The Family Tree Murders

by Laura Hern

  “Thanks, but I’ve got it,” the woman said.

  She put the desk fan and the bags on the counter, then straightened her blouse and raked her fingers through her hair.

  “You know your back is going to hurt if you’ve been lifting those pots again,” she said to Vera. Then she focused her gaze on Lainey and put out her hand.

  “I’m Francine, Vera’s daughter. Please, call me Francy.”

  Lainey nodded and shook her hand.

  “It’s nice to meet you. I’ve only met Vera this morning. She is a great Welcoming Committee Chair.” Lainey finished, winking at Francy.

  “Oh, I know it. There isn’t one visitor in the last seventeen years that my mom didn’t welcome.”

  Vera smiled wide. “It’s my gift and I take it very seriously!” she stated.

  Lainey looked at Francy and grinned.

  “Francy, I told Lainey that she needs to join our group and meet Della right away. When is our next dinner date?”

  Francy saw the curious look on Lainey’s face and quickly added, “Mom, did you happen to ask her if she wanted to meet with us?”

  Vera waved her hand at Francy as if she were batting a fly in front of her face. “Of course she wants to join. You like to play cards, don’t you?”

  “Well, yes, I do like to play cards,” Lainey answered, looking from Vera to Francy. “But if you need to ask Della, I completely understand.”

  “Piddle!” Vera exclaimed as she dismissed that thought. “Francy and I like you. Della will, too.”

  Francy looked down and smiled.

  “It’s useless to argue with my mom. If she says you’re perfect for our group, then welcome to the Whoopee group!” Francy said smiling.

  “What did you call your group?” Lainey said as she tried not to giggle out loud.

  “You’ll soon see,” Vera said. “Francy, where are we meeting next week?”

  “We’re going to grab a bite to eat at Babe’s at 5:15 on Tuesday, then go to Brooksey’s Playhouse. It’s the last day to see The Fox on the Fairway.” Francy answered. “I’m sure we can get another ticket.”

  “What is Babe’s? Is it in Mirror Falls? Is there a dress code?” Lainey asked.

  “Heavens no! If they don’t like the way I dress, then I’m happy not to support their restaurant!” Vera said somewhat indignantly.

  “Yes, both places are in town. Babe’s House of Caffeine is our local favorite and only place to get specialty coffees like my favorite, Caramel Macchiato. Brooksey’s Playhouse is our local theater group. Both are downtown about a block or so from each other.” Francy said.

  “My downfall is a skinny Mocha Frappe with no whip,” Lainey answered, smiling and licking her lips.

  “See, I told you she’ll fit right in.” Vera smiled.

  It was still raining on Monday morning. Lainey had been up early making sure her computer network, modem, router, printer, and laptop were working properly. Finally convinced all wires, lines, passwords, and codes were entered correctly, she tried to login to her work server.

  Blazing across the screen were the now familiar words: Updates loading… server not responding. Contact administrator.

  She left a message on the Tech Hotline stating she needed urgent assistance. The time showed 3:52 a.m.

  “I’m sure Tech Services will love being greeted Monday morning with my message!” Lainey mused. She turned to her cat, Powie, and said, “I need more coffee this morning. How about you?”

  Lainey had always been a little bit impatient and waiting for 8 am to arrive in order to start the long, often drawn out process of getting all her programs up and running was simply boring.

  She turned on the local news to see that more rain was possible and she began surfing the channels. Finally, she found the PBS channel running an Agatha Christie favorite with Hercule Poirot.

  “Coffee and Poirot! All is good in the world.” She sat in the recliner and quickly fell fast asleep.

  She awoke to her phone ringer playing Under the Boardwalk as a ringtone. Within a couple of hours, her computer was restored and she was checking emails. She reread one that was flagged urgent and printed it. As requested in the email, she called her boss for more details.

  “Good to hear your voice, Lainey!” her boss said. “I thought maybe you had drowned or gotten lost around Mirror Falls.”

  “Ha, ha, very funny,” Lainey responded, not amused. “I’ve been on with the Tech Department trying to get my computer fired up.”

  “I see,” he replied, sensing that she wasn’t in the mood for jokes. “You’re calling on the Herman Helvig assignment?”

  “Yes, what’s the problem?” Lainey had her pen and paper ready to jot down the details.

  “Herman Helvig is the retired President of the Mirror Falls Bank and Trust. He still sits on the Board of Directors. He grew up in the area, is respected among the business community for his intuitive approach and the ability to turn a failing opportunity into a thriving and profitable one.”

  “Got it. He’s got business savvy and is well-known in the community,” Lainey recited.

  “Fifty-one years ago, he married Brooks Olsen, daughter of a local family of farmers. She was known around town as Brooksey, was a stay at home wife, had no children and over time became a beloved philanthropist in the area.” He paused to let Lainey catch up on her notes.

  “How does a possible murder fit into this?” she asked.

  “Mrs. Helvig was found dead two weeks ago of an apparent heroin overdose.”

  There was silence on Lainey’s end of the call.

  “Lainey?” her boss questioned. “Did we lose the phone connection?”

  “No, sir, I wasn’t expecting to hear about an overdose of anything,” she replied.

  “There was a Key Person Life policy written on Brooks about a month ago.”

  “How much did Herman inherit?” Lainey asked.

  “That’s the root of his call to us. His wife was the sole owner of a small theater… let me get the name… Brooksey’s Playhouse.”

  Lainey shivered. “Are you sure it’s called Brooksey’s Playhouse?”

  “Yes, why?”

  “I’ll let you know after I do more research.”

  Her boss cleared his throat and continued, “The policy was written with someone other than Herman named as beneficiary. And it was for a million dollars.”

  Lainey paused in thought. “Who’s the beneficiary?”

  “Jillian Blumpkist, the manager of the Playhouse.”

  “The entire million goes to this Jillian? I can see why the husband is upset.”

  “Can you get in contact with Helvig this morning? It sounds to me like he feels his wife was murdered. And if it turns out foul play is involved, the policy is void.”

  “I’ll get right on it. Anything else I should know?”

  “That’s where you come in. Your job is to find out what else we need to know before paying this claim.”

  “Send me any and all information you have. I’ll contact Helvig as soon as possible.”

  “Thanks, stay in touch. Let me know if you need anything,” her boss said before hanging up.

  Is it a coincidence that I’m going to Brooksey’s Playhouse this week? Could Vera or her group be involved?

  Lainey regrouped her notes and called Helvig. The answering machine had a lady’s voice and she wondered if it was Mrs. Helvig. As she was leaving a message with her company name and phone number, someone hurriedly picked up the phone saying, “Hello? Hello? This is Herman Helvig.”

  “Hello Mr. Helvig. My name is Lainey Maynard. You called my company to investigate the death of your wife. I am very sorry for your loss. Is this a bad time to be calling you?”

  “Thank you. No, I want to speak with you in person. When can you come?”

  Lainey paused to check her calendar. “Would later this afternoon or evening be convenient for you?”

  “Come to Brooksey’s after 8 p.m. The playhouse will be empty by tha
t time.”

  “Yes, sir, I will be there. Please, let me give you my phone number in case something comes up and we need to reschedule.”

  “I have your number and I will not need to reschedule. It is urgent that I speak with you as soon as possible.”

  Lainey hung up, wondering why it was so important to Herman for the theater to be empty when they met. She plugged Brooksey’s Playhouse address into her phone GPS. It was a ten minute drive from her apartment. She decided to research the theater and freshen up before going to see Mr. Helvig.

  Brooksey’s had quite the checkered past. During the ‘20s and ‘30s, the Midwest was a favorite hiding place for bootleggers, gangsters, and bank robbers. The small population, cold weather, and even corrupt law enforcement during those years made it easy for criminals to seek sanctuary and run their operations. These included John Dillinger, his girlfriend and Al Capone. Even Bonnie and Clyde roamed the Midwest during their heyday.

  Lainey sat back in her chair and rubbed her eyes. Her iPad didn’t have the best background light for reading. She blinked a few times and continued scouring the online articles. After scrolling through tons of newspaper archives, one post caught her eye.

  “Two Capone gang members arrested at Mirror Falls brothel,” she read aloud.

  Mirror Falls had a brothel? What else is my new hometown known for?

  The article stated that police had arrested two members of Capone’s gang who were engaged in illegal activity with prostitutes at Miss A’s Stallion Saloon. Lainey quickly opened another search window and typed the saloon name. Seems the saloon was the most popular place in town. Men were frequently seen coming and going at all hours of the day and night. She read on to find that Miss A’s name was Ai Jiao Ju, which meant “lovable fine daisy flower” in Chinese.

  There was a black and white picture of the brick, two story building with police officers and men in handcuffs walking toward what looked like an old paddy wagon. Lainey kept wondering how this was related to the Brooksey’s Playhouse. Suddenly the newspaper words seemed to jump off the page into her lap. The saloon had been closed down shortly afterwards and the building had been turned into a theater house by the city!

  Lainey looked at her watch and realized it was time to leave for her meeting with Mr. Helvig. She turned off her iPad, got into her car and headed to the Playhouse. She had many questions to ask Helvig about his wife and many more about the theater. She arrived almost 15 minutes early, walked inside, and was surprised by the regal appearance of the foyer.

  The high ceilings were painted with exotic designs and ornately trimmed with gold leaf patterns that sparkled. There were two spiral staircases on either side of the foyer, and polished, hand carved wooden pillars supported the grand structure. Tall red velvet draperies with gold tassels hung over every window. Playbill posters graced the space between the curtains. There was a musty old smell that caused a tingle in Lainey’s nose.

  “You’re an hour late!” a gruff male voice said loudly, startling Lainey back into reality. “Do you have the information?”

  Lainey looked bewildered.

  “I’m Lainey Maynard,” she said as she put out her hand. “Mr. Helvig?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m here to get information from you concerning your wife’s death. What were you expecting me to give you?”

  “Nothing, nothing,” he stammered as he turned his back to her. “Follow me, let’s talk in the back office.”

  He was an older man of medium height. His hair, while receding from his forehead, was meticulously styled, giving him a very classy look. He was wearing an Ascot Chang designer polo shirt, a sleek pair of casual dress slacks, and a pair of Ferragamo shoes.

  He certainly knows designer fashion and wears it well.

  He walked briskly, giving Lainey the impression he was in very good shape.

  Helvig walked past the ticket booth and bar area, through the great doors leading into the main floor theater and down the sloped middle aisle toward the orchestra pit. Lainey, hurrying to keep up, tripped on one of the many ripples in the faded red carpeting. Somehow she managed to keep her balance and noticed that Helvig never looked back to see if she was following.

  He approached a black door to the left of the orchestra pit, reached into his pocket and pulled out a large set of keys.

  “I bet it’s difficult to see that door when the lights aren’t on,” Lainey said as she waited for him to find the correct key.

  “That’s the point,” he grunted. “Only I have access to it. The door closes and locks automatically.”

  He opened the door, walked inside, and flipped on the light. They entered a narrow, short hallway that led to a single door about 40 feet away. Helvig headed to the next door, fiddling with his keys once again. He abruptly turned to face Lainey just shy of the second door.

  “What you see inside and what we discuss is strictly off the record,” he stated bluntly. “Otherwise this meeting is over.”

  Lainey nodded, wondering what was behind the door that would cause him such concern.

  He turned, opened the door, and this time motioned for her to enter first. She began walking down a narrow, tightly curved rock staircase.

  This is like walking down the stairs of a lighthouse.

  The walls looked as though they had been chiseled out of an iron ore mine. After what seemed hours, the stairs ended abruptly in front of a small iron door.

  Once again Helvig dug out his keys and opened the heavy door. The extremely overpowering scent of incense or some pungent urine-type odor immediately irritated her nose and throat with a hot, burning sensation that caused her to start coughing and choking.

  “What is that putrid smell?” she sputtered out while still choking.

  Helvig, ignoring her question, flipped on a light switch and closed the door.

  “This room was built with little ventilation and it wasn’t meant to be a place where people stayed for a long periods at a time,” he said.

  Once Lainey stopped coughing and could look around, what she saw shocked her. The room resembled photos of old opium dens she had seen in history books. There were no windows or other doors. A single light bulb hung from a brown, cobweb-covered electric extension cord across the ceiling and cast a dim, scary glow to the room. The only furniture pieces were two very old wooden chairs, several stained yellow straw or bamboo mats on the stained cement floor, some grungy soiled pillows, a few hat-type hangers on the wall, and one old dresser with four drawers. Suddenly Lainey realized where she was.

  “This is an old drug den!” she exclaimed angrily at Helvig. “You brought me to a drug den? Open that door immediately. I want no part of this!” Her eyes flared and the glare she gave him would have melted steel.

  “Relax, Ms. Maynard, I am not a drug dealer and you are in no danger,” he said almost amused at her rage.

  It dawned on her that while she was coughing and choking because of the stench held within the walls of this dingy little room, Helvig never flinched, coughed, or choked.

  “It seems you are immune to this room’s unique odor,” she said sarcastically. “Come here often do you?”

  He flinched at the remark, then sat down.

  “Sit down,” he said calmly. “I won’t keep you here long.”

  Lainey stood her ground. “I’m not sitting, lying, or touching anything. Talk fast. You have one minute before I call 911.”

  “I had to bring you here to see this first hand,” he began. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t believe the story.”

  “You’re out of time. I’ve seen it. We can talk upstairs. Now open the door.”

  Lainey continued to glare at him.

  Helvig paused briefly and looked intently at her as if trying to decide if she was serious or not. He got up and walked over to the door. The decades-old hinges groaned with an eerie, dreadful screeching noise as if the room were crying or pleading for them to stay. Lainey didn’t remember hearing any sound when it was first opened and it ma
de her skin crawl.

  Helvig turned to face Lainey.

  “I’m warning you,” he stated flatly. “Anything you saw is off the record.” He turned to start up the stairs.

  She glared at him and followed in silence.

  When they were back in the theater, Lainey felt she needed to shower, change her clothes or something. That horrible smell still lingered in her throat, nose and her mind. She doubted if she would ever forget it.

  “Now we can talk in the front office,” Helvig said as he walked back up the middle aisle. Lainey followed, feeling a bit queasy and mad at herself for that reaction.

  Crap, Lainey, pull yourself together! You’re tougher than this! It was just a smelly room for crying out loud.

  The office was behind the ticket window and Lainey was glad to be above ground, sitting in a padded office chair. She was very cautious not to show Helvig how relieved she was.

  He sat down at a small black cherry colored desk that could have been Chinese in style. Still mad about the hideous room she had been taken to, she sat in the chair across from him with her arms crossed.

  “I hope I didn’t scare you too much,” he said. “I know how fragile women can be.” His demeaning tone only infuriated her. It was obvious how she felt was of no concern to him.

  Fragile? He thinks I’m fragile? Buddy, you just barked up the wrong tree.

  A lightening bolt of anger raced up her spine.

  “Look, Mr. Helvig,” she said with the scolding voice of a principal reprimanding a student for cheating on a test. She leaned forward putting her hands on the arms of the chair and stated boldly, “I’m not here to debate your chauvinistic view of women or crumble because of some stinky opium room you frequent. I’m here because you claimed your wife was murdered. Tell me of your concerns or I’m leaving.”

  Helvig was obviously startled by her bluntness and without missing a beat, he said, “That room is part of the history of this building and plays a huge part in why I believe my wife was murdered.”

  Coming Soon! Go to LauraHern.com for details!

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