by Ellen Hart
“I gave her my cell phone number last weekend, when she invited me to dinner. But … suicide?”
“They’re sure of that?”
“Apparently. Alcohol and Tylenol, according to Eleanor. She was found outside in the snow nearly frozen.”
“I’m the one who found her,” said Jane.
Britt blinked back her surprise. “Wow,” she whispered. “You know, I suppose I should feel sad, but the truth is, I hardly knew her. Then again, I’ve been thinking: You don’t suppose my turning up at the house after all these years had something to do with it?”
“Honestly,” said Jane. “I think the problems in that family long predated your visit.”
“I have to say, Lena didn’t seem depressed to me.”
“You’re not alone,” said Jane. “Butch Averil, the guy who lives next door, said he didn’t think she was remotely suicidal. Of course, that’s a hard judgment call.”
Again, Britt blinked. “So what are you saying?”
“It might have been an accident.” For now, Jane left it at that. “What else did Eleanor say?”
“Well, I asked her about the funeral. She said that Lena’s body hadn’t been released yet. She wanted to know how long I’d be in town. My plan was to leave tomorrow. I’m kind of torn about whether I should stay or not, especially since nothing’s been firmed up and my department chair expects me back on Monday.”
Jane leaned back as the bloody Mary was set in front of her.
“Would you two like to order?” asked the waitress.
“I need more time,” said Britt, taking a sip of her drink, then picking up the menu.
Jane had suggested they meet at this particular Dinkytown restaurant because it was close to Britt’s hotel, and also because it was one of the few places in the Twin Cities that served a fry-up, otherwise known as a full English breakfast.
As Britt scanned the offerings, Jane continued. “I have a lot to tell you. But first, you should know that Frank came by my house last night. With an ax.”
Britt’s eyes widened.
“He was furious at me because of the investigation.”
“He found out?”
“Eleanor knows, too. And that friend of hers, Iver, the minister. Cordelia, as Olive Hudson, spent the night again last night. Her cover hasn’t been blown. I’m sure I’ll get a full report later today. She’s not an early riser.”
“What did Frank do?”
Jane gave her the down and dirty on what had happened. “He’s in the Hennepin County jail at the moment, charged with felony assault. It was all so strange. I mean, I don’t know him that well, but he was ranting, not making any sense.”
Britt gave a visible shiver.
After they placed their orders, Jane took several sustaining sips of her drink. “Before we continue, I need you to refresh my memory. The night Cordelia and I came to your hotel I believe you said that, after you returned home from the funeral in Saint Paul, you saw your father again. Did I get that right?”
Britt swirled the celery stick around in her glass. “You did. It was right around the time Mom asked him for a divorce. We’d been home for a while. I don’t think he was living with us then, though I could be wrong. He came by to pick me up and take me to a railroad museum and then out to lunch. I remember wearing this pink sundress. It was my favorite. Mom bought it for me while we were in Saint Paul. It’s the dress I have on in the picture I showed you, so it must have still been summer.”
“You’re sure you saw him after you came back from Saint Paul?”
“Yeah, positive. Why?”
“Because your aunt Eleanor told the police that your dad came to Saint Paul in February of 1978, and asked her father, your grandfather, for money. She said that she didn’t know exactly what happened because she wasn’t there, but that there was a fight in the garage. Your dad ended up dead. Your grandfather buried him in the root cellar.”
Britt seemed confused. “No … no, that’s not possible. My dad was still alive after my grandfather died. I’m sure of it. Why would Eleanor blame—” Her expression darkened. “She told the police that story to get herself off the hook. That is so incredibly evil.”
Evil or not, Jane saw it as self-preservation. “I’m not sure how energetically the police will pursue a cold case—the bones found in the garage—when they have so many current cases vying for their attention.”
“She is so two-faced. And here I thought Lena was the rotten core of the family.”
“I spoke to a woman last night who was dating your father while he was still married. Her name is Dixie. She’s from North Carolina.” Jane went on to explain what she’d learned. “He was driving her car when he came to see your aunts. I found a North Carolina license plate in their garage before it burned down. I’ve got a photo of it, so given enough time, I think we can trace it back to Dixie. But here’s what’s important. Dixie said she was in Milwaukee staying with him when he went missing. She said it was August 1978. No doubt about that. So if he was alive in August, after your grandfather died, there’s no way he could’ve been responsible for your dad’s death.”
“That blows Eleanor’s story out of the water. She is such a liar.”
Jane knew her next bit of news would be even more explosive. “I’m sorry that I haven’t been able to track Timmy down. That’s why you hired me. But I have learned something important. Dixie said that your mother’s reason for divorcing your father had a lot to do with something she learned when you two were in Saint Paul that summer. Apparently your father had a sexual relationship with Lena. She was pregnant with his child when your mother announced that she and your dad were getting married. Lena kept it to herself, never told anyone. When she came back to the house that summer for the funeral, and you and your mother were also there, it all came out. That’s what caused the rift in the family, why your mother never contacted her sisters again, and why she returned home and asked your dad for a divorce.”
“So, you’re saying—”
“Timmy isn’t your cousin, Britt. He’s your half-brother.”
Britt’s eyes searched the room, finally coming to rest on Jane’s face. “I’m … absolutely stunned. Timmy is my brother? Seriously?”
“When your father learned that he had a son, he borrowed Dixie’s car and drove to Saint Paul. Dixie said he had every intention of claiming Timmy, of bringing him back with him. We know he arrived at the house. What we don’t know is what happened after that.”
“We have to talk to Eleanor,” said Britt, her expression growing fierce. “We need to expose her lies and demand the truth. It’s the only way this is ever going to get resolved.”
Jane didn’t disagree. “When do you want to do it?”
Britt took several gulps of her drink. “Let me think. After I leave here, I was going to finish packing. And then I have a final session at one. I have to be there. It’s a command performance. What about four? We could meet over at the house, beard the dragon in her den together.”
“I’ll make it work,” said Jane.
“Wow,” said Britt, gazing down at her bloody Mary with a dazed expression. “I mean … this is a lot to get my head around. Do you think there’s any hope that she’ll tell us what really happened?”
“There’s a chance,” said Jane. “For now, let’s hold on to that.”
38
Adrenaline pumped through Butch’s body as he stood in the hotel hallway and knocked on the door. He’d been thinking about this for days. Now that he’d found Paul, he had the time and the focus he needed to deal with another important matter. Remembering his cap, he pulled it off as the door finally opened.
“Yes?” said Britt, a quizzical look on her face as she peered out at him.
“You probably don’t remember me. We met last Sunday night at the Skarsvold house. Butch Averil?” He’d shaved off his beard and gotten a haircut. He wanted to look his best when he met Paul’s family tomorrow.
“You look so different,” she sai
d, taking him in.
“It’s me. Shaved my beard.” He felt his face.
“Oh. Sure.” She stared at him so hard it made him squirm.
“Can I talk to you for a minute?”
“Well—” She looked over her shoulder. “I was doing some packing, but … okay.” She stepped back.
Walking into the room, he took a moment to look around. “This is nice. It’s a suite.”
“The conference paid for it. I was one of the featured speakers.”
When he turned back to her, he found that she was staring at him again. She motioned him to the couch and then settled down on a chair across from him.
“Is something wrong? You’re looking at me kind of funny.”
“It’s nothing. You just look like someone I knew—when he was young.”
“Who’s that?”
“My dad.”
“Well, I guess we all have a double somewhere.”
“What did you want to talk to me about?”
In a halting voice, Butch continued, “First, I wanted to say how sorry I was about your aunt’s death. I liked Lena.”
“Thanks,” said Britt. “We weren’t close.”
“No, I suppose not.” He thrashed around for how to begin. “Look, I was there when the paramedics took her away. I listened as the police asked the woman who found her in the snow some questions. Jane Lawless. I understand you hired her to find your cousin, Tim.”
She hesitated. “Yeah. That’s right.”
“Well, the fact is … see—” He cleared his throat. “I’m Tim.”
Her eyes widened.” You’re Timmy?”
He nodded.
“Oh,” she said, pressing a fist to her mouth. After a long moment, she added, “I get it now. Wow.”
“Get what?”
“Did Eleanor and Lena know?”
He shook his head. With the dam now broken, his words began to tumble out. “I remember the summer when we met. I liked you so much. And I thought your mom was beautiful. Lena and I, we lived on a farm back then. We took this long drive to get to the funeral in Saint Paul. I wasn’t happy about it because it meant I had to be away from my dog.”
“Where was the farm?”
“Upstate New York. I guess you’d call it a commune. Hippies and whole wheat and stuff like that. I loved it. Lena and my dad and I all lived with a bunch of other people in this big old drafty house.”
“Your dad,” said Britt. “Tell me about him.”
“He’s not my bio dad. Lena never told me who that was, probably because she didn’t know. Mitch Averil was the guy who raised me. He’d adopted me legally when I was still pretty young. He’s a lawyer. He already had an undergrad degree in political science when he met Lena. He and Lena were never officially married. So, after Lena … disappeared—”
Britt interrupted him. “She disappeared?”
“Yeah,” he said, scratching his head. “We have a lot to catch up on, don’t we?”
“I want to know everything.”
“Me, too.”
“You first. Why did Lena disappear?”
“Well, see, that’s where this all gets kind of murky. When Lena and I returned to the farm after the funeral, she seemed really miserable. Sometimes she’d stay in bed all day. My dad came to me one afternoon and told me she’d been in a car accident and was in the hospital. I wanted to go see her, but he said we had to wait. And then, a while later, he came into my room one night, sat on my bed, and told me that she was in heaven. That I wouldn’t be seeing her again.”
“He lied?”
“Yeah.”
“But … when you introduced yourself to Lena as Butch Averil, didn’t she know who you were?”
“No. She never made the connection.”
“But your last name? Didn’t that give it away?”
“More hippie drama. At the farm, nobody used their real names. My dad called himself Falcon. Lena was Willow. And if you had a degree, or money, or anything that might set you apart from anyone else, give you more status, you didn’t talk about it. So no, Lena never knew his real name.”
“Bizarre.”
“I know.”
“But if you thought Lena was dead, why did you come to Saint Paul looking for her?”
“I didn’t,” said Butch. “I did come to the Twin Cities looking for someone, but it wasn’t her. But since I was in town, I figured I’d drive by the house in Saint Paul and see if I remembered it.”
“You knew the address?”
“I looked it up in the phone book. Lena left behind some family photos. My dad would take them out and we’d look at them together. He didn’t want me to forget her. One was of the house in Saint Paul. I should tell you that my dad married a woman named Sandy. We all moved away from the farm to go live in Montana. That’s where I mostly grew up.”
“So what happened when you drove by the Skarsvold house?”
He shrugged. “Maybe it was luck or pure serendipity, but the afternoon I came by, I saw this old lady sitting on the front porch. She was in a wheelchair. I guess I was curious, so I parked and strolled past the house. I’d noticed the ‘for sale’ sign in the yard next door, so I called to her and asked if she knew how much the house was selling for. We struck up a conversation. I knew almost immediately that it was her. I was shocked and confused. When I got back to the motel where I was staying, I called my dad and demanded the truth.”
“Did he tell you?”
“He wasn’t very happy about it. The first thing he did was to ask my forgiveness. He stressed that Lena had been fragile—emotionally—and was really struggling when we returned to the farm after the funeral. She thought she was a bad mother. She figured I’d be better off without her. He was appalled to learn that I’d found her alive and well and living in Saint Paul. He asked me what I intended to do. At that point, I wasn’t sure. I had some questions I wanted to ask her, but I figured I’d get to know her first. I mean, I toyed with the idea of being pissed at her. Maybe if I’d found out that she’d abandoned me when I was still a kid, I would have felt more betrayed. But I’m forty-five. I know everyone makes mistakes. More than that, I have a great family—my dad, my mom, and two knuckleheaded younger brothers. It’s unlikely I would’ve had any of that if I’d spent my childhood with her. In the end, I realized I was far more curious than angry. What I didn’t take into account was how little time I would have with her. And I never expected to like her so much.” He squeezed the bridge of his nose to stop himself from crying.
Britt moved from her chair to sit next to him on the couch. “I’m sorry. I really am.”
“It’s okay,” he said, feeling a rush of tenderness toward her.
She reached for a box of tissues on the end table and handed it to him.
He smiled. “Thanks.”
“But … who are you? Are you married? Do you have children? What do you do for a living?”
“No, not married. No children. I’m gay. I came to Minnesota because the man I’d fallen in love with left me, just when I was about to ask him to marry me. I found out just recently that he’s from a very prominent, politically conservative family in Minnesota. I first met him when he began coming to a resort I own in Montana.”
“You own a resort?”
“The Spoon Ridge Ski Lodge. It’s near the town of Twin Elks. Part of the Beartooth basin in south central Montana. I opened the place in the winter of 1998. I met Paul five years ago. He came to ski one winter and we talked a few times. I wondered about him. He always came by himself. Didn’t try to pick up women. Paid for everything in cash. It took a few more visits before I worked up the courage to ask him to have dinner with me. We’ve been together now for almost four years.”
“But you said he left you?”
“It’s a long story, but I’ll give you the quick version. Paul made it clear right from the start that he wasn’t interested in a committed relationship. His life was somewhere else. I knew he was deep in the closet. His cars had Minn
esota plates, so I knew where he was from, and I was pretty sure he lived in a city, but he never gave me his real name. All of that put me off, and yet, over time, maybe even against my better judgment, I fell hard for him and I was sure he felt the same way. By the second year, he was coming more often. We even took a couple road trips together, one to San Francisco, and one to Tucson. He was so smart, and so much fun. It was getting harder and harder for us to be apart. But we hit a snag when I asked him to make a real commitment to me. Instead of giving me an answer, he told me his sister had texted him that their father was really sick. He needed to get back home right away. He left that same night without giving me any indication of how he felt about my proposal. I called and texted, but heard nothing back. And then one day, the number I had for him was disconnected. I took that as the answer to my question. I was hurt, deeply angry. I nursed that anger for weeks. And then, one night, I assembled every possible fact I had about who he was and decided to find him.”
“And did you?”
“I did. And much to my surprise, I think things are going to be okay with us. When I left Montana, I gave myself a month. I made a deal with the guy who was selling the house next to the Skarsvold place. He wasn’t having any luck selling it because, in my opinion, it was a dump and the asking price was way too high. I made him an offer. Minimal rent while I worked to rehab whatever he was willing to pay for. It was perfect because it allowed me to be close to Lena and still look for Paul’s sister. I spent each week searching in the metro area, and the weekends in various other cities—Duluth, Rochester, Saint Cloud. The sister—Jenny—was my one and only real link. I was chasing all that down when all hell broke loose at the Skarsvold house. The garage fire really got my attention, especially when they found bones.”
“This is critical,” said Britt, leaning forward. “Do you have any memories of what might have happened in that garage? The man who died in there, he was my father.”
“Oh, jeez, I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”
She wrapped her fingers gently around his arm. “We’re talking about some hard things here. Surprising things. I think this may be the right moment to tell you something more. The man who died, he wasn’t just my father, he was yours, too.”