Fatal Matters: A Helen Wiels Mystery, #5

By Rebecca A. Engel

Helen Wiels Wagner is as stunned as the rest of the town at the death of a woman she'd never considered her friend. While everyone from the sheriff to the woman's husband is willing to accept the tragedy, Helen is unable to do that. It's not denial, Helen is certain; it's that things aren't adding up right.

Nor are things going well at her new temporary job. She still isn't sure if she wants to be a librarian, but she's positive that her job as cashier at her cousin-in-law's garden center won't turn into a career for her. And that conclusion has nothing to do with her obnoxious supervisor or her annoying coworkers.

Downtime at the garden center gives Helen too much time to think about the circusmstances of the woman's death. When no one will give credence to her theory, Helen decides to take matters into her own hands.

FATAL MATTERS is the fifth book in the Helen Wiels Mystery series. It is set in Wisconsin, and picks up about six months after RELATIVE MATTERS ends.

The other books in this series are:

PAST MATTERS, Book 1

MONEY MATTERS, Book 2

LIFE MATTERS, Book 3

RELATIVE MATTERS, Book 4

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rebecca A. Engel
• Release date: Jul 9, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386867425

Book preview

ONE

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Helen Wiels Wagner did not want to go home.

This was unusual for her. She loved her home, or, more correctly, homes. Her husband, Jackson Wagner, had two of them within walking distance of each other on his estate. The first was a palatial manor house built by his great-grandfather at the turn of the previous century; the second was a log cabin – on steroids – built by his father. The latter had become their home away from home. They spent almost as many nights in it as they did in the manor house.

Today Helen didn’t want to go to either of their homes.

Nor did she want to see her husband.

This too was unusual. Helen loved Jackson; she adored Jackson; she couldn’t imagine her life without Jackson in it. But today going home to Jackson meant when she walked in, he would turn toward her with a certain expectation in his eyes, and she would once again have to crush his hopes. She did not want to do that.

Instead, she kept driving. Driving wasn’t such a bad thing, or it wouldn’t be if it weren’t for the cost of gas, which somebody somewhere had decided should keep going up and up. The cost of gas, however, was incidental compared to the cost of the other thing she’d done to delay her return home. Helen tilted the rear view mirror a little to get a glimpse of the piles of bags in the back seat. Once again she had gone shopping; it was turning into an expensive habit, not that she had to pay the bill. Jackson had developed his own bad habit of intercepting her credit card bill and paying it on her behalf. She always objected. He always ignored her, laughing over the fact that she would do such a thing. She might not have a job at present, but she did have money. There was no reason she couldn’t pay her own bills.

Helen readjusted the mirror and kept driving. This was a good way to learn the area better, to learn the side roads and the secret shortcuts. Whenever she was a passenger with Jackson or with his cousin Conner, they’d turn onto these barely visible roads and cover long distances in a fraction of the time it took her to go from place to place on the staid county-road thoroughfares. It would be a nice way to surprise them some day by showing that she too could get around the area the way they did.

Mrs. Patterson, the woman who grocery shopped and cooked for her and Jackson, had once said how this area was so pretty, no one with any sense would want to leave it. Helen could understand how someone might have to leave it; aside from Wagner Industries, there was no place to pursue a career. Wagner Industries would serve that purpose if you wanted to go into business. For a librarian like Helen, relocating here had brought her career path to a dead end. If something could be more than dead, it was Helen’s career after she had determined that being a librarian wasn’t exactly what she wanted to do anyway.

Regardless, Mrs. Patterson was right about the beauty of the area. There was a lake around every curve of the road, each one more picturesque than the last. Of course, if she had to pick the loveliest of all, that would be the one on Jackson’s property, the private lake where she could row to her heart’s content. The big drawback about Jackson’s lake were the ugly fish that populated it, muskies. While Helen had once read a book in which an ichthyologist had described hammerhead sharks as the world’s ugliest fish, she was sure that muskies gave them a run for their money. Whichever was uglier, hammerhead sharks or muskies, didn’t matter; Helen did not like fish of any kind, alive in the water or cooked and served on a plate.

Pushing thoughts of fish out of her head, Helen was pleased to note she recognized where she was; however, that was because she wasn’t that far from home. She had thought she’d been driving endlessly, and it would be hours before she got home. If her return was seriously delayed, Jackson might conclude on his own that the news she’d bring would not be what he wanted. She might end up not having to say anything. That would be better than blatantly quashing his expectations.

It would take her less than a half hour to get home if she headed in that direction now. That wasn’t long enough. She needed to kill more time. Unfortunately, she was already tired of driving.

There was an easy solution to that. There was a lake with a little parking area up ahead, and she could see from here there were no cars parked there. She could pull over and enjoy the view until the sun began to set. Surely by then Jackson would have deduced she wouldn’t be delivering welcome news.

Helen pulled into the small, otherwise empty parking area. She wouldn’t have stopped if there had been any other cars there. People were friendly in these parts. They’d strike up a conversation to be neighborly whether they recognized her or not. Helen didn’t want to be friendly; she wanted to sulk, to wallow in her own disappointment before she’d have to go home and pretend everything was all right and it wasn’t that big a deal.

She was facing east, which was good. At this time of day, facing west meant the sun would soon be shining in her eyes. Instead, the sunlight would hit her rear view mirror, which she could easily tilt to keep the glare out of her eyes. Helen sank a little lower in her seat. That way if anybody glanced at her car, it would appear empty. Others might assume its driver was wearing waders and out on the lake casting a line. Fat chance that would happen, not with her fish phobia.

Helen decided not to wallow. It could make it harder for her to put on a good front when she did get home. She’d sit here and take in the view. The placid water would be calming. That would do her more good than fretting over things that were out of her control.

At first she didn’t notice anything unusual. The lake was sparkling with brightness from the sun shining on it. Helen would have assumed that those glittering patches would be what caught her eye, but that was the opposite of what was happening. Instead of the sparkle, it was something matte to which her eyes kept returning. Was that because the areas of sparkling water were constant whereas that dull area appeared to be drifting? Its shape was longish, and narrow. Helen was stymied as to what it was.

Could it be a capsized canoe? Her heart gave a little leap at that idea. If it was a capsized canoe, there could be someone trapped beneath it. She got out of her car and walked toward the shore, wishing she kept field glasses in her glove compartment that would allow her to get a closer look. She might have them there if she were a birdwatcher, but she wasn’t. Walking the fifteen or twenty feet to the shore helped, though, because that decrease in distance between her and whatever it was showed her that it was the wrong shape to be a canoe, or any other kind of boat. What it looked like was—

Helen walked partway back toward her car, took her shoes off, and placed her cell, her watch, and her wedding and engagement rings inside one of them. It was too bad she had on nice pants but she wasn’t about to take them off, or her socks either. She had on a lightweight jacket against the little breeze there was today; spring was definitely here but the air was a little nippy if you weren’t in the sun. She took the jacket off and dropped it atop her other things.

Her movements were calm as she walked to the water’s edge. The distance she’d have to swim was nothing, fifty feet or so. Or it would be nothing if it weren’t for the fact there were fish in that water.

Helen stepped into the water. Silt shifted beneath her feet as they sank into it. The water was colder than she’d expected it to be. It wasn’t as cold as the water in Jackson’s lake, though. The water in his lake was cold enough to have come from the run-off of a glacier. This lake wasn’t surrounded by hills the way Jackson’s lake was, which Helen surmised kept its water colder. This lake got the benefit of the sun for most of the day. She’d expected it to be almost balmy rather than having a decided chill. This lake had reeds growing in the water near the shoreline; it was hard to get through them. It was too bad nobody had left a boat anywhere nearby; the boat would have smashed through the reeds with ease. Except a boat wouldn’t have oars left in it; they’d be too easy to steal. What good would a boat without oars do her?

She was finally past the reedy area. The water was up to her waist. She lowered her shoulders to the water and began to swim, her arms cutting through the water, her feet kicking hard, propelling her forward faster. Something an Olympian diver whose name she did not recall had once said went through her head: ‘All divers can swim but not all swimmers can dive.’ It made no sense in this situation. Had she meant to reword the original quotation into ‘All rowers can swim but not all swimmers can row’? When she joined the rowing team in college, being able to swim was mandatory, not that there had been any boats that capsized, or none that weren’t capsized on purpose as part of a test or by a team member fooling around.

That Olympian’s quote could have been a means to keep her from thinking about what was swimming in this water with her: fish.

Helen was getting closer to the reason she’d entered the water. Her supposition had been correct. It wasn’t a capsized canoe or a kayak. It was a person, face down in the water.

TWO

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Helen got the woman turned over and in a secure hold. She swam toward the shore towing the woman along with her. As a rower, she’d been trained for this too. It was far easier to do when the person you were rescuing wasn’t goofing off, trying to mess you up, make you look bad, or make you fail a rescue test. Her rowing coach had been strict. She wouldn’t put up with such nonsense for long. If anyone persisted acting up after she’d called a halt to it, they were gone, kicked off the team, and not allowed back.

Gone. Helen didn’t want to think that was what she was going to find once she got to shore, that this woman she was pulling along with her was gone. The woman could be unconscious. Once Helen got her on shore, she’d begin doing CPR. Her rowing team had required she be certified in that. It might have been a couple years since she’d done it, but it would come back to her. All she had to do was get the woman onto dry land.

She’d reached the reeds. She was no more than a few feet from the shore, but it was hard to move the woman through the reeds. They got in the way and made the body – no, the woman – less buoyant and therefore heavier.

Helen broke through the reeds and pulled the woman onto the shore. She cleared the woman’s passageways and scanned the shoreline for where she’d left her things. Her belongings were about ten feet away, possibly less. It would take no more than a few seconds to get there and back. The trade-off would be worth it. She needed her phone if she was going to get help. Helen sprinted, snatched the phone, and sprinted back. Thank goodness Jackson loved to upgrade everything. She would have been happy with the cell phone he’d originally given her when she’d started working for him, but Jackson had replaced it with the latest model, one that would allow her to voice dial. In this situation, that was invaluable. Call 9-1-1.

When the emergency dispatch answered, Helen said, I pulled a woman from the lake. She gave her location.

Do you know how to do CPR? The question sounded routine, the speaker’s voice nearly mechanical.

Yes, I’m doing it now.

I can walk you through it.

I’m certified in it. Helen half-shouted as she pumped on the woman’s chest. She pinched the woman’s nose closed and blew into her mouth. When she was pumping again, she asked, How long before EMTs get here?

They’re on their way.

That wasn’t an answer to her question. Helen kept working on the woman. She hadn’t shown a hint of a response yet.

If she’d called before she went into the water, the EMTs might have been here already. But she hadn’t been entirely sure it was an actual person floating out there. Some prankster could have thrown a scarecrow into the water to see what kind of a response it would get. Someone could have been standing behind a tree somewhere on shore, a cell phone in hand, ready to make a video of whatever happened to upload onto YouTube.

Was that sound a siren? There was water in Helen’s ears from the lake; her hearing was muffled from it. She thought a wailing sound was approaching. Helen continued to alternate pumping the woman’s chest and breathing into her mouth until the ambulance arrived, its red lights flashing. A team of men jumped out of it.

We’ll take over, one of the men said, while another wrapped a piece of something thin and silver in color around her. Helen had seen news reports of marathon runners being wrapped in something like this at the end of their race; it appeared to be made of Mylar, like a balloon. It felt good; she hadn’t known how chilled she was until she was enshrouded in it.

Another car pulled up, this one from the sheriff’s department. What happened? the deputy asked as he approached Helen.

I stopped to look at the view, Helen said. There was something floating in the water. It looked like it might be a body.

And you went in after it yourself? Not a smart move. You should have called for help.

I thought time was of the essence.

Sometimes it is. The EMT who’d been working on the body got to his feet. This time it wasn’t. It’s up to the medical examiner to call it, but if I had to guess, I’d say you were probably a couple hours too late.

Think that’s her stuff over there? the deputy asked.

Helen looked up to see him nodding toward her things. Those are mine, she said. I put my stuff there when I went into the water.

Did you see any of her stuff around?

I didn’t see anything except her in the water. And I didn’t know it was a person when I went in. I thought it could as easily have been a scarecrow or some junk someone tossed into the lake. I didn’t want to waste a rescue team’s time if that was the case. She wished it had been a scarecrow. Helen was shaking. The Mylar blanket had lost its effectiveness. Standing in her sopping wet socks while water dripped all around her wasn’t helping any either. Mind if I go put my shoes and jacket back on? she asked the deputy.

Go ahead, he said. But don’t leave. I’ve got questions for you.

Helen sat down on the ground next to her shoes. Her pants were already ruined; what did it matter if they got muddy? If she put on her jacket it would get wet, and if she put her phone in her jacket pocket, it might eventually get wet too. She’d be better off sticking to the Mylar wrap and putting her jacket and phone in the car.

She peeled her socks off and wrung them out. Between the silt in the lake and the sandy dirt along the shoreline, they were no more salvageable than her pants. That didn’t mean she could leave them lying on the ground, and she didn’t want them making a mess in her car. Her feet were oddly colorless from the cold; she was probably that way all over. She thought longingly of the black onyx tub in Jackson’s bathroom with both steaming water and Jackson in it with her. It would probably be hours before that could happen.

Helen took her watch and rings from her shoe, put them on, then forced her damp feet into her shoes, picked up her phone, jacket, and muddy, soggy socks, and headed for her car.

Hey, where’re you going? the deputy yelled.

Helen turned around, walking backwards as she answered. I’m putting my stuff in my car. I’ll be right back.

He apparently trusted what she said as he didn’t come running after her to make sure she wasn’t going to take off. It wouldn’t make any sense to do that anyway. If he was worth his salt, the deputy had already made note – mental or actual – if not of her license plate, then the make and model of her car. Helen debated for a moment about what she should do with her keys. She didn’t want them in her pocket because the car’s key fob could have a battery in it; her soaked pants might cause it to have a short. If she left it in the car, she couldn’t lock the car. But what else could she do with it? She put the keyring on the seat along with her phone, and covered both with her jacket. Everything should be all right. It would take a thief with a lot of nerve to try to steal her car, or the packages in it, with all the emergency personnel here. Hers wasn’t that desirable a car; it was an economy model hybrid Jackson had given her when she’d left for California. It wasn’t as if she’d been driving Jackson’s priceless sports car. No one would try to steal his car either, and not because of all the official personnel on hand. Jackson’s car was too recognizable. If you took it, you wouldn’t be able to drive it anyplace.

Helen closed her car door, taking care not to lock it automatically as she usually did. She turned around and looked at the—you wouldn’t call it the scene, would you? If the scene was wherever what happened had happened, that would be the lake. This place was where the revival had been attempted. The deputy was talking to the EMTs. Helen didn’t think they looked properly somber considering that the body on the ground was covered completely. The EMT might have said the medical examiner had to ‘call it,’ but the man apparently was confident in his own judgment in this situation. Had any of the bodies he covered before it was called ever sat up and scared the bejesus out of him?

Either the deputy had sensed her return, or had been watching her surreptitiously, because he turned to face her when she got closer. I need to ask you some questions.

Helen nodded. She’d been through this kind of thing before, and wished she hadn’t. The one good thing that had come out of a situation like this one, where she’d found a body, was that she had met Augie Burns. He’d questioned her at the Society where she’d worked when she’d been living in San Francisco. He’d been a homicide detective on the police force there. But she didn’t want to think about Augie at the moment.

Your name? the deputy asked. His own nametag read Sampson. That had to be his last name. As a given name, it would have fit Conner better; he had the build for it. Whether it was the deputy’s first or last name, he was too scrawny for the name to be anything but ironic.

She didn’t want to think about Conner either. She’d wished she had gone straight home. Facing Jackson, disappointing him once again, would be far better than this.

Helen, she said. My name is Helen Wiels Wagner. That’s W-i-e-l-s, she spelled out, as she’d given the name its proper German pronunciation, Veals, rather than the American pronunciation of Wheels. Wagner is spelled in the usual fashion.

Wagner, he repeated. Are you the gal who—

Jackson Wagner is my husband, Helen said.

Lucky you. He gave her an insolent once-over. Lucky him, too.

These days Helen rarely had to call on her alter ego, Hell-on-Wheels, who could stand up for Helen when she couldn’t stand up for herself. She was almost tempted to call on her now, because Helen was too weary at the moment to tell this man how inappropriate his behavior was on her own. She let it pass instead. There was a much more important matter at hand.

I know her, Helen said.

What? He was staring at her in puzzlement, as if she had spoken in a foreign language.

I know who that woman is, she repeated. Or was.

THREE

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Helen, where are you? I was getting worried.

That wasn’t what she wanted to hear. She had hoped Jackson was so involved with his painting that he hadn’t noticed she should have been back long ago.

I didn’t mean to worry you. Something came up.

Are you all right?

I’m fine.

"I mean, are you really all right?"

Helen was aware of what he meant. It would be easier to tell him over the phone. She could get it over quickly and move on to what was important right this minute. That way, she wouldn’t have to see the look in his eyes when she told him.

The test was negative. I need you to do something for me, Jackson. She ran the two things together but Jackson wouldn’t have missed the first part of her statement.

Are you all right? he asked again.

Yes. Or she would be. She had the car’s heater on high and her clothes weren’t quite as wet as they’d been before. The blasting hot air was helping to ease her shivering. She no longer had the Mylar wrapped around her; she had it draped over the car seat so the seat wouldn’t be ruined from her sitting on it. Was she awful to be concerned about such a thing at a time like this? Listen, Jackson, I’m driving and I shouldn’t be talking on my cell. I need you to go to Wagner Industries and get Augie, and if Conner’s there, get him too.

I think he’s in New York for the day.

Okay, then get Augie. Bring him to the hospital as quickly as you can.

Hospital?! Jackson sounded alarmed. Are you sure you’re all right? Wait, is that noise I hear in the background—

It’s a siren. I’m following an ambulance, which is another reason I shouldn’t be on the phone. I’m keeping up with it, so I’m going pretty fast. Get Augie, and get him to the hospital. She disconnected, and because it was a given that Jackson would call her back, she switched the phone off and tossed it on the passenger seat. It was not the nicest thing to do to her husband, but it was the best way to handle it. The less she told him, the better it would be for the time being.

Besides, what if she said something, Jackson relayed it to Augie, and it turned out that the paramedics were wrong? That could happen. At one time she would not have believed she’d be praying for that kind of outcome. But if the paramedics were right, it would be so much better if Augie got the news from someone official. She didn’t want being the bearer of bad news to ruin  their friendship.

The siren ahead of her went silent. They were entering the hospital zone. She’d know what the truth was soon.

No, that was incorrect. She already knew the truth; she’d known it from the minute she’d touched the body in the water. She’d done enough practice rescues to know what it was like to hold a living body in her hands. Her hopes had been foolish, her prayers wasted. Helen’s prayers changed from asking for a different outcome to asking for strength for those who were living and would have to deal with this loss.

The ambulance pulled into a bay meant for it. She couldn’t pull in beside it. She drove past it and followed the signs to the parking lot.

Helen grabbed her phone as she got out of the car. She turned it on; once she got into the emergency room, she’d probably have to turn it off. There were three missed calls, all from Jackson. She was surprised there weren’t more. She hesitated a few seconds before raising the phone to her mouth and saying, Call Jackson. His car had one of those built-in phone systems. He could answer and talk without having to hold a phone in his hand which, at the speed she was sure he’d be driving, would be a dangerous thing indeed.

Helen, what’s—

How far away are you? she cut him off.

We should be there in a few minutes.

Helen didn’t want to think about how fast he was driving.

What’s going on, Helen?

That was Augie’s voice. He sounded demanding but calm.

I’m going into the hospital now. It’s a no-phone zone. I’ll see you when you get here. She ended the call and again turned the phone off. She hadn’t been truthful when she said this was a no-phone zone. She had expected it to be, but there were no signs prohibiting cell use.

The emergency room was like any other one she’d been in: chaotic. Many of the chairs in the waiting area were filled. Some held screaming children with anxious-looking mothers. More than one person had bloody rags held around some body part. Hospital personnel were dashing everyplace and looking harried.

Wherever Helen went lately, she looked at the type of work the people there did and evaluated whether that was something she’d like to do. Today she’d eliminated more jobs than she usually did. Being an EMT was out, as was being a deputy; the latter, though, was something she’d eliminated before today. She could see that being an ER nurse wouldn’t go on her list of potential future employment either. Was she going to have to revisit being a librarian? That environment was far more to her liking than the madhouse she was in now. She couldn’t imagine willingly entering a place like this every day. The quiet of a library suited her better. So did its smell. The faintly antiseptic odor here was already making her nauseated. The other floors of the hospital could be peacefully quiet, but that permeating hospital scent meant she could forget about any other medical-related jobs, too.

You trying to find someone?

The nurse who asked that question looked like she belonged in grade school.

I came with the ambulance that brought in the drowning victim.

The child-nurse gave her damp clothes a once over. Last curtain. She jerked her thumb toward the rear of the room and bustled off.

The EMTs were talking with a nurse and drinking coffee from paper cups. Hey, one said with a nod when Helen stood at the parted curtains. This is the lady who went in after her. He made that comment to the nurse, another young woman who also looked grade school age to Helen.

That was brave of you, this child-nurse said. But stupid, too. You could have drowned yourself. You should have waited for help.

Inside Helen, Hell-on stirred a little, wanting to respond, but Helen squelched her. She could handle this, though she understood why Hell-on would be offended by the child-nurse’s assessment. She was too. But instead of letting Hell-on bare her teeth and snap this girl’s head off, she repeated what she’d said earlier. I thought time was of the essence.

You thought wrong, the girl-nurse said while managing to chew gum. She swayed her hips in a decidedly un-childlike manner as she sauntered from the cubicle.

Helen didn’t watch her leave, but the EMTs did. To Helen, the girl’s moves were all too familiar, and achingly so. As the nurse departed, Helen noticed that the bed in the curtained area was empty.

Where is she?

Downstairs, one of the EMTs said.

For tests, Helen thought, hope rising. They’d brought her around in the ambulance. They’d been mistaken before when they thought—

That’s where the morgue is, the other EMT said.

She’s—she’s really—

Both men were suddenly by her, easing her into a chair, gently pushing her head down toward her knees. The light in the room was waning and brightening, and the room was spinning around her.

Breathe nice and steady. There you go, that’s it. They were using soothing voices, like she was a wild dog or a skittish horse. Helen thought she should be insulted from the way they were speaking to her, but she wasn’t. It was helping.

She can’t be dead, Helen protested. She has a baby.

How old? one of them asked.

Six weeks? She should know this, but it was something she had tried not to think about from the time she’d learned a baby was on its way.

She sat up in time to see the two men exchanging a look. That explains it, one of them said.

Explains what? Helen didn’t expect to get an answer, but one of the men dug into his pocket and pulled something out. Her pockets were full of these, he said, holding his hand out, palm upward, toward Helen.

Without thinking about it, she plucked it from his hand. Her head was clearing a little, but she couldn’t figure this out. It’s a rock, she finally said.

Right. Her pockets were full of them. Like with that British poet or whatever she was in that movie. She filled her pockets with rocks, too, before she went into the water.

You mean Virginia Woolf? Helen asked.

I guess. She was played by that who’s-it, that real pretty actress, but they had her done up so she looked awful.

Virginia Woolf put rocks in her pockets because she wanted to make sure she would drown.

Right, the man said. That lady today was taking a page out of her book. It worked for both of them.

But that would mean—

"They were both suicides, today’s lady