Dead Loudmouth
Victoria Houston
Copyright © 2016 by Victoria Houston.
All rights reserved.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher; exceptions are made for brief excerpts used in published reviews.
Published by
TYRUS BOOKS
an imprint of F+W Media, Inc.
10151 Carver Road, Suite 200
Blue Ash, OH 45242. U.S.A.
www.tyrusbooks.com
Hardcover ISBN 10: 1-4405-6845-6
Hardcover ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-6845-9
Paperback ISBN 10: 1-4405-6844-8
Paperback ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-6844-2
eISBN 10: 1-4405-6846-4
eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-6846-6
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Houston, Victoria, author.
Dead loudmouth / Victoria Houston.
Blue Ash, OH: Tyrus Books, [2016] | Series: Loon Lake mystery series
LCCN 2015047504 (print) | LCCN 2016001975 (ebook) | ISBN 9781440568459 (hc) | ISBN 1440568456 (hc) | ISBN 9781440568442 (pb) | ISBN 1440568448 (pb) | ISBN 9781440568466 (ebook) | ISBN 1440568464 (ebook)
LCSH: Ferris, Lewellyn (Fictitious character)--Fiction. | Osbourne, Doc (Fictitious character)--Fiction. | Policewomen--Wisconsin--Fiction. | Murder--Investigation--Fiction. | Kidnapping--Investigation--Fiction. | BISAC: FICTION / Mystery & Detective / Women Sleuths. | GSAFD: Mystery fiction.
LCC PS3608.O88 D4357 2016 (print) | LCC PS3608.O88 (ebook) | DDC 813/.6--dc23
LC record available at http://lccn.loc.gov/2015047504
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.
Many of the designations used by manufacturers and sellers to distinguish their products are claimed as trademarks. Where those designations appear in this book and F+W Media, Inc. was aware of a trademark claim, the designations have been printed with initial capital letters.
Cover design by Stephanie Hannus.
Cover image © iStockphoto.com/LawrenceSawyer.
Contents
Title page
Copyright page
Dedication
Epigraph
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Acknowledgments
About the Author
For Ray and Catherine, my grandparents
“A high station in life is earned by the gallantry with which appalling experiences are survived with grace.”
—Tennessee Williams
Chapter One
The owl, poised still as a rock on his favorite perch, the broken branch of the old oak tree, scanned the ground below still hoping for a late dinner. Alerted to the sound of an approaching intruder, he tipped his elegant head to one side as the creature invaded his territory. Neither deer nor bear nor raccoon, the shadowy shape resembled none of his usual prey traveling the deer trail. The owl stared, confident his burning eyes would terrorize the unwitting trespasser.
To his surprise he was ignored. Ignored and unseen, he chose to watch.
Rocking back and forth as it bumped forward in low gear, a golf cart made its way over the roots and rocks sabotaging the path worn by bears addicted to the garbage spilling from bins behind the supper club. Ah, now the owl understood: this was one of those who hunted in the sunlight.
After parking in a clearing off to the side of honeysuckle planted to mask the garbage from the parking lot, the driver turned off the ignition and waited, listening.
Except for the excitement of birds thrilled that the sun had just peeked over the pines lining the eastern shore of the lake . . . no other sounds.
Stepping off the cart the driver hurried past the bins to the rear of the building then stopped to listen again before moving forward. But the only sound besides the birds was a faint squish of sand and leaves underfoot where the ground was soggy from a downpour two days earlier. Yet the watcher in the tree heard what the intruder did not: leaves whispering in an early morning breeze, waves lapping softly on the shore beyond the woods.
As the owl watched, the hunter pursued its prey.
The window the driver had jimmied open the night before was still ajar—enough that one shove pushed it wide open, but a quick glance inside didn’t help: no sightline to the stage. The driver knew the answer to that problem. The Formica-topped workbench just inside the open window would make for easy access without having to use the front door.
Pushing away the dusty curtain that had been hung in front of the window to discourage curious teenage boys, the driver crawled in far enough to perch, knees bent, on the countertop. The driver waited, breath held. No sound.
From that angle the underside of the white baby grand piano was in full sight. A man’s foot could be seen sticking out over the top edge of the piano but there was no sign of the woman. The foot was still; not even a toe moved.
Satisfied, the driver backed out of the window, dropping feet first onto the ground. Scraping over half-buried rocks, the golf cart wheeled in a tight circle to start back on the path. Less than a hundred yards away was the snowmobile trail that ran between the county highway, the woods, and the lake.
Mission accomplished, thought the driver. In less than an hour I can reach the car, get to the cabin, change clothes, and be back at Deer Creek with no one the wiser. So sorry, Miss Niedermeier, you should have thought before you spoke.
As the cart bounced in the direction of the snowmobile path, one set of eyes was still watching. Yellow, unblinking eyes. Eyes that could never bear witness because a snowy owl is soundless, except when breeding.
Chapter Two
Checking her watch, Loon Lake’s chief of police picked up her stride as she wove her way, smiling, through clusters of youngsters chatting, skipping, and being flat-out noisy on their way to summer fun—swimming lessons, soccer practice, summer school—wherever they were going, spirits were high. Had to be. The day was sunny, the breeze light, and the air fragrant with the scent of mock orange.
“Lewellyn, this is damn good,” the mayor had said moments earlier after running his finger down her spreadsheet of misdemeanors committed over the holiday weekend. “No felony assaults, no burglaries—not even a DUI? Very good news. You know, this will make for a terrific banner on the Chamber’s new website.” He nodded with enthusiasm as he spoke.
“I may write it myself: ‘Visit Loon Lake—Your Haven for Big Fish and Family Fun.’ Hell, this could be just what we need to get a Target up here. Excellent work, Chief Ferris. You are making all of us look good.”
Lew had given him a tight smile. She was not going to argue. If he was happy, she was happy. Too often life in the Northwoods wasn’t so benign. And when that happened whose fault was it? Law enforcement’s?
Or was it having a woman as the chief of police?
She was so used to seeing the latter question on the mayor’s face that she was relieved to start this week with the guy in a better humor, even if they both knew that while Loon Lake might be felony-free for the moment, it was a hotbed of hunting and fishing violations. But that was not her worry or his: the game wardens would have to handle those bad actors.
Lew picked up her pace as the busy downtown streets gave way to the quiet, tree-lined boulevard leading to the old brownstone courthouse where the jail and the police station were housed. She could hear the scream of a Jet Ski speeding along the river that wound through town. Ah, summer in full swing.
Her office was welcoming with the midmorning sun spilling through the tall windows lining the south and west walls. A quick glance at the coffeepot in the corner showed at least two cups remaining—and still hot.
“Lew, got a minute?” She was in the midst of pouring her penultimate cup of coffee when she heard a voice that had a way of making her smile. “I can come back if you’re busy,” said Dr. Paul Osborne from the doorway.
“No, Doc, come on in. If you behave, I’ll let you have my last cup of coffee . . .”
“If I behave?” Osborne glanced behind him to be sure no one else was walking in. “That’s asking a lot.” He grinned as he bent to give her quick kiss. “Sorry to intrude, Lew. I know you have meetings this morning, but I was just over at Erin’s,” he said, referring to his youngest daughter whose family lived kitty-corner to the courthouse, “and got a little piece of good news I’d like to share. Nothing too special, but it made my day—”
Before he could finish his sentence, the phone on Lew’s desk rang simultaneously with the cell phone in the holster on her waist. She reached for the cell phone and looked down. “It’s dispatch with an emergency—hold on, Doc. Damn, I knew the day was going too well . . .” She picked up the landline on her desk. “Marlaine? Sure . . . put him through.”
“Chief, can you hear me?” A wheeze of a voice came crackling through the phone.
“Roger? Yes. You’re breaking up a little but I can hear you okay. What’s wrong?”
“Oh, man. We got a double something up on a piano here at Buddy’s Place—that new gentlemen’s club out on County Q?”
“Yep, right. I know where you mean and . . .”
“Two, Chief, and they are dead, real dead—”
“Have you called for an ambulance?”
“Yes, the EMTs are on their way but you have to call Pecore, too. I’m sure these folks are gone. I mean that’s sure as hell how it looks to me and, Chief, it is weird—”
“Hold on, Roger,” said Lew, interrupting the officer as she glanced over at Osborne. “Okay, I’m putting you on speaker. Doc Osborne is here so in case Pecore can’t make it up there right away . . .”
She didn’t have to add that any call to the Loon Lake coroner too early in the day was likely to catch him nursing a hangover, a hangover of such magnitude that more than once the man’s shaky hands, limited knowledge of law enforcement protocol (or deliberate ignorance of such), and sloppy record keeping had combined with his alcohol-pickled brain cells to compromise an investigation. Only the fact that he was the mayor’s brother-in-law saved his ass.
“And therein lies the problem of appointed public servants,” Lew would mutter each time she had to find a way to work around the overserved jabone.
She hit the speaker button on her desk phone: “Okay, Roger, start from the beginning, please.”
“Chief, we got two bodies—fragrant derelicts. Know what I mean?”
Lew looked over at Osborne, a puzzled expression on her face.
“I think he means ‘in flagrante delicto,’” whispered Osborne, leaning forward in the chair in front of Lew’s desk where he had seated himself after pouring the last cup of coffee. “That means naked and . . . ,” he hesitated as he searched for a polite way to describe what he imagined Roger must mean, “. . . entwined for lack of a better word.”
“Really?” whispered Lew, covering the mouthpiece of her phone. “How do you know that?”
“Six years of Latin in a Jesuit boarding school,” said Osborne.
“Ah,” said Lew with a nod as she dropped her hand from the phone. “So, Roger, I think you mean ‘in flagrante delicto,’ correct? Are the victims naked?”
“Yes, I’ve never seen anything like it. But then—”
“Get to the point, Roger. You have two naked people dead on a piano. Correct?”
“Yes, but up high.”
“High? Now don’t jump to conclusions. That’ll require drug testing by the crime lab. I’ll put a call in to the Wausau boys and let them—”
“No, Chief, that’s not what I mean. The bodies are up high.”
That was too much for Lew.
“Look, I’ll check with Pecore and be right there. Take me fifteen, maybe twenty minutes. You secure the area. And, Roger, be sure to retrace your steps and do not touch anything. This could be an accident or it could be a crime scene so please be careful. Except for the EMTs be sure to keep people away from the site.”
“Chief Ferris, I gotta tell you, I have never seen anything like this.” The older officer was beside himself.
“Roger, please. Don’t hyperventilate. Just settle down and do what I’ve asked you to. I’ll be there shortly.”
Hanging up, she looked over at Osborne. “Oh golly, Roger Adamczak, of all people to run into something like this. Honestly, Doc, I will bet you that man has never even seen his wife naked. Whatever he’s run into out there at Buddy’s Place, I’m lucky I haven’t just lost one of my only two full-time officers to a heart attack.”
Chapter Three
Lew was ten minutes down the road when she remembered that Osborne had mentioned he had good news he wanted to share. Oh darn. She had been in such a rush to get going she had forgotten to ask what that was. Sheesh, one more thing to ruin the day.
The most recent was that numnut Pecore picking up his phone instead of letting it go to voice mail. And, boy, did the day go downhill from there: Not only was he sober but a l-i-t-t-l-e too enthusiastic about meeting up at Buddy’s Place.
“When was the last time that jabone was the least bit interested in showing up for the job he’s paid to do?” she had asked Osborne after the call and before swallowing the last of her coffee. “Could it be he thinks he’ll get free drinks and a front-row seat at a strip joint?” She shook her head in disgust. “I hate being right all the time.”
Arriving at Buddy’s Place, Lew pulled her cruiser alongside the ambulance, which was parked next to Roger’s squad car. Two women and three men were standing in the shade of a large basswood tree off to one side of the parking lot, not far from a gravel walkway marking the entrance to the gentlemen’s club. One of the men gave a polite wave as she stepped out of the car. Lew acknowledged the wave with a nod.
She wasn’t surprised to see a crowd starting to gather. Even though cell service in the Northwoods is more fib than fact, cell phones are ubiquitous. Well aware of her elderly officer’s short memory for department rules, she figured he had called one of his buddies in the area while waiting for her and that one call would have multiplied within seconds to homes up and down the county road. That plus the ambulance siren would have alerted any residents with time on their hands—or unpleasant chores—eager to see what all the excitement was.
Either that or the folks waiting under the tree were patrons. Lew had noticed on the Buddy’s Place billboard, which she had passed moments earlier, that the club opened at noon six days a week (“closed Sundays”). But if they were patrons, they were at least an hour early.
She gave the group a quick once-over as she hurried toward the club entrance. Nope—no patrons in that crowd. They looked more like curious neighbors than people anxious for a midday break of booze and pole dancing. Plus they were staying a polite distance behind the yellow crime scene tape Roger had put up to close off the front of the bui
lding as well as half the parking area. Taping off a crime scene was one of the few things at which Roger excelled.
As Lew neared the building, the front door swung open and Roger stepped out to hold the door open so she could enter. “Follow me, Chief,” he said, his voice low as if he thought the bystanders might hear too much. “Joe Teske is here with the EMTs. He’s confirmed what I thought was the situation.”
She walked into a hallway lined with windows on both sides, their white wooden shutters open to let the sun pour in. On the wall between the windows someone had hung framed antique beer posters. If she didn’t know better, Lew would have thought she was walking into a classy restaurant.
“The janitor called in the alarm. She found them when she came in to open up this morning,” said Roger as they walked through the hall. “She’s waiting with the EMTs back in the Entertainment Center.”
“The Entertainment Center?” asked Lew.
“That’s what she calls it.”
The hallway opened to a spacious, windowless room filled with round tables surrounded by chairs and a scattering of sofas with coffee tables. In contrast to the sunshine flooding the hallway, this interior was gloomy.
Looking toward the front of the room, Lew saw a small stage that appeared to be under construction. Four people in EMT uniforms were standing in front of a piano that seemed to be hovering in midair.
Even in the dim light she could make out a series of wire ropes and pulleys that disappeared into a hole in the stage floor. To her left was an antique oak bar with a dozen padded stools. The wall behind the bar was lined with shelves holding bottles of liquor. The wall to the far right was covered floor to ceiling with dark green curtains. As Lew scanned the room she realized the proportions of the space were familiar.
She turned to Roger and whispered as they walked across the room toward the group at the far end, “Hey, I think I know this building. Isn’t this the old Long Lake Supper Club? I’m sure it is. Behind those curtains is a wall of windows opening to a nice view of Long Lake. Too bad they’re covered up.
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