Death Stalks Door County (33 page)

Ruby cut him off. “The sheriff theorizes that the alleged second person was a friend of the victim. A female companion, perhaps, whose situation would be compromised if her presence with the young man came to light. In any case, she's never been located.”

“I talked to Buddy Entwhistle,” Cubiak said. “What he told Halverson about Benny remembering someone else on the tower is true. But there's something else, too, something Buddy never bothered the sheriff with because he didn't think it was important. Although Benny couldn't identify the second person on the tower, he did know who it was he saw earlier that morning making a beeline for the park.”

Ruby's eyes stayed on Cubiak.

“After Benny sold his catch, he motored into town. It was Sunday, the day Martha Smithson bakes pecan rolls. Macklin'd had a good haul and had decided to treat himself to a sack of fresh rolls. He stopped by the wharf to eat a hot bun and from there he saw you coming downhill through Ephraim and turning toward the park.

“Normally, of course, you wouldn't need to go through Ephraim to get there. You could take 42 to Town Line Drive. Once past the village you'd circle around to the north entrance. But that day, the route was blocked by a fallen tree, forcing you to cut through town.”

“You're weaving a loose web. Full of holes. Suppose I had detoured through the village and was heading toward the park, intent on murder. It's a bit much to assume I'd even see old Macklin on the dock,” Ruby said.

“You didn't have to. But you would have noticed the boat from the tower. And later when you and Cate stopped at the bakery for pecan rolls, Martha would tell you about Benny coming by earlier that morning and how she saw him on his boat tossing bits of roll to the seagulls and bird-watching up the hill. He saw an awful lot through those binoculars, more than was good for him.”

The spark of triumph drained from Ruby's face, replaced by a look of calm resignation.

“Dave, what are you saying?” Cate was rigid with anger and fear.

“He's saying that I'm guilty as charged, sweetheart.”

“No!” Cate cried. “Why?”

“Someone had to stop Beck. He was going to destroy Door County. The peninsula. Washington Island. The Wood. My home, the lovely home Dutch built. Everything. I couldn't allow that.”

Cubiak looked at Cate. “It's true,” he said, and started reciting the highlights of Beck's plan.

Ruby interrupted. “I must take my leave now,” she said. Without their noticing, she had freed the mooring line from the pier and started to drift away from the dock.

The boat was still within reach. Cubiak catapulted forward.

Ruby raised the rifle and fired. A spray of pellets ricocheted off the wood. Cate screamed. Cubiak hesitated and then advanced further. Ruby fired again, peppering his legs. He dropped to the dock, helpless as Ruby pulled the engine cord and the small motor caught.

“Wait! What are you doing? Where are you going?” Cate cried as she raced forward.

“Consider this my final act of contrition,” Ruby said.

“No, Ruby, don't!” Cubiak staggered to his feet.

“Please, Aunt Ruby. Listen to me. I'll get the best lawyers. They'll figure something out.”

Ruby gave a half smile. “It's too late for any of that,” she said.

“Aunt Ruby, please, I love you.”

“My dear child,” Ruby said.

The yellow boat never faltered. Bent on its own predetermined mission, the wooden skiff sliced through the water.

A hundred feet from shore, Ruby cut the motor. The engine sputtered, and for an instant, Cubiak thought she might turn back.

Instead, she called out to them. “Don't judge me too harshly. Dutch would understand,” she said.

As the launch pivoted toward the open water, Ruby stood and waved. Behind her, beyond a calm expanse of blue water, a billowing cloud tower massed over Washington Island. Against the backdrop of this silent, menacing witness, Ruby began to speak. Her words were clear and self-assured.

“All men, all women shall be held accountable for their actions. We suffer the consequences of our own deeds. I hold Beck accountable for his deceit. I hold myself accountable for my response.”

Ruby picked up the red can.

“No!” Cubiak yelled. Cate collapsed against him, sobbing.

Splashing gasoline on herself and the boat, Ruby sang: “Should auld acquaintance be forgot and never brought to mind . . .”

Cubiak didn't see the match struck. The inferno seemed to spring from the frigid waters beneath the old rowboat and engulf the tiny vessel and the solitary passenger.

For one dreadful moment, Ruby remained standing, her outstretched arms forming a burning cross against a brilliant blue curtain of sky and water. Then she emitted a single, solitary cry and fell headlong into the channel at the spot where she had buried Dutch at sea. As the flames consumed the last remaining shards of the wooden boat, her soul swam down toward him, oblivious to the curious, screeching gulls gliding over the water and the anguished pair on shore.

Seeking only Dutch.

Wanting only him.

Even as all around her, the ghosts wept.

R
uby's body, what remained of it, was recovered by divers and dispatched to Madison for autopsy. As officials awaited the results, the peninsula pulsated with harrowing stories of her misdeeds. Bathard called a hurried preliminary inquest to quell the worst rumors and ease the public's fears, but wild tales lingered like shadows in the evening light. The stories spawned more fear and talk of accomplices, despite repeated assurances from the sheriff and the coroner that Ruby had acted alone.

Cubiak secluded himself at Jensen Station and compiled a complete report for the sheriff. He was determined to give a full accounting not only of Ruby's motives and actions but also of Beck's duplicity and his Paradise Harbor project. The fire that killed Ruby had destroyed Cubiak's emotional distance as well and left him raw with pain. Pain of loss for Ruby's death, despite the evil she'd committed; of regret for his role in naming her as the killer, even though he could not have done any less; of concern for the future of the peninsula, even though the cycle of misfortune that had linked two of its leading citizens had finally played out.

T
hree days after the incident at Death's Door, Cornelia died. Certainly her demise was expected, but such unfortunate timing. Two funerals, complete opposites, in the span of one week. Standing room only for Cornelia's send-off. An inspiring homily by Pastor Waldo Thorenson, elaborate and tasteful floral arrangements created by the likes of Anne Cooper and her retinue. Everyone in the church teary eyed when Bathard finished the eloquent tribute to his dear wife. Afterward, leaving the cemetery, the mourners commented on the bright sun, the beautiful day that Cornelia had enjoyed, had so richly deserved. Heaven smiling on her. Despite the highly charged emotional setting, Cubiak was unable to cry or take solace in the fine weather. Death was death, and only hollowness ensued.

Ruby got more a bum's rush than a ceremony. The day of her funeral dawned cold and rain sodden. Cubiak got to the church early. He was worried about Cate and anxious to comfort her. When she arrived, she was sickly pale in her funeral black. He went to her immediately.

“Cate.” Cubiak held out his hands, but the emptiness in her eyes kept him from touching her. “I'm so sorry.” Though he meant well, the words sounded hollow, like the look she gave him before she moved on.

Sitting alone in the back, Cubiak grieved—for Ruby and for all those she had killed, for Lauren and Alexis, for his parents, for the soldiers he'd known, for Cornelia. Other than Cate and her mother, Rosalinde, only Otto, Jocko, and a handful of others were scattered in the pews. Save for Amelia, no business owners were present, but then Ruby had been very bad for business. Bathard came, which surprised many, but he was such an honorable man people reasoned that the noble gesture suited. Thorenson struggled mightily with Ruby's homily, did his best, but barely knew what direction to take and ended saying little very poorly. Even the lovely wildflowers that graced the altar drooped in step with the faltering service. Of course, Anne Cooper and her group had tried to stop the proceedings, paltry as they were, from occurring at all.

No burial. Cremation, and Ruby's ashes were scattered where she would have wanted them. With Dutch.

H
ave you seen Cate? Since the service?” Late one afternoon, Bathard and Cubiak huddled at a back table at Pechta's. The dreary surroundings suited their collective mood. Bathard worked on his second Manhattan. Cubiak nursed a beer, his one-a-day. Neither had touched the plate of sandwiches that Amelia had prepared.

“I've driven past the house a couple of times, meaning to stop, but I don't have the nerve.” Cubiak glanced at his friend. The coroner looked haunted, exhausted. His shirt was uncharacteristically rumpled, his hair curled over the collar. “Cate blames me for Ruby's death.”

“She will for a while. She's in shock. She needs time. Think of all she has to take in. She hasn't just lost Ruby—there's everything that Ruby did, too. But, please, you mustn't blame yourself. Ruby was set to take her own life whether you showed up or not.”

“You think the choice was deliberate, to try and atone for her sins?”

“Knowing Ruby, yes, I'm sure of it. Self-immolation is one of the most horrible ways to die. I'm sorry Cate was there to witness it.”

Bathard pulled an envelope from his pocket and methodically turned it over in his hands. After several minutes of indecision, he laid it on the table. “Final autopsy report.” He paused and then continued. “There's evidence of both pregnancy and live birth. Ruby had a baby.” Bathard cleared his throat. “Cate?” he said finally.

“Yes. But she doesn't know. Ruby didn't want her to know.”

“I remember more than once remarking on the resemblance between Cate and Ruby, but then the sisters looked so much alike, I never thought anything more of it. Who . . . ?” Bathard couldn't go on.

“It wasn't Beck, although he wanted Dutch to believe that.” Cubiak relayed the entire story to the coroner. “When Beck saw Cate as a young woman he would have realized the truth.”

Bathard punched the table. “Damn them both to hell.”

“Ruby'd already damned herself to hell. Giving up Cate was her penance but even she didn't think it was enough.”

Bathard wilted. “Poor Ruby. Her sense of right and wrong warped by the pain of loss.”

“It can happen to anyone. For months, I obsessed about killing the man who ran down my wife and daughter.”

“But you didn't. The truth is vengeance was yours for the taking. You could have created your own opportunity, you know that. Covered your tracks and outwitted any of your colleagues who would have investigated.”

“I was too cowardly to act.”

“No! You were a man who recognized the fundamental difference between right and wrong, and who refused to cross the line no matter how strong the desire for revenge.”

Cubiak slumped in his chair. “You make it sound more than it is.”

“No, I think I make it sound exactly what it is. Ruby lost her moral compass. And now Cate. Poor Cate. What are you going to tell her?”

“I don't know,” Cubiak said.

T
wo weeks after Ruby's rampage, an unemployed security guard walked into a fast food restaurant in Southern California and began shooting. Armed with a semiautomatic rifle, shotgun, and pistol, the man left twenty people dead and sixteen wounded. In Door County, people stopped talking about Ruby and began wondering about a world gone mad. At Pechta's, Cubiak consoled a distraught Amelia. The photo of the Survivalist Club hung over her shoulder. All that youthful optimism and vigor tarnished or erased. What would become of those who were still alive? What would become of him?

Fall arrived early that year. With autumn, a few tourists trickled back, unable to resist the spectacle of the brilliant colors. Across the peninsula, life slowly assumed a familiar rhythm. Understandably, however, many lives had changed.

Cate Wagner ignored Cubiak's messages. In October she left Door County and moved back to Milwaukee, where she again picked up working as a freelance photographer and began traveling widely. Cate had inherited two substantial properties—The Wood and the house where Ruby and Dutch had lived—a fact that fueled speculation that she would eventually return to the peninsula.

The three members of the J. Dugan Beck family also departed the area. Eloise entered an exclusive alcohol-abuse treatment program in Palm Springs, California, and filed for divorce. Barry defied his father's wish that he matriculate at Princeton and enrolled at the University of Wisconsin at Madison. After a national business magazine published a cover story about the Door County murders that portrayed Beck as a greedy, self-serving civic leader, shareholders in Beck Industries forced Beck to resign as president. The ouster destroyed any hope he had of reviving even a modest version of Paradise Harbor. Beck relocated to New York, where he eventually resurfaced as a successful real estate management consultant.