by Lee Pulaski
“I think I’ll take a large T-shirt, and get me an extra-large for Newell. If you go in to Shawano, stop by the hospital. Sasha will surely buy one, assuming y’all are speaking again." Zachary folded his arms. “Alexander, what are you standing around for? We need to find space to display the shirts.”
Alexander and Murphy looked at each other and grinned. Murphy hugged Zachary tightly.
“Thank you, Zach. I’m so glad we can count on your support. You’re a good friend.”
“Anytime, and, as a friend, I recommend checking a calendar, because today’s Wednesday.”
Zachary once again saw red as Alexander and Murphy threw T-shirts at him. He didn’t mind. It was a good distraction from the unpleasantness that had been happening lately, and maybe the red shirt movement could distract others in the village, as well.
Zachary stood in front of the gate to the Reimer homestead, in awe of how expansive it was. There were almost two thousand acres spread out near Tilleda, half cherry groves and half grassland. It was no wonder that someone was getting away with murder—no one could be in hearing range of the gunshots. Zachary wondered if he would come out if he went in. He also wondered if anybody might be home. For all he knew, Rose had vanished, as well.
He hadn’t been able to track Miles down. A trip to Miles’ house yielded an unanswered door and plenty of questions. Where was Miles if he wasn’t running his business and he wasn’t brooding at home over his lost love? What had he been doing over the last few days? Could he be the killer?
Sajen was still invisible, as well. Aside from last night, there was no sign of the artist and possible gunman. It was going to be very difficult for Zachary to find out whodunit when no one could be caught on the streets for a question or three.
Zachary got back into his Jeep, knowing that answers to some of his questions had to be somewhere on the property. Whether Rose had some clues, or whether they might be spread through the house like leaves discarded by an angry wind, the Reimer homestead had to provide some insights.
He drove up to the white picket fence in front of the three-story farmhouse painted bright yellow. For some reason, Zachary had expected it to be red, in honor of cherries, or a brown to match beef jerky, but then he realized he didn’t know a whole lot about the man and woman who united and created a food empire that other farmers for a hundred miles around envied. This was another chance to find out what make Beef Jerky and Cherries Jubilee tick, which might yield some clues as to who might dare to murder them.
Zachary stepped onto the massive wrap-around porch, and immediately he envisioned the family sitting outside during a hot summer evening drinking lemonade and watching fireflies light up the nearby fields. It was a heartwarming daydream, which seemed to be a good thing on such a frigid day, but there was reality that needed to be pursued.
Touching the doorbell, Zachary wondered who would answer the door. Rose? Some housekeeper? In spite of himself, his imagination was running wild on how Osgood and Muriel might possibly have lived for the last fifty or so years. He envisioned a butler in a tuxedo with a pointed nose asking if he wanted to speak to the mistress of the house.
Rose answered the door. “Hello? Can I help you?”
Okay, no butler. “Hello, Rose. I don’t know if you remember me. My name is Zachary Gagewood. We met at the reception at the art gallery. I just wanted to come and pay my respects.”
Rose seemed startled. “Oh! Thank you. This is a welcome surprise. I haven’t been visited by very many people.”
“Really? I figured people would be clogging the road leading to the farmhouse to pay their respects for the loss of a beloved couple.”
“They have been paying their respects. They’ve left flowers, balloons, stuffed animals, cards. They’ve just been leaving them at the front gate. Jerome, the groundskeeper, scooped up the latest batch an hour ago and put them in the study. No one wants to ask how I’m holding up, because everybody believed my grandparents when they said I was useless and a deep disappointment to the area.”
“Why would they say that?”
“I don’t have the same passion for the family business that my mother had, which she got from Osgood and Muriel. My parents were killed in a car accident a few years ago, so I was expected to take over when my grandparents finally passed away, but I see myself doing other things—art, maybe a little modeling. My grandparents weren’t happy about that, but things really turned sour once I met Sajen. He set my soul on fire, and they thought he was just trying to steal my virtue.”
“Rose, I have to admit that I’m here looking for Sajen, too.”
Rose frowned. “He’s not here. I haven’t seen him since the night of the reception.”
“I have. He hid out at my house and took off with my snowmobile.” After Rose gasped, Zachary clarified, “He returned it, but then he vanished again.”
“I’ve tried to find him, but he’s not at his home or any of his usual haunts. I’m so worried that something might have happened to him. Maybe whoever killed my grandparents might have gone after him, too!”
“Rose, do you mind if I come inside? It’s a tad chilly out here.”
Rose clutched her shawl closer to help fend off the cold. “Of course. My apologies. Come into the parlor. I’ll get us some tea.”
“Thank you.”
Zachary stepped into the parlor and looked around. The desk was solid mahogany, and it was huge. He couldn’t imagine getting the desk through the front door of his own home, but he would consider the office furniture to be the ultimate symbol that he’d arrived in life. He wondered what the desk was used for.
Curiosity was getting the better of him, and he looked around the room. An old gas-lit lantern sat at the corner of the desk, and a stack of paperwork sat nearby. Zachary sat at the desk, noticing it felt larger than it looked. He started thumbing through the paperwork, keeping one eye on the entryway. He didn’t want Rose to realize he was snooping, but he hoped to find some insight that might explain who would commit murder—a past due notice, a threatening letter, a copy of the will indicating who was getting screwed out of the estate. Answers had to be in the house somewhere, but Zachary doubted he could convince Rose to go for a nice winter stroll while he rifled through everything she and her grandparents owned looking for clues.
“Here’s some nice Darjeeling tea for us to enjoy.” Rose returned with a steaming teapot and two cups with saucers on a tray. “I see you found a good seat.”
Zachary smiled. “Yes. I can just imagine your grandfather sitting here at this desk, keeping the books, that sort of thing.”
“Actually, my grandmother was better at crunching numbers. My grandfather preferred the wide open fields to be his office. He would come in here to read sometimes, but this was more Muriel’s domain than Osgood’s.”
“I can’t imagine what you must be going through right now, with your grandparents being gone by non-natural means. You expect them to pass away in their sleep, maybe in a nursing home. Then to have your boyfriend disappear on top of that.”
Rose sat in another chair nearby. “It hasn’t been easy. I just wish I knew why Sajen hasn’t responded to any of my calls or emails. What is he afraid of?”
“He believes he’s a prime suspect in the murder of your grandparents. Sheriff’s detectives have been looking for him, and now there’s a citizen posse combing the woods up on the reservation, trying to bring him in bound and gagged.”
Rose wrung her hands. “I just want to hear his voice, feel his arms around me. He’s not a murderer. He’s not even a violent man. Why would anyone hunt him?”
“Rose, do you know of any place on the reservation or around Gresham where Sajen would go whenever he wanted to be alone? He’s got to be hiding somewhere nearby. I saw him last night lurking around my bookstore.”
“I know he liked the area near Keshena Falls. Something about the running water seemed to soothe him. He might have gone there.”
“Keshena Falls is kind of a public ar
ea. It’d be awfully hard to hide. Any other possibilities that might be more secluded?”
“What about the deep woods off County Road VV near the border with Oconto County? He’s camped there since childhood. An old, abandoned cabin is in the area. He took me there a few months ago before winter really hit. Maybe he’s hiding out there.”
“Rose, do you think you could write down some directions? I want to help Sajen, if I can.”
“He typed up some directions for me. Right after the reception, we talked about going there and hiding out. He was going to come for me in the morning, but then I found…” Rose stopped and wiped away some tears. “I’ll go grab those directions.”
After Rose exited, Zachary resumed his search of the desk. He noticed a sealed envelope on the desk postmarked for six days ago, which was prior to the gallery’s opening night. Something in him indicated there might be some answers in that envelope, so he surreptitiously slipped it inside his coat. Just after doing that, he glanced over at a blue leather photo album. He started flipping through the pages and saw photographs of the farm, some in black and white and others in color. A few of the photos looked more than fifty years old. Zachary’s curiosity was piqued.
Just then, Rose returned and handed a sheet of paper to Zachary. “Here are the directions. I’m not sure if you’d be able to get there before dark, but if you do, maybe you can convince him to come back to town. I think he’ll be all right if he just comes home and cooperates.”
“He seems to disagree, Rose. He thinks that if he comes back, he’ll have to take the rap because he’s Menominee. He thinks the deck is stacked against him.”
Rose shook her head sadly. “I hate this place. It’s beautiful land and everything, but to have a sweetheart who faces discrimination, no matter how subtle, is wrong. I want to go somewhere where there’s racial harmony.”
“I’m not sure such a place exists. No matter where you go, someone is discriminating against somebody else. It may be subtle. It may be blatant. Either way, we have a long way to go before we can ever hope to have a civilized society.”
“I wish other people could see what I see when I’m with Sajen. I don’t see a Menominee. I don’t even necessarily see a man most of the time. What I see is a kind and gentle soul who loves me and wants to make the world more beautiful.”
Zachary nodded. “Listen, Rose. I need to get going, but I was wondering if there was any way I could borrow this photo album for a couple of days.”
Rose furrowed her brow. “Why do you want it?”
“This might sound odd, but I was hoping looking at your grandparents’ history might help to determine who wanted them dead. They’ve both had long lives, and most of those lives were in each other’s company. I don’t believe your grandfather killed your grandmother, and I’m not certain your boyfriend had anything to do with the murders.”
Rose pondered Zachary’s idea for a moment, and then nodded in affirmation. “Good luck. I hope you find what you’re looking for. I know there were plenty of times the last few years when I wish my grandparents would drop dead, but I was never furious enough to kill them.”
“Keep your chin up, Rose. The truth will come out.”
Zachary bade Rose farewell and walked out to his Jeep. As soon as he was in the cab, he took out his cell phone and dialed Joshua’s number. It was getting late in the day, and twilight was already setting in at four o’clock, so it seemed prudent to let the sheriff’s department utilize its equipment and resources to locate Sajen rather than attempt to reach the remote cabin on his own.
“Detective Joshua Callahan.”
“Hey, it’s Zach. I know this is the second time I’ve called today, but I think I know a possible location where Sajen Hawpetoss might be hiding out. Do you have a pen and paper handy?”
“Actually, Zach, I’m in the middle of something right now, so I’ll contact you later this evening to find out your information. Okay?”
“Sure. Is everything all right?”
“Unfortunately, I’ve got another murder on my hands.”
There were plenty of reasons to shiver in the dead of the Wisconsin winter, but Zachary involuntarily shook. “Oh, my God. Who is it?”
“Zach, you know better.” Joshua’s tone was terse, and he immediately ended the call.
Zachary sat in his Jeep for a few minutes, his mind racing with the news and all the questions that came with it. Who else had been killed? Was the latest victim connected with Osgood and Muriel Reimer? Was anyone else in jeopardy? For that matter, was anyone safe?
CHAPTER SEVEN
Zachary slid into the bed next to Newell, who was watching the television with rapt attention. The news of Gresham’s latest murder victim had quickly reached the attention of the Green Bay television stations. The good news was that one of Zachary’s burning questions was answered—the location of Miles La Rouche. The bad news was that the grocery store owner had been found dead, lying face down in a cedar swamp near Gresham. The news report included comments from Miles’ distraught customers, plus a snide remark from Jacob Malueg that the deaths wouldn’t have happened if the art gallery hadn’t opened. Typical village chairman bullying.
Newell took a sip of water. “I wonder what’s going to happen to the Gresham Market with Miles gone. I mean, you saw how the place was malfunctioning with him missing in action. I can only imagine how it's going to decay now that it’s clear that he’s not coming back.”
“Yeah. As far as I know, Miles didn’t have any living relatives. He didn’t ever marry. I think he ran the store in his head or something, because none of the other employees know what to order, where to order from, bank accounts to pay the bills.”
“Do you think he talked with an attorney, provided details on who would inherit the store, that sort of thing? Miles’ death is impacting the community in more ways than normal. Gresham Market is the only grocery store in town. If it closes, residents are looking at a drive of twenty minutes to Shawano or Wittenberg or Keshena for the essentials. No grocery store in the community means one less key component to convince people to visit here. That will impact the bookstore, the art gallery, the bakery, Sigrid’s and a bunch of other places. Residents might decide to move closer to Shawano. This is bad, Zach. This is very, very bad.”
Zachary pondered for a moment. He never really considered what Gresham would be like without a grocery store. “Newell, I know you’re worried about this, but we don’t know yet that the grocery store will close. It might be premature to go into panic mode.”
“Maybe so. Still, I know we’ve done a lot in the last year to improve our home and the community where we live, and I worry that it might collapse if someone decides to close the grocery store.”
“Sweetie, are you going to be all right?” Zachary put a hand on Newell’s smooth chest. “I haven’t seen you this upset before.”
Newell grabbed the remote to turn the television off, conspicuously avoiding eye contact with Zachary. “Do you remember that night I invited to move into the new farmhouse with me?”
“I remember being a little freaked at first, but then I came around. Why are you suddenly worried about that?”
“Well, if you recall, I took out a loan to build this place, and I’m just worried if businesses in the area dry up, so will my customer base. I can’t be one of those people who fail miserably and lose it all, especially now that you’re living here.”
“Oh, honey. You’re not going to fail, miserably or otherwise. Just because people might move to Shawano, it doesn’t mean they’d stop using you for their feed source. Some might, and you might take a hit, but it’s not going to be enough to leave you in debt. Besides, even if the worst were to happen to you, it’s not like you’re the only one with money. As long as we stick together, we’ll be fine.”
Newell sighed and nuzzled closer. “I guess I’m being a little paranoid. We’ve seen a few murders around here in the year and a half I’ve been here. With the latest two victims being such hig
h-profile people, it’s enough to make anyone concerned.”
“That’s why we need to find out who the killer is, and soon. The longer the killer roams free, the more the gossip and innuendos will accumulate. I’m hoping that I can find out more looking through the Reimer family history, see if there’s any indication of people who might have wanted them harm—old business partners, disgruntled workers. I would say pining lovers, too, but considering Miles is also dead, I’m not sure how many of those might be out there.”
“So do you think Sajen is involved somehow?”
“I don’t know. Disappearing, reappearing. I had planned to go out to the cabin that Rose had told me about, but once I heard Miles had been murdered, I reconsidered the wisdom—or folly—of going out into the woods after dark. If Sajen is a vicious killer, the last thing I need to do is make myself an easy target.”
“Do you think you might go out there tomorrow? I could have my assistant open up the feed store, and I’ll go out there with you.”
“I’d appreciate that. It shouldn’t take too long to get there.”
Newell’s cellphone rang from the living room. He sighed and got out of bed. “I’ll be right back. I wonder who is calling at this hour.”
Zachary chuckled. “Maybe it’s your secret lover.”
Newell shot Zachary a dirty look before stepping out of the room. Zachary put his head on the pillow and let his mind wander. He knew that finding Sajen was a top priority, regardless of whether he was a murderer or not, but there were other tasks for the next day. A new shipment of books was due in to the bookstore, and he had an appointment in the afternoon with the contractors working on the Lonesome Pine Ballroom. It was going to be a busy day, but Zachary couldn’t help but worry about how a killer was on the loose, if it was a lone person who killed Miles and the Reimers. If there were separate killers, though, that was particularly troublesome. That meant two different mysteries to solve. Zachary wasn’t ready for the extra work if there were two malevolent people loose.