The Murder in Skoghall (Illustrated) (The Skoghall Mystery Series Book 1) (5 page)

She’d calculated how many months she could live off her divorce settlement before she would need a new job. She had been optimistic about the low cost of living in Skoghall, not fully realizing how far she’d have to travel to pick up anything. And she had planned to spend some money on home maintenance and repairs, but things were adding up quicker than she’d expected. Jess had been naive and optimistic when she sunk her entire divorce settlement into this house, leaving her without any real financial cushion. And now, confronted by the reality of her situation, she had to maintain a naive and optimistic outlook about writing and publishing a book that would sell enough to support her and a growing dog.

Shakti ran into the room full speed, ears flapping, and didn’t stop until she crashed into Jess’s legs. “What’s that about?” Jess set the trembling puppy on her lap. “Hey now. It’s all right, Bear.” She kissed Shakti’s head and smoothed her fur over her shoulders. Shakti stopped shaking and lifted her chin to lick Jess. “Thank you. Mama needs a kiss.” She looked into the hallway, then mentally walked through the house—doors were locked, windows were closed. She hadn’t heard anything strange. Shakti probably tripped over her own shadow. Jess let Shakti curl up on her lap and opened her mail. “Dear Chandra,” she typed.

While Jess tapped away, detailing her life so far, Shakti snored, occasionally whimpering and paddling her little feet. At about fifteen pounds, Jess’s legs ached under Shakti’s weight by the time she finished the email. She put her hand on her mouse and just as she was about to click send, her screen went black.

“What the hell?” She pushed her mouse around. Nothing. She pushed the power button on her computer. Still nothing. The limits of Jess’s technical expertise had been reached. She closed her computer to see if it would reset itself and looked out the window. The treetops surrounding her property were dense with spring’s canopy. Stands of birch, striking an elegant contrast with their white and black bark, stood interposed with the dark trunks of maple, ash, and oak. Among the ground cover was a plentitude of green berries, unfurling fiddleheads, and sun-hungry new leaves. The color at the edge of the forest quickly vanished in dense shadows and recessed pathways long fallen into disuse, except by the critters native to the woods. It seemed to Jess that the woods were encroaching on her yard, willfully closing in on her. 

She shook her head and shifted her attention to the smokehouse beyond the sugar maple. The high sun practically bleached the brick-face, the only shadow a black swath under the conical roof’s overhang. Jess shivered, though she wasn’t cold. She set the groggy puppy down and watched as Shakti stretched herself into the down dog yoga pose with her forearms on the floor and her butt up in the air. She yawned and lowered her rump, content to continue her nap. Jess stepped over her and stretched herself, reaching for the ceiling as she walked to the front door. Shakti roused herself to follow.

The screen door slapped shut before Shakti made it outside and she barked, a throaty woof. “You do have a bark!” Jess exclaimed. She was starting to wonder if Shakti would ever find her voice, if maybe barking was learned from other dogs. Jess opened the door, beaming as though her baby had just said mama. They walked out into the yard, and Jess wandered over to the smokehouse. The wood-slat door had an old, rusted latch and ring for use with a padlock. She scratched at the rust with a fingernail, then pulled the door open.

The inside was streaked black with smoke residue. Jess had never been inside, opting only to peer briefly through the door when her realtor gave her the tour of the property. She stepped over the doorsill, which was a good six inches above the ground. Unbeknownst to her, the floor of the smokehouse was dug down another six inches into the earth. As Jess’s front foot plummeted, her back foot tripped over the brick sill and she landed on her knees and palms inside the smokehouse. She gasped in pain as her right knee struck something sharp. Jess rolled back to sit on the dirt floor, gripping her knee and rocking as she cursed through gritted teeth. Shakti yipped and Jess looked back to see her standing, front paws up on the bricks, her ears held out, those fuzzy caterpillar eyebrows raised in concern. “I’m all right,” she said, forcing a cheerful tone of voice. She grabbed the broken corner of a brick and threw it against the wall before inspecting her knee. The brick had pushed back some of her skin and she could tell the bruise under the bloody scrape was going to be deep. She grunted as she stood up, and her knee buckled. Jess cursed again, then looked at Shakti, feeling a little guilty.  She shook her head as she reached over to scratch the puppy’s ears and further reassure her everything was all right. “Oh, my God. I need some human company.”

Since she was there, Jess paused to examine her smokehouse. The structure was nine or ten feet in diameter with wooden beams overhead where the roof and wall met. The parlor stove, designed to heat a smaller room in a house, was set on a hearth of loose bricks to keep it level and off the ground. The walls were scorched as black as the door, especially behind the stove where the short pipe opened onto the bricks. All it took to make a smokehouse, it seemed, was smoke in an enclosed space. Jess wanted a closer look at the stove. It might serve her well inside the house. She reached out to open its iron door, and as she stooped forward, the image of a raw, pink torso hanging from the wooden beams flashed before her. Jess gasped and reeled backwards. Trying to keep her weight off her injured knee, she stumbled and found herself with both palms pressed to the sooty wall for support. Jess  put a hand to her heart and felt it thumping wildly. Regaining control of herself, she turned and used the door frame to haul herself over the high sill, gasping again when pain shot through her knee.

Jess limped back to the house, glad Shakti could make it up the porch steps on her own. Having gone vegetarian when she was a teenager, the image of the pink torso—a hog, she assumed—struck her as particularly gruesome. It was well and good for other people, but she didn’t want any part of it. Jess wondered if the energy of the slaughter was stuck to the smokehouse, like some ghostly imprint, and she had second thoughts about moving the stove into her office.

Second thoughts, perhaps, but not third. She really wanted the stove.

The first aid kit was under the bathroom sink upstairs. When Jess straightened up, kit in hand, she caught sight of her reflection. Her shirt bore a smudged black hand print right over her heart. Jess grumbled as she peeled it off and put on a fresh t-shirt. For the first time since moving, she also put on some mascara and lip gloss.

Jess called Shakti into the living room and gave the command, “Kennel.” Shakti backed away from Jess, then turned tail and ran into the music room. “Shakti? Come on, girl.” Jess shook the box of dog cookies, which usually brought the puppy running, but not this time.

She closed the front door to the sound of Shakti’s whines.

Jess took a table near a window where she could look into the garden. April had not been a particularly rainy month, and the water wheel turned lazily if at all. A blue jay shouted its
squaw!
squaw!
from a tree branch over the spring, then swooped to the ground under a feeder where small sparrows were contentedly perched, pecking at the seed. A young woman with pale blonde hair pulled up onto her head and pinned into a loose fan-shaped bun slid a menu onto the table in front of Jess, though her gaze was turned out the window. Across from them, a young man stood outside the ice cream parlor, leaning against the porch rail, smoking a cigarette. Jess made a disapproving face.

“I know, right?”

She looked at her server, surprised by the sudden remark.

“I mean, that’s an ice cream parlor. That’s the first place people with kids go, and he’s out there smoking.” She shook her head. Her name tag said Denise. Denise wore a shear white blouse with large red polka dots over a camisole. At her neck she’d tied a scarf, also polka-dotted, only these were smaller and navy blue. Her thick-rimmed glasses reminded Jess of Buddy Holly. Denise’s lipstick matched the red polka dots on her blouse, which was an unfortunate choice against her extremely pale skin. A short, pocketed apron covered the front of a pair of skinny jeans. Or jeggings. Jess didn’t know the difference.

“Do you know him?”

“Yeah. That’s my boyfriend, Bruce. Total jerk, but he’s my jerk,” Denise said with a bounce to her voice. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“Do you live in Skoghall?” Jess asked when Denise brought her iced tea to the table.

Denise stopped moving for a moment, as though she had to think how best to answer. “Naw. I’m from Bay City, which is only slightly less hick than this. Bruce and I both got jobs in Skoghall so we can carpool and stuff.”

“Even though he’s a jerk?”

Denise smiled wryly. “Yeah. Even though."

“Is Tyler here? Would you tell him Jess, the ruh-writer, says thank you for the housewarming gift?” Tyler had sent her home with a nice cabernet after their impromptu dinner.

Denise raised one penciled eyebrow above the rim of her glasses—an impressive feat given the thickness of those rims.

“And I’ll have the spinach omelet.” Jess held her menu toward Denise.

Denise slid her order pad into an apron pocket and took the menu. “Omelet,” she said and turned on her heels.

Jess took a small notebook out of her purse and worked on her list of many things. She added “bird feeders” to the paper as a pair of cardinals joined the chickadees in the garden. When Tyler came out from the kitchen, Jess was lost in thought, gazing out the window with the end of her pen in her mouth. She didn’t realize she was being watched until Tyler stood beside the table, smiling down at her, her plate in one hand and silverware in the other.

“Hi.” He set the plate before her. “Can I join you?”

“Please.” Jess unrolled her silverware. “This looks delicious.”

“Wait until you taste it.” He winked. “Flattering the chef will only get you dessert.”

“I love your hair. You’re looking sharp today. What a nice place you have…”

Tyler laughed and mugged for Jess, sticking out his chin and turning his profile to her. “Got a sweet tooth, do you?”

“Chocolate is the way to my heart.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Jess’s cheeks colored. It seemed forever since anyone had flirted with her. She tucked her hair behind her ears and picked up her fork. Tyler was still smiling, his interest apparent, and Jess felt like a teenager swelling with nervous excitement. She had to say something before she popped from embarrassment. “What do you do when it’s this quiet?” She gestured with her fork toward the otherwise empty dining room.

“Today, I am perfecting my crepes. Pretty soon things will pick up for the season. Come mid-May, the college kids start coming home. Then in June all the schools let out. The River Road is happening Thursday through Monday. People roll into town, hungry from hiking up bluffs, or touring the Little House on the Prairie, or posing with an eagle over at the raptor center.”

“I’ve done all of those things. I didn’t realize I’m such a tourist.”

“It’s what keeps a village like this on the map, so don’t think I’m putting it down.” Tyler waved Denise over to the table. “Do you want anything else?” Jess shook her head. “Grab me an iced tea.”

Tyler watched Jess eat until his drink came. “Thanks,” he said to Denise. “Are we set up for the dinner service?”

“Working on it.” Denise returned to the back of the café and her task of rolling silverware into napkins, filling condiments, and other prep work.

“She’s a good kid,” Tyler said. “Funny dresser.”

Jess laughed when she wasn’t expecting to. She covered her mouth with her napkin and coughed to clear her throat, then took a drink of her iced tea. “Oh gosh. I was thinking the same thing when I first saw her.”

Tyler ran his hand through his hair, again exposing the scar on his head. Jess had the urge to ask him if it still hurt, but stopped herself just before the words popped out of her mouth. “How’s the old homestead?” he asked.

“Good.” Jess glanced out the window at the cardinal perched on the shepherd’s hook and felt like she’d just been caught in a lie. “It’s good. There’s a lot to do. I’ve been at it for over two weeks now, and I guess I got a little lonely. I’m so used to the city, people everywhere. You know?”

Tyler reached across the table and took up Jess’s notebook and pen. He opened it to a blank page and wrote something. “No need to feel lonely. Just give me a call when you want to get out. Or if you need help with something. If I’m not busy here, I’m usually free.”

“Right. The new kids.”

“The new kids.” Tyler raised his iced tea glass and Jess clinked hers with his.

They talked until a family of five came into the café and Tyler had to go back to his role as chef. When Jess asked for her check, Denise told her there was no charge. Flattered, she tipped the girl generously, although Denise’s boss had actually served her meal. On her way out, she looked back through the kitchen door, hoping to say thank you, but Tyler was focused on layering toppings on a pizza. He wore his apron again and his dark hair was tucked under a cap with a swirling red pattern that, unfortunately, made his scar appear even brighter. Jess realized she’d been watching him, his hands deftly dancing across his work area, for longer than seemed reasonable. She left without catching Tyler’s eye, his phone number tucked in her purse, and a deepening appreciation for his skill as a chef.

“Hello,” Jess said as she entered Skoghall Hardware.

Beckett was kneeling before a drinks cooler, one hand holding the door open while his other arm was seemingly being eaten by the fridge. A case of bottled drinks sat on the floor beside him. “Got it,” he said and extracted his arm. He held a bottle of orange juice. “Sometimes they fall over at the back. Oh, it’s you.” He looked at Jess before rising to his feet. His hair swung freely, its blunt ends just long enough to reach his chin. Beckett offered her the orange juice.

“No, thanks.”