Who Killed Fritz Zuber?

By William Mitchell Ross

On a bright sunny day in June of 1972, Anna Johansson, a recent high school graduate, begins her shift as a summer seasonal maid at the Eugene Hotel in Monroe, Wisconsin. In the fall, she will attend the University of Wisconsin in Madison to earn a degree in teaching. One of the many mysteries of life is not knowing what the day has in store for you. It can be a horrific reminder that life can change in an instant, turn on a dime, without warning. The tragedy is that you don’t see it coming when going through the mundane routine of everyday life. On this particular day, just another day in Anna’s life, proved to be such a day.


When the urgent call came into the police department that a dead body had been discovered in the Eugene Hotel, Police Chief Brandon Johns and Detective Samantha Gates immediately responded. After quickly examining the body, the question of whether the death was a suicide or a homicide hangs heavily in the air. During the investigation, one thing has become crystal clear: all the people of interest they interview are lying to them. Working their way through the entanglement of lies, deception and smoking mirrors proves to be very frustrating. When the veil behind all of this duplicity is finally lifted, exposing the truth, will the mystery be solved?



Books by William Mitchell Ross in Monroe Mystery Series

Deceived by Self
All Passion Denied
Love’s Obsession
Echoes Screaming in the Night
A Greedy Vengeance
Murder for Malice
Who Killed Fritz Zuber?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Apr 12, 2019
• ISBN: 9781796027235

William Mitchell Ross

William Mitchell Ross lives in Monroe, Wisconsin, with his wife, Marilyn. Bill is retired from his day job in the dairy industry. He is also the former mayor of the city of Monroe, having served for eighteen years. After finally making it to retirement, he enjoys being one of the docents for city tourism, puttering with home projects, and writing mystery novels. Last year, he teamed up with the Monroe Chamber of Commerce and is currently the docent for the “Monroe Mystery Tour” that identifies six scenes of the crime as well as gives visitors a brief historical sketch of Monroe and Green County. The tours run June through September.

Book preview

Copyright © 2019 by William Mitchell Ross.

Library of Congress Control Number:    2019904376

ISBN:              Hardcover                            978-1-7960-2725-9

                        Softcover                              978-1-7960-2724-2

                        eBook                                   978-1-7960-2723-5

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Rev. date: 04/15/2019

Xlibris

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

794265

CONTENTS

Acknowledgments

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Epilogue

Books by William Mitchell Ross

in

Monroe Mystery Series

Deceived by Self

All Passion Denied

Love’s Obsession

Echoes Screaming in the Night

A Greedy Vengeance

Murder for Malice

Who Killed Fritz Zuber?

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

M y special thanks to The Monroe Times photographer, Marissa Weiher, and the Green County Historical Society for the cover photo; Chris Soukup, owner of Baumgartner’s Cheese Store and Tavern, for the background material bringing Eugene Hotel back to life; Lucien Knuteson Photography, Seattle, Washington, for the author photo; my wife, Marilyn, whose continuing support, patience, and understanding that I have imaginary friends is very much appreciated; and the Monroe readers who take great pleasure and amusement in trying to identify my fictional characters who, I insist, have never been issued birth certificates.

map%201.jpgmap2.jpg

CHAPTER 1

F riday, June 16, 1972, Anna Johansson slowly opened her sleepy pale-blue eyes and saw the early morning sun streaming into her bedroom window. The time was seven forty-five. Through her open window, a cool, light breeze gently swayed the ivory-colored lace curtains, making them dance. The voices of little cherry wrens sang sweetly outside her window. She nestled her wavy blond hair into her fluffy white pillow, listening to the muffled sounds of her mother rummaging around in the kitchen. The smell of freshly brewed coffee permeated the house. Her parents’ three-bedroom home was located in the 2400 block of Ninth Street in Monroe, Wisconsin. It was a redbrick gabled bungalow with an inviting front porch. Her father, Henrick, a second-generation immigrant, already left for work at the First National Bank. Anna was an only child because of birthing complications her mother suffered during a difficult, life-threatening delivery. Her parents never openly talked about it in front of her, but Anna always felt the loss of not having siblings. She had many close friends, but not the intimacy she would have shared with a sister or brother who looked like her. Her father was Swedish, and her mother, Greta, was Swiss. She was a stay-at-home housewife. Anna grew up learning to speak and understand Swiss German, the second language of Monroe, due to the many Swiss immigrants who settled the area in the late 1860s.

After graduating from Monroe High School in June of 1972, Anna left home in the fall to attend the University of Wisconsin in Madison to earn a teaching degree. Her high school class wasn’t a large one, but lifelong friendships were cemented, and class reunions would be well attended. She was an exceptional student in both math and science, subjects that came easily for her, and she had a clear vision of sharing her passion and teaching her knowledge to young scholars at the high school level. Hopefully, she could someday back in Monroe.

Anna had the foresight and vision to make her own future plans that she secretly kept to herself. She didn’t tell her parents because she wanted the freedom and independence to make her own choices. At times, she felt like a caged bird insulated from the outside world. The desire to spread her wings and fly was powerful. She loved her parents, but she saw her life story as one of her own making. The boys she knew and dated in high school were nice. However, she was anxious to get to the university to experience new friends, especially college boys. She fantasized about marriage and children and was sure that her future husband was in Madison, waiting for her. The economic security that comes with a college degree wasn’t lost on her. But first, she needed a summer job to save for college tuition, room, and board. Her parents were partially financing her education, so the extra money was needed. Fortunately, her Uncle Fredrick Young, who was the manager of Eugene Hotel located on the southwest corner of Monroe’s Historic Square, offered her a job for the summer as a maid to clean and to tidy up rooms and to make up beds with clean sheets. Her assigned work duties found her on the third floor. Since the tourist season was in full swing, Mr. Young welcomed the additional help. He trusted Anna and knew she would be a hard, conscientious worker. The tourist season ran from May through September. The second and third floors of the hotel featured fifty rooms that could accommodate as many as eighty-four guests. During the summer, the occupancy rate was over 90 percent, and the hotel was a beehive of activity. Anna worked hard and enjoyed seeing all the out-of-town visitors, asking them questions about themselves and where they came from, when time allowed. She especially liked the foreign visitors and loved her summer job.

As Anna surveyed her neat and orderly bedroom, her friend Jill floated across her mind. They had been best of friends since grade school and planned to room together at the UW this fall. In contrast to her own bedroom, Jill’s room reminded her of a teenage wasteland, akin to a landfill. Her study desk, nightstand, and dresser were a mess littered with scattered clothes, food wrappers, and empty Coca-Cola bottles. She never made her bed. The room reminded Anna of a dumpster. When Anna pointed out the chaos to her, Jill didn’t see a problem. She was apparently oblivious to it all, even the cobwebs on her window pane. Jill told Anna that her bedroom was her inner sanctum—a place where she could go, relax, reflect, and think about things and not be disturbed. That was indeed the truth, because Jill’s mother seldom went into the bedroom, believing that her daughter’s path into autonomous adulthood would correct itself after living through the minutia and chaos of her teenage years.

When Anna complained to her mother about her concerns, Greta was philosophical. She told Anna that some creative people function better when surrounded by chaos, clutter, and disarray. To them, everything was in its rightful place. Jill was also an excellent student, always on the honor roll, so this was her way of processing her thoughts and ideas. Anna just shook her head. After all, they were going to be roommates. What was she to do, to string yellow crime scene tape across their room at the dorm?

Anna rolled out of bed, showered, and dressed in white shorts and a baby-blue T-shirt with a hummingbird at the front. She made her bed and went to the kitchen for breakfast. She was scheduled to start work at ten.

Guten Morgen, Anna said, sitting down at an oval red Formica-top kitchen table surrounded by four red-and-white vinyl-covered metal chairs. Greta looked at her daughter and smiled.

What sounds good for breakfast?

Orange juice and a bowl of cereal sound nice. Do we have any yogurt?

As Greta was preparing the food, Anna was humming a tune.

"Let me guess. ‘Oh mein Papa.’"

Anna laughed. So what is your day like today?

Greta served up the yogurt, cereal, and juice; grabbed a cup of coffee from the kitchen counter; and sat down opposite her daughter.

Our knitting circle is meeting at eleven, and we are all looking forward to hearing what Esther Chapman has to say.

Why is that?

She is driving to Chicago on Sunday to pick up her niece at O’Hare. Michelle is flying in from Switzerland to spend six weeks with her.

Really? What’s up with that?

Greta settled back in her chair. She is so young and full of so many questions.

Well, from what Esther told us, her niece is forty-one years old and has never been to the United States. She is an unmarried school teacher and is very excited about the trip to America.

Anna wrinkled her nose. Didn’t Esther’s husband die last year?

Yes, you are right. It was a heart attack. Sixty-six is too young to die. Anyway, Esther is very excited to see her niece and to show her around Monroe and Southern Wisconsin. Maybe you and Michelle can become acquainted and talk about what teaching is like in Switzerland.

Isn’t forty-one awfully old? I mean, she is twenty-three years older than me!

For goodness sake. I think this could be a real opportunity for you, and who knows, maybe you can travel to Switzerland someday. And she would be more than happy to show you around.

Me, Switzerland?

Anna suddenly got lost in the thought about traveling to Europe and the adventure of it all.

How are things going at the hotel? Your Uncle Fredrick tells us you are a very good worker and the other staff really likes you.

It is great fun. The work is very busy but not too taxing. I mean, getting the rooms ready for the afternoon guests. The gossip concerning the guests is interesting, though.

Greta raised an eyebrow and eyed her daughter. What do you mean by that?

Well, I wasn’t born yesterday. The other maids speculate on who is having sexual affairs by the condition of the rooms they are cleaning. You know, the way they are left. Sometimes real messes.

I certainly don’t know anything about that, young lady. But tell me more.

Anna stopped eating and laid her spoon down. For starters, the reek of cigarette smoke, the strong fragrances of perfume and aftershave, and of course, the empty alcohol bottles and glasses. Then the bed covers are strewn on the floor. If they are really curious, the maids check the sign-in register for the room—a ‘Mr. and Mrs. John Smith.’ Isn’t that original and a dead giveaway?

Greta frowned and then chuckled. Have you ever cleaned a room like the one you are describing?

Of course. It doesn’t bother me, though. Live and let live. Isn’t that what father is always saying? Hendrick had his favorite sayings that he learned from his mother, and this one was defiantly one of them.

So anything else happening in your life?

Well, today is Friday, and I have to work the weekend. Some of my friends are going to Devil’s Lake for a swim and a picnic tomorrow, and I will miss that. The money is great at the hotel, but working can be such a bore when it interferes with my social life.

Greta shook her head. If I can borrow something profound from your father, ‘Life often interrupts your best laid plans.’

Anna laughed. Dear old dad.

After finishing her breakfast, Anna tidied up her bedroom. From her school years, all the mementos and awards she received were scattered around the room—all the good memories. She was very proud of her achievements. The trophies from girls’ sports and the certificates of achievements for her academic successes were framed and hung on the walls. Photos of her friends were pinned to a bulletin board, making the room look like a shrine. She was leaving all this behind in the fall. Closing the book, so to speak, on her first eighteen years of life, only to open a new chapter at the UW. In a magical mystical way, the room had a voice that spoke to her. Quietly closing the door behind her, Anna went to the kitchen, kissed her mother on the cheek, and left for the short walk to the square. Her route took her west on Ninth Street to Sixteenth Avenue. As she walked along at an unhurried pace, the birds, playful gray squirrels, and light traffic kept her company. The morning was glorious and bathed in rays of sunshine and blue skies. She felt invigorated. Life was good.

Turning south on Sixteenth Avenue, Anna crossed Tenth Street, stopped, looked at the courthouse glowing in the brilliant sunshine, and then proceeded to Eugene Hotel located at the corner of Eleventh Street and Sixteenth Avenue. As she walked along the sidewalk, Anna looked into the storefront windows of Becker’s Leader Store, West Side Pharmacy, Spurgeon’s, Swiss Colony Store, Strickler’s Market, Baumgartner Cheese Store and Tavern, Magdal the Jeweler, and Milady’s. Stopping at the redbrick building with a twenty-one-foot green porcelain electrified, elongated sign suspended from the corner, she gazed up at the name Eugene in bold letters. Looking along the roofline of the hotel, she observed the many windows facing the square on the second and third floors. The wedge-shaped architectural keystones above the windows always fascinated her. They reminded her of pictures of architectural designs during her studies of the Middle Ages in high school.

Entering the lobby on the south side of the hotel under the marquee sign, she greeted the woman at the wood-paneled registration desk located under the balcony. Mrs. Boll, an elementary school teacher Anna had in the third grade, was also working there part-time during the summer. As they briefly chatted, Anna looked around the foyer at the Oriental rugs, a big fireplace along the east wall, and a white ceramic drinking fountain in front of the wooden staircase leading up to the balcony, where separate writing desk areas for men and women guests were located. A couple of high-backed chairs that were specially ordered and covered with a modern tapestry design gave the lobby an air of sophistication. The hotel had the aura and ambiance of luxury, comfort, and innovation. Eugene Hotel was much heralded and loved. After she left the receptionist, Anna went to the back room to change into her maid uniform. A couple of the other maids were changing and chatting when she walked in.

Yesterday, being Thursday, one of the maids was saying, how did you find room 317?

The other maid grinned and giggled. "The same as usual. I think the perfume used this time was L’Aimant by Coty."

How do you know that?

My mother uses it.

They all laughed. Anna was amused. An affair was going on in room 317 that started six months ago. A Mr. and Mrs. Smith from Freeport, Illinois, reserved the same room every Thursday afternoon from noon to three in the afternoon. A scheduled romantic rendezvous between lovers. It was a standing joke with the hotel staff. Mr. Smith was approximately fifty years old with graying hair, and Mrs. Smith was about thirty years old with dyed blond hair and brightly painted red fingernails. When Mr. Young was informed about the affair, he only shrugged his shoulders. The maids were quick to clean the room after they checked out so it was ready to go again the same day. He told them that the extra revenue for the hotel was a good thing. He assured the staff that having affairs at Eugene was welcome and good for business. He urged them to look the other way and not to judge human behavior. One of the maids, tongue in cheek, urged him to advertise that the hotel was open for discretionary romantic getaways. Have your next affair with us at Eugene Hotel! Mr. Young didn’t find the suggestion the least bit funny. Nevertheless, the maids were always curious and trying to guess when a tryst was taking place. It relieved the boredom and helped pass the time.

Anna changed into her black-and-white housekeeping uniform. She filled her four-wheeled pushcart with cleaning cloths, scrub brushes, a duster, clean sheets, and pillowcases. A vacuum cleaner was located in a closet on the third floor. After her cart was filled with the cleaning supplies and linens, Anna proceeded to the electric elevator that ran from the basement to the third floor. As she waited for the elevator, Mary Boeck, who worked in the sandwich shop next to the lobby on the west side of the hotel, urgently asked Anna for help. Mary, a rotund woman with a big smile and an effervescent persona, was an excellent cook who made tasty, mouthwatering sandwiches that brought many Monrovians into the hotel for noon lunches and carryout.

Mary’s delivery of whole wheat, sourdough, and rye bread was late this morning, and she needed someone to watch the counter until she made an emergency run to the Swiss Bakery on the square. Anna didn’t hesitate and stepped behind the counter as Mary hurried off. If anyone came in to order a sandwich, Anna would simply tell them to wait. However, as the minutes ticked away and the line grew longer, Anna began to panic. A couple of customers said they were in a hurry, so why couldn’t Anna make the sandwiches. One of Anna’s high school classmates was in line and began to tease her that if he ordered a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, could Anna make it? The comment drew a good-natured twitter from the folks as her face reddened. She blushed.

Suddenly, to Anna’s relief, Mary burst through the door with an armful of paper bags and eyed the queue. She loudly thanked Anna for watching the counter and got down to work making sandwiches. Anna felt a great sigh of relief and hurried back to the elevator. The door was open, so she pushed her cart into the elevator and traveled the short distance to the third floor. Here, she felt safe, away from the sandwich counter, and she looked over her list of rooms that needed to be cleaned. Some guests stayed over two or three days, so those rooms went unattended unless a special request was made.

Anna passed an open door and saw Heidi, one of the other maids, tidying up. There were twenty-five rooms on this floor. She pushed the cart along on the solid quarter-sawed oak floor past room 317 to work her way back to room 301. For every room that needed to be cleaned, Anna would first knock on the door, then she would turn the doorknob to see if it was open. She carried a master key for the solid brass locks with her, if she needed it, but in most cases, the doors were unlocked. She would then go in to clean and tidy up. She had twelve rooms to clean before the afternoon guests began arriving. She would delay lunch until she finished her work, just in case a guest arrived early.

Most of the rooms were about the same size, ten feet by twelve feet, except for a few that were smaller. They all had a sink, a telephone, a dresser with a mirror, sitting chair, a writing desk, and a Simmons metal-framed bed with the latest springs and pure felt mattresses. All the lights in the hotel were of a frosted-globe type. The bedspreads were Chenille Medallion, very expensive and very posh. The cotton sheets and fluffy pillows were very inviting. The window coverings were made of lace with pull-down shades. The flowered wallpaper had various shades of green with a white background. The lavatories were down the hall. A couple of the rooms had the bath and lavatory inside the room, but they were the most expensive ones on the floor.

As she launched into her routine of straightening up the rooms, she reflected on her own bedroom at home. By nature, she was very organized with everything in its place. Her mother often commented that her bedroom was always inspection-ready. Anna felt very secure in her orderly life, and she was convinced that her disciplined mind is what made her a very good student. So it sometimes surprised her when some of the rooms she cleaned looked like a tornado went through them. She simply couldn’t understand how some people, adults who should have known better, seemed to be so messy or just didn’t care. Unmade beds, towels, and food wrappers were thrown on the floor, not to mention spilled sugary drinks and liquor. Sometimes there was a disagreeable, unidentified odor in the room. Anna would open the window to let in fresh air to air the place out. Body odor, dirty clothes, cigarette smoke, a pet?—such were disgusting. These rooms took extra time to clean.

Looking at her watch, Anna was having a good time. It was 12:30 p.m., and there were only three more rooms to go. She was meeting one of the other maids for lunch when they were finished. Approaching her last room, she encountered an elderly couple in the hallway. They exchanged greetings and smiles. The grandmother with blue-tinted hair asked Anna if she was from Monroe. Anna grinned and said she was. The lady wanted to know if she and her husband could take a tour of a cheese factory. From her cleaning cart, Anna retrieved a brochure that the Chamber of Commerce had printed, listing all the businesses and sights to see in Monroe. She handed it to the lady who carefully read it over and thanked her. Anna asked them where they were from, and she replied Chicago. Anna wished them well and told them to enjoy their time in Monroe.

Anna felt a sigh of relief as she knocked on her last door, room number 301. She was feeling a little light-headed, being that she was hungry and that all the exertion from the morning’s activity was catching up to her. There was no response to her knock, so she reached down and turned the door handle. It turned easily, and Anna stuck her head into the room, calling out, Maid service. There was still no response. Leaving her cart in the hallway, she entered the room to check it out. What she saw made her gasp, taking her breath away. Her body immediately stiffened, and her feet froze to the carpet. Her blue eyes bulged out, and her face turned pale with fright. She couldn’t move in that surreal moment. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out. She singularly stared at the corpse of a fully dressed man lying on the floor next to the dresser. The body was statue-still and lifeless. His vacant, glassy, blank, brown eyes stared back at her. His lips and mouth had a purple tint. It took a moment for her senses to kick in and to realize that she was, in fact, staring at a dead body! Her own body began to tremble and shake uncontrollably. Other than a funeral, where the deceased lay in a peaceful repose with eyes closed, she had never seen a body like this one before, but at the same time, she instinctually knew the man was stone-cold dead. She suddenly found her voice, hysterically screamed, and fled the room, leaving the horror of death behind.

CHAPTER 2

D etective Samantha Gates was a tall woman. She had married Drew Nelson two years ago, but her colleagues at the PD still referred to her as Gates. It was kind of quirky, but if Drew didn’t mind, and he didn’t, she would be called Gates at work. Sam was five feet ten and a half and was lithe. She had blue-green eyes and short chocolate-brown hair. Her intellect and spunk had elevated her career in law enforcement to the rank of detective, an anomaly in a testosterone-driven vocation. Police Chief Brandon Johns respected her innate ability to solve crimes and fully supported her as an equal partner when working together on murder cases. She had earned the respect of her fellow officers and shared a comradery of hard work. They had each other’s back in dangerous situations.

Detective Gates had just returned to the police department, adjacent to city hall, from having lunch with her husband at the Monroe Regional Medical Center cafeteria. Things were slow at the police department, so she had called Drew for an early Friday luncheon date; something they did from time to time to catch up and enjoy time together. Now back from lunch, she was sitting alone at her desk in the deserted debriefing room.

Her husband was tall, about six feet two. He was a handsome red-headed physical therapist who enjoyed seeing his wife whenever possible. Two years ago, after they married, they