything? Why let him get away with it?”

“You think he got away with it? If I had told what really happened he
would
have gotten away scot free. Boys will be boys, you know. They're expected to get into a tussle now and again. Damned if I'd let that happen! When they told me they were going to cut off my arm, I decided I would wait as long as it took, but I'd get my revenge.” Wylie began a convulsive shivering. Mia pulled the coat up around his neck.

“When he hit that nest of hornets and ended up in the hospital, I was scared he'd die and cheat me out of it. Turned out to be my lucky day. I unselfishly consented to take over the orchards. I got those old records and figured out that Nels' mother was my cousin, and she didn't appear to be dead at all. Everything was falling into place. I could get even and get back the land that should have been mine if my mother hadn't…” His cough sent a spasm through his body.

“Also very fitting.” Mia spoke under her breath, and McIntire turned to her. “Tyr was god of war
and
of justice,” she explained.

Wylie ignored, or didn't hear, the exchange. When he continued his voice was softer, but steady.

“Anyway, I fed Nina a cock and bull story about how I wanted to ‘do something' for the old friend who had saved my life, and would she please suspend her high morals long enough to slip me a look into her husband's files, so I could see what sort of financial shape he was in. I found out he and Godwin were cooking up a scheme to go into cahoots with some company in Chicago to turn the place into a resort. I had to do something before they ended up selling out, or the old lady kicked off…or, God forbid, that woman should talk Nels into marrying her.

“When he actually died, it was almost a letdown. I spent my life getting to know that stubborn Norwegian as well as I know myself, planning for that day, working for it, and then—bang!—it was all over. I accomplished what I set out to do. I got rid of my worst enemy…and to do it I had to lose my best friend. Nels was gone, and the challenge was gone…kind of took the spark out of life…until I opened Godwin's campaign pitch and found that note from the High School Extortion Queen.

“Everything would have gone smooth as silk if that idiot Nina Godwin hadn't written it all down. Behind every unsuccessful man there's an asinine woman!”

“But,” McIntire said, “there couldn't have been anything in Nina's diary to prove that you killed Nels. She didn't know what you were up to. Cindy must have learned from the diary that Nina was having an affair with someone who wanted to repay his best friend for saving his life when they were boys…and from what I told her she figured out that it was you. But there was still no
evidence
that you murdered Nels, nothing that was worth killing that little girl over.”

“There didn't need to be. Once that little girl opened her big mouth, it would have all gone haywire. I had the ledgers. I had snooped into Nels' lawyer's files. I called the nut house to find out if his mother was still living. Ole's old whore knew that Nels started that fire.” He turned watery eyes on Mia. “And your dashing husband might even have come out of his alcoholic stupor long enough to remember the little fender bender we had that night when we were both headed home, even though I had left the Waterfront considerably earlier.”

He seemed to sink back into himself, and his voice could barely be heard. “No, Cindy had to be shut up.” He looked again at Mia. “And so did anybody else who guessed the truth. Don't you see? I owed that much to Nels.

“But I've failed, and Nels died for nothing, all because of those two imbeciles, Cindy Culver and Nina Godwin.”

“Nina,” McIntire said, “you didn't…”

“No, Nina was enough of a moron to drive off a cliff with no help from me.” Another coughing spell racked Wylie's body and left him lying spent and gasping against the log. “I would never take a mother away from her child.”

The distant sound of slamming car doors and male voices heralded the imminent arrival, not of the Valkyrie, but of Pete Koski and his men.

The three waited in silence as the sun slipped below the cover of clouds and cast their shadows across the grass to merge with the darkness of woods beyond.

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