Authors: Christine DeSmet
I wrote back
Have to stay at shop. Will bring new divinity fudge up later.
I sent Lucky Harbor back to the Blue Heron Inn.
In his wake, Laura Rousseau came through the door with her twin baby stroller ferrying Clara Ava and Spencer Paul. The babies were sound-asleep cherubs. Laura was almost dancing. Atop the stroller she had a box of cinnamon rolls that I could whiff without even opening the box.
“Hi, Laura. You’re out and about early.”
“Good news. Brecht will be home for Christmas.”
“That’s terrific.” That was three and a half months from now. “How do you manage being alone without your husband?” I immediately regretted my intrusiveness. “I’m sorry. Skip answering that.”
“No, that’s okay.” She took Clara Ava out of the stroller, cradling her and staring down at her sweet face. “Brecht and I keep journals that we share when we get together. We can relive each other’s days, as if we’d been together all along. I hope that doesn’t sound too silly.”
“Not at all. Dillon and I share two-line messages in key holders that Lucky Harbor trots between us. Now, that’s
silly. Especially when we could text, e-mail, or even yodel at each other up and down that hill like the Swiss do in the Alps.”
She laughed. “Whatever works for you. Nobody else should judge you.”
Laura always made me happier than I was the minute before. I set the cinnamon rolls inside the glass case next to my register. “These will go fast with the fishermen.”
I’d barely said the words when a couple of fathers and their daughters of about ten years of age came in for minnows. They bought fudge and cinnamon rolls to take out on their boat. The girls made a fuss over the babies; then everybody left.
I couldn’t help myself—I took Clara Ava from Laura’s arms. “Need my fix for the day.”
Laura dug Spencer Paul out of his cocoon in the stroller.
Clara Ava popped her eyes open then. Her tiny lips curled into a cockeyed smile. I cooed to Clara, “Say fudge. Fudge.”
Laura laughed again.
I offered her coffee. I didn’t want her to go. I also didn’t want to give up Clara Ava yet. “You know a lot about antique chinaware and cups, Laura. Could cups be designed with letters for men instead of women?”
“You mean first names? Not usually, though the initial can certainly be for the surname or family crest. You’re talking about the cup John found with AVD on it?”
“Yeah. Pauline also mentioned our famous cup could have been designed for Adele Brise, the young nun.”
“That’s not so unusual. Dinnerware can be commissioned by anybody, including us if we had the dough. I would imagine there’s an archbishop or two with plates and cups with his initials on them.”
Laura put her twins back in the stroller. My arms and hands felt so bereft I reached for a cinnamon roll, split it in two, and shared it with Laura.
Laura said, “Do you think gossip will die down about the murder and the fires enough so that your family can celebrate about finding the cup?”
I told her about the knife being returned to my father
and Cherry’s blood and prints being the only ones on it, and that John’s cut hand was a separate incident.
“Cherry had to have run up to the choir loft to hide that knife after the choir tryouts were done, unless somebody wearing gloves did it. Maybe Cherry and this person had an altercation? Maybe Cherry had to dump the knife fast because he had to get back to John’s tour? Who was around the church early that morning?”
The obvious answer startled us. I muttered, “Jonas.”
“Did you happen to notice if Jonas had any cuts or looked like he’d been in a fight with Cherry?”
“I haven’t even thought about such a thing. It’s so odd that I overlooked the obvious. Like angels in the church.”
“Huh?”
“My grandfather contends we might be able to see angels flying around in Saint Mary of the Snows when the sunlight is lined up right.”
“So the angels witnessed everything that morning. If only your grandmother could use her belief in guardian angels to ask them.”
“Indeed. Jonas had to have been wearing work gloves to work on the landscaping.” My gut was churning. “This is adding up too fast and too easily.”
“But it is adding up.”
We rocked the babies. “Do you suppose Cherry and Jonas came back later for some reason? Jonas maybe followed the car to the church that night.”
The whole scenario was making me feel ill at ease. I mentioned to Laura about several neighbors being invited to the Dahlgrens’ tomorrow, but added, “Don’t come along. Stay home with Clara and Spencer. I don’t trust any of my friends down there anymore.”
“You really think one of them killed Cherry?”
“I’m not sure of anything at the moment, except my dad was right. I need to stay safe.” Saying that out loud brought a sour taste of fear into my mouth. “Why would Jonas do such a thing, though?”
“Fontana.”
“Jealousy over her has entered our minds too often. It strikes me that maybe that’s what we’re supposed to think.”
After holding Clara Ava, I tried to remember her innocent smile and put evil out of my mind that day.
Friday turned out to be magical enough. Grandpa cleaned Mercy’s limo smudge off my yellow truck with some special gooey stuff; he got the goo all over his hands and was very happy.
Dillon finished an upstairs bathroom in the Blue Heron Inn.
Piers even helped Dillon create a raised garden bed in the backyard.
But at dinnertime, my mother called. She was screeching.
“You didn’t tell me Arnie Malle is the prince! I just learned a prince stayed overnight in my house. Your father knew! You knew! You two are dead meat! This house is filthy! I should have been warned!”
“The house is fine, Mom.”
“When I thought he was a journalist I didn’t think twice about not having vacuumed that guest bedroom for a couple of weeks. But now, well, I need to vacuum the whole house. Prince Arnaud will talk about me back in Belgium.” She issued a sound like a mewling calf.
“Where is he now, Mom?”
“Out on a tractor with your father and Nick Stensrud collecting soil samples.”
“See? He’s okay with dirt.”
“I’m going to be vacuuming all night! It’s a good thing I bought a new supply of vacuum bags after last weekend cleaning up that church. And please, do not tell Prince Arnaud I discovered a dead body in that church. I’ll die myself.”
A realization struck. “Mom, what did you do with the bag of old dirt you took from your vacuum cleaner after cleaning the church?”
“That bag is in the trash bin of course.”
My brain jerked alive with electric thoughts. “Go get the bag right now.”
“But it’s in the trash can, under garbage.”
“Mom, go get it. You might have valuable evidence in that bag. We might be able to figure out who killed Cherry.”
“You mean there might be somebody’s hairs in my bag?”
She’d surprised me with her deduction. “Yes.”
“I’ll get the bag, but you have to take it to the sheriff.”
“Yes, I know, Mom. He thinks I discovered the body. I’ll lie for you and say I was doing the vacuuming.”
“A mother couldn’t ask for a lovelier daughter than one who lies for her.”
* * *
On Friday evening I drove down to the farm to pick up the vacuum bag. It smelled of the fish Mom had cooked recently. She’d tossed the fish bones into the same trash receptacle as the used vacuum bag. Jordy wasn’t happy when I showed up with the stinky thing.
“What the hell? Get that out of my office,” he said, not even rising from his desk.
“You’re going to find the killer’s hairs or clothing threads or dead skin inside this bag. I was vacuuming the church on Sunday.”
“You have time to vacuum?” His eyes slid into a suspicious squint. “I’ve heard your mother is the clean one of the bunch.”
“She was at Mass. As for me, cleanliness is next to godliness.”
Jordy got up to retrieve an evidence bag from a shelf behind him. He had me drop the droopy, fishy, full vacuum bag into it.
“How long will this take?” I asked.
“Could take a week.”
“We don’t have a week. We have a kermis in a week.”
“We?”
“Yeah, Jordy, you and me. We have to solve this. Trust me.”
His laugh echoed behind me as I headed back through the reception area with the portraits of officers.
That evening, Dillon and I attended an old-fashioned fish boil behind the Troubled Trout bar.
On the beach, a wood fire had been built under a steel drum filled with salted water. Big fillets of white fish were dropped into the boiling water. At a certain point, the cook tossed a tiny amount of something akin to fuel oil or gasoline on the fire, making it whoosh up around the steel drum as the boiling water surged and overflowed, causing great
clouds of steam to rise in the cool night air. It was great entertainment for tourists and locals alike.
Oddly enough, John showed up with Pauline. He’d somehow disentangled himself from Marc for one evening. The four of us acted like so many average normal couples I’d observed in Door County all my life. The normalcy shifted something in my soul. There was a tranquility I’d forgotten existed here. How had I lost that feeling? How could I keep it?
* * *
On Saturday late in the morning, with the fudge shop under control by Cody and Bethany, Pauline and I traveled down to the Dahlgrens’ place. We wore heavy work shoes, jeans, and sweatshirts. The day was cool, only in the fifties. A few more leaves on trees looked airbrushed with red and yellow and orange paint. Pauline and I set to work in the garden.
In the early afternoon, right after lunchtime, several tourists showed up. Mom was selling my fudge like crazy, as well as any pumpkins we hauled from the Dahlgren acreage.
John and Marc showed up and began videotaping everything instead of helping.
As I suspected would happen, most of the neighbors stopped by to help, including Fontana Dahlgren, Jonas Coppens, and Michael Prevost. To my surprise, Wesley Weaver showed up with Will and Nick. My mother said she’d called Wes to tell him about everybody helping out the Dahlgrens in the wake of Cherry’s murder. She thought Cherry’s university department colleagues might be willing to lend a hand in his honor. I hadn’t told her about the rocky relationships in the department. I noted who showed up and who didn’t—those other seven colleagues. I’d mention this to Jordy.
When Dillon and Piers, with Lucky Harbor, pulled to a stop in the yard in a blue Ford Fusion, everybody ran in shock to the car thinking it was Cherry’s. It was not. Dillon explained it was merely Piers’s rental. But I could tell by the glint in Dillon’s eyes that they’d meant to stir things up with the car.
Mike Prevost told him it was an ugly joke to rent a car identical to the missing car of a dead man.
Jonas Coppens strode to the orchard to pick apples alone.
Wes Weaver didn’t immediately believe it wasn’t Cherry’s car and he stalked around it scrutinizing it with Lucky Harbor sniffing at his heels.
Nick and Will took off in a junker car toward Brussels, saying something about getting a beer.
I was rearranging pumpkins on the flatbed wagon, taking in the hubbub.
Fontana came up to me, gasping for air. “What is wrong with your boyfriend? Doesn’t he know that car brings back awful memories?”
“Like what memories?” I hoped she’d let slip some new information.
“Never mind. This stress isn’t good for me.” Fontana headed to the Dahlgren house, which I had assumed was locked. Fontana went inside without hesitation, oddly enough, as if she’d been in there before and knew it was unlocked.
Out of curiosity, I followed her.
To my surprise, Kjersta was sitting on her couch in her living room. The shades were drawn. Fontana was in their bathroom, coughing. I heard water running.
Edging into the dim room, I said, “Kjersta? I’m sorry. I assumed you were still in a motel. Did you get my message about us cleaning your garden for you?”
“Yes.” She was flipping through a magazine in robotic motions.
“Where’s Daniel?”
“I don’t know.” Her long lashes appeared to glisten in the meager light.
I sat down in an olive green chair opposite her. There was an element of déjà vu. The desk wasn’t far away from where Pauline, Laura, and I had found the information about Cherry’s research contract ending. “What do you mean you don’t know? Has Daniel . . . ?”
“Left me? I don’t think so. He said he needed to get away for a while. Which isn’t good, seeing as how neither of us is supposed to leave the county. I came here hoping he might show up at home.”
“I won’t say a word.”
“Is that true? You’re chummy with the sheriff.”
Her tone was thick with accusation.
“Not that chummy.” I felt bad for letting down my friend, yet I wasn’t certain exactly how I’d let her down. “Fontana seemed to know your house would be unlocked. She just barged in. How did she know?”
“I’m sure Daniel called her.”
“They’re not . . . ?”
“Still in love? No. But Daniel knows something he’s not telling me. He definitely didn’t want to be here today with everybody coming around.”
Her curly brown hair was mashed on one side, as if she’d been sleeping on it. My heart went out to her. “I know you couldn’t’ve killed Cherry.”
“Thank you. But it doesn’t look good when Daniel runs off like this.”
“You said he knows something. Trust him, Kjersta.”
I was saying that “trust” word more and more to my friends, but did I believe it? “Did Daniel offer to buy Jonas’s land? Or any of Mike’s land?”
Kjersta’s startled countenance told me everything. “They told you?”
“No. I guessed.” I decided not to drag Professor Weaver into this. “Cherry spent a lot of time here with Nick and Will right out in front of your house buying fudge from my stand and testing for chemicals on everybody’s property. Land values might be dropping. This would be an opportune time to buy more land.” I made a note to check on that with our county’s tax assessor.
Kjersta seemed to shrink within herself. “Daniel was interested in expanding. Our organics are beginning to sell well to restaurants all over Door County.”