Besides, after the warnings from Sheila and Mert, I knew I should avoid any more encounters with the cops. As unassuming as Everbright was, I also knew him to be smart and focused. Was it possible that I’d already told him too much?
“I said as much to the authorities, when they sent a detective around to chat with me. I told them that they should investigate Leesa. She’s an evil, conniving woman.”
"How did the detective respond? Was it Everbright that you spoke to?” I sat back down after giving Anya a refill of apple juice.
“Yes, that was the cop’s name.” Brita clasped the wooden embroidery hoop to her chest. "He said nothing when I told him to look more closely at Leesa. But why should he believe me? I am only a grieving sister. An out-of-towner sticking her nose in local business. My opinion matters little. What I need is evidence. Cold hard evidence."
"How do you propose to get that?"
"By going through the house. Inch by inch. Drawer by drawer. Leesa is not very bright, and she’s totally self-absorbed. If she killed him, she might have taken notes on how. Or pulled up information on the computer. If she paid someone else to do it, there might be a suspicious phone number or a trail of money. Something that points to her involvement."
I told Brita about the argument that Sven and Leesa had in our driveway, the night of their party.
"In a Jaguar, you say? That’s the car their guest was driving?"
"Yes. It was black. Looked new to me. The owner was about five-eight, in his late forties, thick black hair. Swarthy skin. Wore a knit shirt open to his belt. Gold chain."
"Larsen. Has to be. Lars Larsen. His real first name is Rudolph, but, because everyone here knows the reindeer song, he never uses it."
"Then you know him?"
Bending her head, she went back to her needlework. At first, I didn’t think she heard me. But as I opened my mouth to repeat my question, Brita said, "Yes. I know him. We are..." and she stopped. Wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, she sipped her tea. When she composed herself, she said, "Rudolph is my son."
53
“To be absolutely accurate, Rudolph ‘Lars’ Larsen is my husband's son by his first marriage,” Brita said. “I was a divorcée when his father, Big Lars, and I married. I didn’t change my name because I had a career as a fiber artist.”
Her fingers worked furiously, stabbing the fabric over and over with increasing intensity, "After Big Lars died, Rudolph lost his way in the world. His mother was never very good with him. He dropped out of school. Fell in with a bad crowd. He hated me, because I had been there by his father's side, when Big Lars was called to the Lord. Little Lars had been in a bar. We couldn't find him in time to get him word."
After a sip of her tea, she added, “I never tried to take his mother’s place, but Lars thought I expected to. I guess he expected Big Lars to live out his years all alone. Or maybe he was upset to think that Big Lars would leave me money in his will. He didn’t. I specifically told him not to. Whatever the reason, Lars has been purely hateful to me, from the moment we met.”
I swung Anya down, dragged out a few plastic containers from a box, poured Cheerios in them, and let her play. She loved peeling off the lids, dumping the little O's and refilling the tubs again and again. "Lars lives here now? Surely he didn’t drive down from Minnesota just for their party."
"Yes, Lars lives here. Sven didn’t know until after he and Leesa moved to St. Louis. Leesa tricked my brother. She demanded that they move here. She claimed she had an old girlfriend from school who owned a modeling agency here. The plan was for Leesa to get away from Lars and make a new start. Instead, Leesa planned to isolate Sven. Take him away from family. She wanted to continue her ‘career,’ no matter what."
"Get away from Lars,” I repeated. “Were he and Leesa having an affair?" That sounded crude, even to my ears, and I rushed to add, "Sorry if I spoke out of turn."
Brita's laugh was harsh. "There is no reason to apologize. None! Anyone might think that. It was not an affair. You see, no one could love Leesa as much as she loves herself. It was, however, an entanglement. Lars was part of that. Absolutely. Without a doubt."
She'd lost me. The key rested in the word "entanglement." What did she mean by that? I waited and she plunged ahead.
"Leesa was a porn star. Rudolph was her producer."
54
As most stories begin, this one started quite innocently. Brita explained that Leesa Karlson was a gorgeous girl who turned heads and won a few local beauty contests in Sweden.
“Her parents moved to St. Paul, when she was a teen. Looking back, I suspect they had good reasons. Knowing Leesa, she was probably into mischief, in Stockholm, and they hoped that, by uprooting her, they could control her. But Leesa is willful and sneaky. Sven met her through a blind date. She had told the other girl that she was twenty. Of course, she was younger than that. Sven should have broken it off, when he learned she was fifteen. Instead, he courted her under her parents’ watchful eye and married her a year later.”
“What?” I sputtered. “She was only sixteen?”
“In Minnesota, you can marry at age sixteen with your parents’ consent. Frankly, I think the Karlsons washed their hands of their daughter. They’d had enough. After she married, they moved back to Sweden.”
“Wow.” I couldn’t imagine getting married at sixteen. Sure, I’d married young, but each year from thirteen to twenty is a huge leap. Although it’s only 365 days chronologically, your maturation is much more than the sum of those months and weeks. It’s an amazing time for personal growth.
“Leesa had Sven wrapped around her little finger,” Brita said. “For their first anniversary, she decided to make a video. A sexy video, based on their most daring fantasies. Leesa wanted them to come to life for him.”
That sounded perfectly plausible. I’d read about a photographer in St. Louis, who reportedly made a good living producing fantasy videos for couples. All involved parties signed contracts binding them to secrecy. Only one copy of the video was ever produced, and it was handed over to the purchasers.
Another photographer took “intimate” portraits. An article in the newspaper had profiled him. He was an ordinary man, looking for a niche market when he found one. His wife attended all his photo sessions. “It’s strictly business,” he said. “I focus on lighting, the pose, and getting a good product. Before this, I did still shots of food for ads.”
In fact, as kinky as it sounded, a part of me thought, Why not? Shouldn't people be entitled to privacy in their bedrooms and their personal lives?
Just as quickly, I reversed my thinking. Who would have the self-confidence or the nerve to strip down and act out her fantasies in front of a bright lights and a camera?
I wouldn't. The dark was my best friend.
"Of course, Leesa needed someone to tape the session. A person with access to a video camera, tripod, and lights. Rudolph didn't have a job at the time. He’s always been chronically underemployed. Lars loves porn, and he was family —” Brita added air quotation marks to this last word, “— so that would have been that if only this little escapade ended there. Well, it didn't. Leesa loved doing the shoot. The video actually turned out much better than she had expected. Rudolph had done a great job and stumbled onto his dream career. If only he could come up with the money to start a studio, he would be set."
Zoe harrumphed and rolled to her feet. With a quiet whimper, she appealed to her mistress. Brita walked over to my back door, let the dog out and kept on talking. "Rudolph's teachers always complained that he didn't apply himself. That changed when he produced Leesa's video. Suddenly, he had done something that was remarkable."
"But the only people who would have seen that video were Leesa and Sven, right? Plus Rudolph, because he shot it."
"Yes. That's the way it was supposed to work. But, as it happened, copies of the video soon made their way onto the Internet. Sven found out when a co-worker showed him a screen shot."
"That must h
ave been devastating."
"Leesa swears she never gave Rudolph permission. According to her, he sold the tape without her knowledge. She claimed to be every bit as shocked and upset as Sven was."
"Really?" From the little I knew of Leesa, I wouldn't have put anything past her. As the over-sized portrait in her living room proved, she harbored a streak of exhibitionism as broad and wide as the muddy Mississippi.
Brita opened the door, and Zoe trotted in. The dog sat obediently, while Brita wiped off her paws with a paper towel. "I don't believe it. I can tell you don’t either. Sven wanted to believe it, but deep in his heart, he knew better. Suddenly, my brother found himself married to a porn star. Leesa swore that she was appalled. She said it would never happen again, but within a month, another video surfaced. And another. And another."
"How long has this been going on?"
"Three years. The move here was supposed to bring Leesa's career to an end. She promised Sven she would find work as a legitimate model and an exercise instructor." Brita slipped back into her chair. After sniffing Anya and receiving a piece of muffin for her troubles, Zoe again grunted her way into a prone position. This time, she rested her head on Brita’s shoes. "Her promises meant nothing. Nothing! Sven told me last month that she'd begun filming again. I have no doubt that's why she was adamant about moving to St. Louis. She knew Rudolph was here, and she also knew that he had set up a studio."
55
As I walked Brita and her dog to the front door, Anya burst into tears. “Doh! Doh!” she sobbed, throwing her weight at the retreating animal. Day by day, my daughter was becoming more and more of her own person with particular likes and dislikes. Her intense willpower often exhausted me. When she pulled this stunt — throwing her weight toward the object of her desire — I worried she would topple out of my grasp and hit the floor. Parenting a small child is largely a matter of keeping the kid alive.
To help Anya through the transition, we waited on the sidewalk, until Brita and Zoe disappeared inside the Nordstrom home. All the while, I assured my child that she’d see Zoe again. “Someday you’ll have a dog of your own. I promise.”
When we pivoted back toward our house, Anya yelled, “Bar! Ki!” she yelled, flailing her arms and pointing so that I’d see what she’d spotted, too.
Bartholomew, the Bergens’ black cat, strolled out of the Nordstroms’ garage. Once out in the open, Bart checked to make sure the coast was clear. Then he pitter-pattered across the street on soundless paws. His gaze fixated on the narrow strip of weeds that separated the edge of our property from the vacant lot next door.
Once he crossed the street, Bart’s posture changed. Instead of head-down with quick steps, he crouched to a near crawl. His tail flicked left and right.
“Ki?” Anya watched with total absorption. “Mama? Ki?” She reached up to hook a finger into my mouth. With this fleshy bridle guiding me, I turned my head to follow her gaze. Bart was in full predator mode, low to the ground, his entire body coiled and ready.
Suddenly, he leaped forward and pounced on something in the tall grasses. Then he bounced along, zigzagging left and right, as he hunted his prey.
Anya was entranced. Her reaction brought a smile to my face. I love animals. There wasn’t much I personally could give my daughter in terms of material goods, but I did hope I could instill in her my own sense of wonder at the natural world. While she crowed with delight at the miniature panther’s antics, I cuddled her. But Anya didn’t want a kiss. That would interrupt her immersion in the cat’s pursuit. I gave her one anyway.
That’s what we were doing, when Robbie Holmes pulled up in a marked police car. The gold and black lettering on the white cruiser announced he was part of the St. Louis County Police Department.
I hadn’t met Robbie, but I’d seen him on TV. Sheila had pointed him out to me when he had appeared in the news. The man couldn’t be mistaken for anyone else, because he was a dominating presence. At more than six feet tall, with the build of an ex-football player, and a full head of salt-and-pepper hair, Robbie was an attractive guy. Moreover, his easy smile instantly comforted me. Finally a law enforcement official who was definitely on our side.
“You must be Kiki.” He extended his hand for a shake.
“Yes, and you must be Robbie Holmes. This is Anya.” My daughter suddenly had a case of shyness. She buried her face in my shoulder. Robbie didn’t push himself on her, and I respected him for that. Too often, adults force themselves on kids. No wonder children get abused and don’t speak up. If we teach them that any adult has the right to invade their personal space, it’s a short hop to accepting an inappropriate touch.
“I would have recognized Sheila’s granddaughter anywhere. She has eyes the same color as her dad, doesn’t she? And as Sheila has. What a beauty this little girl is going to be.”
“Would you like to come in? The place is a bit of a mess, but you’re welcome to a cup of coffee. I’m going to unpack a few more boxes, if Anya will sit quietly in her playpen.”
“Lead the way.” He held the door open for me. When I faltered a bit on the threshold, Robbie took me by the elbow as any gentleman would. There was a lot about Robbie that harked back to a time when people set great store by their manners.
“Terrific spot you have here. Once your grass comes in, and you get a few more trees planted, this will be very nice. Of course, this is some house. George did a nice job.”
“Yes, he did. When I get all these boxes out of here, you’ll really be able to see it to best advantage.” I lowered Anya into her playpen. Immediately, she puckered up and whined.
“How about if I move her playpen closer to the kitchen?” Robbie asked. “I love kids. I can distract her, if you don’t mind.”
“Sure. That would be great.”
After we got Anya situated, I poured Robbie coffee, started a third pot, and set out the last chocolate chip cookies I’d made. As he settled into his seat, I ripped the packing tape off yet another box. The fancy dishware inside would go on a top shelf. Since I’m only 5’3”, I would need to stand on a chair. When I dragged one over, Robbie protested.
“Whoa. That’s not safe. If you hand the things to me, I’ll put them away. Will that work? You can tell me everything you know about your neighbors, the Nordstroms.”
“That would be great.”
Working in tandem, we made emptied the box. I rehashed our problems with Sven nearly hitting Anya and his vehement brush-off after his first fall. Robbie listened carefully when I explained about Mr. Colter’s visit. He also paid attention as I went over what I saw happen during the Nordstroms’ party. Once in a while, he would ask me for clarification. Otherwise, Robbie proved a good listener and a terrific helper to boot.
I told him what I’d recently learned from Brita. He brought over a box from the living room, opened it for me, and went back to retrieve a toy that Anya had tossed. Shaking his head, Robbie said, “There are a lot of avenues of inquiry. A lot of suspects. At least from what you’ve said. Does Everbright know about the porn?”
“Not from me. Brita Morgenstern ended her visit right before you pulled up. I haven’t had a chance to tell Everbright what she said about Leesa’s career in the sex industry.”
I stood there with a couple of cookbooks in hand. “Is Everbright competent? He seemed to be focusing a lot on George. Is that fair? I shouldn’t have told Everbright anything. I thought I was helping. If there’s a murderer in our neighborhood, I want that creep locked up and behind bars. Anya and I are alone a lot of the time. I’m scared...” and my throat squeezed shut.
Without warning, tears threatened. “I’m being silly,” I said, as I brushed at my eyes away.
“No, you’re not.” Robbie gave me a gentle grin. “You’re a young mother with a child to protect. You have every reason to be worried. You look exhausted. There’s no way you can unbox this mess by yourself.”
“I hired a cleaning lady, Mert Chambers. She came over for an hour and a half between jobs.
With two of us, we made real progress. But, by myself, I just can’t....I don’t seem to...” I stopped, rather than babble on and on.
“Do you think George was involved in Sven Nordstrom’s murder?” Robbie spoke in the most matter-of-fact way possible, even though he was asking point-blank if I believed my husband was a murderer.
“Absolutely not! That’s not like George. Okay, sure, George argued with Sven at Antonio’s. But that’s a far cry from getting violent or whatever. I don’t even know how Sven died. One minute, he’s out riding his bike, and the next, he’s on the ground. I assume someone gave Sven Nordstrom something that took a while to work through his system. Whatever it was, I didn’t do it, and George didn’t either!” Leaning over the sink, I splashed a little cold water on my face.
“Okay. Got it.” Robbie held up his hands in a gesture of surrender.
I felt angry, scared, and betrayed. “You can’t seriously believe George or I were involved. What was our motive? Okay, they called the HOA on us, because our lawn is a mess. Big deal. George is looking into having sod laid. Sure, Sven rode his bike too near Anya and spooked her. She’s not scarred for life, as you can well attest. Yes, they weren’t nice to me when I took them gifts. Big whoop. I brought the chocolate cake and the flowers home with me. See? No harm, no foul. None of that matters.”
“Sven was poisoned over time. The person who did it had ongoing access to him. The lab found George’s fingerprints on Sven’s bike.”
“That’s because Sven swerved too close to Anya and George grabbed at the bike.”
“There’s also the altercation at Antonio’s. According to witnesses, your husband looked pretty upset.”
“Hello? If you were slowly poisoning your neighbor to death, why would you make a scene in public? Why call attention to the fact you weren’t getting along?”
Robbie rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "There is another little matter. It seems your husband knew Mrs. Nordstrom. Rather well, in fact.”
Kiki Lowenstein Books 1-3 & Cara Mia Delgatto Books 1-3: The Perfect Series for Crafters, Pet Lovers, and Readers Who Like Upbeat Books! Page 14
