by Ann Yost
“Joo,” he said. “Miss Irene wants yarn.”
“Did she say which yarn?”
He nodded. “Joo.”
“Did you write it down?”
He shook his head.
“Okay. Good job. Did she say anything else?”
He closed his eyes then recited. “God hath clothed me with the garments of salvation; he hath covered me with the robe of righteousness, Isaiah.”
I doubled-over with laughter. Apparently Biblical verses did not count as words spoken toward his daily self-imposed limit.
“Any other messages?”
“Sofi husband.”
Lars! He must have gotten in touch with Jalmer Pelonen. I wondered why he hadn’t called on my cell, but it didn’t really matter. I figured I’d call him after checking in with my sister.
Sofi’s shop smelled of freshly cut flowers and an odd combination of peppermint, eggnog and chocolate. I wrinkled my nose. Holiday foods are all well and good, I thought, but not when they interfere with coffee or fudge.
Charlie was at the cash register and I greeted her and waved to the shoppers then slipped behind the counter to snatch the last square of chocolate walnut, which is nearly always good for a mood boost.
Sofi’s shop is a narrow rectangle, an exact replica of mine, but where most of mine is showroom, most of hers is backroom. Her three spacious coolers are nearly always filled with buckets of freshly cut flowers. The shelves are neatly stacked with containers and pots, spools of wire and ribbon, Styrofoam inserts, and all the rest of the paraphernalia needed for flower arranging. The view and the scent reminded me of Pauline’s greenhouse.
Sofi, one strand of hair loosened from her braid and hanging in her moist, rosy face, was laboring over an arrangement in a ceramic bowl. It contained snapdragons, carnations, tiny yellow rosebuds, and baby’s breath and it was exquisite. Unfortunately, as it was yellow and white I knew it was an order for a funeral. Probably Liisa’s.
“Everybody and their Aunt Sadie has been in here today either ordering centerpieces for Christmas or flowers for the Pelonen funeral.”
“So I guess the word is out.”
“You can say that again.” She blew the wheat-colored strand up in the air. “Everyone knows she’s dead but so far they think it was an accident. Listen, if you’re going to stand there, could you strip the leaves off those asters? And maybe the daisies, too?”
It was the usual request. As I have no eye for floral arranging my only value is in such things as stripping leaves or driving the delivery truck. I got to work.
“So,” she said, “how was your sleepover?”
I lifted my eyebrows. “It wasn’t a party, Sofi. It was a fact-finding mission. I went up there to talk to a witness.”
“If you’re talking about Reid Night Wind, don’t you mean a suspect?”
“It’s too soon to tell.”
“Well, did you learn anything?”
I told her about the marriage between Reid and Liisa and about the trust fund. “The thing is that he looks as guilty as sin.”
She shrugged. “If it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck…”
“I know, I know, but I just don’t think he killed her. I mean, why should he? She’d promised him a hundred thousand dollars. Why risk life in prison just for a little more?”
“Two million is not just a little more. But, as it happens, I think I agree with you. It seems like someone really wanted to shut Liisa up or send her away. The killing had to be very precisely timed and planned and there would have been a great risk. I can’t believe it would have been worth it to Reid.”
“Jace thinks Reid’s been set up.”
Sofi’s big blue eyes held mine. “Well, that seems to me to be another problem. How many people knew about his relationship with Liisa?”
“Edna Moilanen, apparently, which means all the rest of the Ladies Aid.”
“Yes, but who knew she would be alone at the funeral home and that she expected to meet Reid Night Wind there at seven o’clock?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, somebody knew, Hatti. And if you don’t want your brother-in-law to spend the rest of his life in jail, you’d better get busy finding out who.”
“Maybe Mrs. Moilanen knows,” I said, with a touch of bitterness.
“Well, if she does, you’re in luck. Pauline Maki has called a special meeting of the knitting circle tonight.”
“Why?”
“For some reason, she thinks that working on delicate, cobwebby lace is going to cheer us all up.”
“Oh.”
“Did Reid Night Wind admit to being the baby’s father?”
“No. The reverse.”
“Looks like Edna M. is right about that, too. She’s put her money on Matti Murso. Hatti?”
“Yes?”
“You’re still in love with Jace, aren’t you?”
I wrinkled my nose. “That’s like asking if you’re still in love with Lars.”
“I know.”
That reminded me that I still needed to speak with Lars. I started to excuse myself when Sofi stopped me.
“Oh, and on the subject of Matti Murso, Diane Hakala stopped in this morning to let me know she’s going to need, and I quote, a whole boatload of flowers for a wedding in March.”
“Whose wedding?”
“Barb's. Turns out Matti has rebounded back into her hands. They’re tying the knot early so they can honeymoon at the Ellsworth Cheese Curd Festival over spring break.” I looked at her.
“Not a shotgun wedding then?”
Sofi laughed. “That would really be the final straw, wouldn’t it? I mean Matti Murso’s a good hockey goalie, sure, but when all’s said and done he’s just a gangly kid with pimples. Hard to imagine him as the father of two simultaneously conceived babies and a murderer.”
But I wondered.
“I need to go,” I said, “but I was supposed to remind you that Pauline needs three dozen roses for the grave blanket. I said I’d deliver them tonight.”
“You can’t,” she said. “Knitting circle, remember? Tell her we’ll get them over in the morning. They can’t have the funeral for a few days at least. The body’s still at the morgue.”
Sometimes my sister’s plain-spoken practicality knocks me off my feet.
“Get another piece of chocolate walnut on the way out,” Sofi called, “you look like you could use it.”
Twenty-One
The Gas ‘n Go, a convenience store-slash-service station owned and operated by Tauno Murso, sells motor oil, coffee that tastes like motor oil, red vines, gum, canned soup, boxed cereal and milk that is always perilously close to its expiration date.
I found Tauno where he seemed to spend most of his time, under the chassis of a pickup.
“Mr. Murso?”
“Mita?”
He responded with the Finnish word for “what”, which was encouraging, but he did not come out from under the vehicle, and I found it a little awkward to introduce myself to his left boot. I did it anyway.
“I’m Hatti Lehtinen, and I’d like to speak with Matti.”
There was a long pause while he digested my words. Did he know why I was there? Was he afraid his son was in trouble with the law? Was he working on a mechanical problem that took up all the space in his cerebrum? The response came, at long last.
“Ei tanne.” Not here.
I tried again. “Where can I find him?”
“Mita?”
I sighed. This was going nowhere fast. I doubted whether Tauno would be this uncooperative with Pops. But, of course, I was not a card-carrying member of the Finnish-American good ‘ol boys club.
“Don’t bother Tauno, Umlaut. Can’t you see he’s busy?”
I jumped, not so much because I hadn’t heard him come into the garage behind me, but because he’d used the nickname. Jace’s nickname. Again. I forced a laugh to camouflage my accelerated pulse rate. Max couldn’t have known. And there was no patent on
the word.
“What’re you doing here?”
“I saw you come in, figured you wanted to talk to Matti and deduced that you’d need a little help with translation.”
I knew he wasn’t talking about Finnish to English but about the great communication gap that exists between taciturn men of a certain age and younger women.
“As it happens,” he continued, “I’m in a unique position to help you, madame. Let me help you into my carriage, er, truck.” After a small hesitation I placed my fingers in his outstretched hand. The contact felt secure and warm. I hadn’t even realized I was cold. He whispered in my ear. “I know where to find Matti.”
Max’s pickup was a late model and much more luxurious than the one Jace had borrowed from Chief Joseph. It was spacious, warm and comfortable just like his touch. I felt myself melt into the seat, mildly surprised that you could even get heated cushions in a truck.
“Whither bound?” I asked, then disgraced myself with a huge yawn.
He laughed and put the truck in gear. “Hockey practice.”
Of course. Matti Murso was a hockey star. The reference reminded me that we were talking about a teenager—a kid—in connection with a murder. It also reminded me of that kid’s status. Hockey is the most popular team sport in the UP and folks followed the Copper County High Muskrats with the same enthusiasm the Brits follow Manchester United.
“What’s your connection to the team?”
“I keep score at the games.”
“You play hockey? I thought you were from Texas?”
“The southwest,” he replied, vaguely. “In any case, we’ve all got ice. Mainly in refrigerators and indoors. I played some as a kid and I know the rules so I help out with the Muskrats in my leisure time.”
“You’re a man of many dimensions.” He laughed.
“You know the old saying about the UP. Everybody’s got to wear multiple hats.”
Another massive yawn interrupted my laugh and I apologized.
“No need,” he said. “Just sit back and relax.”
I allowed my eyes to close and my bones to sink into the warm seat cushions and I realized that, for the first time since Jace Night Wind turned up on my parents’ front porch, I felt no tension at all. In fact, I felt safe. A feather-light touch on my cheek opened my eyes and my ears and I heard Max’s voice.
“Hey, sleepyhead.”
I sat up. “Oh geez. I’m so sorry, Max.”
“Rough night?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Something to do with the ruffian who claims to be married to you?”
There was something besides a touch of humor in his voice and I remembered our interrupted date.
“Oh my gosh,” I said. “I haven’t even apologized for Saturday night.”
“Forget it.”
“No, no. I want to explain if you’ll let me.” It occurred to me I hadn’t yet picked Max’s brain and this might be a good time.
“Is it true? Is he your husband?”
I searched his face for signs of regret but I could only see his profile. I realized we’d reached the frozen lake and he was watching the practice.
“Officially. For the moment, anyway. Like I said, it’s complicated.”
“Okay.”
He didn’t seem all that put out and I wondered if I’d overestimated the bonds between us.
“You wanted to talk to me about something,” he said, helping me out. “Was it Liisa Pelonen’s death?”
“Yep. Sounds like you know something about it.”
“Pretty much only what Betty Ann had to say on her program this morning. Arvo and his wife found Liisa in the sauna with a wound on her head. Investigation is ongoing and Sheriff Clump would appreciate any and all relevant information.” I groaned, even though I already knew Clump had been brought in.
“That tears it. Arvo and Pauline wanted me to look into the situation quietly before anyone contacted the police. But there are no secrets in Red Jacket and the sheriff won’t want me anywhere near his case. I wanted to ask you some questions. The case is a bit of a puzzle.
“Sonya Stillwater did a sort of unofficial autopsy on Saturday afternoon…” I paused when he growled.
“She what?”
“Just a preliminary look-see, you know? Just to try to figure out whether it had been an accident, natural causes or murder.”
“Damned interfering woman.”
That reaction seemed a bit extreme to me but I was anxious to make the most of my time with Max.
“Anyway, Sonya didn’t think the blow had killed her. Apparently the girl had a bit of a heart condition.”
“Stillwater told you that?”
“No, no, there’s no way she could have known. I think it was Arvo who told me. Anyway, Doc will find out what killed her.”
“You’re thinking that someone bashed her on the head and counted on the shock to trigger her heart condition, right?”
“Seems like it could have happened like that.”
“If so, it doesn’t rule out your brother-in-law.”
I stared at him, my jaw dropping.
“How, in the name of the Father, Son and Holy Ghost do you know about Reid?”
Max’s grin contained no humor.
“I was a professional investigator. After my little set-to with your midnight visitor, I made some inquiries. His kid brother’s got himself in some deep doo-doo.”
I nodded. “Jace and I talked with him last night.”
After a silence stretched to more than a minute, Max said, “You gonna tell me about it or don’t you trust me?”
Everything I knew, I reflected, would soon become common knowledge and, anyway, I did trust Max. I told him about the quickie wedding, the plan to meet at the Makis’ sauna at seven fifteen and the plan to live in a sublet in Marquette.
Max appeared to listen carefully.
“That surprises me a little,” he admitted. “Those brothers don’t seem like the marrying kind.”
I actually twisted to the side to try to avoid the knife prick into my heart but I knew he was right.
“She was pregnant,” I said. “She wanted to get married because of that and because she’d be eligible to inherit a two-million-dollar trust fund. She promised Reid a hundred thousand of that.”
“Geez Louise,” he said. “Sounds like a slam dunk for Clump.”
“I know. But Reid says he didn’t do it.”
“That’s what criminals all say, Umlaut. None of them ever did it. Not in a million years.”
A sense of hopelessness descended on me.
“But why should he kill her?”
Max shrugged. “Who gets the trust fund now that she’s dead? Her husband, right? More than that, what other suspects do you have?”
I thought about Ronja, so thrilled with Astrid’s star turn as St. Lucy and about Diane Hakala joyfully planning Barb’s wedding to Matti now that Liisa was out of the way. And I thought about Matti himself, desperately in love but rejected after one date.
“Look at him,” Max murmured, as the tall, lanky teenager loped over to the truck. “He’s just a baby with a good left hook. I don’t think Matti killed anyone.”
I wanted to point out that the murder had most likely been accidental, the unexpected result of the blow on the head, but it didn’t matter what I said. Besides, I wasn’t an apologist for Reid Night Wind.
“See what you think,” Max said, getting out of the car and hailing the kid carrying a helmet in one hand and a hockey stick in the other. “Hey, Matti!”
“Hey, Max,” Matti said. He grinned then trotted over to the truck. “What’s up?”
Except for his wiry build he couldn’t have looked less like his father who was short and dark. Matti’s hair was angelically blond and he had a pair of dreamy blue eyes whose effect was only slightly dimmed by the outbreak of acne on his cheeks. I was sure that Barb Hakala regarded him as a Nordic god.
“You getting ready for Menominee this wee
k?”
“You know it. Shoot-a-mile, we’re gonna clobber them good.”
“Matti, do you know Hatti Lehtinen?” The boy’s smile disappeared. “Ah. I can see that you know she’s serving as temporary police chief. She wants to ask you a few questions about Liisa. Is that all right?”
“I don’t know nothing about it.”
“Well, then that’s what you tell Hatti. Here, I’ll take your gear and you slide into the driver’s seat for a few minutes.”
He didn’t want to talk to me. That much was obvious. Was it because he was afraid he’d give himself away? I looked into the hunted eyes and felt desperately sorry for him. He’d fallen in love, been rejected and she’d died. Any one of those things would have sent most teenage boys on a long walk off a short dock, as Pops would say.
“I just have a few questions,” I said, gently. “I know you cared about Liisa and I’m sorry about what happened to her.”
“I’m sorry, too,” he mumbled.
“Do you know what happened?”
“Barb’s mom told me she slipped in the sauna and hit her head on a rock.”
“That’s partly true,” I said, deciding to level with him. “She had a blow to the head but we don’t think it was bad enough to have killed her. What I want to know from you, Matti, is what was she like?”
There was a faraway look in his eyes and I got the feeling he wasn’t seeing me at all.
“She was perfect,” he said, simply. “Just like an angel.”
“Because of her looks?”
“Yes. And her voice. She sang like an angel.”
“So I understand.”
“But it was more than that.” He leaned toward me, suddenly eager to make himself understood. “She was good, you know? Nice to everybody.”
I nodded. “I understand you took her to the Harvest Dance.”
“I did. It was the most wonderful night of my life. I thought she was my girl and everything, but,” his voice trailed off, “it didn’t work out that way.”
“Why not?”
He shrugged his wide shoulders then let them droop.
“She just wanted to be friends.”
“Because there was someone else?”
