Fire On The Lake

By Dan Allex

It was suppose to be an easy path to wealth and new happiness, but instead a simple robbery starts a downward spiral for three young people and their accomplice. The quiet bay of a pristine Southern Minnesota lake erupts in a blaze of fire fueled by greed. The team of three retired private detectives help the investigation of the lake home fire that takes place next door.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dan Allex
• Release date: Feb 8, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310427510

Dan Allex

Dan Allex (Dan Kubicek) was born in Austin, Minnesota. I am retired and enjoy exploring the mountains of Colorado after moving here 5 years ago. My hobbies are golf, fly fishing, pheasant hunting, skiing and reading.My wife and I had lived in Las Vegas, Nv. for twenty-five years, and recently relocated to Denver to be closer to our son and his family.I enjoy telling a story, and I hope people get some enjoyment from my books. Visit danallex-com1.webs.com/ for more information about the upcoming mysteries and the author.Books in print are available now at danallex-com1.webs.com where you can order direct for less.Take a look at Chisago Creek, my latest book. It is a Minnesota mystery that is a page-turner. If you visit to Austin, stop in and browse at Sweet Reads, my favorite bookstore.

Book preview

Prologue

The glow on the horizon was seen for miles. The intensity of the fire yearned for more fuel to sustain its growth, as it quickly climbed the stairs toward the second story of the stylish Victorian lake home.

The 911 county dispatcher had radioed for every available unit after hearing the urgency in the caller’s voice. The home in flames sat in a quiet bay on German Lake near Mankato, Minnesota. It was late May and on a weekday, so many of the weekend lake people were absent. The fire was visible from across the bay, and its reflection in the water made it even more ominous to the year round resident across the lake that made the frantic call.

German Lake had never seen a fire like this. As the emergency vehicles came streaming in, the flames had reached the top of the second story and were starving for fuel. The house was gone and the fire fighters started concentrating on surrounding trees and structures that were vulnerable. The fire burned for most of the night and some of the next day, with embers and smoke persisting for days.

As Sheriff Dunning and his two deputies carefully inspected the smoldering debris they came upon what they suspected was the charred remains of the owner, Mrs. Nelson. Without touching what was left of the corpse, the sheriff called for additional help to handle what he was hoping was a routine fire investigation, but was starting to look like much more.

Chapter 1

Helen Ostrander had arrived at the Minneapolis airport late only to find the flight she was anticipating was delayed. She had gotten up much earlier than usual and left her New Prague condo. Fighting the humidity and detours had left her in a foul mood. When she paused at the big board for departures and arrivals she saw Will’s flight status and could only whisper, Son of a bitch.

The flight was delayed from leaving Las Vegas because of massive thunderstorms circulating the Minneapolis/St. Paul area-almost a daily occurrence lately. Two hours is what the hold looked like now, but realistically that was the best it could be. She had forgotten her book, and even though she had her i-phone and it’s Kindle app, she looked for the nearest shop that carried books and magazines. Reading a novel from an i-phone could be done as a last resort, but she didn’t like the constant page turning. Helen hated to buy a book at the airport because everything was marked at full price, plus she couldn’t remember the last time any airport purchase had been a pleasant experience.

The two clerks ignored her as they carried on a conversation in their native tongue as Helen looked through the selection of best sellers, some of them from years ago. The communication they jabbered was indeed foreign. It wasn't any of the romance languages, and if she had to guess she would say Farsi. She thought about how she treated customers that came into the New Prague bakery and coffee shop where she works-no comparison. It was a matter of common courtesy to greet someone entering a business. Instead of a feeling of being welcome there was the air of distain and apathy prevailing in this store like most of the retail outlets at the airport.

She made her selection and moved toward the checkout counter while glancing up to the flatscreen TV that was mounted close to the ceiling in the corner. Helen was frozen as she watched a news report about a terrible fire at a local lake. There on the screen was her and her fiancee’s lake home at German Lake. The fire had taken place next door. As the video panned the area around the smoking ashes, investigators and fireman carefully picked through the debris.

Holy shit, was all Helen could mutter.

At least she had gotten the attention of one of the clerks who managed a crooked smile and flat acknowledgement, Can I help you?

Yes, this book please.

Helen, a bouncy, happy person, found herself being drawn into the deadpan world of airport employees. She quickly shook it off and gave the clerk a broad smile and a genuine, Thank you.

It was a wasted effort, but she felt better for being herself. She stood in the shop with her gaze transfixed on the screen as the newscast continued. It appeared like their cabin hadn’t sustained any damaged, but many of the surrounding trees and shrubbery were scorched. The newscaster mentioned a fatality that hadn’t yet been identified. Helen thought about their lake neighbors and quickly surmised the only person that lived in their bay on the lake full time was their nosey neighbor, Mrs. Nelson.

Helen found a quiet waiting area and settled down with her Sanford best seller about the Minnesota investigations of one Virgil Flowers. The novel quickly got her attention, but it had trouble sustaining it. She kept drifting back to the fire and the charred images of their neighbor’s home.

She knew Mrs. Nelson didn’t smoke and even though she was in her eighties, she was alert and perfectly capable of taking care of herself and her household. The nosey neighbor slept seldom, and was always seen staring out one of her windows or working in her flower garden. Helen had trouble picturing the neighbor as the victim of a careless accident-that wasn’t Mrs. Nelson.

The origin of the fire would continue to puzzle Helen and her fiancee, Will, as well as the investigators that would sift through what was left, searching for answers.

Chapter 2

Will had found the cheap tickets and called everyone he thought might be considering going to Minnesota to attend his wedding. Willard Olson was a Southern Minnesota native, and a long time resident at German Lake. He met his bride to be several years ago at the New Prague bakery where she was an employee and he was a regular. They had been dating off and on for five years, and known each other for at least ten.

If Willard had his way he’d have the wedding at the Las Vegas chapel near Sunset and the strip, but Helen had so many friends and relatives in Southern Minnesota, it wasn’t an option.

Dave Johnson and his wife, Jan, were on the flight with Willard, along with their friends, Jim Roberts and his wife, Betty. After staring at the flight departures as the delays were multiplying, the group voted to sit it out in the nearest bar and grill. Will took note of the last displayed delay of their flight, and quickly called Helen to see what it looked like on her end. He got her estimate and also the news about the Nelson fire.

It looked like two hours from both ends, so the group settled down at the Blue Burrito Grille, for a few drinks and a snack. Jim’s wife, Betty, had a little streak going on a quarter deuces wild machine, so she and Jim tagged along after her credits started dwindling.

On the way to join the group Betty expressed her disappointment with the winnings that disappeared so quickly, It’s been a long time since I’ve seen a Royal on a machine. I don’t know if I’d recognize one. Can these slots get any tighter?

Jim laughed and responded, I don’t think the airport is the best place to play, but I have to agree the town can’t get much tighter. Years ago before everything went electronic the old mechanical slots were not as predictable, and every once in a while you would find one that was set to pay off handsomely. Now the house can control the slots and fine tune them much more. Time after time I’ve had a few modest wins when I first start, and then once I get rolling and increase my wagers a little-bam! The machine will turn on me and take it back with a vengeance. That’s why I play Blackjack more now. At least there I can recognize a streak and feel like some of the action allows luck to sneak in.

I still like the slots, Jimmy. I have to get used to taking those little gains at the front end and walk away. Let’s go have some food and a drink or two. That way we can see something for our money.

Jim Robert’s and his wife had plenty of money to gamble because Jim had a good retirement plan from his twenty-five years with the FBI. They lived modestly and had recently moved from Salt Lake City, Utah, to join their friends, the Johnsons, in Las Vegas. The move brought together, Jim, Dave and Willard-three friends with common interests, investigations and crime solving. Willard was the only one without a law enforcement background, but even though he was a retired pharmacist he always loved a good mystery and problem solving. The trio, along with Dave’s son, Mike, had formed a detective agency in Las Vegas called Eye of the Owl. The firm was in its second year of operation and had a reputation of getting results. They had also teamed up with Black Arrow, a security company headed up by a colleague of Jim’s, Winston Avery. It was a good combination because private and corporate investigations, as well as security, were in great demand-especially in Las Vegas.

Dave and Jan Johnson, had been in Vegas for only about a year longer than the Roberts. The had moved from German Lake where they had been neighbors with Willard Olson, for longer than they could remember. Dave had taken an early retirement from Sheriff of Lake County after being shot while on duty by an intoxicated couple that were wrestling over a handgun. Willard was on his way home from work and noticed the commotion. He stopped and applied first aid that slowed the arterial bleeding in Dave’s leg that could have proven fatal. The Johnson’s moved to Nevada to be closer to their son and grandkids. Later Willard bought a condo there after visiting them and developing a love for the area.

* * * *

Lake County Sheriff, Ray Dunning, shook his head as he watched his investigation crew sift through the still smoldering ashes of the Nelson home. The house had been part of the Nelson farm that originally included much of the lakeshore of German Lake. Old Ralph Nelson was a shrewd Norwegian that knew how to make a buck and keep it. He had farmed the fertile one hundred and twenty acres until he was in his late fifties when arthritis had taken over almost every joint in his body. Over the years he had gradually been selling off lakeshore and also sections that were hard to farm, some wet areas, dry hilltops, and heavily wooded land. It was rumored that Ralph had amassed in excess of two million dollars before he quit farming and actively started selling off his remaining acres. By the time he passed away from a heart attack (some say it was his only way to escape his wife) he had sold off all but the homestead house and the five acres it sat on. It was rumored the Nelsons were worth roughly twelve million dollars.

The Elysian bank held the Nelson’s assets, but after a quick call the sheriff found out that their account total was around six million. Ray Dunning knew how the Nelson’s lived, and they could never be accused of being extravagant. Mrs. Nelson still made all her own clothes and never went out to eat, with the occasional exception of a Lutheran Church Lutefisk dinner.

As the county fire investigators along and two people from the Nelson’s insurance company combed through the ashes, they came upon a pile of blackened timbers that used to support the second story. They were laying in disarray on what was the remainder of the North wall of the sitting room or parlor. After removing the beams leaning on the last standing partition, the investigators saw a large landscape painting that was still hanging ascu revealing the corner of a wall safe. Once the timbers were removed, one of the insurance investigators carefully removed the painting, so they could see the safe. With gloved hand, he pulled the handle without touching the numbered dial and the old door squeaked open.

Sheriff Dunning watched hoping to see some evidence of what Ralph Nelson had done with approximately six million dollars of unaccounted assets.

Chapter 3

The Mystic Lake casino was as good a place to celebrate as any. They had all agreed on curtailing spending to eliminate the suspicion it could draw. In theory it made sense, but holding back the euphoria was already proving to be difficult.

Beaver Thompson had gotten his first name from some cruel classmates in the second grade that thought his front teeth reminded them of the industrious animal. Beaver was nowhere close to industrious, but the children’s description of his teeth were very accurate. He thought the nickname was cool and the taunts had little affect on his behavior.

His parents had given up on him somewhere along the line when they realized that discipline only elicited a negative response from Beaver. After only two years in a parochial grade school he was expelled. The public school teachers classified him as being in need of special help, which was a much kinder assessment compared to his last parochial teacher. Sister Mary Teresa said his condition could only be helped with an exorcism.

Now at the age of twenty-two, the Thompson boy and his life long friend, Whizzer Olafsen, who had gotten his first name from a public display, were in some of the worst trouble they ever imagined. It had started with happy hour at the Alibi bar and ended up with a DUI, lewd and disorderly conduct, resisting arrest, and assaulting a police officer. After their parents had posted bail for them, they decided to double down and make their fortune quickly, so they could escape their current unpleasant situation.

Whizzer and his girlfriend, Darla, who also had problems with the law, had put together what they thought was an ingenious plan for wealth. They had met earlier in the week with Beaver and shared their thoughts over shots of Tequila chased with Keystone Light. As the shots and stones continued the three were amazed at the heightened level of their intelligence. It was truly a marvelous transformation. When they figured they couldn’t get much smarter, Whizzer took the floor and put forward steps in a plan that would free them from their troubled, mundane lives.

Mrs. Nelson had been trying to keep up with the yard work around her large lake home. The two story Victorian sat on five acres overlooking the most pristine bay on German Lake. When her husband, Ralph, had been alive their house and the surrounding grounds had been a showplace of manicured lawns, trimmed bushes, and constantly flowering plants. As hard as she tried, she could never quite duplicate the splendor that her husband had achieved.

Her pastor at the Lutheran church in Elysian had recommended the Olafsen boy, who's parents had told him he was looking for yard work.

Pastor Knudsen knew the boy had a checkered past, but believed what he needed was a break and the chance to prove himself.

Whizzer started out with his best behavior and did a good job for Mrs. Nelson. He also helped her with handyman jobs around the house, and that’s when he chanced upon some clues that led him to believe Mrs. Nelson wasn’t as poor as she tried to make everyone believe she was.

It was while he was straightening up after patching some nail holes in the parlor wall that he moved a picture to adjust it to level, and discovered a wall safe behind the artwork. Poor people didn’t have safes. He dismissed it until she had him work on her washing machine in the basement, and he discovered another safe in a dark corner. In both cases he had tried the door handles of the safes and they were locked.

He told Darla, and they fantasized about what they contained, but he had never told Beaver. Darla was only nineteen and had ran away from home a year ago. She and Whizzer had found each other during happy hour at the Alibi bar, and it didn’t take them long to agree they were meant for each other. She moved in with Whizzer and they pooled their meager wages to cover their booze, drugs, rent, and grocery bills.

At 5’6" Darla was only three inches shorter than her boyfriend, and when she took the time to cleanup and do some grooming, she really was an attractive girl. She hid it well, and her oversized teeshirts and jeans with holes gave her the appearance of being homeless. It was a good disguise, but Whizzer saw through it and noticed the hot body under the rags. Finders keepers and Whizzer claimed his prize without any disagreement from Darla. She loved the attention and her new boyfriend that talked like he was going somewhere. She embraced his advances and got lost in his daydreams of impending wealth. Her parents were divorced and her dad was serving a ten year prison sentence for attempted armed robbery. Her mother was a bartender at the Alibi and had been supplementing her income by taking advantage of intoxicated men with too much money. Darla’s mother did the opposite with her assets displaying them whenever she could and using them to lure her unsuspecting victims.

Darla moved in with Whizzer to simplify her life and leave the one bedroom apartment where she slept on the couch while her mother entertained and fleeced her bar friends. It wasn’t a surprise that Darla and Whizzer had become inseparable. As the Olafsen boy spelled out the details of his robbery plan, she studied him with envy, while Beaver did the same to her.

He had noticed Darla’s transformation since she had moved in with Whizzer. She had her shoulder length auburn hair styled and traded her jeans with holes for tight slimming ones. The oversized tee shirts were replaced with stylish designer tops that fit her snugly and showed off her perky form. She smiled at Beaver when she caught his admiring glance and he quickly refocused his attention to Whizzer’s presentation.

Whizzer’s brainy plan was all about breaking into Mrs. Nelson’s two home safes that he was sure held riches beyond comprehension. The plan wasn’t all his, but he started out talking like it was.

Beaver looked at him after he was done and said, How do we know what’s in her safes is worth the risk?

Whizzer paused and said, Guess we don’t.

Darla was frustrated by Beaver’s doubt and added, Tell him what your old man said about the Nelsons!

Yah, my old man said that Ralph Nelson had more damn money than anyone in the county and maybe even the state. He said he has been selling off farm land for years and never spent a cent.

Beaver, still skeptical said, What makes you think he doesn’t have the money in the bank?

Darla chimed in, "We thought that too that maybe his money is