Dead Loudmouth

by Victoria Houston

  “That will be Fred. As soon as possible, I’m going put it on the market,” said Karen, her tone grim. “I don’t want to see that place, go near it ever again. Though I can’t imagine anyone will want to buy it now. Maybe I should have it torn down and sell the land.”

  “Karen,” said Lew, “I think it is critical you be aware that the forensic experts from the Wausau Crime Lab who been have gathering evidence at the club do not believe your husband and Tiffany Niedermeier died as the result of an accident.

  “Now that all the evidence at the scene has been collected, documented, and secured, Bruce Peters from the Wausau Crime Lab is convinced your husband and his friend were murdered.”

  “Do you think that?” Karen’s eyes widened and her body tensed. “That someone murdered my husband and that stripper? Is that really what you think? Dr. Osborne?”

  “I’m not sure what to think just yet,” said Lew. “If that is the case then the question for law enforcement is this: Was your husband the target and did the woman with him just happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time? Or did someone want both of them dead?”

  “Well,” Karen waved a dismissive hand, “I don’t see how anyone can begin to think that? I mean, how could a person even dream up such a way of killing someone? Chief Ferris, I hate to disagree with your supposed experts but in my opinion they are wrong.”

  Aware this might be a good time to try to keep the conversation on a more positive note, Osborne asked, “I have a question, Karen. What do you remember of Monday night?”

  “You mean before you found Chet and . . .”

  “Yes. What were you doing and where?” asked Osborne.

  “Gosh,” said Karen, “nothing special really. I was here working on lesson plans. I’ve told you that Chet and I have been living separate lives so he’s been sleeping in the guesthouse. When he’s been here, that is. I stopped trying to keep track of his coming and going months ago.” Again, the soft, disarming smile.

  “I went to bed early. I like to read and be asleep by ten at the latest.”

  “Did anyone stop by or call you that evening?” asked Lew. “Your friend, Fred, perhaps?”

  “No, I was all by myself that night. Then Tuesday morning I saw my divorce lawyer and I was driving back here when Ty called with the awful news. That’s when I drove out to the club and met up with you and Dr. Osborne—”

  Before Karen could say more, her cell phone rang. She looked at the number. “It’s my therapist. Do you mind if I take the call? Just need to make an appointment.”

  “Go right ahead,” said Lew. “May I use your powder room?”

  “Of course. It’s across from the foyer by the front door.”

  Lew left the kitchen while Karen walked over to the nearby counter, phone in hand, and jotted something onto a notepad there. Lew was back by the time she was off the phone.

  “Do I take it you know Dr. Kretzler, the hand surgeon from Milwaukee? Good friend of Chet’s . . . and yours?” asked Osborne.

  “Y-e-e-s-s,” said Karen, “why?”

  “When we met with Dr. Kretzler and the other two Deer Creek members who say there are credit card issues connected to Buddy’s Place, Dr. Kretzler was very concerned for you. He was quite taken aback with something Bert Bronk shared about Chet’s gambling.”

  Osborne paused. He didn’t want to bring up the life insurance until Lew was ready to do so herself.

  “Pete and I dated one summer,” said Karen. “He was working as a camp counselor outside of Eagle River and we met at the Cellar Bar. You know, the big hangout for camp counselors in the day. It was my freshman year in college and Chet was in Europe with his folks. We only dated a short time—then Chet was back.

  “So, yes, I’ve known Pete and his wife over the years, since we’re all members of the Deer Creek Preserve. I’m sure Pete knows I had nothing to do with Chet’s shenanigans. What did Bert Bronk have to say that bothered Pete?”

  Osborne caught Lew’s eye: she would take it from here.

  “Mr. Bronk said that you took out a five-million-dollar life insurance policy on your husband. He said you wouldn’t allow him to play baccarat in Las Vegas without it. Is that true? Will you be paid that kind of money now that Chet is dead?”

  “Yes, I will,” said Karen without blinking an eye.

  “But Bert Bronk has it all wrong. I didn’t take out the policy. The casino in Las Vegas insisted that Chet take out life insurance on both of us. Five million on him, five million on me, and for good reason. Chet wanted to sit at the baccarat table where the bets are often in the million-dollar range or more.

  “The casino knows how fast money can be lost and they want to be sure that if there is an accident or a heart attack or an angry estranged spouse that they will be paid what they are owed. Does that make sense?”

  “Yes,” said Lew.

  “I am well aware that I appear to be the angry estranged spouse—but do I also look stupid?”

  The kitchen was quiet.

  “Here’s something to share with Mr. Bronk, Chief Ferris, because I know right where he’s going with this,” said Karen, her tone hardening as she spoke.

  “Chet Wright owes so much money and as his still-legal spouse I now owe that money so that when all his debts are settled I doubt, seriously doubt, there will be much left of the five million. I will still be selling this house. I will still be working.”

  “I appreciate your candor, Karen,” said Lew as she slid off the stool and onto her feet. “But I do have to inform you that you are considered ‘a person of interest’ in the death of your husband and Tiffany Niedermeier.”

  “And what does that mean exactly? Am I under arrest?” Karen looked flabbergasted.

  “No. But it does mean that you cannot leave Loon Lake until our investigation is complete. I’m sorry to say that includes no teaching in Rhinelander as well.” Lew picked up the tape recorder and slipped her notebook back into her pocket.

  “I see. Chief Ferris, Dr. Osborne,” said Karen, standing up to extend a hand to Lew and to Osborne, “I am confident you will find me innocent.”

  Lew shook her hand. “Karen, thank you for your time this afternoon.”

  Back in the cruiser, Lew pulled out of the driveway and drove 500 feet before pulling onto the shoulder far enough to be out of sight from the Wright’s front door. She reached for her cell phone.

  “Dispatch? Is Dani still in? Please put her on . . . Dani, I need you to pull up the boilerplate for a search warrant, print three copies, and set them on my desk, please. I’ll be there in ten minutes and fill in the specifics.

  “But first, please call the judge’s chambers in the courthouse and ask the secretary to let the judge know I’ll be by shortly with a search warrant for him to sign. Ask her to be sure he doesn’t leave until I get there. This cannot wait for tomorrow. Thank you.”

  She hit another number on her phone.

  “Bruce, you’re still in town, right? Good. I’ll meet you at the Loon Lake Pub in an hour and don’t you dare leave before I get there. I have new evidence for you to take with you tonight . . . Sorry, tell you when I get there. I’m rushing to get a search warrant right now.” She clicked off and put the cruiser in gear.

  “You haven’t fooled me,” said Osborne. “You didn’t use the powder room, did you?”

  Lips pressed tight, Lew gave him the dim eye. “When was the last time you saw me take a bathroom break in the middle of an interrogation?”

  “Those boots she was wearing—Vasque?”

  “Yep.”

  “Very interesting. I’m surprised though.”

  “You said it yourself, Doc. Good people . . .”

  “I know, I know. Still I am surprised. And I hope you don’t mind but I need to head home, Lew. I promised Erin I would be there for Mason’s last night working with Ray and the boys.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Lew raced into her office. It was almost four thirty and she knew Judge Dickson liked to leave h
is office by then. The three copies of the search warrant were on her desk with Dani waiting to see if she needed anything more. Lew looked down. “No, this is fine, and thank you.”

  “The judge promised to wait for you,” said Dani.

  “Great,” said Lew as she started to write in the specifics. That took less than five minutes and she was back out the door and around the building to the courthouse.

  Pulling into Karen’s driveway twenty minutes later, Lew was relieved to see the Ranger Rover was still there. She hurried up the stairs to the front door and rang the doorbell. She wanted to get this over as soon and as easily as possible.

  Karen was at the door within seconds. “Chief Ferris, did you forget something?”

  “No, I have a search warrant, Karen.”

  “A search warrant? You mean to search my house?” she asked.

  “Not your house. I have a search warrant that allows me to confiscate one item of evidence from your front foyer. Please let me by,” said Lew.

  “Well . . . okay,” said Karen, stepping back with a baffled look on her face. She watched as Lew pulled on a pair of nitrile gloves, picked up the hiking boots, which were right where Karen had left them earlier, and slipped the boots into an evidence bag.

  “Thank you, Karen, I appreciate your cooperation.”

  Karen, bewildered, said nothing as Lew ran back down the steps to the police cruiser.

  • • •

  Bruce was just tucking into his meatloaf and mashed potatoes when Lew rushed into the Loon Lake Pub main dining room. Since five fifteen is early for most diners, the room was empty except for Bruce and Rich. Lew set a cardboard box holding the evidence bag on the floor beside his chair.

  “What’s that?” asked Bruce, his fork in midair.

  “Confiscated these at the Wright residence. They were worn this afternoon by Mrs. Wright.”

  “And?”

  “Vasque hiking boots, men’s size ten.”

  “But you just said Karen Wright was wearing them. She must have big feet.”

  “She did have socks on. Bruce, you said there were wear patterns on the boots that left those prints on the workbench at Buddy’s Place and that the lab would be able to match those if we found the exact boots, correct?”

  “Yes. If these,” he pointed down to the evidence bag, “are the same boots, we can confirm without question.”

  “How long will that take?”

  “If I drive them down tonight, shouldn’t take more than a day or two. Depends what else is on the schedule. They had a couple shootings in Forest County so the guys are pretty busy. You know I’ll do my best to speed up the process.”

  He tweaked an eyebrow as he looked over at her. “Especially if I will need to drive this evidence package back up here . . . a little more help with my double-haul?” Lew punched him in the shoulder before pulling up a chair.

  “Mind if I sit here for a few minutes and watch you two eat? I’ve been running around like a chicken with its head cut off for the last hour.”

  “Of course not,” said Bruce, chewing. He set down his fork. “I have to say I am sorry to hear these are Karen Wright’s boots. She seemed like a nice woman.”

  The mournful expression on his face said it all: Could the universe have let forensic expert Bruce Peters down? As talented as he was in his field, he hated to learn he might be a poor judge of character.

  • • •

  “Grandpa, I am so tired,” said Mason walking into Osborne’s house and throwing herself onto the living room sofa.

  “I am not surprised, young lady. It’s almost ten o’clock and neither one of us got much sleep last night, did we? How did your team do? Catch any muskies?” He knew the boys had had a pretty good day up to lunchtime but they weren’t sure how close they were to the top of the rankings.

  “Got two smaller ones tonight,” said Mason.

  “No Buster?”

  “C’mon, Grandpa.” She grinned sheepishly. “Don’t make me feel bad about losing that fish.”

  “Mason, honey, if that’s the only fish you ever lose . . . I can’t tell you how many fish I’ve lost over the years. Dozens, maybe hundreds. I don’t know a fisherman who hasn’t lost a big one. That’s what makes it fun.”

  “Well, okay,” she said with a heavy sigh, punching at one of the sofa pillows beside her. “Grandpa, can I go to bed now?” Osborne could see her eyes were closing.

  “No ice cream?”

  “Oh, for sure.” She jumped up. “Then I’ll go to bed.”

  • • •

  In the middle of the night a sound woke Osborne. He had deliberately left the door to his bedroom open in case Mason needed anything. The sound . . . could it have been a whimper? Maybe a critter snuffling around outside his open bedroom window? He lay listening but the house was quiet. Mike didn’t stir from his dog bed. Osborne fell back asleep.

  At four forty-five the next morning, he had oatmeal with brown sugar and blueberry muffins set out on the kitchen table. On this, the last morning of the tournament, the fishing would start at six A.M. and end at ten A.M. Mason had told him she needed to be at Ray’s by five to be sure everything was ready.

  “Hey, sleepyhead,” he called downstairs. He had to smile at how Mason’s presence in the downstairs bedroom reminded him of how much fun he had had with Erin when she was the same age: two tomboys one generation apart.

  After walking Mason down to Ray’s, he went back and tried to nap on the sofa but that wasn’t going to happen. Giving up, he put Mike on the leash and took a stroll down past the other houses and cottages lining the road to his place. At last it was time for his daily chat with his coffee buddies.

  A quick check with Lew after leaving McDonald’s found her up to her ears in paperwork. “Still waiting for any news from Bruce on those boots, Doc. Are you free later? I could use your help if I have to make an arrest—”

  Osborne nodded before she could finish. “Of course, but I’m going to hope the Wausau boys are wrong on this one.”

  “Can’t argue with circumstantial evidence, and there’s no one to confirm where she was that night. Unless she can come up with a witness, I won’t have a choice.”

  “True. Much as I regret it, I guess I have to agree with you on that one,” said Osborne. “But on a happier note, Lewellyn, I will have my house back to myself this evening. Can I entice you to join me for one of my gourmet meals? Bill Oliver stopped by with a stringer of bluegills this morning and I thought a little mac ’n’ cheese might set those off nicely.”

  Lew grinned up at him. “Sounds like a plan to me. By the way, how did Ray and the boys do in the tournament?”

  “Haven’t heard yet.” He checked his watch. “I gotta hustle home. Mason should be finishing up and back at my place any minute.”

  • • •

  “Grandpa, they came in fifth! Ryan and Jake won fifteen hundred dollars. Can you believe it? And Ray wants me to work with them next summer, too. But, Grandpa, look what Ray paid me.” She held out two twenties and a ten. “Fifty bucks. This is the most money I ever made.”

  “For that kind of money, I hope you helped Ray clean up and put everything away.”

  “I did, I did,” she said, bouncing up and down. Osborne suspected Ray felt guilty about her harrowing adventure in the fishing kayak. He would have to reassure his neighbor Mason’s close call was not his fault.

  “You know, Grandpa, I love all those tools and lures and stuff that Ray has. Maybe I’ll grow up and run a bait shop someday. That stuff is so much fun.”

  “You should talk to Chief Ferris about that. She worked in her grandfather’s sporting-goods store when she was a girl. But settle down now and get your things together, kiddo. Time for me to run you home.”

  After dropping Mason home, Osborne mulled over her remarks about working for Ray. So she loves tools and lures, does she? He smiled to himself. Maybe she’d like to grow up and be a dentist. Lots of tools in that line of work.

  • • •<
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  “Do you think Mason might like to try fly-fishing?” asked Lew as she helped Osborne put the dinner dishes in the dishwasher. Osborne had told her how excited Mason had been helping with the tournament. “If she enjoys being around the lures and fishing rods, she might. I have a fly rod she can try.”

  “And I bought her state-of-the-art waders,” said Osborne. “We’ll have to take her fly-fishing with us when your schedule has settled down. Any news from Bruce on those hiking boots?”

  “Not yet. May have to wait over the weekend,” said Lew.

  After finishing the dishes they decided to walk down to the dock and settle in to count ducklings as they glided behind the mother duck, who was serene as ever in spite of the squabbling of her offspring.

  “Oh, oh, looks like we’re down to eight,” said Osborne. As he gave Lew a rueful smile a dragonfly with wings of molten gold landed on the rim of her glass of iced tea.

  Osborne leaned back on the chaise longue, feet up and an iced coffee in hand. It was the finest of summer evenings as swirls of peach overhead bloomed in pools on the water.

  Hours later the two of them, nestled together and sleeping soundly, woke to the ringing of the phone on the bedside table. The sound pierced the quiet night, shrill as a scream.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “Dad, I am so sorry to wake you up but Mason just had the worst nightmare. She is hysterical. But maybe it’s not a nightmare.” Erin was talking so fast he wasn’t sure he heard her correctly.

  “Slow down, Erin. Please start over. I’m having a hard time hearing you.”

  “Dad, it’s Mason.” Osborne could hear Erin trying to get a grip on herself. “She has had a horrible nightmare. Something awful must have happened to her the other night. Mark said to call. We need your help.”

  “What time is it?” Osborne struggled to wake up. “Erin, it’s two thirty in the morning.”

  “I know, I know—but she woke up screaming that someone’s going to die. I can’t settle her down. Mark can’t either. She is screaming for the police—”