A Double-Pointed Murder

by Ann Yost

  “The time apart from you confirmed what I’d always suspected, that I’m too messed up to be a good partner. This marriage isn’t fair to you.”

  OMG. This was one of those, it-isn’t-you-it’s-me break up arguments. I didn’t even try to argue. I’d learned something, too, in the past year.

  “We got together so fast. It was such a whirlwind. And then the first thing that came along turned it into shrapnel.”

  “For you. Not for me.” He nodded.

  “I know, I know. The commitment freaked me out. You deserve better. But I’ll tell you this. I can live without you. I can compensate just as a colorblind person can figure out the traffic light by position rather than color. But life without you isn’t vivid. It isn’t joyous. I missed you, Umlaut. Everything, from the trail of freckles across your nose to the Joullutorttu to that belly laugh that bursts out of you and makes everybody in the vicinity turn around and grin. I miss your zest for life and your conviction that there is no problem too large or too small for you to solve for someone else.” He sucked in a breath. “I miss hearing Geez Louise ten times a day.”

  He’d pulled me onto his lap. I hadn’t realized I was crying until he wiped my wet face with a napkin.

  “I’ve missed everything about you,” he said. “Especially this.”

  We managed a long, magical kiss, in spite of my dripping nose. When we came up for air I knew there was something I had to say.

  “I love you.”

  “But?”

  “I love the Keweenaw, too. There was a time when I’d have done anything to leave. Now, though, being back here, I realize it’s where I belong. This community is my tribe, Jace. It needs me. And I need them.”

  He nodded.

  “And my office is in D.C. So are you saying you want to try a long-distance marriage?”

  “Not really.” I sucked in a deep breath and put my cards on the table. “I want you to live here.” I noticed the way his long lashes closed but tried to ignore it. “I want you to confront your own conflicts about your background, both your Ojibwe half and your Finnish half and I don’t think you can do it without spending some time here.”

  “So this ultimatum is for my benefit.”

  “I’m being honest with you. It’s not an ultimatum.”

  “But you won’t go back to D.C. with me.”

  I looked at his handsome face, the confident mask that hid so much emotional damage.

  “I don’t know.”

  He lifted me off his lap and touched my cheek. The silver gray eyes were unreadable.

  “I love you, Hatti,” he said.

  My phone rang and it was Einar.

  “Come,” he said.

  One word. Einar had exceeded his own record in economy.

  “That was Einar,” I said to Jace.

  “I know. Let’s walk down to Main Street.”

  We decided to take Larry. There was a stiff wind that swept the fallen snow up into our faces but it felt good. It was a relief to get outside away from the twin issues of murder and the future of our relationship. The Christmas wreaths, still hanging from the lamp posts, and the twinkle lights in the shop windows gave the downtown a festive air but it was three days into the New Year and time to take them down. I slipped my hand through Jace’s arm.

  “Do you remember Claude?”

  “Ollie Rahkunen’s reindeer?” I nodded.

  “He’s going to be a dad. It seems that Ollie borrowed a female reindeer from a guy down in Toivo for the Christmas pageant and, while the angels and shepherds were reciting their lines in the front yard of the church, Claude and Porot were getting friendly in the backyard.”

  “Poirot?” I laughed.

  “The female deer is name Porot – which is Finnish for reindeer. I guess the Toivo guy isn’t as creative as Ollie. Anyway, it turns out a calf is expected in a few months.”

  Jace shook his head. “I haven’t spent much time with Claude but he doesn’t strike me as much of a family man.”

  “I think he’ll rise to the occasion. Most men do.”

  He pulled my arm closer against his side.

  “You seem happy, Umlaut.”

  “I’m trying to enjoy individual moments, you know? Anxiety occurs when you think too far ahead. And I guess I’m growing up. There are few absolutes in life but the one thing you can count on is change.

  “There’s a character in the Moomins which, as you know, was my favorite series growing up. It’s about a family of creatures that kind of look like hippopotamuses but are very small. One time, when Moomintroll, the child in the family, comes out of hibernation too early, he’s upset. He feels alone in the world and it wasn’t what he expected.

  “Too-Ticky is a wise woman who tries to comfort him with the truth. She says, all things are very uncertain; and that’s exactly what makes me feel reassured.”

  “Are you reassured by that?”

  “Oh, no. I hate it. I want everything in writing, in black and white and assurances that we will all live forever in health and good will.” I grinned at him. “But life isn’t really like that, is it? All we really have is today.”

  “This is what’s happening today,” he said, his voice a low growl as he pulled me closer for another pulse-pounding kiss.

  Chapter 25

  Bait and Stitch, for once, was full of customers. The death of Cricket Koski had been shocking because murder is shocking, especially here on the Keweenaw, but no one in Red Jacket had known her.

  Mrs. Paikkonen’s murder in a respectable house on Calumet Street was a red flag to a bull. Folks were on high alert. Something was terribly wrong in Moomin Valley and everyone had his or (mostly) her opinions about what it was. Not surprisingly, they blamed events on Vincent Tallmaster and the rest of the television people although, at the same time, everyone was jazzed at the prospect of finding Nazi loot on the Keweenaw. Humans are not always as logical as Moomins.

  Lydia Saralampi, recovered from her injury, met us at the shop door. She was full of theories about the hiding place of the stolen masterpiece.

  “Have you looked in the crypt at St. Heikki’s? Or the old vault in the library?” I could tell the moment she caught sight of Jace. Her eyes widened and her tone softened and she reached out to put a hand on his arm. “You must be the Prodigal husband,” she purred. “Welcome.”

  For once I didn’t react to Lydia’s blatant flirting. For one thing, I didn’t think Jace would fall for it. For another, I didn’t have time. There was too much at stake here to worry about Red Jacket’s resident vamp.

  I could see Einar perched, as usual, on a high stool behind the cash register and I started to make my way across the crowded room. It wasn’t a fast voyage. I was stopped by several ladies who, like Lydia, wanted to suggest possible hiding places for the missing Monet or who sought details on Mrs. Paikkonen’s death.

  “Hei, Einar,” I said, when I finally reached him. “Where did all these folks come from?”

  The blue eyes twinkled at me. “Altar Guild.”

  Of course. It was Wednesday which meant the women who served on the Altar Guild at St. Heikki’s had spent the morning cleaning and polishing the pulpit, the lectern and the baptismal font, sweeping the floor and changing the paraments, or linens. The white cloths traditionally used for Christmas would have been replaced with green ones. Technically, the next church season didn’t start until Epiphany, which was January 6, still a few days away, but the ladies of the guild invariably decided to be head of the game, a practice with which I was familiar as my mom had served on the guild for many years.

  In recent years they’d wound up their Wednesday session by gathering at Sofi’s shop for coffee and fudge. Sometimes they wandered next door to see the latest yarns.

  Today’s gathering had nothing to do with knitting.

  Ronja Laplander planted her short, thick-set body in my path.

  “This is your fault, Hatti,” she said. “You should never have agreed to this television pilot.”

>   “It isn’t Henrikki’s fault,” Aunt Ianthe said, stoutly defending me as usual. “Arvo set it up and then he wasn’t here to control it. They never should have brought in the Nazis.”

  “Woe to them that devise iniquity! And work evil upon their beds.” Miss Irene said. “Micah.”

  “Work evil upon their beds,” Lydia Saralampi said, turning the Bible verse into a tantalizing suggestion. I noticed she was still clinging to Jace’s arm. “We could discuss that,” she said, turning to him, “while you help me search my attic for the treasure.” She turned to me. “I can’t search alone because of my concussion.” She began to tell him about her fall from the opera house stage.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” I lied, “but Einar needs Jace’s help with something. See you later, Lydia.” I stepped toward her to detach my husband’s arm from her fingers but he had already done that. He put his hand on my lower back and piloted me through the rest of the throng and we followed the old man into the work room.

  “What’s up?”

  Einar shook his head and responded with a directive.

  “You go upstairs.”

  I was mystified but didn’t argue. I led Jace out the back of the shop into the narrow corridor that runs behind the entire block. We climbed the old staircase to the empty apartment above. As I unlocked the door, the scent of sawdust and mold triggered memories of the months I’d lived up here. It had been six months into our separation. After spending the first period with my folks, the time alone in the apartment had been what I needed. I’d only moved back to the Queen Anne after Pops’s snowmobile accident to take care of Larry and the house while he and my mom were up at the Mayo.

  There was no heat in the apartment and the curtains in the front window were drawn but, somehow, I was not surprised to see a familiar figure approach us as we came through the door.

  “Hey, Jailbreak,” I said.

  “Cripes, Squirt,” said the fugitive from Justice. “Where’ve you been? I thought you’d never get here.”

  “I’m here now. What’s with the blackout? And the lack of heat? It feels like Siberia in here.”

  I could see Lars’s white teeth in the dark. It was sort of like the Cheshire cat, just a smile and nothing else.

  “I’m on the lam, remember? I didn’t want any sharp young deputy to notice signs of human habitation above the bait shop and put two and two together.”

  “Speaking of that,” I said, dropping into an easy chair whose springs had been broken since the Korean War, “what were you thinking? If you’d stay behind bars you’d have had an alibi for Mrs. Paikkonen’s murder.”

  “Well, I didn’t know someone was going to kill her, did I? And I needed to talk to, uh, you. What did you learn from Cricket’s friend down in L’Anse?”

  I hesitated. Not because I didn’t trust Lars but because, oh, I don’t know. Because it didn’t seem fair to lay the blame for the murders on Seth Virtunan. I needed to remember that it was not my job to protect the guilty. Seth could have done the murders. He could have done them both.

  “Cricket attended a Finnish camp ten years ago when she was seventeen. She met someone there. A guy. She called him Prince Charming. According to Cloud he was older and married but he promised to come back for Cricket when he’d gotten a divorce and she’d grown up.”

  “That sounds exactly like something Cricket would believe.”

  I nodded. “Cricket called Cloud on New Year’s Eve day. She said Prince Charming had finally returned and that they were going to live happily ever after.” Lars groaned. “Oh, and that they were going to be rich. If this stuff is all connected, and I think it is, we can deduce that Prince Charming found out about the Nazi loot. He intended to use Cricket to find out the location of the hidden painting. I imagine he always intended to kill her when she’d outlived her usefulness but the opportunity to implicate you in the murder led him to do it on New Year’s Eve.”

  Lars had turned on a desk lamp which provided a small, intimate light in the dusky living room. In the semi-dark his face looked carved in stone. A glance at Jace showed a similar expression of concentration.

  “I think Hatti’s right,” Jace said. “Prince Charming used Cricket then killed her to shut her up and to frame Lars. It was a brutal, but efficient plan. Everyone knew about the long-ago, one-night stand with Cricket. And everyone knew about your planned reconciliation with Sofi. We’re working with a diabolical sociopath here.”

  “Agreed,” Lars said. He leaned toward me. “So all we need now is to identify Prince Charming.”

  Again I hesitated.

  “Cloud gave us a photo of the staff and campers. Most of the faces are hard to distinguish but Cricket happened to be sitting next to a boy who was familiar. His name is Seth Virtunan. He’s an antiques dealer in Royal Oak and he’s here this week with the What’s in Your Attic? people.”

  “On top of that, we think Prince Charming killed Mrs. Paikkonen because having translated the Hautamaki letter, she knew the location of the painting. Seth Virtunan had the time to kill the old lady before he came down to the bait shop yesterday.”

  Lars studied me.

  “That seems pretty open and shut.” Lars said. “So why am I sensing you’re not happy with it, Squirt?”

  I shrugged. “I like Seth. He just doesn’t seem like a killer.”

  There was a moment of silence and I shut my eyes waiting for them to heap ridicule on my head. I deserved it, too. Criminal cases are built on evidence not instinct. Lars next question surprised me.

  “Where’s the letter now?”

  “We think the killer swiped it when he killed Mrs. Pike.” I remembered my misguided conviction that she’d had the time and forethought to hide the letter. “She did leave a message.” I told them both about the karsikko sign.

  “No one can think of anyone involved with the initials R.R. so I started to think she was trying to tell us where she left the letter.”

  Lars nodded, absentmindedly. “Or, it could refer to the hiding place of the painting.”

  The comment went over my head.

  “Why don’t you seem surprised about all this?”

  “Jace filled me in when he picked me up in Frog Creek last night. Oh, not about the karsikko sign. He told me that when he brought me breakfast.”

  I glared at my ex-brother-in-law and at my husband.

  “You didn’t need to speak to me at all, did you?”

  “Hatti, I broke out of jail because you told me to talk to Sofi.”

  “Well, then, why aren’t you talking to her? Did she refuse to meet you?”

  “No. I didn’t refuse to meet him.” Sofi came out of the bedroom. She had a blanket wrapped around her and her hair, no longer confined by a pony tail holder, streamed down her back. Her expression was soft though and, even in the semi-dark, her face seemed to glow. “We’ve been talking about Cricket’s phone number. I overreacted, of course.” Her smile widened. “And we’ve been talking about the baby.”

  Lars had stood up when she’d entered the room. Now he put his arms around her and I felt a lump form in my throat. At least one good thing had come of all this mayhem. After a minute, they both sat down.

  “I heard what you said just now,” Sofi said, “and I think I know why you can’t believe in Seth’s guilt. He looks like every kid we went to Sunday school with, right? I know it’s sometimes hard to remember that Lutherans are normal people with the same temptations as everyone else. Seth told us business is bad for antiques dealers. He told us he’d agreed to do the television show in order to get some publicity for his shop. Maybe he heard about the long-lost painting and joined Vincent and company because they were coming up to the Keweenaw and he thought he’d get a chance to look around. By my calculations, he had means, motive and opportunity for both murders, plus he’s obviously Cricket Koski’s Prince Charming.”

  I knew she had a point. A good point.

  “The Attic cast members came up here separately. Seth supposedly spent the night
in Petoskey. His name is in the motel’s registry.”

  “That proves he checked in and paid for the night,” Jace said, “not that he stayed there. He could have left at any time. No one would have checked.”

  “The same is true for the others,” I pointed out. “Waino checked up on the two couples, too. Vincent and Helena Tallmaster checked into a B and B near Escanaba which is only three hours away. They could have easily driven to the Keweenaw, have killed Cricket and driven back.”

  “What about Harry Dent?”

  “He and Serena stayed in a motel near Paradise. That’s more than six hours away.”

  “So they could have done it,” Lars said.

  I shook my head.

  “Harry couldn’t have done it without Serena knowing. She was hysterical when she discovered Mrs. Paikkonen propped on that window-seat. She’d never have agreed to murder Cricket.”

  There was a moment of silence in the room and then Lars spoke.

  “It’s not that I don’t believe you, Hatti. But I don’t think we can rule anybody out yet. Any of these guys could have done it.”

  “But not all of them could have been Prince Charming,” Sofi said. There was a note of regret in her voice.

  “What we need to do,” Jace said, “is figure out the meaning of R.R., and find the letter. Or the painting.”

  “But, first,” my sister said, “Hatti needs to drive Lars back to Frog Creek before he gets dinged for jumping bail. Use the flower van so he can hunker down in the back.”

  Chapter 26

  From his position behind the front seats, Lars questioned me about Harry Dent.

  “He’s a former art theft detective who agreed to do this television gig because his ex-wife asked him to do it. He’s been helping me with the investigation.”

  “I know all that. What I’m really asking is your impression of him.”

  “I like him. Anybody would. He’s kind of a bon vivant with a dry sense of humor. He’s smart and good company with the ladies from Aunt Ianthe to Elli to me. He was very sweet with Cloud and her little boys.”