by Maddy Hunter
“We had a twister touch down last night that kind of rearranged things.”
“Oh, my God. Was anyone hurt?”
“It was a miracle, Emily, but there was only one injury. Your friend Sharon missed a step on her basement stairs and ended up breaking both legs. But her mother tells me she’ll be up and about in a few months, after they remove the pins and she goes through rehab.”
I blinked numbly. “My maid of honor can’t walk?”
“The wonderful thing is, not one house was destroyed. That pesky twister hopped over the residential district completely, so you can tell the Teigs, and the Stolees, and everyone else that there’s no need to rush home, because their property is just fine. It’s the rest of the town that’s been declared a disaster area.”
“Disaster area?”
“You’ll notice such a change, dear. But like your father was telling Lars this morning, some of those buildings were so old, they needed to be torn down anyway.”
I winced. “Did a lot of the buildings collapse?”
“All of them, dear. Windsor City Bank. Holy Redeemer Church. Skaartvedt’s Roto-Rooter and Used Books. The funeral parlor. The bridal shop where you ordered your dress. Main Street is still there, but it’s pretty much buried under rubble.”
My vision dimmed. My head went fuzzy. “What about Ashgrove?”
“If the tornado had lifted up a hundred feet sooner, it would have been fine.”
“It’s gone?” I asked weakly.
“Flattened.”
“Oh, God, Mom. How can I get married? I have no church, no dress, no reception hall, no maid of honor!”
“Don’t you worry, sweetheart, I have it all figured out. Are you sitting down?”
“No, but…hold on.” I rounded the corner toward the sauna. “They probably have chairs in—”
I tripped over something and went flying into the opposite wall with a bone-jarring thunk.
“Are you sitting down yet?” my mother chattered away. “I’m going to arrange everything while you’re in Scandinavia. New church, new dress, new reception hall. I’m so excited, Emily. It’s going to be even better than before.”
I turned around, my back pressed to the wall for support. Portia Van Cleef lay faceup on the floor, body inert, eyes fixed, tongue lolling from her head. She was wearing the fuschia-and-plum necklace that Jackie had admired in the Aarikka store today, with one tragic difference.
Someone had used it to strangle her.
I let out a cry that could wake the dead.
“You should hear her, Bob,” my mother gushed to my father. “She’s thrilled with the idea.”
CHAPTER 5
“At nineteen-hundred hours you had dinner reservations at Raffaelo, where Ms. Van Cleef ordered the chicken breast with Swiss vegetable cakes.”
“We would have eaten earlier,” April Peabody informed the policeman in charge of establishing a time line for Portia’s activities, “but Portia insisted on stopping at a little jewelry store to buy a necklace she’d seen earlier. Who knows why she was so taken with it? Not her signature style at all. It was made of wood, for God sakes.”
I’d given my statement to the chief investigating officer an hour earlier, but I was so rattled that I’d decided to attend the informal inquiry being held in the hotel’s conference room rather than return to my room. Annika had knocked on doors, rousting everyone, so all the guests were present and accounted for, except for Jackie, who was mysteriously AWOL.
“You left the restaurant around twenty-one-hundred hours,” Officer Rajanen continued. “Did your entire group walk back to the hotel together?”
“We sure did,” said Joleen Barnum. “Me and Jimbob were a little afraid of getting lost, so we never let anyone out of our sight. Wasn’t easy with Reno leading the way, though. He walks so fast, no one can keep up.”
“He does it to show off,” claimed June Peabody. “He doesn’t want anyone to forget he’s a world-class athlete. I’m surprised he’s not wearing his medals.”
“I thought about packing them,” Reno quipped, “but they would have put my luggage over the weight limit.”
“Enough with the wisecracks,” August Manning chided. “How about showing a little respect for the dead?”
“Did you try callin’ Jackie on her cell?” Nana whispered to me.
“I don’t know her number,” I whispered back. I was getting a very bad feeling about the reason for her absence.
“Where did Ms. Van Cleef go after returning to the hotel?” probed Officer Rajanen.
“We all stopped in the lobby to read tomorrow’s itinerary,” Lauretta Klick volunteered.
“And then we rode the elevator back to our rooms,” said Vern Grundy. “End of story.”
Officer Rajanen jotted something on his notepad. “Do you recall who stepped off the elevator with Ms. Van Cleef?”
“We all got off at the same time,” said Curtis Klick. “They put all of us Florida people on one floor and the Iowans on another.”
“Portia’s room was closest to the elevator,” added April Peabody. “The rest of us were farther down the hall. She always made sure she got the plum rooms. Location, location, location.”
“Did she enter her room alone?” asked Rajanen.
“August challenged her to a game of gin rummy,” said Curtis, “but she declined. Seemed pretty obvious he was trying to get her alone.”
“Who knows for what sinful purpose?” added Lauretta.
“Don’t try pinning anything on me,” August called out. “Portia’s in the gin rummy club with me. I throw out that challenge all the time because no one has ever beaten her and I’m aiming to be the first, even if it’s not officially documented.”
The officer made another notation. “Did any of you see or speak to her after she went inside her room?”
“That’s the last I saw of her,” Reno spoke up.
“Me too,” said Vern, heads nodding in agreement around him.
“So no one saw Ms. Van Cleef again until Ms. Andrew found her outside the sauna. Is that correct?”
More head bobbing. George patted my shoulder. Nana squeezed my hand.
Officer Rajanen closed his notepad, his expression pained, his tone apologetic. “Please accept my condolences for what has happened to your companion. I regret the black mark it places on our city, because other than for a few unlawful pickpockets, Helsinki is extremely safe.”
“That’s the line they gave us about Switzerland,” scoffed Helen Teig, “before Emily found three dead bodies.”
“She found four in Italy,” Lucille bragged.
“She only found two in Australia,” said Osmond. “That really brought down her average.”
I slunk down in my chair, hoping to become invisible.
“Unfortunately, there are individuals who make the streets less safe in any country,” Officer Ranjanen continued. “We’ve noticed an escalation of youth crime in our city center in recent years. Nonviolent crime, but crime nonetheless. When our youth feel disenfranchised, they seem capable of anything.”
“Where’s your city center?” asked Dick Stolee.
Rajanen spread out his hands. “You are sitting in it.”
The room grew palpably quiet.
“Would have been nice if someone had told us that,” barked Vern. “Portia might have been more careful. She might still be alive.”
“What an ugly way to go,” Jimbob empathized. “Garroted to death.”
“Garroted?” said Bernice. “I thought you said she was strangled.”
April Peabody stabbed an accusatory finger at Bernice. “You ought to know. What with the way you were talking to her earlier today, I wouldn’t be surprised if you were there!”
Nods from the Floridians. Shock from the Iowans.
Rajanen paused in front of Bernice’s chair. “Would you care to tell me about your exchange with Ms. Van Cleef?”
“Give me a break!” Bernice whined. “Those people stole our chairs at th
e waterfront market. I said I wanted them back, and Ms. Van Cleef said to forget it, so I told her she’d be sorry.”
“How did you intend to make her sorry?”
“How should I know? People say stuff like that all the time. ‘Switch the channel and I’ll break your arm.’ ‘Eat that last Twinkie and I’ll kill you.’ Don’t you ever say things like that?”
“No.”
“Maybe they don’t have Twinkies in Finland,” offered Margi.
“You are Bernice Zwerg,” Rajanen said, reopening his notepad and making a notation as he read her name tag. “Would you tell me where were you this evening between twenty-one hundred hours and the present?”
“You’ve got me all wrong,” Bernice protested in a minor panic. “What could I do to make someone sorry? I’m old. I’m forgetful. I’ve got an arthritic back and bunions.”
“I’ll tell you how forgetful she is,” Nana said helpfully. “She can’t even remember that she had them bunions out last year.”
Officer Rajanen grew ominously quiet. “Forgive me for asking again, Ms. Zwerg. Where were you—”
“I was in my room! That woman upset me so much, I went into seclusion.”
“Can you provide a witness who will testify that you were in your room at the time Ms. Van Cleef was murdered?”
Bernice gave him a hard look. “If someone had been in the room with me, I wouldn’t have been in seclusion, would I?”
Rajanen returned the look. “No, but at least you would have someone to verify your alibi.” He stowed his notepad in his shirt pocket. “Would you mind coming with me, Ms. Zwerg?”
He was taking Bernice in for questioning? This wasn’t good. My escort’s manual didn’t have a section covering incarceration etiquette! I stood up in protest. “You can’t take her to jail, Officer. Bernice isn’t capable of committing murder. Ask anyone.” I prodded my group to back me up.
“Killing’s not Bernice’s style,” agreed Dick Teig. “She’d rather grate on your nerves ’til you feel like killing yourself.”
“Or cheat you,” said Grace.
“Or insult you,” added Margi.
“Or talk about you behind your back,” said Lucille.
“Or lie about something she’s dumping on eBay,” said Dick Stolee.
“Wouldn’t that go under cheating?” asked Margi.
“You hear that?” Bernice pleaded with Rajanen. “These people are my friends. They know me. You’ve gotta believe them.”
Rajanen motioned her to stand up. Dick Teig hit the Record button on his camcorder. “Here’s Bernice, getting her ass hauled off to jail.”
I looked on futilely, unable to think of anything that would save her butt.
“I’m telling you, I didn’t do it!” Bernice cried as Rajanen escorted her away. “It wasn’t me. It was the author!”
Blame someone else! That might work. But how did she know about Jackie’s run-in with Portia? She hadn’t even been there!
“She’s got a point,” said Lauretta Klick. “We all heard Jackie Thum threaten Portia.”
“I had to cover my ears,” said Curtis. “If she uses language like that in her book, I’m not reading it.”
Officer Rajanen paused. “This is true?”
“I saw the whole thing,” said June.
“So did I,” said April. “Jackie was so mad at Portia that she swore to get even.”
“She didn’t swear,” corrected Joleen. “She ‘promised.’”
“I thought she said ‘vowed,’” said Vern. “Seems to me an author might come up with a punchier verb than ‘promised.’”
“The verb was irrelevant,” said June. “The critical point, Officer, is that not only did Jackie Thum bear a grudge against Portia, she’s physically capable of carrying out a vendetta because she’s eight feet tall.”
Rajanen looked out over the group, obviously trying to spot our resident giant. “Is Ms. Thum here?”
“Excuse me, Officer,” Annika spoke up, “but I mentioned to you before that I was unable to locate Ms. Thum.”
“Aha!” chortled June. “That should tell you something.”
“She’s guilty as sin,” Lauretta accused.
“Probably skipped town,” said Reno.
“Or went on a killing rampage and murdered more people,” Bernice offered happily.
“Or had a late dinner!” I shouted to be heard above the escalating rumble of voices. “What is wrong with you people? Whatever happened to the concept of a person being innocent until proven guilty? Did you toss it out the window when you crossed the Atlantic?”
Awkward silence. Downcast eyes. Self-conscious foot shuffling.
“Emily?” Margi looked puzzled. “My airplane window wouldn’t open. Do you think it was defective?”
Officer Rajanen dug out his notepad again. “Please, could I have a description of Ms. Thum other than her height?”
“She wears them real stylish high heels,” said Nana. “But she’s gotta order through the catalog on account a her feet are so big.”
“Great legs,” said Gus.
“Huge bazongas,” said Vern.
“Skintight clothes,” said Reno.
Those lechers. They did want to sleep with her!
Tilly rapped her walking stick on the floor. “I’ll give you her description, Officer. She’s mesocephalic and leptoprosopic, with no alveolar prognathism. Her nose is leptorrhine with a high nasal root. She has a non-Mongoloid eye with no epicanthic fold, and her hair is shoulder-length and brown, wavy as opposed to woolly or peppercorn. Is that exact enough?”
Vern scratched his head. “Did she mention the huge bazongas? I couldn’t tell.”
The door swung open and Jackie clickclacked breathlessly into the conference room, looking as if she’d just run a marathon. “The front desk clerk told me you were having a meeting in here.” She sank into a chair and fanned her face. “So, what have I missed?”
“I can’t figure how the locals sleep when it’s so light out.” Nana pulled the drape back on my bedroom window. She’d phoned a couple of hours ago, asking for an over-the-counter sleep aid, but when she’d arrived at my door with Tilly and George, I’d realized the visit had had more to do with keeping me company than coping with sleeplessness. “Looks more like six p.m. than one a.m. You s’pose that’s why we’re all awake?”
“I’m too creeped out to sleep.” I sat cross-legged on my bed, hugging my pillow. “Every time I close my eyes, I see Portia sprawled on the floor, staring at the ceiling.”
“Try this,” said George, who was stretched out on Jackie’s bed. “Keep your eyes open.”
This is what I loved about men. They were so basic.
“Have you thought about your plan of action should the police find evidence that implicates Jackie or Bernice in Portia’s murder?” asked Tilly. She sat on the settee with her feet elevated to relieve the swelling in her ankles. “Would you stay in Helsinki with them or fly to Lapland with us tomorrow?”
Annika had announced that her tour company was contractually bound to fulfill their obligation to their guests, so despite the misfortune with Portia, the tour would continue and refunds would not be given to those who terminated their trip prematurely.
“My escort’s manual isn’t exactly clear about where my duty lies. It kind of skips over all the scenarios where tour guests get jailed for murder.”
“Call Mr. Erickson at the bank,” Nana suggested. “He’ll—” Her voice faded suddenly. “What am I thinkin’? The bank’s not there no more.”
“If the bank’s not there, does that mean our travel club’s not there either?” asked George.
I caught my breath as reality smacked me in the face. He was right. Without the bank to sponsor it, there was no seniors’ travel club, which meant—“Oh, my God. I have no job.”
“I imagine all of Windsor City’s Main Street merchants are facing that same dilemma today,” said Tilly.
“You’ve got somethin’ more valuable than a job,
dear,” Nana soothed. “You got your young man.”
“Not yet, I don’t. How are we going to get married? I have no church, no restaurant, no gown. My maid of honor has both legs in a cast and won’t be able to walk for months.”
Nana waved her hand dismissively. “There’s no problem bigger’n the two of us, Emily, ’specially when we put our heads together.”
“Mom has put herself in charge of making alternate wedding plans while I’m away,” I added.
Nana’s face froze in horror. “Now we got problems.”
The hallway door banged open and Jackie bustled into the room weighed down by so many shopping bags that she looked like a clothes tree that needed uncluttering.
“Welcome back!” Nana scuffed across the floor to give her a hug. “What a haul.” She read the lettering on the bags. “Marimekko. Stockmann. Here we thought you was in the Big House, when all the time you was shoppin’. Where’s the police station? In a mall?”
“Hardly. I left my bags at the front desk before I joined the little witch hunt in the conference room. The nerve of those people!” She dumped her stash onto the bed at George’s feet. “Can you believe they dragged me off like a common criminal? I can see why they took Bernice in; she looks like Public Enemy Number One. But me? The only thing I’m guilty of is eating off all my lip gloss and forgetting to reapply.”
“I’m so happy they let you go!” I hopped off my bed and gave her a welcoming hug. “Did they release Bernice, too?”
“Yup. We rode back in the same cab with Annika. Thank God they let Annika go to the police station with us. I don’t know what we would have done without her.”
“What made them decide to let you go?” asked George.
“They obviously had no evidence to implicate either of us. Besides, we both had airtight alibis.”
I regarded her oddly. “Bernice didn’t have an alibi. That’s part of the reason why she came under suspicion.”
“She musta made somthin’ up,” said Nana. “That Bernice can think on her feet real good. That’s part a her mystique.”
“She didn’t have to make anything up,” said Jackie. “She told them she’d been talking on the phone while she was in her room, and when the police investigated, it all checked out.”
