AHMM, May 2012

by Dell Magazine Authors

  Police Officer Grant Tripp was the first to stop in, with the usual weekend paperwork for me to file. He looked at the paper while I stamped away, and commented, “There's something dicey about all of this.”

  “Such as?”

  “Corson's a good businessman. He's not going to turn down anything that makes a profit. What's wrong with this deal? You hear anything?”

  “Why would I?” Grant gave me a long, flat look that made me blush. “Look, I've just had dinner with the guy,” I snapped.

  “More than once.”

  “So? That's my business, damn it! And we never discussed business!”

  Grant raised his hands and backed out of my office. “Sorry.”

  I threw the paper across the room. So much for that single man ever asking me out.

  When I'm not being taken out by wealthy executives from Denver, I generally lunch at the Laskin Cafe, and that day I was surprised to see Brandt Corson there. I hadn't realized he was that cheap.

  “Mind if I join you for a minute, Linda?”

  “Not at all.”

  He sat down with his coffee across from me, and pointed at my dessert. “That looks good.”

  “It's mine,” I said coldly.

  “Of course it is. And I've already had pie.” And at his weight, he didn't need it. “I suppose everyone's talking about the whole wind power question down at the courthouse.”

  “I'd say everyone's talking about it all over town.” Paula refilled my coffee. “So what is the problem with it?”

  “Simple. You want to put in wind power, that requires generating systems, transmitters, transmission lines, the whole infrastructure.”

  “Which we already have.”

  “Yes. And they're already running at full capacity. We've got a functional system. Our energy costs are low; wind power's not going to make them any lower. Over time, we'll build wind power into the system, but we don't need to now.”

  “But why not, if there are investors—”

  “They're willing to invest only because they plan to take every single kilowatt out of state. It's all going to go to California. Nothing's staying in South Dakota. That's another thing your boyfriend hasn't bothered to mention.”

  “He's not my boyfriend,” I said automatically. Brandt half-smiled. “Why don't you say all this publicly?”

  “I have,” Brandt said. “I made it real clear back at the NPCC meeting in Denver, and to my board of directors when I got back. I guess word hasn't leaked out about that.”

  “No.”

  He nodded. “No one's listening. Everyone's all hyped up for wind power. They don't want to hear that it will actually cost more in the short run.”

  “Mmm.”

  “So I'm going to hold an informational meeting this Thursday night at the Conference Center. You should come. I've invited Mr. Coughlin.”

  “Thanks. I might.”

  “Good. A lot of people listen to you, you know.”

  “That nice girl down at the courthouse?”

  He smiled, which made his eyes disappear in his puffy face. “You should eat that brownie before someone else does.” He got up and left as Paula brought my baked chicken.

  So Glen was trying to get a wind farm going to power up California. Well, why not? We already had an oil pipeline from Canada running through South Dakota, with most of the oil promised overseas. Money to be made. But it wouldn't go over well with any of the South Dakota farmers I knew.

  More farmers came in that afternoon, and then Bob called.

  “So what's going on with you and the wind nut?”

  “I thought you didn't like prying into personal stuff,” I snapped back.

  “You started it.”

  “Like hell. How's Tina?” There was a silence, but no dial tone, so he hadn't hung up. “That good, huh?”

  “Linda . . . I can't explain it.”

  “I can.”

  “Now don't go blaming her. Tina's been up-front with me the whole way. I'm the one who can't think straight.”

  “Well, duh. You're fantasizing about your high-school sweetheart, who's married to the richest guy in town. I'm sure everything's going to end happily in a white wedding.”

  “That's— Look, she's lonely, okay?” I crowed. “She is! Everybody's got a down on her because of her past, but it's not her fault that men go nuts over her.” I sighed. “She just wants to talk sometimes, with someone who understands her. An old friend. Brandt's a workaholic, he's possessive, he's jealous, arrogant, insensitive . . .”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

  “She made a mistake, all right? She told me she'd planned on being alone after her last divorce, just to get to know herself. And then Brandt swept her off her feet, and before she knew it, they were married. He promised her everything, and Tina's the kind of woman who needs a man to take care of her. She's embarrassed about it, actually.” He broke off and asked, “Are you still there?”

  “Yes. I'm here.”

  “I'm just trying to help her sort things out. That's all. She says I'm the only one she can trust.”

  “Yeah, well, after working her way through the Country Club you're about the only one left.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I'm talking about Dan Fjerstad, Wayne Olson, Carl Nelson—”

  “They're just bitter exes.”

  “Yeah, well, you don't know bitter until Brandt comes after you. He's got a mean temper.”

  “That's my point!”

  “Yeah, right. Have fun, Fred.”

  “Fred?”

  “Fred MacMurray. Double Indemnity."

  “Oh, like you're not playing Working Girl with Mr. Wind Power.”

  “At least nobody gets killed in that one.”

  As you can tell, it was a great day. When Glen came by to pick me up for dinner, I was having a beer on my deck. “Come and join me!” I said.

  “Bad day?”

  “That's putting it mildly.” He sat down across from me. “I think everybody in town came by to find out the details of the deal you're offering.” He raised his eyebrows. “It's a small town. They know we've been out together. How often and where.”

  “Whatever happened to privacy?”

  “I think that's a suburb of New York, isn't it?” We both chuckled. “Never mind. I don't know, and I don't care, and that's what I've been telling everyone all day long.”

  “Well, I hope you care a little bit . . .”

  I leaned into him, he put his arm around me and, right out there on the deck in broad daylight, we kissed for the first time. But it wasn't that good, for either of us. Glen reached for his beer, and I started talking.

  “Oh, I ran into Brandt at lunch today. He told me that the reason he's opposed to your company is that all the power's going to go to California.”

  “Damn it,” Glen said. “Not all of it. And the landowners will be paid rent, maybe even a percentage—”

  “You don't have to sell me. Sell the meeting.”

  “Meeting? What meeting?”

  “Thursday. Conference Center.”

  “Oh.” His gaze drifted across the yard to Baird Creek, which wasn't looking its best, and stuck there.

  “You are going to go, aren't you?”

  “Huh? Oh, yeah. Of course. Shall we get going?”

  We went that night to Mellette's Lounge, where they serve a hamburger as big as a steak. As we waited for our food, I spotted Tina and Bob, damn them, in a back booth. You'd think after living in Laskin this long they'd know that the back booth is the first place everybody looks. Brandt certainly did. He walked straight over to them, and everything exploded.

  Bob and Tina leaped up. Then everyone else did. Brandt had Tina by the arm. She was screaming at him, Bob was trying to pull them apart, and I was wishing Bob had some sense. Everyone in the place rushed toward the center of the action, including Glen. Tina ripped herself free from Brandt, and Brandt and Bob proceeded to get into the lamest fistfight I'd ever seen. Eventu
ally—it seemed like an hour, but it was only moments—Tina flailed at both of them, Glen grabbed at Brandt, and Bob let loose with a haymaker that connected. Brandt fell backward, hard, on top of Glen, and Bob was piled up on top of both of them. Tina leaped on top of all of them, I suppose to drag Bob off. Brandt was jerking around so hard that he threw both Bob and Tina off. And then he stopped. Bob kind of crawled over to the wall and laid against it, gasping. Then he started vomiting, weakly.

  Glen looked up—with the strangest expression on his face—from underneath Brandt. “He's dead.”

  “What?”

  Tina flung herself back onto Brandt's body and started wailing. A couple of guys tried to pull her off, and another couple tried to get Glen out from under Brandt. Bob stayed where he was, a stained white stone. Finally they pried Tina off, and Glen out, and that's when the knife clattered down onto the floor. Tina started screaming, and didn't stop until well after the police arrived.

  The EMTs took the body away. They also took Bob—still barely able to move or breathe—to the hospital. The police took statements from all of us, and then let us go. Glen and I didn't say a word all the way home. I didn't sleep well that night, and I was a zombie at work the next day. I didn't snap out of it until I got a call from Grant, asking me to come in to answer a few more questions.

  I was locking the office when John Nordquist, Judge Dunn's court reporter, came over and said, very quietly, “I hear they're charging Bob.”

  “Oh, no.” I leaned against the door.

  His voice sank even lower. “Second-degree murder, manslaughter, aggravated assault, involuntary homicide. Ward figures one of them might stick.”

  “Oh, for God's sake. Bob would never have—”

  “I thought you'd want to know.”

  The jail is in the courthouse, but the police station is two blocks away, past the post office and the donut shop, the two busiest places in town, and it was only nine thirty. From the corner of my eye I could see people watching me from the corners of their eyes. I was sure little knots of people were forming as I passed. It was going to be a real busy day for gossip.

  When I got to the station, Detective Jonasson was in his office, but Grant waved me over to his desk, and we went over the events of last night one more time.

  “I honestly can't remember,” I said. “I didn't see a knife in anyone's hand. Bob . . . I remember he punched him, Brandt, I mean, Bob punched Brandt and Brandt went down, right on top of Glen, and then Bob fell on both of them.”

  “So he jumped on top of Brandt?”

  “No, he fell on him. Like he tripped or something. Didn't anyone have a cell phone? Take video of it for YouTube?”

  “Too old a crowd.”

  “Thanks.” Grant started to apologize, and I waved him quiet. “Anyway, Bob—well, he couldn't get back up. He could barely breathe. That's why they took him to the hospital.”

  Grant nodded. “A couple of people said Brandt looked like he was having an epileptic fit.”

  “That's true. He was jerking around, and then he stopped. Why?”

  “Just trying to figure out what happened.”

  “Was he really stabbed?” Grant's face didn't even twitch. “Tell me, did Bob and Tina . . . Were they actually eating dinner?”

  “Huh?”

  “Food. The knife had to come from somewhere, and you know Vi, she never brings the silverware until you get your food.”

  “No. They weren't. They were just having drinks. But the knife could have come from another table.”

  “They were in the back booth. There's nothing there but another booth, and it was empty.”

  “How about your table?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You were having dinner with that Coughlin guy, weren't you?”

  “Yes.” I set my jaw.

  “Did you have silverware?”

  “We hadn't gotten our hamburgers yet,” I said. “And never got them. By the time I got home I was starving.”

  “So. The knife came out of nowhere.”

  “Was it one of Mellette's knives?” No answer. “Was it Bob's?” Grant just sat there, looking sympathetic. “Look, I don't believe Bob intentionally stabbed the man. I can't believe he did it unintentionally.”

  “Oh, that reminds me. Bob wanted to know if you'd take care of his dog.”

  “Oh, God, yes. Elsie. Yes, of course I will. Can't you tell me anything else?” I pleaded.

  “Not really.”

  * * * *

  I went over to Bob's, and saw Elsie bounding around the yard. Mrs. Gustafson, Bob's neighbor, was watching her.

  “I figured I'd let the dog out,” she said as I walked up and Elsie overwhelmed me with doggy love.

  “That's nice of you.”

  She shrugged. “Not her fault. Heard you were there last night.” I nodded. “I knew he'd get in trouble sooner or later, carrying on the way they were.”

  This was not a conversation I wanted to have. “Listen, I'll take Elsie over to my place until Bob gets back.”

  “From what I hear, that might be never. You might have yourself a dog.”

  I went back home, damning Laskin gossip, and found Glen sitting on my deck, waiting for me.

  “Hi. Why don't you come on in?” I asked. He followed me and Elsie into the house. She leaped up onto the couch, curled up, and watched us. “So, how are you doing?”

  “Okay. How about you?”

  “I just can't believe any of it.”

  “Me, neither. I'm going back to Denver. For a while, at least. My company . . . They don't like the idea of me being involved in a death, even as a witness. So they're calling me back home. They'll send someone else out to try to close the deal with the LPC.” He laughed a bit nervously. “Just when my major obstacle is gone and I could finally close the sale. I'm just hoping they don't fire me. I mean, I'm sorry he's dead, but . . . Anyway, it's not up to me.”

  “I'm so sorry.”

  “Yeah. Well, maybe, maybe when I come back . . .”

  It was all so half-hearted I wanted to smack him. Instead, I said with my best Norwegian smile, “Of course. We'll see.”

  “Okay.” He patted me on the arm and left.

  I sat at my kitchen table and tried not to think about the next few weeks. Purely selfish, but I was already “poor Linda Thompson, you know, who married Gary Davison, yes, that Davison,” and now they'd add on “she still doesn't have any luck when it comes to men.” Everyone would be very kind, very sweet to my face, and I wasn't sure I could take it. Again.

  Elsie came over and licked my face, which I hate. But she meant well, and I patted her head. “Well, it's just you and me, kid,” I said, in my best Bogie. I wondered how Bob was doing . . . I turned on my TV set. It's an old one, an analog (I have a converter box) that always takes a minute to get a picture up, and as it snapped and popped and hissed, I wondered what had made Bob so sick the night before. It certainly wasn't the fist fight, and Bob had always had cast-iron guts. The last time I saw him that sick was after some bad chili we'd eaten on one of our camping trips. And even that hadn't made him lose all bodily control.

  But five years ago, there had been a display for everyone at the courthouse about taser use. Poor Officer Johnson had been the volunteer victim, and he'd gone down to the floor, jerking like he was having a fit. And Bob, like an idiot, had also volunteered to be tased, so he could write an article about it for the paper. He, too, had gone down jerking. I could still see him, white and puking and gasping, the same as he had last night. And Brandt, jerking, and then so still . . .

  I called the police station. Grant was still there.

  “Listen, Grant, this is Linda Thompson. I think I know what happened. But I'm not sure which one. Whether Tina or Glen. Glen Coughlin.”

  “I know who he is.”

  “Do you know he's leaving town? Heading back to Denver. You need to see if he or Tina has a taser.”

  I could hear him say something, and then Detective Jo
nasson got on the line.

  “Linda. Thanks for calling us and letting us know that Coughlin's leaving town. What's this about a taser?”

  “I'm not sure. I just . . .” A lot of things jammed together in my mind. “It depends on whether Brandt was really stabbed.” There was a blank silence. “And even if he was, was that what actually killed him? Or was it a heart attack? Because, if so, I think he was tased. And he and Bob both need to be checked for taser marks.”

  “I always said you've got hunter's instincts,” Jonasson said. “Thanks for the tip. Here's Grant.”

  “You got anything else, Linda?” Grant asked. I could hear Jonasson barking in the background.

  “I don't know. I'm not sure if it's one or the other, or if it might have even been a setup between Glen and Tina. They were all in Denver at that meeting, but Glen asked me who Tina was. And he must have met her there. She's not that forgettable.”

  “If you say so,” Grant said, bless him.

  “And someone must have tipped Brandt off that Bob and Tina would be at Mellette's. And no one from Laskin would do that but Tina.”

  “Good point.”

  “That's it.” I wasn't going to bring up the lack of chemistry with Glen.

  “Okay. Listen, thanks for your help, Linda.”

  “Grant—”

  “Don't worry. As soon as we can, we'll let you know what's going on.” And he hung up.

  * * * *

  As it turned out, both Glen and Tina owned tasers, and both had been packing that night. Brandt had had a heart condition: One of the major debates at the trial was whether it was being tased or the fistfight that brought on the heart attack that killed him. Glen claimed he carried a taser because he lived in a big city, but he'd never used it anywhere at all. Tina eventually argued that she used the taser to stop Bob from attacking Brandt, and that she had never intended to kill anyone.