Lie Catchers (6 page)

She stomped to a covered eating area next to the Taco stand, empty at this hour, but as Parker had seen the day before, a popular lunch and dinner stop. Susanna hugged her arm around her chest and shivered as she smoked. “This won’t take long, will it? It’s fucking freezing out here.”

“I’m sorry for your loss, Ms. Halley.”

Susanna teared up. “He ruined my chances of getting out of this shit town.”

When Parker saw that rage, not grief, was the operating emotion, he took a breath, rethought his angle and was about to start a new line of questioning when she said, “Christ. You stink just like my dad. What is it with the men in this town? Lemon oil, officer,” she said, pronouncing ‘officer’ with disgust. “Lemon oil gets the fish smell off. Use it.”

“Good advice, Ms. Halley.”

She dragged on her cigarette and expelled the smoke like an irritated dragon. “Why would I want to kill Ev when he was my ticket out of this cesspool?”

“You were planning to leave Petersburg together?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

She shrugged. “I pushed for sooner. He said he had to ‘make arrangements.’”

“Did your father know?”

“Bob is clueless.”

“Your mother?”

“Dumber.”

“Did you love Everett Olson?”

Susanna laughed out loud. “Every woman in this town knows he’s a good ride, but ‘love?’ No.”

“He didn’t love you?”

She pooched her lips out, dropped her arms and straightened her back. “I’m the youngest and best snatch in town. Does that answer your question?”

“Candid.”

“What?” she asked, puffing on a second cigarette, lit by the stub of the first one.

“Thank you for your honest answers. Anything else I should have asked?”

“Of course. Know who I think dumped him in the water?”

“Okay, I’ll bite.”

“Liv.”

Parker swallowed, but couldn’t get the saliva down his throat.

“Didn’t want to hear my answer, did you?”

“I question Liv Hanson next.”

“I know. Don’t expect candid from Petersburg’s resident entrepreneur. We all know she’s looking for money any place she can find it and Everett Olson had some.”

“Thanks for the tip. We’ll talk again, Ms. Halley. Consider this the first of a few interviews.”

“Shit,” she said, grinding out her cigarette butt with her heel. Then she blinked and gave him a measured look. “You single?”

Parker chuckled, remembering Robert Halley’s warning about shrapnel. “The first answer is yes. The second; no, not interested.”

****

Outside the door of the Viking B&B, Parker pulled up the hood of his slicker. Despite the steady rain, he stopped in front of the Viking Hall and admired the fifty foot-long wooden Viking boat and the towering bronze statue of a brawny, defiant-looking fisherman, his cold eyes riveted forever on Wrangell Narrows. Parker read the metal plaques commemorating Norwegians lost at sea, then closed his eyes to imagine the first Norwegians who set foot on this land. Verteeg, Gjerde, Otness, Fuglvog, Noreide, Sandvik, Ask, Wikan. The lack of jobs and buyable land in Norway had squeezed out these men. Lured by the riches of Alaska but desperately homesick, they’d established their own little Norway in Petersburg, convincing themselves that 110 inches of rain a year didn’t matter.

“Liv’s one of them,” he muttered. Proud, fiercely loyal to heritage and family. “Private. Dug in. Hell, they’re all cordial, but closed.” Parker gazed at the sea, as gray as the skies except for a few chunks of ice heading south on Wrangell Narrows, floating like misplaced clouds. He flexed his fingers, itching for a computer problem to solve. Hidden assets and circuitous money streams always presented challenges, but could he untangle human puzzles in a town of stiff upper-lipped Norwegians? What was the key to getting their help in fitting the pieces together?

The bronze fisherman’s expression seemed critical of dawdling. Parker looked at his watch and saw that he was five minutes late for his appointment with Liv.
Shit.
How could he want to see her but be reluctant about the meeting at the same time?

He jogged through Sing Lee Alley, a skinny side-street of old narrow two-story shops, and approached Liv’s door, touching the pocket where he kept a small notebook. He’d listed a series of questions there, but decided to leave them hidden from Liv.

He knocked, saw no one inside the store and pushed open the door as she had instructed. “Liv? It’s Parker. Sorry I’m a little late.” God, what was it about Liv Hanson? Why was his heart picking up a faster beat and what was the deal with the warmth creeping up his neck to his face? He remembered the way she looked on the dance floor, wild and shimmering. That night he’d yearned to touch her warm shoulder and slide his hand to her slim neck.

“Come on up,” she shouted from above.

“Down, boy,” he muttered before he took the stairs.

She wasn’t in the room. Was she upset he was late? Jesus, this was an official visit, not some social call. He relaxed a bit when he heard her talking on the phone.

While he pulled off his coat, he smelled something sugary, freshly cooked. Was that vanilla? What was the other spice that made his mouth water? He surveyed the modest living and dining area, impressed by the warm maple floors and furniture. Clean lines, comfortable-looking sofa and chair in some creamy tweed contrasted by a bold blue, yellow and red rug, its geometric design giving a contemporary stamp to the overall feel of the room. Textbook Scandinavian modern design. He walked to the window to peer over a small maple dining table and two chairs. Not a great view of Barber’s apartment. Parker calculated that Liv’s bedroom office was a perfect window into Tuck Barber’s comings and goings. Barber, a suspect. Christ, a criminal might be living next door to Liv Hanson.

“Sorry,” she said from behind him. “My agent had a couple questions about my last feature that goes to print today.”

He nodded in sympathy. Parker knew about deadlines. So far he hadn’t met one of his goals in this case, and the way Liv looked was bound to stall him further. Damn, she was wearing feathers. Tight-fitting cargo pants, crinkled everywhere except for around her butt, a loose aqua sweater, feather earrings and a feather necklace. He couldn’t help but stare.

She raised the necklace off her breasts and said, “These are my great grandma’s. She was a Tlingit, remember?”

Parker nodded, but found he couldn’t speak. The feathers changed her in ways he didn’t understand. They softened her look and added wildness at the same time. He had to touch the feathers. Touch her.

“Feel them. They’re real,” she said, proudly. “Small feathers from an eagle. In Tlingit, eagle is
Ch’ak.
”

He kept his hand to his side. “How old?”

“At least 100 years. I remade the necklace and the earrings. See these tiny white bones on the earrings?”

He rubbed his fingers together at his thigh but didn’t accept her offer to touch the white earrings. When he breathed in her perfume, he scolded himself.
Damn, she’s reeling me in
. “Uh…what are they?”

“Halibut ear bones.”

“Really? That’s amazing.”

“A woman in Tenakee Springs collects them.”

“With the feathers?”

“No. I added those. To match the necklace.”

“Nice.”

She smiled, extending her arm in the direction of the kitchen. “Coffee? I made
krumcake
, too, and I want you to take some of the cookies back to your dad. Your coat? Have a seat.”

“Crumb cake?” he asked, handing her his coat and taking her direction to sit.

“No. Pronounced ‘kroomkaka.’ Spelled k.r.u.m.c.a.k.e. It’s a Norwegian waffle cookie. Vanilla and cardamom are the spices in it.”

“Smells good,” he said, wondering how many of the things he could eat without looking like a pig. And he might dip them in the thick, strong coffee she’d surely serve with the cookies.

He gazed at his wildly dressed, sexy hostess. The jewelry, Norwegian cookies. She was staging a show, just for him. He stifled a chuckle.

“What?” she asked.

“Nothing. Why don’t we address my questions, then have coffee?”

He caught a frisson of irritation in her expression before she glanced at her watch. Her eyebrows winged up and the eagle feathers danced on her breasts when she straightened. “Whoa, where did the time go? My fault. Maybe we should hold off on the interview until tonight at my mom’s. I’ve got a million things to do in the store.”

Parker shook his head. “I question you now; your mother, this evening.”

“I’d prefer if you left my mom out of this.”

“I’m sure you would. We all want to protect our mothers. But she is a person of interest, as you are. I
have
to question both of you.”

Liv leaned against the closet door, chin raised and eyes snapping.

When Parker’s body reacted, he got pissed. “Liv,” he warned, rising from the chair.

“Um?” she said, all innocence.

He stood close to her. Satisfied when her eyes widened, he resisted the urge to push her hair behind her left ear and finger the feathers and the halibut ear-bone dangling there. “Sit down, please.” He pointed to a dining room chair. “Please.”

She perched on the edge of it.

Parker dragged his chair to face hers and sat down. “Everett Olson is dead. The circumstances are suspicious. Petersburg, and you in particular, can’t escape these facts. “

“He died in Seattle. Look there, not here.”

He shook his head. “Wrong.”

Liv stared at him.

“I think I’ll find the answer to his death in Petersburg, not Seattle.”

****

“Then ask the damn questions,” Liv said, pleased when Parker flinched at her tone. She settled into her chair, disturbed by her attraction to him. How dare he put on his all-business face after faking a laid-back approach?

“What happened between you and Ev Olson?”

She turned her head to hide her eyes, waving her hand at him. “Water over the bridge. Old news. And definitely not relevant.”

“It’s up to me to determine relevance, Liv. Tell me what happened between you and Everett Olson.”

Parker’s eyes grabbed hers in a death grip, refusing to let her keep the information to herself, buried a mile below the surface of her soul. She could withhold her answer this time, but he’d return to ask the same question tomorrow. Or the next day. He would not leave Petersburg without the truth and she hated him for it.

“He attacked me. Attempted to rape me at a high school party. We were eighteen.”

Parker reached for her hand. “I’m sorry.”

She pulled her fingers away from his touch.

“How badly did he hurt you, Liv?”

That she saw empathy in his expression made her madder. She didn’t want pity. “Bruises on my arms, neck, and thighs. I bit his nose and poked his eye.”

“Good for you.” He cleared his throat. “Your mother knows.”

“Yes. But she’d never—”

He interrupted. “Your brother?”

“No. Back then he would have killed Ev if he knew. Ivor had signed onto the police force only days before Ev attacked me…I couldn’t tell him.”

“Do you suppose your brother found out about it recently?”

“No,” she growled. “Ivor did not kill Everett Olson.”

“I’ll have to talk to your brother about all this. The rape attempt, I mean.”

She closed her eyes. “You will, won’t you? Which means I have to tell him before dinner tonight and alert Mom as well.”

“How good a friend are you of Tilly Grant’s?”

Liv opened her eyes. “Why?”

“She was Olson’s lover. You hated the man.”

Liv shrugged. “It’s her life. I never told her what Everett did to me. And, of course, in time, Ev apologized and asked for my forgiveness for his behavior a million times over. He
was
drunk that night and an oversexed eighteen-year-old. No excuse, but…” Liv sighed as she toyed with an eagle feather on her necklace. “I was experimenting with flirting at the time,” she said.
And that’s why I left town, because I was known as a flake.
Liv sighed.
I didn’t like who I was then, and, look at me…I’m not much better now
. “Clearly he cleaned up his approach. Ev went on to screw every woman in this town except me.”

“So Ms. Grant says. She knows you don’t like him, but I don’t think she’s aware of the real reason why.”

“It’s a small town. For harmony’s sake, we leave some things unsaid. Until one of us drowns.”

Parker nodded and leaned forward, a tight smile on his face. “Now is the time I have to ask where you were last week. Every person I interview, must answer that question, including your mother and Ivor.”

Without a word, Liv rose and went to the desk in her bedroom, picked up the single sheet of paper she’d composed that very morning, and stalked out to Parker. “Here,” she said. “This answers your question about where I was the week Everett Olson died.”

He took the page, but instead of reading it, he kept his focus on Liv. “I appreciate your writing down the information. I didn’t expect—”

“You better read it before you thank me.”

Parker looked puzzled. “What?”

“You won’t like what it says.”

“I won’t?” He glanced at the paper. “What the hell?”

Liv watched his features tighten as he read the page. It had killed her to give him a chart so simple, so spare. She took some comfort in knowing that the first chart she made, the one she’d slid into her desk drawer for her eyes only, was so detailed it went to three pages. But those pages were hers, not his. She reveled in the details; he only needed the summary.

Parker lifted his eyes from the paper. “You have got to be kidding me.”

She shrugged. “In black and white. At least ten of us were in Seattle during the time Everett Olson died. Any one of us could have been with him when he drowned.”

Petersburg 1932

Everyone’s a Suspect

(The Murder of Sing Lee: A Retrospective

by Liv Hanson)

Letter to the Editor of The Petersburg Press:

“Since the government investigator came here about the murder of Sing Lee, a few of us got together to do everything in our power to help the officer find out the dirty skunk that done the deed. We believe there is a certain man who done it, but so far as we know he has kept his mouth shut about the real facts, and unless said party comes out right away and gives the government man the facts he knows, it will be proof to us that he was on the job before Sing Lee was killed and we will urge the government investigator to have him arrested as the murderer. Even if he didn’t know about it beforehand, protecting the killer is just about as bad as the brutal job he done on poor, old, kindhearted Sing Lee who done so much good in this town for so many years. Our homes are here and it is not safe for anybody with a murderer running loose.” Sincerely, Concerned Citizens of Petersburg, Alaska