“Yep. Know anyone who can install a windshield?”
Bryst shook his head. “We need to find and notify the decedent’s next of kin. Do you mind if I go through his things?” He carried a folded bag.
Mark shook his head. “Do you need any help?”
“Actually, I’d prefer it if you were there while I look around.”
As they headed up the stairs, Emily, who hadn’t moved, said, “Maybe the bus tour has some information.”
“That’s a good idea, Em.”
“I’ll call the hotels in Harris and see if I can reach the person in charge.”
Upstairs in “the decedent's” room, Mark watched as Trooper Bryst went through drawers. Bryst set a wallet and a box of antihistamine tablets on top of a book on the nightstand. Then he brought out several items from the bathroom: two pill bottles, a toothbrush and toothpaste, and a small pouch. He set those on the nightstand, too. He went through George’s wallet. “Three hundred thirty-seven dollars in cash here.” He fished out an identification card. “Brookfield, Wisconsin.”
“A suburb of Milwaukee,” Mark said. “He had mentioned he was from the Milwaukee area.”
Bryst continued examining the contents of his wallet. “No other contact information here. Do you know if he had a phone?”
Mark nodded. “He did.”
The trooper got down on the floor and looked under the bed. “Nothing down here.” He got up and checked the armoire. Shirts and a jacket were hung in place. He rifled through the jacket pocket and pulled out casino chips. “Looks like he did well.”
“He won those yesterday playing blackjack.”
“Nineteen,” Bryst said, and stacked the chips on the crowded nightstand. The other jacket pocket produced a flip phone. He started pressing buttons. “There’s nothing under contacts. Worst case, we can try the last person he called.”
Mark wasn’t sure that would work. Trudy’s number, he thought. Unless she was going to answer from the beyond. He tried to suppress a laugh, but it came out as a grunt.
“What’s that?”
He cleared his throat. “Nothing.”
Bryst closed the phone and set it on the nightstand. Next he lifted the suitcase and put it on the bed. He took a deep breath. “Everything seems in order here. My brother said you were leaving today?”
“Actually, Monday.”
“Okay, fine. I’ll take his suitcase and his personal effects with me. Hopefully I can locate his next of kin.”
As the trooper finished saying this, Mark heard Emily running up the stairs. “I have some information!” she yelled out.
Mark stepped into the hallway. “What is it?”
“The tour director gave me George’s emergency contact.” She was slightly out of breath.
“Who is it?” Mark asked.
“His niece who lives in Chicago. Her name is Laura.”
“Laura who?” he blurted. His mind raced to his ex-girlfriend. He had the panicked thought that she would turn out to be George’s niece. No way, he told himself. Impossible! Yet Emily ending up in Vivian’s house was just as impossible.
Emily shrugged. “I don’t know. All I got was her first name and phone number.”
“What’s the number?” he fired.
With a quizzical look, she handed him the paper. “Why? What’s the matter?”
Mark looked at the number; it was unfamiliar to him. “Okay,” he sighed.
“Are you going to call her?” Emily asked.
“Me? Uh, I don’t know. How about the doctor who declared him dead?”
“You found him first, right?”
Mark glowered at her.
“I’ll make the call,” the trooper said.
“No, I should do it.” Mark said. “I at least knew him a little bit. What do I tell her about his things?”
The trooper gave him instructions, and with the slip in his hand, Mark stepped down to the library and took a deep breath before exhaling and doing it again. He was nervous about telling someone that their loved one was dead. He placed the call.
A woman answered. When Mark asked her if she had an uncle named George, she immediately asked, “Did something happen to him?”
“Yes. I’m so sorry to have to tell you this. He passed away last night in his sleep.”
There was a stuttered whimper and then crying.
“I’m sorry,” was all Mark could think of saying, and then he waited.
She sniffed. “Sorry. I just need a second.”
“No problem. Take your time.”
“Are you with the tour company?”
“No. He was a guest staying at my aunt’s bed and breakfast.”
“Bed and breakfast? Where?”
“In Manistique. Michigan. In the Upper Peninsula.”
“He told me he was going on a bus tour of Indian casinos.”
“He was, but something happened between him and—I don’t really know what happened, but he ended up here.”
“How did he die? Did he suffer?”
“No, he passed away while sleeping.”
“Oh good,” she whimpered. “He was starting to have issues. They thought maybe he had Alzheimer’s, but he didn’t believe it.”
After a short pause he said, “So the state police here have his belongings. You can call them later and arrange to get his things.”
“Okay. What town did you say?”
“Manistique.” He spelled it for her, then asked her where she lived.
“Naperville, a suburb of Chicago.”
“I don’t live too far away from you. I live in Oak Park.”
“Really? And how did you say you were connected to my uncle?”
He gave a short laugh. “It’s sort of a long story. I’m actually temporarily managing a B&B that my aunt was running—she herself died this last week.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you. So you should call the police to arrange things. You can ask for Trooper Bryst. B-r-y-s-t.”
“Bryst. Okay.”
“Yes. He’s here at the house now, but he should be done shortly.”
“Okay. Can I have your number?”
“Sure,” he said and gave her his cell number. Something nudged in Mark. She had a kind and gentle voice. “And you can call the mortuary tomorrow. You might want to talk to Trooper Bryst about that.”
“I’m afraid I don’t really know what Uncle George wanted. His wife was cremated.”
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Yes, of course.”
“When did she pass away?”
“About ten years ago. Did Uncle George talk about her?”
“Yeah, a bit. Maybe we can meet up when I’m back in Chicago. I got to spend a little time with him.”
“Yes, I’d like that. Thank you for all your help.”
“Of course.”
He hung up, and momentarily lost himself in afterthought. Another Laura? But he put that out of his mind and admonished himself for even considering it.
Mark returned upstairs. He told the trooper about his conversation with Laura and that he should expect a call from her. A few minutes later, Mark helped the trooper out to the car with George’s things.
The suitcase and a bag were placed in the trunk of the cruiser.
“We forgot one thing,” Mark said suddenly. He went back to the house, grabbed Vivian’s urn, dumped the water in a pitcher in the kitchen, left the lid on the counter, and ran back out.
“He was carrying a vase with him on the trip?” Bryst asked.
Mark simply shrugged. “Maybe he won it.”
Back in the house after lunch, Emily clopped down the stairs, carrying bedsheets.
“What are you doing?” Mark asked.
“George’s sheets need to be washed.”
“Shouldn’t they be thrown away?”
“No. They just need to be run through the sanitize cycle.”
“I don’t know.” Mark thought for a second. “No, just
throw them outside. I don’t want to keep them.”
“Really? Okay.”
He nodded. “Thanks for doing that. You didn’t have to, you know.”
“I need to earn my keep.”
As she walked out, the house phone rang. It took Mark a second before he moved to answer it.
“Hi, is this the Manistique Victorian?”
Mark hesitated. “Yes.”
“My name is Ellen Terrence. You left me a voicemail about your inn being closed.”
He remembered. Three nights. Arriving Saturday, leaving Tuesday. By herself. “Yes. I apologize for the inconvenience.”
“Well I’m at the Cozy Inn, and they don’t have any vacancy.”
“I’m really sorry.”
“I reserved a room here after you called, but they gave it away.”
“Why?”
“Some kind of medical emergency, someone needed a room.”
“Medical emergency?” His first thought was that Dr. Butcher was using his status to keep a room. That rat. But then he remembered Peter. “Oh.”
“So now I don’t have anywhere to stay.”
“I’m very sorry.”
“And when I asked them about another place, they suggested yours.”
“Mine?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll call and correct them. Thanks.”
“Wait. You didn’t give an explanation in your message for why I couldn’t stay there.” She sounded a bit irritated.
“The owner died,” he replied flatly.
“Oh,” she said. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
Emily walked into the room asking a question but immediately stopped.
Mark suddenly felt badly for the woman—Ellen. “Thank you. Do you know anyone in town you can stay with?”
“No. I’m actually here for the lighthouse.”
“The lighthouse? For three days?”
She snickered. “It’s a bit more complicated. You see, I own it.”
“Own what?”
“The lighthouse.”
“I’m confused. What lighthouse?”
“The red one on Lake Michigan. Is there another one?”
“No, but what do you mean you own it? You can’t own the lighthouse,” he said adamantly. “It’s part of Manistique or the state or . . ."
Emily looked at him with her brow furrowed in concern.
“My husband bought it at an auction last year.”
“Really, they sold it?” he asked. Whoever they were. Coast Guard?
“Yes, and I’m in town to look at it. My husband died a few months ago, and now I’m trying to figure out what to do with it.”
“I’m sorry about your loss.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ll tell you what,” he said, already regretting what he was about to say. “If you can’t find a place to stay tonight, stop by here, and I’ll set up a room for you. But please come after six, and definitely lower your expectations.”
Emily gave him a crooked smile.
“That’s awfully good of you. I promise only to go there as a last resort.”
“Okay, thanks. Good luck with the lighthouse.”
He hung up and walked into the living room.
“What was that about?” Emily asked.
“Did your doctor friend check out of the Cozy Inn?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Why?”
“Because there’s no room.”
“There’s no reason for him to stick around.”
“I’m going to call the hotel and find out.”
“What was all that about the lighthouse?”
“Apparently, this woman owns it.”
“What do you mean?”
“That’s all I know. I don’t get how a person can own a lighthouse.”
“Maybe she’s a lunatic,” Emily said.
He twisted a grin. “Let’s hope not. I told her to come here if she couldn’t find a place. And I don’t think there’s another place available.” He pulled out his cell phone, looked up the number for the Cozy Inn, and called.
The person on the other end answered in a tired voice.
“Hello, my name is Mark. I’m the—” He hesitated. “My aunt owns the Manistique Victorian.”
“Oh, yes.”
“I wanted to let you know that we’re no longer taking guests.”
“Are you full, too?”
“No. My aunt passed away last week, so it’s no longer open.”
“Vivian died?”
“Yes.”
“Gosh, I’m so sorry to hear that. I didn’t know—But I dropped someone off there the other day!”
“Oh, yes. George. He stayed here since he had nowhere else to go.”
“That was nice of you.”
He’s dead too. But Mark didn’t mention it. Too many deaths in one call. “I have a question for you.”
“Yes?”
“Do you still have a Dr. Butch—Dr. Bul-cher staying there?”
“No, he checked out.”
“Okay, thanks.”
“The girl staying with you is still there, right? The deer-car girl.”
“Yeah, Emily.” His eyes moved over to her. “I think she might be a permanent resident.”
Emily glared at him.
“I hope she’s having a nice stay, anyway.”
“Yes, I’m pretty sure she is.”
He thanked her and hung up.
“Butcher checked out of the Cozy,” he told Emily.
“Good riddance,” she said.
Mark sighed. “Guess I’ll go clean the room for the lighthouse lady.”
“Which room?”
“Breakwater Lighthouse, right? Yvonne stayed in there last night.”
“I already stripped the sheets. They’re in the dryer. The sheets from Peter’s room are in the wash, and I have a load of towels waiting to go.”
“You did all that? Where was I?”
Mark spent the next couple of hours cleaning and going through mail and some papers he found in a desk in the library. Emily took care of the wash and read her book between loads. It was four o’clock when he asked her about dinner.
“Are you always hungry or something?” she asked. “Or do you like to push food on people?”
He chuckled. “No, just trying to make plans. We need to be back here by six, in case—check that—when Lighthouse Lady shows up.”
As they waited for their pizza at Ace’s, Emily announced, “I should be like Vivian and join Doctors Without Borders.”
Mark’s grin faded when he saw her determined expression. “Seriously?”
She nodded. “Yeah, why not?”
“Because it’s bad out there. Aren’t the other stories in that book similar to Vivian’s?”
Her head wobbled. “Yes and no.”
The waiter brought out their food. Mark immediately pulled out a slice of Three Pigs on Figs, a thin-crust pizza with bacon, pancetta, prosciutto, and a fig spread. He took a bite. “Hot . . . Mmm. It’s good. You need to try it.”
“I told you I can’t. I’m allergic to figs.”
“I thought you were kidding. Who’s allergic to figs?”
“I am! My tongue tingles every time.”
He shook his head. “So tell me about the other stories in the book.”
“I think I told you—one of them was the wife of a doctor working in Africa. She felt out of place. There were some dangers too. But it was mostly about the strains on their marriage. She caught her husband having an affair with a Swedish doctor. And then she had her own affair.”
Mark blew on his pizza. “Sounds like a soap opera.”
She shrugged. “It sort of is, but it ended all right. They got back together once she and her husband returned to the US.”
“And you weren’t related to this woman, her second cousin thrice removed, or . . .?”
She waved him off. “Funny,” she said, without laughing.
The pizzeria was cozy, four tabl
es with white cloths under plastic covers. He had been here the day before, picking up George’s dinner. It struck him that this had been the old man’s last meal, a pizza from Ace’s.
“Any other stories with a less salacious bent?”
“The one I’m reading now. It’s about a doctor’s first trip into the field in Africa.”
“And why is he—he or she?”
“He. Kevin.”
“Why is Kevin . . .‘on the borderline’?” he said, gesturing quotes.
She looked away for a second, clearing her throat. “A woman he was attending to died during childbirth.”
“So? No, I don’t mean it like that, I mean it must happen so often that, you know—”
“I know what you mean.” She stared blankly out the window for several seconds. “Kevin partied a lot with other aid workers—heavy drinking, some drugs. At first he resisted it, but after a while he joined in. So one night, after hanging out with the gang, he was called in to help with a woman who was having problems delivering.”
“And he was messed up?”
She nodded. “And the woman died, and her baby.”
“Oh.”
Emily nodded slowly. “He naturally felt a tremendous amount of guilt.”
“So what happened to him?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I haven’t finished it yet.”
Mark could see that this topic was weighing on her. She was probably thinking of parallels to her own situation, the death of that boy.
Emily’s pizza, the Pesto Presto!, sat on her plate. Mark blurted out, “Aren’t you hungry?”
She shrugged. “I suppose I should eat.” She took a bite. “Mmm.” She nodded her head. “I love pesto.”
“Yeah, their specialty pizzas are good.” He regretted letting George order a plain pepperoni. “I hate to admit it, but I’m kind of curious about the Lighthouse Lady.”
“Yeah?”
“I mean, I don’t want her to stay, but I’m curious how someone could buy that lighthouse.”
She nodded. “Yeah, or, like I said, she’s crazy.”
“Maybe. But if it is true, I wonder if she can do whatever she wants with it?”
“What do you mean, like paint it hot pink with purple stripes?”
He laughed. “Now that would cause a stir.”
“What if she placed an advertisement on it? Stay at the Manistique Victorian!” She slowly flared her hands for effect.
He laughed. “That’s all I need.”
Mark’s phone rang. Although it was Chicagoland area code, the number was unfamiliar to him. “Who could this be?” he mumbled before answering it. It was George’s niece Laura, calling to tell him that she was planning to drive up tomorrow and should be there in the afternoon.
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