“You’ve got to be kidding me,” said Ed, fork poised in the air. “Where did you find those?”
Osborne told his bird hunting story. This time, for Maddie’s benefit, he included the wolf. “So there I was running to beat hell—gun in one hand, dentures in the other.”
“They were stolen from the dental school at Marquette University,” said Ed. “You remember Harley Fruehauf? He was a lumber Fruehauf, family money from the old days. He endowed a permanent exhibit that I helped set up and where these were on display.”
“Heard the name often,” said Osborne. “Wasn’t he kind of a strange one? An orthodontist, if I remember right.”
“I wouldn’t call him ‘strange,’” said Ed. “He was unique.”
Maddie sputtered at her husband’s choice of words. “Oh, Ed. He was as nutty as they come. Be honest.”
“Well … okay. Harley was a bit extreme.” said Ed, “I have to be careful because he left money to the state dental society, and a grant from that endowment is funding this history that I’m writing.”
“He collected lightbulbs,” said Maddie. “Does that tell you anything? What do you do with sixty thousand light- bulbs?”
“Take it easy, honey,” said Ed with a chuckle. “We all have our quirks.”
“Tell Paul what he did with his quirks,” said Maddie, stabbing a fork into her lettuce.
“Quite the collector, Harley, and a very generous man,” said Ed. “He displayed his bulbs in a room in the basement under his office that he called The Fruehauf Museum of Incandescent Lighting.
“But,” Ed waved his index finger, “before you poke too much fun, I want you to know the man was a pretty bright bulb himself. When it came to the science of dentistry, Harley was no slouch. Right up to when he died.
“Not only did he specialize in orthodontics, it’s my opinion Harley set the standards for prosthodontics. That man knew more about the art and science of creating dentures than anyone of our generation, Paul. I got to know him pretty well the last few years of his life. They were members of our church in Fox Point, and he asked me to work with him on the exhibit.
“That’s why I recognize the dentures you’ve got there. Harley had collected those teeth over the years and was using them to experiment with remineralizing. He was convinced that by putting minerals back into the teeth, you could repair early decay.
“But why go to all the trouble of getting teeth from so many different people?” asked Osborne.
“Two reasons. First, he wanted to test on smooth surfaces and, second, because we know all teeth decay at different rates and for different reasons. He figured that using teeth from different individuals could telescope the time involved.
“At least that’s the theory he shared with me. He died before this set disappeared, thank goodness. The theft would have broken his heart. Irritated the heck out of me.
“Still can’t believe it happened, but we had no security to speak of. So when two busloads of teenagers from a summer camp outside Rhinelander came through one day—and we found the teeth missing the next—I was convinced some smart aleck kid swiped them.
“In a way, it was a self-fulfilling prophecy. I don’t know if old Harley had had stroke or what but he wasn’t easy to work with in his later years. Just obsessed that someone was going to steal his ideas. That man didn’t only have a lock on every door—he locked every damn drawer. Some days it would take thirty minutes to find your files, not to mention pens and pencils.
“When the dentures disappeared there was nothing we could do. How do you allege theft of human teeth in this day and age?”
“Biohazards,” said Osborne.
“You got it. Rather than let it become a big joke, we dropped it.”
“You’re right about the kids,” said Osborne. “I happen to know from one of my daughters that the stump where I found them is located in an area they call ‘the Horsehead Hollow,’ a favorite spot for keg parties.”
“Stinkers. I’d like to crack a few heads,” said Ed. “Well, thanks, Paul. The ghost of Harley Fruehauf will be happy these are back where they belong.”
“It’s quite an amazing set of dentures, Ed. I had to use a magnifying glass to be sure they weren’t porcelain. And the gold in those posts. You can’t buy that anymore.”
“That’s Harley all the way. Who else would spend money on gold of this quality?”
“Or buy sixty thousand lightbulbs,” said Maddie. “Those people had money all right—for all the good it did them. Paul, did you ever know Jane and Harley’s daughter, Eve? Now there’s a sad, sad story. Mary Lee may have met Eve, she knew Jane from the Garden Club.”
“Probably so,” said Osborne. Ready to finish his lunch and get a call in to Lew about the handout mentioning Theurian Resources before the afternoon panels began, he was listening with half an ear. He nodded and nodded as Maddie chattered on, paying more attention to her cheery eyes than to what she was saying.
“… It was only five years ago that Jane died of cancer,” she was saying, “then Harley had his heart attack and … what was it, Ed? Two years ago that Eve committed suicide? And her daughter so young. I felt so sorry for little Lauren. Of course, she’s not so little anymore. Last time I saw her, she was taller than her mother. And much better looking.”
Osborne looked up from his coleslaw. “Little who?”
“Now, Paul, you must know the story. The Fruehaufs’ summer home isn’t far from you—just outside Three Lakes. Don’t you remember the year Mary Lee was cochair and the Garden Club featured the Fruehaufs’ on their annual garden tour? That is one amazing house—as wacky as old Harley.”
“He designed it,” said Ed. “Did a lot of work on it himself. He just loved the place. If I remember right, it belonged to his grandfather. He loved to hunt and fish, but even then he was paranoid. He butchered his own deer, because he swore the local butchers would mix up the animals so you never got your own back.”
“Maddie … Ed …” said Osborne, “you two wouldn’t be talking about Lauren Theurian by any chance?”
“Yes, Lauren,” said Maddie. “She’s sixteen or seventeen now.”
“I met her just the other day,” said Osborne. He explained the circumstances, then said, “She’s having some difficulties adjusting to the new stepmother.”
“Oh my God—and have you met her?” Maddie slapped both hands on the table, her eyes wide.
“Mitten Theurian? She’s quite … attractive,” said Osborne, deciding not to say too much.
“Mitten?” said Maddie. “Mitten?” She used the same inflection that he had heard in Patrice Kobernot’s voice at the Christmas party when he had somehow managed to insult her.
“Isn’t that her name? That’s what her husband calls her.”
“David Theurian, the grieving widower, waited three months from the date of his wife’s death before he married Karin Hikennen. You think that wasn’t a scandal in Fox Point? And you know who Karin Hikennen is—”
“That I do know,” said Osborne. Whatever he knew didn’t stop Maddie.
“Her grandmother ran a chain of brothels and strip clubs from Hurley, Wisconsin, all the way up into the upper peninsula of Michigan. I hear she owns them now.”
“Karin Hikennen?” Osborne was flabbergasted. “Tell me again. How did Lauren’s mother die?”
“Supposedly she stuck the barrel of a 12 gauge in her mouth. In the laundry room of their Kansas City mansion,” said Maddie. “But there isn’t a woman among her parents’ friends who believe that for a second.”
“Whoa, wait a minute,” said Osborne. “How … had…” He didn’t know where to start, he had so many questions.
Maddie patted his hand.
“I’ve heard this story many times,” said Ed. “if you’ll excuse me a moment, I’ll find the gentlemen’s room.”
“Jane never liked Eve’s husband,” said Maddie as Ed walked away. “She and Harley were over for dinner once, and she said she always worried that he had marr
ied Eve for the family money. But Eve adored him. She wasn’t the prettiest girl, you know. Quite shy. But always very well dressed. She might not have had beauty, but she had exquisite taste.
“They met in law school and got married, then moved to Kansas City where he joined his uncle’s law firm. Everything was swell at first, they were social, they had little Lauren. Then Dave started coming up to Three Lakes in the winter with a group of men to snowmobile. We think that’s when he met Karin—at one of her clubs.
“Now, I don’t know any details, but there was word that there had been some shenanigans at the uncle’s firm, like embezzlement maybe. I don’t know the details. But what I do know is this, Paul. The day that Eve was shot, Dave called her best friend first. Before he called the police, anyone—he called Marcy, and she rushed right over.
“Well, when Dave married that woman so soon after Eve’s suicide, Marcy called one of Jane’s best friends in our church. A good friend of mine. And do you know she is convinced—this is Marcy, Eve’s best friend—she is convinced that Eve was murdered. Her reason? When she got to the Theurians’ that morning … when she saw Eve dead, she saw something else. Something only her best friend would notice …”
Osborne waited as Maddie savored her moment. “Eve was wearing curlers in her hair.”
Osborne must have looked disappointed because Maddie grabbed his hand and pumped it as she talked. “Marcy said that Eve was so fastidious—she would never have killed herself with curlers in her hair.”
Osborne headed back to Loon Lake doing six miles over the speed limit, as fast as he knew he could go without getting a ticket. He had taken one look at the afternoon panel subjects—dental spas, the New Age of the Whiter Smile, invisible teeth aligners—and decided that getting Dave Theurian’s personal history to the Loon Lake Police Department was more important.
Maddie’s story ended with the fact that friends of the Fruehaufs had hired a private detective to look into Marcy’s allegation, but he had been unable to convince the Kansas City police that there was proof enough to classify the suicide as a murder.
“You know, Paul,” Maddie had said, “Dave Theurian was well connected in legal circles. Lawyers protect their own—we all know that.”
He wanted Lew to know that, but when he called the office, Marlene said she was out grabbing a late lunch with Bruce. He left the news about Mitten’s real name, then tried Ray, but there was no answer.
Not until he was in the car driving north did it occur to him he should have called Gina. She was working at the Kansas City Star when they met—before taking the job in Chicago. She would know reporters who could give them more information on Dave Theurian.
Dave and Eve. With both parents deceased, Eve would have inherited the Fruehauf money. No doubt Dave now had a sizable chunk of that money. If Eve’s parents had not liked him, however, they might have taken precautions to see that Lauren’s inheritance was protected. But if Lauren were to die …
Osborne pressed down on the accelerator. He could risk seventy.
thirty-one
… not everything about fishing is noble and reasonable and sane…. Fishing is not an escape from life, but often a deeper immersion into it, all of it. The good and the awful, the joyous and the miserable, the comic, the embarrassing, the tragic, and the sorrowful.
—Harry Middleton, Rivers of Memory
“Looking for digital needles in haystacks of data, Doc,” said Gina in answer to Osborne’s rhetorical “How are you doing” as he hurried into Lew’s office. Lew’s desk was empty, and Gina was perched on her stool, the laptop open.
She swung around to look at him. “Chief Ferris was quite surprised to get your message on the Hikennen woman. She’s trying to find Ray and see if he can hustle up to Hurley for a list of employees of hers. Take his mind off Clyde, which would be good. I’ve never seen him so down.”
“Did he meet with Theurian, do you know?”
“Yes—and do I have news for you,” said Gina.
“I got a few pieces of information on the family myself,” said Osborne, pulling one of the chairs from in front of Lew’s desk around so he could face Gina.
“You first, Doc. I can listen with one ear while you talk,” she said, her fingers moving on the computer keys. “Need to finish this search on Chief’s new coroner, we got so distracted with the Theurians today.”
But Osborne wasn’t more than two sentences into recounting what Maddie had told him when Gina stopped typing, picked up a long, narrow notebook, and began jotting notes as he spoke. When he had finished, she turned back to the computer.
Osborne watched over her shoulder as she pulled up the archives of the Kansas City Star and searched for Eve Theurian’s name. “Yes! I saw this before, but I assumed it was just the obit,” said Gina. “Now I see there’s a longer story. Will you look at that …”
She scanned the story faster than Osborne could. “Excellent—it’s an in-depth profile of Theurian and his late wife … and all the sad things that happened. I’ll get a printout for you, Doc.
“And I know that reporter. I’m going to e-mail him right now that we need to talk. See if I can’t reach him tonight. I want to know what he knows that didn’t make it past his editors. That guy’s good, he’ll have his notes still. Now let me tell you what we found.
“You said you saw Theurian’s company listed on that handout? He’s been in the allograft business for about year. And he has been making purchases from funeral homes across the state, including the one run by the Michalskis in Armstrong Creek—which helps explain why your new coroner is so interested. Theurian products are all derived from human bone. Mainly femurs. And when he told Ray he was in cement—by golly he is. Specializes in powders, putty, and gels.
“And he appears to be totally legitimate. Chief Ferris and I are making an unexpected visit over there first thing in the morning. Just to see what the warehouse and lab looks like. It has become much too coincidental to have two victims with their legs severed—so close to a bone tissue processor.”
“He can’t be that stupid,” said Osborne.
“You just told me he’s suspected of killing his wife. Trust me, Doc, after twenty years of investigative reporting, I cannot tell you how stupid bright people can be. Now wait till you hear what else I learned this morning.
“Remember I promised Ray I’d do a search on Dave Theurian before he entrusted him with the Hot Mama? So, I got started. First thing I see is Dave listed as president and founder of Theurian Resources Inc. I go to the Web site. Very professional with details on all the freeze-dried products. And the equipment: cold rooms for product storage, screening units for size classification, mixers for product blending, drying chambers with microprocessor controls for biological products. Yadda, yadda.
“Back on the search under his name, I see some interesting history. Now we find out from newspaper stories that he was put on leave by his uncle shortly before Lauren’s mother died for suspected embezzlement from client trust accounts.
“After his wife’s death, the embezzlement was no longer suspected—he made it a fact. He stole five million dollars from trust accounts, converted it to hundred dollar bills, packed the money into suitcases in his car, and drove across Missouri, staying in cheap motels, until the cops caught up with him.
“At that point, he alleged having had an emotional breakdown. They put in him jail, he pleads insanity. And he gets off. The money is returned, he leaves the firm. Shortly thereafter he marries Karin Hikennen.”
“The man is crazy.”
“Crazy like a fox. I made a call to the Star’s business desk after I saw all this and reached one of the editors on the story. I was trying to figure out how Theurian made the transition from law to allograft tissue. I mean, where does that come from?
“Interesting answer. Shortly after moving to Kansas City with Eve, Dave Theurian was invited to join the board of one of the big hospitals there—surely thanks to Fruehauf family connections. That hospital is a
pioneer in using allograft tissue. And they had their own small scandal when they caught one of their chief administrators making deals on the side with tissue processors.”
“Kickbacks?” asked Osborne.
“Yes—and they had several close calls with infections. But that’s where Dave Theurian did his R&D on allograft tissue. So when Chief Ferris and I go out there tomorrow morning, one of my questions will be how he learned about the business. Should be interesting, don’t you think?”
“How did Ray take all this?”
“He doesn’t know yet. Chief Ferris and I are damn sure Theurian’s just using Ray to get in with the funeral directors in Loon Lake, but we don’t want to come out and say that. Not yet anyway. Poor Ray. He’s so upset over Clyde’s death. We didn’t think it could hurt to let him meet with the guy.”
“So they had their meeting.”
“As far as I know, yes.”
Lew walked into the office. “Doc, I’m glad you’re back. Did Gina tell you what we found out about Dave Theurian?”
“She certainly did, and let me tell you what I heard.”
Again, Osborne told Maddie’s story. When he got to the allegation by Eve’s best friend that she was convinced Dave had had a hand in his wife’s death because she died with curlers in her hair, both Gina and Lew nodded thoughtfully.
“You don’t marry a woman like Karin Hikennen, a.k.a Mitten the sex kitten, within three months of losing your wife without some history of hanky-panky,” said Gina.
“It’s the curlers,” said Lew.
“I don’t get it,” said Osborne.
“A man wouldn’t,” said Lew, “but a woman who puts curlers in her hair is a woman planning ahead.”
thirty-two
… until a man is redeemed he will always take a fly rod too far back.
—Norman Maclean
“Sounds like quite the day,” said Osborne. Gina had turned back to her computer, and Lew seemed ready to chat for a few minutes. Together they walked over to fill their coffee mugs.
Dead Hot Mama Page 21
