Free Death at the Door by K. C. Greenlief

“Late night?”
    â€œNo later than yours. We all left about the same time.” Lark flicked his eyes over at her. “I was on the golf course at seven-thirty A.M . What time did you get up?”
    â€œI woke your friend Sophie up when I got to her house at nine A.M . She didn’t look like she got much sleep last night.”
    â€œWhat did you think of her place?”
    â€œPretty nice, secluded back in all those woods. Great beach frontage. She has a wonderful view of the Cana Island Lighthouse. She lost all her expensive art glass, three pieces of Galle, and some Rookwood pottery. She lost two paintings by a local artist, Robert Pence, and a service for twelve of Tiffany silver her grandmother gave her. Once again, someone only took the good stuff.”
    â€œHow’d they get in?” Lark asked as he gazed out at the fog-covered water.
    â€œNo signs of a break-in but the security system was off. She said she thought she turned it on before she left, but she wasn’t sure. She thought maybe the cleaning people didn’t reset it. No footprints around the house or down on the beach, but with all the rain Door County has been getting, those would be long gone. Sophie hasn’t been in the house since Easter weekend, and she only has someone come in and clean right after she leaves. She said her furniture was still covered when she got there. There wasn’t any sign that anyone had been inside after the cleaning woman. The vacuum cleaner tracks were still in the living room carpet right in front of the corner cabinet where she kept many pieces of the glass that were stolen.”
    â€œVery neat burglar.”
    â€œIt’s got to be someone who knows antiques.”
    â€œI’m sure there’s no shortage of suspects up here.” Lark paused as the ferry began to pull away from shore. “Let’s get out and watch the ferry leave.”
    They pulled on their jackets and got out of the Jeep. Most people left their cars and went up to the enclosed sitting area on the next level of the ferry. Lark and Lacey went to the rear of the ferry to watch their departure from Northport. The dock and the restaurant quickly faded from view in the dense fog. The choppy, gray expanse of water known as Death’s Door to the Indians surrounded them. The French explorers called the strait of water between the tip of Door County and Washington Island Porte des Morts, which literally meant Door of the Dead. An apropos name for a body of water that had swallowed up many ships and people in its unpredictable waters.
    Lacey did not doubt either name as she watched the foam-capped waves swirl and splash around the ferry. “I can’t imagine this in winter,” she said as she zipped up her jacket and pulled her wild hair back into a ponytail.
    â€œMe either. You look cold.” Lark unzipped his jacket and dropped it over her shoulders. They walked back to the car as she protested that she was fine. Once she was settled, Lark ran upstairs to get them some coffee.
    Lacey’s thoughts drifted back to last night. She had seen a new side of Lark. The four of them had met at the Railhouse. Sophie and Gene insisted that they sit together since the room was packed and tables were at a premium. It was obvious that Lark and Sophie knew each other well. Their conversation and their behavior implied an intimate knowledge of each other that made Lacey uneasy. Sophie cajoled Lark into dancing, and by the end of the evening he was smiling and relaxed in a way that Lacey had never seen him. She wondered if they had gone back to Sophie’s place together last night, although Sophie hadn’t given her any inkling of that this morning.
    â€œThis makes Big Oak and Wausau look like a piece of cake, doesn’t it?” Lark said as he climbed back in the Cherokee bringing a gust of cold wind and steaming cups of coffee with him. He handed her a pamphlet about the ferry. “This ferry