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

by Ann Yost

  As I disconnected, I noticed the tee shirt I'd dropped on the rocking chair last night, the one from Max. I grinned, started to put it on, and realized it wouldn't do for a tea party. Since I hadn't done any laundry the previous evening, I ransacked my mom's closet and came up with a white tennis shirt embroidered with a pink cat with green rhinestone eyes and a matching pink, pleated tennis skirt. I grabbed a pair of pink Keds, too. Not a perfect outfit for high tea on the peninsula but better than cutoffs.

  Larry and Lydia ate while I brewed a pot of coffee and popped some bread into the toaster. Then I took my breakfast and a couple of rawhide sticks into the parlor. The dogs settled on the floor and I sat on the piano bench as we enjoyed the morning sun.

  After my first cup of coffee, I noticed the book on the music rack.

  My mother, like most Finnish-American women, is a conscientious housekeeper who imposes certain rules on herself. She believes, for example, that artwork should be rearranged every few months and coffee table books rotated, in part because of the fresh environment such changes provide and in part because it is silent testimony that there is routine cleaning going on in the home.

  My mom has carried out and expanded this philosophy to (some might say) an absurd degree in the swapping out of sheet music on the piano's music stand. One week, she'll post a Mozart sonata. Another week, we'll see a hymnal. Today's offering, which must have been there since before she left for Helsinki, and which revealed, all too clearly what was on her mind, was my first piano book, John Thompson's Teaching Little Fingers to Play. The songs inside consisted of three notes in the treble clef and they had names like The Postman, and The Bee, and Sandman's Near.

  The message to my sister and me? Give me more grandchildren!

  Oddly enough, the ham-fisted memo did not get my back up. Instead, it got me to thinking about Riitta. I knew she'd been concerned about the ten years or so between herself and Tom. Was this possible marriage to Erik Sundback intended to rescue Tom from a childless union? It seemed in character. It also seemed like the Snorkmaiden's words about rescuing would apply to her as much as they did to Tom.

  I got up from the piano bench, called the dogs, and fetched the leashes. It was time for fresh air, a fresh perspective and a look-in on Einar. The doorbell rang just as we reached it and my heart jumped into my throat, as if the lighthouse murderer might be standing on the other side. I told myself not to be ridiculous and I practically ripped the door off its hinges, wrenching it open.

  "Tennis anyone?" Max Guthrie grinned at me from the other side of the screen. "This the fashionable attire for housework?"

  "Housework? What's that?" I felt a little breathless. "Thank you for the tee shirt. I love it."

  "Obviously," he said.

  "Oh, I couldn't wear it today. I'm going to a tea party."

  "Uh-huh."

  "Why didn't you come in last night? It was just a few friends, Elli, Sofi and Sonya."

  "It was late. I brought someone I want you to meet."

  He stepped aside and I realized he wasn't alone. There was another man with him, taller than Max and younger with rapidly thinning dark hair and an engaging smile.

  "Hatti Lehtinen, meet my friend Finn."

  "Finn?" I grinned at him. "As in Huck or Helsinki?"

  He had a nice laugh.

  "Neither. I'm from County Cork by way of the Bronx. Finn O'Leary at your service."

  "Finn, in addition to being an avid would-be fisherman, is a former employee of Alex Martin. I thought you might have some questions for him."

  "Geez Louise," I said. "Yeah, I do."

  "And we thought," Max continued, "we could trade the answers for some coffee and prune tarts."

  Very belatedly I remembered my manners and invited them in. After we'd sat down at the wicker table with fresh coffee and tarts retrieved from the freezer and thawed in the microwave, I looked at Finn.

  "So you came several thousand miles just to fish?"

  "I've kept in touch with Max's adventures here in God's Country and I wanted to see for myself." He gave me an appreciative wink. "I didn't expect to find a golden-haired angel."

  I hooted. "Don't be impressed. You can't swing a dead cat around here without hitting a blue-eyed blond."

  "Possibly," Max put in, "because you're all related to each other."

  "Descendants of Finnish miners," I explained. "And, believe me, we're not angels."

  "Hatti's the pick of the litter," Max said, a gleam in his coffee-colored eyes. "Not just because she's beautiful. She's smart, too."

  Max thought I was beautiful and smart? I couldn't think of anything to say.

  "Very smart," Finn said. "She can make coffee and bake."

  "Full disclosure," I said, "my mom made those at Christmas time. They were frozen."

  "Hey, you were smart enough to pick a mom who can bake. That's smart enough for me. Think she'll come to live with us after the kids are born?"

  "Sure, as long as we buy a house across the street." I grinned at him. I'd forgotten how much fun it was to flirt. I realized I was enjoying myself but this was too good an opportunity to miss. I needed to pick the guy's brain.

  "You really worked for Alex Martin?"

  "I was head of his communications department for about six months. I left to go back to journalism and now I freelance for a couple of publications. Frankly, I'm writing a piece on my late boss and hoped you and I could exchange some information."

  "I don't know much about Alex. I met him for the first time the night he died."

  "Luckily, that's the exact night I'm interested in," he said. "It was kind of a strange situation, wasn't it? A dark and stormy night, a mysterious visitor, a bump on the head followed by a half-gainer off a tower?"

  I sent Max a questioning look and he shrugged.

  "Don't tell him anything you don't want him to know."

  Finn shook his head. "I didn't come here to hassle you. I'll tell you what I can about Alex in L.A. You can talk or not talk. No quid pro quo."

  I nodded but reminded myself I'd have to be careful. I simply could not tell the media about Riitta's long ago involvement with Alex or even about his more recent tete-a-tete with Chakra. It wouldn't be fair to the dead. And it wouldn't be fair to the living.

  "What was he like to work for?"

  "A roller coaster. A tilt-a-whirl. Any kind of carnival ride you can think of. The man had innovative ideas and bold moves. He was loaded with charisma. Everybody wanted to work with him, at least at first."

  "And then?"

  "It was something about his attitude. Hard to put into words. One day you felt like amigos, the next day there was a distance and you weren't sure how it had gotten there or why. And then if you crossed him, in any way, large or small, you got your head chopped off. It wasn't just personal relationships. It was business deals, too." Finn stopped for a sip of coffee. "I don't think I've ever met anyone who was so self-protective. He must have been royally screwed over at some point in his life because he just wouldn't tolerate anything negative. If he heard second-hand that you said something disloyal about him, you were out on your butt."

  "Is that what happened to you?"

  He shook his head. "I didn't get canned but the gilt had worn off our relationship and I knew it was a matter of time. I decided not to wait around with my head on the chopping block. He didn't take my defection well at all. Got me blackballed at a couple of newspapers."

  "You make him sound so vindictive."

  "He was vindictive, Hatti," Finn said, seriously. "You know how some people are fueled by anger? Alex got his kicks from making people pay for transgressions against him."

  "He seemed pretty successful," I said.

  "Oh, he was. Wildly successful. Worth something like a hundred million and climbing. Where the attitude hurt him was personally. He could and did cut off a friend or a girlfriend without a backward look. I think the shock was greater because he'd been so personable in the beginning." Finn had lost his charming smile. L
ines scored his cheeks and a muscle worked in his jaw.

  "The worst situation was watching what he did to his wife."

  "You knew his wife?"

  "We were friends, of a sort. She'd worked for him before she got her break in show business and she liked to come into the office."

  "How did she react to his mercurial temperament?"

  "I don't think she liked it but she tolerated it. At least until he did it to her. One day things were okay between them and the next day, it was over. I found her in the bar near the office and she cried on my shoulder. When Alex found out, that was pretty much the end for me."

  "And for her?"

  "Yeah. She and I spoke a few times after we were both cut off. She was a basket case and finally moved out of the area."

  "She moved up here to the Keweenaw," I said. Finn blinked at me. "You knew that already, didn't you? That's the real reason you came up to see Max."

  "One of the reasons," he admitted. "I liked Stella. A lot. I wanted to check on her."

  "Have you seen her yet?" He shook his head. "Are you going to see her?"

  "I don't know. We'll see."

  "For what it's worth," I said, "I think she's found some closure." He looked startled.

  "What makes you think that?"

  "She told me."

  "That means she met him, doesn't it? They got together?"

  I shook my head at him.

  "If you've got questions, you'll have to ask her. It isn't my business."

  There was a long silence as Finn peered into my eyes.

  "Hatti, are you certain Stella didn't kill him?"

  I looked from Finn to Max then back to Finn.

  "Honestly? I have no earthly idea who killed him."

  After a moment, Max spoke.

  "I think we could all use some fresh air, Umlaut. When we arrived you were about to walk the dogs. May we come along?"

  As we carried our dishes to the sink and I corralled the canines I heard Finn speaking to Max under his breath.

  "What the hell," he growled, "is an umlaut?"

  Definitely not a Helsinki Finn.

  On the way down Calumet Street, Finn entertained us with the story of his flight from L.A. and some other anecdotes but when we got to the corner of Third Street and Main, the point in town where you can see both the downtown area and the remnants of the mine and the railroad that served it, he stopped short, his jaw hanging.

  "What," he asked, "in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost, is Notre Dame doing here in Red Jacket?"

  I laughed. "My sister calls it Quasimodo's winter home. It's a gothic cathedral, built during the height of the copper boom when the town had money to burn. These days it's St. Heikki's Finnish Lutheran Church."

  "What about that," he asked, pointing at the shops on Main Street. "Who'd have thought there would be columns and cupolas and all that bric-a-brac up here in Paul Bunyan country? It looks like Victorian London without the snow."

  "Oh, we have snow," I assured him. "Wait a couple of months."

  "In fact," Max added, with a grin at me, "our motto is Shovel and Swat. If we're not pushing snow to one side of the road or the other, we're fighting a pestilent invasion of black flies."

  "There are no flies now," Finn said.

  "I know," I said. "This is June. Our good month."

  Chapter 29

  The bell over the door jingled as we stepped into the bait shop. I'd never met anything but silence there so I was taken aback to hear voices. More than one, too. Was it possible that Einar was engaged in a conversation?

  I quickly realized my mistake. The voices belonged to Arvo Maki and Erik Sundback who stood on either side of the gnome like pair of protective Vikings.

  Arvo, gesticulating with his hands, looked over at us, registered the presence of a newcomer, broke off his conversation and started to cross the room.

  "Hatti-girl," he said, with total sincerity, "just the person I want to see." He seemed re-collect himself. "Both of us want to see," he corrected, glancing at Erik. "This morning, you're the Queen of the May."

  "A sight for sore eyes," Erik confirmed, walking toward us. "You have a minute to talk some lighthouse business?"

  I introduced everyone and I could tell that Arvo, at least, would have liked to stay to speak longer with Finn. Finn, on the other hand, was mesmerized by the fly Einar was tying.

  "Why don't the three of you go for coffee," Max said, pleasantly. "Finn can get a look at some of Einar's handiwork and I'll keep an eye on the brats." He jerked his head toward Larry, whose ears he was rubbing.

  We agreed and set off across the street.

  There was, as usual, no traffic at all on Main Street even though it was late on a weekday morning. We jaywalked easily toward our destination, a tiny coffee shop called Common Grounds. The hole-in-the-wall had been created by accident, during a long ago renovation project. It was too small for most enterprises and had been used, for temporary projects, like headquarters for the Copper County Homecoming Parade or take-out endeavors.

  For the past year it had been vacant and Arvo had worked a deal with the business teacher at the high school to set up a coffee shop with a revolving staff of teenagers in an effort to get the young people some work experience and allow them to earn a little money during the summer. The teacher's job was to provide the kids. Arvo, always generous, provided the funding.

  Today's barrista was unknown to me, which was something of a surprise since basically everybody in Red Jacket knows everybody else. The new girl looked up as we entered and I found myself staring at a heart-shaped face framed with white-blond hair pulled back into a thick single braid. Long dark eyelashes accentuated eyes of Aegean blue, or at least that's the adjective that came into my mind. Even in a place awash in blue eyes, these were stunning.

  Her features were delicate and her pale, smooth complexion tinted a natural pink. Even in a yellow, company-provided tee shirt and white shorts she appeared both regal and ethereal. When she spotted Arvo, her full lips spread into a welcoming smile that revealed perfect, white teeth.

  Arvo, who is always at his best in social situations, could not find a word to say. He looked pole-axed.

  "Hi," I said, to cover for him. "I'm Hatti Lehtinen."

  "Liisa Pelonen," she said. Even her voice was graceful.

  Arvo pulled himself together and completed the introductions.

  "Liisa went to the high school over at Ahmeek," he said. "Since it finally closed its doors, she's going to finish her senior year here at Copper County High, and she's done Pauline and me the honor of agreeing to stay with us." He beamed at his protégé. "Liisa has a beautiful voice, too, Hatti. She's already singing with the church choir."

  Geez Louise. Sometimes I couldn't believe how slow I was on the uptake. This blond beauty wasn't just Liisa Pelonen, high school guest of the Makis. This girl was Ronja Laplander's worst nightmare. And with good reason. Liisa looked like a Norman Rockwell version of St. Lucy. She looked more like St. Lucy than St. Lucy. Astrid Laplander, with her short, squat body and the Dutch-boy cut of her straight, dark hair, did not stand a chance.

  But the pang that reverberated through me as I gazed at this vision of loveliness was due to more than Ronja's disappointment. I recognized the longing in Arvo's middle-aged eyes and even though I knew it wasn't infatuation of a man for a woman, but of a childless man for a daughter, I felt an uneasy premonition and found all my sympathy was for Arvo's wife, Pauline. That look of stark enchantment had nothing at all to do with her.

  Erik shepherded me to the lone, tiny table in the place while Arvo waited for Liisa to fill the order.

  "It's just infatuation," he said, echoing my thought. "She's just so unbelievably beautiful. Nothing to worry about."

  "Right," I murmured. Erik was a friend but he was a new friend and I didn't want to make a lot of Arvo's vulnerability. But the lawyer had figured it out.

  "He and his wife are childless?" I nodded. "I imagine that's it then. T
his girl gives him a chance to play that role for a while." He grinned. "It'll wear off when she starts breaking curfew and refusing to help with the dishes."

  "He's good with kids. He's always been a sort of honorary uncle to my sister and cousin and me. He used to dress up as Joulupukki at Christmas time."

  "Joulupukki," he repeated, "Santa Claus?"

  "Literally it means Yule Goat," I explained. "But, yes, these days Joulupukki appears with no horns." It was time to get back to the problem of the moment. "What are we going to do about the situation at the lighthouse?"

  Sundback sighed and ran his fingers through his short curls.

  "The retirement home will be okay," he said. "The probate court will accept Alex's letter to Riitta as a legitimate expression of his intent."

  "But what if it was a forgery?" The words were out before I could stop them. Erik blinked.

  "What are you talking about, Hatti? There's no question of that, is there?" I shrugged.

  "My friends and I drew up a kind of timeline last night. We can't see any reason for Alex changing his mind about the disposition of the lighthouse and the trust fund after he'd said one thing to Riitta and, more than that, we can't see that there was enough time for him to write the new letter and deliver it. There is no time unaccounted for between the end of Riitta's visit and Alex's plunge off the gallery."

  "We talked about this before," he said, in a calm voice. "Alex could have given the letter to Jack to deliver."

  "I can't see it. It doesn't fit. Why should he tell Riitta one thing and change his mind minutes later? I'll tell you what, Erik. I don't think Alex wrote that letter at all."

  "What are you saying? If he didn't, who did?"

  "The killer." I made a conscious effort to keep my voice low even though the other two people in the room were clearly not listening to us. "For some unknown reason, the killer didn't want the lighthouse to go to Riitta. He or she wanted it to go to the county."

  "That's assuming a lot," Erik said. "How would the killer know what Alex had said to Riitta?"