January Thaw (The Murder-By-Month Mysteries) (15 page)

Thirty-Six

I was confident that
my two alley-rats, Stingray and Hammerhead, had beaten up Curtis. I also had a hunch that Gary knew the same thing and was on their trail. I intended to help him in any way I could, without him knowing and without me risking my neck. It would be a delicate dance. I gassed up the Toyota, purchased a granola bar and a Styrofoam cup of coffee that tasted like burnt feet, and got to work, disregarding the sleep-deprived fogginess of my brain and the gravelly feel inside my eyelids.

My first stop was Silver Lake, and specifically the new cabin that had gone up on the north side last fall. It was a gorgeous, log A-frame on a pretty little wooded plot. I sometimes drove the long way home from work and so had witnessed the construction process, the cabin going up like a grand Lincoln Log project. I was almost surprised when they didn’t top it off with a plastic green roof and a little cavalry man to watch over the shores of the lake.

Nancy had mentioned that cabins all around the lakes had
been broken into, but that this one had been trashed. It made
sense that the gang was using them as a place to squat. Most lake cabins were empty in the winter. Free rent for thieves. That’s when it occurred to me that I didn’t know how many were in this gang. Gary had made it seem like a lot, but Taunita had made it sound like there were only a handful.

Taunita. I’d need to call her as soon as I reached a phone so I could update her on Curtis. I hoped she and the kids weren’t trashing the house. I also wondered when I was going to break down and buy a cellphone. Most everyone I knew owned one, but I wasn’t ready to be constantly available. Plus, they were expensive. Times like these, though, it seemed stupid not to have one.

I was thankful the weather was good. Cold, but clear, with only a light dusting of snow the night before. The January thaw had lasted all of two days, but it seemed to have brought a pile of trouble with it. The poplars and oaks lining the shores of Silver Lake were frosted with a bright white hoar. Most of the cabins dotting the shoreline appeared empty, except for one with smoke trailing up from the chimney. I wrote down the address and kept driving. It seemed unlikely that gang members would call attention to themselves by starting a fire, but what did I know from gangs? I kept driving until I hit the log cabin. It was placed far enough back from the road so that I had to pull into the recently plowed driveway for a full view of it, but I didn’t need to drive far to spot the damage. The windows facing me had been boarded over, and I had to believe that the gorgeous bay window facing the lake was in the same condition.

I didn’t spot any tracks. I stepped out of the car to be sure—fresh snowfall can play tricks on the eyes—but it was clear no one had been here at least since the previous night’s light snowfall. The perpetrators, police, and probably owner had come and gone already. The only one left to visit was the insurance company.

I didn’t actually want to locate Hammer and Ray. I just wanted to find where they were and pass that information onto Gary. My only other lead was the microbrewery, and that was a long shot at best. It relied on me being sure Eric was there—which I pretty much was—and that he was tied to the gang activity, even distantly. It was a strong possibility given his connections to Chicago and crime, not to mention the fact that he’d shown up in town the same time as the Sea Monsters Gang. Still, even if those two hunches were solid, I’d needed to coax the honorary Irish staff into giving him up, which is where my plan fell apart.

Maybe it was the giddiness of sleep deprivation that made me forge ahead despite all the long shots. Oh well. I’d worry about that when I got there.

Thirty-Seven

The fresh snow gave
the countryside a fluffy feel, like a loaf of bread just pulled out of the oven. I wasn’t in the mood to enjoy it, though. I cruised past Vienna’s house, noting that the T Wrecks tow truck was gone. New snow usually means new accidents, even during daylight hours. Something about the flakes messes with people’s driving skills.

I’d concocted a plan during the drive. It was brief. I was confident Eric was working and possibly living at the brewery. I also knew that nobody would tell me exactly where to find him. I would chance peeking my head into the main lodge. If I spotted no one with an eyebrow piercing, I’d feign being lost and leave, my next stop the dorms/fitness center Mrs. Berns had told me about. I hoped that no one at the lodge would recognize me as that nosy woman from the tour and spread the word.

I pulled into the lodge, noting there were no cars in front. I checked the front door. Locked. Well, that took care of that. I jogged over to the actual brewery and stepped in. The scent of sour mash washed over me. Two workers glanced up, startled. Neither of them had eyebrow piercings, and neither looked happy to see me.

“Sorry, are there tours today?”

“Not till the weekend.” The man set down his clipboard and began to walk toward me.

“Thanks, I’ll check back!” I smiled and let the door swing shut, hurrying to my car. He stood in the square of the door, watching me pull away. I veered off the main driveway, cruised a half a mile, and found myself in front of a building even larger than the main lodge, though without the charm. It looked like a small apartment complex, boxy, newish, with six large windows spaced evenly apart on both floors. I assumed they placed it out of view from the main building because it lacked the visual appeal.

I parked between a Toyota Prius and a Chevy Cavalier and walked in like I owned the place. I was surprised at how modern the interior was, though I shouldn’t have been. I could see and smell the chlorine tang of the indoor pool, a glass wall separating me from the water and the couple splashing in it. An unstaffed desk was to my left and behind it were two doors, one marked “Women’s Locker Room” and the other “Men’s Locker Room.” To my right was a hallway, which I assumed led to the kitchen, other workout rooms, and the “grope room.” There also must be stairs somewhere that led to the second floor apartments. It was a fantastic setup for a mini-community, and I wondered if they would consider hiring me. Probably not. I had a tendency to burn bridges in situations like this.

“Can I help you?”

“Yes, I’m interested in—”

I turned toward the voice and found myself face to face with Eric Offerdahl.

Thirty-Eight

The photo had been
fuzzy, but there was no mistaking the metal stake piercing his eyebrow. The brown hair and eyes matched, as well. He was my guy. I held out my hand.

“Betty Fishbacher.”

He lifted an eyebrow. He smelled like cigarettes and stale whiskey and had the sallow skin of someone who didn’t spend a lot of time above ground. “Eric.”

I nodded, as if this was all normal. I was about to ask him about a job here when he scratched at his arm, revealing the bottom half of what appeared to be an electric eel tattoo, complete with lightning bolts of electricity zapping out of it. I thought immediately of Ray’s manta tattoo and Hammer’s shark ink.
Sea Monster
. Operation Offerdahl and Cold Case had just merged into one.

While my brain was processing all this, my body went a different direction and punched Eric in the chest. I didn’t think about it, I didn’t plan it, it didn’t even occur to me that I was doing it until I saw him stumble, hand to his chest.

“What the hell was that?”

I glanced at my throbbing hand.
That
was accumulated stress, fear, and anger held in too long. I’d never punched anyone before, at least not like that. His chest had felt solid, and then it had given like wet paper when my force had overridden his, just like they’d taught us in the self-defense class I’d taken last month. “You’re in the gang from Chicago.”

He pulled his sleeve down. “Who the hell are you?”

I couldn’t remember the fake name I gave him. My adrenaline, out of nowhere, was gushing like a waterfall. “I’m the friend of the old man you shits beat up last night. I’m the person who knows you all drowned Maurice alive and left his two little kids without a dad.” I felt dizzy and realized I hadn’t been breathing.

To my surprise, Eric laughed. “Hell, woman, we ain’t that. We’re just a bunch of dumb punks who like to pretend we’re in a gang. We wouldn’t hurt anyone. We might smoke a little dope, sure, but that’s it. Mostly, I’m clean. I’ve got this job, right?” He held up his hands and indicated the rec room.

His confidence and unexpected honesty unbalanced me more. “You’re friends with Hammerhead and Stingray?”

“Sure.”

“The three of you didn’t try to break into the Battle Lake Apothecary last night and then beat up an old man when he caught you?”

“No.” He shook his head. “That sounds pretty harsh.”

For a split-second, quicker than a blink, his front dropped and I saw his real self. If I hadn’t been giving him my full attention, I would have missed it. Behind his friendly smile and easy half-truths, rage boiled like acid. The glimpse was gone, as fast as it had come, replaced by an open smile. Still, that peek was enough to chill me and bring me down from my adrenaline. I suddenly felt shaky and tired, and scared. But I wasn’t going to make the same mistake he had, so I kept my angry face on.

“Yeah, pretty harsh. What about Maurice?”

Eric nodded, leaned back on the counter, shoved his hands deep in his pockets, studied his shoes like they held all the answers. “Real sad. We’re hoping the police find out what went on there.” He pulled his eyes back up to me, a new light in them. “Hey, are you the detective Stingray gave the letter to? Man, I told him he shouldn’t have done that. He said you were a hot ride, though, looked a little like that actress in
The Texas Chainsaw Massacre
, the newer version, not the original. What was her name?”

I didn’t answer.

“I didn’t like the remake, but she was hot. Man. So maybe Stingray went in for that?” He chuckled, and then the chuckle turned to laughter. “What the hell did you tell me your name was? Fishbacher?”

I glanced at the pool. The couple was getting out, disappearing through the same door. Had they seen me hit Eric? Unlikely, or they would have come out already. I listened for other sounds in the building. I didn’t want to be alone with Eric.

He pulled a lollipop out of his back pocket, a red one, and peeled off the plastic. He kept smiling as he sucked, still leaning against the front counter as if he possessed all the time and glory in the world. “I was at work here when Mo got offed, you can ask around. I heard he was a snitch who got what was coming to him, but I don’t believe it. Sure, he might have gotten hung up in a real gang, but I think I would have known. He was a good guy, a good guy with weird ideas, but man, he didn’t deserve to die. You know about Taunita? And the babies? Hammer said he called them, let them know about Mo.”

I didn’t like him being in charge of the conversation. “What do you know about Chuck Litchfield?”

He pushed himself off the counter, his mask falling again. He quickly adjusted. “He’s a bad-ass. I’d watch out for him.”

I couldn’t tolerate his slimy presence for another second. He was a liar, and worse, he was cruel. It was written in the way he carried himself, the tightness in his shoulders, how his eyes always searched for an angle. He was disgusting. I turned without another word, every bit of me listening for him to follow.

“You didn’t apologize for hitting me. You sorry, baby?”

I kept walking.

I dropped a quarter into the first payphone I found, at the Underwood Quik Stop, and dialed the Battle Lake Police Station. Victor answered. I told him that I’d located Eric Offerdahl, that he had a sea creature tattoo, and that he was likely gnawing on a fentanyl sucker while we were talking. I reported what Mrs. Berns had said about a possible grow room in the brewery dorm, as well, and asked him to pass all the information on to Chief Wohnt immediately.

Next, I called Chuck Litchfield and told him I’d located the sorry piece of shit otherwise known as Eric Offerdahl at the microbrewery dorms and that I’d send him a final itemized bill for my services before the end of the week.

Unburdened of that information and my responsibility to my client, I returned to the hospital to check on Curtis. After much rerouting and waiting, I discovered that he was in stable condition but could not yet receive visitors. Despite this, I recognized Bernie from the hardware store, Sid from the café, and Theadora from the Apothecary in the waiting room, just in case Curtis woke up and they’d be allowed to visit him. I also recognized the owner of the Shoreline, whose first job had been working as Curtis’s farmhand, the nurse from the Senior Sunset who Curtis mentioned occasionally snuck him airplane-bottle-sized liquors, and the pastor from Curtis’s church.

“About time you arrived.”

I swiveled to find Mrs. Berns and Vienna wearing matching, swishy track suits and fanny packs. Vienna’s hair appeared freshly permed, just like Mrs. Berns’s, and her pursed lips and stocky build gave her the look of a low-rent Martha Stewart.

“What are you both doing here?” I asked, the emphasis on
both
.

“Stopped by to check on Curtis while we were in town buying party supplies.”

Vienna stepped back and abruptly began fanning herself, glancing at Mrs. Berns with an annoyed look on her face. “Baked beans say what? You nearly uncurled my hair with that one.”

Mrs. Berns shrugged. “It’s your fault I’m eating so many vegetables. I feel like a parade horse. So, are you gonna invite Mira to the party?”

Vienna pulled her hand from her nose. I smelled the same odor she did and thought she was overreacting. Or maybe I’d spent too much time with my pets and my elderly friends.

“We’re having a party at my house tomorrow,” Vienna said. “You’re invited.”

She didn’t seem happy about inviting me, like her mom had told her she needed to pick me for the team. Was she feeling as possessive of Mrs. Berns as I was? A few more of Mrs. Berns’s gas attacks, and she’d likely be cured of that. “I don’t think I’m swimsuit ready. Besides, I was just at the fitness center, and you may want to lay low in your neighborhood for a bit.”

Vienna drew herself up to her full, impressive height, her eyebrows beetling. “What do you mean?”

Not for the first time, I wondered what Mrs. Berns saw in her. She was a little stodgy, despite her hunter-hunting and her yoga and her faux-hippie lifestyle, and she didn’t seem to have much for humor. Plus, Mrs. Berns hated to eat healthy. “I mean the police believe there might be some drug activity at the fitness center and maybe the brewery.” I left myself out as the informant in that situation. “I don’t suppose you’d know anything about that?”

“I don’t draw conclusions, I draw connections.”

I looked at Mrs. Berns, my eyebrows raised.
Do you see what sort of person you’re hanging out with?
they said.

She raised one eyebrow of her own, it’s meaning clear:
Don’t judge or I’ll give you a snake bite that’ll make you wish you could smell my fart again for relief from the misery.

I kept a scowl aimed at Mrs. Berns but spoke to Vienna. “The police know about the grow room at the fitness center.”

Vienna crossed her arms, looking from me to Mrs. Berns and back to me again. “How do
you
know about it?”

I shrugged. “There’s a gang member working there. He isn’t very tight with the secrets. What I want to know, do the owners of the brewery know he might be using it as a front for drug-running?”

She laughed at me, exactly as Eric had laughed when he realized I’d given him Betty Fishbacher as an alias. “You were talking to Eric, weren’t you? The young man with the piercing above his eye? He’s a liar, and a troublemaker, too, if you ask me. I just do the cooking, though, and teach some classes, so it’s none of my business who they hire. But no, I can assure you that O’Callaghan’s is a legitimate brewery run by decent people. Eric is a bad apple they think they can reform.”

“What about the grow room?”

“It’s not even at the fitness center. It’s just a nickname for an old cabin behind it in the woods where the kids hang after their shifts. They like that it feels secret. I can’t guarantee they’re not smoking any pot there, but they’re certainly no front for a drug cartel.” She wiped at her eyes, giggles still bubbling out.

My cheeks were hot. Getting laughed at publicly twice in one day was no treat, but what was eating me was that her story matched Eric’s. Could it be that he was just an aimless doper, and that the hard drugs were coming from somewhere else? But no, Jed had told me the sea monster gang had the hard stuff, and I trusted him. That meant that either Eric had pulled the wool over Vienna’s eyes, or she was in on it, too. I was weighing whether to punch her in the chest or check her purse for drugs when I entertained a thought, one I should have invited a lot earlier.

“Hey, who’s watching the library?”

Mrs. Berns pretended to have a great deal of interest in the plant behind her.

“Mrs. Berns?”

She put her hands on her hips. “Fine. I left the library because I wanted to go out with Vienna. Who reads on Thursdays, anyhow?”

“You just closed it down?”

“No, I didn’t
just
close it down.” She rolled her eyes. “I got all the people out first.”

My jaw dropped. My head was getting ready to pop when a nurse came over to me, a tentative smile on his face.

“Are you Mira James?” He glanced over his shoulder. “Marne at information told me.”

“Yes.” My heart drop-clutched.

“I have good news! Curtis woke up for a few minutes.”

I grabbed his arm. “Is he awake now?”

“I’m afraid not. He asked about you, and someone named Mrs. Berns, and said something about a tattoo and a hurt baby animal? And then he was out again.”