Dead Rapunzel Read online

  Both women looked relieved. Mallory turned to Osborne. “So, Dad, be patient. I’ll start looking for an apartment or a condo tomorrow. Maybe I can find a cabin to rent.”

  “Oh, don’t do that yet,” said Judith. “Once Chief Ferris has completed her investigation of Rudd’s home, I think you and I can move into the guest quarters—at least until we have the legal issues settled. Plus, Rudd purchased a number of important artworks from private dealers, and I can use your help with the organizing and cataloging.”

  “Great,” said Mallory. “I think we should plan to get a press release out to the arts community explaining that Rudd Tomlinson’s death won’t put an end to her plans for the museum, too.”

  “Good point.” A smile crossed Judith’s face. “See, we’re moving forward already.”

  As she sat listening to the two women, Lew thought back to her conversation with Dani early that morning. She had alerted her to a possible call from a Charlene Murphy asking for help locating her birth mother—and to the fact that Lew had suggested Dani might be able to help on a freelance basis. In a brusque tone, she had added that Charlene’s birth father was Lew’s former husband—and hoped Dani wouldn’t ask any questions. Dani gave her a long look before she apparently decided not to say a word. Lew was appreciative. Some details about her private life did not have to be shared with staff.

  By nine-thirty they had finished breakfast and were on their way to the Tomlinson family meeting. Osborne and Lew followed Judith’s car past Rudd’s home to a two-story frame house about a third of a mile down the road. The house was grey-shingled, with white trim and a red door. It looked brand-new.

  They parked behind Judith along the road, as the driveway already held three cars and a large Ford pickup. A stiff wind blasted their faces as they stood waiting for Judith and Mallory to climb out of the other car and join them.

  “Where are we?” asked Lew, pulling the collar of her parka up close to her face.

  “This is Kenzie and Greg Steidl’s home,” said Judith. “After their mother died, each of the siblings inherited a waterfront lot. That plus half a million dollars, which certainly helped Kenzie build this place.”

  “Kenzie, by the way, was the only one at home when her mother fell, fractured her skull, and died on the basement steps. It was Kenzie who had to watch the EMTs try to revive Caroline.

  “After going through all that, Philip told Rudd that he tried to get Kenzie to get professional help. He felt the trauma of her mother’s death was causing her to behave strangely. After Philip’s death, Rudd made sure Kenzie saw a good psychiatrist over in the cities. She still sees someone, maybe a psychotherapist.”

  “I know Greg and his father, Vern,” said Osborne, “and I knew Greg was married, but I didn’t know his wife was a Tomlinson. Interesting.”

  He didn’t add that Vern Steidl was the type of man he detested. Ray might call him a blowhard, but Osborne found him to be a buffoon. He was so smart that he once registered to run for a position on the Loon Lake Planning and Zoning Commission—before the town clerk in charge of printing ballots pointed out the obvious potential for a conflict of interest when a guy running a construction company is in a position to vote on property issues affecting his competition. Even more irritating, Vern had a habit of showing up at McDonald’s for morning coffee and holding forth with bombastic rhetoric on local politics as if he had a clue what he was talking about. But the worst was Vern’s pride in hunting bears with dogs trained to chase and tree the animals, a sport that turned Osborne’s stomach.

  More than once, Osborne himself had been out hunting for grouse on a beautiful fall day when he and his black lab had narrowly escaped Mike’s being attacked by Vern’s bear dogs.

  The second time it happened, Osborne had asked Vern to take his dogs elsewhere for training: “This is prime grouse territory, and I don’t think too many bear hide out in these young aspen. Why don’t you take your dogs down the road a bit?” Osborne had spoken politely. At least he thought he had.

  The response from Vern was not so polite: “You got a problem with my dogs, asshole, you move down the goddamn road.”

  But Vern’s son, Greg, was not like his old man. A manager in his father’s construction company, Greg struck Osborne as a calm, well-spoken young man. “You know Greg Steidl, don’t you?” Osborne asked Mallory.

  “He was a couple years behind me in high school,” said his daughter. “Seemed like a quiet kind of guy. Didn’t he play basketball, Dad?”

  “I am freezing out here,” said Lew before Osborne could answer. “Judith, if you will lead the way. Just tell the family that I stopped you in front of Rudd’s home minutes ago and asked where I could find the family members.”

  “I can do that. Then what would you like me to say?”

  “Nothing. I’ll take it from there, and Doc and I won’t stay any longer than necessary. I need contact information from them and I want to make appointments for interviews with each one. That shouldn’t take long.”

  Osborne and Lew followed the two women up a recently shoveled walkway to the red front door. It had a large brass knocker in the shape of a wild duck in flight. Judith rapped the knocker. The door opened immediately.

  “What the—?” said Sloane Tomlinson. She didn’t finish her remark but stepped forward so that her bulky frame filled the doorway. “Judith,” her tone was accusing, “Kenzie told you this was family only.” She peered over Judith’s shoulder. “You are not welcome, Chief Ferris. This is a private family gathering.”

  “I understand,” said Lew, her voice even. “Judith has nothing to do with Dr. Osborne and myself being here. I have just five minutes of official business with you and your family members. Then we will be happy to leave.”

  “Oh no, you don’t,” said a lively voice from behind Sloane. “Come in, come in. I have hot chocolate and donuts.”

  The woman to whom the voice belonged pushed Sloane to one side as she thrust a hand at Lew. “I’m Kenzie and this is my house. I’m in charge here,” she said.

  An eager face with a wide toothy grin greeted them with an air of enthusiasm that was hard to resist. In contrast to her older sister, Osborne liked her immediately. “I mean it—all of you come in out of this cold.” She opened the door wide and stood beckoning, wispy light brown hair floating around her face.

  “Kenzie,” said Sloane, warning, “this is not what we’ve planned. You know that.”

  “Oh, Sloanie, don’t be so mean.” Kenzie thrust an elbow in the direction of her sister’s plump torso. She’s always mean,” laughed the young woman. “Hi, I’m Kenzie Steidl and I know Judith, but you are . . . ” She stuck her hand out to Mallory.

  “I’m Judith’s assistant, Mallory Osborne.” Mallory stepped past Kenzie into the house.

  “Oh, you look so familiar—I know you, you’re the dentist. Dr. Osborne.”

  “Retired dentist,” Osborne corrected her as he shook her hand, “but how do you know I’m a dentist? I’ve been retired several years.”

  “Doesn’t everyone know everyone in Loon Lake?” said Kenzie as she pulled Lew inside. “Seriously, my girlfriends and I always talk about how good-looking you are for an old guy. They see you at McDonald’s and I see you buying dog food at the Loon Lake Market.”

  “D-a-a-d . . . ” Mallory had overheard that and gave Osborne a teasing lift of her eyebrows.

  “Chief Lewellyn Ferris with the Loon Lake Police,” said Lew as Kenzie closed the door behind her. “Dr. Osborne and I have a short piece of business to take care of with you folks, and then we’ll leave. I do not want to interrupt your gathering this morning.”

  “Oh for heaven’s sake, you’re not interrupting a thing,” said Kenzie with a dismissive flick of her right hand. She turned to Judith and, grabbing her by the shoulders, gave her a swift, hard hug. “Oh, Judy, Judy—you must be so devastated and I am so sorry. I loved Rudd—we all did.” Tears glistened.

  Lew caught Osborne’s eye and he knew what she was thin
king: Judith’s concern that Kenzie was bipolar could be accurate. She was effusive and welcoming one minute, then sad to the point of tears within seconds. Nevertheless, Osborne found her warm and engaging—with none of the rudeness of the woman who had opened the front door.

  The living room they walked into was warm and bright, with quilts and colorful framed pictures scattered across the walls. A dining area at one end opened to a kitchen. As they walked into the room, Kenzie reached out her arms to gather up their parkas, insisting, “If you keep those darn things on you’ll roast in here.

  “Now, I want you to meet everyone and get something warm in your tummies before you leave. Please.” The eagerness in her manner reminded Osborne of Mike, who never failed to greet him with happy hops and a furiously wagging tail.

  “You two sit down over there,” said Kenzie, directing Lew and Osborne to a loveseat covered in a white fabric dotted with huge purple and green flowers.

  In the meantime, Judith had walked over to a tall man who was wearing black slacks and a ribbed, grey wool sweater that fit snugly over an impressive potbelly. “Hello, Tim,” said Judith. “I am so surprised to see you here. I thought you were spending your winters down on Bonaire.”

  The man, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and a studious look on his face, gave a shrug. “Not yet,” he said. That was all he volunteered, not even a welcoming smile. Osborne excused his rudeness. The impact of Rudd’s unexpected death must have just hit him.

  “Tim, please come over and meet Chief Ferris and Dr. Osborne,” said Judith, tugging at his sleeve. “Chief Ferris is in charge of the investigation into Rudd’s death. She has a few questions for you.”

  As they walked toward the sofa, Judith beckoned to Lew. “Chief Ferris, this is Tim Tomlinson, Philip’s son who lives in Quebec and on the island of Bonaire.” Giving Tim a pleasant look as she spoke, Judith said, “Tim’s one of the lucky ones who can afford to live north in the summer and down off the coast of Venezuela in the winter, where the temperature is never below seventy. Right, Tim?”

  With a grimace, Tim indicated that he did not appreciate her sharing that information. “Just so you know,” he said to Lew, ignoring Judith’s gracious comment, “I have personal belongings in Rudd’s house that I need back—today.”

  Lew stood up from the sofa and pulled her notebook from the back pocket of her uniform. “Sorry, Mr. Tomlinson,” she said, “but no one is to enter the house or remove anything until we have completed our search of the property.

  “I’m sure you’ve heard that the driver of the logging truck is alleging that your stepmother was pushed in front of his truck. So until we know more, I have to consider her death a homicide. That means her home is considered a potential crime scene until my deputies and myself are sure there is no evidence on or around the property.”

  As she spoke, Tim cocked his head to one side. He seemed to be considering an argument, but he didn’t say anything.

  Osborne couldn’t remember ever seeing the man before. Judith had mentioned that he was close to forty, two years younger than Sloane, but his receding hairline, pale complexion, wire-rimmed glasses, air of reserve, and portly figure made him look older. Older and out of condition. It didn’t help that while Lew was asking for his name and contact information, he held his nose high as if something nearby smelled bad.

  “As part of our investigation I would like to interview you late this afternoon or tomorrow morning—we have to complete our search of the property first,” said Lew.

  “Can’t do it,” said Tim. “The reason I’m here is I’m booked on a flight to Bonaire early tomorrow morning—a flight out of Minneapolis. I’m leaving here to drive to the cities shortly. Sorry.”

  “Well,” said Lew, choosing her words with care. “We’ll have to work something out because you cannot leave until I say so.”

  “And why on earth would that be?” said Tim with a bewildered expression on his face. “You can’t possibly suspect me of pushing that woman in front of the truck.”

  Osborne did not miss the tone in which he said “that woman.” It would not be necessary to ask Tim how he felt about his stepmother.

  “I didn’t say that,” said Lew. “But one or more of her family members—and I’m including Judith Fordham in this group, too—may have important information that can help us find the person or persons behind her death. Information you may not be aware that you have.”

  “What a time waste,” said Tim, nose sniffing at the air again. “This is the silliest thing I’ve heard of.”

  “Rudd wasn’t pushed,” said Sloane from across the room, her voice loud and grating. “She slipped on the ice and fell. You know damn well that driver is just trying to cover his ass. You are forcing us into the most absurd—”

  Tim turned toward his sister. “Sloane, shut up.” Anger flashed across Sloane’s face, but she stayed silent, eyes smoldering.

  “Mr. Tomlinson,” said Lew, her pen poised over the notebook, “tell me what you do, please. What kind of work? And is your full name Tim or Timothy?”

  “Tim. Just Tim.” Crossing his arms and rocking back and forth on the soles of his feet, he said in a tone implying terminal boredom: “I do three things for which I do not get paid . . . yet.”

  He proceeded to speak in a tone so deliberate that he implied his audience was too stupid to understand him otherwise: “Thanks to the modest inheritance I received after my mother’s death, I am able to work independently as an artist. I am also an expert scuba diver and an amateur geologist, which is why I winter in Bonaire. I do abstract acrylic paintings of the sea creatures that live in the water down there. My work is very, oh, David Hockney-ish, if you must. But I doubt you know who I am talking about.”

  “You’re right about that,” said Lew lightly. She gave a brisk smile as she said, “Now, Mr. Tomlinson, since neither you nor either of your sisters will be able to leave Loon Lake until I’ve completed my interrogations of each of you, I suggest you change your flight.”

  “Interrogations? You make it sound like we’re criminals,” said Tim with a condescending smile. Lew ignored the comment.

  “What about Greg? Don’t you need to talk to him?” asked Kenzie, walking in from the kitchen with a tray holding a coffee carafe, cups, saucers, and a plate of donuts. As uncomfortable as Osborne felt in the current company, the donuts looked appetizing. She tipped her head back toward the kitchen where two men had just appeared in the doorway.

  “Greg,” said Kenzie as she lowered the tray onto the coffee table, “I want you to come meet Chief Ferris.”

  Greg Steidl was a younger, healthier version of his father, who remained in the doorway chewing on a toothpick. He appeared hesitant to join the group. Vern Steidl was a tall, wide-shouldered man whose broad chest and narrow hips were emphasized by the white button-down shirt tucked into the belt at his waistline. In his black leather jacket and crisply pressed Levi’s, Vern held himself with the self-important air of a man convinced he was attractive to women—but his was a physique that Osborne had learned to associate with the risk of an early heart attack.

  His son, on the other hand, was just as tall but as slim as a marathon runner. While the older man’s features, bulbous under a shock of white hair combed forward and emphasized by a trim white beard and wire-rimmed glasses, testified to a taste for red meat and hard liquor, the son could not have been more clean-cut. He wore his dark brown hair in a sedate crew cut and only a slight crook of his nose, identical to Vern’s, hinted of his parentage.

  “Pleased to meet you, Chief Ferris,” said Greg, shaking Lew’s hand. “I really hope I can help with your investigation. Rudd was a kind, generous woman, always good to Kenzie and me. We were shocked when we heard the news.” As he spoke, he slipped his arm around his wife’s waist. Osborne was struck by how young the two of them seemed.

  “I appreciate that,” said Lew. Turning toward the man standing in the doorway, she said, “And you must be Vern, Greg’s father.” Flip
ping to a new page in her notebook, pen in hand, she walked over to Vern. “Address, please? Phone numbers?”

  She jotted his answers down, then looked up at Vern. She was about to speak when he said, “Cut the crap, Ferris. You’ve got all the information on me you need. One of your officers with nothing better to do cited me for driving without a seat belt just last month.” Vern shook his head. “Worse than a game warden, that idiot.”

  Osborne smiled to himself. Vern might pride himself on his male superiority around women, but he had just picked on the wrong one. The man’s idiocy knew no bounds.

  “That’s not why I’m here this morning,” said Lew, her voice stern. “If you have a problem with anyone in my department, Vern, I suggest you share it with the mayor. But before you do, I suggest you keep in mind that seat belt violations are against the law. I do recall your citation and I also recall that Officer Adamczak’s citation was a warning with no fine attached. You have a problem with that?”

  Anger flashed in Vern’s eyes before he said in a restrained voice, “Okay, yes, Greg is my son. I run Steidl Builders and Greg is my CFO—he handles the purchasing and billing for our construction projects. We build commercial—”

  Before he could say another word, Kenzie piped up: “Yeah, but before that Vern was the caretaker for my dad—all the buildings, the docks, and boats. Mom’s place, too. That’s how Greg and I met. We used to play together in the big house while Vern was working. We were five years old then—and today is our third wedding anniversary.” She beamed.

  That explains why Kenzie is so happy and outgoing, thought Osborne. He had been wondering, given the grim reason for the family meeting, why she, of the three Tomlinson siblings, was so upbeat.

  “Honey, that’s not why they’re here,” said Greg, squeezing her waist. “Sorry,” he looked at Lew, “my wife’s been a little carried away today . . . ”

  “Kenzie,” said Vern, his voice thundering across the room. “Have you forgotten your meds again?”

  “N-o-o.” Kenzie sounded flustered. She threw a worried look at her husband. “Why? I feel fine.”