Dead Tease (13 page)

“Still the mean old bitch?”

“Oh-h-h, you better believe it. Managed a few jibes at me right off the bat. But back to the fact she alleges she saw the murder take place—or saw the man who killed Jennifer within moments of the assault. Does it surprise you that I’m having a hard time believing her?”

“Yes and no. Yes if she really saw something—or someone. But the woman has always been a vicious gossip and lot of it lies. You remember the crap she spread about me that one summer—when I got kicked off the tennis team thanks to her lies?”

“I’ll never forget that,” said Osborne.

“What makes you think she might be lying now?” asked Mallory. “I mean, that’s a hell of a story to tell if it isn’t true.”

“After Lew and I heard the details of what Gladys insists she saw, she launched into a series of snide remarks about the murder victim.”

“You mean Jennifer Williams?”

“Right. Remarks that were not necessary.”

“That is weird. I wonder why?”

“So do I. That’s why I’ve called. You’ve known both these women since you were a kid. But here’s the other issue, Mallory: Can Cynthia be trusted?

“Lew and I are both ready to discount anything Gladys says. We think she’s a nut case. Plus, Lew is always hesitant to trust eyewitness accounts.”

“That’s wise. Recent court cases down here in Illinois prove that. But why are you questioning anything Cynthia says about all this? So what if she didn’t get along with that young woman? No reason to murder someone.”

“My sense is that Cynthia knows something that can help with the investigation—but so far she has stonewalled us or we’ve gotten conflicting stories from her and a couple of her colleagues. We understand from one person close to her that Cynthia despised Jennifer. And she has deliberately lied about her whereabouts at the time the murder occurred. Something doesn’t fit.”

“Dad, when it comes to Cynthia, lying may be genetic. I think Gladys and Cynthia are two of a kind: people who think not getting caught in a lie is the same thing as telling the truth. But I doubt she would commit murder. Why do you need to even deal with her?”

“Good question. Maybe I’m making too much of the fact that Cynthia and Jennifer worked in the same environment and there was bad blood between them. But why would Gladys rant about a young woman she barely knew?

“Gee, Mallory, I’m sorry to bother you with this. The more I talk about it, the more confused my thinking.”

“No, it’s okay, Dad. You know, what I remember most about Cynthia and her mother was Mrs. Daniels’s insistence that Cynthia be perfect. She always had the nicest, most expensive clothes, her folks bought her a convertible when she turned sixteen—and then there was the plastic surgery. Remember that?”

“No, but I do remember Gladys wanting Cynthia’s teeth straightened for strictly cosmetic reasons. Her bite was fine and I told her orthodontia might cause more problems than it could fix. When I refused to recommend it, she went to Wausau and had it done anyway. What was the surgery?”

“This was after college, and I only heard about it from friends. Apparently Cynthia had her nose done. Gladys didn’t like the result, so she insisted on another nose job. And another. Three nose jobs before she was happy with Cynthia’s face.

“Oh, and then there was the abortion.”

“What?” All this was news to Osborne.

“During her senior year in college, Cynthia got pregnant. Gladys met with the boy and his parents, didn’t like them, said they didn’t have enough money and insisted Cynthia end the pregnancy and the relationship.”

“Ever hear how Cynthia felt about that?”

“Umm, my impression has always been that she takes orders from the old lady. But that may have changed. She doesn’t live with her mom, does she?”

“On the same property. In the guest house.”

“Really? Cynthia is in her late thirties, making a ton of money, and
living at home
?”

“I rest my case,” said Osborne. “Too many weird elements. Jennifer Williams’s death aside, the fact that these two women are in any way connected to the crime just bugs the hell out of me.”

“Sorry I can’t help you more, Dad. Keep me posted on this, will you?”

After talking with Mallory, Osborne checked the driveway for bikes. No sign of Beth and Harry yet. He checked his watch, looked over Erin’s list regarding Beth and her schedule, and decided to follow instructions and check on the status of Beth’s cell phone and her texting. After reaching the 800 number and following the prompts in Erin’s note, he got the total of text messages sent and received.

He was surprised: Beth’s texting over the last two days was less than half what her mother allowed. Well, he wondered, what was Erin worried about?

Then it dawned on him: Beth and Harry were spending too much time together. So close they didn’t have to text. Whoa. He better put a stop to that. But how to handle it in a diplomatic “grandfatherly” kind of way? Yikes. He’d ask Lew—she would know.

Osborne set a pan of water on to boil the corn and a sauce pan to heat the chili, and, in spite of the nutritional compromise, he ripped open a bag of tortilla chips to have with a jar of salsa. It might not add years to their lives but at least they would get enough to eat. And he had ice cream bars in the freezer.

The phone rang. “Doc?” asked Lew. “It’s just six thirty. Am I too late for dinner?”

Chapter Eighteen

“I figure we have two more hours of light,” said Osborne, looking up from where he and Lew were busy organizing the muskie rods and tackle while waiting for the kids. The evening sky was a periwinkle blue streaked with dove gray scribbles: the brushwork of a celestial painter gone berserk.

“I’m bringing one fly rod along,” said Lew. “I tied a dry fly this winter that I’m hoping works on big muskies. We’ll see. Whose is this?” she said, reaching for a spinning rod that someone had set on the bench at the end of the dock.

“That’s young Harry’s muskie rod,” said Osborne. “After I invited him to go along with us, he biked home and got his own gear.” Osborne glanced up toward the house. “What on earth is taking those kids so long? Beth,” he hollered, “you and Harry need to get down here. We’re ready to go.”

“Here we come, Gramps,” said Beth, tripping down the stone stairs with Harry close behind.

Even with four fishermen on board, the boat moved easily over the water. Ripples shimmered in the setting sun as Osborne steered up the east shoreline, through the channel, and into the stretch of river connecting the Loon Lake chain.

He slowed as he neared a small bay and cut the motor. The boat rocked quietly in its own wake. With a whoosh, Osborne dropped anchor.

“Doctor Osborne, why are we stopping here?” asked Harry. “My dad said a good muskie fisherman always works the weed beds along the shoreline.” The boy looked over both shoulders then turned to Osborne. “This doesn’t look right to me.”

“Well, Harry,” said Lew with an easy grin. “Shore beaters have their virtues, but Doc and I are going for suspended muskies tonight. We’re anchored over a forty-foot pool that’s fed by a cold spring at the bottom. Just you watch, because if we’re lucky enough to hit a window when they’re feeding—could be a big girl just waiting for us.”

“Forty feet down?” Harry looked dubious.

“Not that deep,” said Lew. “She’ll be lurking around fifteen, maybe sixteen feet. No wind tonight, so it won’t matter which direction you cast.”

With a shrug, as if he was willing to try the impossible, Harry pulled a Red RizzoTail out of his tackle box and hooked it on to the end of his fishing line. Standing up behind Beth, he cast toward shore.

Osborne was planning to use his old, reliable bucktail, but first he rigged Beth up with a neon-green crank bait that he knew would stand out in the tannin-stained water. He glanced over to see Lew getting ready to tie on her new muskie fly.

“Check it out, Doc,” she said, holding the bright purple dry fly in her hand. “It’s my variation of a Rainy Carp Tease, size eight. I added color because of this dark water. It’s designed to imitate a dragonfly. Just what a big girl is hungry for—I hope.”

Lew grinned over at Osborne. She was so happy fishing. All the strain left her features, her black eyes sparkled, and that smile—there were a great many things he would do for that smile. Fishing came second.

As the boat swayed with their casts, the four murmured in soft voices so as not to spook any monsters below. “So, you two,” said Lew, false casting twice before letting the dry fly at the end of her leader soar nearly fifty feet toward the far shore, “Doc said you’ve been doing basketball camp and biking this week. Either of you got summer jobs?”

“No, darn it,” said Harry, “I’m not sixteen yet, so I couldn’t apply many places. I wanted to make some money, too.”

“Yeah, me, too,” said Beth with a cast of her spinning rod that made her grandfather proud. “At least I’ve been doing some babysitting.”

“Where are you biking?” asked Lew. “The highways?”

“No. Off-road, mostly, like the Bearskin, the snowmobile routes, and some of the logging lanes,” said Harry.

“Well, keep an eye out,” said Lew. “The Forestry Service will pay twenty bucks for any old, rusty machinery or vehicles you might see back in the woods. You find it, they’ll pick it up and pay you. Could be some easy money.”

“Hey, Beth, you hear that?” asked Harry. “What about that old pickup we saw yesterday—on the bike trail behind the condos? I didn’t see anybody around, did you? Maybe somebody just left it there. We should check it out.”

“No, Harry, I saw somebody,” said Beth. “You’d already gone by but I saw a guy standing a little ways off the trail. Saw him throw some garbage or something. But we should check it out ’cause that was an old truck. We could split the twenty bucks, right?”

“Where was this that you saw the pickup?” asked Lew.

“You know those new condos behind the clinic—we like to ride the trail back behind there because it’s so close to school. Easy to get there after practice,” said Beth.

“And you were there yesterday?”

“Yeah, right after basketball practice,” said Harry. “Me and Beth try to ride every day. To build our endurance.” He threw his line out as he talked.

“What time was that—or about what time?”

Harry looked over at Beth, “A little after six wasn’t it?”

“I think so. Why, Chief Ferris? Did we do something wrong?”

“No, not at all. But I—”

“Oh my God!” screamed Harry as a huge fish leaped into the air about fifty feet from the boat. His line went slack as the fish charged the boat.

“Keep the pressure on—set the hook! Set the hook!” cried Osborne.

“Ohmygod!” Harry screamed again, rearing back as he threw his fishing rod at the fish. The fish stormed under the boat with Harry’s rod close behind. Minutes later the rod surfaced out in the middle of the bay. The Red RizzoTail was nowhere in sight. Harry sat stupefied on the boat cushion.

“I can’t believe you did that, Harry,” said Beth.

Harry gave her a baleful stare. “Oh, yeah? And what would you have done?”

Beth was wise enough not to answer.

“That was a trophy muskie, kid,” said Lew. “Minimum forty-five inches. I told you there are some big mothers suspended down there. Next time maybe the fish won’t charge the boat so you’ll have time to set the hook.”

Osborne, who had been rowing in the direction of the floating muskie rod, plucked it out of the water, examined the fishing line where it had been bitten off, and handed the rod to Harry. “You’ll want to take that reel apart before the water ruins it.” He winked at Harry, “What happens on Loon Lake stays on Loon Lake.”

Harry gave a sheepish laugh. For all his fifteen years, he looked five.

Patting the boy’s shoulder, Lew said, “First thing in the morning, I want you and Beth to show me where you saw that pickup. Beth, tell me what the man looked like—the one you saw near the bike path. Did you see the direction he threw whatever it was?”

“I saw him throw something but I didn’t see his face real good,” said Beth. “He was just some guy. He didn’t look weird or anything.”

“Nothing distinctive?”

“Umm,” Beth pondered. “Not really, Chief Ferris. I was too busy watching the trail.”

They pulled up to Osborne’s dock just as the setting sun was firing the sky with a hazy orange-pink glow. Before his granddaughter clambered out of the boat, Osborne reached for her elbow saying, “Beth, I’d like you to wait here with me. Lew and Harry can carry the tackle up. We need to talk.”

Beth gave him a serious look, then sat back down on her boat cushion. She waited quietly until she and Osborne were alone. “You know your mother has been concerned about how much you use your phone for texting, right?”

“Yes.”

“But you’ve only used half of what you’re allowed.”

“Really?” The girl looked pleased.

“I’m worried that you’re spending too much time with this boy.” At the puzzled expression on Beth’s face, he added, “Harry—your boyfriend.”

“Gramps,” said Beth in a firm tone. “Harry is my friend. Not my
boyfriend
. I mean we do sports together. Not other stuff. Jeepers, Gramps.
Totally not
.” She glanced away embarrassed.

“Well, now, hold on there, young lady,” said Osborne, surprised to find himself on Harry’s side, “don’t discount friendship. The best person to fall in love with is a person you would think of as your best friend. I mean, it’s easy to be attracted to someone but to stay attracted you have to have more.”

“Okay, Gramps,” said Beth, looking antsy. “Is that all? I should go help Harry and Chief Ferris.” She tried to stand up but Osborne reached again for her elbow and pressed her back down onto the boat cushion.

He could see she wanted out of this conversation but he knew from experience with his daughters how rare the opportunity is to deliver hard-earned wisdom to a teenager. He decided to plow ahead—
he
wasn’t embarrassed.

“Take, for instance, your grandmother and me,” he said. “She was a fine woman, and we got married thinking we would get along great. But we never figured out how to have fun
together
. Doing the same things—
together
. So keep that in mind, Beth, sweetie.” The child looked stricken. Osborne was sure she was wondering what on earth she had done to deserve this.