Dead Hot Shot

by Victoria Houston

  Without looking up, Lew said, “Doc, I don’t need a microscope to see scrapings under these nails. She put up a struggle, that’s for sure.”

  “It’s as if she was buried alive.”

  “Yeah, but in water?”

  “I know. It doesn’t make sense.”

  CHAPTER 10

  Doc, I know—I know—everyone grieves in their own way, but what bothers me …” Muttering as they trudged up the stone stairs leading to the lakeside deck of the main house, Lew was talking as much to herself as to Osborne. He waited for her to finish her sentence but if she did the words got lost in the wind.

  A late afternoon cold front had kicked in with an edge that turned the sky pewter and the air icy. Branches crowning the tall pines that surrounded the house tossed in fury as winds out of the north roared overhead. Hunching his shoulders, Osborne pulled the collar of his hunting jacket up around his neck. “You warm enough, Lew?”

  She didn’t answer. Instead, near the top of the stairs, she stopped and turned towards Osborne. “Doc, how many hours have I been here?”

  Before he could attempt an answer, figuring she knew better than he exactly how long it had been, Lew answered her own question: “Over six hours. And do you know that during all that time not once did I see Andy Reece or his daughter approach that poor woman’s body? Those two kept their distance the entire time. And I mean distance—at least twenty feet away. Not once did I see either one of them make the slightest attempt to say a final goodbye—not a touch, not a whisper. And for a woman who’s been so much a part of their lives?” She shook her head in disbelief.

  “When it happened to me,” said Lew, pressing her right hand, fingers spread, against her chest, “when I saw my son lying on that slab in the hospital morgue? I couldn’t help myself. I gathered him up in my arms.” Her voice cracked, eyes glistening, and Osborne knew the memory of her son’s murder at the age of seventeen had just hijacked her heart.

  “Take a deep breath,” he said, his own voice gruff. “I know what you’re saying, sweetheart—we’ve both been there.”

  He would never forget those first moments after the emergency room doc had entered the waiting room to tell him all was lost. Mary Lee lay on the gurney, her hair a tangled mess. He had reached to smooth back the strands with his fingers, knowing she would hate for anyone to see her so disheveled, knowing it was all he could do for the woman who had borne his children. One nurse, observing his attempt to comb with his fingers, found a hairbrush and together they brushed and tidied Mary Lee’s hair and face. Only then, with a light kiss on the forehead, did he wish her Godspeed.

  “I’m not saying they didn’t pay lip service to the awfulness of the situation,” said Lew, getting a grip, “but Doc, I’ve seen more attention paid to a dead bear for God’s sake.”

  “Before you arrived maybe.”

  “Possible. Yes, I’m sure you’re right. In the privacy of those first moments, you mean? It’s just. for the average family to find their mother, their wife, dead under any circumstances is such a shock to the system. You know yourself how often I deal with folks who are inconsolable. Not these two. Very cool, very calm.

  “Oh well,” Lew shrugged, “Andy did tell me that both their families immigrated from Sweden—her great-grandfather and his grandmother. Could be the Reeces are just more stoic than the rest of us.” She started back up the stairs. “All right, let’s get this over with.”

  Watching Lew as she spoke, Osborne remembered Kathleen’s words: “She’s too rugged, Paul …”

  Rugged? At the moment, Lew appeared less rugged than ragged as fatigue tempered with determination swept across her face: it had been a long day and it wasn’t over yet. Still, Kathleen was right. Lewellyn Ferris was rugged, even tough. But the sight of those black eyes, the rogue curls clouding her forehead, the set of her wide shoulders over a body less slim than firm always stirred him.

  And in spite of the day’s stress, at the moment she looked particularly good. She had transitioned from the Loon Lake Police Department’s summer khakis to their winter uniform: tan gabardine pants with a short jacket to match and two holsters planted firmly on each hip—one holding a cell phone, the other a 9-millimeter Sig Sauer pistol. To Osborne’s eye, the uniform fit Lew’s five feet seven inches just snug enough, especially where it left no doubt the Loon Lake Chief of Police was female.

  She wasn’t a small woman but medium-boned and sturdy. Muscular arms and legs served her well when scrambling up from trout streams in waders and a well-equipped fishing vest (that weighed at least five pounds) while manipulating a fly rod and, often, a cooler filled with bottles of water and cans of soda along with a sandwich or two, fruit, cheese and crackers—a cooler she always refused to hand over.

  Rugged? Well, Lew Ferris was the only woman he knew who could carry a 100-lb outboard motor in one arm with only a slight lean to the left. But he knew, too, that her hair always smelled of a summer afternoon.

  She was definitely tough-minded. As rigorous in her study of a criminal investigation as she was of a trout stream—always listening, watching, taking time, taking care—no detail unobserved. Working alongside Lewellyn Ferris over the last two years had taught Osborne a couple of simple but critical facts: that streetwise beat book-wise, that a true professional learns on the job.

  Okay, he would concede to Kathleen. But where she saw rugged, he saw a swan.

  “… To tell you the truth, it was more like they were relieved than grief-stricken,” he heard Lew say.

  “What’s that? You say you sensed relief?” Osborne’s mind had wandered.

  “I’m not sure what I sense at this point. Talk about a long, frustrating day and, Doc, we’ll have to go out for dinner because I never did get my turkey in—”

  “Did I hear. t-u-r-r-r-key?” Ray bounded up the stairs behind them. “Chief, with the light fading so fast, I’m finding it difficult to track into that cedar swamp that runs along the edge of the property. The footprints along the shoreline head up in that direction but right now there are too many shadows. If it’s all right with you, I’ll get a good start first thing in the morning.”

  “I think that’s wise,” said Lew. “Todd is securing the area and the Wausau boys will be here by then, too.”

  “Now what’s the problem with your turkey? I’ve got a nice twelve-pounder roasting away and I’m happy to share if—”

  “Hey, that’s a thought,” said Osborne. Ray’s cooking more than made up for the frustrations he caused his friends—plus Osborne knew he had recently acquired a stash of native wild rice and native always tasted better than store-bought. “Lew?”

  “I did get my pies baked,” said Lew, “pumpkin, apple and a blueberry tart. And my butter rolls. Sure—this is a great idea. If you don’t mind driving out to my farm, Ray, my table is set and I’ll just add one more place setting. How does seven work for you?”

  “Well. on one condition.”

  “Y-e-e-s?” said Osborne and Lew with mutual trepidation. “I’m allowed to bring a guest.”

  “Oh.” Again they responded in concert. Ray had a habit of lending a helping hand—or a free night on his sofa—to men temporarily down on their luck. This was a good thing except some were so peculiar in their appearance that they could frighten young children. Or alarm a retired dentist who had difficulty dining with people possessing less than ten teeth. The turkey was enticing but.

  Osborne locked eyes with Lew as they assessed the risk. “Sure,” said Lew after a moment, “after all, it is Thanksgiving. If you don’t mind trucking over that turkey, I’m happy to include your friend—but only one, right?”

  “Only one, I promise. And I’ll make gravy at your place.”

  As Ray tripped back down the stairs, Osborne said, “I hope it is only one—he’s said that before and shown up with a gaggle.”

  “Oh, what the hell,” said Lew with a chuckle of surrender, “this day has been bizarre from the get go.”

  As they walked around t
o the front of the house, they were startled to see a van drive through the circle and pull up next to an entrance on the side of the house. A slightly overweight

  woman in tan slacks and a black ski jacket jumped out. She had a square, friendly face and wore her long red hair pulled back into a ponytail. She looked familiar to Osborne but he couldn’t think of her name.

  Whoever she was, she was so intent on what she was doing that she didn’t notice Lew and Osborne standing less than fifty feet away. Sliding back the side door of the van, she pulled out a small dolly, which she yanked into shape before reaching back into the van.

  “Excuse me—” said Lew, stepping forward.

  Startled, the woman jerked around. “Ohmygosh you scared me!”

  “I’m sorry,” said Lew, “but visitors aren’t allowed at the moment.”

  “Oh,” said the woman with a wave of her hand and a cheery smile, “I’m not a visitor, I’m the caterer. I’ve got the Reeces’ Thanksgiving dinner here. Oh, Dr. Osborne!” The surprise in her voice escalated.

  She thrust a hand towards Osborne. “Karen Gilley. I was your daughter Mallory’s Girl Scout leader and my mom and dad were patients of yours—my maiden name was Carlson. Ruth and Gil Carlson, do you remember them? They both passed a couple years ago.”

  “Sure,” said Osborne. “I knew them from St. Mary’s, too.” Of course, now he remembered. Karen turned her friendly eyes back to Lew only to have it dawn on her that she was talking to a police officer. She threw a questioning look at Osborne, the smile fading. “What …”

  “There’s been an incident and we’re conducting an investigation,” said Lew, showing her badge. “Lewellyn Ferris, Loon Lake Chief of Police and I’m afraid the family is sequestered.”

  “Yes, Chief Ferris, I certainly know who you are. Oh, well, in that case may I just tell Mrs. Reece I’m here? She gets furious if I’m late.”

  “Karen,” said Lew, her tone cautious, “Mrs. Reece is deceased. It happened earlier today but in consideration of the family’s need to notify close relatives, her death won’t be officially reported until later. Now I need you to keep this news in confidence and not mention it to anyone until tomorrow morning. Agreed?”

  “Yes, oh yes, of course.” The friendly eyes turned worried, preoccupied.

  “Karen,” said Osborne, seeing the concern on her face. “I’m sure Chief Ferris can arrange for you to complete this delivery.” “It’s not that. Oh, I feel terrible. This is such a selfish thought.” “What is it?” said Lew.

  Karen looked sheepish as she said, “I’m just wondering if I’m going to get paid is all. Mr. Reece gave me a check last night but it covered only half of what they owe me counting today’s order and another one she hasn’t paid me for. Oh,” she paused, “so that’s why he paid me. I wondered ‘cause she doesn’t usually let him write checks. At least not the checks for catering.” With an embarrassed wave of one hand, Karen said, “Forget it—I’m ashamed of myself for thinking this way when someone has just died. Did she have a heart attack? I tried to tell her—”

  “It’s premature to determine the precise cause of death,” said Lew.

  “Oh, an accident,” said Karen. Lew did not correct her. “Well, then.” Karen spun around towards the van, then turned back again. “I mean, what do I do now? Like with the food?”

  Leaning back to read the lettering on the van, Lew said, “You’re ‘Gilley’s Catering’—all the way from Rhinelander I see”

  “Yes. My business is based there but I live here in Loon Lake. I have a commercial kitchen in both locations. We did the party last night, too, but today it’s just me dropping off their turkey and the fixings. I wasn’t planning to stay.”

  “You were here last night?” said Lew.

  “Yes …” Karen’s tone was tentative, as if hoping that wasn’t a bad thing.

  “Well, Karen, if you don’t mind, Dr. Osborne and I would like to ask you a few questions about the evening.”

  “Sure, but why Dr. Osborne?” Karen looked more confused. “I thought you were a dentist.”

  “I’m retired from my practice—”

  “But only from his practice,” said Lew, interrupting. “The Loon Lake Police Department is working hard at keeping Doc busy. Given his experience in dental forensics, he has been kind enough to serve as deputy coroner on occasion—and he assists with interrogations when I’m shorthanded. Today being a national holiday, I’m shorthanded.” Lew grinned at Osborne. “He’s been a good egg to help out.”

  “Second career, huh?” said Karen, relaxing. “That’s me, too. Spent twenty years teaching middle school, but this is a lot more fun. Here, let me close the van door so I can keep the food warm while we talk.”

  CHAPTER 11

  If it helps, I know everyone who was here last night,” said Karen, her face flushed but eager. “Even though Mrs. Reece said she’d sent fifty invitations, we only had twelve for dinner: the Reeces, of course, then Barry—he’s Blue’s fiancé—and his folks, the Murphys, and six more guests. Oh—plus myself and the two people helping me.”

  “And is that everyone who was on the property last night?” said Lew.

  “What about a clean-up crew?” said Osborne.

  “We handled that. When I cater an event it’s turnkey—everything from start to finish. Every last coffee cup and wine glass washed before we leave. Now, Chief Ferris, I can give you the names of all the guests, too. We made up place cards and that list is in a basket on the desk in the Reeces’ kitchen—right through that door,” she said, pointing.

  “Was Mrs. Reece upset that she sent all those invitations but so few people came?” said Osborne. Mary Lee would have been apoplectic if that had happened to her.

  “Not really. She knew when she sent the invitations that most of the Lake Forest people wouldn’t be able to make it. I mean, it was the night before Thanksgiving. ‘But I get credit for the invitation’ is how she put it. Frankly, I think she planned the party for

  that night on purpose. For all her money, Nolan Reece can be tight about the strangest things.”

  “Karen, if you think back over the evening was there anything unusual?” said Lew. “Mrs. Reece’s behavior? Did she spend a lot of time with anyone in particular? Did she seem worried about anything? What about the guests—any one of them out of kilter?”

  “Um-m-m.” Thrusting her hands into the pockets of her wind-breaker and leaning back against the van, Karen mulled over the questions. She shook her head. “Y’know, not that I was aware—and I’ve catered a number of parties here: Memorial Day, the Fourth of July.

  “It tends to be the same crowd if that’s significant: her lawyer, her stockbroker and their wives. Then there’s always Barry’s mother, Miriam. His father not so often. Mr. Murphy’s quite elderly and has trouble getting around. But Miriam always comes. She and Mrs. Reece are best friends—I guess they grew up together.” Karen gave a sudden snort. “If you ask me, there’s a reason it’s always the same crowd—these are the only people I know who can get along with the woman.”

  “And what does that mean?” said Lew, looking up from her notepad.

  “Nolan Reece is not easy to be around. Sure she’s smart and wealthy and all that but she’s … she’s difficult.”

  “A bully? A know-it-all?” Osborne prodded. “‘Difficult’ can mean a lot of things, Karen.”

  “Well.,” Karen pursed her lips as she considered the question, “not sure quite how to put this, but she is—I mean was—always watching with this critical eye. And, brother, you do something the least bit wrong and she was in your face. She about ripped the head off their caretaker yesterday morning just ‘cause he was blowing leaves and a few landed on one of those expensive cars of theirs. You’d of thought he’d shot one of the dogs or something.

  Poor guy. And he thought he was doing her a favor.

  “Then she went off on me because I wasn’t washing the lettuce right. That kind of behavior wasn’t unusual either. Frankly, if I didn�
��t need the business …” Karen rolled her eyes.

  “She sounds insufferable,” said Osborne. The “critical eye” comment had resonated with him. Why hadn’t he seen that in Mary Lee before he married her? Thirty years of walking on eggshells—thank goodness those days were over.

  “Yes and no—some people get along with her just fine. They know how to handle her. Sorry, guess I should say they knew how to handle her.” Karen wrinkled her forehead in apology. “Hard to believe she’s not here anymore.”

  “You said her lawyer, her stockbroker, her best friend,” said Lew. “What about Mr. Reece? Aren’t these people also his friends?”

  “I’d say they’re friends of the family. But he’s odd.”

  “Now that you really have to define, Karen,” said Osborne with a light chuckle. “Living here in the northwoods, you and I both know many folks who might be described as ‘odd.’“

  Karen gave a quick glance towards the side door before answering.

  “It’s okay,” he reassured her. “I’m keeping an eye out.”

  “Andy Reece—and I think it’s weird how he insists you call him by his first name even if you don’t really know him—is s-o-o-o quiet. He’s like a ghost in the house. I don’t know that I’ve ever seen that man smile and he’s always on his computer or watching ESPN2 in the den with the door closed—at least as far as I can tell.

  “The few times he’s come into the kitchen when Nolan is there, she stops what she’s doing and stares at him until he leaves. Once she told me she hated him. The way she said it, she wasn’t kidding.” Karen threw her hands up. “How’s that for a happy family?”

  “Did she say this recently—about hating her husband?”