The Light Keeper's Legacy (A Chloe Ellefson Mystery) (27 page)

“Maybe they got the idea after hearing about Zana being found wrapped in the fishnet,” Brenda mused. “Jenks was angry about the new fishing laws.”

“Tim claims that Jenks told him and Natalie that they would be tried as accomplices if they didn’t keep quiet about Sylvie’s death,” Stig added. “They hated Sylvie, so I’m guessing they weren’t that hard to convince.”

“But why?” Brenda demanded. “Who
are
these kids? Why would
Tim and Natalie Brown get involved with a low-life like Melvin Jenks?”

Her father walked back into the room with a second tray. “Tim and Natalie Brown?” he asked slowly. “You mean Gloria Brown’s kids?”

“Who’s Gloria Brown?” Roelke asked.

“Evert Anderson’s ex-wife,” Stig said.

Chloe gasped. “That means Tim and Natalie are descendants of Ragna and Anders Anderson!” She tried to absorb that, to make the connections.

“Who are Ragna and Anders Anderson?” Roelke asked.

“Danish immigrants who settled in the fishing village on Rock Island,” Chloe said. “It’s a long story. But that explains why the photograph of Paul Anderson I saw at the maritime museum reminded me of someone. Tim is his grandson.”

Brenda reached for a cheese sandwich. “I was a little girl when Paul drowned in the channel between Washington and Rock. That was
…
let’s see
…
”

“Nineteen thirty-nine,” Chloe said, which earned her a startled look. “What? The docent at the Maritime Museum told me.”

Roelke scrubbed his face with his palms. “OK, stop. I need someone to lay all of this out for me. Clearly.”

“Paul Anderson, son of Ragna and Anders, was a fisherman,” Mr. Noakes said. “One of the very best, but not a happy man. During one of the lean years, Paul went to work for Chester Thordarson.”

“The guy from Iceland who bought up most of Rock Island,” Brenda added for Roelke’s benefit. “One day Paul was in a rowboat, coming home to Washington, and he capsized. He clung to a pound net stake for a while, but a wave knocked him under before help arrived. His body was found the next day. A lot of people, including Paul’s son Evert, blamed Thordarson for that.”

“But that’s not fair,” Chloe exclaimed, earning more startled looks. “What? I read about it in the Viking Hall. Chester Thordarson had been trying to get a phone cable put in, but without success. He was terribly upset when Paul drowned.”

Mr. Noakes sighed. “The Anderson family seemed to live under a black cloud. Nobody could find fish the way Paul did, but he went through life with a chip on his shoulder.” He shrugged. “I’m not sure why.”

“I think I know,” Chloe said. Heads swiveled in her direction. “Look, I’ve spent the last five days immersed in local history. Paul’s mother, Ragna Anderson, believed someone killed her husband. And I saw a bouquet of flowers in the campsite where Tim and Natalie stayed—right by the fishing village site. Maybe they left it as a memorial to their ancestors. I saw someone walking there one evening, too. I bet it was one of them.”

“Gloria wasn’t a local girl,” Mr. Noakes said. “She came to vacation one summer and ended up married to Evert. He was as sour as his father.”

Garrett snapped his fingers. “I remember now. When the state was deciding whether to buy Rock Island, Gloria fought it hard. She was a real estate agent, and she hooked up with a developer who wanted to build luxury hotels, that kind of thing.”

“And she had a site for her own condo already picked out,” Chloe added, remembering the map she’d seen in Garrett’s office—the one with a site marked “Brown” already laid out on the island’s eastern shore. “Did she have dark hair? I saw an old newspaper photo at Sylvie’s memorial. A woman in the front row looked furious.”

Mr. Noakes nodded. “That probably was Gloria.”

Another bulb flickered on in Chloe’s memory. “T-A,” she said. “That was carved on the wooden stake by Sylvie’s body, remember? Tim—Anderson. He
was
making a statement. On top of the old Anderson family tragedies, his mother probably raised him and Natalie to believe that they’d been cheated out of reclaiming a lovely plot of land at the fishing village site on Rock.” She remembered seeing Tim whittling a stick to roast marshmallows, how sweet and naive it had seemed.

“Gloria and Evert split about the time the state bought Rock for a park,” Mr. Noakes said. “Gloria left the islands and took the kids with her. Settled in Michigan, I think. I hadn’t thought about her in years, but a few months ago someone sent us her obituary for our files. She died of cancer.”

Chloe sucked in her lower lip. “So
…
some fifteen-year-old argument between Gloria and Sylvie, and a recent argument between Melvin and Sylvie, led to murder. But why did they decide to come after
me
?” Her voice came out a little wobbly.

“I’d like to know that too,” Roelke growled. His knee was jouncing so hard that the sofa was vibrating. “Chloe was alone at Pottawatomie for a week, and nobody bothered her until Sunday afternoon.
Something
must have changed.”

“I found some stinky trash bags and a couple of those coolers in the cellar a few days ago,” Chloe said. “I didn’t open them, but I did mention them to Jenks, so maybe he thought I was close to figuring things out. I left this morning with my pack, though, and told Jack Cornell I was moving over to Washington. When I found that net hanging on the clothesline I assumed someone was still trying to frighten me. Maybe Jenks saw me return. If he looked through a window he could have even seen me go down to the cellar and check the cooler. He might have guessed I was about to ruin his scam.”

“Maybe.” Stig didn’t sound convinced.

“The only other thing I did this morning was go to church and Sylvie’s memorial,” Chloe added. “Jenks was there, and I nodded hello, but we didn’t speak. I didn’t talk to anyone except Lorna Whitby.” She looked at Roelke. “She’s one of the RISC committee people.”

“What did you talk to Lorna about?” Stig asked.

Chloe shrugged. “Nothing, really. I said how sorry I was about Sylvie, and
…
well, I did tell Lorna that I wanted to nominate Pottawatomie to the National Register.”

Roelke looked as if he was getting a headache. “The what?”

“The National Register of Historic Places,” Chloe explained. “It provides federal protection for historic structures.”

“Maybe once you mentioned going after federal protection, you went from being a temporary nuisance to someone actively making it harder for him to run his black-market business,” Brenda said slowly. “Jenks wanted to discourage visitors to Rock Island, and to slow down or even halt the lighthouse restoration. Tim and Natalie Brown-Anderson grew up hearing their parents complain about old injustices and new injustices.”

“Then here I come,” Chloe said, “an outsider who wants to do everything possible to protect the park and encourage visitors to come visit the lighthouse.” Was that enough to spin Jenks to violence? Evidently so.

“This ugliness has been festering for a long time.” Brenda sighed. “And Jenks used to fish with Evert Anderson. It’s not surprising that the Browns would remember him, and get back in touch.”

“I ran into Tim at the market one day,” Chloe said. “He said he wanted to become a commercial fisherman.”

“Did Tim know that’s gotten a whole lot harder lately?” Brenda asked.

“Evidently he learned that the hard way.” Garrett worked his jaw. “Tim and Natalie might have decided to come back to the islands after Gloria died. Maybe her death kicked this whole thing into motion.”

“No,” Stig said.

Chloe realized it was the first time the deputy had spoken in quite some time. “No?”

“Gloria’s death wasn’t the trigger. Evert’s was.”

Roelke leaned close to Chloe. “Evert was Tim and Natalie’s father, right?” he whispered.

“Right,” Chloe whispered back, but her gaze was on Stig.

“The Brown-Anderson kids’ mother died, so they decided to reconnect with their dad,” Stig said. “But before they got here, their dad had a stroke and died. Right after I arrested him.”

“
You
arrested him?” Chloe repeated. When telling her the story, he’d left out that teensy detail.

Brenda stared at the deputy with wide eyes. “Stig, you’re the only person alive that Tim and Natalie could directly link to one of their family tragedies. And Mel Jenks hates you. If the three of them were so bitter that they went after Sylvie and Chloe, what did they have in mind for you?”

“Jesus,” Roelke muttered.

Chloe felt another sick curl in her stomach as she realized the implications. “Stig, when you went to Rock Island with Brenda today, whose boat did you take?”

“Mine,” Brenda said.

Stig got to his feet. “Thanks, everyone. I’ve got to go.” He looked
at Roelke. “Want to help me out?”

Roelke looked at Chloe. “You’re OK?”

She knew he didn’t want to leave. “I’m fine,” she said firmly.

“You need to get more rest anyway,” he said, obviously trying to convince himself of that. “But I’ll be around. Do you want to head home tomorrow?”

“No,” she told him. “I want to show you the lighthouse.”

Forty-six

“So,” Stig said, as
he and Roelke got into his truck. “Chloe’s looking better.”

Roelke didn’t answer. Better? A livid bruise bloomed purple and green on her right cheek. Her hands were swaddled like infants. God only knew how traumatized she was. Jenks had almost killed her, and hypothermia could lead to coma, even death. When he thought about how close she’d come to—

“She’s an interesting woman.” Stig put the truck in gear and backed out of the driveway.

“She is.”

Stig threw him a sideways look. “Are you two a couple?”

“Yeah,” Roelke lied. “Why do you ask?”

“I’ve been thinking about asking her out.”

“Don’t.”

“Got it.” Stig flipped on his blinker and passed a blue sedan. “Thanks for the backup. I appreciate it.”

I haven’t done much, Roelke thought. He had no grasp of the tangled local history that evidently triggered the crimes committed. He hadn’t even swooped in and saved Chloe. She’d been in bad shape when they found her—just thinking about it frosted his blood—but she was moving. If rescue hadn’t arrived, she would have kept crawling across the lawn to the house and found help there.

Well, he told himself, give yourself a little credit. Everybody else was sure she was still on Rock. The house might have been empty.

Roelke beat a percussive rhythm on his thigh with one thumb. He appreciated Stig treating him like a colleague, but he hadn’t had a moment alone with Chloe and he felt ready to explode. He didn’t even know if she was pissed at him for flying up. He didn’t intend to take any crap about that, but it would be nice to know what she was thinking. He hoped she wouldn’t ask too many questions. No way he could explain why he’d felt so compelled to get to the islands, ASAP. Or why he’d been sure Chloe had tried to cross the reef. He remembered Mrs. Saddler’s calm statement about her husband’s heart attack:
Something made me turn off the coffeepot and go back to check on him. I just knew
.

Stig interrupted his thoughts. “Here we go.” He wheeled into a parking space beside a small marina, parked, and grabbed a heavy flashlight. He was jogging down the dock before Roelke had his seatbelt unfastened. Roelke followed to a motorboat called
Escape
in the last slip.

Stig was examining the engine. “Son of a bitch,” Stig muttered as Roelke stepped on board. “Take a look at this.”

_____

Chloe woke the next morning feeling as if someone had pummeled her. She managed to strip off the borrowed nightgown and survey her bruises. She looked as if someone had pummeled her, too.

Her own clothes had been dried and left folded on a chair. Once
dressed she followed the sound of voices to a spacious kitchen. The stove and countertop were decades old, but the walls were a cheerful yellow. A colorful platter hanging on one wall was rosemaled in the Norwegian style.

Mr. Noakes and Brenda were alone in the room. Where had Roelke spent the night? Where was he now? Chloe started to ask, but realized just in time that she should start with something a bit more courteous. “Good morning.”

“Hey, there you are!” Brenda turned from the stove, spatula in hand.

Mr. Noakes pulled out a chair for her. “Chloe, I think we’ve got a connection. Brenda’s mother’s cousin was an Ellefson, and—”

“Dad,” Brenda said, “please give Chloe some time before launching
into the genealogy stuff, all right?”

“It’s OK,” Chloe said. “My mom’s a genealogist too. She said there was some distant connection of my dad’s here on the island.”

“Well, there you have it.” Mr. Noakes gave his daughter an
I told you so
look.

Brenda ignored it. “I’m making Icelandic pancakes,” she told Chloe. “Are you hungry?”

“I am,” Chloe admitted. “And Icelandic pancakes sound heavenly.”

“I’ve got cows to milk,” Mr. Noakes said. “I’ll let you two talk.” He left through the back door.

“Stig called earlier,” Brenda said. “Your friend stayed at his place last night. They were heading down to Sturgeon Bay, but Stig said they could meet us at the park dock later. That is, if you still want to go back to Rock
…
?”

“I do,” Chloe said firmly. If she didn’t stare the bad memories down, they’d follow her back home.

“All right, then. We can take my boat over.”

Once Chloe figured out how to manipulate a fork without putting pressure on her bandaged palms, she tucked into thin vanilla-scented pancakes, which had been spread with strawberry jam, rolled, and dusted with powdered sugar. After three bites, a glass of OJ, and a few sips of strong coffee, she was beginning to feel a faint resemblance to something human.

Brenda put a platter with more pancakes on the table and slid into the chair across from Chloe. “Help yourself.”

Chloe did. The good food, the simple normalcy of it, the memory of Roelke’s grip on her shoulder last night
…
it all left her feeling ridiculously emotional.

Pull it together, she told herself. One or two questions remained to be answered. “Brenda,” she said finally. “The last time I talked with Sylvie, she mentioned your name. She seemed about to tell me something. Then she changed her mind.”

“We had an argument the day before she died. But it’s not what you probably think.”

“I don’t know what to think.”

“Sylvie and I both kept a sharp eye on Rock Island. Garret doesn’t have the time or manpower to do it.” Brenda helped herself to a pancake. “We’d been seeing more and more signs of activity up near the lighthouse. Sylvie thought we should tell you about it. I didn’t think that would be fair to you.” Brenda’s mouth twisted. “I’m sorry, Chloe. I should have handled things differently. Obviously we had no idea the situation would get deadly.”

“No one could have predicted that,” Chloe said. “Please don’t beat yourself up about that. But there is one more thing. It’s been a joy to uncover stories about the keepers and their families. I’ve been particularly intrigued by Emily Betts—”

“Interesting woman,” Brenda agreed.

“But I’ve also been drawn to the village site.” Chloe wiped up some powdered sugar with her last bit of pancake before popping it into her mouth. “I didn’t know why, at first. Then a couple of letters written by Emily turned up. I thought about showing them to you, but that day I met you at the meadow, and we talked about your work, you were a bit
…
intense. And you said there’d been
one
murder on Rock Island, but I know you’ve seen that letter in the Viking Hall that refers to a second.” Chloe was pretty sure there had been three murders in days of old, actually, but there would never be any way to prove whether someone helped Anders Anderson into his watery grave. “And when I mentioned seeing that barge or whatever in the channel at night
…
you got angry, but you also claimed you had no idea what it might be.”

Brenda leaned back in her chair and sighed. “I taught at U-Michigan before going to Escanaba College. And while there I got
…
romantically involved with a colleague. We found ourselves competing for the same grant money, the same research gigs, all the little plums that can show up in academic life. Our relationship ended. Badly.”

“You think it was your ex out in the channel?”

“I think it’s very likely. He’s devoted his career to proving that Vikings traveled through the area.” Brenda shoved hair away from her face. “Look, I shouldn’t have dumped on you that day, Chloe. In general, I really don’t begrudge the people who end up in the spotlight. If they want to search for Viking rune stones or whatever, so be it.”

“But
…
?”

“But my ex is a condescending jerk, and it still galls me to see him succeed when I can’t get money to hire one or two undergrads for a proper dig on Rock Island. The stories of my ancestors who settled in the fishing village are getting lost.” She leaned forward again, forearms on the table. “I don’t have a Viking Hall or a Pottawatomie Lighthouse to attract attention to their lives.”

“Which is too bad.”

“At this point I’m not hankering for academic glory. I’ll finish my career at a community college, and that’s OK. But
…
” Brenda ran both hands through her hair, leaving ends sticking out in all directions. “Look, this may sound over-the-top, but I
know
there’s something waiting at the village site. Something I need to discover.”

“I think so too,” Chloe said. “And if you’ll take me out there, I think I can help you find it.”

Brenda’s eyebrows shot toward the ceiling. “Um
…
really? And just how, exactly, do you plan to do that?”

“Let’s go over to Rock early, before meeting the guys,” Chloe said. “It will be easier to show you than tell you.”

Brenda eyed her dubiously. “Well, OK, I guess.” Her tone said,
I better humor her
.

Chloe focused on a pancake, and was glad when the doorbell rang. A moment later Brenda ushered the Whitbys into the kitchen. “Sit down,” she said. “Have you had breakfast? Want some coffee?”

“No thank you,” Herb said stiffly.

Lorna sat down beside Chloe and put a hand on her arm. “When we heard what happened,” Lorna said, “we wanted to make sure you were all right. I’m
so
sorry you got caught up in this! Here we thought we were offering a consultant a peaceful week
…
”

“I’m fine,” Chloe assured her. “And I’m not sorry I came. The project will continue to move forward.” Then she looked at Herb. “I can’t help wondering, though. You were in and out of that cellar. Did you ever notice Jenks’ coolers? Or see him drying nets, and wonder?”

Herb looked even more uncomfortable. “He said he was just storing garbage he picked up on the north end of the island. He showed me an empty cooler once, stuffed with trash. After that
…
”

“I understand,” Chloe said. Herb had enough to regret without her adding any more guilt.

He cleared his throat. “So, we’ll leave you to rest. As Lorna said, we felt duty-bound to express our regrets for these unfortunate incidents in person.”

Suddenly Chloe thought of one little detail Herb might not have heard. “And I must express regrets for hurling the cans of black paint down the ladder from the lantern room,” she said soberly. “I’m afraid it’s now splashed all over the watchroom.”

“
What?”
His eyes went wide. “Good God, that’s oil-based paint! That will set us back—”

“Hush, Herb,” Lorna said. “Just hush.”

When the Whitbys had gone on their way, Brenda said, “Don’t mind Herb.”

Chloe smiled, remembering that Sylvie had once told her the very same thing. “I don’t. I’ve become rather fond of Herb, actually. He works with good people.”

“Listen, Chloe, I’ve been thinking about how horrid your time here has been. That’s not what life on these islands is about.”

“I know.”

Brenda got up and fetched a folded piece of cream-colored linen from a counter. “I want you to have this.”

The cloth felt soft in Chloe’s hands. Definitely old, she thought. She opened the rectangle over her lap, revealing a table runner inlaid with needle lace. “Brenda! I can’t accept this.”

“Yes you can.”

Chloe squinted at the handwork. “I don’t recognize this type of lace.” The stitch motifs favored rings and pyramids.

“It’s hedebo.
Hedebosøm,
in Danish. Ragna Anderson gave it to Berglind, my great-grandmother from Iceland who lived in the fishing village.”

“
Ragna
made this?” Chloe’s sternum quivered.

“Yes. My mom passed it on to me, but I don’t have any kids. It feels right to give it to you.”

“Well
…
thank you. I’ll treasure it.” Chloe stroked the handwork with a gentle finger. “I haven’t even thanked you for your hospitality. I’m very grateful.”

Brenda got up and began stacking dirty plates. “The last thing you needed last night was a trip to the Sturgeon Bay hospital or a night in a hotel room.” She grinned over her shoulder. “Besides, aren’t we sixth cousins fourteen times removed or something? Definitely family.”

Definitely family.

“See that?” Brenda pointed to a plaque hanging over the door, painted with Scandinavian flourishes.

“What does
Athabold
mean?”

“
Athabold
is an Icelandic word
,
” Brenda said. “It means ‘Everyone welcome.’”