Dead Boogie

by Victoria Houston

  “How much are you talking about, Harold?” said Osborne.

  “Forty-eight million dollars.” Osborne gave a low whistle.

  “Peg didn’t want the money. She didn’t need it. I have no heirs. Two years ago, I set her up with a trust. At first she was going to refuse the Garmin money, but I convinced her otherwise. Maybe I was wrong—but her plan was to give it away anyway.”

  “To her son, perhaps?”

  “What?” Harold stared at Osborne.

  “My daughter, Erin, works at the library and has been helping her search for the child she gave up for adoption years ago.”

  Harold sat with his mouth open. “So that’s what she was up to. She was so tickled over some ‘surprise’ that she kept talking about. She wouldn’t tell me the details. She said it was a secret and I would know soon enough.

  “Paul, that is what I have been wondering since I heard the news last night: Peg’s secret. Is that what got her killed?”

  seventeen

  If you wish to be happy for an hour, get intoxicated. If you wish to be happy for three days, get married. If you wish to be happy for eight days, kill your pig and eat it.

  If you wish to be happy forever, learn to fish.

  —Chinese proverb

  “What about the other men?” said Osborne, slipping in the tough question as he got to his feet. “Was there anyone she was seeing who—”

  “No other men,” said Harold, his voice firm. “That was our agreement when I set up the trust.”

  “So she hasn’t … didn’t … for two years?”

  “Correct. No need to. She enriched my life and I decided I wanted to take care of her.”

  “Well … that’s kind of a surprise. I think we all thought—”

  “Paul, I don’t give a damn what people around here thought. I made sure she didn’t need money and then one day, ironically, she turns out to be the heiress to a fortune. I like to think that being with me made her feel good enough about herself that she didn’t need other men. Like a lot of women, she was never happy with how she looked—no matter what I said.”

  “So you know about that—the problem with her face,” said Osborne as he neared the front door. “It appears she was filing a lawsuit?”

  “Damn right she was. I helped her with that even though I didn’t think she looked all that bad. But the damage to her nose should not have happened. The plastic surgeon—Ed Forsyth is his name. What a dumyak. I’ve got all the information if you need it. His offices are in Milwaukee. The guy did a lousy, sloppy job. On top of which he refused to repair the damage without charge. He wanted a fee as if it were an entire new surgery. A scam—that’s all it was. An absolute scam.”

  Harold paused, resting his hand on the front doorknob. “You know—now that you mention it, Peg’s first appointment with the lawyer was scheduled for next week. Good man, too. I put her in touch with Rick Knudson—one of the best when it comes to medical malpractice. And fair.

  “This was not about money, by the way. Peg did not need any more money. Quite the contrary—she was willing to spend whatever she had to—to bring the guy down. She was convinced that Forsyth was taking advantage of other women she knew. She wanted him stopped.”

  “Harold, you’ve been very helpful. I’m sure that either myself or Chief Ferris will be calling you back,” said Osborne. “Sorry to rush out like this.” He stepped onto the walk then turned. “One last question. You’re aware that Peg’s late husband had quite the checkered past. Do you know if anyone from those days might have contacted her recently? Bothered her? Any threats of any kind?”

  “No, not that she mentioned. Paul, I do think she would have told me if she was feeling threatened by anyone. No—the only matters disturbing her over the last few months had to do with that botched surgery and the evil memories behind the Garmin money.”

  Osborne started down the walk. “Paul,” said Harold from his doorway, “I’ve never met Peg’s family. Would you let them know that I would like to say a few words at the memorial service? I would very much like to do that.”

  “I tell you that fish was so huge, my rig felt like a chopstick with dental floss.” Ray had draped himself over the glass panel fronting the switchboard in the entrance to the police station. “If that line had snapped, I’d still be circling the globe.”

  Marlene on the switchboard chortled. Her wide, freckled face under an explosion of red-brown curls beamed up at Ray, who was quite dapper in crisp khakis and a white T-shirt. She glanced over as Osborne walked toward them.

  “Good morning, Doc. Ray’s been regaling me with his latest whopper. The Nehlsons haven’t arrived yet and Chief Ferris is on the phone.”

  “He’s not pulling your leg, Marlene. I’ll bet that was a fifty-inch muskie he had on the line last night,” said Osborne, relieved to see that Ray was in good form.

  “Oh, Chief’s off the phone,” said Marlene. “I know she wants you both back in her office.”

  “She ready to commensurate?” said Ray.

  “I think you mean commiserate,” said Osborne.

  “Yeah, commensurate,” said Ray. He gave Marlene a wink. “Bye now, pay later.”

  Walking down the hallway behind his neighbor, Osborne noticed Ray’s shirt had an inscription on the back: SO MANY MOSQUITOES—SO FEW RECIPES.

  He should have known. But what the heck, at least the guy was his old self. As they entered her office, Lew set some paperwork to one side of her desk and stood up.

  The long, high-ceilinged room, which was in the old section of the courthouse, was airy and full of light. Pots of spring green asparagus fern, set along the window ledges, cascaded to the floor. From behind the ferns, the open windows let in a soft buzz of employees chatting over coffee at picnic tables set out on the lawn.

  Lew looked rested. “Good morning, you two,” she said, reaching for her empty coffee mug. “Grab a cup of coffee and take a seat around the table there. I expect the Nehlsons any minute—Joan and Parker are their names. They were to stop by the morgue and complete the paperwork with Pecore.”

  “So what was his excuse for never showing up yesterday?” said Osborne.

  “Alleges the wind blew your note from his windshield. I asked him if that was the same wind that blew my messages off his answering machine.”

  “And?”

  Before she could answer, Ray, who was standing before the front windows, hands in his pockets as he gazed at the activity on the courthouse lawn, said, “Whoa, check that out.”

  All three watched as a black Lincoln Navigator backed into a parking spot. Even from a distance the limited edition’s brass accents gleamed gold in the morning sun.

  “That’s moola,” said Ray.

  Now it was Lew’s turn to read the back of Ray’s shirt. She caught Osborne’s eye—she was as relieved as he was.

  As they waited for the couple, Lew indicated to both to sit down. They would have at least five minutes, which was what it would take for the Nehlsons to walk up the long sidewalk to the courthouse, past the windows—which included Lew’s—along the front of the building and around to the back, where the entrance to the police department was located.

  Osborne gave Lew and Ray a quick rundown on what he had learned from Harold. Ray’s eyebrows hit the ceiling when he mentioned the inheritance.

  “She never mentioned a word of that,” he said.

  “Ray had a good morning, too,” said Lew.

  “Yep,” said Ray. “Checked out three bars with gas pumps this morning and found the one where the girls had their last drink. The bartender who served them is working tonight. Doc, I thought you and me and Chief Ferris and Gina might catch a fish fry and stop in there later this evening.”

  “Better include Mallory,” said Osborne. “She left a message she’s driving up today.” “Oh,” said Ray, wrinkling his brow.

  eighteen

  They may the better fish in the water when it is troubled.

  —Richard Grafton

 
; Joan Nehlson strode into the room as if taking it hostage. Osborne’s first impression was of a black monolith coming at him. Early in his youth, before figuring the financial consequences, he had entertained pursuing sculpture as a career. Ever since then he’d had a habit of seeing strangers as volumes: squares, spheres, rhomboids.

  This was one long, tall oblong under a hard-edged cap of acid yellow hair. The teeth, Chiclets-styled in two too-perfect rows, were oblong under a lengthy rectangle of nose. As if to argue the reality of her shape, the woman had cinched a long-sleeved black shirt over black slacks with a wide belt. But not even the aggressive cinching of the belt could hide the fact that the waistline was long gone.

  The Chiclet teeth flashed at Osborne as she thrust out her hand. “Good morning, Chief Ferris, sorry we’re a little late.”

  The voice was unreasonably loud for the square footage of the room. Though her face was smooth and well made-up, an impression of horsiness prevailed. Osborne had a sudden and unkind thought: This was one of those women who had inherited too many of their father’s physical attributes.

  “Dr. Paul Osborne, just a deputy on the case,” said Osborne, beckoning toward Lew, who was standing behind her desk. “This is Loon Lake’s Chief of Police, Lewellyn Ferris.” Osborne made the decision to keep his voice low and professional—the tone he used when advising a patient who professed to know more about dentistry than the dentist.

  “Oh?” said Joan, leaning back on a pair of low heels as she turned, “Well, isn’t that interesting. My husband didn’t tell me he spoke with a woman.” Her tone implied the mistake must be Loon Lake’s for choosing a female to head up their law enforcement team.

  From the side, Osborne could see one similarity between Joan and her adopted sister, Peg, and that was across the cheekbones. Peg had had wide, rounded cheekbones, always slightly flushed, that gave her face a heart shape. If you looked closely and imagined this woman fifty pounds lighter, you might find similar cheekbones. Not surprising, as couples adopting children often seek out youngsters with some physical resemblance to themselves. In a bad light, you might guess the two women to be sisters by birth.

  Another figure had slipped into the room behind Joan. Osborne assumed it was her husband. He was slightly shorter than his wife and of medium build. His face under wisps of grey hair was quite round and so pale he reminded Osborne of one of Ray’s unbaked piecrusts. He stood just inside the doorway, not anxious to interrupt.

  “Oh—and this is my husband, Parker,” said Joan, with a backward wave of her hand. She caught sight of the coffeepot and said, “Oh! Say—could I have a cup?” Before anyone could answer, she was up and pouring herself a cup. She looked around. “Do you have a straw?”

  “For your coffee?” said Lew.

  “Of course. So it won’t stain my teeth.”

  Lew threw a look at Osborne, who shrugged. This was a new one to him.

  “We know that up until five years ago, your sister and her husband ran Deer Haven,” said Lew, opening the discussion. “Nice resort on good muskie water. Your sister was known to many people here in Loon Lake—”

  “I’ll bet she was,” said Joan with a snort. “Don’t waste time being polite, I know what my sister was—she was a whore. And that is very likely what got her killed.”

  “Your sister was kind and gracious and many people liked her,” said Ray, his voice rising ever so slightly.

  “Really.” Joan turned toward Ray, disbelief ringing in her words. “You’ll have a tough time convincing me of that. Or anyone else in the family—our late parents in particular. How about you, Parker? Wouldn’t you agree?”

  Before her husband could answer, she said, “It’s a fact. You take a chance when you adopt. My parents got a wacko. No matter how hard they tried—that girl was bad from the start. Born bad.”

  And with that, Joan launched into an authoritative review of Peg’s history: teenage promiscuity, running away—years of drugs and prostitution. She punctuated her words with angry jabs of well-manicured hands.

  “Now throw in Frank.” She sniffed and threw her hands up in the air. “She married a corrupt cop, for God’s sake.”

  “Yes,” said Lew, who sat with her elbows on the desk, chin resting on her folded hands. In sharp contrast to the sister’s histrionics, Lew was calm and deft in her response. “We know all about Frank. The question I have is whether you think someone from his past might have had a grudge against Peg? Or some other motive for killing her?”

  “That’s where I was hoping you would start,” said Joan. “After Frank died, all hell broke loose. You tell them, Parker. How many times did we have to send her money? Had to make bail even. She got herself beat up a few years back.” Parker nodded in silence.

  “Any one person specifically?”

  “How about recent … clients?” said Joan.

  “Well, we have reason to believe that recently she had been seeing only one person and that was a retired physician here. A straightforward relationship—the kind you would expect to find between any two consenting adults. No funny business.”

  “That’s a surprise. But I wouldn’t know, to tell you the truth. I kept my distance from Peg. Didn’t need any of that in our lives. You know, we live in Kenilworth, which is one of Chicago’s nicer suburbs. Our family is well known in the community—we don’t seek out bad press.”

  “So even though you have a summer home an hour from here, you had no contact with Peg?” said Ray, his voice measured. “But in fact, you sent her money. Isn’t that what you just said?”

  “We sent money a few times, but that was a while ago. Parker drove up to Green Bay when she was hospitalized after the beating. I haven’t spoken to her in months. We had minimal contact, is how I would put it. Minimal.”

  “When was it that you made bail for her?” said Lew, looking at Parker.

  “Four years ago,” said Joan.

  “She was asking your husband,” said Ray, his voice gentle.

  “I know that,” said Joan, squinting to stare at him. “And just who the hell are you?”

  “I’m sorry. I thought he was introduced to you earlier,” said Lew before Ray could answer. “Ray Pradt is one of two deputies working the case with me. He and Dr. Osborne are helping out. We have three victims and a great deal of work that has to be done. Dr. Osborne was your sister’s dentist, by the way. So he’s known her since she moved up here.”

  Joan rolled her eyes at her husband, a look that implied she was talking with the Three Stooges.

  “Now … I take it you were not adopted,” said Lew, changing the subject.

  The Chiclet smile turned smug as Joan said, “Heavens, no. I was conceived two years after they got Peg.”

  “More siblings?”

  “Just the two of us.”

  “Well then, I imagine you must have been their favorite,” said Lew in a gentle tone.

  Again the smugness. “I was better behaved. I didn’t cause them grief.”

  “Is that why she inherited forty-eight million dollars?” said Ray.

  “You know,” said Joan, pushing her chair back, “I don’t like your attitude.”

  “We learned about the inheritance just this morning,” said Lew.

  “Before you go any further down that road, let me assure you that my mother’s will is being challenged in court. She was suffering from dementia when she decided to leave Peg … some of the estate.”

  “I see,” said Lew. “We assumed it might have been an act of remorse relative to the abuse that your sister suffered as a child.”

  “All right,” said Joan, who was sitting with her legs crossed. Now her lips tightened as her right foot pumped up and down. She shook an index finger at Lew. “I want to know who you’ve been talking to because that is an old, old story and an absolute lie. Peg made it up—her way of getting attention. It was all in her head.”

  “Do you mind if I ask how old you were at the time the abuse was alleged to have occurred?” said Lew in a brisk t
one.

  “Five. But I heard the story many times over the years. My parents were devastated. No one ever believed it. No one.” She looked down at the floor as she spoke, as if avoiding something distasteful.

  “I apologize for questions like these,” said Lew, “but you can understand when three people are murdered. All three families have to deal with some disturbing issues. Has anyone notified Peg’s son of her death? The one she gave up for adoption? We think they may have been in touch. Just a courtesy, you know.”

  Joan did a double take. Her voice dropped to a normal level for the first time as she said, “Now you are kidding. There is no child. Peg managed to get herself pregnant without benefit of a ring but the baby was born dead. Right, Parker?”

  Parker offered his hands in a gesture of supplication and shrugged. He looked so confused that Osborne wondered if he knew where he was and what he was doing.

  “Okay”—Lew checked her watch—“just a few more questions. Doc and Ray have an appointment up north and I have some other matters to attend to before noon.”

  “Does the name ‘Edward Forsyth’ mean anything to you?”

  “Of course. He’s our neighbor on the lake. He owns the property next to ours. We’re good friends.”

  “Did you know your sister was filing a lawsuit against him?”

  “No!” said Joan, surprise on her face. “She told me she was pleased with the work he did.”

  “Oh, I thought you had minimal contact with your sister,” said Lew.

  “Giving her a recommendation of a plastic surgeon over a year ago is pretty minimal in my estimation. You know,” said Joan with a shake of her head, “nothing about my sister was real. She’d had her breasts done, maybe a tummy tuck—and she called me because she wanted a face-lift. Ed is terrific. That’s how she found him. I can’t believe she was filing a lawsuit. Poor Ed.”