by Ann Yost
“Pipe cleaners?”
“The order is red and white carnations with black swastikas.” She ignored my groan. “Maybe you’d better pick up some daisies and lilies at the market, just in case anybody dies in the next few days.”
I knew she wasn’t referring to the murder. Finns prefer to use white and yellow flowers for funerals and she just wanted to be covered. But the comment sent a shiver down my spine.
“On the double, Hatti. I’ve got to go.”
“Wait,” I said, “I need to ask you something about New Year’s Eve.”
“I told you. I got home a little after eleven and went to bed.”
“Waino found confetti under the lodgepole pines out at Lars’s cabin. It was frozen under the print of a size six boot.”
“I don’t know anything about that,” she snapped. “Hurry up and get the supplies. Chop. Chop.”
“I’m heading to my car as we speak,” I said, “and this is important. You were out there, Sofi. I know it. Tell me why.”
“Not to kill Cricket Koski.”
I kept my voice calm and steady even as I wondered why she’d lied.
“I never thought that. Just tell me what happened after you left the B and B.”
“I can’t tell you, Hatti.”
“You followed him out to the lake, didn’t you,” I said. “You saw something there, how? Through the cabin’s window? If he’d been out in the clearing, he’d have seen your car.”
“He wasn’t there.” Sofi is normally as straightforward as an arrow and it was indicative of her state of mind that she kept toggling back and forth between protests and narrative. “The cabin was dark when I got to the lake and there was no one parked in the clearing. I figured he was dawdling, maybe stopped for a drink or something. I decided to wait but parked the van deep in the pines so it would be hard to see.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. I’ve been asking myself that. It was almost like I knew there was something wrong. Hell, Hatti. I did know something was wrong. Lars wouldn’t stop for a drink. He’s been on the wagon for three years. I was worried.” She paused. “I was angry, too. I thought we were getting back together and then I’d found the Insect’s phone number in his jeans.”
“What happened next?”
She was silent for a moment and then she must have made a decision to trust me because she stopped waffling.
“Lars’s SUV showed up about eleven-thirty. He parked it near the cabin and got out of the driver’s seat.”
“Did you call to him?”
“No. He looked, strange. Furtive. Like he was sneaking around. After a minute, I understood why.” I waited. “He came around to the driver’s side door, reached in and helped a woman out of the car.”
“Sofi!”
“I know. My blood was boiling. I think my eyes were crossed because my vision blurred. I thought about making a scene right then and there. He had his arm around her, like they’d been out on a romantic date and had every intention of extending that date into the bedroom. I saw them go in the cabin and then the light came on in the front room but I couldn’t see anything else because the curtains were closed.”
I made a mental search of my memory. Hadn’t Lars said he’d left the lights off when he got home? Of course, he’d also said he come home alone.
“Did you go in after them?”
“No. I just couldn’t do it. Not after he scooped her up in his arms and carried her over the threshold. It looked just like a groom with his bride, Hatti. He never carried me over the threshold.”
“Well, in all fairness, he was seventeen and weighed about a hundred and twelve and you were seven months pregnant.”
“Even so. It felt like he was married to someone else.”
My heart ached for her.
“Was the woman Cricket Koski?”
“I couldn’t tell. They both had on knitted hats and their hoods were up. I can’t imagine who else it would be given she was the one Waino found there.”
“Right. You saw Cricket alive at eleven thirty-ish and Waino discovered her dead at about one fifteen. So at least we’ve narrowed down the time of death.”
“The autopsy should do that. Besides, all this does is make a watertight case against Lars. Not that I care,” she added.
“Lars didn’t do it,” I replied. “He’s not a killer.”
“Who knows what someone will do when they’re desperate?”
“Why should he be desperate? Tell me something. If Cricket Koski had contacted you to say that Lars and she had taken up again and Lars had denied it, which of them would you have believed?”
She heaved a sigh. “I don’t know.”
“Sofi, Sofi! You’ve nurtured a grudge about this a long time. If you want to help Lars in this situation you have to decide whether you’re going to trust him. Hell’s bells, girl. If you plan to resume your marriage you have to trust him. Look at the facts. He cheated on you once and he didn’t even lie about it. He told you.”
“He lied about being in contact with Cricket recently.”
She was right.
“Okay, nobody’s perfect. Maybe he left the phone number in his pants pocket so you’d find it. Maybe he was afraid to tell you just like you’re afraid to tell him about the baby.”
On that coup de grace, I disconnected, parked the Jeep and headed into the Shopko.
Chapter 19
An hour later I carried four buckets of white, red and yellow carnations into the work room of Sofi’s shop then I dug the pipe cleaners out of my jacket pocket and laid them on the plastic-covered work table.
Sofi’s thick, straight wheat-colored hair was twisted into a knot on top of her head and she wore a pale green cobbler’s apron over her sweatshirt and jeans. Her short, powerful fingers pulled the bunches apart and stripped the leaves. There were still dark crescents under her eyes but her cheeks were pink and she was back to her normal business-like self.
“You’d better let me spray paint the carnations,” I said. “You shouldn’t inhale the fumes.”
“Fine.” She had spread newspapers on her work table and now she laid the stripped stems on it “side by each,” as Pops would say, like prisoners positioned before a firing squad.
I thought, not for the first time, how much being a shop owner suited Sofi and how she’d never have taken the plunge if it hadn’t been for the divorce. She’d worked for years as an assistant to Lauri Hyypio who had owned the flower shop. Lauri had been ready to sell two years ago and Sofi, newly divorced, had gotten a loan from Miner’s Bank to buy the place. She’d tightened up Lauri’s somewhat lackadaisical business practices and she’d diversified by offering her customers not only floral arrangements but mouth-watering fudge. Fudge had been a natural addition. Sofi had always loved experimenting in the kitchen and the fudge making gave her a natural outlet for her creativity. In addition to seasonal favorites like eggnog and peppermint, she’d experimented with apple, pineapple and lingonberry fudge, all of which sound gag-inducing, but were actually delicious.
“I’ve lost four pounds,” she said.
I hid a smile. Even in the midst of a crisis such as the threat of a murder charge, she was aware of the numbers on her scale. And I knew, very well, that she was not alone in that.
“Morning sickness?” She nodded.
“And I’m doing a land rush business. There’s nothing like a scandal to bring out the shoppers.” She nodded toward the curtain that leads to the front of the shop. “I borrowed Astrid Laplander from Ronja since Charlie’s out of town.” Astrid is the eldest of five daughters all of whom help out at the family owned Copper Kettle Gift Shop. “She can’t cut an even square to save her life but she’s good at the cash register.”
“What are people saying about the murder?”
She laughed.
“They’re a lot more interested in What’s in Your Attic? Lots of talk about whose treasures are the most valuable and which of the locals will be spotted by some talent
scout and whisked off to Hollywood.” She shot me an ironic look. “Who says Finns don’t have any imagination?”
“It gives people something to get excited about.”
She shook her head. “I predict a lot of disappointment. Clara Tenhunen plans to bring that blue-and-white pitcher of hers because it looks like Dresden china. Trouble is, I remember when she bought it with wedding money at that K-mart that went out of business. It was made in Japan.”
“That could work. Japan was also one of the Axis Powers in World War II.”
“At least she has a good reason for not letting the host turn it upside down to see the bottom. At the moment, it’s housing her mummi’s ashes.”
“Yikes.”
“Willa Marsi found some marks made in East Germany. They were issued in the 1970s but she figures that, if there hadn’t been a war, there wouldn’t be any East Germany so the marks have some relevant historical value.” She uncapped a can of spray, shook it and handed it to me.
“Ready to shoot?”
I stood back and pointed. I felt like one of the playing cards in Alice in Wonderland, tasked by the Queen to paint the roses red.
The air was thick with the detritus and scent of the black spray when the door from the shop opened and Ronja Laplander chugged into the room. No one knows why Ronja and her husband, Benne, named their souvenir shop as they did. So many tourists have stopped in there for fudge that Ronja’s taken to purchasing it daily from Sofi.
Both Ronja and Benne are descended from Sami reindeer herders in Finnish Lapland and, unlike those of us with a Swedish-Finnish heritage, they are dark-haired, on the short side and squarely built. Ronja always reminds me of a heavy-bottomed, Great Lakes freighter and today was no exception.
“Hatti!”
I winced at the shrill tone. “Yes?”
“Diane Hakala just told me the television people are going to film a scene at the bait shop this afternoon. Is that true?” She planted her fists against her sides even though her waistline was no longer in evidence. Characteristically, she did not wait for me to answer. “That is very unfair. We should all have been given a chance to be the venue, then. My shop has the advantage of the copper pots and pans to remind people they are in Copper Country. Plus we have flags and posters and sweatshirts with maps of the UP as well as books and Sisu mugs. You have nothing but yarn and worms.”
“You have a point,” I said, diplomatically. “I think the point is to hold a knitting circle which is supposed to remind viewers of tradition. Also, Serena Waterfall is going to do a segment on the Rya Rug.”
“I suppose there is no chance of making a change to the Copper Kettle.” She didn’t wait for an answer. “In that case, I will be happy to attend the knitting circle. I’ll bring Astrid so the viewers can see that we are teaching the craft to the next generation. The important thing then is for Astrid to be seen. You remember how good she was in the St. Lucy pageant.”
Sofi and I exchanged a look. We both knew Astrid had never picked up a pair of knitting needles in her life. Ronja, as starstruck as the next Yooper, wanted Astrid to have a career in Hollywood.
“Ronja,” Sofi said, playing devil’s advocate, “what would you do if Astrid went out to California? You’d have to leave the Keweenaw. You’d have to sell the Copper Kettle.”
“Oh no,” she said, taking the comment seriously. “That’s where you’re wrong. Benne can stay here and run it while I am in Hollywood. The other girls can join us when they graduate. I’m sure Astrid can find parts for them in her movies. I’ll see you at three. Be sure Astrid combs her hair before coming over and Hatti,” she tsk-tsked, “your head looks like a haystack. You are probably too old for the silver screen but you might want to get a better husband.”
“Thanks for the tip,” I said. “I’ll bear it in mind.”
Chapter 20
When our downtown blocks were built, more than a hundred years ago, shop owners invariably lived above the storefronts. In more recent years, those second story flats, accessible by staircases along a back hallway, have been used for offices, rental apartments and, more often in recent times, left vacant. Thanks to our harsh winters, the red brick of the downtown blocks has darkened, the metal cornices have tarnished and the wooden columns have been re-painted many, many times.
Hakala’s, Patty’s Pasties and the Hardware store take up the west side of the street while the Copper Kettle, Main Street Floral and Fudge and Bait and Stitch anchor the east side so I only had to take a couple of steps to get from Sofi’s shop to mine for the videotaping. The little bell over the door tinkled merrily as I entered. Ever since I’d installed it, the sound had triggered a feeling of wellbeing and relief. It reminded me that at some point, I’d gone from being a law school drop-out and marriage failure to respectable UP shop owner. It seemed like a step in the right direction.
This afternoon the relief was short-lived. I was too aware that I now possessed a story (Sofi’s) that implicated both her and Lars. I also had special knowledge that implicated Seth Virtunan. Did I owe this information to the sheriff? What if he found out some other way? Wouldn’t that look worse for everybody involved? And what was the truth? Who had killed Cricket Koski?
As soon as Einar spotted me he hopped down off his high stool, put away the bits of wire and string he was using to tie flies and shrugged into his heavy parka and the flannel hat with the ear flaps that we call a stormy kromer.
“You’re leaving?” I said, pointing out the obvious. “What if somebody wants live bait?”
“Won’t.”
That was probably true. It was the first week in January and too snowy for ice fishing.
“What will you do this afternoon?” I really was curious. Einar spent all his time at the bait shop.
“Sauna,” he said, pronouncing it correctly.
When he left, I spent a few minutes straightening the shop. I’d bought some small accent lamps and they provided a soft glow that balanced the bowl light in the tin ceiling. There was a round gray rug on the floor to define the work area and the walls were white as were the wooden wine racks I’d bolted to the wall with Pops’ help to display the yarn. The yarn itself warmed the scene with the variety of color from baby blues and pinks to the rich ruby, emerald and sapphire jewel tones of the worsted wools. Even though my customers were mostly proficient at the colorwork knitting technique called Fair Isle, I had stocked some of the newer striped yarns, the ones in which the pattern is generated by a computer.
My glance moved to the shop’s centerpiece, the white Rya Rug with a tree of life design embroidered in red. It had hung in Pops’ study at home all my life but when I got the idea of adding knitting supplies to the bait shop, he gladly handed it over to me. I’d considered washing away the grime of years but had gotten it dry cleaned instead and I had to admit the results looked good. The story was that it had been woven for an engaged couple from a small village in Finland by one of the Lehtinen relatives. Before the marriage could take place, the young man was killed in the war and the rug, considered a bad omen, was shipped to a relative in the United States. Mom and Pops discovered it when they moved into the home that had belonged to his family.
I went to the work room and brought out the old wooden chairs I’d bought and painted to use during knitting circle and I arranged them in a semi-circle opposite the upholstered loveseat and the antique dressing table I’d restored and used to display samples of sweaters, scarves, hats and mittens. I happened to glance at the carousel of packaged knitting needles. The rod that held the size six DPNs was empty. My blood ran cold. Someone had bought the DPNs since the last time I was here. Was it the murderer? Was I complicit in Cricket Koski’s tragedy?
I abandoned the chairs and hurried over to the cash register. Most people paid with credit or cash cards these days and there would be a number and a name. I dug through the receipts and found the transaction. It had been made with cash and, anyway, the needles were part of a larger order that included three skeins of m
ulti-colored sock yarn, a stitch holder and a package of stitch markers. Something inside of me unclenched. The purchaser had intended to knit a pair of socks not stab a barmaid. A quick look at the date of the sale, though, gave me pause. It was Saturday, December 31. The very day of Cricket Koski’s murder.
Hell’s bells. Here was one more piece of information I didn’t know what to do with. The acid from my stomach started to work its way into my throat, a sure sign of an incipient panic attack. I sucked in a series of deep breaths and tried to calm down.
By the time Seth and Serena arrived a few minutes later I’d gotten myself under control. Seth was charming and polite as always and Serena very complimentary about the shop. I tried to put all suspicion of the former out of my mind. Then I remembered the séance and asked about it.
“Were you able to make contact with Maud?”
“I think so,” Serena said. “There was a green glow in the mirror. When I pointed it out, the others saw it, too.” She smiled, a trifle self-consciously. “That happens a lot. When someone thinks you have psychic powers they are very suggestible.”
I found her honesty disarming.
“But you saw a green glow, right?”
“Green-ish. Nothing is very clear cut in the spirit world.”
“Except the karsikko sign.”
Serena hadn’t heard about that so I told her. Afterwards, though, I was curious.
“I’d have thought Mrs. Paikkonen would have told you all about it when you gathered for the séance.”
“Oh, she didn’t stay. She said she wanted to get back to your house to wash and change the bed sheets so Vincent drove her back in the van. I was worried about her, you know. She looked kinda green around the gills. I guess staying overnight at a funeral home isn’t everybody’s cup of tea.”