Murder in Death's Door County (11 page)

“Did the cops take him in?”

Janie shook her head, “Well, that’s just
it. The cops never came. And since his car keys were in his pants pocket, he
was stuck walking home.”

“In the buff?” I exclaimed.

Janie nodded, “Yep. But that’s isn’t the
worst. It’s how he retaliated that made the situation so awful.”

“He wasn’t cool about it?”

“Did the man you met strike you as
someone who would be cool and ‘let it go’?”

“No, not really. What did he do?” I
leaned forward in the chair.

“He threw rotten eggs on the cars of the
kids who had abandoned him.”

“You’re kidding!”

“Nope, I would not kid about that. And
you know what dried egg does to paint, right?”

Wide-eyed, I nodded, “So he has a bit of
a vengeful streak? I mean it isn’t like they did it on purpose.”

“And he has to have the last word.”

“Great combination,” Lizzy wryly
observed. “Yep, he’s the whole package all right.”

Janie gave Lizzy a funny look and burst
into gales of laughter. After a few seconds, we were all struck by Lizzy’s
wording and all four of us were in tears from laughing so much.

Gasping for air, Kitty said between
laughs, “That’s what she said,” which just got us going even more. Between the
visual of Chad bopping down the darkened country roads in his birthday suit and
the witty observations, it took us quite a while to stop laughing.

Once we had settled down, Lizzy and I
offered to help clean up the party before leaving.

“Nonsense,” said Janie. “Kitty will stay
and help. Both of you go and get a good night’s sleep.”

Lizzy and I hugged them Good-bye at the
door and headed out to Lizzy’s truck. Dusk approached as we drove down the
highway, back to the Lighthouse Inn. I loved the feeling of dusk—the sense of
snugness and comfort.

Just before she dropped me off, Lizzy
turned to me and asked, “So, are you sure you’ll be okay by yourself?”

“Oh sure, I’ll be fine. The party
helped,” I said, getting out of the car. “Thanks again!”

I hesitated and motioned for Lizzy to
wait and roll down the window. “Also, I made a decision. Would you mind meeting
me for lunch tomorrow?”

“Sure, sounds mysterious,” Lizzy waved
and smiled as she drove away.

P
ATIENCE WAS NEVER MY
STRONGEST
characteristic. I
preferred to act first and ask questions later, but now I didn’t know what to
do. I did know that my name needed clearing. Unemployed. Possibly suspected of
murder. Almost-but-not-quite-broke. I knew two things: 1. I needed to clear my
name of suspicion. 2. I needed to know the status of this book—immediately. I
mean, I had a nice little bonus to live on for a bit, while I tried to figure
out what to do. I needed to find out whether this book was still going forward.

For the umpteenth time that afternoon, I
tried to call Marcos to find out what was happening with the book since Harry’s
murder. And for the umpteenth time, the phone rang and rang. I expected
voicemail to kick in or something, but it didn’t. That struck me as very
peculiar. I held out hope for about 10 rings, then began to question my own
visibility. I began to feel like I had disappeared, instead of Marcos’ apparent
disappearing act. At this point, I didn’t even know if Marcos knew that Harry
was dead.

As I hung up the phone, I went over my
dinner with Harry yet again. He had been a grade-A jerk, but I realized he must
have been worried about something. Maybe he was anxious that he had been
followed? He had always been pretty nice on the phone. I had a hard time
reconciling his behavior to me in person. I decided to write down the timeline
of events and do some investigating on my own. Could it have been a random
theft and killing? I wondered that, but hit a wall upon the remembering that nothing
seemed to have been taken (except, of course, the bonus check that had my name
on it, and that Donovan had grabbed for me). The whole project had seemed fishy
from the beginning. I mentally kicked myself for ignoring my gut. It seemed
like every time I ignored my instincts, I didn’t just get blindsided, I got hit
by a Mack truck.

It hadn’t even helped when I had called
Grandpa and Aunt Helen to fill them in on events. I really didn’t want them to
find out via the news, which might make it down to Milwaukee since it entailed
murder. Although I should have realized it ahead of time, my call only
increased their worry for me. It didn’t help that I was still a little
fuzzy-headed from the wine at Janie’s impromptu party.

“So, what are you going to do job-wise?”
my Grandpa had asked. I imagined him sitting with his buddy, Joe McNulty, at
the kitchen table with a steaming mug of coffee and an overflowing plate of
cookies. Aunt Helen made the best cookies. No matter what storms happened in my
life, I had always felt safe and warm in her sunny kitchen. My Aunt Helen loved
to decorate with the colors of nature, as demonstrated by the bright yellow and
white kitchen.

I shrugged, which he couldn’t see over
the phone. Then, taking a sip of my diet soda, I tried to alleviate his concern
(with a bravado I did not feel), “I still might have the book to do. Otherwise,
I dunno.” I tried to avoid telling them that I’m under suspicion for murder.
Since I was innocent until proven guilty, it seemed like borrowing trouble to
mention that.

“Yeah, well, you need to find out what’s
going on, I think,” Grandpa agreed. “Do they have any idea who did it?”

I could hear Aunt Helen in the
background, “What happened, Bill? Is Annie okay?”

“Hold on a sec, Anna Banana,” Grandpa
said, then covered the phone. I could hear muffled sounds as he tried to
explain, in just a few seconds, about me finding Harry.

Aunt Helen shout of “Annie found a body!”
came through loud and clear. So did the thud when she fainted. I guess it runs
in the family.

Not shocking, the next sound I heard was
Grandpa’s brief “Good-bye” as he got off the phone to tend to Aunt Helen. Whew!
Now, I only had to hope that I could clear my name before talking to him again.

That duty done, I grabbed my timeline, stuffed
it in my jeans’ pocket, and left for the restaurant down the road. I wasn’t
really hungry, but I needed to be around people. My knees quaked from nerves at
the thought of this crazy situation I had fallen into, but I was hopeful that
my name would be cleared.

So, I threw on my leather jacket and
grabbed my purse, and hoped for the best as I left my room. I had seen a funky
little Mexican cantina-style restaurant down the street from the Lighthouse. I
figured I’d hunker down at the bar there and maybe have a margarita. Or two. Or
three. Well, probably, not three… I didn’t have much tolerance for alcohol. In
all honestly, even two seemed a little high for me.

—
–

Apparently, the Packers win hadn’t been
enough to kick this story to the curb on the Sunday night news. I got to the
cantina just as they aired the press conference on Harry’s murder. Wow! That
was fast! I guess (thankfully), not many people get killed in Door County, so
it is major news.

Unfortunately, they did show a picture
of me as a possible suspect. Oh my gosh!? Where did they get that picture? I
looked like a homeless person. I really needed to rethink my wardrobe choices.
Oh, and I needed to jumpstart my efforts to find Harry’s killer (probably the
bigger priority, right?).

One of the bar patrons happened to turn
around and see me right after the report. He piped up, “Hey! You’re the girl
from the news report!”

Then I heard a chorus of:

“You didn’t do it, did you?”

“What did he do to you to make you so
mad?”

“Should we call the cops?”

I looked around the room in horror. I
really hadn’t expected this kind of reaction. Being a peaceable kind of person,
I typically didn’t behave badly and, as you know, I don’t like being the center
of attention. Plus, killing someone didn’t even register remotely on my radar.
So, I was in very unpleasant territory and had no idea what to do.

“C’mon, guys! I don’t even own a gun!” I
tried to shout over the din.

A woman sporting a mullet shouted out, “So,
was it a crime of passion?” I turned bright red. Mullet-head looked at the guy
who started it all, “Wilbur, just look at how red she is!”

“Irene! How could you think that! Just
look at her! She can’t be older than 22!” said the apparent ring-leader,
Wilbur.

Suddenly, I heard Millicent join the
cacophony, “Actually, she told me that they were lovers.”

Inwardly I groaned. I tell one little
white lie to get me out of an awkward situation and it comes back to slap me.
Typical.

I wasn’t sure if I should stay and
defend myself or flee with my tail between my legs. It wasn’t like I had been
arrested or read my Miranda rights, but I probably shouldn’t talk about this in
public. Who knew who could be listening? I decided to split the difference and
sat down to order a drink. I figured if I didn’t give in to their questions,
they’d let up eventually.

An older couple in their seventies sat
next to me at the bar. He had thinning hair with a bit of a stooped back, but I
was struck by the mischievous glint in his eyes. She smiled at me and reached
over him to pat my hand.

“There, there, dear,” the lady said
sympathetically. “It sounds like you’ve been through quite a bit today.”

I smiled back at her, “Oh, I’ll be okay.
I just feel bad for Harry. Not a good way to die.” The bartender came by and I
gave my order of a double strawberry margarita. I noticed that the other
patrons had started to ignore me already.

“I’m Edgar and this is my wife, Marian,”
said the old man. We shook hands and I formally told them my name.

“Well, you seem to have the right
attitude,” said Edgar. “Don’t let this crowd upset you. They’re half in the bag
anyway.”

“Oh yes, most of the older people in Egg
Harbor come here every night.”

“So, it’s kind of like that show ‘Cheers’?”
My margarita appeared in front of me and I settled the bill right away.

“You could say that,” said Marian.

At that moment, all eyes turned to the entrance
and, as if on cue, everyone yelled out “Doc!” Yep, completely like Cheers, and
apparently Doc was their “Norm.” I watched as another older gentleman with a
full head of curly white hair and wire glasses raced to take his spot at the
bar. The bartender immediately brought him a glass of something clear and a
twist of lemon. Wait? Was the glass engraved with “Doc”? Wow—now that was a bar
regular!

“What does Doc drink anyway?” I asked,
trying to take my mind off my troubles.

“Double gin,” said Edgar.

“Oh, yes, he has it every night. At
least a couple of them. His insides must be a tinderbox. As for myself, I stick
with good old-fashioned martinis.” And with that, Marian gave a demure hiccup.

“So, did you do it, anyway?” asked
Edgar.

Marian gave Edgar a light slap on his
wrist, then hiccupped again, “You can’t ask that, honey. Besides, does our new
little friend, Annie, look like she could murder anyone?” Fortunately, the
margarita was having its effect and I didn’t mind Edgar’s question too much.

“Well, I don’t know. No, I don’t really
think so,” said Edgar sheepishly. “He might have pulled some funny business on
Annie. I think if she did do it, it would be some kind of self-defense thing. You
don’t really know what any person might do to defend themselves.”

Marian let out a huge sigh. “Okay, let’s
change the subject. Say, Annie, how long will you be up in Door County?”

“I’m not sure yet. But I really love it
up here.”

“What did you come up here for?”

I explained my ghostwriting project and
how Harry figured into it. I noticed they both looked startled when I mentioned
Marcos Landrostassis by name.

Not wanting to pounce on them, I
casually asked them if they knew Marcos.

“Well, um, no, not really,” started
Edgar.

“That is to say, we don’t really know
him but we know of him,” said Marian. “And, let me tell you, I never would have
thought-”

At that moment, a karaoke contest
started on stage and someone came by and dragged Marian to the stage
mid-sentence.

Edgar good-naturedly laughed, “Sorry
about that, Annie. They go way back and Harriet loves to make Marian sing ‘Working
9 to 5’ with her during the karaoke contests.

“Huh, well, I guess every Lucy needs her
Ethel,” I observed, smiling back. Edgar slapped his knee and let out a howl in
reply. I didn’t think it was that funny, but I’d take it.

Marian and Harriet were the first duo
up, and truth be told, they weren’t too bad. Best of all, they looked like they
were having fun. Edgar clearly enjoyed watching his wife rock out to Dolly
Parton’s hit.

I figured I should probably get going,
so I finished my drink and made an Irish exit. Ever since actress and writer Mindy
Kaling explained the concept of an “Irish exit” in her book (leaving an event
by slipping out the door unseen), I had used that method of exit often.