A Double-Pointed Murder

by Ann Yost

  Clump gazed at her.

  “Where’d you go after that?”

  “Right back here,” Vincent said, jovially.

  “It’s not,” Helena put in, “like there was a lot of choice. Another day, another smorgasbord.”

  “I think I can save you some time, sheriff,” Harry said, smoothly. “We were all down at Bait and Stitch from the middle of the afternoon until just before supper. Mrs. Paikkonen did not join the other ladies at the shop and Hatti sent me back to the Lehtinen house to pick her up. It must have been about three p.m. When I knocked on her bedroom door she told me she wanted to stay there and rest.”

  “She’d taken a sleeping pill,” Serena reminded him.

  “That’s right.”

  “Anybody see or talk to her after that,” Clump asked. There was a chorus of negative replies.

  “Guess that makes you the last one to talk to her,” Clump said, his eyes squinting.

  “Except for the murderer,” Harry murmured.

  “Sheriff,” Jace said, his eyes on Harry, “what time did Mrs. Paikkonen die?”

  For awhile I thought he wouldn’t answer but he finally did.

  “Doc’s best guess is mid-afternoon. No later than four p.m.”

  Everybody at the table stared at Harry.

  “I guess I was the last to talk to her,” he said. “A damn shame, too. I must have just missed the murderer.”

  I closed my eyes and pictured the shop that afternoon. Vincent had been there and Helena and Serena and, of course, I’d sent Harry back to the house to pick up Mrs. Paikkonen but he was back by a little after three. What about Seth? As if he’d read my thoughts, he volunteered the information.

  “I took Hatti’s rug over to the theater and hung it up,” he said. “I think I got back to the shop around four-fifteen or four-thirty, but I wouldn’t swear to it.”

  It felt like a stunningly, self-incriminating confession and for a moment no one spoke. And then Clump surprised me again.

  “Where were you all on New Year’s Eve?”

  Harry spoke up first.

  “Serena and I stayed in a motel out on the Seney Mile near Paradise. We had a rented car, an SUV actually, and we had hoped to get closer to the Keweenaw that night but we stopped for a burger at some place called the Pine Stump and after we’d eaten we realized we were exhausted. We’re not spring chickens anymore, you know? So we found something called Dan’s Cabins, checked in and lights out.”

  It was a lot of detail, a lot of words. It was also consistent with what Harry had told me before. I noticed Serena was staring into her coffee. When Harry finished speaking he said, “That the way you remember it, Serena?” She nodded.

  In fact, all the alibis matched what Harry had told me. It almost seemed as if they’d been rehearsed but that was ridiculous. How hard was it to remember where three sets of people were only a few days earlier? Each of the actors spoke of their travel that weekend. None of them, naturally, had been anywhere near Lars Teljo’s cabin on Dollar Lake.

  Clump glared at each of them in turn.

  “Well somebody sure as hell stuck a knittin’ needle into that old lady and something a lot like it into the girl. Somebody here ain’t tellin’ the truth.”

  Elli, correctly surmising that his sugar high had worn off, got up to cut him another piece of cake.

  “What was she doin’ at the Lehtinen house, anyways?”

  “She thought she heard a ghost at the mortuary,” I said, hoping I wouldn’t have to try to explain the karsikko sign to the sheriff.

  “Geez, Hatti,” Waino said, “maybe the deadly knittin’ needle was meant for you.”

  I sighed. It was obvious we had to fill in the blanks for the lawmen. “We found a letter up in the attic sent from Nazi Germany. The letter mentioned a piece of Nazi loot recovered by a young Finnish diplomat and sent to the UP for safe-keeping. Mrs. Paikkonen was the only one to have read and translated the letter. We think there’s a chance she was killed because she knew where the loot was hidden.”

  Waino looked at me as if I had grown elk horns.

  Sheriff Clump canted his head to one side (not an easy thing to do with his lack of neck) and said, “just what do you mean, Missy, by loot?”

  Seth answered.

  “It would be a painting. Most likely, a painting of waterlilies by the French Impressionist Claude Monet.”

  I sensed a lack of appreciation so I told them it was worth sixty million dollars.

  “If it exists,” Sheriff Clump said.

  “There’s no question that it exists,” Harry said. “There are still many thousands of works of art and cultural artifacts listed in the international Art Loss Register. Other Nazi looted artwork has been found in attics and basements of American cities. The Monet could be on the Keweenaw but it seems unlikely as we haven’t been able to find it.”

  Clump stared at him.

  “Somebody believes it enough to murder two gals.”

  I felt a sudden, grudging respect for Horace Clump. He was right. The murders all but confirmed the presence of the Monet.

  “Awright,” Clump said, turning his beady eyes to me. “I know you’ve been snoopin’ around here and I wanna know just what you found. Chapter and verse.”

  I didn’t know where to start. All I could think about was that picture of Seth Virtunan sitting next to Cricket Koski at Camp Kaleva. But if I mentioned it, Clump would, in his usual heavy-handed fashion, throw Seth into the jail cell with Lars.

  Waino, bless his cotton-pickin’ heart, came at it from a different angle.

  “Who came up with the idea to look for the stolen painting?”

  “It was the letter,” Elli said. “The letter mentioned a package this young man, Ernst Hautamaki, was planning to send to his aunt.”

  “But how did you know it was a painting? I mean, it could’ve been anything, right? It could have been gold. Somebody got you started on a stolen painting.”

  I thought back to our brainstorming session on Sunday – had that been only three days ago? We’d all been talking about the history of Finland and World War II. Then Elli had found the letter and someone had suggested that Ernst’s birthday surprise for his aunt was a missing masterpiece. Who? Had it been Harry, who certainly knew about looted paintings? Seth? He knew about art and he knew about Finland, too.

  “Never mind about that,” Clump said, after a minute. “What I wanna know is who gave the old lady a sleeping pill?” Once again, no one responded.

  The sheriff, once again, eyed Harry Dent.

  “What’d she say about it to you then?”

  “Not too much,” Harry said. “She said she’d come from the B and B and I guess I just assumed she’d gotten the pills from Elli.” Clump turned to my cousin who shook her head.

  “I don’t have any sleeping pills. If I took one I’d sleep for a month.”

  Clump looked at Waino.

  “Doc find sleepin’ pills in her blood?” Waino shrugged.

  The sheriff folded his forearms over his formidable chest.

  “Know what I think? Mrs. P. didn’t take no pills cause she didn’t have no pills. I think somebody came back from the bait shop and killed her.”

  This was the time for me to come clean about the stalker-slash-killer and the karsikko sign and Mrs. Pike hiding the Hautamaki letter in her corset. But for whatever reason, I couldn’t seem to make my lips move.

  Chapter 30

  The snowstorm ended as quickly as it had begun and while it left behind six new inches of powder and a coating of ice, Harry, Jace, Serena, Larry and I were able to skate, slide and stomp our way back to the Queen Anne. I felt a sense of warmth and relief when I stepped into my mother’s cheery, green-and-white kitchen. It was good to get away from the stress of the investigation and my own ambivalence about how much to share. I’d only told the locals about R.R. And when I say locals, I don’t mean the sheriff and Waino. I had to ask myself if I was keeping that undercover because there was someone I didn�
�t trust or whether I was hoping to use the clue to find the Monet myself.

  In any case, I was looking forward to a little supper and a low-key evening and maybe, just maybe, an encore with my husband.

  I’d just put on a fresh pot of coffee and started to thaw some frozen lihakeitto or meat and potato stew, when all hell seemed to break loose. Serena Waterfall had seemed perfectly normal if a trifle subdued at the Leaping Deer. Almost the first minute she entered my mother’s kitchen she began to shout and swear. Her face turned red and she hurled objects against the wall. I didn’t react when she pitched a skein of purple yarn or Larry’s rope chew toy, but when she flung a Sisu mug onto the linoleum then tried to chase that with one of mom’s Bing and Grondahl Christmas plates, I sucked in my breath.

  Luckily, Harry Dent handled it better. He trapped the whirling dervish in his arms until she quieted down.

  “This tends to happen after she dabbles in the occult,” he explained. “She just needs her meds and a good night’s sleep. I’m sorry about the mess.”

  They disappeared up the back stairs and Jace and I looked at each other.

  “The artistic temperament,” he said. “She seems fairly normal otherwise.”

  “That’s the second time I’ve seen her lose control. She got upset at the theater and pushed Lydia Saralampi right into the orchestra pit because the woman was flirting with Harry.”

  Jace lifted his brows.

  “I’m surprise she hasn’t tried to hurt you in that case.”

  I didn’t pretend to misunderstand.

  “I think she knows I’m not a threat. But then, Lydia wasn’t a threat, either. Jace, I’ve been discounting Serena right along. Do you think I’m wrong? Do you think she has the capacity to kill?”

  “We all have that. Anyway, most of us, if pushed far enough. In any case, this has been a tough week for everyone involved.”

  “And, remember, Serena discovered Mrs. Paikkonen’s body arranged on the window-seat. That had to throw her seriously off balance.”

  “To say nothing of the fact that we still haven’t identified a murderer.”

  I shivered. It was almost like we were back at square one.

  “Whatever happened to that fishing camp dude?”

  “You mean Max Guthrie? He’s out of town.” I frowned. Where the heck was Max? “Elli said on New Year’s Eve he gave Sonya Stillwater a lift to the airport so she could get home to Santa Fe.”

  “Did she say which airport? He could have driven her to New Mexico in four days. Haven’t you missed him?”

  “In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve been busy. Why do you want to know, anyway?”

  “I want to know,” he said, moving toward me, “because I’m trying to assess how many guys I’m going to have to challenge to pistols at dawn to get back my wife.”

  * * *

  Fortunately, we heard Harry’s footsteps on the stairs and by the time he entered the kitchen we were each in our own chairs. Harry, however, was a man of some experience. He looked at me with one eyebrow lifted just so I would know that he knew what we’d been doing.

  “Serena will be okay,” he said. “She just needs a good night’s sleep. This week has been extremely stressful for everybody.”

  Jace had just expressed the same sentiment but for some reason Harry’s comment irritated me. “It was especially stressful for Mrs. Paikkonen and Cricket.”

  Harry grinned, ruefully and Jace shot me a warning look but his tone was mild.

  “Why’d you get mixed up in this romp?”

  “As I told the Cupcake, it was a favor to my ex-wife.”

  Once again, the amusement in his voice rubbed me the wrong way.

  “Which ex-wife?”

  The laughter was still in his eyes when he looked at me. Life was a joke to Harry Dent.

  “You heard about that, did you? Come on, Hatti. You, of all people, know life is full of overlapping circles. The same people cross our paths. Haven’t you ever heard the theory that when a man is ready to marry, he looks around at the immediate options and picks the best one?”

  “So that’s what you did? Twice?”

  He leaned back in his chair and regarded me.

  “Why is that a cause for contempt? Isn’t it what everyone does? Isn’t it what your mother did?”

  He was right. After my dad left, my mom married Pops, who adopted Sofi and me. Of course, the circumstances were different.

  “There’s another truism, too,” Harry said, reading my mind. “Not all can mate for life. Both Serena and Helena knew that about me. I did not try to hide it.”

  His honesty called for a grudging kind of respect and I nodded. Jace appeared to agree with him, too, which took the wind out of my sails.

  “Did you know about the stolen painting when you agreed to come up here?” Once again, Jace’s question was asked in a pleasant, nonjudgmental tone.

  Harry met my eyes with an apologetic look.

  “I did mislead you on that, Cupcake. I’d heard some chatter about the Keweenaw in connection with the Waterlilies. Naturally I was curious. I’ve spent the last number of years trying to track down Nazi loot.”

  “So you engineered a good excuse to spend some time rummaging around the attics in Red Jacket.”

  Harry shook his head.

  “It was less calculated than that. Vincent and Helena knew Serena – I told you ours is a small world – and they wanted her on the show. Unlike Helena, Serena has never really moved on emotionally from our failed marriage. She got in touch with me and asked if I would participate, too.”

  “That’s a little surprising, isn’t it? I mean, Serena was so jealous of Lydia Saralampi that she pushed her into the orchestra pit and yet she didn’t mind you spending a week with your other ex-wife?”

  Jace said nothing and, once again, Harry smiled at me.

  “We’re not all romantics like you. Helena and I married quickly and divorced just as quickly. She’s no more interested in me than I am in her. Serena knows this. She also knows that I am always moving forward. A woman from my past wouldn’t interest me.”

  A woman from his past.

  “Was that what Cricket Koski was? A woman from your past?”

  He shook his head.

  “You can’t make me out to be Prince Charming, Cupcake. I’m much too old and as I’ve told you, I’ve never been in the UP before, certainly not at Camp Kaleva ten years ago.” He excused himself to check on Serena and, once again, Jace and I were alone. This time we stayed in our separate chairs.

  “You’re attacking the guy on his personal life. Why are you so offended by it?”

  I shrugged. “It just seems so disrespectful. Serena seems to have been so hurt by it.”

  “Maybe. But that is her business not yours. All we’re concerned with here is whether Dent had anything to do with the murders.”

  “Do you think he did?”

  “He knew about the waterlilies. On the other hand, he’s not a good candidate for Prince Charming. For one thing, he’s too old. And for another, I can’t imagine what he’d have been doing at a Finnish youth camp ten summers ago.”

  We sat in virtual silence, each occupied with our own thoughts, until Harry returned.

  “All’s well upstairs. She’s sound asleep.” He smiled at me and then Jace. “Got any more questions or shall we play a few hands of cards?”

  After a moment, and somewhat to my surprise, Jace nodded.

  “Three-handed euchre?”

  I got out the battered deck mom uses to play Solitaire and we played a few rounds. Harry, not surprisingly, was quick and sharp and acquainted with the rules of the somewhat obscure game.

  “Got anything to drink in this house, Cupcake? I mean other than coffee?”

  I found the only liquor in the house, a liqueur called Lakka made of cloudberries. It was thick, cloying and too sweet but both men polished off several glasses. I was contemplating going on up to bed when my phone rang. It was Arvo and he sounded emotional. I b
raced for more bad news.

  “Henrikki, I need you here for an impromptu funeral. It’s the oldest inhabitant.”

  “Who is the oldest inhabitant?” Harry asked, as I stuffed my feet back into my boots.

  I had to think about that for a minute. Aarni Tenhunen had held the title for ten years, ever since Pops’s mother, Ruth Ann Lehtinen had died. But Aarni had succumbed last summer at ninety-eight years and the new titleholder, if I remembered correctly, was Sigrid Ahola, who had seemed to be holding strong at ninety-seven. I was sorry she’d had to give up her crown after less than a year. Especially now when, as Aunt Ianthe had pointed out, the ground was frozen and the vault was full.

  I threw on my parka and boots and headed out the door.

  Engrossed in my personal thoughts, I was surprised when the door to the funeral home was opened by a tall, dark-haired woman wearing a flowing black negligee. I stepped over the threshold.

  “Helena?”

  “I thought it appropriate to wear black. Come with me.”

  Aware that I had not taken the time to dress in funeral garb, I followed her into the chapel on the ground floor of the funeral home. A spotlight was focused on the casket at the altar. Two men appeared to be praying over it. Each wore a formal dark suit and, at this distance, they were indistinguishable. It was only when they straightened and the light gleamed off Arvo’s blond-white hair and the heavily applied product in Vincent’s coiffure, that I distinguished them. The notes of Abide with Me, played with a respectful soft pedal, emerged from the piano in the corner.

  “You got Miss Irene to come out in this weather,” I whispered to Helena. She shook her head.

  “It’s Seth.”

  I was touched that three of our visitors had agreed to participate in one of our rituals. There were only two other mourners present, Otto, Mrs. Ahola’s octogenarian son wearing a fur-lined cap with ear flaps and a stoop-shouldered elderly lady wearing an ancient pillbox hat with a little black veil and holding a small, gray dog on her lap.

  “Isn’t that Mrs. Ahola?”

  “That’s right,” Helena said. “She brought Mirri because she believes the dog needs closure. She and Musti had been together their entire lives.”