Death at the Door (15 page)

June 1—Edgewater Resort, Ephraim, Wisconsin

The phone awakened Lark. Each ring set off an alarm bell in his head. He groaned and rolled over to grab the receiver so the noise would quit.

“Lark, did I wake you up?” Lacey asked.

“What do you think?” Lark groaned and swung his legs over the side of the bed. The alarm clock said it was seven-thirty. He could have sworn that it was the middle of the night.

“Joel wants us to go over to Washington Island to do the investigation on Lily DuBois's robbery.”

“Joel can go to hell.”

“I'll pick you up in an hour so we can get on the nine-o'clock ferry.” She hung up before he could tell her he had planned on playing golf with John. He hung up and picked up his alarm clock, trying to figure out why it hadn't gone off at 7
A.M
. Disgusted, he slammed the clock down on the nightstand. The damn thing had to be set to go off. He sauntered into the kitchen to make coffee, cursing himself for being so careless as to go to bed without setting his alarm. If he'd set it, he wouldn't have been sleeping when Lacey called and he could have avoided her and another trip to Washington Island. Once the coffee was going, he went back in the bedroom to get dressed and call John.

Ann picked up the phone on the first ring. “Lark, you'd better not be calling to cancel your golf game.”

“How'd you know it was me?”

“Who else would be calling us fifteen minutes before you guys are supposed to meet?”

“Ann, I'm so sorry about this. Lacey has commandeered me to go over to Washington Island to help her investigate another summerhouse robbery.”

“Now I'm going to have to golf with John. You're going to owe one of us big time. You can buy the drinks at dinner tonight.”

They briefly discussed their dinner plans before they hung up. Lark was sitting in the garden being stared down by a female mallard on her nest when Lacey pulled up. He got in her SUV without comment. They were halfway to Sister Bay before Lacey spoke.

“I'm sorry about Joel's behavior last night. We had it out last night and he's going to apologize when he sees you.”

Lark waved away her comments. “Let's move on and discuss what we're doing on Washington Island. I want to get over and back as soon as possible.”

“Joel got an update on Daisy this morning. She's still intubated and sedated, but she does have some purposeful movement to painful stimuli. The doctor says that's a positive sign.”

“With our luck she'll probably wake up and have no memory of who shot her.”

“Don't even think that way.” Lacey slowed down for the curves along Northport Road. “Joel sent that list of business owners you gave him to Wausau last night. He wants to narrow down the investigation to anyone who has prior arrests for assault or robbery.”

“Good idea, otherwise you guys could still be up here on Labor Day.”

“He's going to meet us at the Edgewater as soon as we get back to go over our assignments for the afternoon.”

They continued to discuss the investigation until they pulled up to the ferry line. Several cars were already in line. Lacey went to buy their tickets and Lark went to the Northport Pier Restaurant to get them some breakfast. She was back in the car when he returned with two doughnuts and a coffee for each of them.

The ferry pulled out of the pier exactly at 9
A.M
. As they had done on their last trip, they got out of the car and leaned against the back rail of the ferry as it pulled away from shore.

They couldn't have wished for a more beautiful day. The sun shimmered on the calm, gray waters of Lake Michigan. There wasn't a cloud in the sky. Dozens of white gulls followed the ferry, diving into the waves from the wake. The ride across Death's Door was always windy, but the midseventies temperature made them comfortable despite the breeze that whipped Lacey's hair and their windbreakers back behind them.

They stood quietly at the rail until Washington Island came into view. They got back in the car and sat in companionable silence until they disembarked from the ferry. John Seaman, a Washington Island police officer, met them at the dock.

Officer Seaman explained that Lily had been so upset when she had discovered that her cottage had been broken into that she had insisted on going back to the mainland. After taking her statement, the Washington Island police had taken her back to Gills Rock on their police boat. Lily had been picked up by her brother-in-law and had given them Simon and Rose Gradoute's number in case they needed to contact her. The officer gave Lark and Lacey a copy of Lily's statement and then led the way to Lily's place.

Just as they'd thought, the cottage was the one just down the road from the Horizon Resort. The cottage's dock was the one they had seen the boat pull up to in the middle of the night.

Officer Seaman unlocked the front door and walked them through the house, showing them the empty china cupboard that had housed Lily's collection of majolica plates. Fingerprint dust was the telltale sign that the house had already been processed by the state police evidence technicians. Lily had not been able to find anything else missing. The house had been locked when she got there and she'd had no idea anyone else had been there until she noticed her empty china cupboard.

The cottage was neat as a pin, just like the other houses that had been burglarized. White sheets still covered the furniture in the three upstairs bedrooms. The sheets from the furniture in the living room, which faced the beach, had been removed and folded neatly on one of the ottomans. Six of the eight dining room chairs were still covered. The sheets from the table and two of the chairs were piled haphazardly on the floor in the corner of the dining room. Heavy, lined curtains hung at the living and dining room windows, explaining why there hadn't been any light visible from the house when Lark and Lacey had watched someone enter it on Tuesday night.

Without Lily to question, there wasn't much Lark and Lacey could do once they'd gone through the house. They thanked Officer Seaman for his assistance and drove back to the ferry. Lark read Lily's statement during the drive back to the pier.

“Lily's majolica plates were insured. The insurance company has photographs and appraisals on each one.”

“We'll have to add these to the list Russ is researching on the Web.”

Lark moved on to the police report. “Wow. The police report lists the value of the plates at twelve to fifteen thousand.”

“Five hundred bucks a plate. Sounds like the admission to a political fund-raising dinner.”

“This was a big fat bust,” Lark said as he folded up the police report.

“We've spent the morning doing the same old thing,” Lacey said. “I'm sick and tired of following this prick around and watching him make another high-dollar, low-labor haul.”

“That's the problem. We're not following him, he's leading us around like we have rings in our noses.”

They got to the pier fifteen minutes before the 11
A.M
. ferry departure and lined up behind four other cars. They had just enough time to grab a soda and call Joel and set up an appointment to meet at the Old Post Office Restaurant before they boarded the ferry.

The ride back to Northport helped them both understand why the channel was called Death's Door. They departed Washington Island standing in their usual spot at the back of the ferry, but the waves were so high they were getting wet from the spray. The water was so rough that it was nearly impossible to believe that two hours earlier they had traveled across tranquil waters. They went back to Lacey's SUV to wait out the crossing. The ferry rocked back and forth like a cradle, causing Lark and Lacey to hang on to their armrests and gulp air to keep from losing their stomachs.

They spoke little as they pulled off the ferry and drove south to Ephraim. They were still pale and nauseated when they walked into the restaurant to meet Joel. Unfortunately, Joel wasn't alone. He waved them over to the table where he was sitting with Sheriff Skewski.

“We've already given our orders,” Joel said, as he signaled the young, blond-haired waitress back to their table.

Lark and Lacey waved away the menus. They each ordered ginger ale in hopes that it would settle their stomachs.

“What's wrong with you two?” Joel asked

“Did you just get off the ferry?” Skewski asked.

Lacey nodded.

“It sucks to be seasick.” Skewski patted her hand. “It'll pass in about an hour.”

The waitress delivered their cheeseburgers and fries. Skewski took a bite and pointed to the three rings of keys lying on the table.

“We've figured out what most of the keys go to. These two rings were found in Paul Larsen's golf bag.” He pointed down at the table. “This one is pretty standard stuff.” He picked up one of the key rings and held up each key as he described it. “Key to the front door of the gatehouse in Ephraim, key to the garage in Ephraim, key to Larsen's Land Rover.” He laid that set on the table and picked up the other ring from the golf bag. “This set is a different story. There's an old safe key on here. We found an old wall safe built into the closet of the master bedroom in the gatehouse. One of the keys on this ring fits it. It was empty. The safe was manufactured in the sixties and we think Larsen's grandmother must have had it put in.” He put the ring down.

“Those other two keys look like safety-deposit-box keys,” Joel said, nudging one of the smaller keys with his finger.

“We think so too. They have numbers on them but nothing else to identify what bank they came from,” Skewski said. “We're going to check every bank in Door County to see if either one of these keys belongs to a box up here.”

“We'd better hope they do. Otherwise we'll have to repeat the search in Chicago. I don't even want to think about that nightmare. I've got enough problems.” Joel took a bite of his cheeseburger.

Skewski picked up the third ring. “This is the key ring we found by his coffeepot in the gatehouse.” He held up each key as he talked about it. “These are his Chicago keys. Business front-door key, his office key, his desk key, car key, and his house key. All pretty routine.”

“I spent the morning interviewing two more men on the list of people who had problems with Paul Larsen's Door County Zoning Board decisions,” Joel said. “A dairy farmer from Baileys Harbor and the owner of an orchard just south of Egg Harbor. The both have solid alibis for Larsen's accident.”

“We're going nowhere fast,” Lacey said.

Joel nodded. “Your Mr. Gorean. The guy with the coin collection from Washington Island.”

Lacey cocked her eyebrows and Joel noticed that the color was returning to her cheeks.

“His wife has an alibi. She was in Indianapolis at a quilt show.” Joel dipped one of his fries in ketchup. “She swears her ex staged the robbery to get rid of the Hockney painting.”

“He is a piece of work, but I don't think he's that devious,” Lark said. “I might buy that if the painting was the only thing missing, but he's way too upset about his coin collection.”

Joel finished the last of his fries. “I'm beginning to wonder if we will ever get this sorted out.”

“The pieces will eventually fall into place,” Skewski said as he scooped the key rings back into the evidence bag and set them off to the side. He smiled at Lacey and attacked the rest of his burger and fries with gusto.

Once the table was cleared, Joel gave them each a computer printout listing the names of five Door County business owners who had criminal records. They divvied up the names. Lacey agreed to interview the Baileys Harbor restaurant owner and the Sister Bay antique-shop owner with burglary convictions. Lark took the three bar owners in Ellison Bay and Fish Creek who had been arrested for assault. Joel was driving to Sturgeon Bay to interview two more farmers on the list of people who had issues with Larsen's zoning board decisions.

June 1—Sister Bay, Wisconsin

Lacey walked into the Old Times Old Treasures antique shop and realized she knew nothing about the many toys and pieces of glass that sat on the shelves lining every bit of the shop's wall space. She pulled her purse into her side as she threaded her way through a maze of small pieces of furniture topped with what she called clutter, what Ann would have called antiques. The last thing she wanted was to have to buy something she broke. She noted that she was the only person in the store. This didn't surprise her since no other cars were in the parking lot.

The man standing at the counter looked a bit like Santa Claus. He had a full head of white hair and a short, neatly trimmed white beard. He stood in front of a wall of sparkling crystal glassware. Rainbows of color reflected onto the walls as the lights from the room caught a display of cut glass.

“Are you Mr. Fred Johnson?” Lacey asked as she picked her way to the counter.

“Sure am. What can I help you with, young lady?” His blue eyes twinkled into hers as his face creased into a welcoming smile.

Lacey's instincts told her this man was harmless but she had been fooled before. She gave him a perfunctory smile and put her purse on the old glass case he was standing behind. She found her identification near the top of her purse and pulled it out. He leaned over the counter as she flipped it open and held it out for him to see. His smile faded like the last rays at sunset.

“Some things you never get past,” he mumbled.

“I'm investigating a string robberies up here in Door County. You may have read about them in the
Door County Ledger.”
Lacey said after introducing herself.

Fred stared at her, his face inscrutable.

“Your name came up on a list of businesspeople in the county with felony convictions. I'd like to talk with you about the robberies.”

He shrugged his shoulders and sighed. He came out from behind the counter and walked to the front door. He flipped the Open sign to Closed, locked the door, and waved his hand toward the back of the store. “Let's go to my quarters and talk about this.”

Lacey followed him into a combined living, dining, and kitchen area. In contrast with all the clutter in the shop, it was neat and orderly. Three large, colorful, modern-looking pieces of glass were sitting on tables, and paintings of landscapes hung on the walls. Bookshelves, crammed willy-nilly with hardbacks and paperbacks, lined one wall. The furniture looked well maintained but comfortable.

Fred walked to the refrigerator in the galley kitchen. “Can I get you something to drink? Iced tea?”

She told him she was fine. Lacey leafed through a copy of
Arts and Antiques
magazine while he fixed his tea.

He sat down in the chair opposite her. “I wondered if I'd get pulled into this.”

She gave him a puzzled look.

“My conviction was thirty years ago in Milwaukee. I was young and stupid and drinking like a fish. I was probably a budding alcoholic. I did a year in the pen at Waupun and got out and did what my family always wanted me to. I went to the University of Wisconsin in business. I worked in an antiques mall while I was in school and got interested in antiques. The owners let me use their reference books and I started going to house sales and auctions and buying things. They let me put my stuff out for sale in the booths that were empty and I started to make a little money.” He stopped to sip his tea. “I got my degree in business but I was making more money on my antiques and collectibles business than I could get from any of the offers I had, so I just stayed with it. I own this shop and a shop in Florida.” He smiled. “It's been a pretty good life. I summer here and winter down there.”

“When did you come up from Florida this year?” Lacey asked.

“May twentieth, a little later than usual because I stopped at several auctions and sales on the drive up.” He took another sip of tea.

“You haven't been up here all winter?”

“No, I close this place in the winter. One of my neighbors checks on the shop once a week to see that nothing's out of place. She makes sure the furnace and the plumbing are working.” He waved his hand out toward the shop. “My stock is well insured but a lot of it would be hard to replace.”

“Can you give me some names of people I can talk to in Florida who can vouch for your whereabouts this spring?”

“Be happy to.” He hoisted himself up out of the chair and went over to an old, carved mahogany cabinet. He pulled open the doors and revealed a leather-topped writing desk with assorted small cubbyholes and drawers. He grabbed a legal pad and an address book and sat down to write.

He brought her a list with half a dozen names on it. “These people should be able to tell you everything you want to know. I've indicated the ones who work for me.” He leaned over to point them out to her.

Lacey got up to leave.

“I've been thinking about who could have stolen all this stuff,” Fred said as he walked her out into the shop. “It's got to be someone who knows this area very well. Door County is really a series of small towns. To have gotten in and out of this many houses without anyone knowing about it until now would take some pretty solid ties to the area. Otherwise they would have slipped up. I think you're looking for someone local.”

“Any idea who it might be?”

“I can't imagine anyone up here who knows enough about antiques to pull this off doing anything like this.”

“Are you planning on going anywhere in the next few weeks?” Lacey asked as she studied the path to the front door.

“Just down to Green Bay to bid on an estate.”

“I'll check out your alibi and get back to you.” She wended her way through the maze of antiques to the front door.

“I'll be here,” he said.

Lacey slipped the lock and walked into the days last golden rays of sunlight. She dug through her purse for her cell phone as she walked to her SUV. She had parked at the edge of the parking lot to give customers closer access to the shop. She jumped when a squirrel screeched at her. He chattered out an alarm call to his other four-legged friends as he streaked past her. He ran under her car and into the woods, startling a flock of bright yellow goldfinches that flew out of a clump of white birches at the edge of the woods.

Lacey found her phone just as she got to her SUV. She slung her purse up on the car hood and dialed Joel's number.

He answered on the third ring. “Where the hell are you?”

“I'm just leaving the antique shop.”

“I'm just leaving the home of an elderly dairy farmer who owns two hundred acres just north of my new favorite town in Door County, Sturgeon Bay. I don't think this guy would know what a golf club was if someone hit him in the ass with it. I've driven to Sturgeon Bay so many times in the last week I swear my car could get here by itself.”

“Maybe you could be a little bitchier.” Lacey couldn't help herself; she had to get in a dig or two after Joel's tirade the night before.

“Screw you, Smith. My day was a bust. Both these guys have alibis. I'm beginning to wonder if I'm barking up the wrong tree.”

“Why?” Lacey asked, smiling at the squirrel that continued to bark at her from its perch twenty feet up a maple tree a few feet into the woods.

“Everyone on my list of suspects from the zoning board meetings has an alibi with the exception of Rassmussen and Neilsen.”

“It only takes one person.”

“Yeah, yeah. I'm starving.”

“I am too.” Lacey fished around in her pants pocket for her car keys since she hadn't found them in her purse. The squirrel stopped chattering and scampered farther up in the tree.

She heard a noise in the bushes behind her. “What the—” She turned toward the noise just as a searing pain flashed through the side of her head. She fell to the ground. Someone kicked her in the gut, sending pain shooting though her pelvis and back. She curled up in a ball trying to escape the pain and passed out.

“Lacey, what the hell's going on?” Joel yelled into the phone.

“Bitch” was whispered into the phone, and the connection went dead.