Double Dutch Death

by Karen Musser Nortman

  Also by Karen Musser Nortman

  The Mystery Sisters

  Reunion and Revenge

  Foliage and Fatality

  The Frannie Shoemaker Campground Mysteries

  Bats and Bones

  The Blue Coyote

  Peete and Repeat

  The Lady of the Lake

  To Cache a Killer

  A Campy Christmas

  The Space Invader

  Real Actors, Not People

  We Are NOT Buying a Camper! (a prequel)

  The Time Travel Trailer Series

  The Time Travel Trailer

  Trailer on the Fly

  Trailer, Get Your Kicks!

  Happy Camper Tips and Recipes

  Double Dutch Death

  by Karen Musser Nortman

  Cover Art by Ace Book Covers

  Copyright © 2019 by Karen Musser Nortman. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means (including photocopying, recording or information storage and retrieval) without permission in writing from the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is purely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter One

  As Maxine Berra drove along the main thoroughfare of Little Sneek, Iowa, she admired how the hood of her 1950 red Studebaker complimented the red tulips in beds lining the roadway. It was time for the spring Tulip Fest, and besides the brilliant shades of red, the beds also sported yellow, pink, orange, and purple blooms—multicolored crowns perched on straight stems.

  Max’s sister, Lillian Garrett, gazed out the passenger window at the kaleidoscope of color. “Breathtaking, isn’t it? But I still can’t believe that anyone would name a town ‘Little Sneek.’” She chuckled.

  Max sighed. “I told you, it’s because there’s a city named Sneek in the Netherlands.”

  “I know, but that doesn’t mean you’d have to use the name again. And the college—how much credibility would you have with a degree from Little Sneek College?”

  “Well, a degree in botany from Little Sneek would be better than one in law enforcement.” Max snorted at her own joke. “Are you watching the GPS to tell me when to turn?”

  “Oh, right.” Lil glanced down at her phone. “It looks like about two blocks to Water Street. You’ll turn left and Bess’s house should be three blocks down on the right.”

  “Okay, pay attention. We can sight-see later.”

  Lil grimaced but didn’t say anything. She had over seventy years’ experience putting up with her older sister’s bossiness.

  Water Street was a scene out of a Norman Rockwell painting. Large overhanging trees shaded both sides of the street. Large manicured lawns with immaculate landscaping fronted half-timbered Tudor homes, Craftsman bungalows, Victorian painted ladies, and Prairie style houses.

  Bess and Dean Gregory’s house was, appropriately, a Dutch colonial with a blue roof and shutters. Red and white tulips bordered the evergreen shrubs and mock orange bushes bloomed along the front.

  Bess was Max and Lil’s cousin. They had grown up together in the southern Minnesota town of Castleroll. Max and Lil liked to travel the country but tried as much as possible to stay with relatives and friends to save money. Not that it was a necessity; Max enjoyed a comfortable pension from her years as a botany professor in Colorado, and Lil’s husband had left her an adequate inheritance. However, there didn’t seem to be any reason not to take advantage of good opportunities. And Bess was a favorite cousin of theirs.

  Bess and Dean were raking one of the flower beds when Max pulled in the driveway. Bess, a short barrel-chested woman with slender legs, dropped her rake and whooped a greeting. Her silver bobbed hair lifted around her face in the slight breeze.

  Max leaned forward to shut off the car. She started at a sudden burst of warm, moist air on her neck, accompanied by a pathetic whine. “Rosie! Back! Back!” She ducked out of the trajectory of the Irish setter’s hot breath.

  Lil opened her door and beckoned the dog. During long trips, Rosie curled up in the back seat, content to snooze. But once they stopped, she stood rocking back and forth as she tried to get a stable footing and prepared to make a dash for the first opened door. Her exits weren’t pretty, and woe to anyone who stood in her way. Lil knew that from experience and stepped to one side to avoid the red-haired missile.

  Bess rushed to greet them and hold Max’s door for her. Max lumbered out, joints stiffened by the long drive. Once she had stretched, she felt a little more herself.

  Bess gave her a hug. Dean picked up Bess’s rake and leaned it with his own against the house before he ambled over. He held out a hand to Max. They had only met a few times at family events because over the years, families and careers made if difficult for the cousins to get together often. Dean was tall—Jeff to Bess’s Mutt— with thinning strawberry blond hair brushed across his shiny scalp. A ready smile tempered his ruddy complexion.

  “Welcome! We’re so glad you’re here for the Tulip Fest. Lots going on this weekend.” He pointed at the trunk of the car. “Can I help with luggage?”

  Max nodded. “Sure. I hope you don’t mind the dog. She’s pretty low key once she gets used to new surroundings.” She thought she saw Bess grimace, but Dean waved off her apology as he pulled a suitcase from the trunk.

  “We’ve had dogs—well, it’s been awhile—but don’t worry about it. I’ll enjoy her company.” He leaned down and scratched Rosie behind the ears. She looked at him with adoration.

  Bess grabbed one of the bags and led the way into the house, chatting about the Tulip Fest. “There’s a lighted parade tonight after dark that’s just wonderful. Tomorrow will be dancing demonstrations and street cleaning…Dean plans to give you a personal guided tour of the windmill. He’s one of the volunteer docents.” Inside, she led them up an open stairway and to a door on the right. “Max, I’m going to put you in here. The Blue Room—“ she giggled. “I guess that’s obvious.”

  Crisp Blue Delft patterned wallpaper provided a backdrop for a whitewashed dresser and bed, which was decked with a blue and white quilt. Cobalt blue vases of yellow tulips stood on the dresser and night stand. Copies of paintings by the Dutch masters hung in simple frames—one of course being The Girl with the Pearl Earring. Blue roman shades covered the double windows topped by handmade lace valances.

  “It’s lovely.” Max smiled at Bess. A mass of fur slammed into her behind her knees, causing them to almost buckle. One of Rosie’s worst habits.

  “Rosie!” The dog barged past Max and headed for a big blue-checked pillow on the floor at the end of the bed. She stepped into the dog bed, circled twice, flopped down and sighed, looking back at them all with great innocence.

  “I thought she might enjoy her own bed. I-uh-kept it after we lost our Bluebell seven years ago, and it has come in handy.”

  “Thank you,” Max said. Bess was obviously a little embarrassed that she still had the dog bed after all this time, but Max was glad that she did.

  Yellow and white striped flounces and black-and-white gingham accents festoone
d Lil’s room. While the decor was not to Max’s taste, she recognized it as fresh and charming and reflecting Bess’s personality.

  Dean and Bess left them to unpack. “Dinner will be ready in about half an hour.” Bess started down the stairs.

  Dinner included a Greek pasta salad, fresh rolls, and, of course, Dutch apple pie. Conversation centered around catching up on the family news and Max and Lil’s recent travels. As they sat around the table afterwards finishing their coffee, Bess reminisced about some of the overnights they spent at their Grandma Jacobsen’s.

  “I doubt if our parents would have even let us stay over if they knew some of the antics we got up to,” Lil said.

  “Remember the time—I think we were about eight or nine—when we talked her into letting us sleep in the attic?” Max asked.

  “Oh, do I! I think it was soon after Grandpa died and our folks thought we would be good company for Grandma,” Bess said.

  Max said drily, “Little did they know.”

  “It wasn’t a finished attic,” Bess told Dean. “Just a plain old-house attic.”

  “There were a couple of hammocks suspended from the beams, and that’s where we slept,” Lil said.

  Max snorted. “In the middle of the night, we were supposed to be asleep and a bat swooped down over us.”

  The memories tumbled out faster. “Grandma thought we were being attacked by Genghis Khan and the Mongols,” Lil added.

  “So who caught the bat?” Dean asked.

  Bess shrugged. “Nobody. We made it down the steps and Grandma shut the door and that was that. It probably died up there of old age.”

  A scratching sound drew their attention to the French doors.

  “Oh, you have a cat?” Lil asked.

  “No,” Bess said. “Several feral cats live in the neighborhood. We’ve had Animal Control pick them up but they seem to reappear. That one is the saddest looking of the bunch.”

  The cat, a gray mongrel, half-heartedly groomed itself and then ambled away. “He almost looks like Bill the Cat from the old Bloom County comic strip,” Max said.

  Dean studied the retreating animal. “You’re right. I hadn’t made that connection. A lady down the street feeds them; that’s why they keep showing up.”

  “Apparently that one is the last in the dinner line,” Max said. “You should take him in, Bess.”

  Bess grimaced. “I hate cats.”

  After a pause, Lil asked, “Where did you say that you work as a docent, Dean?”

  “At the windmill. It’s pretty amazing. It was designed and built in Holland; then taken apart and shipped here where our workmen reconstructed it. It’s the largest working windmill in the US. We actually grind grain there.”

  Max licked the last crumbs of pie off her fork. “How did you happen to get involved?”

  “Well, you know I was an accountant until I retired. A friend on the museum board asked if I would help with the foundation’s books, so I was around when the plans for the mill were being formulated. It just fascinated me. Sometimes old technology is more amazing than new technology. By the time they got the thing up and running, I knew all about it and you know—nothing’s more fun than to talk about something you love.” Dean laughed. He pushed his chair back and began to stack the plates.

  Lil got up. “Sit still. I’ll take care of this. That was a great meal.”

  “Oh, that’s not necessary,” Bess said. “You’re our guests—”

  Dean reached over and put his hand over hers. “Dear, remember the rule. Just say thank you.”

  She smiled and leaned back in her chair. “Thank you.”

  Max joined her sister, embarrassed that she had not been the one to suggest helping. Score one point for Lil.

  They had decided that they would only take in the lighted parade and forego any other activities that evening, since Max and Lil had had a long drive. Dean drove them first through the Little Sneek College campus. Nineteenth century buildings sat widely spaced between huge trees. Vintage-looking street lights cast circles of light illuminating brick paths and beds of flowers in the descending darkness.

  Max leaned forward from the back seat. “I don’t know much about this school. How many students do they have?”

  “I think around 1,500,” Bess said.

  “That’s about the size of SBC, where I taught.” Max nodded and then asked “Why on earth did they keep that name or even choose it in the first place?”

  Bess laughed. “They talked about changing it a few years back, but the consensus was that people don’t forget this name.”

  “I’m sure that’s true,” Lil said.

  “Is the college pretty well endowed?” Max wanted to know. “That can be a big problem for some small schools.”

  Dean nodded. “They get a lot of help from local industry. But there are always campaigns going on.” He paused to chuckle. “One of the guys on our street is a fundraiser for them. He’s always hinting that we need to make a donation. I graduated from here, but, as you know, Bess was a Golden Gopher. She would rather donate our vast estate to the U of M. We haven’t agreed yet on what to do.”

  “I say whoever lives the longest gets to decide.” Bess laughed and pointed out some flower beds. “We’ll come back in the day time to see the tulip beds here; they are unmatched, even in this town.”

  “I’m impressed that the town gets into this event so much. Every house seems to have tulip beds,” Max said.

  “Here’s how that works,” Bess said. “Every fall, the Heritage Foundation buys 150,000 bulbs and plants them at the college, the museum and the city garden. Then after they are done blooming the next spring and the foliage has died, the bulbs are dug up and lined up along the curb for anyone to take. That’s how they’ve gotten so many planted around the town.”

  Max sat back in her seat. “Wow. That’s amazing. Very smart

  They drove over a quaint bridge and were back in the business district. “That is the Schild Canal. It goes all the way around the campus.”

  “You mean like a moat?” Lil asked.

  “Actually the name does mean ‘shield,’ but since 1882, when the college was established, I don’t think it’s ever been under attack.” He laughed to himself.

  Max couldn’t resist. “Not even a sneak attack?”

  “Oh, bad. Very bad.” Dean pulled the car into an off-street lot with a sign that said ‘Parade Parking.’ He turned in his seat to look at Max and Lil. “We’ll have about a two-block walk from here. That all right?”

  They assured him it was fine and followed the couple to the courthouse square. People lined both sides of the street around the square. Max, Lil, Dean, and Bess were lucky to find a small gap in the crowd where they could wiggle in for a front row view.

  The spectacular parade featured people in colorful traditional Dutch costumes who rode on floats designed as riverboats, gazebos, and other structures. All of them sparkled with white and blue twinkling lights. Dancers in wooden shoes clogged along the street. High school bands from neighboring towns provided music, their instruments lighted by glow sticks.

  Bess ducked into a bakery behind them and came back with a Dutch letter for each. Lil and Max both raved about the flakey pastry shaped as S’s.

  Dean pointed out the windmill a block down the street.

  “Wow!” Max said. “I had no idea it was so tall.”

  “Over one-hundred-twenty feet,” Dean said, his pride evident.

  “Hey, neighbor!” A gray-haired, bearded man clapped Dean on the shoulder. His outfit seemed a little too contrived for a small Iowa town—khakis, loafers with no socks, a blue button-down shirt and a white sweater slung over his shoulder.

  Dean turned and held out his hand. “Good to see you, James. Been out of town?”

  James nodded. “Just the Dakotas for a couple of days. Chasing some potential donors. That reminds me—have you thought any more about a gift?”

  Dean frowned. “How about if we discuss it later?”

>   “Sure, sure. My bad—inappropriate time.” James turned to Max and Lil. “And who are these lovely ladies?” He held out his hand.

  Oh brother. Max wiped pastry off her fingers and returned the handshake with a forced smile.

  “My wife’s cousins—Maxine Berra and Lillian Garret, this is James Meijer. Max and Lil are here for the Tulip Fest.”

  “Great!” James rattled their teeth with his handshake. “Enjoy it—it’s been perfect weather for the tulips. I hope to see you again while you’re here.” He walked on down the street.

  “If he does, ladies, hang on to your purses,” Dean muttered.

  “Is that the guy you mentioned earlier?” Lil asked.

  “The fundraiser? Yes.”

  Bess put her hand on her husband’s arm as if to restrain him. “He isn’t that bad. You just feel pressured right now because you haven’t made a decision.”

  Dean ran his finger through his hair. “I suppose you’re right. Should we call it a night and head back to the car? I’ve got an early morning.”

  Chapter Two

  The next morning, Max woke to the sun peeking around the edges of the Roman shade. She lay there a few moments reorienting herself in time and place. It looked like another pleasant day—what little she could see of it—and Bess had mentioned several interesting events on the schedule.

  As she turned in the bed, she felt a little stiff and thought she’d better do some stretches. And maybe a walk—Rosie! She realized that Rosie hadn’t been the one to wake her up—a very unusual occurrence. She switched on the bedside lamp and rolled out of the bed.

  The dog bed was still at the foot of her bed. Something must be wrong. When she leaned over to look, Rosie lazily raised her head and thunked it back down.

  “Are you all right, girl?” Max’s concern caused her voice to squeak. Rosie’s tail slapped the polished wood floor. “Can you stand up?” Her stomach knotted at the thought of something awry with her long-time companion.