Conspiracy of Silence

by Martha Powers

  “No. If anything she looks a little like me. I knew it was Clare at the art show because she was wearing the quartz heart necklace I’d given her mother.”

  “Sothat’s why you fell out of your chair,” Ruth said. “I thought it was strange at the time because you’re never that clumsy. And all the time we were in the booth you couldn’t take your eyes off her. You seemed fascinated by her.”

  “I was. She was all grown up and so beautiful. I was stunned that she was in Grand Rapids, since we’d tried to erase the city from her memory. And she was investigating the murder. I was frightened that it would bring it all back to her. And, eventually, it did.”

  “Why are you telling us who you are now?” Nate asked.

  “Because I’m convinced Clare is in danger. Too many strange things have happened that indicate someone is trying to stop Clare from continuing the investigation. It all started when she came to Grand Rapids. Since Clare didn’t kill her mother, someone else did. I think that person is behind the attacks on Clare.”

  Nate stood up and confronted Jake. “What proof do we have that you didn’t kill Lily? You and Bianca effectively destroyed any evidence that might establish either your guilt or your innocence. How do we know that you didn’t get to the boathouse ahead of Clare and shoot Lily?”

  Jake faced him unflinchingly. “If I had killed Lily, no one would be trying to hurt Clare.”

  Nate knew Jake was right. He too was convinced that Clare was in danger. He suspected that Margee Robinson had been murdered to keep her from talking to Clare. Even though he had found it hard to accept at the time, he believed Clare was right when she said the mystery car had tried to run her down.

  “It started with Rose,” Nate said. “It all started with the class ring. Everything else is distracting us from the one salient fact. Rose was meeting someone in the boathouse the night of the murder. Who was she meeting? Who was the old boyfriend?”

  “I don’t know,” Jake said, shaking his head. “Lily knew I didn’t approve of Rose so she tried to keep most of her sister’s indiscretions from me. However, everyone talked about her. The names that came up most often were Big Red Wiklander, Bruce Young, and Olli Egner.”

  “Pastor Olli?” Nate’s eyebrows rose in question.

  “There were always rumors about him being a womanizer. Especially in his younger days,” Jake said. “I think that’s why Bianca keeps such a close eye on him. I doubt if much goes on with Olli that she doesn’t know about.”

  “Neither Big Red nor Bruce graduated in 1962,” Ruth said. “Iran off the class list. They were not in that class. Actually, Pastor Olli is the right age but he moved to Minneapolis at the end of his junior year. He didn’t graduate with his class so it couldn’t be his class ring.”

  “Dad?”

  Nate had been so concentrated on Jake, he’d almost forgotten that Erika was in the room. She was shifting from foot to foot in excitement.

  “What is it, honey?”

  “Cindy’s brother got his class ring this year and he’s only a junior.”

  S

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Walking over to the door to the screened porch, Clare turned her back so that she was facing the woods and thought back to her dream to get her bearings. She walked to the edge of the woods looking for any evidence of the trail she had followed twenty-five years earlier. She wasn’t surprised not to find one, but as her eyes became more adjusted to the tangle of underbrush she was able to discern a game trail. She hoped whatever animals were using the track were searching for water. Since it was heading in the general direction of the lake, she followed it.

  It was rough going. She was dressed inappropriately for a woodland adventure. The straggly trees and bushes scratched her bare arms and shoulders. Elbows bent, she held her arms out, crossing them in front of her face. Flashlight it one hand and the screwdriver in the other, she took the brunt of the slashing branches on her lower arms.

  The path intersected with another wider trail and walking became easier. She could sense she was going downhill, but was so busy watching her footing to make sure she didn’t trip that she didn’t have time to look around. The track ended at a small clearing.

  Looking up, she could see a small patch of interwoven bushes. Past that was a portion of wood siding and the lake beyond. She had found the boathouse.

  Once more she navigated across the rotten planks until she reached the boarded up door. She was panting in the heat and a film of sweat covered her body. She brushed the leaves and twigs off her dress and muttered at a piece of torn ruffle that hung down from the hem. Her arms and legs were covered with scratches and red welts and the cut on her knee had reopened.

  Ignoring her discomfort, she drove the blade of the screwdriver under one of the boards covering the door. For leverage, she wedged the flashlight between the door and the screwdriver and pressed on the handle. Rocking the screwdriver back and forth, she heard the squeal of the rusted nails as they came away from the wood. Pulling at one end of the board, she pried it away from the frame.

  Working steadily she removed the three wooden slats that had blocked access to the door. The wooden hasp holding the padlock was next.

  She tried to unscrew the hasp but the screw heads were so corroded she couldn’t make any progress. Once more she tried to use the screwdriver as a lever, this time with little success. She set the tools down on the deck and surveyed the building. Eyeing the boarded-up window, she shivered at the thought of having to climb through the narrow opening.

  Reaching for the screwdriver lying next to the threshold, she remembered Nate’s comments when he was talking about getting into the boathouse. She nudged the threshold board with the blade of the screwdriver. The board moved slightly.

  She knelt down and jammed the screwdriver blade under the door at the far corner of the threshold. Shoving against the handle, she felt the threshold shift and the end slid several inches forward. Using her fingers, she pulled the entire board out from under the door. In the gap, originally covered by the threshold, lay a key.

  Picking up the key, she scratched the accumulated dirt off with her fingernails. She used the hem of her dress to rub it clean. Heart pounding in anticipation, she stood up and reached for the padlock.

  Sheswung the lock upward to expose the keyhole on the bottom. Her fingers shook as she inserted the key. It went in a

  306 MARTHA POWERS

  quarter inch then stopped. Pressing and wiggling it, she coaxed it into the slot until it was deep in the shaft. Taking a deep breath, she gripped the key and turned. The key was immobile.

  She bent over and picked up the screwdriver. Holding it by theblade end, she hit the top of the key with the handle, driving it deeper into the slot. She cracked it several more times in frustration, missing once and hitting her thumb instead.

  “Open,” she shouted. “Please, God, let it open.”

  She smashed it two more times for good measure. She was panting with the exertion and close to tears. Once more she gripped the padlock and turned the key.

  It moved.

  Only a slight movement, but it had definitely moved. Her hand was sweaty and she wrapped a corner of her skirt around the key to give her better leverage. She wiggled the key in the slot, twisting it back and forth. Each turn seemed to twist the key farther in the lock. Shifting her grip on the key, she tried again.

  The key turned. The body of the lock dropped, turning to the side as the bottom of the U-shaped shackle swung free.

  Clare let out a half sob, half laugh as the padlock fell to the deck. She swung back the hasp and pulled on the door. It opened with a loud squeal of protest from the hinges. Picking up the flashlight, she shined it inside the boathouse.

  Despite the layer of dust, the contents were the same jumble of random items that she could remember from her dream. The raft, long deflated, was a pile of cracked yellow rubber. The oars were still leaning against the wall. An old Minnesota license plate leaned against a wooden trun
k. Cans and cardboard boxes, fishing tackle and rods littered the room.

  Straight ahead was an old metal sign, hanging crookedly from a chain on the wall. Although covered with dust, the white skull and crossbones were still visible on the black background. A pirate scarf was tied around the head and there was a knife caught between the teeth. Above and below the pirate skull were the words: SURRENDER THEBOOTY. It was the pirate from her dreams. “Where do I even begin?”

  The words seemed to echo in the empty room. Clare stood in the doorway, her gaze running over the contents as she debated what to do next. For a starter, she could see if the metal box was still under the floor boards.

  Theboathouse was stifling hot. With the windows boarded up, even with the door open, there was no cross ventilation to offer any respite from the heat. She brushed away the sweat that rolled down her forehead and ran into her eyes.

  She moved to the back corner of the boathouse, shining the flashlight beam along the floor. She stepped on each board, watching for any shift. Finally, the end of one board gave under the weight of her foot.

  Kneeling on what was left of the rubber raft, she shined the flashlight on the floor and lifted up the loose board. In the hole between the floor joists she caught a glint of metal. Her fingers scraped against the next board, pulling it toward her until it too slid out. She reached into the hole and grabbed the edge of the metal box, turning it until she could pull it out by its short end.

  She set it on the floor in front of her knees. The box was badly rusted, the remnants of orange paint in patches on the side. It was a foot long, six inches wide and four deep. The corners were rounded and a collapsible handle was on the top. It was the box that Rose had put the letter in and it was the box she had seen on the floor the night of the murder.

  Fingers shaking, she reached for the latch.

  Heavy footsteps tapped across the deck. A shadowy figure was silhouetted against the sunlight outside the door.

  “What are you doing here?”

  S

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  “Dad! Look what time it is.” Erika pulled on Nate’s belt to get his attention. “I’m going to be late for the clogging show.” Nate looked at his watch. It was ten minutes to three. He’d have to leave immediately if he were to get her there on time. Clare was probably worried since they hadn’t arrived. He turned to Jake.

  “I need to go. We need to get Clare in on this discussion and then I think we ought to go to the police. As far as I’m concerned, you’re still Jake Jorgenson. At this point I don’t see that Jon Fogt needs to know any different.”

  He put out his hand. Jake placed one hand on his shoulder and gripped the outstretched hand with his own. The gaze they exchanged was one of mutual approval.

  “The show is in about an hour. Erika and I will bring Clare back to my place. Why don’t you meet us there and we’ll see if we come up with some plan before we go to the police?”

  In the car, Nate explained to Erika that she couldn’t tell anyoneabout Jake’s identity.

  “I’ve been very impressed at how well you’ve handled yourself today. Some of what you’ve heard may be frightening or confusing so I hope you’ll ask me questions if you’re upset at all. I realize at times you think I treat you like a baby. It’s only because I forget how grown up you are. Your mother would be as proud of you as I am.”

  “Thanks, Dad,” Erika said, her voice muffled by emotion. “And don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone anything that I heard. Especially about Clare. I think it was my fault that someone knew we were going to the logging camp. Miss Egner told everyone.”

  “Was that when Bianca overheard you telling Cindy who Clare was?”

  Erika fidgeted in her seat. “Yes. I was mad about you being so nice to Clare. I said I’d like to take her some place and ditch her. I asked Cindy to think of a place we could go. Miss Egner thought I was talking about some place I thought Clare would like to go. She said I should take her to the Forest History Center. Pastor Olli said it would be closed when we got there, but Miss Egner said we could still walk around the logging village ’cause it wouldn’t be dark yet.”

  “So Pastor Olli knew about the logging camp. Anyone else?”

  “When we got out in the main room, Cindy asked her dad if she could go with us if Clare said it was okay. He said no because she hadn’t practiced her scales when he told her to.”

  “So anyone could have heard you?”

  Nate kept his eyes on the road but his mind was busy with the question of who else might have known that Clare would be going to the logging camp. And who might have waited for her on the road.

  “I’m sorry about that, Dad. I won’t say anything around that old snoop Miss Egner.”

  Nate pulled the car into the nursing home parking lot. He was amused by Erika’s antipathy to Bianca.

  “Ishould give you a fatherly warning that you shouldn’t call Miss Egner an old snoop. She does so much to help Pastor Olli. She might be a bit of a gossip, but she’s a nice lady.”

  Erika shook her head and looked over at Nate. “She’s not a nice lady. I saw her kissing Pastor Olli.”

  Nate tried to keep from smiling at his daughter’s prudish streak.

  “Pastor Olli is her brother. Of course she loves him.”

  “It wasn’t that kind of a kiss. It was like on TV. One day after school I got to clogging practice early and they were in the church office. I needed the key to the bathroom. I was outside the door and they were talking. It wasn’t the kind of talk like Cindy does with her brother.”

  “How do you mean?” Nate was troubled by what he was hearing.

  Erika folded her arms across her chest and stared at her lap. “It was like talking about bodies. Their bodies. And when I peeked through the crack in the door, Miss Egner was sitting on Pastor Olli’s lap and they were kissing. Just gross!”

  “I agree,” Nate said quietly.

  He was alarmed by this additional piece of information about the Egners. Putting it together with what they had just been talking about it made for a very troubling picture. He needed to find Clare.

  “We’ll talk about this later, Erika. You’re going to be late.”

  He opened his door and looked around the parking lot. He didn’t see Clare’s car. Had she gotten tired of waiting? He reached in his pocket for his cell phone.

  “Give me a kiss for good luck.” He leaned over and gave her a hug. “Run in and get ready. I’ll be right behind you.”

  He watched her skip along the walkway, her dance skirt bobbing up and down. Opening his phone he realized that he’d turned it off earlier. Switching over to his voice mail he listened to Clare’s message.

  “Hi, Nate. Tell Erika I’m sorry I’m going to miss her performance. I’m at your place. There’s something I have to check on. I’ll meet you here after the show.”

  With a curse he dialed Clare’s cell phone. No answer. He didn’t like the fact she had gone off on her own. He felt the danger to her was credible. Snapping his phone shut, he hurried into the nursing home. He managed to catch Erika just before the show started.

  “I have to go pick up Clare, honey. I’m sorry I’m going to miss your show, but I know you’ll be great. I’m going to have Mrs. Grabenbauer come to pick you up. Then we’ll all go for pizza.”

  Even though he’d tried to keep his voice casual, Erika’s eyes were wide with concern. “Is everything all right?”

  “Everything’s fine. Break a leg,” he said, forcing a smile as he pulled on her ponytail. “I’ll see you shortly.”

  Knowing that she was watching, he walked slowly toward the exit. Once outside he quickened his pace, crossed the parking lot, and got in the car. He called Ruth’s house as he drove out of the lot. Ruth said she would leave immediately to get Erika at the nursing home, then handed the phone to Jake. After hearing that Clare was at his place, Jake agreed to meet Nate there.

  By the time he reached his driveway, Nate was in a cold sweat, relaxing only when
he saw both Jake’s car and Clare’s. It was only when he got out that he realized Clare was not there.

  “Where is she?” Nate asked.

  “I don’t know,” Jake said. “The car was empty when I got here. It’s not locked. The keys are in the ashtray and the phone and her purse are inside. Everything looks all right except I found this on the floor of the car.”

  Jake held up a handful of bloody tissues.

  “I think she’s gone to the boathouse,” Nate said, “but we don’t know if she’s alone or if she’s with someone.”

  Nate could see the muscles in Jake’s cheeks ripple with suppressed anger. The old man shoved a hand in his pocket and pulled out his car keys. Opening the trunk of his car, he reached inside and pulled out a long leather gun case. He closed the trunk and set the gun case on it, unzipping it to expose a rifle. He opened the box of ammunition and took out a handful of bullets. While he loaded the gun, Nate quickly explained.

  “I think Olli killed Lily,” Nate said. “Erika told me that Olli knew who Clare was and he was the one who suggested taking Clare to the logging camp. He could have slashed her tires and then waited for her to come out to the highway and tried to run her down. I think he also killed Rose’s friend at the Farm Show.”

  “Howdo you figure that?”

  “Jon Fogt said Bianca called in to say that she had seen Margee go into the storeroom. I suspect she was covering for Olli.”

  Nate then described the kissing scene that Erika had witnessed. Jake pushed the last bullet into the chamber and snapped the bolt closed.

  “If Olli’s hurt her, I’ll kill him,” Jake said. “Can you find your way to the boathouse?”

  S

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  “What are you doing here, Clare,” Bianca said. Clare blew out her breath in relief as the older woman entered the boathouse. “You scared the life out of me. And, of course, once again you’ve found me trespassing.”