The Thanksgiving Trip

by Kathi Daley

  I’d slept surprisingly well despite the fact that I had my conversation with Mike on my mind. I wondered if involving him in my secret had been the right thing to do. The timing definitely could have been better. If I’d had any idea when I’d shared my news about our father’s possible lack of deadness that a few short days later I’d all but decide to let sleeping dogs lie, I would never have opened a door I wasn’t sure I’d be able to close.

  I felt bad that Mike looked as if he hadn’t slept a wink. He was supposed to be at the lake on vacation, but between Doug Peterman’s murder and Mike’s continued involvement in it and the news I’d shared about Dad, he’d probably have gotten more rest and relaxation if he’d stayed home and worked his regular shift.

  Mom had gotten up early to put the turkey in the oven. She’d made the coffee and started all the fires. I could see she at least was excited about the day ahead. I was glad we’d made most of the food for our Thanksgiving dinner the day before so we could all relax today. Someone, I think Bree, had pulled out a couple of board games and set them on the sofa table in the main living area. Tony offered to dig out the hot tub so anyone who wanted to take a soak would have easy access to the warm water as the snow drifted slowly from the sky, and Mike had mentioned bringing a full day’s worth of wood inside so we didn’t have to keep going out onto the covered porch to restock the two woodburning fireplaces on the first floor.

  “The Macy’s parade should be on TV,” Mom said. “I’d like to watch it for a while if no one minds.”

  “I like to watch the parade every year,” Bree said.

  “Yeah, me too,” I agreed.

  “I’m fine with it until the game starts,” Mike added.

  “And I’m fine with whatever everyone else would like to do,” Tony topped it off.

  Mom turned on the flat-screen television, then used the remote to change the channel. A commercial for one of the popular cell-phone carriers popped onto the screen. Suddenly, I wondered if Doug Peterman’s phone had been on him when his body was found. He’d been in the water, so I wasn’t sure the phone would still be operational. Probably not. Still, his phone records would indicate if he’d spoken to anyone during the last hours of his life.

  Mom pointed to one of the balloons that made the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade so popular. I smiled and made an appropriate reply, although my attention had moved on to Peterman’s truck. It did seem like knowing where it was could provide us with clues to who’d killed him. I thought about my conversation with Tony yesterday, and my comment that maybe the killer was already at the lake when Peterman came back to take care of a forgotten chore, like closing the window. We didn’t know of any married men in town, but what if the motive for the murder was something other than an alleged affair. Might one of the locals have seen Peterman arrive and used his presence so late in the evening to confront him about whatever the motive turned out to be?

  Hans Goober came to mind. He was only a couple of cabins away, and it did seem as if he wasn’t fully in control of his mental faculties. My thoughts wandered to the map. After Mike turned it over to Officer Holderman, I hadn’t given it a lot of thought, but what if it did lead to a treasure?

  “Something on your mind?” Tony asked.

  I smiled. “Not really. Just daydreaming. It’s cozy sitting here watching the parade while it snows.”

  “The view from this window is pretty great,” Tony said.

  “I like the view,” Mom said, “but I don’t really like sitting in here after dark. Those big windows looking out on the lake make me think the cabins across the lake can look right in here when it’s dark outside but the lights are on inside.”

  Mom made a good point. If Peterman had turned on the lights when he’d come back last week, the people in the cabins across the lake would have been able to see that he was here. I thought about Tom Flanders, who’d informed us that he’d seen the lights on inside the house late at night when the Techucom folks were here. If Doug Peterman was here and Tom Flanders was home, wouldn’t he have at a minimum seen the lights on that night as well? It seemed another conversation with him might be in order. Of course, he was having Thanksgiving with Conrad Bilson and his daughter today, so it would have to wait.

  Maybe if the snow stopped I’d take the dogs for a walk around the lake and stop by for a chat with Hans Goober. He’d been pretty tight-lipped before, but I suspected he knew something. I could take him a piece of pie. We had tons, and I imagined he’d enjoy a slice of homemade pumpkin.

  I was working on my strategy to get out of the house with a piece of pie without drawing suspicion that my intention was more than just a neighborly urge when Tony suggested we take the dogs out. I supposed that was as good a reason as any to sneak away for a few minutes. I grabbed a slice of pie and wrapped it in tinfoil, then bundled up to set out into the snowy day.

  “Is there a reason we have pie?” Tony asked.

  “I was going to drop a piece off to Hans Goober.”

  “Seems like a nice thing to do. He’s probably alone today.”

  I felt my heart sink at the thought. “Yeah. You’re probably right. It did sound as if he was mostly alone in the world.”

  As we approached Goober’s cabin, I noticed wood smoke circling up from the chimney. I told the dogs to stay and approached the front door and knocked.

  “Yeah?” he answered.

  I held out the paper plate with the pie on it. “Happy Thanksgiving. I brought you a piece of pie. I hope you like pumpkin.”

  His eyes softened just a bit. “You brought me pie? Why?”

  “We had plenty, and I thought you might enjoy some.”

  He took a step back. “Come on in. I have something for you too.”

  I glanced at Tony, who stood near the dogs. He shrugged, and I turned back to Hans. “Okay. But just for a minute. I have Tony and the dogs with me.”

  The room was small and cluttered. I suspected the last time it had been cleaned was when Doug Peterman did it before Hans moved in for the winter. Hans walked over to the stove. He spooned something from a pot into a tin cup. “This here is elk stew. It’s tasty.”

  “It looks delicious, but I just ate breakfast.”

  “You can take it with you and bring the cup back later. As long as you’re going to have to come back anyway, I wouldn’t mind a slice of turkey to go with the pie you brought.”

  “I think that can be arranged. I’ll stop back with a whole plate with trimmings and all.”

  “I like gravy.”

  “I’ll bring extra gravy.”

  I turned to leave when I noticed a map that looked a whole lot like the one I’d found in the conference room sitting on a table near a well-worn chair. “I’ve seen that map before.”

  “Leads to a treasure. My grandpappy gave it to me a long time ago.”

  “You must be the prospector who had his map stolen.”

  “Yeah, that was me. I got it back, though.”

  “I saw a copy of this map on the floor in the house we’re renting. Did you know there were copies?”

  Hans narrowed his gaze. “Can you keep a secret?”

  “Sure. I guess.”

  “My grandpappy gave me this map when I was ten years old. For a long time, I didn’t do a thing with it other than stash it away with some old photos. Then, twenty years ago, I decided to try to find the treasure. I’ve spent every summer for the past twenty years doing just that. Talk about a waste.”

  “I guess you didn’t find it.”

  “I’ve come to the conclusion there isn’t a treasure to find. I finally made some money off this old map, however.”

  I raised my eyes. “How did you do that?”

  “It was Doug’s idea, really. He said he needed money to pay off his bookie and he had an idea how he could get the money he needed and I could get some money too. I told him I was interested, so he explained his plan. I let it be known my map had been stolen and I was real mad about it because I was close to finding the tr
easure. Meanwhile, Doug took the map and had it copied. He let it slip out that he was the one who had stolen the map and was willing to sell copies for the right price. That boy was a genius. He found ten people to buy a copy of this old map for five hundred dollars apiece. He gave me my cut last week.”

  “So you’re saying there are ten people with this map who’ll be sneaking around looking for the clues on the map?”

  Goober shrugged. “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “We noticed someone recently got into the crawl space under the house we’re renting.”

  “I guess they were looking for the symbols that were carved into the old mining office. There used to be symbols carved into a lot of the buildings around here, but most of them have been torn down.”

  “So you and Doug conned ten innocent people?”

  “I wouldn’t say we conned them. Doug offered to sell them a map, which he did. He never guaranteed that all the clues led to things that still existed. And he never promised anyone they’d be successful in their treasure hunt. Besides, even without all the clues, one of the scientist types who were up at the lake this past month might have figured out a way to find the treasure without the symbols, so the maps do have the potential to do what they suggest they might do.”

  I rolled my eyes. Talk about a con. Still, it didn’t look as if Hans killed Doug Peterman, and I doubted that one of the Techucom employees who fell victim to Doug’s scam killed him over a five-hundred-dollar map they wouldn’t even have had time to attempt to follow. I said goodbye and returned to where Tony was waiting.

  “You went in with pie and came out with… coffee?”

  “Elk stew.”

  “Sounds interesting.” Tony took my hand and began to walk away from the cabin and back toward the house.

  I glanced at the tin mug Tony held. “I told Hans I’d bring him a plate of food when I return the mug. I feel bad for him. He really does seem to be all alone in the world.”

  “I suppose his being alone is his choice, but I see what you mean.”

  The first thing I noticed when we arrived at the house was the police car in the drive. “Oh, this can’t be good.”

  “It’s probably Officer Holderman come to talk to Mike,” Tony said.

  “Yeah, probably. I think it’s a little odd that he keeps seeking Mike out to the extent he has. In the television shows I watch, the cops are always so territorial.”

  “Mike is a likable guy who knows his stuff. I’m sure Holderman is happy to have his input. Let’s take the dogs in through the kitchen so we can dry them off a bit before we give them the run of the house.”

  The kitchen was empty when Tony and I went in, but I could smell the turkey in the oven. and oh boy did it smell good. We grabbed a stack of towels from the laundry room and set to drying all three dogs as best we could. We were just about finished when Bree walked in.

  “I didn’t hear you guys come in.”

  “We wanted to dry off the dogs so we came in the back door,” I told Bree. “Is Holderman here?”

  “He’s talking to Mike in the conference room. I came in to check the turkey and grab some tea. Your mom and I are watching a tape of one of the other parades while Mike is busy with Holderman. I’m sure he’ll commandeer the television for football when he’s finished with his conversation.”

  “I like football,” I said.

  Tony set the tin mug on the counter. I took another look at the stew. It seemed fine, but I couldn’t help but remember how filthy the cabin was. I dumped the stew down the drain and ran the disposal. I’d just tell Hans it was delicious when I returned the mug.

  “Is there anything we need to do now other than keep an eye on the bird?” I asked.

  “Nope; everything is ready to heat when it’s time. Come in and relax. We’ll watch some football and drink some tea.”

  “If we’re watching football, I think I’ll go with beer.” I looked at Tony. “Want one?”

  “Sure. Beer and football do go together.”

  “It sounds like Holderman is leaving,” Bree said.

  I followed her into the living room. Mike was showing the officer out.

  “What was that all about?” I asked after the squad car drove away.

  “Holderman’s on his way to pick up Hans Goober. Tom Flanders from down the lake reported that he saw Doug Peterman go over to Hans’s place after he came back here the night he died. He was shot shortly after that. I guess Holderman figured out that the map we gave him was a copy of the one Goober reported having been stolen and put two and two together.”

  I frowned. “I just spoke with Hans Goober. Doug Peterman didn’t steal the map. Goober started that rumor as part of a plan the two men had to copy and sell the map.”

  “Even if that’s true, it looks like Goober was the last one to see him alive.”

  It was odd he hadn’t mentioned Peterman coming by on Friday night. It was odder still that he’d seemed to be legitimately surprised when I told him Doug Peterman was dead.

  Chapter 11

  Dinner, in a word, was perfect. The fire crackled merrily as huge flakes of fluffy white snow drifted toward the ground. The food was some of the best I’d ever eaten, and the conversation somehow managed to avoid death and drama and remain firmly on family memories and upcoming holiday plans. It really was the very best holiday meal I’d had in a very, very long time. In fact, the whole thing was so lovely that thoughts of Doug Peterman’s murder didn’t penetrate my mind until I came across Goober’s tin mug in with the other dishes.

  I wondered if he’d been arrested. It made me sad to think that he’d spend the holiday in jail. Maybe I’d walk over and take a peek. If he was home, I’d bring him the plate of food I’d promised. Maybe I’d make one up and take it with me just in case.

  When I arrived at his cabin, I found the place deserted. I felt a sadness in my heart as I retraced my steps despite the fact that just a few hours earlier I’d thought he might be guilty. Peterman stopping at Goober’s seemed to negate the idea that he had locked himself in the conference room to avoid someone and fled out the window in an ill-fated attempt to get away. If that hadn’t been what happened, what had?

  “Goober not at home?” Tony asked when he saw me return with the mug and the plate of food.

  “No. I guess Holderman must have taken him in. I’ll admit I thought he might be guilty given the timeline of events, but now my gut is telling me he’s innocent.”

  “If he didn’t do it, who did?” Tony asked.

  “I’m not sure. We know Peterman was here to clean earlier in the day. We know he went into town for a meal and a drink but came back here later for some reason. We suspect he was in this house when he found the need to escape someone, so he locked himself in the conference room, then left through the window. The fact that he took the time to stop by Goober’s place seems to negate the fact that he was running from someone. Yet he died not long after Tom Flanders saw him show up at Goober’s place and the location where his body was found wasn’t all that far away from it.”

  “Which brings us back to the gunshot no one seemed to have heard,” Tony pointed out.

  “There is that. The sound of gunfire would have carried. Every cabin on this lake would have been within the sound range, and yet not one person we’ve spoken to has mentioned hearing it. I guess the killer could have used a silencer. I doubt Hans Goober has a gun with a silencer. The only gun I noticed in his cabin was an old hunting rifle.”

  Tony took my hand and led me over to the kitchen counter. He indicated that I should take a seat. “Are you sure you want to do this today?”

  “Want? No. Not really. But I think I need to figure this out. If Goober is innocent, it’s so sad he’s spending Thanksgiving in jail.”

  Tony sat down next to me. “Let’s go over this again. We know Tom Flanders called to tell Holderman he saw Peterman go over to Goober’s cabin on the night he died. He must have seen it on Friday and this is Thursday of the following week, so why do
you think he took so long to say anything?”

  “Good point. Why wouldn’t he have mentioned it the day he heard Peterman had been shot and his body had been found in the lake?”

  “Maybe something happened today that got him to finally speak up,” Tony suggested.

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. But another question that should have occurred to us long before this just occurred to me. Based on our current theory, Peterman was shot and killed on Friday night. We’ve been operating under the assumption that his body ended up in the lake shortly thereafter. Yet we didn’t find his body until late Sunday afternoon.”

  My eyes grew big. “So why didn’t someone stumble across his remains before we did?”

  “Exactly. Maybe we should bring Mike into this discussion. He might know more than he’s told us.”

  “Okay. Let’s see if we can pull him away from his pie hangover long enough to discuss the situation.”

  Mike was in a mellow mood thanks to all the food and wine he’d consumed. He seemed more than willing to talk, so I took advantage of it. Mom and Bree were taking naps, so it was only Mike, Tony, and me in the living room.

  “I want to talk to you some more about Hans Goober,” I said.

  “I know you think he’s innocent, but I’m sure Holderman will work through the details and get to the truth.”

  “I’m sure he will, but I’m also sure he might take his time doing it. In the meantime, poor Hans is in the slammer.”

  Mike raised a brow. “I thought you barely knew the guy.”

  “I do barely know him, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care about an innocent man spending the holiday in jail. I have a plate all made up for him. Extra gravy and everything.”

  Mike let out a long sigh. “Okay. So what do you want to know?”

  “On the surface, it appears Doug Peterson was at the house on Friday afternoon to clean it. He finished at some time prior to eight, when he went into town. He ate and had a drink, then came back to the house for some reason. Tom Flanders from across the lake said he saw his truck here at around ten, then went to visit Hans Goober. I find it odd that he didn’t mention that the first time we spoke to him.”