Lie Catchers (17 page)

I’m sorry about the public take-down. Frankly, I don’t know how well I carried off the scene, but I am guessing you tried to help me make the thing work. I’ve never met a woman smarter than you are, Liv. I knew you’d pick up that I was playing the stereotyped character in your ‘Never Date a Detective’ feature. I hope I got the laconic part down…I tend to talk a lot more than the ersatz man in your article.

Chet alerted me you’d be with Tilly; she’s the number one town gossip and I knew she’d blab to Barber first chance she got. I wanted you, Tilly, and Nilson to be visibly surprised by my behavior, so no one got prepped. My boss put me in lead position on this case, which doesn’t please Nilson, but I think he might take orders from the hard-bitten, take-no-prisoners guy I played in front of you. I don’t believe he’s met a woman as quick-witted as you are, which is why you make him uncomfortable. You scare me a little bit, too. I would never try this unrehearsed script we just completed with another person besides you. Grinning now aren’t you, knowing you nailed a tough scene?

I see that my tone is too light when the situation is dead serious. Now I’m shaking my finger at you and looking grim. You must keep yourself safe. Any time you are not double-locked in your apartment, Chet, Ivor, Nilson, or I am with you. Nothing I said to you in front of Tilly was a lie even if I overdramatized each truth. My cover is blown, my boss is angry, Nilson is feeling whipped, and the case feels as cold as the LeConte Glacier. As I said, I was making progress in Fresno, but because Nilson’s efforts stalled, I’m glad to be back to help him here in Petersburg.

One more point I have to make. Every person who knows you well in Petersburg is positive you’re hiding more than a pseudonym and a string of articles. I agree. I can’t help but feel that your secrets need telling, first, for yourself, maybe for the case, and definitely for the town. It’s a chasm yawning as wide as the Grand Canyon between us, made deeper by my own experience of loving a woman whose death I feel responsible for. Someday I will tell you about her. I apologize for not being ready yet…for now, for me, that is a bridge too far.

The last sentence of the letter was handwritten in black, wide strokes, added after the drama outside the Viking Museum:

I wanted to ask about your shoulder, Liv, hoping the pain is gone. I envy my father for the chance to hang with you. Thanks for wearing the jade. More than anything I wish I could have jiggled that museum door and danced in the darkness with you.

-Parker

“I don’t like your Agent Browne, Liv,” Mallen said as she poured coffee for Liv and Jenny and nudged a plate of powdered rosettes toward them. They’d gathered in the enclosed sun porch of the B&B, overlooking Wrangell Narrows. A downpour outside darkened the view, the room, and their mood.

“He’s definitely not mine,” Liv said, picking up her cup, even as she strained to listen for Parker’s voice. “Never was. Never will be. He thinks I interfere; that the complaint letters we wrote messed up his case and his career.” She bit her bottom lip. “He’s warned me against looking for the person who shot me.” With a throat clearing, Liv said, “But I didn’t come to complain about
him
.” A turn to Jenny. “Just a few more questions about Sing Lee?”

“She’s not feeling that well today, Liv. I think she’d rather—”

Jenny put a hand on her granddaughter’s arm. “It’s okay. I want to help if I can.” She smiled at Liv. “I like the newspaper column, dear. You do a good job of humanizing the marshal. I met him on two occasions when Greta brought him home for dinner.” Jenny teared up. “Gre…Greta admired the man.”

Mallen stood abruptly, taking her coffee cup with her. “Excuse me, Liv. I’ll leave you to chat with Grandma while I do chores.”

When Mallen was out of earshot, Jenny said, “She’s protecting me.”

“From talking about Greta?”

“I miss my sister,” Jenny said. “She was a shy ten year-old when my mother died. I was only nine, but tougher than Greta was, so I stepped in as her big sis. Greta’s death last year was crushing.”

Liv leaned forward and touched Jenny’s knee. “I understand. I promise I’ll be quick with the questions and get out of your hair.” She grabbed a notepad from her purse and turned to a page with writing. “So, Greta was seventeen when she delivered bakery goods to Sing Lee’s Country Store twice a day?”

“True. Greta knew Sing Lee personally, I didn’t.”

“You mentioned last time we talked, that Greta had a boyfriend, a fisherman.”

Jenny’s eyes narrowed. “Tor Peterson was as handsome as he was mean. Hit her, verbally abused her. Yet she kept seeing him, sneaking off when I wasn’t looking.”

“Did the marshal know about the boyfriend? I mean if the guy had a nasty streak, he might have been a suspect for Sing Lee’s murder.”

Jenny seemed pleased with the idea. “That’s true. I never thought about Peterson’s relationship with the old Chinaman.”

“Were you aware of Peterson being questioned by the marshal?”

Jenny shook her head. “No, and Greta never mentioned it.”

“What happened to the guy?”

Closing her eyes, Jenny said, “She married him and they went to Juneau. He walked out on her after she had their second child.” She opened her eyes. “Thank God, her second husband was a decent fellow and adopted the children as his own.”

“Good. So the marshal might not have questioned Tor Peterson. I wonder why. He interviewed anyone who knew Sing Lee, including Greta, right?”

“As far as I know. Greta felt sorry for the marshal because he worked so hard but couldn’t get anywhere on the case. A lot like Parker.”

“You said before you didn’t know Sing Lee very well, but Greta did because she saw him twice a day. Did Greta like him?”

Jenny straightened the front of her sweater and spoke slowly. “She talked about Lee’s generosity with struggling fishermen. But at the core, he was very conservative and followed his Chinese teachings.”

“How’s that?”

She reached for a rosette and broke it apart on her plate, carefully shaking off the extra powdered sugar. “Oh, he’d spout quotes, preach about giving to others and talk about how the man had to be the leader of the family. Very old world.”

“So as much as Sing Lee tried to fit in the Norwegian culture, he continued to abide by his Chinese beliefs.”

“Exactly.”

“People didn’t mind that?”

Jenny shrugged. “Lots of people respect someone who holds fast to a philosophy or religion when there are so many others adrift without a belief system.” Eyes narrowed, Jenny said, “Witness the popularity of televangelists.”

“Do you think his beliefs put some people on edge?”

Looking at her hands, Jenny said, “I suppose so. I’m sure Sing Lee wasn’t comfortable in a town run by women.”

“If you don’t mind, I think I’ll go with your idea a clash of cultures might be afoot. The Marshal gets that clue from something Greta says. Okay with you?”

Jenny sighed and looked at Liv with tired eyes. “Do what you have to do, dear. Your guesses are as good as anyone’s, so many years after the fact.”

Liv took Jenny’s hand. “You’ve given me the burst of energy I need to finish the articles.” She brushed powdered sugar from her sweater at the same time Chet ambled into the living room. “Here’s my escort, come to walk me home. I appreciate your letting me talk about Greta in my column, Jenny; I’m trying to be as accurate as I can, but with so little information, I have to guess at some of the details. I want to help Petersburg understand how hard it is to solve crimes and let go of the guilt.” She hesitated. “You probably think I’m crazy.”

Jenny shook her head slowly and repeated, “Liv, dear, follow your heart.” She squeezed Liv’s hand. “And I’m sorry about you and Parker. I thought you made a lovely couple.”

Smiling, Liv put down her coffee cup and rose. She conjured her anti-detective feature and used a line from it: “The man is addicted to his job, Jenny. I’d like a man who is addicted to me.”

Jenny chuckled. “That’s the way to think about it. Are you going to talk to Nels and Anette again?”

“I am. One more time before I finish the series on Sing Lee’s death. Thanks for all your help.”

The old woman’s expression clouded for a moment before she responded. “Memories are tricky, Liv. As much as I want to recall the good times, it’s the painful events that whirl in my mind.”

“I’m sorry—”

Jenny flicked her hand. “Don’t apologize. Your way of deliberately focusing on the pain, may be healthier in the long run.”

****

Dear Parker,

Letters have super powers only if they’re saved. You made me flush mine down the toilet and now I’m troubled because I remember only some of your points, and must second-guess nuances I might have imagined. Yes, my memory failed me this time, perhaps because you threw me too many curves last night. My jade ensemble was overwhelmed and the weather changed by the minute. God, I hate disorder.

Example: I’m sure you mentioned at least two times, maybe even on three occasions, your deep desire to dance in the darkness with me. Next: You spoke, at some length of my intelligence along with my quick wit and splendid acting ability... four or five paragraphs of these plaudits, enough to swell any woman’s head. I thank you for the compliments.

The sentences you devoted to describing our charade were duly noted. We already agreed I can act. Do not, however, equate me with Kate, the shrill shrew. Relax. I will most definitely underplay the role you assigned me.

I promise to use Chet’s Escort’s Service any time I leave my apartment and during my clerking hours in the store. By the way, I’ve had to drag Chet to my mother’s so many times that the two of them have become good friends. Maybe more than friends. Thought you should know.

The part of your letter that is sketchy for me centers on hidden chasms minus bridges. Now, I might be a natural actress, but bridge-building could take some training. Constructing a bridge over a hidden chasm? There’s a challenge.

As for love lost. My heart goes out to you, Parker, along with a pang of envy. You have had a great love and lost it. I have never loved.

Back to dancing with me in the darkness. I remember, now. You wrote that sentence four times, and in the last phrasing, we’d stopped moving altogether, but held each other so tightly our hearts beat as one .

I am off to locate that thing you said I was hiding. Thanks for remembering the last time I wore jade.

Burn this!

Liv

****

“They meant well,” Ivor said gruffly, as he stood at the door of Parker and Nilson’s makeshift office, the gray décor dreary on a rainy afternoon. “Nilson and I had been chasing our tails for the last week, so the women decided on a letter-writing campaign.”

The agents sat at a long gun-metal desk, papers piled high on both ends. While Ivor spoke, Nilson focused on the gray tile floor, eyes narrowed.

Parker raised a hand of acknowledgement. “Women might be used to running this town, but
we’re
in charge of the investigation. I’m sorry I had to be a little sharp with Liv, but I figured she’d want me to be direct. Nilson and I want two things from your sister: All the information she can muster, along with her promise to keep safe. She could still be a target.”

A nod from Ivor, half-way mollified. Nilson sat straighter.

Parker cleared his throat, covering his satisfaction at bringing the two men on board. “Liv is intelligent and doesn’t like to be coddled. She appreciates candor. Add to that, she’s a key witness to Barber’s movements.” He raised his eyebrows. “She’d go ballistic if we stalled the investigation by not asking for her help.”

Ivor threw him a dirty look and shuffled to the window, where Parker joined him. Rain sheeted down the glass, mottling the view of Nordic Drive, its buildings disappearing over and over again, as their images coursed to the bottom pane.

“We’d like to use Liv as a resource if she’s willing to follow our rules to keep safe.”

Ivor nodded and mumbled something, turning his back to Parker.

“What?” Parker asked.

Louder, Ivor said, “She’s not as tough as she appears.”

“Point taken. Want to sit down with us?” He pointed Ivor to the chair next to Nilson and sat across from the two men. “We’ve taken you off the suspect list based on what we found out in Seattle along with a review of your finances. Now, we’re ready to tell you all that we know.”

Parker opened an evidence box and removed a small yellow tablet. “This is the reason we set up the Seattle PD and Treasury Task Force. In Everett Olson’s back pocket was a Rite in the Rain waterproof notebook, with a cover and pages that stay intact in wet conditions. We thought we could figure out exactly how long Olson was dead, based on soaking a new Rite in the Rain tablet in sea water. We wrote on it with pen and pencil before we dunked it in saltwater.” He held up the product and made a face. “Our experiment with a new notebook didn’t tell us a damn thing. After soaking a week it still looks new, with neither ink nor pencil notations affected by salt water.” Parker riffled through the pages of Everett Olson’s notepad. “It’s full of women’s names, phone numbers and addresses; we’ve checked them out with zero success. He had his wallet in his other pocket. Credit cards and driver’s licenses survived as did the money, so this wasn’t a simple robbery.”

Ivor took the tablet from Parker. “These Rite in the Rain notepads are sold in Petersburg. Fishermen use them to keep track of their catches.”

With a nod, Parker said, “I bought two as soon as I got to town. In this weather, I’ll bet every guy has one in his back pocket.”

Ivor held the yellow pad aloft. “You said the Seattle cops summoned the Treasury Department because of what’s in this?”

Taking the tablet from Ivor, Parker began to turn the thick pages, pointing out a number or a letter of the alphabet on twenty or so pages, all in the right hand corner. He pulled out a piece of paper with all the numbers and letters strung together. CA WEST 3345 2491 7642 80, followed by $3.2. “This is why Seattle PD called in Treasury. I’ve been working on the bank number in Fresno, long enough to know several things about the account,” said Parker. “First, the number is legit, with the right amount of characters in the correct order. CA stands for the Caymans.”