Dead Tease

by Victoria Houston

  Osborne tucked his head down over Bonnie’s. Why? Why did this kind, hardworking woman have to lose that one wild and precious child of hers?

  “If it helps,” he said in a soft tone when he felt the tears subside every so slightly, “Jennifer died instantly. No pain. I doubt she even knew what was happening.”

  “I hope you’re right.” Bonnie tipped her head back to peer up at him. Lew handed her a bunch of Kleenex. As she wiped at her face she said, “But, Dr. Osborne, how would you know? You’re a dentist—” She turned to Lew, “Where’s my brother-in-law? Shouldn’t Herb be here?”

  Bonnie Williams was the middle child of three siblings. A younger sister, Sylvia, was married to the mayor of Loon Lake and an older sister, Donna, was married to Herb Pecore, the Loon Lake coroner whose job was a political appointment and a headache for the Loon Lake chief of police.

  Among Pecore’s qualifications for the position were bankrupting a beer bar (hard to do in the Northwoods) and training Black and Tan Coonhounds to tree bears. Other virtues included chronic alcoholism, peripatetic office habits, and gross incompetence when it came to the chain of custody on criminal evidence. Once he had even managed to misplace the physical evidence from a murder case.

  Not that any of that made a difference. Nor did curses, eye-rolling, and written complaints from Chief Lewellyn Ferris. Pecore’s job was well protected thanks to his (and Bonnie’s) brother-in-law, the mayor. When Chief Ferris found herself pushed to the limit, she maintained her sanity by going fishing. Or moonlighting as a fly fishing instructor for the local sporting goods store. Either way, she could escape the distress of working with a fool.

  And so it was that after giving a private lesson to the recently retired dentist, Dr. Paul Osborne, Officer Lewellyn Ferris (not yet promoted to “chief”) had been thrilled to find she had not only an interesting new student but a connection with someone skilled in forensic dentistry who could be deputized to help the Loon Lake Police identify victims and establish cause of death on those occasions when Pecore was “incapacitated.”

  For Osborne his first evening in a trout stream was an equally auspicious encounter. Who knew that signing up for a lesson in fly fishing—for the sole purpose of helping him decide if he should or shouldn’t sell an expensive fly rod he had purchased years ago but never used—might change his life?

  At first, he had been taken aback when the fly fishing instructor he was to meet at the parking lot—a “Lou” recommended and booked for the evening by Ralph’s Sporting Goods—turned out to be “Lew,” a woman he recognized from her younger days as a parent when she brought her children in for their annual school dental exams.

  Things had changed since then. Her son and daughter had grown up, she’d left her job as a secretary at the mill and, after a divorce, earned a degree in law enforcement after which she joined the Loon Lake Police Department.

  Osborne, meanwhile, had raised two daughters, lost a wife, and given up a profession he dearly loved due to the badgering of the late wife who had insisted they “travel, put more money into redecorating our house instead of all that ridiculous fishing equipment, and spend time entertaining—Paul, you know how I love dinner parties….”

  And so it was that though they may have been aware of one another for years, it wasn’t until they were standing hip deep in the riffles of the Prairie River on a moonlit summer night that they discovered they just might need each other.

  “Because your brother-in-law is so closely related to the victim, I’m afraid we can’t have him handle this part of the investigation, Bonnie,” said Lew. “But please don’t worry. For two years now, Doctor Osborne has worked for the department on an ‘as-needed’ basis. He is deputized to assist the Loon Lake Police as deputy coroner when Herb isn’t available. Be assured, the Wausau Crime Lab will handle the crime scene investigation.”

  Bonnie may or may not have understood, but she nodded as if she did. From where she had been waiting near the Ford Taurus, another woman, less chunky than Bonnie but similar in coloring, approached them.

  “Chief Ferris,” said Sylvia Tillman, the mayor’s wife, “I’m here for my sister. Can she come with me now or … ?”

  “Hello, Sylvia,” said Lew. “A few more minutes, please. If Bonnie can manage, I have several questions critical to our investigation. Do you mind waiting?”

  “No, of course not,” said Sylvia. She rubbed her sister’s shoulder then walked back to wait by her car.

  “Bonnie,” said Lew, steering her by the elbow to the passenger side of the squad car, “why don’t you sit here….” She opened the car door and helped Bonnie slide onto the front seat. “I’ll close the door and run the air conditioning. It’ll be comfortable and give us some privacy. Dr. Osborne will join us. Based on what he found during his exam, he may have a few questions for you as well.”

  Bonnie pointed at the ambulance crew who were waiting for a signal from Lew to move the body. “They’ll be careful with Jen, right?”

  “Please don’t worry. They know what to do. I can arrange for you to visit her in the hospital morgue once she’s there.”

  “Okay,” said Bonnie, tears glimmering at the sound of the word “morgue.”

  Before walking around the front of the cruiser to the driver’s side, Lew motioned for Osborne to meet with her behind the squad car. In a low voice she said, “Don’t hesitate to jump in, Doc. I can see you know Bonnie better than I do.”

  Osborne nodded and slipped into the back seat.

  Early on, he and Lew had discovered they made a good team when it came to interrogating people. Whether it was gender differences or their varied experiences over the years of life in Loon Lake, each was capable of hearing the same words from the same person in different ways. Comparing notes later, they were often surprised at what the other had heard—or missed—or had a different interpretation of the same answer.

  Osborne’s years of listening between the lines to better diagnose patients’ problems offered a counterbalance to Lew’s targeted questions, which, on more than one occasion, had led to an argument. Given the grim circumstances, Osborne was more than a little chagrined to admit he enjoyed these sometimes-heated exchanges. Loved how her eyes flashed when she was challenged.

  “Bonnie, this is not to make any assumptions whatsoever but can you tell us who Jennifer has been dating?” Lew asked.

  “No one that I know of. Not recently anyway.” Bonnie blew her nose and settled back against the car seat.

  “Really?” Surprise flashed across Lew’s face. “How old was she?”

  “Twenty-six.”

  “Old boyfriends? A partner, maybe? She’s young but had she ever been married and divorced?”

  “Jenny dated Bart Martin when she first moved back, but that’s been over for a long time. He married Candy Phelan last

  Christmas—but he and Jen have stayed friendly. Were friendly.” Tears shimmered again.

  “How long has she been living in the condos here?”

  “She moved in right when they opened six months ago.” Bonnie took a deep breath and exhaled. “She loved this place … she has the nicest condo unit….”Lew tapped a pen on her notepad, thinking, then said, “Has she been upset with anyone lately? A neighbor? A friend? Anyone she worked with?”

  “Umm, not really. Once in a while she talked about work stuff but that was more frustration not anger.”

  “Doc?” Lew turned toward Osborne in the back seat.

  “Has she mentioned if anyone has been bothering her?” said Osborne. “Anyone ask her out who might have made her feel uncomfortable? Obscene phone calls? E-mails or other intrusive behavior from people?”

  Bonnie shook her head. “No … not that I’m aware of. When it comes to dating or people asking her out, we … well, I never asked about her relationships with men. We’ve never been the kind of mother-daughter to share every little thing…. I suppose that’s my fault—I should know more.”

  “Heavens, no,” said Lew, “I und
erstand. My daughter and I are the same. We keep our private lives off-limits, but maybe she would have a girl friend who might know?”

  “Her closest friend is Kerry Schultz who works at the clinic, too. She’s a surgical nurse. I can get you her home phone number if that would help. I have it at home.”

  “Yes, please,” said Lew. “Here’s my card with my cell phone number. Call me with that as soon as you can—or anything else you may think of. Anytime. I don’t mind.”

  “What about the patients and staff at the hospital?” said Osborne. “Anyone there with whom she might have had some difficulty?”

  “Well, she sure as heck doesn’t care for that goofy surgeon they got working the emergency room,” said Bonnie, her voice rising. “That’s the only person she had any problems with that I’m aware of. But, I think all the gals at the clinic have problems with her.”

  “What kind of problems?” Lew gave her a sharp look.

  “The usual—she’s bossy, blames the nurses for her mistakes. Brownnoses the bigwigs. The nurses all hate her. You can ask Kerry—she’ll tell you.” Bonnie lowered her voice as if sharing a confidence: “You should see the way she dresses … the cleavage…. Well, Jen had no use for her, I tell you.”

  Ten minutes later, after walking Bonnie over to her sister’s car, Osborne joined Lew in the front seat of the cruiser. “Hold on, Doc,” she said, radio mike in her hand, “I’m being patched through to Harold at the crime lab.” She winked and waited.

  The head of the Wausau Crime Lab answered right away.

  “Wausau Crime Lab, Harold Eckes speaking.”

  “Lew Ferris, Harold. How’re you doing?”

  “Oh, you. What do you want now?” He sounded as if all Lew did was call and make his life difficult.

  “Sorry to bother you so late in the day, Harold,” said Lew, keeping her voice deliberately upbeat, which she knew was guaranteed to drive him nuts. She described what had happened and her efforts to protect the crime scene.

  “You got the budget for this?”

  “We’ll find the money. We have to, don’t we,” said Lew. “I will have the victim transported down to Wausau first thing in the morning. I was hoping maybe your man, Bruce Peters, might be available?”

  “Don’t know. Call him yourself.”

  Harold was off the line before Lew could mention she wouldn’t need Bruce’s cell phone number. She grinned at Osborne. “Mission accomplished.”

  Osborne patted her on the shoulder. “Good work, Lewellyn. Harold thinks he’s making your life miserable and you got what you wanted.”

  “I enjoy torturing the guy,” said Lew. “Doesn’t speak well of me but—”

  “If it’s okay with you,” said Osborne as he opened the car door and moved to leave, “I will accompany the ambulance down to the morgue and finish my paperwork there. Too tired for my place tonight?”

  “I don’t know. What do you have in the fridge?”

  “Leigh, I like how you’ve set up the TV and the bar out here on the deck,” said Jim McNeil as he settled into a wicker armchair and swung his feet up onto a matching ottoman.

  “Oh, honey, I thought you would,” said Leigh, sitting down across from him and picking up the afghan she was crocheting. “I thought this way we can relax together. You can watch the news, a little baseball—and enjoy the cool night air while I do my needlework. I get so tired of the air conditioning. Did you have a good day?”

  She let her eyes rest on her handsome husband. He had changed into the green golf shorts and white polo shirt with a matching LaCoste crocodile that she had given him for his birthday.

  “Who cares how the day went. Right now I got the remote in one hand and a G&T in the other, kiddo. Life is good.” He smiled at her then looked back at the screen.

  “I thought you might enjoy this, sweetie,” said Leigh McNeil, hoping he would call her something other than “kiddo” one of these days. How long had it been since he had told her he loved her? Years? As always, she pushed that thought away.

  Ice cubes clinking in their drinks, they were watching Channel 12’s evening broadcast when a reporter broke into the sports news: “This just in from the Loon Lake Police. The victim of a late afternoon stabbing at the new Lake Thompson Shores condos has been identified as Jennifer Williams, a twenty-six-year-old Loon Lake resident….”

  “Jim, sweetie,” said Leigh, “Jennifer Williams. Doesn’t she work at your clinic?”

  Chapter Six

  The lake was tranquil, an amethyst basin studded with millions of stars. Osborne, legs extended with his ankles crossed, relaxed on the wooden bench at the end of his dock as he sipped from a glass of iced tea. It seemed the perfect choice for a nightcap to accompany the soft slurps of feeding fish while he waited to hear the grind of Lew’s tires in the driveway.

  He smiled as peals of laughter and murmuring voices drifted his way from the far shore. They sounded so close they might have come from the cabin next door. Muted applause from a bonfire glowing at the south end of the lake testified to a late night for young campers. Overhead, bats swooped, threading their way through the branches of the hovering white pine.

  Osborne savored the warm air, acknowledged his good fortune, and sipped again. The night was charmed—except for random thoughts of poor Jennifer Williams whom he had left tucked under a cold coverlet in the hospital morgue.

  Before leaving the morgue he had arranged for an early morning transport to the Wausau Crime Lab for an autopsy. Oh, Jennifer, he thought, so young, too young. So full of life less than twelve hours ago and now … Osborne slapped at a mosquito missed by the bats.

  A Harry Belafonte tune shrilled from his cell phone, shattering the peace like the shriek of a rabbit losing its head to a great horned owl. He answered.

  “Dad? Sorry to call so late. Do you have a minute?”

  “Erin—is everyone okay?” He sat straight up on the bench. Osborne dreaded late night phone calls: death, dismemberment in a car crash or a hockey puck in the mouth—good news never arrived late. And hockey pucks were the least of his worries.

  “We’re fine, we’re fine, but—” He could hear the tension in his youngest daughter’s voice and held his breath over what she might say next.

  “Honey, what is it?”

  “Well, Dad, I hate to ask you this but, well, we have a problem with Beth. Mark and I have been planning all summer to take the kids to Chicago tomorrow to visit museums and Beth is refusing to go. She has basketball camp every day this week and insists she can’t play varsity if she misses a day. Could she—gosh, I hate to ask you this—but is there any chance she could stay with you?”

  “You mean out here at my place? Sure, why not? Of course, she’ll have to do the cooking—just kidding. I’d love to have her.” He relaxed back on the bench.

  “You don’t have to drive her to camp—she can bike in from the lake and …” Erin laid out the details of his eldest granddaughter’s schedule.

  “Now, don’t worry,” said Osborne when she was finished. “Beth and I will have a good time together. What the heck—maybe Lew and I’ll take her fishing.”

  “Oh, golly, Dad, I love you. I’ll drop her stuff off at your place in the morning and I’ll have the schedule written down. Oh, one more thing, Dad. She’s not allowed to text more than fifteen times a day.”

  “What? How do you regulate that?” Osborne was puzzled.

  “I’ll show you in the morning. There’s an 800 number where you can check on it. It’s easy.”

  Pausing on the stone stairs leading down to Osborne’s dock, Lew let her eyes adjust to the darkness. No lanterns lit the way this evening, which surprised her, but the reflection on the water from the stars overhead made it easy to spot Osborne at the far end of the dock. He was leaning forward, elbows on his knees, a cell phone held tight to one ear. No wonder he hadn’t heard her drive up.

  She watched him talking. Moonlight outlined the sturdy contours of his face: a face that had a way of lightening her
heart. He was a very good-looking man, and she liked that he was not aware of that. Or if he was, it was an awareness that had come late in life—late enough that he was not one of those jerks who are so good-looking that they never make the effort to be interesting.

  That was not Paul Osborne. Not only did he never cease to intrigue her but he had a knack for making her feel like she was the most fascinating person he knew. And that she did not mind. Nice to feel appreciated. Maybe treasured? Whatever. Just watching him talk on his cell phone eased the tensions of the day.

  “Oh, Lew,” said Osborne, clicking his phone off as she strolled onto the dock, “sorry—I didn’t hear you drive up or I would have turned on the lights.” He reached toward a tall plastic glass and a pitcher sitting on a small table beside the bench. “A glass of iced tea sound good?”

  “Certainly does,” she said in a determined tone as she slid onto the bench beside him. He laid his arm across her shoulders, and she snuggled into the curve of his long, lean frame. “What a day, Doc. What a sad day.”

  “Any new developments since I left for the morgue?”

  “Not much to work with. The only person anyone appears to have seen in the vicinity before Jennifer was attacked was an elderly woman walking her dog. Apparently she walks the dog every day near the condos. I’m hoping to question her tomorrow. She may have seen something.

  “Oh, and a woman whose unit is next door to Jennifer’s said she thought she saw someone peeking in Jennifer’s windows last Saturday night, but it was late and she didn’t get a good look at the person. Couldn’t say if it was male or female. Problem is the sidewalk runs right along there so it could have been a perfectly innocent individual walking by at a time when Jennifer had her curtains open and they happened to look in. You know, like we all do when we’re night fishing and we go by a place all lit up.