“That talk on the porch steps changed my life. From that day on, I looked at my mother differently. I began to pay more attention to when she was sober and see what a good mom she was then. I was able to stop hating her. I could see how my dad, in his way, knew how to help her. That’s why when she was so, so drunk and all those terrible memories and emotions would kick in—he would just sit and listen.”
Ray shifted in his chair, leaning back again and crossing his arms. “So … that’s what Peg did for me. I have loved her as a sister, maybe even a surrogate mother over all these years.
“That’s it, Chief. That’s why I am … deter-r-r-mined … to find the fiend who murdered those three women.”
On hearing those words spoken in the familiar Ray Pradt fashion of emphasis by elongation, Osborne felt relief: The old Ray was back.
“Well …” said Lew, hesitating. “That worries me. Don’t get me wrong—I need help. I’m only one person and all I have for backup are Todd and Roger. I don’t have to tell you and Doc that the Loon Lake Police Department was stretched to the limit before this happened, but Ray, if you are intent on revenge, then I can’t—”
“Did I say ‘revenge'?”
“Sure sounded like it,” said Lew.
“Not revenge—acknowledgment. I want whoever murdered Mary Margaret Garmin and her friends to acknowledge what they did—to admit their guilt, to be held responsible. Now …” said Ray, raising both hands, “I admit I bend the law when it comes to smoking a joint or poaching a bluegill or two, but I will not jeopardize this case in any way. Believe me, Chief, I want to see whoever did this in prison.”
“Well …” Lew sounded doubtful.
“And I hope you don’t mind, but I made a phone call already to someone who is going to help us out in a big way—help you, I mean. I’ve asked Gina Palmer to come up from Chicago and—”
“Ray, stop right there,” said Lew, sounding frustrated. “I appreciate your effort, but I don’t have the budget to pay her. I have barely enough to pay you and Doc. The bill from the Wausau boys alone will force me to go to the city council and the mayor for emergency funding—”
“Let me finish, Chief, please,” said Ray. “First, I’m doing this for free. For Mary Margaret. Under no circumstances will I accept a dime. Second, Gina and I barter: I take care of her cottage and she helps me out when I need it. She’s already agreed to work on this. I pick her up at the Rhinelander airport tomorrow afternoon.”
“Oh …” said Lew, dropping her head in thought. “And what have you told her so far?”
“I gave her the details and said that I’m ninety-nine percent sure that Peg was the target. All those goombahs from Frank’s past? I’ll bet you anything she knew something about somebody who’s still alive. Just a few months ago, she told me she’d had some phone calls she didn’t appreciate. Two mob types who bought property up in Eagle River ran into her by accident at the grocery store. They wanted to socialize, which she did not appreciate. I figure we start there.
“So Gina is searching the archives at the Chicago Sun-Times and the Tribune to check for the stories from when Frank was convicted. She’ll run those by a couple reporters who cover the mob and see if they know who might still be around from those days.
“Also, she said to tell you that she can do public records searches on each of the women and on any suspects. You know from when she helped out last year that she’s a wizard on the Internet. So how’s that sound? She’s prepared to be here all week.”
“Whoa.” Lew sounded relieved. “Ray, I gotta hand it to you. You do finagle the darndest things. Okay, you’re on but”—she waved a finger at him—“I want you working hand in hand with Doc. He takes better notes than you do, and I want to be sure anything you find can stand up in court.”
“Plus you won’t worry about me blowing someone’s head off.”
“Well … that, too … frankly,” she chuckled. “Now will you follow us back to Doc’s? I know it’s late, but I would love for you to take a quick look at Peg’s address book before I head home.”
“Sure. Oh, wait, folks, there’s one thing I have to do in memory of my friend. I always took her fishing on her birthday—always brought her to this pool. And she always insisted on fishing with a Boogie lure that had been one of Frank’s favorites for walleye. A blue one—same color as her car. I rigged up just before you two arrived, planning to make a few casts.”
“Little warm for fishing tonight,” said Lew.
“True,” said Ray. “But those tamaracks throw quite a bit of shade during the day. Who knows? One of the big girls might be down there just waiting for groceries to be delivered.”
Osborne was surprised to see Ray pull up a muskie rod. “You’re using that with the Boogie?” he said. “That lure’s a little small for muskies.”
“Yes, it is—but it’s Frank’s old rod,” said Ray, grasping the handle with both hands. “Peg had me keep it with my gear and this is how she always wanted to do it. Of course,” he said, smiling for the first time since they had arrived, “she never even got a follow.”
It was the vibrations of the plug that did it. At least that was the verdict delivered by half the McDonald’s crowd. The other half voted for the Garcia Ambassador reel, Series 6500, which was the only reason the handle didn’t snap out of Ray’s hand. Whatever it was, the next ninety seconds on the Loon River that starry night were the stuff of which magnificent fish tales are made.
The blue Boogie hit the surface and dropped to hook one of the submerged logs. Or the bottom of the lake. That was Ray’s first thought.
Not Lew’s. “Set the hook!” she cried, jumping to her feet and nearly falling out of the boat.
“I did, I did!” Now Ray was on his feet—the muskie rod bent in half for a long, long minute. Osborne held his breath as he watched, knowing Ray never used his drag when fighting a fish. He would tighten it until his line was close to breaking, and once he had a fish on, he would push the reel button and let that fish run.
Tonight, the instant he hit that button, the muskie came out of the water. Fifty inches of sleek, fierce fish, its back long and black, moonlight flashing off its golden-olive flanks. It flew at the boat with such speed that Ray never had a chance to reel in the slack. Another flip into the air, a flash of the undershot jaw with the wicked teeth that looked as though it might swallow Ray—boat and all.
Then it was gone—the line snapped and the blue Boogie on its way to a place dark, deep, and out of the reach of humans.
All was quiet on the Loon River.
“I do believe that was a sign,” said Ray, watching the last ripple fade into the night. “I do believe my friend is safe.”
fourteen
In the morning be first up, and in the evening last to go to bed, for they that sleep catch no fish.
—English proverb
“C’mon, now,” said Osborne, backing away from the open refrigerator with raspberries in one hand and cream in the other, “Erin and the kids picked these this morning—no one leaves until they’re gone.”
He got no argument from the two people seated at his kitchen table. Not even when he insisted they use cream and a dusting of sugar.
“Umm …” said Lew, savoring her first spoonful, “life doesn’t get much better than this.” She looked more relaxed than she had all day.
It helped that once they were through the last channel back to Loon Lake and out of the sheltering pines, she was able to pick up a voice mail on her cell phone from Peg Garmin’s brother-in-law. He left a message that he could be reached at a number in Boulder Junction. Returning the call immediately, Lew made arrangements to meet with the couple, Joan and Parker Nehlson, at nine the next morning.
“He said his wife was too upset to make the call herself even though, given Peg’s history, they always expected something like this might happen.” Lew spoke between mouthfuls. “These are delicious, Doc, thank you.”
“Oh, so it’s Peg’s fault she was murdered,
” said Ray. “I like these people already.”
“Ray, that is exactly what I don’t want to hear from you,” said Lew, shaking her spoon at him. “Don’t jump to conclusions. I got enough trouble with Roger on that score.”
“Sorry,” said Ray. “I guess … I can understand how they might feel that way.” Osborne and Lew stared at him. “No, I do. Really.”
“Interesting they called from Boulder Junction,” said Lew as she finished the last of her raspberries and held the bowl out for more. “Must be a second home. Ray, see an Illinois address for them? Any names in there look familiar to you?”
Ray had been eating berries with one hand and paging through Peg’s address book with the other. “The Nehlsons have an address in Kenilworth—but nothing in Boulder Junction. Maybe they’re staying at a resort or with friends. This book is pretty dog-eared. Quite a few names are crossed out.”
“Anyone named Christopher?”
“Not yet. Y’know,” said Ray, looking up, “you should turn this over to Gina—she can track these people down.”
With an approving shake of her head since she had a mouthful of berries and cream, Lew waved her spoon at Ray, “Did Doc tell you what he saw this afternoon—after you left?”
“Oh right, Ray? Maybe you noticed this, too,” said Osborne. “I decided to take the south route down the old highway when I was ready to head back to town, and less than a quarter of a mile from where Peg’s car was found, the road takes a sharp ninety-degree turn. I drove back and forth a couple times and I have to tell you—I think someone intended for that car to go straight into the pines at the curve. I don’t think it was supposed to roll the way it did.”
Ray looked at him dumbfounded. “I know exactly where you mean, Doc. Never dawned on me but that makes sense. Be interesting to see what Robbie Mikkleson and his buddy turn up when they check the data recorder from the car.”
Lew got up to set her bowl in the sink. She turned to face Osborne and Ray. Leaning back against the counter, she crossed her arms as she said, “About tomorrow. Doc, would you call Dr. Westbrook and see how soon you can meet with him?”
Before Osborne could answer, Ray looked up as he turned the last page of the address book. “Just so you know—Harold Westbrook isn’t listed in here.”
“That tells us something,” said Lew. “Like maybe she kept business separate from personal.”
Ray rapped the spine of the little book lightly on the table as he said, “She saw a lot of old Harold over the last year or so. I don’t know that I heard she was seeing anyone else. Not like she did a few years back.”
“When was the last time you saw her?” said Lew.
“End of June—on her birthday. But we never talked about … her self-employment opportunities.” Ray gave a sad smile. “That was not the Mary Margaret that I knew—or wanted to know.”
“Hmm,” said Lew, looking preoccupied. “Another thing—I have got to get up to the casino. Follow up on Donna and that poker business. You never know—could be someone from up there just as easy as a creep from Frank’s past.” She raised her eyebrows in exasperation. “I hope to hell I can get my arms around this case pretty darn soon. Too many leads, too few people to work ‘em. And right now? I need some sleep.”
“Why don’t Ray and I make the casino trip?” said Osborne.
“Have to be back by three for me to pick up Gina,” said Ray.
“That should work,” said Osborne.
“Depends how long we take with the Nehlsons,” said Lew. At the surprise on Osborne’s face, she said, “I’m planning on you being there, Doc. The usual routine: I talk, you watch. Vice versa. On second thought …” She tipped her head as she gave Ray a long look.
“I’d like you there, too, Ray. You and Doc both knew Peg over the years. Think you can handle that, Ray?”
“I think so. Actually, I would like to be there. I’d like to ask the family if I might say a few words at Peg’s funeral.”
“Why don’t you plan to do that after the meeting. I’d like to see how things go first.”
“Sure.”
“Okay—we’ve got a plan. See you two in the morning.”
“Wait. One more thing, Chief. I’ve been thinking about Robbie’s comment on that gas tank,” said Ray. “Why don’t I get Gina settled—”
“I’ll have Marlene find space for her in the department, Ray. She’ll need high-speed Internet access, and I doubt her cottage will have that.”
“Okay,” said Ray, “so I’ll get Gina set up and then I’ll take a drive around. Ever since you said Pat’s old lady told you they stopped for gas and one last drink on their way home from karaoke, I’ve been thinking about where they might have gone. A couple places have come to mind.”
“Fine with me,” said Lew, standing up. “Now I’m out of here. I am dead tired.”
“Lewellyn, fatigue becomes you,” said Osborne, ruffling her hair as he walked her to the car. She gave him a rueful smile as she opened the car door.
“I can’t afford to be so tired—I’m afraid I’ll miss something, Doc.”
“I miss this,” he said, pulling her toward him.
“Me, too.” She folded herself into his embrace, tired and warm.
“When this is over, Lew, maybe we can spend some time together? It’s been over a week now …”
She gave him a quick, light kiss that held all the sweetness of the raspberries. “You know I love to fish a full moon.”
“Two nights from now?”
“Two nights from now,” she said, “plan on it. I’ll loan you a float tube and we’ll go up to Sylvania.”
After Ray left, Osborne checked his answering machine. He had two messages. The first was from his elder daughter, Mallory: “Dad, I need a break. Turned in a paper on marketing cosmetic dentistry today and could really use some time away from the computer. Hope you don’t mind if I drive up for the weekend—take you to fish fry. Call if this is a problem.”
He checked his watch: too late to call. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to see her. The question was: Would she understand why he couldn’t spend much time with her? Over the last two years they had been fumbling toward a better relationship, but Mallory had yet to give up one bad habit she had inherited from her mother: She was too quick to have her feelings hurt.
And why was it that she and Gina Palmer had to be here the same weekend? Two women who were way too interested in a man who, should they succeed in netting him, they would have to support. Well, he’d leave that juggling act to Ray. They were all adults. Let those three figure it out.
The second message was from his oldest grandchild, eleven-year-old Beth: “Gramps, I got an e-mail today from some lady who’s hunting you. Mom told me to tell you to stop by the house in the morning so we can show you the e-mail. The lady wants your phone number but Mom said I can’t give it to her until you say it’s okay.”
Hunting me? Osborne didn’t like the sound of that.
Twenty minutes later, Mike asleep beside his bed, the window above his pillow wide open, Osborne lay listening to the strains of country music drifting over the water. Likely Shania Twain, he thought. He had set his clock to wake up an hour earlier than usual—so much to be done in the morning.
He was happy thinking ahead: A full day is always a good day.
fifteen
Every man has a fish in his life that haunts him.
—Negley Farson
Erin’s house was quiet. Standing on the front porch of the old Victorian, Osborne peered through the screen door into the living room. He hesitated knocking in case the kids were still asleep. His son-in-law, he knew, would be long gone. Mark prided himself on being at his desk in the Loon Lake District Attorney’s Office by seven at the latest.
Erin might be up. Even though she was working her way toward a law degree, this summer she had elected to take just one course. That plus three lively children, a new puppy, and volunteering at the library made for a day that had to start early.
Erin appeared in the doorway that led to the kitchen, coffee mug in hand. “Careful, Dad! Don’t let him out,” she said. “C’mon in—got a full pot here for you.”
Osborne walked through the long, high-ceilinged living room. The windows had been pushed up as high as they would go, and morning breezes nudged at the ivory lace curtains. The house felt full of fresh air and sun—just like Erin. She was busy buttering toast, and at her elbow was a bowl of eggs ready for scrambling.
As he entered the kitchen, she set the toast aside, handed him a steaming mug of hot coffee, and motioned toward the kitchen table. He loved seeing her early in the morning—her long blond hair pulled back in a single braid, her face scrubbed and free of makeup. This particular day she was in running shorts and a tank top that emphasized her slim figure.
“You run already?” said Osborne, pulling out a chair.
“Four miles before Mark left for the office. Too hot later—supposed to hit ninety today.” She sat down with her own mug of coffee, took a deep sip and said, “Ah-h-h, a moment of peace before the monsters awake.”
Erin slapped the table with her free hand, startling Osborne, who spilled a few drops of his coffee. “Dad, I was so upset to hear about Peg Garmin. I woke up during the night thinking about it. What I want to know is if she found her son before she died? I mean—this is so sad. So unfair.”
“What are you talking about?” said Osborne, reaching for a paper napkin to wipe up the spill. “What son? I didn’t know she and Frank had any children.”
“Not from her marriage. She had a child out of wedlock and decided to try to find him a couple months ago. She came to the library looking for books on how to find people who were adopted. I told her she would have better luck using the Internet.
Dead Boogie Page 8
