by Lee Pulaski
“Sajen Hawpetoss, age nineteen, male, Menominee tribal member. He’s connected with the victims’ granddaughter, and no, I’m not going to tell you how.”
“They’re lovers, Josh, and they were hoping to formalize their relationship, but Rose Garner, the granddaughter, was told by her grandparents that she couldn’t be allowed to see Sajen, possibly because he’s poor but more likely because he’s not lily white like you or I, and you believe he might have killed the Reimers in order to liberate his beloved. Let me know when I hit a nerve.”
Joshua bit his lip. “I swear, Zach. One of these times you’re going to cross a line…”
“And then you’ll lock me up so I don’t remind you of the fact that, in order to be a detective, you actually have to investigate—all the possibilities, not the one that’s easiest for you. Now, do you have any vital information that I, as a citizen, need to know, or are you ready to throw your weight around with one of my neighbors?”
A vein on Joshua’s forehead looked like it was going to self-destruct. “Make sure you tell Newell about this, too. Where is he, anyway?”
“He’s off riding his snowmobile, enjoying his day off.”
“And you’re not with him?”
“No, I’m not, detective. Believe it or not, we don’t have to be joined at the hip to be a couple. He went off on his snowmobile, and I was enjoying a visit with a friend.”
“I was only curious, Zach. What’s with the attitude?”
“My attitude? That’s rich, coming from you. You come here with your dire warnings to stay out of your investigation and then start snooping into my personal life like we’re still friends? You can’t have it both ways, Josh. You can’t treat me like the enemy one minute and then be all buddy-buddy the next. Either we’re friends, or we’re not. I’m tired of you bouncing me like a rubber ball.”
Zachary was expecting a response from Joshua, but the detective silently turned and walked back to his car. It was a little surprising, considering Joshua had made a habit of being a prick ever since he’d obtained his first badge, let alone when he got the gold one.
“Gee, you handled that well,” Sasha said as she put on her coat. “Josh was making an effort.”
Zachary closed the door. “That’s the problem, Sasha. He makes an effort and then turns back into a jerk. Josh needs to figure out if we can be friends again, but how to do it without being a macho authority figure. I’m not expecting him to slip me details on his cases, but he could try being nicer when asking me not to get involved. Hell, he could ask. That’d be a start.”
“I guess I just see it from both sides. Sure, Josh Callahan has some attitude, but you don’t exactly go out of your way to deflect it. Zachary Gagewood can be a bit of a pill sometimes, too.”
“Maybe you’re right, but did it occur to you that maybe I’m bitter after years of being electrocuted by his power trips? I just think that…”
“And that’s what you should stop doing.”
Zachary did a double take. “Huh? What are you talking about?”
“You should stop thinking. While I certainly wouldn’t want you to let down your guard down, you always gear up for a fight with Josh, even when there isn’t one. Last August, when you drove all the way to the sheriff’s department to give Josh a piece of your mind, with me in tow, and that was uncalled for.” Sasha wrapped her hands around her nose and mouth, and then pulled them away. “I think it’s good that you help to solve the murders, because Josh really isn’t that great of an investigator, but there comes a point where you really need to ask yourself if you’re so obsessed with something that you’re willing to knock down anyone and everyone to make things happen. Josh has lightened up, which is good. You have not, which is pretty sad.”
“You’re saying that Josh is changing and I’m not? That seems a little whack-a-doodle!”
“I agree, but it is what it is. You should take some time and think about it, because I know you’re better than that.” Sasha opened the back door. “I’m going to go ahead and go. You enjoy the pastries and figure out if you want to be Zachary Gagewood or a shriveled-up shell that once contained vibrant joy but is now filled with darkness.”
Zachary was floored. Was he really turning so bitter? He always thought he maintained a positive demeanor. He didn’t take guff off Joshua, but everyone else seemed to get nothing but respect from him.
Zachary walked into the living room and saw his dog, Toby, sitting on the floor next to the couch, while Midnight, the sleek black cat, was dozing on the back of the couch. Toby looked completely attentive, while Midnight glanced over every once in a while.
“Well, guys. Apparently I’m a bitter shrew. What do you guys think?”
Toby looked over at Midnight, like he was expecting the cat to give an answer. Midnight apparently decided that question was too undignified to warrant a response and closed his eyes. At least Zachary knew his pets still supported him.
Zachary looked out the window in the living room, wondering if Newell was having any luck catching up with Sajen. He couldn’t believe Sajen would bolt and take his snowmobile. He wasn’t sure if Sajen stole it in panic, or if maybe he was actually guilty of murdering the Reimers. It was disturbing to think of how a potential killer had been sleeping under his roof the night before.
The jingling of Zachary’s cell phone could be heard in the kitchen. Zachary hurried over to the table and picked it up. “Hello?”
“Zach, it’s Newell. I lost him.”
“What? How could you lose him?”
“I hit the creek, and it looks like a dozen snowmobiles have been through the area. I couldn’t tell which set of tracks could be his. I’m really sorry, sweetie.”
Zachary leaned against the counter. “It’s all right, Newell. I’ll call the sheriff’s department and file a report in a little while. I just can’t figure out why Sajen would take off like that.”
“He’s probably hoping to hide out on the reservation. That’s where his kin are, and Menominee County is almost all forest. It won’t be easy to track him down if he crosses the county line.”
“Come on back then. You can help me finish off the pastries Sasha brought.”
“We’ll get you a new snowmobile, Zach. It’ll take a little time, but I can…”
“Newell, don’t worry about the snowmobile right now. Just come on home and warm your chilly bones, and we’ll figure out the snowmobile thing later.”
“I’ll be back in about fifteen minutes. Just save me a lemon Danish.”
“Deal.” Zachary grinned, knowing lemon Danishes were Newell’s favorite. “See you soon.”
As Zachary put the phone down, he heard the faint sound of an engine. He looked out the kitchen window, but the only thing he saw was snow swirling in the air. That, and one of the barn doors flapping in the breeze.
Zachary hurried upstairs and pulled his pistol out of the bedroom closet. What if Sajen had doubled back and planned to do something bad? Part of Zachary wanted to believe the sweet, young artist he’d met was not a killer, but circumstances were making it more and more difficult to believe.
Slowly creeping out the front door, Zachary glanced at random spots to see if anyone was going to burst from hiding. He quietly circled around the house to the far side of the barn, hoping that the worst thing that would happen would be experiencing sheer humiliation at being spooked over nothing. He slowly peeked into the barn, and instead of seeing a violent trespasser, he saw his snowmobile, the key in the ignition, with no sign of the man who stole it.
Zachary stayed in the barn until he heard the hum of another snowmobile engine coming closer. Newell entered, doing a double take when he saw Zachary’s snowmobile.
“Okay. I wasn’t expecting this. Is Sajen back?”
Zachary shook his head. “I haven’t seen any sign of him.”
“This makes no sense. Why would he take the snowmobile and then return it?”
“Maybe his conscience got the better of him. I don’t kn
ow. All I know is we’ve got the snowmobile back, so it saved me a trip to the sheriff’s office.”
Newell put his arm around Zachary. “I’m freezing. Let’s go eat those pastries.”
As Zachary walked back to the house with Newell, his head was swimming in questions. Why did Sajen return the snowmobile? Why did he take it in the first place? Where was he now? Was he a killer, or had someone else taken out the couple that conjured up images of beef jerky and cherries jubilee?
CHAPTER FIVE
The echo of children chattering and laughing echoed through the corridors of Gresham School as Zachary walked down the main hallway, his arms full of books. There were a number of books in The Literary Barn’s inventory that were not selling, so with this being the slow season for book sales, Zachary had decided to do some spring cleaning ahead of schedule and donate some of the books to the school’s library, and the librarian, Petra Guggenheim, was only too happy to accept.
Zachary had picked the wrong time of day to deliver books, however, as more than a hundred children scurried in the halls, bound for other locations. It must have been a passing period. He felt a thump against his right leg and looked down to see a little boy who looked no older than seven shaking the cobwebs out of his head and saying, “Excuse me, mister.” Before Zachary could reply, the boy had vanished back into the student soup flooding the space.
Approaching the doors to the library, Zachary wondered how he would get through with his arms full of books. He had cheated getting in the front door by using his hip and nudging the automatic door opener normally designated for people in wheelchairs and other physical impairments, but the library did not have such a button. He was about to set the books down and prop the door open when two giggly girls came out of the library, chatting about an upcoming dance. He quickly stopped the door with his foot and slid in.
“Zachary! I’m so sorry.” A short, stout lady with dark hair in a pixie style and granny glasses hurried around the circulation counter to grab some of the books. “I didn’t realize you were bringing so many books in today, or I’d have met you in the parking lot to help haul them in—or at least loaned you a dolly.”
Zachary chuckled. “Petra, if you’d left this room for one minute, you’d come back to hordes of children using the books to make forts to hide from enemy cannon fire. It’s all right. Gives me a chance to build up some muscle, which I’m sure Newell wouldn’t complain about.”
“You’re always a wonderful benefactor for the school, my dear boy.” Petra started organizing the books. “I swear, I think half the student population owes their ability to read to you.”
“You flatter me, Petra. I’m sure there are plenty of other donations coming in.”
“One here, three there. You come in with armloads of books, not to mention those e-readers you donated over Christmas. It’s like you’re Santa Claus every time you waltz in here.”
“I don’t know if Santa has books that don’t sell well in Gresham, but I’ll take the compliment.”
“If there’s anything I can ever do for you or The Literary Barn, just let me know.”
Zachary pondered that for a moment. “Maybe there is something you can do. You don’t happen to have any info on the Reimer family, do you?”
“I’m pretty sure I do. Is there any particular reason you want it?”
“Well, with what happened recently, I’m pretty curious about the family—how they rose to prominence and all that. Even though I’ve lived in the area for years, I never really knew them all that well. I hate to say it, but this tragedy has me curious about their lives.”
“That’s not so unusual. People who aren’t already a part of your life tend to be curious about you once you’ve passed on.” Petra started to segregate the donated books on a cart. “We’re a very curious species, and when you’re well known, that just elevates one’s curiosity.”
“Very true. I’ve always heard so much about how Osgood and Muriel had the greatest love story ever told in Shawano County, and I’m kind of curious about how the facts differ from the fiction. Do you have anything?”
“Sure. Just give me a minute or two, and I can get you copies of the newspaper stories that have been written. It’s too bad no one ever wrote a book about them. I know Anne Marie White Eagle was looking into having Daniel Norwood pen a biography about them. Sadly, it’ll have to be without first-hand accounts if they decide to go ahead with the book.”
Zachary nodded in agreement. He glanced at a couple of books sitting on the counter while Petra disappeared into the stacks to find the information he had requested. He wondered if some of the classics he’d read growing up, like Fahrenheit 451 and The Grapes of Wrath, still graced library shelves, or if teachers had decided to be more hip with the reading curriculum.
It took about ten minutes, but Petra returned with a large folder filled with documents. “This is everything I have related to ol’ Beef Jerky and his blushing bride.”
Zachary absentmindedly looked at an old black-and-white photo of Osgood and Muriel. “Petra, did you know them very well?”
Petra nodded. “I went to school with their oldest son, Bernard. He was a sweet young boy who wanted to learn to be a chef. Unfortunately, his father steered him into military service, and he was killed during that first war in Iraq in the nineties. It broke my heart when I heard he died. I had the biggest crush on him, and we dated for a few months before he enlisted. I wanted to ask him to marry me once he returned, but of course he never did.”
“Oh, Petra. I can only imagine what you felt at that time.”
“Most people could, except for Beef Jerky. He came up to me at Bernard’s funeral and told me there was no way he would have let his son marry a woman like me, meaning dirt poor. It kind of shattered the image I had of the Norman Rockwell-esque family that the Reimers embodied with the community-at-large.”
“I’ve noticed that. They’re perfectly sweet to anyone who doesn’t get too close to their personal bubble, but once you cross that boundary, they train all their death rays on you. Rose’s sweetheart is probably feeling what you felt more than twenty years ago.”
“Despite what Beef Jerky said, I think my life has turned out all right. Anyhow, I don’t mean to bore you with my negative anecdotes. There were some good times, too. My father worked on their farm for a number of years, and we got invited to a couple of the family’s barn dances. It was at one of those dances that I first met Bernard.”
“Excuse me, Miss Guggenheim.” A boy who looked like he was in kindergarten held up a book. “Can I check this book out?”
Petra smiled. “Sorry, Zachary. Duty calls.”
“No problem. Thanks for the documents on the Reimers.”
Petra nodded. “Thanks again for the books, my dear. Don’t be a stranger.”
Zachary exited the library and started for the main doors. He was eager to get back to The Literary Barn and take a look at the clippings and other materials Petra had gathered. In order for him to have an idea who the killer could be, he had to figure out who all the players were. Digging into the family’s history could give him other suspects besides Sajen, who was still missing three days after he’d returned Zachary’s snowmobile following a brief joyride.
As Zachary stepped outside the school, he noticed Anne Marie coming toward him. She was wearing sunglasses, even though it was cloudy, and her head was wrapped in a shawl, but it was unmistakably her.
“Anne Marie. Haven’t seen you in a couple of days. Have things gotten any better?”
“Well, I’m coming here to beg for my old job back due to the fact that I had to shell out fifteen hundred for Jasper Walters’ damaged painting, another two grand for the orchestra performance, not to mention another thousand for the food and catering service and other necessities for that car wreck of an opening reception. That should give you a pretty good idea of how things are going.”
Zachary grimaced. “You’re not thinking of giving up the idea of an art gallery completely,
are you? That would be nuts after all the sweat and tears you put into it.”
“Unfortunately, that might not be up to me. I got a call from Felicia Bellwether last night, and it seems the village board is calling a special meeting to look into closing me down.”
“What? They can’t do that! They don’t have that kind of power.”
“Felicia told me that Jacob is looking to invoke some public health and safety ordinance, on account that two people died shortly after the gallery opened.”
“They died at home, long after the reception ended. That’s a load of bullshit, and Jacob’s not going to get away with it. I’ll put in some calls to people today when I don’t have any customers, and you give the Menominee tribal officials a jingle. A slight like this could really impair relations between the village and the tribe, especially if the tribe doesn’t get a heads up about this from Jacob. Now, when is this special meeting supposed to take place?”
“Tomorrow night. 6 p.m.”
“It doesn’t give us a lot of time, but we should be able to put up a resistance. Maybe I’ll put in a call to Gresham’s representative on the county board and let him know so that maybe the county can put a stop to it.” Zachary put a hand on Anne Marie’s shoulder. “You are not giving up on this dream. Everyone else around here has managed to turn the page to the next chapter of their life, and you can do the same. Maybe it’s not quite the skip-a-dee-doo-dah rosy garden path others have gone down, but you’re going to get through this, just like you’ve gotten through everything else in your life. Now what do you say to that?”
Without missing a beat, Anne Marie replied, “What the hell are you just standing there for? You’ve got calls to make, and so do I! Plus, I’ve got to spray the yard for journalists.”
“Have they still been bothering you?”
“Not so much anymore. I still have one or two lurking about my house on occasion, but I’ve been able to enter and exit my echoingly empty art gallery without incident.”
