A Quandary in Quarantine

Chapter Fifteen

It was finally Saturday. I usually used my days off to center myself. I would sometimes read for pleasure, or maybe do some journalling. But all of that seemed so secondary. I was definitely looking forward to whatever Drew had planned for that evening, but when my eyes first opened Saturday morning, my first thoughts were focused on Irene. I knew it in my gut that Eliisa had had a hand in her murder. All the clues I had found pointed to Eliisa being Irene’s killer, but I just could not figure out why.

Maybe I had overlooked some key clues in Irene’s office. Had she maybe uncovered more of the truth, and I had just missed it?

The library was closed to the public of course, but I resolved to go there today. I shot off a quick email to Maggie letting her know I’d be in the building, under the auspices of checking to make sure no one had returned any materials through the book drop. I got ready quickly, opting for a quick spritz of dry shampoo and a messy bun, knowing I’d be able to take more time with myself later on in preparation for my date with Drew.

I arrived at the library, and went right to Irene’s office. Of course, the door was locked, so I used my key to open the door. I promised myself I would actually check the book drop, too, so I would’t be flat out lying to Maggie about why I had come in.

Now, Irene’s desk was mostly clear, since I had already absconded with most of her papers. No, that wasn’t quite right - I reminded myself. “Abscond” would indicate I was doing something untoward. I knew deep down that I needed to connect these clues and help figure out whoever it was that did this to her. So, no, not abscond - gathered and kept for safe keeping. There, that was better.

I started with the filing cabinet behind Irene’s desk. I knew this was where she kept her copies of the invoices the library paid for access to the databases, and her other budget work. I found files dating back many years, though, including information about all the professional development programs she’d attended, conferences she’d presented at, and more. It was like an archive of her entire professional life, I thought. I felt a twinge of guilt at the fact that I’d never get to know her any better than I had, which was very sad. I could have really benefitted from a mentor like Irene.

I continued my search through all the files in the cabinet, and then - finding nothing - I moved onto the desk drawers themselves. The top drawer not very deep, perhaps only a few inches, and was the typical ‘junk drawer’ nearly everyone had somewhere in their desk - a jumble of pens, paper clips, and half-used stickie note pads from various local businesses and publishers. I quickly rummaged through this drawer, not expecting to find much.

The next drawer was deeper, and held a few other personal items that Irene had left at work. There was also an intricately carved wooden box buried in the back of the drawer. I pulled out the box and carefully set it on the desktop. The air in the room had somehow changed, it was charged with the electricity of anticipation. I took a deep breath, and slowly cracked open the hinged lid.

Inside, I found what looked like mementoes a woman might have kept from a love affair. There was a round cluster of dried white flowers on a stem, an ornate antique hair comb, and a small photograph. I picked up the photograph, judging by the sepia color and the worn creases, it had likely been taken around the turn of the century. I turned the fragile photo over and found an inscription. M, from D. Could “D” be Daniel, from the letter?

Putting the photo aside for the moment, I then regarded the dried flowers. It was about two inches in length, and the individual flowers were maybe a quarter inch wide each. It looked like some had been broken off, or just disintegrated due to age - but there may have been as many as ten white flowers originally. I was afraid to touch it, worried it would completely fall apart. I decided to leave it in the box, but quickly snapped a photo of it with my cell phone. I did an image search in a popular search engine and realized I was looking at the flower of the Red Baneberry bush. I recalled from the research I did for a patron a few days ago that the juice from the fruit was highly poisonous.

At the very bottom of the box, I realized there was one more item. I carefully lifted out the piece of paper, which had been folded and refolded so many times, it looked like it was about to fall apart.

I opened the paper and realized that in my hand, I held a birth certificate. Scanning the page, I saw the names Mirja and Daniel Martinnen listed as mother and father, and for the baby’s name, only Baby Girl Martinnen.

Mirja had had a child!

Though I was sure Irene had discovered this, I didn’t recall seeing anything in the printouts from the genealogical databases that would confirm that theory, so I went to my desk and quickly brought the query screen.

First, I tired the logical search - Martinnen.

There were two main entries. I clicked into the one I expected - for Daniel Martinnen, married to Mirja. There was no record of any children, though.

I navigated back to the search results and looked at the second main entry. Henri Morton, married to Alma Morton, one daughter - Mira. I clicked into this record and followed the timeline carefully. I saw that they had come to America shortly after Daniel had, and at the time they, too, had been childless. It seemed they settled first in Baltimore and were laborers there for a few years before picking up and moving to Wisconsin. The next census listed them living Elsewhere, daughter Mira - age two years - in tow. The occupation was listed for Daniel was Farmer. And, there was a link to the deed for Morton Farms. But, I recalled, Daniel had been the one to purchase that land. What had happened? Why had the land transferred hand again, so quickly? And, what had happened to Mirja and Daniel’s child? I next clicked into Mira’s linked data. I learned that Mira married and eventually had a daughter of her own named Anna. Anna had one link from her name, a birth record of a daughter in the later part of the 1970’s. I clicked the link, but hit the wall the database shows if the records are not yet public. I knew from my research that this was usually because the person the records named were still alive, and had not chosen to make their records publicly accessible.

I sat back in my chair to think. If what Annie Bea had told us was true - that names were sometimes misunderstood and recorded incorrectly, that would explain how Daniel Martinnen purchased land that the Morton family claimed. Assuming Henri and Alma were related somehow to Daniel and Mirja would also support that assumption; they had taken over the ownership and operation of the farm because for some reason - Daniel and Mirja could not continue the work. It seemed everything hinged on what exactly Daniel had done that he so desperately wanted Mirja’s forgiveness for.

Then there was Mira’s line to consider. If I had to take a guess, I thought perhaps Mira could have been Daniel and Mirja’s daughter. The similarity in the two female first names suggested as much to me, Mira’s name being a quiet homage to her birth mother. Henri and Alma had likely raised Mira as their own child when something terrible had befallen Daniel and Mirja.

I leaned forward and poised my fingers above the keyboard once more. I clicked back to the main search page and entered the name in the query box.

Once again, I found limited records. Finding one for an Aaron Savela, who’s brith dates put him a few years older than Daniel, I clicked into the record. BINGO! Aaron Savela listed County Assessor as his occupation. He was married to Sonja, and they had one child, Paul. There was a document linked to Sonja’s name. I followed the link and saw that shortly after the birth of their son, Paul, Sonja had been institutionalized at a mental hospital in Oshkosh, a larger nearby city. She died shortly thereafter, and Aaron was left to raise Paul alone. A single father in the early twentieth century was not unheard of, but defiantly not the norm. I decided to continue my search.

Clicking into the next line of data, I saw Paul had married a woman named Emma, and their daughter’s name was Irene. I could not believe my good luck. I had found the connection between Eliisa and Irene’s families - but had I found enough proof that Drew would believe Eliisa was Irene’s killer?

****

The butterflies in my stomach made getting ready a bit difficult, I had to stop several times to check myself in the mirror and ask - is this really happening? Typically before a first date, I would be nervous, but this was not nerves - it was incredulity. I kept catching myself smiling, and shaking my head. A date over zoom? I thought maybe I had had enough of interacting through computer screens for the time being. Really, how 2020 could this date be?

Drew had it all planned out though, he assured me. I was to be ready by 6:15. I was to be sitting at the dinner table in my small kitchen, with my laptop computer set up across the table. He said it would seem like we were sitting in the chairs opposite each other that way. Okay, we’ll see, I said.

I had taken extra time with my hair and makeup. Or, more accurately - I had actually washed, dried and styled my dark blond hair - all on the same day - for the first time since we ‘moved home.’ It felt good, if I were being honest with myself. There was a beauty in the ritual of self-care which I had not realized I was missing until today. So, after my shower, I styled my hair in a loose chignon, the casualness of which I balanced with a long black cashmere sweater over my hunter green leggings, and knee-high boots. I carefully applied my makeup, and after a layer of tinted gloss, I felt ready for our date.

I set up my laptop as Drew asked, and logged into the zoom meeting link he had sent me. As I sat in the “waiting room,” giving him a chance to start the meeting, the clock in the kitchen rolled over to 6:15, and the chime at my front door sounded.

“Who could that be?” I thought to myself.

I got up and walked over to the door. Looking through the peep-hole, all I could see was a mass of red flowers blocking the view. I opened the door a crack and said, “Yes?”

“Libby Keene?” asked the bouquet of flowers.

“Yes. That’s me,” I said.

“Great! These are for you. From Drew James. Here’s what I’ll do - I’ll put the flowers down, and leave the sign pad next to them. Then, I’ll step back. You can then open the door, sign the pad, put it back down and grab the flowers. Once you’ve closed the door again, I’ll grab the pad. Okay, sound good?”

“Sounds great, thank you for explaining that - and for being safe. I’m actually sort of surprised you guys are still delivering…” I trailed off. I never knew quite how other people were feeling about the restrictions and suggestions for social distancing and mask wearing, so I tended to tread lightly.

“It’s been interesting, hasn’t it?” The flower delivery man said.

I closed the door, and watched through the peep-hole, making sure he had time to step back a few feet before I reopened the door.

I signed the pad, and picked up my flowers. Drew had sent a modest bouquet of red carnations, with a few delicate sprays of Queen Anne’s Lace wonderfully rounding out the bouquet. I smiled. His choice of this beautifully understated bouquet was touching.

Just as I turned to place the bouquet on the hall table, I noticed another car pull into my driveway.

This time, it was our dinner. Drew had arranged for the meal we likely would have had, if we had been able to meet at a restaurant in town. They had all shut down for in-person dining, per the mandates from our Governor, but most still were able to to provide curb-side pick up. Because he had had to order ahead of time, this part had not been a surprise.

Food in hand, I went back inside and closed the door. I picked up the bouquet of carnations, and took everything back to my dining room table.

Drew’s face filled up my computer screen. His smile was so broad and endearing, I had to smile in return.

“How did you, Mr. Deputy, arrange flower delivery in the midst of a pandemic?” I asked.

“Oh, you know, just pulled some strings,” he winked at me.

His food had been delivered the same time, so we ate together. Of course, our conversation eventually slowed, and I took the opportunity to share what I had uncovered at the library.

“So,” he said, putting his fork down across his empty plate, “You think that Eliisa knew Irene’s ancestor was responsible for the unwanted Anglicization of her family’s name, and that was her motive? Do you think that Eliisa’s family was really so upset - especially after all these years - that she would kill over it?”

“I know,” I said, “That’s the part that I can’t quite reconcile. Sure, I totally understand her family being upset - I mean, a name is so much more than a name. It’s a connection to your history, your ancestors - and since the family was so newly living in the United States, it might have felt like they were losing their connection to their heritage back in Finland. To their whole way of life.”

“I guess those of us whose families came from the England would’t feel that as strongly,” he said, referring to his own family history I assumed.

“Yes,” I agreed, “My own family originally came from Ireland, but I know what you mean. Our names were not necessarily stripped from us due to someone simply not understanding our accent or our language.”

“What do you make of the record you found stating that Sonia was institutionalized?” He asked, referring to Irene’s grandmother.

“Well, in that letter I found Daniel said something that I think relates. He said, ‘It is done’ - I think he conspired to get her committed. That actually happened more than you would think,” I told him the story Ruth had shared about the man who didn’t like his wife’s housework, so he had her committed. “Men do strange things with power. It probably wouldn’t have actually taken that much to convince the hospital she was crazy. Daniel likely did that as a way to retaliate, actually. So, by that reckoning, The Martinnen’s had already taken revenge.”

“I wonder if Eliisa knew that part of the story,” Drew mused. “It would have saved her a lot of trouble - if she is the killer.”

I nodded and took a sip of my drink. I thought to myself - Drew may have hit the nail on the head. If Irene didn’t know about the actions Daniel had taken, and truly thought the feud never ended - that would be pretty good motive for her to kill Irene.

Our conversation drifted away from the murder investigation again.

“Tell me about yourself,” I said, a glass of wine in my hand and a smile on my face as I looked at Drew through the computer screen.

“Not too much to tell,” he said. “You probably heard most of the highlights from Lucy anyway.” He smirked, but not in a snide way. He knew Luce and I were friends, so of course he knew she would have told me at least the bare details.


“You caught me,” I joked. “But seriously, I may have heard her version of your life story, but I would still like hear you tell it.”

“Alrighty,” he said, “Well, I grew up here in Elsewhere, and yes - Lucy and I dated in high school. She was a great friend, still is, really. But we were more like brother and sister than we were like boyfriend and girlfriend. I enjoyed hanging out with her, but eventually we realized that we weren’t meant to be together romantically. Besides, there’s something freeing in leaving for college knowing you are able to meet new people and experience new things. If you are in a long distance relationship, you’re mostly just waiting for the next chance you have to get home, or to drive to where the other person is to see them.”

“So, you dated a lot in college then I assume?” I couldn’t resist the question.

“I wouldn't say that, but I wasn’t exactly a hermit, either.” His quick smile landed again on his face, making the whole thing open up and pull me in.

“So, let’s just fast forward to after college. I came back here, and worked at the station on dispatch while I attended the Police Academy. I wanted to gain as much experience in the world of law enforcement as I could. I always knew I wanted to work in Elsewhere though, so that part was easy. I worked my way up pretty quickly. My boss, Detective Gerald Ramsey is pretty close to retirement and I hope I’m in line to take over his position. So, that's the five year plan, I suppose. What else? I am an only child, my parents are both gone, so I work long hours and occasionally have dates with beautiful librarians.”

Oh boy. I felt a blush creeping it’s way up my neck.

“Oh, really?” I said. “Well… that’s… fine by me.”

*****

Later, I considered the brave new world of dating I’d entered that night. Strangely, it turned out to be one of the best first dates I had ever been on. Something about the comfort of being in my own house, communicating over the computer, allowed us both to open up to each other more quickly than if we had been in a restaurant, surrounded by other people. In many ways, this level of privacy made short work of the first-date nerves, and was so much more intimate and not uncomfortable in the slightest.

I cleared the table and went to bed, a satisfied smile playing on my lips as I lay in the near-dark.