The Mystery Sisters series Box Set

by Karen Musser Nortman

  After a short search, Bess found several seats on the end of the second row of a section of bleachers with room for the wheel chair along side. She called Dean. “We’re straight across from the pharmacy, near the fountain.”

  Waiting for the market demonstration to start, Lil stared in fascination at the semi-organized mayhem going on. Men in white pants and shirts and different colored straw hats mingled among wooden platforms with great wheels of cheese stacked on them.

  “The color of their hats tells what company they’re with,” Bess explained. “They are the porters and their job is to carry the cheeses on those sled-like things for weighing and delivery to the buyers.”

  “Look, there’s your friends.” Bess nodded toward the Channel 17 pair. They were filming the cheese market and interviewing participants. “They must have given up on the Bakkes.”

  “I bet they’re just getting this footage in case they can’t get anything really juicy,” Max said. “Or they can use it as backdrop for blatant speculation.”

  Dean soon joined them and the cheese market ritual began. Porters carried the cheeses on the colorful sleds, suspended by straps from their shoulders. Price negotiations were carried out between buyers and sellers through a series of shouts and hand claps.

  “This is fascinating,” Lil said. “I have no idea what’s actually being decided but that doesn’t make it any less interesting. Almost like a dance.”

  “Don’t say dance,” Max said, pointing at her foot.

  Dean waved at a man standing off to the side who appeared to be directing the participants. “That’s Ben Barnes, the man who was supposed to be waiting for the grain delivery yesterday. I’ll go over, and when he has a break, ask him what happened.” He let himself down off the end of the bench and made his way through the crowd.

  The women continued to watch the reenactment. When it ended, Max asked Bess where the cheeses could be purchased.

  “We’ll stop at one of the markets on our way home,” Bess promised.

  Dean returned from his snooping. The crowd was disbursing around them, so he lowered his voice. “A local farmer, Stan Gunder, made the delivery Saturday. Stan just had shoulder surgery and couldn’t do any lifting, so he went to get a cup of coffee while Ben unloaded the grain bags. Right after Stan left, Ben got a call from someone who said they had sideswiped his car by accident but wouldn’t leave their name. He went to check it out but didn’t find anything. When he got back, he unloaded the grain, Stan returned and drove off, and Ben locked the doors. Of course, he told the police all of this.”

  “But what about the bag with the body in it? That couldn’t have been there before he left,” Max said.

  “There was a bag on the hook ready to be raised. Someone frequently does that the night before. He didn’t examine the bag when he returned—just assumed it was the same one. Obviously it was not. Of course it was out of shape compared to the regular grain bags, but who would think of a body?”

  “So that answers the question of how the murderer got the body into the mill,” Lil said. “What time did Ben unlock the door?”

  “A little after 8:00 a. m. He said the delivery was supposed to be at 8:15. He always makes sure there is a bag on the hoist in time for the 9:00 tour. But sometimes there’s already one there, like that day. He said the police are trying to find a witness who saw someone besides Ben and Stan around the mill at that time. Well, I’ll go get your chariot, ladies, if you will meet me back at the barricade. By the way, it wouldn’t hurt if you would mention to my wife how lucky she is to have me.” He tipped his ball cap and was off.

  Lil said to Bess. “He really is a nice guy. I’m glad we got to know him better on this trip.”

  Bess smiled. “He has his moments.”

  Once they returned home and had Max settled on the patio with reading material and an adult beverage, Dean took Rosie out for a walk. The dog hesitated before heading to the door, looking at her mistress as if Max had forgotten her true purpose in life. “Go with Dean,” Max said. “I promise he won’t bite.” But she looked at Dean with raised eyebrows.

  “Not this time,” Dean said, and off they went.

  Lil and Bess decided to walk to the nearby city tulip garden. When they reached the entrance, Lil stopped to take in the view.

  “The color is just stunning. I don’t know where to start.”

  The bright beds of tulips were accented by blossom laden flowering crabs and red buds. Small arbors sheltered welcoming seats, and other benches waited in the warm sun. Brick paths led in all directions from the entrance.

  “Let’s start to the right,” Bess suggested.

  Each bed was clearly labeled with the varieties.

  “I didn’t realize there were so many types.” Lil bent over some pale yellow flowers edged with white. “Lemon meringue,” she read aloud. “What a perfect name. And I never heard of parrot tulips and lily-flowered tulips like those last beds. Just beautiful.”

  They ambled on along the paths, stopping to examine each variety. In the center, two women sold glasses of lemonade and iced tea to benefit the ‘Friends of the Little Sneek Tulip Fest.’ They took their cups to a nearby bench and sat, absorbing all the wonderful colors.

  “It’s hard to fully enjoy, though, with all that’s gone on,” Lil said, “And I can’t imagine what a shock this must all be to you.”

  “It does seem surreal, doesn’t it? All of this beauty and the dark cloud of murder over everything.”

  They finished their lemonade, pitched their cups in a brightly painted trash can, and moved on. A pond edged with pink and white tulips and bluebells sat in the center of the garden. They circled it and followed the paths back to the entrance in a meandering route. Bess glanced at her watch. “Time to get back and do something about supper, I think. Have you had enough?”

  “Oh, yes,” Lil said. “It’s amazing. I need to bring Max back here. The paths are wide enough for the wheelchair.”

  “Good idea.”

  Meanwhile, Max read a bit and then dozed in her chair. A sharp whistle followed by a yell of “Sneekers! Come here!” brought her awake. A tan and white Pomeranian raced across the back yard followed by a familiar-looking man.

  The dog successfully played a game of keepaway, dodging back and forth each time his master neared, until finally he was cornered against the back fence. The man grabbed him and turned, the dog struggling in his arms. As he started back toward the front of the house and presumably the sidewalk, the man spotted Max, and she realized it was James Meijer.

  “Oh, hi! Ms. Berra, isn’t it?” He walked toward her while trying to quiet the dog.

  “Yes.” Max was thinking how Lil insisted he was ‘creepy.’ Lil tended to be a little skittish though. Well, more than a little.

  “What happened to you?” He pointed at her foot propped up on pillows. Her walker stood next to the chair.

  “Sprained my ankle—taking a stupid wooden-shoe dancing lesson yesterday. My own fault.”

  “Ouch,” he said. “Those wooden shoes get a lot of newbies. I bet that made it hard to take in the festivities.”

  “A little.”

  “Maybe I should take you out for a nice supper. Is Dean home?”

  The sudden switch of topics gave her a slight jolt. If he was asking for a date, he wasn’t very suave about it. It was more like he was making a comment to himself but hadn’t decided yet. Maybe he was a jerk.

  “No, he’s got my dog out for a walk. May I give him a message?”

  “No, I just need to get with him sometime about his bequest to the college. Well, Bess too. I’ll see you around.”

  Apparently not for supper.

  Meijer disappeared around the corner of the house.

  When Dean returned, Rosie loped over to her mistress like a kid home from kindergarten, eager to share the events of her day. Max told Dean about her visitor.

  “Geesh, that guy doesn’t give up. He makes it sound like I’ve committed to something and I haven’
t. There is no bequest yet. And like I said, Bess is planning a gift to Minnesota.” He jerked a thumb toward the kitchen. “I’m such a great husband, I’m going to start supper. How do chicken salad croissants sound?”

  “Great. Are you entering some kind of husband contest?”

  “No, I just like to remind Bess, so she doesn’t forget.”

  Max reached for her walker and hoisted herself up. “I’ll help. If I sit around any longer, I’m going to rot.”

  “We wouldn’t want that. It smells up the place.” In the kitchen, he arranged a seat for her and assigned her the task of chopping up celery and grapes.

  “What do you really think about these murders? Do you have a favorite candidate?” Max asked.

  “Favorite. That’s an odd term under the circumstances. All of the possible suspects we’ve discussed are friends or at least acquaintances. They are people I wouldn’t expect to jaywalk, let alone murder someone.”

  “Hmmm. That’s a problem.”

  “So, have we stumped the famous Mystery Sisters?”

  Max laughed. “The only way we’d be famous is if we actually killed someone.”

  “Well, I guess I’m your alibi for both murders so that’s out.” He scooped up the celery and grapes into the bowl of chicken salad. “So, what else?” He opened the refrigerator and perused the contents. “There’s some fresh asparagus here.”

  “My favorite Midwest springtime treat. Do you grow your own?”

  “No, but our next door neighbor has a big patch and they are very generous. We could roast it.”

  “Good idea. So is James’ fundraising position salaried by the college?”

  Dean shook his head. “I think he’s a private contractor.”

  “Does that mean he gets a percentage of what he raises?”

  “I think so.” Dean’s cell phone rang. He answered it, spoke briefly and hung up. “A friend from church. Helen Bakke’s visitation is going to be tomorrow afternoon at the local funeral home.”

  “So soon?”

  “Apparently she had everything all arranged. That sounds like Helen.”

  Lil and Bess arrived back. Lil gushed praises about the garden to Max. “We need to go back there and I’ll take you around in the wheelchair. You gotta see this place.” She showed her sister a few shots she had taken on her phone.

  “I would love to. I think the ankle’s getting better.”

  “Well, then, shall we dance out onto the patio for supper?” Dean asked.

  Max turned to Bess. “How do you put up with this?”

  Bess loaded plates and flatware onto a tray. “I consider him a charitable cause.”

  Over supper, they continued their discussion of the murders. Dean told Bess and Lil about Helen’s visitation. “So the autopsy must be finished,” Lil said. “I wonder what they found.”

  “No idea, but I imagine they told the family. I don’t think they would withhold it from them,” Dean said.

  Max related her visit from James. “I agree, Lil—he is a little creepy.”

  Lil put down her fork and stared. “Wow! Mark this day down on the calendar! Three compliments in one day.”

  “Oh, hush,” Max said.

  After supper, Dean looked at his watch. “It’s still early enough to catch the national night news. We can clear the dishes after. I want to see if there’s anything on about the murders.”

  They all adjourned to the living room. The broadcast began with a report on the Middle East and the stock market. The death of a Seventies rock star and a feel good story about a lost dog took up the middle.

  Finally, the anchor turned to the camera, backed by a screen filled with brilliant tulips. “And in Little Sneek, Iowa, the term ‘Iowa nice’ didn’t exactly apply this weekend.” The screen switched to a view of the Little Sneek Windmill. “In the middle of the annual Tulip Fest, two bizarre murders of upstanding citizens and philanthropists shocked the citizens and tourists alike. Some even question the wisdom of continuing this long standing tradition. On Saturday morning, the body of Peter Devries was discovered when a volunteer guide raised a bag that he expected to be full of grain through half a dozen trapdoors to the top of the old mill where the grinding stones are.” A short video of a bag coming up through the floor, with the loud slam of the trapdoors marking its passage.

  The bag appeared quite lumpy, as if there was actually a body in it.

  “There wasn’t a camera on, was there, Dean?” Max asked.

  Dean scoffed. “No, this was staged or doctored. That Channel 17 team called Wanita and wanted to film a reenactment. She refused and the police also said absolutely not. They are not going to be happy. They’ve even gotten a call from that Sensational Crime TV show. People are crazy.”

  The news report went on to describe the death of Helen Bakke without any dramatization. “Thank goodness for that, anyway,” Bess said.

  Chapter Eleven

  Monday was another busy day. They took a ride around town in the morning to see the display of tulip beds. Lil was able to give Max a tour of the city garden in the wheel chair. Helen Bakke’s visitation was scheduled for mid-afternoon.

  Lil asked Max when they were touring the garden, “Do you think we should go?”

  Max thought a moment. “Normally, I wouldn’t. But it might be a chance to find out something. And, you know, Erik Bakke is currently my doctor.”

  “Sneaky.” Lil smiled. “Pun intended.”

  Dean dropped Lil off at the quilt shop to meet Wanita Eldridge.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to join them, Maxine?”

  “No, I don’t,” Max said firmly, at the same time as Lil said, “No, she doesn’t.“

  Dean laughed. “Well, that seems decided then. I’ll take Max back to the house. If you need a ride back, give me a call, but I bet Wanita will bring you home.”

  Lil stepped out of the bright sunlight into the quaint corner shop, pausing a moment to let her eyes adjust.

  “Yoohoo!” came a call from the back. Lil turned and saw Wanita Eldridge waving from behind a row of bolts displaying licensed fabrics—everything from Disney to Pokemon to Winnie the Pooh.

  Lil made her way through the aisles. She ran her hand along the bolts, appreciating the graduated shades and patterns in each single color. Something about this orderly arrangement, common to many quilt stores, always made her feel secure and at peace. The calm greens, the serene blues, and the sunny yellows were as restorative as a pleasant day outdoors.

  Wanita was holding a bolt of a Star Wars fabric next to two coordinating blue and red prints. “I want to do a quilt for my nephew’s boy. He’s eight and loves Star Wars stuff.”

  “That looks like fun. Do you have grandchildren, too?”

  “No.” Wanita looked resigned. “Harry’s my only child and he never married. You?”

  “Two. My son’s children. My daughter is still single too—her career, you know.” Lil smiled and pulled a bolt of red, black, and blue stripes off the shelf. “This would be cute with that, too.”

  Wanita brightened. “Oh, you’re right. I could use one of these prints for the back. I’ll just take these up to the cutting counter and then look some more. Do you have a project in mind?”

  Lil followed her with the striped fabric. “Nothing in particular. I was thinking of doing a wall hanging or table runner or something for a benefit auction that we have for our food pantry in November.”

  “They have some great Christmas prints here that would be good for that.” Wanita laid the bolts on the counter and gave yardage instructions to the clerk. After the woman wrote the amounts on small slips of paper and pinned one to each bolt, Wanita and Lil moved to the section of holiday prints.

  “How long have you been retired, Wanita?” Lil pulled one bolt after another out, gave each a critical eye, and either put it back or laid it on top of the standing bolts for further consideration.

  “Ten years this spring. Oh, look at this one—all Christmas trains!”

&nbs
p; “That is cute. Put it on my stack here. It’s so hard to choose.” Lil unrolled a yard or so of a fabric with holly sprigs and pine cones on a beige background. “I love this one. We certainly enjoyed lunch at your son’s restaurant the other day. Has he always liked to cook?”

  “Yes, he has. He went through the culinary program at the college here.”

  “The Rotterdam Room is run by those students, isn’t it? We had supper there Saturday night—wonderful meal.”

  Wanita’s voice dropped. “Were you there when they found Helen Bakke?”

  “Yes, we were. We’re starting to feel like a jinx on the town. I understand that her visitation is this afternoon. Did you know her?”

  Wanita clutched a bolt to her chest and stared off in the distance “Yes, we worked on several projects together. A wonderful person.”

  “That’s what everyone says. What a shame.” Lil pulled two bolts from the stack she had made. “I’ll go with these. You know, I think I’ll get a yard or two of that Christmas trains one to make hot pads out of—good small gifts.”

  “Great idea,” Wanita said. “I’ll bring it up to the counter.”

  The clerk cut the pieces they requested and soon both Lil and Wanita carried bright folds of fabric to the checkout counter and got their purchases bagged. Lil asked if she could get a ride back to Bess’.

  “Certainly, I’m parked just down the street.”

  As they rounded the block, they passed by the Dutch Treat. Lil was reminded of Harry and his interest in Peter DeVries’ tulips.

  “When we had lunch there the other day, your son was talking about his work in hybridizing tulips. That must be interesting. Is he self-taught or did he take classes in that?”

  Wanita frowned. “Harry? You must have misunderstood him. He grows quite a few tulips but I don’t think he’s done any hybridization. He’s never mentioned it to me.”

  “Maybe I did misunderstand.” Lil decided not to bring up seeing Harry around Peter’s house the day before.

  Over lunch on the patio, Lil related her visit with Wanita to Dean, Bess and Max. “Didn’t you get the impression that Harry also hybridizes tulips?” she asked Bess and Max.