“I need help identifying the other people in this photo,” Sandy said, holding the photo out for Nelson to see.
Nelson stood staring at the picture for several seconds. “Wow,” he said, flipping the photo over to see if there were any markings on the back.
“That’s you with the dark hair, isn’t it?”
Nelson stared at the picture as if he couldn’t believe the image. “Where did you find this? I’ve never seen it before.”
“Someone bought a garage sale camera and this was on the film.”
“Well, yeah, that’s me. The skinny guy is Aaron Roberts. The girls are Betsy Ring, Kathy Tucker, and Melissa Smith. Of course they’re all married now with different last names, except for Kathy.”
“The picture was probably taken the night before Ken Solstad was killed in a car accident. Tell me what happened that night?”
Nelson’s eyes shot up and locked on Sandy’s. “The last night before Kenny died?”
Sandy nodded. “The picture was taken in December while Ken was home on leave. It looks like a group of you went out drinking together. What happened that night?”
“Kenny died the next day.”
“I know, but what happened between the time this picture was taken and when Kenny drove away the next morning?”
“We partied all night. It seems like all we did was drink and get stupid back then. Kenny was leaving the next day for his Army base and all he wanted to do was get wasted and talk about how macho he was. He was like arm wrestling everyone he could find and he tried to pick a fight at a bar with some guy about something stupid.” Nelson stared at the photo again. “I guess that’s about all we did,” he said, shrugging his shoulders and handing the picture back.
“Were you with Kenny that whole night?”
Nelson looked over his shoulder nervously, then stepped onto the front step, closing the door behind him. “Not exactly. Betsy and I left the others at the bar.”
“The others stayed together, or did the whole group break up and go their own way?”
“I don’t know,” Nelson said curtly. “Betsy was pretty drunk and not resisting much, so I didn’t hang around to see who went where with whoever else. We kinda left to, um, park.” He ended with an embarrassed shrug.
“Where did you go parking?” Maki asked as he took out a notebook and made notes.
Nelson hesitated, looking past Sandy toward a spot on the lawn. “There’s a road that runs out to Mink Lake that doesn’t have any traffic that time of year.”
“Were you out by Mink Lake a long time, and did you see any of the others after that?”
“We woke up in the car the next morning, and I never saw Kenny again. That’s why I was so surprised to see this picture. I’d never seen it before and it’s kinda strange that it’d show up now. Who took it?”
“It was on an old roll of film in Ken’s camera that just got developed. It looks like Ken probably took it himself.”
“That’s spooky,” Nelson said. “It kinda gives me the creeps.”
“Were other people hanging around with you six that night?”
“Nah, we mostly were just by ourselves except for people we met in the bars.”
“What happened to Aaron that night?”
“He was with Kathy,” Nelson said, pointing to the raven-haired girl with a trim build sitting on Aaron’s lap in the photo. “They were partying like the rest of us.”
“Did you see him again after you left for Mink Lake?”
Nelson frowned, studying the picture again. His eyes suddenly went wide with recognition. “Is that what this is all about? Has Aaron shown up?”
“What happened to Aaron that night?” Sandy asked again.
“Whew! That was like half a lifetime ago.” Nelson paused to collect his thoughts. “I don’t remember anything special about Aaron that night. I mean he was there, but I don’t remember him doing or saying anything special. He was with Kathy, but that’s about all I remember about him.” Nelson paused, looking at the photo. “I’m remembering more. Something was different about Aaron that night. He was quiet and wasn’t drinking like he had. I suppose he might’ve been intimidated by Kenny’s stupid macho shit or maybe he was pissed about something, but it just seemed like he wasn’t into the party scene like he’d been other times. I guess that’s all I can remember about Aaron.”
“Do you know how I can find the three women?” Sandy asked, making notes.
“Well, I still see Betsy once a month when I pick up Alyssa. She’s married to a guy in the Cities who’s a truck dispatcher.”
“Who’s Alyssa?”
“She’s my daughter. Betsy and I were married for a couple years.”
“Can you give me her married name and her phone number? We’d like to ask about her memories of that night, too.”
“Sure, it’s Betsy Webb, and she lives in Brooklyn Center.” Nelson repeated the phone number from memory. “I haven’t stayed in contact with the other women, although I know that Melissa got married and moved off. Kathy Tucker still lives in Hinckley and runs the garden center with her parents. You can see it from the interstate, just off the highway 23 exit. She never got married as far as I know.”
After dispatching Sandy to do interviews, Floyd drove to the supermarket and bought a strawberry-rhubard pie. The pictures of Ken Solstad’s group were disturbing, but they quickly passed from his mind when he pulled into Mary Junger’s driveway and saw the light in the kitchen window. He took the pie from the front seat and walked to the door, feeling like a high school kid going on a date. His heart was racing and he couldn’t help but smile.
Mary lived in a clapboard house a few blocks off highway 23 in the town of Pine Brook. The town itself had never been large in its heyday and when I-35 bypassed it a few miles to the east, and people migrated to other, larger towns and to the Twin Cities, many of the houses had fallen into disrepair. Mary’s house had flower boxes on the windows and the yard was neatly trimmed, although the siding looked like it was about a year past due for a new coat of paint. Floyd rang the doorbell and waited on the top step.
When the door opened he held up the bakery box. “I brought pie for dessert.”
Mary smiled and took the box. “You know, if I eat half of each pie you bring, I’ll be as round as I am tall.” She pushed the door open and stepped back. “You, on the other hand, never seem to gain an ounce of weight.”
“So, don’t eat any,” Floyd said, stepping into the kitchen and slipping off his shoes. He was engulfed with the aroma of frying pork chops and boiling potatoes. He pecked Mary on the cheek and sat in a kitchen chair.
“Right. Like that’s going to happen,” Mary replied as she took the pie from Floyd and set it on the counter. Again she was dressed in an embroidered sweatshirt and baggy bluejeans, both effectively hiding her figure. She quickly went to the stove and started stirring vigorously. “You almost distracted me long enough to scorch the gravy.”
Mary’s kitchen was in need of new floors and the cabinets needed refinishing. The floor, cabinets, and counters had been cleaned so many times the paint and linoleum had worn thin, but everything was spotless. Lace curtains hung in the windows, and the counters were pristine. The appliances were faded harvest gold, hinting at their origins in the ’70s.
Floyd watched contentedly as she hustled from stirring gravy to draining potatoes, to uncovering the plate of pork chops. She handed him a pot of potatoes and a potato masher then strained the lumps from the gravy. He was mashing potatoes when Mary poured the gravy into a serving dish and looked up.
“Why are you smiling?” she asked.
Floyd shrugged. “You move like you’re conducting an orchestra.”
“And why does that make you smile?”
“I guess because you’re going to all that trouble just for me.”
Mary put the gravy on the table and said, “I like to cook for people. There’s no joy in cooking for myself. And you really seem to enjoy a home-cooked meal.”
As Mary set the table Floyd thought but couldn’t bring himself to say, “I enjoy your company even more than the meal.”