Close Up on Murder

by Linda Townsdin

  Ben was taking a long time with Wilcox. “He’s been away on a case.”

  “We need you on this.” Her voice turned urgent. “You’re a hunter, Britt, but what you hunt for is not only the pain and suffering—your pictures catch those moments when people rise above. You’re the best for South Sudan.”

  Marta was an expert at stroking my ego and appealing to my sense of duty. I grimaced at the ceiling. “I can’t leave right now.”

  “You have the skills and experience we need for this, but I can find someone else. Shall I do that?”

  “No! But Lars was beaten nearly to death and is in a coma. The guy has killed two people and threatened Little and me, and we have no idea why.”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize. What are the local authorities doing about this?”

  “The guy leaves no evidence.”

  “Hold on.” Marta carried on a muffled conversation with someone in the newsroom and came back on. “How long do you need?” I could practically hear the wheels turning in her head, strategizing how long she could stall and who else was available, just in case.

  “There’s more. Marta, he took Rock.” My throat caught. “We think he’s dead.”

  “Oh, sweetie, I’m so sorry. Do you want me to come out there?” Hardboiled Marta had a soft spot for pets. Humans in peril weren’t that big of a deal to her.

  “Thanks, but you don’t need to. I’m worried about Little now. I have to make sure he stays safe. We don’t know what motivates this guy but something connects all of us.”

  She sighed. “I’ll check with you in a few days, since you seem to have lost my number.” I winced. She hung up with a loud “Be careful!”

  Another issue was whether I’d end up losing my job for the second time if I didn’t grab this. It wasn’t a choice though. Much as I wanted the work, Little came first. Mom’s words rang in my ears.

  I dug Bolger’s card from my jeans and tapped in his number. He picked up on the first ring. “Mr. Bolger, this is Britt Johansson. You left a business card at my cabin?”

  “Yes, thanks for calling. I have a proposition for you and I hope we can get together.”

  “What’s this about, Mr. Bolger?”

  “Please call me Mo. If you don’t mind, I’d rather we discuss it in person.”

  I arranged to meet him at Little’s the next morning, more than a little curious about what he had to say.

  ***

  Ben followed as I drove down his winding tree-lined road and pulled into the driveway. The structure in front of me surprised me once again. He’d grown up in a cabin much like Gert’s, at his father’s resort, and only recently built this lovely cedar home overlooking the lake. I hesitated before leaving my car, nervous that I’d mess up again. The only other time I’d been here, I’d barged in when he was angry with me for going back to my now ex-husband, even though the reconciliation was short-lived. I had been too pushy, insisting that Ben still loved me. He’d said he didn’t.

  I straightened my shoulders. This time would be better. He did love me.

  He got out of his truck and grabbed a grocery bag from the passenger side. “Sorry it took me so long with Wilcox.”

  “What’s in the bag?”

  “Steaks. I’m starving. How about you?”

  I nodded. My stomach growled, reminding me I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. So much had happened today.

  He set the bag on his kitchen counter and I waited in the living room, taking in the high ceilings and clean lines, a contrast to the messy bachelor’s existence he and his dad had lived at their resort.

  He opened windows. “Been a while since I was home.” Within moments, a cool breeze off the lake moved through the space.

  He’d also brought a baguette and things to make a salad. I put the greens and veggies together while he grilled steaks, and we had dinner on the deck, watching the sunset. We didn’t say much, letting go of the chaos from the past week and enjoying the soft swish of a breeze rustling the birches. His home sat on a rise, farther from the lake than my cabin, but close enough to hear the rhythmic waves against the shoreline.

  After dinner I made tea and we sat together on the soft leather sofa, my head on his shoulder, his hand stroking my hair. He talked a little about the BW project, but I didn’t mention what was happening in Spirit Lake. I wanted to shut that out and make this perfect evening last, and Ben understood without saying it.

  His phone rang. He hesitated, as if debating whether to answer before picking it up. He listened, then jumped to his feet. “Yeah, I can be there in the morning. Alert Woz. I’ll meet him in Ely and we’ll head up together.” He hit end. “They finally spotted the guy we’re been looking for. At least they think it’s him.”

  I was still leaning back on the sofa, my feet tucked under me. He dropped down beside me. “I’m sorry. I wanted to stay longer.”

  “I know you did.” I unfolded from the sofa, took his hand and tugged him toward the loft. “Want to give me a tour?”

  He held me in his arms and we stayed like that for a moment, then walked up the spiral stairs.

  A king-sized bed, extra-long, faced a roomy deck overlooking Lake Branson. I pictured having morning coffee as the sun peeked through the pines.

  He stood behind me, moved my hair aside and kissed my neck. I turned and reached for him, thinking we had to hurry, grab every second as if there’d never be another, but he held me away, his eyes on mine.

  “For me, this is a dream, Britt. Coming home to you after a tough week.” His arm waved in an arc. “I built this with you in mind. When you were away, I pictured you sitting across from me in your chair facing the fireplace. Waiting for the day we’d wake up together in this bed.”

  “It’s my dream too. There’s nowhere else I want to be and no one else I want to be with.”

  We’d been such good friends as kids, spending hours in the woods or on the lake. We’d built forts, camped, kayaked and fished. I admired his easy grace, how he could name the trees and bushes and wildlife and their cycles. I photographed everything.

  And so it was an easy transition when a few months ago our bodies touched for the first time. I loved it all, giving each other comfort and pleasure, the sweaty ecstasy we shared together.

  We undressed and slid under the covers but I couldn’t shake off a sinking feeling.

  “What are you thinking?” He raised up on one elbow, and traced the outline of my body with one finger.

  “Here I am next to you and I’m already sad about being away from you again.”

  He kissed me. “How about saving that for when we’re actually apart?”

  “Good point.” I pounced on him and that initiated a tussle that neither of us tried too hard to win.

  In the morning, I woke before he did and watched him, one arm flung over the pillow, his usually close-cropped hair a little shaggy. His hawk nose was sharp against the pillow, the fan of laugh lines smoothed in sleep. I breathed in his male, woodsy scent and slipped out of bed.

  Downstairs, I found the coffee makings, and wandered into the living room as it brewed, wondering what it would be like to share this home with him—the leather sofa, soft as butter, the blue-green plaid chair he’d picked out for me. I’d been instantly drawn to it when I saw it last year. I ran my hand over the soft fabric, dreaming. The coffee maker beeped and I poured coffee into a carafe, set two mugs with loon designs on a tray, found a StarTrib and Branson Telegraph outside the front door and carried it all upstairs.

  The cups clinked against each other when I set the tray on a dresser. His eyes opened and he grinned, a sight that always caused a small seismic event in my stomach. I sat next to him on the bed and smoothed a chunk of his hair. “We could have coffee on the deck and watch the sunrise.”

  He pulled me close. “The coffee will stay warm for a while.”

  Chapter 19

  Ben headed back to the BW. I could tell he wanted to go and wanted to stay, a conflict familiar to me. I drove to the hospita
l, dreading another day of uncertainty, wondering if Marta was still on my side.

  Little stopped me in the corridor. “Good, you’re here. I’m going to Spirit Lake. One of the ovens stopped working and Chum’s in a panic. Wilcox said a deputy can pick me up in a few minutes.” His head tilted toward Lars’ room. “Promise to sit with him until I get back?”

  “Of course.”

  “Call me if..., you know.” He went to meet the deputy.

  I said hello to Seth sitting in a chair outside Lars’ room and went in. When he’d first arrived seven days ago, flowers and balloon bouquets covered nearly every surface. There were fewer now. His chest moved up and down rhythmically. The cuts and bruises on his face were beginning to heal and he looked familiar again. The only way I’d recognized Lars when I’d first found him was his fringe of reddish hair. I shuddered at the remembered image of his battered body. He looked peaceful sleeping, but I missed Lars and Little mocking me with their inside jokes, usually with affection, sometimes frustration. Lars belonged at the restaurant teasing and chatting with the customers, fishing with the guys in the summer, zipping around on his snowmobile in the winter.

  Whispering close to his ear, I said, “You need to wake up now so we can catch the sadistic monster who did this to you. He’s after Little too, and if you have any information that will help us, we need it now. No more lazing around in bed, my friend.” I squeezed his hand.

  Someone gasped and I straightened up, caught in the act. Nurse Cranky had come up behind me. “You can’t talk to the patient like that. It might traumatize him.”

  “He’s not the patient, Connie. His name is Lars.”

  “I know his name and you need to step out right now.” She stood at the door, a sentinel.

  My hand was still gripped around his slack fingers. I squeezed one last time, but before we lost contact I sensed a twitch. I squeezed back gently and his fingers tightened around mine.

  I squeaked. “Connie, he moved his hand.”

  “His muscles twitch. It doesn’t mean anything. You have to leave now.”

  I refused to move and squeezed again, but this time I felt no returning pressure. I let go. Maybe I wanted it to happen so badly I imagined it.

  She cleared her throat. “Do I have to get an orderly?”

  “I’m leaving.” Keep your shorts on, Cranky.

  I tucked his blanket around him, kissed his broad forehead and whispered. “I’ll be back to continue our conversation.”

  She ushered me toward the door so she could begin her ministrations. I was grateful for her. She was the best nurse at the hospital, conscientious, timely, smart, but a tight-ass.

  “Thank you, Connie. I know you’re taking good care of Lars.”

  Her eyes widened at my unexpected compliment. It was no secret that I called her Nurse Cranky behind her back. I’d had several personal experiences with her over the past year. She’d helped me heal, but I could have done without all the tsk-tsking and frowning at my reckless behavior.

  I went to the cafeteria for a cup of coffee and brownie, and then headed back to Lars’ room, my hand still imprinted with his touch. Seth yawned. He’d been sitting there for hours. I handed him the coffee and brownie. “Hey, Seth, how’s it going?”

  He took a sip, peeked in the bag and brightened.

  “Is Connie still in there?”

  “She just left and said to keep everyone out.”

  “She didn’t mean me. I’m sitting in for Little.”

  He nodded and reached in the bag. “Thanks, just what I needed.” I slipped into the room.

  Lars looked the same as before. I took a deep breath, held his hand in mine and squeezed. “It’s Britt, can you hear me?” A movement. I tried again. “Open your eyes. You can do it.” I detected slight agitation beneath his eyelids. “C’mon.”

  His fingers closed around mine. The cords in his neck and jaw tightened, and then everything slackened. My voice rose. “Lars, do it for Little. Open them.”

  His face turned red, and a groan came from deep in his chest. I prayed I wasn’t making him worse but if he could, now was when he would do it.

  His eyes opened to a slit and quickly closed. The light was too bright. I leaped to the light switch and turned it off. My face close to his, I said. “Try again.”

  More blinking and the slits opened and widened, trying to focus. And then the eyes on mine cleared. His mouth trembled and he croaked. “Little?”

  With clumsy fingers, I tapped in Little’s cell number. “Little, someone wants to say hello. Listen.” I picked up a damp cloth from the side table and pressed it against Lars’ parched mouth, then put the phone to his lips. He whispered, “Hi, babe.”

  Little’s joyful noises brought a smile to Lars’ bruised face.

  I took the phone. “Little, I need to get the nurse and doctor in the room. I’ll put my phone on speaker and you can keep talking to Lars.”

  He said, “Lars, I’m ten minutes away!”

  I pressed the red button. In a moment, Connie burst in. She wanted to tear into me for disobeying her orders, but took one look at Lars and forgot me. The doctor came next and I was ushered out with my phone. Little hung up and I called Ben with the good news. We were still talking when Little flew past me. I said to Ben, “Hold on a second, I need to see this.”

  I stood in the doorway and used my phone to video Lars looking at Little. An energy field of love between them so large it filled the room pushed Cranky and the doctor out the door. As if it was his idea, Dr. Fromm said, “We’ll give them a moment.”

  Fromm and Connie had their heads together, talking. They saw me leaning against a wall in the hallway and converged on me. The doctor said, “Describe exactly what happened.”

  “Ben, I have to go. I have more explaining to do.” All I did lately was account for my behavior.

  Two sets of rimless round glasses focused on me. “I gently squeezed his hand and his eyes opened.” No need for them to know I badgered a comatose man into waking up. They didn’t look satisfied, but left me alone. I took a deep breath. Things were looking up. Lars was awake and Ben and I just had a wonderful night and morning together.

  I peeked in the room. My brother turned to me with a radiant, teary smile. Lars had fallen asleep again, but Little wouldn’t leave until he and Lars left together.

  Wilcox arrived and told Seth he was rotating guards every four hours. He saw me eavesdropping and motioned me over. “If it gets out that Lars is awake, this guy could try something again. We’ll have someone with you and Little too.”

  “Little’s with Lars and I’ll be fine on my own. I know how to take care of myself.” I might have flexed an arm muscle, which was total bravado. The sheriff’s intensity scared me.

  Wilcox pulled his hat over his brow. “Remember, this guy wrote ‘You Will All Die’ on Charley’s wall. It’s an order. You go nowhere alone. No slipping off to rototill a goddamn garden.”

  “I found a photo and wedding band in the garden.”

  His eyebrows lifted. “Let’s see it.”

  I pulled the box out of my camera bag and showed him the photo, ring and handkerchief.

  “That’s withholding evidence from the scene of a crime. When were you going to show me?”

  I tipped my head toward the hospital room. “A lot happened today.” I handed him the box and he headed toward the exit.

  Head lowered, I walked down the corridor to the waiting room wondering about Charley, scared that Lars was even more vulnerable now that he might be able to name his attacker, heartsick over losing Rock and Knute and unsure whether the World Church was behind this. I’d been optimistic a few moments ago, but now my energy and confidence were at a low ebb thanks to the reality check from Wilcox.

  I needed to talk to a friend. I punched in Henry’s number at the casino and he answered on the second ring. “Hey, Britt, how you doing?”

  Hearing his voice cheered me. “I was hoping we could talk. You busy?” Henry and I had become frie
nds when I covered the casino theft last year. Managing the casino finances was a big responsibility, but the good-hearted man always made time for me.

  He said, “Why don’t you come out and have coffee with me?”

  My teeth clenched. “I’m not allowed to go anywhere by myself.”

  Henry chuckled. “I never thought I would hear that from you.”

  “Me either, but I don’t want the sheriff to have to stop his investigation to babysit me.”

  “That sounds like real growth.” He got serious. “How about if I pick you up and we visit Edgar?”

  I agreed. Since I wasn’t leaving on my own, Wilcox would have no reason to jump down my throat.

  An hour later Henry’s heavy-duty Chevy pickup pulled into the hospital lot. I jumped in and we headed to Spirit Lake.

  “Thanks for picking me up. I wanted to tell you that Lars came out of his coma and seems to be okay.”

  “That’s great news, but you could have told me over the phone.”

  “Wilcox wants to keep it quiet until he’s figured out a plan. He thinks the killer might come after him again.”

  Henry nodded. “I won’t say anything.”

  I said, “Wilcox gave me a bad time over the visit to the island but I didn’t mention you.”

  He chuckled. “You didn’t have to. Ray told him I was there. The sheriff wasn’t happy with me either.”

  “I’m sorry.” Causing other people grief was another problem with being me. Guilt and regret were my constant companions.

  Edgar’s wasn’t far from Spirit Lake, so we made a detour to Little’s Café. I’d called ahead and Chum had chicken-wild rice hotdish ready for us to take to Edgar. Chloe stopped me as we were leaving. “A man came in earlier and said to give you this.” She handed me a business card. Morris Bolger. I’d forgotten our appointment.

  Henry navigated the winding reservation road circling the north side of Spirit Lake, and turned at the fork where a sign pointed to the right—Edgar Turner 1 mi. We bounced down the rutted road, crested the hill and slid down the other side. Henry had more skill than most at avoiding the lake at the bottom of the hill. In the winter the hill was icy and in the summer the gravel acted like a slide.