A Pattern for Murder (The Bait & Stitch Cozy Mystery Series, Book 1)

by Ann Yost

  The confession drew the immediate sympathy of both ladies.

  "Ellwood," I told them, "is the younger brother of Annemarie Lemppi. You must remember her. She had the piano lesson just before Elli's on Wednesday afternoon."

  "Of course," Aunt Ianthe said, happily. "Red hair. It reminded me of the burning bush." She looked at Miss Irene. "You always used to say she had so much potential."

  Ellwood, his eyes still focused on his phone, snickered.

  "My mom used to say that about her all the time. She had potential in ballet. She had potential in math. She had potential in confirmation class. The trouble was, she was only interested in boys."

  "A sad but common circumstance," Miss Irene said. "She, like so many students, met her Waterloo in Hanon."

  The reference was to C.L. Hanon's The Virtuoso Pianist, a thick compendium of finger strengthening exercises that resemble a swarm of black ants on every page and represent a form of torture to all but the most dedicated piano students.

  I thought, not for the first time, how the life of a small town piano teacher must be full of disappointed hopes.

  "Deputy," Aunt Ianthe asked, "do you think Mr. Martin was killed by a passing stranger or someone in the house?" I could hear the anxiety in her voice and knew that she, as much as I, hated the thought that someone we knew, someone who was part of our community, could have crossed the line that separates human being from murderer.

  "We're going to find out," Ellwood said, gently. "And we're going to do it by the book. I've found a website. Ten Steps to Solving a Murder." He grinned at me. "We'll just skip the parts about making sure the victim is dead, drawing a circle around the body with tape and go straight to the interviews and the timeline."

  "Timeline?" Aunt Ianthe sounded bewildered but intrigued.

  He nodded. "Once we know when death occurred, the alibis will flow from there. Now, when did you last see the deceased?"

  Aunt Ianthe shivered and the tea party notwithstanding, I knew the reality of the crime was beginning to set in.

  "We saw him on the beach last night during the festival," she said. "Irene and I were watching from the front porch. He had gone into the sauna and he came out again. Someone brought him a beer. I think it was Arvo. The two men were talking when Flossie had her attack and fell on Hatti. We saw Alex Martin rush to help Flossie and then, after awhile, he helped carry her up to her room, then."

  Ellwood nodded. "That's perfect. That's exactly what I want. So that was the last time you saw him?"

  "Oh, no. We saw him a little later down on the porch during revontulet, the Northern Lights. He didn't stay there the whole time. I don't know where he went after that."

  I took a sip of tea to keep myself from blurting out where Alex Martin had been. I'd have to tell Ellwood at some point but this testimony wasn't supposed to be about me.

  "Miss Irene? Is this the way you remember it?"

  "Oh, yes. It was just like that."

  "Can either of you think of anyone who would want to harm Mr. Martin?"

  Aunt Ianthe pursed her lips.

  "No one was very pleased about the golf course. So there's that."

  "He hadn't been a very good son," Miss Irene said. "Honor thy father and thy mother, you know."

  "He hadn't been a very good father, either," Aunt Ianthe said, in a sorrowful voice. "He did not even know about Danny until yesterday. When do you think he was killed?"

  "That's what we're trying to determine," Ellwood said, emptying his teacup. "That's why we have to ask everyone in the house to describe the last time he or she saw him."

  "Oh, my land," Miss Irene said, suddenly. "I have lied to the police."

  "Irene!"

  "Oh, my goodness. I'm so sorry. I have something to add to my confession."

  "Your statement, Miss Irene," I said, gently. "You didn't do anything wrong." Her large, pale blue eyes turned to me.

  "Oh, yes, Henrikki. I misled the deputy. I did not see Mr. Martin after the Northern Lights but I heard him."

  "No, no, dear," Aunt Ianthe said. "We were asleep. You must have had a dream."

  "You were asleep," Miss Irene corrected. "I had gotten up to visit the rest room." A faint color flushed her cheeks. "The backstairs comes out right by our room and on my way back to bed, I could hear two people talking in the stairwell."

  "What time was this?"

  "After eleven thirty."

  "You recognized Alex Martin's voice?"

  "Not his voice, precisely. The man was whispering."

  "Whispering to whom, Miss Irene?" She looked at me.

  "A lady. I thought it might be you, Henrikki."

  I stared at her. "It wasn't me."

  "Then, perhaps it was Riitta." Miss Irene's voice trembled. "I do not wish to get her into trouble. The two of them may have met to talk about Danny."

  I shook my head. "I don't think it was Riitta. Not at quarter to twelve. Danny came to see Alex about that time and Riitta came to see him fifteen or so minutes later. I didn't listen to his entire conversation with Riitta but the beginning of it sounded as if they hadn't spoken earlier."

  "You say you didn't listen to his conversation with Riitta," Ellwood said. "Does that mean you did listen to the one with Danny?"

  Too late I realized I'd trapped myself. Luckily, he didn't press me and I knew it was because of the presence of the ladies.

  "What I heard Alex Martin say," Miss Irene continued, "was that he was glad she _ Madame X _ had come to see him. I got the impression they had known one another in the past."

  "Could it have been Miss Thyra?"

  Miss Irene's lips twitched. "No, Henrikki. No. I may be a spinster but I have read my share of romantic novels. I would never repeat the words but suffice it to say Mr. Martin was not speaking with Miss Thyra."

  Ellwood and I exchanged a look over the teapot.

  After the ladies had left we discussed the statement but could come up with no identity for Madame X.

  "Let's take it back a step," Ellwood said, finally. "Where was Alex Martin during the Northern Lights?"

  "It doesn't have anything to do with the murder."

  "Tell me, anyway."

  I stared at Annemarie Lantti's little brother. He was logical and thorough and the thought crossed my mind that he was unlikely to fail to fulfill his potential.

  I shrugged. "He was in my bedroom. With me."

  Ellwood's hazel eyes focused on me for a long moment.

  "But you're not Madame X?"

  "I'll tell you the whole story. It's not really very interesting."

  It had been a private moment and I didn't want to talk about it but I knew that, if the positions were reversed, I'd have expected Ellwood to fill in the blanks for me.

  "Everybody else was out on the porch. I'd gone up to my room and, for whatever reason, Alex had followed me. Or, maybe he'd just decided to get busy with his work and then he realized he wasn't the only one in the tower. I'm pretty sure I'd closed the door but all of a sudden he was there so I guess he just walked in. Why not? It's his lighthouse. I was sitting on the bed faced away from the window and he thought, not unnaturally, that I was afraid of the lights. Some people are. He gave me the scientific explanation, you know, that they're caused by explosions on the surface of the sun and that solar flares, filled with charged particles, shoot toward earth where they crash into storms in the earth's magnetosphere."

  "And that those collisions allow the particles to break free and propel themselves in the directions of our poles," Ellwood said, finishing the explanation. Anyone who lives as close as we do to the Arctic Circle knows the basics about aurora borealis. "Then what?"

  "Well, he'd misunderstood. I'm not afraid of the lights. It's just that a year ago, after our wedding, my husband and I did a canoe trip on the Au Sable River down at Grayling. We camped out on the banks and one night we got a magnificent display of revontulet."

  I was silent, recalling the vibrant colors, hot pinks and fuschia and wisps of mint gree
n. I'd told Jace the light were called revontulet, or fox fire because they're caused when the arctic fox uses his tail to sweep snow up into the sky. I'd known he'd debunk the Finnish myth and he had, all the while sifting his fingers through my long, thick, wheat-colored hair.

  "Let me tell you the real story, wife," he'd said. "After the Creator finished making the earth and went to live in the north, he wanted to leave a sign for his people to let them know he was always watching over them so he built large fires. Their reflections from the sun formed the Northern Lights."

  I'd gazed at him. "I thought you didn't believe in any myths, not even Ojibwe legends."

  "I don't," he'd said, loftily. "It just so happens that this one is true."

  "The lights brought back memories," Ellwood said, bringing me back to the present. "You weren't frightened. You were sad."

  "Yes. Alex seemed to understand. He just sat next to me on the bed until the thunderheads drove the lights away. Then he went into the watch room and I went downstairs to cover the porch furniture and help the picnickers pack up their cars to leave."

  "What time was that?"

  "Around eleven."

  "Hatti? What did you hear Alex Martin and Danny say to each other?"

  "Danny asked him to give the lighthouse and the trust fund to Riitta so that she and Tom Kukka could make a home for the indigent elderly on the Keweenaw."

  "How did he ask?"

  "You mean was he polite? Come on, Ellwood. Danny's a nineteen-year-old boy."

  "I'm nineteen, myself. I can't imagine being civil to the man who'd abandoned my mother."

  "You're right, of course. He was loud. He said Alex owed Riitta."

  "Did he threaten Alex?"

  "No." Technically, I suppose, that was a lie but even though Danny had mentioned pushing Alex off the tower I knew he hadn't meant it.

  Ellwood thrust long, thin fingers through his carroty hair.

  "We need to find out what time the rain started. I'll call the National Weather Service."

  "Leave it to me," I said, glad to be finished with the topic of Danny. "I'll call Einar at the bait shop. He knows everything there is to know about the weather."

  "Okay. Great, then. Listen, can you hold down the fort here for an hour? I've got to run down to Chassell."

  Aunt Ianthe and Miss Irene re-entered the parlor just as he was completing his sentence.

  "Why are you going to Chassell, dear," Aunt Ianthe asked.

  "To pick up my mom. There was a box lunch today after church at St. Peter and Paul's."

  "Ah," Miss Irene said, knowingly. "That's why we never see you at St. Heikki's. You're Missouri Synod."

  Since Ellwood was without wheels, I gave him the key to my Jeep. I figured it was the least I could do even if he was Missouri Synod.

  Chapter 14

  During my week at the lighthouse, I'd discovered the best (and only) way to ensure privacy was to duck into the first floor powder room. Once inside I punched the number of Carl's Bait Shop into my phone. The endless rings gave me a distinct feeling of déjà vu. Where in the heck was Einar? Sure, it was a Sunday afternoon but our main street shops stayed open on the weekend during the tourist months and, anyway, unless he was in the sauna, the shop was Einar's real home. I pictured him perched on the high stool near the cash register, his shiny, pink head bent over the knots he was making in fishing line.

  Why wasn't he answering the phone?

  Frustrated, I disconnected and punched in another number.

  "Main Street Floral and Fudge," my sister said, in a crisp voice. "Specials today on carnations and salted caramel."

  "Sofi, is there something wrong with Einar? He isn't answering the phone."

  "He never answers. He doesn't hold with the telephone. I expect it's the talking. You're the shop manager, how come you don't know that?"

  "I haven't had any reason to call before. What do you mean he doesn't hold with the phone?"

  "He thinks it's lazy. He says if someone wants to buy bait they can come into the shop. Of course he says it in fewer words."

  Normally, I'd have laughed at the eccentricity. Not today.

  "Well, I need to speak with him."

  "Is this about Alex Martin's death? They're saying it's murder. Is that true?"

  If there's one thing we excel at on the Keweenaw, it's the grapevine, which is kind of counterintuitive when you consider how many Finnish-American men begrudge every syllable. For the most part (with the exception of Arvo) communicating is left up to the women.

  "That's what it looks like. I don't know who or why. Not yet."

  "What do you need from Einar?"

  "Alex's clothes were damp when I found him but the sand underneath the body had been dry for hours. I need to know what time the rain started."

  "Hang on, hang on. Why do you need that," she asked, emphasizing the pronoun. "Isn't the sheriff's department investigating?"

  I explained about Ellwood and told her I'd been favorably impressed with Annemarie's teenage brother.

  "Wait a minute. I still don't understand why you're involved in this. You're supposed to be out there helping Riitta and Ianthe and Irene, not playing Inspector Clouseau."

  "I'm just helping Ellwood keep the players straight."

  "So what does the rain have to do with that?"

  "We, that is, Ellwood, needs to know when the body came off the tower. He figures it happened before the rain started and I told him Einar is more accurate than the National Weather Service."

  "So you're helping him collect data, too?"

  Her lack of confidence hurt but, in light of the cricket fiasco, I couldn't really blame her. I changed the subject.

  "Oh, by the way, Annemarie's got a fourth bun in the oven. We probably shouldn't mention it to mom." Our mother missed no opportunity to remind both of us that she expected more grandchildren.

  "Like she won't find out," Sofi said. "Anyway, since neither of us is in a functioning marriage at the moment, this probably isn't the time to turn up pregnant." She paused. "Look, Hatti. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. I just worry about you."

  "I'm fine. There's no danger to me and I really can be useful to Riitta and the old ladies." I didn't tell her about Mrs. Ollanketo's attack or the fact that I was getting a little worried about Captain Jack who hadn't shown up for the pancake breakfast. "Can you get Einar on the phone for me?"

  "Yep. One last thing," she said, and I heard her moving through her shop to the back door which led to the alley. "I know you're smart, Hatti. And normally you have good judgment."

  "But these aren't normal times, right?"

  "Not for the reason you think. This isn't about the crickets. You're loyal to a fault and I'm afraid you won't see the forest for the trees, you know? Remember, if Alex was murdered, somebody did it. And, almost certainly, it's someone you know. Don't just blindly trust everybody."

  "You make me sound like the village idiot."

  "Well, if the shoe fits."

  "Thanks, big sis." I spoke dryly but, in fact, I knew where she was coming from. She'd trusted her husband and he'd let her down and then she had to relive the same experience when Jace ejected me from my marriage. "I'll take everything with the proverbial grain of salt."

  She must have been walking and talking because I suddenly heard her say, "it's Hatti," and then I heard Einar's adenoidal breathing through the receiver.

  "Hei, Einar. How's it going?"

  He grunted.

  "I've got a question about last night's storm. Do you know what time the rain began to fall out at the lighthouse?"

  "Twelve forty-six."

  "Thanks," I said, and found myself speaking with Sofi.

  "Did you get your answer?"

  "Yep. And in three words. Two, if you consider the hyphen. Think it's a record?"

  "I know it's not. I've had plenty of conversation with Einar in which he has uttered, joo or ei (yes or no) and several in which he just grunts, which I guess, counts for no syllables at a
ll."

  I left the peace and solitude of the powder room to step into the midst of a boxing match or, at least, the timeout when the competitors had retreated to their separate corners. Riitta, arms folded across her chest, stood at the window staring out into the sunlit afternoon while Tom Kukka sat on one of the stools at the island, staring through the open swing door into the dining room. I didn't think he saw the tables and chairs. There was a crease between his eyebrows and a frown in his light blue eyes. The tension and the anguish in the scene smacked me between the eyes. I cleared my throat.

  "Ellwood's got to run an errand. We'll pick up the interviews when he gets back. In the meantime, I thought I'd take the dogs down the beach to check on Captain Jack. Everything all right here?"

  It was an absurd question. Things were clearly not all right but whether it was because of the murder or the old disagreement about marriage, I had no idea and, if the latter, it wasn't my business.

  "Thanks," Riitta said, as if I'd offered to do her a favor. "Please tell Jack I'll make a fresh batch of pannukakku if he comes up to the house." She produced a ghastly facsimile of a smile and excused herself. When she'd left the room I looked at Tom.

  "Can you tell me what's wrong?" He sighed, heavily.

  "She's afraid Danny will be arrested for killing Martin."

  "Why?"

  "He was in shock from learning the identity of his father. He's young, impulsive and strong. He believed Martin owed his mother the lighthouse and he intended to get it for her."

  "I know. I heard him talking with Alex shortly before midnight. But then he left and someone else came."

  "Who?"

  I hesitated before continuing. "Riitta," I said, knowing it wasn't something that could be kept secret.

  "Riitta didn't kill him," Tom said.

  "I know. Danny didn't kill him, either."

  Unless Danny went back. Neither of us voiced the words but I had no doubt we were both thinking them.

  Chapter 15

  I focused on the timeline as I corralled Larry and Lydia and headed out the back door. If I was right and Alex had fallen onto dry sand and covered it all night and through the thunderstorm, there was a very small window of time in which the murder could have occurred. It must have happened after Riitta left him and before twelve forty-six, which was probably half an hour or less. If only I hadn't pulled the pillow over my head!