Dead Creek

by Victoria Houston

  “Erin and the baby are still missing,” said Osborne abruptly. “I think I know why.” His heart pounded as he spoke. “I think the angry, crazy man she saw when she was delivering those brochures was Ted Bronk. She told a lot of people about that encounter. I’ll bet Brad and Judith heard about it and realized she knows about the house in the woods. If they killed Ted because he knew what they were up to, maybe they think she saw something or he said something or …” Osborne stopped. He couldn’t finish thinking what was on his mind, much less putting it in words. “I—we’ve got to find Lew! We need her help.”

  “You’re right, Doc,” said Julie, putting a hand on Osborne’s arm, “but you need to settle down. Lew is right where you want her: interrogating Judith Benjamin. Just hold on until she’s back in touch with the office—”

  “But they think she’s missing!” Osborne insisted.

  “I think they’re wrong,” said Julie firmly, so firmly he believed her. “Doc, how often do you have criminal interrogations up here? A session can go on for hours. Lucy is just a switchboard operator. She’s overreacting. Okay? Relax.”

  At least he wanted to believe her.

  “I think Lew found a way to work on Benjamin and is taking her time to get everything she needs,” said Julie. “The bartender told us he saw Lew’s cruiser pull into the lot at Thunder Bay. He saw Judith go out the door to see her, and then they both drove off in their own cars. I figure Lew was successful at getting Benjamin off her own turf for the interrogation, which is critical to gaining an advantage. I know that from my own experience.”

  “Julie’s right,” said Ray. “We both know Lew can take care of herself. Doc, I think it’s time we go to the source. We should be talking to the good professor. The man with the answers.”

  Osborne took a deep breath. The logic was sound, but something felt wrong. It was just a feeling. He kept his mouth shut.

  “The last I heard, the professor was living at home with his mother,” said Ray. He glanced at his watch: “Teatime. Let’s pay a call on the Miller household.”

  “Where are we going?” said Julie.

  “Right up the street,” said Osborne. “Mark, you stay here. Give me a call at the Millers’ when you hear from Lew.”

  “Tell her to meet us there,” added Ray as the three of them walked toward the front door.

  “No. Stop,” said Osborne, balking in the hallway near the door. “I don’t think this is right. I think we should get out to that log house. Someone who knows something is there. I’m sure of it!”

  “You may be right,” said Ray, tipping his hat back on his head and looking hard into Osborne’s face. “But even if you are right, we don’t know exactly who that is. We can’t just barge in and accuse somebody of murder. We can’t just barge in period. We need to know if we’re dealing with people carrying weapons. If we aren’t careful, someone could get killed—”

  “Or sued,” said Julie. “Ray’s got a point. Before we drive out there, we need more information. We need to be very, very careful.”

  “Look,” said Ray to Osborne, his voice sympathetic, “Ten minutes with the professor or with Peggy and we’ll have a much better read on the situation. Are you with me, Doc?”

  “Fine. Okay. But let’s hurry. We’re running out of time.”

  “Yes, we are,” said Ray. “But look at it this way. It is either too late already or we’ve got enough time to make sure of what we’re doing.”

  Mark looked stunned at his words. “Please go,” he said. “I’ll keep checking with the station.”

  Osborne, Ray, and Julie raced for the cars. “Take mine,” shouted Osborne. “I’ve got plenty of gas.”

  Peggy Miller lived seven houses away, up six doors and around the corner, in an elegant red brick home with white shutters on black-trimmed windows. Osborne had always thought the house unspeakably pretentious for Loon Lake.

  “Well,” said Julie dryly, unable to resist a chuckle in spite of the tension as she tipped her head to look past Ray at the house, “Do I see a Williamsburg mansion set down in a Yankee town? Correct me if I’m wrong: This woman loves money?” The men nodded. Then she briefed them on her approach to Brad’s mother.

  Oh, Peggy loved her house, all right, thought Osborne as he listened to Julie’s plan. And Peggy loved Joe’s money. Just like she’d loved the little bridge parties with tea sandwiches and weak coffee that she and Mary Lee had hosted for years, always being sure to leave out some young wife that the two of them didn’t care for at the time, making sure that woman knew she wasn’t invited—and giggling over it later. They had wielded enough social clout that Osborne had felt its effects on his practice from time to time.

  No, Peggy loved the money and the house, but she never loved Joe. She made that clear when she left him to die alone in the hospital. Alone with his lymphoma, a difficult death from a cancer probably brought on by the stress of working at the mill to pay Peggy’s bills. Osborne had arrived at the hospital to visit his friend, only to find Joe had passed away just thirty minutes earlier. The nurses told Osborne it had been two days since either Peggy or Brad had been in to see the man, even though he was conscious to the end, and they had placed numerous phone calls to the home. The nurses had been disgusted with the family.

  As Osborne parked his truck, he realized for the first time how much he disliked Peggy and how he had hated that Mary Lee was a partner in her little schemes. Now he wondered if that twisted side of the woman had coalesced in Brad, the adopted son that she had indulged and cooed over, even when he was a grown man. Brad, a killer? Brad holding Erin and the baby somewhere? Osborne took a deep breath as Ray and Julie gave him instructions.

  It was 5:30 when they rang Peggy’s doorbell. She cracked the door open so quickly after the ring, Osborne figured she’d been watching from behind the curtains as his car pulled up and the three of them got out.

  “Yes? Who is it?” Peggy peered out. She was a slight, stiff woman with a long, horsey face. Her distinguishing feature was a jaw that thrust forward and appeared to be elongating with age. Above the jaw was a pointy nose and two close-set and intense black eyes. When he first met her, many years ago, Osborne had made a mental note that she was one of those women who was always watching.

  Today her hair was neatly fluffed in a beauty parlor pageboy, and she was wearing trim navy blue wool slacks, a pale pink blouse, and a navy blue cardigan sweater. A small brooch secured the neck of her blouse. She wasn’t pretty, but she wasn’t homely, and she had a crisp, tailored style. Perhaps it was the style that had made her hate Joe for locking her away in little old Loon Lake.

  “Well, my goodness, Paul Osborne.” She opened the door wide. “What are you doing here at this time of day? And Ray Pradt? Gracious, what brings you folks out?”

  “Mrs. Miller?” Julie extended her hand and stepped forward with authority. “I’m Julie Rehnquist from Kansas City. I’m the lawyer Brad is expecting to discuss his inheritance. Is he here?”

  “No. He isn’t.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Julie graciously. “I asked his office to make an appointment for us to meet at this time, but maybe I misunderstood. You aren’t expecting us?”

  “Julie is the daughter of an old school friend of mine,” volunteered Osborne. “Ray and I met her at the Mosinee airport earlier today. We thought we’d just drop her off for the meeting with Brad and come by later to pick her up.”

  Peggy looked very confused. She stepped back and opened the door wide. “Come in, everyone. I don’t understand. Brad didn’t say anything about your appointment. But, please, come in and sit down.”

  She beckoned them into the front hall and on into her living room. The room was filled with reproduction English furniture: ornate mahogany tables and overstuffed chairs and sofas. It was formal, not comfortable. Ray and Osborne sat side by side on a small sofa, Julie picked an armchair. Peggy excused herself for a minute, saying she would put some coffee on to brew. She was back quickly and seated hers
elf primly in a small rocking chair.

  “Now, tell me about this inheritance?”

  “Brad hasn’t told you?” Julie looked strained, as if to convey that if he hadn’t brought it up then perhaps she shouldn’t be saying anything.

  “Oh, he did!” said Peggy quickly. “He just didn’t tell me you were coming today. That’s all.”

  Julie let herself look relieved. “Good. Then, as you know, the initial bequest was for twenty million, but we found more paperwork last week. It seems Mrs. Bowers had two safe-deposit boxes in yet another bank, and the trust officers there were late informing us of the contents. Most of the assets are in real estate, and then there’s five million in cash that should be put in an interest-bearing investment or account somewhere. I brought the paperwork with me so we can execute a wire transfer in the morning.”

  “Ah,” said Peggy. “I imagine he’ll do exactly what he did with the other.”

  “Oh?” Julie sounded surprised. “I’ll strongly advise against that! He has two million dollars in cash already, I can’t imagine he wants to lose interest on this money.”

  Something happened to Peggy’s face with that remark from Julie. Her eyes darted down and up again and the jaw slackened. Then her features tightened and she stood up, “Let me get the coffee. Does everyone take cream and sugar?” Osborne thought she hurried out of the room.

  They sat perfectly silent, listening. Osborne expected a rattle of cups, maybe even a murmur of a voice on the telephone. They heard nothing. Ray pointed a finger at Osborne, and Osborne rose to walk toward the kitchen. He pushed open the swinging door. Peggy stood still at a kitchen window, her back to him, her arms wrapped tightly around her body as if she was holding herself together.

  Osborne walked up and placed his hands on her shoulders. “Peggy? Is anything wrong?”

  The face she turned to him was the real Peggy. Her mouth and jaw were twisted with hate. Her eyes were black and cold.

  “The little shit,” she spat. “The little shit. He took every dime Joe and I had and made me mortgage this house up to the hilt last year. When Joe was so sick, we gave him power of attorney. Joe was always so conservative, we just had savings accounts, so I asked Brad to invest it for me, but he put it all in his name. He said it would save on taxes.

  “Before I knew it, he had all our assets in his name. Even this house! And he hasn’t talked to me in six months. He said I depress him. He said I make him sick to his stomach. He lives here, Paul. He lives right upstairs but I’m not allowed to go up there. Do you know—all he gives me is two hundred and twenty-two dollars a month. I barely eat on that.”

  “How did this happen, Peggy?” Osborne asked her softly. “I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

  “He’s mean, Paul. He’s bone mean. When he was a baby, he would bite until you bled. When he was in high school, he would say the nastiest things about people—the things he said about you and Mary Lee. It was disgusting.” She dropped her face into her hands.

  “Oh my God, it’s all my fault. I never could figure out what he needed.”

  “Peggy …” Osborne actually felt some sympathy for the woman. Why, he didn’t really know.

  “He … urn …” her voice was shaking as she raised her head. Osborne sensed she was on the verge of hysteria. “Just last week he told me I could leave if I didn’t like it … but he controls my whole life. Oh, Paul, this is all so humiliating. And now I find out that he’s got all this money? Oh, I’m going to kill myself.”

  “Hold off on that action,” said a woman’s voice suddenly. Julie had entered the kitchen with Ray right behind her. “Brad has a few questions to answer before any funds are signed over. Peggy, I think it’s time we tell you the truth. Yes, he’s an heir to a massive fortune, but only because I believe he murdered his brother.”

  As the expression on Peggy’s face turned into bewilderment, Osborne let her down gently into a kitchen chair. “Peggy,” he said, “we’d like to take a look at Brad’s room. Would that be all right with you?”

  “We don’t have a search warrant,” said Ray. “You don’t have to let us do this, but Dr. Osborne and myself—we’re working on the investigation as deputies for Chief Ferris.”

  “You can do anything you want up there if you can get in,” said Peggy. “He’s kept the place locked up tight for months. I don’t know—I’m afraid of what you’ll find up there.

  “Here, over here, is the back stairway. See the lock on that door?”

  “Sure do,” said Ray, pulling a Swiss Army knife from his back pocket. “Where’s your screwdriver?”

  “Joe’s workbench in the basement,” said Peggy.

  The lock was expertly jimmied in less than five minutes. “Another notch in the belt for the exit expert,” said Ray with a slight grin, pulling the door open.

  Just then the phone rang. Osborne picked up the nearby kitchen wall phone.

  It was Mark. “I called Lucy. No sign of Lew yet. I’ve tried every one of Erin’s friends. No one has seen her!” Mark sounded like he was going to cry.

  “Mark, hold on,” said Osborne. “Let me call you back in five minutes. Just hold on, okay?” He set the phone down and raced up the stairs behind Ray and Julie.

  They found three bedrooms and a bathroom on the upper level. In one room, the furniture had all been pushed to the side as if to make room for storage.

  “Looks to me like he had boxes in here,” said Ray, pointing to dust patterns on the floor. He smeared his finger through a footprint. “They were recently moved, within the last few days.”

  The next room had served as an office. A desk in the corner held envelopes and papers littered across it. Julie ran over and shuffled through a few. “Nothing here. Some college staff memos and stuff. Old, a couple years old.”

  The third room had definitely been used as a bedroom. Dirty sheets and an old quilt lay loosely across the double bed. Otherwise, Brad appeared to have packed up and left. Two dingy white towels lay on the floor in the closet. A small dresser was empty.

  At the end of the hall, the last door, the bathroom door, was closed. They paused before pushing it open. More towels on the floor, trash overflowed out of a wastebasket just inside the door, and a discarded travel kit lay on its side beside the toilet.

  “Get a load of the mirror.” Ray pointed and they crowded around. Across the top of the oak-framed mirror Brad had tacked a series of photos. From left to right, three shots, taken from the waist up, showed Brad Miller in different stages of weight loss.

  In the first shot, his face was pudgy, eyes bulbous and staring at the camera, mouth grim, head bald. The next shot was of a slightly thinner Brad, while the third was of a startlingly slim man. It was still Brad, but this shot showed him standing alongside another person: Robert Bowers.

  “My God, look at the resemblance,” whispered Osborne. He was right. Having lost weight, the facial structures were uncannily similar, although Robert’s neatly trimmed beard provided a sharp contrast to Brad’s smooth-shaven face. Both were bald and the shapes of their skulls identical.

  Tacked to the right of the three photos, grainy as if it had been enlarged from a much smaller picture, was a head shot of Judith Benjamin. Her face was much thinner than the two men, even though the basic bone structure was similar. On her, the flat, fishlike eyes were tempered with makeup. The blond hair that was so neatly pulled back into a French twist now looked quite obviously like a wig. Osborne was surprised. It had never occurred to him that she might be bald. He knew, of course, why the line of her jaw was so different.

  “Check out the five o’clock shadow around Judith’s mouth,” said Ray. “She shaves.”

  Osborne looked back at the shot of Robert Bowers. The face looked robust and healthy above the crisply tailored beard. His eyes, under his gleaming bald head, were alert and smiling, with natural crinkles of humor at his temples and at the edges of his gentle grin that made him look happy and attractive, in sharp contrast to Brad’s hostile stare
. And yet, in all three, the noses, the eyes, and the mouths were almost identical.

  “My God, it is amazing how much they look alike, yet the differences in expressions and their body weight makes the similarities tough to catch,” said Julie softly. “Maybe that’s why I didn’t notice how much they looked alike when I met Brad.” She studied the photo closely. “Like I said earlier, I thought he was wearing a piece. The man I knew in Kansas City was not bald.

  “And the police drawings of the silver thief—they show a man with hair and a beard—but pudgy. I remember thinking it was odd that Brad and Robert shared some mannerisms, in their speech patterns especially, but I didn’t really think they looked that much alike. Brad was such a prissy guy, always wearing his pants pulled up to his nipples. Robert was an athlete and very trim. He always….” Her voice caught suddenly and trailed off. Osborne put his arm around her to give her a hug.

  “Well, well,” said Ray softly, “we may have something here.” He had reached behind him to open a linen closet. Towels were neatly stacked on the two shelves. The third and fourth shelves, the shelves at eye level, held a complete studio’s worth of stage makeup.

  On the floor was a large black case. Ray pulled it forward and opened it. Trays slid out on hinges, a fully stocked makeup artist’s case. He lifted a plastic box from the bottom section of the case and tipped the lid open. Inside was a soft chamois pouch. He shook it and out fell a beard. A neatly trimmed, straight, grayish blond beard.

  “Robert’s beard,” whispered Julie.

  “He must have big plans if he doesn’t need this stuff anymore,” said Ray, “big plans.”

  Just then, Peggy called up to them from downstairs. “I just talked to his secretary from the college at home,” she said. “I thought it might be worth the chance she would know where he was going. Brad has always loved ordering other people to do his work for him. I was right. She ordered his tickets. He’s booked on a flight to Japan early tomorrow morning, first class out of Vancouver.”