Authors: Christine DeSmet
“I didn’t say he was a killer at all. You said that.” He made a note.
“I’ve known him all my life. Kjersta might be scared of Michael Prevost or Fontana Dahlgren and she was over there talking to Jonas about one of them. Maybe to ask his help in getting Fontana off her back. Everybody in my parents’ area knows about Fontana, Daniel’s ex. She can’t stand the idea of him being married again.”
“So you think Fontana’s trying to make sure Kjersta is put away so she’s out of the way.”
Misery trickled through me like a muddy creek. I wasn’t liking the feeling of blaming any of my childhood friends and neighbors for Cherry’s death. “Why isn’t Fontana in jail?”
“That would indicate we don’t have enough on her. Yet.”
“Nothing like blood on a shovel for her, huh?”
“No.”
“But you mentioned the perfume on Cherry’s clothes or body.”
“Yes. That intrigues an officer of the law.”
I leaned forward, my hands still clutched together. “Your idea that the perfume is evidence isn’t as flimsy as I first thought. Yesterday I sprayed that stuff around and almost laid my grandfather and others flat. What if Cherry were allergic to some ingredient in that perfume? Maybe Fontana’s perfume was intentionally used to subdue him.”
Jordy nodded. “An interesting thought. Or maybe somebody besides Fontana was there who wore her perfume. I have all the receipts from her business this summer. We’re poring over them.”
I had to admire Jordy. He was working hard on this case. “How many receipts? How many possibilities of a murderer with that perfume?”
“About three dozen,” Jordy said.
“That’s all? Her market is doing miserable business. I had no idea.”
“She says you have an idea. You’re to blame because you’ve been successful.”
“Jordy, Fontana’s been open since the summer. I opened my market at the first of this month for the Labor Day traffic. She’s had plenty of time—much more than I have—to test the market.”
“None of this proves Fontana Dahlgren could have murdered somebody. In fact, you’re proving she couldn’t have done it. She’s incapable of running a business. How could she be capable of a murder? She contends she really enjoys making soaps and perfumes and makeup for women, so why would she waste it on a dead man she said she loved?”
Hmm. Jordy was good. “But you have Kjersta in jail. Based on perfume and blood on a shovel. But Daniel seemed to be implicated by the shovel. You must have other evidence against Kjersta, enough to hold her.”
“Which I’m not telling you.”
“I sure am getting tired of secrets. Did you ask her if she and Fontana were working together?” I thought about the papers I’d found and how Kjersta knew two weeks ago that Cherry’s research was ending, yet she hadn’t told anybody. If I told Jordy about the papers, it would cause big trouble for Kjersta, possibly cement a guilty verdict in a trial. Sooner or later he’d likely learn the truth on his own, so I stayed mum.
Jordy was writing a note. “I’ll ask Kjersta about Fontana again. I heard that Cherry was annoying a lot of people. You, too?”
I rubbed my arms. The room was chilly. “The man was an irritation to everybody. Except Fontana, though I saw her arguing with him on Saturday at my market.”
“So you’re thinking that Kjersta wanted to be free to have Jonas, and Fontana wanted Daniel? They both just needed to get rid of Cherry, who was too nosy for his own good?”
The sheriff made it all sound smooth, easy to believe. “I don’t know.”
“What about Daniel, the cuckolded husband?”
“You think he whacked Cherry with the shovel. But why? Sheriff, I can’t believe Daniel would commit murder. Certainly not out of concern for Fontana.”
“He might murder if he thought his property values would plummet. Cherry was, after all, saying he thought their land was tainted with chemicals or bugs.”
“And Cherry’s talk could just as easily have scared the local workers, who thought they’d be without a job. Any of them could have murdered him.”
Jordy said he’d already questioned them. They were seasonal workers who lived in a local motel. The motel manager had verified seeing the workers come home. He hadn’t seen them leave later. None of the workers had problems with Cherry or Weaver, or Nick or Will or any other university faculty and students they encountered regularly.
My fingers began involuntarily tapping the table. “Dillon’s dog was sniffing around yesterday behind the winery and seemed to want me to follow him.”
“Dillon was with you?”
Jordy’s brown eyes held a spark. I had to admit he had a certain allure when he was in uniform, but my heart had room enough for only one man.
I ignored his question. “The dog has a good nose. Better than your German shepherd K-9 unit, I bet.”
“We don’t have a K-9 unit at the moment. Tight budget doesn’t cover kibble. I’ll leave the sniffing behind the winery to you and your dog.”
“Dillon’s dog.” I hoped that Jordy was forgetting that he was in the process of arresting me. “Do you have any fingerprints from the knife yet?”
“No. Whoever used it likely wore gloves.”
“What about the circuit breakers in the basement?”
“We found a couple of prints on them. One print belonged to Kjersta.”
My stomach went into turmoil. Kjersta was in deep trouble. “Who does the other print belong to?”
“We don’t know. It was a thumbprint, but small, belonging to a woman probably.”
My mother’s thumb? “What about the fire in the organ
bench? I don’t think it’s connected to the murder. I don’t see how it fits.”
I told him about John Schultz winning a spot in the choir over Fontana Dahlgren, and that John had sworn me to secrecy about being able to sing “Ave Maria” during the upcoming kermis for the prince and princess.
Jordy said, “So you think Fontana set that fire?”
“She might have. If she was mad enough about not making the choir.”
“Mercy Fogg drove the bus that day. Any thoughts about her?”
“Mercy always seems to be on the periphery of what’s going on, as if we’re all marionettes on strings and she controls us. She gives me the creeps sometimes.” I told him about her finding John on her bus and keeping him overnight in her bed.
“Hmm. She didn’t tell me that. I’ll have to have another talk with her.”
I said, “If she offers you meat loaf, decline.”
The page in front of Jordy was filling with leads I’d given him.
I pointed to the pad. “If you let me go, I could find more stuff like that for you. Pauline, Laura, and I were on our way to Green Bay to talk with Professor Wesley Weaver. We think he might have valuable information.”
Jordy squinted at me. “How so?”
I relented and told him about the papers Jordy and his deputies had missed at the house.
He said, “Did you break through my crime scene tape?”
“There was no yellow tape over the cellar door. I could mention this to the reporters lurking about, how possible evidence hadn’t been properly secured.”
Jordy’s neck and face blazed red. “Talk to the professor. Then tell me what you find out. Do we have an understanding?”
I nodded.
He ripped up the arrest papers.
Chapter 20
W
ith my friends along, I pointed my yellow Chevy truck toward the city of Green Bay. In my rearview mirror I spied a county squad following us. It turned off when I left Door County and entered Brown County.
At around five, we met Professor Wesley Weaver after a lecture on the university campus that had been open to the public. He’d published a new book about the health benefits of cherries. We grabbed paper cups of free coffee in the back of the room while he signed a few books. When he was done, I introduced him to Laura. Pauline had met him and his PhD students before when I was setting up Ava’s Autumn Harvest.
We walked down the hallway of the older brick building that held a rabbit warren of offices and plant pathology labs. The place smelled acidic and musty at the same time, but all in a good way, like dirt and plants and experiments.
Once behind his desk, he said, “What can I do for you all?”
We sat in metal folding chairs. The professor was slightly taller than I, maybe six feet even, so he was looking down at us. He was in his fifties, with neatly kept dark auburn hair graying at the temples. A deep tan reflected his research work outdoors.
The professor said, “I hear your fudge shop is doing well. What about the new market? Your mother said business has been a little up and down.”
“Hot lately.” I told him about the fire.
“Dry weather is predicted for a while. A lot of people are talking about conditions mirroring that summer of 1871, though we’ve had more rain than they did back then. Door County went months without a drop that summer.”
With the niceties over with, I asked about Tristan Hardy’s research. “He even took samples of my fudge. What’s become of those samples?”
Professor Weaver’s face soured. “We’re analyzing them, but only because he was on a federal grant that said he’d do that. He had two assistants and they get paid to finish the work until October 1. Let me take you across the hall to the lab. Laura can meet them.”
Nick Stensrud and Will Lucchesi were both in their mid-twenties.
Their lab made me salivate and want to be back in school studying science. The lab had state-of-the art equipment, it appeared to me. My gaze zoomed in on the prettiest sight of all—my sparkly Cinderella Pink Fudge inside a large, clear glass test tube. It looked like precious gems.
Nick got up off his chair to shake our hands. He was a tall beanpole with thick hair the color of rich brown soil, trimmed neatly and with a side part. Nick was finishing his doctorate. Will, another doctoral student, came over to greet us. Will was shorter, with a boyish mop of dark hair with summer highlights. His intense brown eyes darted among us, which made me think he was nervous.
Will said, “I heard you found Cherry’s body. Awful.”
“It’s been awful for everybody who knew him, especially my family. That’s why we’re here. We wanted to know more about his research near Brussels and Namur.”
Will and Nick peered at each other, as if wondering who should talk.
I said, “So you weren’t excited about his research in my family’s neighborhood?”
Professor Weaver interjected, “Professor Hardy was pushing things too fast. He was making assumptions about what was going on with the chemical feud.”
“What did he think was going on?”
Nick said, “He had a new theory, one that was rather preposterous.”
“And that was what?” I asked.
When Nick and Will hesitated, the professor glanced about the lab, seemingly to assure himself that nobody was nearby listening. “He felt the Dahlgrens were contaminating their own land as a way to blame their neighbors and drive them into selling.”
I shook my head. “I can’t imagine Daniel harassing his neighbors that way. Are you sure?”
“Two weeks ago I wrote the letter assuring them he’d be out of their hair by October 1. I had my own firestorm to put out here, too, with him.”
“What do you mean?”
“Professor Hardy was sure he was correct about the indiscriminate usage of chemicals in that area.”
Nick said, “But he couldn’t prove it. I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but ever since your market opened, he’s been bringing fudge back to the lab for testing, and when Will and I are out doing our research, he made us bring back fudge.”
No wonder my fudge sales were so good at the market. “My mother clerks at the market a lot, and she didn’t mention this.”
Professor Weaver said, “When he brought back your fudge for testing as a way to test the cherries for chemical residue, the other professors in our department sent up a howl. Dissecting fudge looked frivolous.”
I wanted to take offense at that, but couldn’t. Fudge should be eaten, not dissected. “What was your interaction with Cherry, I mean Professor Hardy, concerning my fudge?”
Will said, “He put your fudge in the test tubes, as you see, so we didn’t even get to taste it.”
Professor Weaver said, “My questioning him at all wasn’t welcomed.”
“But you and Professor Hardy traveled together now and then throughout the area counties doing your research.”
“Because my colleagues wanted nothing to do with him.”
Nick said, “The other faculty thought he was a lightweight.”
Professor Weaver added, “I have to admit I questioned his approaches to research, too, but that’s my job as both a colleague and his dean.”
I asked Nick and Will, “So he was being unreasonable somehow?”
Professor Weaver jumped in. “He threatened me with taking this all the way to the chancellor’s office.” He leaned back against a counter and crossed his arms. “He said I was interfering with his academic freedom.”
Nick sat down in his chair again by my fudge. “Professor Hardy threatened to sue the entire department for trying to get him to change what he was doing with his federal grant. He got really mad when I called it the ‘federal fudge fiasco.’”
Pauline perked up. “Cherry was causing my friend John a lot of trouble on his tours lately. Cherry would follow the bus. He kept hogging the microphone and presentations. He got worse as the summer went on.”
Nick said, “That sounds like Professor Hardy.”
Professor Weaver grimaced. “We couldn’t reason with him.”
Nick said, “From day to day his personality would change. Will and I didn’t much like getting stuck with him in a car visiting farmers.”
Laura muttered, “Was there anything wrong with him healthwise?” She pulled out a lab chair to sit down.
“What do you mean, Laura?” I asked.
“I had a great-uncle who became erratic in his behavior when he suffered from early onset dementia. He wasn’t focusing well, drifted from one project at home to the next without finishing any of them. But once they diagnosed him, medications helped.”
Professor Weaver said, “That didn’t seem to be Cherry. Sure, he was becoming a nuisance at times, but he was quite focused on helping farmers and others.”
I offered, “Maybe it was only a personality clash?”
Nick shrugged. “Well, yeah, for sure. But we’re left with this. Oh, sorry.”