January Thaw (The Murder-By-Month Mysteries) (17 page)

I was ashamed at how happy I was that she and Vienna had broken up. I’d get the details later. For now, I just wanted to enjoy the moment. “Quiet night.”

“Hairy liar.”

“What?”

“I thought we were stating an adjective and then a pertinent noun. Along those lines, I am calling you a hairy liar. Not only did I see you pull out of the Prospect House on my way back from the Shoreline, but I also see your eyes are a lighter brown than usual. That means you’re excited about something.”

Hmm. Maybe she was better at this detective thing than I thought. “I have to run an errand tonight for a friend.”

She raised her eyebrows.

I glanced around. Ah, what the heck. There’s nothing as fun as a secret shared. I leaned in and whispered into her ear. “Break into the Prospect House.”

She gave a rebel yell. “I’m in!”

“I don’t need a sidekick.”

She snorted. “And I don’t need oxygen. Besides, too late. We’re already this generation’s Bogey and Bacall. Or at least, Bonnie and Clyde.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“I’ll save you the time. I’m going with.”

“Mira, Mrs. Berns! How’re you two doing?”

We were finally at the front of the line, distracting me from my conversation with Mrs. Berns. “Hi, Nancy! I need two skollebollers, stat. And a soy café miel.”

“Not until you give me some news.” She lodged her hands into her hips.

I realized I’d been neglecting her and Sid. Usually, I stopped in at least once a week during slow times so I could visit them. Sid didn’t talk much, but she let you know she appreciated you being around in small ways, like baking skollebollers. Lately, I’d been doing little more than grabbing a meal here or there and leaving. “Sorry I haven’t stayed around to chat much lately. A lot going on.”

She raised her eyebrows, waiting for me to tell her more. I didn’t mention Taunita and the kids because that would bring up too many questions, and there was a noisy line forming behind me. Instead, I gave her a thirty-second synopsis on Curtis’s condition, told her I was researching more deeply into the Prospect House, and updated her on the library business.

“You forgot to mention your Nut Goodie recipe in the paper,” Sid said, coming out to put her arm around Nancy. “That was a winner.”

“Did you actually make it?”

Sid winked. “Come over later when we’re not busy, and I’ll let you taste.” She disappeared into the back. Nancy began making my order, talking over her shoulder as she did so, filling me in on small-town news. It was comforting.

She had my food and drink ready in a blink. She nodded across the busy main room of the coffee shop while she leafed my change out of the till. “And that’s Bad Brad’s new girlfriend over there. She’s met him here for coffee twice this week.”

I followed her gaze. All twelve tables were packed, and three
women and two men lined the counter facing the main window. “Which one is dating Brad?”

“The one eating a banana.”

Mrs. Berns scrunched her eyes in the direction of the window. “Who eats a banana in public?”

I homed in on the banana-eater. I was thirty and knew Brad was at least two years older than me. Samantha the insurance agent, however, appeared to be twenty-four, maybe twenty-five, with curly blonde hair, wide hips, and sensible shoes. She kept glancing at the front door between her bites of fruit. The seat next to her was empty.

“Brad’s worried she’s cheating on him. Asked me to look into it,” I said to nobody in particular.

“Now’s your chance,” Mrs. Berns said, wiggling her eyebrows at me. She pushed me out of the way so the people behind us could order. “You’re sharing one of those skollebollers with me, right?”

She kept pushing me toward the woman. I had no choices but to speak or look like a stalker.

“Samantha?”

She glanced at me, confusion in her eyes. They were slightly wide-set and a gorgeous deep green. “Yes?”

I held out my hand. “You don’t know me. I’m a friend of Ba—er, Brad’s.”

“Did he tell you to tell me he was going to be late?”

“I haven’t seen him,” I answered honestly. “He’s mentioned you quite a bit lately, though.”

She reached for her coffee cup. “All good, I hope.”

Something about her face made me want to tell the truth. “He thinks you’re cheating on him.”

She did a spit take with her coffee. “Me? Cheating? Why?”

I felt a nudge from behind. “No good reason, really. He said you didn’t post your relationship status on Facebook, and that you don’t seem eager to commit.” I felt stupid saying this out loud, so I stopped.

“You said you’re friends with Brad.”

I nodded.

“Then you know what he’s like. Look, I love him, though I haven’t told him and I won’t. He’s a big child. We’re having fun now, but he’s not husband material, you know?”

It occurred to me that Samantha was around 90 percent smarter than I’d been at her age, or even than I was a year ago, when I’d been dating Brad myself.

Mrs. Berns peeked around my side. “Mrs. Berns,” she said, extending her hand. “Pleased to meet you. Pleased to meet anyone with a head on their shoulders, really. Now, let’s be honest. You’re only with him because he’s good in bed, right?”

“I wish,” Samantha said.

I could vouch for that, as well. Brad subscribed to the McDonald’s model of sex: quick and unvaried. “So no cheating?” I asked.

“I don’t cheat,” she said simply. “If I want someone else, then it’s time to stop dating the person I’m dating.”

I was beginning to think I needed this woman as a friend. Or a life coach. “Thanks,” I said. “I’ll tell Brad to stop worrying.”

“How about I tell him myself?”

I smiled. “An even better plan.”

I let Mrs. Berns guide me out the door, where she pinched one of my skollebollers. We parted ways, her promising to meet me at the end of my library shift. I told her I’d believe it when I saw it. I drove the mile to the library, sipping my creamy, cinnamony coffee as I steered through the quaint streets of downtown Battle Lake. Except for the crazy spate of crimes that seemed all connected to me, it was a wonderful place to live, I mused. I held that thought as I unlocked the library, fired up the computers, and nibbled my cardamom-scented skolleboller, promising myself that I’d learn how to bake them at home so I could eat them in herds.

The library crowd was steady, and the day passed in a pleasant drift of helping people find books, cleaning up the library’s computer files, and walking the shelves. I skipped lunch out of deference to my shrinking pants and instead used the time to type a report on Eric Offerdahl. I no longer cared why Litchfield wanted to find him, or for that matter, about Eric Offerdahl at all. I was washing my hands of the whole deal. Tonight, I would treasure hunt for Taunita. The police could worry about the baddies.

By the time Mrs. Berns showed up at the end of my shift, I was actually happy to see her. Frankly, breaking into huge, haunted mansions at night is a lonely business. Plus, she offered to spring for dinner at the Turtle Stew beforehand. I drove, and we were seated in a booth near the front windows. We both knew what we wanted, and the food arrived quickly.

“What exactly is the plan?” She grabbed the pepper from my hand to douse her plate of gravy-covered mashed potatoes and meat loaf.

I snatched it back to finish peppering my French fries. “We find an unlocked window, sneak in, grab the gun, fish out whatever is in the barrel, and sneak out. No harm, no foul.”

“Your plan rests on an unlocked window? In January?”

“You have a better idea?”

“Since you ask … ”

“What?”

“You promise you’re not going to ditch me after I share my secret?”

I stole a forkful of mashed potatoes off her plate. Yum. Homemade. “We’re already committed.”

“My friend Ida is a volunteer at the Prospect House. She said they keep a spare key above the inner doorjamb of the garden shed.”

“You are worth your weight in gold.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

Forty-One

The gravid moon lent
a soft glow to the night. All the lights were off in the Prospect House, but there was still traffic passing by on 78. Even worse, we could hear people playing a pick-up game of hockey near the ice castle on the lake. We had left the Toyota parked in the alley behind the Turtle Stew and walked the mile to the House, ducking into the sparse woods circling it when we were certain no one was looking. We’d crunched through the calf-high snow, and slipped into the shed. The key was not exactly where Mrs. Berns had said it would be, but with her on my shoulders, fumbling around in the dark interior of the shed, we finally located it. Actually, it found us, first plunking onto my head and then hitting the ground.

“Got it!” Mrs. Berns claimed triumphantly when it hit the ground.

I helped her down, rubbing at the spot where the key had hit. My noggin was taking a beating lately.

She scooped up the key, and we turned to consider the house. It seemed to be staring right back at us.

“Eerie, isn’t it?” Mrs. Berns asked. “Those two windows up there look like eyes, and the back door is right between and below them, like a mouth.”

I recalled the little girl’s face in the attic window last Saturday, the heart-shaped face I had filed away as Elizabeth Offerdahl’s ghost. Or my imagination. I punched Mrs. Berns lightly on the arm. “Shut up. I’m already scared enough.”

“Better git your big girl pants on, because we’re doing this.” Unexpectedly, she took off across the driveway separating the shed from the Prospect House, slamming her back against the wood siding when she reached the house. I was surprised she hadn’t attempted a full-body roll on the way over. I wanted to make fun of her, but even more than that, I didn’t want to get caught. I copied her moves.

“Suave,” she said as we stood with our backs against the house, glancing to the right and left for any sign of movement. Only she pronounced it to rhyme with
wave
because that’s how cool we were.

Instead of responding, I crouched, staying low to the ground until I reached the door. The key fit in the lock like a hot knife in butter, and we were standing inside the kitchen in seconds. We caught our breath and let our eyes adjust to the light. I was aware of the clutter, and the shadow-smell of coffee brewed several hours earlier. The silence in the house was so intense that it almost became a sound itself. I’d snooped around and broken into four, maybe five places in the past eight months, all in the name of solving a mystery, but it never felt comfortable. The hyperawareness of knowing you were in a place you weren’t supposed to be looking for stuff that people didn’t want you to find was both exhilarating and terrifying. It gave me an intense urge to pee or giggle.

I clicked on the flashlight and directed the narrow beam to the stairs leading to the basement. “The Civil War stuff is down there.”

“You first.”

I tiptoed to the top of the stairs and shone the flashlight down the steps. The dusty yellow light landed in a lonely circle at the bottom, something about it suggesting ghost fingers and lurking zombies, waiting for someone stupid enough to enter.

“Tell me about your husband,” I whispered. I needed something to distract me.

“What?”

“
You heard me.” I took the first step. Little warning feelers shot like electric bolts down my legs and arms.

“What do you want to know?”

“Did you love him?” I took the second step. Mrs. Berns was so near that I could feel her breath on my neck.

“Sure. Didn’t matter back then, though. He put food on the table. He paid the bills. He didn’t hit me. But he didn’t live life, he worked it. And he drank too much.”

“Your whole marriage?” We were now in the middle of the stairs, halfway between escape and the dungeon. The air felt heavier in front of us.

“You know how when a tree has a good year, lots of water and sunlight, and you can see huge growth when you look at its rings? It’s the opposite with people. We grow more in our bad years. I grew a lot married to Harold.”

Harold. Harold Berns. I took another step. Fear crawled across my skin like newly hatched spiders. Any number of horrors awaited us below, among the dusty relics of long-dead soldiers. Maybe, just maybe, something that would also help Taunita was down there, too. “Do you miss him?”

“I paid my dues. That was the past. Now, I live in the moment. It’s the only way to be.” She coughed, and I jumped.

“Do you hear that?” I asked.

“What?”

I stopped. Behind her cough, I thought I’d heard a moan. It must have been the wind, yet I couldn’t stop the chilly sweat gathering at the base of my spine. We were now at the bottom of the stairs, large tables standing sentry on each side of the landing. It felt like we were being watched by a hundred leering eyes. I risked panning the room with a flashlight so we could get our bearings. It lit across uniforms in glass, bayonets, guns, and—

Could it be?

I brought the light back to what had grabbed my attention, my heartbeat thick and terrified.

It was.

On the far side of the room, a little girl, staring solemnly at Mrs. Berns and me.

I screamed and dropped the flashlight.

Forty-Two

“What?”

“I saw a face! We’re not alone.” I fought the urge to charge back up the stairs only because Mrs. Berns was blocking my exit. I snatched the flashlight from the floor, brandishing it like a weapon. That’s when I noticed the face was also pointing a flashlight back at me.

It was a mirror.

“Holy crap,” I said, gathering my heart from my throat. “I thought it was a ghost. It’s just my reflection.”

Mrs. Berns cackled and took the flashlight from me. “I don’t think you are equipped to handle this dangerous tool. Now where’s the damn gun? This place gives me the willies.”

We held hands and shuffled over to the table where Carter had shown me the musket. I was relieved to discover it lying exactly where he’d set it down. I glanced over my shoulder, still nervous about the mirror, but the space behind us was a dull blank surface.

“Shine the light in its barrel.”

Mrs. Berns complied. “I see it! It looks like rolled-up paper.”

“Grab me that poker,” I said, pointing at a thin metal pole behind her. With its cool metal in my hand, I began fishing inside the barrel of the gun, but my efforts just pushed the paper farther away from us. This wasn’t going to work. “Dangit. We have to take this gun apart.”

“Don’t look at me. I fire ’em, I don’t build ’em.”

I held the butt with my left hand and cradled the barrel in the nook of my right arm. “Well then, it looks like it’s coming with us. We’ll find someone who knows guns, have them help us remove the paper without hurting it, and return it before Carter even knows it’s missing.” That’s what I hoped, anyhow.

Rather than question my illegal and ethically murky executive decision, Mrs. Berns led the way toward the stairs, flashing the light in a steady stream. I kept my eyes trained away from the mirror, and we moved as a single shuffling beast. We were nearly to the base of the stairs when something caught her eye. She stepped over to a table to the left of the stairwell.

“Look at these!” She took her mittens off and set them on a nearby counter.

“Keep your mittens on! We don’t want to leave fingerprints.”

She snorted. “This is Otter Tail County, not the Big Apple. Besides, there’s got to be a million fingerprints around here.” She held up a brilliant blue teardrop necklace. The direct beam of the flashlight made it sparkle like a thousand sapphires.

“Do you think it’s real?”

I couldn’t take my eyes off of it. The main teardrop was the size of a dime, and the chain of the necklace was dripping with pearl-sized blue beads. “Probably crystal,” I said, hypnotized. “I wonder what it’s doing in the basement with the Civil War stuff?

A scraping sound drew our attention, a low, quiet noise on the floor above. It was short, happening so quickly that it might not have happened at all.

“Did you hear that?” I whispered hoarsely.

Mrs. Berns placed the necklace back on the table, clicked off the flashlight, and grabbed my elbow. “Sounded like a one-legged, worm-eyed pirate come to steal our souls.”

If my hands were free, I would have hit her. “Let’s get out of here.”

I didn’t need to tell her twice. We speed-shuffled toward where we thought the steps were, and took them quickly, moving toward the lighter patch of darkness that outlined the ground floor landing above. Even our hair was on high alert, quivering, as we strained to hear any more sounds. We tried to be as quiet as we could, but fear made us clumsy. Mrs. Berns dropped the flashlight, and then I bumped the gun against the wall trying to help her find it. Finally, though, we reached the top of the stairs. We didn’t dare turn the flashlight back on. We’d already made enough noise.

Despite our bumbling, we made it to the back door and locked it behind us, breathing in deep, fresh gulps of winter air. I let my heartbeat slow to a steady pace, infinitely grateful to be out of the house and to have the musket in hand. I tiptoed across the packed snow to return the key to its hidey spot, Mrs. Berns right behind me.

“I didn’t know Carter had dolls in his collection,” Mrs. Berns said, breaking the silence marked only by our feet crunching in the snow. My ears were attuned to the potential sound of cars passing.

We reached the shed. “I don’t think he does.” I grunted as I reached up to tuck the key.

She hitched her thumb toward the house. “Didn’t you see that girl doll on the island in the middle of the kitchen on our way out? Looked like she was floating in the moonlight. Creepy. Why people want big old dolls is beyond me.”

My blood froze. “There was no doll on the island when we went in.”

We swiveled our heads to stare at each other, our faces a perfect
replica of fear. When our eyes locked, we squealed and ran, not
slowing until we reached my car.