The House on Devil's Bar: The Linn House Mysteries

By Jo A Hiestand

The police label of 'accidental drowning' does more than set tongues wagging in the small Missouri town of Klim; it starts an avalanche of cancellations that threaten to sink Rona Murray's bakery business. And blacken her good name. Determined to keep both afloat, she starts her own investigation to prove she and her property are blameless.  Her ex-husband, Johnny, at times helps and hinders her detective work, which raises her suspicion about his sudden reappearance in her life.  Ditto for his current girlfriend, Crystal, who's two-timing him with Rona's bad boy neighbor, Frank. Crystal knew the drowned woman, but is there a motive for murder in that friendship? Or does it buoy up Rona's misgivings of Frank and Johnny? Her mistrust seems to hold water when she discovers property vandalism and midnight lights in the woods—both of which escalate into a struggle against life and death in a raging river.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cousins House
• Release date: Feb 18, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393328407

Jo A Hiestand

A month-long trip to England during her college years introduced Jo to the joys of Things British.  Since then, she has been lured back nearly a dozen times, and lived there during her professional folk singing stint.  This intimate knowledge of Britain forms the backbone of both the Peak District mysteries and the McLaren cold case mystery series.  Jo’s insistence for accuracy, from police methods and location layout to the general feel of the area, has driven her innumerable times to Derbyshire for research.  These explorations and conferences with police friends provide the detail filling the books. In 1999 Jo returned to Webster University to major in English.  She graduated in 2001 with a BA degree and departmental honors. Her cat Tennyson shares her St. Louis home.

Book preview

Chapter One

P eople don’t just disappear .  Not from my house. And especially not from practically under my nose. Rona Murray’s hand pressed against the edge of the porch railing, vaguely white in the growing dusk. She steadied herself as her gaze shifted from the shadowy woods behind her to the woman in front of her.

Teresa Hensley, a fifty-four year-old brunette, frowned and nodded toward the sports car parked near the house. If you’re talking to a client, I can leave. I just stopped by to chat. It’s nothing pressing.

No. No one’s here. At least... Rona exhaled loudly and picked a leaf off the lawn. She held it by the stem, twirling it and gazing at it. Do you have a few minutes? Well, maybe a half hour?

Sure. What’s the matter? You don’t look so good, she added as Rona released the leaf. Is one of your employees sick?

No. Nothing like that.

Well?

"This is either going to sound like I’m losing my mind or it’s time to resurrect The Twilight Zone. A woman arrived about thirty minutes ago and said she was considering renting the gazebo or the party room in the house for an event."

Teresa shrugged as she eyed the house. It’s what you’re in business for, Rona. You own a bakery and you host parties.

Of course, but no one’s ever vanished while I was showing them around the property.

What do you mean vanished? Surely not while she was standing beside you.

Rona shot her friend a look that implied she didn’t think the comment was funny. I’m not suggesting goblins or The Bermuda Triangle, Teri. I’m serious.

Sorry. I didn’t think you were so upset. What happened?

The September woods had gone quiet, as though the night creatures listened from their dens and under leaves and in the trees. The air held the color and coolness of twilight, while letting in fingers of mist that crept through the flower stalks and nestled at the base of the house. On the eastern horizon, the moon balanced on a treetop. The world seemed at peace; nothing interrupted the ordinary flow of life. Except a woman’s disappearance. Her name is Barbara Lindborg. She drove down from St. Louis. As I said, she was thinking of holding a party here. First I showed her the gazebo, and she was enthused about that. When I mentioned the Lilac Room in the house, she seemed to think that might suit her guests better, so I let her look at that.

Teresa nodded and glanced at the front of the ancient residence. The two-stories―half brick, half timber, and framed by trees―sat in sunlight.  Its exterior showed no changes to its original construction except for the coats of dove-gray paint applied periodically. When the sky or light was right, the house blended with them, seeming to disappear or lurk mysteriously as it revealed a glimpse of a window or door. It had been positioned perfectly on the cliff, allowing moonlight and sunlight, forest scents and river sounds to flood the house. The room where Rona had last seen Barbara opened to the roofed front porch and brick patio, and seemed to point to a deceptively calm stretch of the Mississippi River. Teresa shifted her gaze from the house back to Rona. Didn’t Barbara like it? Is that why she left?

Rona ran her fingers through her hair, her eyes bright with anxiety. She loved it. She said the setting was perfect.

So?

But she wanted to talk to her friend about it, whether they should book the room or the gazebo. I don’t know anything else because I left her there to see to a delivery. She paused, glancing at the darkening woods behind the house.  When I got back, the room was empty. Barbara had disappeared.

Chapter Two

W hat do you mean she’d disappeared? Teresa stared at Rona, her eyes mirroring her confusion.

Just that. She was gone. I thought she might’ve wandered around, but I looked through the house and couldn’t find her.

She would’ve been awfully crass to walk through someone’s house, Ronnie, poking her nose into your private rooms.

As if not hearing Teresa, Rona said, I walked around the gazebo, thinking she was comparing it to the room. I even walked around the bakery building. She paused, as though envisioning her search. In the quiet she heard a tugboat motor chugging from the river, the sound throbbing in her ears. She glanced up from staring at her feet to see the craft’s running lights glide behind the tree trunks. She’s nowhere to be found.

But she has to be around. Her car’s still here. Teresa turned to stare at the parking lot. It had nearly lost its definition as the half-light crept over it. The three cars were hardly discernable, darker blobs against the paler background. If I didn’t know you as well as I do, I’d say you were crazy. But the car is there. So, maybe I’m nuts, too. No one would willingly leave an MG. I don’t know what it costs, but it has to be a small fortune. What do you think happened to her?

I wish I knew. This whole thing wouldn’t be so ludicrous if her car was gone. Then I’d know she’d left.  Instead, I’ve the growing suspicion she vanished from the Bar, which is what I tend to believe from the footprints. But I don’t know she made them. I’m just assuming.

Hold on. What footprints?

On the spit of land below the house. The Devil’s Bar.

Jutting into the river. Right. I’m with you.

I wish you’d been with me an hour ago. Maybe if you’d witnessed all this I wouldn’t be questioning my sanity.

Teresa snorted, her eyes darting to the edge of the cliff. Maybe we’d both have sanity problems.

I thought maybe Barbara went down to the river. She’d mentioned her interest in it and her love of history, especially the area and town. Even though she’d wandered around Klim before coming here, she hadn’t seen the river. I told her a little about the town and my house, and she asked if there was anything left to see of the old sternwheeler days or of the river pirates. She confessed that was the reason she wanted to have her event here.

Surely she could picnic by the water or watch the river from another location. Your gazebo and the Lilac Room are lovely—everyone knows that—but if she wanted to be near the water, she could find someplace suitable.

Agreed. A bluff on the river isn’t exactly wading proximity.

Which is why you thought she could be on the Bar.

A tree swayed slightly in the breeze. Looking back at the house, Rona could see the front door.  It faced the east. But the side door was on the north side of the building, near the parking lot, where she’d chatted with the deliveryman. If Barbara had left by the front door and gone down the path to the river, she’d have been obscured from Rona’s line of sight. It’s the only thing that makes any sense, Teresa. Barbara asked questions about the area, and seemed intrigued by the river and the Bar.

You got a flashlight?

Several. Why?

What’s the saying...four eyes are better than two?

Rona disappeared through the side door and emerged seconds later with two flashlights. As she clicked hers on, she said, The thing that concerns me is her ignorance.

About what?

The shingle and the river. The water can be smooth as silk on the surface, but there are strong currents beneath. If she went wading and slipped...

Let’s not think of that until we’ve looked around. She motioned for Rona to lead and played the beam of her flashlight on the ground.

Rona crossed the lawn and headed down the path. The shadows wallowed solid and somber in the woods, harbingers of dusk, which already slipped over the land and into the air. Ahead, though she couldn’t see it yet, they would claim the foot of the hill and the western bank of the river. In another thirty minutes the area would be too dark to see. Was Barbara unaware of the dangers at night by the water?

She plunged down the last section of the path, calling the woman’s name.  The path was hardly more than a tan scratch in the dirt brushed clear of leaves by their descent. Vegetation along the sides of the track was bent or broken where they’d made contact, seed heads cracked and scattered along the soil.

At the bottom of the slope, they paused, silently praying and clinging to a sapling as though it were a rosary. No voice hailed them; no form appeared. Rona relinquished her grip and hurried across the beach.

It was empty but for driftwood, dead leaves, and two sets of footprints.

This is what I’m talking about. Rona flicked her flashlight’s beam at the depressions and around the Bar.

Both sets of tracks walk south along the water’s edge. That’s weird.

One set’s mine. See? She placed her right foot beside one of the shoe prints and pressed into the sand. I...didn’t want to walk in her steps in case... She left unsaid the police might want to look at the area. What do you think? Am I completely nuts?

Give me a minute before I consign you to the Loony Farm. Teresa walked alongside the questionable tracks, careful not to mar them. They led to a patch of gravel and rocks along the water’s edge. She half turned and said over her shoulder, I wonder if Barbara followed the stony stretch and then waded in the water.

I considered that, too. Or she could’ve walked west and abandoned the gravel if she got back to the embankment.

Which means she either wandered upstream or downstream along the beach. But that still doesn’t explain where she is now. She concentrated on the shore, moving slowly back and forth.

Rona remained there, staring once more at the tracks and the water, pushing aside the scenarios whirling in her head. Did Barbara come here to drown herself in the river? Was the story of the party merely an excuse to access the river once she found Linn House occupied the land she’d assumed was uninhabited? The building could be seen fully from the Illinois side. But looking at the hill from mid-river or even closer to the Missouri shore gave the viewer no indication of the house’s existence. It seemed a bit extraordinary that someone would concoct an excuse of a party to commit suicide, and the woman hadn’t seemed overly distraught. Even if she’d been exploring the beach and had fallen in, the water wasn’t that deep at that point. Surely she would’ve been able to stand up and clamber back onto land. Unless the current swept her downstream before she had a chance to cry out.

Rona shook away the mental picture. She joined Teresa and walked the last stretch of shingle along the waterline and foot of the hill for several hundred yards in both directions. Nothing marred the smooth sand but rocks, driftwood and an occasional piece of junk that had floated ashore. The light had dimmed to a lead gray hue on the Bar, though the treetops on the eastern riverbank were gilded in lilac and lemony tints. Well?  What’s your diagnosis? Do I need a room in the Loony Farm or a psychic?

Let’s check the bakery and gazebo again, Ronnie. I know you’ve done that already, but we might’ve missed her when we came down here.

I only hope you’re right.

As they emerged from the woods at the head of the cliff, Rona glanced at the parking lot. The red MG still sat near the house. Barbara’s either wandering through the woods or... She took a deep breath, unsure of what she was about to suggest.

At the bakery―an old barn that had been converted for baking―they rattled the doorknob even though the door was shut and locked. Teresa murmured that Barbara couldn’t have entered even if she’d wanted to. Which added another question to their hunt: why would Barbara want to get inside? Trying to imagine where Barbara could be, they walked around the perimeter of the building. No one. They jogged along the edge of the cliff as they headed for the house, glancing down toward the river. Barbara was not entangled among the trees or slumped over a boulder. It’s as if she’d never existed.

Chapter Three

Which is what she said to Teresa as they sipped their hot tea twenty minutes later. They’d settled into lawn chairs, letting the quiet and evening wash over them.

Except for the car, Teresa added. That’s real enough.

I never watched The Twilight Zone. Does this situation qualify for one of its stories?

What bothers me is that set of footprints on the Bar. They look fresh.

They weren’t there this afternoon, at least. I was there and I walked on the gravel.

If you didn’t have any boaters come ashore there, and if your neighbor didn’t come calling, who else would’ve left them? She took a swallow of her drink and scrunched up her eyebrows as though considering the scenario. Did any of your staff walk in that direction?

I doubt they were even on the Bar. They never have been there before during work hours. Unless we have a picnic lunch.

So, that just about clinches that the shoeprints have to be Barbara’s. Unless someone else walked down the shore from the north and cut across your section of the Bar and marched into the river.

Rona shook her head, irritation now crowding her puzzlement. Of all the stupid things to do! She comes here, parks at my place, takes off for God knows where, leaving me fretting about her safety and when she’ll get back, if she’s all right... She broke off, the annoyance evident in her tone. I’ve got other things to do than wander around looking for her.

You don’t have to.

I don’t.

But you will. I know you. You won’t stop fretting until Barbara gets in her MG and drives off.

I just hope she wasn’t foolish enough to wade along the shore. Those strong undercurrents... Her fingers tightened around her mug. Ignorant tourists. Upsetting people and getting into trouble. Her voice trailed off until it was barely audible.

It’s easy to get into trouble along that stretch of shore, especially where that fallen tree trunk extends into the water. She trembled and rubbed her arms. Just thinking about swimming in that river scares me silly.

Rona glanced toward the water, imagining the eddy that churned against the upstream side, pulling in water-borne branches and leaves with terrifying swiftness. I wouldn’t even think to swim in it. There’s a strong undertow around here. Dad used to say it wandered a bit, influenced by whatever debris was below the surface, but I never even wanted to go in as a kid. She paused, remembering last spring. The river had been high, covering a spur of land north of the Bar. Water had churned over the submerged point each time a barge had passed, the whitecaps unrelenting for nearly half an hour and birthing others as they pulled their energy from the obstacle beneath. She’d watched, nearly mesmerized, for countless minutes, fascinated and frightened at the power of the water. She let the memory slide.

Well, let’s just hope the woman wasn’t tempted to wade in.

Rona groaned and ran her fingertips through her hair. Surely she wouldn’t be that...

Stupid?

Yeah. I may as well say it. That’s what I was thinking. She exhaled loudly, a finger of fright creeping into her annoyance. If she’s not in the river, Teresa, I have no idea where she is. I can’t see her wandering off into the woods. And why would she traipse up or downriver? She’d have a long tramp back to her car.

A hike in the night, Teresa added, as if they needed reminding of the darkness of the road.

God, this whole thing’s aged me. I’ve heard of some people’s hair turning white over night from a shock...

Teresa peered at her, as though assessing every aspect of her face. It hasn’t happened yet. You’re still fifty-five, and your hair’s still red.

It’s ludicrous. The whole thing! If Barbara was merely strolling along the beach, surely she would’ve heard me calling.

You’d think so. Unless she fell and was knocked unconscious.

The stillness washed over them as they sat staring into the evening and mentally playing out the scenario. An owl called from a pine, prodding Rona from her contemplation. She sat up, her gaze and thoughts on the forest. Its dark recesses added to her fright. Surely she’d be back by now if everything were okay. I feel like I should search some more. But the woods and the evening are so dark.

Teresa drained the last of the tea and set the mug on the grass. We know she’s got to be somewhere. People don’t just leave their cars of their own volition. Did you call the police?

Rona made a sound halfway between a cough and a gulp, and shook her head.

Well, unless you want to traipse through the thicket and leaves again, I think you should.

I’d rather not.

Why? You’re concerned about this woman. You won’t get any sleep until you know where she is. Call the police.

Why don’t you do it?

And tell them what? That I was walking along the shoreline and saw footprints that disappeared? That I heard a woman’s scream and beached my canoe to investigate but found nothing?

The police would notice there’s no canoe. You’d look like a suspect.

Teresa glared at her friend. See? Coming from anyone else, the story sounds fishy.

The whole story stinks, if you want my opinion.

So, phone them.

Can’t we think of some reason why you’re making the call?

Does your reluctance stem from that episode when you first moved in?

Rona grimaced and nodded. They thought I was an idiot. Oh, they didn’t say so to my face, but I could see it in their eyes. I don’t want to add the Barbara Lindborg episode to their file on me.

They’ve got a file on you?

That’s just an expression. She chewed on her bottom lip, her fingers grasping the chair arms. I know now there was no intruder, but that banging shutter sounded awfully like someone busting into the house.

Especially late at night and in an unfamiliar place. Surely they can’t hold that against you.

Then there was the incident about three months later when I thought my car had been stolen.

Teresa shook her head and grabbed her purse. I remember that. It was a bit embarrassing. You’re lucky the car rolled into the woods and not down the cliff.

It’s never happened again―the calls to the police department, I mean. I got the brake fixed after they found it.

I can see why you’d have a bit of name recognition with them, if you do. They’ve probably forgotten about those incidents, though. I wouldn’t worry.

It’s not your name that’s about to send shivers down their spines if I phone, Teresa. I don’t want to be known as an idiot.

I don’t think this evening’s event classifies as crying wolf. Teresa pulled her cell phone from her jeans pocket and handed it to Rona. You know the particulars of this whole thing. You can tell them what happened better than I can.

Rona gave her friend a resigned look but punched in the number for the town’s police department. The phone rang as she sat upright in her chair.

An official voice answered her call on the second ring. Klim Police Department. How may I help you?

Uh, yes, hello. Rona closed her eyes briefly and puffed out her cheeks in an exuberant exhale. When she looked at Teresa, she mentally said a prayer. Yes. This is Rona Murray of Linn House Bakery on Loggers Lane. I know this may sound really weird, but I think a woman’s gone missing from my property.

The voice didn’t miss a beat. Yes, ma’am. Why do you believe she’s missing?

Rona related the event, feeling her throat tightening the longer she spoke. Her car’s still here, which indicates she’s still around my place. I don’t know where she could be or what happened to her. But it’s dark now, and I’m worried about her. If she’s hurt somewhere, or in the woods―

Yes, ma’am. Do you know the woman?

No. She came to my place of business. Unexpected. She included the last bit of information as though she needed to distance herself from some looming suspicion of blame.

I’ll send an officer right out. Thank you. The voice barely got in the last word before the call ended.

What’d they say? Teresa took her phone and slipped it into her pocket. She then shook the sleeves of her jacket as far down on her wrists as she could, curled her fingers and pulled her hands inside the sleeves. Sorry, Ronnie. Can we go inside? Or walk around? It’s getting awfully chilly for just sitting.

Of course. I didn’t notice.  Sorry. It is getting a bit frosty.

Teresa pushed herself up from the chair, plunged her hands into her pockets, and said she thinks better when she’s doing something physical.

Rona related the conversation with the police dispatcher as they strolled around the lawn. Her voice sounded more doubtful than it had when she’d begun recounting Barbara’s visit. I’m really beginning to get worried, Teri. Something must’ve happened to her. No one would be roaming around the woods or the riverbank at this hour.

That’s why I thought you should call in the police. They’ll find her. They’ve got helicopters with heat sensing cameras, and river boats and dogs. She forced a smile, as though she wasn’t sure if her information made the situation more hopeful or tragic.

I feel awful, Terri. If she hurt herself walking around my place―

Teresa stopped abruptly and grabbed Rona’s arm. She pulled her friend in front of her and frowned. First of all, you’re not responsible, Ronnie. You left her in the front room. You couldn’t control her urge to commune with Nature or dip her toes into the river, meaning no offense to her. Second, we don’t know if she is hurt or missing. Maybe she met someone in a canoe and was paddled to another spot. Maybe she’s visiting with your neighbor on the Bar. I don’t know. But it does you no good to conclude she’s hurt. You have no proof, though I give you that it’s weird she’s suddenly gone. But let’s wait until the police give us a report before we fall apart.

Even if the police find her, if she’s hurt or missing, it adds up to the same thing, Teri. And that won’t help my sense of responsibility.

Teresa stared open-mouthed at her friend. Frustration and surprise tinted her voice. How can you possibly feel like that? You had nothing to do with this.

She came here, didn’t she? She was last seen here.

As of now, that’s true. But there can be a rational explanation to all this.

Like her visiting Frank, or taking a moonlight canoe ride. She snorted.

Don’t ask me, Ronnie. I’m rarely rational when things are normal. She grinned, nudging a laugh from Rona.

We might know soon. A police car just arrived.

The sound of crunching tires drew their attention to the parking area. A patrol car stopped alongside Barbara’s MG. Beams from the car’s headlights shot across the lawn, and the driver’s door opened. A leg slid out of the gap, a shoe scraped across the gravel, and a dark form eased into view. The door clicked closed and the shape glanced at the MG.

Teresa murmured, The cavalry’s here.

Rona peered at the man. He was barely perceptible, his dark hair and black form melting into the murky sky behind him. The outdoor porch light caught his silver badge and the white areas of his shirt. The anonymity of the night obscured his height, but as he approached them, Rona could see he was quite tall and sturdy. Which might suit him well for crashing through the thickets to find Barbara.

He might’ve been reading her mind, for he smiled. Mrs. Murray? His gaze shifted from Rona to Teresa, matching the uncertainty in his eyes.

Rona extended her hand. His grip was warm and firm, his fingers and palm engulfing hers. She smiled in return. Yes, I’m Rona Murray. I phoned a few minutes ago.

Evening. I’m Detective Somers.

Even in those few words, Rona sensed he was a man of determination and strength, who took her inquiry seriously. Maybe it was this that made her believe Barbara would be found. Thank you for coming. Her voice caught in her throat and she coughed. You’re very quick.

I was working late on another case at the station and heard the dispatch call as I was leaving. Patrol is getting slammed with other calls, so I volunteered to take this. He paused, as if he assumed she understood the workings of patrol officers and detectives. He studied the lawn chairs and the mugs on the ground before commenting about the drop in temperature and the prediction of rain for tomorrow.

Rona opened her mouth to say that she hoped the weather forecast was wrong, that gray days always depressed her, and if the woman really were missing that would dishearten her enough without adding the rain. But instead she said, This is my friend, Teresa Hensley.

The officer nodded at Teresa, sizing her up as though she were a witness or a suspect, then refocused on Rona. "Would you mind telling me what happened?