Dead Madonna (11 page)

“Dad? Hey, Dad, is that you?” His daughter peered through the screen over the kitchen sink. “Have you had anything to eat? Ray brought pizza—saved you some.”

“In a minute,” said Osborne with a wave she probably couldn’t see. “Taking Mike down to the lake.”

He reached for the flashlight stored on the shelf just inside the garage door, then opened the gate to let the dog out. Mike, leaping with joy, left a slather of love on Osborne’s right hand. “Off!” he said without conviction. Sometimes unconditional love was not a bad thing.

Reaching the dock, he made sure to throw a stick so far it would take Mike minutes to retrieve. He smiled as the dog sailed into the cloudbank, confident of success, Mike was one air-scenting lab who wouldn’t let a little fog get in
his
way. The sound of Mike’s slurping as he swam comforted Osborne. Unsettling as the day had been, it was good to know some things never change. As he waited, listening to the waves play their notes along the shore, he let fatigue and the emotions of the day wash over him. Then he heard a snap of jaws and a swirl as the dog spun towards shore.

“Dad? Dad, you have got to see this! Ray has a brilliant idea.” Mallory, seated in front of the laptop computer that she had set up on the desk in the den, turned eager eyes to Osborne as he walked in. Ray was leaning over, one hand on her shoulder, studying the screen.

“Mind if I go for the pizza first?” said Osborne. Three years of Ray Pradt’s brilliant ideas had taught him that a five-minute delay would not be catastrophic.

“Thanks again for helping out with the kids, Ray,” he said, loud enough so he could be heard in the den. He shuffled through the kitchen cabinet in search of a paper plate and a napkin. Finding a plate but no napkin, he ripped off a section of paper towel. It dawned on him he was starving—he wasn’t used to eating so late.

“Ohmygod, Dad, you should have seen Cody,” said Mallory, bouncing into the kitchen as Osborne inhaled his first wedge of pizza. “Ray let him wear his hat—all through lunch. I took pictures. It was so cute.”

“I’m sure,” said Osborne, his mouth full. Once again, he couldn’t compete.

Ray’s hat was legendary: a stuffed trout sewn onto a battered leather cap so that the head and tail waved in the air over all six-feet-six-inches of its proud owner. In the summertime, the cap’s earflaps were tucked up into the crown, allowing Ray to tip the trout “just so.” And “just so” required time and effort. The McDonald’s crowd was known to place bets on how long it would take Ray, crouching in front of the side-view mirror of his pick-up, to find the ideal angle. Yep, no missing that guy in a crowd at a muskie fishing expo.

Despite a twinge of jealousy, Osborne had to smile. Better even than catching bluegills, the privilege of wearing Ray’s hat would have made his grandson’s day.

Picking up another slice of pizza, Osborne followed Mallory into the den. “So what’s this big idea that’s probably gonna cost some poor sucker like me a couple hundred bucks?”

“You tell him, Ray,” said Mallory, turning to the fishing-guide gravedigger who was always just this side of a million dollars. She looked up at Ray with eyes too happy for her old man. Osborne harbored a nagging worry that his daughter’s crush on Ray could turn serious some day.

He had confessed this worry to Lew late one night as they waded into the Elvoy for brook trout. Her response had been no help at all: “Give it up, Doc. That’s none of your business. Mallory’s a big girl.” And so he tried … but still.

“FawnCam,” said Ray, beaming.

Osborne stared at him. “Yeah?” he said, waiting. But Ray just beamed. Mallory beamed.

“What the hell are you two talking about?” said Osborne, glancing from one to the other. He was so tired, he had to be missing something obvious.

“It is too cool, Dad,” said Mallory. “Ray has these video cameras from the DNR that he’s going to attach to the heads of fawns—so you can see what they see as they move through the woods with their mothers. Incredibly close observation of deer families in their natural habitat. Not like a zoo or one of those wildlife parks, but—”

“The first
ever
… reality nature show,” said Ray.

“He’s right, Dad. The way it works is Ray sets up his equipment by corn feeders so when the does bring their fawns to the feeders, there’s a receiver and VCR right there that can wirelessly download the video. Simple.”

“Yep, Doc, I already know the corn feeders I want to use. Mason told me when she was kayaking up Secret Creek that she and her mom saw lots of does with fawns and I know a guy who’s got a feeder in there already. I figure four feeders max. That’ll give us plenty of footage.”

“Better than bird-watching, Dad,” said Mallory. “I guarantee. This is a cool idea.”

Osborne chewed, then said, “What do you do with the footage you get when they run into cars?” He swallowed his last bite of pizza. “Or do you need a little blood and guts to spice it up?”

“Har-de-har-har, Dad,” said Mallory, giving him the dim eye. “We’re serious. We’ll make DVDs and sell them. Parents, tourists, schools—people will line up for this! I’ll handle the marketing, Ray can do the production. First thing, we’re going to get a website up so people can see excerpts and order the DVDs—”

“Hey, kiddo slow down,” said Osborne.

“And we’ll work with Sharon Donovan to sell on eBay, too.”

“I thought you were in graduate school.”

“Jeez Louise, Dad, you’re no fun. I’ll do this on the side, no big deal.”

“So whaddya think, Doc?” said Ray, eyes alight with excitement as he straightened up and thrust his hands deep into the pockets of his fishing shorts. “Not … too bad … an … o-p-p-p-or … tun … ity … Right-o?”

“Oooh, I don’t know about that,” said Osborne, in spite of the risk at hand.

When Ray was in good humor, he had the ability to torture those around him with a delivery so slow it was alleged by people who knew him well that he spoke at the pace of a pregnant snail. And though Osborne was in no mood for a Ray-paced argument, he wasn’t willing to concede, particularly in front of Mallory, that this FawnCam thing could work.

“I have a question. How the hell do you attach a camera to the head of a fawn? That is a very small animal and one with no antlers …”

“Sheesh—e-e-e-asy,” said Ray with a flip of his hand that implied Osborne had just asked the dumbest question he’d ever heard. “We put the camera in a bag … and hang the bag … around the fawn’s … neck.” As if he were the fawn, Ray pressed the fingers of his right hand against his chest.

Osborne studied the faces of his daughter and his neighbor before saying, “You’re serious—a fawn carrying a purse with a camera in it. Doesn’t that strike both of you as a bit goofy?”

“Dad, you’re crabby. This works. The DNR is already doing it for research. Granted they’re working with mature animals, but using the exact same method—and Ray’s got a friend at the DNR who will let him borrow a couple of the cameras they aren’t using.”

Osborne knew he was being testy. Now that he thought about it, he
had
heard something about the DNR project and it could be that Ray
was
on to something. And if he was, then maybe—someday—he
could
support a wife and children.

“Okay, okay,” said Osborne, raising both hands and backing off. “I give up. You’re right. Plus this old man is too tired to think straight anyway.”

“Dad …” Mallory turned a sympathetic eye on him. “You look beat. Why don’t you get yourself a good night’s sleep and we’ll talk more in the morning—’cause it
is
a great idea. And I
am
going to help Ray and I may even invest some of the money I make on eBay in this.”

“Oh,” said Osborne, his worst fears realized. He decided to keep his mouth shut and just go brush his teeth. Pausing at the doorway, he said, “Mallory—what’s an SBF? You and your sister were talking about it this morning …”

“None of your business, Dad,” said Mallory without turning away from the computer screen. “Time for bed, remember?”

Osborne shrugged. Okay, he’d ask Erin. She’d tell him. “Ray,” he said, ready to close the door to the den behind him, “what time are you planning to be back up on Moccasin Lake?”

“Oh, around six, six thirty—” Before Ray could finish, the phone rang.

Mallory reached for the cordless. She listened to the caller, then handed the phone to Osborne. “For you, Dad, someone named Fern Carstenson. She says you left a message at her office that she had to call tonight.”

“We are so
shocked,
Dr. Osborne,” said Fern, sounding breathless. “The staff said Nora worked third shift last night and was just as calm and capable as ever. I mean, golly, she was a lovely, lovely person. I just—well, what is it that
we
can do?”

“Answer a few questions if you have a minute, Fern. I’m assisting Chief Ferris with the investigation and during a meeting with Mrs. Loomis’s son, Russell, earlier this evening, he said his mother had had a problem with one of your customers, that she was quite upset with the situation—”

“Oh, for heaven’s sakes, I doubt that was anything. We have little brouhahas with customers all the time. The staff is trained to handle those and it’s always the usual com-plaints—someone’s order was stolen from their porch or their box was damaged. That kind of thing.”

“That’s not what Mrs. Loomis told her son.”

“Well, Dr. Osborne, then I imagine she may have overreacted to a customer service issue. Lack of experience, you know. This happens with our new hires.”

Osborne resisted the urge to tell her he wasn’t interested in what she might “imagine.” Instead he said, “Fern, Chief Ferris and I need to hear the tape of the call that bothered her. So you tell me a good time to do that tomorrow—late morning would be best for us.”

Silence. Then Fern said, “Dr. Osborne, I don’t know that we can locate that tape. Do you have any idea how many hours of taped calls we have here? Universal Medical Supplies takes phone orders from fifty states and four countries. Asking me if we have a tape of one phone call is like asking Wal-Mart if they have a video of every car in their parking lots.”

Osborne couldn’t believe his good fortune. The moment felt as good as when he’d caught a forty-four-inch muskie on a surface mud puppy when all his buddies were insisting he cast a bucktail. “This may frustrate you, Fern,” he said, “but Wal-Mart does exactly that.”

“They can’t possibly.”

“I happen to know they do,” said Osborne. “My daughter, Erin, was shopping at the Wal-Mart in Green Bay two months ago. Someone backed into her car in the parking lot, did fifteen hundred dollars worth of damage and drove off. It took the store a day to run through their security tapes but, believe it or not, they found the sequence showing Erin’s car being hit. Got the license plate of the car that did the damage and turned it over to the police.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Mrs. Carstenson,” said Osborne, adopting the tone he’d used on patients demanding emergency care even though they had never bothered to pay their bill for dental work done the previous year, “it’s after ten and I am in no mood to argue with you. Now, Russell told me that his mother said she met with two supervisors last week to alert them to having overheard a caller being threatened with physical violence. She was concerned that someone’s life was at risk.”

“Last week
this happened? Oh, wait a minute,” said Fern. “I’ve been running training workshops since last Wednesday and I may have missed something. Do you mind holding?”

“Not at all.”

She was back in less than a minute. “Dr. Osborne, I’m going to put you on the line with our third shift manager—and my most sincere apologies. There
was
a problem last week. I am so sorry but I did not know about it—afraid I’m behind on reading our call center reports. Rick Meyerdierk is here and he’s been handling the situation.”

Meyerdierk didn’t wait to hear Osborne’s request. “We have the tape,” he said without hesitation. “I’ve heard it several times and it’s had me worried, too. So you think this is somehow connected to whoever killed Mrs. Loomis?”

“It’s too early in the investigation to say,” said Osborne. “But we’re looking at all possibilities and we know this incident had her very worried. Were you able to check on the caller, this person Nora thought might be harmed?”

“No, that’s the problem. The person placing the call used a prepaid phone card that the phone company wasn’t able to trace—and hung up before the operator came on the line to take their order. Dr. Osborne, we will accommodate this investigation in every way we can. You tell me a time that works for you and Chief Ferris to listen to the tape. You’ll want to do it here so you can use our equipment. The detail on that tape is not easy to hear.”

After settling on a time that he hoped would work for Lew’s schedule, Osborne managed to get his teeth brushed, pajamas on, and Mike bedded down on the floor beside him. Not even the murmur of voices from the den would keep him awake.

Before falling asleep, he let his mind drift back through the day, ending with the happiness and excitement on the faces of his grandchildren. That Mason—so pleased with her kayaking. And what was it she had said about going up Secret Creek and finding treasure? He had to remember to ask her about that. It’d be fun to know Mason’s idea of treasure.

With that thought, he let the moan of the wind through the pines put him to sleep.

C
HAPTER
15

“The victim found in the water died of manual strangulation—confirmed by significant bruising on both sides of the trachea,” said Dan Wright, the only one of the Wausau boys who had shown up for the seven a.m. meeting. The other three, having worked late into the night, slept in. Also, being the youngest, Dan was low man on the totem pole.

But he didn’t seem to mind. The investigator, whom Osborne guessed to be in his late twenties given his athletic build, youthful buzz-cut and cheerful enthusiasm, was on a personal mission. He had arrived with a briefcase of documents and a small, clear plastic box of trout flies.