See Also Murder

by Larry D. Sweazy

  It broke Hank’s heart to see that dog hurt, and it was even harder to watch him hold him in his arms as life slipped away. I learned the depth of Hank’s love for months after as he moped around, grieved by the loss. To this day, he couldn’t speak the dog’s name without tearing up.

  Thor. The dog’s name was Thor. My mind instantly tried to make a connection between the dog’s name and Loki, Balder, and Odin—the Norse mythology described on the amulet. I knew little of the details, but I knew that Thor was Odin’s son, and Loki and Odin were blood-brothers. There was a link there. The link of an uncle, but not by blood.

  It hadn’t occurred to me until that very moment that Raymond had killed Thor a long, long time ago, though it seemed just like yesterday. I was starting to get an uneasy feeling about everything that had happened recently. A feeling that I didn’t want to consider possible, but come the light of day, I knew I would have to investigate, whether I wanted to or not.

  CHAPTER 30

  The night settled in quietly. Hank calmed down, and we both went about the chore of getting ready to end another day. I ignored the box of page proofs and the fact that Duke Parsons was still parked in front of the house, offering as much protection to us as he could. Deep down, I knew if someone really wanted to get inside, to hurt us, they would. Plain and simple. They would. Nothing would stop them. The world had shown me that much in recent days. Safety was just an illusion for us all.

  I worried about Peter and Jaeger as I saw to the pigs and chickens. I secured them against predators for the night, with Shep at my heels and the .22 in my possession, always within reach. It was the first time in my life that I was concerned about the location of a gun while I went about my chores.

  I was certain, especially knowing that there had been another murder, that I would be more focused in my aim if I had to use the rifle again. I still didn’t know if I could shoot to kill a human being, but I was confident that I would shoot to bring a killer to a stop. I’d shoot to maim, at the very least.

  I didn’t tell Hank about my encounter on the way home from Hilo’s. He’d had enough excitement for one day. No use telling him that I’d felt threatened, scared enough to fire a rifle at a car in the dark. He knew I took such a thing seriously. It would only be one more incident to remind him of his inability as a husband to protect me, that he couldn’t look out for me, keep me from harm, any more than he could have saved Thor or Ardith from the tragedies that had befallen them.

  I had saved a bit of lefse and sausage for our supper, but neither of us could eat much. I think we said two words to each other before the darkness of the night grew deep and impenetrable. Finally, I locked the doors and windows, turned on the fan, and slid into bed next to Hank. He was already fast asleep, or acted like he was.

  I was tempted to snuggle up against him, hold him, and pretend that he was holding me, but I couldn’t force away the reality of our life, of our current situation.

  We both had reason to be unsettled, afraid of what would come next. I had always thought that feeling would go away as an adult, that the unknown would become known, that sadness and pain would become easier to handle, but I was wrong. It grew harder by the day— by the night, to be more honest.

  Instead of cuddling, I lay next to Hank, shoulder to shoulder, and stared up at the ceiling, trying to imagine stars and galaxies, but all I could see in my mind was a field of dead, bloody sheep. Silent, and too many to count.

  I could only wonder what Lida Knudsen had been thinking about on that last night she went to sleep, the night her life had been taken from her so unmercifully. I could only wonder, because I had no way of knowing, and I knew I never would.

  Sleep came in fits and turns. I was used to the window being open, to the caress of the breeze and the comforting sounds that only came alive in the dark; the ubiquitous cricket sawing its legs, a distant owl hooting for its mate, the late train pulling out of Dickinson, the whistle low and sad. Now there was nothing but the whirl of wind generated by a gray metal fan aimed up at the ceiling. I feared Hank would catch a cold if it was pointed directly at the bed. I always feared a cold, pneumonia. It would be the death of him.

  Finally, I couldn’t take the stuffiness, the rolling thoughts in my head, the forced desire to sleep, to rest, to retreat, to escape. Unable to reach any of it, I got up and made my way quietly to my office.

  It was the middle of the night. Shep followed me to the bedroom door, stopped, and lay down, so that he was exactly in the middle of Hank and I. It was a low level of protection, but it came out of instinct, out of love, and that simple act, by our one and only dog, comforted me.

  My feet ached from my time in heels. Practice for the coming days, when dress shoes would be required more often than not. I could hardly wear muck boots to a funeral home, but the thought flittered through my mind. Lida wouldn’t have minded.

  I glanced over at the parcel from New York on my desk, then went straight to the window, and peeked through the curtains. It took a second for my eyes to adjust to the light. The moon was still in its new phase, leaving the sky black and wide, poked with tips of distant silver stars. A thumbnail of light would appear in a few days. The moon would rise and fall in its waxing crescent phase, offering a bit of light to navigate by, but for now, there was nothing. Nothing but the orange glow of Duke Parsons’ cigarette against black velvet. I took a little comfort in that, too. At least he was awake, still alive.

  I looked over my shoulder and saw that my purse was right where I left it: on my desk next to the box of page proofs. I took another quick look back outside just to make sure everything looked like it was supposed to. Thankfully, it did.

  I dug into my purse after my Salems and matches, listening intently as I went. I felt like a teenager sneaking a smoke behind the barn, afraid I was going to be caught by my parents. Hank hated the idea of cigarette smoke inside the house more than he was against the presence of a dog, but there was no way I was stepping out the door in my nightdress. I might wake Hank, or encounter Duke. Either way, it wasn’t an option that I wanted to consider. I’d just crack the window and blow smoke out as directly as I could.

  It wasn’t that I had forgotten that the amulet was stuffed in my purse. I think I had just pushed the possession of it from my mind and didn’t want to consider its existence, especially inside my own house. I should have been more insistent with Hilo, shoved it into his hands, but my heart wouldn’t allow such an act. I could have no more forced the amulet onto Hilo any more than he would have forced the possession of it on me. I had accepted it, taken on the responsibility and task of finding out what it meant, seeing if I could help find out what had happened to Erik and Lida and why. So far, I had run into dead ends. I no more knew why the killer had left the amulet in Erik’s hand than where the moon was hiding in the sky.

  I sat the cigarettes down, picked up the amulet, then unwrapped it, keeping the linen over my palm. I didn’t want it to touch my skin like it had Erik’s.

  There was a simple beauty to the amulet that I’d overlooked before. The copper held no patina, showed no age. It was polished, clean, so much so that it glimmered in the dim light of my office. I traced the lightning bolt with my index finger, then over the three runes that rimmed the copper edge.

  Each of the runes represented characters—Fenris, the Midgard serpent, and the goddess Hel—but it was the depiction of Thor in the middle of the amulet that captured my attention. I knew the piece of jewelry had nothing to do with Hank’s dog, but I couldn’t help but connect the two in my mind.

  I covered the amulet back up and put it back in my purse, out of my sight, away from my touch. It had felt cold, but warmed quickly like it wanted to be warmer, come alive. My imagination was tempted to outrun rational thought. I knew better. The amulet was nothing more than jewelry, and the marks depicted on it were nothing more than a story. A simple story cast down from the ages that had absolutely nothing to do with the present. Or did they?

  I knew Sir Nigel’
s book was more important, at least to my bank account, to my future and to Hank’s, but I had to be alive to see to those tasks. Alive not dead. I had feared for my life out in the dark, on the way back from Hilo’s. I was certain that the killer had come for me, was bearing down on me like a hawk swooping after a jackrabbit.

  Now that I was home, I knew I had to find him before he found me. Hilo was helpless, and from what I’d seen and heard everyone else around was either unable or too shell-shocked to put two and two together.

  Invigorated, I sat down at my desk, put on my reading glasses, pulled out the index I’d started and a pile of cards, and set about my work:

  A

  amulet

  found in Erik Knudsen’s hand. See also murder

  Norse mythology. See also Norse mythology

  purpose of (protection)

  Ardith Jenkins

  married to Hilo Jenkins

  mistletoe in hand when murdered

  murder #3. See also murder

  not housekeeper I thought she was

  Asgard, gods of

  B

  Balder

  god of light

  killed by mistletoe

  return to heaven after battle at Ragnarök

  second son of Odin. See also Odin

  Betty Walsh (counter girl at the Rexall)

  Book of Norse Symbols, The, Calla’s lack of discovery of

  Burlene Standish

  gossip (couldn’t resist putting in)

  said she heard something (what?)

  wife of Red Owl butcher

  C

  Calla Eltmore

  librarian

  mad because Herbert was at Wild Pony

  Carnegie Library

  Calla and Herbert only employees

  Norse mythology information found at

  children of Loki

  Fenris wolf

  Hel, goddess, ruler of realm of dead

  Midgard serpent

  Curtis Henderson

  new extension agent

  shows up in a green Chevy

  wanted to talk to Hank

  wouldn’t talk to me

  D

  D-Day

  Dickinson University

  Duke Parsons, deputy sheriff (lacks ambition)

  E

  Erik Knudsen

  amulet found in hand

  did he serve in WW II, age is right?

  murder #1

  extension agents

  Curtis Henderson

  Lloyd Gustaffson

  F

  Fenris wolf

  child of Loki

  preordained to slay Odin

  Frigg

  mother of Balder

  realized her mistake, but overlooked mistletoe

  G

  Gilda Hoagler Hurtibese

  deceased

  married to university professor

  owner of jewelry

  Raymond’s mother (my aunt)

  gods of Asgard

  green Chevy

  Curtis Henderson shows up in

  first seen at the library

  followed me out of town (then sped by)

  second sighting, in front of Western Auto

  was it the car that ran me off the road?

  Gregor Landdow (pharmacist)

  Guy Reinhardt

  deputy sheriff (has ambitions)

  glory days were on basketball court

  H

  Hamish Martin (insurance salesman)

  Hank Trumaine

  injured hunting grouse, bedridden

  my husband

  wasn’t concerned about Curtis Henderson

  wishes he were dead

  Hel, goddess and ruler of the realm of the dead

  Herbert Frakes

  library janitor

  why did he go on a bender?

  World War II veteran

  Hilo Jenkins

  brought me the amulet

  found amulet in Erik’s hand

  married to Ardith

  sheriff of Stark County

  suggested I keep amulet a secret

  warned me to stay away from Roy

  World War II veteran

  Hoder (Balder’s brother), tricked by Loki into killing Balder

  J

  Jaeger Knudsen

  dated Betty Walsh

  eldest son of Erik and Lida

  Peter said they did work for Phineas Strand

  L

  Lida Knudsen

  angry at Roy for stealing (something?)

  murder #2

  Lloyd Gustaffson, former extension agent

  Loki. See also children of Loki

  M

  method of murders

  Midgard serpent (child of Loki)

  Mills Standish (Burlene’s hus­band), butcher at the Red Owl

  mistletoe as a weapon

  Frigg overlooked it as

  where did it come from?

  motive

  money?

  revenge?

  murder

  Ardith Jenkins (#3)

  Erik Knudsen (#1)

  Hoder tricked into killing Balder

  Lida Knudsen (#2)

  motive (?)

  Phineas Strand (#4)

  suspects (?)

  N

  Norse mythology

  headhunters in?

  information found at library

  story on amulet

  O

  Odin

  father of Balder

  Fenris wolf preordained to slay

  P

  Peter Knudsen

  knew Phineas Strand

  youngest son of Erik and Lida

  Phineas Strand

  murder #4

  not home (phone rang and rang)

  owner of stolen amulet collection

  prophecy of Ragnarök

  protection (purpose of amulet)

  purpose of amulet (protection)

  R

  Ragnarök, prophecy of

  Raymond Hurtibese

  assistant professor of paleontology at college

  Aunt Gilda’s son (first cousin)

  knows that I have the amulet

  ran over Thor (Hank’s dog)

  Roy (Lida’s cousin)

  in same unit as Herbert Frakes (D-Day)

  was Hilo’s best friend in old days

  what did he steal? (is it true?)

  S

  Shep (our border collie)

  suspects

  Curtis Henderson?

  Peter and Jaeger?

  Raymond?

  Roy (Lida’s cousin)?

  a stranger?

  T

  Thor (god of thunder, protector of mankind)

  Thor (Hank’s dog), ran over by Raymond

  W

  Walter Hurtibese (uncle by marriage to Aunt Gilda). See also Raymond Hurtibese

  Wild Pony (tavern in Dickinson)

  World War II

  D-Day

  Erik Knudsen (did he serve, age is right?)

  Herbert Frakes

  Hilo Jenkins

  Roy (Lida’s cousin)

  There was certain criterion that I used for my personal index that I never would have used for an H.P. Howard and Sons index. First off, I indexed everyone by their first name. An academic index would never use that kind of sorting rule, I would have sorted surnames first. I did it this way for myself, for familiarity. I also added in my questions, which most certainly wouldn’t be included in an academic text or index, since index entries in a sense were answers to questions in the first place. Nor would personal comments be acceptable. But beyond that I couldn’t think of anything that I had missed.

  When I looked back over my index, I had more questions than answers, more suspects than most likely were necessary.

  I felt bad about including Peter and Jaeger on the suspect list, but I had to. They were there, in the house at the time as far as I knew. I didn’t know where they were when Ardith was killed, and Pet
er had confessed to knowing Professor Strand, so I couldn’t rule them out no matter how much I wanted to.

  Same with Raymond—I couldn’t rule him out. Without regard to how much he annoyed me, I didn’t want to believe he could be such a monster, could kill a human being on purpose. I never agreed with Hank that Raymond ran over Thor with intent. It was an accident, though I kept that to myself to keep the peace. I know how much Hank loved that dog.

  I didn’t know Curtis Henderson or Lida’s cousin, Roy, so I guess that made it easier to put them on the list, though I couldn’t think of a motive for either one of them, especially the new extension agent. He was only on that list because of his choice in cars—for choosing a green Chevrolet over a black Ford or maroon Chrysler.

  My eyes burned, and I was more tired than I realized. It was still dark outside, and I could hear nothing but the whirl of the fan and Hank’s easy breathing as he slept.

  All I could think to do was lay my head down on the desk. It wasn’t the first time I’d slept there, and I hoped it wouldn’t be the last.

  CHAPTER 31

  Summer days in North Dakota can seem exceedingly long, making it easy to take the presence of light for granted and be uncomfortable when the heavy curtain of night finally falls. There are times in the season when dusk is reviled by men working in the field, their bones aching from long hours of toil, their minds weary, and their hearts nearly worn out from all the worry and concern of looking to the sky and then to the ground. Too wet, too dry, never perfect, always fearing a hailstorm, a tornado, or something worse. Just one more minute of light is pleaded for. Other times, darkness is a gift, a reason to stop working, to retreat inside, to rest, even if the rest is short-lived and filled with more worry about the next day’s chores. Nightmares and screams were common in my house. Rest was a distant luxury.

  I’d slept as soundly as I could with my head on my desk, then woke with a start as the first meadowlark trilled and started to rustle about outside. I was achy, stiff, and felt like I’d planted five hundred acres the day before, but I was glad to be alive, awake, whole in body, but questionable in spirit. I had to pull a strand of hair out of my mouth. It needed cutting. Time for a visit to the beauty parlor for most women, at least town women. I was as comfortable in a beauty parlor as a doctor was inside of a corn silo. I pushed the hair, along with any vanity I might have considered at the moment, out of my way. My concern was public, what people would think, and even though I knew it should have been the least of my worries for the coming day, I couldn’t help myself.