Across town, his son was coming to complete alertness after a deep meditative chant. His left foot was asleep from sitting in a cross-legged position for too long, but he didn’t mind. Unlike his father, he felt content and happy. The reorganized company was doing better than he’d expected, and the final layers of paint were being applied to the Chinook. Move day was scheduled for November 7th. He was looking forward to moving day not merely for the change of scenery, but for the symbolic act of renewal. He had taken great strides to remove the darkness from his life, and now he had a real chance at making a clean break of it. The interim job on the city council would be yet another opportunity to make amends.
He was deeply disturbed over the deaths of Leona Weinberg and Reed Longhoffer. Arrow Bay hadn’t had a homicide in nearly twenty years, excluding the incident with Susan Crane, which had technically not happened in Arrow Bay. Now they were facing two very bizarre unsolved crimes. He would have to talk to Adam Haggerty about how the case was going, assuming Haggerty would talk to him. He might still be holding a grudge.
The frost thickened, coating windshields and glazing leaves. Reverend Milly Crawford left her bungalow on the far side of the churchyard, walking slowly past the roses that lined the walkway to the white and blue-trimmed rectory. Some of them still had blossoms, now iced with a glittering layer of frost. She marveled at their beauty for a moment before heading into the church, hoping the frost hadn’t killed the roses but making plans for other plants if it had.
As she stepped into the church, she abruptly stopped short. The air was sweet with the scent of stargazer lily. She looked up at the altar and there were four enormous bouquets of them, arranged with sprigs of cedar boughs. She looked behind her for a moment, then closed and locked the door, approaching the altar cautiously.
Nothing else was out of the ordinary. They were in simple glass vases, their fragrance nearly overwhelming when so close. She didn’t see a card or any indication of who had left them. Smiling, she rearranged them so as not to interfere with services. She wondered who had left them, stopping in her tracks when she realized whoever had left them would have had to force their way into the church. Making a swift examination of the building, she saw nothing amiss. No broken glass, no forced locks, no broken down doors. All the windows were closed and locked. She had used her key to get into the church, so whoever had left the flowers had locked up when they left. Curious.
Deciding that one of her parishioners or her assistant Milo had brought them in, she shrugged it off, completely missing the note taped to the podium that read:
For fighting the goode fight!
* * *
On the other side of town, Jason Finnigan watched the sun rise from the kitchen window of Derek’s house.
It had not been a good night.
They had come home at two in the morning, right after last call and the bartender at the Bitter End had called them a cab to take them home. Jason wasn’t drunk, but Derek was close to passing out. It had taken all his strength to haul him up the stairs and get him into bed. Derek had been mumbling and had burst into tears more than once before finally nodding off a mere two hours ago. Jason was exhausted but not able to sleep.
Everything had crashed down on Derek after he had reported the note.
Adam Haggerty had been furious he when he discovered Derek had received a first note. Haggerty had lectured Derek for a full twenty minutes, pointing out that Derek could face charges of impeding the investigation. Derek told him he couldn’t be sure if the first letter was a joke or not.
Haggerty blinked, incredulous. “So that’s why you made sure not to handle it and put it carefully in a plastic bag?”
Haggerty told him he would like to speak to him alone. They went into one of the conference rooms and did not come out for ten minutes. Meanwhile, Detective Trumbo went over the note carefully but couldn’t find any prints to lift.
“Is it his shirt?” Jason said. “You know, Longhoffer?”
Sharon Trumbo eyed Jason for a moment, then nodded. She opened her mouth to say something else when the conference room door opened up and a very haggard looking Derek Brauer emerged.
“You better go rescue your friend,” she said sadly.
“He’s on his own for this one,” Jason said, furious at Derek.
“Does anyone recall seeing this letter delivered?” Adam Haggerty asked the room in general.
“I handle all the mail,” receptionist Doris Woolsey said. “It came in with the others. As I was busy, I handed the mail to Jason when he said he’d be happy to distribute the mail.”
“There’s no postmark on this letter,” Haggerty said.
“No, there is not,” said Doris. “When Dolly Flagler, the postmistress, catches a local letter from Arrow Bay to Arrow Bay she often just puts a black line through the stamp and moves it along. I suspect it’s not strictly protocol, but it does the trick.”
“And this came in today?”
“It was not in yesterday’s mail, nor was it on the floor when I arrived. Sometimes letters to the editor come through the slot on the door. Some people like, say, Clayton Leeks will drop a letter by after we’ve closed because they’re too cheap to mail it. Clayton did that yesterday.”
Haggerty sighed. “If you recognize another letter like this, do not open it. Call for me at once, please. Don’t even touch it, okay?”
Everyone nodded and watched as Haggerty and Trumbo left muttering to one another. Derek grabbed his pea coat and fled the building, Jason right behind him. They went out to the top of Cultus Mountain, where Derek stared out over the city of Arrow Bay sprawled below, the glacier-clad peak of Mount Baker rising in the east.
“You okay?” Jason asked.
“Yeah, I’m okay. Haggerty wasn’t very happy with me.”
Jason lighted up his pipe and puffed out a few rings of vanilla-scented tobacco. “Well, it was a pretty bone-headed thing to do, Derek. You’ve worked around the police long enough to know when you should be handing over evidence.”
“The police don’t always need to know everything.”
“Don’t start that bullshit again,” Jason said. “You were thinking you could break a big story. I’ve seen you pull stuff like this before.”
“This isn’t San Francisco, J.D. I’ve really got to prove myself here, and there isn’t a lot of opportunity to do it.”
“What a load of crap. You cemented your reputation breaking the whole mess with Susan Crane last year. You were hoping to do a one-up.”
“I—okay, so you’re right.”
“I know I am. And you had better watch it or whatever bridges you’ve started to build here will burn right up. With you on them.”
“You don’t think withholding that note… You don’t think it contributed to his death, do you? I mean if the police had known…if they’d had it…”
“There was no way of knowing from what you got who might have been a target. And I doubt it matters. Someone wanted that miserable son of a bitch dead. They were going to kill him no matter what.”
“We’re all suspects now, you know. Marion, Joyce, you, me. Everyone at the paper. Even David, though I don’t see how.”
“That’s pretty natural until he can pin down our whereabouts. I suppose David could have paid to have it done,” Jason pondered. “But then why wait all that time? And why do it right when he comes back? Why not do it when you’re out of the country?”
“I think you’re smarter than our illustrious detective.”
“I doubt that very much. Detective Trumbo and Haggerty have to rule out everyone. God knows plenty of people at the paper had motive to do him in.”
“How can you say that?”
“Easy,” said Jason. “It’s the truth. Marion could have killed him for the hatchet job Reed had done on her reputation by printing up that story he wrote with her name on it. Joyce and Doris both hated him.”
Derek looked down at the ground. “I couldn’t live with myself, you know, thinking t
hat I had…in some way contributed to someone’s death. Even someone as hateful as Reed Longhoffer.”
“This is me you’re talking to, Derek. You put your own goddamn family in danger covering that story in San Francisco. You really expect me to believe that you’d feel some remorse over that old homophobe getting offed? Don’t even try that on me.”
Staring out the window, bathed in the cold light of the frosty morning, Jason still wasn’t entirely sure if Derek’s actions had had any direct effect or not. It didn’t matter if Derek had thought it was a hoax or not. He should have taken the note to the police. Perhaps then, they could have assigned protection to Reed Longhoffer…but on the other hand, as Jason had pointed out, the note hadn’t said anything about Reed Longhoffer. One victim does not constitute a pattern.
Jason resisted the urge to call Jake and bounce his thoughts off him, but it was only six in the morning. Jason sighed and put on a pot of coffee, knowing there was going to be no sleep for him that day. Better get on with the day and try to put things into perspective.
Jason went into the living room and snapped on the television, stretching out on the couch. He would wait until it was a little more daylight, then sneak up to his brother’s house and pick up the last of his things. Glancing around at the living room, he wondered if he wasn’t making a mistake in moving in. He hoped Derek wouldn’t start to lean on him as he’d done in San Francisco when things had gotten bad for him before.
Jason snapped off the television. Getting up, he went to his room, stripped down to his underwear, pulled on long johns and his fishing clothes. Grabbing his hip waders and pole and tackle box, he decided to head down to the river and fish for a while to clear his thoughts.
* * *
An hour after Clint Shimmel’s vehicle had been pulled from the ditch, the first of Arrow Bay’s sanding trucks got underway, passing through High Street just after the sun rose. Jake’s eyes flitted open. Sam was clinging to him, and Barnaby and the two cats crowded on the bed. One of the cats was actually under the covers.
Feeling his throat completely dry, he sat up in bed, sniffing heavily. He felt no better than the day before, but no worse, save for the dawning realization that the furnace had gone out. Groaning, he struggled to get up, waking Sam in the process.
“Whazza?”
“Furnace went out. Again. I thought you were going to have that damn thing looked at.”
“Ugh,” said Sam, sitting up. “It’s cold.”
“Yes, we’ve established that,” said Jake, putting on his slippers. “Haven’t you got church or something today?”
“Not until nine. What’s wrong with the furnace?”
“It’s out.”
“I’ll go get it. You’re sick.”
“You look too cute in your flannel boxers. I’ll get it,” said Jake, stomping down the stairs. He paused at the foot to read the thermostat. Fifty-two degrees. Shivering, he continued down to the basement, when suddenly he stopped stock-still. Something wasn’t right. He couldn’t place a finger on what it was, but something was amiss. He looked the room over very carefully, from the exercise equipment to his desk, but nothing seemed out of place.
Irritated, he clomped over to the furnace and pulled the grate off it, bending down to reignite the pilot light. At once, the pilot ignited. Jake closed up the grate and watched for a moment with a satisfied smile as the furnace blustered into life.
It was then it hit him: there was something on his desk.
Jake thudded over and found a thick, green leather-bound journal leaning against the keyboard. It had one of his post-it notes attached, which simply said FOR NOTES in block letters. He picked it up and gave it a cursory glance, flipping it open. His name was embossed on the front inside cover. The pages were lined but blank. Sam could be very thoughtful.
He set the journal next to the keyboard and resisted the urge to fire up the computer. That could wait until the afternoon. All he wanted was a glass of orange juice, a piece of toast, and more cold meds. His sinuses felt less congested, and he felt considerably less achy as he trudged up the basement steps. He made sure the cats and Barnaby had plenty of food and water before pouring himself a glass of orange juice and dropping two pieces of buttermilk bread into the toaster. Sitting at the table, he cinched his robe around himself tighter, waiting for the house to warm as the furnace caught up. He’d have to call the repairman tomorrow.
Barnaby trotted through the room en route to his food dish as Sam came trundling in behind him, his hair sticking up in random directions like ruffled goose feathers. He walked over to the coffee pot and emptied the basket, adding fresh coffee and water. With a snap of the switch, he sat down at the table and rested his head on his hands, still only half awake.
“What time are you picking up your mother?” asked Jake.
“Eight thirty. What time is it now?”
“Almost seven thirty,” said Jake, rising as his toast popped up. “Toast?”
“Uh uh. Not hungry.”
“You’re not getting sick, are you?”
“Probably. You know how it is. We like to share everything,” he said with a yawn. “On second thought, toast sounds good.”
Jake dropped two pieces of bread in while adding butter and blackberry jam to his toast. He sat back at the table, bit into a piece of toast, and frowned. “Can’t taste anything,” he said.
“That’ll take a day or two,” said Sam, tilting his head as he heard the front door open up. Barnaby instantly looked up from his food dish in the pantry and took off for the door, skidding through the kitchen as he went.
“Jason?” Jake called out.
His brother entered the kitchen, still in his hip waders, looking exhausted. He gave Jake and Sam a hug and then sat down, sighing.
“You’re not sick too, are you?” asked Jake.
“No. Do I look that bad?”
“Like you haven’t slept all night,” Sam said.
“I haven’t. Had a bit of a rough night last night.”
“Everything okay?” asked Jake suspiciously.
“Oh, everything is fine. I think. Derek just pulled a boneheaded maneuver.” He launched into the story of everything that had happened, starting with the first note and ending with Haggerty lecturing Derek.
Jake listened very carefully, pausing long enough to swallow his first dose of Dayquil for the day. He sipped his orange juice and asked, “What did the note say? Exactly?”
“It said, ‘Two down, many to go. Watch your back enemies of Arrow Bay. A grim fate awaits you.’ And it was signed ‘A concerned citizen,’ although both words were misspelled. Included in the note was a piece of Reed Longhoffer’s blood-soaked shirt.”
“Zodiac,” said Jake, lost in thought.
“What?”
Jake shook his head. “Sorry. The Zodiac killer in San Francisco did the same thing in the late 1960’s. He killed a cab driver and cut a piece out of the guy’s blood soaked shirt. He then sent swatches of it in with certain letters to prove they were really from him.”
“God, I’d forgotten all about that. They still talk about it at the Chronicle. This guy is really sick.”
“I won’t argue with that,” said Jake. “But I have to give him an F on creativity. At least as far as the notes go. That’s a copycat method, and even the way of making the notes is horribly clichéd. Any idea of what papers they were from?”
“The police are looking into that, but Derek felt certain they were from the Examiner.”
“They probably are. This guy is no idiot. These crimes have been thought out. Yet he is going to the trouble to make himself look less intelligent by the spelling mistakes. He can’t possibly be fooling anyone. Haggerty must see…that…” said Jake, his voice trailing off, his eyes glazing over.
He got up and rushed out of the room, opening the front door. He stared over at Leona Weinberg’s house in complete disbelief. “Oh…no! I knew something had been bothering me about all of this, but I couldn’t put my finge
r on it. How could I have been so blind?”
“Jake, what is it?” Sam asked, his voice etched with concern.
Jake spun around to face Sam and Jason. “What do you see?”
“What? Leona Weinberg’s house.”
“Right. But what do you see?”
Sam shrugged. “It’s empty. You can tell no one has been in there in a while. Has a feeling of abandonment.”
Jake shook his head. “No, you’re not being literal enough. Look at the house again and tell me what you see.”
“A white house with red shutters with little hearts cut in them,” Jason answered. “And a whole bunch of dwarves in the yard.”
“Bingo.”
“I don’t follow,” said Sam.
“How did Snow White die?”
“Well, she didn’t, not really,” said Jason.
“I’ve got it,” Sam said.
“I’m still not following.”
“Snow White. When the witch was trying to get her, what did she give her?”
“A poisoned apple,” said Jason, grinning.
“And Reed?” asked Sam.
“Eaten by a wolfhound, more or less,” said Jake. “You remember what Reed always wore?”
“That damn red hat!” Sam nearly yelled.
“Exactly. No one goes around with a red hood on anymore, unless you’re talking a sweatshirt, and Reed wasn’t the sweatshirt-wearing type,” said Jake. “It’s a bit of a stretch, but it’s not completely out of range.”
“Red Riding Hood?” Jason said uncertainly.
“I suspect the killer had to fudge a bit, as who the hell could lay their hands on a real wolf these days, but it’s no mistake it was a wolfhound.”
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