Dead Tease (11 page)

“Let me rephrase that: I
need
time on the water.”

Chapter Fifteen

Lew could see that once upon a time McNeil’s wife had been stunning. White-blond hair pulled smooth, twisted into a chignon at the base of her neck, and married to a creamy complexion and wide Delft-blue eyes gave her a doll-like prettiness. But prettiness marred by too much flesh.

Whatever the cause—an excess of food or drink, lack of exercise, or too many meds—the woman’s delicate bone structure was hidden beneath jowls, puffy rings around the eyes, and cheeks that swung too loose. No doubt the redness in her face was due to the emotions of the moment, but Lew sensed this was a woman who never woke feeling happy.

“I am terrified,” said Leigh, pounding a fist on the table as she sat in a kitchen chair across from Lew and her husband. The small tape recorder Lew had placed in the center of the table bounced and flipped over. As Lew turned it right side up, Leigh picked up a yellow legal pad in front of her and shook it in the direction of McNeil.

“Jim, we have got to move out until the police find the person who’s stalking me. I am so totally frightened I cannot sleep here another night.”

“Leigh …” said her husband, a note of caution hanging in the air, “we are not doing that. I’m calling the security firm and we’ll get the system repaired and upgraded. Again.”

He turned to Lew, “The security system built into this house keeps blowing during electrical storms. Vibrations set it off so easily that half the time I don’t use it.”

“Worse than that,” said Leigh. “Whoever is stalking us does something remotely to turn it off. Remember? Last week when you were at the conference in Appleton, it went out. The weather was fine.”

McNeil raised his hands in a gesture of futility. “I don’t know,” he said to Lew. “I’ve had the security guys out here at least five times in the last few months. They can’t find anything wrong except the electrical storm issue, which happens to everyone in the area. We’re waiting on a new base unit so the system has been off for the last week.”

“I want cameras,” said Leigh, whining like a six-year-old.

“Cameras will cost us thousands of dollars,” said McNeil. “That’s overkill, and I’ve told you that.”

Leigh glared. “After what happened today?”

“All right. I’ll look into it.”

Before the two could argue further, Lew jumped in to change the subject. “Is there anyone that either of you know who might be aware that your system has been off?” she asked. Leigh and her husband both shook their heads. “Anyone at your office?”

“Not that I can think of,” said McNeil with another shake of his head.

“Look, Leigh,” he said in a conciliatory tone, “I’m sure I can get someone out here tomorrow, and I’m home for the next ten days. That security firm runs the systems for the clinic. They know who I am, that I approve their invoices, and you can bet they will bend over backward to get this taken care of. Okay?”

Staring at the notepad in front of her, Leigh managed a whisper: “Okay.”

“Mrs. McNeil,” said Lew, “I have some questions for you.”

“Richards,” said Leigh. “Leigh Richards. I’ve never changed my name. When Jim and I got married, I was a vice president for a brokerage firm in Madison and it didn’t make sense to put all my clients through a name change.”

“I see,” said Lew. “You work from home now?”

“Not since Jim went into management,” said Leigh. “I haven’t worked in over six years.”

“Ah,” said Lew as she jotted a note while thinking: Nothing worse than a bright, bored, and lonely housewife. “Before we discuss that list in front of you, can you give me an idea when you were last in that downstairs workroom?”

“Yesterday. I worked on my quilt all morning,” said Leigh. “I do every stitch by hand.”

“One of her quilts is hanging in the state capitol building down in Madison,” said McNeil with pride.

“Nice,” said Lew. “And this morning? You were working down there until what time?”

“No. Today I saw the dermatologist. I didn’t go downstairs until three o’clock or so. That’s when I saw the mess and …” She inhaled harshly and tried to speak but waved one hand as she choked.

“Take your time,” said Lew.

“Umm,” Leigh pushed a Kleenex against her eyes. “Whoever broke in took four squares of the quilt that I was working on. I’ve been working on them for weeks and had laid them on the ironing board and … they’re gone.” She took a deep breath and turned her shoulders away from her husband.

“Jim doesn’t believe me but that’s the kind of thing that’s been happening. Whoever it is—is after me. Not Jim—me. I know it sounds like I’m making all this up.” She raised sad eyes to Lew, “I can’t prove I had my quilt squares there, but I did. I know I did.” A soft sob into the Kleenex.

“When you’re ready,” said Lew, tapping her pen, “I want to hear about all the other times you’ve been convinced someone was here.”

After blowing her nose and wiping at her eyes, Leigh pulled the legal pad closer to her. “Okay,” she said, sniffling, “I’ve made a list. It started last November when Jim was away at a conference in Hawaii. I was watching television one night in the den when I happened to look up and see this awful face in the window. Just for a second then it was gone—but I know I saw someone.”

“A man or a woman?”

“I don’t know. They wore a black mask with bleeding eyes. Jim thought it was kids playing a prank after Halloween.”

“Have you seen the face since?”

“No. But I have seen movement at different windows. Like I’ll look over and get just a glimpse of something or someone. That’s why I want security cameras. All we have is a system that works if a window or door is opened or if there is a vibration from someone trying to enter. We can’t see around the outside of the house if someone is lurking….”

“And does this always happen after dark?”

“Yes, and always when Jim is not home. So the first time it happened was in November. Then, just before Christmas, I went out to my car one night and someone had been in it.

“They had taken one of my favorite cookbooks from the kitchen here,” Leigh pointed over to a shelf holding a dozen or more cookbooks, “cut it up into little tiny pieces and dumped it into the back of my Jeep. Jim thought I had forgotten a book back there and it got wet and shredded—but I know I didn’t.”

“Cut not torn?”

“Cut. With scissors. The pieces were less than a quarter inch,” said Leigh, holding up two fingers to demonstrate. “That took time. And what a nutty thing to do. I know this sounds crazy but I got the message: they wanted to use the scissors on me.”

“Cut you up?”

“Or cut me out.”

That’s interesting, thought Lew. Darn, she wished Doc were there to listen in on this. She would make sure he listened to the tape.

“In February, Jim was traveling, and when I went to take the trash out for pickup the next morning, the door to the garage was open and the motion sensor lights over the driveway had been turned off. I did not turn those off, and they were on just fine after Jim left that week.”

She took a deep breath. “I cannot tell you how many times I find doors left open that I know I closed—the garage door, the door to the garden shed, the door to the boathouse.

“But the worst is what happened to my garden and my boat.”

Lew checked her watch. She hoped Bruce and Ray would show up before she finished talking with Leigh.

“In June, I put in a new bed of daylilies—wonderful varieties I found over in Minneapolis and a very expensive Japanese maple. Destroyed. I woke up one morning and someone had pulled the daylilies right out of the ground and cut off my little tree.”

“Deer,” muttered Jim McNeil.

“Jim,” said Leigh with a tinge of hysteria in her voice, “I put fencing around those. Deer can’t yank up fencing.” McNeil rolled his eyes and shrugged.

“I’ll want you to show my deputy, Ray Pradt, and Bruce Peters from the Wausau Crime Lab where that happened,” said Lew. “They should be here any minute, I hope.”

Lew could understand why McNeil found it difficult to believe his wife. Every thing she had described so far could be blamed on wind, weather, or critters, including raccoons, rabbits, foxes, deer, bears, and coyotes—pests familiar to anyone living in the Northwoods. Her own garden fell victim to prairie dogs so often she kept a sixteen-gauge shotgun by the kitchen door.

As far as the mask in the window—could have been a raccoon, especially if Leigh enjoyed an evening cocktail or two. But the cut-up book. Now that was weird.

“A deer did not desecrate my boat,” said Leigh, glaring at her husband. She turned to Lew saying, “That happened two weeks ago and it’s when I called nine-one-one.

“Someone broke into our boathouse and left a disgusting pile of dog poop in my rowboat. It’s an antique I inherited from my grandfather—a lovely little wooden rowboat. It’s painted green on the outside and beautifully varnished inside and out. Or it was until someone put the dog poop in it, which ate through the varnish and left an ugly stain. Of course, Jim thought it was a raccoon.”

McNeil caught Lew’s eye and nodded.

“What made you think it was
dog
poop and not left by another animal?” asked Lew.

“My mother had a Yorkie and it looked just like that dog’s poop. I’m not stupid—I know dog poop from deer scat and rabbit droppings—I garden, I know what animals do.

“Plus,
plus
,” said Leigh waving one finger to emphasize her point, “the damn boat is suspended from the roof of the boathouse and over the water—so how does an animal get in and out without drowning?” She sat back satisfied she had made a key point.

“So what we do know,” said Lew, looking down at her notes, “is that the break-in downstairs has to have occurred sometime yesterday afternoon or evening. But maybe this morning. Is that correct?”

“Yes,” said Leigh.

“Aside from the face in the window that night, have you seen anyone else on your property?”

“Well … no,” said Leigh. “And again I know this sounds like I’m nuts, but even though I don’t
see
anyone—I get the feeling I’m being watched. Last spring I stopped doing any quilting at night because I sensed someone was peering in the basement window.”

“But you didn’t call nine-one-one then?”

Before she could answer, her husband interrupted in a stern voice, “Leigh, I want you to tell Chief Ferris about your medications.”

She threw him a look so angry, Lew wondered how long this marriage was going to last. “I’ve been on antidepressants. Not LSD or crack cocaine. Antidepressants. And so what?” She threw her hands up. “Half the women I know are on antidepressants. I am not hallucinating.”

A knock at the kitchen door prompted Lew to turn around. “Oh, good. That’s probably my team,” she said as Jim McNeil rose from his chair.

Chapter Sixteen

Leaving Bruce and Ray to pick their way through the broken glass and muddy prints left in the laundry room, Lew followed Leigh down to the boathouse, a small building that must have been built years ago, as it rested on timbers allowing it to hover over the water.

“Aren’t
you
lucky to have an old boathouse like this,” said Lew, amazed to discover one of the antique structures that once dotted Northwoods’ shorelines but have since been outlawed.

“I know people aren’t allowed to build so close to water these days, so we were fortunate to find this place,” said Leigh.

“It’s wonderful the way you’ve restored the boathouse,” said Lew, admiring the small structure with its fresh coat of dark green paint. Crisp white trim outlined the windows, which appeared to contain their original glass from the early 1900s. An upper level hinted of an old-fashioned sleeping porch.

“You know,” said Lew with a shake of her head, “I understand the DNR’s reasoning for their shoreline restrictions but I do miss the old places. My uncle had a boathouse like this, and when I was a kid, I loved the upstairs sleeping porch—listening to the lake all night long.” Lew smiled.

“I know what you mean,” said Leigh. “The boathouse is why we bought the property. It’s all that was left from the original buildings on the land. Thank goodness the developer was smart enough to leave it. It’s grandfathered in, so we were able to restore a certain amount—we painted the exterior and replaced some of the wooden decking.”

She opened the door and they stepped into a dark interior. Two boats and a jet ski were moored inside. Lew walked past a small cabin cruiser to where a petite rowboat, so old it was likely made by hand in the early 1900s, hung suspended shoulder height over open water. The weathered varnish on the exterior gleamed even in the dim light and the oars boasted silver fittings that would be impossible to find today.

“Where did you find this rowboat?” asked Lew. “It’s beautiful.”

“My grandfather made it. He was a doctor by profession and carpentry was his hobby.” Leigh lowered the pulley that was holding the boat down far enough that they had a view of the interior.

“Oh, oh, I see what you mean,” said Lew, peering into the small craft. Whatever the mess made by a critter, the result was a dark stain marring the warm brown finish.

“Chief Ferris, if you look up,” said Leigh, pointing at the cables holding the boat, “you can see that when this boat is raised it has to be impossible for an animal to climb up, over, and into the boat—not without help.”

“You would be surprised,” said Lew. “Your boathouse has plenty of room beneath those lakeside doors. An eagle or other predator could find their way in and drop a dead fish or some other small animal in here. Unless you’re a forensic expert, it can be difficult to tell the smell of decomposing—”

“I know the smell of dog shit.”

Lew shrugged. The woman had made up her mind. She walked over to the speedboat, which sat on an elaborate electric shore station. “No damage to this craft?” she asked as she examined the interior of the speedboat. “Have you checked the interior of that cabin for signs of a break-in or damage?”

“Nothing. The only damage was to my boat. That one is Jim’s pride and joy.” A note of resentment had crept into Leigh’s voice.