In a Midnight Wood

by Ellen Hart

  “So catch you both later.” Danny grabbed his coat, shirt, and tie and, with a wave, took off out the back door.

  “He is one really cute kid,” said Emma after he’d gone.

  “Yeah,” said Kurt, tossing Danny’s plate in the trash. “I’m pretty proud of him.”

  “He looks a lot like you did when you were his age. Broad shoulders. Same height.”

  “He’s actually two inches taller.”

  “Really.” She took a few steps into the room. “You got a minute?”

  “Sure.”

  Lowering her voice, she said, “I assume you’ve heard about Sam.”

  “Monty Mickler came by with the news.”

  “Isn’t it awful?”

  He put his arms around her. He knew so much that she didn’t, things he hoped she would never find out.

  “Anyway,” she said, wiping a tear off her cheek, “we need to write something, so he’s included in the class memorial. I’ve got some old photos we can put up on the photo wall. We don’t have to talk about it now, but we should get going on it. I thought we could each write a few notes, and then we could combine them.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “Listen,” she said, looking up into his eyes. “I know this comes out of the blue, but I’m giving a cocktail party at the house tonight to introduce my houseguests to some of the people on the town council and the art board. A friend will cater it, so there will be lots of food. I thought you might want to join us.”

  “Me?”

  “You’re a business owner. You never know who you might meet or what opportunities might arise.”

  Emma was a lot more ambitious than he was. He doubted a bigger, better, slicker butcher shop was in his future. “I don’t know.”

  “Think about it. These people, they’re mostly old and boring. It would be nice to have someone there I could talk to. We could sneak out for a while. Go sit by the lake. It’s supposed to be a beautiful night.”

  “It’s sounding better. Am I your only personal guest?”

  She hesitated. “There is someone I’d like to invite, but I can’t.”

  “Because?”

  “Multiple reasons, none of which I want to get into.”

  He’d already concluded that she’d been seeing someone while she’d been in town. Since he wasn’t interested in her romantically, it meant that he was entirely free to be her friend. “Come on, Emma. Do I know the guy?”

  She smiled. “Probably. No more questions. So what do you say?”

  “Do I have to get dressed up?”

  “You have a tux, right?” His surprised look caused her to laugh. “I’m kidding, silly. It’s completely casual, although I wouldn’t wear jeans. You do own something other than jeans?”

  “Cargo shorts and black socks?”

  “Perfect, as long as the socks match.”

  He accompanied her to the front door. “What time is this shindig?”

  “Starts at seven.” Turning to him, she said, “Oh, please come.”

  “You’re good at twisting arms.”

  “I’ll take that as a yes.” She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. “You’re saving my sanity.”

  KURT

  August 20, 1999

  Just before sunset, Kurt hoisted himself up the ladder on the pontoon raft, the one that floated about thirty yards out from the shoreline of Elbow Lake. The old planked-wood base had given him more than one painful sliver over the years, so he was careful moving across it. Lying down between Jim Hughes and Todd Ott, both friends from the high school swim team, he looked up at the puffy clouds drifting by.

  “You done with work for the day?” asked Todd.

  “Yup,” said Kurt. “You guys been doing laps?”

  “Nah,” said Jim lazily. “I had kind of a late night last night.”

  “I did a bunch,” said Todd, playing with the five hairs on his chest. “My timing’s shit. I’ll probably end up on the bench most of the year.”

  “No you won’t,” said Jim. “If I have anything to say about it, you’ll be under the bench.”

  Kurt raised his head as Sam Romilly climbed up the ladder and sat down cross-legged next to Jim.

  “Hey, dawgs,” said Sam, whipping his wet hair away from his face. “What’s happening?”

  “Nada,” said Todd. “Crap, anybody know what time it is?”

  “I’d say around eight-thirty,” said Kurt.

  “Shit. I promised Krista I’d take her to the nine-fifteen movie over in Clarksville.”

  “Can’t disappoint a good woman,” said Sam.

  “What’s showing?” asked Jim.

  “Mercury Rising. It’s a Bruce Willis flick, so it should be okay.” Scrambling to his feet, Todd cannonballed into the lake, sending a spray of water over the raft.

  “Asshole,” yelled Kurt.

  “He’s never gonna make it in time,” muttered Sam.

  “I should head in, too,” said Jim with a sigh.

  “You guys are no fun,” said Sam. “You leaving, too, Steiner?”

  “Nah, just got here.”

  When Jim jumped in, his cannonball was a dud.

  “Head down,” called Sam, mimicking the nasal voice of their coach. “Dig! Dig!”

  Jim stuck his hand out of the water and gave Sam the finger.

  Sam stretched out next to Kurt. They spent the next few minutes arguing about The Blair Witch Project, which Sam had hated, calling it Mickey Mouse and totally lame. Kurt loved being scared, and on that, the movie had delivered. Eventually, they moved on to baseball and other pressing matters.

  During a lull in the conversation, Sam asked, “How’re things at the butcher mart? You still get your rocks off cutting up dead carcasses?”

  “I live for it.”

  Sam grinned. “God, can you believe we’re about to start our senior year?”

  “Can’t wait. You?”

  “I’ll be glad when it’s over.” He pointed to a flock of geese flying low over the water. “You hunt?”

  “I used to go with my dad.”

  “Why’d you stop?”

  “I didn’t, my dad did. How about you?”

  “I might hunt my dad, but I’d never go hunting with him.”

  Kurt wasn’t sure what he meant.

  “I see you with Vicki Nestor a lot,” said Sam. “You two getting it on?”

  “Yeah. She’s nice. You still with Emma?”

  “Attached at the hip.”

  “You’re lucky. She’s really pretty.”

  The orange orb in the sky had sunk to the level of the treetops.

  “You interest me, Steiner,” said Sam, running a hand through his wet hair.

  “That makes me feel like a bug under a microscope.”

  He shrugged. “You’re not shy, but you’re quiet. I like that. You’re not always pointing at yourself and yelling ‘Look at me!’ And I see you watching people, standing back and, like, you know, observing.”

  Kurt had never thought of himself that way, though now that Sam pointed it out, he supposed it was true.

  “I think a guy learns a lot by keeping his mouth shut and listening,” said Sam. “I wish I did more of it.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  They sat in companionable silence as light around them faded.

  Out of the blue, Sam stood. “Let’s race to the beach. First one there has to buy the other a cheeseburger. Not tonight. I’m busy. But … sometime.”

  “Deal,” said Kurt, pushing to his feet.

  Sam counted to ten, and they both dove in.

  Kurt got off to a slow start, but he was the stronger swimmer and made it to the shore first. He dropped down on the sand, breathing hard.

  Sam joined him a few seconds later. “Screw that,” he yelled, gulping air. “You’re a speedy SOB. But then, I already knew that.”

  They flopped on their backs and watched as the stars began to appear. Kurt felt tired and loose and happy, like h
e could stay on the beach forever. “This is nice.”

  “It is,” said Sam, his face suddenly looming over Kurt.

  Kurt felt his body rise as Sam kissed him. It was only an instant, though it felt much longer, and then Sam got up and ran off. Nothing was said. Kurt turned around and watched him hop on his cycle and roar off. Touching his lips, he listened to the sound of the engine fading into the distance.

  8

  Jane and Cordelia stood under the dining room arch, watching people line up at the buffet table. Jane hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast, so the chafing dishes beckoned. The downstairs looked lovely, with evening light streaming in through the multipaned windows overlooking the lake. Most of the house looked the way it had when Emma’s parents were still alive, though she’d removed the oriental carpet in the dining room as well as some of her parents’ knickknacks, favoring a more minimalist vibe.

  Cordelia was all set to make her usual splash, dressed in a white Roman toga trimmed in gold, one shoulder bare. She had a theatrical love of costume—and of the outrageous.

  “The combat boots are a nice touch,” said Jane.

  “I thought so.” She touched a pinky to her bright red lips. “And you’ve outdone yourself, as predicted.” She looked away, but Jane could hear the dismissive sniff.

  Jane had brought along a fitted black velvet jacket and black jeans, thinking it would be okay for a dressy occasion. “I think I look great.”

  “Of course you do. By the way, if you’re hungry before bed, I’ve got that sack of caramel rolls up in my bedroom.”

  “I thought we’d decided to share them for breakfast tomorrow.”

  “Assuming any are left, I’m happy to share.”

  “There were half a dozen rolls in that bag.”

  “Your point is?” Bending close to Jane, Cordelia whispered, “I saw you talking to Emma out on the patio when we got back. Did you learn anything I should know about?”

  Cordelia always inserted herself into Jane’s investigations. According to Cordelia, she was the one who solved most of the cases by dint of her phenomenal gut instinct. To be fair, she did have good instincts, though with Cordelia, people usually had only once chance to make an impression—for good or ill.

  “I wanted to get the names of a few of Sam Romilly’s closest friends back in high school,” said Jane. “I’m hoping to talk to them, get a feeling for what Sam’s last few weeks were like. Emma said that over half the senior class left the area after graduation.”

  “How big was the graduating class?”

  “Sixty-eight.”

  “How many are attending the reunion?”

  “Maybe sixty-five, if you consider significant others. They scheduled it the same weekend as homecoming, hoping to fatten the attendance. Most will be going to the game on Friday night. I imagine many of the attendees will have known Sam.”

  “Good timing for us.”

  “We’ll see.”

  When Emma came over, Jane saw that she’d changed from her afternoon sundress into a black satin plunge-neck blouse and skinny black-leather slacks. Definitely not a look that was likely to be popular in Castle Lake. “There are so many people who want to meet you two.”

  “Great,” said Jane, stealing a sideways glance at the food.

  In reasonably quick succession, they were introduced to the fire chief—a meaty middle-aged guy with a broad smile and a scar on his right cheek—three members of the art board, and two women who sat on the town council. Everyone was friendly and asked lots of questions. Jane was happy to let Cordelia do most of the talking. She was, after all, the one they were most interested in. However, when they were introduced to Grady Larson, Emma’s uncle and the chief of police, Jane had a few questions of her own. As Emma and Cordelia were pulled away into another conversation, she stayed put. “Have you made any progress on the death of Sam Romilly?”

  Grady was gray-haired and portly. “It’s a terrible thing. I’m sorry your visit to our town coincided with that revelation. All I can say is, we’re going to treat it the same way we treat any other homicide. I’ll admit that we don’t get many of those, but we will pursue the case aggressively.”

  “You’ll be putting out a statement, I assume.” She was surprised that they hadn’t already issued one.

  “I’m leaving that to my detective, Sgt. Dave Tamborsky.”

  “I’m told he was a friend of the victim.”

  “He was?”

  “You don’t think that might be a conflict?”

  “No, not at all.”

  Jane could tell he wanted to move on to another topic, but she wasn’t done. “I believe Sgt. Tamborsky’s father did the original investigation back when Sam first went missing.”

  “You’re remarkably knowledgeable.”

  “I work for a true-crime podcast in Minneapolis.”

  She could tell by his expression that he had no idea what she was talking about. “Can you share any details? How he died? What your evidence is that it was a homicide?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t comment on an open investigation.”

  “But do you have any suspects?”

  “Again, no comment. Now, if you’ll excuse me—”

  “I’ve read the police reports that were written in 1999.”

  “Have you now.” His expression grew stony. “Well then you know we did everything we could at the time. It wasn’t viable to search all the wooded areas around Castle Lake or interview everyone who knew Sam Romilly. We did our best then, and we’ll do our best now.” With that, he caught the eye of the fire chief and walked over to talk to him.

  Jane took the opportunity to find herself something to eat. The food on offer at the buffet table was definitely old school. Spinach dip in a bread bowl surrounded by celery and carrot sticks. A pasta salad, heavy on the mayonnaise. A fruit salad, which appeared to be mostly watermelon. Deviled eggs. Tater Tot hot dish, a Minnesota specialty. Cocktail weenies in barbecue sauce. Cheese, crackers, and cold cuts. Most of the platters and chafing dishes were pretty picked over. Jane found a clean plate and helped herself to a couple of weenies, a deviled egg, slathered a few crackers with Brie, and finished with fruit. As she was dithering over a tray of lemon bars, an attractive woman in a white linen suit and gray silk blouse walked up. Jane had noticed Cordelia talking to her while she was having her conversation with the police chief. Her one thought at the time was, leave it to Cordelia to attract the best-looking woman in the room.

  “I’ve been reading about you,” said the woman, fingering a silver necklace. “You and Cordelia were featured in today’s paper.”

  “We were?” Jane licked some Brie off her finger.

  “I’m Leslie Harrow, the mayor of Castle Lake.”

  “Nice to meet you.”

  Her voice took on a mock serious tone. “I have some questions about your offering for the silent auction, the gourmet dinner for four.”

  “Are you interested?”

  “Very much. Can I ask what’s on the menu?”

  “Well,” said Jane, “it depends. I want to prepare something that the winner will enjoy.”

  Close up, she could see that the woman was older than she’d appeared from across the room. Like Jane, she was probably in her early fifties. She wore her dark blond hair short and feathered over her ears, with side-swept bangs.

  “But how does it work? Would you come to my house to cook the meal? Would we do it somewhere else?”

  “Again, that depends,” said Jane.

  “On?”

  “Your kitchen.”

  “Ah.” Another smile. “I have a wonderful kitchen.”

  “So you plan to put in a bid?”

  “If I do, I intend to win.”

  Before Jane could respond, Emma strolled up with a man in tow.

  “Mr. Kurt Steiner,” said Harrow, turning to him and extending her hand. “And Emma. I hope you’re having as much fun tonight as I am.”

  Emma seemed annoyed and Kurt appeared to b
e the cause.

  “I’m a little late,” he said, looking sheepish. “I’m not much of a partygoer these days.”

  He was good looking but also seemed terribly shy. Jane found it an interesting combination.

  “Jane is the one who’s offering the gourmet dinner for the silent auction,” said Emma.

  “Oh, sure,” said Kurt, smoothing his mustache and looking around nervously. “I thought that was a great idea.”

  “I may need to come to your shop and look around,” she said. “Depending on the tastes of the person who wins the meal—”

  “That will likely be me,” said Harrow, raising a finger.

  “We have the finest meat in town. And we have lots of local, wild-caught fish. Seafood is another matter. It’s hard to get fresh seafood in a place like Castle Lake.”

  As the French doors leading to the patio were opened to let in some fresh air, Jane felt a sudden urge to ditch the party and find somewhere private and quiet. While she’d never been shy, she was an introvert, and like Kurt, parties such as this one weren’t high on her list of ways to spend an evening.

  “Would you like something to eat, Kurt?” asked Emma, nodding to the buffet table.

  “Um, no thanks.”

  “Kurt wants to go sit down by the lake. I thought I’d join him. I think I can leave for a few minutes without anyone missing me, right?”

  “Go for it,” said Jane. As the two of them made their way outside, Jane turned back to Harrow. They’d no sooner resumed their conversation when a man in a plaid sport coat ambled up. He held a martini glass and seemed impatient when the mayor didn’t immediately acknowledge him. “I was looking all over for you.”

  “I wasn’t hiding, Don.”

  When he raised the glass to his lips, Jane noticed a wedding ring. Putting two and two together, she assumed the guy was Harrow’s husband.

  “There’s someone here I want you to meet,” he said, draining his glass.

  “Not now.”

  “But they’re leaving soon.”

  “I’m not working tonight.”

  “Come on, Leslie. The mayor is always working.”

  She regarded him a moment, then finally relented. “I’m sorry, Jane. I was hoping we’d have a bit longer to talk. Are you going to stick around a while longer?”