“It’s in her office, dazzling her clients.”
“I like to hear that. What can I do for you? Interest you in another piece?”
“Not today, thanks. I’m looking for Lyla. I thought she’d be here.”
“Normally. But Tiffany’s graduating tonight, and Lyla’s out shopping. Planning on whipping up a special dinner for the occasion. Anything I can help you with?”
Cork recalled seeing Marion’s name when he and Jo had scanned the guest list. “Maybe,” he said. “I wanted to talk to her about the New Year’s Eve party at Mayor Lipinski’s place.”
“The night Charlotte Kane was killed.” She gave him a look that told him she was pretty but not stupid.
“That’s right. I’m hoping to help Jo put the whole night in perspective. I’m trying to find out if any of the parents whose children were at Valhalla knew about Charlotte’s party.”
“Not Lyla, I can tell you that. She thought her daughter was at a sleepover. Those girls were clever. Gave Lyla a cell phone number to call to check on them that night. You know how unreliable cell phones are up here in the boondocks. Of course, when Lyla did call and couldn’t connect, well, that’s just technology in the deep woods.” She laughed, a soft liquid sound. “Bright girls.”
“So Lyla didn’t call Valhalla directly?”
“No reason to. She didn’t know they were there. Till the next day when everybody realized Charlotte was missing, and Tiffany confessed to her little ruse.”
Cork sauntered to the counter and eyed the framed photograph Marion had brought with her. It was a teddy bear in a garden.
“Going for the domestic look?” he asked.
“A graduation gift for Tiffany. That bear is her favorite. I shot it in Lyla’s garden.”
“Nice,” Cork said.
“Nice? Art is passionate, art is touching, art is orgasmic. But art is never nice.”
“Orgasmic?”
“You have no idea.”
“You wouldn’t happen to know when Lyla and Arne left the Lipinskis’ party, would you?”
“Couldn’t say about Arne. Lyla left at ten-thirty.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive. I gave her a ride.” Marion stepped back and cocked her head as she appraised the teddy bear among Lyla’s flowers. “She and Arne got a little of Wil Lipinski’s rum punch under their belts and started taking mean little potshots at each other. Nothing deadly, but Lyla’d had enough of it long before midnight. When she started to leave, she discovered that Arne had taken the keys to her car. He wouldn’t give them back. Told her she was in no condition to drive. Frankly, he was right. I offered to give her a lift.”
“Home?”
“That’s what she wanted, but I saw how upset she was, so we came out here, rang in the new year, and then I took her home.”
“And Arne kept the car?”
“He did.”
“What time did you drop Lyla off?”
“Twelve-fifteen, maybe.”
“Was Arne home?”
“I don’t recall seeing the car. Could’ve been in the garage, I suppose.”
“Were there lights on in the house?”
“I don’t believe so.” She fisted her hands on her hips, squinted at Tiffany’s gift, and shook her head. “Nice?”
Cork said, “Isn’t shooting a teddy bear a little dull for you?”
Marion favored him with a tolerant smile. “If you look at life with the right attitude, Cork, nothing’s dull.”
Cork met Jo at her office.
“Did you get anything from Edith?” he asked.
“Enough to be enlightening. Lyla and Arne had a bit of a tiff, and they didn’t go home together.”
“I know. Marion Griswold gave her a lift. Arne kept the car.”
“Lyla told you?”
Cork shook his head. “Marion. What else did Edith say?”
“Not long after Lyla left, Arne made his apologies and he left, too. Get this, Cork. She said Arne seemed distracted, not his normal glad-handing self. And he asked to use her phone a couple of times. Said he wanted to check on his daughter but his cell phone wasn’t going through. She directed him to the phone in her husband’s study, off-limits to the party.”
“Marion said she dropped Lyla off at home a little after midnight. She didn’t see any indication that Arne was there.”
“Okay.” Jo put her hands together and bowed her head a moment, thinking. “Arne left the Lipinskis’ house shortly before eleven. It’s a good half-hour drive out to Valhalla. Around eleven-thirty, Charlotte told people she was going snowmobiling. But probably she went out to the guesthouse to meet her lover.”
“Arne.”
“Maybe. I’ve been rereading the statements of all the kids at Valhalla that night. Sid Jankowski and Evelyn Foley said that when they went to the guesthouse a little after one ‘to be alone,’ they heard the snowmobile taking off, and Charlotte wasn’t in the guesthouse when they got there.”
“The time frame works, Jo.”
“Everything we have is circumstantial, Cork.”
“Not everything. We have a trump card. The pubic hairs the M.E. combed off her body. Suppose they match Soderberg’s?”
“Unless we can actually put Arne at Valhalla that night, I don’t think we have enough to compel him to submit to a DNA test.” For a minute, Jo stared out the window. Then her blue eyes widened and she said, “Oh, my god.”
“What?”
“Tiffany Soderberg.”
Jo grabbed a stack of manila folders from a corner of her desk. It looked like the same stack she’d taken to bed with her the night before. She thumbed through quickly, found the folder she was looking for, and opened it. She flipped a couple of pages and scanned the text.
“Here it is. In her statement, Tiffany says she got to the party early, around nine, and that she got a ride to and from Valhalla with Lucy Birmingham. She didn’t drive herself.”
“So?”
Jo held up her hand, indicating Cork needed to be patient. She located another folder and flipped through the pages, found what she wanted. Her finger followed the text as she spoke. “In his statement, a young man named Peter Christiansen says he didn’t arrive at Valhalla until eleven. He wasn’t going to stay at the party long. About twelve-fifteen, he tried to leave, but couldn’t because his car was blocked by Tiffany Soderberg’s car. He went back to the party looking for Tiffany, couldn’t find her, drank another beer, and when he went outside again, her car was gone, and he left.” She looked up at Cork. “If Tiffany didn’t drive there, why did he think it was her car blocking him in?”
Cork thought a moment. “Because it was clearly a Soderberg vehicle.”
“And what Soderberg vehicle really stands out?”
“Lyla’s gold PT Cruiser.”
“Let’s find Peter and make sure that was the car.”
“Then what?”
“Then we visit Arne and if necessary, play our trump card.”
They located Peter Christiansen at the Iron Lake marina, where he had a summer job. After he confirmed the information they needed, they headed to the sheriff’s department and caught Soderberg just as he was leaving his office. He seemed in a particular hurry.
“Clocking out already?” Cork cast an obvious look at his watch.
“My daughter’s graduating tonight, O’Connor.”
“A big celebration?” Jo asked.
“Lyla’s got a special dinner planned. So whatever it is you want, it’ll have to wait until tomorrow.”
“I don’t think this one can wait, Arne,” Cork said.
Jo touched her husband’s arm. “Of course it can. Congratulate Tiffany for us, and tell her we wish her good luck. We’ll come back in the morning and talk.”
After Soderberg had gone, Cork turned to Jo. “What was that about?”
“If he is the one,” Jo said, “this may be the last good time he and his family have together for a long while. We can wait until tomorrow, can’t we?”
They left the sheriff’s department. In the park across the street, the crowd had thinned considerably in the summer heat. A few blankets were still on the ground in the shade of the trees. Music played on a boom box, but softly. A red helium balloon had escaped, and its string was snagged in the branches of a maple. Cork watched the balloon pull gently at the end of its tether. The late afternoon was still, like a held breath. All of them, those who waited in the park hoping for a miracle that would free them from their own tethers, whatever they were, looked toward the jail that held Solemn Winter Moon.