Dead Rapunzel

by Victoria Houston

  “Dad,” said Greg, “Dr. O’Hearne has her tapering off—oh, sweetie. Don’t cry.” Greg reached over to hug Kenzie around the shoulders. He glared at his father. “Mind your own business for once, will you?”

  Vern shrugged off his son’s dismay. Osborne saw him wink in Tim’s direction.

  “Now, now,” said Judith, jumping up from where she had been sitting, in the corner with Mallory. “Let’s get on with our plans for a memorial for Rudd.

  “And, by the way, Greg and Vern—I’d like you two to meet Mallory Osborne. Rudd and I hired her to be the marketing director for the Tomlinson Museum, so she will be my right-hand person and she’ll be able to answer any questions you may have in the future.”

  “I remember you from high school,” said Greg, walking over to shake Mallory’s hand.

  “Osborne? You related to the old man here?” asked Vern, leaving the doorway to take a nearby chair.

  “Yes, I’m Dr. Osborne’s daughter—”

  “Doc Osborne’s your old man, huh. Say, Doc, still got that wild hair up your ass against bear hunters? And what the hell brings you out this way anyhoo? No one here needs a traveling dentist that I can see.” Vern chortled at his own joke.

  “Vern, I’m afraid you’ve been out of the loop. I retired from my practice over two years ago.” Osborne kept his voice even while wondering where this conversation was going. It was becoming clear that Vern had been drinking.

  “Dr. Osborne is an expert in dental forensics,” said Lew, interrupting the conversation, “and he has been deputized on several occasions to help out the Loon Lake Police when we’ve needed expertise in homicide investigations. The Wausau Crime Lab can’t afford a full-time odontologist, and dental records are still the best way to identify dead bodies. Plus, as you may know, our coroner has had some, um . . . health issues, so Dr. Osborne takes over when necessary.”

  “Good, that’s cleared up,” said Judith with a withering look at Vern. “If no one else has a question for Dr. Osborne or Chief Ferris, I would like to share with everyone my idea for a memorial gathering. I think we should tie it into an announcement about the founding of the Tomlinson Museum—”

  “Whoa, Nellie,” said Vern. “Doesn’t all that money and land that Rudd inherited from Philip go back to his family now?” Vern glanced around the room, which was silent.

  “I mean, doesn’t it? You know, years ago, right after Caroline’s death, Philip and I had a handshake deal that I could buy a couple lots from him, over in the field, and it’s pissed me off ever since that he forgot about our deal. I planned to use those acres for deer hunting and I’d sure as hell like someone to follow through on that.”

  “As executor of my friend’s estate, I’ll be happy to check into that, Vern. I assume you have some paperwork? But let me finish, okay?”

  Meanwhile, Lew had returned to her seat on the sofa and held out her notebook so Osborne could see a short note she had written: “Unless they make us leave, I want to stay right here.”

  Osborne gave a slight nod. He couldn’t agree more.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “What I want to discuss with all of you,” said Judith, her voice calm, “is that, yes, Rudd named me executor of her estate, but she also established a trust that specifies how her assets will be used and the land is part of that.” She glanced at Vern as she spoke.

  “Twenty million dollars will go to building the museum in the big field next to her home. The architectural plans were completed last month. Forty million will go toward the purchase of the art—paintings, drawings, and studies by two female artists whom she and Philip chose before his death: Georgia O’Keeffe and Helen Frankenthaler.

  “What about the Monet, the Corot, and all the other art that she and my dad owned? Those are worth millions,” said Tim. “Can we have those?”

  “If you mean the Corot that Sloane tried to take, the answer is no. Rudd was in the process of selling those, with the money used to establish an endowment to pay operating costs for the museum over the coming years.”

  “I was worried that someone would try to steal it,” said Sloane, defending herself. “I mean, with no one in the house, those paintings are not safe. They are too valuable.”

  “They’re reproductions,” said Judith in a blunt tone. “Right after Philip’s death, Rudd had the Monet, the Corot, and several more of the most valuable paintings copied. They look like the real thing, but they aren’t.”

  “Why would she do that?” asked Sloane, visibly upset.

  “Living alone this far out in the country, she told me she felt vulnerable. Twice she found evidence that someone had tried to enter the house when she wasn’t home. At the time, the security system worked, but she knew that it wasn’t infallible, so she decided to take the precaution of having replicas made and storing the original artworks in a facility over in the cities that specializes in storage for fine art and antiques.”

  “Do we know where that is?” asked Tim.

  “I do and no one else, with the exception of one of her lawyers. Now here’s something no one here knows. Two months ago, Rudd learned that her cancer had recurred—aggressively. The doctors gave her less than six months. So she made the decision to return the money not needed for the museum to Philip’s adult children and their heirs—all of you here this morning. As executor of her will, I am to oversee that.”

  “And how much are we talking about?” asked Tim. Osborne marveled at how Tim could ask a reasonable question but make it sound like a putdown of his stepmother and her friend.

  Judith looked around the room as she said, “Approximately fifty to sixty million dollars.” She paused. “The good news for all of you is that her lawyers have drawn up the paperwork for that to happen. The bad news is she died before she could sign those papers.”

  “Oh, my God,” said Sloane. No one else said a word. Osborne saw Vern toss his toothpick onto the floor as he mouthed an epithet.

  “I have every reason to believe that I can sign those papers on her behalf,” said Judith. “But I am not signing anything until we know who pushed Rudd in front of that logging truck.”

  “And if you don’t sign, what happens?” asked Tim.

  “The entire trust—investments and land assets—goes to the museum under the original plan. The family won’t get a dime.”

  “Wow,” said Kenzie, “how do we make that happen—find out who pushed Rudd, I mean?”

  “Hey,” said Vern from across the room, “leave it to rocket scientist Kenzie to ask the big question. How the hell do you think they find out, dumbyak? They investigate. Chief Ferris, here, investigates. Her team is great on seat belts—let’s sit tight and see what she can do with an obvious accident. Let’s see how much time can be wasted on an investigation.” Vern threw his arms into the air as he said, “We all know Sloane is right: This entire brouhaha is all about a truck driver covering his ass. That’s it, plain and simple.” With an authoritative thrust of his chin, Vern stood with his feet apart and arms crossed, challenging anyone to contradict him.

  Judith shrugged him off as if he were a mosquito.

  “To answer Kenzie’s very good question,” she said, “we start by cooperating with Chief Ferris.” She looked over at Tim. “Which means you now have every reason to change those flights.”

  Ignoring her comment, Tim turned on his heel and started for the kitchen. Midway, he paused in front of one of the armchairs to stare down at Kenzie, who hunched her shoulders, cowering as she avoided his eyes. Without a word, Tim continued into the kitchen, with Vern following behind him.

  Osborne knew he was being unkind, unfair, and unprofessional, but two words popped into his mind every time he looked at Tim Tomlinson: malevolent bastard.

  “Thank you, Judith,” said Lew, getting up from the sofa. As she stood up, she bumped Osborne’s right elbow, causing him to spill coffee from the cup he had just picked up.

  “Uh-oh,” said Osborne. “Kenzie, paper towels? Afraid I just spilled coffee o
n your wood floor.”

  “Under the sink, Dr. Osborne,” said Kenzie, who had walked over to Mallory and Judith as soon as Tim left the room. She was holding an iPad and Osborne heard her say, “Judith, I want to show you something. I posted this great picture of me and Greg from our wedding—it’s on Facebook. It’s got all our family in it and I’ve tagged everyone . . . ”

  While she was talking, Osborne hurried to the kitchen. When he got there, the room was empty. Vern and Tim had stepped outside onto the deck where Vern was having a cigarette. Though their voices were muffled as if they were deliberately keeping them low, he heard Vern say, “Goddammit, Tim, I thought you said your lawyer succeeded in reversing the terms of Philip’s trust.”

  “That’s what he told me,” said Tim. “Two weeks ago he said it was a done deal, that we’d get it all back.”

  “Doesn’t sound like it this morning.”

  “Maybe laws in Bonaire are different,” said Tim. “Maybe he’s still working on it.”

  “Maybe it’s too goddamn late,” said Vern, spitting out the words. He threw his cigarette into the snow. As he yanked open the back-porch door, Osborne knelt to search under the sink where he grabbed a roll of paper towels.

  The two men walked back into the kitchen, both looking down as they stomped the snow off the their boots. Neither paid attention to Osborne as he stood up with paper towels in hand. “Coffee spill,” he said, excusing his presence.

  Twenty minutes later, as Osborne, Lew, Judith, and Mallory went to their cars, Lew stopped Judith. “So, you do have life insurance, don’t you? I’ve been worried that you might be our next victim.”

  “Oh, I hadn’t thought of that . . . Yes, I see what you mean. Since I’ve known for weeks now that Rudd’s money would go to the museum, I never thought anyone would think that I was her heir. Pretty weird assumption if you ask me.

  “But now the entire family has an incentive to cooperate with your investigation, so who knows what will surface. I couldn’t mention anything about the trust last night because I didn’t know for sure that as executor I would have the authority to sign it over. Then early this morning I had a call from the lawyer with the trust division. He gave me that assurance.”

  “Judith, Doc and I are going over to the house right now. I have Bruce Peters from the crime lab due to meet us there. My hope is that we can finish our investigation of the property and the main house by late today. I know you would appreciate being able to work from there. It shouldn’t take too long.”

  Minutes later, as he climbed into Lew’s cruiser, Osborne said, “I heard something interesting when I went into the kitchen to get paper towels, Lew.”

  “The whole morning was interesting,” said Lew as she turned the ignition, then looked over at him while the engine warmed up. “Doc, what do you call a cluster of spiders? A coven?”

  “That’s witches.”

  “Close enough,” she shrugged. “What a crew. So, Doc, what did you hear?”

  “Tim and Vern were having a cigarette out on the back porch and Vern was upset,” said Osborne.

  “Vern? If anyone should be upset it’s his daughter-in-law. That rude remark of his to Kenzie was uncalled for. Poor girl.”

  “Vern accused Tim of lying about the estate. Apparently Tim had told him that he’d hired a lawyer who could challenge the terms of Rudd’s inheritance and return the entire Tomlinson estate—money and land—to the family. Until this morning, Vern thought that was the case. But either Tim never got the bad news from his lawyer or he neglected to tell Vern that it wasn’t going to happen.”

  Lew snorted. “What’s the old joke? Have you ever heard a lawyer say they couldn’t win a case?”

  Osborne chuckled as she pulled onto the road heading back toward Rudd’s home.

  “Still, that’s very interesting, Doc. Vern and Tim, huh. Makes you wonder what they’re up to.”

  Glancing into her rearview mirror, Lew saw a black Jeep following her cruiser. It looked like one of the cars that had been parked in front of Kenzie and Greg’s home when they had arrived earlier. But Loon Lake had a lot of black Jeeps, so she didn’t think twice about it.

  As Lew punched the code to the gate at Rudd’s driveway, her cell phone rang. Raising it to her ear, a sudden movement in the rearview mirror caught her eye. The Jeep had pulled in right behind her. Tim Tomlinson was behind the wheel.

  “Yes, Todd?” Her cell phone to her ear, Lew turned off the ignition and waited.

  “Chief, we got an ice fisherman missing. I’ve called in the county dive-rescue team, but I think you need to know who it is—Chip Dietz.”

  “Uh-oh,” said Lew. “Todd, Doc Osborne is right here with me. I’m putting you on speaker.”

  “Sure,” said the officer.

  “You mean that young kid who washes dishes at the Grizzly Bear Café?”

  “His mom reported him missing late last night when he didn’t come home from fishing. She said he fishes every night after work, but he likes to be home by nine o’clock. She didn’t call dispatch until this morning, kept hoping he’d spent the night at his girlfriend’s, but when he didn’t show up for work—”

  “Hold on, Todd, I’ve got someone waving at me here.”

  After motioning for Osborne to stay in the car, Lew opened her door and said, “Mr. Tomlinson, hold on a minute, will you? I’m dealing with an emergency.” She closed the door before saying, “Okay, Todd. So the dive rescue guys are working this?”

  “Yes. I’m here with them on Moen Lake—over by the big boulder with the flag marker—you know, the spot where everyone fishes off the sandbar. No sign of the kid, but all his gear is here. We’re pretty sure he fell in.”

  “Fell?”

  “Yeah, slipped on the ice maybe?”

  Osborne saw doubt cross Lew’s face. He shook his head. This did not sound good.

  “I’ll call the minute I know more,” said Todd.

  “Probably too late with all the divers there, but do your best to secure the area, will you? I don’t think for a minute that the kid fell in.”

  “Gotcha, Chief.”

  Lew closed her phone and stared straight ahead as she said, “How is it that the only witness who saw someone who may have pushed Rudd Tomlinson has just disappeared? When was the last time an ice fisherman fell through the ice, Doc?”

  Osborne and Lew got out of the car. “All right, Tim. What is your problem, because we have work to do here before I have time for you—”

  “That’s not why I’m here,” said Tim, shivering in his sweater as he gestured toward the winged entry to the Tomlinson house. He had left Kenzie’s house without pulling on a jacket.

  “I have a box in there. It would have been delivered two days ago and it has all my recent paintings. I need it for my trip so I’ll just run in and pick it up—”

  “No,” said Lew. “I thought I made it clear that nothing leaves this house until it has been thoroughly searched. That includes garbage and mail. I have your cell number and I will call you when we’re done.”

  She turned to walk toward the entrance, with Tim following like an anxious dog. “But it’s my box.” It had been a long time since Osborne had seen a grown man about to cry.

  “Is it addressed to you?”

  “No, but Rudd knew I was sending it in her care. She said the museum might have a gift shop and she would consider carrying my paintings in the shop. Now I need to pack those for my trip.”

  While Tim was talking, two vehicles entered through the open gate and pulled into the driveway beside Lew’s cruiser: Ray’s battered blue pickup with its rusty winter topper on it and Bruce Peters’s white SUV with Wausau Crime Lab lettered along the sides.

  “Hold on, Ray,” said Lew as Ray jumped from the pickup and hurried toward where Lew and Osborne were standing. “Taking care of an issue here. Do you know Tim Tomlinson?” She gestured toward the shivering man.

  “Yo, man,” said Ray, “haven’t seen you since my dad and I went fishing wit
h you and your old man back in the day. How’s it goin’?” Tim shrugged off the question with a fierce look at Lew.

  “Now, Tim, since I’ve recommended that you change your flight—getting the box back later shouldn’t be a problem.”

  Tim’s face reddened. He turned and started back to the Jeep, slipping sideways on the icy surface. Reaching to open the car door, he paused and turned around. “Something you should know, Chief Ferris. Kenzie pushed our mother down the stairs—that was no accident.”

  Lew studied the man’s face for a long moment before she said, “Thank you, Tim. I’ll check the police report on your mother’s accident. I wasn’t on the force then, but I’m sure our former chief conducted a comprehensive investigation.”

  “You won’t find it in the report. Kenzie was the only one in the house when Mother fell. And she lied. She’s always lied. She’s schizophrenic, you know. She does weird stuff. Always has.”

  “We’ll discuss that later. Right now Dr. Osborne and I have official business to take of, so please—go back to your family.”

  “Hey, now,” said Ray, watching as Tim spun the tires on the Jeep. “There’s a guy looks like he strangles deer.” Lew shook her head and unlocked the front entry to the house.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Over the next three hours, Bruce took sets of fingerprints throughout the house as well as photographs of the interior—rooms, shelves, closets, and the kitchen cabinets. The fingerprints would be analyzed to see if there were any that did not match people, like Rudd Tomlinson, who were expected to be in the house on a regular basis.

  During that time, Ray explored the property right around the house, checking for any signs of attempted entry or unusual patterns of footprints. He also shot photos of the interior of the four-car garage and lawn storage shed.

  Starting on the second level, Lew and Osborne went through Rudd’s personal belongings as well as all the contents of the master bedroom and bath, the three unused guest bedrooms, the library, a den that was used as an office, and the kitchen and living room areas. They kept an eye out for anything that seemed out of place, especially in Rudd’s office.