Dead Hot Shot

by Victoria Houston

  “Maybe it was,” said Josie. “I know Blue was very angry. Sounded like she was ready to hit her mother.”

  “You know, Josie,” said Frances, “you really shouldn’t say things like that unless you know something for sure.”

  “I know what I heard,” said Josie with a defiant look. “What about Mrs. Reece’s will? She left money to people, didn’t she?”

  “You mean like yourself?” asked Lew. Josie nodded.

  “She may have intended to, Josie, but she died before she could rewrite a will that she signed several years ago.”

  Disbelief crossed Josie’s face. “You mean she didn’t leave me any money?”

  “Not according to the lawyer,” said Lew.

  The room was very quiet. “I don’t believe you,” said Josie. “She promised me.”

  “Josie, Nolan Reece was an unusual woman,” said Lew. “Over the last few days we’ve learned that she didn’t always tell the truth—not even to her own family. She was not an emotionally healthy person. Now, that said it doesn’t mean she didn’t like—”

  “Um. um.” The girl covered her eyes with both hands. “Can I go to my room?”

  “In the barn?” said Lew. Josie nodded. “Yes, but don’t leave your room, Josie. We need to talk more. In fact, Gina, will you go with Josie, please? I’ll be over shortly.”

  “Chief Ferris,” said Frances when her sister was out the door, “I have something you should see.” She opened a drawer next to the counter and pulled out a long white envelope across which had been written, “To be Opened After My Death.”

  “This morning, I thought I should open the store. Mrs. Taggert would have wanted that.”

  “Legally, you can’t do that, Frances,” said Lew. “The estate needs to be settled first.”

  “Oh. gee. Am I in trouble?”

  “I suggest you close the shop until we know what is legal and what is not. And the envelope?”

  “Mrs. Taggert told me last year when she was teaching me how to run the shop—you know, place orders, take care of the bookkeeping, all that stuff—she said if she got really sick or something happened, I should open this envelope that she kept at the bottom of the cash drawer. She said Mr. Craigemeier who did the taxes—he would have a copy, too. So I opened it last night.”

  She handed the envelope over and Lew read the contents. She looked up at Frances. “Do you think your sister had anything to do with Mildred’s death?”

  “I don’t know. I. really, I don’t know.”

  “You girls don’t get along,” said Lew.

  Frances did not hesitate. “Get along? Get along? I hate Josie. She’s a pathological liar, has been since we were little, and even though Mrs. Taggert did her best to be good to us in her way—Josie would sneak in here and steal money from the cash register. Then lie about it. She would say I did it.”

  Mildred was never one to waste words—in life or in death. Her letter was succinct:

  To all concerned: I have arranged for my cremation and would like my ashes to be scattered somewhere around Loon Lake. Frances Dark Sky can decide where that will be. Half of all my worldly possessions, including my collection of raccoons, my shop and my properties are to go to Frances Dark Sky on one condition—she must graduate from college. The remaining half of my estate is to go to the Northwoods Wild Animal & Raptor Rescue Center.

  Not one penny goes to Josephine Dark Sky. She stole her share from the till. I watched her do it. Sincerely,

  Mildred Rubado Taggert

  It was dated and witnessed by a person whose name Osborne did not recognize. In parentheses beside the name, Mildred had scribbled: “a customer stopping by on their way to Eagle River”

  CHAPTER 27

  Entering the old barn through the door beside the empty raccoon cage, Osborne followed Lew towards a door off to the left, which led to the second floor. The ground level of the barn was everything he expected: dark and cobwebbed with Mildred’s old Chevrolet parked in the back, boxes of canned foods and other shop supplies stacked along one wall, rusting tools leaning haphazardly in the corners. On opening the door, they discovered a freshly painted and renovated stairwell leading up to an expansive sitting area. Gina was on a sofa waiting for them.

  “Doug Jesperson was right—this is amazing,” said Lew, looking around the room. It was furnished with new, contemporary furniture. Osborne walked over to one of the windows. He noticed it was open a good two inches, which didn’t surprise him. The room was quite nice but stuffy with the smell of fresh paint. “Brand new windows, brand new screens, even the sash,” he said. “Who would think this was here?” A small kitchen area anchored one end of the room and another door opened to a white-tiled bathroom.

  Across the room, a door stood open to an empty but tastefully furnished bedroom while another door was closed. “Josie’s room,” said Gina, answering their questioning looks. “She said Mrs. Reece paid for all this but Mildred wouldn’t let her change the lower level because she was afraid her taxes would go up.”

  “Frances told us she refuses to stay out here because it’s Josie’s,” said Lew. “And because it was easier for her to help Mildred if she slept in the main house.”

  “Let me knock on the door and get Josie out here,” said Lew. “She’s got a few questions to answer still.”

  “Let’s wait a few minutes,” said Gina. “I’ve got something to show you first. I set up Josie’s laptop over there,” she said, pointing to a table near one of the windows. “Doc, Chief, I’m not sure how much you know about data transmission—”

  “Very little,” said Osborne.

  “Me neither,” said Lew. “I share a tech guy with the sheriff’s department and depend on him when our system goes down.”

  “Well, this unit with the flashing lights is a router,” said Gina. “It allows Josie’s laptop to go on the Internet wireless. But what we have over here is highly unusual.”

  She pointed to a small antenna, telescope-shaped, beside the router that had one wire running into the open computer and another plugged into an electrical outlet. “This is an antenna that I’m betting the crime lab assumed was used for satellite television or radio. In fact, it’s identical to antennas we’ve seen that are designed to hoover data out of the air.”

  “What do you mean exactly?” said Lew.

  “I mean that someone could, if they knew the password of the person transmitting data from the shop—whether credit card or license information—access that direct from the radio waves carrying the data.”

  “No,” said Lew, “I thought there were security systems to prevent that?”

  “There are now but a lot of small merchants still use the original encoding systems and those have been cracked so often by hackers it isn’t funny. My students researched a data theft that occurred in Minneapolis where over forty million credit cards were compromised using exactly this kind of antenna, which is capable of intercepting streaming data.”

  “Josie,” said Lew, walking over to knock loudly on the bedroom door. “Please come out here” The girl opened the door, her face sullen and tear-stained.

  “What now?” she said.

  “Josie, sit down with me and let’s go over a few files you’ve got on your laptop here,” said Gina, attempting to sound friendly. The girl flounced across the room and plunked herself into a chair at the table.

  “What’s this?” said Gina.

  “Dunno, that’s not mine.”

  “Oh, is this something Frances was working on?” “No.”

  “And this?”

  “I have no idea—those are Jake’s folders.”

  “You mean Jake uses your laptop? Doesn’t he have his own computer?”

  “He does but he likes mine.”

  “Well, okay, Josie—would you please open these folders for us?” Josie leaned forward and hit a few keys only to sit back and throw her hands up.

  “I can’t. I don’t know his password.”

  “Okay, then. We’ll have to f
ind Jake, I guess.” Gina was determinedly cheery. “And I’ll hold on to the laptop until we can reach him.”

  “No doubt he’s at the Reeces’,” said Osborne. “We can find him there.”

  Minutes later, standing outside the barn in the parking area near Gina’s rental car, Lew said, “So Gina, you sure you’re up to

  working out at your cabin? I worry that you’re warm enough out there. That point where the Gudegast feeds into Loon Lake can get pretty darn breezy. We’re due for a winter storm tonight with winds up to forty miles an hour. Doc, here, has an extra bedroom.”

  “So does Ray,” said Gina with a guilty grin. “No, I’m fine plus I have wireless access out there, which I need. My big problem is no cell phone service. Now tell me—how is it I can get wireless Internet access through the cable company but no cell phone service? Sheesh! At least I have a landline and, hopefully, the phone company will have turned it on by the time I get out there today. I called them two days ago and they promised.”

  “I’m not sure I have that number,” said Lew.

  “It’s in the latest edition of your Loon Lake phone book under Gina Palmer but I’ll call you when I get there. My plan is to get in touch with one of my grad students whose hacking skills you wouldn’t believe. He’ll be able to crack the encryption on those files for me. I sure as hell would like to see those before alerting this Jake character.”

  “Hey, guys,” said Ray, loping up the drive alongside Mildred’s house. “Sorry to take so long but I was … accosted by one of the neighbors out in the field back there who thought I was lurking. and made an offer. to change my life with his baseball bat.”

  “No, Ray—where is this person?” Lew started forward.

  “Not to worry, Chief, I assured him I was your deputy. When he calmed down, he had some interesting info for us. Seems he’s been watching a green Dodge RAM drive through the back doors to park in the old barn here almost every night and quite often during the day. He didn’t think much about it until Mildred’s death. As far as he knows—and I do believe he’s one of those gentlemen who knows the business of all his neighbors—the truck hasn’t been here since.

  “Ah,” said Lew. “So Jake and Josie have broken up, have they?”

  “More likely he hasn’t been here because the girls were staying elsewhere and the shop’s not been open,” said Gina.

  Ray glanced up over Osborne’s head and waved at the open window. “Hi there, Josie. How’re ya doin?”

  The girl didn’t answer. She slammed the window shut and disappeared.

  CHAPTER 28

  Mike ol’ boy—life doesn’t get much better than this,” said Osborne as he lounged in his easy chair with the wool plaid blanket from Father’s Day across his lap. He had on his favorite slippers and the ottoman tucked under his legs just right. The logs in the fireplace crackled and spit as they burned and Mike, curled up on his round sheepskin bed, snored away. Ice pelted the windows, but man and dog were warm and cozy.

  After sending Gina off with Josie’s laptop computer, Lew had let Osborne know she planned to put in a good three hours on paperwork before heading out to her place—hopefully ahead of the snowstorm. He’d offered to cook dinner—takeout pizza—but she had declined with a swift kiss and a squeeze of his arm.

  “I have got to catch up on my sleep, Doc—may I take a rain check?” And so he had picked up a small pizza for himself, which was now baking in the oven, and settled in to enjoy the solitude. He started to page through the first of three fly fishing catalogs that he had been saving: time to decide what to buy Lewellyn Ferris for Christmas. Certainly something other than panty hose.

  Turning the pages, he grew perplexed. To the best of his knowledge, she owned every piece of fly fishing gear that caught his eye. Then he saw something intriguing. Given the need to travel by horseback out in Jackson Hole, what about an Orvis

  “Safe Passage Complete Chest Pack”? The catalog described a rear backpack with room for a poncho or a jacket and lunch—and a front pack similar to a fly fishing vest. Now that could be terrific for the ride. He knew Lew was concerned about trusting all her best fishing gear to a pack mule. He marked the page.

  A blast of wind against the windows and the chattering of ice reminded him it might be wise to bring in a few extra logs before the weather got worse. He decided to flip through a few more pages before moving—it was just too comfortable sitting where he was at the moment.

  He opened to a page of trout flies designed to lure salmon and steelhead with their gaudy colors and large hooks. A slash of purple tipped black with a big red eye caught his attention. The description of the leech-like trout fly said the Hot Shot was guaranteed to “writhe in the water like a crippled lamprey.” Wasn’t a Hot Shot the lure that Nolan Reece had insisted Ray use that last day that he had been willing to guide her? No wonder he had felt so frustrated by the woman—Northwoods lakes don’t have salmon and steelhead. What was she thinking?

  Osborne snorted. That’s right—now he remembered. Ray had said Nolan Reece was one of those Illinois transplants who have so little sense of why a fish takes a bait that they think it makes sense to match the color of their lures to the color of their boats—as if fish recognize a fashion statement. Is there a blue Hot Shot or was Ray exaggerating? After all, that fancy bassboat in the Reeces’ shore station was not purple—it was blue.

  It was blue. Osborne started up in his chair. He reached for the cordless phone on the table beside him and dialed. “Ray—what are you doing?”

  The sleepy voice on the other end of the line said, “Napping, which is exactly what you should be doing, Doc. Snowstorm bio-rhythms, doncha know.”

  “I’m going to swing by and pick you up in five minutes,” said Osborne. “The Wausau boys told Lew that Nolan Reece had slivers of blue marine paint beneath her fingernails. I just remembered that boat in the shore station beside their dock—the one near the pontoon? It’s blue.”

  “You’re right,” said Ray, more alert. “See ya in a minute”

  During the short time he was parked in front of Ray’s trailer, waiting for him to pull on some warm clothes, ice began to coat his car. He had to turn up the defroster and chip away until the ice fractured in thin sheets and slid down the windshield. He honked, hoping Ray would hurry so they could get to the Reeces’ before that long driveway of theirs turned into a toboggan chute.

  At last Ray appeared and none too soon for conditions. They drove into a deepening dusk where dense fog had knit acres of barren aspen into a soft grey afghan, the hills defined only as folds of black. Nestled against that blackness, the Reece house glowed like a holiday lantern. Andy came to the kitchen door within seconds of their knocking, both dogs barking behind him.

  “Blue’s not here,” he said, “she’s at her AA meeting with her friend from up the road—I’m hoping they get back any minute. The roads have to be treacherous.”

  “We’re not here to see Blue,” said Osborne.

  “Oh, dammit!” said Andy. “You need me right now? I’m smack in the middle of a fantasy fishing challenge that could win me five million bucks.”

  “Five million for sitting in a chair in front of your computer? I can’t believe it,” said Ray. “Am I in the wrong boat or what—man!” “You gotta get into this stuff, Ray,” said Andy. “See, right now,

  if you register before December twenty-first and pick the top seven anglers of any tournament—”

  “Andy, can we discuss this later?” said Osborne. “Ray and I stopped in to check your boats one last time. The crime lab needs a few details. Do you mind?”

  “Oh, no,” said Andy. “Help yourself. Here—” he hit a switch on the wall of the mudroom by the back door, “that’s the light for the boathouse and you can turn more on when you get down there. I had Jake winterize and hang the boats this morning—just in time, too. Go right ahead.”

  Osborne and Ray made it down the icy stairs to the boathouse without slipping and falling, though Osborne wasn’t
sure how. The boathouse was well-lit plus they both had heavy-duty flashlights. Given the good light and the fact the boats were suspended on chains from the boathouse rafters, it was easy to examine the undersides of each.

  They headed straight for the glittering blue bassboat. Ray ran a beam of light across the exposed hull, which had the classic V-bottom with a flat pad running along the length of the boat, a feature designed to increase speed. At a point mid-center of the hull, the pad was marred with deep scratches. “Whoa,” said Ray, “if I didn’t know better, I’d say some animal had been clawing at this …”

  “An animal named Nolan Reece,” said Osborne in a grim tone. He held out an evidence bag while Ray used the tweezers on his pocketknife to remove slivers of paint from the scratched area on the hull.

  “I better call Lew,” said Osborne when they were done.

  “Tonight? What can she do about this tonight, Doc? She looked so tired this afternoon. You sure this can’t wait until tomorrow?”

  “She’ll want to know—”

  Ray’s cell phone rang. He checked the number and handed the phone to Osborne, saying, “You better start carrying your own goddamn phone, Doc. You get more calls on mine than I do.”

  CHAPTER 29

  I was on the phone with Gina when she said someone was at her door,” said Lew, her voice tense. “She said she’d call me right back. But she hasn’t, Doc. I’ve tried back half a dozen times but the phone just rings busy. I know she doesn’t have dial-up Internet so it can’t be she’s online. Thinking she might be on a call with one of her students, I had an operator try an emergency interrupt but she reported no one on the line.

  “Couldn’t tell me more than that. The phone company’s repair service has a recorded message saying they’re having trouble on the lines in the region due to weather so it sounds like it’ll be awhile before they can get out to Gina’s and see what the problem is. I’m very concerned.”