“Not a thing.”
“Call me if you do. We’ll be home all weekend.”
Sara hung up just as Ann realized she had forgotten to ask her when she wanted to pick up Steve’s Flow Blue. She tried to call her back but the line was busy. Ann heard the front door open and close.
“Jeez, you’re not ready yet?” John glanced up at her and then down at his watch. “Are you having trouble?”
“Just with the phone,” Ann said, hugging him with her good arm before heading into the bathroom.
“Lark’s windows and doors will be in this afternoon. They were able to get them on today’s supply truck. I thought I’d try to get them in today,” John said, following her into the bathroom. “If I don’t get them in they’re going to have to stay with us.”
Once Ann was dressed, they headed for Mason County Memorial. It took about an hour for Ann to get her antibiotic and wound check. They were delayed from leaving when the Marshfield helicopter landed to pick up a man who had gotten drunk and fallen into his campfire. He had second- and third-degree burns over thirty percent of his body. Since his friends were also inebriated, it took them quite a while to fish him out of the fire.
They got home at eleven. Ann’s shoulder was starting to ache, so she took two pain pills and lay down on the sofa. She slept soundly until the dogs awakened her. Although they stopped their tug of war when she yelled at them, Buck picked up what they’d been fighting over and brought it to her, his head down in submission. Visions of another body part flashed through Ann’s head when she saw the fingers of a glove dangling from his mouth. Ignoring her pain, she ordered him to release and he dropped his prize into her hand.
It was part of an empty gray cashmere-and-fur glove. She picked up as many pieces as she could find but didn’t see a label. It wasn’t hers so she assumed it belonged to a visitor. She thought about their recent guests as she went into the kitchen to take a couple more pain pills. She washed them down with soda and noticed the pink-purple tones of sunset low in the west. The kitchen clock said it was 4:15. She was shocked to have slept the day away.
She got a piece of turkey from the refrigerator and sat down at the kitchen table to write down the names of everyone she could remember who had been in the house during the last week: Lark, Lacey, Paul Dolphson, Betty Chevsky, Jim Kryjack, Joel Grenfurth, Sara Waltner, and Myra and David Banski. She decided to ask Lacey if she’d lost a glove. She and Lark had been around the most.
The telephone stopped her musings. It was John letting her know he’d be working until at least eight that evening installing Lark’s doors. Ann assured him she was fine and that nine would be a great time to take her to the ER.
As her pain wore off, she became fidgety. She tried knitting, needlepoint, and reading, but they didn’t calm her restlessness so she decided to drive over to Lark’s. She made enough turkey sandwiches for John and his crew, and slid wedges of pumpkin pie into some Tupperware. She threw a tub of Cool Whip into her care package along with a six-pack of Lienenkugels. The dogs were sound asleep, so she left them in the house.
It was dark as midnight even though it was only 5:45. When she backed out of the garage, she was shocked to see how hard it was snowing. She shut the garage door and put the Explorer in four-wheel drive.
FRIDAY AFTERNOON
NOVEMBER 24—SWENSON
Lacey roused once when Lark’s cell phone rang but otherwise slept all the way to Wausau. The next thing she knew Lark was shaking her shoulder. They were in the parking lot of the Wausau state police office.
“Man, I really feel like I’ve been hit with a brick,” she said, rubbing her eyes.
“A little caffeine will help,” Lark said as he got out of the car. When she didn’t follow, he walked around and opened her door. She sighed and slid out, her boots crunching on the ice-covered parking lot. Lacey led the way to the office she and Joel shared.
“Hell, I don’t know who looks worse, the two of you or me,” Joel boomed.
“Any word on the Pattersons yet?” Lark asked.
“No, they’ve gone out of town for Thanksgiving. Their marina is closed. The Wayzata police haven’t been able to locate anyone who knows where they went.”
“How are your kids?” Lacey asked, heading for the coffeepot.
“Scratching and puking, with a little diarrhea thrown in for good measure. Think twice before having your own.”
“No worry there. The battery in my biological clock will have run down long before I find someone my type.” She headed for the door without looking at either of them. “Call me when the Foltzes get here. I’ll be going over the case notes in the work room.”
“Holy shit. I guess she heard you yesterday,” Joel said, once Lacey was gone.
“I always knew you were a rocket scientist,” Lark said. “I told you she was too young for me. She’s thirty-six and I’m forty-two.”
“That’s nothing. I’m five years older than Molly.”
“Get off it Joel. It isn’t going to happen. She’s nice and she’s very attractive, but I’m not interested in dating anyone right now.”
“So, what happened at your place last night?” Joel asked, changing the subject.
Lark had just enough time to fill Joel in on the shooting before Mr. and Mrs. Foltz arrived.
Lark escorted them to an interview room while Joel went to get Lacey. Mrs. Foltz, a slim, attractive, gray blond of that indeterminate age between 45 and 60 had on a navy blue dress and matching jacket. A navy leather bag hung over her shoulder. The dark red coat slung over her arm was the only sign that she wasn’t dressed for a funeral. The only hint that she was nervous was the death grip she had on a pair of navy leather gloves.
Mr. Foltz stood next to his wife, an intense look of concern on his face. He wore a navy plaid sweater and navy chinos. He towered over his wife by at least a foot. His light brown hair was peppered with gray and ruffled out of place as if he had been running his fingers through it. Even stressed, they made a handsome couple.
After introductions, Joel ushered everyone into chairs and left. Mrs. Foltz dropped her purse on the floor and carefully laid her gloves down on the table. She focused her attention on smoothing the wrinkles out of them. Mr. Foltz watched his wife but made no move to stop her.
When Joel returned with a manila envelope under his arm, Mrs. Foltz bolted up. “I don’t understand why we’re wasting our time in here. I want to see the body so we don’t have to worry anymore.”
“Before we do that, I’d like to get some information from you. It’ll just take a few minutes.” Joel pulled his chair between the Foltzes and sat down.
“No,” Mrs. Foltz said, biting her lower lip and staring down at the floor.
“Please sit down for a few minutes,” Joel said, glancing over at her husband, who looked away.
She sat back down, wiping the corner of her eyes with her fingertips. Lacey reached across the table, pulled a tissue out of the box, and quietly blew her nose. Mrs. Foltz watched her for second and then also reached for one. She proceeded to fold it into a fan shape.
“Mrs. Foltz, may I call you Marian?” Joel asked, trying to make eye contact.
“Of course,” she said with a hint of defiance.
“Good. Can you tell me about the last time you heard from Terry?”
She sighed, her shoulders slumping, as she continued to focus her attention on folding and unfolding the tissue. “She called me last Saturday morning.” She slammed her hand down on the table, crushing the tissue. “I just want to see the body. Once we know it isn’t Terry, this conversation won’t be necessary.”
Mr. Foltz placed his hand on her arm. “Marian, let’s hear the officers out.” Silently, she began smoothing out the crushed tissue.
“What did you talk about?” Joel asked.
“The usual stuff college kids and parents talk about. When she’d be getting in, how her car was running, and how low on money she was.”
“When was she supposed to get into
Superior?”
“Monday or Tuesday evening,” she said, resuming her origami exercise with the tissue.
“Did you discuss anything else, maybe have words?” Joel asked, trying to make eye contact with her.
“Yes,” she said, almost inaudibly, shredding the tissue. Large tears began to leak out of the corners of her eyes. Mr. Foltz reached across the table to take her hand. She clutched his hand with both of hers, the tissue trapped between them.
“You had a disagreement?” Joel asked, prompting her.
“Not an argument,” she blurted out, looking down at the table as tears spilled onto the Foltzes’ clasped hands.
“Tell me a little more about it.” Joel scooted his chair out from between them so Mr. Foltz could move closer to his wife. She fell into his arms.
“Could we have few minutes alone, please?” Mr. Foltz asked.
“No, Roger, I want to do this now. I might not be able to later.” She swiped at the tears flowing down her cheeks. Roger settled his head on top of hers and held her.
“We argued over her wanting to take a few days out of her vacation to stop at a friend’s house. I wanted her to come right home because we were having company.”
“What friend?” Joel asked, mesmerized as tears streamed down Roger’s face and seeped into Marian’s hair.
“She didn’t say. She was very angry and told me it was none of my business. I left to run errands right after her call. When I got home she had left a snippy message on the answering machine saying she’d call me later and might come home Monday evening.”
“Our daughter had my temper, quick to flare, quick to forgive,” Roger explained. “Marian and Terry were always having these kind of dust-ups. They never meant a thing.” If anyone noticed his use of the past tense, they chose not to show it.
“Do you still have the tape?” Lark asked.
“No, I erased it,” Marian said, her voice ragged from trying not to sob.
“Any idea where this friend lived?” Lacey asked, thinking how she would feel if she had erased her daughter’s last words.
“No, I’m sure she would have told me when she called back, if I’d been home.” Mrs. Foltz sobbed clinging to her husband.
“Can I please see the body now?” Mr. Foltz asked, glancing at Joel and then turning his full attention back to his wife as she eased out of his arms.
“We usually do this with photos. I’ve brought some for you to look at.”
Both parents leaned forward, radiating tension, as Joel pulled the grainy faxed picture of their daughter and another 8 x 10 black and white photo out of the envelope. The photo showed a ghostly pale girl with her eyes closed from the neck up. It was gruesomely obvious that the person in the picture was dead. Joel placed them both on the table in front of the Foltzes. Both parents gasped as if they were having cardiac arrest.
“Oh no. No, no, no,” Mrs. Foltz screamed. She picked up the morgue photo, crushing it against her chest as she rocked in her chair. Mr. Foltz pulled her to him, sobbing. She slipped her arms around him, the crumbled photo wadded into his back.
“We’ll leave you alone for a few minutes,” Joel said as the police left the room.
“Now I truly know the meaning of heartbroken,” Lacey murmured as they stood outside the room, watching the parents cry and hold each other.
“I take back very ugly word I’ve ever said about my kids,” Joel said as he ran his hand under his eyes.
“What’s next?” Lacey asked.
“We let them calm down and then see if we can get any additional information from them before they leave,” Lark said, not taking his eyes off the Foltzes. “Has someone gone through her dorm room?”
“Already done. The university police faxed me an inventory and closed it off until we can go down and look at it,” Joel replied.
“Can you go down to Madison tomorrow and take care of the dorm room? We also need to interview her roommate.”
“Fine by me.”
Lark watched the Foltzes get up from their chairs.
“Before you leave, we’d like to ask you a few more questions,” Joel said as they joined them.
“We really need to get home,” Mr. Foltz said.
Marian reached for a tissue. “What would you like to know?”
“When did you first report your daughter missing?” Lark asked.
“I called her dorm Monday evening, Tuesday, and Wednesday,” she replied. “Her roommate told me the same thing each time, that she’d left for Thanksgiving break. I called the University police Wednesday morning.”
“We’ll need the names of everyone you can think of in central Wisconsin, particularly the Big Oak area, that your daughter might know. We also need the names of her friends.” Lacey fished a notebook out of her purse.
The Foltzes sat down and began to rattle off names. Like many married couples, they talked over each other, remembrances tumbling forth once they got started. As Roger talked, his tears dried up, but Marian continued to cry, piling up a small mountain of tissues. After an hour, the detectives had nearly fifty names to check out, including Katey Lowery, who had been interviewed when Gemma Patterson disappeared.
The Foltzes knew the Lowerys because they also owned sawmills. Roger explained that Gus Lowery had tried to buy their mills about ten years ago, but the Foltzes had decided not to sell. Instead, the two families had become friends, discovering that they had a lot in common, including children about the same age. Terry and Katey had known each other as teenagers and had gotten together frequently in Madison. The Foltzes thought their son Brian might know some of Terry’s friends. Mr. Foltz agreed to have Brian contact them as soon as he came back from hunting.
The Foltzes accepted Joel’s suggestion that they wait to see Terry at the funeral home. They left the station at 2:30 and the detectives left right behind them for lunch. They drove to the 2510 Club for lunch.
“That interview made it clear to me,” Lacey said, after the waitress took their orders for burgers and fries. “The killer has to be local. There are too many things that tie both of those girls to Big Oak.”
“Makes sense to me,” Joel replied. “They both spent time with families in Big Oak. They were killed in the same way and dumped in the same place, three years apart.”
“It could still be someone who vacationed or hunted in the area rather than a resident,” Lark said, stopping as the waitress brought their food. “It could be a coincidence that the two were visiting here. Maybe they were selected at random by someone who was up here every year.” He bit into his cheeseburger and listened to their protests.
Joel and Lacey agreed that it was possible but highly unlikely. After lunch they dropped Joel back at headquarters before stopping by Lacey’s house for some extra clothes. Lacey guided. Lark to her house. The roads had been well cleared and snow was heaped along the curbs.
“Wow, I thought we had snow removal problems,” Lark said, stopping suddenly as a car pulled out in front of them from a blind spot created by a massive snow pile.
They turned into the driveway of a small, white Cape God. Three empty bird feeders hung in the snow-covered yard.
“Damn things steal all the bird food even with squirrel-proof feeders,” she said, watching two large red squirrels run to the tall evergreens along the side of her yard. Lark offered to fill the feeders while Lacey packed.
The first thing he heard when he walked in the mudroom was a man’s voice. He shed his boots and walked into the kitchen to see who was there, only to find Lacey listening to her answering machine.
“Asshole,” she murmured, stabbing a button on the machine to bring up another message.
“Lacey, I’ve been trying to get you all week,” said yet another male voice. “I thought we’d have Thanksgiving dinner together but you never returned my call. If you want to go skiing, call me.” The guy didn’t feel the need to leave his name or number, so Lark figured Lacey knew him pretty well.
Lacey picked up the phone and punch
ed in a number, leaving a message. “Phil, this is Lacey. Sorry I missed your call. I’m out of town on a case. I’ll call you when I get back.”
“You want some privacy?” he asked as she hit the play button on the machine again.
“Nope. This’ll just take a second. There are only two messages left.”
Lark wandered into the living room. Despite his discomfort, he listened intently as another male voice came across the machine. He was pleased to hear that it was a guy from a repair shop telling her she could pick up her VCR. The last message was a florist telling her she had a bouquet that they hadn’t been able to deliver. Lark found himself wondering who had sent her flowers. He assumed it was Phil. He moved closer to the kitchen to listen as Lacey placed a call to the florist. She gave them Molly Grenfurth’s name and address as the place to deliver the bouquet. Then she called Molly, telling her to expect a delivery. They commiserated over the kids, but Lark didn’t hear any explanation of who the flowers were from. He didn’t like how much he wanted to know. When Lacey came into the living room, he was studying her bookcases.
“Sorry that took so long. I’ll get my clothes packed and we can go. Help yourself to the refrigerator.” She trotted upstairs.
Lark focused his attention on her living room. The carpet was offwhite. Two sofas in a dark green-and-blue paisley print flanked a painted brick fireplace and wall-to-wall bookcases. The bookcases were stuffed with books and pictures. In several of the pictures he recognized a younger Lacey with an older couple he assumed to be her parents. He found himself smiling at another display of pictures of Lacey with Joel and Molly’s kids.
The books were arranged haphazardly. There were several rows of biographies, popular fiction, and mysteries. She had a small section on adoption along with several travel guides. A copy of Women in Love by D. H. Lawrence caught his eye, jammed between Lady Chatterley’s Lover and a paperback copy of the The Virgin and the Gypsy. They were crammed onto the same shelf with several cookbooks and nature guides.
“Do you like to read?” Lacey asked.
“Jesus Christ, I didn’t hear you come downstairs,” Lark said, whirling around and bumping into her. He grabbed her arm to steady her.
Cold Hunter's Moon Page 15
