Double Dutch Death

by Karen Musser Nortman

  Rosie stretched, groaned as if in annoyance, and lumbered to her feet. She looked at Max awaiting her next direction.

  Max studied her and rubbed her back. “You lazy old thing! That bed was just too comfortable, wasn’t it?”

  She continued to keep one eye on the dog as she pulled on sweatpants and a tee shirt. To her relief, Rosie seemed perfectly okay. That was confirmed when she led the dog down the steps and out the front door.

  When Rosie shot across the lawn after a squirrel, Max grew convinced that only laziness and old age had afflicted the Irish setter that morning. She put the dog on a leash and took her on a brisk walk around the neighborhood.

  A couple of blocks from Dean and Bess’s house, Max saw their friend James getting out of a BMW in the driveway of a yellow Cape Cod. He squinted and started toward her. But then he waved and hurried into the house. Kind of an odd fellow.

  When they returned from their walk, Dean stood at the stove making French toast. A plate of sausage links waited on the center of the table.

  “Good thing I went for a walk and burned a few calories,” Max said. “That looks delicious.”

  “Max admires anyone who can cook something besides cereal,” Lil said.

  “I cook,” Max protested.

  “Lean Cuisine.” Lil distributed plates and flatware around the table.

  Max gave her sister the evil eye. She considered herself accomplished at her job and in other fields. It really annoyed her when Lil insisted on throwing her lack of homemaking skills up in her face. Especially in front of others. She took a deep breath. This was silly. There was no point in letting her conflicts with Lil ruin what promised to be a fun day.

  Bess laughed. “Before this gets physical, let’s change the subject. I have a meeting this morning so Dean will take you down to the windmill and give you a personal tour. There are also the museum and the Founders’ Village to check out on the same grounds. Then we could meet for lunch?”

  “Sounds fine.” Max smiled. “I’m looking forward to it.”

  Max and Lil drove to the windmill, following Dean, since they wouldn’t be leaving at the same time. He pulled into a small parking lot beside the public library and Max parked next to him.

  “We have to walk from here because there’s a 5K race going on down Engle Street which runs by the mill.” He looked at them and grinned. “It’s called the ‘Tiptoe Through the Tulips’ race. It should be almost done but there will be a few stragglers.”

  Max groaned.

  “It’s only a couple of blocks to walk,” Dean assured her.

  “I was groaning about the name.”

  When they reached Engle Street, the remaining walkers were widely spaced out and it was easy to cross between them. They entered through the museum and gift shop, which was attached to the windmill.

  While Dean reported in to the volunteers’ office, Max and Lil paid the admission for the museum and windmill tour. They then went to the gift shop.

  Max examined the selection of books, many about the plants of the area or the history of tulips. She picked up a box of thank you notes with pressed flowers on the front.

  Lil looked over her shoulder. “Oh, those are pretty.”

  “Yeah, except I don’t write thank yous.”

  “Maybe you should.”

  Max opened her mouth for a crushing retort, but thought about it. Maybe she should. Putting down any of Lil’s ideas or suggestions was an automatic reaction. She probably should write a few thank yous, including to Bess after they left. Instead of replacing the box, she took it to the cash register.

  Lil examined a pair of souvenir wooden shoes to send her granddaughter.

  “It would be more educational to send her a book about the Dutch than those silly shoes,” Max said.

  “She’s seven. She’ll like the shoes better.”

  Dean had just walked in and cleared his throat. “Would it work for you to do the windmill tour first before the regular tours start at 9:00? Then you can roam the rest of the museum and grounds at your leisure.”

  Lil nodded. “Whatever works for you. We have all morning and it sounds like there’s lots to see.”

  They paid for their items and followed Dean, who had donned a badge and a high-crowned Dutch fisherman’s cap, through the museum. An elevator at one end of the hall took them to the second story, where a catwalk connected to the windmill.

  Dean held the door to the mill for them. “This floor has samples of equipment used and models of types of windmills.” They wandered around the displays, but Max didn’t have much interest in the mechanical workings and by Lil’s expression, she didn’t either.

  “I’m ready to move on. How many floors are there?” Lil asked.

  “Five. You’ll probably find the next one more interesting. It’s a replica of the kind of quarters the miller and his family would have.”

  “They lived in the mill?”

  “Absolutely. Follow me.”

  They took the stairs up to the next level. A door in the hallway opened into a small apartment. The sparsely furnished room held a short kitchen counter with a sink, and cabinets underneath. Chairs and a round table with a handmade lace tablecloth filled one corner. A couple of wooden rockers sat by a large fireplace. A wooden cradle was dressed with linen sheets, a tiny quilt, and a knitted blanket. An embroidered christening cap and gown lay on top.

  A rumble over their heads meant the windmill was turning. Max looked up. “I would have thought that the noise would drive them crazy.”

  Dean shrugged. “It’s probably like living next to a busy street or railroad tracks. Eventually you don’t hear it.”

  Lil turned around scanning the room. “Where did they sleep?”

  Dean smiled and rubbed his hands. “I was hoping you would ask.” He walked to the far wall and opened the doors to a built-in cupboard. Inside, a mattress, comforter, and pillows made an inviting bed.

  “How neat—and practical. It kept them warmer, right?” Max asked.

  “You got it,” Dean said. Lil admired the colorful pottery and weavings until Max pointedly looked at her watch.

  “Patient as always, huh, Sis?” Lil grinned at her. Max just rolled her eyes and headed for the door.

  “Two more flights of stairs to the working level. Good to go?”

  “Lead on.” Max’s knees cracked most of the way up and she stifled a couple of groans.

  On the top level, in the two story room, they could look up to the huge wooden gears run by the mill blades, causing other gears to turn. Max was not usually much interested in mechanics but the apparatus and the monstrous grinding stones were impressive.

  Dean had to raise his voice to talk over the din. “Let’s go outside first and look around.” A catwalk encircled the mill at that level, affording an excellent view of the town. Another catwalk led over to the fifth floor of the museum. The huge blades of the windmill turned just above their heads.

  “Oh, look!” Max pointed. A large hot air balloon drifted high above the town.

  “Yes, they give balloon rides in the early morning,” Dean said.

  Lil looked over the railing at the street. “The race must be over.” A few participants, identifiable by the numbers on their backs, bent over catching their breath or stood chugging bottles of water. Remaining spectators and museum visitors milled around on the street.

  Lil got out her camera to snap photos of the mill, the balloon, and the street scene. “I’m surprised there are so many people out this early.”

  “Why don’t you just use your phone?” Max said.

  “I like my camera. It takes better pictures.”

  Lil stuck her tongue out at her sister when Max’s back was turned. Dean laughed.

  “What?” Max asked.

  Dean pointed down at the sidewalk. “Um, nothing. I just saw someone trip, but it wasn’t very nice to laugh. Sorry.”

  Max waved a hand. “No big deal.” She led the way back inside so she didn’t see Lil high-five
Dean before they went back inside.

  Dean said, “Now, this, of course, is the main feature of the windmill. We do grind grain here. The flour is sold in the gift shop and a number of the bakeries and restaurants in town use it. When we go back down, you’ll see a big garage-type door on the ground floor. The farmer backs his truck or wagon right inside and unloads the sacks of grain. Then the worker down there hooks the bag on that rope and it’s hauled up through a series of trap doors.”

  He pointed at an area in the middle with a heavy wooden railing around it. A trap door in the center was closed except for the rope going through one edge. “Looks like one of the volunteers put a sack on the winch last night or this morning since the rope is taut.”

  He threw one lever that opened the trap door on each floor and another that began to turn a large windlass directly above the trap door. The rope snapped tight and began to wrap around the windlass.

  “Boy,” Dean said, “I think someone went a little heavy on this bag. They’re supposed to weigh every bag and keep them within certain limits.”

  Lil leaned on the railing and watched the trap door. “Will the rope break if it’s too heavy?”

  “Well, eventually, but it can haul several hundred pounds if necessary. However, we limit it to save wear and tear on the machinery.”

  As the grain bag slowly made its way up five stories, they could hear the trap door at each level slamming shut as the load passed. Each slam got louder. Finally, a bag appeared through the trap door at their feet. Dean reached out to swing the bag over to the rail. As he did so, a seam on the bag ripped open and an arm flopped out.

  Chapter Three

  Dean said, “Oh my God!” and let go of the bag. It swung back and forth, from corner to corner, of the fenced area.

  Max had stepped back, hand over mouth, and Lil gasped.

  Dean leaned over the railing and reached one long arm to grab the rope again. With the other hand, he pulled a cell phone out of his pocket. He thrust it toward Lil.

  “Call 911!”

  Lil dialed, while trying to think what she would say. There was no point in explaining the grain bag; a dead body on the top level of the windmill seemed sufficient. But was the body dead?

  She stammered, “We need help on the top floor of the windmill. There’s a dead or injured person.”

  Silence at first from the dispatcher. Finally, “The Little Sneek Windmill?”

  “Yes. Hurry.”

  “Okay. Please stay on the line.” Lil held the phone and heard voices behind her. She saw Dean looking frantically toward the doorway, shaking his head and waving his hand.

  Max turned and headed to the door where a young woman with two elementary-school aged children were about to enter.

  “I’m sorry,” Max said, her voice only cracking slightly. “There’s been an accident. We’ll have to close for a bit.”

  She started to swing the large wooden door closed. The woman said, “What kind of accident? Do you need help?”

  At that point, the first siren could be heard nearing the mill. “Help is coming. Thank you for your understanding.” Max closed the door.

  Dean still held the bag by the rope. “I don’t know what else to do…” He looked at the bag and shook his head.

  Max regained her equilibrium and took charge. “I don’t think we should do anything, except—can you check if there’s a pulse? I’ll hold the rope.” She reached over the railing and grabbed the rope above Dean’s grip. She avoided looking at the grotesque sight of the arm protruding from the bag.

  He let go. Max teetered. She hadn't been prepared for the weight, and planted her feet more firmly on the floor.

  Dean opened a gate at the corner to go inside the enclosure. He bent down and took the wrist between his fingers and shook his head. “No sign of a pulse.” He stood and took the rope from Max, just to keep it steady and to avoid that macabre swinging.

  Heavy footsteps sounded on the inside stairs. In a few moments, a man with a shaved head wearing khakis and a red golf shirt entered the room. Two cops in patrol uniforms followed him.

  The man in the golf shirt stopped and took in the odd scene. “What—?”

  “Charles!” Dean said. “I was just demonstrating how the lift works, and this is what appeared.” He indicated the bag. “I couldn’t find a pulse but we haven’t touched anything else.”

  Detective Charles Wilkins moved inside the railing with Dean. As he snapped on some gloves, he said “This comes up from the ground floor, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “That level was locked. We just had to come through the museum.” He turned to the two cops. “Graham, go back down and secure that area. We’ll need to take fingerprints, and so on. Janssen, call for an ambulance and get the camera out of the cruiser. Then come back here to cover the scene.”

  “There’re lots of people through there every day,” Dean said.

  Wilkins bent over the suspended bag. “How do we get this off of here?”

  Dean showed him how to unhook the bag. They moved it away from the trapdoor and Wilkins gently untied the bag. He looked around. “I’m going to have to rip this off, evidence be damned.”

  Wilkins had Dean support the bag upright, a job that Dean obviously did not relish. Wilkins gripped the bag on either side of the tear and pulled. The raw ripping sound gave Max chills. As the bag opened, a man’s body emerged, almost like a rag doll, and flopped to the floor. He wore sweat pants and a tee shirt. A sign with a large number ‘87’ was pinned to the shirt.

  “Peter!” Dean said hoarsely. He looked at the two women still standing by the railing in confusion.

  “You know him?” Lil asked.

  “Everyone in town does. He’s one of the most prominent citizens in Little Sneek. He holds the patents on several computer apps—made a fortune.”

  “He must have been in the race,” Max said.

  Wilkins looked up at Dean. “Have these women been here the whole time?”

  “My wife’s cousins, Max and Lil,” Dean told him.

  “You don’t have to sound so apologetic,” Max said.

  Lil put a hand on Max’s arm. “Max, be quiet. We need to stay out of it.”

  Max sputtered and started to retort, but the sound of more footsteps on the stairs stopped her. Janssen returned with a camera. Behind him, a young woman and thirty-something man entered the room carrying a stretcher. Another man followed with a bag of equipment including an oxygen tank and mask.

  Wilkins shook his head. “You aren’t going to need any of that except the stretcher.”

  They glanced down at the man on the floor, his shape still contorted.

  The woman gasped. “Mr. DeVries?”

  “I’m afraid so,” Detective Wilkins said.

  “Gosh,” Dean said, “Um—I need to let them know in the office what’s going on. They’ve probably heard the sirens. I should have done that right away...”

  “Go ahead. Is the director here? If she is, please bring her back with you.”

  Dean headed for the door and Max and Lil started after him.

  “Ladies,” Wilkins called out, “I’d like you to stay here.”

  The two women looked at each other. Lil grimaced and Max raised her eyebrows but neither of them spoke.

  Janssen finished up the photos. The EMTs worked quickly and soon had Mr. DeVries strapped to the stretcher.

  “How will they get that stretcher down the stairs?” Max asked.

  Wilkins pointed at the door. “There’s a catwalk that crosses over to the museum, and there’s an elevator there.”

  When the EMTs left, Wilkins turned to them. “Now. I have some questions for you. Was that big door open when you came in this morning?”

  “Which big door?” Lil asked. “Here in the windmill?”

  “Yes, on the ground floor.”

  “We didn’t come in that way,” Max said. “We came over from the museum on the second floor.”

  “So you didn’t go to the
first floor at all?”

  “No, I think we were going there last.”

  “Has anyone else been here since you arrived?”

  Max shook her head, but Lil said, “Right after Dean hauled the bag up, a young woman with a couple of small children came to the door, but we shooed her away. She didn’t come in.”

  “Okay. You started at the second floor you said. Did you visit the other floors before this one?”

  Max said, “The second and third; then here.”

  “Did Mr. Gregory leave after you got here?”

  “No, he’s been with us the whole time.” Max was starting to get defensive; did Wilkins suspect Dean of something?

  It was a relief to hear Dean conversing with a woman as they neared the outside door, which the EMTs had left open. The woman was short and elderly with thinning blonde hair.

  “Mrs. Eldridge,” Wilkins greeted her. “I—”

  She burst out, “Charles, I can’t believe this! Peter DeVries? Who would want to kill him? And do that with his—body?”

  “We will find out, never fear,” Wilkins said.

  “You’d better, and soon! Dean said we may have to close the mill? At the beginning of the Tulip Fest?”

  Wilkins lowered his head. “I’m afraid so.” He looked at his watch. “It’s early yet. I’ll hurry my guys up so maybe you can reopen tomorrow.”

  Mrs. Eldridge put her hands on her hips. “How about tonight?”

  He sighed. “I’ll see what I can do.” She turned on her heel and marched back out the door.

  Max and Lil both stood dumfounded. Mrs. Eldridge had turned Charles Wilkins, who until then had seemed a confident, competent detective, into a subservient puppy.

  He noticed Max and Lil’s expressions and straightened up. “She was my fourth grade teacher.” He gave a little smile and shrugged.

  “Wow.” Max said. “She must have been pretty tough.”

  Another shrug. “Not really. I was about the only black kid in Little Sneek in those days, and she just made it clear that I couldn’t use that as an excuse. She held me to a high standard, and I think she’s why I made it through college and law school. So I always do what she tells me.”