“Some things you never get past,” he mumbled.
“I’m investigating a string robberies up here in Door County. You may have read about them in the Door County Ledger.” Lacey said after introducing herself.
Fred stared at her, his face inscrutable.
“Your name came up on a list of businesspeople in the county with felony convictions. I’d like to talk with you about the robberies.”
He shrugged his shoulders and sighed. He came out from behind the counter and walked to the front door. He flipped the Open sign to Closed, locked the door, and waved his hand toward the back of the store. “Let’s go to my quarters and talk about this.”
Lacey followed him into a combined living, dining, and kitchen area. In contrast with all the clutter in the shop, it was neat and orderly. Three large, colorful, modern-looking pieces of glass were sitting on tables, and paintings of landscapes hung on the walls. Bookshelves, crammed willy-nilly with hardbacks and paperbacks, lined one wall. The furniture looked well maintained but comfortable.
Fred walked to the refrigerator in the galley kitchen. “Can I get you something to drink? Iced tea?”
She told him she was fine. Lacey leafed through a copy of Arts and Antiques magazine while he fixed his tea.
He sat down in the chair opposite her. “I wondered if I’d get pulled into this.”
She gave him a puzzled look.
“My conviction was thirty years ago in Milwaukee. I was young and stupid and drinking like a fish. I was probably a budding alcoholic. I did a year in the pen at Waupun and got out and did what my family always wanted me to. I went to the University of Wisconsin in business. I worked in an antiques mall while I was in school and got interested in antiques. The owners let me use their reference books and I started going to house sales and auctions and buying things. They let me put my stuff out for sale in the booths that were empty and I started to make a little money.” He stopped to sip his tea. “I got my degree in business but I was making more money on my antiques and collectibles business than I could get from any of the offers I had, so I just stayed with it. I own this shop and a shop in Florida.” He smiled. “It’s been a pretty good life. I summer here and winter down there.”
“When did you come up from Florida this year?” Lacey asked.
“May twentieth, a little later than usual because I stopped at several auctions and sales on the drive up.” He took another sip of tea.
“You haven’t been up here all winter?”
“No, I close this place in the winter. One of my neighbors checks on the shop once a week to see that nothing’s out of place. She makes sure the furnace and the plumbing are working.” He waved his hand out toward the shop. “My stock is well insured but a lot of it would be hard to replace.”
“Can you give me some names of people I can talk to in Florida who can vouch for your whereabouts this spring?”
“Be happy to.” He hoisted himself up out of the chair and went over to an old, carved mahogany cabinet. He pulled open the doors and revealed a leather-topped writing desk with assorted small cubbyholes and drawers. He grabbed a legal pad and an address book and sat down to write.
He brought her a list with half a dozen names on it. “These people should be able to tell you everything you want to know. I’ve indicated the ones who work for me.” He leaned over to point them out to her.
Lacey got up to leave.
“I’ve been thinking about who could have stolen all this stuff,” Fred said as he walked her out into the shop. “It’s got to be someone who knows this area very well. Door County is really a series of small towns. To have gotten in and out of this many houses without anyone knowing about it until now would take some pretty solid ties to the area. Otherwise they would have slipped up. I think you’re looking for someone local.”
“Any idea who it might be?”
“I can’t imagine anyone up here who knows enough about antiques to pull this off doing anything like this.”
“Are you planning on going anywhere in the next few weeks?” Lacey asked as she studied the path to the front door.
“Just down to Green Bay to bid on an estate.”
“I’ll check out your alibi and get back to you.” She wended her way through the maze of antiques to the front door.
“I’ll be here,” he said.
Lacey slipped the lock and walked into the days last golden rays of sunlight. She dug through her purse for her cell phone as she walked to her SUV. She had parked at the edge of the parking lot to give customers closer access to the shop. She jumped when a squirrel screeched at her. He chattered out an alarm call to his other four-legged friends as he streaked past her. He ran under her car and into the woods, startling a flock of bright yellow goldfinches that flew out of a clump of white birches at the edge of the woods.
Lacey found her phone just as she got to her SUV. She slung her purse up on the car hood and dialed Joel’s number.
He answered on the third ring. “Where the hell are you?”
“I’m just leaving the antique shop.”
“I’m just leaving the home of an elderly dairy farmer who owns two hundred acres just north of my new favorite town in Door County, Sturgeon Bay. I don’t think this guy would know what a golf club was if someone hit him in the ass with it. I’ve driven to Sturgeon Bay so many times in the last week I swear my car could get here by itself.”
“Maybe you could be a little bitchier.” Lacey couldn’t help herself; she had to get in a dig or two after Joel’s tirade the night before.
“Screw you, Smith. My day was a bust. Both these guys have alibis. I’m beginning to wonder if I’m barking up the wrong tree.”
“Why?” Lacey asked, smiling at the squirrel that continued to bark at her from its perch twenty feet up a maple tree a few feet into the woods.
“Everyone on my list of suspects from the zoning board meetings has an alibi with the exception of Rassmussen and Neilsen.”
“It only takes one person.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m starving.”
“I am too.” Lacey fished around in her pants pocket for her car keys since she hadn’t found them in her purse. The squirrel stopped chattering and scampered farther up in the tree.
She heard a noise in the bushes behind her. “What the—” She turned toward the noise just as a searing pain flashed through the side of her head. She fell to the ground. Someone kicked her in the gut, sending pain shooting though her pelvis and back. She curled up in a ball trying to escape the pain and passed out.
“Lacey, what the hell’s going on?” Joel yelled into the phone.
“Bitch” was whispered into the phone, and the connection went dead.
Friday Evening
June 1—Old Times Old Treasures Antique Shop,
Sister Bay, Wisconsin
Joel redialed the phone several times and got the same message, the one about the cellular phone customer not being available. He hopped in his car and headed to Ephraim. He tried to call Lark on his cell phone and in his motel room but didn’t get an answer either place. He swore and tossed the useless phone down on the car seat. He shoved his car up to seventy-five miles an hour once he got out of the city limits of Sturgeon Bay.
Lacey opened her eyes and looked up to see two squirrels chattering down from the limbs of a white birch tree. She wondered if she was seeing double or if the pest from earlier had brought along a friend to gloat. She reached out a hand, trying to get her bearings, and they scrambled farther up into the tree. She dropped her hand back down to her side and realized she was lying on gravel. She looked to her left and saw her car. She had no idea how long she had been lying there. She put her hand up to her throbbing head and it came away sticky. There was just enough light for her to see blood covering part of her hand. She rolled over on her side and sat up. Pain shot though her head and her abdomen. She felt herself sway back and forth and put all her energy into not falling back to the ground.
For the first
time she knew what it meant to see stars. Until now she had always thought that was a load of crap. Her stomach felt as if it were on Tilt-A-Whirl. She willed herself to take slow, deep breaths and told herself she did not need to throw up. The nausea subsided enough that she could focus on standing. She moved her left hand to stabilize herself and pain seared through it. She yanked her hand away and saw that it was cut and bleeding. She’d made contact with the smashed remains of her cell phone.
“Shit,” she muttered as she used her car to stabilize herself, and clawed her way into a standing position. She looked around for her purse, vaguely remembering leaving it on the hood of the car. It was gone.
She stumbled to the door of the antique shop. It was locked and the lights were out. The Open sign was still flipped to Closed.
“Bastard,” she said as she dug into her pockets, praying that her car keys were there. She grabbed ahold of her key ring and a “Thank God” escaped her lips. She crept back to her car, climbed up into the driver’s seat, and fumbled the keys into the ignition. When the engine turned over without hesitation, she began to cry. She pulled out of the parking lot and turned south on Highway 42. Something tickled her ear and she wiped it away. When she brought her hand back down to the steering wheel, she noticed that bright red blood was smeared over dried blood on most of her hand. Her hands started to tremble. She willed them to stop shaking and focused all her energy on keeping the car on the road. She kept telling herself it was less than ten miles to Fish Creek and a shower.
She drove around the tree-lined curve in the road that led into what passed for the urban area of Ephraim. Two does and three tiny fawns stepped out into the road. They stood motionless as her car approached them. She jerked the car to the left, swerving into the other lane. She heard the blaring of a horn and looked up to see an old blue pickup truck coming at her. She screamed and yanked the steering wheel to the right, and her car lurched back into her own lane. The deer were no longer in sight.
She was shaking all over. It took all her concentration to keep the car in her lane. The part of her brain that was still rational told her to settle down and get off the road before she killed herself or, even worse, someone else. The rest of her brain was hell-bent on getting home, cleaning up, and getting some aspirin to get rid of the worst headache of her life.
She pulled into downtown Ephraim and saw the large, two-story porch of the Edgewater Resort bathed in gold from the setting sun. She knew that Lark and Ann and John were there. She knew she would be safe if she could get to them. It took all her might to turn the steering wheel to the left and pull into the parking lot of the Edgewater. She didn’t notice the vehicle she had pulled in front of as it came to a halt, its brakes screeching on the asphalt.
Lacey pulled her car up behind Lark’s Jeep and dropped her head to the steering wheel, relieved to know that he was there. She didn’t have the energy to get out of the car and knew that sooner or later he would find her.
Friday Evening
June 1—Edgewater Resort, Ephraim, Wisconsin
“What the hell was that?” Ann asked as she looked down at the road from the second-story porch of the Edgewater. The night was so beautiful that she and John and Lark had decided to have a glass of wine and watch the sunset while they waited for Joel and Lacey to call about dinner.
“Looks like someone almost had an accident.” John leaned over the railing to see what was going on. He saw a dark green SUV whip into the parking lot. “Whoever it is, they’ve blocked you into your parking space.” He nodded over at Lark.
The guy in the car out on Highway 42 laid on his horn and stuck his head out the window. “Learn how to drive it or park it,” he yelled. He stepped on the gas and burned rubber as his car sped up the road.
“You’re still blocked in,” John said, watching the car that had pulled into the lot.
“I’ll go down and see what’s going on.” Lark got up out of his chair and headed for the door. John followed him.
“Looks like Lacey’s Grand Cherokee,” Lark said as they clattered down the back porch stairs to the parking lot. Both men rushed to the car when they saw Lacey sitting in the driver’s seat with her head lying on the steering wheel.
Lark opened the door and Lacey raised her head to look at him. He saw blood covering her hands and the left side of her head.
“What the hell happened to you?” he asked as he lifted her out of the seat.
“Someone hit me in the head and stole my purse. I think they kicked me in the gut too. Bastard.” She dropped her head on his shoulder as he carried her up the steps into Ann and John’s suite. Ann took one look at her and began giving orders.
“John, throw those beach towels on the bed. Lark, put her down there as soon as he’s done. I’m going to get some water and some washcloths so we can clean up this wound.”
“What’s wrong with running her down to the ER in Sturgeon Bay?” Lark asked after he put her down on the bed.
“I don’t want to go to the hospital,” Lacey said.
Ann walked in carrying a large bowl half-filled with water. She had a flashlight tucked under her arm. She sat down on the bed beside Lacey, and John handed her a stack of washcloths and hand towels. She smoothed Lacey’s hair away from her face. “Honey, I’m afraid you’re going to have to go to the hospital, but let’s get this wound cleaned up first and see what we’ve got. Do you remember what happened?”
“We’re not starting this shit again,” Lark snapped, thinking back to Ann’s first accident last winter when the two women had ganged up on him over Ann’s going to the ER.
“Someone jumped me. The bastard hit me in the head and stole my purse. He also kicked me in the gut.” Just thinking about the kick made Lacey curl up into a ball on her side.
“Lacey, were you raped or sexually assaulted?” Ann watched her face closely.
“No, no, nothing like that.”
“I think we really ought to just take her to the hospital,” John said.
“I agree, screwing around like this is bullshit,” Lark said.
Ann gave them a withering look. “You men are such wimps.” She turned all of her attention back to Lacey. “Everything’s going to be all right, you’re safe now.” She gently rolled Lacey over on her back. “Sweetie, I need you to open your eyes so I can look at your pupils.” They were equal. Ann held up her index finger. “Follow my finger.” Ann watched Lacey’s eyes move back and forth, tracking the movement of her index finger. She took a hold of both of Lacey’s hands. “Squeeze my hands as hard as you can.” Both grips were equal and strong. Ann wiped blood off one of her hands. She looked at the deep, jagged cut in the palm of Lacey’s left hand and wrapped a washcloth around it. “Lacey, I’m going to have you squeeze this washcloth and see if we can stop that bleeding.” Ann picked up the flashlight. “I’m going to shine this flashlight in your eyes. It’s probably going to hurt a little, but don’t look away. I need to see what your pupils do when the light shines directly in them. We can do this very quickly if you can just maintain eye contact for a few seconds.”
Lacey nodded and Ann turned on the flashlight. Pain stabbed through Lacey’s head and bile burned her throat. “Ann, I think I’m going to be sick.”
Mercifully, Ann took the light away. “Great job. Your pupils reacted well. They constricted right down with the light.”
Lacey curled on her side and retched, trying not to throw up.
Once again Ann turned her back over. She brushed Lacey’s hair out of her face and laid a wet washcloth across her forehead. She held Lacey’s hand, the one that wasn’t cut. “Look at me.” Ann said in a soft but firm voice.
Lacey’s eyes were riveted to Ann.
“Take a deep breath.” She coaxed Lacey by breathing in noisily and then letting her breath out slowly.
Lacey did the same thing.
“Another deep breath,” Ann said, and breathed in deeply.
Lacey once again took a deep breath. After about two minutes of deep b
reathing, Lacey was relaxed.
“Is your stomach better?” Ann asked as she put a new washcloth on Lacey’s forehead.
“Much better. I’ll have to learn how to do that.”
“I don’t think so, that’s a special nursing-only technique.” Ann smiled. “We’re almost done. Now tell me your name.” Ann watched Lacey for any signs of hesitation.
“Lacey Smith.”
“Tell me where you are.”
“Door County, Wisconsin.”
“Who’s the president.”
“George Dubya.”
Ann patted Lacey on the shoulder and looked triumphantly up at the two men. “She’s more alert than half the people out there walking around on the streets. You guys get the hell out of here while she gets cleaned up. Then we’ll decide if she needs to go to the ER.”
“Decide?” Lark yelled. “What the hell is there to decide? She’s going to the ER and that’s all there is to it.”
Ann stood up and waved the men toward the door. “Get out of here until you can calm down. Yelling isn’t good for Lacey’s blood pressure.”
Lark and John left the room after Ann assured them she had everything she needed. She soaked a washcloth in warm water as she talked to Lacey. “We’re going to get this blood cleaned off you and see what we’ve got under it. You’ve obviously got some sort of head wound.” Ann wrung out the cloth and washed the blood off the side of Lacey’s face. “You’ve got a gash about two inches long, but it’s hidden by your hairline. Sorry, but you won’t be able to use this scar as an excuse for a face-lift. You’ve also got a huge bump on the side of your head. Thank God you’re so hardheaded.” Both women laughed.
“Oh, God, Ann, please don’t make me laugh. It hurts like hell.” Lacey held her head in agony.
“Sorry.” Ann took the washcloth out of Lacey’s left hand and dabbed a wet washcloth around the cut in the palm of her hand. It had finally stopped bleeding. “You’ve got a pretty bad cut here. It’ll need stitches.”
Death at the Door Page 15
