Death at the Door (6 page)

May 29—Washington Island Ferry Line,
Northport, Wisconsin

Lark and Lacey pulled into the parking area of the Washington Island ferry a few minutes after 1
P.M
. They decided to take Lacey's car and pulled it into the ferry line. They barely had time to take turns running up to the Northport Pier Restaurant for a bathroom and refreshment break before the ferry started loading. Neither of them had taken time for lunch. They were guided onto the ferry to a spot right behind a cart loaded down with Federal Express boxes and mailbags.

“I can't imagine what it would be like to live on an island,” Lacey said as she snugged her Grand Cherokee up to the back of the mail cart under the watchful eyes of one of the ferry workers. “Everything must come over on this ferry. Wonder how they manage in the winter when the lake is frozen over?”

“It would sure teach you how to plan ahead,” Lark said as he watched a cart full of lumber and plywood being pulled up beside them. It had Lampert Lumber and Building Materials, Washington Island, written on the side of it. “It's probably nice and calm over there. Not too many surprises.”

“Nice and boring is more like it,” Lacey replied, watching him lounge back in the seat. “Late night?”

“No later than yours. We all left about the same time.” Lark flicked his eyes over at her. “I was on the golf course at seven-thirty
A.M
. What time did you get up?”

“I woke your friend Sophie up when I got to her house at nine
A.M
. She didn't look like she got much sleep last night.”

“What did you think of her place?”

“Pretty nice, secluded back in all those woods. Great beach frontage. She has a wonderful view of the Cana Island Lighthouse. She lost all her expensive art glass, three pieces of Galle, and some Rookwood pottery. She lost two paintings by a local artist, Robert Pence, and a service for twelve of Tiffany silver her grandmother gave her. Once again, someone only took the good stuff.”

“How'd they get in?” Lark asked as he gazed out at the fog-covered water.

“No signs of a break-in but the security system was off. She said she thought she turned it on before she left, but she wasn't sure. She thought maybe the cleaning people didn't reset it. No footprints around the house or down on the beach, but with all the rain Door County has been getting, those would be long gone. Sophie hasn't been in the house since Easter weekend, and she only has someone come in and clean right after she leaves. She said her furniture was still covered when she got there. There wasn't any sign that anyone had been inside after the cleaning woman. The vacuum cleaner tracks were still in the living room carpet right in front of the corner cabinet where she kept many pieces of the glass that were stolen.”

“Very neat burglar.”

“It's got to be someone who knows antiques.”

“I'm sure there's no shortage of suspects up here.” Lark paused as the ferry began to pull away from shore. “Let's get out and watch the ferry leave.”

They pulled on their jackets and got out of the Jeep. Most people left their cars and went up to the enclosed sitting area on the next level of the ferry. Lark and Lacey went to the rear of the ferry to watch their departure from Northport. The dock and the restaurant quickly faded from view in the dense fog. The choppy, gray expanse of water known as Death's Door to the Indians surrounded them. The French explorers called the strait of water between the tip of Door County and Washington Island Porte des Morts, which literally meant Door of the Dead. An apropos name for a body of water that had swallowed up many ships and people in its unpredictable waters.

Lacey did not doubt either name as she watched the foam-capped waves swirl and splash around the ferry. “I can't imagine this in winter,” she said as she zipped up her jacket and pulled her wild hair back into a ponytail.

“Me either. You look cold.” Lark unzipped his jacket and dropped it over her shoulders. They walked back to the car as she protested that she was fine. Once she was settled, Lark ran upstairs to get them some coffee.

Lacey's thoughts drifted back to last night. She had seen a new side of Lark. The four of them had met at the Railhouse. Sophie and Gene insisted that they sit together since the room was packed and tables were at a premium. It was obvious that Lark and Sophie knew each other well. Their conversation and their behavior implied an intimate knowledge of each other that made Lacey uneasy. Sophie cajoled Lark into dancing, and by the end of the evening he was smiling and relaxed in a way that Lacey had never seen him. She wondered if they had gone back to Sophie's place together last night, although Sophie hadn't given her any inkling of that this morning.

“This makes Big Oak and Wausau look like a piece of cake, doesn't it?” Lark said as he climbed back in the Cherokee bringing a gust of cold wind and steaming cups of coffee with him. He handed her a pamphlet about the ferry. “This ferry runs every day, summer and winter. It's an ice cutter so it can chop a path over to Washington Island. There's six miles of water between Northport and the island. Can you imagine being on this baby when it's cutting through six miles of ice?”

“Makes me want to move to Arizona.” Lacey sniffed the coffee and sighed with pleasure before taking a sip.

“What do you know about the two robberies over here?” Lark asked, trying to take his mind off how sexy she was when she drank coffee.

“One family came over Saturday night and noticed that their collection of old toys and a very old Noah's Ark set were missing, and the other guy came over early Sunday morning and found that his coin collection and a painting were gone.”

“Coins, that's a new one.”

“One other robbery in Rowleys Bay involved coins; a bunch of twenty-dollar gold pieces. This guy said only a few close friends know about his coin stash over here. He's just gone through a divorce. He got the Washington Island cabin and all its contents.”

“Didn't want the wife to know what he had so he brought it over to the cabin,” Lark said. “Wonder if she knew about his coin stash?”

“One more thing we'll have to check out.” Lacey settled back in her seat.

They made small talk until the dock on Washington Island came into view. The next few hours passed rapidly as they met with the two families.

The Sternhagen family from Madison, Wisconsin, had lost a large collection of cast-iron toy soldiers with an estimated value of $14,500 and a carved wooden Noah's Ark that had been in their family for at least five generations. The Ark and its seventy-four pairs of animals had been appraised for insurance purposes at $8,200. The soldiers and the Noah's Ark had been on display in the great room and study of their summerhouse for years. Once again, the most valuable things in the house had been stolen.

Their house showed no signs of a break-in. The Sternhagens had a cleaning service that closed the house for them when they left the island. They hadn't been on the island since the Christmas holidays and claimed that everything was intact and the house was locked when they got there. They laughed when asked if they had a burglar alarm and told Lark and Lacey that they had believed, until then, that Washington Island was the safest place in the world.

Mr. Gorean, a retiree from Racine, Wisconsin, who spent his summers on Washington Island, had indeed lost a large collection of American coins. Prior to his divorce he had brought the majority of his collection up to the cottage on the island that he had inherited from his grandparents. According to him, his wife had always thought his coin collection was a waste of money until he decided he wanted a divorce. She then became fascinated with every one of their assets including his coins. His entire $32,000 collection had been stolen.

He was furious at his wife, claiming that she had come to the cabin, a place she hated and rarely came to during their marriage, and secreted away his beloved coins. His claim was bolstered by the fact that he had kept the majority of his collection in a section of one of his bookcases that he had personally created to hide his coins. He was an active member of the Numismatic Societies in Door County and Racine and admitted that other coin collectors in both communities knew of his collection. He claimed that no one but his wife knew where it was hidden in the cabin. He had last been at the cabin the first weekend in May.

Lark and Lacey both agreed that he must have loved his coins because he had cataloged each one including grade and value. He had also photographed his more valuable coins. He provided them with a copy of his list and photographs as well as his insurance appraisal. Fortunately, he had recently insured his collection.

His painting by Hockney was also insured. He gave them a photograph of the colorful abstract and explained that although he had never much liked the painting, it had been one of his wife's favorite art objects. An expression of satisfaction spread across his face as he explained how he had won it in the divorce. When Lacey commented that it seemed a little out of place in the northwoods decor of the cabin, he told her that he had been planning on selling it and didn't care if he ever got it back as long as he got the insurance money for it.

Mr. Gorean denied using a cleaning service, stating that he did not like having strangers in his house and that he was perfectly capable of picking up after himself after living for years with his slovenly ex-wife. He did not have a security system but did keep his house locked at all times. He said that he had no idea anyone had been in his house until he went to get out his coin collection the morning after he had arrived and discovered it was gone. The painting had been sitting in a corner of the cottage guest room. He had discovered that it was missing while doing a search of the cabin after discovering the theft of the coins.

Lark and Lacey checked out the interior and the grounds of both houses and found nothing out of place. Both homes were situated down winding drives and shrouded by evergreens and underbrush that made them hard to see from the road. Both homes were on the shore of Lake Michigan, and each had a pier and a dock for the owner's boat. Mr. Gorean also had an old ramshackle barn on his property. They walked through the barn and found nothing of interest. They scheduled times for the evidence techs to go over both houses and headed back to the dock to catch the ferry.

May 29—Washinton Island, Wisconsin

Lark and Lacey pulled up to the dock and stared at the white-capped waves the ferry was leaving in its wake as it chugged out into the lake.

“Dammit, Lark. I told you we were going to be late, but, nooo, you had to take your sweet time checking out that barn, and what did we find? Nothing. Not a damn thing. Now we're going to be stuck here all night.” She slumped forward and rested her head against the steering wheel. “I should have never taken my overnight bag out of the car. It was in here for months after that two weeks I spent in Big Oak. Why me?” she moaned.

“You seem a little upset about missing the ferry.” Lark reached over and patted her shoulder. “I'm sure lover boy can get along by himself for one night.”

“You bastard.” Lacey slapped his hand away and started the car. “Where to now?”

“Why don't we see if the ferry will make one more run tonight?” Lark got out of the car and headed for the ferry office. Lacey sighed and followed him. The office was dark and the door was locked.

“That went well,” Lacey snapped as they headed back to the car.

“You have a better idea?”

“Let's go find some toiletries and a place to stay. Then let's get some dinner. I want to go to bed early so we can be on the first ferry in the morning.”

They left the parking lot and drove out to Mann's Mercantile, where they bought the necessities of life—toothbrush, toothpaste, beer, potato chips, and a Washington Island sleep shirt for Lacey. The clerk cheerfully recommended the Horizon Resort on the west side of the island and offered to call for reservations. Lacey got directions and insisted that they drive there instead. It took less than five minutes to get to the hotel named the Horizon for the breathtaking westward view of Lake Michigan.

“I swear, if they don't have two rooms, I'm sleeping on the damn beach.” Lacey got out of the car and headed for the office.

“If they don't have two rooms, I'll sleep in the car and you can have the bed.” Lark opened the office door for her.

They were quickly put out of their misery when the clerk assured them that he had two no-smoking rooms available. They dumped their meager belongings in their rooms and headed back up the road to eat dinner.

“We could always eat there.” Lark pointed at the crowded drive-in called the Albatross. The gravel parking lot was full of cars. Adults stood in line to place their orders and kibitzed at the picnic tables. A large sandbox and a swing set were overrun with kids.

“You're not serious,” Lacey said as she drove slowly past the drive-in.

Lark's eyes twinkled. “Looks like fun. I spent a lot of time at places like this when I was a kid.”

“Not on your life. I want to go to that place across from the Mercantile, the one with the ‘lawyers' sign in the window.”

“Wonder what that's about?”

“Damn if I know,” Lacey replied as they pulled into the parking lot. She started laughing as they walked up to the restaurant. She pointed at the red neon sign in the window that screamed, “We serve fresh lawyers daily.”

“Before we leave here I have to get a picture of that. I've got several lawyer friends I want to have it framed for.” They went across the street to the mercantile, got a disposable camera, and snapped the pictures before they sat down to dinner.

Fresh lawyers turned out to be a whitefish caught daily in Lake Michigan and known locally as a burbot. They needed little persuasion to order it complete with potatoes, coleslaw, and cherry pie. They agreed to split an order of fried cheese curds while they drank Leinenkugel's and waited for their dinner.

“I'm going to get as big as a house if I don't stop eating these curds,” Lacey said as she popped one of the golden morsels in her mouth.

“Dancing is great exercise. Keep it up and you can eat all the fried curds you want.”

“Shit.” Lacey rummaged through her bag.

“What's wrong,” Lark asked, alarmed by her tone of voice and the mound of items she was removing from her purse.

“I was supposed to meet Gene at the Railhouse. It's swing night.” She pulled her cell phone out of her purse and dialed. “Dammit, he's not there.”

She called his pager number and left a message. Five minutes later her phone rang. It was a nurse telling her that Dr. Boskirk was in surgery. She asked the nurse to tell Gene that she was stuck on Washington Island for the night and would call him when she got back in the morning.

When she finished talking, Lark was on his phone. She couldn't help but listen as he made a dinner date with Sophie for the following night.

“So how is America's Italian sex goddess?” Lacey asked when Lark got off the phone.

He grinned as he picked up the last cheese curd. “This is a side of you I would never have expected to see.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Lacey Smith being catty.”

“Catty,” Lacey snapped. “Spare me.”

“The two of you have a lot in common.”

“Oh, please,” Lacey sputtered. “We have nothing in common.”

“You're both smart, beautiful, independent women with exciting jobs. Some women are initially put off by Sophie, but once they get to know her, they usually like her. Maria did.”

“How nice that your ex-lover and your deceased wife could forge a friendship.”

Lark tipped up his bottle to drink the last of his beer. He carefully set it down on the table. “That was uncalled for. I have two sisters so I'm familiar with bitchy women. I'm going to the bar to get myself another beer. When I get back, I'd like to start this conversation over again.” He strode away from the table.

Lacey mentally kicked her own ass all over the restaurant. She squared her shoulders and got ready to make amends as Lark approached the table.

“I apologize. That remark about your wife was way out of line.”

“Apology accepted. Let's change the subject and talk about these robberies. Got any ideas?”

“Whoever is responsible for this seems to know their stuff. It's got to be someone who knows a lot about a wide range of antiques and how to get rid of them.”

“Like a dealer,” Lark said. “Someone who would know how to discreetly move high-end collectibles without drawing attention to them.”

Lacey nodded. “Where are they keeping all this stuff and why hasn't someone noticed them going in and out of these properties?”

“They're either the slickest or the luckiest bastards I've ever seen. Both these properties are very secluded. What about the other places?”

“They're all secluded behind landscaping or on larger plots of land not close to anyone else,” Lacey replied.

“Have you been able to narrow down a time frame for the robberies?”

“We've been so busy getting the preliminary investigations done that we haven't been able to put too much together yet. We know the houses have been vacant from one to five months. We're checking on the services the homeowners might use to see if there are any connections. We know they use several different insurance companies and agents, so there's no crossover there. There are three agencies in Door County who do cleaning and opening and closing of vacation properties. They have keys to the properties they manage, so their employees are a possibility. Most of the homeowners used agencies for this. The problem is that all three cleaning services were used. I spent the morning with the agencies cross-referencing their current and old employee lists. There are several people who have worked for two of the agencies, and two people who have worked for all three. I'm trying to find time to finish the list and set up interviews with the two people who could have had access to all the homes.”

“Is the MO the same for each robbery?”

“So far there's no sign of a break-in at any of the houses, which is very disturbing. Someone is getting in and out and you'd never know they'd been there if the owners didn't find things missing.”

“A professional thief must have found Door County. It's just a hop from here to Chicago and Milwaukee. Have you asked them for help?”

“Joel has but we haven't gotten anything back yet. If it's a pro, it has to be someone who has spent a lot of time up here. You've got to know a lot about this area as well as when these people come and go to get into this many houses and not leave a trace or get caught.”

Their waitress brought their food: steaming plates of baby red potatoes and broiled whitefish accompanied by a dish of coleslaw and a plate of homemade rolls.

Lacey took a bite of the whitefish and swooned with delight. “This is delicious, the best whitefish I've ever had.”

“Never knew lawyers could taste so good,” Lark said around a mouthful of fish and potatoes.

They suspended their conversation about the case and discussed Door County and their meal. They both grinned from ear to ear when waitress brought them warm cherry pie topped with vanilla ice cream for dessert.

They walked out of the restaurant into a cool but sunny evening. The air was redolent with the smell of lilac from the tall, voluptuous bushes that edged the parking lot. Birds were beginning to roost in the trees and bushes and frogs could be heard singing in the distance.

“God, it's gorgeous here this time of year, isn't it?” Lark said as they headed for the car.

“Yep, it's paradise until the bugs come. Then you probably need to wear a beekeeper's suit to go outside.” Lacey got in the Jeep.

“What's eating you?”

“I'm not sure. I'm just very irritable. Ignore it and I'll try and straighten up.” She headed south on Main Road and pulled up to the stop sign at Detroit Harbor Road, where the Albatross parking lot continued to overflow with cars and people and their kids.

“Want an ice cream cone?”

“A what?” Lacey asked, looking at him as if he'd slipped a cog. “Did you say ice cream cone after all the food we just put away?”

“I was trying to think of something to cheer you up. Chocolate ice cream has worked for other women I have known.” Lark glanced over at her incredulous face. “Apparently not this time.”

Lacey turned west toward their motel and burst out laughing. “Thank you for the offer but I'm stuffed. Let's go watch the sunset and get some rest so we can make the seven
A.M
. ferry.”

Lark nodded, not wanting to rock the boat. They pulled into their motel and walked out to the beach. The sun was glistening like yellow diamonds on the gentle waves of Lake Michigan. The cloudless powder-blue sky was ablaze with orange, pink, and purple streaks.

Lacey walked down to the wooden lounges at the edge of the beach. She slipped off her shoes and dropped them on the chair and headed toward the water. Lark followed, keeping his shoes on. They walked north up the beach. They passed a cedar and fieldstone summer cottage nestled into the woods just back from the beach. Its windows were dark. Although it looked well kept, it didn't look like anyone was living there.

“I think if I had one of these places, I'd want to be here all the time. It's so peaceful.” Lacey shaded her eyes and turned west to watch the sun creep toward the water.

“I live in ‘peaceful' and it's wonderful most of the time. But every once in a while you want to go where there's a little action.”

“How can someone rob so many high-end cottages in a place where everyone knows everyone and go unnoticed?”

“Maybe it's a tourist,” Lark said.

“A tourist here for an extended stay going unnoticed?” Lacey shook her head. “I don't think so.”

“Good point.” Lark stopped to watch a deer emerge from the woods. He held out his arm to stop Lacey and pointed toward the doe. Two tiny spotted fawns stepped out of the woods and followed her to the water's edge.

“My God, those are the smallest fawns I've ever seen,” Lacey whispered. The doe raised up in alarm and stared at Lark and Lacey. She stamped her hoof and bleated at her two small charges. When they didn't move, she nosed them back toward the woods.

“Let's head back and leave mom and the babies in peace.” Lark put his arm through Lacey's as he turned around.

They sauntered back down the beach arm in arm. Lark went up to his motel room and got them each a beer. They sat on the lounges and watched the sunset. Once the sun was down, they went to their motel rooms.

Lark turned on his television but found nothing of interest. He turned it off and began reading the new Steve Hamilton paperback he'd purchased at the mercantile. He was immediately immersed in Hamilton's descriptions of the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, an area so like northern Wisconsin.