by Rick Polad
“Next time you hear from Rosie, have her call me.”
Stosh humphed. It was his trademark. “Sure, she’s got nothing better to do, like looking for an escaped prisoner.” He hung up.
I called Ben and filled him in. He had the afternoon off.
***
After all the interruptions I was wide awake, so I made some bacon and eggs and ate out on the deck. White, fluffy clouds and a slight breeze promised a nice day.
I had just finished the last piece of bacon when the phone rang.
“Morning, Spencer.”
“Hey, Rosie. Bad day?”
“A whole week of bad days. What do you know about this?”
“Whoa, Detective. I just found out she was arrested a couple hours ago.”
“And since then you have what?”
“A few questions.”
She sighed. “If they’re going to improve my day, ask.”
She sounded discouraged, as well she should.
“Did she get you to stop along the way?”
“Yeah, said she had to pee.”
“And would that have been at Gruber’s Garage? Rundown gas station just over the canal before Sturgeon Bay? One pump out in front and junker cars scattered on the sides? And was there a green, battered, old pickup on the side of the garage by the bathroom?” That pickup hadn’t moved in twenty years.
Silence. “Yes. And how do you know all this?”
“Didn’t—lucky guess.”
“Uh huh. Sure. Do I get an explanation or do I have you picked up as an accomplice?”
“For making a lucky guess?”
“No, for having information about a crime.”
“I’m in Chicago, Rosie. All I know is she escaped.”
“Sure, and all the rest? You just described the crime scene.”
“I’m a detective—a good one. I take clues and make good guesses.”
“Those aren’t good guesses, Spencer—they’re perfect guesses. And you know something I don’t. She was your girlfriend. Did she call you?”
“She did not. Those were really just guesses, Rosie.”
“This is serious, Spencer. Do you know where she is?”
“I do not. But if I hear anything, I’ll call Stosh.”
Her big exhale was loud and filled with exasperation. “Sure you will. Thanks for nuthin’. I’ll find her myself.”
“Good luck with that, Rosie.”
I think she had hung up before hearing my good wishes. There was a click in there somewhere.
I knew I wouldn’t hear from Kathleen. She had already sent her message by telling Aunt Rose to call me. She knew I would start looking into it. She also knew of my relationship with the police, and that if she did call I would have to tell someone. So I knew I wouldn’t hear from her unless she was in big trouble.
It didn’t surprise me that Kathleen had escaped. That was one of the things I had loved about her. She was smart and very cunning. Rosie never had a chance. Most people call a lawyer with their one phone call. Kathleen had called my Aunt Rose and asked her to call the two people she needed help from—me and Rusty. Rusty, one of her uncles, is the nickname for Gus Gruber, the owner of the gas station where Rosie had stopped because Kathleen had to pee. Kathleen had escaped through the window of his gas station many times in high school, whenever she had a date she wasn’t happy with. She would just disappear, leaving a hopeful teenage male wondering why he was suddenly alone. One memorable, hot Saturday night one of those hopeful males was me.
I felt badly for Rosie. She wouldn’t find Kathleen. You couldn’t walk fifty feet in Door County without bumping into one of her relatives, and they would all do whatever was needed to help her.
Chapter 5
After deciding I wasn’t going to get any more sleep, I made two phone calls. One was to Aunt Rose to tell her I’d be there by dinner time. I asked if the cottage on Moonlight Bay north of Bailey’s Harbor was being used. It wasn’t. I also asked her to see if Maxine was free for dinner. A year ago, when I got Maxine the job with Aunt Rose, I had promised her a fish boil.
The other was to Kathleen’s brother, Adam Johnson. He said he’d make himself available between five and six.
***
To save time, I took Highway 43 to Green Bay instead of the scenic route along the lake through Algoma, and crossed the bridge into upper Door County a little after four.
Adam was the manager at the Alpine Golf Resort just south of Egg Harbor. It was on the way to Aunt Rose’s Harbor Lantern Inn in Ephraim. I parked, got out of the car, and scanned the course that had gotten the best of me more times than I could remember. Part of it was at road level and part up on a bluff. The eighth hole tee box was on the upper level. The green was on the lower. I always felt like I was hitting my ball off the edge of the world. You sent your clubs down on a cog tram. I passed the entrance to the clubhouse and turned right onto the road that led up to the top of the bluff where outcrops of tilted limestone disappeared into a farm field. During my summers in high school, Kathleen and I had found several small limestone caves.
I pulled off the road, got out, and looked out over the bay. The view out over the water to the north was spectacular and brought back wonderful memories of time spent with Kathleen sitting in the grass at this very spot. The tourists didn’t come up here, so we were always alone with a view of the bay over the tops of the trees.
Adam was waiting in his office. The tired, worried look on his face told me the answer to my first question.
“Hello, Spencer. Been a while.”
“It has, Adam. I’d like to say it’s nice to see you but…”
“Yeah.” He took a deep breath and let out a long sigh.
“I assume you haven’t heard from her.”
He shook his head. “No, I’m really worried. This doesn’t make any sense. I know she behaves oddly at times, but this isn’t like her. She’d get word to me somehow.”
“She’s also very smart and wily. She got away from two pretty good cops. Maybe she’s just being careful.”
“Do you think she’s in danger?”
“I don’t think so. If she was, I would’ve heard from her.” I sat in a stuffed chair to the side of his desk. “This makes no sense to me either. Would you mind answering some questions?”
“Be my guest.”
“Let’s start with why would she be arrested for taking one of her own paintings?”
“There seems to be some confusion. The gallery in Chicago, Simmons, works with Kathleen and a frame shop up here called Framed. They do all of Kathleen’s framing. They did Dad’s also. Simmons sends Framed a list of the paintings they want to display. Somebody from Framed picks up the paintings on the list, they frame them, and then transport them to the gallery in Chicago.”
That seemed strange to me. “Why doesn’t Simmons deal directly with Kathleen?”
“That’s easy. That’s how they did it with Dad. Why they didn’t deal directly with Dad I don’t know. The kid…”
He was interrupted by a knock on the door frame.
“Unless you have something else, I’ll be leaving, Mr. Johnson,” said Adam’s secretary.
“We’re good Becky. If you can post the tournament list in the morning, that would be great. And there’s the membership newsletter that needs to be sent to the printer. Sorry all this is falling at the same time. Have a good night.”
She said goodbye and nodded to me.
Adam turned back to me and continued.
“The kid from Framed was supposed to come Saturday, but the owner, Gunderson, called and asked if he could come Sunday. Kathleen had to be in Milwaukee and her helper, Inga, couldn’t make it, so I volunteered to open the door and let the kid in.”
I wasn’t sure why all that mattered. “Is that the normal procedure?”
“Yes, except for the day change.”
“So, still wondering why she’d be arrested.”
He shook his head. “I’m just guessing here, but
I think the kid took a painting that wasn’t supposed to go.”
I waited.
“Kathleen has a favorite painting. She calls it Blue and Green. She has been offered three thousand dollars for it, but it isn’t for sale.”
“Why not?”
Adam shrugged. He looked exhausted. “I don’t want to get into my crazy sister. You already know something about that.”
I smiled. That was part of what I liked about Kathleen. She was unpredictable and a lot of fun. But it was also part of what I didn’t like.
“She just won’t sell it. She says it’s her best work and it inspires her. I asked how much it would take for her to sell it and she just said it wasn’t for sale.”
“So?”
“So, I got a call from her when she got back on Tuesday. She wanted to know if I knew anything about Blue and Green being missing. I told her I didn’t know it was. She was furious. We decided the kid from Framed took it by mistake.”
“You said the kid had a list. How could he take the wrong painting?”
“Well, here’s the confusion. There was a painting on the list called Green and Blue. It evidently was already sold along with several others. The kid could just have mixed up the names.”
I tried to recreate the scene in Kathleen’s shop. “So Green and Blue was left behind?”
Adam took a deep breath. “Well, that’s the weird thing. It was gone, also.”
“So what happened?”
“Kathleen called Gunderson. The paintings had already been driven down to Chicago by the kid. I told Kathleen to call the Chicago gallery in the morning and ask if Blue and Green was there.”
“And what was their answer?”
“They didn’t get the chance to answer. She was furious and said she’d drive down there herself.”
“Not surprised by that,” I said knowingly.
“No. She didn’t trust any of them. The gallery had been trying to buy it, and she didn’t put it past them to steal it if she wouldn’t sell it.”
I smiled. “Don’t mess with Kathleen.”
Adam agreed. “Yeah, she’s a feisty handful.”
“So, I’m assuming she got it.”
“So am I.”
“You don’t know for sure?”
“No. I didn’t hear from her. I didn’t know anything was wrong until I got the call from you.”
“And you still haven’t heard from her?”
He shook his head again and looked very worried.
“Strange. But I don’t think there’s anything to worry about.”
“Yeah, but until I get word of where she is, I’m going to worry. Where is she?”
“Good question. Another is why did she escape in the first place? Why not just go and clear up the confusion?”
Adam shifted in his chair. “Well, back to being unpredictable. She was pretty highly principled. She cared a lot more about what was right than she did about money. If she thought someone was trying to steal the painting, I have no idea what she would do.”
“I agree, Adam. And the stories are conflicting. She says she took Blue and Green but one of the employees at Simmons saw her walking out with a painting under her arm. He says it was Harbor Nights, not Blue and Green.”
Adam nodded. “And that raises another question. She went down there on Wednesday, but wasn’t arrested until Friday.”
“That one I can answer,” I said. “When the manager of Simmons was told she had taken a painting, he checked the paintings to see which one was missing.”
“And?”
“And none were. They were all there.”
“All thirteen?”
“All thirteen.”
Adam looked confused. “So…”
“Yup. So why was she arrested if none were missing? Well, that was Wednesday. When they were staging the paintings for display on Thursday, there were only twelve.”
I got a strange look from Adam.
“My contact told me the manager, a Mr. Bloom, assumed the employee he asked to check on Wednesday miscounted somehow, and there were really only twelve on Wednesday. So Thursday, he calls the cops again.”
Adam looked thoughtful. “Which one was missing?”
“Harbor Nights.”
His eyes widened. “Why would she take Harbor Nights? She was trying to sell it.”
I tried to make sense of this. “I have no idea, but it’s missing and the employee says he saw her walking out with it. Maybe she was confused somehow.”
He shook his head. “I doubt it. The kid might have been confused by the names, but she knows which is which. She painted the damned things. She went down to get Blue and Green. She wouldn’t walk out with Harbor Nights. So where is Blue and Green?”
“Maybe Blue and Green is back in her studio.”
“I thought of that,” said Adam. “I checked the studio, her house, and her gallery in Ephraim. Not there. So we have a missing painting.”
“Or maybe there’s something we don’t know—a missing piece to the puzzle that would explain all this. Maybe she did have a reason for taking Harbor Nights. But whatever happened, we have two missing paintings and a missing Kathleen.”
“I’m just worried about Kathleen,” said Adam. “I don’t care about the paintings.”
“Me too.” I shifted in the chair and crossed my legs. “I’m guessing it’s too soon to worry. She escaped, so she’s probably holed up somewhere.”
His forehead crinkled. “Why would she need to hole up?”
“Don’t know. Any idea where that might be?”
“No. I’ve already made some calls. Could be anywhere. She has lots of friends and relatives who wouldn’t ask questions. Any suggestions, Spencer?”
“Well, if you want answers you need to ask questions, and there are several people I have questions for, starting with Mr. Bloom down at Simmons.”
Adam nodded. “Let me know if I can help.”
“Will do. Actually, I’d like to get into her gallery and studio tomorrow if you’re available.”
“I can do better than that.” He reached into his pocket and took two keys off of a ring. “The silver one is to the studio. Let me know if you find anything.”
“Thanks, Adam. I’ll be in touch.”
He nodded again. I left his office, backed the Mustang out of the spot, turned right on Highway 42, and headed north to Ephraim.
Every case is a puzzle. And in every puzzle there’s someone who knows where the pieces go. I just had to find that someone. And the sooner the better.
Chapter 6
I drove past Peninsula State Park and looked over the waters of Eagle Harbor out into Green Bay. Almost to the end of the curve around the bottom of the harbor, I pulled up the hill that led to Aunt Rose’s Harbor Lantern Inn and felt like I was home.
I parked next to a family unloading their station wagon and walked up to the front porch where I found a new resident—a black cat—lounging on one of the wicker chairs. We stared at each other as I walked slowly across the porch. I stopped at the screen door as I reached for the handle and watched as the cat’s eyes slowly closed.
Aunt Rose and Maxine were behind the front desk arranging the index cards Aunt Rose used to keep track of guests and their needs.
Maxine saw me first. “Spencer! What a nice surprise! Now I know who my mystery dinner date is.”
I laughed and gave Maxine a hug. “And is this lovely lady your assistant?”
Aunt Rose put her arms around me and squeezed tight. “Spencer Manning, I don’t know how you solve crimes with your mouth talking such nonsense.”
I loved hugging Aunt Rose. She always smelled like pies. There was almost always a cherry pie in the oven.
“Who’s the new resident on the porch?”
They both looked confused, but then Maxine remembered the cat.
“That’s Amelie,” she said lovingly.
“Come again?”
“Amelie.” She spelled it. “Like homily, but with a silent h.
”
Rose explained. “We lost Torrey a month ago. I had said we should get another cat. He was such a part of this place for so many years. Then one day Maxine comes home with this scrawny thing she found out in the woods. We put out notices but no one claimed her. So we’ve fattened her up and taken her in. The kids love her.”
I smiled. “She seems to have fallen into the routine very nicely.”
“Yes,” replied Rose, “the spirit of Torrey lives on.” She glanced at her watch. “You two have reservations at Edgewater in a half hour and you want to get there in time for Maxine to see the boil, so I’ll wrap up here and you two get going. Have fun.”
The Edgewater Resort was just down the street and served two fish boil dinners on Friday nights. I got the key to the cottage from Rose and waited while Maxine changed. I was excited about being with her. It had been a while, but I had enjoyed the dinner we had in Chicago. She was a wonderful, down-to-earth girl who just needed a break in life.
***
Maxine filled me in on life at the inn as we sat on a wooden bench ten feet away from a boiling cauldron of water. When we got there, a man was lowering a wire basket of red potatoes and another filled with chunks of whitefish into the cauldron.
“Spencer, I can’t begin to tell you how wonderful this all is. Aunt Rose is a sweetheart and this place is heaven. I don’t know how to…”
I held up my hand. “You don’t have to. The look on your face is thanks enough. I’m glad you like it. Looks like life up here is suiting you well.”
“It really is, Spencer. But you’d have to about be dead for it not to. This is heaven on earth.”
As a young couple sat down next to us, Maxine asked, “So, why are we sitting here watching a pot boil?”
I laughed. “You’ll see.”
A minute later, two men walked into the clearing. One was carrying a coffee can.
“What’s in the can?” she asked.
“Kerosene.”
She looked shocked. “Kerosene! For the fish?”
“Well, sort of.” I smiled. “It’s to burn off the fish oil.”
“How…”
“Watch.”
The man threw a cup of kerosene on the flames, which immediately roared. Within seconds, the pot boiled over and the men lifted the baskets out of the water.
