Parker took a deep breath, knowing he had to calm himself and match the habits of these people if he was going to get anywhere. He took a seat, stretched his arms and put his hands behind his head. “Could have eaten krumcake, but professional that I am, I got right down to business at Liv’s.”
Ivor shook his head. “Your loss. She doesn’t bake often, but when she does—”
Parker raised a palm, interrupting Ivor. “Would have been nice to know that half of Petersburg was in Seattle during the week Olson died.”
With a shrug, Ivor said, “We go to Seattle all the time. Alaska Airlines, twice a day, nonstop. They’ll give me lists of who went where and when, any time I ask. But the fly-in event our folks attended in Seattle is tip of the iceberg. People come and go in fast boats and helicopters, too. Those lists aren’t so easy to obtain.” He glanced at Liv’s tidy chart of people, places, and times. “She likes spreadsheets.”
“This is gnat’s eyebrow stuff. I hadn’t seen that aspect of Liv.”
“She’s a writer.”
“Yes?”
“She’s the detail person in the family, but doesn’t flaunt it.” He cleared his throat. “Look, we don’t know time of death; nor has the autopsy revealed if he fell or was pushed into the water. True?”
“Correct. But we’re guessing Olson had more than three million dollars tucked in the Grand Caymans so his death doesn’t feel accidental to us. Even without TOD or, say, evidence of a blow to the head, we’ve got to assume foul play.”
“Or you wouldn’t be here, investigating.”
“Right.” Parker pointed to Liv’s chart. “So you’re saying that’s only one list.”
Ivor nodded. “Her data includes people she was with in Seattle. Ev had enemies and access to a lot of money. There will be more lists, for sure.”
****
“Uff da,” Jenny Skogland said as she sank into her cushioned rocking chair.
Parker smiled a greeting from his seat on the living room couch of the B&B where he was waiting for his father to dress for dinner. He liked the feel of the big room, its two massive flowered and skirted couches facing each other across twin coffee tables. Fanned out magazines and bowls of wrapped candy invited lingering. Jenny chose a chair facing him next to the stone fireplace where modest flames gave the room a golden glow.
Drawn to the old woman for reasons he couldn’t articulate, Parker asked, “What the heck does ‘Uff da’ mean in Norwegian? I see the word printed all over town.”
With a laugh, Jenny said. “In my ninety-plus years, I’ve used it incessantly. When I was a teacher, ‘Uff da’ took the place of swearwords. Just now, I said it because my spine pained me when I sat down; standing, my knees will protest and I’ll have to say ‘Uff da’ again.” She rubbed her hands together, wincing. “Between arthritis, dizziness, and barking dogs,” she said, pointing to her slippered feet, “I seem to say ‘Uff da’ every other breath.” Jenny slapped a palm on her chair’s armrest. “But I’m here to find out the progress of your investigation, not complain.”
“Thanks for the translation. As for my detective work, ‘Uff da.’”
Jenny laughed, her body quaking with the emotion. “I wondered when you’d conclude that Petersburg comes with challenges.”
He rubbed his forehead. “People are willing to answer my questions, but only after I find the right questions to ask.”
“Otherwise they’ll keep the information to themselves.”
“Right.”
Jenny shook her head. “It’s always been that way.” She was quiet for a moment, a faraway look in her eye. Sighing, she said, “It’s a problem. You have a tendency to assume the worst, to—”
“Right,” Parker said, interrupting. “Because people are averse to offering information, they seem to be hiding things.”
Mallen Skogland stepped into the living room from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel. “Grandma, time for your pills. Orange juice or water?”
Jenny waved her hand. “I’ll take them later.”
“Mr. Browne, you’re being so polite,” Mallen said. “My grandma loves to talk about the past, but I know you have to be on your way.”
Parker looked at his watch and stood. “Better be going.” He winked at Jenny. “But I’ve enjoyed our talk, and my new, useful vocabulary.”
As soon as Mallen returned to the kitchen, Jenny motioned for Parker to come and stand by her. “I think the closed-mouth trait comes from the type of Norwegian who settled in Petersburg. These were rugged individualists, upset about not being able to make a living in their home country and so very determined to succeed here. As soon as they found the best fishing grounds around Petersburg, they kept the locations to themselves. Along with tricks on how to catch fish, they carried those fishing holes to their graves.”
“Really?”
“We have a high theft and assault rate here in Petersburg, higher than the national average.”
“I saw the figures.”
“Booze is part of it, of course. But I think the drive for individual success is the bigger reason.”
Parker reached down to touch Jenny’s hand. “That’s a good theory, Jenny.” He glanced toward the stairway when he heard his father’s steps. “I need all the help I can to work with your friends.” Hurriedly he added. “Like Liv. She’s a puzzle.”
Jenny nodded. “One of my favorite women in this town.”
“Ready?” his dad called out.
“In a minute, Dad.” Parker gazed at Jenny, knowing, for the first time, that the tug he felt from Liv Hanson was more than business and more than curiosity. “We’ll talk about her later, okay?”
She looked into Parker’s eyes. Then, as if she understood his complicated feelings for Liv, she winced and said, “Uff da.”
****
“More halibut, Parker? Fishcakes. Potatoes, Chet? Some lefse?” Harriet Hanson pointed to each dish on the dining room table. She sat at the head of the table, smiling, her face flushed from the bustle of preparing a meal and the pride of sharing food with guests. Harriet pushed her hair behind her ears in a gesture that reminded Parker of Liv, who sat across from him. Same delicate noses and high cheekbones. Warm complexions that contrasted to blonde, shoulder-length hair and deep blue eyes. Beautiful women, mother and daughter. Similar laugh. Both gracious to guests.
Parker chewed his last bit of lefse, a Norwegian flat bread, and patted his stomach. “I think I’ve gained ten pounds in two days. You too, Dad?”
Raising his thumb and wiggling his bushy eyebrows was Chet’s answer.
With a glance at Ivor and Liv, Parker said, “Much as we’ve enjoyed your incredible meal, it’s time to talk about Everett Olson.”
“Dessert,” said Harriet Hanson, rising from her chair and collecting plates. “Over there.”
In unison, Parker and his father turned to look at a table set up in the living room, complete with lace tablecloth, plates, utensils and a squatty arrangement of roses as a centerpiece.
“Dessert?” Parker asked.
Liv laughed. “Sorry we didn’t warn you. On special occasions, Norwegians eat dinner in the formal dining room, then move to another table for dessert.”
Chet said, “Dessert is important, all right.” He elbowed Parker to agree with him, then rose and walked to the living room.
Parker said, “We’re in for a late night, I’m guessing.”
Ivor chuckled as he jumped up and snagged two serving platters. “Business after dessert. We should have warned you.”
Parker held up both palms. “I abide by all Norwegian customs.” He slid a glance to Liv. “Does the aquavit come before or with business?”
Liv reached for Parker’s plate and utensils. “We call it akevitt. We drink it with business.”
He took her hand, rose, and said quietly, “I’ve got your number, Liv.”
Eyes widening, she said, “You do?”
“You Norwegians stretch out your meals.” He squeezed her hand. “Lik
e the eagle feathers and halibut ear bones, another distraction.”
Her expression turned coy. “Feeling stonewalled, are you?”
Parker thought better of starting an argument and patted his stomach again. “I’m feeling stuffed.”
With a smile, she grabbed a stack of plates, gave the swinging door to the kitchen her hip, and left him alone at the table. When he heard her laughter from inside the kitchen, he wanted to join her, stand close to her, and share the light moment. Surprised by the strength of his need, he shook his head. He felt unprepared by every single person he’d met in Petersburg, but mostly by Liv.
For dessert, they ate lacy deep-fried rosettes topped with whipped cream and drizzled with chocolate, along with Liv’s crisp, rich krumcake. Strong coffee came with more talk about Ivor’s job, Chet’s fishing adventures, and the salmon industry. Parker noticed no one spoke of Liv’s writing.
Finally, when they were all seated around the living room coffee table with akevitt in hand, Parker said, “I thought you should know that my father spent a lifetime working security for the Port of Seattle. If you don’t mind, I’d like him to help us figure out where to go next with the investigation of Ev’s death. Is that all right?”
When Parker got nods all around, he asked the hardest question first, addressing Ivor, who sat across from him. “You learned that Liv was assaulted by Everett Olson when she was in high school?”
Ivor set his drink on the table. “She told me about it for the first time today, after she talked to you.” With a sympathetic glance at Liv, he said, “I’ve always been aware Liv didn’t like Ev. She stayed out of his social circle, but I figured that was because he was such a player.” He made fists. “I wish I’d known.”
Parker reached to his right where Liv sat and touched the back of her hand. “It was a traumatic event.” He turned to Harriet, sitting on the edge of her chair to Parker’s right. “I’m glad Liv could tell you about it.”
Harriet said, “He never bothered her again. I made sure.”
“What do you mean, Mom?” Liv asked, leaning toward her.
“I talked to him. Every damn year, on the date when he attacked you, I found him, dragged him someplace we could talk privately, and reminded him of his criminal behavior. I told him to keep away from you, and I warned him to behave like a gentlemen with women or I’d hunt him down.”
“Mom! You never…I said I’d handle it.”
Harriet raised her hand in Liv’s direction. “I did it for myself and for other girls in town.” She gave a sidelong look at Parker. “In Petersburg, we women are alone so much. We have to do for ourselves.”
“I understand, Harriet. Good strategy to keep Ev in line.”
Harriet nodded proudly and clasped her hands in her lap.
“Still, I have to ask if you had anything to do with Everett’s death, since you were in Seattle at the time he died.”
She blinked. “You think I climbed on a boat with Everett Olson, pushed him off the thing, then swam back to Shilshoe Marina?” With a chuckle, she said, “You know, I could have done something like that in my forties. Right?” She took a moment to draw assents from Ivor and Liv. Satisfied with their agreement, she went on. “But not anymore.”
“Were you with someone the whole time you were in Seattle?”
“Are you kidding? We don’t travel around in groups. I always visit the fabric and do-dad shops. Ivor hangs around with his cop buddies.” She smiled at Liv. “She’s after the jewelry of her dreams.” Liv frowned and Harriet said, hurriedly, “Clothing, too.”
Parker glanced at his notes. “But I thought you’d all gone to Seattle for an event.”
Liv took the lead. “You mean the Selskaps Fiskeboller in Hvitsaus?”
“Translation, please?”
“Fishballs in White Sauce for Special Guests,” Ivor said. “It was a Sons of Norway thing, annual. An Octoberfest celebration, which stretches into November. You know Ballard, of course, our Norwegian sister city outside Seattle proper. We have lots of friends and relatives there.”
“So all of you went to Ballard for this event, specifically?”
“Hardly,” Harriet said. “It was a dinner, an excuse to see friends and to shop in Seattle. We find excuses like that four or five times a year.”
“I see,” Parker said, sitting back in his chair. “What about Tilly? And Tuck?”
Harriet and Ivor turned to Liv, who gave them a “Don’t look at me” expression.
Liv said, “Tilly hasn’t said a thing to me about her relationship with Tuck.”
“What? I thought you and Tuck—”
“We dance on the weekends. Period.” Liv paused. “My friendships in this town are far from deep.” She gave Parker a defiant look. “Tilly’s seeing Tuck and seems afraid to tell me about it. She senses I have deeper feelings for Tuck, beyond a dance partner, and she might be right.”
Parker’s gut clenched at the idea of Liv and Tuck as a couple. Worse, she’d acknowledged the possibility Tilly knew more about Liv’s true feelings than Liv, herself. “So you didn’t see much of Tuck or Tilly in Seattle?”
“Tilly and I went shopping together a couple of times. That’s it. I think she and Tuck went out at night.”
“You think?”
Liv said, “The more nervous Tilly is around me, the more likely she’s spending time with Tuck. She was pretty jumpy at the Fiskeboller, so I’d say she’s probably sleeping with him.” Liv raised a shoulder. “It’s a small town. We tend to register tiny behavior changes but keep them to ourselves.”
Chet cleared his throat. “Who else is on the list of people who went to the fishball thing?”
“Along with Harriet, Liv, Tilly, Tuck and Ivor, we’ve got Mallen, the Ostersunds and their little boy, plus Bill Moe, who’s eighty,” Parker said. Harriet and Liv shared a furtive look. “What?” he asked Liv.
Pulling in a breath, Liv said, “Mallen. We’re not sure, but we think Mallen and Everett had something going. Mother and I talked about it before you came. We decided you needed to know.”
Parker closed his eyes at the thought of one more person entangled with Everett Olson.
“Sorry,” Liv said, wincing at Ivor.
“She’s not involved,” growled her brother, the intensity of his words drawing raised eyebrows from Liv and Harriet. “God dammit, why am I the last person to know about this kind of shit?” He cleared his throat, buying time to steady himself. Addressing Parker, he said, “What I mean is Mallen isn’t the kind of woman to go for a hound like Ev. She’s older and a hell of a lot smarter than that turd.”
The group sat quietly for awhile, registering Ivor’s words.
“Sorry,” Liv repeated to Parker, seeming to speak for her family.
“Me, too,” he said meeting her eyes. “Me, too.”
Chapter Five
Parker walked through a steady drizzle to Lito’s Landing, unsettled by the notion his need to see Liv was more powerful than his wish to remain objective about his list of suspects. Even his father had seen right through his purpose when Parker invited him to go out for a beer. Chet consulted his watch and smiled, “At 10:00, my bedtime, you propose we go drinking?”
Parker had ducked his head, feeling like a juvenile, caught in a lie by his father. “I’m a little antsy, Dad. Or I ate too much at the Hanson’s.”
“Or something. Or someone.” His dad raised an eyebrow. “DJ tonight, hmm? You know I hate loud music, so you go ahead.”
By the time he reached Lito’s Landing, Parker vowed he’d have one beer at the bar with his back to the dancers and the DJ platform. If Liv came over to say hello, he’d talk to her. Otherwise, he’d avoid Barber and Liv altogether and spend the time thinking over the case.
The Rolling Stones complained loudly about not getting satisfaction even before Parker opened the door of the saloon. Inside, dancers clapped to the beat of the music. No sign of Liv or Barber.
At the bar, he ordered a beer and asked the bartender if
Barber was around.
“Think he’s in the office with Liv.”
He’d emptied the bottle before he turned to watch the dancers. Still no Liv, shining among the bouncing bodies. No Barber. Damn it. He gestured the bartender to give him another beer, and took it with him on his search.
When he got closer to the dancers, he recognized Tilly in a clutch with a man he couldn’t identify. Tilly waved to him and pointed in the direction of Barber’s office, so Parker headed that way.
The door to the man’s office was ajar; Parker pushed it open slowly.
Barber stood at the front of his desk with his back to Parker. All Parker could see of Liv, sitting on the desk, were her bare legs, straddling the man’s torso. Parker gripped the beer bottle, visualizing himself cold-cocking Barber with it. It’s none of my business. Leave. He turned around, prepared to go quietly out the door, but he couldn’t make himself move further. Not until he saw Liv’s face.
Parker pivoted and advanced one step into the room and ever so slightly angled his head so he could see her expression. The first thing he noticed was her posture: back straight, not arched for passion. Her eyes rounded when she made eye contact with him, her expression changing from panic to embarrassment, to relief. So he took his cue from her and said loudly, “Sorry to interrupt, but the door was open.”
Barber whirled around, startled. “Christ, when the hell are you going to leave us alone?”
With a glance at the front of Barber’s jeans, Parker suppressed a sigh of relief. Zipper up. “I’m the pesky detective. Always nosing around.”
“Jesus, bloody hell. Can’t you see we’re—?”
“We’re not,” Liv said as she pushed Barber away, hopped off the desk, straightened her blouse, grabbed her jacket, and moved to Parker’s side. “Are you looking for a dance partner or a debrief of the dinner at my mom’s?”
Parker smiled. “No time for dancing, but I do have questions. Could you spare some time?”
“I guess so. Excuse us, Tuck?”
“Do I have a choice?”
Liv seemed to consider the question. “No, you don’t.” She took a breath. “I think we’re done here.” Taking Parker’s elbow, she said, “Let’s find a quiet spot, okay?”
Lie Catchers Page 6