Death at the Door Page 4

  Monday Morning

  May 28—Door County Ledger Office,

  Sturgeon Bay, Wisconsin

  Joel was not in the best of moods as he made the twenty-five-mile drive from Fish Creek south to the Door County Ledger office in Sturgeon Bay. He was trying to ignore his headache and indigestion. He had gone through an entire roll of antacid tablets before he’d gotten out of his motel room. His wife had called and gotten him up at 6:30 A.M. to ask if he could drive back to Wausau that night. She had been alone with the kids for nearly a week and had expected him home at least one day over the weekend. When he explained that in addition to twenty-one burglaries they also had a murder on their hands, they had gotten into one of their rare fights and Molly had hung up on him. She had not answered when he’d called back.

  The rational side of him thought she had driven their six- and seven-year-olds to the pool for their swimming lessons. The irrational side pictured her sitting at the kitchen table watching the phone ring. He knew Molly could handle anything. She had to be able to with four boys age two to seven. It still bothered him that he couldn’t get ahold of her. He made one last phone call. He apologized to the answering machine for arguing with her earlier and for not being home when she needed him. He told her he loved her and the kids and promised to come home ASAP. He then forced his mind to focus on business.

  Joel had appointments with two men who had made requests to have some of their land rezoned from agricultural to commercial so they could sell to developers. They had been turned down by a narrow vote of the zoning board. They had both been outspoken critics of the zoning board decisions and Paul Larsen in particular. Joel hoped to get through the Ledger back issues in time to get back to Ephraim to meet with Mr. Rassmussen at ten-thirty followed by Mr. Neilsen at eleven-thirty.

  The editor of the Ledger was not in when Joel got to the office, but he had called and told his assistant, Lucille, to give Joel full access to their back issues including copies of anything he requested. He bummed some aspirin from Lucille, who was beginning to resemble a guardian angel, and began wading though the twice-weekly Letters to the Editor section of the paper that is so much a part of small-town America. It didn’t take Joel long to discover what a mess he had on his hands.

  The zoning board met once a month and had always been controversial, but Paul Larsen’s election to the board had really heated things up. Since the zoning board meetings were open to the public and land development was such a hot topic in Door County, the minutes were summarized in the paper. A barrage of letters to the editor followed the summaries. They were followed by letters in response to the letters. Fortunately the paper had a rule that it only published letters that were signed, so at least Joel was able to build a list of people who were vitriolic about the zoning board decisions and Paul Larsen in particular.

  He got through a year’s worth of letters before he had to drive back to Ephraim. Lucille took pity upon him and agreed to make copies of the Letters to the Editor sections of the paper as well as the summaries of the minutes back an additional year to when Paul Larsen had become a member of the zoning board. She sent him out the door with a cup of steaming hot coffee and a sealed envelope filled with aspirin tablets in case his headache continued. As Joel got in his truck, he was seriously considering nominating Lucille for sainthood.

  He tried to call Molly as he sped back up the peninsula to Ephraim but once again found himself talking to the answering machine. His meeting with Mr. Bazil Rassmussen did not improve his morning. He met him at the community center in Ephraim.

  Joel felt like he needed the DA and a couple of bodybuilders in tow when he met Bazil. The man was huge. He was tall and corpulent with a bushy, salt-and-pepper beard that made him all the more intimidating. His handshake was a bone crusher, and from the look in his eyes, Joel figured he knew it.

  “I brought my attorney with me. Time is money so let’s make this fast,” Rassmussen said as he lowered himself into one of the center’s old wooden chairs.

  The chair creaked under his weight. Joel shook off an image of the chair breaking and dropping the man onto the floor.

  “Paul Larsen was killed yesterday on the Gibraltar State Park Golf Course.”

  “I heard about that,” Rassmussen said, drumming his fingers on the table.

  “I’ve read the letters you sent to the paper and the zoning board,” Joel said, watching Rassmussen’s face. “You seemed pretty upset.”

  “I don’t suffer fools easily,” Rassmussen boomed. His attorney tried to interrupt him but Rassmussen waved him off. “Those zoning board members are provincial numskulls. They don’t have clue about how to develop Door County.”

  “Paul Larsen—”

  Rassmussen interrupted, “Larsen was a colossal imbecile. He already had his and wanted to make sure that no one else got theirs. Damn tree-hugger.”

  Joel decided to cut right to the chase. “Where were you Sunday morning about eleven A.M.?”

  Rassmussen leaned forward in his chair. “I was in church. I wouldn’t be caught dead on the golf course. No pun intended. I’ve never played golf. It’s nothing but an idiotic waste of time.” Rassmussen stood up. “You want anything else from me, call him.” He flicked his thumb back at his attorney and walked out.

  His lawyer handed Joel a card with the name and address of Mr. Rassmussen’s church along with his business card. He told Joel to call him if he had any more questions. Joel had just enough time to run out to the store before Mr. Neilsen got there. He picked up several rolls of antacids and a bottle of Tylenol to supplement the aspirin that had barely put a dent in his banging headache.

  Mr. Lars Neilsen was a joy after Mr. Rassmussen. He was physically average with the exception of his florid face and beer belly. He shook hands firmly but not painfully and sat in the chair opposite Joel.

  “Did you know that Paul Larsen was killed yesterday?” Joel asked.

  Neilsen nodded. “One of my kids told me about it. We’re going to go back to the zoning board to see if we can get them to let us sell off twenty acres like we asked for the last time.”

  “I read the letters you wrote to the Ledger. You seemed pretty hot under the collar; pretty angry at Larsen in particular.”

  Neilsen nodded. “I wouldn’t wish what happened to him on anyone, but the zoning board is well rid of him. He was a troublemaker. I figured you wanted to talk with me about my letters. I brought copies of the ones I sent.” He handed an envelope to Joel. “Everything I said in my letters I would have said to Larsen’s face. I’ve known him since he was born. His dad was a good friend of mine. He’d roll over in his grave if he knew how Paul had turned out.”

  “Where were you Sunday morning around eleven A.M.?”

  “Taking a nap.” Neilsen shook his head. “I got up at five A.M. to get the milking done and then came in and fixed breakfast. I fell asleep about ten and woke up at noon.”

  “Did anyone see you?”

  “Not that I know of. My wife’s been dead a couple of years and I live by myself. My boys live on either side of me. They did their milking and went to church with their families. They worked in the cornfield most of the afternoon.” He pointed a finger at Joel. “They can probably tell you that my truck never moved from the driveway during that time.”

  Joel took down Mr. Neilsen’s sons’ names and numbers and told him the sheriff’s office would bring his transcribed statement by for his signature in the next couple of days. Mr. Neilsen thanked him and left.

  Joel wrote a few notes and then called Paul Larsen’s office. He got ahold of Larsen’s tearful secretary, who didn’t know of anyone who would want to kill him. She suggested that Joel talk with Daisy DuBois, an interior designer who worked closely with Paul. She told Joel that Daisy was a childhood friend of Paul’s from Door County. She gave him Daisy’s Chicago and Door County addresses and phone numbers. She confirmed that she had locked up my Larsen’s office until the Wisconsin State Police got there to go through it and asked if
she needed to do anything with Mr. Larsen’s house. Joel explained that the Chicago police were taking care of that.

  Sheriff Skewski walked in and Joel glanced at his watch and swore. It was time for them to go search Larsen’s Door County place. He gathered up his notebook and his tape recorder. “Where does the time go?” he asked as he stood up.

  “Before we leave, I’ve got a number where we can reach Mrs. Tyson. We can find out if she saw someone abandon a golf cart in her yard.” The sheriff set up the community center’s speakerphone and they called Mrs. Juanita Tyson in Milwaukee.

  Mrs. Tyson told them that she had left to drive to Milwaukee Saturday morning after having breakfast with her neighbor Bea Whitlock. They asked her if Mrs. Whitlock was out of town. She told them that Bea had been planning on going to visit her granddaughter somewhere in southern Wisconsin. Both Juanita and Bea were due back on Saturday and were planning on going to brunch together after church on Sunday. She encouraged the sheriff to leave a message on Bea’s answering machine as she sometimes checked her messages when she traveled.

  Sheriff Skewski left a message asking Bea to call him at the sheriff’s office as soon as possible. He assured her that nothing was wrong with her family or Mrs. Tyson. They delivered the speakerphone back to the director of the community center and headed out to search Paul Larsen’s house.

  Monday Afternoon

  May 28—Wilson’s Ice Cream Parlor,

  Ephraim, Wisconsin

  When John walked into his suite at 2:30 P.M., he was surprised to find Lacey hunched over Ann’s laptop.

  “Where’s Ann?” he asked, looking in the bedroom and finding it empty.

  “Out on the porch.” Lacey pointed without taking her eyes off the computer screen. “I’ll be out of your hair in about fifteen minutes.”

  “Stay as long as you want, we’re happy to have you.” John headed for the deck. “You two eaten lunch?”

  “No.”

  “Me neither. I’ll round up Ann and we can grab a sandwich.”

  Lacey barely had time to refocus before someone knocked at the front door. “Come in,” she yelled, looking up to see who was interrupting her. Lark walked in.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked, glancing around. “Did Ann and John already leave for lunch?”

  “No, they’re out on the deck.” Lacey took in his suntanned face and startling blue eyes.

  “What are you doing here?” Lark repeated, not moving from his spot by the door.

  “I’m doing some research on what was stolen in the burglaries. I didn’t bring my laptop so Ann’s letting me use hers.”

  “Lark, glad you’re here,” John said as he and Ann walked in from the deck. “Lacey’s going to lunch with us.”

  “I think I’ll stay here and finish this research.” Lacey’s eyes never left the computer screen.

  “Nonsense,” Ann said, “you’ve been at it for hours. No excuses accepted.”

  They walked the quarter mile to Wilson’s. The sky was starting to cloud over and the meteorologists were predicting a 50 percent chance of showers for the afternoon. The wonderful smells coming from Wilson’s made them forget about rain and focus on their growling stomachs. As they headed for a table on the porch, someone shouted at Lark. They turned to see Joel sitting at the snack bar.

  “Hey, guys, glad to see you. I was starving so I stopped for a late lunch.” He grabbed his plate and root beer mug and pulled up a chair at their table. “Lacey, what have you been up to today?”

  After they ordered, Lacey filled him in on her Internet searches. He filled them in on his morning.

  “Our guy, Paul Larsen, had a summer place right up the road. His grandmother inherited a gatehouse from the Gradoute family. The Gradoutes have a big spread just north of here on the lake. Both families have been up here for more than a hundred years. Larsen’s grandmother was a nanny and housekeeper for them until she retired. Paul inherited the place from her a couple of years ago.”

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” John said. “I’m working on the Gradoute house. Rose Gradoute and her husband are turning it into a bed-and-breakfast. They’ve been trying to buy the old gatehouse but the owner wouldn’t sell. They’d like to convert it into housing for their staff and devote the house to the bed-and-breakfast.” Conversation halted when the waitress brought their cheeseburgers.

  “Skewski and I just finished going through Paul’s house. He did a great job of converting the old garage space into an office and work area, and remodeling the second-floor living quarters. It’s a well-decorated bachelor pad but it obviously had a woman’s touch. He has a mighty fine collection of women’s underwear.” Joel waggled his eyebrows at Lacey.

  “You never quit do you?” she replied.

  “Get your mind out of the gutter. The bras wouldn’t have fit around his chest. They were a size thirty-two D. They had to be for a tiny but very well endowed lady friend of his, as were the nightgowns, robe, and other women’s clothing I found. I’ll have you check them out?”

  “Sure, fine,” Lacey said, returning to her cheeseburger.

  “Pretty nice digs for the bed-and-breakfast staff. I found a file full of clippings from the Door County Ledger and some not-so-kind letters from Door County citizens who would like to see him off the County Zoning Board. Nobody went so far as to threaten his life. He had one of those yellow sticky notes on his coffeepot that said ‘golf, 0730, keys.’” Joel motioned the waitress for another root beer.

  “Keys?” Lacey asked.

  Joel nodded. “I’m having Skewski check every one of the keys on the two rings we found in his golf bag to see if something exciting turns up. The evidence techs are still going over his apartment to see if we get any unusual prints, maybe figure out who ‘Miss Body Beautiful’ is. I drove out to the Gradoute house but no one was home. I don’t know why anyone would want to turn that house into a bed-and-breakfast; it’s one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever seen. Unless they need the money.” He raised an eyebrow at John.

  “They don’t act like they’re having financial trouble.”

  “How did they end up hiring you?” Joel asked, finishing off the last of his cheeseburger.

  “Rose and Cathy Lowery are cousins. You remember Cathy Lowery from the investigation you did in Big Oak?”

  “Oh, yeah.” Joel nodded. “You were remodeling their house.”

  “Right. Rose and Simon came over for Cathy and Gus’s Christmas party and loved the changes in the house. They asked me to put in a bid on Gradoute House. They hired me to do the design and supervise construction.”

  “Do Simon and Rose play golf?” Joel asked.

  “You think they may have been involved in Paul’s death?” Ann interrupted, surprised at the possibility.

  “They do play golf,” John said, “but I can’t imagine them doing anything like this.”

  “Larsen’s tee time was for two people,” Joel said.

  “They were only fifteen minutes ahead of us,” Lark commented. “How come we didn’t see anyone until we saw him lying down on that green?”

  “If they were good golfers, they could have gotten ahead of us the way I was playing. There were only two of them and three of us.” Ann swatted Lark’s hand out of the way as she grabbed up the check. “Remember your manners, Lark. It’s always age before beauty.”

  Lacey couldn’t help herself; she glanced at Lark and started laughing. Ann burst out laughing as well.

  Lark ignored Lacey and Ann. “Who was ahead of Larson and his mystery partner?”

  “A twosome from Chicago with very low handicaps,” Joel replied. “They did catch a glimpse of two people behind them, they think two men.”

  “No one at the clubhouse saw them?” Lark asked.

  “They saw Paul but not his golfing partner.” Joel, his face dead-pan, handed his check to Ann. “You want to get this one too?”

  Ann slid it back over to him. “Put it on your expense account, Joel.”

  “Odd,�
�� John commented as he finished off his burger.

  Ann elbowed him.

  “I meant odd that no one saw Paul’s golf partner, not odd that you won’t spring for Joel’s lunch.”

  “Odd enough to make me wonder if this guy planned to kill Paul,” Joel replied. “John, can you get me an appointment to meet the Gradoutes?”

  “Sure, I’ll call and get something set up. Ann, you can come along and look at her carnival glass.” They got up from the table.

  “Lark, you got a minute?” Joel asked as everyone headed for the door.

  “I’ve got as many minutes as you need as long as it isn’t about working on this case.” John, Ann, and Lacey walked back to the Edgewater, and Joel and Lark walked across the street and ambled down the dock that lead out into Eagle Harbor.

  The color had completely washed out of the sky while they had been inside. Fluffy, dark-gray-tinged clouds covered most of the sky, letting only the occasional ray of sunshine wink through. From the looks of the sail and fishing boats on the water, people were holding out for the storm to blow over.

  “I really could use some help,” Joel said as they sat down on the bench at end of the pier.

  “Dammit, Joel, I told you I’m not interested in working while I’m up here. John and I plan on playing golf every day, and after a long winter in Big Oak, I’m looking forward to a little time off before the summer rush hits.”

  “You can arrange your schedule any way you want, work as much as you want. I just need another person on this one. These burglaries are too much for the two of us, and with this murder added on top of them, we need help.”

  “How many times do I have to say no before you get it?” Lark glared at Joel.

  Joel stared down at the dock. “Molly and I had a hell of a fight this morning because I haven’t been able to get back down to Wausau. Thank God she called me and we made up a little while ago. But Lacey and I really need an extra hand.”