Jolly Old St. Nick: A Laura Kjelstad Mystery with Recipes

CHAPTER ONE

Superior, Wisconsin

November 8th

Donna Scofield looked around her house and smiled. On this pleasant sunny day, she finally had everything in order, ready for a house showing when she came back from Birch Bay. Forty-something, widowed, and striving to build a new life without her beloved husband, she was excited to go to Raspberry Point Inn for the Gingerbread House Fundraiser.

Laura Kjelstad had asked her to help with the pricing of the gingerbread houses. Donna had been told that the projects might be sold outright or maybe an auction of some type. Since it was the first year, the committee was still considering alternatives. That’s why we need you here, Laura had said. You and Joe had a lot of experience with fundraising.

Studying the construction of gingerbread houses was quite an undertaking. She hadn’t realized how elaborate the structures could be until she had traveled to Bergen, Norway a few years ago. Bergen had a Gingerbread Town, Pepperkakebyen, with trains, houses, ships, and cars all made from gingerbread. Laura had told Donna that with her experience with non-profits and her trip to Bergen, she would be a perfect fit for helping.

Donna had been alone for over a year now and was ready to move near her sister in Duluth. It would be good for both of them, since her sister was also an empty nester. Donna and her sister were going into business together, a small art gallery in downtown Duluth. They would also offer art classes. After the last year of grieving, it was energizing to have something positive in her future. She smiled. Make that two positives.

Looking around the house with all the memories, she knew she had made the right decision. Her children had been raised here, but now her son and daughter were in college out of state. She had hoped they would go to a nearby college, but that’s the way things were.

Warm and cozy, the living room and kitchen were painted creamy beige, contrasting brown and black rugs were on the floor. They had added on to the dining room, a sunroom that jutted out to the south with floor to ceiling windows and ash paneling.

An antique escritoire was nestled in one corner of the dining room. She had purchased it at an estate sale and Joe, her husband, had restored it to stunning glory. He had also worked on the kitchen cabinets and countertops creating a room that was spectacular.

Donna was an attractive woman with short cropped brown hair, brown eyes, and dimples when she laughed. She had eyes that always seemed to be smiling, an attribute that added to her popularity. At the top of the list of volunteers for several non-profits, she had kept busy since Joe’s death. Occupied with good things was what she told the kids. She checked herself in the mirror. Wearing a warm cable knit golden wool sweater and black jeans, she thought she looked ready for travel. Without a layer of snow blanketing the earth, the air seemed especially cold. She was anxious to start her trip to Birch Bay.

Startled by the tinny sound of the doorbell, she flinched. She wasn’t sure why she was startled, but maybe the changes had her a little on edge. When Joe had been alive the house was filled with laughter and projects. He loved building; playhouses for kids and a two story parking ramp for the toy cars. He built birdhouses for the local gift shop that always kept him busy. Fundraisers were always recipients of Joe’s carpentry. There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t tackle.

I didn’t expect to see you here, she said as she opened the door. You’ll be in Birch Bay for the fundraiser, won’t you?

Absolutely. Wouldn’t miss it.

I’m driving up there this afternoon, said Donna. Staying at the Inn. My kids helped close the cabin for the winter, so it’ll be fun not to have to do any cooking during my stay. Or cleaning either for that matter.

Her visitor let out a sigh. Always looking on the bright side. The eternal optimist.

That’s the only thing that keeps me going. Donna folded her arms and lifted her chin to punctuate her comment. Smiling, she lifted one eyebrow. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

Must be hard sometimes doing all the work required of a cabin. Being alone must be a drain. The voice was clipped and harsh.

Somebody must be having a hard day, she thought. I enjoy the cabin and people always pitch in to help. My kids help, cousins, aunts and uncles and friends. With Joe gone, it’s just easier not to be at the cabin alone.

Scared?

Silence hung over them as Donna contemplated the word.

No. Never. Missing Joe. Strange question, she thought. Why would she be afraid? In fact, she was pleased that fear had never entered her solitary nights. There’s a big difference between loneliness and fright, she said with confidence. Losing someone you love is unbearable. It’s the one day at a time vigil.

I wouldn’t know. An air of contempt hung on the words. Did you register for the fundraiser on-line?

I did. I was excited when Laura Kjelstad asked if I’d be a judge and if I could help with decisions about what to do with the projects. Plus, she wanted some advice on pricing. I’ve been viewing a lot of gingerbread houses on Internet sites so I’ll be ready for the challenge of assessing. Incredible detail in some of the designs I viewed. Why do you ask?

Curiosity. Always wonder how people sign up for things. I suppose you read it in the Birch Bay paper. I’m assuming you’re a subscriber.

Yes and I received an invitation in the mail. Warning bells were tickling her brain. Such strange comments and questions. What was the point? Is somebody perturbed that they didn’t get asked to help? You did say you’ll be there, too, didn’t you?

Wouldn’t miss it. Bergs are great at marketing. Are those your car keys on the table? And your cell phone?

Yes. Why?

The keys look just like mine. The visitor jiggled a set of keys. Except I have a Minnesota Vikings key chain attached to my keys.

Then the keys aren’t really alike and our cars are different, said Donna looking out the window. Good grief. Her visitor seemed a little spacey today. Speaking of cars, where did you park?

Down the street. Didn’t quite know which house was yours. Enough chit chat. I’m getting bored. Remember I asked about buying some of Joe’s birdhouses? I’d like to pick up two of them now before you move. You said you store them in the basement.

I do. Do you mind coming downstairs to see them?

The basement is perfect.

Lots of styles. He made some log cabin designs, Norwegian stubber houses, houses in the gingerbread style, and some that actually look like birdhouses. Even after he got sick, he still liked working on his miniatures. There are several you might be interested in because they’re quite different.

Like what?

He made a birdhouse that looks like an ore boat and one that is a Viking ship. He made a Viking ship for the Hansens at The Oslo House and decided he’d make a second one. He also made one that looked like our cabin on Cranberry Lake.

I may be interested in the Viking Ship. And maybe a log cabin birdhouse. Let’s have a look.

Donna led the way downstairs, switching on lights as they walked. Joe’s workroom was impeccable and she had kept it dusted and scrubbed. Birdhouses for her kids were on a separate shelf, carefully covered with a sheet. Joe had said not to cover them with plastic; not good for the wood and paint.

As Joe valiantly fought the pancreatic cancer; building projects had kept him happily occupied. He was sure he was going to beat the disease, especially after he was told he was cancer free. Then he got sick again. Stomach cancer. All it took was for the cancer cells to travel. He didn’t last long after that. She brushed tears from her eyes.

Moving to the back of the basement workroom, Donna turned on a light that illumined all the birdhouses in a dramatic effect.

My computer is in the spare bedroom, said Donna. I worked on my projects while Joe sawed and hammered and painted. We liked being together. I brought coffee and goodies downstairs and we’d sit and chat until time to get busy again.

What kind of projects?

I started a blog after Joe died. Conversations about grief, being alone. Then I started a blog about gingerbread houses. I wanted to get as much information as I could so I’d have some background knowledge when I went to Birch Bay to do some judging on the entries. If they do decide on selling the gingerbread creations, we need to know how to set prices.

Did you get much action on the blog?

Actually, more than I thought. Lots of gingerbread house enthusiasts out there. Many of them wanted information on the fundraiser at Raspberry Point Inn. It sparked a vision for people seeking ways to raise money.

And your experience is…? The question hung in the air.

No actual experience behind the scenes, but I’ve been to the big Gingerbread Town in Bergen, Norway. Donna wondered how many people would wonder why she was picked to be a judge. The year after our Bergen trip, Joe and I went to San Francisco to see the gingerbread house at the Fairmont Hotel. That gingerbread house is unparalleled in construction.

How so?

For one thing, it’s two stories tall and you can actually walk through it.

Certainly beyond the scope of anything that will appear in Birch Bay. Will you let your children know when you arrive safely in Birch Bay?

Always keep in touch. Donna gave her visitor a sideways glance. Why the question? Could be the whole sour grapes, didn’t get asked to be a judge thing. That’s why I like texting. I can send out a group text and they can read it at their convenience and they all get the same information. Keeps us connected.

So do you have the addresses on your cell phone?

I do. I told them I’d text as soon as I was safe in Birch Bay. I’ll get there a day early so I can relax and thoroughly enjoy the fundraiser. I’m looking forward to it.

Good for you.

Mocking words, thought Donna. I’m being made fun of. Well, we were never friends, but I can’t very well refuse to sell the birdhouses.

Now let me pick out some birdhouses and write you a check.

Donna walked across the room to pick out a packing box. She didn’t see the gun pointed at her head. It was a quick shot. As she hit the floor, her head exploded against the concrete. Two more shots. Just to be sure.

Pocketing Donna’s cell phone, the killer moved from light switch to light switch. Click. Click. Shut the shop door. Click. Lights off downstairs. Upstairs the same methodical procedure. Click. Click. No hurry.

Set the thermostat on fifty to keep things cool. Harder to determine time of death that way.

Sending a text to Raspberry Point Inn took a couple of minutes. Laura, dear. Regrets, but I’ll be a day or two late. So sorry. Looked forward to helping with the competition. Regards. Donna. Later a text would be sent to Donna’s children saying she’d arrived safely in Birch Bay, but was too busy now to write more.

Slip on the baseball cap. Out the door. Lock it. Donna’s suitcase and purse were put in her car and driven to the local strip mall where the rental car was parked. So easy. A thin smile grew across the face of Donna’s visitor.

CHAPTER TWO

The Blazin Burger Cafe

St. Paul, Minnesota

9:00 a.m. - November 9

Would you like some coffee? asked the waitress waving a cup and coffee carafe. She smiled as she took a menu from under her arm and handed it to him. Suit, tie, classy shoes marked the man as a legislative lobbyist. Handsome mustache on the guy, too. Added zip to his good looks.

Thank you, Debbie. Coffee would be great. I’m waiting for two more people. I’ll order my meal when they get here.

She touched the plastic ribbon with Debbie written in gold glitter on a black background. They make us wear these things. Tacky, but the owner insists. In case we mess up an order customers will know who waited on them.

Is that your real name? Not the best policy to have customers knowing who you are. Too many kooks around.

No. It’s not my real name. The boss said the same thing you did. You must be here for a government meeting. We’ve been busy the past few days with people coming in to check on the status of funding for some grant or other.

You are absolutely right. A broad smile accompanied the lie. Working for a newly formed educational group, helping kids become better readers.

Thought you could be a developer, said Debbie. When I was a waitress in Two Harbors I watched developers march into town to get public land on the North Shore for their resorts or condos. They were careful not to wear suits, though. Usually flannel shirts and jeans, wanted to look like a local.

Did they look like locals?

No. But they sure looked like wheelers and dealers. Four guys with brief cases coming into the restaurant wearing new flannel shirts and stiff blue jeans. May as well have had developer written across their foreheads.

Did they get the land they wanted?

No, not usually. Didn’t stop them from trying, though. They’d try to get city or county land. Or they’d browbeat some of the locals who had land on Lake Superior and offer them a fraction of what the land was worth.

No conscience.

Exactly. Too much land along Lake Superior has been lost to development. The economy tanked and things looked bleak. Now the economy is looking better. Debbie leaned against the booth and looked at the packages on Tony’s lap. Would you like me to put those gift bags up front? It’ll give you more room.

No. They’re for my friends.

I’ll keep an eye out, she said. And I’ll be back as soon as your friends arrive.

Tony Harrington carefully placed the two festive bags on the chair next to him. Yesterday morning about this time he had been robbing a bank, walking out with over sixty thousand dollars. Scanning the headlines of the Minneapolis Star Tribune, he read Bank robbery in Eden Prairie.

A crime spree has erupted in the Twin Cities, he read with a look of amusement. "A reward is being offered for the Comic Page Bandit who has broken his own record of the most banks robbed in one week. With the robbery in Eden Prairie, he has hit No. 7. Though he uses various disguises each time, he writes his holdup note on a comic page from a local newspaper illustrating it with a distinctive cartoon. He has become more brazen each time, chatting with bank customers as he walks out the door. An FBI spokesman says it’s not a copycat robbery since the handwriting is similar in each case and the cartoon is highly stylized. The height and weight of the man appears to be the same on surveillance images. It’s also reported that the man uses a bizarre phrase when he confronts the bank teller, but authorities will not give out any information.

"According to Special Agent Frank Hartsfeld, the FBI is offering a $15,000 reward for information leading to the arrest of the robber. Hartsfeld expressed concern over a serial bank robber who is becoming bolder with each crime. Though the thief has never shown a weapon, law enforcement warned that serial criminals become violent when confronted.

"Police officials reported that the man is white, six feet tall, and approximately two-hundred pounds. He has altered his appearance with beards, mustaches, dyed hair, an assortment of large glasses, sunglasses, and a variety of hats.

"Most of the robberies have occurred in the western suburbs, but a recent robbery in North Branch two days ago is believed to be the same man.

Hartsfeld said the robber is likely to check out a bank before each robbery. Anyone who sees anything suspicious is urged to call 911 immediately.

Tony’s cell phone beeped.

Where are you?

Table at the back of the restaurant next to the windows. It’s near the station for wait staff; separate from the other tables.

I see you. Ed Lewandoski gave a wave as he made his way through the café entrance. Beginning at age ten Ed had perfected assigning blame. If things didn’t turn out his way, it meant that someone had hosed him. Again. Ed’s accusatory tone through life never varied. One of the reasons he had separated from wife number three. Meeting Tony had been his first successful trip to the money bin.

Clark Onnen, eager to get his hands on some money, stepped alongside Ed as they made their way to Tony’s table. They had met at Thunder Ridge Casino in the men’s bathroom. Clark had lost a lot of money and was wiping tears from his eyes when Ed had made him an offer he couldn’t refuse. Lots of money for creating a fuss at a bank while the robber took all the chances. Several months later bank accounts were piling up and Clark’s wife was thrilled at how successful her husband was.

What are you grinning about? asked Ed. We don’t have the money yet.

Tony never disappoints. I can see the gift bags next to him.

If it’s all there, it’s my ticket to Palm Springs. How about you?

Going to Italy. My wife has family there. I told her I got a bonus from the construction job I’m on.

She believed you?

Why not? No reason to doubt it. Besides, she wants to go to Italy.

Ed turned to him, shaking his head. Jeez. She trusts you. What is she? Some kind of dunce?

Clark felt a wave of gratitude and hope. His wife believed in him. If he kept getting jobs from Tony, he’d eventually be able to take an honest job and his wife would never know. Maybe start his own construction company. His kids would have jobs in the company, just like the rich guys. He smiled. He’d buy one of those T-shirts that said Number One Dad.

Breakfast with Tony was relaxed and fun. Tony gave each of them a bank book with their payment for services rendered. Cancelled checks were included that would be proof that they had done work for Lighthouse Construction which advertised remodeling and new. Tony had even made payments to the IRS so it was all legit. True to his word, he had also given them a large amount of cash.

It’ll keep you from doing anything stupid, said Tony as he handed them the bags. Don’t spend the money from the savings account. Save it for the future so you don’t end up like me.

You had some really tough luck, said Clark.

Just like every other unemployed person in this country, said Tony. You count on your job lasting until you retire and then the company goes under and you go with it; including your hard earned pension.

Clark didn’t know how to respond. It was true. People out of work and no where to go. He didn’t like learning to lie and stealing money, but he hadn’t worked for months. Not a real job anyway.

Changing the subject, Tony smiled. Look on the bright side. We’re all employed and no one’s going to shut down our company.

Clark and Ed left with super-size gift bags bulging with money and just enough tissue paper tumbling out the top to make it look legit.

Happy Birthday, said Debbie as they walked through the door. Must be fun having birthdays the same day.

Great fun, said Clark.

Same age. Went to school together, said Ed, pleased that his lying was getting easier. Can’t separate us.

Ed stepped off the curb without a glance to the side. After all, he was crossing on the green. The bicyclist wasn’t. Ed felt the pain in his hip as he went down. Both knees slammed against the sidewalk and his hands shredded as they skidded along the concrete.

Clark failed to catch the bag that had become airborne. Ten thousand dollars floated on currents of air across the intersection.

CHAPTER THREE

Tony pushed his way through the crowd. I’m a doctor, he said. I’ll get him to the hospital faster than an ambulance can.

Grabbing Ed under the arms, he hoisted him to the sidewalk and headed down the street. Hang on, he warned and slung Ed over his shoulder. No one followed them. People were too busy grabbing the fifty and hundred dollar bills landing on the street and sidewalk.

Clark seethed as he thought about the stupidity of what happened. He wanted to punch the bicyclist a good one, but Tony’s constant warning stopped him. Never bring attention to yourself he always said. Melt into the background.

Breathing came in short bursts as Clark tried to look inconspicuous. He clutched his gift bag while everyone was grabbing money and shoving the bills into their pockets. Seemed like a plan. He tucked the gift bag under his jacket and started collecting fifty dollar bills. A pair of hundreds dropped near his feet. As he reached to pick them up, a guy jostled him causing the gift bag to shift.

Get the hell away from those, yelled the guy. I spotted them first.

Melt, he thought. Two hundred dollars weren’t worth the risk. Clark turned his back and ran down the street. No one followed. Why should they? How many fifty and hundred dollar bills did it take to make ten thousand dollars? Tony always threw in some twenties, too. He couldn’t do the math, but he figured there was enough money to keep the masses busy while he made it to his car.

Clark popped a Tums. He’d never been involved in a job that hadn’t worked well. Tony always made sure things were perfect. It was Ed and the stupid cyclist that had messed things up. The guy on the bike didn’t even stop. Couldn’t report it to the cops, though, because they’d want to know where all the money came from. Clark tried to think of a story, but he wasn’t any good at that sort of stuff. That’s why they needed Tony.

Tony. One time he had blond, curly hair going gray at the sides. Another time he had straight red hair, reddish mustache, and green eyes. A different disguise each time. He gave them cash to buy groceries and clothes. Don’t use the money in the saving accounts, he’d said. Keep it there for two or three years. Add a little of the cash each week. Maybe two, three hundred dollars or so. No one blinks an eye at three or four hundred bucks. You’ll make everything look legit. Tony had deposited ten thousand dollars in a checking account for them, too. That was the money he told them to use. I’ll keep adding money on a regular basis, he’d said. It’ll look like a regular payment for work done for my company.

At each robbery, Tony set up a disguise for them. It was always a distinctive hat that pulled down over their forehead, unique glasses, and a jacket that had the name of a local sports team. Each job had a completely new outfit and they couldn’t shave for at least a week before a robbery. Just before the robbery Tony rubbed some coloring over the whiskers so it further concealed their looks. People will remember the hat or jacket, Tony had said. They won’t remember your features. But if everything works well, no one will even know you were part of the plan. Just a guy having chest pains or whatever and someone going to his aid. That’s what people look at and remember. Most of the time, they don’t even know a robbery is taking place.

They knew that was true. Tony was gifted in the art of stealing money. Even the FBI said that.

Whenever they asked about a future robbery, Tony always said he’d contact them. At least that part was true. He always seemed to know where they were. Ed and Clark never hung out together. They lived in opposite parts of the Twin Cities and they couldn’t contact each other either. Tony was adamant about that. If you wanted to work for Tony you followed his rules.

Clark ran along the street the way Tony had gone, then he slowed so he wouldn’t bring attention to himself. He was afraid he’d lost them when he spotted Tony standing over a bench in front of a Walgreen’s Pharmacy. Ed looked okay. Maybe he hadn’t been hurt that bad.

How is he? asked Clark.

I’m fine, said Ed, but his face didn’t look fine. Don’t talk about me when I’m right here. Stupid cyclist ran the light. He should get a ticket but the cops don’t bother the damn bikers. They’re too hard to catch, weaving in and out like they do. Menace to traffic.

I’m a cyclist, said Tony.

Ed was quiet. What the hell do you say to the boss when he’s one of the bikers? And you obey the law, he said.

Remember the rule. Tony was patient. Never bring attention to yourself. Follow the traffic laws and everything’s cool.

So what do we do now? asked Clark.

You’re going into the store to buy some bandages, ointment, and aspirin. Doesn’t look like Ed has anything broken. Buy one of those cloth reusable bags. We’ll put your gift bag inside that. While you’re inside I’ll call for a taxi to get Ed home. Don’t want you two to be seen together.

Clark made it quick into the pharmacy. He wanted to get out of the area as fast as possible and when he was back outside he said that to Tony.