“Let’s start to the right,” Bess suggested.
Each bed was clearly labeled with the varieties.
“I didn’t realize there were so many types.” Lil bent over some pale yellow flowers edged with white. “Lemon meringue,” she read aloud. “What a perfect name. And I never heard of parrot tulips and lily-flowered tulips like those last beds. Just beautiful.”
They ambled on along the paths, stopping to examine each variety. In the center, two women sold glasses of lemonade and iced tea to benefit the ‘Friends of the Little Sneek Tulip Fest.’ They took their cups to a nearby bench and sat, absorbing all the wonderful colors.
“It’s hard to fully enjoy, though, with all that’s gone on,” Lil said, “And I can’t imagine what a shock this must all be to you.”
“It does seem surreal, doesn’t it? All of this beauty and the dark cloud of murder over everything.”
They finished their lemonade, pitched their cups in a brightly painted trash can, and moved on. A pond edged with pink and white tulips and bluebells sat in the center of the garden. They circled it and followed the paths back to the entrance in a meandering route. Bess glanced at her watch. “Time to get back and do something about supper, I think. Have you had enough?”
“Oh, yes,” Lil said. “It’s amazing. I need to bring Max back here. The paths are wide enough for the wheelchair.”
“Good idea.”
Meanwhile, Max read a bit and then dozed in her chair. A sharp whistle followed by a yell of “Sneekers! Come here!” brought her awake. A tan and white Pomeranian raced across the back yard followed by a familiar-looking man.
The dog successfully played a game of keepaway, dodging back and forth each time his master neared, until finally he was cornered against the back fence. The man grabbed him and turned, the dog struggling in his arms. As he started back toward the front of the house and presumably the sidewalk, the man spotted Max, and she realized it was James Meijer.
“Oh, hi! Ms. Berra, isn’t it?” He walked toward her while trying to quiet the dog.
“Yes.” Max was thinking how Lil insisted he was ‘creepy.’ Lil tended to be a little skittish though. Well, more than a little.
“What happened to you?” He pointed at her foot propped up on pillows. Her walker stood next to the chair.
“Sprained my ankle—taking a stupid wooden-shoe dancing lesson yesterday. My own fault.”
“Ouch,” he said. “Those wooden shoes get a lot of newbies. I bet that made it hard to take in the festivities.”
“A little.”
“Maybe I should take you out for a nice supper. Is Dean home?”
The sudden switch of topics gave her a slight jolt. If he was asking for a date, he wasn’t very suave about it. It was more like he was making a comment to himself but hadn’t decided yet. Maybe he was a jerk.
“No, he’s got my dog out for a walk. May I give him a message?”
“No, I just need to get with him sometime about his bequest to the college. Well, Bess too. I’ll see you around.”
Apparently not for supper.
Meijer disappeared around the corner of the house.
When Dean returned, Rosie loped over to her mistress like a kid home from kindergarten, eager to share the events of her day. Max told Dean about her visitor.
“Geesh, that guy doesn’t give up. He makes it sound like I’ve committed to something and I haven’t. There is no bequest yet. And like I said, Bess is planning a gift to Minnesota.” He jerked a thumb toward the kitchen. “I’m such a great husband, I’m going to start supper. How do chicken salad croissants sound?”
“Great. Are you entering some kind of husband contest?”
“No, I just like to remind Bess, so she doesn’t forget.”
Max reached for her walker and hoisted herself up. “I’ll help. If I sit around any longer, I’m going to rot.”
“We wouldn’t want that. It smells up the place.” In the kitchen, he arranged a seat for her and assigned her the task of chopping up celery and grapes.
“What do you really think about these murders? Do you have a favorite candidate?” Max asked.
“Favorite. That’s an odd term under the circumstances. All of the possible suspects we’ve discussed are friends or at least acquaintances. They are people I wouldn’t expect to jaywalk, let alone murder someone.”
“Hmmm. That’s a problem.”
“So, have we stumped the famous Mystery Sisters?”
Max laughed. “The only way we’d be famous is if we actually killed someone.”
“Well, I guess I’m your alibi for both murders so that’s out.” He scooped up the celery and grapes into the bowl of chicken salad. “So, what else?” He opened the refrigerator and perused the contents. “There’s some fresh asparagus here.”
“My favorite Midwest springtime treat. Do you grow your own?”
“No, but our next door neighbor has a big patch and they are very generous. We could roast it.”
“Good idea. So is James’ fundraising position salaried by the college?”
Dean shook his head. “I think he’s a private contractor.”
“Does that mean he gets a percentage of what he raises?”
“I think so.” Dean’s cell phone rang. He answered it, spoke briefly and hung up. “A friend from church. Helen Bakke’s visitation is going to be tomorrow afternoon at the local funeral home.”
“So soon?”
“Apparently she had everything all arranged. That sounds like Helen.”
Lil and Bess arrived back. Lil gushed praises about the garden to Max. “We need to go back there and I’ll take you around in the wheelchair. You gotta see this place.” She showed her sister a few shots she had taken on her phone.
“I would love to. I think the ankle’s getting better.”
“Well, then, shall we dance out onto the patio for supper?” Dean asked.
Max turned to Bess. “How do you put up with this?”
Bess loaded plates and flatware onto a tray. “I consider him a charitable cause.”
Over supper, they continued their discussion of the murders. Dean told Bess and Lil about Helen’s visitation. “So the autopsy must be finished,” Lil said. “I wonder what they found.”
“No idea, but I imagine they told the family. I don’t think they would withhold it from them,” Dean said.
Max related her visit from James. “I agree, Lil—he is a little creepy.”
Lil put down her fork and stared. “Wow! Mark this day down on the calendar! Three compliments in one day.”
“Oh, hush,” Max said.
After supper, Dean looked at his watch. “It’s still early enough to catch the national night news. We can clear the dishes after. I want to see if there’s anything on about the murders.”
They all adjourned to the living room. The broadcast began with a report on the Middle East and the stock market. The death of a Seventies rock star and a feel good story about a lost dog took up the middle.
Finally, the anchor turned to the camera, backed by a screen filled with brilliant tulips. “And in Little Sneek, Iowa, the term ‘Iowa nice’ didn’t exactly apply this weekend.” The screen switched to a view of the Little Sneek Windmill. “In the middle of the annual Tulip Fest, two bizarre murders of upstanding citizens and philanthropists shocked the citizens and tourists alike. Some even question the wisdom of continuing this long standing tradition. On Saturday morning, the body of Peter Devries was discovered when a volunteer guide raised a bag that he expected to be full of grain through half a dozen trapdoors to the top of the old mill where the grinding stones are.” A short video of a bag coming up through the floor, with the loud slam of the trapdoors marking its passage.
The bag appeared quite lumpy, as if there was actually a body in it.
“There wasn’t a camera on, was there, Dean?” Max asked.
Dean scoffed. “No, this was staged or doctored. That Channel 17 team called Wanita and wanted to film
a reenactment. She refused and the police also said absolutely not. They are not going to be happy. They’ve even gotten a call from that Sensational Crime TV show. People are crazy.”
The news report went on to describe the death of Helen Bakke without any dramatization. “Thank goodness for that, anyway,” Bess said.
Chapter Eleven
Monday was another busy day. They took a ride around town in the morning to see the display of tulip beds. Lil was able to give Max a tour of the city garden in the wheel chair. Helen Bakke’s visitation was scheduled for mid-afternoon.
Lil asked Max when they were touring the garden, “Do you think we should go?”
Max thought a moment. “Normally, I wouldn’t. But it might be a chance to find out something. And, you know, Erik Bakke is currently my doctor.”
“Sneaky.” Lil smiled. “Pun intended.”
Dean dropped Lil off at the quilt shop to meet Wanita Eldridge.
“Are you sure you don’t want to join them, Maxine?”
“No, I don’t,” Max said firmly, at the same time as Lil said, “No, she doesn’t.“
Dean laughed. “Well, that seems decided then. I’ll take Max back to the house. If you need a ride back, give me a call, but I bet Wanita will bring you home.”
Lil stepped out of the bright sunlight into the quaint corner shop, pausing a moment to let her eyes adjust.
“Yoohoo!” came a call from the back. Lil turned and saw Wanita Eldridge waving from behind a row of bolts displaying licensed fabrics—everything from Disney to Pokemon to Winnie the Pooh.
Lil made her way through the aisles. She ran her hand along the bolts, appreciating the graduated shades and patterns in each single color. Something about this orderly arrangement, common to many quilt stores, always made her feel secure and at peace. The calm greens, the serene blues, and the sunny yellows were as restorative as a pleasant day outdoors.
Wanita was holding a bolt of a Star Wars fabric next to two coordinating blue and red prints. “I want to do a quilt for my nephew’s boy. He’s eight and loves Star Wars stuff.”
“That looks like fun. Do you have grandchildren, too?”
“No.” Wanita looked resigned. “Harry’s my only child and he never married. You?”
“Two. My son’s children. My daughter is still single too—her career, you know.” Lil smiled and pulled a bolt of red, black, and blue stripes off the shelf. “This would be cute with that, too.”
Wanita brightened. “Oh, you’re right. I could use one of these prints for the back. I’ll just take these up to the cutting counter and then look some more. Do you have a project in mind?”
Lil followed her with the striped fabric. “Nothing in particular. I was thinking of doing a wall hanging or table runner or something for a benefit auction that we have for our food pantry in November.”
“They have some great Christmas prints here that would be good for that.” Wanita laid the bolts on the counter and gave yardage instructions to the clerk. After the woman wrote the amounts on small slips of paper and pinned one to each bolt, Wanita and Lil moved to the section of holiday prints.
“How long have you been retired, Wanita?” Lil pulled one bolt after another out, gave each a critical eye, and either put it back or laid it on top of the standing bolts for further consideration.
“Ten years this spring. Oh, look at this one—all Christmas trains!”
“That is cute. Put it on my stack here. It’s so hard to choose.” Lil unrolled a yard or so of a fabric with holly sprigs and pine cones on a beige background. “I love this one. We certainly enjoyed lunch at your son’s restaurant the other day. Has he always liked to cook?”
“Yes, he has. He went through the culinary program at the college here.”
“The Rotterdam Room is run by those students, isn’t it? We had supper there Saturday night—wonderful meal.”
Wanita’s voice dropped. “Were you there when they found Helen Bakke?”
“Yes, we were. We’re starting to feel like a jinx on the town. I understand that her visitation is this afternoon. Did you know her?”
Wanita clutched a bolt to her chest and stared off in the distance “Yes, we worked on several projects together. A wonderful person.”
“That’s what everyone says. What a shame.” Lil pulled two bolts from the stack she had made. “I’ll go with these. You know, I think I’ll get a yard or two of that Christmas trains one to make hot pads out of—good small gifts.”
“Great idea,” Wanita said. “I’ll bring it up to the counter.”
The clerk cut the pieces they requested and soon both Lil and Wanita carried bright folds of fabric to the checkout counter and got their purchases bagged. Lil asked if she could get a ride back to Bess’.
“Certainly, I’m parked just down the street.”
As they rounded the block, they passed by the Dutch Treat. Lil was reminded of Harry and his interest in Peter DeVries’ tulips.
“When we had lunch there the other day, your son was talking about his work in hybridizing tulips. That must be interesting. Is he self-taught or did he take classes in that?”
Wanita frowned. “Harry? You must have misunderstood him. He grows quite a few tulips but I don’t think he’s done any hybridization. He’s never mentioned it to me.”
“Maybe I did misunderstand.” Lil decided not to bring up seeing Harry around Peter’s house the day before.
Over lunch on the patio, Lil related her visit with Wanita to Dean, Bess and Max. “Didn’t you get the impression that Harry also hybridizes tulips?” she asked Bess and Max.
“I think I was the one who said that because Harry’s told me that before.” Bess said.
Max nodded. “You did. And he didn’t disagree.”
“You would think his mother would know. Aren’t they very close?” Lil asked.
“Oh, yes. Harry takes care of his mother’s gardens. Surely they talk about the hybrids.”
“Sounds like there’s something fishy about Harry,” Dean said. “And I’m not referring to anything on the Dutch Treat menu.” He winked, eliciting a couple of groans.
The line was long at the funeral home that afternoon. However, the wheelchair got them admittance to a side entrance.
The large viewing room was traditionally furnished in muted colors. Soft generic music played in the background, and likewise, visitors kept their voices low. Dean pushed Max’s chair toward Erik Bakke, who was visiting with a young couple near a closed coffin draped with a spectacular arrangement of tulips.
The couple moved on, and Erik turned to them.
“Thank you for coming.” His voice was flat and toneless at first, but then his face relaxed as he recognized them. “And thank you for your support the other night. I still can’t wrap my head around this.” He shook his head as if that would help.
Bess took Erik’s hand and squeezed it. “We’re very sorry for your loss.”
Erik looked at her sadly. “I understand Anna told you about Peter?”
“Yes, she did,” Bess said.
“Both parents in one day, murdered. I can’t grasp it.”
“Did you have any inkling—about Peter being your father, I mean?” Bess asked.
Erik pushed his hair back and glanced around the room. “Not until Hans and I had our DNA done recently. When we asked Mother about it this past Thursday, she admitted the truth. I confronted Peter. He apologized for never acknowledging me, broke down in tears in fact. He didn’t want to ruin Mother’s marriage.” He paused again and looked away. “Said he was changing his will in my favor. Not that that matters—I don’t need it. But so many years missed. And now it’s too late.”
Dean said, “You said both parents murdered. So your mother’s death wasn’t an accident?”
Erik shook his head. “The police said she was hit on the back of the head before she went into the canal.”
“Like Peter,” Max said, almost to herself.
“What do you mean?” Erik
asked.
“The back of Peter’s head was misshapen,” Dean explained. “We don’t know the official cause but I saw it when—you know.”
“I don’t get it.” Erik shook his head again. “I don’t get it. There weren’t two people who did more for this community than my mother and my—Peter DeVries. I—what’s that jerk doing here?” He was looking toward the door.
“Harry Eldridge?” Bess asked, following his eyes.
“He apparently found out about Peter being my father and has left several messages on my voicemail about the tulip hybrids Peter was working on. Excuse me.” He started toward the door. They watched as Anna Bakke headed him off. They exchanged a few words, and Erik turned back to Dean’s group while Anna went to confront Harry. After a brief conversation and handshake, Harry left.
Erik looked a little sheepish when he returned to the group. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. I just don’t know how the guy can be so unfeeling. Good thing my sister-in-law has more tact than me.”
“It’s a difficult time,” Lil said. “I don’t think he gets that.”
“Funny—his mother is one of the most considerate people you’ll ever meet. Well, thank you again for coming. I’d better move on and visit with others. There are refreshments in the side parlor. Please help yourselves.”
He turned toward a new group of visitors and Dean took the opportunity to scan the room. “Oh, oh—there’s Detective Wilkins. Maybe he’s decided you girls are suspects. He’s headed this way.”
Bess gave her husband a light tap on his arm. “For heaven’s sake, Dean, behave yourself.”
Wilkins reached their group. “Good afternoon. This is a sad business.”
“Yes, it is,” Bess said. “We just finished talking to Dr. Bakke and were going to have some refreshments in the other room. Would you care to join us?”
“I will after I give my condolences to the family. I do have a couple more questions for you.”
As Dean pushed Max’s chair toward the side parlor, he leaned forward and whispered, “Told you so.”
“Dean! Quit it,” Bess said. They each picked up a cup of coffee or glass of iced tea, a napkin, and a cookie. They found seats in a line of folding chairs against a window wall.
Double Dutch Death Page 8