Death at the Door

by K. C. Greenlief

  “My God, she has a lot of rare carnival glass and the most complete set of references I’ve ever seen,” Ann said as they drove back toward Ephraim. “If you want to consult an expert about the carnival glass that was stolen from the summerhouses, she’s your person.”

  “It is quite a coincidence that a collection like that is up here in Door County in the same area where another fabulous collection was just stolen,” Joel said as they once again stopped for the dithering flock of turkeys.

  “Wonder why someone would steal the Johansens’ collection and not touch that one?” John asked.

  “So far the robberies have only taken place at summer residences and the Gradoutes live here year-round.”

  Ann leaned forward from the backseat. “I don’t know about the other places that have been robbed, but that Thomas Lee room has some kind of electronic security on all the glass cases and there are cameras in each corner of the room. That may be another reason why no one has gone after it.”

  “Why do people have all these expensive antiques up here in Door County? This is rural Wisconsin for God’s sake.” Joel’s frustration was obvious.

  “Door County may be backwoods but it’s no longer a backwater,” John said, keeping his eyes on the road. “Have you looked at what property costs up here? Ann and I love it here but we sure couldn’t afford waterfront property without a serious change in our lifestyle, so we’ll just settle for an occasional visit and pretend that Big Oak Lake is the size of Lake Michigan instead of a paltry twenty-four hundred acres.”

  “This is also an up-and-coming retirement community for professional people from Chicago, Milwaukee, and Madison.” Ann waved her hand at the gallery they had just driven by. “Many of the gallery owners are retired and only live here part of the year. There are a lot of arty people up here, and they bring their best stuff with them. That’s part of the reason this area is becoming such a treasure trove.”

  They decided that they might as well head to Sister Bay and see if they could catch Simon Gadoute at his café. Fifteen minutes later they pulled up in front of an old two-story house that had been painted a cheerful Mediterranean blue. A white sign hung outside the building with The Hill Top Café calligraphied on it in dark blue.

  A young girl with an Eastern European accent greeted them at the door. They were seated at a table near the window. She left them menus and went to get them each lemonade and to find Simon Gradoute.

  “I’m having the cream of chicken and wild rice soup,” Ann said, perusing the menu.

  “Who said anything about eating?” John glanced at his watch. “It’s only eleven forty-five and we had a big breakfast.”

  “So far, I’m still in my size tens and I’m having soup and their homemade-bread sampler plate.” She looked over her menu at John. “If you give me any more crap about eating lunch, I’ll also have wine and dessert and you’ll be eating dinner by yourself.”

  “I think I’ll have the soup too.” John put down his menu with a smirk on his face.

  Luckily for Joel, the waitress returned with their lemonade before any more words could be exchanged. They all three ordered the soup and decided to share the bread sampler.

  Ann put her menu down and studied the room. Most of the tables were full of people talking and laughing their way through lunch. The room was conducive to smiles with its country-French feel. The old, narrow hardwood floors looked as if they had been painted by a bunch of freewheeling two-year-olds. The base coat was a bright barn red, and someone had taken all the primary colors and squirted them onto the floor in random swirls of color. It was a knockout when paired with the white, mismatched wooden tables and chairs. The walls were painted a washed-ochre yellow and packed with pictures and shelves full of a mix of old and new items for sale. Ann watched as a waitress took a picture off the wall and handed it to a smiling customer who had just finished her lunch. Before the woman was out the door, the bare spot was filled with another picture.

  Simon Gradoute delivered their food. “You must be the people who were just visiting with Rose,” he said as he served their lunch. “May I?” He pointed to the empty seat at the table. They waved him into the chair.

  “I’m in heaven,” Ann said as she savored the rich, creamy soup. “I’ll be here every day for lunch until we go home.”

  “We’d love to have you,” Simon said with a brilliant smile.

  Ann smiled back into his blue eyes. Simon was average in every way except for his stunning gray hair and mustache that went so well with his complexion and eyes that Ann wondered if he dyed it. He chattered effortlessly with John about design details for the inn as they ate their lunch. Once they finished eating, Simon took Joel to his office for their interview. Joel set up his tape recorder after Simon agreed without hesitation to be taped.

  “Why didn’t you have Paul design the bed-and-breakfast rather than bringing John in from out of town to do it?”

  “I’m sure you already know the answer to that question.” Simon smiled. “Paul was against our B-and-B. It wasn’t personal; he was against all development up here. Besides, once I saw the work John did on Rose’s cousin’s house, I would have been hard-pressed to select anyone else. Paul’s resistance to the B-and-B made it easier for us to get the person I really wanted to do the design.”

  “Who do you think had a reason to want Paul Larsen dead?”

  “I can’t think of anyone who wanted Paul dead. I can think of several people who were very angry with him. I’d suggest you review the County Zoning Board minutes and the letters to the editor. Lars Neilsen and Bazil Rassmussen come to mind. They’ve been pretty vocal and they’ve both written letters to the paper and to the other members of the zoning board about Paul’s bias against development.”

  “What about your wife. She told us she and Paul had a falling-out?”

  Simon shook his head. “Rose and Paul were like most brothers and sisters. They have tiffs but they would go to bat for each other against anyone outside the family. Their relationship was strained because of Paul’s stance on the B-and-B, but Rose would have gotten over that.”

  “What about this fight over Paul’s grandmother and the lost carnival glass?”

  “That was nothing.” Simon waved his hand. “Rose is obsessed with this legend about the lost barrel of carnival glass her great-uncle supposedly brought up here. We’ve looked everywhere and have never found any trace of it. She never liked Minnie, Paul’s grandmother, and she got angry when Paul brought over those two pieces of red Stag and Holly carnival. Stag and Holly is very rare in red carnival and I can’t imagine where Minnie found them, but she could have picked them up at a yard sale just like Paul said. Anything is possible with carnival glass. Rose should have just accepted them gracefully, but she really believes that Minnie had something to do with the lost barrel of glass. I personally don’t think it ever existed.”

  “Do you play golf?”

  “Yes, in fact, Paul and I played several times last year. I haven’t been out at all this year. Opening this restaurant and keeping Rosemary’s running takes all my time and energy right now.”

  “Where were you Sunday morning?”

  “I spent the morning with Angelina, one of our staff. We went to Sturgeon Bay to buy produce for the restaurant and did kitchen prep together right up until the restaurant opened.”

  “Is Angelina here?”

  Simon nodded and picked up the phone, dialed the kitchen, and asked for Angelina to be sent to his office.

  A young girl with long, dark hair pulled back in a loose ponytail and huge, dark brown eyes slipped into the office. She wore black pants and a crisp white shirt. A long white apron was draped around her slender waist. “Simon, did you call for me?” she asked as her eyes flitted between Joel’s face and the tape recorder in the center of Simon’s desk.

  “This is Detective Grenfurth from the Wisconsin State Police. He’s investigating Paul Larsen’s death. He needs someone to vouch for my whereabouts on Sunday morning.
”

  Angelina leaned back against the wall beside the door. She had been standing motionless since her arrival in the room. Her hands had been clasped in front of her and resting on her pristine apron since she’d walked in. She seemed to clench her hands tighter before she spoke. “Simon and I met here at the restaurant at seven on Sunday morning. We did an hour of prep work and then drove down to Sturgeon Bay for more produce. We came back here and worked with the rest of the staff to finish the prep for brunch.”

  “So the two of you were together all the time.”

  “Yes,” Angelina said. Not taking her eyes off Simon’s face.

  Joel watched the interplay between the two of them and got the feeling that there was more than just an employment relationship between them. He wondered if that was the only thing making Angelina nervous. He thanked her for her time and she quickly left the room.

  “She seemed pretty nervous.”

  Simon looked forlorn. “We all knew Paul and we’re all pretty upset about what happened to him.”

  Joel ended the interview. John dropped Joel off at his car in the Edgewater parking lot. Joel headed north to interview Daisy DuBois while Ann and John got busy on their research assignments.

  Wednesday Afternoon

  May 30—Ellison Bay, Wisconsin

  As Joel drove through the woods on both sides of Highland Drive, he wondered exactly how much money was in the shipping and sawmill business. The DuBois girls seemed to have done quite well for themselves. Daisy opened the door as he pulled into the circle drive in front of her house. Despite grubby jeans, a stained and ratty dark blue T-shirt, and flip-flops, she was a stunner with her long, lanky body and streaked blond hair pulled back in a ponytail. She looked like a flower child. Her name fit.

  “I was hoping I could get cleaned up before you got here but I got busy in my garden and lost track of time.” She held the storm door open and stepped back against the front door to let him in. “Okay if we talk in the kitchen?” she asked as she led the way down the hallway to the back of the house.

  Joel glanced into the dining room as he walked past the door and was stopped dead in his tracks by the dazzling crystal that filled the large breakfront against one wall. “Is that the cut glass you inherited from your grandmother?”

  She gave him a puzzled look and then broke into a smile. “Rose must have told you about Great-Gran’s obsession with glass.”

  “She did.” Joel sat down at the kitchen table and set up his tape recorder. “Care if I record this?”

  “Fine by me.” Daisy waved her hand at him and opened the refrigerator. “How about some sun tea?” She set a gallon jug of golden tea on the kitchen counter. “Made it myself fresh today.” She raised her eyebrows in question.

  “That would be great.”

  She fixed them each a glass complete with long, elegant ice-tea spoons. “The spoons are from Great-Gran’s Georgian silver service,” she said as she sat down. “The nineties would have fit grandmother like a glove. She had a big desire to acquire. She must have been the original material girl.”

  “I understand that you worked pretty closely with Paul Larsen,” Joel said, moving their conversation back to business.

  She nodded, blinking back tears.

  “Subject nodded affirmative,” Joel said. “Ms. DuBois, I need you to speak your answers for the recorder.”

  “Sorry.” She wiped her eyes and leaned into the tape recorder. “Paul referred several customers to me for decorating services. We talked about me shutting down my office and joining his firm, but that didn’t pan out.” She stared down into her tea, stirring the ice round and round with her spoon. “Probably worked out for the best.” When she looked up from her tea, her eyes were fringed with tears.

  “I found some women’s clothing in Paul’s home in Ephraim. Was it yours?”

  Her eyes flickered over his face. “I left some things there. I’d have to see what you found to determine if it’s mine.”

  “So you and Paul were intimate?”

  “We were lovers off and on for about a year.” She maintained eye contact with him.

  “You’ve been rather discreet about it.”

  “My sister Rose and my mother didn’t approve of Paul and I seeing each other. I guess old habits die hard.”

  “Can you think of anyone who would want to hurt Paul?”

  “I don’t know of anyone who would actually want to harm him, but there are several people up here that he was driving crazy.”

  “Who?”

  “Everyone in Door County who wanted to develop their property, including my sister Rose and her husband, Simon. He was their first choice to design the B-and-B but he made it clear to them over Thanksgiving that he was completely against the project. Then he and Rose started fighting about some old carnival glass. Nothing seemed to be going right between them lately. Paul and Simon were arguing about something the last time I saw them together. It was probably about the bed-and-breakfast conversion.”

  “When did you see them arguing?”

  “A couple of weeks ago when I stopped by to see Rose. She and Paul were also arguing about some of his grandmother’s carnival glass. Rose was being petty, as usual, about her precious carnival glass collection. Paul and Simon could have been arguing about that too.”

  “Were you and Paul seeing each other then?”

  “More off than on. I hate to say it but he was beginning to drive me crazy with his obsession over land rezoning. Paul couldn’t seem to stop talking about it. He felt very strongly that Door County’s charm was its green space and its shoreline. If the land was already zoned commercial or residential, he didn’t care about it being developed, but he was vehemently against annexation of land for development. He made more enemies than friends.”

  “Any enemies who would want to kill him?”

  She toyed with her half-filled ice-tea glass. “He didn’t mention any, but, as I said, he was more angry than usual about rezoning. Your best bet would be to interview the people who have had their requests vetoed by him. Paul did get some angry letters from a couple of people. He kept his zoning board files in the gatehouse, so if he had any letters, they should be there. You can also contact his secretary in Chicago. She opened all his mail and would know if anything came to him there. Are you investigating the house robberies as well as Paul’s murder?”

  “My partner is investigating the robberies. Do you have any information on them?”

  “No, no.” She glanced over at him with a questioning look. “Paul mentioned them to me on Friday. He said we’d all be stunned when the bastard was caught, that it would be someone we least expected. He sounded so matter-of-fact that I asked him if he knew who it was. He told me he was just speculating. He thought it had to be someone who knew Door County well. I don’t live up here all the time and I’m kind of worried about having my home broken into. Violet and Lily have asked me to go check on their houses to make sure everything’s all right.”

  “Use your burglar alarm and call the sheriff’s office if you notice anything unusual. So far no one’s been home when the robberies have taken place so no one’s gotten hurt.”

  “Thank God. That’s the most important thing, isn’t it?” she said, staring over his shoulder. “Insurance can replace the stuff that’s been stolen.”

  Wednesday Evening

  May 30—Edgewater Resort, Ephraim, Wisconsin

  By five o’clock when Joel got back to the Edgewater, Lark and Lacey had the cases well organized and had a good start on the characteristics of the burglaries.

  Ann and John joined them with copies of their information about 5:15 P.M.

  Lark went first. “All twenty-five locations are single-family dwellings. They’re all owned by the families who were robbed. They all sit back from the road and are secluded from their neighbors. They’re all on the water and twenty of them have docks.”

  Lacey flipped to her notes. “None of the properties are rented out although they are occasio
nally used by friends of the people who own them. No rental companies are involved. All but four of the properties use one of the three cleaning services in the county. Nine of the services’ past and present employees have worked for two of the companies and two of them have worked for all three companies. So there’s something we need to look into since all the cleaning companies have keys.” Lacey stopped for a sip of water and went on, “Fifteen of the homeowners use two different lawn-care companies. The rest used different kids in the community. The families use four different snow-removal companies. Only nine of the homes have security systems, all provided by the same company. Ten of them have used two different catering companies in the past three years. They all have insurance, none from a local agent, and they use seven different insurance companies. Nineteen of them have had plumbing work done by four different plumbing services. Five have had electrical work done all by the same company. We haven’t interviewed these families for social connections.” Lacey looked up from her list. “That and checking out the cleaning-service employees should be next.”

  “All that and cleaning-company employees are our only lead?” Joel said.

  “I’ve already made a list of their names and addresses so we can start on them tomorrow,” Lacey replied.

  “Processing fingerprints on this many cases is a nightmare.” Joel glanced down at his notes. “We’ve processed the ones from the first twelve houses. Most of the prints come from family members. The few unidentified prints found in the areas where things were stolen are isolated to each house. Like maybe a visitor came in and touched something. We’ve also found a lot of smudged prints.”

  “Big surprise, the burglar wore gloves.” Lacey rolled her eyes.

  Ann passed out copies of her research. “You’ve each got a copy of the history of each kind of glass. I’ve also included a list of reference books, newsletters, Web sites, and collectors’ clubs for each type. There’s also a list of the large auction houses in Milwaukee, Chicago, and Minneapolis. I talked to two of the Milwaukee houses, and if you send them a list of what has been stolen, they will watch for it. They don’t want any part of selling stolen property. I can talk with the other auction houses tomorrow if you want me to.”