A Fish Boil in Door Country

As Ruth Jorgenson waited for the authorities to arrive, she mulled over the events that had taken place at the Edgewater Inn before Sophia was poisoned. Despite being 74, her memory was as sharp as a pin.

Earlier that morning, she had been busy preparing the hotel lobby. Three generations of Jorgensen have run the hotel, since the days her grandfather had immigrated to Wisconsin from Norway back in 1904. Each Saturday during the summer season, she would bake a cherry pie, its sweet buttery smell greeting guests as they arrive. It was a tradition she had started back in 1986, Door County being famous for its cherry orchards.

As she put the finishing touches on the pie, Ruth heard the sound of the front door opening. She turned around and saw an African-American woman walking in with a teenage boy. Ruth guessed who it was–Ayesha David, who had registered with a Chicago address. Ruth had memorized the guest list in advance, as she always had:

“Welcome to the Edgewater Inn,” Ruth said, smiling warmly.

“We’d like to check in. I’m Ayesha Davis. This is Mason.” she said, pointing at the boy next to her – her son, no doubt

“Well hello, Mason. How old are you?”

The boy looked up at her shyly. “Twelve,” he said softly.

Ruth nodded approvingly. “Well, you’re certainly growing up fast. You’ll be a young man before you know it.”

Ayesha smiled gratefully at Ruth. “Thank you, ma’am. Mason can be a handful, always wandering off and getting into trouble.”

“Don’t leave the hotel at night, young man. There are bears in the woods.” The boy jumped.

Ruth winked at Ayesha. She pulled a key off the keyboard and handed it to her new guest. “Room 7. The fish boil starts on the patio at six-thirty”

As Ayesha and Mason made their way to their room, Ruth couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction. It was moments like these – when she could make someone smile, make them feel welcome – that made her job so rewarding.

Ruth greeted the next guest to walk in the door, a middle-eastern couple. It was Saturday afternoon and guests from further away usually arrived. Illinois, Minnesota, sometimes Iowa or Indiana.

“Welcome to the Edgewater Inn.” Ruth said to the couple. “There’s freshly brewed coffee and cherry pie on the table if you’re hungry.”

“Khalid Bennani. I reserved the deluxe lake view suite,” the man said.

Ruth handed him the key to the hotel's best room, and his girlfriend Zainab made her way over to the snack table.

“Really?” Khalid exclaimed as he watched Zainab help herself to a big slice of pie.

“I’m hungry. You wouldn’t let me eat anything in the car,” she said.

Beneath the snack table, Ruth caught sight of the suitcase abandoned by a guest last weekend. It was locked. Despite her attempts to contact the owner using the telephone number in the registry, Ruth was met with nothing but silence. She still didn’t feel right about either opening it or throwing it out.

As she pondered about the mysterious suitcase, her thoughts were interrupted by the new guest with a surprising question.

“Do you have any information on murders in Door County?”

Ruth was taken aback. “Murders?” Ruth gasped.

Zainab, who was now eating a slice of cherry pie, said, “He’s a podcaster. You know… Only Murders in the Building. Murders in Wisconsin, Chicago and sometimes Indiana.” She groaned, evidently tired of her boyfriend’s hobby.

After some searching, Ruth found a tourist guide behind the reception desk. “Door County Trolley Murder and Mayhem tour.” She held it toward Khalid.

Khalid took the pamphlet. “One last question,” he asked.

“Of course.” Ruth knew from decades of customer service that anyone who had ‘one last question’ would have a lot of questions.

“Is the Door County fish boil, halal?”

Confused, Ruth asked, “Halal?”

“Safe for Muslims to eat,” Zainab said, explaining for her boyfriend again.

“I’ll ask my grandson Noel. He lived overseas”

Noel was helping Ruth run the hotel this summer. He had just returned home after a year of teaching in Japan. He seemed not as interested in becoming the fifth generation to run the hotel, as in planning his next adventure overseas. But he worked the whole summer at the Edgewater Inn, so there was hope.

Troubled young people don’t bother Ruth. She knew to point out their good behavior when she spotted it, and nourish those seeds. She's been doing that for 50 years.

“I really liked the way you cut up the potatoes for the fish boil, Noel.”

“Thanks grandma.”

“You're one of my best grandsons.”

“Thanks Grams. Too bad I never hear anything nice from my parents “

“They love you, Noel. They just don’t say it. Now keep up the good work. grams has to man the front desk.”

Ruth was a woman who left an impression on everyone. She was universally beloved. But if one paid close attention, they might notice she gave only a few minutes of polite conversation to each person–listening to their every word intently and being fully present–before she found a reason to move onto the next thing she had to do.

As she climbed the stairs to the reception lobby, her hip ached, but Ruth was accustomed to discomfort and not one to complain.

The couple at the heart of the issue, Sophia and Jake, had checked in the night before. From their lack of conversation at the front desk, it was clear they had been arguing. The way they stood, with a certain bravado in their body language, suggested they were single without children. Ruth couldn’t help but notice the way they carried themselves was a stark contrast to parents, who seem to surrender their cockiness in the delivery room when their first child is born

That Saturday night, the hotel was nearly empty, with only these six guests in the hotel built for fifty. They all stood outside on the lawn, overlooking the water and braving the chilly wind blowing in from Lake Michigan.

Noel was preparing the fish boil, with potatoes, onions, and whitefish boiling in a large metal kettle over an open fire. The guests huddled close to the fire.

Ruth spoke loudly, “Good evening everyone. You are looking across Porte des Morts, known as Death’s Door. The name from dozens of ships that have sunk in its unpredictable currents. The Potawatomi tribe had settled on our island after being pushed from the peninsula by the Winnebago, a raiding party of Winnebago canoes was swallowed up by Lake Michigan as they attacked…”

“Boil over!” Noel said as he threw a cup of kerosene into the fire. Huge flames shot up. The soup boiled, and the frothing liquid spilled over the rim, carrying the layer of oil from the fish out of the pot and into the fire. There was a cheer from the guests.

When the flames quieted down, Noel used a ladle to prepare each plate of food. Each table also had a bread basket and a bowl of boiled vegetables with butter.

Ruth watched them eat, keeping a watchful eye out for any unsatisfied guest.

As the night wore on, the guests drifted off one by one, leaving Ruth alone on the lawn.

She gazed out at the water, lost in thought. For a moment, she allowed herself to simply be still, to feel the ache in her hip and the chill in the air. It was a rare moment of peace for Ruth, one she knew wouldn't last long.

But for now, she savored it.

When she returned indoors, the reception and lobby were empty except for Ayesha’s son Mason who sat on a sofa in the lobby playing games on his mobile phone.

Just before 10pm, there was shouting upstairs. Footsteps came down the staircase.

Sophia appeared, her eyes frantic. “I’ve been poisoned, call the police.”

“Oh lordy. I’ll call the doctor, but It will take them two hours to get here.”

“I’m feeling dizzy. Call the police, my boyfriend Jake did this.”

“Why would you think your boyfriend would do such a thing?” Ruth asked. She was an optimist about people.

“He runs a blog all about guns and bombs, you might have heard of him, his twitch handle is @BananaFlambe.”

Ruth had not heard of Banana Flambe or Twitch.

Mason put down his game and ran upstairs. Soon, he returned with his mother Ayesha.

“Is everything ok?” Ayesha asked.

“Sophia thinks she’s been poisoned.”

“I feel sick. And look at my back,” Sophia said. She picked up the hem of her shirt, and there was a bright red rash, as if she had been whipped.

Jake stormed down the stairs. “I didn’t do it.”

“Stay away from me,” Sophia shouted as Jake glared at her from the other side of the room.

Soon, Khalid and Zainab also came down to see what all the commotion was about.

Everyone in the hotel was now here in the lobby, except for Noel.

“Keep those two apart,” Ruth told everyone present.

Ruth went down to the kitchen and found Noel in front of the grill, frying a hamburger patty. He had earphones on. Ruth tapped his shoulder and he jumped.

“What?!” Noel said. “Sorry, what is it, grandma?”

“I need you upstairs. A guest thinks she’s been poisoned.”

When they both came up to the lobby, Sophia was shivering on the sofa.

“I didn’t eat anything but your dinner,” Sophia said. “What if the soup was poisoned?”

“Did anyone not drink the soup?” Khalid asked.

“Everyone drank the soup,” Ruth said. She always kept a watchful eye on the customers.

“Everyone feeling ok?” Khalid asked, when everyone nodded, he said, “So it's just Sophia”

“So it’s just me. That makes me feel so much better.” Sophia groaned.

Khalid stood in front of everyone as if he was a classroom lecturer. “If only Sophia was poisoned, and we all ate the same food, there was only one person going from table to table who had the opportunity. That was Ruth.”

“That’s true,” Noel said.

“Statistically, Russians are the most likely to poison their opponents,” Khalid said. “Ruth’s grandmother. Yelena Jorgenson.” Khalid pointed at a photo of the Edgewater Inn’s founding couple on the wall. “I did my research before coming up here.”

“That was about a hundred years ago,” Noel said, defending his grandmother.

“Who thinks Ruth murdered Sophia? Khalid asked, while raising his hand.

No one joined him, and he put his hand back down.

Ruth cleared her throat. “Now that we have that we have that out of the way, Did anyone else notice anything?”

She saw a trace of nervousness in young Mason.

“I think Mason has something he wants to share with us.”

Mason’s gaze went back and forth between Ruth and his mother.

“The suitcase in the lobby. I opened it. Sorry, mom. There’s something strange in it.”

“Go get it, and open it again.”

Ruth held up its contents, an urn. “Jennifer Johnson. These ashes must have been his wife. He wanted to leave her ashes in Door County.”

Sophia started crying. “That’s going to be me tomorrow.”

There was a deathly silence.

Ruth overheard Khalid whispering to his girlfriend. “I will be able to cover a murder as it’s happening. This will be great for the podcast.”

Ruth was calm under pressure. She decided someone besides Khalid needed to take charge. “Ayesha, can you take Sophia to her room to have a rest until the authorities arrive? We’ll watch your son. Everyone else stays here.”

Ruth went behind the reception desk and called the Port Sturgeon police. It would take them two hours to arrive by boat. She began calling anyone else on Washington island who might be able to help. From the second floor, there was a shriek from Sophia. Ruth hoped Ayesha was holding up ok. Sophia was becoming increasingly panicky.

When Ruth returned to the lobby, Jake was no longer around. He couldn't have gone far. They were on an island and there was no public ferry until tomorrow morning.

Noel was missing too. This reminded Ruth that she needed to check up on something about him. She grabbed a flashlight, and stepped out into the darkness behind the Edgewater Inn. Young boys were always hiding something. There was an unused lodge in the back of the property she had seen him sneaking off to. What was her grandson up to?

When Ruth returned to the hotel, she found Noel downstairs in the kitchen holding a razor sharp fish knife in one hand. A bucket of whitefish in front of him. He was gutting them one by one.

“Noel, what are you doing?” Ruth asked, her voice trembling slightly.

“Cleaning the leftover whitefish to put in the freezer.”

“Do you think that’s the best thing you can be doing right now?”

“It helps me relax,” Noel said with a shrug. “It’s either this or…”

“Or what?” Ruth pressed.

Noel’s unease was evident.

Ruth hesitated for a moment. “I’ve found your secret in the back cabin. Marijuana is illegal in Wisconsin.”

“It’s hardly a crime anymore, especially in Door county.” Noel held the knife by his side, and eyed Ruth warily.

“What about the magic mushrooms?” Ruth pressed.

“Those are shiitake mushrooms. Japanese mushrooms. I’ve been trying to modernize the cuisine here.”

“I don’t know if I believe you.” Ruth shook her head. “And, the cuisine doesn’t need modernizing. The guests come for tradition.”

“Tradition. That’s all I ever hear about here.”

“Noel, you can't be growing things like that on the property, I need it gone tomorrow.”

Noel looked displeased. Ruth, for a change, couldn’t care less about the feelings of her grandson.

She hurried off to investigate something that came to her mind.

An hour later, the police had yet to arrive. Standing in the lobby however, were two nearby hotel managers, both carrying hunting rifles. Ruth thought that wouldn’t help with anything but it was good to have more people, just in case.

Ruth knocked on Sophia’s door and then quickly entered. Sophia and Ayesha sitting on the bed.

“I have an announcement,” Ruth said. She looked at Ayesha. “Let's get Sophia downstairs.”

Everyone gathered to hear what Ruth had to say.

“I have good news and bad news. Sophia has not been murdered,” Ruth said.

Sophia watched Ruth with interest.

“But she has been poisoned.”

Sophia eyes widened in panic. “I knew it! Where is he?” she yelled.

“She’s been poisoned?!” Khalid said. “Arsenic? Cyanide?”

Ruth shook her head. “My grandson Noel is responsible.”

Noel looked sheepish and confused. Everyone turned to stare at him.

Ruth pulled a book from the shelf, North American Mycology, and read. “Consumption of raw or undercooked shiitake mushroom causes a small subset of susceptible people to develop a dramatic rash which resembles whipped skin.”

“Deadly mushrooms…” Khalid said, slightly in awe.

Ruth continued reading, “Outside localized itching, the rash is completely harmless and will disappear within 3 weeks.” She closed the book. “Noel put Japanese mushrooms in the vegetable mix and didn’t cook it well enough”

“And I thought I was taking care of a murder victim,” Ayesha laughed. “I’m going to get another slice of cherry pie.”

Sophia stood up from the sofa. The pain she had felt before gone. “It’s just a rash?” She giggled. “I’ll have to find Jake and apologize.”

Ruth felt a sense of contentment wash over her that, at age 74, she solved the problem at the hotel that night. She would offer Sophia and Jake a free stay as compensation and this incident should blow over like a Lake Michigan squall in summertime.

She hugged her grandson tightly, “Don’t worry, Noel. I made a few mistakes when I was young too.” She wanted to cherish every summer she had left with him.

Ruth hadn’t told anyone about the rash on her side. She hadn’t wanted anyone to worry.

**

Dededicated to Ruth Jensen, born in Ashland Wisconsin. The best grandmother anyone could ever hope for.