“Is Edith experiencing any difficulties with her return to the area? I believe this is her first time back in years.”
“Not that I’m aware of,” said Hayden, looking uninterested. “Why? She saw her sisters last night and seemed okay with that. Why do you ask?”
“Well, the circumstances of her father’s death, you know.”
“Oh … right.” A sharp look flashed across Hayden’s face. Her features tightened and she sat up a little straighten Ray busied himself picking up plates. “Fill me in on the details, Dr. Osborne. Edith says very little. I’ve always wanted to know more.”
“I’ll know more in a few days, Hayden. Our local police chief, Lewellyn Ferris, has just reopened the case. Since I have a smidgen of forensic experience from my student days when I served in the Korean War, she’s asked me to consult. The family doesn’t know this yet, so I’m speaking to you in confidence.”
“I’ll respect that,” said Hayden.
“Edith’s father, Jack Schultz, committed suicide. He had been accused of murdering a young girl who was baby-sitting for a family up from Chicago.” Osborne swiveled in his chair and pointed toward Ray’s driveway. “They found the victim right up the road there—my younger daughter and a friend discovered the body.”
“Your daughter found the body?” said Hayden, sounding more surprised by that coincidence than by the fact the murder may have occurred so close to where they were sitting at the moment.
“A tragedy for Edith’s family. I don’t know that anyone ever heard Jack’s side of the story aside from what the authorities said at the time. It all happened so fast. Some people feel he may have been falsely accused. I’m one of them. So I’m planning to ask her—”
“Oh, no, I would not do that, Dr. Osborne. Definitely not. You see, one condition of her employment with us is that we not bring up the subject of her background, of her family.”
“How’s that?” said Osborne, feeling himself start to vibrate with irritation. What the hell made this woman think she could give him orders?
“Edith came to us two years ago with an excellent résumé—except for the previous year. She was honest, she told us she had been hospitalized with severe depression and other emotional problems. We agreed to hire her on the condition that she continue with her medications and her therapy. We also mutually agreed not to discuss any family history or issues unless we were in the presence of one of the psychiatrists treating her.”
“That was very good of you to be so understanding.”
“Selfish, really,” said Hayden with an arch smile. “Parker insisted we hire Edith because of her years of experience with the competition—you know, the other outdoor sports channels. But please, we have so much on the line with this new Fishing Channel, I cannot risk having her upset or disturbed right now. She’s our nuts and bolts, Doc. Without her, nothing happens.”
“So you’re saying I should wait until the tournament series is completed.”
“Oh, at least. Frankly, I think you should drop any thought of reopening those horrible emotional wounds. Don’t you?”
“Hayden,” Ray interrupted, “we’re ready to go. Do you need to use the rest room? No facilities on board.”
Ray was busy on the pontoon stowing away fishing gear, more coffee and soft drinks. Edith had been fiddling with her videocam and battery pack. Then, deciding she needed extra batteries, she ran back up to the Mini Rover. Osborne, meanwhile, lingered on the dock. He would be the last to board and untie the boat.
In her heavy-footed way, Hayden came charging down the path from the trailer. Behind her by about fifty feet came Edith. Osborne watched as Hayden jumped onto the pontoon, forcing it, even with Ray on the opposite end, to swoon under her weight.
“Get that on tape,” he whispered with a grin as Edith passed by. And for the first time since he had seen her at the airport, Edith’s eyes lit up. She turned aside to give him a smile. That smile and the look in her eye told Osborne everything he needed to know.
“Oop, oop,” said Ray, coaching Hayden, who had just cast out over a rock bar. He had her using a Ninja Jig tipped with a small plastic crawfish. “Let that jig fall right down the side of that big boulder you see. When it hits the next shelf of rock, let it sit for just a second, then let it fall down to the next rock. As soon as you pull that jig off the shelf is when you’ll get hit.”
He stepped back and adjusted his fishing hat against the sun. Hayden cast again. She was not a graceful woman and the lure thunked into the water without gaining much distance. Edith was taping, back to the morning sun. Osborne sat on a padded bench, feet up and another cup of coffee in hand. The light was crisp and the lake could not have been lovelier. He said a quick Hail Mary in gratitude. He took nothing for granted these days.
“How do I know when I have a bite?” asked Hayden.
“What do you mean?” said Ray. “Don’t you fish with Parker? Haven’t you caught a fish before?”
“Actually,” Hayden laughed, “not if I can help it. I’m anchor talent, not a fishing pro.”
Anchor talent, huh. Osborne could think of another spin for that phrase. He banished the thought; too nice a day to be so mean-spirited.
“Just flip the jig against the rocks and hold the rod perfectly still as the bait falls. When one bites, you’ll know it. No, stay by the rocks, Hayden; you lose the rocks, you lose the fish.”
An eagle spun high, high overhead, then dove. The women gasped. “Ray taught him how to do that,” said Osborne.
“Oh sure,” said Hayden.
“I’m only half-kidding. Most of us who’ve fished for years can sight fish pretty darn well—but Ray’s got the eye of an eagle, he can see fish you never knew were there.”
“Damn,” said Hayden as her next cast plopped short again.
“Okay, Hayden,” said Ray, “relax, don’t work so hard. I want you to learn to think like a bass. Here’s an assignment for when you’re back in the city. Rent some snorkel gear, then jump in a pool and have someone reel lures over your head…. ”
“Forget that, you’re putting me on.”
“I kid you not,” said Ray. “The pros do it.”
“Screw the pros. I’m getting too much sun.”
Hayden wiped the sweat from her forehead, then set down the rod and took a seat under the pontoon’s awning. Osborne poured her a mug of coffee as Edith turned off the camera. Putting her feet up on the opposite bench, Hayden leaned back. She gazed across the lake at the shoreline that ran along Osborne and Ray’s property. To the north of Ray’s trailer, a small orange-yellow cottage blazed with light from the morning sun.
“That’s one of the Greystone Lodge cabins, isn’t it?” said Hayden.
“Yep,” said Ray. He bent down to reach for another lure in his tackle box and let his foot nudge Osborne’s. “When were you there?”
“Never,” said Hayden. “I just heard about it. You know, from friends when I was growing up.”
“Yep,” said Ray, “pretty well known hereabouts. Edith, your turn.” He held out the spinning rod that Hayden had set down.
“Oh, no,” Edith protested.
“Edith,” said Ray, “did I ever tell you that when I was just seven, eight years old, your father showed me some of the best honey holes for bass? I’m still fishing ‘em today. Actually”—Ray looked over at Osborne—”I think old Bert and Harold are fishing ‘em.”
“No,” said Edith, “he did? I used to fish with my dad a lot.”
Hayden turned away to look hard at Osborne. Her eyes drilled his: Hadn’t Ray gotten the message?
“Yeah,” said Ray, “my dad was a surgeon, never had time to fish. Didn’t really like it. I learned from a lot of folks, but your father was a re-e-al fisherman. I remember he’d be out before dawn and long after dark. Here—” Ray pushed the rod at her. “Give it a try.”
“Oh, okay then.” Edith stood up. “Would you mind terribly if I used Dr. Osborne’s instead. His is just like the one my dad gave me.
” As she picked up Osborne’s rod, he opened his tackle box.
“I like a popper,” she said as she reached for a lure designed to look like a jumping insect on the surface of the water. Osborne was pleased; he always used a popper himself. “And a longer pole like this gives me more whip.”
She stepped over to the edge of the pontoon and cast in the direction of the rock bar. “Hayden, watch this now,” said Ray. “See how that popper kind of gurgles on the surface … watch the water…. ” The surface was perfectly still.
Edith cast again. On the third cast—boom! The lake exploded.
Osborne’s heart leapt with the fish: a perfect smallmouth moment. These few seconds always made him wonder why he didn’t fish smallmouth every time.
“Hey!” shouted Ray, maneuvering the pontoon as the line went taut. Edith stood feet apart as instinct took over.
She set the hook. “Holy cow, Edith,” said Ray, “you play that fish like you should be in the tournament.”
“You got ten-pound mono on this, right?” she called to Osborne. “‘Cause this is one nice fish. Y’know, I forgot how much fun this is!” Forget the tournament—from the look on her face, one smallmouth was prize enough.
The water boiled again, then exploded as the bass caught air. Edith’s hands started to shake. “He’s running, he’s running into the rocks.” Her hands shook harder. Suddenly the fish was heading toward the boat. Edith played the line, reeling in, letting it run, then in again.
“You got it,” said Osborne, sensing the fish had tired. “Easy, easy.” He bent over the side of the pontoon, net at the ready. One scoop and he was in.
“Jeez, Edith, you got a beauty. Four pounds easy. Excuse me, Doc.” Ray had stepped on Osborne’s foot as he leaned back to get a good angle with the disposable camera. “Photo op.”
It was a new Edith smiling wide for the camera as she held the bass by its lower lip. Ray slipped the smallmouth back into the water. “See you again, big boy.”
But by the time Ray stood up and reached to give Edith a big squeeze around the shoulders, her self-deprecating demeanor had returned. She shrugged off his congratulations. “I shouldn’t have taken so long.”
“Why did your hands shake so much? That’s weird,” said Hayden as Ray gunned the pontoon toward shore. She hadn’t budged from her seat during all the excitement.
“Hey, babe,” said Ray, “we’re all like that when we hook a good one. The day your hands stop shaking is the day you put the rod down.”
• • •
As they neared the dock, Osborne checked his watch. Ray had kept his word. Plenty of time to make the motorcycle class.
“Hayden,” said Ray as he unloaded their gear from the boat, “would you like to take a walk over to Greystone while I do this?”
“No.” Her answer was so curt, it put an end to all conversation for a moment. Finally, she offered to help Edith carry some of the video equipment up to their car.
When they were out of earshot, Ray said in a low voice, “I thought it might be interesting to push a few buttons.”
“You’re likely to end up short a paycheck, bud.”
“I don’t think so. Parker writes the checks. From where she’s had me take her in the last couple days, I think she knows more about this area than she admits to, Doc.”
“She went to camp up in Eagle River.”
“No, I don’t think so. I asked about that and she can’t even remember the name of it. Think how many campers come back here for reunions. They don’t forget the name of the place where they had the best summers of their childhood. But she sure recognized Greystone. In fact, I never even had to give her directions to my place. When I said Loon Lake Road, she knew right where to go.”
Forty minutes later, Osborne walked into the motorcycle class. Each time he practiced on the small bike, he concentrated on keeping his wrist high. By the time the class ended at five-thirty, he was feeling confident enough to tackle the big Harley. He called Lew to see if she would have the time to stand by in case he needed help.
“Of course, Doc. I’ll meet you at UPS. Any reaction from your girlfriend on those opened boxes?”
Osborne ignored her teasing. “Didn’t you get my message?”
“Doc, I just walked in. I’ve been dealing with mischief all day. Had a bar fight over in Tomahawk—two jabones from the St. Croix Loons biker club decided to take on a history professor and a plastic surgeon who rode up from Oshkosh.”
“Who won?”
“Before I intervened, the professor and the surgeon had the advantage. One of the Loons had a broken nose. I cited every one of ‘em, including the crowd watching. Back to your friend, Doc. I have a stack of messages here…. ”
“I called in around ten this morning—Cheryl didn’t show up for class.”
“Ouch.”
twenty-two
“Fishing is a world created apart from all others, and inside it are special worlds of their own—one is fishing big fish in small water where there is not enough world and water to accommodate a fish, and the willows on the side of the creek are against the fisherman.”
—Norman Maclean
Osborne hurried into the UPS station, where Lucy was busy with one last-minute customer. She looked markedly happier than she had the day before.
“Easy night,” she said, glancing up as he walked in. “Not a single delivery for Webber Tackle. Nothing en route for next week either, not even ground. I checked the computer and Chicago double-checked for me. First time in months we haven’t had at least one shipment heading in their direction.”
“That’s pretty odd, isn’t it?”
“I think so. But I must say, I’m relieved.”
As she was speaking, Osborne heard the soft thunder of a motorcycle. He looked out the window to see Lew pulling into the parking lot on the white police bike. She headed for an open bay, eased the bike in, and parked it next to the big black-and-green Harley. While Osborne lowered the bay doors, she took off her helmet and leather jacket and hung them over the bike. She looked sunburned and tired.
“A little frisky out there, huh?” said Osborne as she walked up.
He had the urge to kiss her but he knew better. The working Lewellyn Ferris was very different from the one in or on water. She had said she was a “sometime” person and she meant it. At this point, he was just hoping that “sometime” came again someday—and he couldn’t be sure it would.
Lucy hung around until seven, completing paperwork. “No reason to keep the shop open,” she said finally. Osborne and Lew agreed.
Lew made one last call to check in with the switchboard. Things were quiet. “Friday night fish fry—they’re filling their faces,” she said. “They won’t start to party for another couple hours, then watch: All hell will break loose. The good news is Lincoln County sent over six officers to help out this weekend.”
“You mean with the motorcycle crowd over in Tomahawk?”
“I mean with everyone, Doc. The bass boys are holding their own, believe me. So let’s get you out on the road while it’s quiet.”
The big Harley was surprisingly stable. Two passes around the block and he felt more comfortable than he had all day on the much smaller Yamaha. Lew motioned to him to follow her out into the traffic along Loon Lake’s busiest street. Osborne gulped and followed. But the bike responded nicely, even through slow, short turns.
“You’re a natural, Doc,” said Lew with a satisfied smile at the gas station where they had stopped for her to fill up. His tank was full.
“Okay, let’s head out County C to Hagen Road. I want you to feel familiar with the territory. Then we’ll leave the bike at your place and I’ll give you a ride back here for your car.”
The ride on the highway was just what he needed. Before Osborne knew it, he had shifted up to fifth gear. He felt like he was flying but in control. It helped that Lew kept their speed at a very pleasant 55 mph.
He could do this! As his confidence soared, he relaxed
into the ride. Lew’s left turn signal went on about a quarter mile before Hagen Road. He slowed and followed her onto a two-lane blacktop road that led back past several small houses. Then the blacktop gave way to gravel. Lew stopped where the gravel started and waved Osborne forward so they could talk. They turned off their ignitions.
“I checked the Gazetteer,” she said, “and you can get to Willow Creek on foot if you go about a quarter mile down this gravel road and go in off to the right. This is state land up to Patty Boy’s property line so you have every right to be here and in the creek bed.
“Thing is, though, I don’t want you riding on gravel, Doc. You’re doing fine right now but gravel is dangerous—so park here and walk the rest of the way.”
“Will they be aware of what I’m doing?”
“I seriously doubt it. That’s why you’re on a bike. When people come up for the Tomahawk Rally, they come because they love to ride the back roads like these. So you fit right in. Even if Patty Boy’s people are patrolling, they’ll be looking for cars—and cops.”
“Not old fogeys on way too expensive bikes getting lost on back roads.”
“You got it. All I want is for you to get a good look at what’s happening over there tomorrow morning. Since their cameras are aimed at the road and access to the house from the front and the sides, you’ll be out of range and not likely to be seen from inside the house. At least I hope not. And do not use binoculars; that would be a red flag.”
“So you want me to check out who’s there. Number of cars, motorcycles, that kind of thing.”
“Right. Once we have an idea of how many people are involved, the DEA will take it from there. I hope anyway. As of this morning, they were still arguing with Customs over who’s in charge.”
“When do you want me to start?”
“Midmorning when the place is likely to be humming. If they’re expecting as many bikers as I think they are on Sunday, they should be setting up to do a lot of business. The most important thing I can say, Doc, is don’t take any chances. Busting these guys is not on the agenda.”
Dead Frenzy Page 19
