Blow Up on Murder Page 9

  “You trespassed on his property because he locks his garage?”

  I heard the skepticism in his voice. “Weldon is obsessed with the Students for Peace group. The student who was killed belonged to that group and he harasses them at every rally.” I shrugged but Ben wouldn’t see that. “I was curious about the old guy.”

  The steel went out of his voice. “I’ll let Robyn and Wilcox know, but it’s not against the law for someone to have drones. If you go back to his house you might alert him, so don’t. ”

  “You are interested then.”

  “We’ll check him out, but our methods are more subtle.”

  He was throwing the “we’re law enforcement therefore more qualified” argument at me and I respected that. They had to go by the rules, carefully lay the groundwork and tie up each bit of evidence—sometimes just to get a warrant. I didn’t belong to that club so their rules didn’t include me; however, I was responsible enough not to get in the BCA’s way.

  I asked, “How are you going to tell Barry and Wilcox without mentioning my name?”

  “Good question.” His voice softened. “I really do have to go. We’re doing surveillance and I need to focus.”

  “What kind of surveillance?”

  “I’ll fill you in later.” He paused, his voice softer. “I’d hoped this time it would be different for us, we’d do normal things.”

  I met his pause with a sigh. “Me too.” As usual, our chosen fields of work weren’t making it easy to spend time together.

  Sleep wouldn’t come. It was past midnight, and my head buzzed with Ben’s news. A weaponized drone had delivered the lethal explosion. Had they figured that out after finding shards of a drone in the wreckage? I rubbed my scratchy eyes, afraid of the rough night ahead. Then I remembered Emmaline’s sleep herbs. She said to make tea.

  I took the fragrant mug to bed with me, pleased it didn’t smell as bad as some of the stuff in Emmaline’s kitchen. I didn’t care if it reeked like rotten onions as long as it delivered blessed sleep.

  *

  My phone rang early. Little’s high-pitched tone meant he was distressed. “Chloe’s foot is worse. They doing another surgery.”

  “What does that mean?” Dr. Ansari’s concern that the surgery might not work, that they might not be able to save her foot, sent waves of dread through me.

  “That’s all I know. Lars is nowhere around and I want to be with her until her dad comes. Can you help at the restaurant for a couple of hours?”

  “I can be there in half an hour. Did you ask Chum to handle the kitchen?”

  “He’s coming, but with Lars and Chloe gone, he’ll be anxious.”

  “Go now. I’ll stay until you get back.” I almost told him not to worry, but he worried about everything. Lars’s behavior irritated me. Where was he?

  It hit me on the way to the restaurant that I’d slept through the night.

  Chapter 10

  I showered, pulled my hair into a braid and was at Little’s with apron on and menus in hand within half an hour as promised. For Little’s sake, I did my best to be the friendly hostess. Men in particular often commented that I should smile more.

  The breakfast crowd kept us all hopping for a couple of hours. I only had to put out one flare-up in the kitchen. Chum had misread an order and blamed it on the young woman who was filling in. He said, “That’s not the way Chloe does it.”

  I took him aside and explained that Chloe wasn’t going to be at work for a while and we’d all need to do our best to get along without her. He said he’d do better.

  Proud of myself for not calling Chum a whiny baby, I left the kitchen. A thumbs-up to the mistreated waitress that all was well and business continued.

  Edgar and his grandson Henry came into the café mid-morning. Offering my first true smile of the day, I led them to a booth by the window.

  After settling Edgar across from him, Henry squeezed into the other side. “How’s Chloe doing?”

  “She has to have another surgery. Little’s with her now.” I swallowed the emotion clogging my throat, not ready to accept what this second surgery might mean.

  Edgar held his fist to his heart. “Though young, Chloe has a strong spirit.”

  Henry asked, “Can you sit with us?”

  “Sure, would you like coffee?”

  Edgar’s head bobbed. “And a piece of Little’s boysenberry pie.”

  Henry’s eyes disappeared behind his cheeks whenever he was tickled and that was often. He said, “Make that two.”

  I asked Rena, the new waitress, to bring the pie, grabbed coffees and slid in next to Edgar, hoping he’d act like his normal self this time. I filled them in with the little I knew about the college explosion until their pie arrived.

  Henry was both tribal chairman and the Dreamcatcher casino business manager, and he and I worked together on a theft at the casino nearly two years ago. That was the first time he’d had my back, but not the last. I asked him how things were doing at the Dreamcatcher.

  “Quiet now that the summer season is over. We’ll get a spurt of people coming north to see the fall colors but we’ll have to cut hours for some of the staff this winter, as usual. I hate to do it, but everyone understands.”

  “It’s quieting down here, too. Little’s solution when the high school and college workers go back to school is to hire wait staff like Rena to take over until next summer. She and her husband run a resort on Spirit Lake, closed for the season now.”

  Henry nodded. “We know their place.”

  Edgar edged away from me, his head tilted as he listened. He said, “Would you mind sitting next to Henry?”

  “Of course.” I shot a confused look at Henry. He mouthed, “I don’t know.” Henry was a slab of a man and needed his space, but I crowded in next to him, head bowed as if I’d done something wrong.

  I wanted to ask Edgar what was on his mind but knew better. He didn’t respond to direct questions and usually inserted whatever was on his mind sideways into the conversation, unless it was a warning.

  Edgar pushed his pie away unfinished. A rarity. For a skinny old guy, he usually packed away the food.

  His fork midway to his mouth, Henry said, “Grandfather’s been having interesting dreams.”

  I’d heard that comment before and it didn’t bode well. Edgar’s dreams could be downright creepy. I said, “That so?”

  Henry followed the pie with a sip of coffee. “You were in his dream last night.”

  “Me, huh?” This waiting part always made me crazy. My knee bobbed as if it was motorized. I nudged him to get to the point.

  The big man sipped his coffee and said, “In his dream, a flying insect was buzzing around your head.”

  This was Minnesota. Mosquitos, deer flies, gnats and blackflies dive-bombed me daily. I bit my bottom lip to keep from making a disrespectful comment. “Interesting.”

  Edgar hit the table with his flat palm.

  I jumped along with half the people in the café. His nearly blind eyes focused on me. “Its sting is deadly.”

  That snapped the snark out of me. I lowered my head. “Thanks for the warning, Edgar. I’ll be careful.”

  He said, “I see Little is here.”

  I checked the entrance, puzzled. A minute later Little’s jeep pulled into the parking lot. He came in, saw us and joined us at the booth. “Good to see you both.”

  Edgar asked, “How is that young lady doing?”

  Little sagged against the side of the booth. “She’ll be in surgery the rest of the day. I wanted to give Chum a break before going back.”

  Edgar wrapped his webby old fingers around Little’s slender hand. “I hope you’ll come for a visit soon.”

  Little’s pinched face relaxed. “I will.”

  The two had a bond; the Ojibwe history of this region had been my brother’s specialty at the university. Edgar told him stories full of sacred animals, metaphors and hidden meanings using mystical symbols, and Little found beauty and p
eace in them. The old guy only told me things that scared me.

  The agate Edgar gave me with a wolf paw etched into it was an exception—always in my jeans pocket or under my pillow at night, it felt alive when I held it in the palm of my hand. The agate was a gift message from Edgar when I first returned to Spirit Lake and had trouble connecting with Little and Ben. I’d thought of myself as a lone wolf. Edgar said the agate was a reminder that even wolves need their pack.

  Just then, a tour bus pulled up and a group of retirees filed in chattering about the beautiful trees, showing each other pics they’d taken on their iPhones. The Minneapolis group always had lunch at Little’s on their way to the Dreamcatcher. The first time they’d stopped, several of them went on to win at the slots. Now Little’s Café was their lucky charm and they always included a lunch stop on their way to hopefully winning that pot of gold.

  Rena and I moved tables together. Little hurried to the kitchen and Henry made a call to the Dreamcatcher alerting the staff to expect a group of rowdy seniors. He and Edgar rose to leave.

  Edgar’s dream must be significant for him to ask Henry to bring him to town. I thanked them for coming to see me, wishing just once Edgar would say something I didn’t have to decipher. When Little was free, I’d ask his opinion of the dream.

  Two hours later when we sat down to take a break, Little checked his phone. “Why hasn’t Ray called to let me know what’s happening?” He tapped in the number and frowned. “He’s not picking up.” More agitated, he called Dr. Ansari, leaving the phone on speaker.

  Ansari said, “I was just getting your phone number. Could you come back to the hospital? Chloe’s waking and Mr. Hutcheson is in no condition to be with her right now.”

  We spoke at the same time. “We’ll be right there.”

  Little whipped off his apron as I called Chum, who was having his beer break at Olafson’s bar.

  In minutes, he hurried through the door and saw me hanging up my apron.

  “Aren’t you staying? Where’s Lars?”

  “We’ll be back as soon as we can. You need to step up, Chum. You can do it. For Chloe.”

  Little handed him the dinner specials list. Chum scanned it. “Don’t worry. I got this. Lars will be here, right?”

  Little hurried out without answering.

  *

  Dr. Ansari met us in the waiting room. I asked, “Where’s Ray?”

  “He became unruly. I’ve admitted him as a patient.” His tone weary, he said, “We’re getting some nutrients into him and keeping him quiet until he sobers up. Please sit down.”

  Little grabbed my hand and we sat facing the doctor, knowing this wouldn’t be good news.

  “As we feared, infection was spreading rapidly.” He spouted technical terms describing the situation in detail. I put my hand up. “Doctor?”

  He looked directly at us, then at his shoes. “We couldn’t save her foot.”

  I was too stunned to open my mouth. I’d counted on a miracle.

  Little’s bleak eyes fastened on the doctor. “Does she know?”

  He shook his head. “As I said, her father’s not able to help her right now and I knew you’d want to be here when I tell her. She’s awake, although sedated.”

  A familiar fury began in my gut and worked its way up, spreading heat to my face and ending at a rock hard block of anger in the middle of my forehead.

  Dr. Ansari took a step back. I’m not sure how the anger looks on me, but if it’s anything like it feels, people should definitely stand back. Whoever did this was going to pay.

  The doctor clasped his hands. “I realize this is a blow and it’s not the time to talk about it, but the technology for prosthetics is amazing now. She will walk again. Now let’s help her through this.”

  We followed him into Chloe’s recovery room. She offered a weak smile. Little took her hand in his as Dr. Ansari repeated what he’d said to us minutes ago.

  Her lips parted in a gasp. Then, in full-blown panic she shrieked and tried to climb up Little’s arm in a desperate attempt to get away from the doctor’s words. Little’s voice was steady and calm. “It’s going to be okay, we’re all here for you.” She clung to him, shaking her head and wailing until she ran out of air. Dr. Ansari helped hold her, instructing a nurse to increase her sedative.

  Her grip finally loosened and she slipped back onto the pillow staring at nothing through a haze of medication and then fell asleep. I thought it was a blessing. That kind of news could only be digested in increments without blowing out a person’s entire system.

  Shaken, we watched her inhale and exhale, waiting for our own hammering hearts to steady.

  Dr. Ansari spoke to both of us. “Thank you. She won’t wake again tonight. I’m hoping her father will be able to offer her comfort in the morning, but that remains to be seen.” His normally impassive expression darkened.

  Little said, “I’ll be here.”

  *

  It had been a quiet dinner hour but Chum was miffed when we returned. “You said Lars would be here.”

  Chloe’s heartrending cry still with me, I left the kitchen to keep from tearing into him. Little was in no mood to deal with him either. He told Chum he expected him the next day by seven a.m. and then said to close the kitchen early. Noting the storm brewing on Little’s face, Chum told everyone to hustle with cleanup.

  An hour later, I sat on the sofa in the guys’ apartment, Little across from me in his recliner, Rock and Knute slumbering nearby.

  He wiped a hand across his face. “I don’t know how to help her.”

  Lars’s empty recliner stared at us.

  I tried to do my impersonation of the hard law enforcement stare at my brother. “Where is he?”

  He mumbled, “Minneapolis. He texted this morning that he needed time away.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  He raised his head. “Not really. I’ve been expecting this to happen. Lars hasn’t been the same since the coma. He jumps at everything all the time.”

  “But texting?”

  “He knew I’d make him feel terrible and he wouldn’t be able to leave. He must have really needed to go to do it this way.”

  I wanted to tell my brother that Lars would come back and everything would work out for the best, but what if it didn’t? It hadn’t for Chloe.

  Reading my mind, he said, “Right now, all that matters is Chloe.”

  I squeezed his knee, scratched Knute’s ears and headed for the door. “I’ll work breakfast tomorrow while you go see Chloe. Maybe Ray will rally.”

  Little’s face started to crumple.

  And then it happened—the anger I’d been trying to control took over and I grabbed a giant container of hand wash and hurled it against the wall.

  Little and both dogs stared at the blue gel dripping from the wall onto the packages of paper towels and toilet paper. Little said, “I need a better storage place for the restroom refill items.”

  “Oh shit. I’m sorry.” I ran for a bucket and sponge.

  After I finished cleaning up, Rock trotted alongside me to the SUV. I thought it best to get home before doing any more damage at Little’s. A familiar whining sound alerted me that I wasn’t alone. It circled my body, then honed in on my bare arm. I smacked the mosquito and flicked it away. Didn’t they know it was fall?

  Remembering Edgar’s buzzing insect dream, I squinted into the dark sky, then shook off the feeling.

  At the cabin, I went into my makeshift gym. I had to do something to handle Chloe’s situation and Lars running off at a time like this, without my head exploding again.

  My usual workout took about an hour, but after half an hour of lifts, pushups, pullups and jumping jacks, I had to stop, my muscles too weak to continue. Letting myself get out of shape was not good in my line of work. Tomorrow I’d run, do my full set of exercises and get back on schedule. Chloe was going to need us at our best in the coming weeks.

  Before bed I brewed another cup of Emmaline’s
tea. My attitude about the woman had altered after last night’s dreamless sleep, the first since Nigeria. If she was a witch, she was definitely of the Glinda variety.

  *

  Little had gone to the hospital early and was back by ten a.m., shuffling like an old man. I finished seating a couple of fishermen who smelled like they’d caught their limit, and followed him into the kitchen.

  He reported that Chloe understood what happened. He said her dad pulled himself together enough to be in the room with her without raving. “She’ll be sleeping most of the day.” He reached for his apron like someone sleepwalking. “She was so brave when the doctor talked to her about what was done. Just biting her lip and squeezing my hand until she fell asleep.”

  I said, “I’ll check in on her this afternoon. Why don’t you rest? Chum’s doing fine.”

  Little cinched the apron ties around his waist. “This is what I do.”

  *

  By eleven a.m., I was back doing surveillance in my tree, video camera trained on the steps. There was no need to pay strict attention to what was happening. I’d view it later. That freed me to keep watch for Brian. Ben and I hadn’t talked last night so I didn’t know what they’d found out about the kid.

  Unlike law enforcement, I went where my camera took me and it had a mind of its own. All I had to do was follow what caught my interest. So far, that worked well in my photojournalism projects and it had even helped law enforcement solve cases when they were stuck. It wasn’t their fault, it was the system and I wasn’t part of any system that required each piece to fit into a logical outcome.

  My method was simple. Watch, wait, shoot. Later I’d inspect my photos. If a pattern didn’t emerge, I’d look at them a different way or take more.

  My phone vibrated against my hip. A quick peek showed a call from Marta, my L.A. editor. Talking would draw attention to my stakeout so I let it go to voicemail. She didn’t leave a message. I pictured Marta’s brown bob whipping around her head as she flew through the newsroom to a meeting or barked orders on her phone. Sometimes she took on her other role as my best friend and that meant she knew much too much about me to be my boss.