A Death in Lionel's Woods

by Christine Husom

  Georgia was located south of Russia, north of Turkey and Armenia, and butted up to the Black Sea on the west. I looked at a series of photos, and admired the array of beautiful scenes in the various areas of the country. Mountains, glaciers, forests, and plains made up the diverse landscape. All features that could be found in the United States condensed into a relatively small area. And there were nearly 5 million people in a country just over a third of the area of Minnesota.

  I scanned through some pictures of mountain scenes in Georgia, hoping to uncover the one in the background of Maisa and the children, but could not. There were 33 mountains listed in the country, but only a fraction of them had been captured in posted photographs.

  I signed off and began a pacing, thinking session that always made Queenie a little jumpy. She felt it was her calling to follow me, and that made me a little jumpy in return. “Okay, let’s say Maisa lived in the country of Georgia with her two children, maybe without a husband, but he could have been the one taking the picture of them. There was an economic crisis that started in the nineties.

  “Georgia is a small country with a lot of people. If Maisa had no husband, she may have had trouble supporting herself and her children. She hears about the selling of organs on the black market, so she sells her kidney.” I walked over to the kitchen counter and jotted “kidney” on a notepad there.

  “Okay, so selling the kidney buys her some time. How much, I have no clue. In the meantime, she hasn’t found a decent job and is desperate. So she hears about some guy who is making arrangements for mail-order brides in the U.S., specifically Minnesota, and she sees the opportunity to leave a bad situation on the promise of a better life for herself, and her children, here.

  “She gets here and maybe things aren’t that great. She starts saving money so she can move away someday. She hides the money in a woods. But somewhere along the way, something goes wrong, and she ends up starving to death on her stash of cash. Does that make sense to you, Queenie?”

  At the mention of her name, Queenie’s ears lifted and her head tipped slightly to the side. “No, it doesn’t make sense to me either. Some of it is plausible. So, if she came to this country as a mail-order bride, did she have to leave her children behind? Could a mother do that? Was she saving up to bring them over here maybe?” I hit my thigh. “I am driving myself nuts. I think we need to get out of the house.”

  Within three minutes, the rain stopped, and the sky brightened. “Thank you!” I stopped at the living room window and looked out. The wind was still blowing, but had calmed considerably. “I’m going to change into running clothes.” Queenie followed me up the stairs to my bedroom, and sat patiently by the bed as I whipped off my jeans and sweater, then pulled on a turtleneck, sweat pants, and running shoes.

  Queenie ran ahead of me back down the stairs, went directly to the front closet, and waited with her tail wagging a hundred miles an hour. She was getting keen at understanding our routines, and going with me on runs was a favorite outing for my young, and energetic, English setter.

  I opened the closet door and pulled out a hooded, waterproof jacket, slipped it on, and zipped it up. I jogged to the den office and grabbed my cell phone from the computer cabinet shelf, then unlocked the safe and retrieved my Smith and Wesson. It was in a pancake holster, ready to go. I secured it on the waistband of my pants then went to the kitchen for my house keys that were hanging on a hook inside a cupboard. Until an incident the year before, when I’d been assaulted, I’d never carried a gun with me when I went running. And I didn’t always do so now, but it made me feel more secure. And I could answer “yes” if Smoke asked me if I’d remembered to pack my Smith and Wesson.

  “Okay, let’s go,” I said to my waiting pup as we headed out the front door. After I’d pulled it shut, I checked, and rechecked, the lock. All secure. I was teaching Queenie to run beside me without a leash on our rural gravel road. There was little traffic, and she was learning that my command of “car” meant move to the far left of the road. She stayed close to me for the most part, and it was fun having a running partner.

  We’d walked halfway up the driveway when I spotted a pile of cigarette butts dumped on the concrete. “Now what? Man.” I bent over, and doing a quick count, estimated there were over twenty water-sopped butts. “Who would do something this gross? Pull into my driveway, and dump their stupid ashtray?”

  I felt downright disgusted as I stood up and gave Queenie the command, “Walk.” We walked to the end of the driveway, about a tenth of a mile then I broke into a jog and crossed to the other side of the road with Queenie on my left side. My anger fueled me, and I was soon running too fast for Queenie to keep up with me. Since Gramps lived a half mile away, I slowed down my pace, turned, and jogged down his driveway. I knew he’d be happy to have Queenie hang out there for a while, enabling me to run as far and as fast as I wanted to.

  When Queenie saw where we were headed, her tail wagged and her speed increased. I sped up myself, and we reached the top of Gramps’ front steps at the same time. I knocked loudly then turned the knob, and stepped in. Queenie had wet gravel on her paws so I told her to sit on the rug. Gramps wasn’t in his usual chair in the living room, and I felt a momentary sense of panic. “Gramps! Are you home?”

  “In the kitchen. I’ll be right there,” he called, setting my mind at ease.

  “Stay,” I told Queenie then slipped off my dirty shoes and joined him in the other room. He was leaning against the counter filling a glass with some tap water. “Stop by for a visit, did you, Corky?”

  I kissed him on the cheek. “Let me grab a towel to wipe Queenie’s paws first.” I pulled a couple of paper towels from the roll then ran back to where my puppy still sat, like a good girl. After I’d dried her feet, she ran ahead of me to greet Gramps.

  “Actually Gramps, I was wondering if Queenie could hang out with you while I go for a run. I realized after we’d left that I could use a longer run today. Unless you have other plans, that is?”

  “No, no. It’d be just fine to leave her here. You take all the time you need.”

  “I appreciate having a willing dog sitter so close. Be back in a bit.” Gramps nodded as he hobbled back to his spot in the living room with Queenie at his heels.

  When he had safely sat down, I slipped my shoes back, on and was down the steps, and jogging my way to Brandt Avenue in a flash. When I reached the road, I tried to pace myself, but the more I thought of someone dumping stinky cigarette butts in my driveway, the angrier I got and the faster I ran. The air was cool and humid enough to see my breath, and it looked like I was blowing out smoke, or steam of my own. Puff, puff, puffs were coming out in quick blasts.

  I reached County Road 35 in minutes and turned left, heading west. Some minutes later, I crossed the road and ran down the long tree-flanked driveway that led to Smoke’s log home hideaway on his private lake. His dog Rex was outside and ran to meet me, barking to alert Smoke that he had company. Smoke stepped onto his front stoop a second before I got to the bottom step.

  His brows drew close together. “I don’t know whether to say you’re a sight for sore eyes, or just a sight.”

  “Very funny.”

  “I mean it. Your face is as flushed as I’ve ever seen it. Are you okay? You’re young and fit, but it doesn’t mean you’re exempt from having a heart attack.”

  “I’m not having a heart attack. I pushed a little hard on my run, and went farther than I’d planned.”

  “Come in. Get a drink of water, cool down a bit.”

  “Thanks.”

  Smoke held the door for me as I stepped around him, and into the living room. I kicked off my shoes and glanced at the big leather couch. It brought me back to the night in May my mother and Sheriff Denny had gotten engaged. Smoke had offered his house for what started out as a surprise fiftieth birthday party for my mother. It ended with a much bigger surprise for her when Denny popped the question and put a stunning ring on her finger.

  I’d hel
ped Smoke straighten up at end of the night then fell asleep on the couch, and slept through the night. Smoke awakened me with a cup of strong, hot coffee in the morning. A night of celebration, followed by an inviting wake-up call.

  I went back to that night from time to time to remind myself that life was normal then, before the senseless tragedy that had taken Eric a short time later. How could I have possibly prepared for that? A cloud of sadness had followed me ever since.

  I shook my head, hoping to loosen the memory, to send it somewhere else for a while, so I could sleep peacefully through the night, like I had once upon a time, whether I was in my own bed, or in Sara’s spare room, or on Smoke’s couch.

  Smoke put his hands on my shoulder and turned me around. “I repeat. Are you okay?”

  “Just a little flashback to Mother’s birthday party. It was a fun night with an unpredictable ending—especially for John Carl and me.”

  Smoke’s long dimples deepened when he smiled. “That it was. Let’s get you that drink.” We went into the kitchen where I got a glass out of the cupboard and filled it with tap water. It was from Smoke’s well, and held the faint smell and taste of iron, but I was used to it, having lived in the country most of my life. I downed the eight ounces in a series of quick swallows.

  Smoke leaned against the counter and studied me. “So tell me, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”

  “I wasn’t exactly planning to stop here, but you’re always a good listener. I had another incident.”

  Smoke raised his eyebrows and drew his arm in tightly against his side. “As in?”

  “Someone dumped an ashtray full of cigarette butts in my driveway. About halfway down.”

  “Not at the end, up by the road?”

  “No.”

  “Did they blow in there? It was mighty windy earlier.”

  “They’re in a pile. I think they were soaked from the rain by the time the wind picked up. If anything, a few could have blown away from the rest. There’re about twenty of them.”

  Smoke scrunched up his face. “What a dirty trick for someone to pull. You gotta wonder why you suddenly have a target on your back.”

  “I know, and I don’t get it. Do you think it could be the person who left me that message about killing their friend?” I inadvertently trembled as I recalled the sound of the unidentified, accusing voice.

  “Could be. But it doesn’t seem to quite line up, in my opinion.” He pushed himself away from the counter. “Although, you got that message, and then lo and behold, someone starts picking on you. Turning on your water, putting nails in your tires, dumping butts in your driveway. Maybe it was even the same guy that let Queenie out.”

  “I just don’t know, Smoke. I haven’t made an arrest in months. My theory is, if it’s not the person who left the message, then it’s some kids who don’t like deputies, and they’ve seen the squad car at my house. I’m out in the country so there aren’t a lot of people around who might witness their actions. If they live in the area, either they know that, or can figure it out pretty quickly.”

  “It sounds like a plausible theory. Are you going to try to get DNA from the butts?”

  I shook my head. “Nah, I’ll put them in evidence in case we want to check them out later on. There are at least three different brands of cigarettes that I spotted, so it seems they came from different smokers. But who knows? When we find the miscreants, hopefully they’ll confess, and tell us why they targeted me.” I filled my glass half full of water and downed it in one gulp. “I left Queenie at Gramps, and I want to get home before the sun sets and clean up that ashtray mess. Thanks for listening.”

  “Anytime. Want a ride home?”

  “Thanks, but it feels good to run. It’s been a while since I’ve run seven miles. It’s a great stress reliever with all those endorphins being released in my brain.”

  “I’ll take your word for it. I only run under threat, or when I need to talk to you, but you’re on a tear and won’t stop to listen,” he gently teased.

  I shook my head at the memory of that spat. The only true personal fight we’d ever had. “Ah, yes.” I blew air through my lips like I was releasing pent-up steam. “As far as this incident is concerned, I’ve let the anger go about the butts so on the run home I can concentrate on Maisa Doe. And Sara’s neighbor.”

  “What about Sara’s neighbor?”

  “Oh, I meant to tell you about it the other night, but was concerned about Martin Geiger and forgot about it. It’s the strangest thing.” I filled Smoke in from the first conversation when Sara shared her worries, her late-night observations, my observation, and plan of attack. Smoke maintained a slight frown as he listened.

  “And you checked out the parents?”

  “I did. There is one thing I found that could be classified as more curious than anything else.” I told him about their son’s condensed obituary in Utah, and that his parents were the only survivors listed. Smoke raised his eyebrows, but reserved comment. “From what I’ve put together of the time frame, from when they moved into Sara’s neighborhood, it seems they left Utah, and came to Minnesota shortly after their son’s death. But as far as criminal activity, they appear to be clean. Valid DLs, with not even a speeding ticket between them. I don’t know if it’s because of their son’s death, or what, but Sara says they keep to themselves and are very protective of their privacy.”

  “Lots of folks are, I guess. I may tend to be in that category myself.”

  “Not quite like that, Smoke.”

  Smoke rubbed the back of his neck. “There are kids with all kinds of problems. Some from the best homes, with top-notch parents, as you know.”

  I thought of the young heroin addict my friend Josh had tried to help and nodded. Speaking of . . . “Another thing I wanted to tell you. I met with Josh Adler yesterday and asked him more questions about human trafficking, and possibly human smuggling, in the Twin Cities.”

  “As in your old academy bud, Josh?” I nodded. “Is that because of what Martin told us? You’re thinking our Jane Doe was somehow involved in that?”

  “Who knows? I’m frustrated and looking for answers. There has got to be a very good reason that no one has come forward to identify her. And that’s one explanation.”

  “That it is. Sure you don’t want a ride home? I can help you clean up your driveway.”

  I shook my head. “Thanks, anyway.”

  As it turned out, there was nothing to clean up from my driveway. Every cigarette butt had been removed, and the area where the soggy butts had laid was wetter than it had been from the rain. Someone had obviously poured water on it. Any remaining ashes were washed away. When I realized someone had been bold enough to return to my property while it was still light out, to clean up after themselves, my heart and head both pounded. Plus, the whole thing was just plain odd. When I phoned Smoke about it, he drove over to see for himself.

  Queenie ran around and barked as we examined the area, and tried to come up with any kind of explanation. Smoke cleared his throat. “Someone is toying with you. Or maybe taunting is a better word.”

  “Could it be someone I know? Geez. They’re either really brave, or totally stupid, to be pulling these pranks in the middle of the day.”

  “And it’s a little late for Halloween tricks.” Smoke looked around the yard then at the road. “They must have seen you leave.”

  I raised my hand as a gesture of protest. “I suppose that’s possible. I didn’t notice anyone around when Queenie and I left for our run.” Then I remembered. “But we did meet a blue minivan just before we got to Gramps.”

  “Make?”

  “Ford. But don’t ask me about the license number because I wasn’t paying much attention. And I can’t give a description of the driver because the sun was reflecting off the window, and I couldn’t see inside it.”

  “Not a vehicle you recognized?”

  “No. Even though we don’t have much traffic out here, random people drive down Brandt
for any number of reasons. Friends, relatives of the neighbors down the road.”

  “Any of those neighbors have teenagers who are trouble makers?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “We need a working camera on your garage so we can get to the bottom of who’s been pulling this weird crap, and put a stop to it.”

  “Murphy’s Law clearly states that if we put a camera up, the pranks will stop.”

  “If that’s what it takes, then I’m on board with it.”

  I nodded. “I’ll see what I can find tomorrow.”

  9

  I woke up Monday morning with three specific goals in mind: to maintain a lookout at the Hueber’s bus stop; to visit Kevin Lionel, and show him the computer generated image of Maisa Doe; and to attach a surveillance camera to my garage, in hopes of identifying the pranksters. At the end of the day, I had accomplished one of those goals.

  I’d made arrangements to sit in Sara’s car since a tan Chevy Malibu had a much lower profile than a marked Winnebago County squad car. Sara was waiting on the front step when I pulled into her driveway at 7:08 a.m. When I got out of my car, she handed me her keys. “Good morning, and good luck,” she said with a sleepy smile.

  “Good morning and thanks.” I got in her car, backed out of the driveway, drove around two blocks, and parked one block south of where Sara surmised the bus picked up the neighborhood kids. I had a clear view of the front of the Hueber’s home. There were no children yet waiting at the stop, so I settled into the patiently waiting mode I had trained myself on. It was easy to do when I knew it would be for a total of thirty minutes. At the most.