Ann stared down at the table, deep in thought. All those things she thought she'd dealt with were coming back to the surface. The things she'd worked so hard to get beyond were creeping out of the dark recesses of her mind where she'd so carefully packed them away. The agony over not being able to have children; the painful deaths of close family members; her estrangement from her mother. She had a blinding realization that the experts she'd privately scoffed at were right. These excruciating things never truly went away, as she had been so cavalier to think. She could pack them up and send them back to their designated tombs in her subconscious. She could get them back into places where she could talk about them apathetically. But it was devastatingly obvious that any significant emotional event in her life could trigger their return. Lark interrupted Ann's reverie to tell her that he didn't have any more questions.
“When will you know how long the second person has been dead?” Ann asked. “I just can't get that snowmobile we heard on Saturday night out of my mind. What was it doing in the marsh without headlights? Either someone was picking up a deer they poached or dropping off that body. If that person was still alive when she was dumped, it's going to be very hard for me to live with the fact we may have let someone die.” A tear trickled down Ann's face.
“Is that what you're upset about?” Lark asked.
“Mostly.” She reached for a tissue. “Let's not talk about this anymore,” she said, wiping her eyes as she got up.
“Ann, wait a minute,” Lark said, stepping in front of her. “I doubt there was anything you could have done and you might have gotten hurt if you'd gone out in the marsh after that snowmobile.”
Ann listened, staring silently over his shoulder.
“I'll let you know what the autopsy says about the time of death.” She nodded and he stepped out of her way.
John met them in the kitchen. He asked Lark and Paul to stick around and have a snack. Paul quickly accepted and Lark agreed to stay for a few minutes before going to check on the progress of the crime scene team.
Ann went upstairs to pull herself together. Twenty minutes later she was back downstairs after a modestly successful makeup repair. John had stoked up the fire and she was just settling down on the sofa with some cookies and a mug of hot chocolate when the doorbell rang.
“For chrissakes, what is this, Grand Central Station?” John asked as he went to answer the door. He returned to tell Ann that Betty Chevsky wanted to speak with her. Ann squared her shoulders and headed into the living room.
Betty was sitting in one of the navy blue wingback chairs in front of the living room windows. Ann was used to seeing her in a blue housekeeper's uniform. Tonight, she was wearing a neat, dark green skirt and matching sweater. Her black purse was perched on top of her knees and she clutched the top of it with both hands. Ann sat down on the sofa across from her, noting that the front-porch lights were on and big, fat snowflakes were coming down.
“Betty, what brings you out on a night like this? Can I get you some coffee or something to warm you up?”
“No, thank you,” she said, staring up at the wall behind Ann. “That's a beautiful quilt.” Sixteen angels in various shades of red were appliquéd on light blue plaid blocks. Betty's eyes shifted to the red, white, and navy Log Cabin quilt that hung over the other sofa.
“Log Cabin is my favorite pattern. I made me one just like it. I mean, not just like that one,” she stammered, “not them same colors, but that same pattern.”
“Thank you. These were my quilting projects for the last two years,” Ann said, watching surprise cross Betty's face. People who only knew her from work never dreamed she quilted.
“I can't believe all your carnival glass. I have some of my mother's.” Betty's eyes darted between the two corner cupboards. She continued to cling to her purse like it was a lifeline and she was drowning.
“My grandmother gave me my first piece and I've loved it ever
since,” Ann said, studying Betty's weary face, trying to figure out why she had come.
Betty leaned forward and stared down at the carpet. “Mrs. Ranson, I got to talk to you about my husband. Lonnie didn't mean no harm. I like working at the hospital and I don't mind the night shift'cause I get more money.”
“I'm glad you like your job.”
“I told Lonnie you made me go to nights so he wouldn't make me go off'em.” She glanced up at Ann and rushed on. “I don't know why he said I don't like you. That ain't true. I never said it. I don't understand what you're doin' at the hospital, but none of us want it to close'cause then we wouldn't have no jobs or insurance.” She continued to study the carpet. “Lonnie was drunk today and he shouldn't have been hunting on your property. I'm begging you not to press charges against him.” She looked up at Ann with tears in the corners of her eyes.
“There must be some mistake, we haven't pressed charges,” Ann said, although she vaguely remembered someone telling her the Chevskys had been taken to jail. “Just a minute, the sheriff's here. I'll ask him what's going on.” Ann got up.
Betty jumped up and reached out her hand to stop Ann. “Oh, no, Mrs. Ranson. I'd better be going if the sheriff's here. I don't want no trouble, I just come to ask for your help.” She scurried over to the door and picked up one of her boots.
Ann put her hand on Betty's arm. “You're not going to have any trouble. This is obviously very important if you drove all the way out here. Let me get Sheriff Swenson so we can figure it out.” Reluctantly, Betty went back in the living room and sat down. Ann went around the corner to get the sheriff.
“That's Lonnie Chevsky's wife. She's begging me not to press charges and I told her we haven't,” Ann said, looking from John to Lark for clarification.
John squirmed around on the sofa. “I asked Lark to press charges after Lonnie made those threats against you. I'm worried about you being out here alone during hunting season with him loose.”
Paul chimed in. “Betty's probably scared to death because Lonnie's beaten her up a couple of times. He's got one hell of a temper.” He glanced over at Ann, gauging her reaction. “I think John's right. He needs to stay in jail and sober up.”
“Do you have any reason to hold him if we don't press charges?” Ann asked Lark.
“Hunting on posted land and drunk and disorderly,” Lark said, looking concerned. “Cutting him loose isn't going to help his wife. In fact, it may be the worst thing you can do for her. He's been drinking for days. He needs to dry out and jail may be his only chance.”
“Betty has good insurance. Maybe we can get him admitted for treatment.”
“Not a chance. This guy doesn't want to quit,” Paul said.
“I don't want to be the reason Betty's husband is in jail,” Ann said. “She's one of our best workers and doesn't deserve this. Besides, the guy didn't hurt me, he just insulted me. I don't want to press charges.”
Lark stood up, scowling and shaking his head. He wagged his finger at John and Ann. “You're making a big mistake, one that Betty may pay for.” Ann felt frustration emanating from him as he followed her into the living room.
Betty stood up, clutching her purse like a shield, when Lark and Ann came into the living room. She listened patiently while Ann introduced Lark and explained how they could get Lonnie admitted for detox.
“Detox is a good idea if Lonnie wants it,” she said. “Otherwise it ain't gonna do him no good. If he don't agree, we'll just have to wait till he's ready.” It was a pity, Ann thought, that Betty wasn't able to use that common sense to extricate herself from this mess before it was too late.
Betty listened politely but shrugged off Ann's concerns about her well-being and hurried to the foyer to put on her boots and coat. She thanked Ann profusely for not putting Lonnie in jail. As she went out the door, she asked if she could bring in some carnival glass for Ann to identify as soon as she came back from vacation.
Lark went to the kitchen to call and release Lonnie to his wife. Ann stood in front of the living room window to make sure Betty got safely out of the driveway. Snow swirled around the departing taillights of Betty's old, beat-up truck. Her brake lights flashed on and off like a Morse code message. Ann prayed silently that she wasn't seeing an early warning SOS and that she hadn't just made a huge mistake.
NOVEMBER 21âTHE CRIME SCENE
“Man oh man, Mrs. Ranson was really upset,” Paul said as he and Lark trudged through the falling snow to Lark's Jeep. “I hate it when women cry. What do you think all that was about?”
Lark smiled at Paul's naïveté. “She wonders if they could have prevented the second death by checking out that snowmobile in the marsh on Saturday night. She told us she cries easily when she's stressed. I can understand that, my wife would have been balling her eyes out over something like this.”
“Do you think either of them had anything to do with this?” Paul asked as they arrived at the Jeep. He brushed snow off the roof and windows with the arm of his coat.
“I don't think so, but we have to check them out anyway,” Lark said, sliding into the car to start the engine and turn on the defrosters. “Before we head back to Big Oak, I want to stop and see how they're doing in the marsh.” He grabbed an ice scraper and slipped back out of the car to clear the windshield.
“Do you normally get this much snow during hunting season?” Lark asked as they got in the Jeep to wait for it to warm up.
“We usually have snow but this is more than usual,” Paul replied. “This winter is going to be a bitch. We'll have a bumper crop of snowmobile accidents, car wrecks, and drunk driving arrests.”
Lark put the Jeep in gear and headed down the driveway. They found the state police vehicles about five hundred feet up the drive. He parked behind two Explorers, one from Mason County and one from the state police parked near a state-owned van. Both state vehicles had empty snowmobile trailers hitched to them. One snowmobile sat by the side of the road. Lark was deciding whether to take it out to the marsh when another snowmobile came roaring out of the woods. It plowed to a stop beside him.
Joel Grenfurth slipped off his helmet and yelled, “Damn, it's colder than a witch's tit in a brass bra.” He climbed off the snowmobile, walked over to Lark, and kicked the tires of one of the Explorers. Dirty brown clumps of snow fell from his boots and the wheel well of the truck. Once his boots were clean he began brushing snow off his clothes and hat.
“For Christ's sake, Joel, you remind me of a dog shaking himself after he gets out of the water.” Lark chuckled, stepping away to avoid his fallout.
“Hey, boss,” Paul yelled, walking over to the still warm snowmobile. “OK if I go see if they need help?”
“Yeah, sure, I'll radio you when I'm ready to leave.”
Joel waved his arm back in the general direction of the Ransons' house. “While you were up in the big house all cozy and warm, us peons were out here freezing our asses off.”
“You're right, Grenfurth,” Lark said, slapping Joel on the back and watching the snow fly like he'd beaten an old dusty rug. “I've got it made. Be sure and remind me to thank you for telling me about this job. It's days like today when I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that with friends like you I don't need enemies.”
“Screw you, too, Swenson.” Joel flicked his thumb back at the house. “They have anything to do with this?”
“I don't think so,” Lark said, crossing his arms and leaning back against the Explorer. “So far their only connection is that they own the property and she found the boot.”
“Both bodies are ready to come out,” Joel said, rubbing his gloved
hands up and down his coat sleeves. “We've done the scene photographs and a preliminary assessment of the areas around the bodies. I don't think we're going to be able to stay out here much longer. My guys are freezing.”
Lark opened the rear car door and grabbed his thermos.
“Once we get the bodies out I say we call off the scene work for tonight. A snowball's got a better chance in hell than we have of getting this area searched in this snowstorm in the dark. Since you don't think there's anyone in danger, we should get a good night's sleep and come out first thing tomorrow.” Joel stopped to take a sip of steaming coffee from Lark's thermos cup. “Sweet mother of God, this coffee is strong enough to strip the enamel off my teeth.”
Lark raised his eyebrows. “Beggars can't be choosers.”
“Did I complain? Shit, it's hot and it's available, what more could any man ask for?”
“Jesus, Grenfurth, that's terrible,” Lark said, getting in the Jeep. “Get in here and warm up while I arrange guards for the night. What can you tell me about the bodies?”
“The most recent body is wearing gray University of Wisconsin-Madison sweatpants and a red UW-Madison sweatshirt. I'm sure you know how well that will narrow it down, since there are forty thousand students on the Madison campus alone and they sell that shit all over. The body looks like it's been out here a few days, but it'll be hard to be exact because of the cold. The coat has a Lands' End label in it and the boots are from L. L. Bean.” Joel paused to sip his coffee.
“Any information about the skeleton?”
“I think it was a woman from the looks of the clothes and the boots, but I could be wrong. She had on gray UWâMadison sweatpants. The word Madison was printed in a different style than the sweats on the other body, in big capital letters down the pants leg. We found a dark blue UWâMadison sweatshirt and a dark green Eddie Bauer jacket. We've only found one of her hands. The mate to the boot you brought me was near the skeleton. It has a Lands' End logo.”
“Did you find any ID?”
“Nope,” Joel said, shaking his head. “But you never know. They both had on those yuppie coats with more pockets than a pro pickpocket could keep straight.”
They looked up to see three snowmobiles, two pulling litters, coming
towards them. “Thank God. Take me someplace with a bar, a bed, and cable TV and I can die a happy man. A shower would be nice, but it isn't required,” Joel said.
After the bodies, evidence, and snowmobiles were loaded and headed south to Wausau, Jim and Paul stayed behind to take the first leg of guard duty. Joel and his partner, Lacey Smith, followed Lark through Big Oak and back out into the country. Fifteen minutes later, they pulled into the garage of a large, two-story log cabin surrounded by woods.
“Damn,” Joel said as he got out of the Explorer. A tall dusk-to-dawn light had illuminated the cabin and the lake beyond it as they drove up. “Mason County must have some budget if you can afford these accommodations for your out-of-town help. I may be sorry I didn't take this job.”
“I hate to burst your bubble but this is my home,” Lark said, helping them with their gear. “There aren't any decent rentals available because of hunting season. Your choices were to stay in a dive, camp at the station, or bunk with me. I don't have cable TV but there is a satellite dish. I've got the alcohol basics and you'll each have your own bed and bathroom. Of course,” Lark said, stopping halfway to the cabin, “if you'd rather sleep at the station I can run you back into town. Last time I checked we only had one person in a cell but it's several hours before last call. The place should be hopping about three A.M.”
“Swenson, you're such an asshole,” Joel said.
Lark unlocked the door from the garage and they stepped into a utility room. They stowed their coats and boots in the closet and Lark showed them to their rooms upstairs. They agreed to meet downstairs when they were unpacked.
Lark changed into fresh jeans and a sweater before going back downstairs. Even in this secluded area, he maintained his nightly house check routine left over from Chicago. He checked the living room and went across the hall to check the bathroom. A right jog off the entrance foyer took him to the hallway that led to his study, the utility room, and the garage. He walked through the hallway that led to the kitchen. The kitchen, dining area, and family room were one big, open, two-story space. The wall facing Logan Lake was mostly glass, and despite the dark, moonless night, it was pulling in a good bit of light from the floodlights on the back of the house.
He lit the fire he'd built in the family room fireplace before he'd left
for work. He was standing in the middle of what passed for his dining room when he heard a door shut overhead. Lacey Smith, Joel's partner, leaned over the upstairs balcony and smiled down at him. She'd changed into jeans and a long, white, loose-fitting sweater. She was about five foot eight with a great figure and masses of long, dark auburn hair that she'd pulled back in a ponytail. She had the fair complexion of most redheads with a dusting of tiny freckles across her nose and sparkling green eyes. She looked very different from the person he'd been briefly introduced to at the scene. Of course, that woman had been wearing a hooded ski parka and a scarf around her face.
“You have a beautiful home,” she said, and he realized he'd been staring at her. “Thanks for letting us stay here.”
“You're welcome,” Lark said, heading into the kitchen. “Did you already have dinner? I ate lunch about three but I'm starving.”
“We had fast food for lunch on our way out of Wausau. Could we order a pizza?” Lacey asked as she came downstairs and wandered into the kitchen.
“Not likely,” Lark said, amused at the thought of someone plowing through all the snow to deliver. “No one delivers way out here.”
“Yeah, life's a bitch living out here in paradise,” Joel said as he trotted downstairs and joined them at the dining table.
Joel looked much the same as he had for the past twenty years. He was balding with unruly, dark curly hair on the sides of his head. His dark brown eyes danced with merriment behind brown-framed glasses. At five foot ten, he had always been stocky. He now had a slight paunch hanging over his belt.
“I'm starving,” Joel said as he sat down. “That damn Mexican takeout we ate for lunch was just like eating Chinese food. It only sticks to your ribs for a couple of hours.”
“Joel, you're always starving,” Lacey said.
Before Lark could respond, Joel pointed up at the balcony that served as the second floor hallway connecting the bedrooms. “You got yourself a great little love nest. If Molly and I bring the kids up, you'll have to do something about that balcony. Otherwise, the boys will do a circus highwire act off the second floor railing.”
Lark burst out laughing, “That'll be the day, when you and Molly come up for a visit and bring the kids. If that ever happens I'll see what I can do. You and Molly could come up and use this âlove nest' to get away
from the kids. Maybe make another one while you're at it.” Lark patted Joel's shoulder as he headed into the kitchen.
Joel groaned and buried his head in his hands. “Don't wish that on us. With four boys under six, Molly says she'll need Prozac and a psychotherapist if she gets pregnant again.” He looked up as he heard Lark open the freezer. “Ah, frozen pizza, the culinary basic of single men and poor people like Molly and me. Of course, Lacey, you could always rustle us up something.”
“Yeah, right, Grenfurth,” she said, following Lark into the kitchen. She pulled three beers out of the refrigerator as Lark put the pizza in the oven.
They drank beer and talked about crime in Wausau and the northwoods while they waited for the pizza to cook. After they ate, Lacey and Lark cleaned up the kitchen while Joel followed up with the crime lab staff and made a brief call to his wife. Joel got off the phone with a bit of good news. The lab had managed to work with Lands' End to identify the boot. Lands' End had agreed to have their purchase records together by morning. A request had also been made to University of Wisconsin-Madison police for information about missing students. They went to bed thinking they might just get a break in the case.