The Murder in Skoghall (Illustrated) (The Skoghall Mystery Series Book 1)

by Alida Winternheimer

  Following one of the brochure maps, they took a county road away from the Mississippi, cutting through the bluffs and into the farmlands of western Wisconsin. The low fields were dotted with farm equipment, mostly the rolling sprinklers that reminded Jess of something her brother would have made out of his Lincoln Logs, fitting the wooden sticks into the Honeycomb-like wheels, shaping a series of connected triangles. Jason’s creations always seemed so pointless, but today she saw the glimmer of invention in child’s play. She had little contact with her brother since they left their parents’ house over a decade before. He was a merchant marine, driving oil tankers around the Gulf of Mexico—at least that was the extent of her knowledge about her brother’s life. She turned to Tyler to share her thoughts about toys and invention and found him looking at her. He did not look away when she caught him staring, but instead smiled and the corners of his dark eyes softened. Jess returned the smile. “The road is out there,” she said, pointing over the dashboard.

  “I don’t suppose it would do to crash on our first date.”

  Jess blushed. This time there was no chance Tyler missed the pink glow. She rubbed her palms over her cheeks and pushed her fingers into her hair as though she could smooth the color up and away from her face. “Is this a date?”

  “I hope so.”

  The next turn-off was marked by a rain-battered wooden sign stuck in the ground. The word “antiques” was still barely legible. “Do you think they’re open?” she asked, glad to change the subject.

  “We’ve come this far, let’s find out.” Tyler turned down a long gravel road flanked on both sides by fields.

  Jess looked up through the windshield toward the sky. An expanse of cloudless bright blue met her gaze, like a canvas waiting for a touch of paint. As if cued, a large bird soared into Jess’s field of vision. “Look, an eagle! I think.”

  Tyler leaned up close to the steering wheel and followed Jess’s pointing finger into the sky. “That’s a vulture,” he said. “Look at the underwings. The fingers are grayish white.”

  The sound of gravel spitting around the road, pinging off the truck’s undercarriage, raised the volume in the cab, and Jess had to shout over both the music and the road noise. “Oh. Is that how you can tell the difference?” Tyler turned off the music, and Jess was relieved to have one less layer of sound in the cab with them.

  “One of them,” he said. “The turkey vultures have red heads.”

  Jess watched the vulture soar until they passed underneath it. A rock pinged off the door beside her. “Crepes and now birds,” she said. “I’m impressed, Tyler.”

  He shrugged. “I grew up in the boondocks, lots of fields outside of town and lots of vultures.”

  Jess looked at Tyler with acute interest—a country boy. “Let me guess. You were the high school quarterback, drove a muscle car, and dated the head cheerleader.”

  Tyler laughed. “It sounds so cliché to hear it put like that.”

  “From quarterback to restaurateur, that must be an interesting journey.”

  “Not really,” he shrugged. “I did stupid shit for a few years, then got my head straightened out and went to trade school. I studied small business management and cooking. How about you?”

  “Me?” The conversation had been redirected so suddenly, Jess had to catch up to it. “I studied anthropology at a liberal arts college, then wound up in data analysis, the world’s most boring profession.”

  “Then it’s good you’re a ruh-writer now.” He looked over his shoulder at Jess, a teasing grin on his face. “How’s the writing going?”

  “So far, it’s not. I’ve been too busy settling in. I’ll start working tomorrow.”

  “Oh no.” Tyler’s face had gone serious, all levity removed and his wisest counsel coming. “Start today. I wasted too much time telling myself I’d get to something tomorrow.”

  “Point taken.”

  Another weathered sign appeared at the edge of a drive. Tyler turned down the drive, and the truck bounced along, dipping with the road.

  Jess bounced on the seat when they hit a large rut. “This is worse than mine.”

  The drive led past a tree break and up to an old clapboard house with a large equipment shed behind it. The shed appeared in better condition than the house, though neither was faring well. Old farm equipment littered the side yard, rusted derelicts with mean looking hooks, turbines, and tires as tall as a man. Jess glimpsed a pick up truck that had to be from the 1950s sitting on its axels, a fender lying beside it in the dirt, tucked between a combine and tractor. Tyler climbed out of his truck slowly, surveying the property with suspicion. Jess hopped out and went up to the front door.

  She pulled the screen door open and knocked. The house paint had peeled in great dingy scabs, the old boards underneath exposed, rot visible behind the flakes of once white paint. Jess tried to get a look through the lace curtains that covered the filthy front windows. She was curious how this house compared to hers, if the front room had a mantle as lovely, if the doorknobs were porcelain or had brass faceplates. If the place were abandoned it would be worth stripping. Jess was wondering how one found out about abandoned and condemned buildings when she heard the doorknob turning. She straightened up and put a smile on her face, preparing to meet her antique dealer with optimism and cheer. She couldn’t help a glance over her shoulder at Tyler, who finally left the side of his truck.

  A bent old man stood inside the doorway with his shirt buttoned up to the collar and the sleeves secured at the cuffs. He held up his wool pants with suspenders. The only sign he was comfortable at home: the plaid slippers on his shuffling feet. His sparse gray hair lay against his head as though he had rubbed too much pomade into it, though more likely, Jess thought, he hadn’t washed it in weeks. “Well?”

  “Hello,” Jess said. Tyler arrived beside her and took hold of her hand. “We saw the signs for antiques. Do you have any we could look at?”

  The old man moved his jaw from side to side, considering the request or maybe just preparing his mouth to speak, like exercising a seldom-used hinge. His eyes were surprisingly bright, shining from the folds of a face as weathered as the house. “Take a look in the shed.” He gestured weakly toward the yard and smacked his lips together.

  Jess thanked him and gave Tyler’s hand an excited squeeze. When they got around the side of the house, she looked back and saw the old man standing in a side window behind a parted curtain. “It must be hard for him,” she said.

  “Why?”

  “Because he’s way out in the country and all alone. Look at this place. It’s a wreck. I doubt he has anyone to take care of him.”

  “Or, he has two giant sons with masks and chainsaws waiting for us in the shed.”

  Jess stopped walking and looked at Tyler, her head cocked, hands on her hips. “That’s not funny.”

  “I’m sorry. I’ve seen too many horrors. I don’t mean it.”

  He reached out and took Jess’s hands in his and shook them. “Come on,” Tyler coaxed. “I’m sorry.”

  “I was really excited and now I’m creeped out.”

  “I said I’m sorry.”

  “I know. Let’s go find something amazing.” She forced a bright smile to show Tyler she wasn’t upset anymore. It was a trick she had learned from her yoga teacher in Minneapolis: fake it until you make it. Pretend you’re happy and your mood will lift. Pretend you’re brave and you’ll feel brave. It had helped her through some dark days over the past year. Jess tugged Tyler’s hands and started them walking toward the shed again. He glanced into the tangle of machinery more than once as though he was looking for the chainsaw wielding psychopaths. Jess decided he had creeped himself out, too.

  The shed had a large hinged door on the front that swung open with a creak. Tyler found the light switch and flipped it. Several of the ceiling bulbs were burnt out. There were all kinds of things stacked one on top of another, and if there had ever been an organization scheme, it was long since abandoned.r />
  “Damn,” Tyler breathed. “This is crazy.”

  “I know. Isn’t it great?” Jess gripped Tyler’s shoulder with excitement. “I just know there’s treasure buried in here. I bet that old man doesn’t even know what he has.”

  “I doubt anyone’s been in here for a few years. Look at the dust on everything.”

  “Yeah, we’ll have to neti after this for sure.”

  “Neti?”

  “Run water through our nostrils to wash out all the dirt.” Jess moved into the shed, picking her way through crates stuffed with magazines and newspapers.

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  She chuckled. “I can show you how.” Jess made her way down a narrow aisle, heading for the heart of the shed. A blade on a rusted hand tiller caught at her pant leg as she squeezed by. She’d have to be careful or she’d be getting a tetanus shot this afternoon. A rustling startled Jess and she looked up as she ducked. Two barn swallows swooped low, then circled, their forked tails closing and opening as they banked inside the shed before buzzing Tyler on their way out the door.

  “Shit!” He ducked as they shot past his head. As he straightened up again, he took a hand away from his hip pocket slowly, then made a fist and shook it out. He pushed his hands through his hair, momentarily exposing the scar.

  “You okay?”

  “Sure. I just don’t like to be startled.”

  Jess nodded, a little surprised someone who grew up in the country was so rattled by a couple of swallows. She turned her gaze back to the ceiling. The birds had done her a favor, calling her attention overhead. A pair of rocking chairs hung upside down, strapped to the rafters with bungee cords. They appeared in excellent condition. “Tyler!” she shouted.

  He flinched. “I said I don’t like to be startled.”

  “I’m sorry. Look.” She pointed at the rockers. “I found the first treasure.”

  Tyler picked his way through the narrow aisle to where Jess stood and looked. “Those swallows are going to be pissed.”

  “Why?”

  He pointed into a shadow between the two chairs. “That’s their nest.”

  They found a ladder leaning against the wall behind a cart full of old toasting racks, waffle irons, and a blender. It took them ten minutes to clear a path to the ladder, but Jess remained determined. She held the ladder while Tyler climbed. First, he removed the nest and handed it down. Jess looked inside—no eggs—and set it gently atop a stack of old Sears catalogues. Tyler freed one chair and held it overhead as he backed down the ladder, giving Jess the opportunity to admire his flexed shoulders and biceps. There wasn’t enough room to set the chair down, so he carried it all the way outside, then came back for the second one.

  Jess examined the chairs. Oak, medium stain, slatted back and solid seats. She sat in one and rocked it, wiggled a little to make sure it felt right. They were perfect. She beamed at Tyler, but he did not look very pleased for her. Maybe he was still agitated by the swallows. “I’m sure there’s more in there,” she said.

  I think I’ll wait outside. Get some air.”

  “All right.” Maybe later she would ask what had happened in that shed. She turned back inside and adjusted the ladder so it was under a rafter. She balanced the swallows’ nest in one hand and held the ladder as she climbed up with the other. She put the nest on the rafter, then slid it back toward a joist where it might be supported. She imagined the swallows coming home to find their nest violated. “I’m sorry,” she said before backing down the ladder.

  Jess picked her way through the length of the shed. Most of the tables were so crammed with junk, she couldn’t tell if the wood underneath was worth looking at. She’d need hours to make sense of this place, and with Tyler on edge outside and Shakti home in a crate, Jess felt rushed. She worked her way along the other side of the shed, hurriedly passing by this pile and that heap, pausing when things caught her eye, but never lingering. Then near the front of the shed she glimpsed something that made her heart leap.

  The side of a sturdy piece of furniture presented itself. The base was that of any cabinet, but the top was cut with a graceful double curve, the signature of a roll top desk. Jess moved closer, her heartbeat climbing. Old papers and shoeboxes full of trinkets had been stacked precariously high on the desktop. She began clearing it, adding these objects to other piles, each threatening to topple under the added burden. The exposed desktop was unmarred. Behind the piles, tucked under the top ledge was a filing box full of stereoscopic cards. Jess looked around for the stereoscope to view them and found it quickly in a large bin. She hugged the box of cards to her chest for a moment, then set it aside and finished clearing the desk. When Jess saw it in all its magnificence, she shouted.

  Tyler burst into the shed. “What is it?”

  “A roll top desk!”

  “Dammit, Jess.” Tyler’s face pinched in anger. He slid something back into his hip pocket, shielding it from her view with the flat of his hand. With his other hand he pushed his hair away from his face and looked behind him, behind her, everywhere but at her.

  “I’m sorry. I got excited.” She pointed at the desk. “It’s exactly what I was hoping to find.”

  Tyler shook his head and sighed heavily, clearing most of his irritation away. “Okay. Let’s get it out to the truck.”

  Jess touched Tyler’s arm in apology and he flinched away. She withdrew her hand and waited for him to say something.

  “Looks about…” he held his hands out to measure its width, “three feet at the most.” He looked back at the door. “Let’s clear a path for it.”

  Jess carried the stereoscope and cards outside and set them on one of the rocking chairs so they wouldn’t be forgotten then joined Tyler in widening the exit. While moving things, she unearthed a nested set of four Red Wing Pottery mixing bowls. The stoneware from just across the river was famous in the region and highly collectable, also very expensive. She added the crockery to her pile. They were relieved to find the desk sat on steel casters neatly hidden by the baseboards of the two pedestals. An old office chair, clearly a mate to the desk, hid behind it under a pile of filthy curtains. Jess freed it from surrounding clutter and claimed it as her own. She was crawling with excitement that she kept in check, afraid to upset Tyler again.

  Jess clapped the dust and grime from her hands. She looked up at the house and found the old man filling a window, watchful of their movements. When they got to the door, he already had it open and stood waiting. “Hi,” Jess said.

  The old man did not respond other than to suck his lips in between his gums. She imagined a difficult life for him and that her purchase would be an unexpected boon on this beautiful day. She listed for him what she would like to buy. The old man smacked his lips, a bit of saliva springing out and dropping to land on his hollow shirtfront. “That ought to be worth $200,” he said.

  “I don’t think so,” Tyler objected. Jess looked at him in surprise. “That stuff needs to be refinished. It’s filthy, and I’m sure it’s warped. How many decades has that stuff been sitting out in a shed, exposed to all the cold and heat?”

  “Well, now…” the old man began slowly, thinking over his reply.

  Jess opened her purse and withdrew her wallet. She had brought a pile of cash from her “mad money,” hoping for a find like this. She selected two hundreds from the back of the pile. “Look at that, I have $200 exactly.” She pressed it into the old man’s hand and cupped the bottom of his fist with her empty palm, something like shaking to seal the deal. “I’ll take good care of them,” she assured him. “And I’ll come back when I have more time to look.”

  “You do that,” he said before stepping back and closing the door on them.

  “I wish you hadn’t done that,” she said as they walked toward the truck.

  “Done what?”

  “Negotiated with him. The wood is not warped, and $200 is a great price. It’s not enough, really.”

  Tyler sighed and pushed his hands over
the top of his head. “I’m sorry. I’m used to bartering with people. It’s a bad habit, I know.”

  “Besides, he looks like he needs the money.”

  “All right, Jess.” He opened the passenger door for her and she climbed in. Tyler pulled up to the shed, backing in so the tailgate was near the desk. Jess was wondering how they would get the desk in there when Tyler dropped the tailgate and slid out two steel ramps and laid them on the ground.

  Jess’s irritation vanished. “That’s brilliant.”

  “I don’t know about brilliant, but they come in handy. I have to save my back.”

  “Is something wrong with your back?” she asked as they maneuvered the desk to the edge of the ramps.

  “Old injury. If I’m not careful I can end up laid up for days.”

  “Then you better let me push. I don’t want you getting hurt over my desk.”

  He smiled at her and his eyes showed warm admiration. “See these?” He flexed a biceps impressively. “I have way more of this than you do. Fact of nature. I’ll be careful about my back.”

  Jess did as much of the work as she could, but had to admit that Tyler was right about upper body strength, and she appreciated his help anew.

  Getting the desk inside the house wasn’t too difficult, it was getting it upstairs that hurt. Jess offered to wait and hire movers, but Tyler was determined to see it all the way to its final home. Despite her better judgment, she agreed. When Tyler left, her desk was in the front bedroom, and her television in the back bedroom. She waved him away from the front porch with her gratitude and a dinner invitation for that same evening. Now, she had the afternoon to herself, time to shower, play with Shakti, and figure out what she was going to cook for a chef.