Dead Deceiver (7 page)

“Twice I opened the office after hours for him. And wouldn’t you know—that jerk would take a
year
to pay. In fact,” said Osborne tilting his chin up in thought, “there was one year he never did pay. And the man was worth
millions.
I got so tired of that razzbonya, I sicced him on poor Doc Metternich.”

“Ha!” said Lew with a snort, “that is exactly why you are going to sit right back down, Deputy Osborne. I need someone who has some history here. And given how well you know Ray, it may be that between the two of us we can smooth some feathers and keep this issue from escalating.”

“I have an idea,” said Osborne. “We could offer a plea bargain of sorts. Make Ray guide them fishing for a day to make up for the drive-by scattering. They, in turn, have to listen to his jokes. Payback for their lack of basic human kindness.”

Lew gave him the dim eye. “And one sure recipe for disaster.”

Osborne shrugged. If the daughter was as arrogant as the father, Ray just may have the potential to drive her out of her mind. He grinned at the thought.

On hearing a loud knocking on the closed door of her office, Lew sighed and got to her feet.

Patience Schumacher was one of those unfortunate women who inherited her father’s looks. If Osborne’s estimate was even close, she stood a good six foot two. But where the old man had been a star basketball player in his youth—long, tall and lanky—Patience was long, tall and just plain big. Big-boned and big-breasted, with legs the diameter of an oak all wrapped in a charcoal grey business suit. The tailoring was good but optical fashion illusions can only go so far

Her hair, a tweedy mix of brown and grey, was cut so close to her skull that Osborne wondered if she trimmed it herself with an electric razor. Squirrel cheeks emphasized the massiveness of her Schumacher head and intense brown eyes darted around the room like a rodent searching for acorns.

Her cheeks were flushed with emotion and her voice was low, husky and loud as she pumped Lew’s hand saying, “Good morning, Officer,” then turned on her heel to stride across the room towards Osborne with a hand extended. She threw a black fur coat over the chair beside him and said, “Sheriff,
so good of you
to see us this morning.” The husky voice came with a purr both ingratiating and seductive. Osborne wondered if she spoke to women that way.

Clearing his throat, he stood up from behind the conference table and placing both hands on the back of his chair, he said, “Sorry, I’m just a deputy and Chief Ferris there,” he nodded towards Lew, “runs the Loon Lake Police Department.”

“Oh.” Patience swung back around to face Lew. “I just assumed …” She had dropped the purr. “Of course, I should have known. But you look so familiar,” she said looking back at Osborne. She paused a beat then said, “Oh, now I remember. You’re Dr. Paul Osborne. You used to be our family’s summer dentist years ago—right?”

“Yes, but I am retired from my practice and assist Chief Ferris when there are forensic matters such as dental records that require analysis.”

“Dr. Osborne helps in other ways too when my department is shorthanded,” said Lew, interrupting in a brisk tone as she beckoned for Patience to take one of the two chairs in front of her desk. “I’m Chief Lewellyn Ferris, and I am a police officer, not the county sheriff. Because it is located within the Loon Lake Township, your property is under our jurisdiction. So, please, have a seat.”

“Excuse me? Am I in the right place?” asked an unfamiliar male voice. A man Osborne had never seen before stood waiting in the doorway.

“Charles, sweetheart, please, come in, come in,” said Patience, turning towards him. The purr again. “My husband. We drove two cars,” she said, looking back at Lew as if an explanation was needed for their separate arrivals. “Hurry, sweetie. Remember, I have to be at the college in half an hour.” She pointed to the other chair in front of Lew’s desk. “Here, hon, I saved you a place.”

Osborne was struck by the woman’s voice—quite the opposite of her father’s, which could fill a room with booming commands. While Patience’s purr tempered her masculine appearance it didn’t soften the visual impact. Was it her voice that had attracted her husband? Or the money? Osborne’s daughters often kidded “an ugly rich man is not ugly.” Does the same hold true for a homely rich woman?

Osborne struggled to reconcile his memories of Patience with the woman in front of him. As a teenager, she was so shy that on the few occasions her late mother brought her to his dental office, he had difficulty getting more than a mumble out of the kid. Perhaps because of the shyness, it came as no surprise that she entered the convent immediately after graduating from high school.

It was maybe ten years after that that Osborne learned from her father that Patience had left the convent, gone on to graduate school in business administration and was, at that time, working in the family’s freight and warehousing business located in suburban Chicago. Osborne wondered if the officious tone and over-hearty mannerisms that she was exhibiting today might not be a mask for incredible shyness. Assuming she may have had to report to her father, that wouldn’t surprise him. He could just hear the old man badgering his daughter to “take command, girl! Speak up!”

“And you are …?” asked Lew, leaning across her desk to shake hands with the man who was even taller than his wife. Later she would replay what occurred in the next few minutes: Was it his slim build or the athletic ease with which he crossed the room? The high cheekbones or the firm thrust to his chin? Maybe it was the soft grey eyes that met and held hers? Or the casual insouciance of the ponytail slung over one shoulder. ‘Cool’ is the word the registered as he approached.

Whatever the source of the visual chemistry, Lew felt herself drawn in to his gaze. She wasn’t sure but he seemed to hold her hand just a touch too long. An unwelcome flush spread across her cheeks.

From the opposite side of the desk, Osborne watched the man as he reached to shake Lew’s hand. Winter pale skin, watery, red-rimmed eyes and a stubble of beard emphasized gaunt features. A ponytail of lank grey hair hung over one shoulder and he walked with a slump as if trying to minimize his height. Osborne wondered if he was well. Either that or the guy didn’t get outdoors much.

In contrast to his wife’s executive appearance, the husband wore faded jeans that hung off his hip bones and a navy blue sweatshirt so old it was frayed at the cuffs and had long since lost its elasticity around the waist. Conspicuous down the front of the sweatshirt and the jeans were dark stains as if from grease. Random streaks and dabs of bright yellow, Irish green and orange intermingled with the grease spots. Over one arm, he carried a beige shearling coat that looked brand-new and expensive.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” said Patience, interrupting before the man could answer Lew, “this is my husband, Charles.” After a pause during which neither Lew nor Osborne said a word because they were so busy staring at the guy, she added, “Charles is an artist—he paints.”

Ah, thought Osborne, recalling that he may have heard something along that line several months ago. Was it one of his McDonald’s buddies who had mentioned that Patience Schumacher had “
finally
found a husband”? He’d have to check it out.

“Chief Lewellyn Ferris, Mr …?” said Lew, introducing herself.

“Mason, Charles
Mason,”
said the man, answering her implied question.

“I see. Please, both of you sit. Well, I have your complaint here,” said Lew, hoping against hope that she was no longer blushing. She made sure to look down as she opened the folder on her desk and clearing her throat, said, “I’ve asked Ray Pradt to join us this morning. He should be here any moment and I thought a full explanation of why he was on your property might help resolve—”

“That’s not why we’re here,” said Patience, hitching her chair forward and leaning towards Lew. “I’m being stalked. Someone is entering our home when we’re not there and I have reason to believe the same someone has been in my office at the college. I’m very worried.” No more purr.

“Dr. Schumacher is convinced she is being stalked,” said Charles, repeating his wife’s words. “We need your help—”

“We want to apologize to Mr. Pradt,” said Patience. “We overreacted when we saw him down by our boathouse. We thought he was my stalker.”

“This certainly changes things,” said Lew, closing the file and scrutinizing the faces of the two people in front of her. Before she could say more there was a knock at the office door.

“I’ll get it,” Osborne said, rising from his chair.

“That’ll be Ray,” said Lew.

Osborne moved to cross the room as the door flew open and Ray, looking quite civilized in black gabardine slacks, a brown leather belt with a bronze walleye for a buckle and a red and black checked Pendleton shirt, rushed in. He waved his right hand, which was clutching sheets of paper. Like a stiff wind out of the north he blew by Osborne—but not so fast that his neighbor couldn’t see that something had changed. Something wasn’t right …

“Here you are … all … the facts,” said Ray, slamming the papers down on Lew’s desk without a glance at Patience Schumacher and her husband. “I Googled ‘wildcat scatterings’ and …,” he said, his voice rising as he spoke, “this printout
proves
that a wildcat scattering …,” he paused to raise his right index finger and say, “is a …
totally
legitimate way to dispose of human ashes. Wildcat scatterings are very common and
no one
gets arrested. Even the FDA and the EPA say there’s no health hazard—ashes are mineral based.

“Right here,” he stabbed an accusing index finger at a spot on the first printed page, “it tells you
right here
that not only do forty percent of people today want to be cremated … but last year at least one hundred and thirty five
thousand
families scattered ashes …
. … wherever
they chose. Power back to the people for their loved ones.

“And
that …
is what my visit to your property was all about.” Only with his last words did Ray turn defiant eyes on Patience and her husband.

“For heaven’s sake, people,” he said, “all I scattered at your place was five pounds of an elderly widow whose family was trying to follow her wishes that she be able to join her beloved late husband. She and her children had already scattered his ashes over the lake where he loved to fish—”

“Mr. Pradt,” said Patience, holding both palms up in surrender, “will you please calm down? We came to say that we’re sorry about last night. We were just explaining to Chief Ferris that someone has been breaking into our house so when we saw you—we overreacted.”

“Really?” said Ray, relaxing as he let a smile spread across his face.

Oh, no, thought Osborne, realizing what it was that had seemed off kilter: Ray was clean-shaven. He had shaved off his beard.

C
HAPTER
11

“I
f that’s settled,” said Patience, getting to her feet, “I’m afraid I have to leave. I have a meeting in twenty minutes. Charles can answer any questions you might have.”

“Excuse me, Dr. Schumacher—but you are
not
leaving,” said Lew. “Please, sit down and we will continue this discussion.” Before Patience could argue, Lew raised a hand and said, “Look, I understand you may have a busy day. We all do. But right now I need
both
you and your husband to answer questions. You do not rush in here, allege someone is stalking you, and then dash off to a meeting.

“Now …,” said Lew, pausing as Patience remained seated on the edge of her chair as if still planning to leave, “you have made a serious allegation that could lead to a felony arrest. So I suggest you call your colleagues and have them cancel that meeting or at least move it back a couple hours. You
are
president of Wheedon Technical College, correct?”

“Yes, I am but—”

“Need a phone?”

“Good, I’m glad that’s taken care of,” said Lew. Patience had used her own cell phone to reach her secretary and have the meeting moved to late that afternoon. “Dr. Osborne, Ray—do you two mind sitting in on this?”

“Fine with me,” said Osborne.

“Umm … okay,” said Ray, looking down at his cell phone to see if he had messages. “I might get called out though.”

“This shouldn’t take long,” said Lew. Turning her attention back to Patience and Charles, she said, “Mr. Pradt and Dr. Osborne are deputies who help out when my department needs extra staff. They are long-time Loon Lake residents and know many people in the area. All
kinds
of people.” A quick grin along with her emphasis on the word “kinds” made it clear that the good, the bad and the ugly were on their radar.

Turning in her chair to face Osborne and Ray, Patience said, “Thank you, gentlemen. I appreciate you’re taking an interest in this.”

“Now let’s start at the beginning,” said Lew, raising a pen over the long, narrow reporter’s notebook she liked to use. “When did you
first
become aware that you were being stalked?”

Patience gave her husband a questioning look. “Oh … about a month ago or so. Charles, would you agree?”

“That’s about when you told me for the first time that you had the feeling someone was watching you,” said Charles.

“Let’s pinpoint this. When was that exactly?” asked Lew.

“Oh, maybe three weeks ago or so.”

“But no specific day and time?”

“Not really.”

Lew tilted her head to give Patience a puzzled look. “All right, Dr. Schumacher. Do you recall
where
you were when you became aware you were being stalked?”

“Well,” said Patience, “that’s the problem. I just
feel
someone is watching me
all the time.
When I come and go from my home, even when I’m
in
our house—but I never see him” Her husky voice faltered and, leaning forward as if her posture could convince Lew she was telling the truth, she said, “I can’t see the man but I know he’s there.”