Death Casts a Shadow, page 1
Praise for DEATH STALKS DOOR COUNTY, the first Dave Cubiak Door County Mystery
“Can a big-city cop solve a series of murders whose only witnesses may be the hemlocks? An atmospheric debut.”
—Kirkus Reviews
“Murder seems unseemly in Door County, a peninsula covered in forests, lined by beaches, and filled with summer cabins and tourist resorts. That’s the hook for murder-thriller Death Stalks Door County.”
—Shepherd Express
“The characters are well drawn, the dialogue realistic, and the puzzle is a difficult one to solve, with suspicion continually shifting as more evidence is uncovered.”
—Mystery Scene Magazine
Praise for DEATH AT GILLS ROCK, the second Dave Cubiak Door County Mystery
“In her atmospheric, tightly written sequel, Skalka vividly captures the beauty of a remote Wisconsin peninsula that will attract readers of regional mysteries. Also recommended for fans of William Kent Krueger, Nevada Barr, and Mary Logue.”
—Library Journal (Starred Review)
“Will give mystery lovers food for thought along with the pleasure of reading a well-crafted book.”
—Chicago Book Review, 2015 Best Books of the Year
“Skalka writes with unusually rich detail about her story’s setting and with unflinching empathy for her characters.”
—Publishers Weekly
Praise for DEATH IN COLD WATER, the third Dave Cubiak Door County Mystery
“Starring a tenacious cop who earns every ounce of respect he receives.”
—Booklist
“A fast-paced story highlighted by the differences in temperament and style between the local law enforcement officer and the federal agents, [with] a final, satisfying conclusion.”
—Mystery Scene Magazine
“A haunting depiction of heartbreaking crime. Skalka does a wonderful job of showing how people can both torment and help each other.”
—Sara Paretsky, author of Fallout
Praise for DEATH RIDES THE FERRY, the fourth Dave Cubiak Door County Mystery
“A smooth yet page-turning read. . . . [Skalka] brings the region alive for readers with a you-are-there verisimilitude.”
—New York Journal of Books
“Another deftly crafted gem of a mystery novel by Patricia Skalka. . . . A simply riveting read from cover to cover.”
—Midwest Book Review
“Skalka is equally skilled at evoking the beloved Door County landscape and revealing the complexities of the human heart, as Sheriff Cubiak’s latest case evokes personal demons. This thought-provoking mystery, set in a beautiful but treacherous environment, is sure to please.”
—Kathleen Ernst, author of The Light Keeper’s Legacy
Praise for DEATH BY THE BAY, the fifth Dave Cubiak Door County Mystery
“Reveals a remarkable ability to create atmosphere. . . . Clearly, Skalka knows how to chill her readers’ blood, and she leaves them with haunting questions.”
—Peninsula Pulse
“Rife with memorable scenes in such unexpected places. . . . Death by the Bay wouldn’t be a traditional Skalka mystery, though, if it didn’t include an unexpected twist or two.”
—Isthmus
“A touching and original story. Sheriff Cubiak is the kind of man you would always want to handle such personal and painful matters.”
—Maureen Jennings, author of the Murdoch Mysteries
Praise for DEATH WASHES ASHORE, the sixth Dave Cubiak Door County Mystery
“A descriptive mystery with a strong sense of place. Readers who enjoy well-plotted atmospheric stories featuring small-town sheriffs, such as Victoria Houston’s ‘Loon Lake’ mysteries, should enjoy this book.”
—Library Journal
“Dave Cubiak, the taciturn, grieving, relentless sheriff of Door County and irresistible protagonist, has a problem. Patricia Skalka’s rendering of Cubiak and all the colorful characters in Death Washes Ashore is compelling and empathetic, written in simple, elegant language and revealing dialogue. Read it now.”
—Bryan Gruley, author of Purgatory Bay
“Weaving clues throughout the strange world of live action role play, this book plumbs depths as great as the lake waters surrounding the peninsula: the insider/outsider war in the county, the bitter, bottomless pain of losing a child, and how Cubiak struggles to restore justice despite these forces. A great read for the thinking mystery lover.”
—Jenny Milchman, Mary Higgins Clark award-winning author of Cover of Snow
DEATH CASTS A SHADOW
A DAVE CUBIAK DOOR COUNTY MYSTERY
PATRICIA SKALKA
THE UNIVERSITY OF WISCONSIN PRESS
The University of Wisconsin Press
728 State Street, Suite 443
Madison, Wisconsin 53706
uwpress.wisc.edu
Gray’s Inn House, 127 Clerkenwell Road
London EC1R 5DB, United Kingdom
eurospanbookstore.com
Copyright © 2022 by Patricia Skalka
The Board of Regents of the University of Wisconsin System
All rights reserved. Except in the case of brief quotations embedded in critical articles and reviews, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, transmitted in any format or by any means—digital, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—or conveyed via the internet or a website without written permission of the University of Wisconsin Press. Rights inquiries should be directed to rights@uwpress.wisc.edu.
Printed in the United States of America
This book may be available in a digital edition.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Skalka, Patricia, author. | Skalka, Patricia. Dave Cubiak Door County mystery.
Title: Death casts a shadow / Patricia Skalka.
Description: Madison, Wisconsin : The University of Wisconsin Press, [2022] |
Series: Dave Cubiak Door County mystery
Identifiers: LCCN 2021049362 | ISBN 9780299338701 (cloth)
Subjects: LCSH: Sheriffs—Wisconsin—Door County—Fiction. | Murder—Investigation—Fiction. | Door County (Wis.)—Fiction. | LCGFT: Detective and mystery fiction.
Classification: LCC PS3619.K34 D384 2022 | DDC 813/.6—dc23/eng/20211117
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021049362
Map by Julia Padvoiskis; illustration by Carla Marie Walkis
Door County is real. While I used the peninsula as the framework for the book, I also altered some details and added others to fit the story. The spirit of this majestic place remains unchanged.
ISBN-13: 978-0-299-33878-7 (electronic)
For
Samuel and Townes,
With much love and hope for the future
There are only two families in the world, the Haves and the Have-Nots.
—Miguel de Cervantes, Don Quixote de la Mancha
1
THE FLYING LADY
Dave Cubiak tore the cellophane wrapper off his new calendar and laid the pages across the desk. Starting with January there were twelve sheets, one for each month. He liked the way the year opened up before him, the days unsullied and full of promise. Before long the squares would oveflow with reminders about the meetings, conferences, and appointments that went with the job of being the sheriff of Door County, Wisconsin. The calendar was a gag Christmas gift, a present intended to elicit a laugh. No one on the staff expected the sheriff to actually use it. But Cubiak had a penchant for doing things the old-fashioned way. He wore a wristwatch and sent letters by snail mail. He read print books because he liked turning the pages and scribbling notes in the margins.
That morning Cubiak made his first entry in the calendar. Looking down at January, he ran a hand to the last Saturday of the month. Then he circled the date in red, and in neat, small letters, he printed Joey in the square. His son had won tickets to a basketball game between the Milwaukee Bucks and the Chicago Bulls slated to be played on that day in Cubiak’s hometown. This would be his first time in Chicago with the boy, walking the familiar streets of the city where he had been born and raised, where he had been a cop and the father to a different child until she and her mother were killed and he had fled north to a new life. Was he up to it? Cubiak capped the pen and looked out the window. Memories and doubts swirled through his mind like the flakes riding the wind in the thick maelstrom of snow falling outside.
Door County was buried in snow. On the day after Thanksgiving, a fierce storm rolled in and dropped fourteen inches on the peninsula. An anomaly, folks said, but since then a half-dozen record-breaking snowfalls had slammed the area. Drifts piled to the eaves, and towering ridges of frozen muck blocked visibility along the roads and intersections. Stop, enough already, said the locals. Cubiak kept his thoughts to himself. Secretly he hoped for another blizzard, one that would make the highway impassable on the day he had marked in red.
At two, he sent half the staff home. At three, he dismissed everyone but the emergency dispatcher. Winter was the department’s slowest season. During that stretch of long nights and short days, the sheriff and the deputies could ease up and take time for themselves, for the appointments and personal business they ignored during the high seasons when tourists and part-time residents migrated back and pumped the economic lifeblood back into the peninsula.
At half past the hour, he left as well. The drive was uneventful until he reached Jacksonport. Just as he turned into his d
The lane left no room for the boxy Rolls to slide past the jeep, and for an absurd moment the two men played a stationary game of chicken. Finally, the Door County sheriff gave in and shifted into reverse.
As the Rolls floated by, the other driver nodded and tipped his cap in a formal greeting. Cubiak raised a hand in return, but his attention was on the woman who sat behind the driver. She was swathed in fur. Between the billowy white hat that came to her brows and the coat with the upturned collar that caressed her elegant cheekbones, it was impossible to determine her age. She could have been young or old or somewhere in between. But the fur could not disguise her posture. It was the kind that came with money and breeding. The woman kept her eyes straight ahead. If she noticed his polite nod, she did not respond.
Cubiak watched the car disappear behind a veil of snow before continuing down the lane toward the lake. Against the backdrop of the icy shore, the tiny white lights glistening in the kitchen windows looked warm and welcoming. The sheriff stomped the snow off his boots and opened the side door. Cate was at the sink, humming the tune to a carol he didn’t quite recognize and washing a saucer from their rarely used bone china, a relic from her former life.
“It looks like you were having high tea with the queen,” he said, shrugging off his jacket.
Cate laughed. “You saw the car?”
“Hard to miss,” he said. He paused to inhale the sweet aroma of cinnamon and cloves that filled the room. “Who was it?”
“Not the queen. Not exactly anyway,” Cate said over her shoulder. She rested the cup in the drainer and shut off the water. Wiping her hands on her apron, she turned toward him. “But you’re not far off. Her name is Regina Malcaster, and for as long as I can remember she’s been the grande dame of Northern Door. Her father was friends with my grandfather, and she was friends with my aunt Ruby, that sort of thing.”
“Why was she here?”
“She came to ask for a favor.”
“A woman in a chauffeur-driven Rolls came here asking for a favor?”
“Not from me, from you.”
“Me? The car went right past and she didn’t even acknowledge me.”
Cate sighed. “I think she was embarrassed. Certainly, she wouldn’t want her driver to think that the visit was anything more than a social call.”
Cubiak pulled out a chair and sat down. “All right, what gives?”
“Regina is worried about her niece, Lydia Malcaster. Well, Lydia is actually a niece by marriage. Her late husband was Regina’s husband’s nephew. Apparently, she has been acting strangely.”
“Meaning what exactly?”
“Secretive. Not herself.”
“Considering the winter we’ve had so far, I’d think half the people in the county are feeling a bit off.”
Cate sat down next to her husband. “Regina hinted rather strongly that she would appreciate having you look in on Lydia.”
Cubiak groaned and rested his elbows on his knees. “I’m the sheriff, not the county social worker.”
“Regina didn’t say so specifically, but she implied that Lydia may be in some kind of trouble.” Cate hesitated. “She’s really worried about her.”
“Why doesn’t she just call me?”
“I suggested as much, but she’s trying to be discreet. It’s the old money in her talking. Problems are never faced head on. They are handled obliquely.”
“Preferably by someone else.” Cubiak reached over and took Cate’s hand. “All right, I’ll see what I can do. I have a staff meeting in the morning, and if nothing else comes up, I’ll head north afterward. But I’m doing this for you, not for her.”
That evening they were halfway through dinner when Joey looked up. “Dad, you haven’t forgotten about the game, have you?”
“Nope. I marked the date on my calendar this morning.”
“All my friends are jealous.”
“You won the tickets fair and square. You were the lucky one this time. Next year, some other kid will get to go.”
“I know.” Joey sopped up the dregs of the spaghetti sauce on his plate with a piece of bread. “Did you go to the games with your dad when you were a kid?”
What Cubiak wanted to say: My dad was always too drunk to go to a basketball game with me. What he said: “No, he wasn’t interested in sports, and anyway we couldn’t afford the tickets.”
“You mean you never saw the Bulls play?”
“I went with friends a few times later on, when I was older. They were still playing at the old stadium then. Of course, we ended up in the rafters and could barely see anything.”
“Coach said these are good seats.” Joey looked over his plate and surveyed the table. “What’s for dessert, Mom?”
When they finished eating, Joey went to his room to practice his lines for Our Town, the upcoming school play. He had the role of Stage Manager.
“What do you think he’s going to be, a basketball player or an actor?” Cubiak asked as he cleared the dishes.
Cate shrugged. “That’s anyone’s guess. He’s tall enough for the game and good enough for the stage, but probably neither.” She took a plate from him. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”
“With what? Doing the queen’s bidding?”
“Taking Joey to Chicago for the game. You haven’t been back in twenty years.”
“I went to Malcolm’s retirement party.”
“That hardly counts. You drove straight to the ceremony, stayed for a couple of hours, and then came back. This time you’ll be there for the weekend. It’s not going to be easy.”
“Yeah, well, life’s not easy, and maybe it’s time.” He looked at Cate. “Maybe it’s past time.”
“I’ll come along, if you want.”
Cubiak squeezed her hand. “I know, and I appreciate it, but I think this needs to be a guys’ weekend.”
2
A GENTLEMAN FRIEND
By ten the next morning, Cubiak finished with the weekly staff meeting. He was back at his desk trying to think of an excuse to forgo the visit to Regina Malcaster’s niece, Lydia, when the phone rang. It was Cate, calling to remind him about his promise.
“What if I make the drive up there and she’s not home?”
“She’s there. Regina spoke with Lydia a few minutes ago and confirmed that she is in for the day.”
“This sounds like a conspiracy of women,” the sheriff said.
“Isn’t that the best kind?”
He grunted.
“You’re a dear,” Cate said, and hung up.
Lydia Malcaster lived at the north end of the peninsula, nearly forty miles from the justice center. Stepping from the warm building into a blast of frigid air did nothing to alter the sheriff’s mood, but once the jeep was warm and he was on his way, his attitude improved. The snow had stopped and the roads were dry. In winter Door County was like a sleeping bear, quiet and tucked in, preparing for the onslaught of the twelve-hour-long workdays that marked much of the rest of the year.
Farther north, there was more snow, few cars, and even fewer people out and about. Despite enjoying the drive, Cubiak grew increasingly convinced that he was on a fool’s errand. His baffled host would serve him a cup of tea and a casserole of local gossip. He hoped for a flat tire or an urgent message summoning him back to the station, but the jeep didn’t falter and the radio remained mute. He checked his phone. No signal.
The Malcaster home was tucked deep in the woods at the tip of the peninsula. As he slowed to make the turn into the entrance, a faded green pickup roared out onto the narrow road. Snow caked the front plow attachment and covered the sign on the driver’s door. The sun’s glare hid the driver’s face. The sheriff waved a hand in greeting but the gesture was lost in the snow cloud left in the truck’s wake.
The stately house at the end of the drive matched Lydia Malcaster’s pedigree. Unlike new construction that gaped raw and out of place, the fieldstone mansion conveyed a settled, permanent sense of belonging, as if it had emerged from the ground along with the surrounding forest and its slate roof and leaded windows had as much claim to the land as the roots and branches of the native flora.
