2 Death at Crooked Creek

by Mary Ann Cherry

  This danger was from a killer she couldn’t see and one who was targeting her for no reason she could fathom. Her lower lip trembled, and she cursed her own weakness.

  Get a grip, Red. Don’t go all helpless female in front of Arvid and Fischer.

  She thought of Benny’s vacant eyes looking up from the storage hatch of the motorhome. Wrong thing to think about at just that moment.

  Silently she began to recite her mantra of colors. Cobalt blue, cadmium yellow, viridian, burnt umber…. She rested her weight on her right foot, then the left. Calm down. Calm down. Somehow, this has to be connected with Benny. With the big tractor outside.

  Her mind churned backward, mulling over the newspaper article about the young woman killed while driving the John Deere, trying to seed in the winter wheat. Just doing a good deed for her sick father. Addy Nielson. It was no accident. The girl had been shot by a nameless, faceless killer—from a distance.

  Geez. Nowhere is safe. But what the bejeebers does that girl’s death have to do with me? Or with the art show?

  Jessie’s delicate hands balled into fists. The Nielson girl hadn’t had a snowball’s chance in Hell. And just as suddenly as the fear had swept over her, floods of anger washed it from Jessie’s mind. Her hand came up and she fingered a curl of her now-short hair.

  *.*.*

  Arvid stood with arms crossed over his chest. He’d been following the play of emotions across Jessie’s expressive face and knew the minute she went from afraid to angry, then when her temper hit the high boil. Her eyes flashed. Sparks practically shot from the ends of that red hair like the flames from a gas stove lit by a match.

  “You okay, Jess?” he asked.

  “It isn’t right, Arvid.” Her mouth set in a thin line. “It isn’t right someone can get away with shooting that girl. Or killing Benny.”

  “There’s more to the story, Miss O’Bourne. Lots more,” Sheriff Fischer said grimly. “Well, let’s see what the note says.” As he reached for the paper, the note began to move, slipping quickly backward under the door until just a tiny corner of white still appeared. Then that fragment disappeared as well.

  “What the—” Fischer said.

  “The beast,” Arvid said with a smirk. “He’s a little thief.”

  “Jack, no.” Jessie hissed. “Bad cat. Bad, bad cat.” But the scrap of paper slipped under the door and the note was gone.

  Fischer visibly paled. He took a step back. “Your cat’s in there?”

  She nodded.

  “Well, do something!” Fischer waved his hand toward the hotel door. “We can’t let him ruin it.”

  She slid her key card into the slot, got the green light and pushed open the door. The tip of an orange tail disappeared under the bed. Jessie dove after him and, grabbing him around the middle, hauled him out. The note hung precariously from the side of his mouth, caught on a tooth. Hugging him to her, she stood and reached for a bag of cat treats near the television and shook several out onto the carpet. Jack’s feet began to churn as he squirmed to get down. The note fell to the floor. The tom crouched over his bounty and growled as he ate, looking back toward the door with narrowed eyes focused on Fischer. Jessie bent and reached toward the paper.

  “Don’t touch it,” Arvid and Fischer said in unison. The Sheriff stepped forward, cautiously eyeing Jack, and picked up the note in his gloved hand. He unfolded it, then smoothed it out on the wood surface of the dresser. The block letters were the same as those of the previous notes. The lettering was centered on the paper. The message was short.

  YOU WON’T SEE IT COMING

  Fischer put it into another clear plastic bag. “Evan Hanson got one this morning, too. Same type of note with absolutely no clues to the writer. Just nowhere to start.”

  Jessie humphed. “Yeah. Except the lunatic is an artist.”

  Arvid and Fischer gawked at her. “How do you know that?” Fischer demanded.

  Jessie raised her eyebrows in surprise. “The paper and the pencil.”

  “Go on,” Sheriff Fischer said. “What about the paper and pencil?”

  Arvid made a rolling motion with his hand.

  Jack had finished his treats and was rubbing against Arvid’s trouser leg, weaving in and out. In and out. Finally, annoyed at the lack of attention, he stood on his hind feet, stretched to his full length and sunk a claw into the soft flesh behind Arvid’s knee. “Ow! Blast it.” Jack flew under the bed, twisted and stuck his head out from under the duvet. His expression was smug.

  Jessie twisted an auburn curl around her finger. She tilted her head to the side almost as though listening. “It’s been written with a sketching pencil. Probably a 2h or 3h. Either is a very hard lead. Not a regular number-two pencil.”

  “And the paper?” Arvid asked, rubbing a hand behind his knee. Fischer pulled a small notebook and pen from his pocket and jotted down Jessie’s observation.

  “Sketching paper. It’s probably from a small sketching tablet about 7 x 9 inches. Whoever wrote the note tore half a sheet from a sketching pad that size. There’s the ragged edge on one side only, but you can see two full corners and two neat sides, so that’s how wide the paper is.”

  Arvid picked up the implication. “And I’ll bet if you look at Evan’s note, the torn edges from the two notes fit together like two pieces of a puzzle.

  Jessie smiled. “I wouldn’t take that bet. I think you nailed it.” She looked inquiringly at Fischer. “I have a measuring tape in my demo bag. Do you want it?”

  “Yes.” Fischer pulled the bag holding the note back out of his jacket pocket.

  “Let me shut this door first so His Highness doesn’t take the opportunity to duck out and explore the lodge.” Jessie pushed the door closed.

  Fischer looked apprehensively at the broad orange head peeping out from under the bed. Jack’s reptilian yellow eyes stared back at him, unblinking. Then the head retreated. Immediately, where the head had been a second before, an orange tail stuck out six inches and twitched nervously back and forth.

  Fischer raised his eyebrows at Jessie. “Now what?”

  “Pouting,” Arvid guessed.

  “Yeah, he’s mad because I shut the door,” Jessie said. “He’d love to sneak out and explore the halls.” She reached into her bag and handed Fischer a small silver purse-sized measuring tape.

  He again smoothed the note out on the dresser and measured through the clear bag. “I’ll be damned. Seven inches at the bottom. A ragged four and a half inches tall. I’ll take this back to the office and see if the pieces fit with the note Evan gave us. Do you notice anything else about the note, Jessie?”

  “No. Sorry, that’s it.”

  “Well, it’s more than we had before. Thank you.”

  “I told you she was a lot of help on the murder case last year in Sage Bluff, Sheriff. She notices things I don’t see,” Arvid remarked. “You might bear that in mind and let her take a look-see at the trail cam video.”

  “Trail cam?” Jessie’s look was inquiring.

  They explained.

  “I’ll think about it,” Fischer said. “I hate to get civilians involved.”

  Jessie glowered at him. “I’m already involved. I’d be glad to watch the video if you change your mind.” She looked at her watch, then at Arvid. “I’d better go rescue Esther. There’s still about two hours before the quick-draw and I promised the Gingerbread Man that I’d introduce him to some of the artists.”

  Fischer looked interested. “I’m assuming you mean Joe Helland? How did you meet him?”

  “Actually, he met me.” She smiled. “He came up to my table in the restaurant when I was having cocoa with a friend and began to talk. He’s sure a nice old gentleman.”

  “Yeah, he is.” Fischer looked at Arvid. “Helland was one of Berg Nielson’s neighbors. He took those deaths real hard. Addy. Berg. Then Dominic. The old guy looks frail. Much frailer than he was before all that happened, anyhow.”

  “He seems hard of hearing, too,” Jessie
said.

  “Yeah, but that isn’t anything new. He worked with explosives when he was young. He damaged his hearing while he was in the service, working too close to some of the big guns. When he doesn’t want to listen to people he turns his hearing aid off.”

  Arvid grinned. “Man after my own heart.”

  “He’s a heck of a woodcarver,” Fischer went on. “His work would outshine most of the sculptors and carvers here. Try to get him to show you some of it.”

  “I’d love to see his work,” Jessie said. “I wonder if he’d be willing to have us visit.”

  “I doubt it. Helland’s never been Mr. Sociability. I’m surprised he wants to walk around the display rooms with you and meet and greet.” Fischer looked at Jessie as though he expected her to explain. “It really isn’t like him.”

  She shrugged her shoulders, then picked up her purse, ready to head out. “At the restaurant he came right over and introduced himself. He seems very pleasant to me. Maybe he’s lonely.”

  Fischer shook his head. “I’m just saying that this is something new. Except for his friendship with the Nielsons, he always kept to himself. Not because he’s unfriendly, but because of his hearing problem, I think.”

  “So, this Helland was close to Adele Nielson’s family. He’s here at the show and the little tractors are showing up?” Arvid had a calculating look in his blue eyes. “You don’t think he could be involved with the killer—or worse, be the killer, do you?”

  Fischer said, “Nah. If he is, I’m a terrible judge of character. And besides, he’s too old. He couldn’t have bashed Benny on the head, then lifted and shoved him into the motorhome storage area. He wouldn’t have the physical strength.”

  “No,” Jessie said, “Besides, there’s the sketching pencil. And the paper. I’m telling you, it’s an artist.”

  “You forget Helland is a carver—so he’s an artist. Would he be likely to use a sketch pad to block out his pieces?”

  Jessie scratched her head. ‘Good question, but I’m not sure. He might just use regular cheap newsprint. Or he might make meticulous drawings on good paper before he starts a carving.’ She frowned. “And maybe he just plans it in his head and doesn’t sketch it out at all. Some sculptors and carvers are absolute geniuses with anything three dimensional.”

  “Huh,” Arvid grunted.

  “Well, I’ll keep him at the back of my mind, but I doubt very much that he had a hand in any of this mess.” Fischer turned and opened the door. “I’ll think about having Jessie look at the trail cam feed.” He nodded to Jessie and then said to Arvid, “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  *.*.*

  Ten minutes later, Jessie found Esther and Helland still visiting companionably. She had trouble thinking of him as anything other than the Gingerbread Man. She certainly couldn’t picture him as a killer.

  “Did Esther keep you company? I’m so sorry for the wait.”

  “Excellent company, thank you. I have a new and abiding admiration for the Norwegians,” Helland said. “But shall we go? I know you have the Friday quick-draw this evening. And the evening auction.” He stood. “I don’t want to take your entire afternoon.”

  “No problem. It will be fun. I’m dying to look around the rooms.” Jessie took his arm and gave Esther a little wave. “Thanks, Esther. See you later.”

  She turned to Helland. “Where would you like to go first? I can introduce you to some of the artists whose work I love, but do you have specific artists you want to meet?”

  “Let’s visit artists from Crooked Creek first, shall we? I marked four on the list.”

  “But don’t you already know them?”

  “Sadly, no. I tend to keep to myself much too much. It’s high time I met some of our local artists.”

  *.*.*

  “I love this old barn painting, Gloria. Is it the one from the south side of town over on Turner Road?” Helland asked the slight brunette. Her work was acrylic, a bit kitschy, and very colorful. The sky in the painting was electric blue, the hill behind the barn a vivid purple and the barn was red, red, red. Jessie could almost feel shock waves pouring out of the frame. I’m going blind. My retinas are seared.

  She preferred subtler sky tones, but there were many people who loved the bright colors. Mr. Helland was obviously one of those. Art was a personal choice.

  “Yes,” Gloria said to Helland. “That’s the same barn. Let me give you a greeting card of that piece—something I can give you for all the wooden gingerbread men you’ve given my kids the past three years. You know they’re the first thing on our Christmas tree. My husband is the one who takes the kids trick or treating so I’ve never put a face to the wonderful man who gives out the gingerbread boys. I’m happy to finally meet you.” She produced a 5 x 7 card and slipped it into a plastic sack. She handed the sack to Jessie because Helland, after visiting five other rooms, was now leaning heavily on his cane with both hands. “I knew your wife,” Gloria went on. “What a sweet woman. I was working part time in the library and she used to come in to browse the new mysteries. And the romances,” she said with a wink.

  “Ah, yes.” He gave her a lopsided grin. “Of course, she brought the romances home for me,” he teased.

  Then he asked the same question he had asked in each room.

  “By the way. You don’t know who drove that big John Deere over—the one displaying the art show banner, do you?”

  And got the same answer. “No, sorry.”

  Interesting, Jessie thought. Very interesting.

  *.*.*

  “You have a very easy to read face. I saw you looking at the work in Gloria’s room with a slightly disapproving look.”

  “Oh, no,” Jessie said. “I hope she didn’t notice. It’s just that it was a bit bright for my taste. However, primary colors are popular right now. People buy that style of work. She’ll do very well at the show.”

  “Don’t worry, my dear. I don’t think she noticed. Bright, was it? I thought so too. But something cheerful can relieve the day to day gloom.” He winked. “And I might have fond memories of this particular barn. My wife Shanna and I went to a barn dance and barbecue there once. Shanna passed away some time ago. I’ll make a frame for this card she gave me. And hang it in a place of honor. Memories are very important.”

  Jessie smiled. “Yes, they are.”

  She guided him into the next room. “I have time to visit several more. The quick-draw isn’t until evening. “And I know you’ll enjoy this room. It’s Glen Heath’s. He’s a sculptor.”

  “I’m well acquainted with this gentleman. He’s a neighbor.” He shuffled into the room, leaned on his cane and extended his hand to shake. “How are you, Wheels?”

  “Wheels?” Jessie asked in surprise.

  “An old nickname, Jessie.” Glen said with a smile. “Sometimes I wish I’d begun using it for my art moniker. Catchier moniker than Glen.” Then he nodded to Helland. “Hi, Joe. I think this is the first time I’ve seen you at the show. You should have a display room. Your wood carvings would put my poor efforts to shame.”

  “It’s my first time at the show, and I’m having a great time.”

  “You know, I expect an invitation to see your carvings, Mr. Helland,” Jessie said. “Glen is the second person to rave about them.”

  Helland looked pleased. “I’d be delighted to show them to you and your friends, Jessie. And please call me Joe.” He turned to Glen and gave him a sympathetic look. “Have they found your stepbrother yet?”

  Glen scowled. “No, they haven’t. His mother and I are worried sick. At least she’s worried when she’s having a good day. She doesn’t always remember he’s missing. She’s got early stage Alzheimer’s.” He looked at Jessie. “It’s my younger stepbrother, Harris,” he explained. “He started out from Fort Stewart, Georgia, to come home, and never made it. Not a sign of him.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry. How awful.” Jessie was hit by a sense of loss, remembering her own brother, Kevin, who’d been murdered
almost seven years earlier. “How long ago was this, Glen?”

  “Over two months. The Army thinks he went AWOL. I know better. That kid was straight as an arrow. He’d never desert.”

  “I don’t even know what to say,” Jessie murmured. “I hope they find him.”

  Glen looked down at his feet. “Thanks. It isn’t looking good.” He seemed to slump.

  Helland was examining a small bronze statue of a cow and calf. “How much is this, Wheels?”

  Glen straightened, walked over and read the price tag aloud.

  “I’ll take it,” Helland said. He pulled a wallet from his pocket and handed Glen a credit card. “Would you like to keep it until the end of the Expo and drop it by? I see it’s an edition of 20. If you keep it for display, you might sell another one. Besides, I have no good way of carrying it.”

  “That would be great,” Glen said. “I can deliver it at the end of the show. I’ll call you before I come to make sure you’re at home.”

  “I’ll be honored to have it.” Then he began his spiel… “Say, you don’t know who hauled over the Nielson’s tractor and…”

  Jessie had stopped listening. A tall, athletic-looking blond man strolled in through the hall doorway. He spotted her at the same time. A brilliant smile lit his handsome face. She frowned, tossed her head back and gave him the stink-eye. He started toward her and she gave him the double stink-eye. He ignored it, crossed the room in several long strides and scooped her into his arms and hugged her. The conversation between Glen and Helland faded into the distance as her mind went blank. Jessie felt her body go stiff with annoyance.