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

by Alida Winternheimer

  I know how unlikely this sounds, but I believe your father is John Sykes. He is currently in prison, where he has remained for the last 40 years, for the murder of your mother, Bonnie Sykes. I have good reason to believe he is innocent of that crime.

  He is also dying of cancer and is desperate to meet you. I would like to explain to you what I know and how I know it. Please contact me as soon as possible. Your father does not have long.

  Respectfully, Jessica Vernon

  She hit send.

  His reply arrived within minutes.

  Ms. Vernon,

  I cannot imagine what you stand to gain from harassing me this way, but I insist you never contact me again. As I said on the phone, my mother died in a car accident and I know who my father is.

  J. Ecklund

  There was one more way she could get his attention—she hoped. Jess took a picture of the old photograph of the Sykes and emailed it to him. In the subject line she typed, “Is this you?”

  She waited near her computer, refreshing her mail every couple of minutes. She imagined Johnny—she knew he was Dr. Ecklund now, but still thought of him as the little boy who lost his parents—opening the email and being shocked to see his himself in his mother’s arms with a man he could not possibly recognize as his father. And upon seeing that, he would respond. He would need to know everything she knew.

  Jess continued her research while she waited for Johnny to contact her. William Ecklund, who would be eighty-six if he was born the same year as his wife, was still listed in the white pages as living in La Crosse. Jess copied down the address, then went downstairs to make toast and pour a glass of wine. It wasn’t much of a dinner, but she was so agitated by thoughts of Johnny and his grandfather that she didn’t have an appetite.

  Jess stopped by the studio the next morning on her way out of town. Beckett was at the wheel, trimming the foot on one of his new plates. He didn’t bother to look up. She set Shakti down and approached him slowly, sensing something other than artistic concentration in his manner. He let the wheel slow, his hands resting on his thighs. There was an intensity to his look Jess had never seen before that fell just short of a glare. “Hi,” she said.

  “What the hell, Jess? Hi? Is that all you have to say to me?”

  “I’m sorry, Beckett. What’s going on here?” She stepped back from the wheel and set her purse on the work table, putting some space between them. Her hands went to her throat and her fingers played with the scarf she wore.

  “Last night. Dinner.”

  Jess gasped and her hand flew up to cover her open mouth. “I’m so sorry, Beckett. I found Johnny right after you left. I got excited and…”

  Beckett held up a hand, the palm streaked with clay. “I don’t want to hear about it. You sent me on my way. I bought you dinner, like you asked me to, and then you never showed up. You never called. Nothing.”

  “I know.”

  “I’m furious with you right now.”

  “I see that, Beckett. I’m really sorry. I got caught up with the Bonnie thing.”

  “The Bonnie thing.” He picked some clay trimmings off the wheel and threw them into a slip bucket. The brown bandana that kept his hair back from his face brought out the blue of his eyes. Jess had never seen them looking so cold. “Is there anything else you can talk about? Is there anything more to who you are?”

  Jess recoiled. She tucked her lower lip between her teeth and watched Beckett, hoping he would take it back. Shakti meandered over to the wheel and sniffed his calf, then gave it a lick. He reached down to pat her head without taking his eyes off Jess. A smudge of clay wet the pale fur behind her ear. When Jess had recovered enough to respond, she said, “No. As long as this ghost is haunting my house, there is nothing else I can talk about or take care of. I thought that was obvious.” She was hurt and fighting the urge to be defensive. “But there is more to me. A lot more.”

  “You left the studio wide open. Anyone on the River Road could have come in and taken or destroyed everything.”

  Jess closed her eyes and sucked in a breath. “I’m really sorry, Beckett. That was stupid. And selfish.”

  “Okay. Apology accepted. I’ll get over it soon.” He put his trimming tool down beside the plate and climbed off the wheel. He moved away from Jess, and she did not follow. Shakti, however, did follow and jumped at his legs until he picked her up.

  “She really loves you.”

  Beckett grimaced as he worked his thumb free from between her teeth, and then with a twist of his wrist, his hand was over her snout, clamping it shut. “No,” he said firmly. “Yeah, she loves me all right. Loves to chew on me.”

  “She’s teething. But she really does love you.”

  “I know dogs, Jess.”

  “Sorry.” If she apologized one more time, she was likely to scream. Owing someone an apology was one thing, being punished was another, and right or wrong, she was starting to feel punished. “I’m going to take Shakti out to the park.” She went to the back door and called the puppy after her.

  They went down to the water’s edge and watched the Mississippi flowing by. Although early in the day, the air felt thick and moist. If they didn’t get some rain soon, it would be a difficult summer for the area. Already the riverbank extended farther out than it should and docks had to reach over strips of mud and sand, their pole legs exposed. Skoghall sat at the head of Lake Pepin, where the Mississippi widened considerably, which meant recreational traffic beyond what one would see on other parts of the river where the current, sandbars, and locks and dams factored into the boating experience. Shakti watched a powerboat pulling a water skier, alternately wagging her tail and barking as it passed. Jess had once gone swimming in Lake Pepin from the Minnesota shore. The water had been cold and murky. When she came out, she wore a thin coating of what she could best describe as sludge. She’d never had a desire to go in the Mississippi since.

  She led Shakti back up to the grassy clearing. Shakti ran full speed in a loop, zooming ahead then darting in another direction altogether. Her tongue hung out of her grinning mouth and her ears looked like streamers, whipped back by her velocity. Jess couldn’t help laughing as Shakti tripped over her own big paws and tumbled in the grass. Jess ran with Shakti until her shirt stuck to the layer of sweat forming on her back. Then she remembered she had a plan and part of it was to look presentable. Jess put Shakti on her leash and led her back to the studio. She hoped Beckett was feeling charitable again.

  The Cape Cod style home was a cute house, freshly painted and well-kept. A breeze moved the sheer curtains at the open front windows, causing them to billow into the rooms on the other side of the wall. Jess waited on the stoop and tried not to pry, though she was curious about the contents of William Ecklund’s house. She would be a fool to make the two-hour drive if he wasn’t even home. Of course, he could have given her the same reception Johnny had, and she believed it was harder to turn people away when you had to look them in the eye. She rang the bell a second time and waited. She could wait all day if she had to.

  A short, wide-set woman in a straw hat and gardening gloves came around the side of the house carrying a spade and a bucket that overflowed with the broad, heart-shaped leaves of a hosta. She stopped and stared at Jess a moment before continuing across the yard to meet her. “Hello,” Jess said. The woman’s dirt-stained sweatpants were topped by a faded souvenir t-shirt from Lake Okoboji. Her face sagged on either side of her chin, deepening the creases that framed her mouth rather like a ventriloquist’s dummy. Her eyes, however, were nothing like a dummy’s, and Jess imagined her the life of the Legion Hall on a Saturday night. “Doing some transplanting?” she asked.

  “Oh, yeah. I should have done this sooner, before the weather got so hot, you know? But well, I been busy with other things around this place. Sprucing it up. Gonna sell it soon.”

  “Really? That’s nice.” Jess hated small talk. She had no idea if it was nice or not.

  “Yeah. My uncle’s in the nu
rsing home over on Oak Hill Drive. This is his place. The grandson don’t want it, so you know how it is. Someone has to care for it.”

  Jess nodded. “Is your uncle William Ecklund?”

  “Yeah. Are you looking for him? If you are, you’re too late to find him here.”

  Jess stammered, “I’m s-sorry…”

  “Oh goodness.” The woman put a gloved hand on Jess’s arm, rubbing dirt against her skin. “I don’t mean too late that way!” She laughed. “He’s only gone up to the nursing home.”

  “Oh good. That’s good.”

  “Why do you want my uncle?” She tilted her head and the brim of her hat made a sharp shadow that cut diagonally across her face.

  “I don’t. I’m an old friend of John’s. From college. I was hoping to track him down and this is his last known address. To me, I mean. We came here sometimes and visited his grandparents, so I thought I’d stop by.” Jess couldn’t believe how easily she was lying. And then she couldn’t believe how happy Johnny’s aunt was to stand there chatting in the sun. Twenty minutes passed before she was able to make her getaway, each minute of chit-chat making Jess feel more and more like an impostor about slip her cover. She waved to Johnny’s aunt as she pulled away from the house, relieved and a little guilty.

  The Oak Hill nursing home sat at the top of Oak Hill Drive and did have some oak trees on the lawn. It was not, however, a very pleasant looking building. It had two cinderblock wings that came off a circular structure in the middle. Signs warned that only emergency vehicles were allowed to park in the drive, and it occurred to Jess that they probably had a lot of emergency vehicles stopping under the carport at the front doors. She parked in a visitor’s spot and gazed at the rows of evenly-spaced windows. Oak Hill’s cinderblock walls resembled something constructed out of Legos—difficult to damage, easy to wash and paint year after year.

  A few clusters of faded armchairs sat about under a wall of apartment style mailboxes, and at the back, a sliding glass door opened onto a patio and a courtyard. Down a grassy slope, cut in half by a carefully paved path, sat a duck pond circled by benches. On the far side of the pond, a weeping willow draped its branches to the ground, creating a gazebo of green.

  “Can I help you?” A young man working behind the reception desk asked her.

  “Yes.” Jess approached and folded her hands on top of the counter. “I’m here to see William Ecklund.”

  The receptionist had the broad athletic shoulders of a swimmer and a recently shaved head, which confirmed Jess’s suspicion of team swimming. He also had slightly bloodshot eyes and a rash just inside the collar of his Oak Hill polo shirt. A party Friday night and skin made sensitive by too many hours in chlorinated pools. Jess couldn’t help grinning at how clever she was, how like Sherlock Holmes. The kid looked up from his computer and Jess swept the grin off her face. “Mr. Ecklund is in OT right now. If you wait in the gathering place someone will bring him down after his session.”

  “Thank you.” Jess almost couldn’t believe how easy that was—probably a kid with a hangover didn’t bother with too many questions. She went down the hall he had pointed toward and found a comfortable lounge with large windows facing the duck pond.

  The room was furnished with a gas fireplace and bookshelves on one end, a television on the other, keeping the quiet and the noisy a reasonable distance apart. Throughout the room, round tables with four chairs at each sat topped with a bud vase with a carnation and fern leaf poking out of the hobnailed glass. Banqueters could file in at any moment and fill the tables. Were it not for a family sitting around one, playing Monopoly, Jess would have thought she was in the wrong room. The elderly woman lifted a steady hand from her lap and plucked the dice off the table. With a quick shake of her hand she tossed them back down. Her shoulders had curled forward with age to the extent that her face was almost horizontal. Despite this unnatural bodily configuration, she moved sharply, snapping up the boot and tapping it across the board to its new square. Jess realized she’d been staring and took a seat at a table near the door, then took out a small notebook and pencil, more to appear occupied with her own business than for any need to take notes.

  A woman in a conservative blouse and wrinkle-free pants approached Jess’s table, leading an elderly man by the arm. He looked healthy enough, maybe even strong for a person his age, yet his eyes darted around the room, searching for something like trouble. Jess assumed the woman held his arm more for comfort than any physical need. She directed him to have a seat across from Jess. She joined them and offered Jess her hand.

  “I’m Marcy. Are you a relative of Bill’s?” Marcy wore her ash-blonde hair pulled back into an unfashionably tight bun. She wore no rings and her earrings were small pearl studs. Despite this general lack of adornment, she did wear a noticeable coat of coral lipstick.

  Jess glanced at Mr. Ecklund. “No. I’m an old family friend. I haven’t seen Bill in years. I thought I’d pay my respects.” Mr. Ecklund stared out the window as though he’d sat down to an empty table. His hair had thinned to wisps curling off his head like feathers that had just come to rest and would alight again at any moment. He kept his hands in his lap below the table.

  “Oh, that’s nice.” Marcy’s face betrayed her. The lowering of her brow and downtown of her lips worried Jess. “You understand that he has Alzheimer’s?”

  Jess nodded, though it was impossible not to look unprepared for the news. “I had heard, but I don’t have any experience with it.”

  Marcy patted Mr. Ecklund’s arm. “He might recognize you. He might think you’re someone different. He might know what you’re talking about. He might not. The best thing is to let him run the show. If he thinks you’re…Mary Jo, let him think that. You can gently remind him of who you are once or twice, but to be insistent upsets him. It causes confusion and disturbs the patient. He’ll have a much better day if he is not agitated.”

  Jess nodded. Marcy was doing her duty all right, and Jess hoped she would leave them alone. She didn’t know what, if anything, she could get out of Mr. Ecklund, but she still had to try. Marcy pushed her chair back just as Jess thought of a question. “Can he remember the distant past?”

  Marcy relaxed onto her chair again. “Yes. Frequently, people with Alzheimer’s can remember the past vividly. It’s like they remember events, but have lost the context for them. Their timeline has vanished, which often creates distress because what they are experiencing does not fit with who or where or what they think they are in that moment.”

  “I think I understand. Thank you.”

  “All right, then. I’ll be close by if you need me.”

  Jess watched her leave and wondered how she would be close by. She glanced around the room and found an opaque dome in the ceiling at each end—video surveillance. It seemed Oak Hill, despite first impressions, was up to date on their technology, if only to cover their ass against insurance claims.

  “Mr. Ecklund?” Jess leaned forward over the table and said his name again. Bonnie’s father finally looked at her. She was surprised by the intensity of his gaze and drew back.

  “Get me out of here,” he snarled.

  “What?”

  “Get me the hell out of this shit-box.”

  “Mr. Ecklund, I…” Jess looked around the room, wondering if Marcy or big men in white coats would come running at the first whisper of escape.

  “They make me play games. Every Tuesday and Sunday. Do they think I’m in kindergarten?”

  “No, Mr. Ecklund, I’m sure they don’t. They just want you to have fun.”

  Mr. Ecklund’s hand shot across the table and clamped onto Jess’s wrist. She jerked back reflexively, but his grip was solid and he held her hand pinned to the table top. Jess stared into his eyes and was reminded of a dog deciding whether to lunge. “Are you one of them?” he said in a raspy whisper.

  “No. I’m a friend of Bonnie’s.” That at least felt like the truth. Mr. Ecklund relaxed his grip on her wrist and she pulled fr
ee. Her hands went to her throat and fiddled with the knot in her scarf.

  “That’s nice. That’s nice.” He nodded and his eyes lost some of the sharp focus. “How is Bonnie?”

  Jess considered a moment, wondering where on his timeline Mr. Ecklund sat today. “She’s doing great. She wanted me to say hello.”

  Mr. Ecklund brightened at word from his only child. He rested his hands on the table. They were lean and strong, dappled with age spots. He tapped his fingertips against the table top in a ragged rhythm. Just when Jess thought she’d caught onto a pattern, it changed. Outside, a small flock of Canada geese landed in the courtyard with noisy honking. Jess was always surprised by the size of their wingspan when she saw them up close. The geese, five of them, waddled down to the pond. Mr. Ecklund fixed his gaze on the geese. Jess took out the photo of the Sykes. She had tucked it into her notebook to keep it from getting bent again.

  “Mr. Ecklund, do you know these people?” She slid the photo across the table to him.

  He picked it up in both hands and held it close to his face. He studied it for a long moment, then snapped it back down on the table. “Of course. Why would you ask me if I know my own daughter? Is that some kind of trick questions?”

  “No. I’m sorry. I just wanted to make sure I had the right photo.”

  He nodded as though that made sense.

  “What’s the little boy’s name?”

  “That’s Johnny.” He picked up the photo again. “They grow so fast. He was only a baby last time I saw him. They come down for Christmas this year.”

  “Do you and John get along?”

  “Oh sure. He’s a nice enough fellow. He’s good to my Bonnie. That’s what counts. He’s a bit quiet for my taste. A little…bookish.”

  “Sure, Mr. Ecklund.” He went quiet, gone into his thoughts. Jess looked around the room. The family playing Monopoly was putting away the game, standing up and stretching. A woman exchanged a quick look with Jess as she took hold of the old woman’s wheelchair, then backed it carefully away from the table. Jess leaned closer to Mr. Ecklund. “Do you know where Bonnie is now?”