by Dee Lloyd
She gave her funny little wave and was gone.
A blast of wind filled the sails and they had to scramble to grab the sheets to control them.
With Bart's firm hand on the tiller, they took full advantage of the gusty wind in the long process of tacking back up the lake. They worked smoothly as a team, slipping back into the rhythm they'd had years ago. It seemed so right to be doing this kind of thing together. Hiking out over the edge to balance the angle of the sails, then swinging her body to the other side when Bart brought the boat about made her feel intensely alive. The wind in her hair blew the cobwebs from her mind and the physical activity helped lighten her mood.
For a long time after the interlude with Laila, the only words spoken were short commands and comments on the behavior of the Flying Junior.
Finally Bart wondered aloud, "How do we get Betsy and Joel to let us search for the diary?"
"They haven't been staying at Elsa's house. Joel told me it was too upsetting for Betsy. He took her home to Huntsville the day of the shooting."
"Do you think Johanna has a key to Elsa's house?"
"Probably. If she doesn't, Paavo would have. I think he'd taken to dropping off food he thought might tempt her since she got sick."
"Look at those clouds." Bart pointed at a bank of pink-tinged puffy clouds just above the horizon which were beginning to be edged with gold.
Kit sighed at the beauty of the sky, then turned to meet his eyes. With his tanned skin and golden hair burnished by the setting sun, he was so handsome he made her heart ache. She wished she could freeze this moment. She could no longer deny that she would love him forever.
By the time the western sky was completely crimson and the sun was slipping behind the hills they had reached the dock. They stowed the sails and walked hand in hand up to the lodge.
At first, she hadn't liked the idea of having security guards at the foot of the elevator, but tonight as they greeted her, she found their presence reassuring.
When she and Bart got off the tower elevator, they saw a large fluorescent pink note stuck to their door. It announced in Johanna's bold script, "Casual supper anytime after eight. Paavo is cooking."
"I don't know if I'm up for a full course dinner," Bart said. "But we can get the key from Johanna and get over to the house right after dinner."
As it turned out, Kit didn't go with him to find the diaries. When they told Johanna, Mike and Paavo what they'd learned in their late afternoon encounter with Laila, all three advised that she stay in the security of the tower. She agreed on the condition that Bart promise not to read anything they found until he got back and they could all do it together.
No one did justice to Paavo's delicious lasagna in spite of knowing he'd been up at the crack of dawn making it for tonight. Finally, Bart pushed his plate away.
"I'm sorry, Paavo," he said getting to his feet, "but I don't have any appetite tonight. I can't concentrate on anything but the chance Elsa's diary might tell us the name of the murderer. If Laila was right that Elsa hired someone to kill Kit, she could have mentioned it in her diary."
"Even if she didn't, there might be a clue there to his identity," Mike agreed. "I'll go along and watch your back."
Kit and Johanna cleared away the dishes while Paavo packaged up the leftover lasagna and put it in the refrigerator.
"I can't believe Elsa would try to have you killed because she was jealous of your mother," Paavo said, pouring coffee for the three of them. "That doesn't make sense."
"It doesn't," Johanna agreed, "but you know how Elsa brooded about the past these last few months."
She turned to Kit. "Elsa's reaction to the diagnosis of pancreatic cancer wasn't what I expected of her. She became violently angry at the unfairness of it all. She wailed about the emptiness of her life. One evening I sat with her while she drank half a bottle of that potent French aperitif she liked and listened to her talk about what her life would have been like if she had married Raoul. She kept saying Laila had stolen her man and her children." Her sad eyes were filled with regret. "I ignored her, Kit. I should have done something."
"Don't be silly, Johanna," her brother said. "What could you have done for her? What could any of us have done?"
The unfamiliar sound of a telephone ringing was startling. Kit, who was closest, grabbed the receiver.
"Yes?" she said.
"It's Bart," his deep voice told her. "We're still at Elsa's. We found the diaries right where Laila said they'd be."
"Aren't you coming straight back here?" Surely he hadn't called to say they would be delayed for some reason.
Bart laughed. "We are on our way now. I'm calling to let you know the phones and the power are back on. Every light in Elsa's house was blazing when we got here. Tell Paavo he can turn off the generator. See you in a few minutes."
Chapter Twelve
Bart and Mike came bursting in the door about fifteen minutes later carrying armfuls of very dusty blue leather-bound books.
"Thirty-five of them," Mike announced. "I counted them on the drive over."
"And we didn't read a word," Bart said, "as promised. But those books don't look as if anyone has disturbed the dust on them in a very long time. Better spread some newspaper."
Johanna retrieved newspapers from the recycling box.
Paavo shouted, "Wait!" then rushed to get cloths and disinfecting spray cleaner from under the sink.
"Can we move it along here?" Bart urged. "Just lay out the newspaper."
"We prepare food in here," Paavo huffed indignantly. "Who knows what drifted down through Elsa's old floor boards?"
Hiding a smile, Kit accepted the dampened cloths and passed them out. "Each of us can take seven books and dust them off. As soon as you have your pile, look to see the dates of the beginning and ending entries of each book. We really need to find Elsa's latest entry."
"I know we do," Johanna said, making a small grimace of distaste, "but these are private diaries."
Mike slipped an arm around her shoulders. "I appreciate your principles, Jo, but if Elsa was plotting Kit's murder, we have to know who she was doing it with."
Johanna opened her first volume. "Of course," she said. "But this still doesn't feel right to me."
Bart dug in the pocket of his leather jacket for his ever-present notebook. "I'll jot down the dates."
"No dates in mine," Paavo announced. "Just her name, age and the month at the top of the page: 'Elsa Sepannen. Age ten. February.'" He flipped pages. "At the end of this book she's eleven."
"Let's put a sticky note on each volume with that information." Johanna got a little pink pad from the drawer under the kitchen phone. "That way we can put them in order."
It didn't take long to discover that Elsa stopped writing diaries sometime in her fifty-fifth year. She'd written several books a year in her teens and had slowed down to just a few entries a year before she stopped writing entirely.
Kit could taste the disappointment. A heavy cloud of gloom was almost tangible in the room.
"So she didn't write anything about hiring a killer." Bart's voice was flat.
"Well, Laila didn't say the diaries would tell us about that. She only said we'd learn about Raoul's murder," she said with a sigh.
"How old was she when Laila drowned?" Bart asked.
"Laila was forty-one," Kit volunteered. "I think Elsa was three years older."
"That's right," Johanna corroborated. "We should maybe look at the previous summer though. Laila and Kit came up here when Jacob died."
Bart sorted through his diaries. "Forty-three," he muttered. "Here it is."
"I have one too," Johanna said. "It's at the end of one of my books."
"It's at the beginning of one of mine," Kit admitted. Now that the moment had arrived, she didn't want to delve into the mind of the woman who had hated enough to kill.
"Sounds as if Johanna starts," Bart said. "Why don't you skim the entries and read us anything you think is important."
&n
bsp; She nodded and began to read silently.
"The first few entries of: 'Age 43. June' are about her engagement to Raoul." She turned to Kit. "Don't you find it strange how she tops every page with her age? Most women prefer to ignore the numbers."
"She seems obsessed with the passing years."
"Anyway," Johanna continued, "she writes pages of detail about their wedding plans and admits she never thought he would agree to marriage. She is ecstatically happy about the engagement and about getting one up on Laila. The last entry in this volume ends with this:
I sent the princess an announcement of our engagement. I wanted her to know right away that her prince was mine now. No matter how many times she's been married, I know she's never forgotten Raoul. I wish I could see the smug look wiped off her damned perfect face when she reads the announcement card. I'd dearly enjoy seeing her suffer. I suppose I'll have to make do with my dreams of her gulping great ugly sobs. God knows it's her turn.
"That's all I have." Johanna put her elbows on the table and lowered her chin into her hands.
Hearing Elsa's words was depressing. Although Kit wanted to hear more, she dreaded what the diaries might reveal. She watched the emotions cross Bart's expressive face as he read.
After quite a few pages, he spoke. "She goes on for quite a while about how she wants Laila to suffer. She writes about how much she and Johanna have to do caring for Jacob after his stroke. But she doesn't seem to mind that. Most important to her is that Jacob rejected Laila and did not ask for her." He looked around the table. "I'll skip the entries about Jacob's death."
Johanna murmured her thanks.
"Elsa goes on at great length about how considerate Raoul is to her during the funeral. Then she says this:
Laila doesn't show any sign of leaving. She and her daughter have been here for almost two weeks now. Raoul is being too charming to them. He says it is his duty because they are family and la visite rare. But I see the way he looks at her. And the way she looks back at him with those damned big blue eyes. He is falling under her spell again. I hate her. I hate her. I hate her!
I swear if Laila doesn't get out of here soon, that pampered little girl of hers will be a motherless orphan.
He ran his finger down the center of several pages skimming their contents. "There are pages and pages on the same theme. Trust me you don't want to hear it. Here. 'August.' Laila has come back to visit. She writes:
The slut isn't even pretending not to be trying to steal Raoul from me. They spend their days out on that island. And Raoul won't even discuss setting a wedding date any more. He didn't exactly say the engagement was off but he did say I could keep the ring. I can't accept it's over. He'll change his mind. That bitch!
"More railing against Laila." He scanned a few more pages. "Elsa's happy again. Apparently, Laila and Raoul had a major quarrel and she left."
He read on. "Raoul spent a lot of time on the road that winter. Elsa was suspicious there was another woman. She was sure it was Laila."
Kit watched him read for what seemed a very long time, dreading the moment when he would find the description of her mother's murder. She was sure now that Elsa had killed her.
Bart slowly closed the diary. "She did kill your mother, Kit," he said softly. "Laila came back to the lodge the next July. According to Elsa, she lorded it over everyone and monopolized Raoul's time. Her blatant flirting with Raoul at the bar one night infuriated Elsa to the point that she decided she had to kill her. She pretended not to notice at the time but, as soon as she got Laila alone, she told her they needed to have a private talk. Laila didn't like the idea but she agreed to meet her for a morning paddle the next day."
"But Elsa was on the desk when Laila left," Johanna began. "Oh, of course, that's only what she told us."
"Elsa spent the night making preparations. She packed a lunch basket. Tucked in a book and a blanket, then paddled over to the island, dragging an empty canoe with her. She set the scene and left one canoe on the beach.
"She waited for Laila at a picnic table by the beach with a thermos of coffee and some croissants. She poured herself a mug of coffee and dumped some of Jacob's sleeping medication into the thermos. It was that simple. Laila, obviously trying not to alienate Elsa further, drank the coffee and passed out. Elsa put her in the canoe, paddled out into the mist, dumped her out and used her paddle to hold her under the water. When she was sure her sister was dead, she flipped the canoe over and swam to the island where she'd left the second boat. She was dressed and at work by nine o'clock."
It sounded so matter-of-fact when he told the story but Kit could see every detail of the chilling scene in her mind's eye. Elsa's determined, sturdy figure hoisting Laila's unconscious body into the canoe, paddling out into the lake, then coldly holding her sister under the water until she drowned. And all the while the glistening mist devils gliding serenely around them.
"You'll probably want to read all of this on your own some time." Bart's voice was full of concern. "The next part is in one of your books, Kit. Do you feel up to finding the details of Raoul's killing?"
"Let me do a fast read for you," Mike offered. "I'm not as intimately involved as you are."
"Thank you," she said. "I'd have a hard time concentrating right now."
Mike took the volume from her and began to skim through the first few pages. "She's terribly proud of herself for the way she was able to behave after the fisherman found the upturned canoe floating. 'I deserve an Academy Award for playing the distressed sister,' she says here. 'It was hard not to gloat.'"
Johanna had squeezed her eyes shut and was shaking her head in disbelief. "I was completely taken in," she whispered.
"We were so frantic," Paavo said, patting his sister's hand. "Then there were all the search crews to deal with. Those terrible three days before the divers found the body."
Mike sat silently staring at the diary. "Well, here it is. Five days later, the day after Laila's funeral. 'Age 44. July.'
Raoul was in such a state at the funeral yesterday that he barely spoke to me. And now this!!! I can't believe he would leave without speaking to me. All he says in the note is he's sorry to wreck all my plans for the big day but he's heading down below. Some big promoter agreed to see him. Keep the ring.
I've let him push me around long enough. Does he think I'll just let him walk away? He'll get his ring back. And more than that.
'I called Raoul and told him to come and get his ring. He's going to come here before he leaves this afternoon. He thinks he's leaving this afternoon.
"She started a new page with this entry," Mike said.
I am so tired and so depressed. I did it. I killed the only man who ever mattered to me. Too bad I never mattered to him.
Raoul got here about four o'clock with his guitar and his duffle bag. Said he was taking the 4:45 bus south. When I asked him if he was coming back, he said he didn't know. Not much mattered now that Laila was gone. The fool didn't know that was what made up my mind to do it. He said he was sorry for everything.
I said I was sorry too and gave him his ring. As he was putting it in the pocket of his duffel, I took Dad's hunting pistol out of the kitchen drawer. When he straightened up and looked at me, I shot him right between the eyes. And that was that. It was a pretty good shot. Papa would have been proud of me.
"My God!" Johanna gasped.
"And she was killed exactly that way," Kit breathed.
The hard part came next. I got a shower curtain and rolled him onto it to catch the blood. Then I had to hoist him into the wheelbarrow and take him out to the sawmill.
I got the old steamer trunk out of the basement and tipped him into it. Then I crammed in his guitar and duffel and slammed it shut.
It took me three hours to shovel away sawdust, then dig a four foot deep hole in the soil, fill it in and pile a good six feet of sawdust back on top.
God, I'm tired. Laila was much easier.
"That explains why she was so against the demolitio
n of the sawmill," Johanna said.
"And, dammit, we're going to have to call the police in again." Paavo voiced everybody's sentiments.
"I don't imagine, after all those years, it will make a lot of difference if Raoul's bones spend another night at the sawmill," Mike said. "I vote we get a good night's sleep. We'll deal with this tomorrow."
Mike's cell phone rang and he excused himself.
"Don't you dare say you need to go to the cabin to check your email," Kit said, getting to her feet. She could see how badly Bart needed to rest. "I don't want to move back tonight. Whatever Bret has discovered will wait until morning. We're both ready for bed."
"Look how she bosses me around. I'm just her love slave," Bart said with a broad wink.
She was sure she blushed scarlet. "What a thing to say to my grandmother!" she said as she swatted him halfheartedly. To tell the truth, she was eager to be alone with him after spending the past couple of days in constant company.
Mike strode back into the room. "Good thing we decided what we were going to do about the police before I got this call. That was Sergeant Jacobec. She tells me Elsa's body has been released to Johnson's Funeral Home for cremation according to your instructions. We're to contact him about when we want to have the interment. I didn't mention the diaries. We can tell her about them tomorrow."
"I suggest we have the service as soon as possible. Maybe even tomorrow," Kit said. "The media will be all over us when the news of finding Raoul's remains is released."
"I'll call him in the morning," Johanna agreed.
"I can't take any more tonight. I'm ready for my bed," Paavo said. "Call me if you need me tomorrow."
They said good-bye to Paavo at the top of the stairs. As she and Bart entered the elevator, Kit whispered, "I can't wait to get to the tower suite for some privacy."