The Deadly Art of Love and Murder

by Linda Crowder

  The Deadly Art of Love and Murder

  A Caribou King Mystery

  by

  Linda Crowder

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  THE DEADLY ART OF LOVE AND MURDER

  First edition. September 29, 2017.

  Copyright © 2017 Linda Crowder.

  ISBN: 978-1386894575

  Written by Linda Crowder.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  To my mom, Lucy Miller, without whom I would never have written a word.

  I threw a glance over my shoulder, wondering about the phone calls Dan was making, but I took the arm Frank offered. “The first thing I need to figure out is whether I should offer a full year on the island as I’d originally thought or whether I should break it into shorter time periods in order to help more artists.”

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  To my mom, Lucy Miller, without whom I would never have written a word.

  Chapter 1

  If I’d known I was going to find a dead body, I would have stayed in bed. It had been the most successful season ever for my fine arts gallery in Coho Bay, Alaska, but the last week had been insane. By the time the final ship sailed, I had been ready to sleep for a month. When I get tired, I get sick and since I never do anything half-way, for three weeks the world went by without me. That’s why I was late checking on the Tilamu house. Not that anything would have been different had I been there on time, but I like to think I could have done something to save her.

  It had started snowing on the last day of the season and it hadn’t stopped. One storm after another pounded our tiny town. That’s not unusual in January, but since it was only October, the weather had been the talk of the town. For the longest month of my life, I’d been holed up in my apartment with my mother, who was in full Florence Nightingale mode. I love her, but when the sun finally peeped out from the clouds, I didn’t hesitate to make a break for it.

  Plodding along the boardwalk, my movement was hampered by the snowmobile pants I was wearing over the top of my jeans, which were over the top of a pair of long underwear. They had been my mother’s suggestion and she’d refused to budge until I agreed to put them on. She thought I was crazy to tromp all the way out here. “Your father will have turned off the water, Caribou, and if he didn’t, there’s no rush.”

  She was right, of course. If the pipes were frozen, they weren’t likely to thaw until spring but that was entirely beside the point. “I called him, but he must be out of range. It’s gonna bug me if I don’t go.”

  We both knew I just wanted an excuse to get out, but she must have been feeling as cooped up as I had because she’d given up the argument after I’d agreed to the long underwear. When I’d emerged from the bedroom, she’d been standing by the door, her overnight bag packed and ready to go. I’d kissed her cheek and we went our separate ways, her to my sister’s apartment and me to check on the Tilamu house.

  I didn’t relish calling Anne Buchanan. Along with her siblings, she had inherited the house when their father died and she hated spending money. I’d likely get another earful from her, blaming the crumbling of the cottage on my shoddy management. Maybe I’d try to reach Alex instead. He wouldn't want to fix the pipes either, but at least he wouldn’t yell at me. His other sister, Agatha Kirby, hadn’t spoken to me in years so she’d be no help.

  Plumbing wasn’t the only problem with the house. It needed a new furnace, a roof, added insulation, paint and could benefit from updating in the kitchen and bath. I wouldn’t have been able to rent it at all if Mrs. Nash hadn’t insisted on staying there every year. She was in her eighties and hadn’t aged much more gracefully than the house, but she had a strong sentimental attachment to it. I hated the thought of putting her into such a dilapidated shack, but she wouldn’t budge.

  There were sixteen houses huddled between the forest on one side and the bay on the other. Doc Tilamu had served as a medic in the Navy, then had gone to medical school on the GI Bill. He’d brought his newly-minted license home to Alaska, building the house for his bride, with whom he spent the next fifty-four years. They’d had three children who moved away the minute they’d been old enough to go. As far as I knew, they’d never returned. They didn’t even visit, though Doc and his wife used to go south to visit them until his wife died. The house didn’t earn them much in rent and I often wondered why they bothered to hang onto it, but it wasn’t my place to tell them to sell.

  I arrived at the door feeling like an icicle and stomped my feet in the entryway, hoping to pound feeling back into them. It wasn’t much warmer inside than out and I grimaced to think how cold it must be under the house. I kept my coat on and walked into the kitchen, expecting to find the keys on the counter and a note from Mrs. Nash. What I didn’t expect to find was the woman herself, but there she was, slumped sideways on the couch, half covered in snow. My mouth had already opened to say hello when my brain finished processing what I was seeing. Her skin was white and her face was... missing. The broken window beside her had let in three weeks of snow, effectively turning the room into a deep freeze.

  I’m not normally a screamer, but looking at what was left of that sweet old woman, drew a sound from my throat that I hadn’t known I was capable of making. Mom would have said it was a sound that would wake the dead, but it didn’t have any effect on Mrs. Nash. That was a blessing because, I didn’t relish being on the forefront of the zombie apocalypse. After my session of primal screaming, I finally persuaded my legs to move and did what any self-respecting, modern woman would do. I got the heck out of there.

  What happened next is a bit of a blur, but I might have screamed all the way from the Tilamu house to City Hall. What I do remember is that when I burst through the door, Coho Bay’s part-time receptionist and full-time match maker, Tammy Atumwa, threw the stack of papers she’d been holding into the air and started screaming along with me. Of course, she had no idea why I was screaming but Tammy was never one to let that keep her from enjoying a good show.

  Dan Simmons, our one-man police force, ran in from his office, gun drawn. When he saw me, he holstered his gun and grabbed my arms. “Cara, what is it?”

  I put my hands over my mouth, forcing myself to be still but I could still hear somebody screaming. I hoped it wasn’t me, but I wasn’t sure until Dan shouted at Tammy, “For the love of Pete, cut it out!”

  The silence was deafening and I started to shake. Dan tightened his grip. “What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  An image of the faceless Mrs. Nash rising up and floating across the room flashed through my head and by the time I got control of myself again, I noticed I’d drawn a crowd. Two part-time city employees, the mayor and a councilman were watching us from the hallway. Their excited expressions suggested they’d seen too much reality television and couldn’t tell the difference between genuine trauma and entertainment.

  Dan’s voice was calm and reassuring, cutting through my confusion and dismay at being the unwanted center of attention. “What’s wrong, Cara?”

  I took a deep breath, then told him about finding Mrs. Nash’s body. I forced myself to tell him about her face and the snow and the spatters of blood all over the wall. Instead of doing whatever it is a policeman should do when someone is telling him a story like this, Dan simply stared at me. The lines on his forehead deepened and his head tilted to one side. He never took his eyes off me, but when I finished talking, he told Tammy to call my father.

  “Why do you want Dad
?” I asked as she picked up the phone.

  The lines vanished as the muscles in his face relaxed. “That’s the first thing you’ve said that made sense.”

  “What do you mean? I told you everything, Dan.”

  “You’ve been talking, Cara. I don’t know what you’ve been saying, but it sure wasn’t English.”

  I looked at Tammy, who nodded as she spoke into the phone. I turned to the crowd and the men mumbled and nodded, shuffling their feet and consulting with each other in hushed tones. I grabbed Dan’s arm, concentrating hard, making each word come out distinctly, almost as a separate sentence. “Mrs. Nash. Dead. Frozen.”

  “Frozen? Where?”

  I frowned, not understanding. “She’s frozen to death, Dan. Only she must’ve been dead before she froze, because her face is gone.”

  There was more shuffling from the men in the hallway and Dan rubbed the back of his neck with the hand I wasn’t gripping. “I meant where is she, Cara.”

  “That makes so much more sense. She’s at the Tilamu house. I went to turn the water off and I found her.”

  “The Kings are on their way.” Tammy sounded remarkably calm and I felt a flash of resentment that she could turn her emotions on and off so quickly.

  “Dan, I’m fine,” I said, trying to straighten my back, but wobbling a bit too much to pull it off.

  “That’s why your face is gray and you’re shaking so hard I can hardly hold you up. Why don’t you sit down?”

  I started to shake my head, but it turned into a nod somewhere in the middle. “Maybe I should sit.” Once the idea came into my head, my knees took care of the rest.

  Dan crouched down next to me on the floor. “I was thinking about the couch, but suit yourself.”

  I tried to glare at him but my face wasn’t following directions and it came out feeling more wild-eyed than withering. “I just need to catch my breath.” I grasped my knees and ducked my head, wondering whether I was going to throw up now or if I could hold out until later.

  “What are you doing to my daughter, Daniel? Why is she on the floor?” Bless her heart, my mother must have run all the way from my sister’s apartment. She pushed Dan away, depositing him unceremoniously on his rear end and put her hand on my back. “Caribou, are you ill again? I knew you were trying to do too much too soon.”

  “Mom, I’m okay.” Since I wasn’t able to lift my head, I didn’t think she believed me.

  My father, who’d been right behind her, pulled me into his lap like he used to do when I was five years old and would crash my bike on the gravel roads. I threw my arms around him and dissolved into sobs that shook my whole body. “Daddy, she’s dead. She’s dead and her face is gone! It’s horrible.”

  Mom scrambled to her feet, like a she-bear protecting her cub. “What is Caribou talking about, Daniel? Who’s dead?” Not giving him time to answer, she wheeled on the assemblage. “Why are you all standing there like a pack of jackals?”

  Feet shuffled backward, leaving the mayor to face her alone. “Cara came in like this, Marcie. Dan’s been trying to calm her down.”

  “She’s freaked about something, that’s for sure,” observed Bent Andrews, my brother-in-law. He must have followed my parents at a more sedate pace, making sure my sister Mel didn’t slip on the icy boardwalk.

  “She says she found Mrs. Nash frozen to death at the Tilamu house,” explained Dan.

  “No, not that, Dan.” I was still sitting on Dad’s lap, fighting to get control of myself.

  “You told me she was frozen,” said Dan.

  “She’s frozen, but her face...” I buried mine in my father’s shoulder. That image was going to be with me for a lifetime.

  “Is gone. I forgot.”

  “How can you forget a thing like that?” My mother might have kicked him if there hadn’t been witnesses. Dan must have thought so too, because he scrambled to his feet and put a little distance between them.

  “That’s horrible,” gasped Mel. “Cara, are you sure?”

  “The way she’s been screaming,” said the mayor, “I think the whole town’s sure by now.”

  “Don’t you make fun of her, Clemson Solokov! I suppose it wouldn’t bother you to have found some poor woman’s face blown off, but my daughter has feelings.” The mayor looked around, finally noticing the other men had retreated, then took a few steps back to join them. Mom turned her attention Dan. “Why are you just standing there? A woman’s been murdered. Do something about it!”

  “Nobody said she was murdered, Marcie.” Dan didn’t sound intimidated, but he did take a step back, bumping into a potted fichus tree. “It was probably suicide.”

  “We ought to take a look, Dan,” suggested Bent.

  “Not me,” said Mel, shuddering and running a hand over her belly.

  Bent put his arm around her. “I wasn’t talkin’ about you, honey.”

  “Why are you so quick to call it a suicide, Daniel?” asked my mother. “Are you trying to cover up for someone or are you too lazy to do the job we pay you for?”

  My father helped me to my feet. Once he saw I could stand, he put a hand on Mom’s shoulder. I heard sighs and mumbling from the city staff and I wondered about my mother’s reputation. “Calm down, Marcie. Cara’s all right. I’m sure Dan will consider every possibility in his investigation.”

  “Don’t you patronize me, Robert King.” Mom stabbed a finger into his chest, but she did stop threatening people.

  Dan stepped away from the fichus and strode to the reception counter. “Tammy, call the state and have them send out the suspicious death team. I’ll head over to the Tilamu house and see what we’ve got.”

  Solokov cleared his throat. “Dan, there’s no need to bring in the state if it’s a suicide.” He turned to the city councilman for agreement, but the man had fled deeper into the hallway at the look my mother threw the mayor.

  “Who are you covering up for, Clemson?” asked my mother and Solokov winced.

  “Mrs. Nash was a sweet lady,” said Mel. “She wouldn’t have killed herself.”

  “She had a smile on her face every time I saw her,” Tammy added, eager to contribute to the conversation. Dan glared at her and she picked up the phone.

  Solokov stopped her. “Just a minute, Tammy. Dan, the state will bill us for coming out here. The city can’t afford to incur that cost if her death was just a suicide.”

  “Just a suicide,” said my mother, shaking her head. “You are a sorry excuse for a human being.”

  At this, the mayor appeared to discover his spine. “You take that back, Marcie. I’m acting in the best interest of the people.”

  “Mrs. Nash was one of those people.”

  “She was not a resident of this town.”

  “What difference does that make?” asked my dad. “Stop pinching pennies, Clem. I’m all for fiscal responsibility, but we owe it to Mrs. Nash to take a scientific approach to this.”

  The mayor bristled. “I don’t need advice from a tree hugger. If it were up to you two, we’d have spent the cruise ship revenue twelve times over.”

  My father’s eyes narrowed. “I am an environmental scientist.”

  The two men stood toe to toe for a few minutes, each taking the measure of the other, then Solokov backed away. “You can’t tell what’s going on inside another person’s head. She was what, a hundred years old?”

  “Eighty-one,” I said, “and for what it’s worth, I don’t think she killed herself either.”

  “Well just pull out your checkbook then, missy. We’ll have the state send you the bill.”

  Dan pulled his coat from a hook by the door. “I’m going to go do my job.” He looked pointedly at my mother. “Tammy, make that call or I will.”

  Tammy’s hand hovered over the phone. Dan, as the city’s only full-time employee, was effectively her boss but Solokov signed her checks. She looked from one man to the other, then out at my parents and finally at me, but I didn’t know what to tell her. “I can take you
over there,” I offered, deflecting attention from Tammy, who shot me a grateful look and picked up the phone. I hoped Dan would turn me down because the last thing in the world I wanted to do was go back to the Tilamu house.

  Mom came to my rescue. “Caribou, you are not putting yourself through that again.” She laid her hand on my arm and looked at Dan, her voice firm. “He doesn’t need you.”

  “I’ll go,” offered Bent.

  “You stay with Mel,” said Dad. “I’ll go.”

  “None of you are going.” We turned to stare at Dan. “I’ll take a look first, Clem, but if there’s any doubt in my mind that Mrs. Nash killed herself, I’m calling the state.”

  “That’s all I’ve been asking,” Solokov answered.

  Dan looked at me and his expression softened. “I’ll stop by when I can and let you know when you can have the house back.”

  “The pipes,” I said, remembering why I’d gone there in the first place. “Dad, did you shut off the water at the end of the season?”

  “Oh shoot, honey. I’m sorry. I didn’t even think about it.”

  “Will you check the shut-off while you’re there Dan?”

  He smiled, “There’s my girl, feet back in the real world.” He ducked out, leaving my mother to glare at his retreating back.

  “SHE WAS THE SWEETEST thing.” Mel put a steaming mug of cocoa on the table in front of me. “I can’t believe she’d kill herself.”

  Mom nodded, stirring her tea. “She always had a kind word when you’d see her on the street.”

  “Did it look like she killed herself, Cara?” Dad asked.

  I shuddered, not wanting to think about how Mrs. Nash had looked. “I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking too clearly.” I took a drink of cocoa, letting its warmth flow through me. “Mmmmmm, this is really good, Mel.”

  “Vanilla vodka.” She took a sip from her own mug, which was plain chocolate. “I thought you could use a little something.”