Dead Deceiver

by Victoria Houston

  “Want him to bring walleyes?” said Osborne to Lew.

  “No, just his gorgeous self.”

  Osborne repeated the instructions only to hear Ray say, “Then I’m bringing dessert. I have an apple pie in the freezer.”

  Clicking his phone off, Osborne said, “That helped. He started to sound a little better.”

  “Secret to a happy life is planning ahead,” said Lew. “Now get out of here. I have things to do and places to go, Doc.”

  CHAPTER 16

  Osborne was midway through the loaf of garlic bread that he was under orders to slice and butter when the kitchen door banged open. Knocking the snow off her boots with two swift kicks as she stayed huddled in her down coat, Suzanne Ferris-Meyer barged into the room. She slammed the door shut behind her and collapsed back against it.

  “O-o-o-h, Mom, it is so freezing out there,” she said pulling off her gloves. “I must be nuts to drive all this way when it’s so damn cold. I’m such a wreck.” Her shoulders slumped as she spoke. “My boss said to take a couple days off and—oh, hi,” she said suddenly spotting Osborne, who was standing near the stove and half-hidden by a pot rack hanging in the middle of the room.

  She acknowledged his presence with a hint of embarrassment. She might be a grown woman but she was sounding like a little kid who needed her mother. Osborne wondered if he shouldn’t leave the room.

  “Well, I am very happy you made it, and right on time for dinner,” said Lew in a cheery voice. “Coat goes on a hook right behind you on the porch. Leave your boots there, too.” She gave Osborne a glance that instructed him not to leave the room.

  Waving her daughter towards the back porch, Lew continued tearing the lettuce for the salad, then leaned sideways to check on a large pot of water, which was close to boiling and sending tendrils of steam into the warm, well-lit kitchen.

  “Sweetie, things are almost ready. We’re waiting for one more guest for dinner,” said Lew, dropping the last leaves of lettuce into a bowl and wiping her hands on her apron. “Come here, you,” she said, opening her arms to embrace the young woman.

  Osborne had met Suzanne only once before. Slimmer than her mother, Suzanne was about the same height with the same coloring. But where her mother had an unruly cap of dark curls, Suzanne wore her hair long, straight and pulled into a ponytail. Her intense, dark eyes also matched Lewellyn’s, with the exception of red blotches surrounding the sockets that hinted of unrelenting tears.

  She was wearing black jeans and a soft black turtleneck sweater that set off the healthy glow of her skin. In spite of the blotches around her eyes and a nose reddened from sniffles, Osborne found her to be a very attractive young woman.

  “Doc, you’ve met Suzanne, haven’t you?” asked Lew, stepping back from their embrace.

  “Last summer, briefly. Good to see you again, Suzanne. How are you doing? How was your drive?” Osborne set down the bread knife and extended his hand in welcome only to realize he had just said the wrong thing.

  “O-o-o-h, M-o-o-m-m-m,” Suzanne wept. She dropped her overnight bag onto the floor next to the kitchen table before burying her face in her mother’s shoulder. “I’m not … I’m not …” She mumbled into Lew’s shirt.

  “All right, hon, let’s step into the other room for a minute,” said Lew, patting her back.

  Lew had warned Osborne to expect some drama: “But I want her to get over feeling sorry for herself. She’s done many things right in her life—but if her husband wants to leave and refuses counseling … Well, she needs realize you can’t change other people so get over it. I survived under worse circumstances so I know she can.”

  “Easy to say, Lew, but I remember trying to help Mallory when she was going through her divorce. Nothing I said seemed to work.”

  “I know, I know,” Lew had said with a heavy sigh. “I’m just hoping Suzanne can find herself a good therapist and a good lawyer: just be a good businesswoman and get through this with no bitterness. She’s got a well-paying job that she likes and two lovely children, she ought to be able to manage this.”

  While the two women commiserated in Lew’s bedroom, Osborne finished buttering the bread, checked the pasta water to see if it was boiling yet and was happy to hear Ray stamping his feet out on the porch.

  “Yo!” called a familiar voice, “anybody home? Whoa, smells like an Italian whorehouse in here. Need bread for that garlic?”

  “Hurry on in and close the door,” said Osborne, feeling a rush of icy air as Ray poked his head into the kitchen. “Lew’s daughter, Suzanne, just got here. She’s in with her mother for a few minutes. Why don’t you hang your jacket on the porch and we’ll wait for the ladies.”

  “Ladies with a plural? I like the sound of that.” Ray’s good spirits were a relief. He looked good, too, in a cable-knit Irish sweater the color of oatmeal and comfortably worn dark brown corduroy pants. Losing the trademark beard may not have been a bad thing as his well-shaven face emphasized his strong features and the humor in his light brown eyes.

  Ray ambled over to the counter just as Lew and Suzanne returned to the kitchen. There was a moment of silence but before Osborne could open his mouth to make the introductions, Suzanne had spun around to run back towards the bedroom.

  “I think she wants to freshen up a bit,” said Lew with a wink. Sure enough, minutes later Suzanne reappeared having worked some magic around her eyes: the red was gone and a nice pink flush colored her cheeks.

  “Suzanne, you know Ray Pradt, don’t you?” asked Lew. “Weren’t you two in high school together?”

  “I think you were two years ahead of me,” said Suzanne as she shook Ray’s hand. “I knew who you are though. We have friends in common. What I remember is you making that final basket to win the state championship. Do you remember me?”

  “Umm, I’m not sure,” said Ray, studying her face. “I’ll bet you’ve changed since then.”

  “Jeez, I sure hope so,” said Suzanne with a laugh. “I certainly do hope so.”

  That had to come as a relief to Suzanne, thought Osborne. Lew had told him that right after graduating high school, when the paper mill had laid off workers and jobs were hard to come by in the Northwoods, to earn money for college Suzanne worked a summer as a stripper and waitress at the notorious Thunder Bay Bar. It was a job that paid well but did little for a girl’s reputation.

  “Ray’s had a bad week, too,” said Lew, dumping handfuls of linguine into the pot of boiling water. “Doc and I thought the two of you might do well with a good meal and an easy evening among friends.”

  Suzanne gave Ray a measured look before furrowing her brow and saying, “So, your marriage is in the toilet, too?”

  Lurching back in surprise, Ray said, “Hell, no. I’m not married.”

  “Then what’s your problem?” Suzanne picked up a celery stick and crunched it between her teeth. Osborne could be mistaken but she seemed to have brightened up since returning to the kitchen.

  “I’d rather not discuss it,” said Ray. “Just a … bad … week.”

  “Oh, okay,” said Suzanne.

  “Tell you what, you two,” said Lew, “Doc and I need space here in the kitchen. So why don’t you help yourselves to something cold from the fridge and go chat in the living room until dinner is ready.”

  What Lew called a “living room” was less a room than a nook: a small but warm and cozy area right beside the kitchen that held an old oak-framed leather sofa, one Mission-style rocker and a gas fireplace at the far end. Colorful rag rugs were scattered across the wood floor.

  Following her mother’s suggestion, Suzanne reached into the fridge for a beer and stepped back to let Ray choose a drink. He, too, reached for a beer. Suzanne gave him a funny look then led the way to the next room.

  “So, c’mon, tell me what’s haywire in your world,” she said as they sat side by side on the leather sofa, “I might enjoy having a partner in misery.”

  Lew and Doc locked eyes, eyebrows raised. Apparently they wou
ld have no difficulty overhearing the conversation.

  “No big deal,” said Ray. “I just … I didn’t get a job that I’m perfect for is all. I’m thirty-two, I’ve been working my ass off, I have no health insurance, no retirement and now no job. That’s all.”

  “I see. And so why did you get that beer?”

  “What difference is it to you?”

  “I said I knew who you are. And I have certainly heard about your drinking. You dated Ashley Smith a few years ago—she’s a good friend of mine. She and I had lunch recently and she said she heard you’ve been recovering, going to AA and stuff. She’d like to hear from you, you know.”

  “That’s not what I asked you,” said Ray. “I asked what the hell you care if I have a beer or not. You don’t know me.”

  “No, I don’t. But I grew up with a dad who drank and it’s no fun. Thanks to booze, my brother ended up dead after a bar fight. You may be thirty-two with no job but you look great and—”

  “I do not need a lecture.”

  “Sorry.” She didn’t sound sorry. Osborne glanced over at Lew who was busy dressing the salad and did not look up.

  “As far as this beer goes, I have it to look at. That’s all. I do that sometimes. I test myself.” Lew gave Osborne a quizzical look to which he responded with an affirmative nod. Ray had been known to keep a can of beer in his refrigerator for exactly the same reason.

  “Really,” Suzanne sounded doubtful.

  “Just watch. How long you in town?”

  “The weekend. Got the news my husband wants a divorce three days ago. Turns out he’s been bopping the bookkeeper at the real estate agency where he works so I left our two kids with friends and thought I’d hide out here for a few days. Think things over. Decide what to do next,” she said with a sigh.

  “So you criticize my beer and here you are—running away. How smart is that?”

  “Give me a break, will you? I have to go back and deal with the jerk so I’m not exactly running away.”

  There was silence for a few seconds, then Ray said, “You must have known he was an asshole when you married him.”

  “Yeah, well hope springs eternal, doncha know,” said Suzanne with a light laugh. “I know things will work out. I mean, look at my mom.” This time when Osborne glanced over at Lew, he thought he saw a tear glisten in her eye.

  “You’re a very attractive woman and I can tell you’re smart,” said Ray. “Why would he leave you?”

  “Good question. I had my first visit with a therapist yesterday and I guess one thing might be that I’ve had more success than he has. I’ve done well as a CPA—make three times what he does. And there’s a lot we don’t do together. I run and work out while he’s allergic to fresh air. I like movies, he’s big on TV sports. That might be part of it. Plus we married pretty young. Ten years ago.” She paused, then said, “the weird thing is the bookkeeper looks like his mother—maybe that’s it.”

  “You’re kidding!” Ray chuckled. “She looks like his mother?”

  “I’m not making that up. Hand me your beer, please. I finished mine.”

  Ray must have held his back as he said, “Hold on now, you’re not honoring a family tradition, are you?”

  “Hey, if I have one glass of wine or a bottle of beer a week, that’s a lot for me. Tonight I feel like I’m coming out from under a goddamn cloud of stress and two beers won’t kill me. Not like I’m driving anywhere.”

  “Okay, here. What are you doing tomorrow night? Want to go out for dinner?”

  “I’m married.”

  “Kind of. I’ve dated married ladies.” On hearing that Osborne rolled his eyes at Lew.

  “So I’ve heard. And I’ve heard plenty about you, Ray Pradt.” Suzanne laughed and then said, “Sure, okay.”

  “Dinner is ready,” Lew called out from where she had just set a large bowl of pasta on the table.

  She grinned at Osborne who whispered, “Good work, you. We’re about to have dinner with two people who haven’t felt this good in days. Even makes me happy.”

  Beaming, Lew gave him a quick peck on the cheek.

  CHAPTER 17

  “So, Ray,” said Osborne as they were passing their plates around the table for Lew to serve everyone from the bowl of pasta, “were you able to check out Gina’s cabin okay?”

  “Oh yeah. Remember the power outage we had during the last ice storm? For some reason, maybe a power surge, almost all her appliances were on including the television and the DVD player—and the heat, too. I called to tell her I turned everything off but left the heat on low so her water pipes don’t freeze. Nothing was damaged.”

  “Good” said Lew. “Thanks for handling all that, Ray. We’ll be on a conference call with Gina tomorrow trying to figure out the computer crisis at the tech college. Based on what we’ve told her, she seems to think it won’t take long to figure out who the culprit is. I sure hope she’s right so we can concentrate on the Beltner case.”

  “What’s that, Mom?” Suzanne gave her mother a quizzical look.

  “Oh golly, would you mind if we talked about that later?” asked Lew. “It’s a sad, frustrating case that doesn’t make for the best dinner conversation.”

  “By the way,” said Ray, in a light tone of voice, “late this afternoon I stopped into the Loon Lake Market for some mouse traps for Gina’s cabin and one of the clerks there said he heard the fishing teams from all the foreign countries should be in town by tomorrow afternoon.”

  “The teams and a couple thousand tourists, not to mention media from across the country,” said Lew, as she passed the salad to Suzanne. “You wouldn’t believe how many requests for security we’ve had to turn down. People must think the Loon Lake police and sheriff’s departments have nothing to do except to watch over their equipment.” She shook her head.

  “Where are they from? This is an international fishing tournament?” asked Suzanne. “Here in Loon Lake? Wow, Mom, that’s exciting.”

  “It sure is. For Loon Lake, it’s the equivalent of hosting the Olympics. I’m just hoping everything stays calm,” said Lew. “Let fish get caught, let TV crews do their thing and, please God, let no vehicles go through the ice.

  “The good news is that the tournament is only a week long and it does bring in a lot of tourists, which works for everyone. There’ll be a dance and an ice shanty contest. Vendors are setting up in the high school gym—”

  “And there’s a reality TV show starting to shoot, too,” said Ray in a non-committal tone.

  “Wow, that’s amazing,” said Suzanne. “Maybe I’ll come back later in the week.”

  As the conversation buzzed, Osborne basked in the warmth of the voices, the aromas from the dinner table, the glow of friendship on the faces of the people around him. No wonder young people like Suzanne and Ray—even older folks like himself and Lew—don’t want to be alone. Does anyone?

  After Osborne and Ray had cleared the table and washed the dinner dishes, Ray started towards the door. “See you folks tomorrow,” he said, then paused and walked into the living room where the two women were chatting. “Suzanne, you want to go for a ride?”

  “Sure.” Suzanne jumped up from where she had been sitting on the sofa with her legs tucked under her. “Where we going?”

  “Few miles down the highway to the Merriman ski trails. Doc, ever since you asked me if anyone lives in the swamp that runs along the west loop of the Merriman Ski Trails, I’ve been thinking. I know I’ve seen deer stands in there but whether anybody actually lives in there? Tell the truth—I’m really not sure. So I got hold of some logging maps today and marked a couple lanes that if the snow isn’t too deep, I’ll go check ‘em out.”

  “Tonight?” asked Lew. “Don’t push it, Ray. I’d hate for you to get stuck in there. You know cell service is spotty once you’re off the main roads. Suzanne, if you go—dress warm. I wouldn’t trust the heat in Ray’s truck.”

  “I wouldn’t trust Ray’s truck, period,” said Osborne. “Lew’s
right, Ray. That may not be such a great idea.”

  “Hey, it’s not even nine o’clock yet and I figure if anyone is living back in there, I might see lights. Give me an idea where to look in the daylight. And, Chief, don’t worry—I’m not driving the lanes tonight. Just the county road that loops around the swamp along the west side and down across the far end.”

  “All right, Ray,” said Lew, reluctance in her voice. “But if you see anything, you wait to follow it up tomorrow, promise? I never trust people who live with no fire numbers. Those are the ones who eat their young.”

  “Chief, I hear you. I will not put your daughter at risk.”

  “We’ll see about that,” said Suzanne with an easy grin. She was definitely happier than when she had arrived. And so was Ray.

  “Okay, Doc, ready for Session Twenty-One?” asked Lew after the door had closed behind Ray and Suzanne.

  “Sure,” said Osborne, taking his spot on the sofa with pen and notebook in hand while Lew inserted the DVD they had been working their way through since the holidays. Joan Wulff’s Dynamics of Fly Casting was Osborne’s winter assignment: to watch and practice the basics of fly fishing as demonstrated by one of the icons in the sport. Their pattern had been to watch a session or two on the evenings he spent at her place. While watching, Osborne often found himself taking notes to carry with him later when the season opened.

  Jotting down tips on the power snap, loading line, changing direction while casting, and shooting line had already filled more than a few pages. Worried at first that it would be too technical for a beginner like himself, Osborne found himself enjoying the video more than he had expected. Joan Wulff made fly casting look easy as she broke the movements down into simple steps that were definitely less intimidating than the books he had tried to read.

  Maybe he also liked it because watching Joan Wulff’s rhythmic motions as she demonstrated technique reminded him of Lew’s grace in the water—especially in the moonlight on warm summer evenings. Instructions and nice memories: not a bad way to end a long winter’s day.