Death at the Door

by K. C. Greenlief

  “I figured you all knew. She did a report last night on the WKZ news about all the people who had a reason to dislike Paul Larsen because of his zoning board decisions. I figured you all saw it. She talked about a Chicago transplant to Door County who was arrested for assault in Chicago.”

  “Who was it?” Lacey asked.

  “She didn’t give a name on the air,” Gene said. “She just put the idea out there that someone had killed Paul because of his stance on land development.”

  “As soon as I’m done with breakfast, we’ve got to call Joel,” Lark said. “I hate to ruin his Sunday, but he’s the best person to get a copy of her tape. Then I’ll try and get the rest of Joel’s interviews done.”

  “I’ll help so we can get them done that much faster,” Lacey said.

  “You can help by scheduling and organizing all the interviews. That way you can continue to rest.”

  Exasperated, Lacey looked over at Gene for help.

  Gene put his hands out in front of him, motioning her to cool it. “Lacey doesn’t have to be on bed rest anymore. It’ll do her good to get out. She can help with the interviews, but she can’t drive while she’s taking her pain meds. She can certainly ride with you.” He glanced at Lacey to see if she understood.

  She nodded. “I’m clear on that. The pills make me loopy, but I have the mother of all headaches if I don’t take them.”

  Gene got up to leave. “Lark, I’m having the waitress put your breakfast on my bill.” When Lark started to protest, Gene interrupted him. “It’s an inadequate way for me to apologize, but it is the best I can do. Please accept it.”

  Lark understood. He finished his breakfast and he and Lacey went back to her cottage to call Joel and get their interviews scheduled.

  Sunday Morning

  June 3—Kangaroo Lake,

  Baileys Harbor Township, Wisconsin

  As soon as they returned to her room, Lacey called Jobeta Wilson, one of the two women who had worked for all three cleaning services. She caught Mrs. Wilson just before she was going out the door to church. She agreed to be interviewed, but only if they came to her house right after church and talked with her while she fixed Sunday dinner. Otherwise it would have to wait until Monday. They had also gotten ahold of Lulu Anderson, the other cleaning woman, who agreed to be interviewed at 1 P.M.

  Lacey called Joel while Lark drove them across the peninsula to Kangaroo Lake. When Joel found out about Sophie’s news reports, he cussed a blue streak until Molly told him to cut it out because the kids could hear him. He agreed to get a copy of the tape from WKZ and bring it back with him after the funeral. Lacey could hear Joel’s kids in the background. She gave him the briefest of updates and got off the phone. She didn’t get to hang up before he thanked her and Lark for taking their Sunday to do the interviews.

  Lark and Lacey pulled up in front of Jobeta Wilson’s ranch house on Kangaroo Lake Road right on time at eleven-thirty. It looked well loved and well lived in. Someone obviously enjoyed gardening because there were flowerbeds everywhere. Foliage from spent daffodils and tulips was being overtaken by daylilies. Patches of iris bloomed in each bed, bringing bright splotches of jewel-like color to the emerald green grass and trees. Bright blue bachelor’s buttons were interspersed with tiny clumps of fuchsia-colored pinks.

  A swing set, sandbox, and jungle gym occupied the side yard. A wooden dock, its planks turned a light gray from many years of use and sun bleaching, led out into the water of Kangaroo Lake. A small fishing boat was tied up on one side of the dock, and a large pontoon boat was tied up on the other.

  “This is the life,” Lark said as he surveyed the place.

  “You’ve got this life right now,” Lacey said, watching his face. “You have a great house on a lake. I’m not sure if you have a boat, but that’s easy enough to take care of in northern Wisconsin.”

  Lark was saved from a reply when two vans and an SUV pulled in the driveway of the house. A swarm of kids that looked to be somewhere between the ages of six and twelve exited the three vehicles.

  “All clothes have to be changed and your church clothes have to be hung up before anyone goes fishing,” yelled a tall, thin, dark-haired woman who got out of the driver’s side of one of the vans. Her spitting image got out of the other van and grabbed a duffel bag out of the back. They followed the kids into the house.

  Two men in their late thirties got out of the SUV. When the door swung open, Lark noticed the Wilson Excavation and Construction sign on the door. The men walked over and introduced themselves as Pete Wilson and Jim Anderson, the husbands of the two women they were here to interview. They asked to see identification. When that checked out, they invited Lark and Lacey into what could best be described as the house of bedlam.

  The ranch was large and comfortably furnished. There wasn’t an antique or collectible in the dining room, living room, or family room where the two men parked themselves to watch a baseball game. There were children’s books, family photographs, and framed children’s art everywhere they looked. The kitchen with its double wall ovens, enormous island, and table that seated eight was the obvious hub of the house. Both women were behind the island tearing up slices of bread. They introduced themselves as Jo Wilson and Lulu Anderson and waved Lark and Lacey into seats at the bar. They asked one of the kids passing through the kitchen to get their guests something to drink. As if by magic, two glasses of iced tea appeared in front of them. The women told them that they’d sit down for interviews as soon as they got dinner started.

  As the sisters made stuffing for the four chickens they had gotten out of the refrigerator, they gave directions to the various kids who wandered through the kitchen. The chickens went into the ovens just as one of the older boys came in the back door with a mess of fresh asparagus. After only one yell from their mothers, all nine kids miraculously came together out on the deck in T-shirts and shorts. They carried a motley array of fishing rods and tackle boxes. They all nodded and some giggled when they were asked if their Sunday clothes were hung up. One of the women, it was hard to tell one from the other, went into the family room, turned off the baseball game, and sent the two men outside with instructions to be back in two hours for dinner.

  As the oldest of six kids, Lark immediately felt right at home in the organized chaos of several children going from room to room talking and squabbling. It was way too much for Lacey, who was an only child. Lark saw her get a pain pill out of her purse and began to worry whether he should have brought her along for the interviews.

  “Whew, sorry about that, but if we don’t get dinner in the oven soon, we won’t eat till dark,” one of the women said as she began scrubbing potatoes under the faucet.

  Lulu came around the counter and sat down across from them. She began to peel the potatoes after her sister washed them. “We’ve never been interviewed by the police before. How does it work?”

  Lacey got out her notebook and Lark put his tape recorder down on the countertop. “We usually tape our interviews or have people write down a summary. Which would you prefer?”

  “Tape,” the women said in unison.

  “The tapes will be transcribed for your signature,” Lark said.

  “We’re for anything that saves time,” Lulu said, her vegetable peeler whipping the skin off yet another potato.

  With the last of the potatoes washed, Jo sat down beside her sister to help finish the peeling. “We hope you don’t mind if we do our interviews together. When we ran into each other at church and realized you were talking to both of us, we figured we might as well get it over with at the same time.”

  “This isn’t normally how we do it, but I think it’s okay in this situation,” Lark said.

  Lacey nodded.

  “We’re investigating the robberies of the summerhouses.”

  “We know.”

  “We’ve decided to interview you because you have worked for all three cleaning services that were used by the people that got robbed.”


  The sisters nodded.

  “You need to speak your answers so they can be recorded and transcribed,” Lark said.

  “Sorry,” Jo said. “Yes, we’ve worked for all three cleaning services.”

  “I agree,” said Lulu.

  “Why didn’t the services tell us you all were twin sisters? It would have saved us some time,” Lacey asked.

  “Everyone is worried about what these robberies are going to do for business. If it turns out to be someone who has worked for one of the cleaning business, they will lose customers and go out of business. I’m sure that’s why they didn’t tell you any more than they had to,” Lulu said.

  “Can you hang on a second while I baste the chickens?” Jo asked.

  Lark recorded that they were going to take a break and turned off the tape.

  Jo basted the birds, filled two mixing bowls with water, and brought them to the counter. She smiled at Lacey. “We can’t let the potatoes turn brown.” She plopped all the peeled potatoes into the water and sat back down.

  “We’re ready,” Lulu said.

  Lark turned the tape recorder back on. “Can you tell us why you’ve worked at three different cleaning companies?”

  “Better money,” Lulu said.

  “More flexible hours,” Jo said.

  Lulu nodded and then leaned toward the tape recorder. “That goes for me too.”

  “We’re good, reliable workers. We do this because it works for our families right now and gives us a little extra money to spend,” Jo said.

  “We’re both schoolteachers. When our kids were smaller, it worked pretty well, but now that they’re all in school it’s getting harder and harder to keep up with everything. We tried substituting but it still didn’t give us enough freedom.”

  “We get to pick our hours with this job. If we want to wait until our husbands get home or our kids have gone to bed to close or open a house, we can do that.”

  “Do you have any ideas about who robbed the houses?” Lark asked.

  They looked at each other and back at Lark. “It wasn’t us,” Jo said. “We’re bonded so we’d never do anything like this. We know you want our alibis. We talked about that at church. From reading the paper it doesn’t sound like you know the dates when the robberies took place. Is that true?”

  “We know general time frames but no specific dates,” Lark said.

  Lulu put the last peeled potato in a bowl of water. She glanced at her watch and got up. She grabbed the dish towel full of asparagus and sat back down. The two sisters began trimming the ends off the spears.

  “I don’t know how to help you other than to tell you we didn’t do it,” Jo said.

  “If you can be more specific with your dates, we can go back and check our calendars,” Lulu said.

  “I hate to say this but I think you’re looking for someone local who knows antiques. Otherwise, how would they know what to steal?” Jo said.

  “Or who to steal it from or when to steal it?” Lulu said.

  “It’s a good thing our kids aren’t here to listen to this conversation,” Jo said. They both laughed.

  “Are you also investigating the murder of that architect?” Lulu asked.

  “Yes,” Lark said. “Any ideas on that one?”

  “I watched the news last night and they had a special report from that woman from Chicago.” Jo smiled at Lark. “The one that looks like Sophia Loren.”

  Lark nodded.

  “I think she’s full of it,” Lulu said. “No one up here is going to murder a zoning board member because their land didn’t get rezoned.” She looked over at Jo and rolled her eyes.

  “They might be mad as hell but they aren’t going to kill the guy.” Jo nodded at Lulu.

  “Why not?” Lark asked.

  “One vote can’t lose your rezoning request, it takes a majority vote. If they were going to kill that guy because of his vote, they would have killed the guy on there before him who voted no for every zoning request, no matter what it was.” Lulu gathered up the cleaned asparagus and ran a bowl of cold water to put it in.

  “Or they’d have to kill all the board members who voted against them,” Jo said.

  That made a chill run down Lark’s spine.

  “Of course there is that guy who bought property up here and advertised lots for sale without getting it rezoned,” Lulu said as she sat back down. “He’s a real piece of work.” She smirked at her sister. “He’s from Illinois.”

  They laughed.

  “He’s from Chicago, which is even worse. He didn’t have clue about how it works up here,” Lulu said.

  Jo looked at Lark. “We heard at church that you have already questioned him. He’s a huge guy with a beard and a mustache. Never has a kind word to say to anyone even after church. What is his name?” She looked over at her sister for help. “You know who I mean. I always think of Rasputin when I see him.”

  Lulu nodded. “His name is Rassmussen, but Rasputin fits. He and his wife weren’t in church today.”

  “Now there’s a guy mean enough to hurt someone,” Jo said. “Can you turn off the tape recorder so I can baste the chicken again?”

  Lark nodded and turned of the tape. “I think we’re done.”

  “Really?” Lulu said. “I thought this would be much worse than it was. That’s why we sent the kids out fishing with their dads.”

  Jo opened the oven and the smell of stuffing and roast chicken wafted into the kitchen. It made Lark think of Sunday dinners when he was a kid, and a smile spread across his face.

  “Would you two like to stay for dinner?” Lulu asked when she saw Lark’s smile. “We have more than enough food.”

  “We’d love to but we have more interviews to do this afternoon,” Lacey said.

  “I was beginning to think you had gone mute,” Jo said to Lacey as she sat back down. “Pardon me for asking, but are you the police officer who was attacked in the antique shop parking lot? I just wondered because of the bruise on your face.”

  “Yes.” Lacey’s hand seemed to move on its own to the bruise and the stitches in her hairline.

  “I just wanted to tell you how sorry we are about that happening to you up here.” Jo reached out and patted Lacey’s arm. “What you people must think of us with all this going on. This isn’t at all what Door County is about.”

  “We know that,” Lark said as he put his tape recorder away.

  Jo and Lulu thanked them for coming and walked them out to their car after they put two large pots of water on the stove to boil.

  Sunday Afternoon

  June 3—Baileys Harbor, Wisconsin

  “Man, that was a trip.” Lacey cranked up the air conditioner in the Jeep and leaned back against the headrest. “All those kids just about drove me crazy. How do those women do it? I’d be insane.”

  “Those kids didn’t fall from the sky. They had nine months to plan for each one. Time to get their life and the furniture rearranged. Besides, when they get to that age, they can help take care of each other.”

  “Or get each other in trouble.” Lacey rolled her head toward him. “I forgot that you had a bunch of brothers and sisters. I can’t imagine fixing all that food every day.”

  “I love big families.” Lark laughed. “It is funny about the food. It took my mother forever to be able to learn to shop and cook for two. I still think she cooks way too much. The refrigerator is always full of leftovers when I go home.”

  He looked over at Lacey and was stunned at how pale she looked. He glanced at the clock in the dashboard. He had just enough time to drive her back to Fish Creek and get to Baileys Harbor to interview another dairy farmer who had written an angry letter about not getting his land rezoned.

  “You’ve had a long morning. Why don’t I run you back to the White Gull? I can finish these interviews and then I’ll take you to dinner. Someplace quiet, just the two of us?”

  “I’m not going back to the White Gull but I will accept your invitation to dinner.” She leane
d forward and flipped the visor down so she could look in the mirror. “Damn, I’m pale as a ghost. Now I know why you’re trying to get me to go home.” She rooted around in her purse and dug out a cosmetics bag. Lark glanced back and forth between her and the road as she worked magic and put color back in her face.

  “All better,” she said as she turned her head to look at the coverage over her bruise.

  Since they’d finished their interviews early, they decided to stop for something cold to drink. Lacey suggested that they pull into Weisgerbers Cornerstone Pub. She had obviously been in the place before and they had an enjoyable break. She gave him a load of crap over being a Bears fan surrounded by a bar full of Green Bay Packer memorabilia. Despite Lark’s distaste for the Packers, he was sorry to leave a place where they were having such a good time.

  The afternoon passed uneventfully. They interviewed Gary Martin, who owned a dairy farm south of Baileys Harbor. He was angry with the entire County Zoning Board. He thought everyone who voted against him was an ass who had gotten theirs and wanted to prevent people like him from his opportunity to earn a little cash to put away for his old age. He did not hide that he had been angry at the council meeting or that he had written an angry letter to the newspaper. He could afford to be so up-front about his dislike for “Paul Larsen and his buddies” because he had been teaching Sunday school when Paul had been thrown off the cliff. He had a class of twenty to alibi him and provided a list of names and telephone numbers for their convenience.

  And so it went with the last three interviews that afternoon. Kenneth Meyer from Jacksonport had a similar story. A zoning request voted down, a letter to the editor, an angry speech to the zoning board when they’d denied his request to rezone forty acres of his two-hundred-acre farm. He had been in Green Bay at his nephew’s graduation party when Larsen was killed. He had the guest list with more than a hundred names for them to choose an alibi witness from.

  John Zelinka, an orchard owner in Carlsville, was just as pissed as the other people they had interviewed. He’d wanted to sell thirty acres of his two-hundred-acre orchard. The sale was contingent on rezoning so the new owners could build houses on it. No rezoning, no sale. No sale, no money to put his kids through college without loans. He admitted that beating the hell out of Larsen and few other zoning board members had crossed his mind. But he too had been in church when Larsen was killed. He gave them his pastor’s name and phone number and explained that he was a church deacon so nearly everyone at church would remember him.