Death Under the Bridge

by Cate Martin

  "Yes. Garrett Nelsen sells them," Solvi said.

  "So you admit to breaking the rules about trade with the outside world," Thorbjorn said.

  "No," Solvi said. "No one knows where these come from. We had an agreement."

  "Who had an agreement?" I demanded.

  Solvi sighed and set his tools down beside him on the bench. "I knew Garrett Nelsen. We met about a year ago, on one of my other infrequent trips to the mead hall. Some of the others had been telling him about my work, and when we met, he asked to see some of it. I agreed. Then we went on from there."

  "So you arranged for Garrett Nelsen to take your woodworking out of Villmark and to sell it all over the North Shore?" I asked. "What did you get in return?"

  "I? Nothing," Solvi said. "I want nothing. What need do I have for fame or riches? This life I have now, in my little cabin, creating my art with all my waking hours, there is no finer life than this."

  "So why involve an outsider like Garrett Nelsen?" Loke asked. "Why not just continue to trade with the other Villmarkers?"

  Solvi sighed. "There are only so many of us, and I make so much art," he said, waving his arms to indicate the cluttered clearing around us, fairly stuffed with his art already. "I want nothing for myself, but my art wants to be free. It wants to be seen and appreciated."

  "You know Garrett Nelsen is passing all this off as his work, then?" I asked. "The art shop had his name as the creator."

  "That is what we agreed," Solvi said. "He says he makes it himself, and that it all comes from Runde. No one ever knows where it is really from."

  "But you never got permission from the council," Thorbjorn said.

  Solvi waved a hand dismissively. "No need. I wasn't breaking the rules."

  Loke laughed appreciatively. "No, as far as I can see, you never were. Technically."

  "So you didn't meet him at all last night?" I asked.

  "I was on the ship with both of you," Solvi said, taking up his tools and turning his attention back to his sculpture. "Then I was in the mead hall, also with both of you."

  "How well do you know Garrett Nelsen?" I asked.

  "Not very," he admitted. "We've met only a few times. I leave the pieces in one of his family's barns during the night and he retrieves them later. I believe he tells people that barn is his workshop."

  "Do you know any of his other acquaintances? Anyone who would want him dead? Any reason anyone would want him dead?" I asked.

  "No," Solvi said. "I know none of his friends. I know nothing of his business in the modern world. For all I knew, he had never sold a single piece of mine. But it is good to know that they are out in the world. Although I suppose now, with Nelsen dead, that's all over."

  He looked at the half-formed bear in front of him, and I could very well imagine what he was feeling. It was the worst thing in the world, to feel like your art was never going to be seen by anyone, was never going to matter in a single person's life. In that moment, I could imagine him wondering if it was even worth it, to finish this bear or any other, now that the market hungry for his work had suddenly disappeared.

  But then he set the chisel against the wood and raised the hammer once more, and I knew that feeling too. Making art, the process itself, was its own reward.

  His clearing was going to get crowded indeed over the months and years to follow, I was sure.

  Chapter 14

  I walked with Loke and Thorbjorn back to Villmark, then continued on alone back to Runde. My head was in a whirl, but it was a whirl of dead ends.

  I believed Ralf and Keith Sorensen when they said they only planned to torch the bridge and hadn't even stayed awake long enough to get that done.

  I believed Solvi that he had only wanted to share his art with the world, even if it was a world that he himself would never walk in. What a strange and lonely feeling that must be.

  My fondest wish for years was to see my art in a book in a bookstore, to see people take it down and page through it and show the illustrations to each other. I couldn't imagine never knowing if what I did ever brought anyone any joy. But Solvi, spending his days apart from even his quiet community, clearly felt differently.

  A lot of people seemed to know who Garrett Nelsen was, and yet no one seemed to have known him well. I knew the police would be interviewing his family, and if they uncovered any close friends, they would be interviewing them as well. Perhaps this really was just a Runde matter. Worse, perhaps it had just been a random thing, and there would be no solving it.

  I didn't like that thought at all.

  It was nearly one in the afternoon when I came up the front steps and opened the door into my grandmother's cabin. I was half expecting her to still be sleeping, but she was up, sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee in front of her. She was dressed, but when she looked up, I suspected I had just startled her out of another doze.

  "Ingrid," she said. "What do you have there?"

  "Something that Solvi carved," I said, setting the troll down on the table in front of her. "I bought it in Grand Marais."

  "Grand Marais," my grandmother said as she examined the piece. "You've just come from Villmark. Does the council know?"

  "You can tell I was just in Villmark?" I asked.

  "The magic between the worlds leaves a trace on people who cross over," she told me. "You'll be able to see it yourself soon enough. The council?"

  "From what I gather, they didn't know before, but Thorbjorn is probably telling them now," I said. "It doesn't really matter, since nothing else will be leaving the village now. Solvi was bringing it out of Villmark to one of the Nelsen barns in Runde, and Garrett Nelsen was selling it as his own art. But now that Garrett is dead, that trade route died with him."

  "This mark is Solvi's mark?" my grandmother asked, frowning at the spiral on the bottom of the troll's boot.

  "He says no, but I don't think I believe him. Why? Does it mean anything?" I asked.

  "No, it's just clearly not a Villmark thing," she said. "Solvi, if he signed his pieces, would likely use a rune sigil. This is very swirly."

  "There was one in the store on a plaque that looked like it was actually moving. I think it's meant to invoke the lake or the weather or something," I said.

  "Maybe both," my grandmother agreed, then set the troll back down to take another sip at her coffee.

  "I don't know anything more about the murder than I did this morning," I said. "The two Sorensens had been planning some mischief with the new bridge, and were afraid that if you asked them about the murder you would just know about the bridge thing, which is why they ran."

  "You do know I can't actually read minds?" she said to me.

  "Oh, sure," I said, although I was far from sure about any such thing. "But you do have a way of making a person want to confess anything they're guilty of."

  "It's in the stare," she said, pointing at her own eyes as she narrowed them suspiciously. "You'll learn it."

  "That could come in handy," I said. "So anyway, Andrew told me that Garrett sold these pieces to art stores all over the shore, so I went to see on of the stores in case it was important. It was clearly Villmark stuff, so Loke and I went to Magna's shop, and she sent us on to Solvi. But Solvi has a solid alibi and, honestly, doesn't seem like the murdering type. So that was another dead end."

  "There's no such thing as a murdering type," my grandmother said. "Anyone can be pushed to that extreme, given the right circumstances. Or rather, the wrong ones."

  "Well, he was in the meeting hall with the rest of us after the ship docked, so that rules him out."

  "Yes, I remember seeing him," my grandmother said. "He left with some of the other Villmarker men. They looked like they were going to continue the party back in the village since it was only just past midnight. But I absolutely couldn't keep the spells up any longer in the meeting hall."

  "Are you opening again tonight?" I asked.

  "Sure, but after last night, I'm sure it will be a smaller crowd," she s
aid with a reassuring smile. But the dark circles under her eyes were anything but reassuring.

  "I wish I could help you. I feel so useless," I said.

  "Well, it sounds to me like you've already done exactly what I asked you to," she said. "You've searched every avenue of inquiry that led back to Villmark and ruled them all out. What happened to Garrett Nelsen was tragic, especially so soon after the loss of Lisa. And knowing those two families, there will be repercussions I'll have to deal with. So many emotions to sort out. But the murder itself, I think we can safely declare a police matter. It's out of our hands."

  "Yeah, maybe," I said.

  "You don't sound convinced," she said.

  "I just want to check a few more things to be sure," I said. "Starting with this swirly thing." I tipped the troll over to rest him on his back, then took a picture of the logo with my phone. I started to run a search on the image, but my grandmother's crappy wifi locked up right away, and I had just one bar down in the river valley.

  "Heading up to Jessica's?" my grandmother guessed.

  "Yeah," I said. "I have to check my email and stuff, anyway. It's just easier to do it there. Do you need anything from up on the road?"

  "No, I'm just about to head over to the meeting hall, anyway. Tuukka is bringing in another batch of honey this afternoon."

  "Okay," I said. "I'll catch up with you there."

  I left the troll there lying on his back as if he were dozing away the afternoon on our kitchen table, then headed back outside. The sky was still overcast, but it wasn't getting any darker, and at least there was no hint of rain. Today could be as cloudy as it liked; yesterday had been gorgeous, and that was when it mattered.

  I climbed the steep path up the bluff to once more emerge behind the gas station, then crossed the highway to the newest of the collection of buildings gathered around the crossroads: Jessica's bookstore café. For the locals, it also doubled as an internet café, since everyone's wifi down in the valley was as slow and spotty as my grandmother's, and the cell service was even worse.

  The bell over the door chimed as I pushed my way inside, and Jessica emerged from behind the counter of assorted pastries. Her coveralls and the blonde braids that formed a crown around her head were both dusted with flour.

  "Hey, Ingrid!" she said. "I thought you were coming today."

  "Did I say I would?" I asked. I didn't remember any such conversation, but it would be totally like me to forget something like that.

  "No, but Mjolner showed up about ten minutes ago and made himself at home on the footstool by your favorite computer. I figured he knew something I didn't," she said.

  "Sounds like he knew something I didn't," I said. "But I do need to use the computer. If that's okay?"

  "Well, as you can see, it's pretty busy here today," she said, sweeping her hands to encompass the empty bookstore and café nook around her. "Take all the time you need."

  "I've narrowed down which illustrations I'm going to frame for your wall," I said as I settled into the chair in front of the computer. "I just have to get the frames."

  "No hurry," Jessica said with a wave of her hand. "This is the slow time of year, you know. It'll pick up again next month when the ski slopes open, though. I'll have my espresso machine by then. You'll definitely want to have your art up when the tourists get here."

  "Sure," I said, typing in my password to check my email. Nothing but junk. Still no response from anyone I had sent my art out to.

  "Say, Jessica?" I said as I logged out of my email and opened a search page. "I'm checking this online, but maybe you already know what it is. Have you ever seen this mark before?" I showed her the picture on my phone. She took the phone from me and used her fingers to zoom in and examine the image more closely.

  "No, I don't think so," she said. "What is it?"

  "I think it's an artist's logo," I said. "Andrew and I were in Grand Marais this morning and I bought this cute little troll. Well, not exactly little. He's over a foot tall. I probably should've taken a picture of that too. Well, I can show you later. But it has this mark on its foot and I was curious what it meant."

  "You and Andrew went to Grand Marais," Jessica said, raising her eyebrows questioningly.

  "We were doing an errand for my grandmother," I said. "The art shop side trip was just because it was on the way home."

  "A-ha. Sure," Jessica said.

  "Do you have a cable..." I trailed off, vaguely gesturing between my phone and the computer.

  "Check that drawer," Jessica said, heading back behind her counter. I opened the desk drawer to my left and found a tangled jumble of cords. With a little work, I found one that connected to my phone and to the computer so I could transfer the photo. I had just hit go on the image search when the bell over the door chimed.

  "Hey, you were right, she is here," Michelle said as she came in with three plates wrapped in foil stacked in her hands. She had pulled a jean jacket on over her waitress uniform, and her honey blonde hair was in a neat ponytail, so I knew she had come over from the middle of her shift at the restaurant on the other side of the highway. "Hey, Ingrid."

  "Hi, Michelle," I said. "Is one of those for me?"

  "Fish and chips," she said, handing me one of the plates.

  "My favorite," I said, my stomach rumbling at the words "fish and chips" and then more loudly when I peeled back the foil and got a whiff of the breaded and fried whitefish, fresh from the lake I could just see over the treetops out the window between two bookshelves. "Thanks! I didn't even realize I was hungry."

  "Mjolner was pretty insistent," Jessica said as she came back out from behind the counter with a tray of tea things.

  "Mjolner told you I was hungry?" I asked. I had often suspected he could talk and only chose not to, but I admit I was a little hurt that he would choose to talk to others first.

  "Well, Michelle and I were on the phone talking about lunch, and he just kept meowing and giving me this look, you know?" Jessica said as she poured out the tea. Michelle unwrapped a turkey club sandwich and set it in front of Jessica, who gave her a nod of thanks.

  "I know that look," I said. "Although frankly, he might've been signalling the fish and chips because that's his favorite as well."

  Mjolner was still curled up on the overly padded footstool, but he lifted his head with a meow and fixed me with his yellowish-green eyes until I held out a bit of fish for him on the end of my finger. He took it from me with a delicate bite, then licked the juice from my fingertip.

  "So what are you working on?" Michelle asked as she unwrapped her own plate of scrambled eggs with salsa that, I knew from experience, was far too picante for my tastes even without the slices of jalapeno that were too excessive to be a mere garnish. She took a huge bite, then pointed at my computer screen with her fork. "What is it?" she asked through a mouthful of eggs.

  "It's some kind of logo," I said. I scrolled through the results, but they all seemed to be connected to websites for various stores up and down the coast. The kind that sold local art. "Do you recognize it?"

  "Nope," Michelle said. "Jess?"

  "No, but I'm not really an art person," she said. Then her cheeks flushed as if she had just put her foot in her mouth. "But I'm definitely going to be learning all about it, now that I've designated a few walls for galleries of local artists."

  "I didn't recognize it either," I said. "I think it belongs to Garrett Nelsen."

  "Garrett Nelsen that was murdered last night?" Michelle asked.

  "So the news has spread," I said.

  "Did you know about Garrett before or after you bought that troll thing?" Jessica asked.

  "Before," I admitted.

  "Are you thinking his work will go up in value now that he's dead?" Michelle asked.

  "No!" I said. "I mean, it might, but that's not why I bought that troll. I just wanted to show it to my grandmother. We're trying to figure out who Garrett is as a person, maybe understand what happened."

  "I never really
knew him," Jessica said as she picked apart her sandwich, just eating the bacon. "I mean, I knew who he was. Every Sorensen knew who the Nelsens were in high school, you know? But he was older, so our paths didn't cross."

  "I didn't know him either," Michelle said. "But the police are working on it, right?"

  "Oh, sure," Jessica said with a humorless laugh. "The same police that have never solved Lisa's murder. Let's trust them with this one, too."

  I bit my lip. As much as I had wondered how Lisa's parents were holding up, it was all too clear that Jessica was still hurting and angry.

  And there was nothing I could say to make her feel better.

  I looked down at the food still waiting on my plate, but I had no appetite now. Mjolner opened one eye, watching my plate for the moment I left it unattended. I turned to set it on the far side of the computer monitor where he couldn't reach it.

  Or, at least, not easily.

  "Jess, I know you're still upset," Michelle said, reaching across the table to clutch her friend's trembling hand. "I understand, really I do. Sometimes the truth never gets exposed. It sucks, but it's just true. We just have to trust that larger forces are still at play. That the universe has its own ways, and that the arc of time bends towards justice. Right?"

  I looked from Michelle to Jessica, not sure how she would take this. Would she laugh, throw Michelle's words back in her face? Her anger was still there, in the way she scrunched her eyes shut to keep the tears from spilling and dug her nails into her own palms.

  But when she opened her eyes, she was visibly calmer. "You're right," she said. "That's all we have left, to trust in mysterious forces."

  "I know it sounds empty, but really, what other choice is there?" Michelle asked.

  "None," Jessica agreed, nodding as she gathered up the remains of our lunch. "No other choice at all."

  I looked at Michelle, trying to gauge how much she had meant what she just said. Michelle looked back at me, then tipped her head to indicate Jessica, who had her back to us now as she crossed the room to throw the trash away in the bin. We were both thinking the same thing.