Ray Elkins mystery - 02 - Color Tour (7 page)

“How does your laundry system work?”

“The student body is divided into four laundry groups, corresponding with the days of the week, Monday through Thursday. Members of each group are to drop off their wash on their assigned day when they come to breakfast. Mrs. French washes and folds the laundry and takes it back to the dorms where the students pick it up.”

“The underwear, how many pairs disappeared?”

“Don’t know exactly, five, ten pairs.”

“And how did you decide it was Arnie?”

“I didn’t decide, Tom came to me with the suspicion. He thought that since the problem started after Arnie was moved to the laundry, he was the most likely suspect.”

“How about the woman in the laundry, Mrs. French, did you talk to her?”

“I had a short conversation with her.”

“Did she think Arnie had taken any underwear?”

“No. But even if she had, she probably wouldn’t have said anything. She was very protective of Arnie. Apparently she’s known him for years.”

“Did you ask her directly if she had seen him take some underwear?”

“Yes, and she said if she had she would have done something about it.”

“The clean laundry, where does Mrs. French put it when she takes it back to the dorms?” Ray asked.

“There’s a room off the lobby with mailboxes and an area for the laundry.”

“Is this a supervised area, a place where someone—the house parents—watches the comings and goings?”

“No,” Warrington responded.

“So, it would be possible for another student to snatch some laundry now and then?”

“It’s possible, but I really think that Arnie is the most probable suspect. And that was Tom’s thinking when he asked me for permission to fire Arnie. There was also the problem that the girls believed it and were refusing to work in the laundry if he was going to be in there with them.”

“Were there any other suspects?” Ray asked with mild irritation.

“No, he was the obvious suspect,” Warrington said.

“No one else would have had an opportunity to steal these articles?”

“I can tell by your sarcasm that you’re not very impressed with… ”

“I didn’t mean to be sarcastic,” Ray said, “but isn’t the evidence awfully weak?”

“Perhaps it is, but I have a school to run here. I have a million details to see to every day and on some of these things I go with the judgment of my staff. This was a quick fix to a problem. We did everything we could to accommodate Arnie’s disabilities. But we’re not a social agency, we’re a school.”

“And if laundry continues to disappear, will Arnie Vedder be called back to work?”

Warrington’s anger flashed. “Is there anything else, sheriff?”

10
It was just a few miles from Leiston School to Nora Jennings’s home on Lake Michigan’s shore, Ray’s next destination before he began searching for Arnie Vedder. Ray pulled into Nora’s drive. The doors of her detached garage were open, and the tailgate of her Ford Explorer was ajar.

When Ray slammed his door, acacophony of barking erupted as both dogs ran to the screen door and announced his arrival. They quieted when Nora came to the door. “Going somewhere?” he asked as she unlatched the door for him.

“Just got back,” she explained. “Had to get supplies to make these guys some more food.”

“Do you think they have any idea how good they have it?” he asked, kneeling and rubbing the dogs, one with each hand. “A special diet—free-range chickens and organic brown rice with assorted vegetables mixed in.”

“Just look at them, and you’ve got your answer,” she responded with pride. “They’re ten and twelve, Ray. Look at the condition they’re in, fit and healthy.”

“I had a call early this morning, Nora.”

“I bet you did,” she responded with a knowing nod. “Jeannie, my daughter, rang you at home I bet, probably before seven.”

“She’s worried, and I think her concern is justified,” observed Ray. “Even if she hadn’t phoned, I was planning on coming by and talking to you today. In fact, I almost drove over late last night. I didn’t like the idea of you being alone.”

“Ray, it’s been ten years since Hugh died. Ten years I’ve been here alone and nothing has ever happened.”

“True,” agreed Ray. “But there’s never been a murder on this beach before. Everything is different now and will be until we find the murderer. “

“I’ve got protection,” Nora said. She crossed the room and pulled a double-barreled shotgun from the top of the mantle. The long, heavy old weapon loomed large against her delicate frame. “It’s loaded with buckshot, too.”

Ray crossed to her and lifted the unwieldy firearm from her grip. He inspected it carefully, noting the hammers were not cocked; then he opened the breach. Using the nails on his thumb and middle finger, he extracted the two shells and scrutinized them. After setting the cartridges on the table, he pointed the barrel toward a ceiling light in the kitchen and looked at the bore.

Nora stood a few feet away, watching Ray’s careful examination. “Well, doctor, how’s the patient’s health?”

“When was the last time this was fired?” he asked, setting the shotgun on the table.

“Well, it’s probably been awhile.”

“Nora,” he pronounced her name slowly. “How many years?”

“Before Hugh died.”

“How long?”

“Well, you know, he was sick for awhile. A few years, I guess.”

“So, what do you think, maybe fifteen years?”

“Probably less,” Nora answered, her weak smile suggested that it was probably more, and that they both knew it.

“Have you ever fired this?”

“Oh, yes,” she affirmed with great certainty. “Many times, many times. Hugh and I used to go duck hunting.”

“And you used this shotgun?”

“Well, no; I had my own gun, a twenty-gauge.”

Roy closed the breech of the empty gun and handed it back to her. “If you had to fire this antique, what would you do?”

“Easy, I’d cock it, hold it tight to my shoulder, and pull the triggers.”

“Show me how you’d cock it,” he pursued, handing the shotgun back to her.

She held the heavy gun at waist level. Using her thumb, she struggled to pull the hammer back on the right chamber. The left chamber was even more difficult. Finally, she looked up in defeat. “So what?” she asked.

“My concern is… ” He stopped. “Let me rephrase that.” He measured his words carefully. “Nora, this is a very old gun. It’s had a hard life, and it isn’t in the best shape. I’m not sure it would even be safe to fire with modern ammunition. It’s hard to cock, and it will have an enormous recoil. And there’s a good chance that an assailant could grab it away from you. There’s a murderer out there. I would feel much better if you were out of the area for a while.”

“I don’t want to go to Grosse Pointe. Last time I was there Jeannie took me around to several retirement villages. She had this whole speech on how much better it would be for me in one of those places.” She walked to the picture window and looked out at the lake, then turned back toward Ray. “I can’t imagine leaving this place. This is where I want to die.”

Ray looked at her and smiled; he noted the calm determination in her gray eyes. “How about your friend Dottie? You stayed with her for a couple of weeks last year after she came home from the hospital. Can you visit her for a few days? I would feel better if you were down in the village.”

“Is that what you want me to do?”

“Just for a while.”

They stood in silence for a long moment. Then, without enthusiasm, Nora said, “I’ll give her a call. She’d probably be happy to have the company.”

“Good. I want this to happen today.”

“Okay. Is there anything else?”

“One thing. In your collection of defensive weapons, didn’t you once show me a big knife you keep on your nightstand?”

“Yes, the bayonet. Hugh brought it back from the war.”

“Can I see it, please?”

“What’s this all about?” asked Nora.

“You’ve told me about it, but I’ve never seen it. So, while I’m inspecting your cache of weapons, I might as well look at that, too.”

Nora disappeared up the stairs toward her bedroom. She returned a few minutes later holding a large knife in a lacquered scabbard. She placed it in Ray’s hands. He pulled the knife from the case and examined the expertly chromed blade with rounded, dull edges. He smiled as he looked back at Nora. “Did Hugh bring this back from the army after WWII?” he asked.

“Yes. I found the knife in his old military footlocker when I was going through things after he died. I liked having it near me at night, especially at first when I was scared of being here alone.”

“Was Hugh in a drill team or a color guard?” he asked.

“Yes, he was, color guard. Remember how tall and handsome Hugh was? He looked just stunning in his uniform.”

Ray handed back the knife, smiling. “Hugh was a wonderful man, Nora.” He looked around. “I have a few minutes before my next meeting. Can I help you get packed?”

11
Ray waited as Nora called her friend Dottie and arranged to stay with her, then he helped her quickly gather her things. Once she and the dogs were loaded and on their way to the village, Ray drove three miles to the trailhead of Otter Lake Pathway, a series of footpaths that ran through thousands of acres of low marshland that included swamps, sinkholes, cedar forests, and one small lake that emptied into Lake Michigan via a long shallow stream.

Ray pulled into the leaf-covered asphalt parking lot near the trailhead. He found Deputy Sue Lawrence and Kim Vedder sitting on the back of Sue’s Jeep, pulling on tall rubber boots. After a hurried greeting, he also donned knee boots and a raincoat. The clear blue sky and early morning sunshine had been replaced by dense, leaden clouds blowing down Lake Michigan from the Upper Peninsula. Rain had started to fall again.

“Did you bring a GPS?” Ray asked Sue Lawrence.

“It’s here, and I just turned it on,” she responded, motioning toward the zippered pocket on her rain jacket.

They crossed the parking lot and a narrow band of dunes at the edge of the marsh, and then Kim led the way. The trio waded the stream, swelled over its banks by two days of near-continuous showers, and followed a muddy path into the cedar swamp. The rain intensified, bands of water were carried almost horizontally by the howling wind. Lightning flashed overhead, and thunder reverberated around them. The trail turned into a muddy stream as they slogged deeper into the swamp. And then the trail disappeared completely in the rising water.

Kim stopped, brushing loose strands of wet hair away from her face. She looked at the two possible paths through the marsh. “I not sure which way, I’ve only been here once. And with all this water it looks different.”

“We’ll go with your best guess, Kim,” said Ray.

“I just don’t know.”

Ray moved ahead of Kim and studied the terrain. “Let’s go to the right. The terrain looks a bit higher.” He sloshed ahead, finding firmer ground as they entered a thick stand of cedar. “Does this look familiar?” he asked.

“I can remember trees like this, we walked along the edge of a swamp.” She carefully surveyed the area. “If we can find the little lake, his hut will be off to the side.”

They worked their way through the cedar swamp, moving along the small isles of solid ground found at the base of the trees. Eventually they reached the shore of a mud lake, only a few dozen acres in size.

“This is it,” said Kim. “It’s about halfway around. Over there.” She pointed toward a thick stand of second growth pine.

Ray could see little through the fog and rain, but he marched off in that direction. A primitive wood and tarp shelter, thirty yards from the edge of the water near the base of a large pine, came into view. As they approached, Ray could see a metal stovepipe, but no hint of smoke. The frame of the tiny structure was built with small cedar logs. The walls were scraps of rough lumber and driftwood nailed in a haphazard manner to the log frame; the roof was draped with a blue plastic tarp fastened with ropes at the corners. A small wooden door faced the water. Ray pushed the door; it was secured on the inside. He shoved it forcefully, and it fell off its makeshift hinges. He peered into the dark cavity, and then fished for the small flashlight on his belt. In its beam he could see an unmoving body wrapped in a sleeping bag huddled against the back wall. Ray dropped to his knees and crawled through the door to get a better look. Sue crawled in behind him and helped illuminate the scene with her light.

“Is he okay?” Kim asked, looking over them from the outside.

Ray touched the wet clothing. He palpated the cold, clammy skin. He reached for the carotid artery, eventually finding a weak, stringy cadence. He put his light on Arnie’s face; his eyes were open but non-reactive to the light. “Arnie,” he said softly. He said it a second time, giving him a gentle shake. No response.

“Is he all right?” Kim asked the question again, this time more frantic than the first.

“Sue, do you have a large evidence bag?”

She crawled beside him. His flashlight pointed to a woman’s sandal close to Arnie on the floor. She carefully picked it up with a gloved hand and slid it into the bag, placing a second bag around the first.

“What’s wrong with him? Is he dead, sheriff?” asked Kim— panic in her voice as she peered over Ray’s shoulder.

“Arnie’s suffering from hypothermia. He’s been cold and wet for a long time. We’ve got to get him to the hospital. Kim, move outside for a few minutes while I cover him. Then you can sit with him.” Ray backed out of the hut. “Sue, see if dispatch can get a Coast Guard chopper in here. Tell them we have a victim in stage-three hypothermia.”

Ray took off his raincoat and jacket and climbed back into the shelter. After unwrapping the thin damp sleeping bag from Arnie’s upper torso, Ray covered him with his jacket and coat and laid him back down. Ray studied the 5-by-5-foot interior—the tiny sheet-metal stove in the corner with a plastic garbage bag nearby, a dented aluminum pan hanging on a nail at the side, three soggy
People
magazines, the wet blue nylon sleeping bag, and a small telescope laying near the stove—its eyepiece extending out from a protective nylon bag, nothing else. Kim crawled next to her son. “You can help him stay warm by holding him close,” he said. Kim lay next to Arnie and pulled him to her body.