Murder Under the Loon by Gerald Anderson

Author:Gerald Anderson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: mystery, fiction, midnight ink
Publisher: Llewellyn Worldwide, LTD.
Published: 2011-09-15T00:00:00+00:00

SEVENTEEN

“Come in, Sheriff. Come in, Mr. Peterson. Let me take your coats.”

Knutson and his deputy handed their parkas to Martha Hofstead and appreciated the warmth of the house. It was an attractive house, not overly large, befitting a childless couple with an assured and comfortable income. Palmer admired Martha’s taste, as evident in the foyer done in subtle shades of blue. Mrs. Hofstead ushered them into the living room and said, “Just sit down. I’ll get us some coffee.”

Knutson and Peterson looked at each other without speaking. Orly was glad that in situations like this he could count on the sheriff to do the talking. Martha Hofstead returned almost immediately with a thermal HotPot of coffee and a tray of cookies. “Oh,” protested the sheriff, “you shouldn’t have gone to such trouble.”

“It wasn’t any trouble. Really. People have been very kind. I have received dozens of cookies in the last few days.” She seemed to choke up and whispered, “So kind. Really.”

“We’re very grateful that you took the time to see us,” Palmer began tentatively. “I’m sure you’re very busy.”

Martha Hofstead sighed and said, “You would think so, wouldn’t you. And maybe I should be. All these wonderful people sending condolences. Everybody saying, ‘If there is anything I can do to help …’ Well, what am I supposed to say? Yes, will you please bring John back to me? Everybody assumes that there will be all sorts of people over, but no one wants to come. Other people have children to help them. I have nobody. In the days before the funeral everyone called and Pastor Knutson—he’s your brother, isn’t he?—was here. But since I got back from the funeral yesterday, only one person has called, and that was Borghild Kvamme from the office. You know, it makes one take stock of one’s life. John was all I had. I’m not into self-pity, and I’m not asking for any from you. But I am just so bewildered. What will I do now?”

“Martha, John will be missed by the whole community, and we all share your loss. I know it sounds empty to make these kinds of assurances, but you are a healthy and talented woman who can do just about whatever you set your mind on. I’m sure that your husband, who believed in insurance, left you well provided for. I know it won’t be easy, but you have the capacity and the opportunity to enjoy the rest of your life.” Palmer thought he sounded like an idiot.

Orly thought, “I wish I could say things like that.”

Martha sniffed, and Palmer continued. “But we are here about something else, a very serious matter. This may come as a shock to you, but we think that your husband’s death may not have been an accident.”

Mrs. Hofstead looked up quickly. “What do you mean?”

Palmer looked embarrassed and said, “I mean, are you aware of anyone who may have benefited from your husband’s death?”

“You mean …?”

“Yes. We have reason to suspect that your husband was murdered.

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