A Death for the Records - North Dakota #3

A giant ball of twine. A body in the barn. A record worth killing for.

Thea Olson is beyond excited that her grandfather’s enormous ball of twine might set a world record. But not everyone in the quirky town of Why, North Dakota shares her enthusiasm. When a body turns up in Grandpa Olson’s barn, it’s clear someone is willing to kill to keep the twine out of the spotlight—and Thea’s grandfather is the prime suspect.

Determined to clear his name, Thea begins her own investigation, with some unexpected help from a magical chameleon who resides at the town’s library. But the closer she gets to the truth, the more secrets she uncovers.

Can Thea catch the killer before another life unravels?

A Death for the Records is the third installment in the North Dakota Library Mystery series. Full of humor, heart, and a hint of the supernatural, it’s the perfect pick for fans of small-town sleuthing and quirky characters.

Chapter 1 – Avoidance through Baking

Certain books should come with warning labels like, “Caution: this contains a lot of twists that will have you turning pages well past midnight,” “Danger: this is about scary monsters and will give you nightmares,” or “Beware: this cute romance will keep you up all night wondering why Hudson didn’t kiss you goodnight on your first date.”

By the time I finally drifted off to sleep, I still couldn’t figure out why Hudson had ended our date so abruptly. I probably wasn’t going to find out anytime soon since he’s been back home in Florida taking care of a family emergency for the past several weeks.
I got a couple of hours of sleep before the loud squawking coming through my bedroom window woke me up. Why hens felt the need to announce the fact that they’d just laid an egg was something I still haven’t sussed out. I rubbed my bleary eyes and checked the clock. Realizing it was already after seven, I jumped out of bed.

After taking a shower and getting ready, I resisted the temptation to find out what the cute couple in my insomnia-inducing read got up to next. But the sparks flying between the two lovebirds and their snarky banter would have to wait. Patting the book affectionately, I promised it I’d be back to keep it company later tonight. Then I headed down the stairs to my grandparents’ kitchen.
It’s weird calling it my grandparents’ kitchen instead of my kitchen. Except for college and my stint living in Minneapolis, I’ve lived in this house practically my whole life. When my parents died in a car accident, my brother, Leif, and I were just young kids. Our grandparents took us in and raised us without hesitation.

Now, I was getting ready to move out and into my own place over Memorial Day weekend. It’s hard to believe that it was less than a month away. Getting used to referring to this place as my grandparents’ and not mine would be bittersweet for sure.
But I was grateful to have finally found a place in town within my budget. There had been an oil boom in western North Dakota during the past couple of decades. The resulting influx of workers had made it hard to find affordable housing. So, being in your late twenties and still living at home wasn’t that uncommon for our neck of the woods. Of course, I hadn’t been in a rush to leave my grandparents’ warm and cozy farmhouse. If you’ve ever eaten my grandmother’s cooking, you’d know why.

When I pushed open the door to the kitchen, Grandma was pouring freshly brewed coffee into a thermos. After screwing the lid on, she smoothed down her light pink cardigan and smiled at me. “Your grandfather has been in the barn since four. Do you mind running this out to him, Thea? There will be some breakfast casserole waiting for you when you get back.”

The aroma of sausage wafting from the casserole dish as it sat upon a cooling rack on the counter was tantalizing. Inching closer, I exclaimed, “Oh, good! It looks like you put extra tater tots in it.”

“When you get back, dear,” Grandma said as she shooed me away. She tucked a couple of rhubarb cookies into a plastic bag. Glancing back at me, she added a few more. “I suppose you’ll want some, too.”

“Good thing Leif is away at that police training course, otherwise there wouldn’t be any left for Grandpa or me,” I teased.

“Don’t worry, I’ll make another batch when he gets back.”

Studying my grandmother as she tucked the thermos of coffee, bag of cookies, some cups, and napkins into a wicker basket, I noticed the dark circles under her eyes. She lacked her usual sparkle. “You’re still worried about Grandpa, aren’t you?”

Grandma waved my concern away. “Uff da.”

“Seriously, how are you?”

“Not too bad, dear.”

I sighed. ‘Not too bad’ was what members of the Olson family always said. The house could be burning down, you could have a hundred and twenty degree fever, or the guy you had fallen for didn’t kiss you goodnight on your first date, the answer would still be the same. No matter what internal emotional conflict you were going through, health issue you were dealing with, or external tragedy you were enduring, if anyone asked you how you were doing, the correct response was, ‘I’m not too bad.’

Maybe that’s because we’re Scandinavian-Americans. Stoicism is second nature to us. Talking about our feelings wasn’t done. But bottling everything up inside takes its toll after a while. I’d learned this the hard way, that’s for sure.

Not knowing what to do, I motioned to the rocking chair in the corner of the kitchen. “Why don’t you put your feet up for a while, Grandma?”

She shook her head. “Don’t be silly, dear. I have a lot of cleaning to do. I want this place to be spick and span for our visitors. The clock is ticking after all.”

From the tone of her voice, I could tell she was mentally capitalizing ‘visitors,’ turning it into a proper noun. These weren’t ordinary guests we were expecting. In a little over forty-eight hours, officials from the McGuinness Book of World Records were going to descend on our small town of Why, North Dakota to determine whether my grandfather’s giant ball of twine was the world’s largest ball of twine. If it wasn’t, my grandfather would be devastated. We’d all be.

It’s no wonder Grandma hadn’t been able to sleep. When a loved one’s dream was on the brink of either being fulfilled or crushed, you couldn’t help but be anxious.

Sure, Grandpa’s dream was a bit unusual, but it had been years in the making. Tying strands of twine together one by one took a certain kind of commitment. I’d watched his ball of twine grow over the years, practically taking over the barn. What started as an idle hobby had turned into his obsession, one that’s worthy of the title, ‘The World’s Largest Ball of Twine.’

“Go on, dear. Take this out to the barn.” My grandmother thrust the wicker basket into my hands. “I’ll keep the breakfast casserole warm for you.”

As I made my way through the backyard, past the chicken coop and raised garden beds, I thought about how my ancestors had immigrated to this part of North Dakota from Norway in the 1800s. They had been a hardy bunch, leaving everything behind to start a new life out in these desolate parts. Their stoicism had probably served them well, helping them eke out an existence while enduring freezing cold winters. The large red barn was a testament to my family—sturdy and practical. But they were also a whimsical people, as evidenced by the large hand-carved wooden troll statue standing watch nearby.

After pausing to rub the troll’s belly for good luck, I entered the barn and placed the basket on a makeshift table fashioned out of a piece of plywood and two sawhorses. My ankles were immediately ambushed by Loki and Bjorn, the two Pomeranians my grandfather had adopted when one of our town’s prominent citizens passed away.

“Hang on a minute, guys,” I said to them and rummaged in the basket. As I suspected, Grandma had also packed a treat for them—homemade peanut butter dog biscuits. Holding them up in the air, I ordered, “Sit.”
Loki sat right away. As usual, Bjorn took a little while to settle down, doing a few excitable circles around my legs. Once Bjorn had taken his place next to his brother, I handed each of them a treat.

When they finished eating, I heard my grandfather call out behind me, “Twine.”
While the dogs raced over to the corner of the barn, I turned to look at Grandpa. He was wearing his usual uniform—overalls, work boots, and a hat from the local feed store. Unlike my grandmother, his blue eyes were sparkling, and he seemed full of energy. I guess spending your early morning hours tying pieces of twine together would do that to you.

“Coffee?” Grandpa nodded at the basket.
“Uh-huh. And some cookies, too.”

By this point, Loki and Bjorn had returned with twine clenched in their mouths and their tails wagging. “Give,” my grandfather commanded. After the dogs deposited the twine into his hands, he pointed at the dog beds in the corner of the barn, and the pair trotted off to them obediently.

Grandpa was a man of few words. His new canine companions were ideal for him. They only needed one-word commands. No lengthy, in-depth conversation required.
“Here you go.” I handed my grandfather a cup and sat next to him on a hay bale. We drank our coffee and munched on the rhubarb cookies in companionable silence.

“All set for the McGuinness folks to arrive?” I asked between sips of coffee.

My grandfather nodded.

“Anything I can do to help?”

Grandpa slurped his coffee, then shook his head.

I was about to ask if he had measured the ball of twine this morning when Denton Watts burst into the barn, shaking his fist in the air.
“Thor, I’m giving you one last warning,” Denton shouted. “Call off this ridiculous event or else.”

“Nope,” Grandpa said after a moment’s consideration.

I looked back and forth between the two men as they stared each other down. They were both up there in years and were dressed like twins with their overalls and feed store hats, but that’s where the similarities ended.
Grandpa was on the shorter side with a potbelly that gave testament to my grandmother’s tasty cooking. ‘Scrawny beanpole’ was how I would describe Denton. Squinty brown eyes with a perpetual sour expression on his face made people want to keep their distance. Unfortunately, since Denton owned the neighboring farm, we saw him far more often than we wanted.

“You’re making a show of yourself,” Denton said, jabbing a finger at my grandfather.
It was generally hard to read what Grandpa was feeling from his face, but there was a brief flicker of concern in his eyes. Denton had zeroed in on his weak spot. The last thing my grandfather ever wanted was to be in the spotlight. He’d be horrified if anyone thought he wanted personal fame and glory.
The giant ball of twine had taken on a life of its own over the years. It was almost like it had become a person in its own right, a trusted companion. And to Grandpa’s mind, it deserved the world record, not him.

“I warned you about this,” Denton said as he advanced toward my grandfather. “If you’re not going to keep these world record folks from coming … well, then I’m going to have to do something myself about it.”

Shaking his head slowly, Grandpa said, “Gosh darn it, Denton. Nothing you can do about it.”

Denton paused mid-step, and his brow furrowed. It was a pretty long speech for my grandfather, about as wordy as he gets, so I could see why he was surprised. Only then did his expression darken. Reaching into his overalls, Denton pulled out a pocketknife and flicked it open.

“I sure can.” Denton slashed the knife back and forth in the air. “I can take a few inches off that precious ball of twine of yours.”

Perhaps it was foolish, but I jumped in between Denton and the ball of twine. “Hang on a minute,” I said, holding my hands up.

“Get out of my way, blondie,” Denton said to me. “I got no beef with you. This is between your grandpa and me.”

“Don’t come another inch toward the ball of twine.” I folded my arms across my chest in warning. “If you have a problem with my grandfather, then you have a problem with me.”

Loki and Bjorn joined forces with me, barking ferociously at Denton. They were clearly trying to tell the scrawny man that the entire Olson clan—canine and human—had my grandfather’s back.

Our combined forces must have intimidated Denton. He took a step in retreat and put his knife away. Next, he reached into his other pocket and pulled out a packet of jerky. Tearing off a couple of pieces, he flung them on the ground in front of the dogs. “Tangerine turkey teriyaki,” he informed them. “It’s my new recipe.”

The Pomeranians wolfed it down in seconds, then looked up eagerly at Denton for more.

“Traitors,” I muttered under my breath.

Denton turned to face my grandfather. “I’m warning you, Thor, call it off or it might not be so much the ball of twine you have to worry about.”