Dead Angler (26 page)

Lew
pulled the cruiser into the school parking lot. Across the street, through the screen of lilacs, they could see the Roderick house, the garage, and the driveway. Both garage doors were up. One stall held Alicia’s Mercedes, the other was empty.

“I don’t like it,” said Lew. “Peter’s car isn’t there. This is one conversation I do not want interrupted. We could wait for him to come back … but who knows where the guy is. He could be gone all day, I suppose.”

“Do you want me to wait outside while you talk to Alicia?”

“No, I want you with me, Doc. I need a witness. You put pressure on her, too. I like how she tries to behave when she’s around you. What’s Ray doing this morning?”

Osborne checked his watch, “Watching re-runs of himself on his VCR.”

Lew flipped on the handset to her radio, “Lucy—patch me through to Ray Pradt, will you please?”

“Yo-o,” echoed Ray’s deep voice over the speaker, “who goes there?”

“You sound happy,” said Lew.

“Chief … I … am savoring … the moment, my slice of stardom.”

Lew grinned at Osborne as Ray’s deliberately paced words filled the cruiser. “They cut your bad jokes I take it?” Ray ignored her needling. “You and Doc won’t believe your eyes. Really, this ESPN show will put Loon Lake on the map.”

“Congratulations, Ray.” Lew’s voice turned serious. “Are you dressed? How soon can you meet Doc and me in the Carlton School parking lot?”

“Seven minutes.”

Almost seven minutes to the second, Ray’s battered blue pickup bumped up over the curb. Quickly, Lew explained the problem.

“If Peter arrives while we are with Alicia, I need you to keep him out of the house. I don’t want him interrupting us. I don’t want to talk to him until I’ve finished with his wife.”

“What if he doesn’t show up?” asked Ray.

“Then I don’t have a problem. Now, Ray, I’m parking my cruiser in front of the house. He’ll know I’m here on official business, that’s okay. But if he asks, you say I’m just tying up a few details on the final report, nothing serious. I want to keep him off guard. Got it?”

“Yep.” Ray nodded, then raised his right hand to wave an oblong box at them.

“I’ll bring him over to the school here. I see old man Raske’s truck out back. Maybe he’ll let me play this on one of those big screens they got in there.”

“Ray …” Lew didn’t smile.

“Just pulling your leg, Chief. Yes, I will do as you say.”

Lew led the way as she and Osborne opened the wrought iron gate leading into the yard between the house and the garage. Six rings of the front door bell had produced no one.

“Maybe Alicia’s off with Peter,” said Osborne as they trudged down a slate walkway past shoulder-high white hydrangeas in full bloom. Turning the corner, they saw Alicia in the garden behind the house. She was bending over a bank of profusely flowering gladioli, cutting away.

“Good morning,” said Lew striding towards her. “Beautiful glads.”

Startled, Alicia jumped and turned.

“Ohmygod!” she said. “I didn’t hear you come in the gate.” Then she waved a gloved hand over the blooms in front of her. “Yes, aren’t these lovely? Peter grows them. I thought I would fill a vase in memory of Meredith this morning. Maybe take some over to the church for Sunday Mass, too.”

She flashed them a winning smile. A classic Alicia smile. A smile Osborne no longer found charming. A smile that chilled even in the warm morning sun.

Alicia looked as fresh and light as the summer breeze blowing across the blooms. She was wearing dark green plaid bermuda shorts with a black T-shirt tucked in neatly to emphasize the outline of her breasts. A red baseball cap sat perkily on her head and matched her red leather garden gloves. A tall metal pail beside her was filled with stems of cut flowers. Now she walked towards them, pulling the gloves from her hands, brushing her tawny hair back from her face with one hand.

She was a picture of peace and happiness. Not bad for a woman who had learned of her lover’s death within the last twenty-four hours, who had lost her only sister days earlier. Osborne resisted extending a compliment on her resilience. He did not want to compromise that crucial moment when Lew set the hook.

“I cannot thank you enough, Chief Ferris, for all your
hard
work,” gushed Alicia in a condescending tone. She managed to make it sound as if she was thanking Lew for vacuuming her garage.

“What a
relief
to know we have the killer, though who would have ever expected George Zolonsky. I feel so badly. I feel so
responsible.
After all, I hired him after he did such a fabulous job on our kitchen here.” She gave a deep sigh, “Peter and I are still reeling from the news—but then, life goes on, doesn’t it.”

“Yes, it does,” said Lew briskly. “As does paperwork. I have a few details we need to review. Could we step inside, Alicia?”

“Really? Right this minute?” said Alicia, obviously reluctant to take much time with them. She checked her watch. “I’m due at Cecile’s for a golf brunch in half an hour. “How long will this take?”

“O-o-h, not long I should think,” said Lew.

“All right then, come on in,” she motioned for them to follow her into house. She led them through the back entrance into the kitchen. “Anyone for a cup of coffee?”

“Where is your husband?” asked Lew as they followed her.

“Who knows? I think he went to one of those dumb flea markets of his,” said Alicia, voice dripping with disdain. “I keep telling him I don’t want any more of his junk around here.

“Cream or sugar anyone?” she asked as she hastily pulled down two china cups, banging them unceremoniously onto saucers. She reached for the half-full coffee pot, touched it and poured. Though the coffee was tepid, she made no effort to heat it up. Alicia was making it very clear that she had an important engagement pending, much more important than wasting time with them.

“Nothing for me,” said Lew. As she reached with her left hand for the cup and saucer, her right hand pulled the narrow reporters’ notebook from her back pocket. The card from Winick Farms, which had been tucked into the notebook, dropped face up onto the white tile floor, the green rooster hard to miss. Lew stooped swiftly to grab it. Alicia made no reaction.

“Black for me, too,” said Osborne. “Aren’t you having any, Alicia?”

“No, I already drank half that pot. Speaking of coffee, excuse me one second while I use the restroom, won’t you?” She flashed a gracious smile and walked quickly into the outer hall before they could respond.

“Go right ahead into the living room, it’s nice and cool in there,” called Alicia as she ran up the stairs.

They waited for her in the shadowed silence of the long room, sitting at opposite ends of the leather sofa in front of the ornate French mirror, exactly where they had sat the night they informed Alicia of her sister’s death.

Alicia returned immediately, checking her watch as she strode quickly across the room. Just as she had before, she took her place in the green armchair across from them, crossed her legs, slipped her hands into her pockets, braced her head against the back of the chair and fixed her eyes on the two of them. She did not smile. Her right front foot bounced impatiently.

“This will just take a minute,” said Lew briskly, a ballpoint pen poised over her notepad. “Did you know Clint Chesnais is the chief beneficiary on a million-dollar life insurance policy taken out by your sister less than a week before her death?”

Anger mixed with shock transformed Alicia’s face. “What!” Her eyes widened. She leaned forward, uncrossing her legs. “Say that again,” she demanded. The expression on her face at this moment was identical to the contained fury Osborne had seen in the family photos. Lew repeated herself.

“Damn,” said Alicia, sitting back slightly, a grim steeliness in her tone. She seemed suddenly preoccupied. For a brief period, it was as if she forgot they were there. Then her gaze shifted back, moving between the two of them, unsmiling. “It’s obvious. He and George planned this together,” she spoke curtly. “That money belongs in the estate.”

She picked at a piece of lint on her shorts, “I am sure, between us, we can find proof they planned this together.” She crossed her legs again. Again the right foot bounced.

“Alicia …” Lew leaned forward, elbows resting on her knees, the closed notebook palmed between her hands, her eyes drilling into the woman seated across from her.

“Why did you lie about Meredith driving out to Starks?”

Alicia’s eyes cut to the side swiftly, then shifted back to meet Lew’s, direct and unsmiling. The foot stopped bouncing.

“You think I lied?”

“I
know
you lied,” said Lew, her voice quiet and deliberate. “I know
you
were out there, too. A number of times. Buying chickens and eggs from that fella that runs Winik Farms … and I know you and George and Meredith stopped there, together, the day she died. I know you forged those checks in your sister’s checkbook after she died. To pay George off?”

Alicia looked over their heads as if an entire new landscape existed in the mirror, one that didn’t include Osborne and Lew.

“I
know,
Alicia. Now why don’t you tell me the whole story.” Lew’s voice was firm, ready to understand.

Alicia’s hands slid from her pockets. The barrel of the small revolver gleamed in the soft morning haze that lit the room. Right fist rested on the left. “I know how to use this.” A sly smile crept across her face.

“I can see that,” said Lew.

“George taught me. He said I’m a natural. Now move slow and place your gun on the floor at your feet, Ferris.”

Lew did as she was told. Alicia stood to nudge the gun towards her with the heel of her right foot. Then she kicked it back under the chair where she had been sitting.

Then a smirk crossed her face, an evil little twist of a smile. Maybe it was the need for someone to appreciate her brilliance, maybe it was as simple as relishing this moment of complete control over two lives, but she decided to sit back down in her chair. She held the gun in one hand now, the legs crossed, the foot bouncing again.

Osborne shifted ever so slightly. Her eyes let him know she was watching. He waited. Each minute she took gave them a chance to find a way out. Only he did not see a way out. He knew only he did not want to die, most certainly not at the hands of a woman he despised.

How life changes, he thought. Just eighteen months ago, right after Mary Lee died, he would have welcomed death. Trying to find it in the bottle, he thought his life had ended then. But he was wrong, habits had ended. Now he had new habits, a new life. His children were new to him, his grandchildren. Lew. He refused to die.

Adrenalin surged in his gut making him acutely aware of every object around him, every sound and silence, every angle, every opening.

“I hated Meredith. I hated her the day she was born,” Alicia spoke flatly, honestly, without emotion. “You have no idea what it was like to grow up with that spoiled brat. My father gave her everything. Everything. Never once did he have a pleasant word for me. He didn’t even see me.”

Osborne heard her as if from a great distance, wondering as she spoke if he been as cruel to Mallory. He had to live if only to change his daughter’s life. It was not too late. He refused to let it be too late.

Eyes focused on Alicia, without moving his head he explored his peripheral vision, checking to the right and to the left. Was there anything he could knock over to distract her? Could he take a bullet without being killed? That would give Lew time to tackle the woman. One thing he knew for sure, Lew would not let this end easy. But with no lamp table at his end of the sofa, the only close object was foot-tall jade Buddha on the coffee table at his knees.

“She got everything I ever wanted. A handsome husband even if he was a dolt. Money. Fame. Every damn thing.
Loved
by everyone,” she sneered.

“Even my idiot husband drooled over her.” Now the face changed, eyes narrowed into slits glittering with hate. “But Dad leaving her all that money was the last straw. She got
everything.

“Every … damn … penny. Until I got smart.” The rage that twisted her face was so raw, Osborne felt panic low in his belly: she could not be stopped. Nothing would stand between her and the money. Not him, not Lew, not reason.

The muzzle of the gun did not shift. All that moved was her right foot in a steady rhythm, up and down. Osborne watched the foot. When it stopped, she would pull the trigger.

The anger had transfromed her, reminding him of a rabid raccoon, fur standing on end, wild eyes hobbling, that had stalked him in his own backyard. The animal had cornered him by his car until he made a frantic dash, barely making it through his back door in time. Osborne wondered if this fierce female was what Peter Roderick faced every morning.

“Can you imagine my humiliation?” her voice a low growl. “You know, Paul, you know how people in this town think.”

“But, Alicia, I heard your sister was planning to give you some of that money.” To buy time, Osborne risked saying the wrong thing.

“I don’t need
some
of that money,” she mimicked him, “I need it all. Every penny.”

“Why did you kill George?” asked Lew quietly.

“Hah!” Alicia shook her head in disbelief. “He was an accident waiting to happen. Believe me, George was the right man for the job but after that—a liability. Would you want an alcoholic drug addict whom you paid to kill someone running loose? I’m not stupid, Ferris.

“Just look what he did taking those gold fillings. I never asked him to do that? Who the hell needs a few gold fillings? God knows what else he was doing. I had to stop him before he hallucinated some night and spilled his guts.”

“The fillings closed the case for Wausau,” said Lew, “tied him irrefutably to the body.”

“An accident and a bonus. I had planned for Meredith’s death to look like a drowning. George told me he had perfected his swing so he could snap her neck. Instant death. Then, poof, we let her float away. Everyone knows the Prairie is a dangerous river. Only he hit her too hard. Then he told me he could hide the body without anyone seeing. That was the last I knew until you two arrived.”