by Nan Sampson
“I like ‘em with a dollop of sour cream and brown sugar. Ever try them that way?
She grinned. “No, but I have a feeling I’ll be having them that way again. It sounds scrumptious.”
He grinned back at her. “Excellent. Now go relax. It will only be few minutes.”
Ellie went back to her spot on the couch – she knew from some of her chef friends that bothering a pro in the kitchen made for trouble. In moments, he brought over a plate with sliced cheeses and some crusty French bread.
“This one is Jarlsberg” he said, pointing. “My favorite. I also have some Brie and some Camembert, if you’re into the stinky stuff.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Not much into the Camembert. But I love Brie. I don’t think I’ve ever had Jarlsberg. What’s it like?”
He put a chunk on a thin slice of bread and handed it to her. “Here, taste. It’s relatively mild, and very creamy. I think you’ll like it.”
She took a bite and then another. “Mm, yummy. This is fab. Can you imagine what this would taste like in a biscuit?”
He cocked his head, thinking. “Not a bad idea. You bake?”
She laughed. “No. Not unless you want a kitchen fire. But I get ideas sometimes. I just need someone to handle the execution.”
“So who have you got in your kitchen at the new shop? I assume you’re not going to order out for all your goods – and you can’t run a coffee shop without things to nibble on.”
“That’s one of my major problems. That and not having the ability to get into the place until the Chief releases it from its current crime scene status. I haven’t found anyone yet. Of course, I haven’t had the time or the space to do any interviews either.”
He studied her for a moment. “Well, if you are open to a suggestion?”
Again she heard that faint trace of a European accent. It was utterly charming. “I’m all ears.”
“Then I suggest you get yourself over to the Inn and talk to Marg Kemp. That woman can bake like nobody’s business. And she’s not just into the formula thing. She’s a creative genius with dough.”
“Marg? Oh, right. That’s Arabella’s sister-in-law. She can bake?”
“Like the goddess Demeter inspired her.”
Ellie grinned. “Wow. That’s quite a recommendation. Okay. That problem’s solved… if she’ll take the job. I can’t pay her what she’s probably worth.”
“Trust me, I don’t think money will be an issue. Of course, you’ll have to get yourself some ear plugs.”
“Ear plugs?”
“Oh, yes. That woman could talk the wool off a sheep.”
“Or maybe a llama?”
Gustafson’s laugh was hearty and loud and long. He reached out and patted her on the knee. “I have a feeling we’re going to be great friends.”
It was exactly how she was feeling. “Me too.”
He stood and went back into the kitchen. “Time for the dumplings to go in. Do you want to watch for future reference?”
She shook her head. “Wouldn’t do me any good. Best if I just stay out of your way.”
“Okay.” There was a pause as he plopped dough into the boiling liquid. “So has the Chief figured out who offed Artie yet?”
She came to stand nearby, unable to merely sit while he cooked. “Not as far as I know. He doesn’t exactly keep me in the loop.”
“And how about you? Have you solved the case yet?”
She was taken aback for a moment. “What?”
“Arabella said you were ‘looking into things’. I just wondered how that was coming.”
Ellie threw up her hands. “Do people know when I brush my teeth and what I ate for breakfast too?”
Per shook his head, chuckling. “Probably. That’s just how it is in a small town. Is it true? You are looking into Artie’s death? Like our own version of Jessica Fletcher? I hope every time you show up in town, we don’t have another body on our hands. Although, for fear of incriminating myself, I wasn’t sad to see Artie shake off this mortal coil.”
“Seems like that’s a common enough point of view. He always seemed like a nice enough guy to me. A little crusty maybe, but a straight shooter.”
“Artie could convince you he was about anything you wanted him to be. Crusty is too mild. He could be downright nasty when he wanted, which with me was about all the time.”
“You’ve known him a long time?”
“Ever since I came here. Back in the day, as they say. I was one of the original residents of what you young folks call a commune.”
Looking at him now, she couldn’t see the hippie in him at all. Neatly pleated Dockers, a crisp white shirt, with the sleeves precisely rolled at the cuffs. Leather boaters that were well-worn, but also well cared for. He seemed far too genteel to have been a sandaled, bead-wearing member of the counter-culture.
“Bowls?”
She pointed to the cabinet. “I’ve only got two.”
“Don’t need more than that.” He found them, found the silverware in the only drawer then took it all over to the table. “I’ll plate it up from the stove if that’s not too gauche for you.”
She laughed and sat down at her little table. “That would be fine.”
Minutes later, they were eating, comfortable in the silence that enveloped them. Finally, he put down his spoon and leveled a gaze at her. “I’ll tell you right now, the Chief is half-way convinced I was the one who killed Artie. And I’ll grant you, I’ve wanted to, but I didn’t, for what it’s worth.”
He didn’t look like a man capable of killing. Then again, no one she’d met in this town looked that way. What did a killer look like, anyway? “Why did you want to?”
“He poisoned my llamas. Twice. I lost two mares and a calf.” He looked down at his hands for a moment. “They’re not cheap to replace, but it’s not about the money. They were innocent lives. Wonderful animals that didn’t deserve to die an agonizing death. There was no need for it.”
Her stomach churned and her heart felt heavy. “Dear Goddess, how could he do such a thing? And, why?”
“He didn’t like them. Said they wandered onto his little plot of land. Which was a lie. Llamas don’t wander... at least not my llamas.” He sighed. “So he and I had it out one night a couple of months ago. Got into a regular fist fight over it.”
“Don’t tell me you threatened to kill him in front of witnesses.”
He looked abashed, his cheeks coloring. “It does sound more and more like a TV episode, doesn’t it? But yes, I did. I told him if he came anywhere near my llamas again, I’d make sure he got a taste of his own poison.”
“Well, then, thank the goddess he wasn’t poisoned.”
“Is it true you found him tarred and feathered?”
“Yes. I suppose there’s no point in denying it. Apparently everyone in town knows that too.”
“That’s a hard secret to keep. What killed him?”
Ellie glanced down at her plate, trying not to see Artie’s body in her mind’s eye., those of her parents either. “I’m not the Medical Examiner. But there was a butcher knife sticking out of his chest. Still, I get the feeling Gruetzmacher doesn’t think that was the cause of death.” She busied her hands rearranging the salt and pepper shaker, blaming her sudden unease on what Artie had done to those poor llamas. “I don’t know. I didn’t spend a lot of time with the body.”
He shook his head. “No, I can’t imagine that you would have.” He put his spoon down. “I’m very sorry you had to start your life here in Horizon like this.”
“Thanks. Me too.”
Figuring now was as good a time as any to learn more about Artie, she plunged ahead. “So, tell me about him. Arabella more or less said there were lots of people who didn’t like Artie. That means there could potentially be lots of suspects, right?”
Per leaned back in his chair. “In theory. Although mostly, Artie just rubbed people the wrong way. Not exactly grounds for murder – especially considering how it was done. Se
ems to me you’d have to have a pretty strong motive to kill someone like that.”
That wasn’t exactly helpful. “Did anyone have that kind of motive?”
The Norwegian chewed his lip. “I suppose there might have been a few. Artie left any number of broken – or maybe disillusioned – hearts in his wake. He had an eye for pretty young things, and he changed his women like most men change their socks, as the old saw goes. I know of two cases where he fathered a child out of wedlock. And in those days, it was more of a scandal, particularly in small towns.”
Ellie found herself leaning forward. “Like who? Anyone I know?”
Per shook his head. “No. Sorry. I can’t divulge that. I’m fairly certain the offspring of those unions have no idea that the man they call father isn’t their biological parent. So that lets them off the hook from a motive standpoint.”
But that wasn’t where Ellie’s mind was going. “Lets the kids off, yes. But not the mother. Could one of those women have held a grudge?”
He shrugged. “I suppose. The one left the area a number of years ago to pursue a career. The other… she married well, and as far as I can tell has led a happy, comfortable life. I suppose either one of them could have held a grudge. But murder? After all this time?” Shrugging broad, surprisingly well-muscled shoulders, he answered his own question. “Doesn’t seem likely.”
“Well, then, who could it have been?”
He grinned, icy blue eyes twinkling. “Me? He and I have basically hated each other for forty years. The bit with Estella and Inger was just the icing on the cake.”
“Estella and Inger? Those are the two women?”
He laughed again, this time until he had to wipe away tears, and Ellie’s cheeks reddened with irritation. “No, no, dear. Those were the two llamas.”
The man named his llamas? Well, it took all types. She wondered if Earl Mough named all his dairy cows. Considering he had hundreds, she thought it unlikely. After all, they were just cows. How would one tell them apart? Of course – the same applied to llamas, at least in her book.
“So why did you hate him so much… other than his reprehensible behavior with animals?”
“He was a bastard. He came out here, a newly minted Ph.D. in Cultural Anthropology, to start the Horizon Community. But his heart wasn’t in it. It was all just a big experiment to him. We – the rest of us – were trying to change the way we lived, the way we interacted with the world around us. We didn’t see what was what until it was too late. Artie got enough research materials for ten years’ worth of faculty papers, and we were left with… utter dysfunction. The community collapsed under the weight of his machinations and the constant infighting and back-stabbing.”
It was the first she’d heard of what life had been like back then. And it was telling. But a little reality check was in order. “Do you think the community would have worked if it hadn’t been for Artie?”
Per gave her a sad smile. “I’m under no illusions. We were young. Idealistic. But we hadn’t the life experience to understand that – we were too full of the notions that we could change the world. So the answer, of course, is no. It would have collapsed – or morphed into something else – on its own over the years. But it might not have been so catastrophic on people’s lives if it had simply died a natural death. Outgrown itself naturally.” He took a deep breath, sighed. “Still, here we are today.”
Ellie kept pushing. “Catastrophic how?”
“People came to the community with everything they had. Some had nothing but skills, or the will to learn. Others brought more… pecuniary assets and some of those assets were considerable. We had at least four of what your generation might call trust fund babies among us. It was how we were able to acquire the land. Seth Kemp was one of those. And Earl, who brought less liquid assets to the table - he already had rights to some of the property, left to him by his grandfather. There were two others – and when it all went belly up, they lost everything. The organic vegetable co-op and the vineyard went to the bank for back taxes and since all the money was pooled for those enterprises, we were all screwed. The only thing that was actually sacrosanct was the land itself – Earl had been smart enough to not let the deed get wrapped up with the rest of the shit. Poor Tom VanDuesen, knowing he was ruined and with four young mouths to feed, ended up committing suicide – hung himself from the rafters of the barn. Bonnie Stewart, who had basically stolen her money from her father, returned home to Scotland pregnant and with two small children to live under the thumb of her harridan mother.”
“How awful!”
“The rest of us, we didn’t lose much in the way of money. But the dream… oh, that was a bitter thing to lose. So much hope shattered. Gone. I wager to say there were many that never really recovered emotionally from that sense of betrayal.”
Ellie could feel that loss pouring off Gustafson, even all these years later. “Yet you stayed here. How many others did?”
“There are a handful of others.” He counted off on his fingers. “Earl and Patti, Seth and Arabella, Artie, Goldie Ryerson, Frank and Blossom Nelsen, Gene and Jan Lincoln – I think you know their daughter, Laura.” He paused for a moment, tallying in his head. “I think that’s all that’s left. A few more stayed on for a few years, but Horizon back then was a nothing town. No jobs, no opportunities.”
It had grown dark outside, the sounds of the birds fading, only to be replaced by the night noises – crickets, frogs, and the occasional hoot of an owl. It seemed sacrilege to break the silence, and yet Ellie couldn’t stop herself. She wanted to know how the story ended. “Why did you stay?”
He gave a shrug. “No place else to go. I came to this country to go to school. Then left university to join the Horizon Community. There was nothing back home for me, and I had made good friendships with Earl, Seth, Gene.” He looked up from toying with the food left in his bowl. “I suppose not leaving was simply an easier option than going someplace else, starting over again.”
Ellie could relate. After the death of her parents, she’d spent a long time, maybe too long a time, staying in one place, not having the energy to go anywhere. Eventually, though, the pain of not living, of merely existing on the edge of a very unsatisfying life became more painful and frightening than the alternative. “I can relate. And now? Do you have any regrets?”
His smile returned. “None. I’ve made a good life here for myself. My needs are simple and simply met. I have good friends. Not much more that a man can ask for.”
“No wife?”
“No. That’s not… been in the cards.”
There was something there, some bit of wistfulness that belied a story, but she could see from the set of his jaw she’d get nothing more than that from him about it. It made her sad somehow, although she didn’t know if the sadness was for him – or for her. Because she’d closed that door as well.
With a glance out the screen door, he got up slowly, maybe a little stiffly. “Well, I’ve taken up most of your evening, and I’ve got my ladies waiting on me. I should get back.”
She hated to see him go. “Are you sure I can’t offer you an after dinner coffee?”
“Nah.” It came out as a long “ah” sound. “Keep me up all night, that would. Llamas wait for no man — especially when it comes to breakfast. They’d be banging my door down to wake me up if I missed 5:00.”
She walked him to the door, noticing a slight limp in his gait. She wanted to know the story behind that too - she was sure there was one. That would have to wait for another night. “Why don’t I at least drive you back?”
He gave her a disapproving look. “I can manage quite well, thank you. Got to keep moving, that’s all.” He gave her a quick, unexpected hug. “You be careful whose toes you go stepping on. I don’t want to lose the only neighbor I’ve actually ever liked.”
He stepped out into the small yard then pointed over to a small garden plot. “When you’re ready to plant that, you let me know. I’ll provide you with some sterilize
d manure. Ah, and a rototiller. Artie never sowed a damn thing except dissension. You’ll need chicken wire - you’ll have to fence it off when you get the dog.” He glanced back at her. “You made any progress in that area?”
She had to laugh. “No. And I won’t be.”
He cocked his head. “So say you. I see differently.” Smiling smugly, he waved and disappeared into the darkness of the lane beyond her mail box before she could tell him he was full of it.
As she closed her screen door, she found herself smiling too, realizing how nice it was that she felt comfortable enough with him to do just that.
After Per left, she took a moment to make sure everything was cleaned up before preparing for her first full moon ceremony in her new home. One of the things that had attracted Ellie to the cabin property was the almost perfect circle of trees just outside the back door. Tall pines with heavy bows created a ‘screened in’ backyard, a circle about 15 yards in diameter, perfect for private rituals.
Bringing out her ritual tools – her athame, salt, candles, and small representations of the four elements, she took a moment to ground and center then looked up to the sky. The beautiful face of the Mother, the Goddess, the silver lady of the moon smiled down on her little circle, and she felt a silent but potent acknowledgement that she had made the right decision in coming to this place. Smiling, she did her quarter calls, inviting the spirits of the elements – air, fire, water and earth – to join her in her ceremony then cast her circle with salt and her athame, before inviting the Goddess and God to bless the space and her new endeavors.
Too tired to do much more, she spent a moment envisioning peace for the planet and those she cared about, then closed the circle, released the elements and used her besom – a ritual broom – to scatter the salt. She was smiling broadly as she trooped around the side of the house to her very own porch.
Setting up a votive candle on the railing, she sat in the light of a flickering circle of light that barely touched the greater darkness beyond. The moon was high above now, a silver globe that did surprisingly little to light up the landscape. It was so different from the city, where darkness was a rare commodity. A swath of stars she had hardly ever seen and certainly couldn’t identify decorated the deep velvet blackness of the sky overhead.