Dead Rapunzel

by Victoria Houston

  “Your father borrowed Kenzie’s car? The little red Honda?” asked Lew.

  “Yes. He said he was having problems with the brakes on his truck and Kenzie didn’t hesitate to let him borrow hers.” Greg’s face softened. “That’s my Kenzie.”

  The front door opened as he spoke. Carried in on a blast of cold air was a slight figure swathed in a long sheepskin coat, her bright eyes barely visible under a colorful scarf.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “Oh, hey there, Chief Ferris and Dr. Osborne,” said Kenzie, looking up as she pulled off her boots. “How come you’re here? Don’t tell me you found who pushed Rudd in front of that truck?” She stood still, holding her breath.

  “No news yet, I’m afraid,” said Lew. “I apologize for dropping in like this, but Dr. Osborne and I have a few more questions for you. One has to do with your Halloween party.”

  “Oh?” Kenzie shrugged off her coat and tossed it onto a chair before joining them at the dining room table. “Whew, it is chilly out there.” She blew on her fingers. “What would you like to know?”

  “I was hoping you could show us that mask that you were wearing—the old man mask,” said Lew.

  “Of course,” said Kenzie, jumping to her feet, “but why would you want to see that?”

  “Has to do with the people attending your party,” said Lew, hoping her bluff would work. “Your stepmother was obviously enjoying herself, so I’m checking on a few things including the masks that the people around the table were wearing—and who all was at the party.”

  “Oh, okay, then you’ll want to see that photo again, too,” said Kenzie. “Be right back. I have all my Halloween decorations put away downstairs.” She jumped up and ran over to a door leading to the basement. Osborne could hear her running down the stairs.

  “Kenzie is very organized,” said Greg. “Trust me, she’ll have that mask for you in a flash.”

  Sure enough, it could not have been more than three minutes before they heard her running back up the stairs. She appeared in the doorway with a large plastic Rubbermaid bin in her arms. Across the front of the bin was scrawled in black Magic Marker the word “HALLOWEEN.” She set the bin on the floor by her chair.

  “Alrighty then, let’s see what we got here,” said Kenzie, lifting the lid. She reached down to pull out two folded sections of black-and-white nylon fabric. “Ghosts,” she said with a grin. “I hang them in front of the garage.” Next was a white laminated tablecloth covered with black and orange pumpkins. Kenzie leaned over, rifling through paper plates, napkins, and other decorations that filled the bottom of the bin.

  “That’s odd,” she said. “The mask isn’t here. That’s very odd.”

  “Maybe you have one more container?” asked Greg.

  “No, honey, you know I keep all the Halloween stuff in this one. It sits right next to my Christmas ornaments . . . ” She looked puzzled. “Let me think. I know I had it out to clean it.”

  She grimaced and gave Lew and Osborne an apologetic look as she said, “When you wear that thing it gets kinda slick with saliva around the mouth area. Too much information, I know, but that’s why I remember cleaning it real well before putting it away. Otherwise, next year it would be disgusting. I wiped it off with bleach and then I cleaned that off, too.”

  She glanced off toward the wall, thinking. “I’m pretty sure I tucked it right under the ghosts. Darn. I’ll keep looking. Give you a call when I find it?”

  “I would appreciate that,” said Lew. “Do you mind taking a few more minutes to show us your photo from the party?”

  “Oh, sure.”

  “I’m confused,” said Greg while Kenzie was in the kitchen getting her iPad. “Why are you so interested in that mask? Or even the Halloween party? Is there some connection with Rudd’s death?”

  “The young dishwasher at the Grizzly Bear Café told us he saw an old man run past the café window just before Rudd was hit. Since the driver of the logging truck insists that he saw Rudd pushed from behind, I want to find that old man.”

  “I still don’t see what Kenzie’s mask has to do with it.”

  “His description of the old man is very similar to the mask. Since the boy gave his mother a more detailed description of what he saw, I’d like to show her the mask. It may help us identify the person once we find him.”

  “Are you also saying that maybe the person who pushed her was wearing a mask?”

  Lew hesitated before answering. “Could be,” she said. “If Kenzie can buy a mask like that, anyone can. Right?”

  “Yes,” said Greg. “Because you cannot possibly think that was Kenzie’s mask that the dishwasher saw.”

  “Right now, Greg,” said Lew, “I have no idea who might have been wearing such a mask—or even if it was a mask. It’s just an odd coincidence that the descriptions match. That’s all.”

  Greg gave a sigh of relief. “The kid ought to be able to tell you, too. Why ask his mother?”

  “Because he’s dead.”

  “Wait, you’re not talking about that young guy who drowned ice fishing? He’s the same person who saw someone who might have pushed Rudd?”

  “Yes.”

  “Whoa . . . ” Greg was speechless.

  “Greg,” Lew lowered her voice, “please, this conversation—especially my interest in the mask—is confidential. Understood?”

  “Absolutely.” He was still shaking his head when Kenzie walked out of the kitchen with her iPad.

  Twenty minutes later, Lew and Osborne thanked Kenzie and Greg for their time. “Sorry I couldn’t find that mask for you, Chief Ferris,” said Kenzie. “I’ll let you know the minute I find it.”

  “When you do, I want you to call me right away,” said Lew. She scribbled her cell phone number on a page from her notebook and handed it to Kenzie. “This is my personal cell and you’ll reach me without going through dispatch.” Kenzie took the note, folded it, and slipped it into the back pocket of her jeans.

  As they dashed for Lew’s cruiser, Lew and Osborne tucked their heads down against the wind. “Jeez,” said Osborne, “these people live in a wind tunnel.” He was reaching to open the car door when Lew motioned for him to walk around the cruiser to where she was standing.

  Kenzie had parked her Honda in front of the garage door and alongside the cruiser. “Take a look, Doc,” said Lew, pointing down. “Don’t you think that rear tire on Kenzie’s car looks awful low? Does to me.” The floodlight over the garage made the tire easy to see.

  “It sure does,” said Osborne. “If you promise to warm up the car, I’ll run back and let Greg know they should check on it.”

  At Osborne’s knock, Greg opened the front door. “Back so soon? Did you forget something?”

  “No, no, just want to let you know that the right rear tire on Kenzie’s Honda is quite low. She might have a nail in it. Could be dangerous on these icy roads.”

  “Thank you. I’ll check it right now,” said Greg, reaching for the keys to Kenzie’s car, which were on a table in the front hall. He pulled on his parka and gloves and followed Osborne out to where Lew was waiting for him.

  “You’re right,” said Greg. “I better pull the car into the garage and get the spare on. Too late to get it in to the tire shop today, I’m afraid. Thanks for catching it.”

  He climbed into the Honda and hit the garage door button. He pulled the car into the heated garage, happy for once they had opted to heat the garage when they were building the house: It would be no fun changing that tire in the bitter cold. He decided to tackle changing the tire the next morning.

  As they started the drive back to town, Osborne could see Lew’s face in the glow from the instrument panel. “You look disappointed, Lewellyn.”

  “Not disappointed. Determined.” She kept her eyes on the road. “When Donna and I were talking this afternoon, she mentioned that Chip thought it was odd that the man he saw was not wearing a hat. The neighbor who told Ray about the red Honda parked in front of his house said
the car was there a good hour, maybe longer.

  “Now who in their right mind with the exception of vain teenage girls doesn’t cover their head in this weather? That’s why they cancel school. They don’t want to risk kids waiting for a bus to get frostbite. Doc, I’m ninety percent sure that if I can find that mask, I will have found at least a connection to the person who pushed Rudd Tomlinson in front of that logging truck.”

  “You don’t really believe that could be Kenzie?” Osborne was taken aback.

  “I’m not going to say ‘no’ yet. Her frustration at not finding the mask among her other Halloween decorations seemed genuine.”

  “I find her to be so frank and open . . . ”

  “I do, too. That’s why I wanted you with me just now. If she’s lying, she’s fooled us both.”

  “And her husband.”

  “One thing I noticed,” said Osborne, “that woman is so well organized—she would have made a great dental assistant.”

  “And a clean freak,” said Lew. “Definitely OCD.”

  “Lew, it’s late and I’m hungry,” said Osborne. “We’ve been so busy these last few days that unless Mallory went to the grocery store, which I doubt, my fridge is empty. How about joining me for a bite at the Loon Lake Pub and Café?”

  “I was thinking the same thing,” said Lew, “but do you mind if I include Bruce? I know he’s staying at the Inn until tomorrow.”

  “Fine with me.”

  Bruce answered Lew’s call immediately: “I’m glad you called, Chief. I was supposed to go out to Ray’s tonight, but I know he’s planning to entertain that Judith Fordham, too. Hate to cramp his style, if you know what I mean.”

  Lew gave a low chuckle. “I do indeed. Meet me and Doc at the Loon Lake Pub and Café in ten minutes.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Mallory had packed up her briefcase and was about to walk out through the foyer when Judith came down the stairs from the second-floor bedrooms.

  “Going home to your dad’s place again?” she asked. “Why don’t you plan to move in here over the weekend? We have a lot to do over these next months, Mallory.”

  “Sounds good to me,” said Mallory. “If you’re convinced we can move forward with the plans for the museum—”

  “Without a doubt. The sooner you live here, the better, though I know you want your own place.”

  “I do, but I’m cramping Dad’s style, so moving in here for a short time works great.”

  “Hey,” said Judith with an embarrassed grin, “before you leave, tell me if this outfit looks too dressy for having dinner at Ray’s. He’s cooking the fish that Bruce and I caught today. Isn’t that nice of him?”

  Mallory raised her eyebrows before answering. “He’s cooking your goose,” is what she wanted to say. But she pushed that thought back. Instead she gave Judith’s outfit the once-over: designer jeans, a ribbed black sweater with a cowl neck, black Sorel boots. “You look good, Judith.”

  “Thanks,” said Judith, swirling around as she reached into a closet for a quilted coat.

  “Do you know what you’re doing?” Mallory could not resist the question. “I mean, Ray Pradt could not be more inappropriate . . . ”

  Judith sat down on the nearest chair. “Are you still in love with him, Mallory? You told me you had a fling with him right after your divorce.”

  “It wasn’t much of a fling. And I was not in the best shape emotionally—so that’s my excuse. No, I am not in love with Ray, but I have great affection for the guy. I mean, how could I not? But he is not the kind of man I want to spend my life with.

  “On the other hand, Judith, much as I like both you and Ray, I don’t want to see you hurt.”

  “Please. I am at least fifteen years older than the guy,” said Judith with a wave of her hand. “I am not interested in getting married. This girl just wants to have fun. You know? A little fun.” Judith gave Mallory a beseeching look. “Does that sound so awful? As far as our age difference, look at all the guys with women much younger . . . ”

  “Okay, then,” said Mallory. “You’ll have fun all right. Just don’t complain to me when—”

  As Mallory reached for the door to the foyer, Judith interrupted, “You know, inappropriate men are not all bad. I’ve learned from every one, though there have only been two others. Still . . . ”

  “I am guilty, too,” said Mallory with a laugh. “We’re going to get along, I can tell.”

  “Move in this weekend?”

  “You bet.”

  “Sorry I’m running late,” said Ray, welcoming Judith into his trailer. “Had to stop by Happy Hookers and ended up chatting too long.”

  “WHAT?”

  “Don’t worry. It’s a bait shop. I needed waxies.” Judith’s heart slowed.

  An hour later, after raving over Ray’s sautéed walleye and wild-rice casserole, she asked, “Did you ever find out what those weird pipes were? The ones Kenzie and I found under the logs?”

  “We did. Bruce and I spent some time with one of the engineers working on the sand mines that are being developed in this area. He agrees with Bruce that someone was doing some soil testing in that vicinity. Did Rudd ever mention that she had been approached by one of the mining companies?”

  “No . . . but now that I think of it, I do remember something to do with the land in that area. It was over the holidays. She said that Vern Steidl had asked to buy a strip of land in the field west of her home. He swore Philip had once promised to sell it to him.”

  “Probably before Vern was fired years ago,” said Ray drily. “You heard that story—how he colluded with Tim to steal Philip’s fishing boat?”

  “No. Are you are kidding me? When was that? Philip didn’t share much about his early years with Rudd.”

  “Gosh, it was back when Tim was a teenager, so that had to be about twenty years ago. So you think Vern approached Rudd on a land purchase recently?”

  “She mentioned it in passing when we were sitting in front of the fire one evening. She turned him down and didn’t say more about it.”

  “Excuse me, Judith,” said Ray. “If you can wait a moment for my famous lemon-meringue pie, I need to make a quick phone call to Chief Ferris.”

  Judith listened as Ray apologized for interrupting Lew’s evening but he thought she should know that Vern Steidl had shown an interest in the property. “Very interesting,” said Lew when he had finished. “Not much I can do about it this evening, but I know how I can follow up in the morning. Go back to your dinner, Ray, and have fun.”

  “I will.” And he did.

  Lew put her cell phone away and turned back to Bruce, who had just asked her how to fish a nymph like the Rapunzels he’d seen at Rudd’s home. “Bruce,” she asked, “have you tried fly-fishing with wet flies?”

  “No, only dry flies so far. But I want to learn—”

  “The difference is the wet fly needs to sink below the surface of the water. To make that happen, I use a weighted nymph, which will sink to the bottom. Also, you attach a strike indicator to the line so you can check the speed as it moves with the current. When you see the slightest change—you strike!

  “Bruce, it’s not the easiest technique, but once you get it down, it can be deadly.”

  “No kidding,” Bruce grinned through his moustache. “Sounds fun. Chief, I have another question. Couple guys I know who fly-fish were talking about ‘mending’ the other day. I know I can look it up, but I thought you could maybe show me how you do it?”

  “‘Mending’ is moving your fly line against the current while you fish your fly, that’s all. Maybe they were talking about ‘aerial mending,’ which is moving your fly line as part of your cast after you do the forward power snap that I taught you but before your line lands on the water. A simple mend is made with an overhand semicircular move in the upstream direction. Does that make sense?”

  “But how wide is the semicircle? Like this?” Leaping up from his chair, Bruce raised his imaginary fly rod and, fling
ing his right arm back and to the side, managed to knock a tray of water glasses out of the hands of the waitress passing by.

  “Oh, jeez, I am so sorry!” Embarrassed, Bruce bent to help the young woman.

  When the water had been mopped up and pieces of broken glass disposed of, Bruce sat down at the table.

  Before he could open his mouth, Lew said, “Next spring. In the trout stream. Bruce, I promise to take you out on the Prairie River and give you a lesson on mending, aerial mending, and nymph fishing, but only if you sit still right now and finish your meal. No more flailing of body parts.”

  “You promise, Chief?”

  “I do. I’ll ask Judith if we can have a couple of those Rapunzels, too. Looked to me like she and Rudd had several dozen that were tied by their instructor.”

  “I’d like to learn to tie a few myself,” said Bruce. “How ’bout you, Doc? Interested in tying some of those trout flies?”

  “No,” said Osborne. “As a dentist I spent too many years working in small spaces with tiny objects. I will be very happy if you and Lew tie the flies. I’ll cast ’em.”

  Hours later, as they lay in Osborne’s bed, Lew tossed and turned, unable to sleep. “Doc,” she said after twenty minutes of trying to nod off, “this may sound foolish, but my search for Rudd Tomlinson’s killer reminds me of the old saying about a rising fish: so close yet shy of the surface.”

  “You’re convinced the truck driver saw someone push her.”

  “I’ve interrogated that guy five times now—and his story has never changed. I just wish he hadn’t been so distracted by the sight of Rudd falling that he didn’t get a clear view of the killer.”

  “Any chance you can let go of this long enough to get a good night’s sleep, sweetheart?”

  “I don’t know. But I am happy to be here, Doc. Your place is warmer than mine on blustery nights like this.”

  He could feel her smile in the dark. “Good.” He laid his arm across her and was happy as she snuggled in the curve of their bodies. “I like this. Sleep tight.”