Dead Hot Shot

by Victoria Houston

  “I know what you’re thinking,” said Osborne. “And you’re absolutely right. We need to stop by Erin’s for a second opinion.”

  His daughter’s van was parked on the street in front of her house, the rear door open and only the seat of her tan corduroy slacks, the back of her black sweater and the tail of her long blond braid visible as she tugged at something inside. “Erin?” said Osborne from where he stood on the sidewalk.

  “Dad!” The youngest of his two daughters backed out of the van and turned around, a smile of surprise crossed with consternation filling her face. “You’re an hour early.” She checked her watch. “The kids are still with Mark over at his folks’ place. I just came home to check on the turkey and start the potatoes.

  “Here, help me with this.” She handed him a cardboard box with two pies inside, then reached back into the van for a baking dish covered with foil. With a kick of one foot, she slammed shut the door of the van. “We had brunch over there and now—”

  “I’m not here for dinner,” said Osborne, interrupting as she turned towards him. “I just. do you have a minute that I can run something by you? See if you think I did the right thing? And I’ll be back later.”

  Erin paused to study his face. “You look worried, Dad. Is it serious? You didn’t. did Lew break up with you?” “Heavens, no.”

  “Okay, then. Come on in and we’ll talk—but no need to leave and come back. You may as well stay now that you’re here.”

  “Well, I won’t do that, sweetheart. I plan to go home and change. I am not coming to your Thanksgiving dinner in hunting gear.” He followed her up the stairs and onto the porch of the roomy, old Victorian home she shared with her husband and their three children. As Erin shoved the front door open with her shoulder, they were hit with a heavenly aroma.

  “Smell that turkey, yum!” she said as they walked through the living room, past the dining room with its long table set for Thanksgiving dinner and into the kitchen where she set down the cardboard box and reached for an apron flung across the kitchen table. “So what’s up, Dad? Hey, cup of coffee? I have to make some for later anyway.”

  “Sure.” As the coffee brewed, he told her what he had found in the vacant lot, how he had heard a scream, and the frightened look on the face of Frances Dark Sky when she knocked over the box in the shop. “That was Mildred’s pet raccoon,” he said. “With that little daisy collar—it had to be.”

  “And you’re sure it had been shot? Not chewed by some dog or. Or maybe—you know, Dad, there’s been a bear getting into the garbage cans at McDonald’s.”

  “Erin, I’m a deputy coroner, a dentist and a hunter. I may be retired from my dental practice but I sure as hell know a bullet wound from a dog bite.”

  “Yeah, you’re right, you’re right …” Erin leaned back against the kitchen counter, arms crossed as she mulled over his story. Osborne waited, hoping she would agree he’d done the right thing. “I don’t know, Dad,” she said after a long minute. “Mildred’s such an irascible old soul—you hate to give her another reason to be cross.”

  “That’s what I’ve been thinking. I don’t want to be responsible for one of those girls being accused of something they didn’t do.”

  “Of course, you don’t know that they didn’t do it,” said Erin as she handed him a mug of hot coffee. “But whatever happened, it’s Mildred’s problem—I think it’s wise you decided to mind your own business.”

  She gave him a fond look, then checked her watch again and reached to turn on the gas burner under a large pot filled with potatoes that had been peeled and cut into chunks. “How’s the rest of your day going?”

  “Oh, jeez, don’t even ask,” said Osborne, rolling his eyes. “I am a desperate man, kiddo.”

  “Kathleen and Fred at it again?”

  Osborne nodded as he sipped his coffee. “Never ends.”

  “Speaking of the Merrills, I saw Kathleen in her car last week and—I know this is unkind, Dad, so just between us—have you noticed how much that woman resembles a pug? That square, pudgy face, and her lips are this wide, tight little line …” Erin held pinched fingers in front of her own mouth to demonstrate.

  Osborne chuckled. “Poor woman.”

  “Not like she couldn’t do something about it,” said Erin, bending to open the oven door and check the turkey. “Drop a few pounds for starters. She spends enough money at the beauty parlor …” She whirled around from the stove. “Which reminds me, Dad, your ears should have been burning yesterday morning—burning.” She gave him a teasing grin.

  “Oh no, what now?”

  God, how he loved this girl, thought Osborne as they chatted. She was so different from both himself and his late wife. Erin had lucked out—inheriting the upbeat Irish genes from both sides of the family. Tall and slim with a complexion much fairer than his own, she juggled husband, children and pursuit of a law degree part-time—without losing her sense of humor or ever rushing a child or an adult who needed to talk.

  “You’ve made quite an impression on your female houseguest, that’s for sure.”

  “Really?” said Osborne with a twinge of dread.

  “I had Beth and Mason in for haircuts at Jorene’s Le Cuts yesterday and Kathleen was there. She was on her back in the shampoo chair with a towel over her face getting some sort of conditioning treatment so she didn’t see us come in. And guess who happened to be the topic of conversation …” Erin spoke with a lilt that spelled trouble to Osborne.

  “You’re kidding, I hope.”

  “She was going on and on about you and Fred and your hair—”

  “Our hair?” Osborne interrupted her. “Fred doesn’t have any hair.”

  “Correct. Her exact words were, ‘Then there’s Dr. Osborne, same age as my husband, but he’s got all his hair. Thick, black, wavy—silver at the temples. So-o-o good-looking in a man that age.’“

  “Erin—you are exaggerating.”

  “Swear I’m not. And she went on. Said Fred’s let himself get fat—but not you. She told the ladies in the salon you’ve got the

  flattest stomach she’s ever seen in a man your age. You’re sixty-three but you’ve got the body of a fifty-year-old.” Erin grinned at him. “I’m not sure if that’s a compliment, Dad.” Osborne put his head in his hands.

  “And while old Fred sits around fussing with his fly rods or watching the History Channel, you’re always on the go.”

  “I’m on the go, all right. Trying to keep out of the line of fire between those two.” Osborne stood up and walked over to set his coffee mug in the dishwasher. “That’s it. I have got to get those people out of my house. Tomorrow if I’m lucky. And you’re not pulling my leg? Kathleen really said all that stuff—in public?”

  “D-a-a-d, she’s got a crush on you.”

  He threw up his hands. “Let’s call Mallory. I know she’s not planning to visit until Christmas but maybe I can change her mind and she can catch a plane this afternoon. I’ll buy the ticket. Then I can tell the Merrills they have to move out of her room.”

  “Forget that. She’s on deadline for her thesis plus she’s invited to Thanksgiving dinner with the parents of that guy she’s been seeing. And you shouldn’t have to make excuses, Dad. It’s your house. You simply say that it’s time for them to find somewhere else to stay because you have plans.”

  “I do? What kind of plans?”

  “Dad …” Erin looked at him in frustration. “That’s not the point. Whatever plans you have or don’t have is none of their business.”

  Just then the phone rang. Erin stepped around the corner into the den where they kept the cordless phone and answering machine. “Whoa,” she said as she reached for the phone, “we’ve got six messages! Hello?” As she listened, she walked back into the kitchen and handed the phone to Osborne. “It’s for you. Lew has been trying to reach you all morning.”

  CHAPTER 5

  Good morning, Lewellyn. Happy Thanksgiving,” said Osborne, eager to hear the voice of
the woman who made his day every time she turned her sparkling dark eyes his way.

  “Doc, where the hell have you been? I’ve been calling all over for you. Don’t you answer your cell phone?”

  Ouch, maybe the eyes weren’t sparkling. Snapping, perhaps? “Sorry, Lew. I was out for birds this morning so I didn’t think to take the phone.”

  That wasn’t exactly the truth. Given that it had been less than a year since Osborne had been able to have his own landline—a standard home phone that didn’t have two elderly ladies listening in as he took his calls on their shared party line—the cell phone remained a novelty. And a novelty less than reliable: not only does Loon Lake exist in the peripheral vision of cell tower developers, but trees, hills and wooded shorelines conspire to block the few cell signals available.

  Just last month he and Lew had been heading west towards a trout stream only to pass a woman standing on the roof of her Toyota sedan. No need to stop and ask if she needed help—it was obvious she was trying to get a cell phone signal.

  But this was no time to make excuses.

  “What’s up?” said Osborne, hoping the eagerness in his voice would atone for the frustration he’d caused.

  “I’m at the Reece place over on Lily Pond Road—” “The estate?”

  “Right. We had an ambulance call that didn’t get to me until shortly after eight this morning—apparent drowning. Should have gotten the call by six-thirty but it went to the goddamn Vilas County Sheriff’s Department where they’ve got a new hire on their switchboard who dicked around assigning it to all the wrong people. Then I lost an hour trying to locate goddamn Pecore, who neglected to mention to anyone that he and his wife would be spending the holiday in Minneapolis with their daughter.”

  Lew’s voice had been rising as she spoke. Unflappable under most circumstances, right now she sounded as if every human being in the world on whom she depended had done their best to let her down. Later Osborne would learn that wasn’t the only problem. The glitches and delays had made it impossible for Lew—who had awakened under the impression that she had the day off—to get her turkey in the oven.

  “So you need a deputy coroner at the Reeces’?”

  “Yes, Doc. That is what I need.” And she didn’t have to say how fast.

  In spite of the frustration in Lew’s voice, Osborne’s heart lifted. He loved it when she needed him. Of course that usually meant some poor soul had passed, so he had to temper the enthusiasm he felt whenever he got the call—a call that never failed to remind him that settled as your life may seem, things can always change.

  It certainly never occurred to him during a stint in the military thirty-five years ago when he was assigned to assist a forensic dental detail, that such grim work might someday enhance his love life. (Nor did he ever anticipate having a love life at the age of sixty-three!)

  But those six months of training were all the credentials he needed for Loon Lake Chief of Police Lewelleyn Ferris to deputize him. At first appointed deputy coroner in Pecore’s absence, Lew later found it handy—given his thirty years of dentistry in tiny Loon Lake meant he knew many residents from the inside out—to enlist him as a full deputy when she was shorthanded. And at the height of the hunting season in Loon Lake, a three-person law enforcement team was bound to be short-handed.

  That early training added zest to his daily life as well. He might be retired from the rigors of Loon Lake’s largest dental practice but he took care to maintain his membership in the Wisconsin Dental Society and attend their semi-annual workshop on forensic dentistry—a subject now formally recognized as the science of odontology.

  Staying abreast of advances in the field continued to pay off as not even the Wausau Crime Lab was able to afford the full-time services of an odontologist. That budget issue guaranteed him access to Chief Ferris whenever their region yielded the remains of a hapless fisherman who suffered a heart attack while landing a 47-inch muskie, a hunter felled by a self-inflicted gunshot wound as he tumbled from a deer stand, or a snowmobiler too drunk to see a break in the lake ice.

  It pleased Osborne, too, that over time Lew had made it clear she preferred to work with him—the guy she met in a trout stream the night he thought he had hired a fishing guide named “Lou”—rather than Pecore. And having decided to teach him that fly fishing was about more than just fishing—she refused to let him pay for instruction on how to cast a weightless trout fly.

  Pecore managed to aid and abet their relationship with his own aberrant behavior—a pattern that combined a talent for disappearing without notice with so many DUIs that he was likely to be transportation-challenged when most needed. But no matter how hard he might work to compromise his duties as Loon Lake’s appointed coroner—Pecore was in for life, the mayor was his brother-in-law.

  “Doc, the victim’s family has been patient,” said Lew as if she suspected he might be intending to finish a cup of coffee.

  “I’m on my way. I’ll stop by the house for my medical bag and be there within fifteen minutes. I know a shortcut off County C so it won’t take long. Routine death certificate?”

  “Umm … circumstances uncertain.” The tone in her voice changed, implying she didn’t want to say too much given people standing nearby. “Todd is on his way and I’ve got a call in to the Wausau boys who are, of course, off for the holiday so who knows when they’ll connect, but I’ve alerted St. Mary’s we may using their morgue.”

  Her tone was crisp and the signal clear: something was out of the ordinary. Had to be if she was pulling Todd Martin, her junior officer, away from his Thanksgiving table. And enlisting the Wausau Crime Lab on a national holiday? The Loon Lake municipal budget would be charged double for that. Osborne was intrigued. He forgot all about Kathleen and Fred.

  CHAPTER 6

  Jeez, Dad, what’s all the excitement about?” said Erin, glancing up from where she was slathering a pale yellow sauce over steamed broccoli as Osborne walked back into the kitchen.

  “Not sure exactly.” He reached for the hunting jacket that he had hung over a kitchen chair. “Lew needs me out at the Reece place. There’s been an accident—a drowning she said—and Pecore is AWOL, of course.”

  “Who drowned?” said Erin, wooden spoon midair and her face serious. “Anyone we know?”

  “No idea. Lew didn’t say. Doubt it though. Your mother used to talk about Nolan Reece. Sort of like Loon Lake royalty.”

  “Yeah, and I’ve been hearing a lot about the Reece place lately. They say the house is amazing.” Opening the refrigerator, Erin bent to pull foil-covered dishes from inside as she said, “Better brace yourself—that Mrs. Reece is a piece of work”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Observation. She’s been in the Loon Lake Market a few times when I was there with the kids. And, Dad, I know I sound mean-spirited but to my eye that woman is big, she’s loud, and you’d think she owns Loon Lake the way she bosses people around. Just ask the poor guys behind the meat counter—according to her they can’t do anything right.”

  “Oh? Maybe that’s the problem,” said Osborne. “Lew’s asked the Wausau boys to help out, and you know how she hates to do that.”

  “The crime lab, huh. Must mean an autopsy. Well, isn’t that interesting.”

  “Now don’t jump to conclusions, kiddo,” said Osborne, aware he may have said too much. Given his son-in-law was the assistant DA, he didn’t need to have Mark’s office on high alert unless there was good reason. “Drowning is not considered death by natural causes so an autopsy is required regardless. From your description of Mrs. Reece, chances are she’s demanding the experts—and that’s fine.”

  Much as he loved his daughter, he knew not to say too much. News travels fast in Loon Lake and gossip always trumps facts.

  Erin cocked an eyebrow. “I get the message, Dad. But be sure to look around while you’re out there—I want a-a-l-l the details.”

  Bubbling on, she followed him through the living room as he headed for th
e front door. “Y’know a friend of Mark’s did the stonework out there—he swears they put at least fifteen million into that property. Of course, that’s easy to do when you sell the family business for a billion—give or take a few bucks. So, Dad,” she called after him as he ran down the porch steps, “remember—you have got to tell me what that place looks like.”

  “I doubt I’ll be looking at architecture,” said Osborne. He paused as he reached the sidewalk. “Erin, honey, I’m sorry but I just realized there is no way I can make it back here in an hour. “

  “That’s okay, Dad. We’ll have plenty of leftovers. “Just stop by when you’re done.”

  “Thanks, sweetheart, but that won’t be necessary,” he said, opening the car door. “Lew’s invited me to her place for dinner at five. I’ll get plenty to eat.”

  “D-a-a-d, you didn’t tell me. You were going to eat two Thanksgiving dinners?”

  “I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”

  “Get outta here—love you!” She waved as he drove off.

  To Osborne’s relief there was no white Lexus in his driveway. Kathleen and Fred must have left early. After letting Mike into the backyard and making sure the dog had water, he hurried through the kitchen to the den where he had to move a rack of fly rods that Fred had set in front of the cabinet where he kept his medical bag. Reaching for the bag, he heard a sound behind him.

  Kathleen was in the doorway, her pug face pickled in cheeriness. “Paul,” she said in a soft, eager voice, “we have to talk.” Her conspiratorial tone prompted a flash of dread—was the house delayed another month?

  “Not now, Kathleen, Chief Ferris just called me in on an emergency and.” Osborne started towards the doorway but Kathleen refused to move. “Excuse me,” he said, angling one shoulder to slip past her. But the woman didn’t budge. Instead she reached up to grasp his shoulders.