A Yarn Over Murder

by Ann Yost

  “Doesn’t matter,” I said. “It’s lovely but it belongs in your family.”

  He said nothing after that and we drove in silence through a light snowfall north on M-26, bypassing the exits to Houghton, Hancock, Lake Linden, Red Jacket, and Frog Creek until we came to a hand-lettered sign for Rimrocks, one of the many ghost towns in Copper County. What had been a thriving mining community was now a collection of empty, rotting structures that were, season after season, disappearing back into the earth.

  I shivered.

  “Turn up the heat if you’re cold.”

  “I’m not cold. I’m sad. I hate the way towns and people just kind of disappear from the Keweenaw.”

  “You mean the miners? Cheer up. They’d all be dead by now, anyway.”

  “That makes me feel much better.”

  He shrugged. “Life is economics. In the case of the Keweenaw, the economy was based on natural resources, which meant at some point they were bound to run out. There was never any hope for permanent wealth and prosperity up here.”

  “So what are people supposed to do?”

  “Move. They’re supposed to follow the jobs.”

  I thought about the community of my youth and now, of my future. I knew Jace was right. Schools were closing, businesses folding, young people moving, old people dying. At some point, in the not-too-distant future, nature would reclaim the Keweenaw. At some point. Not yet.

  We finally reached Ahmeek, which consisted of a handful of dilapidated homes with the ubiquitous steeply pitched roof-lines and the saunas that looked like tumors attached to the sides. The old logging road that led to Jalmer’s cabin was undedicated and unplowed, and the pickup struggled in the eighteen inches of virgin snow. Finally, Jace turned into the driveway that led from the spur to an open carport. The bay where Jalmer’s truck should have been looked like a first grader’s missing front tooth. Next to the inside wall was a pile of neatly stacked firewood and, hanging from a hook, was a large, rounded piece of equipment. A snow scoop.

  “He’s not home,” I said.

  “Great detective work.”

  I hopped out of the cab and collapsed into a foot and a half of snow. Instead of rescuing me, Jace just laughed.

  “I thought you said you were a native. How come you can’t handle snow?”

  I sputtered, wiped my face and struggled to my feet. A couple of minutes later I found the square metal door inside the carport. To the uninitiated, it probably looked like a fairy door or something out of Alice in Wonderland. I opened it and grabbed the key.

  “Does every house on the Keweenaw have a milk chute? Even the new ones?”

  “There are no new ones. That’s the point. We’re a throwback to the sixties and earlier when there was home milk delivery.”

  He held out his hand for the key and then he opened the door to the kitchen.

  “Hey,” I protested. “This is my investigation.”

  “Yeah, well, just in case there is someone here, and that someone is a murderer, I thought it would be best if I went first.”

  “Oh. Well, thanks.”

  I followed him into a tiny, compact kitchen and down the world’s shortest hall where he stopped short and I crashed into his body. It was like smashing into the Pictured Rocks on the southern shore of Lake Superior.

  “Good Lord,” he whispered. The hair on the back of my neck stood up and I knew why. He’d found a body. Jalmer Pelonen was my first guess. I put my hands on his upper arms, trying to get him to duck so that I could see the crime scene. When I finally got him to move, I discovered the shades were all pulled and the room was pitch black. If there was a body, he couldn’t have seen it. But his focus—and mine—was on a battery of blinking lights on the banks of computers that circled the room.

  “Holy guacamole,” I breathed. “It’s the bridge of the Starship Enterprise.”

  Nineteen

  I managed to find a floor lamp and turned it on as Jace examined the computers.

  “I figured Pelonen would be one of those beaver pelt-slash-eight-point-buck-head-on-the-wall guys. This is sophisticated. So sophisticated that I suspect he’s either trading stocks or leading an underground militia. It also means he’s got access to money. So why couldn’t he have bought Liisa a car or sent her to boarding school? Why agree to have her live with strangers in Red Jacket?”

  “He couldn’t have known what would happen,” I said. “Jalmer’s lived around here a long time. We hardly have any crime and we never have murders.” Even as I spoke I realized that spiel was no longer accurate.

  Jace is not officially a tech expert but he’s one of those lucky people who finds computers interesting rather than intimidating and I left him with the machines while I explored the rest of the house. It didn’t take long.

  In addition to the small kitchen, there were two small bedrooms, a postage-stamp-sized bathroom, and what had to be the world’s smallest wood-burning sauna. If it hadn’t been for the computers, I’d have suspected Jalmer Pelonen of being a latter-day Henry David Thoreau.

  I picked through the drawers and closets, finding only a few pieces of men’s clothing, all of them clean and folded or hung neatly on hangers. Next to one of the twin-sized beds was a snapshot mounted in a wooden frame. It was of an angelic, blond child, obviously Liisa. She was sitting on the lap of a young woman, also blond and pretty but whose face was scored by faint lines of tension. Or, maybe it was unhappiness. I felt a wave of sadness so sharp that tears started in my eyes. Liisa’s mother? She had died young. I couldn’t help wondering if she’d taken her own life.

  I carried the photo back to the living room and showed it to Jace.

  “What do you make of this?”

  He studied it. “Like mother, like daughter.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “Reid said Liisa wasn’t happy. Possibly they both suffered from depression. The mother obviously took off.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  He looked up at me.

  “She isn’t here.”

  “She died.”

  “Did she? It’s one way out of an impossible situation.”

  I felt tears pricking the backs of my eyes and I snatched the photo and stalked out of the room. His voice followed me.

  “Are you crying, Umlaut?”

  “Not really,” I said, returning to the room. “I just think it a shame that this woman had such a short time with her beautiful daughter. Sometimes I wonder if beauty is a curse.”

  He shook his head. “You know what they say, beauty is in the eye of the beholder. That suggests that all perceived beauty is personal and based on more than just physical appearance.”

  “That’s what they say,” I agreed, “but I’ve been thinking about this a lot with this case. There are universally recognized elements of feminine beauty and both Liisa and her mother embodied most of them. I think those extraordinary good looks set them up for disappointment whether because others expected too much from them or because they came to expect too much themselves.”

  “You mean a sense of entitlement?”

  “Well, yes, but I also wonder if people held their beauty against them. My niece told me that when Liisa Pelonen walked down the corridor, the boys and even grown men would sort of freeze and just stare at her. It was as if she’d cast a spell on them.”

  He nodded, thoughtfully, and I remembered one of the reasons I’d fallen in love with him. He listened.

  “Maybe you’re right. Beauty is a factor in the doom of mythological figures and the fairytales based on them. Still, beauty didn’t kill Liisa Pelonen. It was a rock. And, in any case, the decision to take someone’s life is life-altering for the murderer, too. It seems to me there would have to be a strong motive.”

  “You mean like life or death?”

  His lips thinned. “Or two million dollars. Find anything else?”

  “Frozen rabbit stew and some beer in the refrigerator. Nothing fresh, which makes sense since he was planning to be
gone for two weeks.” I looked around, guiltily. “He could come back at any time.”

  “We’ve got a legitimate reason to be here, remember?” Jace’s gray eyes were ice cold. “Someone killed his daughter. Meanwhile, we should try to get into his computer.” He pointed to a desktop model with a large keyboard and an oversized monitor.

  “What are you hoping to find?”

  “Ideally? Some sort of evidence that he’s been siphoning money from Liisa’s trust fund.”

  “Come on, Jace. You can’t really think Liisa’s father would have killed her.”

  “Happens all the time,” he said. “In some circles.” He worked the keys and pulled up a screen that was password protected. There were dozens of bright little icons present, though, and it seemed to me they revealed something about the man.

  “Let’s take a crack at the password,” Jace said, cutting off my train of thought. “It’s usually something common, like a birthdate or a pet’s name.”

  “Sauna,” I said, “Suomi. Keweenaw. Fishing. Snow. Beer.”

  “No,” he said, as he tried them one by one. “No, no, no, no and hell, no.”

  “Lake, trout, woods.”

  More clicking. “Negative.”

  “Cabin, snow scoop, Stormy Kromer.”

  He paused, his fingers curved above the keyboard.

  “What the heck is a Stormy Kromer?”

  Inspiration struck belatedly.

  “Never mind that. Try Liisa.”

  “Bingo,” he said, but he sounded less than enthusiastic and I thought I knew why. A father who would memorialize his daughter’s name in a password would be unlikely to kill that same daughter. If Jalmer was innocent, the light shone that much brighter on Reid Night Wind.

  Jace squinted at the screen.

  “I’ve got a menu but need another password to get to the files.”

  I stepped close enough to inhale the scent of him (pine, appealing sweat, industrial-strength testosterone) and feel his warmth and I had to make an extra effort to focus so I started to talk about the icons.

  “Lots of information here,” I said. “Look at this. Disaster Preparedness. Doomsday Skills. Sharpshooters, Inc. Michigan Militia.” I met Jace’s eyes. “Liisa’s father seems more like the Unibomber than Henry David Thoreau.”

  “He may be a vigilante,” Jace said, “but I think he’s just a survivalist who knows how to kill.”

  “Or, at least, how to open a can of hash with his teeth. Do you really think it is Jalmer Pelonen?”

  Jace shook his head. “But I’ll tell you this, Umlaut, the killer is someone who knew she was home alone that night which means he or she is one of your nearest and dearest.”

  “Or yours,” I replied. I cursed my own thoughtlessness when I saw Jace’s long lashes drop over his eyes.

  “Look,” I said, trying to distract him, “there’s a separate icon for Jussi & Jussi, a Hancock law firm. They do everything from divorces to wills to settling neighbor disputes. I’ll check with them tomorrow to see what I can find out about the trust fund.”

  Jace turned the computer off.

  “If there was a trust fund. The girl may have lied to Reid to get him to marry her.” I said nothing and he seemed to think better of what he’d said. “Probably not. But I’ve learned that you can’t go wrong expecting the worst from people.”

  I blinked at him.

  “Is that what happened with us, Jace? You expected the worst from me and you got it?”

  “No,” he said, after a minute. Then he swung me up in his arms and carried me through the snow bank I’d tripped in earlier and deposited me in the passenger seat of the pickup. “I don’t know what I expected from you, Hatti, but I got the best.”

  There was silence during the thirty-minute ride back to Red Jacket. Well, outward silence. Inside I was screaming. Why? Why? WHY? Neither of us spoke until he pulled up in front of Bait and Stitch. I was still waiting to hear his voice when I opened the car door. And then I did.

  “Hatti,” he said, “I need Sonya Stillwater’s address.”

  It felt like a slap in the face, not the least because Sonya is totally lovely and one of the best people I know and I was sure that Jace would instantly fall in love with her.

  “Third Street,” I snapped. “Above her medical clinic. There’s a sign.”

  Twenty

  Einar was, as always, perched on his high stool behind the cash register and Arvo, leaning on the counter, was conducting a one-way conversation.

  Both men looked at me as I came in the door and I realized the night on Kilimanjaro hadn’t done me any favors. My eyes felt puffy and my hair sprouted like a dandelion gone to seed.

  “What’s wrong Hatti-girl?”

  “Conniption fit,” Einar diagnosed out of his vast knowledge of female behavior. “Needs husband.”

  Four words. I was impressed. It was a masterly output from my monosyllabic assistant. My cheeks flamed. It was bad enough being in a jealous temper. It was hateful to get caught. I shook my head.

  “I’m fine. Just tired.” And heartbroken. And ashamed that I was thinking about my wretched love life and not about the lovely girl who had just died.

  Arvo looked at me sideways. “You look like you slept in the woods.”

  My involuntary laugh disrupted my internal pity party and I almost told him about the sleepover.

  “Were you looking for me?”

  “Hmm? Oh, yes, yes.” Arvo frowned as he felt the pockets of his overcoat until he came up with a folded piece of paper. It was such a familiar gesture that I had to smile. Pauline was always making lists for him then tucking them into his pockets. He was the big concept guy, and she was the detail person. Yin and Yang. One of the reasons they had a successful marriage.

  “Doc Laitimaki is doing the autopsy,” he said, consulting the list. “I thought you’d like to know.” Viktor Laitimaki, a septuagenarian general practitioner, is one of five physicians who share autopsy responsibilities for the three counties on the Keweenaw. He’s been our family doctor since before I was born. I was glad to hear the news. Doc L., as we called him, would come up with answers.

  “In time for my angel’s services,” Arvo said. His blue eyes shone with unshed tears. Pauline and I will give her the Sweetheart. That’s our best model, white with carved rosebuds on the lid and inside, pink satin.”

  I suppressed a shudder. The description of the coffin sounded eerily like that of a jewelry box or a dollhouse. Or Liisa’s room at the funeral home.

  Arvo looked back at the note.

  “I am supposed to ask you about a necklace, whether you know where it is. A dreamcatcher on a chain.”

  I sucked in a breath and my chest hurt as if I’d cracked a rib. This time it wasn’t because the pendant had once belonged to me. This time I was terrified that it would connect Reid Night Wind to the case.

  “Does this mean anything to you, Hatti-girl?”

  “A dreamcatcher on a chain?”

  “Maybe a gift from the Night Wind boy. Nothing romantic, you know. He was just a friend.”

  Of course Arvo knew about Reid. He’d been at our house with Pops, playing pool, the night Liisa and Reid had met. I was mildly relieved that Arvo still considered the two young people mere friends but knew that would change when it came out that they had married. And that Reid Night Wind, a reckless young man from the rez, was now a millionaire. I realized, belatedly, that Arvo was crying and I hurried to put my arm around him.

  “There is something you don’t know, Henrikki,” he said, wiping his eyes. “Liisa, she was raskaana. Pregnant. We, Pauline and I, were going to be grandparents.”

  Arvo’s nose dripped and Einar handed me a tissue for him.

  “You knew about the baby?”

  “Of course, of course.” He wiped his eyes and blew his nose. “Liisa told me it had been an accident but I was so happy. It meant we would have our Liisa and another child.”

  My mind started to click over like a very old, very slo
w engine.

  “Pauline didn’t know.”

  “Eh? No. That’s right. We were saving the news for a very special Christmas present. When Pauly got the idea to make a lace shawl it seemed like a sign from God.”

  “It’s a wedding ring shawl,” I said.

  “But it can be used for a christening, too, eh?”

  Almost immediately his face fell.

  “How can I tell her, Hatti-girl? How can I tell her we were so close to having our own family?”

  At least I could lighten one burden for him.

  “Pauline already knows. Sonya discovered it during the examination.”

  He nodded. “Poor Pauline. She has to bear the sorrow and pick up the pieces.”

  “Arvo, how was it that Liisa told you about the baby?”

  “One night. After supper. We got in the habit of going to the office to do paperwork and to clean up there and in the embalming room. She told me lots of things, Hatti.”

  “About her father and mother?”

  “She didn’t remember her mother much but she said Jalmer was good to her except he didn’t want her to leave the UP. She wanted to go down to Interlochen to study after the Ahmeek school closed. Coming to Copper County High School was a compromise between them.”

  “Did she tell you her father is a computer geek?” He nodded.

  “Sure. He trades stocks and bonds. That’s how he makes his living.”

  I wanted to ask about the trust fund but I was afraid to find out. Meanwhile, Arvo sniffed one last time, nodded to Einar and said goodbye to me.

  There was something I needed to ask him, but whatever it was floated in the back of my brain and wouldn’t come to the surface so I let him go out the door. An instant later he was back, his list once against in his fingers.

  “Pauline needs three dozen yellow roses for the grave blanket. Can you ask Sofi?”

  I nodded. “I’ll bring them up to the house myself.”

  After Arvo left I took a quick look at the mail before going over to the Floral and Fudge. At the last minute, I remembered to ask Einar whether there had been any messages for me.