Murder in the Air (46 page)
Authors: Ellen Hart
Tags: #Fiction, #General, #Suspense, #Mystery & Detective, #Women Sleuths, #Mystery & Detective - Women Sleuths, #Mystery, #detective, #Fiction - Mystery, #Mystery & Detective - General, #Women Detectives, #Crime & Thriller, #Crime & mystery, #Hotelkeepers, #Radio plays, #Saint Paul (Minn.), #Minneapolis (Minn.), #Greenway; Sophie (Fictitious character), #Radio broadcasters
“The problem is, I don't know why I'm so hot and bothered. We're not even sure if the damn thing would have vindicated Justin Bloom. Not that it matters anymore.” Slipping his hand over hers, he said, “Want to take a drive?”
“You mean, if I'm a good girl, I can come along this time?”
“Sarcasm doesn't become you, dear.”
“Since when?”
The snow came down furiously as they sped along 1-94 heading for the Elk River exit. Common wisdom in Minnesota said that if the temperatures dropped below zero, the weather would be clear and cold. Tonight, however, the common wisdom was wrong, much to Bram's growing concern. The temperatures were in the single digits below zero, while the windchill factor was somewhere in the vicinity of forty-four below.
“What an altogether splendid night,” he muttered, squinting to see the road ahead.
Sophie turned the defroster fan up to high. “At least there isn't much traffic.”
“It doesn't matter. I told her an hour. It's going to be at least two before we get there—possibly more.”
“Well, she can see the roads are bad, honey. She'll make allowances.”
Bram shook his head. “I have absolutely no confidence that I'm ever going to meet that woman face-to-face. And now, since the letter's gone, I'm not sure there's any point in risking our lives in this blizzard.”
“It's not a blizzard, sweetheart, it's just your average garden-variety snowy night.”
“There's something wrong with that description, Sophie.”
She shrugged. “Besides, Molly must think there's a point, or she wouldn't have insisted you come.”
“Yeah, maybe.” The snow was starting to form drifts, which spread across the pavement like snakes, making it difficult to see where the road ended and the ditch began. “I think we should move to Florida and sell Earth shoes on the beach.”
“You say that every January, Bram. I'm not even sure they make Earth shoes anymore. Maybe you should update your dream. You don't want to appear out of date.”
He gave her a sideways glance. “How much farther to the turnoff?”
She switched on the map light and took a look. “We're very close. Probably another mile or two.”
Half an hour later they pulled into the drive at the Starlight Motel, nearly an hour late. The sign outside said
NO VACANCY
. Bram assumed that most Minnesotans had the sense not to travel on a night like this. He wished he were one of them.
The parking space in front of number 7 was empty. A bad sign, he thought as he pulled into it. From the lack of snow on the ground, it looked as if someone
had
been parked there—until very recently.
“Let me check the room out first,” said Bram, leaving the engine running so that Sophie wouldn't freeze to death while
she waited. He slid out of the front seat and walked quickly up to the door. Bending close, he knocked and then called, “Molly? It's Bram.” He waited several seconds. When no one answered, he knocked again. “Molly? I'm sorry I'm late, but the roads were a mess.” He looked over his shoulder and gave Sophie a shrug. After almost a full minute he tried the handle. The door was open.
Feeling his body tense and his heart beat faster, he kicked it back. Inside, the light was on, but the room was empty. “Molly?” he called again. As his eyes searched the interior he heard a car door slam. An instant later Sophie was by his side.
“Isn't she here?” she asked, squeezing into the room in front of him.
“It appears not. I don't see a suitcase either, or any clothes.”
“But the bed's been slept in,” she said, moving over to examine the nightstand. “Maybe we should check the bathroom.”
Bram recalled the last time he'd inspected a bathroom. Rushing to the door, he pushed it open. “Jeez,” he said, bending over and resting his hands on his thighs. “That didn't do wonders for my blood pressure. She's not here.”
“What are you doing!” demanded a deep voice.
Bram and Sophie turned to find a tall, heavy set man standing in the doorway, a suspicious look on his face. Since he had on a black Hell's Angels T-shirt and faded black jeans, Bram assumed he was a guest.
“Answer me,” he ordered. He reached behind him and whipped a gun out of his belt.
Sophie backed up until she bumped into Bram. “We're … ah, looking for Molly Stanglund,” she said, trying but failing to sound resolute.
“Who's
we?”
asked the man holding the gun.
“I'm Bram Baldric. And this is my wife, Sophie.”
“Uh-huh. Let's see some proof.”
Bram wasn't quite sure why it was necessary, but decided that under the circumstances, cooperation was in order. He
carefully lifted his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans and handed it over.
Keeping the gun pointed at them, the man dropped his eyes to it briefly, then looked back up. “All right. I guess you're who you say you are. Come with me.”
“Why?” asked Bram. This was getting weirder by the minute.
“I'm the manager. I got something for you.”
Bram and Sophie exchanged glances, then silently fell in behind the man as he led the way down a long, badly drifted sidewalk.
Once inside the office, he said, “I been expecting you.” He ducked down under an old Formica counter and then popped up on the other side. “Molly and I were good buddies, that's why she picked this motel to flop for the night. We bike together—we both own a hog. You know what that is?”
Bram smiled pleasantly. “Someone who eats too much?”
The manager gave Bram a thorough once-over. “It's a Harley. You ever done any biking, Mr. Baldric?”
“I prefer water sports.”
His lips curled into a smile. “I catch your program every now and then, but I figured you for a much younger guy.”
“Younger than what?”
“Where's Molly?” asked Sophie, putting an end to the banter. She rested her elbows on the stained Formica.
“Well, now,” said the manager. He pulled up a stool and sat down. “She waited until close to three, but just didn't feel comfortable sticking around any longer, so she took off.”
“Will she be back?” asked Bram.
“Nope.” He removed an envelope from the top drawer and pushed it across the counter. “But she left you this.”
Bram picked it up. There was something invitingly heavy inside, but he didn't want to open it until they got back to the car. “Thanks,” he said, holding the door open for his wife.
“Don't mention it, Mr. Baldric. See you on the radio.”
“Open it!” demanded Sophie, rubbing her gloved hands together to keep them warm.
Bram started the engine. The first order of business was to get the heater going. Once that was accomplished, he flipped on the dome light. Taking off one glove, he ripped back the flap. Inside was a letter and a key. He held the key up to the light, examining both sides, then handed it to Sophie. “It has a number on it.”
“I'm not blind. Hold the letter up so I can read it, too.”
Dear Mr. Baldric,
I'm not a very good writer, but I thought I'd put something down on paper because I can't wait around here any longer. Like I told you on the phone, the letter from my grandfather got burned. I thought I had it hidden so well no one would ever find it, not even if they broke into my house, which I thought was not only possible, but likely. I never figured on afire.
I'll tell you briefly what it said. My grandfather took a bribe from a man named Manderbach. Manderbach wanted him to lie about what took place on Christmas eve 1958. See, Justin Bloom didn't murder his girlfriend, some guy who was hired by Manderbach did. The reason my grandfather lied was because my grandmother was very ill. She'd had three operations, but needed a fourth. My grandfather had basically mortgaged everything they had to pay for the first three operations. He didn't have anything else left, so he took the money Manderbach offered him. The sad thing is, my grandmother died during that last surgery. My grandfather was an honest cop, up until then. He had strong reasons for what he did, and I don't hold it against him. He resigned from the force about a year later. He fished a lot after that, but his health pretty much went downhill.
The two of us were always close. I moved to Oregon in my early twenties, and that's where he sent me the letter telling me the truth. He said he couldn't tell anyone else in the family, the disgrace would kill them, but he had to tell someone, so he picked me. He was dying when he wrote
the letter. He asked me to come home because he had something to give me.
I took a leave of absence from my job and came home to Minnesota. On his deathbed, he handed me a packet. I had no idea what was in it. He said, burn that letter I sent you. Don't ever let anyone see it. And later, he said, if Manderbach ever tried to bother me, or anyone else in the family, I should give the packet to the police
—
but only if absolutely necessary. He told me to keep the packet somewhere safe and not to open it. He died three days later.
I took the packet with me when I went back to Oregon. That's what I went to get when I left here two weeks ago. Right now it's in one of those lockers at the bus station. The one in Minneapolis. The number is on the key. I finally opened the package. It's some photos of an old car. One side of the front end is pretty messed up. And there are some negatives, too. My grandfather made copies to give to Manderbach, but kept the originals. But what's really important is there's a full confession signed by my grandfather. He even had it witnessed by some friend of his, so I think it's legal. But I don't know if it's something you could use in a court of law. I thought you might know. I listened to part of your program this afternoon, and I heard that Lawless guy talk about the old murder case. Maybe you should give the packet to him. He sounded pretty smart on the subject.
That's about it. I never would have gone to Oregon to get the packet if my house hadn't burned down. It's funny how things work out sometimes.
Have a nice life, Mr. Baldric.
Very truly yours,
Molly Stanglund
Bram looked up, feeling such a rush he could barely contain himself. “My God, we've got it!” He hit the steering wheel with his fists and whooped with delight. “This is the proof no one thought existed!”
“Talk about the key to Pandora's box,” said Sophie, holding it under the map light.
Bram hugged her, then threw the car into reverse and backed out of the parking spot.
“What's our next move?” she asked, strapping on her seat belt. They slid onto an icy street, nearly hitting a parked car as the Explorer made an unscheduled one-hundred-and-eighty-degree turn.
“Next stop, the Greyhound bus depot.”
“In this blizzard?”
“We're Minnesotans. We're tough. We're resourceful.”
“And we got rocks for brains.”
“Yes!” He looked both ways, then fishtailed onto the highway. Skidding between two immense snowdrifts, they sped off into the snowy night.
Ethel's Favorite Fruitcake Cookies
3 cups mixed candied fruit
11/2 cups raisins
11/2 cups currants
1 cup chopped mixed nuts (pecans, walnuts, almonds)
21/2: cups flour
1/2 tsp. baking powder
1/2 tsp. salt
1 tsp. each ground cinnamon, allspice, and cloves
1/2 cup (1 stick) butter
3 eggs, separated
11/2 cups brown sugar
11/2 tsps. vinegar
1/2 cup evaporated milk
1/2 cup brandy
Mix fruit and nuts with one cup of the flour. Set aside. Add soda, salt, and spices to the rest of the flour. Cream the butter and sugar, then add the yolks and mix. Add vinegar to the milk and combine with the creamed mixture. Add remaining flour, stirring well. Add brandy and floured fruit mix. Beat egg whites until stiff. Fold into mixture. Drop by spoonfuls onto greased cookie sheet. Bake in a 325-degree oven for 10 to 15 minutes, or until slightly browned.
Norwegian Sandbakkelse
For these cookies you will need sandbakkel forms, available in most kitchen/cooking stores.
3/4 cup white granulated sugar
1 cup butter
1
egg
15 blanched almonds, ground in food processor
1 tsp. almond extract
21/2 cups flour
Cream sugar and butter. Add egg, almonds, and extract. Add flour and press into sandbakkel forms. Bake in oven, 350 degrees, until golden brown—about 10 minutes.
Merry Winter Cookies
3/4 cup shortening
1 cup white granulated sugar
1
egg,
beaten
1/4 cup molasses
2 cups sifted flour
21/2 tsps. soda
1 tsp. cinnamon
1 tsp. ginger confectioner's sugar
Cream the shortening and sugar. Add egg and molasses. Combine the flour, soda, and spices. Stir flour mixture into creamed mixture. Chill. Form the dough into balls the size of a walnut and roll in powdered sugar. Place 2 inches apart on a greased cookie sheet. Bake at 375 degrees for 10 minutes, or until done.
Ella Anderson's Best Sugar Cookies
1 cup powdered sugar
1 cup white granulated sugar
1 cup butter
1 cup oil
2 eggs
4 cups plus 4 heaping T. of flour
1 tsp. baking soda
1 tsp. salt
1 tsp. cream of tartar
Cream the sugar, butter, and oil together. Beat in eggs. Mix dry ingredients together and add to creamed mixture. Drop by heaping teaspoons onto greased cookie sheet. Press down slightly with the flat part of a glass dipped in sugar. Decorate with colored sugars, nuts, cherries—any Christmas decorations you like.
Bake for 10 minutes at 350 degrees, or until slightly golden.
Mincemeat Cookies
1 cup butter
11/2 cups sugar
3 eggs
1 9-oz. package prepared mincemeat
31/4 cups flour
1 tsp. baking soda
1/2 tsp. salt
Cream shortening and sugar. Add eggs and beat well. Combine dry ingredients and add to creamed mixture. Crumble mincemeat and stir into mix. Bake 10-12 minutes at 350 degrees on a greased cookie sheet.
Russian Tea Cakes
1 cup soft butter
1/2 cup powdered sugar
1 tsp. vanilla
21/4 cups flour
1/4 tsp. salt
1 cup ground walnuts powdered sugar
Cream butter and sugar. Add vanilla. Grind walnuts in a food processor. Add flour and salt to the creamed mixture, then ground nuts. Chill in refrigerator for one hour. Roll into walnut-size balls. Bake on an ungreased cookie sheet at 350 degrees 10-12 minutes, or until slightly browned.
When slightly cool, roll in powdered sugar. When completely cool, roll in powdered sugar again. Before serving, roll in powdered sugar one last time.
Norwegian Sugar Cookies
1 cup butter
2 cups brown sugar
2 eggs
2 cups flour
1 tsp. salt
1 tsp. baking soda dissolved in a little water (1 T. or so)
3/4 cup coconut
1 cup raisins
2 cups rolled oatmeal (grind this in a food processor)
Cream butter and sugar. Add the eggs and beat well. Mix the dry ingredients together. Add to creamed mixture. Add raisins, oats, and coconut. Drop by teaspoonfuls onto ungreased cookie sheet. Bake 10-12 minutes at 350 degrees.
Finnish Cookie Sticks
(Suomalaiset Puikot)
1 cup soft butter
1/2 cup sugar
1 egg
1 tsp. almond extract
1/4 tsp. salt
3 cups flour
Coating: I beaten egg, sugar (can use colored Christmas sugars), 1/2 cup chopped almonds
Cream butter and sugar. Add eggs and extract and mix well. Stir in dry ingredients, blending well. Work the dough with the hands until smooth. Shape into long rolls, about 1/2 inch thick. Cut into 2-inch lengths and roll in beaten egg, then in sugar, and then in the chopped almonds. Place on a lightly greased baking sheet. Bake 350 degrees until just barely golden.
Chocolate Meringue Kringles
These cookies are much lower in fat than those containing butter and whole eggs.
12 oz. chocolate (chocolate chips work fine)
5 egg whites
1 cup granulated sugar
1/2 tsp. vanilla
1 cup chopped maeadamia nuts (or walnuts, or pecans)
Melt the chocolate in the top of a double boiler. Set aside to cool to room temperature. Allow egg whites to come to room temperature and then beat until they form soft peaks. Very slowly, add the sugar—a tablespoon at a time. Beat well after each addition. Beat the mixture until thick and
glossy. Fold the chocolate into the egg whites with a rubber spatula. Add vanilla and nuts. Drop immediately on a cookie sheet lined with parchment paper. These cookies will spread, so allow two inches between cookies. Bake at 350 degrees for 10 to 12 minutes. (The centers will still be slightly moist.) After removing them from the oven, let them sit a minute or two to firm before removing them to a rack to cool.
