At Witt's End (9 page)

"Apparently he didn't find what he was looking for,” Nan said.

"Apparently,” Mr. Bakke said, raising his gaze toward Nan and then back to the body on the table.

Nan closed the cooler door as she pushed the second cart into the center of the room. “Aanders asked me a question the other day I couldn't answer. He was wondering when Belly actually claimed ownership of the Witt sisters?"

Tipping his head in contemplation, Mr. Bakke said, “I would guess it was about seven years ago. My memory isn't that good, but I think it's been that long. Now he thinks he owns them."

Mr. Bakke handed Nan a catheter. “Once in a while I'd see him standing on the property line between Sadie's cabin and his other owners’ house. He looked pathetic. He'd sniff toward his other owners, bark at them, and then go back to Sadie's. Sadie said he was giving them one last chance to beg him to come back."

Nan grinned as she pictured Belly's indecision. “Sadie still insists Belly isn't her dog."

"That's true,” Mr. Bakke said. “But don't kid yourself. Sadie loves that old dog. She uses it as an excuse when someone complains about Belly or when Carl threatens to fine her for not having a dog license."

Nan turned her attention back to Richard Fossum. She had retrieved his body from the hospital morgue several hours after retrieving Tim and his mother. Even though all three died at the scene, the coroner insisted on performing an autopsy on Richard to rule out substance abuse as a possible cause.

Mr. Bakke's hand brushed the autopsy sutures as he ran his gloved hand along the embalming tube. “I sure hope the results come back negative. I never knew Richard to be a drinker. His sister will have a hard time accepting it if alcohol was the reason. Or drugs."

"He was devoted to his family,” Nan said. “I've always admired the way he treated Aanders like one of his own. He's been a Godsend since Aanders’ father walked out on us. But I do have to say he seemed distracted when he picked Aanders up for the movie."

"Had he been drinking?"

"If I'd have thought that, I wouldn't have let Aanders go."

Mr. Bakke opened his mouth and then hesitated. Taking in a deep breath he said, “You know the Witt sisters think of me as family."

"I know that, Mr. Bakke,” Nan said, smiling at the elderly gentleman.

"They tell me everything."

Nan looked up. “Meaning?"

"They told me about Lon Friborg investigating on his own. I'm guessing that isn't public knowledge, but they shared it with me because I'm family."

"You're right. I told them about Lon in confidence,” Nan said. “I hope you're going to keep it to yourself."

"I will. You can trust me."

"Lon was in again this morning. He wanted to look at Richard's body,” Nan said.

"Did you let him?"

"Of course. I didn't see any reason not to. If I'd have found anything suspicious during my initial prep, I'd have called the sheriff.” Nan looked up at Mr. Bakke. “You know that's my policy, don't you?"

"I do,” he said. “I wouldn't expect you'd find anything. Not much escapes our coroner. Did Lon find anything?"

Nan removed a length of tubing. “I don't think so. He did tell me Richard's sister was furious with him when he asked if he could have access to Richard's papers."

"Why?"

"Apparently she resented the implication that Richard might be involved in something,” Nan said.

"I don't think that's why Lon wanted to see the papers. I'm guessing he's trying to prove Richard had an enemy."

"I agree. But I think Richard's sister was so overwhelmed she took it the wrong way."

"Speaking of accessing papers,” Mr. Bakke said, “have you made any progress on finding that man who pulled a fast one on your dad?"

"Not yet. I'm still not sure what happened, but before Dad died, he spent a lot of time researching patents. I got the impression Dad actually designed something, but the guy filed the patent in his own name instead of Dad's. Dad never got credit."

"And you have no idea what it was?"

"Nope. When Dad caught me looking over his shoulder, he slammed the folder shut. He was either embarrassed he was duped, or he found out the guy made a fortune on the invention. Maybe it was someone local and he didn't want anyone to know until he had proof. I'm waiting to hear from the patent bureau."

Nan and Mr. Bakke's heads raised simultaneously as Belly's shadow crossed the basement window. Nan chuckled. “Do you think Belly ever sneaks back to his real home?"

"Would you if they didn't feed you?"

"No wonder he chose the sisters. By the looks of him, he hasn't missed a meal since he moved in.” Nan began the repair work on Richard's face. She primed a handheld mechanism before securing his jaw into position with the spring-driven needle injector. She returned the tool to the metal tray and leaned closer to examine her work. “Didn't Belly's original owners ever complain that he opted to live with the sisters?"

"They bullied a few times with idle threats. But when Sadie told them she'd turn them in for cruelty, they didn't bother her anymore. In fact, when Belly sees them now, he turns and runs the other way. I think he's afraid they're going to make him come back."

The phone rang and Nan listened to footsteps above as Aanders crossed the floor to answer the phone.

"Mom?” Aanders shouted down the stairs. “Jane and Sadie want to know what time you'll be ready for them. They want to talk to you."

"Tell them to give us another half hour."

"How's Aanders doing?” Mr. Bakke said.

"As well as can be expected.” Compassion tugged at Nan as the agony of her son's sorrow engulfed her. Tim had been a constant presence in Aanders’ life. Having a friend as popular and athletic as Tim had made it easier for Aanders to endure the taunting he'd suffered from his peers. At times, living in a mortuary had its benefits. But those times were rare. Aanders was courted yearly around Halloween when his friends wanted to prove they were brave enough to touch dead bodies or when they wanted to see who could endure a dead body when the lights were turned off. The rest of the year he was the mortician's son. An outcast.

"I was surprised to find Aanders in better spirits,” Nan said. “Yesterday he was teary. This morning he was up early playing video games in his room."

Mr. Bakke held his gaze firmly on Richard Fossum's face.

"He hasn't asked to view Tim's body like he did yesterday. That worries me. It's like he's in denial,” Nan said.

Nan ushered Mr. Bakke and the two sisters into her kitchen. Mr. Bakke pulled a chair out for Jane and lifted a pan of toffee bars from her arms.

Inhaling deeply, Nan said, “My favorite. My absolute favorite. You usually save these for special occasions. What are we celebrating today?"

Jane shot an accusing glance at Sadie as they sat at the table. Nan poured coffee and joined them as Jane cut into the warm bars.

"We thought you needed something special because of the Fossums,” Sadie said.

"That's really sweet.” Nan closed her eyes and savored the first bite. She realized this was the first good sensation she'd experienced since the accident had claimed the lives of the Fossum family. She let the pleasure surround her as she took another bite.

"It's nice to have Mr. Bakke help with the preparations, isn't it, dear?” Sadie said. She directed a scowl toward her sister who folded and refolded her paper napkin for the tenth time. “I know Mr. Bakke's certainly been a great help to us over the years."

Sadie reached across the table and patted Jane's hand. “Of course he's more than a handyman to you, isn't he, Sister?” Pulling her hand away, she yanked the napkin from Jane's grasp.

Jane's glare scalded Sadie. She picked up a table knife and sliced heavily through a toffee bar. She yanked a clean napkin from the napkin holder and placed the bar in the center. Leaning over, she laid the napkin on the floor. Jane patted Belly's back as he gulped the treat down in two swallows. The dog looked up anticipating more. Jane picked bits of shredded napkin from his jowls.

Mr. Bakke crossed his arms over his chest and quietly sank into his chair.

The group finished their coffee; tension grew between the elderly guests. “Nan, dear. We have something we need to talk to you about,” Sadie said, ending Nan's toffee reverie.

"About the Fossum family?"

"Not specifically. But it does have something to do with your work,” Sadie said.

The sound of baubles clinking against the table drew Nan's gaze to Sadie's wrist. Nan gently fingered one of the bright glass jewels. “You seem so serious. What's on your mind?"

As Sadie removed her bracelet and held it up for Nan to see, Jane blurted, “Oh for Pete sakes. Tell her. Get this over with before I faint."

Mr. Bakke leaned toward Jane. “I'm going back to my cabin while you ladies discuss business."

"What's going on, Sadie? Are you ill?” Concern crept across Nan's face.

"It's not that simple,” Sadie said.

Jane's voice trembled. “We're going to lose the resort.” Clutching her stomach she turned toward Sadie. “There. Now she knows.” Flicking her wrist to dismiss her sister's inability to spread the word, Jane said, “You should have been the one to tell her. Not me."

"Why me? Why do I have to do everything?"

"Okay you two, quit bickering,” Nan said. “This resort's been in your family for years. How could you possibly lose it?"

"Because of that horse's ass Carl Swanson. He insists the resort belongs to him.” Sadie stood and walked to the window.

"What? Carl Swanson, the deputy?"

"That snake thinks our mother got the resort from his grandfather through illegal means.” Jane wadded her second napkin into a tiny clump.

"The deed is in your name, isn't it?” As the question escaped Nan's lips, another more pressing question surfaced. “What do you mean it has something to do with my work?"

Sadie inched her gaze from the floor to Nan's anxious face. “Carl told us if he wins the lawsuit, he won't honor our lease with you."

"What?” Nan reached for the back of the chair. “How could Carl possibly get ownership if it's in your name?"

"Because he filed a Constructive Trust Lawsuit."

"What on earth is that?"

"It's complicated,” Sadie said, “but from what I understand, Carl's claiming his Grandfather told his aunt he planned to leave his estate and all his holdings to Carl's father. The aunt claims the grandfather never intended to give the resort to our mother. It's a lot of legal mumbo jumbo, but our attorney put it in simple terms so we could understand it."

Processing the information, a woozy heat engulfed Nan. The statement that Carl wouldn't honor the lease grew more menacing as she realized the consequences. “Did your attorney give any indication of how the lawsuit might turn out? Will there be a trial?"

"There won't be a trial. It's up to Judge Kimmer to make a ruling."

"Now I know why Carl's been avoiding me,” Nan said. “The last few times I've stopped by Paul's office, Carl was there. He disappeared right after I got there. And, come to think of it, the other night he backed out of going to dinner with us. That's not like Carl to turn down a free meal."

"Carl's a weasel,” Sadie said. “He knows there's a dirty deed afoot and he doesn't have the balls to talk to you face-to-face."

"Is this something you just found out?” Nan demanded.

"No,” Jane said glaring at her sister. “She's known for quite some time and put off telling you. She thought you'd be upset."

"Upset? Of course I'm upset. If he won't honor the lease, I'll have to find a new location for the mortuary. I can't afford to do that.” Nan pointed toward a cabinet drawer and said, “Thank goodness that funeral home in Minneapolis offered me a job. I got another letter from them last month. They're willing to provide housing for a year while we settle in. But if I have to move, I'll never realize my father's dream. He wanted this business to be passed on to Aanders."

Nan gestured in frustration. “I can't believe you held off telling me. Selling a business and relocating takes time.” Fighting back the urge to cry, she added, “What am I going to do if Carl wins the case?"

Sadie watched fear cloud Nan's ability to think past the pending devastation.

"See. I told you. I told you to tell her earlier,” Jane said. “Talk about not having balls."

"It's not a matter of balls,” Sadie said. “It's a matter of setting off an alarm when it isn't necessary.” Sadie stabbed her finger toward Jane. “If you thought she should know, then why didn't you tell her? You're just as much to blame as I am."

"Someone should have told me,” Nan said. Placing her elbows on the table she buried her face in her hands. “Maybe Paul's marriage offer isn't such a bad idea."

"Don't you dare think that way,” Sadie said. “He and Carl came from the same thorny bush. You don't want to get tangled up with the likes of him."

The women turned toward Aanders’ bedroom door as a peal of laughter echoed from the room.

"Was that Aanders?” Sadie exclaimed.

"Yes.” Nan frowned. “I'm concerned about him. Yesterday he insisted on viewing Tim's body, but today he hasn't mentioned it once. I can hardly get him out of his room."

Another outburst rang from Aanders’ room followed by a squeal of words.

"I don't think Paul's that bad,” Jane said. “He impresses me as someone who's always neat and polite and dresses like a gentleman."

"Well then, that makes you a fool, doesn't it?” Sadie said. “If he's neat, he must be nice? He's not from here, you know. He's from some other part of the country. He's too sneaky to suit me."

"I don't understand what you're basing that on. You barely know Paul.” Nan crossed to the pan of toffee bars and pulled a chunk out with her finger. “I've known him for over a year. He asked me to marry him several months ago and said he'd be patient while I sorted things out."

"That's a ploy. He wants you to think he's a good catch."

"You're wrong, Sadie,” Nan said.

"If you're desperate, of course you think I'm wrong. Ask yourself why most of Paul's clients are over the age of seventy."

"Because he specializes in life insurance, investments, and endowment policies,” Nan said.