The Murder in Skoghall (Illustrated) (The Skoghall Mystery Series Book 1) (8 page)

“Would you like a cup of coffee before we go? Or I have travel mugs. Are you on a schedule?” Her neck felt warm and prickly as she became self-consciously aware that Tyler would be the first person to enter her house—other than the phone guy.

“I have the whole day.” He smiled. “A cup of coffee would be great.”

Jess held the screen door open for him. Shakti had to back out of the vestibule to grant them entrance, her tail wagging until she bumped into the wall. When Tyler stooped to pat her head, she ducked away from his hand. Jess gave Tyler a tour of the main floor, ending in the kitchen. She set out two mugs and ground fresh beans.

“A connoisseur, I see.”

“I doubt that, but I like it fresh.” Jess smiled, dipping her eyes in deference to his expertise. “I’m sure you know more than I do, being a chef.”

Tyler leaned comfortably against the farm table, his thighs filling his jeans. “I used to drink a lot of gut-rot. You wouldn’t believe some of the stuff people put up with.”

“Really? Where did you have to put up with gut rot?”

He shifted his weight and pushed his hand over his brow, smoothing his dark hair away from his face. The pink scar near his hairline showed briefly before a wave of hair covered it again. “Oh, you know, in my youth.” His smile seemed pinched at the corners. Jess turned away to put water in the kettle. “My dad drank Folgers. I thought the big red can was coffee, you know?” he said to her back.

Jess nodded, encouraging him.

“I like to learn about the things I’m serving people, whether it’s a cup of coffee or a raspberry crepe with chocolate sauce.”

“Oh, I think my stomach just growled at the mention of that.”

“That’s right,” he grinned, “you have a sweet tooth.” Jess noted that he seemed more comfortable when they were talking about her, an unusual enough trait that she wondered if it would last.

They carried a couple of Jess’s chairs onto the front porch and had their coffee outside while Shakti ran and tumbled in the yard.

“About her,” Jess nodded to the puppy. “I can only crate her for three, maybe four, hours. Last time I crated her it wasn’t that long, but she peed in the crate. I think she was scared.” Tyler looked doubtful, but didn’t say anything. Jess wondered if she sounded like a new mother fretting over nothing. “New house, all alone,” she offered. “Anyway, even if she’s not scared, she’ll have to be let out within four hours.”

“Why don’t you put something comforting in the crate this time? A blanket or one of your sweatshirts,” he suggested.

“I will. Thanks.”

They finished their coffee in quiet. They had several hours to figure out what to say to each other, and Jess was grateful Tyler wasn’t the type of person who needed a constant dialogue.

She had picked up copies of a few River Road brochures last time she was in Bay City and scanned them for antique dealers, marking a few promising locations on the maps. They headed south and Tyler started one of The Decemberists’ albums as they got on their way. Jess smiled inwardly. It was a safe bet since she had commented on his t-shirt when they first met. Their first stop was a small storefront in Pepin that was really just a junk shop. Jess roved through the aisles quickly, finding nothing that inspired her. They left in a hurry.

“Boy, you don’t browse, do you?” Tyler said when they reached his truck.

“Not today. I’m on a mission and have a schedule.” She slid into the cab next to Tyler. “Do you mind? Did you want to spend more time in there?”

“I’m along for the company, not the shopping.”

Jess felt her cheeks warm. “Well,” she said, “just let me know if I’m going too fast.” Tyler’s lips curled up, but he didn’t answer. She studied his profile as he watched the curves and bends of the River Road. Tyler’s nose had a blunt tip and shallow profile. He had shaved, even though it was his day off, and he wore a short-sleeved woven shirt with a collar. It was deep orange, and in the bright light of summer, it set off his skin with a warm glow. Jess had worn jeans and a t-shirt and pulled her hair back into a short braid, keeping it strictly casual. She had, however, put on a touch of make-up.

Following one of the brochure maps, they took a county road away from the Mississippi, cutting through the bluffs and into the farmlands of western Wisconsin. The low fields were dotted with farm equipment, mostly the rolling sprinklers that reminded Jess of something her brother would have made out of his Lincoln Logs, fitting the wooden sticks into the Honeycomb-like wheels, shaping a series of connected triangles. Jason’s creations always seemed so pointless, but today she saw the glimmer of invention in child’s play. She had little contact with her brother since they left their parents’ house over a decade before. He was a merchant marine, driving oil tankers around the Gulf of Mexico—at least that was the extent of her knowledge about her brother’s life. She turned to Tyler to share her thoughts about toys and invention and found him looking at her. He did not look away when she caught him staring, but instead smiled and the corners of his dark eyes softened. Jess returned the smile. “The road is out there,” she said, pointing over the dashboard.

“I don’t suppose it would do to crash on our first date.”

Jess blushed. This time there was no chance Tyler missed the pink glow. She rubbed her palms over her cheeks and pushed her fingers into her hair as though she could smooth the color up and away from her face. “Is this a date?”

“I hope so.”

The next turn-off was marked by a rain-battered wooden sign stuck in the ground. The word “antiques” was still barely legible. “Do you think they’re open?” she asked, glad to change the subject.

“We’ve come this far, let’s find out.” Tyler turned down a long gravel road flanked on both sides by fields.

Jess looked up through the windshield toward the sky. An expanse of cloudless bright blue met her gaze, like a canvas waiting for a touch of paint. As if cued, a large bird soared into Jess’s field of vision. “Look, an eagle! I think.”

Tyler leaned up close to the steering wheel and followed Jess’s pointing finger into the sky. “That’s a vulture,” he said. “Look at the underwings. The fingers are grayish white.”

The sound of gravel spitting around the road, pinging off the truck’s undercarriage, raised the volume in the cab, and Jess had to shout over both the music and the road noise. “Oh. Is that how you can tell the difference?” Tyler turned off the music, and Jess was relieved to have one less layer of sound in the cab with them.

“One of them,” he said. “The turkey vultures have red heads.”

Jess watched the vulture soar until they passed underneath it. A rock pinged off the door beside her. “Crepes and now birds,” she said. “I’m impressed, Tyler.”

He shrugged. “I grew up in the boondocks, lots of fields outside of town and lots of vultures.”

Jess looked at Tyler with acute interest—a country boy. “Let me guess. You were the high school quarterback, drove a muscle car, and dated the head cheerleader.”

Tyler laughed. “It sounds so cliché to hear it put like that.”

“From quarterback to restaurateur, that must be an interesting journey.”

“Not really,” he shrugged. “I did stupid shit for a few years, then got my head straightened out and went to trade school. I studied small business management and cooking. How about you?”

“Me?” The conversation had been redirected so suddenly, Jess had to catch up to it. “I studied anthropology at a liberal arts college, then wound up in data analysis, the world’s most boring profession.”

“Then it’s good you’re a ruh-writer now.” He looked over his shoulder at Jess, a teasing grin on his face. “How’s the writing going?”

“So far, it’s not. I’ve been too busy settling in. I’ll start working tomorrow.”

“Oh no.” Tyler’s face had gone serious, all levity removed and his wisest counsel coming. “Start today. I wasted too much time telling myself I’d get to something tomorrow.”

“Point taken.”

Another weathered sign appeared at the edge of a drive. Tyler turned down the drive, and the truck bounced along, dipping with the road.

Jess bounced on the seat when they hit a large rut. “This is worse than mine.”

The drive led past a tree break and up to an old clapboard house with a large equipment shed behind it. The shed appeared in better condition than the house, though neither was faring well. Old farm equipment littered the side yard, rusted derelicts with mean looking hooks, turbines, and tires as tall as a man. Jess glimpsed a pick up truck that had to be from the 1950s sitting on its axels, a fender lying beside it in the dirt, tucked between a combine and tractor. Tyler climbed out of his truck slowly, surveying the property with suspicion. Jess hopped out and went up to the front door.

She pulled the screen door open and knocked. The house paint had peeled in great dingy scabs, the old boards underneath exposed, rot visible behind the flakes of once white paint. Jess tried to get a look through the lace curtains that covered the filthy front windows. She was curious how this house compared to hers, if the front room had a mantle as lovely, if the doorknobs were porcelain or had brass faceplates. If the place were abandoned it would be worth stripping. Jess was wondering how one found out about abandoned and condemned buildings when she heard the doorknob turning. She straightened up and put a smile on her face, preparing to meet her antique dealer with optimism and cheer. She couldn’t help a glance over her shoulder at Tyler, who finally left the side of his truck.

A bent old man stood inside the doorway with his shirt buttoned up to the collar and the sleeves secured at the cuffs. He held up his wool pants with suspenders. The only sign he was comfortable at home: the plaid slippers on his shuffling feet. His sparse gray hair lay against his head as though he had rubbed too much pomade into it, though more likely, Jess thought, he hadn’t washed it in weeks. “Well?”

“Hello,” Jess said. Tyler arrived beside her and took hold of her hand. “We saw the signs for antiques. Do you have any we could look at?”

The old man moved his jaw from side to side, considering the request or maybe just preparing his mouth to speak, like exercising a seldom-used hinge. His eyes were surprisingly bright, shining from the folds of a face as weathered as the house. “Take a look in the shed.” He gestured weakly toward the yard and smacked his lips together.

Jess thanked him and gave Tyler’s hand an excited squeeze. When they got around the side of the house, she looked back and saw the old man standing in a side window behind a parted curtain. “It must be hard for him,” she said.

“Why?”

“Because he’s way out in the country and all alone. Look at this place. It’s a wreck. I doubt he has anyone to take care of him.”

“Or, he has two giant sons with masks and chainsaws waiting for us in the shed.”

Jess stopped walking and looked at Tyler, her head cocked, hands on her hips. “That’s not funny.”

“I’m sorry. I’ve seen too many horrors. I don’t mean it.”

He reached out and took Jess’s hands in his and shook them. “Come on,” Tyler coaxed. “I’m sorry.”

“I was really excited and now I’m creeped out.”

“I said I’m sorry.”

“I know. Let’s go find something amazing.” She forced a bright smile to show Tyler she wasn’t upset anymore. It was a trick she had learned from her yoga teacher in Minneapolis: fake it until you make it. Pretend you’re happy and your mood will lift. Pretend you’re brave and you’ll feel brave. It had helped her through some dark days over the past year. Jess tugged Tyler’s hands and started them walking toward the shed again. He glanced into the tangle of machinery more than once as though he was looking for the chainsaw wielding psychopaths. Jess decided he had creeped himself out, too.

The shed had a large hinged door on the front that swung open with a creak. Tyler found the light switch and flipped it. Several of the ceiling bulbs were burnt out. There were all kinds of things stacked one on top of another, and if there had ever been an organization scheme, it was long since abandoned. 

“Damn,” Tyler breathed. “This is crazy.”

“I know. Isn’t it great?” Jess gripped Tyler’s shoulder with excitement. “I just know there’s treasure buried in here. I bet that old man doesn’t even know what he has.”

“I doubt anyone’s been in here for a few years. Look at the dust on everything.”

“Yeah, we’ll have to neti after this for sure.”

“Neti?”

“Run water through our nostrils to wash out all the dirt.” Jess moved into the shed, picking her way through crates stuffed with magazines and newspapers.

“You’re kidding, right?”

She chuckled. “I can show you how.” Jess made her way down a narrow aisle, heading for the heart of the shed. A blade on a rusted hand tiller caught at her pant leg as she squeezed by. She’d have to be careful or she’d be getting a tetanus shot this afternoon. A rustling startled Jess and she looked up as she ducked. Two barn swallows swooped low, then circled, their forked tails closing and opening as they banked inside the shed before buzzing Tyler on their way out the door.

“Shit!” He ducked as they shot past his head. As he straightened up again, he took a hand away from his hip pocket slowly, then made a fist and shook it out. He pushed his hands through his hair, momentarily exposing the scar.

“You okay?”

“Sure. I just don’t like to be startled.”

Jess nodded, a little surprised someone who grew up in the country was so rattled by a couple of swallows. She turned her gaze back to the ceiling. The birds had done her a favor, calling her attention overhead. A pair of rocking chairs hung upside down, strapped to the rafters with bungee cords. They appeared in excellent condition. “Tyler!” she shouted.

He flinched. “I said I don’t like to be startled.”

“I’m sorry. Look.” She pointed at the rockers. “I found the first treasure.”

Tyler picked his way through the narrow aisle to where Jess stood and looked. “Those swallows are going to be pissed.”

“Why?”

He pointed into a shadow between the two chairs. “That’s their nest.”

They found a ladder leaning against the wall behind a cart full of old toasting racks, waffle irons, and a blender. It took them ten minutes to clear a path to the ladder, but Jess remained determined. She held the ladder while Tyler climbed. First, he removed the nest and handed it down. Jess looked inside—no eggs—and set it gently atop a stack of old Sears catalogues. Tyler freed one chair and held it overhead as he backed down the ladder, giving Jess the opportunity to admire his flexed shoulders and biceps. There wasn’t enough room to set the chair down, so he carried it all the way outside, then came back for the second one.