When she wants to be, thought Osborne, a thought he kept to himself.
After breakfast, Osborne dropped Jake back at the inn and sped to the hospital. Cody’s room was sunny and the little guy was propped up on pillows, his eyes open as he listened to his mother reading from a book.
“Dad,” Erin jumped to her feet as he walked into the room. “Great news. They found Cody does have a strep in his bloodstream and the antibiotics are working.” She brushed strands of hair back from Cody’s forehead and leaned down to give him a kiss. “He’s drowsy but feeling better. If this continues, he may be able to come home soon.”
“Grandpa,” said Cody in a small voice. “Will you read me that Lunker book again?”
“You bet. Erin, would you like me to take over this afternoon?” asked Osborne.
His daughter nodded happily and they agreed Osborne would take the one to four shift. “I can stay later,” he said, hoping for an excuse to avoid the Jarvisons.
“No, but thanks, Dad. We’re going to have the girls come up and finally get some family time this evening.”
As he drove by the police department on his way home, Osborne was surprised to see Lew’s cruiser in the parking lot. That was unusual, as she usually took Saturdays off. He pulled in to tell her about Cody.
The light in Lew’s eyes when she caught sight of him made his day even sunnier.
“Whew, isn’t that a relief,” she said when he had finished sharing the good news about Cody. “Sit down and pour yourself a cup of coffee. I’m just hanging in here hoping to catch up with reports and e-mails that I’ve let slide the previous two days. Did you take Jake to Mass this morning? How’s he doing? I need to let him know that the autopsy is scheduled for Monday. Sorry to make him wait so long.”
When she heard about Nancy’s invitation, she sat back in her chair, a serious thought clouding her face. “Very interesting. Very interesting, Doc. Had a long talk with Alan Strickland, the FBI agent, at the end of the day yesterday. If you have a few minutes, it’s time I give you more details on his fraud investigation. You know the Jarvisons and may be able to give him some background that may help.
“Turns out they were tipped months ago by Peter Corbin that he was concerned that the Jarvison Bank Corporation was being compromised by deposits of cash—as much as $40,000 a week—that were being made by Bud Jarvison without documenting the source of the funds. Corbin was concerned that the corporation could be accused of money laundering. Because Corbin, as a bank executive, was responsible for answering to the federal regulators he was trying to protect himself as well as the bank.
“The FBI didn’t follow up at the time, Alan said, because they had Homeland Security issues to deal with. It wasn’t until he saw the news that Corbin had been found dead that he went back to check on that tip.
“So he’s here to investigate Bud Jarvison. He met with Chuck Carlson, president of the local Jarvison bank, yesterday and was told that Bud treats the bank like it’s his personal wallet and anyone who questions his decisions gets fired.
“The question Alan has and what he hopes to answer before he confronts Bud is where is the money coming from?” Lew paused and, tipping her head as she asked with a smug smile, “What do you think, Doc?”
“I would assume he’s selling some of their millions of dollars’ worth of assets and thinks he’s above paperwork. The guy is richer than God and used to running the whole show.”
“That’s exactly what I said to Alan,” said Lew. “And that is when he said that he met with Herb Strong, who is Chuck’s hunting buddy and was a broker for Jarvison up until last year. Bud lost millions in the stock market. Against Herb’s advice, he made bad bets with hedge funds and hi-tech start-ups, crap investments recommended by some old college buddies. Herb estimated Bud’s losses had to be in the $30 to $40 million range.”
“That could be his entire fortune,” said Osborne.
“Makes for an interesting dinner party, don’t you think? I’d like you to go, Doc. See if you pick up on anything. Alan would appreciate that, I’m sure. On the other hand, Doc, the Jarvisons are friends of yours. I don’t want to put you in a compromising position.”
“Oh, I would not say they’re friends. My late wife would but I have never wanted to spend time with those people. Jake is likely to go. Nancy made it clear they own a ton of stock in his company but I was hoping to wrangle my way out of the evening.”
Lew leaned forward, a wide grin on her face. “What if I asked you to be really rude and invite me along? I would love to go. Frankly, I’m still peeved that Mr. FBI thought he could step in and take over my office. That might change the dynamic around here.”
“I’ll call ahead and let them know we’ll be three.”
“I have a better idea. Let’s pull a Ray Pradt,” she said, referring to Ray’s habit of showing up for dinner or a picnic at Osborne’s with any number of unexpected guests—generally bearded, scruffy, and pleasant enough but lacking any evidence of good dental hygiene.
“That might catch Nancy off guard,” said Osborne, not unhappy at the thought. “Lately Bud has been asking about you so often, I think he’ll be tickled to see you.”
“Are you serious? I find that strange.”
“That he’s interested in you? I’m interested in you. Maybe his taste is improving.”
Lew blushed.
Osborne reached for his cell phone. “I’m calling Jake to let him know I’ll pick him up at 6:45—after I get you. My place tonight?”
“Sure.”
Osborne knew he looked the happiest he had all week.
Chapter Twenty-Four
As he guided Lew and Jake into the foyer of the mansion, Osborne glanced through the French doors that opened to the formal dining room. Crystal wineglasses sparkled in the sunlight pouring through floor-to-ceiling windows. White linen napkins were artfully arranged on ornate china plates and silver pitchers held colorful bouquets. This was no outdoor barbecue: Nancy was putting on her best show.
Osborne was glad he had decided to reach into his closet for dress pants he had not worn in months. Now that he didn’t have to be in an office every day he lived in jeans and khakis better suited for the boat than a dinner party.
He was doubly pleased when Lew arrived at his place looking elegant in a silky black sleeveless top with matching pants. The outfit emphasized her sturdy, well-toned figure, which reminded Osborne how lucky he was that she had promised to spend the night at his place.
That thought was interrupted by a throaty voice from behind. “Jake and Paul, so good to see you.” Wearing a short turquoise strapless dress that showed more than a hint of cleavage, Nancy swept into the living room. In her right hand she held high an old-fashioned glass filled with amber liquid and a few ice cubes. “Scotch anyone?” She waved for them to follow her into the den at the far end of the room.
At the sight of Lew, she stopped short. “Oh…”
“Mrs. Jarvison,” said Lew, extending her hand. “So sorry to barge in on you like this. I’m—”
“I know who you are,” said Nancy, her tone blunt. She ignored Lew’s hand.
“Yes, well, Dr. Osborne was hoping you wouldn’t mind my coming along,” said Lew with an ingratiating smile. “Mr. Barber and I are expecting to hear from the Wausau Crime Lab this evening—the results of the autopsy on his son. In the event they need input from one or the other of us I thought this the easiest way to coordinate sharing the information.”
“Fine,” said Nancy, turning away. “I’ll have Cynthia set an extra place. You can get yourself a drink in the den. Jake, a glass of wine or a cocktail?” Nancy was onto Jake Barber as if there was no one else in the room.
Lew gave Osborne a slight nod and without a word, they mutually decided to leave Jake to fend for himself.
Walking into the den, Osborne saw a familiar face behind the bar. “Cynthia,” he said, “what are you doing here?” Before the petite, dark-haired woman could answer, he pulled Lew forward to i
ntroduce her. “Cynthia was one of my patients. Cynthia and her husband and two children for—what—twelve years?”
“At least,” said the woman. “You were so kind when Joe died.” She looked at Lew and dropping her voice she said, “We owed Dr. Osborne a lot of money. It was right when my husband became ill that I had to have two crowns and you know how much those cost. You know, Dr. Osborne, you never sent me an invoice. One of these days, maybe? I am getting back on my feet financially.”
Osborne waved his hand. “Do not worry about that.”
He had known at the time of Joe’s diagnosis that the family had no health insurance. Joe’s illness bankrupted them. It was one of those things that had driven Mary Lee crazy: Osborne’s generosity when he knew people could not pay. It was a habit he had picked up from his own father who would take venison, blueberries, and rhubarb preserves in trade from patients short on cash.
But it was a characteristic that had divided Osborne’s household. “Paul,” his late wife would say through gritted teeth, “that’s not your worry—those people owe you. And we have the new kitchen to pay for.”
“So, Cynthia, what are you doing here?” asked Osborne.
“Housekeeping for Mr. and Mrs. Jarvison so I can afford to go back to school,” said Cynthia as she poured Osborne a ginger ale. “I plan to get an associate degree in business so I can work as an executive assistant. Both my kids have jobs in the cities these days and I’m only forty-two, so I have time.” She smiled.
“Good for you,” said Osborne.
“Cynthia? Get in here. I need an extra place setting and stop letting that ice drip on the floor, would you?”
“Be right there, Mrs. Jarvison.” Cynthia handed Lew a glass of white wine then bent to dab at a few drips on the hardwood floor beneath the bar. She reached for a bar towel and, kneeling, set it over the wet spot as it was obvious the ice bucket was leaking.
“Is she always so pleasant?” asked Lew, bending over to whisper.
Looking up, Cynthia rolled her eyes and whispered back, “Two more weeks and I’ll have saved enough to be out of here. It’s okay.”
Before Cynthia hurried off toward the dining room, Osborne gave her a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. When she had gone, he looked at Lew. “In case you ever think you’re having a bad day—”
Before he could finish, Bud appeared in the doorway, a highball glass in one hand. Weaving, he crossed the room to the bar, reached for a bottle of Bushmills whiskey, and topped off his glass. Only then did he notice Lew standing beside Osborne.
Startled, his jaw slackened as his eyes darted from side to side. At first Osborne thought the man was looking for an escape route but Bud caught himself, cleared his throat, and said, “Well, well, so Doc here took my advice after all.”
“Not sure what you mean by that,” said Osborne, “but I don’t believe you’ve met Lewellyn Ferris, Bud. I was hoping you and Nancy wouldn’t mind as Jake and Chief Ferris learned a short time ago that they might have to take care of some—”
“No, I have not yet had the pleasure,” said Bud, his tongue thick as he interrupted Osborne.
Lew threw Osborne a quick glance: someone was over-served. A little too over-served in Osborne’s opinion. He decided to do his best to find a polite way to exit the dinner party as soon as possible. He had been around Bud drunk one too many times. It was never a pleasant experience.
But rushing through dinner did not prove to be easy. Nancy continued to schmooze Jake through the dinner while downing glass after glass of red wine. The more she drank, the louder her insistence that she understood his loss and the farther away Jake moved his chair.
After one too many maudlin remarks about their late sons, Jake said in a calm, authoritative tone, “Nancy, I prefer we not mention Liam again this evening.”
The table went silent. Fortunately it was only a minute or two before Cynthia walked in from the kitchen to remove their plates and serve dessert. Shortly after the chocolate mousse had arrived, Lew got a text message on her cell phone.
“Oh, dear,” she said getting up from the table. “I apologize but I’m afraid that Mr. Barber and I better head back to the station. Looks like there is a fax from the crime lab that needs a response this evening if they’re to release the body on Monday. I’m so sorry that we have to run off.”
“Oh, for chrissake, why don’t you just call in?” asked Nancy, her words slurring. “You can’t leave yet—right, Bud? We’re having nightcaps down on the dock.”
“Nancy, I would love to stay,” said Jake, “but Chief Ferris is right. There may be legal issues regarding the release of my son’s body and I do not want that delayed any longer. I appreciate your gracious hospitality this evening but—”
“And I have to be at the hospital to check on my grandson,” said Osborne.
“That’s okay, all of you go,” said Bud, lurching out of his chair. “How’sss that grandson of yours doing?” He was so sloshed it took Osborne a moment to figure out what he’d said.
“Much better,” said Osborne. “Cody is still in isolation but he’s awake and his color is improving. He may be released in the next day or two.”
As the three of them walked down the long, winding drive past the four-car garage to where Osborne had parked his car, Jake checked back over his shoulder to be sure he wouldn’t be heard before saying, “Please, God, save me from that woman.”
Lew chuckled. “She sure has you in her sights.”
Jake shook his head. “This was one long night—felt like a rainy day in Cleveland.”
“Hold up, you two,” said Osborne as they neared the car. “Lew, before we leave, let’s take that side path down toward the water and show Jake the view from the bluff.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Bud Jarvison’s grandfather built his manor on the highest point of this bluff overlooking Lake Tomahawk,” said Osborne as Lew and Jake followed him along a well-worn path running along a fence behind the Jarvison’s garage. “That was back in the late 1800s.
“Years later , he donated a section of his lake frontage for use as a public boat landing, which earned him a tax break that was significant in those days. So this path, which runs along Bud and Nancy’s property for a hundred yards or so, takes us to a scenic outlook. Great spot for a picnic.”
“What a magnificent view,” said Jake as they reached the crest of the bluff and looked out over the lake. The three of them stood in awed silence as a full moon sent daggers of light across the black water. A zillion stars scattered jewels on the waves. On the landing down below, a pickup was backing a boat trailer into the water. The night air was so clear that they could hear the fishermen planning where to stop for beers after securing their boat on the trailer.
“This path and all the land five miles to the north of us belongs to the town,” said Osborne, gazing at the serene setting before them as he put an arm around Lew’s shoulders. “In the summertime thousands of people use the public access here—fishermen, pleasure boats, kayakers, you name it.”
“By the way, Chief Ferris, you didn’t really have a text saying there’s a fax from the crime lab back at the station, did you?” asked Jake.
“I fibbed,” said Lew, “but I thought it wise to leave the party under any pretenses.”
“Thank you,” said Jake. “Thank you very much.”
A new set of voices drifted toward them in the night air. “Do you have any idea how good it feels to be around a smart man for a change? I sure as hell don’t think Jake Barber is a million bucks in debt. Do you?” Nancy’s words slurred one into the other as she hammered on her husband.
A low grunt could be heard: Bud’s response.
Eyes wide, Lew, Jake, and Osborne looked at one another. They stood frozen in place, hoping they were out of sight of the happy couple.
“They must be on their dock having that nightcap,” said Osborne in a whisper.
“You mean nightcaps,” said Jake.
“Guess we better head
back to the car before they notice we haven’t left yet,” said Lew softly.
“I doubt they can see straight,” said Jake as the three of them tiptoed along the path.
“Will you shut the hell up? I’m working on it.” That was Bud.
“Work? You don’t work. You’ve never worked. You just sit around in that stupid office of yours and pretend you’re your old man.” Nancy was quiet for a moment then she said, “I take that back. You did work. You worked really hard on taking a $30 million fortune and blowing it all in the stock market. I know you had to work goddamn hard to accomplish that.”
A slurping sound—or was it spitting? Osborne wasn’t sure. They were nearly to the car now.
“Yes, you brilliant man. A $30 million fortune and now, you dumb ass, we’re $1 million in debt. Hell, we can’t even sell this house—how the hell many mortgages do you have on it? Stop, where are you going?”
“My boat,” slurred Bud, “only place where I can get away from you.” A loud thump followed.
“Sounds like he fell in the boat,” whispered Jake.
“Hey, hold up for a second, you two,” said Lew in a soft voice. “Let’s be sure he doesn’t take the boat out. He’s in no condition—I’ll have to call in if he does.”
They waited but there was only the sound of a clinking glass. Then someone vomited.
Osborne helped Lew in on the passenger side while Jake slid onto the backseat and tried to close the car door quietly. No one breathed until they were on the highway.
“Think marriage counseling would help?” asked Jake from the backseat, and they all burst into laughter.
“Stop it now,” said Lew, “we’re being mean.” And she laughed again.
Before getting out of the car at the entrance to the inn, Jake said, “Tomorrow is Sunday. Chief, if you have the day off, would you like that lesson on tenkara fly-fishing?”
Victoria Houston - Loon Lake 14 - Dead Lil' Hustler Page 10