And, yes, our main character, Dave Cubiak, starts out working as a ranger, but by the end of the book, he's back as a cop!
Death Stalks Door County:
A Dave Cubiak Door County Mystery
By Patricia Skalka
Johnson started and pushed away from the tower. Rain or was it tears glistened on his weathered face. "Looks like some kid took a nose dive off the top." The park super stuck out his chin as if challenging his new assistant to disagree. Cubiak said nothing. "He's cold. I can't find a pulse," Johnson went on. "You want to check?" No." Damp with sweat, Cubiak shuddered. He didn't need to look any closer. The odd twist to the victim's neck told him enough. Maybe you should." Cubiak shook his head. He hadn't been near a dead body in two years, not since his family had been killed. "Have you called the sheriff?" "Can't, Radio's busted. You'll have to get him from the station."
The killer might have taken the tour of the State Park and planned to later take his victim up to the top of Eagle Tower, or maybe it had been an accidental meeting... But by the time the autopsy had been done, some considered it the first murder, even if the sheriff had declared it an accident and did little further investigation.
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| Halverson brandished the victim's wallet in the air. "Anybody know this guy? Names's Wisby. Lawrence Wisby. He's from Illinois... Despite the damp cold, a layer of sweat crystallized on Cubiak's neck. Nausea toiled his gut. He imagined the others watching him, but when he looked, the coroner was again kneeling next to the body and the sheriff was grilling Johnson for details of the gruesome discovery... In an uneasy lull, Cubiak spoke. "I recognize the name. Wisby. Lawrence Wisby." He swallowed hard and when he went on, the words came fast, as if they were toxic and had to be spat out quickly. "His brother killed my wife and daughter." ~~~ |
Cubiak seemed to be right back where he had been prior to his relocation to Wisconsin as his partner and friend had suggested. They both thought that a short stint away was needed. Cubiak had been drinking far too much since his wife and daughter were killed by a DUI. The guy was in prison, but that had not been enough to take away the pain, anger, and helplessness that Cubiak was drowning in...so he had used alcohol just to deaden the drowning... Now here he was, barely on the job, and they find a dead body that apparently had fallen from the forest fire tower. Cubiak took one look at the body and knew that its placement would not have been possible if he had jumped... But he definitely was not responsible for handling this investigation!
Yet...
The other thing about that body when Cubiak heard the man's name...well, it was the brother, Lawrence Wisby, of the man who had killed his family... Of course, Cubiak was immediately suspected, but as facts were compiled, he could breathe a little easier during the day, but his dream was back...the one that had plagued him since his family had died...
Cubiak had just sat down at the counter of one of his favorite diners when Evangeline had poured his coffee and mentioned about the boy being found. The next thing they heard was a huge blast and they both started running... The next murder had just occurred.
Cubiak had just sat down at the counter of one of his favorite diners when Evangeline had poured his coffee and mentioned about the boy being found. The next thing they heard was a huge blast and they both started running... The next murder had just occurred.
There's a tough old bird for you,.. "Good ol' Benny. Love him or hate him... His true love, the Betsy Ross."
The explosion blew a crater into the water and rocked the diner. Under a cascade of splintering glass, Cubiak dove to the floor. He counted to ten out of military habit and then scrambled to his feet. "You okay?" he called to Evangeline, who ws plastered ghostlike against the back wall... Cobiak bolted out the door and raced toward the ugly orangeball of fire dancing on the water. Thick black smoke barreled upward from the flames, releasing the sharp smell oif creosote into the air.
~~~
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| ...the Reverend Waldo Thorenson, in the small yard between the parsonage and the church thus delaying the start of the service... "Benjamin Macklin was not a man of God. He doesn't deserve church burial," they insisted all of a voice. "What will people think?" trumpted one, the obviously ring- leader,... "They will think we are good Christians," Thorenson replied evenly... The women fell into a shocked silence, though Miss Cooper was quick to recover. "You're an avowed abstainer. How can you eulogize a confirmed drunk?" "Why don't you come in and see?" Thorensen said... ~~~ |
Just as Cubiak had, I stopped to ponder what happened at Benny's funeral. It seems that there are always church members, no matter what church, who never hesitate to voice their personal opinion against the decisions of the pastor. But the issue Cubiak confronted was more personal, as the parents of the Wisby boys were there. He didn't say anything, but he couldn't stop himself from standing where they could see him, and falter, as he made them remember that their other son was the man who had ensured Cubiak had to face the funeral of his wife and daughter... Would he ever get over it?
And then the next morning he again had to face something he didn't want to. His boss had delegated the meeting regarding the July celebration to Cubiak! He had to attend the meeting at Beck's house as a command performance...
Actually, the event sounded like a great occasion, The celebration kicked off the official summer session for what many called the "Cape Code of the Midwest" and would bring thousands into the area and into the park...
But Cubiak was not convinced that the terror had ended... So he soon found himself in charge of security for the event, including the staff of the Sheriff's office. And nobody was given a choice. Cubiak would be fired if he didn't accept the assignment...
And then they started coming!
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| The fish boil was a Scandinavian tradition imported to Door County as an efficient and economical way to feed settlers, logging teams, and fishing crews at the end of the workday. It became a popular tourist attraction, and at the festival it was transformed into high culinary art. This was no small undertaking. On a long, narrow stretch of sand, ten campfires burned, each one straddled by a raised metal frame that held an oversized black from kettle filled with salted water. A crew of men directed by Les Caruthers fed pieces of dried wood into the flames to heat the water. Outfitted in a yellow slicker with matching pants, tall heavy boots and a fisherman's cap pulled tight over his ears. Caruthers waves a flag. When the water began to simmer, he blew on a sailor's whistle. At the signal, the boil masters, twenty burly men i white chef's hats, emerged from the shadows. The cooks bowed to the crowd, then paired off and carried in ten large metal baskets filled with small red potatoes. One container was ceremoniously lowered into each cauldron. While the potatoes cooked, the chefs stood arms akimbo and sang sea chanteys to entertain the hungry diners. They had just finished one of the numbers when Caruthers gave another toot, a signal for onions to be added to the broth. After more songs and another blast from Caruthers, the men carried in a second set of smaller baskets, brimming with chunks of locally caught whitefish, and set them into the kettles. A cooking fires whipped up and licked the sides of the kettles. A gray foam of fish oil formed over the surface of the roiling water. Caruthers blew a long and two shorts. "Boil over," he yelled as the chefs tossed kerosene onto the fires. Flames skyrocketed into the air. The supercharged water bulled over the sides of the cauldrons, spilling fish oil onto the burning logs and sending plumes of black smoke into the air. The crowd cheered. When the last whistle sounded, the boil masters, still working in pairs, slid heavy metal poles through the wire handles and lifted the heavy baskets from the kettles. Water streamed off the fish--the thick fillets, sweet and delicate, cooked to perfection--as the cooks carried the baskets from the beach to the tents where they sere set on solid wooden tables that bore the scars from past boils. Using red, white, and blue plastic dishes, the local ladies served up the potatoes, onions, and fish, the famous Door County fish boil dinner--each meal complete with a slice of cherry pie.   |
The first visitor killed was visiting the lighthouse. When they found him, he was nailed to the door with an arrow holding him up...
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| Cubiak jogged up the trail. The forest was hushed, void of the usual early-morning chatter of birds and squirrels. At the top of the rise, the path emerged in a small clearing and the view opened to the tower. From a distance of fifty feet, Cubiak confronted the madness that had stilled the forest and frightened his boss. A man, tall and angular, in worn jeans and torn sweatshirt, was skewered to the shiny oak door of the building. An arrow pierced his chest. Blood flowed down his torso and legs and pooled on the ground... ~~~ |
Got to say that this writer presents us with a literary mystery that will in no way give you a hint... Sure, you'll get some ideas, and Cubiak will interview many and even outright declare they had the motive, the means...and all that jazz...
But I guarantee you're not going to guess in advance who was behind the terror that stormed into Door County and never let up until everybody was...gone...
This is the debut of a new series. I loved the main character and hope he stays there in Door County for the long haul...Might even schedule a trip during the annual festival... Wanna come? Cause, after all, this is just fiction... Enjoy!
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