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

by Ann Yost

  "Did he say where?" She shook her head but I still felt better. Jack's reason for not returning home last night had had nothing to do with Alex's murder. If, that is, I could trust Chakra's word.

  It occurred to me, not for the first time, that a murder investigation involved a lot of lies that had nothing to do with the principle event. Everybody had something to hide.

  Chapter 22

  I wanted to believe Chakra was telling the truth about her activities last night. Heck, I wanted to believe she was telling the truth about her release from the obsession about her husband. But there was no getting around the fact that she'd lied about spending the night in the oil house. A totally unnecessary lie, surely. Unless she'd sneaked back up to the lighthouse an hour after she'd left it to push Alex Martin off the tower.

  But what about Captain Jack? Had he made his now famous duck remark to Chakra? Or had he made it at all? Had Danny lied, too? And where was Captain Jack?

  Questions about the murder buzzed around my head and overlaying them all was the question about closure. If I could come face to face with my husband for just an hour, would I, too, be free to let go of the hopes I'd had for a life with him? Could freedom be as simple as looking into someone's eyes and recognizing, finally, that the light that had been there for you, had burned out?

  I parked Riitta's SUV among the pines and followed the dogs to the lighthouse. It was nearly seven p.m. and there were still hours of daylight left but the sun's rays were slanted now and the angle created a kind of mist that made the landscape look like something out of a storybook. The faded stone of the building took on a rosy hue against the azure sky and the square tower looked less like a factory smokestack and more like the turret of an enchanted castle. It felt almost as if I were coming home after months of a sense of displacement. I thought I had understood why this place was important to Miss Thyra and the others. Now I actually felt it.

  Riitta and Tom had made the lighthouse a sanctuary.

  Lost in my thoughts, I didn't notice the man leaning against the newel post on the front porch steps until he called to me.

  "Hey, Max," I said, pleased to see him. "You didn't call me Umlaut."

  His grin was slow and devastating. I wondered how it was possible he was still single.

  "I got the feeling you didn't like it, that maybe that particular expression had other associations for you."

  "Hmm. So now, in addition to all your other talents, you're psychic?"

  His grin widened. "Everybody's got a past, sweetheart. Even me. Anything new in the investigation?"

  I told him about Chakra.

  "She told you she was married to Martin?"

  "Oh, no. Sonya Stillwater told me. She said she got it from one of the old men out on the rez who got it from a Hollywood gossip TV program. She called because you told her I was investigating the murder. She said she ran into you at the market on the rez." I waited for him to explain that but he didn't.

  "Huh." We'd sat down on the top step on the front porch. Normally on a summer night as fine as this one, the old ladies would be playing Canasta at the card table and Jack would be napping in the hammock. Tonight we were alone.

  "So you've got the hour between eleven and twelve accounted for with Chakra and Danny, and then Riitta visited Martin at midnight."

  "Right. Oh, and I forgot to tell you, Tom Kukka confessed that he'd gone up to talk to Alex between twelve-thirty and twelve forty-five and that he pushed him off the gallery."

  "Why?"

  "He killed Alex because he was jealous. He thought Riitta was falling in love with him again."

  "Hatti, I know as well as you do that Tom Kukka didn't kill anybody. Why did he say he did?"

  "He's trying to shield Danny. I gather Riitta is afraid he might have done it and I have to admit you could make a good case for it. All we have is his word that he heard Jack on the steps talking to someone else coming up the stairs. Even Erik thinks this whole business looks like the result of a youthful impulse."

  "He's right. And yet, there are aspects of it that show brainwork. The moving of the body, for instance. Why would someone go to the trouble to hide it then put it back? The autopsy results will give a fairly accurate time of death. There was nothing to be gained by that except delay." I nodded.

  "And there is the weird story about Alex changing his mind about the disposition of the lighthouse and writing that letter. And then there are the shoes."

  "The shoes?"

  "Alex's. They weren't on the body and they aren't up in the watch room. So where are they?"

  We were sitting, shoulder to shoulder and he looked down at me.

  "You've got pretty good instincts about this," he commented.

  "I don't know. I totally believed Chakra. Even when I caught her in a lie, I tended to believe the rest of her story." I told him the business about the oil house.

  "Well, at least it's good news about Jack. He must be holed up with a friend somewhere. Listen, I think you should trust your instincts."

  Was he talking about the murder or about whatever this thing was between us? He'd turned back to gaze out toward the lake and all I could see was his craggy profile. I couldn't read his thoughts.

  "Maybe," I said, as a sudden thought struck me, "it wasn't Chakra. Maybe it was Sebastian who killed Alex."

  Max shook his head. "Martin didn't know him from Adam. He'd never have welcomed him into the watch room or turned his back on him to go out onto the gallery. It has to be someone closer. Someone like his wife or his son or the mother of his son."

  I winced and winced and winced, again.

  "I hope to H-E-double hockey sticks that you're wrong."

  "Take it one step at a time, Umlaut." He winced when he said it which made me laugh. "Listen, I've got a friend here from the west coast and he's got his heart set on visiting Hemingway's Big Two-Hearted River. We start at zero-dark-hundred."

  "He's a Nick Adams wannabe?"

  "The river is there," Max said, using a dramatic voice to quote from Hemingway. "The grasshoppers were all black."

  "He felt he had left everything behind," I quoted back at him. "He was happy."

  Max grinned. "A genius writer."

  I waved him off then took the dogs inside. Despite my worry about Jack and Tom and everybody else, I felt better. I felt less alone in this nightmare. And, I felt like a re-read of Hemingway.

  "Hello, dearie," Aunt Ianthe said, coming to meet me in the foyer. "Riitta, Danny and Erik have gone into Frog Creek to visit dear Tom. Irene and I have put out the doggies' dinner and there are sandwiches, egg salad, for you in the kitchen, along with a pot of fresh coffee."

  I kissed my aunt and thanked her.

  "Hatti, dear," she said, "Irene and I are a bit worried about Flossie and Thyra. Should they be sleeping so long?"

  "I'll go up and check on them both," I said, with a stab of guilt. I'd left that too late. "Tom seemed to think they would both be right as rain by tonight. I think you can anticipate a few hands of canasta."

  "That would be nice, dearie," Aunt Ianthe said, with less than her usual enthusiasm. I got the feeling she was humoring me, as if she knew that I was desperate to get back to some sense of normalcy. The ladies love canasta but that passion had been eclipsed by the murder and Tom's arrest. "You know, Irene and I can't help worrying about Captain Jack. Do you think we should phone in an APB?"

  "An APB?"

  "All points bulletin," she explained. "They do it all the time on Law and Order: Special Victims Unit."

  "That's probably a good idea," I said, choking back a chuckle. "I'll talk with Ellwood next chance I get."

  I was aware of a profound sense of fatigue as I made my way up the main staircase. It seemed as if this day had gone on forever already. As I knocked on Mrs. Ollanketo's door, I found myself uttering a silent prayer that she was all right. And then I remembered she wouldn't have heard a sledgehammer much less my knock so I lifted the latch of the unlocked door and walked in.

&
nbsp; The old lady was sleeping on her side, her face turned away from me, her white curls foaming above a blanket drawn up to her neck. There was no sound at all in the room. Not a breeze from the open window, nor a gentle snore. I felt uneasy and I approached the bed with some reluctance, laying a couple of fingers against the soft folds of her neck. The touch confirmed what I'd instinctively feared. The flesh was cool, flaccid. Life was extinct. For a moment, I stood there in the silence of the room and thought about the difference between sleep and death. They were similar but, at the same time, oh, so different.

  I'd felt the difference, the emptiness, as soon as I'd stepped into the room. She was gone. She'd never take another sauna. I could feel emotion trying to grab hold of me and I resisted it. I thought about the cycle of life in the matter-of-fact words of the Moomins.

  "When one's dead, one's dead. This squirrel will become earth all in his time. And, still later on, there'll grow new trees from him, with new squirrels skipping about in them. Do you think that's so very sad?"

  I did think it was sad. Unbearably sad. My knees buckled and I buried my face in my hands and sobbed.

  When I had cried until my chest hurt, my eyes were swollen and the bedclothes were soaked from my tears and my running nose, I felt cold fingers on my exposed upper arm and heard a familiar voice speaking with unfamiliar gentleness.

  "Get up, Henrikki. There are things to do, then."

  I sniffled, struggled to my feet and faced the other patient I had neglected.

  "This is my fault. I went into Red Jacket this afternoon and she died. I should have been here. I should have checked on her."

  "That's blasphemy, Henrikki," Miss Thyra said. "It wasn't your fault. Flossie was an old woman with a bad heart. Don't you remember your catechism? God decides when it is time to come home. God and only God."

  I sniffed. "Do you think God decided it was time to hit Alex Martin with a rock and push him off the lighthouse tower?"

  She frowned at me. "I don't want to hear any sass from you, young lady. Now get up, wash your face and put your shoulders back. This is no time for moping. We have to be practical. That is what's needed now."

  I wasn't fooled into thinking she was unaffected by Mrs. Ollanketo's death because I recognized the typical stoic attitude that I see all the time in our community. Don't give in to emotion. Get on with the work at hand.

  "I'll go get Doctor Kukka," she said. I clutched her arm.

  "He isn't here, Miss Thyra. He's in jail over in Frog Creek. He confessed to killing Alex Martin."

  Miss Thyra's long, narrow face paled and her nondescript eyes seemed to grow bigger as she stared at me.

  "He never did that."

  "I know." I told her about Danny's story of Captain Jack speaking with someone on the circular staircase. "Sheriff Clump thought Danny was lying, that he was the last one to visit Alex and he was about to arrest Danny for murder. Tom stepped in to prevent that." I remembered, belatedly, that I was supposed to be taking care of Miss Thyra. "How's your migraine, by the way?"

  "Fine. I'm fine." She didn't look fine. She looked green. I peered at her.

  "Are you sure? I understand you refused to take the Verapamil."

  "I don't hold with drugs. Everything passes. My headache passed."

  In my opinion, she looked far from well. Strands from her scraped back hair had come loose and drifted around her long face and the lines in that face were as deep as crevices in dried mud. There was a barely concealed expression of panic in her eyes and the bony fingers of each hand clasped and unclasped each other. Still, I didn't think she was in pain and really, there wasn't much I could do for her.

  "If Doc Kukka isn't here," she said, all business, "we will have to get someone else to look at the body and sign the death certificate. Call the sheriff, Henrikki."

  I suppressed a smile. "Before or after I wash my face?"

  Her small eyes narrowed on me.

  "Oh," I said. "I almost forgot. Mrs. O. wanted me to give you something. I'll be right back." I headed up the circular stairs, retrieved the mitten and returned. "She'd forgotten that the seminar was over. She wanted you to have this blue Arjeplog mitten to go with the green one."

  I don't know what I expected. Maybe a softening of the eye. Maybe a tear or two in appreciation of the thoughtfulness of her late friend. I did not expect to see her sallow face turn sheet white or to see an expression of sheer terror in her pale eyes. The expression didn't remain. After a minute, her color returned and she appeared almost normal.

  "Thank you," she said. "As you say, Flossie must have gotten confused about the seminar. All right, now. Wash your face and call the sheriff."

  Aunt Ianthe and Miss Irene, wondering what was happening on the second floor, arrived on the landing and I tried to console them as they found out about Flossie Ollanketo's death. They and Miss Thyra brought chairs into the room and alternately reminisced and cried and it was some time until I could slip out onto the landing to make my call to the sheriff.

  Doc Kukka's black bag was still sitting on the hall table. He'd left it open when Ellwood had handcuffed him. I glanced inside at the ubiquitous Vics Vapo Rub, the stethoscope and the little hammer, rolls of bandages, gauze pads, Betadine antiseptic, plastic gloves, eyewash, a glucometer to measure blood sugar, a regular thermometer and one in a container labeled, "rectal thermometer" which, I knew he had used this morning to try to determine the time of Alex's death. I felt a sudden knife thrust of sadness about the two losses. And then my eye fell on an unused syringe and grief slid away.

  Doc had prepared two syringes for two patients. Only one of the patients had taken hers. She'd lived while the other patient had died. Why hadn't the Digitalin saved Mrs. Ollanketo's life? Was the heart damage too severe? I hated the idea of reporting this to Doc. He would blame himself. I gritted my teeth, punched 911 into my phone and prepared to wait.

  Chapter 23

  "Nine-one-one," the male voice said, crisply, answering on the second ring, "what is your emergency?"

  I was momentarily speechless with shock. I had a sudden vision of Mrs. Touleheto splayed out on the floor with a knife in her back while the murderer answered the phone.

  "Hello? Do you have an emergency?"

  At that point I recognized the voice and let out a breath of relief.

  "Erik? Is that you?"

  "Hello, Hatti." The lawyer chuckled, softly. "Not the person you were expecting? Mrs. Touleheto is in the ladies room. Or, maybe, she ran out on an errand. I've forgotten what she said. I was here so I answered. Is this an emergency?"

  His question reminded me of why I'd called. I explained it.

  "It may have been a natural death," I finished, "but someone should come and see."

  "Well, damn," he said, without heat. "What a damn shame. Poor old lady. I imagine you'd just call Maki if it weren't for our murder. I'll dig up the sheriff and get back out there as soon as possible. Everybody else all right?" When I responded that we were fine but shocked he sighed again. "I'm not looking forward to breaking this to Riitta. She's going to take it hard."

  Tom would take it hard, too. An instant later, he echoed my thought.

  "No one would blame Doc Kukka," he said. "The man was just doing his job. The Digitalin should have worked for her. I guess we'll never know whether the Verapamil would have worked for Miss Thyra since she refused it."

  "How do you know that?"

  "What? Oh, Doc handed me her syringe to rinse out in the sink. There was no way to recycle it so down the drain it went. I washed out the syringe and left it on the side of the sink. I imagine Doc washed his out after he injected Mrs. O., too. They should both be there. In the little hall bathroom."

  I crossed the hall and looked in. Sure enough, two empty syringes lay on the sink surround.

  "Hatti?"

  "What? Oh, yes. They're both here. Miss Thyra is fine, by the way. She seems to have recovered. Thanks, Erik."

  "See you soon."

  I wondered what we'd
do without the attorney. He always seemed to be around when a level head was needed. I was glad to let him corral Clump and handle the next steps in Mrs. Ollanketo's death.

  The ladies were still sitting vigil with Flossie's body so I sat on the top step of the stairs and looked up both medications on my cellphone. If someone had asked me why I was doing it, I wouldn't have been able to articulate an answer. Not, anyway, until I'd read through online descriptions and discovered they were eerily similar.

  Digitalin, a natural remedy made from foxglove, was a stimulant that had long been used to jump start a recalcitrant heart. Verapamil, on the other hand, was synthetic and fairly new. It, too, worked on the heart, but it was intended to relax the heart muscles and blood vessels. Two medications with opposite effects. If both were administered to the same patient, they would cancel each other out. I continued to sit on the top step so long that the dogs finally found me and nosed their way under each of my arms.

  "I don't know what I'm worried about," I finally said, aloud. "There is no reason I can think of for anyone to want Mrs. O. to die." I tried to expand my thinking on that. Could she have been a threat to someone? Say, to Alex Martin's murderer? I didn't see how. She wasn't very mobile and she couldn't hear at all. And then I thought about the Arjeplog mitten and Miss Thyra's odd reaction to it. Had Mrs. O. observed something suspicious? Was the mitten intended as a clue? Surely not or Miss Thyra would have said something.

  Unless, of course, Miss Thyra was afraid. Or implicated. I kept going back to that.

  I heard my aunt call my name so I got up and went into the room of death.

  "Irene's going to do a Bible reading, dear," she said. "In honor of Flossie." We stood in a circle, not touching. I expected to hear something comforting, like a verse from the Beattitudes or the Twenty-Third Psalm. But Miss Irene selected a verse from Revelations:

  "And I looked and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him."