Death at the Door

by K. C. Greenlief

  “A four-car pile-up,” Lark mumbled, not taking his eyes off the road. The two-lane blacktop, intermittently lined with stands of hardwoods and pine, was very like the road the four-car pile-up had occurred on six months ago. Door County was also polluted with deer, and the last thing he wanted was a deer versus SUV accident. “By the time we got the accident sorted out, you were probably back in Wausau.”

  He didn’t tell her that he had radioed his two New Year’s Eve patrols to call him if they spotted a green Grand Cherokee only to be told that they were working an accident with one. He had gone to the scene, worried sick, only to find that it wasn’t Lacey’s car.

  “You should have given me a call when you made it over to Wausau. We could have gone out to dinner.”

  “I’ve only been over twice since then, both times on business. I did try to call you once but you didn’t answer.”

  “I’ve been over to see Ann and John three times since then. You always seem to be out of town when I’m there.” She tried to read his face but couldn’t see his expression in the dark car.

  “Bad timing,” Lark said, feeling her eyes on him. “Gene seems like a nice guy.”

  “Very nice. People assume otherwise because he’s so good-looking. You should understand that.” Lacey glanced back over at him.

  Lark grunted, glad for the darkness.

  “So how have you been? Had any more murders in Big Oak?”

  “No more murders. The spring thaw was our biggest problem. We’ve had more than our share of snowmobile and car accidents and a lot of flooding.” Lark turned on the radio and they lapsed into silence, both thankful for the music to fill the void. Lark pulled up in front of the White Gull Inn ten minutes later.

  “See you in the morning,” Lacey said as she got out of the car.

  “Are you playing golf with us in the morning?”

  “Ann and I are going to breakfast while you and John play. Ann hates golf.”

  “Amen,” Lark said as she slammed the car door and walked to her cottage.

  Monday Morning

  May 28—White Gull Inn, Fish Creek, Wisconsin

  “For the life of me, I don’t know why I agreed to go to breakfast this early in the morning,” Ann groused, as her eyes tried to take in Door County in the spring.

  Lilacs as tall as some of the houses bloomed in the yards along Highway 42. The purple tones of the lilacs and the last vestiges of the sunshine-colored daffodils stood out like jewels against the woods and shrubbery thickets surrounding the houses. Most of the trees had their new leaves. Their spring-green color combined with the lilacs and daffodils was almost overwhelming after a long winter of nothing but bare trees and snow-covered landscape to look at.

  The morning was still and warm so they had their windows rolled down drinking in the intoxicating smells of spring. Ann took in the beauty of the many apple and cherry trees just starting to bud out. Door County, famous for its cherry pie and jam, has thousands of acres of small fruit trees lined up in neat rows like regiments of soldiers marching along the roadsides. The orchards were interspersed with thick groves of hardwoods and evergreens and emerald green fields dotted with dairy cows. Every now and then they were tempted with a fleeting glimpse of the sparkling blue-gray waters of Green Bay through the trees.

  “You could have stayed in bed.” John glanced at Ann in the rearview mirror. “I could have called Lacey for you. I’m sure she has plenty of work to do.”

  “We could have gone to breakfast an hour or two later if you had been willing to move your tee time back,” Ann replied, sipping her diet Coke.

  “We could have taken Lark’s car and left ours for you.”

  “Yep.”

  “Yep what?” John asked, glaring at her in the rearview.

  “Yep, that would have worked,” Ann said, an edge to her voice.

  Lark turned around to look at her and started laughing. “You really aren’t a morning person are you?”

  “What clued you in?” Ann cracked a smile as they pulled up in front of the White Gull Inn.

  “Son of a bitch,” Lark said.

  Ann followed his stare and saw Lacey and Dr. Boskirk standing in front of her Grand Cherokee, sipping coffee and talking. They looked every inch the perfect couple in matching khaki pants, tennis shoes, and navy polo shirts. As John maneuvered the Explorer into a parking space, Ann watched Gene kiss Lacey lightly on the lips. He waved at them and got into a silver Land Rover parked behind Lacey’s SUV.

  After Gene pulled out, Lacey walked down to the Explorer and leaned down to Lark’s open window. “Joel wants to talk with you. Larsen went to surgery twice last night and died about an hour ago. He also had bruises on both of his upper arms; like maybe he was thrown off the cliff. He never regained consciousness. Sheriff Skewski asked us to take this case, and between this and the robberies, we’re swamped. Joel wants to put you on the payroll.”

  “I’m on vacation,” Lark snapped, looking straight ahead. “If I wanted to work, I would have stayed in Big Oak.”

  “Fine.” Lacey threw up her hands in frustration. “I just thought I’d clue you in. Joel told me this morning that he was going to ask you for help. He mentioned that you’ve been doing some work for the state in your spare time.”

  “He can ask.” Lark darted his eyes her way and then turned to stare out the windshield. “John, we’re going to lose our tee time if we don’t get going.”

  Ann took her cue. She leaned forward into the front seat to kiss John good-bye and got out of the car.

  They got in Lacey’s SUV and Lacey slammed the door. “Arrogant bastard,” she said under her breath as she watched John and Lark drive away.

  “I don’t think it was arrogance.”

  “You coulda fooled me.” Lacey maneuvered the car out of the parking space and out onto Highway 42.

  “He saw you standing there with Gene and probably thought you slept with him last night.”

  “It’s none of his damn business who I sleep with. He had his chance and he blew it.”

  “I think you’re protesting a little too much,” Ann said, noting Lacey’s red cheeks.

  “If he was interested, he would have called. I didn’t hear one word from him after the Big Oak investigation.”

  “He’s not seeing anyone in Big Oak.”

  “He’ll probably spend his life mourning the great love of his life: his dead wife. How do you compete with a dead saint?” Lacey’s eyes flicked over to Ann but Ann stayed silent, knowing a rhetorical question when she heard one. “I swear I don’t know how to get him beyond it. Besides, he made it clear to me last winter that I’m too young for him. I’m thirty-six and he’s forty-two. Exactly what is the big deal?” She pounded the steering wheel in frustration. “What the hell, he acts like he’s ninety most of the time so he’s probably right.”

  “So you are interested in him.” Ann grinned at her.

  “Dammit, I didn’t say that. I admit I was very interested last winter, but when I didn’t hear from him, I moved on.”

  Ann watched emotions flit across Lacey’s face. “Sure you did.”

  “I’m just nervous about working with him again.”

  “Sounds like he won’t take on any work on vacation.”

  “He’ll do it. A case like this is too interesting. Joel will compromise so he can weave some work in around golf. Lark likes work.”

  “If you’re not interested in him, why would working with him make you nervous?”

  “Let’s change the subject.”

  “Where are we going for breakfast?” Ann asked as they sped south out of Fish Creek toward Egg Harbor.

  Shock spread across Lacey’s face. “Dammit, I was planning on us eating at the White Gull Inn. I can’t believe I can get this flustered over a man.” Lacey pulled off the side of the road and turned around to go back to Fish Creek. She shook her finger at Ann. “Don’t you dare tell anyone about this.”

  Ann smiled silently, knowing better than to comment.
>
  They discussed great places to eat breakfast in Door County as Lacey threaded her way back through the streets of Fish Creek. They got lucky and snagged a newly vacated parking slot right across from the White Gull Inn. They walked into the entrance of the century-old inn and were immediately escorted back to one of the few empty tables in the front dining room. Ann took a few minutes to study the room before getting down to the menu. She never grew tired of the warm pine wainscoting or the old pine beams and slatted-wood ceilings. As usual, the owners had a fire going in the old stone fireplace. She was drawn back to reality when the waitress came to take their order. After a quick look to make sure it was still on the menu, she selected her favorite White Gull Inn breakfast item, cherry-and-cream-cheese-stuffed French toast. Lacey decided to order the same.

  “I bought their cookbook the last time we were up here and I’ve made this French toast several times. It never tastes as good as it does here,” Ann said as she handed her menu to the waitress.

  “Just the fact that someone else cooks it makes it taste better to me.” Lacey looked around the room at all the vacationers.

  “Can you tell me about the case you and Joel are working on?”

  “A string of burglaries. We’ve been here with an evidence team since last Wednesday working our asses off. People have started coming up to open their homes for the summer. So far twenty-one summerhouses have been broken into and several hundred thousand dollars’ worth of antiques and high-end collectibles have been stolen.”

  “Several hundred thousand? Did I hear you right?”

  “You sure did. Who would have thought there was that much loot up here in rustic Door County?”

  “I thought you and Joel worked homicide cases.”

  “That’s usually what we do. I worked a homicide up here last winter and got to know Sheriff Skewski pretty well. When the burglaries were reported, he called me. Our boss sent us to help out since I already know the area. Unfortunately, I don’t know a lot about what’s been stolen. I’ve talked with some of the insurance companies involved and they are thinking about hiring an investigator who specializes in thefts like this to try and recover the stuff. Meanwhile I need a crash course in antiques and collectibles.”

  “I’m your girl.”

  Lacey pulled a notebook out of her purse and flipped though the pages. “Let’s start with something you know a lot about, carnival glass. A Mr. and Mrs. Johansen from here in Fish Creek had $343,000 worth of carnival glass stolen.”

  Ann’s mouth gaped open in shock. “They lost $343,000 worth of carnival glass? They must have an enormous house to keep that many pieces. We’re approaching two hundred pieces and it feels like we’re a little out of control. Our entire collection isn’t worth anywhere near that kind of money.”

  “It was sixty-three pieces.” Lacey pulled a typed list from the back of her notebook and slid it across the table to Ann.

  Ann scanned the list. “I’ve never even seen most of these pieces. An aqua opalescent Acorn Burr punch bowl and twelve punch cups valued at $69,000; an aqua opalescent Peacock at the Fountain punch bowl and sixteen cups valued at $61,000; a blue Peacock at the Urn ice cream bowl, $31,000; a white Strawberry plate, $23,000; a green Trout and Fly plate, $20,000; two red Stag and Holly plates, $7,000; an aqua opalescent Wide Panel epergne, $28,000; an amethyst Gay Nineties pitcher and eight tumblers, $17,500; an amethyst Inverted Feather pitcher and eight tumblers, $11,5000; and a green Frolicking Bear pitcher and eight tumblers for $76,000. My God, where did they get these pieces, a museum?” She looked over at Lacey. “Are you sure they actually had them and didn’t just make up this list?”

  “They had them insured and they also have a time-and-date-stamped video showing all the pieces in their house in Fish Creek.” Lacey shoved her notebook out of the way so the waitress could deliver their French toast. They took a few minutes to dig into their breakfast.

  “I still can’t believe that kind of carnival glass was up here in a summerhouse!”

  “You’d be surprised what’s up here.” Lacey swallowed a bite of French toast. “You’re right, this is delicious. I can hardly cook but I’m going to get a cookbook before I leave. If mine tastes half as good as this, it’ll be wonderful. What can you tell me about carnival glass?”

  “It was made from 1905 until around 1930 in the U.S. as well as five or six other countries. It was designed as a kind of poor man’s Tiffany glass.”

  “My parents had a few pieces but I knew nothing about it prior to this case. I bought a book on carnival glass at the bookstore in Sister Bay. The number of patterns and colors is mind-boggling.”

  “There are hundreds of patterns and nearly seventy colors, so the combinations are almost endless.”

  “I didn’t have any idea carnival glass was this expensive. I’ve got my parents’ pieces packed away in the attic in the farmhouse in New York. I’m beginning to think that isn’t a good idea.”

  “Scarcity of a pattern in a certain color is what drives up the price. Most pieces range from fifty to two hundred dollars. The Johansens certainly had a collection of very rare glass. Where in the world did they get it?” Ann cut a piece of French toast and managed to get some cherries and cream cheese on it before popping it into her mouth.

  “Mrs. Johansen remembers going to house sales with her mother in the forties and fifties and buying most of their good pieces for very little money. Her mother and grandmother liked the glass and it was plentiful so they amassed quite a collection. Her mother left the glass to Mrs. Johansen when she died. She and her husband drove up to open their Fish Creek house last week and discovered some of their glass missing.”

  “Some? How many pieces do they have?”

  “Over a thousand pieces between their three homes in Fish Creek, Lake Forest, Illinois, and Tubac, Arizona. They only keep about two hundred pieces up here.”

  “Jumpin’ Judas priest,” Ann said. “I take it their home isn’t one of Door Country’s old log cottages.”

  “It’s four thousand square feet on three levels. They built it nine years ago on the water just south of Fish Creek. There’s something else quite interesting about this theft. Only their most expensive pieces were stolen. The glass was all over the house, all three floors. Whoever took it knew what he was after and passed up the less expensive pieces.”

  “This stuff should be noticeable when it’s sold because it’s all so rare. Unless it gets sold to a private collector and not at a big sale or auction.”

  “It’s not going to hit my radar screen unless I know where to look. I don’t follow the carnival glass trade.”

  “This glass is too rich for the kind of sales I go to, but I can do some checking with the auctioneers I know to find out where this type of stuff goes. There are some auctioneers that hold carnival glass auctions. We can check into them too. You said there have been several houses burglarized. What else has been stolen?” Ann wiped her cherry-stained lips with her napkin and shoved her plate aside.

  “A little bit of everything, most of it glass, all of it expensive.” Lacey flipped through her notebook again and read from a page near the back. “This is just a partial list: forty-eight pieces of majolica, a fourteen-piece collection of Galle glass, a twelve-piece collection of Tiffany glass, seventy-two pieces of Flow Blue, four Civil War swords, twenty-seven pieces of Rookwood pottery, thirty-two pieces of Bizarre Ware, whatever that is, sixty-seven pieces of Dedham, thirty-seven pieces of Gaudy Dutch, thirteen pieces of Greuby pottery, a collection of one hundred and twenty Heisey glass animals, a thirty-two-piece collection of Lalique, twelve Loetz vases, thirty-nine Mettlack steins, nine pieces of Newcomb pottery, eleven Overbeck pottery vases, eleven Pewabic pottery vases, thirty-five pieces of Wave Crest, one hundred and seventy twenty-dollar gold pieces, and a collection of eighty-three gold pocket watches.”

  “All this stuff came out of houses up here?”

  “Yeah, can you believe it?” Lacey crammed her notebook back in her purse. “A lot o
f people have retired or bought second homes up here and brought their most cherished things with them.”

  “High-end glass and pottery with the exception of the coins, watches, and swords has been stolen. Things most of us have heard of but probably don’t know much about. Stuff the burglar would have to know a lot about to pull this off.”

  “Right,” Lacey said.

  “You have a laptop with Internet access with you?”

  “No.”

  “I do. I check my e-mail from the hospital every day. That’s probably the place to begin to get more information unless you want to go down to Sturgeon Bay and raid the bookstores.”

  “I’ll try the Internet first. I’m sure Sheriff Skewski has Internet access. I don’t want to interrupt your vacation.” They fished money out of their purses.

  “This is more exciting than what I was going to do today. Read a mystery novel, which I can do anytime, and learn how to make a beaded bracelet. I can teach myself to bead while you surf the Net.”

  They paid for their breakfast and Lacey’s White Gull Inn cookbook and took Highway 42 north to Ephraim. “Where are you staying?” Lacey asked as they drove past the entrance to the Gibraltar State Park Golf Course.

  “The Edgewater Resort.” Ann turned around to get a glimpse of hole eight, where they had found the body the day before.

  Eagle Harbor rolled out to their left. The sun danced on the gentle waves that came into the marshy shore. Sailboats tacked past the small fishing boats that dotted the harbor. A large freighter could be seen out where the horizon met the water. This far away it was impossible to tell which direction it was headed. They passed Wilson’s Ice Cream Parlor, tucked into a bend in the road, and pulled into the Edgewater Resort. They climbed the old wooden steps to the second floor and settled into Ann and John’s suite.

  Ann got Lacey set up with her laptop on the snack bar that made up one side of the galley kitchen. Once Lacey was surfing the Net, Ann went outside and set up her beading supplies on the table on the deck.