The Lost Women of Lost Lake (25 page)

Jane had been wondering about that. “Maybe he had it with him the night he died. Someone took it away from him and then killed him with it.”

“I don't buy that for a minute. That gun would have been dropped in the middle of the nearest lake. He wouldn't walk around with it.”

“So maybe he didn't kill Lyndie.”

“Then who did? You think Sabra—”

“That's one theory.”

“You have others?”

Jane took another sip of beer. “I gave you something. You give me something.”

“Like I said, it doesn't work that way.”

“Fine, then let's move on to another topic. Politics? Religion?”

Lifting the steaks onto a platter, Kelli covered them with the chimichurri sauce. “You're an infuriating woman, you know that?”

“I've been called worse.”

“What do you want?”

“Well, for one, tell me about Wendell Hammond. You found the gun in his locker at the theater.”

Kelli set the platter on the table and then sat down. Duchess settled next to her, chewing on a stick. “Hard to say. It's possible that the gun was planted. Although there are a couple of things that give me pause.”

“Such as?” said Jane, forking one of the steaks onto her plate.

“He phoned Lyndie a few hours before she died. When I asked him about it, he said it was a simple social call.”

“You believe that?”

“Yeah, I do. And I don't. It was something about his eyes. He wasn't telling me the whole truth, I know that much. And then there was the fire at his photography studio.”

“Fire?”

“His business burned down a couple of months ago. The guys on the scene—it's an all-volunteer fire department in Lost Lake—said they thought a space heater in the second-floor apartment, where he was living at the time, had started it. Except, a week or so later, when the insurance people brought in their own investigator, I began hearing the word
arson
. Wendell was here in Balsam Lake having dinner that night, and then he claims he spent a few hours taking photographs of wildflowers on his way back to Lost Lake. People saw him at the restaurant. It's hard to put an exact time on when the fire started, which means his alibi doesn't entirely eliminate him.” She forked the remaining steak onto her plate.

“The interesting thing is, the insurance investigator found another source for the fire on the back porch. Fires can be unpredictable. They can burn everything to the ground and yet leave a few things completely untouched. That's what happened. The investigator found a partially melted plastic gallon water jug and tested it. The lab found a gasoline residue. It looked like an athletic sock had been stuffed into the neck of the jug and used as a wick. Part of the sock was still intact, so they sent it to the BCA down in St. Paul to see if they could find any DNA. Haven't heard anything yet, but I expect to any day. We also found DNA under Feigenbaumer's fingernails. I imagine he must have scratched his attacker. If he did and the two samples match, Wendell's in deep shit.”

“That's a lot of
ifs
,” said Jane.

“Yeah, well, it's about all I've got at the moment.”

“For him to be a double murderer, he would've needed something against both Lyndie and Feigenbaumer. What was it?”

“Probably nada.”

Digging into the food, Jane said, “This steak is great. So is the sauce.”

“It's nice to know I can please a restaurateur.” Slicing off several pieces of bread, she continued, “So that brings us back to Tessa. What's her involvement?”

“She could barely walk the night Lyndie was murdered. And she was no match for someone like Feigenbaumer.”

“Maybe she found someone to do it for her.”

“Like who?”

Chewing for a few seconds, Kelli said, “I don't even want to think this.”

“What?”

“Fontaine Littlewolf. They've been friends for years. He'd do anything for her and he's no stranger to violence. He nearly killed a man in a bar fight in Coleraine after he got home from the Gulf War. The case was tossed because witnesses said the other man started it by threatening him with a knife. Not a smart move. You ever looked at Fontaine's arms? They're the size of pot roasts.”

Jane had wondered herself about Fontaine. Before she could weigh in on the matter, Kelli's cell phone buzzed.

Removing it from her pocket, Kelli glanced at the caller ID. “I better take this.” She rose and walked a few paces away. “What is it?” As she listened, her eyes lost focus. “Jesus. No, I'll come. Call the coroner and get him there ASAP. Make sure you keep the gawkers away. Call for backup if you need it. I'm leaving right now.” She dropped back down on the bench. “Damn it.”

“What happened?”

It took her a few seconds before she could respond. “This guy, his name's Otto Lindeman—he's an insurance salesman over in Empire. He just shot his wife, hauled her body into his Toyota, doused the car with gasoline, and set it ablaze. And then he put the gun in his mouth and blew his brains out. My deputy said that the garage was filled to the rafters with porno magazines. I knew this was going to happen. I warned her to get away from him. We had so many domestic calls on that house that we gave up counting.”

Jane suddenly lost her appetite.

“Listen, I'm sorry, but I've got to go. I don't have time to drive you back to Lost Lake, so I'll ask one of my neighbors to do it. That okay with you?”

“Sure. I'll clean up the food, put everything away. No worries.”

Kelli rose, digging in her pocket for her car keys. “The neighbor can lock up. Duchess,” she said, bending over and giving the dog's back a scratch, “you be a good girl.”

“We'll be fine,” said Jane.

Leaning in, Kelli kissed Jane's cheek. “I like you. We aren't meant for romantic greatness, but I can always use another friend.”

“Me, too,” said Jane.

“Take good care of my dog,” she shouted as she crossed the lawn.

Jane waved, surprisingly sorry to see her go.

29

Wendell dropped a file folder on top of the desk. He'd finally found what he'd been looking for. If he wanted to put Tessa behind bars for the rest of her life, he had the proof. The question was, what should he do with it now that Feigenbaumer was out of the picture?

Hearing a timer go off in the kitchen, he raced to check on the hot dish. The Tater Tots looked perfectly browned and the cheese was melted. Underneath, the noodles and tuna looked positively creamy. This was his one specialty. Thankfully, Helen loved it. The tray was already set out on the counter. He dished up a plate, found a chocolate pudding in the refrigerator, filled a glass with water, and poured the coffee. And then he headed up the stairs to Helen's bedroom.

“Dinner,” he said, smiling.

She was sitting in bed in her bathrobe, watching TV. “Smells wonderful.”

He set the tray across her lap. “Is there anything else I can get you before I go?”

“You're leaving?”

“I told you, Ruth and I are going for a walk along the beach.”

“Ruth?”

“Ruth Jensen? You know her.”

“I—” She ran her fingers lightly across her forehead. “I get so mixed up.”

“I know. But you're fine if you stay here in your bedroom. Promise you won't leave the house while I'm gone?”

She held up her hand. “Scout's honor.”

“You've got the TV remote. Are you too warm, too cold? I could put on the air-conditioning.”

“I'm absolutely wonderful. Thank you so much…”

“Wendell.” She was having a bad evening.

“Of course. Wendell.”

“I've written the name and phone number of your neighbor, Marla, by the phone. I made sure she'd be home tonight in case you need anything while I'm gone.”

“I'll be just dandy. This dinner you made will hit the spot.”

He couldn't believe that he'd actually grown fond of her. It occurred to him that it was even more than that. He felt protective, responsible for her. He was beginning to worry about her all the time. What if she walked off, got lost? What if she fell when he wasn't there? In the five weeks since he'd moved in, he could see a big change in her mental acuity. It saddened him.

“I'll be back in a couple of hours.”

“Enjoy your evening.”

“We'll have our usual bowl of ice cream before you go to bed. I bought your favorite this afternoon. Rocky Road.”

“You know,” she said, looking up into his eyes, “you're a fine man. Don't ever doubt that.”

*   *   *

“I'll wait in the car,” said Cordelia, stirring her double chocolate milkshake.

“Where's your inquiring mind?” asked Jane.

Cordelia lifted bored eyes to the sign above the store. Hutamaki Hardware & Supply. “Still every bit as inquiring as ever. But a hardware store? I think not.”

“It won't take me long.” Jane slid out of the driver's seat.

Cordelia was in the mood to be chauffeured again tonight. After being ferried back to Lost Lake by a neighbor of Kelli's, Jane was at loose ends. She wanted to borrow Cordelia's car and just drive around, but the only way that was going to happen was for Cordelia to come along. Jane threw in a milkshake to sweeten the deal.

A bell rang over her head as she entered the store. She hadn't been able to get the O-ring she'd found near Feigenbaumer's shoe out of her mind. It was time to ask an expert.

Stepping up to the cash register, she nodded to the gray-haired man behind the counter.

“Help you?” he asked.

“I hope so.” She showed him the photo she'd taken with her cell phone. “I'm told it's an O-ring.”

“Yes, ma'am, that's correct.”

“What would something like that be used for?”

“Oh, heavens. Hundreds of things.”

“Such as?”

“Well, off the top of my head, horse bridals, belts, jewelry, clothing, choke collars for dogs, various seals, gaskets, all sorts of mechanical applications—and, of course, artwork. Its uses are pretty much endless.”

Not helpful. “Have you ever seen one just like this?”

“I've got dozens of them over at the end of that counter.” He pointed.

“Anybody in town buy a lot of them?”

“Don't keep track of details like that.”

“No, I supposed not.” Unable to think of anything else to ask, she thanked him for his time. If she did take Nolan up on his offer, she assumed she'd better get used to dead-ends.

On her way out the door, she noticed a man crouched in the gardening supply section, examining the back of a box. He looked familiar, though she couldn't place the face. It finally dawned on her. It was Kenny Moon, Jonah's best friend. The ham-faced kid she'd once known had blossomed into one megasized adult.

A walkie-talkie on his belt gave a sudden beep.

Kenny unclipped it and said hello. “Oh, yeah, Brian. Sorry I didn't get back to you. Tomorrow is fine. Say three-thirty? Right, right. She'll be there. No, man. Cash only. Yeah. Bye.”

“Kenny?” called a voice Jane recognized. Halfway down the aisle, standing with her back to Kenny, was Emily Jensen. She seemed agitated, pulling at her hair, her clothes, biting her fingernail. Her body jerked as she swiveled to face him.

Jane quickly ducked behind an endcap stocked with motor oil.

“If we don't leave soon, the store in Balsam will be closed.”

“Hold your horses,” mumbled Kenny, clearly annoyed that she was bothering him while he was reading. “We've got over an hour.”

“I'm
nervous
. Don't you get that?”

“Go sit in the car. I'll be right out.”

“Maybe I'll go get my car and drive myself.”

“Hey,” he said, grabbing her arm as she walked past. “Who's your man?”

“You are.”

“And don't you forget it.”

Jane found the exchange odd. For the last few days, Jonah had talked about nothing but Emily, how glad he was that they were back together. Could it be that Emily was two-timing him?

With a resigned look on her face, Emily pushed out the door, the bell jingling overhead.

Kenny continued to read the back of the box for another few seconds, then stood and carried it up to the counter.

“Hey, Kenny,” said the manager. “How's that Harley runnin'?”

“Kenneth.”

“Huh?”

“The name's Kenneth. Kenny's a kid's name.”

“Sure. Well, anyway, your mom was in the other day. Said you'd been helping Arnie Thompson out over at his resort on Harris Lake.”

“She talks too much.”

“Now, now, she's just proud of you, son. She said you'd be leaving for boot camp any day. Congratulations on that.”

“Yeah. Listen, I need something for spider mites.”

“You doing a little gardening?”

He held up the box. “Will this work?”

“Inside or outside gardening?”

“Outside.”

“What you want is a product called Avid. You mix it with water and spray the plants down. It's expensive.”

“Where is it?”

The man stepped over to the wall, grabbed a quart of the product and returned to the counter. “You got a sprayer?”

“Just tell me how much.”

“Let's see.” He adjusted his glasses. “That will be—” He tapped the price into the register. “Four hundred and forty-seven dollars and eighty-four cents.”

“You're kidding.”

“Still want it?”

Kenny handed him a credit card.

“Remember, this stuff is poison.”

“That's what I'm counting on.”

The clerk gave him a quizzical look. “You get any on you, be sure to wash it off right away. And read all the directions. Four ounces for every hundred gallons of water.”