Fish Creek: A Door County Thriller

By Ronald Conradt

The tiny tourist village of Fish Creek is rocked when the bodies of two beautiful women are found. Police have no suspects, only a person of interest, and locals are worried that the deaths will have an adverse effect on tourism. Jon Burke, a property owner in the peninsula, is worried about the safety of his fiancée, Lacy Sanderson, but Lacy is capable of taking care of herself.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jun 4, 2019
• ISBN: 9781796035971

Book preview

Copyright © 2019 by Ronald Conradt.

ISBN:      Hardcover      978-1-7960-3599-5

                Softcover        978-1-7960-3598-8

                eBook              978-1-7960-3597-1

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. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 06/03/2019

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This book is dedicate

d to:

Bev Leutschwager, a friend and a fighter.

Dr. Wendy Schroeder, a student of Lacy Sanderson

Marilyn Conradt, the ultimate editor

Those who value freedom and are courageous enough to fight for it

A strong body makes the mind strong. As to the species of exercises, I advise the gun. While this gives moderate exercise to the body, it gives boldness, enterprise and independence to the mind. Let your gun, therefore, be the constant companion of your walks.

— Thomas Jefferson, 1785

Good men arouse the worst in me.

— Doc Holliday, 1878

1

Dr. Jarvis Wilmont stood on his black tile patio and watched the sun sinking into Green Bay. The gold undulated on the water. He identified with the golden image, thinking of himself as a king, his subjects scurrying about on the streets of Fish Creek, Wisconsin. He had read several accounts of the history of Fish Creek. Most had the village starting during the logging days in the peninsula known today as the Door County Peninsula. The good doctor hailed from Chicago where he served as a Neurological Surgeon specializing in brain tumors, though he did other nerve-oriented surgeries as well.

He had purchased wooded property above the little village in the late nineties, building a large colonial home that looked out toward the harbor. The property had increased three-fold in the twenty years he had owned it. He enjoyed the view. He did not enjoy the tourists who flocked to the peninsula during the summer months and he didn’t really enjoy the locals either. He felt that he was under-appreciated. He was a man of considerable skill who made nearly a million dollars annually but to his chagrin, they didn’t look upon him as anyone special.

o He was a large fish in a small pond. The locals went about their lives, oblivious to his greatness. Most men of stature would enjoy the anonymity of a small tourist community but Dr. Jarvis Wilmont was not amused by it. He deserved to be treated well because he saved lives with his particular gift: That of removing or rendering harmless cancerous growths that threatened to kill his patients.

o He held a tumbler with ice in it, covered with ten-year-old scotch. The smoky taste fit him. He sat on one of the metal chairs and put his leg up on his other knee. In spite of the inadequacies of the local population, he enjoyed his time in his vacation home. He treasured the privacy when he wanted it as well as his unwillingness to mix with those who had no appreciation for the finer things.

Ilsa Wilmont ambled through the French doors and turned toward the garage. He glanced at her momentarily, then turned back toward the sunset, a vestige of the orange lingering below the water’s edge. He had been told by many to watch for the green flash, an effect that was the result of staring at the setting sun. When the last sliver slipped below the horizon, a green flash, the complimentary color of the yellow-orange, ostensibly glimmered for an instant. He had never seen the flash and figured it was the imagination of those who had heard about it and believed the myth.

He had been married to Ilsa for twenty years, most of them troublesome and contentious. She came from Ohio and money. He had been previously married in college. His wife graduated as an R.N. and put him through medical school and a year of residency. He divorced her then. He had no more use for her. She was a Midwest farm girl, great work ethic, personable, reasonably attractive, but not a match for him. She lacked the kind of social grace that a debonair guy like him needed. Anne had been her name.

Ilsa was an anchor, a millstone hanging from his neck. When he failed to show her attention and ignored her, she didn’t respond as he hoped she would. She continued to engage with her friends and colleagues and he wondered if she was having an affair. They hadn’t had sex in nearly a year. She had been a willing partner when they first dated and then married. He hadn’t treated her very well, he supposed, but he had become bored with her and had turned his attention to women he met at work as well as those he met socially. He had been with several women over the previous six months, though he had cheated on Ilsa several times during their first five years of marriage. He simply needed the stimulation of other women.

He had been sleeping with a surgical nurse, a woman ten years his junior, but he had to leave her behind when they moved to Fish Creek for his six-week vacation. His position at the hospital allowed him to work only two days a week doing surgeries. He managed two, sometimes three operations on those days and he found that he enjoyed the additional time off. He had no real hobbies, though he played golf and belonged to an exclusive country club in the Chicago suburbs. He believed that he was an extraordinary catch –someone who deserved any woman he desired.

He finished the single malt and thought about having another. He sat for a while, the June evening dimming the sky and highlighting the lights along the sidewalks and streets, creating shadows as the tourists continued to walk from store to store, looking in the boutiques and souvenir shops for something of note to take home with them; something that would remind them of their time in Door County. He had never bought any trinkets in the village. He had a home here and it was a constant reminder of his investment and the relaxation it brought him.

He heard the Jaguar start and the garage door rising, figured Ilsa was going somewhere. He found that he needed her less and less as time went on. His world had separated from hers some years ago and their relationship had become one of convenience rather than one of mutual gratification. He rose, walked into the living room, made his way to the bar and refilled his glass with Laphroaig Single Malt Scotch. Certainly not the most expensive of the scotch family, but a taste he had acquired over time and treasured. He knew he could afford any whiskey he desired and in fact, had sampled many but he always returned to his Laphroaig. He had over-indulged many times on the scotch but seldom awoke with a headache and that alone had made him a believer.

He had not spoken to the housekeeper about dinner and it was in fact, the dinner hour. He sensed that, since Ilsa had left the house, she had made plans to eat somewhere else, possibly with another male friend. If so, he had to find sustenance somewhere and he began to mentally run through the list of restaurants in the area, thinking about those that provided steaks, seafood or pasta that he enjoyed. He settled on Alexander’s, a nice eatery that was upscale and served excellent seafood. He particularly liked one of the bartenders, a lovely young woman who had treated him with the respect he deserved. He had made a point of conversing with her and complemented her on her service. He downed the scotch, decided to put on a more pleasing Paul and Shark polo shirt, and proceeded to the garage. He fired up the Maserati and headed for Alexander’s.

He was chagrined to find the small lot was full at the restaurant. He parked half a block down the street and walked the distance to Alexander’s. He was shown to his table. The waiter took his drink order and he examined the ample menu. He had eaten here dozens of times and the staff knew him by sight. He liked that—the deferential treatment afforded him. In his mind, here he was given the respect he deserved. The waiter brought his scotch and he decided on the cherry duck, a dish he had enjoyed several times at Alexander’s. The Door County cherries gave the duck a hint of sweetness and added to an already lean dish. The waiter brought freshly baked bread, along with his salad. He looked around to see if anyone recognized him and he saw that they were all involved in conversation. Some of the younger patrons were scrolling on their cell phones, a habit he regarded as gauche and a result of poor breeding.

The duck was flavorful and filling. He finished his dinner, had an aperitif to cap the evening’s gastronomic experience. He returned to his home, sated and tired. He went to his office and read the current issue of JAMA, the Journal of the American Medical Association.

2

Jonathon Burke returned from a five mile run, stumbled up his sidewalk, and sat on the steps to his townhouse. He was beat. The school year had ended today and, as principal of Hillside High School, there was a ton of work to do over a summer that would be too short to get everything finished that he had put on his list. Graduation had come and gone, and the underclassmen were out for what was a ten-week vacation. It had been more than a week since his last run, and his body protested. Every muscle ached and his body was dehydrated and tired. He was looking forward to a three -day weekend in the Door County Peninsula where he owned a modest chalet situated along the rocky coast of the Lake Michigan side of the peninsula. His vacation home was adjacent to Cave Point County Park, a small but lovely parcel where tourists could examine the Dolomitic Limestone cliffs reaching fifty feet above the water and hollowed out by centuries of crashing waves.

Burke threw his running clothes in the hamper, treated himself to a long shower that began as hot as his body could stand and gradually turned to seventy degrees. He dried off and put on some cargo shorts and a t-shirt. A pair of boat shoes completed his dress. He threw underwear, shirts, Dockers, another couple pair of shorts, socks, sandals, and his shaving kit in a duffle. He would stop at Woodmans and pick up some groceries to take along, so he slipped a cooler in the back of his old Blazer. Ten minutes later he was in the aisles at the large grocery store, using his memory and sense of diet to find enough food to last for three days at the cottage. Though he hadn’t mentioned it to them, he was relatively certain that he would receive some company over the weekend in the form of his two compadres at work: Donovan Archer, his police liaison officer, and Larry Wysocki, his high school assistant principal. The three had been together at Hillside for over six years and were tight. His two friends were married with children, had wonderful wives who let their husbands go up to the peninsula with Burke almost whenever they asked. Burke, a widower, was single but was engaged to Lacy Sanderson, a beautiful auburn-haired woman who worked in the real estate business in Door County. They had been engaged for a year and a half and there were many, including Lacy, who wondered when the magic day would happen. The single issue confronting the couple was where they would live once they married. Burke lived in Appleton and worked in Hillside, a two-hour drive from the area where Lacy lived. She lived in a small cottage on the shore of Rowleys Bay, a remote area of the peninsula that was beautiful and heavily wooded. They had discussed the issue of living arrangements but in large part they had skirted the final decision. It would be too long of a drive for either of them if they chose one of their current houses. The obvious solution would be somewhere in the middle of the distance but since they both liked their current locations, the issue was still up in the air.

Burke had been married but lost his wife to cancer. She had been in her early thirties when she succumbed. Lacy had never been married. She had many chances and there had been many suitors but until she met Jonathon Burke, no one had captured her heart.

It had taken Burke five years to get over the pain of losing his wife but when he purchased his cottage and Lacy Sanderson had been the agent who handled the sale, she had impressed him with her sense of confidence as well as her smile. He called her and they began dating. He was so taken with her, he called her during the work week, almost daily. Hearing her voice was important to him and usually made a difficult day more tolerable. They seldom talked about their work when they were together but Jon Burke was always asking Lacy about the real estate market and property values. She secretly wondered whether he was thinking about selling his place and moving in with her or whether he was thinking she should sell her place and move in with him when they married.

Burke paid for his purchases, pushed a cart out to his vehicle, and headed for the Door County Peninsula.

The drive to his place ten miles past Sturgeon Bay took him nearly two hours. Traffic was moderate since it was a Thursday. Fridays were always heavy with traffic flow and drivers were less considerate. He turned right and headed toward Cave Point Road, knowing he was less than ten minutes from his cottage. There was considerable activity in the little park as he drove through, half a dozen cars were parked along the drive and people were having picnic dinners or standing along the cliffs, watching the big rollers move lethargically toward the rocks.

He had come up to his cabin weeks earlier and taken off the storm windows, stored them in the small storage shed, and put his deck furniture out. He walked around the place, eyeballing the doors and windows. He had never suffered a major break-in but he was careful not to leave valuables or firearms in the building. He had considered installing a burglar alarm but dismissed the idea when the local police told him it would still be twenty to twenty-five minutes before they could get to his place because of the remote location and narrow roads.

He unlocked the back door, walked in and turned up the thermostat slightly. He snapped on the breaker for the hot water heater, carried his provisions in the house and put several items in the refrigerator.

Burke called Lacy’s house and received no answer. He was about to call her cell phone when he heard a vehicle in the drive. Looking through the window out back he saw Lacy walking toward the cottage followed by Louie, her faithful Black Labrador. He opened the door before she could knock and she walked into his arms. She smelled of Jasmine and Vanilla and looked fantastic.

Are we going out for dinner? She asked. It’s way past six o’clock and I’m starving.

Are you buying?

She laughed, If I must. However, I should warn you, I haven’t sold any real estate for two weeks, so you might be using up my savings.

Burke scratched Louie’s ear and the big dog leaned against Burke’s leg, relishing the attention from his favorite person. Jon brought a treat for the dog, the beast whining while he waited for what he considered a good reason for living. He took the treat in his mouth and walked into the living room, collapsing on the big area rug in front of the fireplace, savoring the moment.

Burke gestured toward the dog, What about Louie? Should we leave him here?

Lacy nodded, "Sure. He’s as comfortable here as he is at my place. Have a bowl for some water?

Burke walked out of the laundry room with a bowl of dry food and a bowl with water in it and placed them in the kitchen. Just bought these. I figured one of these days I would be hosting man’s best friend.

They locked the door, jumped in Lacy’s Jeep and headed for Sturgeon Bay.

Lacy drove into the parking lot of Gilmo’s Bar and Bistro. Burke had never been there and turned to her, Why here?

She smiled. I’ve been here with customers. They have a good prime rib sandwich and pretty good fish. Thought I’d see what you think.

They ordered a drink and were shown to a table. Burke, as usual, looked to see if there was anyone he knew and as usual, he knew no one and no one seemed to know him. Lacy however, knew several people who waved or yelled hello.

The food came and it was quite good. Lacy said, I’ve talked to a few people who said the food was just so-so, but I’ve always had great food here.

Burke agreed. I will put this place on my list to return to. Truth was, it was a very short list of places where Burke would not want to eat at in Door County.

They drove back to Burke’s cottage where Louie lay patiently on the living room rug. Lacy called him and he reluctantly ambled to the door. Honestly, Jon, I think if I didn’t call him and convince him to come along with me, he would stay with you. Burke laughed, scratched Louie’s neck and walked out to the Jeep with Lacy and her dog.

Burke said, I’ll follow you to your house. If I stay here, I’m likely to get two visitors. I still might get them but they’ll have to hunt for me. He laughed, referring to Larry and Donovan, his two buddies.

He left a note on the back door in case they came up unannounced, letting them know he was at Lacys.

3

Ilsa Wilmont drove the car into the garage, turned off the ignition and walked through the utility room into the big house. She had taken a drive along the water. The drive often calmed her and brought a sense of tranquility to her psyche. She was married to a prominent surgeon and it was an embarrassment as well as an emotional challenge. Jarvis was ill-tempered, egotistical, and had a wandering eye. Actually it was more than an eye; She was aware of many of his dalliances, some with people she knew, and that made relationships, friendships, and professional alliances difficult.

She had endured Jarvis’ infidelities for years before she gave in to temptation herself. She was forty-two with naturally blonde hair and a decent figure. She took care of herself, walked daily, and ate sensibly. Many men had told her she was attractive and while she seldom gave in to hollow compliments, she thought of herself as fairly attractive, especially for her age. She came from Scandinavian stock with a fair complexion. She stood five- eight and carried herself well. She had been married to Jarvis right after graduation from Wellesley College. She moved to Chicago with Jarvis right after the ceremony and adjusted to Midwestern life. They had a son who was enrolled at Northwestern University. He was planning to major in communications or broadcast journalism.

She went directly to her bedroom. They had ceased sleeping together after her husband’s latest conquest. She had confronted him and he became outraged. He had threatened her and she feared he would hit her. She moved into the guest bedroom and had avoided him steadfastly when it was possible.

He heard her steps and called out, Ilsa, where were you? I thought we would go out for dinner and when you didn’t return in a timely manner, I went out on my own. There was a smugness and finality in his voice.

His attitude and treatment of her had fostered a fear of him. She saw the look of dismissiveness in his eyes, the hate in his voice, and the sarcasm when he addressed her. Though she feared him physically, she did not fear his leaving her. She was a wealthy woman. She had inherited several million from her deceased father. He had been a successful investor who weathered the ups and downs of the stock market, ran a hedge fund for a decade and retired an extremely wealthy man.

Jarvis walked into the bedroom, stood in the doorway. You didn’t answer, dear. Where were you?

I took a drive along the Bay. Stopped in Ephraim and watched the sunset.

You should tell me where you are going when you leave. I was worried that something happened to you. He was beginning to think she was having an affair and that would never do. He could ill afford being made a cuckold. That would be a blow to his ego and would be intolerable. He turned and retreated to his office where he could enjoy solace along with the company of his books.

He closed the door to his sanctum. Ilsa was getting on his nerves and he was determined to do something about her. He had obsessed about getting rid of her over the past month or so. He had decided that he would have no problem in matters of conscience if he did so. He didn’t know whether he would inherit her wealth, which she had invested wisely, nor did he know if she had left it to him. He had insisted on a prenuptial agreement when they married, not realizing that she would be receiving millions when her father died. Her mother was alive, residing in an assisted-living facility outside of Boston. Ilsa would inherit several millions more when her mother passed.

He was comfortable and could live an enriched life, with what he made as a physician but he kicked himself daily that he had gone with the prenup. Furthermore there was no way she would change that, now that she knew of his indiscretions.

He had thought of a dozen different ways to dispose of her but didn’t think he had the inner strength to do it. He had thought about divorce but what would the public think? Would they conclude that he couldn’t keep a woman? Would he come off as inadequate? There were several drugs that would do the job, some nearly undetectable, but investigators would immediately suspect them and him as well.

He sat at his desk, mentally searching for methods that would separate him from the act. He was careful not to use the computer on his desk. He knew that search patterns and computer history would implicate him immediately, especially if authorities suspected him.

He wondered if their son would suspect him of the crime when she died. He had tried to convince the kid to go into the medical field. The kid was smart and he was good looking. He could have easily made the grade into medicine, after all he sported a thirty-three on his ACT. Part of the problem was that he never got close enough to his son. The kid seemed to be put off with him. Sure, he was polite to him and seemed comfortable in conversation but the kid never came to him with his problems. He went to his mother and that perplexed him.

He drifted back to his problem. Ilsa had become a thorn in his side. She had to go. He had decided that if she simply disappeared, it would be better. There would be no body and he could appear to be clueless as to her whereabouts. He thought about reasons for her to leave so the incident would occur miles away from him. She might want to drive out East to see their son. That made sense and it minimized his exposure to the disappearance. The plan was feasible. He decided he needed to work on the details. He could pull off the perfect crime. It had been done before and why not him?

He was jerked from his fantasy by a knock on his door, but before he could get up the door cracked open and Ilsa said, I’m going out for a bite.

She turned and was gone before he could gather his thoughts. He wondered why she hadn’t stopped for dinner on her drive along the Bay.

Maybe she really was having an affair. He searched his memory for likely candidates in the area. He couldn’t think of anyone who was age appropriate and had the intellectual capacity that he figured his wife might demand.

He heard the car leave the drive and knew he had to follow her and find out for himself who it was. After all, knowledge is power and he needed to have something to hold over her should the time come when he needed leverage.

He ran for the garage, backed the Toyota Land Cruiser out, and headed down the road. She had headed up the peninsula, he knew that much. He drove as fast as he could without running over any tourists who were out and about in the early evening. It would be at least an hour before darkness, so he felt that gave him some advantage in finding her.

He drove past a couple of eateries that he knew she fancied and not seeing her car, continued up the coast. The Bay was busy with sailboats, kayakers, tubers being pulled by power boats, and a couple of paddle boarders. He had bought a boat when they first built the new house but he used it only once or twice a summer. He rented a slip at the marina and counted the money spent as a waste. The craft, a twenty-one footer, was nice looking but he was not one to motor up and down the shoreline, gawking at the cottages and shacks along the way.

He drove all the way to Gills Rock and back, looking for her car as he drove, being careful not to wander across the centerline with plenty of traffic to deal with.

He drove home and parked the SUV. She wasn’t home.

Ilsa, meanwhile drove the short drive to Egg Harbor. She parked on the street and walked a short distance to Parador, a nice eatery that she relished. The food was of excellent quality and the service was fine as well. The hostess recognized her and showed her to a table. A waitress came and took her drink order, a fine Chablis from Windser Vineyards of California.

When Ilsa went out by herself, she found people to be friendly and accommodating. She liked the people in the Peninsula and she enjoyed the rural atmosphere of the small villages that permeated the area. She had found several nice articles of clothing in the local boutiques as well as prices that were better than on Lake Drive in Chicago.

Her food was delicious as usual and she tipped generously before she made her way through the tables of tourists and locals. She sensed men looking at her as she moved, and she didn’t mind it. In fact she found it to be a compliment. She still attracted men even though she was over forty.

She restrained a small smile as she said good night to the hostess and returned to her car. She was about to open the vehicle when she spotted her husband’s Toyota. He was headed down Highway Forty-two back to Fish Creek. Apparently he had not seen her. She thought it was curious that he had just returned from dinner and appeared to be settling in for the evening but was out driving again.

She drove thoughtfully back to the house. The Land Cruiser was in the garage. She drove the Jag into its parking place and closed the door. As she walked by the Toyota she put her hand on the hood It was warm.

The evening was balmy with temperatures in the low eighties, so she ambled out on the brick patio and sat on one of the metal chairs. A glass of wine would be nice, she thought. She walked into the house, headed for the kitchen and the wine fridge. She found a Pino Noir that seemed to fit the bill, opened it and poured a glass for herself. She stuffed the cork back in the top and put the bottle in the refrigerator. She allowed the wine to warm up a bit before she took a sip. It was refreshing. She resumed her position on the patio and, though the sun had set already, watched the lights and people on the streets below.

Jarvis saw her through one of the huge windows, her silhouette against the lights below. He hadn’t seen her car and was suspicious of her destination. Ilsa, where did you decide to eat?

She knew then why he had driven by her on Highway Forty-two. I decided on the Parador. She didn’t turn toward him when she spoke. She let the words flow out at a tangent to him.

How was it?

Wonderful.

He was reasonably sure she hadn’t gone to the Parador. What did you have for an entree?

Tapas and Sangria, She said.

Anyone there we know?’

Saw some familiar faces but no one that I know personally.

He turned and walked back into the house. How could he have missed her Jaguar? The metallic red was a show stopper and it stuck out like a sore thumb. He returned to his den, shut the door and picked up one of his professional magazines.

Ilsa sat on the patio for an hour, then retreated to her bedroom where she read a Harlen Coben novel. She put the book aside. Jarvis was following her now. It troubled her and she felt the hairs on her arms stand on end. Was it time for the two of them to end what was becoming a very uncomfortable relationship? She hadn’t thought about it much but the complete lack of trust that