Dead Man's Mistress

by David Housewright

  “I’m liking more and more that you call me that.”

  * * *

  It was Saturday night in Grand Marais and the Gunflint Tavern was hopping. Gillian Davis was far too busy to talk to me when I arrived, but she promised that she would when she went on her break.

  The Gunflint was divided into three levels. The first had a bar and TVs tuned to whatever sporting event was popular at the moment. The second featured a much larger bar and tables galore for diners. The third was an outside terrace with a live band. Perhaps “band” was being too generous. It was just two guys playing guitars and singing Gordon Lightfoot songs. They were pretty good, though, the craft beer was great, and the view of the harbor was spectacular, so I settled on a stool next to the railing and waited.

  The duo finished its set with “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald,” a prerequisite, I suppose, if you’re going to play a gig on the North Shore of Lake Superior. They did a nice job of it. When they sang the final line, “Superior, they said, never gives up her dead when the gales of November come early,” I found myself looking up at the clear, warm September night sky. I shivered just the same.

  Gillian appeared at the top of the wooden staircase. She glanced around until she saw my wave and came toward me. That’s when I noticed for the first time the tall and short men I met at Mark’s Wheel-Inn earlier. They were sitting at a table with two other men on the far side of the terrace and watching me. They looked like they hadn’t stopped drinking since I left them.

  “McKenzie?” she said. “Did I get that right?”

  “Yes.”

  Gillian climbed onto the stool next to mine.

  “I’m sorry I kept you waiting so long,” she said.

  “Not at all. I appreciate you sparing time to see me.”

  “It’s all right now. Before—we’re always pretty busy until nine. Afterward, business will start tapering off. It’s not like the Cities where the band doesn’t even start playing until nine. What do you think of the music?”

  “Much better than I expected.”

  “I’m seeing one of the singers.”

  “They’re quite good. Can I get you anything?”

  “Thank you, no. McKenzie, you said you wanted to talk about David Montgomery.”

  “I was under the impression that you were seeing him.”

  “That’s old news.”

  “How old?”

  “Four months.”

  “So, May?”

  “Started in April; ended in May. I work here April through October. Gunflint is one of the few businesses that stays open all year-round, but they don’t need as much help in the winter so I go down to the Cities. My parents are in the Cities. As bad as winter is down there—actually it’s worse in Minneapolis than it is up here in GM. I looked it up once. The average temperatures are nearly the same, but Grand Marais gets forty-three inches of snow and Minneapolis gets fifty-five. It’s because GM is located right on the lake and the lake is warm, I mean comparatively. The town of Finland, I have a friend who lives in Finland; it’s only six miles from the lake and they average ninety inches of snow. The thing is, though, winter in the Cities lasts about a hundred days. Here it seems to go on forever. There is absolutely nothing to do. Probably why David shot himself, looking at another endless winter.”

  “If he shot himself.”

  “I know of at least a half-dozen people who have killed themselves up here or tried to in just the past few years. No one has been murdered since, like, forever.”

  “Have you spoken to Montgomery recently?”

  “Oh, yeah. Like I said, we started seeing each other in April right after I came back up, but I knew it wasn’t going anywhere right away. David wasn’t looking for a serious relationship. Neither, was I, truthfully, but I sure wanted more than ‘meet me at the Frontier Motel in an hour.’ I mean, c’mon. I have no complaints, though. It was fun while it lasted. We stayed friends, just without benefits. Besides, there are only so many places where you can get a drink, you know? So many places you can hang out.”

  “When did you see him last?”

  “Oh wow, that would have to be—Tuesday? Yeah, Tuesday night around ten o’clock or so.”

  The night Louise Wykoff discovered her paintings were missing. It was also just after he spent time with Ms. Greyson.

  “I remember the way he was grinning like he just got away with something,” Gillian added. “I asked what. He said a gentleman never tells, which made me think he just got laid. I think he wanted me to ask who, but I didn’t. I mean, why would I care? Anyway, David was in a chatty mood so in between serving my other customers we talked. It was cold and raining so it was a slow night and I had plenty of time. I asked if he had been working. Handyman work is pretty spotty, I guess. Anyway, he said that just that day he had replaced Louise Wykoff’s water heater and I’m like—what?”

  What? my inner voice echoed. Funny she didn’t mention that to you.

  “I asked—were you with That Wykoff Woman?” Leah said. “And he was like, ‘No. God no. I wish.’”

  “Did you believe him?”

  “I did cuz even if David wouldn’t come right out and say it, he’d want you to know if he had done Louise. He’d want to brag about it. Heck, if I did her, I’d want to brag about it, too. I always figured the reason she stays pretty much to herself is because she doesn’t want people talking about her, so … It’s not like we’re BBFs, though, and tell each other our deepest, darkest secrets. I mean, Louise might be a real party girl when there’s no one around to see.”

  “You said that handyman work was spotty up here.”

  “Well, to hear David talk about it…”

  “Do you know if he was having financial problems?”

  “Nope. At least it wasn’t something he ever talked about. He had an ex and a daughter and I think he sent them money, I don’t really know for sure, though. You should ask Jodine. She’d know.”

  I flashed on something Louise had told me when we first met—the local newspaper, the News-Herald I think she called it, had reported that burglaries in Cook County had doubled in the past few years.

  “I was just wondering if he might have taken things from the homes his job put him in.”

  “You mean steal?”

  Gillian looked as if I had just called her friend an obscenity and she wasn’t happy about it.

  “No,” she said. “No, I don’t believe that. I don’t believe David would do that. Besides, from a practical standpoint, you work in people’s homes and things start going missing, even if you didn’t take them that would probably kill your business, wouldn’t you think? It wouldn’t matter if you were guilty or not. People would start talking … Well, wait. I wonder. If people were talking … David killing himself, maybe … I don’t know. I heard somewhere that most suicides are spontaneous. That people decide to kill themselves and then they do it within like an hour of making the decision but if they would only wait another hour, they’d probably talk themselves out of it. What I mean—what if something happened that David decided he couldn’t live with even though, if he took the time to think about it, maybe he could?”

  “The question is, what thing?” I said.

  “Yeah, that’s a question. Listen. I need to get back to work.”

  “All right, thank you. Thank you for your time.”

  “No problem.”

  My eyes followed Gillian as she crossed the terrace toward the staircase. The table where my pals from Mark’s Wheel-Inn was empty now. I wasn’t paying much attention to that, though. Instead, I noticed that Gillian gave a wave to the two guitar players as she passed the small stage. They both smiled broadly and waved back and I wondered, She’s seeing only one of them, right?

  * * *

  I hate to leave in the middle of a set; it seems so disrespectful to the musicians. Except I had been working on only a few hours of sleep and it was catching up to me. I made a production out of dropping a twenty in the tip jar as I crossed the terra
ce, though, hoping that would make up for my rude behavior. I descended the long wooden staircase to the sidewalk, paused to take one last look at the harbor, and started moving toward the parking lot next to the Dairy Queen.

  I didn’t make it.

  “There you are,” a voice said from the shadows.

  I kept walking without altering my speed half a step.

  “Hey, I’m talking to you.”

  Both the short man and the taller man that I had met earlier emerged from the shadows followed by their two friends.

  “Hey, guys.” I kept walking. All four of them were behind me now. “What’s going on?”

  “Where do you think you’re going?” the taller man asked.

  I hung a right without answering and kept moving down the block.

  “Running around town asking questions about Dave Montgomery, who are you?” the shorter man said. “Dammit, stop walking.”

  I did when I reached a streetlight. I turned to face the four men. We were now standing directly in front of the Dairy Queen, one of the few places in Grand Marais that was still open at a quarter to ten.

  “You guys want to talk?” I said. “Why don’t we step inside? I’ll buy the Dilly Bars.”

  “Not here,” said one of the men I didn’t know. He was wearing a Twins baseball cap, which should have made us allies but didn’t.

  “Where else can you get a Dilly Bar?” I asked.

  He didn’t reply.

  “Seriously,” I said. “Why are you guys following me?”

  “We want to talk to you,” said the taller man.

  “You could have talked to me at the Gunflint.”

  “In private.”

  The man in the baseball cap started circling like he wanted to get behind me. I brought my hand up as if I was drawing a gun and pointed at him.

  “You’re making me nervous,” I said. “Who knows what mischief might ensue if I become nervous?”

  I don’t know if it was because of my message or the convoluted way I stated it, yet he stopped moving.

  “You’ve been asking questions all over town about Montgomery,” the shorter man said.

  “I’m trying to find out if he killed himself or if he was murdered. You have a problem with that?”

  “Yes,” said the man in the ball cap.

  “Why? Are you involved?”

  “No.”

  “What’s your name?”

  He didn’t answer.

  I pulled the notebook and pen from my pocket.

  “Name?” I repeated.

  The notebook seemed to frighten him.

  “What do you want to know that for?” he asked.

  “I want to know all of your names in case I’m called to testify.”

  “What are you talking about?” the shorter man asked.

  “The Bureau of Criminal Apprehension will want to know who’s interfering in this investigation. They’ll want to know why.”

  The fourth man, who had remained silent all this time, turned and started walking away.

  Okay, now it’s three to one, my inner voice said.

  “You don’t scare me,” said the ball cap.

  “You scare me. Tell me why? Why do you want to keep me from finding out if Montgomery was murdered?”

  “No one said that,” the taller man told me. He took a few steps backward and my inner voice asked, Two to one?

  “Going around town accusing people,” said the shorter man. “This is our town.”

  “Are you afraid I’ll accuse you?”

  The man wearing the baseball cap balled his fists and raised them chest high. He started moving toward me.

  “Asshole,” he said.

  Here we go.

  I dropped the notebook and pen and moved into an American stance, deliberately facing ball cap sideways, my feet at forty-five degree angles about a shoulder’s width apart, knees bent, my left hand up around my chin, the right poised along my ribs. If my posture told ball cap that I knew some karate, it sure didn’t frighten him any. Or the shorter man, who brought his hands up like he knew how to fight, too.

  A bright light flicked on, capturing all of us. I brought my hand up to keep it out of my eyes. The others squinted at it, too. At first I thought it was flashlight. As it began to circle us, I realized it was a light mounted on a digital camera.

  “Keep doing what you’re doing,” Jennica said. “Don’t mind me.”

  We all stopped and watched her while at the same time trying to protect our eyes.

  “Pretend I’m not here,” she added.

  “Who are you?” ball cap wanted to know.

  “I’m Jennica Mehren. I’m with the documentary crew that’s filming here in Grand Marais.”

  “There’s a documentary?” the shorter man said.

  “Didn’t you know?” I asked.

  “Let’s get out of here,” said the taller man.

  “No, please,” Jennica said. “Go ’head and beat up on McKenzie. This is great stuff.”

  The man in the ball cap shoved my shoulder hard as if he meant to comply with the woman’s request and then stepped backward.

  “Another time, asshole.” He pointed at Jennica. “You put me on film and I’ll sue.”

  “Everyone says that yet no one ever does,” Jennica said.

  The men all started moving back toward the harbor. I heard some muttering yet couldn’t make out what was said. I retrieved my notebook and pen. Jennica turned off her light and lowered her camera.

  “Hello, Jen,” I said.

  “McKenzie, hi. What was all that about?”

  “Alcohol-infused paranoia, I think. They wanted to know what’s happening in their town and I pushed back too hard. If they had asked while we were at the Gunflint I might have told them. Accosting me on the street, though … Don’t think I haven’t noticed—you said you would stop following me. You lied.”

  “Yeah, and you were going to grant me an on-camera interview after telling my father never, ever. I’m pretty, McKenzie. I’m not dumb.”

  “No, you’re not. Dumb, I mean.”

  “You can still call me sweetie, though.”

  “Sweetie, I have a room at the Frontier Motel. I’m going there now.”

  “Should I follow you?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  Jennica thought that was awfully funny.

  “Are you sure?” she said.

  Yeah, like she can’t think of a better way to spend the evening than with a man who was literally old enough to be her father.

  “Pretty sure,” I said.

  “Good night, McKenzie. See you in the morning.”

  * * *

  The parking lot at the Frontier Motel was two more or less straight lines behind the rooms. I found a slot directly in front of mine. There was a soft light above the door that allowed me to see the number and little else. I went to unlock the door. When I did, I heard the sound of a car door opening behind me. My first thought—ball cap.

  I spun to face the noise. The car door was shut and with it the vehicle’s overhead light. A shadow moved toward me. I recognized her voice before I saw her face.

  “Took you long enough,” Peg Younghans said.

  “Geezus, you scared the hell out of me.”

  “Scared?”

  “Startled. What are you doing here?”

  “Waiting for you. I thought you might want to discuss those photographs I told you about. I would have called your cell, except I didn’t have the number.”

  “How did you find me?”

  “There’s only about two dozen places where a visitor can stay in GM. The Frontier was number thirteen on the list that I called.”

  “How resourceful of you.”

  If she can find you, anyone can, my inner voice said.

  Peg stepped within the small circle of light. She was wearing a trench coat, which I thought was appropriate, all things considered. If she was wearing anything beneath the trench coat, though, I couldn’t say.

&nb
sp; “About those photographs…” she said.

  I tried to keep it friendly.

  “You tempt me,” I said. “Only I never mix business with pleasure.”

  Peg pulled at my jacket like a tailor trying to see if it fit properly.

  “Are you sure?” she asked, only not the way Jennica had. Peg was dead serious.

  “This is the part of the program where I should tell you that I’m in a committed relationship.”

  “Boy or girl?”

  No one had ever asked me that question before and it kind of threw me. Again, Peg was serious. She didn’t so much as grin.

  “Girl,” I said.

  “Girlfriend, but not wife?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “Tell me—you bonded yourself to someone else. Does it give you stability? Does that make you stronger?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Most people feel more secure when they’re in a pair. It’s like they’re afraid to stand alone.”

  “It’s not something I’ve given much thought.”

  Not something you want to discuss with her, either.

  “Should we talk business, then?” Peg asked.

  “Please.”

  “Are you going to let me in?”

  “No.”

  “Chicken?”

  “Let’s just say it’s a small room with a big bed and I make no claims to virtue. Besides, you make me feel outnumbered.”

  “That might be the best brush-off I’ve ever heard.”

  “Brush-off?”

  “Let’s not forget how old I am.”

  “If I thought you were old we wouldn’t be standing out here.”

  “Telling a girl no while making her feel good about it, that takes some skill, McKenzie. I think you and David would have gotten along very well.”

  “You said before that you didn’t know Montgomery.”

  “I knew his reputation. I doubt I ever spoke more than a dozen words to him. I know that Leah Huddleston spent some time with him. She claimed she was not enriched by the experience.”

  “I got that impression, too. Ever hire Montgomery to fix something around the house?”

  “My house? There was never a need.”

  “Do you still insist that Montgomery and Louise were intimate?”