by Ann Yost
I interrupted her in a way that would have had my mother washing my mouth out with soap if I'd been younger.
"Mrs. Too. Listen to me. It's a man you don't know. I think he's been murdered. Please send the sheriff immediately with the, uh, vehicle for transporting bodies." I wasn't sure whether the sheriff's department had such a vehicle but figured it would be prudent to ask.
"Well, Henrikki, I can't do either one of those things. The wagon's got a broken axle. Sheriff's driving his Corvette today. Anyhow, he's down at the diner. It's Sunday, you know, and that means fresh pannukakku. I could send Ollie Rahkunen over in his pickup."
I shuddered, thinking of Alex Martin bouncing around in the back of Ollie's old Chevy.
"Never mind about Ollie. I'll get Arvo to bring the hearse. But you're going to have to interrupt the pancake breakfast. This appears to be a case of murder."
I should have hung up immediately but I wasn't thinking fast enough and my old Sunday school teacher launched into what had long been her favorite subject.
"Henrikki, I know why your marriage broke up. You are still in love with Waino. The two of you were always meant to be together and providence has brought you back at just the right time. I ran into Hilda Aho at Shopko and she says Waino is between girlfriends. The one he was seeing has gone off to a Luther League Convention up in Duluth."
Luther League Conventions were for high school students and I should have been more shocked than I was that Waino was dating someone that age. He had already been over six feet tall and built like Paul Bunyan when, during the summer between sixth and seventh grade, he and I had decided to skip a Vacation Bible School lesson on Lepers and spend the morning playing spin the bottle in the cloak closet. Mrs. Too had found us and, perhaps out of guilt, she'd always believed we were "predestined" for one another.
"This is the perfect time to look him up, Henrikki. Strike while the iron's hot."
"Thanks for the heads up," I murmured. "Mrs. Too, I've got to go now. Don't forget to send the sheriff." I hung up as three people approached. Tom Kukka looked grim and Danny Thorne had his arm around his mother.
Somewhere in the back of my mind it registered that none of them seemed surprised. Had they known Alex was dead?
Tears slid down Riitta's face. Tom asked Danny to take her back inside and return with a blanket and I asked him to ask Arvo to drive back to Red Jacket and return with the hearse. Then I watched Tom's careful examination of the body. When he'd finished, he covered Alex's remains with the Hudson Bay blanket Danny provided.
"When did you find him, Hatti?"
"Just now. Well, within the last fifteen minutes or so. What do you think happened?"
"Swan dive off the tower. He's got a broken neck. That would've killed him. Or it might have been the deep gash in his skull. I'd say he landed on a rock."
I nodded. "If there was a rock. There's none here now."
"Suspicious."
"Yep."
Tom squinted up at the tower and seemed to be doing some calculations in his head.
"Unlikely to have been an accident," he said. "He may have gone out on the gallery during the storm but he grew up here in the lighthouse. He'd have known how to handle the weather conditions. Besides, the body is a little too far away from the tower for it to have been a straight fall."
"Suicide?"
Tom shook his head. "Most suicides want to get a running start. There's no place up there for that. And why should he commit suicide. Hell, the guy had everything in the world to live for."
"You can't always tell what's going on in somebody's mind."
"True, but he couldn't have brained himself with a rock. We'll find out in the autopsy."
"Tom," I said, swallowing hard, "Can you tell what time he died?"
"It's a bit murky because of the heat of the day. The rule of thumb is that you lose 1.5 degrees of body heat per hour after death but there are plenty of variables, including age, physical shape, clothing, and, of course, the environment. It's getting on for ninety degrees out here so the temperature drop would be slow. He's down to 94.1 but he coulda started low. I'm guessing death was at least three hours ago. Probably longer."
"I hate to bring this up, but his clothes are damp, which probably means he was out in the storm and the body wasn't here when the dogs and I came out this morning."
Tom Kukka's wide, cheerful face lost most of its color.
"What are you saying?"
I stared into his honest blue eyes.
"I think the body was moved."
He uttered a soft curse.
"If you're right, there's no way to pass this off as an accident or suicide."
"So it's murder?" My voice sounded thick. "Do you think it's someone we know?"
"Yep. Gotta be," he said. He didn't look happy. He stared at me. "Hatti, you sleep up in the tower. Did Danny go up to see him last night?" I nodded, reluctantly.
"And so did Riitta."
"Well, hell," he said. He glanced at the lighthouse. "If the body was moved, and it's a big if, it would have been hidden somewhere."
"I know. I was thinking about that. What about the cellar?"
Tom looked at me. "What makes you suggest that?"
"For one thing, there aren't many other places. For another, it would be relatively easy for a strong person to hoist the body into that wheelbarrow," I pointed to the cart on the backporch, "to wheel it over to the window which would have been opened from the inside, and to dump the body down the coal chute."
"But why?"
"Yeah. I don't know. Maybe to establish an alibi? You said trying to pinpoint the time of death depends on body temperature. What better way to mess up that calculation by keeping the body in a cooler place then returning it to the hot yard?"
"But there'll be other indications in an autopsy," he argued. "Stomach contents, for instance."
The stomach contents wouldn't include that yummy fresh pannukakku Riitta had sent up to him. I felt a tidal wave of sadness.
"There is one problem with the coal chute theory," I said, knowing I had to be honest, "Miss Thyra sent me down there to look for a clothespin and there was no body there then. And speaking of Miss Thyra," I continued, suddenly remembering, "she's complaining of a migraine. I thought you might give her the Verapamil you gave me last week."
"I'll check on her as soon as we get through this."
Chapter 10
The fire-engine-red Corvette swept up into the circular driveway and skidded to a stop in front of the lighthouse. A tall, skinny kid with a thatch of flame-colored hair that made him look like a lit matchstick unfolded himself from the passenger's seat. He slammed shut the car door then circled to the driver's side as the vehicle began to buck like a bronco. We heard a series of groans and muttered curses. Finally, an individual emerged and headed toward us across the lighthouse lawn.
Sheriff Horace A. Clump had always reminded me of Humpty-Dumpty before the fall, not just because of his barrel-like proportions but because his heavy, bulldog jowls seemed to melt into his shoulders. He had no discernible neck which made it a challenge for him to turn his head from side to side. In fact, he didn't. Clump was known for keeping his eyes straight ahead, choosing the most direct, easiest path to his goal. A lot of folks thought he was lazy. A lot believed he was parsimonious. He kept getting re-elected, anyway, even last year after he'd decided to replace the sheriff's department wooden-sided station wagon with the low-slung sports car, a singular choice for a law officer whose principle duty was to rescue snow-stranded motorists.
Clump's point, when asked, was that the sports car had saved Copper County both time and money because nearly all abandoned driver calls were referred to Arvo Maki whose hearse was the heaviest vehicle in the county and who was willing make the rescues free of charge.
Clump waddled across the lawn toward us, his flabby cheeks the color of eggplant in the early afternoon heat. His small, beady eyes sparked with irritation. He was breathing like an out-of-shape runn
er at the end of a race.
I was so focused on the sheriff, I had barely noticed the matchstick deputy at his side so I was taken by surprise when the latter spoke to me.
"Hei, Hatti. Remember me? I'm Ellwood Lantti."
I did remember him. He was the much younger brother of one of my classmates at Copper County High.
"Sure," I said. "How is Annemarie?"
"Pregnant," he said. He swallowed and I watched his Adam's apple bounce up and down like the mercury in a thermometer. That reminded me of watching Tom taking the corpse's body temperature and I felt a chill, despite the ninety-degree weather.
"Huh. This her third?"
"Fourth."
There seemed to be nothing to say to that. Everyone my age was pregnant, just had been or was about to be.
"I didn't know you were the sheriff's deputy."
"Yep."
I wondered how long Ellwood would last in that position. Clump was known for going through his deputies as if they were paper towels. I introduced Tom to the sheriff and Ellwood and then the deputy knelt down to remove the blanket.
Clump glanced at the body, stuck his thumbs into the straining suspenders that held up his uniform pants, and glared at me.
"What in the H-E-double hockey sticks happened here?"
"He's dead," Ellwood said.
"Well, hell, boy. I kin see that. I wanna know how he died. And when."
"The victim is Alex Martin from Los Angeles," Tom said. "He was the son of Johanna Marttinen who owned the lighthouse. She died last summer. Martin has lived in California for twenty years but he came home yesterday to claim the property, just in the nick of time. If he had waited one more day, the lighthouse and a trust fund was to go to Copper County for use as a retirement home."
Doc had Clump's attention. "Go on," the sheriff said.
"I've examined him and have determined that he died from injuries due to a fall from the lighthouse gallery."
"Accident," Clump said. He sounded relieved. And why not? An accident would not require either the energy or resources that would be needed for an investigation.
Tom shook his head and gave Clump the same reasoning he'd given me.
"Suicide, then."
"I don't believe so for a number of reasons, including the fact that somebody bopped him on the head with a hard object."
"Well, shoot-a-dam-mile," Clump said, annoyed. "Why in the Sam Hill would somebody kill the feller?"
Tom and I exchanged a look and he spoke.
"No one here would do it. Folks were upset about possibly losing the lighthouse. We've got a number of elderly people living here already. But it would have taken someone young and strong to overpower a man in the prime of his life. It couldn't have been anybody at the lighthouse."
"And yet," Clump said, "the feller's dead."
"Sheriff," I said, hastily, "Tom doesn't know this, but Alex Martin changed his mind about the disposition of the lighthouse last night. He decided to let the county have it to use as a retirement home. So there was no need for anybody here to kill him."
It wasn't until I'd finished my explanation that I realized I'd boxed Tom into a corner by admitting he didn't know about the change in circumstances.
Clump removed his wide-brimmed hat and swept his arm across his sweat-streaked forehead. The bushy, salt-and-pepper eyebrows contrasted with the smooth bald egg of his head. Both eyebrows tipped up, like a drawbridge opening.
"He leave a note?"
"You mean a suicide note," I asked.
"No. A Valentine. Of course I mean a suicide note."
I swallowed an angry response. "He left Riitta Lemppi a letter. She'll show you. It outlines his plans for the lighthouse."
Clump's small eyes squinted at me.
"What're you doing out here, anyways?" Clump's voice was hostile and, since he had no reason to resent me personally, I figured his attitude was directed at Pops with whom he'd had more than a few run-ins. "I heard you was running your daddy's worm shop in Red Jacket."
I appreciated the fact that neither Tom Kukka nor Ellwood brought up the unfortunate cricket incident. I was able to tell Clump that I had accompanied my aunt and her friend and had stayed to help out Ms. Lemppi, who was my second cousin.
The sheriff cursed, softly. "Everybody on this damn peninsula is related to everybody else. It ain't healthy." He asked for the names of the inmates of the retirement home and I listed them. Even though there were only eight of us, he lost interest long before I finished.
He asked Tom the usual questions, why he was there, what time the deceased had died, and, to my surprise, why the deceased was barefoot. It was a detail I hadn't noticed. When he'd finished he turned to Ellwood.
"Got a real smorgasbord of suspects," he said. "You've got your work cut out for you talkin' to 'em all. Come on, now, and help me get back into the car."
"What about the autopsy," Tom asked.
Clump glared at him. "Have to wait until one of coroners gets back from vacation."
In Copper County we don't have a full-time medical examiner. Four doctors, a pediatrician, an obstetrician and two general practitioners, share the duties of a coroner which, as previously noted, do not often arise.
"Talk to everybody in the lighthouse," Clump said to Ellwood. "Get their alibis. I'll be back after Sunday dinner."
I watched Ellwood shoe-horn his boss back into the Corvette. When he returned, I left him and Tom to stand vigil until Arvo returned with the hearse while I went inside. Riitta and Danny were in the kitchen, the former standing at the sink, gazing out the window to the backyard and the latter leaning against the refrigerator, his arms crossed over his chest, a scowl on his face. Tension was high. They both turned to look at me.
"Tom says it was murder. Someone hit him then pushed him off the gallery. His neck was broken in the fall."
Danny cursed and Riitta made a little choked sound. Her light summer freckles stood out against the extreme pallor of her face and purple crescents underlined her large, blue eyes.
"It doesn't make sense," she said, in a small voice. "Who would have wanted to kill Alex? He'd promised to give us the lighthouse. Nothing was going to change."
"What?" Danny's one-word question exploded in the room like a Roman candle. The obvious surprise in his voice made Riitta wince and me, too. He hadn't known about the gift. "What are you talking about, mom?"
"I talked to Alex last night," she said, her arms folded across her waist as if she were cold. Her back was hunched. "He promised me the lighthouse. Everything was settled."
"When did you talk to him," Danny asked, "what time?"
"I think it was around midnight."
Footsteps in the corridor made Danny speak quickly, urgently.
"Until we find out what time Martin was killed, don't tell that to the cops or anybody else."
Ellwood stepped into the kitchen and I introduced him to mother and son. When I'd finished, he turned to Riitta and said, in a low-key, polite voice, "don't tell me what?"
Chapter 11
My cousin was saved from answering, not by a bell, but by Aunt Ianthe who came hurrying down the backstairs calling, "Riitta? Oh, Riitta, dearie, where are you?" She stepped into the kitchen with Miss Irene right behind her, spotted her quarry, and gave a fulsome sigh of relief.
"Voi, I'm so glad to find you. Thyra has a migraine headache, you know, and we thought Doctor Kukka might have something to help her. I imagine she got it from staying up all night preparing for the seminar."
Ellwood's hazel eyes widened. "This Miss Thyra stayed up all night? Maybe she knows what happened. I'll need to talk to her."
"Oh, yes, yes, of course," Aunt Ianthe said. "But could it wait until she feels better? There's no great hurry then, is there? You know, dear, a little lemon juice on those freckles would do wonders for you. We used it on Hatti when she was a girl and look at her now."
It was true that the freckles that marched across my nose had faded somewhat but I doubted it had an
ything to do with the lemon juice. I smiled at the two old ladies.
"Something has happened that you should know about," I said, quietly. "Alex Martin is dead."
"Voi! That golf course man? But he was so young."
"It wasn't a natural death," I said, gently. "He fell off the lighthouse tower."
"Someone hit him on the head and pushed him off the tower," Danny struck in. There was a raw note in his voice. He had obviously abandoned discretion."He was murdered by someone in the lighthouse."
We were all standing in the room, some with arms crossed, others with jaws dropped. It must have looked like a stage set to Erik Sundback. He'd let himself in through the front door but had entered the kitchen from the corridor. He wore a red-and-orange Hawaiian print shirt, a pair of white shorts and white canvas boat shoes and his face, reddened by the sun and the wind, was the picture of good health and bonhomie. He moved easily across the room and took Riitta's hands in each of his.
"Oh, my dear, I'm so sorry," he murmured. "I was out on the boat but came just as soon as I could. I wouldn't have had something like this happen for the world but who could have known? No one's ever before fallen from the tower."
He obviously believed it was an accident.
"Excuse me," Ellwood said, demonstrating a fine alertness, "I'm Ellwood Lantti from the Copper County Sheriff's Department and I'd like to know how you heard about the, er, incident."
Sundback grinned at him.
"I'm a nosy son-of-a-gun. I've got a police scanner on my sailboat and I heard the 911 call Hatti made. As soon as I realized it had happened here," he looked, meaningfully, at Riitta, "I got back to shore as quickly as I could and headed up here. I called the department from my car. That's when I found out the accident victim was Alex."
"Murder victim," Tom Kukka said, entering the room. His normally friendly voice dripped with ice and his eyes were focused on the hands holding Riitta's.
"Murder?" Erik sounded both shocked and a little offended. "That's pure nonsense. Who would want to murder Alex Martin?"
Arvo entered from the back door.
