“My people are on United,” he said, waving his cup to catch Osborne’s eye. “Looks like they’re a few minutes late.”
“Ray, I’d like you to meet Gina Palmer,” said Osborne as they walked toward the carousel. Before he could finish the introduction, Ray had curled the upper right corner of his lip and let go with a bird sound. The soft trill went on for several seconds before ending with a “tyeep.” Then Ray set his cup down on top of the case and extended his right hand.
Osborne sighed. Ray’s lack of appropriate behavior would drive him nuts someday. Here he was with a woman still grieving over the death of a close friend, and Ray had to make weird noises.
“Gina, this is Ray Pradt. He moonlights as a deputy for Chief Ferris when she needs us.”
“Apparently he moonlights as a warbler as well.” Gina kept a straight face.
“Nope. Robin,” said Ray. “Spring song.”
“Ray is one of our premier fishing and hunting guides.” Osborne gave his buddy a dim eye as he hastened to correct Gina’s first impression. “Excellent tracker. Best in the region. He’s helping out on this case.” He motioned to Ray to remove his hat, which he did, hiding it behind his back.
“I apologize,” said Ray as he shook her hand. “I thought you were someone else. I realize this is a sad occasion—”
“Forget it,” interrupted Gina. “We’re all here to do something about it. That’s what counts.” Her clipped tone made it obvious she wanted nothing more said about Ashley Olson’s death at the moment. If she was grieving, she was keeping it to herself.
Osborne checked his watch; Lew was expecting them in Wausau in one hour. He was surprised the luggage wasn’t up yet. It only had to be carried a few hundred feet from the plane.
Suddenly, Gina flashed Ray a generous smile, looking him up and down. “How interesting; you’re a fishing guide,” she said, cocking her head. “Depending on how long I end up staying, maybe you’d have time to take me out?”
“I dunno,” said Ray. “I’m not sure what my schedule is over the next few days. Doc here’s darn good. Maybe he can take you out.”
Osborne was stumped. This was the first time he hadn’t known Ray to jump at the chance to take an attractive woman fishing. Brother, he had to be stressed over the kid’s arrival.
Impatient with the delay on the luggage, Doc checked his watch again. Gina, on the other hand, was enjoying the attention of the two men. She crossed her arms and spread her feet apart as if to balance herself against the weight of her heavy leather bag. “I feel like I just walked into Banana Republic, you two. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so much khaki. Is this like a local costume or something? Maybe I need to buy some if I want to fit in, huh?” She laughed. Her laugh was musical, bell tones moving up and down the treble scale, filling the small room. Ray grinned at her pleasure.
Osborne gave a soft chuckle. Again she was right. Almost every day of the summer he wore khaki. He owned exactly three pairs of good khaki pants and ten or more variations in shirts. Khaki was easy; it was formal enough for anything you ever had to do in Loon Lake, yet you were ready to fish on a moment’s notice. Khaki was cool in the sun, warm in the breezes, and the shirtsleeves protected from mosquitoes.
Ray, too, was always in khaki, though today he had dressed with particular care. Like Osborne, he was wearing freshly laundered and pressed pants, khaki of course. But his shirt was one Osborne hadn’t seen before: an expensive hemp fishing shirt, albeit khaki in color. Given his propensity to have walleyes embroidered across everything, including his underwear, today he was unusually sartorially restrained. Not a walleye was in sight. And for the moment, the stuffed trout was hidden behind his back.
Osborne was about to compliment him on this restraint when Gina, leaning to peer around Ray’s lanky form, piped up, “So what’s with that hat?”
“Ah, the hat …” Now this Ray could deal with. Anxiety-ridden or not, he could always talk about his hat. Pulling it out from behind his back, he placed the precious object carefully on his head, backed off from the plastic column, bent his knees to better see his reflection, and carefully set it at a jaunty angle. He looked from side to side, then gave it yet another slight adjustment. Finally, he straightened up and turned to look down into Gina’s questioning eyes. “You’ve heard the famous saying, “ ‘A fish on a bonnet is worth ten on a plate?’ ”
“Yes, I have, and that’s not how it goes,” said Gina. “It’s ‘A bird on a bonnet—’ ”
“Oh, picky, picky,” said Ray, obviously tickled. “Now how do you know that?”
“I’m a newspaper editor,” said Gina. “I spend my life checking facts. Facts and phrases and anything else I don’t believe. I’m very good at what I do, too.”
“I’ll bet you are.” Something in Ray’s tone made Osborne believe he might change his mind about taking this woman fishing.
Meanwhile, Osborne had noticed something was different about the hat. He was still trying to decide exactly what it was when Ray caught his eye.
“I made me a new one last night, Doc, a summer version. How do you like it?”
The new hat featured the same stuffed trout, but this specimen rode on a baseball cap instead of the usual leather hat with its fur-lined earflaps tucked up. The head and tail of the fish still protruded over Ray’s ears, but he had replaced an antique muskie lure with a brilliant coral red walleye jigging spoon that was hooked across the breast of the fish. The jig, known locally as Ray’s Jive Baby, was his own design and one he was hoping to patent. Ray referred to it fondly as his retirement account.
“This is your marketing dollar at work, I take it?” said Gina.
“You might say that,” said Ray. “I’m known for my first impressions.”
As legendary as Ray’s hat was, Osborne, who had survived the adolescence of two daughters, wondered if Ray had any idea what effect he could have on an unsuspecting teenager. Osborne opened his mouth, then he closed it. Then he opened it again. He owed Ray. He would not let him go into dangerous territory unwarned.
“Do you really want to do this to a sixteen-year-old?”
Ray looked confused. “Why? What? I think I look pretty good, don’t I?”
Osborne shrugged. He would say nothing more, especially in front of Gina. Maybe it was better the kid find out sooner rather than later, anyhow.
“Do you mind if I ask what you two are talking about?” said Gina.
Just as she spoke, the baggage carousel gave a great creaking sound and coughed up one piece of luggage. As she walked toward it, Ray waved. “Here’s my flight, folks. See you later, Doc.”
fourteen
“There is more to fishing than catching fish.” Attributed to Dame Juliana Berners, fifteenth century
Waiting off to the side while Gina made arrangements for a rental car she could pick up later, Osborne had a good view of Ray and the passengers alighting from the United Airlines flight, which had just landed. Six people made their way down the shaky metal stairway and toward the airport lobby. Elise was not among them.
Osborne was not surprised. It fit that she would send a young kid off alone to meet a strange man purported to be his father. She probably had a hair appointment she couldn’t break. Once again, Osborne wondered how Ray could be so good-hearted and so fair with people, yet refuse to recognize when his generosity was not returned.
A tall, gangly teenager wearing long, baggy black shorts and a wrinkled oversize purple T-shirt that said “Byte Me” in orange pushed through the plate glass doors, and Osborne could see that Elise had arrived after all. She was all over the face of the kid. His features were raw. He had yet to grow into the heavy bones of his brow, his cheekbones, and his jaw, but his eyes were his mother’s: dark, almond-shaped, and slightly tipped. And even as Osborne knew Elise as a tall, full-breasted woman, he wasn’t surprised to see this kid was already a good six feet two, maybe six four even.
But what if his height came close to Ray’s towering six feet five? Would
he have the man’s grace? Could he ever slip through a forest as silently as a deer? Move as swiftly to set a fishhook or dodge the death grip of a snapping turtle? Would he inherit his father’s eye for signs on the forest floor, his ear for the secrets in the wind?
If this was indeed the son of Elise and Ray, which would he most resemble? The one for whom wealth had nothing to do with money? Or the one for whom money was worth the sale of body and soul? Osborne rocked back and forth on his heels, hands deep in his pockets, as he watched the two men approach each other. He was certain Elise was lying. But how would Ray ever know? We’ll see, thought Osborne. We’ll just see.
Ray stepped forward to greet the boy, a friendly smile on his face and hands extended palms up as if he was offering a plate of his superb fried chicken. The kid mumbled something Osborne couldn’t hear, holding tight with one hand to the strap of a backpack slung over one shoulder and to a small black briefcase hanging from his other arm. A polite expression was fixed on his face, betraying nothing he might be thinking about the man in front of him, the handsome bearded man with the fish on his head.
Ray stepped back to let the boy walk past, then laid a light hand on the kid’s shoulder. The boy gave a quick, imperceptible shrug, and Ray dropped the hand. He looked about as if he had stumbled and wondered if anyone had seen him. He caught Osborne watching from where he stood just a few yards off.
“This way,” he said to the boy with a hearty friendliness. “I want you to meet one of our neighbors and my good buddy, Doc Osborne. Doc’s a retired dentist and a blow-your-socks-off muskie guy. He’s got a fifty-three-incher in his living room you won’t believe.
“Doc … Nick.”
“Huh,” said the kid, holding tight to his strap and his briefcase. Nick was obviously a city kid, pale and lightly pimpled. Osborne also counted six silver earrings, three in each ear. Jeez. Looked like Nick could give Ray a run for the money when it came to personal adornment.
“Welcome to the Northwoods, Nick,” said Osborne. “I think we’ll be doing some muskie fishing together in the next few days. Isn’t that right, Ray?”
“I was hoping to learn how to fly-fish,” the boy said. “That’s what my friends do.” His tone made it clear he could care less about any other kind of fishing.
“Oh?” Ray looked surprised. More than a little disappointed. “Doc can maybe give you a few pointers. He’s been trying his hand at it, haven’t you, Doc?”
“You’ll want to try both, son.” Osborne jumped to rescue Ray. “One gets you on the lakes; the other gets you back into the backwoods on streams and small rivers.”
“I just wanna fly-fish.” The kid was obstinate and, in Osborne’s opinion, not a little rude. Surprise. He was Elise’s son.
Before anyone could say more, Gina Palmer popped up at Osborne’s side exclaiming, “Say, is that a laptop you got there? What the hell size is that thing? That isn’t that new IBM I heard about? I’m thinking about getting one. How’s it working?”
Osborne and Ray backed up as if they’d been hit by a straight-line wind, tornado strength. Rapid-fire didn’t begin to describe Gina’s delivery; she was more intense than she had been on the phone the day before.
Nick’s face underwent a transformation. Gone was the impassive, almost sullen scowl. A passionate, spirited expression took its place. “Yeah! My mom just got it for me. Gotta minute, I’ll show ya. It’s real cool.”
Gina, her own much larger computer case slung across her back, motioned him over to a nearby rack of chairs. Nick sat down, set the briefcase on his bony knees, and unzipped it to pull out a flat black box. Osborne, knowing little about computers, glanced over at Ray, who knew even less and was standing there mute, a quizzical expression on his face as if he had no idea what to do next.
“Ray? You have an ISP, don’t you?” The boy looked up from where he was banging on keys in a way that made sense to Gina. She was leaning over Nick’s shoulder, her eyes fastened on his monitor.
“What?” asked Ray.
“No, son,” said Osborne. “I’m afraid we still have a pretty antiquated phone system out in our area. My daughter tried to go on-line a couple weeks ago when she was visiting, and the phone company told her we can’t get Internet service until they replace our party line. That’s not for another couple months, I’m afraid.”
The boy stared up at Ray. He looked like he was about to cry. “You mean you’re not wired?”
“I’m plenty wired,” said Ray.
“That’s not what he means,” said Osborne, weighting his words so Ray got the message. “The boy is serious.”
“Is anybody wired up here?” Gina stood up, a look as stricken as the boy’s on her face.
“Lew is, I think,” said Osborne lamely. “She said they laid fiber optics out to her offices and the new jail.”
“Who’s Lew?” asked Gina.
“I’m sorry,” said Osborne. “I should have said Chief Lewellyn Ferris, head of the Loon Lake Police Department. That’s who we’re meeting in Wausau to complete the ID. And …” Osborne looked at his watch. “We’re almost half an hour late, I’m afraid.”
Gina looked over at Ray. “Didn’t you say you’re a deputy? Maybe she’ll let us plug in over there, huh?”
Nick looked up from his computer. A look of astonishment flooded into his face as he asked Ray, “You mean you’re a cop?”
“No. I’m a guide,” said Ray. “Fishing, hunting … I am not a cop. We’ll talk about it later, okay? Now let’s get the rest of your luggage.”
“Nice kid,” said Gina as they piled her luggage into the rental car and locked it up. “I’d like to get another look at that laptop of his.”
“I’d like to know why he’s wearing all the jewelry,” said
Osborne. “He has something in his tongue, too. Did you see that? Good thing he doesn’t wear braces. Damn thing would get hooked.”
“C’mon, Doc, you’re not into pierced body parts?” Gina chortled. “Don’t worry about what you can see; it’s what they’ve got under their clothes.” As Gina climbed into Osborne’s car for the drive to Wausau, he lowered the windows. The sun was bright with fluffy white clouds scudding across the brilliant blue sky. The air was heating up. It would be a nice drive.
Just then, Ray and Nick emerged from the front entrance of the airport lobby. Ray hoisted Nick’s duffel onto his left shoulder and pointed the boy in the direction of his pickup, parked right across from Osborne’s station wagon. The boy started toward the pickup, then stopped, looking up in amazement. Osborne leaned forward in his seat, curious to see what had caught his attention.
“Whoa,” said Nick. “You guys got a lotta sky here.” He stood there for a good fifteen seconds, taking it all in. Unaware Osborne was watching, he let a look of excitement slip over his features, but it vanished the minute he heard Ray’s footsteps behind him.
Still, Osborne knew teenagers. Maybe there’s hope, he thought. Maybe I’m wrong; maybe the kid’s got a little bit of Ray in him after all. We’ll see.
Meanwhile, Gina had leaned out her window to wave good-bye. Ray waved in return.
“Now watch this.” Osborne lowered his voice and motioned to Gina to watch the proceedings across the way.
Ray tossed the duffel into the back of the beat-up blue pickup and opened the door on the driver’s side of the truck. He stood there looking over at Nick. The leaping walleye hood ornament flashed silver in the sunshine. And the passenger door refused to give in to Nick’s yanks on the handle.
“Oops, sorry,” said Ray, “that door doesn’t work. You gotta either climb through the window or go in on my side.”
“For real?” Nick was taken aback.
“Yeah, I need to get it fixed,” said Ray.
“What do most people do?” said Nick, his voice a little edgy.
“Go through the window.”
With that the kid gave a shrug, swung his briefcase in first, then heaved himself up to wriggle through the generous opening. As he
did so, Osborne heard Ray say loudly, “Gotta Wisconsin joke you can tell your buddies back in New York City.
“What’s that?” Nick’s voice was muffled.
“Whaddaya call cheese that isn’t yours?”
“Nacho cheese,” said Gina with a groan and a smile. “That is one joke. Does this go on all the time?”
“You betcha.” Osborne gave the ignition a healthy twist.
fifteen
“There are matters beyond the knowledge of non-fishermen…. Forests … can insulate you against the woes of the world as completely as the widest water of an ocean voyage.”
Frederic F. Van de Water, author
Leaving the airport, Osborne turned right onto Highway 8. He hadn’t driven a quarter mile before he heard a siren. He looked up to see Lew’s cruiser in his rearview mirror. He pulled over.
Lew jumped out of her car and ran up to his window. “Doc, thank goodness I caught you. Roger never did get the van back to Timber Lake. One of the lab guys came up at the crack of dawn this morning to do a preliminary. I tried to reach you at the airport. The victim is still in Loon Lake, so we can do the ID at Saint Mary’s. Thank goodness, too. I did not want to take four hours to go all the way down to Wausau.” She looked past Osborne. “Gina Palmer?”
“Yes. Are you Chief Ferris?”
“I sure am,” said Lew, “and very glad I intercepted you two. Can you follow me back to Loon Lake, and we’ll meet at the hospital? I’d like to get this over with as soon as possible.”
“Me, too,” said Gina.
Ashley Olson was no longer curled into a fetal position, nor was she in running clothes. Her body, naked and straight, had been reduced to a landscape of bumps under the morgue linen.
Earlier, while waiting for a hospital attendant to let them in, Gina had spoken of her friend in such vivid detail that Lew and Osborne were able to understand the magnitude of her death. Gone was a vibrant, savvy woman who had pumped life into a new and respected marketing firm, holding her own easily among senior executives from major corporations. Gone was a woman, generous and kind to her friends and to those who worked for her.
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