Close Up on Murder

by Linda Townsdin

  We were coming unglued. I called Wilcox. “Have you checked where the Willards were at four o’clock this morning?”

  “We checked, and you’re wasting my time with questions like that. If you’ll recall, your job is staying close to your brother and Lars.”

  “Thank you, Sheriff, I didn’t mean to bother you. I’m just worried that they’re hanging around Spirit Lake.”

  “My deputy reported that father and son are on the east side of the county picking up junk, nowhere near Spirit Lake. Mrs. Willard headed to town a few minutes ago.”

  He must have had a weak moment. That was much more information than I usually got from him, and just what I needed to hear.

  Gene sat at his usual table at the back, newspaper and cup of coffee in front of him. He could see anyone who entered the front door and had a good view of the bistro. I took off my apron and said to Lars. “I’m taking the dogs out.”

  With both dogs in the SUV, I barreled to Iona, shrugging off the guilt. I hadn’t said we were going for a walk. I wanted to get another look at that meeting place at the back of the Willards’ property.

  ***

  Wilcox’s info was accurate. No cars were in the drive. My SUV bumped along the single lane path to the out-building. I let Rock loose but left Knute in the car in case we had to make a hasty getaway.

  They’d changed a few things. Across from the junk pile, a rectangular area had been plowed and tiny plants sprouted in neat rows. Expecting it to be locked, I tried the shed door. It opened. I checked the woods to make sure no shotguns were trained on me and entered. Garden implements and fertilizer took up the space where the copy machine and chairs had been.

  Rock ran to the junk pile. I whistled to him, not wanting to draw attention in case the Willards had come home, but he’d found a good digging spot. That dog loved creatures that burrowed. A rat scuttled from under a crumpled fender and darted into the weeds. Rock took off after it, barking. I chased him down, grabbed his collar and dragged him away.

  The commotion unnerved me and brought me to my senses. Mr. Willard had threatened to kill me if I showed up again.

  I drove too fast on the rutted lane, bouncing the dogs like jack-in-the-boxes and breathed a sigh of relief when we sailed through the Willards’ still-empty driveway. I didn’t take a full breath until we were back on the highway. One thing was obvious to me. The Willards must be hiding something important to have gone to so much effort to remove all traces of their church.

  I checked in with Thor on my way back to Little’s. “Have you found out for sure if the burn victim was Rob?”

  “Wilcox hasn’t issued a statement yet, so just between you and me it was Rob. The arsonist might not have done it on purpose if he didn’t know Rob was in the building. I mean, it’s still manslaughter or whatever, though.”

  “Has Wilcox mentioned what Rob was doing in his office at four in the morning?”

  “No, and we won’t hear from forensics for a few days about what they learned from the body. But why do that to a seventy-year-old man?”

  “Revenge? Maybe someone blamed the messenger at a will reading or believed Jenkins cheated him.”

  She said, “Jason told me Mr. Jenkins had a good reputation.”

  “Has Wilcox mentioned finding any clues at Rob’s house?”

  Thor let out a gust of air. “The sheriff doesn’t trust me with information now that I’m dating Jason. You know how he hates to see stuff in the papers when he’s working on a case. I’d never tell Jason anything Wilcox asked me not to but the damage is done.”

  She asked me to hold on, talked to someone on the other end of the line, and Jason came on.

  “You work at the sheriff’s office now?” I asked.

  He huffed. “I’m over at Thor’s lab working on the story.”

  “I was teasing, Jason.” I enjoyed watching love in bloom but was a little jealous. I missed Ben.

  He said, “I wanted to tell you I did some checking on hate crimes in Iona in the period since Matthew got out of prison, and they’ve actually decreased.”

  That surprised me. “Where did you get your information?”

  “Crime logs are open to the public if you know how to access them.”

  I thanked him and hung up, remembering that Mr. Willard had told the World Church group they were working on a big project and to hold off harassing the gay community.

  The sheriff was his usual helpful self when I called him. “You’re determined to connect all this to that group in Iona, but we don’t work that way. We go where the evidence leads us.”

  “Did you find any clues at Rob’s house about who did it or why?”

  “We’re still going through his papers.”

  “Was Rob gay?”

  He emphasized each word. “Not that we know.”

  I pressed for more information about Charley. Wilcox said he’d let me know when they had something and hung up. He probably didn’t have much more from using his law enforcement channels than I’d gotten from Sebastian. Past ninety, Charley pre-dated Internet technology.

  Back in Spirit Lake, I locked the dogs in the guys’ apartment. Little was in the restaurant kitchen, looking haggard. He might not have even known I was gone. I walked through the swinging doors and stopped short at an angry conversation taking place.

  Neil leaned across the counter toward Lars. “You’ve been sending me to crap fishing spots. I haven’t caught anything. So much for your so-called expertise.”

  A couple a few seats away hurried to finish their coffee.

  Lars stepped back. “Those were all great locations.”

  “More like wild goose chases. You’ve been messing with me this whole time.”

  Lars’ face flushed. “Maybe you’re not the fisherman you think you are.”

  Neil pointed his index finger at Lars. “I challenge you. Let’s see you catch a damn fish in one of your secret spots. He walked to the door talking loud. “Or maybe you like hiding behind that apron.”

  Neil saw me and lifted the right side of his lip in a lecherous smile. “Well, hello Britt.”

  I wanted to wipe the look off his face but ignored him and slid onto a seat across from Lars. I said, “That guy’s a jerk.”

  If Lars polished the glass in his hand with much more force he’d break it. He scowled at me. “You said you were taking the dogs for a walk. You’ve been gone over an hour again.”

  “I figured we’d be safer away from town.”

  His head rotated in a circle to get the kinks out. “I need to get out of here. I can’t take this much longer.” I followed his gaze out the window. Neil headed across the street to his boat.

  I touched his arm. “You know it’s not safe for you to go off on your own.”

  Chapter 13

  Lars stared at the lake like a prisoner plotting an escape. A chilly rain began to blow into the open windows. Lars and I hurried to close them, his mouth stretched in a fake smile to calm the agitated customers. “Now we’re nice and cozy.”

  But the restaurant turned steamy and claustrophobic, a far cry from cozy. Lars glanced at the lake again and went to the kitchen. I cleared a table and carted a tub of dishes to the kitchen. Little and Lars stood just inside the swinging door, whispering. I reached them as the discussion escalated from a whisper to an argument. Lars scowled and Little’s chin tilted up. Lars said, “I’m going fishing and no one’s stopping me.” He stalked toward the back. Little went after him and I set my tub down and followed. Lars’ hand was on the door to their apartment when we caught up to him.

  Little said, “You can’t. It’s too dangerous.”

  “I can’t stand to be cooped up anymore. Gene and Britt are here. You’ll be fine.”

  Little grabbed his arm. “I meant it’s too dangerous for you.”

  Lars pulled away and walked through the apartment with us on his heels. He reached for his rain jacket on the peg at the back door and headed out to the garage.

  Little pushed me. “Br
itt, stop him.”

  “You know he won’t listen to either of us. Go on back to the restaurant. I’ll make sure he gets into his boat and safely onto the lake. Once he’s out there, he’ll be okay.”

  “But what about coming back?”

  “I’ll ask him to call my cell so I can meet him at the dock.”

  Little nodded. “You’re right, there’s no stopping him when he gets stubborn like this. He needs to get away for a while.” He bit a fingernail. “Ask if you can go with him.”

  “I don’t want to leave you.”

  “Gene’s here. I’ll be fine.”

  I grabbed a rain jacket from the peg and hurried out to the garage. Lars already had his tackle box and fishing gear ready to go.

  “Let me go with you.”

  “No way. I’m counting on you to keep an eye on Little for me.” His eyes pleaded. “I have to get out or I’m going to lose my mind.”

  “I’m driving you to your boat.”

  “That’s silly. It’s a block away.”

  “Humor me. My SUV’s parked outside the garage.”

  I started the car and waited. He rolled his eyes and got in. As we passed the restaurant, Little darted out with a waterproof bag and thermos. He handed it to Lars. “It’s a sandwich and coffee.”

  Lars attempted a grin. “No cookie?”

  Little made an effort to return the smile. “Chocolate chip.”

  Seated in the boat, his hand on the tiller, his back straightened as if the weight of the world had fallen from his shoulders. He even sounded like the old Lars. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll only be gone a couple hours.”

  “Don’t let that idiot Neil get under your skin if you see him out there, and call me as soon as you’re heading back. I’ll meet you here.”

  He gave me a thumbs-up and started the motor. I surveyed the area with a nervous wobble in my stomach. At the playground, a mother hurrying to her car, pulled her son behind her. The kid whined, “This place sucks. There’s nothing to do.”

  What the tourists wanted on a day like today was an indoor shopping mall where the kids could run around or maybe go to a movie. Few cars were parked in front of the shops but Olafson’s Bar parking lot was full. Cars had spilled over to the lot across the street. The casino would do good business today too.

  It turned out to be a prophetic thought. I pulled into Little’s parking lot and watched a bus of rowdy seniors from St. Paul jostle to get inside and find good seats. I hurried in to help.

  Chloe told me the group came through town every few months on their way to the Dreamcatcher Casino. Stopping to eat at Little’s was part of their itinerary. In addition to the seniors, the place had filled up again. Everyone showed up at once. It often happened like that, similar to the way a flock of birds takes off and lands at the same time and same spot. I had to do double duty, seating them and clearing up after. Even though I’d never have Lars’ way with the customers, I was speedy.

  One of the oldsters grabbed my arm. “How’s about a smile, hon?”

  I made an effort but it didn’t have the right effect. He threw his hands up in the air. “Just kidding.”

  Note to self—practice sweetness. Second note to self—forget first note. I didn’t care what other people thought of me.

  Little was a Samurai, chopping, stirring, flinging spices into sauces, ordering us around like he was sending his troops into battle. “Get those people moving along the window booths; customers are stacking up at the door. Hustle!”

  Busy as he was, Little had to chat with the seniors before they’d leave. A pink flush spread across his cheeks at the attention. After they left, we settled into a more normal pace. I noticed Peder sitting in a back booth across from Anke. Their heads were bent over notebooks and they were busily writing. For once, her eyes weren’t on me.

  I checked the clock and did a double-take. Nearly four hours had passed since Lars left. I hadn’t had a minute to think of him the entire afternoon and we were well into the dinner hour. I punched in his cell number. No answer.

  Lars’ long absence must have occurred to Little at the same time. He pushed through the swinging kitchen doors, eyes wide. “Why hasn’t he called? He promised not to be gone long.”

  He fished his phone out from under his apron. Lars didn’t pick up for him either. Even though my radar was pulsing, I said, “He always loses track of time when he’s fishing.”

  Little’s eyes were saucers. “But why didn’t he answer?”

  “There’s no signal in some of those coves.”

  Little didn’t buy it. “Something’s happened. We have to find him.”

  I whipped off my apron. “I’ll borrow a boat. I know most of his spots.”

  Chloe tapped Little on the shoulder. “I have some orders.” She didn’t know what was going on.

  Little snapped. “They can wait. No, I’ll do them, but would you get Chum to come in for the dinner crowd? I need more kitchen help.”

  She nodded. Chloe understood Little better than most. “What’s wrong?”

  Not wanting everyone to panic, I said, “Lars is playing hooky from work, so I have to haul him in.”

  She said, “I’ll handle the front desk.”

  Little twisted the towel hanging from his apron, rooted to the floor. I grabbed a rain vest from the hook by the kitchen and tucked my camera into a pocket. “I’m going to Winter’s Resort to borrow a fast boat.”

  Peder and I reached the door at the same time. He looked from me to Little. “Is something wrong?”

  Little said, “Lars has been out on the lake longer than we expected. I hate to ask, but could you help Britt look for him?”

  Peder said, “Of course. My boat goes very fast.”

  I didn’t want to bring him into the drama but was close to panicking. “Thanks, I appreciate this.”

  On the way to the dock, I called Winter’s Resort. Patty, who managed the resort for Ben, answered. I told her we were worried about Lars and asked if her husband, Daniel, was available to help look for him if we needed him.

  “Of course. Let me know.”

  “I imagine we’ll find out Lars was so busy enjoying himself, he lost track of time.” That’s what I hoped anyway.

  The rain stopped and a steamy fog hung over the lake as we sped from one cove to the next. For an hour we zigzagged back and forth and still no Lars. I kept trying his phone. Little called several times and I told him we were still looking, but the fact that I could receive Little’s calls made me even more frantic. I tried to tell myself that Lars could have dropped his phone in the lake. It happened to tourists all the time, attempting a selfie with a hooked fish.

  Peder quietly waited for my directions, steering the boat wherever I indicated. My respect for him rose when he didn’t badger me for details.

  We’d been to every fishing hole and cove I knew, with no luck. Twenty-eight miles of shoreline covering about six thousand acres was too much for us if he wasn’t in his usual spots. I called Patty again, trying to keep my voice steady. “I need to take you up on that help.”

  “I’ll send Daniel out right now and spread the word. What’s Lars wearing?”

  “He wore a yellow rain jacket when he took off, but it’s stopped raining. He has a Little’s Café t-shirt under it and is in an eight-foot aluminum fishing boat with a ten hp motor.”

  “Don’t you worry, we’ll find him.”

  I’d feel foolish for raising such a panic in everyone if Lars putted around a corner with a basket full of fish, but I’d take that embarrassment any day just to see his face right now. It was my fault if something bad happened to him. I’d let him go.

  My phone rang and I grabbed it, hoping it was Lars. Ben’s voice on the other end sounded worried. “Patty told me Lars is missing.”

  “Ben, I’m scared. I can’t find him.”

  “You aren’t alone out there, are you?”

  “Peder offered his speedboat.”

  “Good. I’ll check with Woz. If he�
��s not guiding, he can fly over the lake with the Beaver.”

  Summers were Woz’ busiest month, just like everyone else around here. The Wozniaks ran an outfitter store in Ely, an entry to the Boundary Waters area, where Ben was currently hunting his traffickers. Woz helped him whenever he could with his amphibious plane. He’d gotten me out of a serious jam shortly before I left for L.A., even though I hadn’t trusted the black-bearded man at first. Now, I’d trust him with my life.

  Ben called back in a few minutes. “Woz is unloading a group of backpackers. As soon as they’re off the Beaver, he’ll fuel up and head over.”

  I called Little with the news. He was relieved that Woz could help, but frightened at the implications. It had been six hours, but it didn’t get dark until nearly ten o’clock in July. We had a few more hours of daylight.

  A log bobbed up in the water in front of Peder’s boat and he swerved to miss it. Fear weakened my knees. What if Lars had hit something and capsized? I didn’t like to think of how deep the lake was—two hundred feet in some places. I gazed out at the vast expanse of water around me. He could be anywhere. We’d mostly been looking along the shoreline.

  My cell rang. Please let it be Lars, I prayed. A familiar voice bellowed in my ear. “When were you going to tell me Lars was missing?”

  I’d forgotten Wilcox. I thought of him as landlocked and scrambled to explain, ending with, “Woz is on his way.”

  He cut me off. “I know. That’s good. Our helicopter is up in Federal Dam.” Wilcox had one parting shot. “Can’t you people follow directions? I told you no one goes anywhere alone.”

  I had nothing to say. I should have tried harder to convince Lars not to leave.

  Shortly after Patty’s husband was on the lake, several neighbors took out kayaks, fishing boats, speed boats—whatever worked on water. Jake from Erickson’s Hardware shot by on a Jet Ski.

  Peder, concerned but calm, helped keep me from a full-blown freak-out. He offered reassuring smiles. “He probably ran into another fisherman. Lars can talk fishing for hours at a time.”

  What he said was true. “I’m sorry for taking advantage of you, Peder. I expected to find him right away.”