Dead Angler

by Victoria Houston

She flashed them a winning smile. A classic Alicia smile. A smile Osborne no longer found charming. A smile that chilled even in the warm morning sun.

  Alicia looked as fresh and light as the summer breeze blowing across the blooms. She was wearing dark green plaid bermuda shorts with a black T-shirt tucked in neatly to emphasize the outline of her breasts. A red baseball cap sat perkily on her head and matched her red leather garden gloves. A tall metal pail beside her was filled with stems of cut flowers. Now she walked towards them, pulling the gloves from her hands, brushing her tawny hair back from her face with one hand.

  She was a picture of peace and happiness. Not bad for a woman who had learned of her lover’s death within the last twenty-four hours, who had lost her only sister days earlier. Osborne resisted extending a compliment on her resilience. He did not want to compromise that crucial moment when Lew set the hook.

  “I cannot thank you enough, Chief Ferris, for all your hard work,” gushed Alicia in a condescending tone. She managed to make it sound as if she was thanking Lew for vacuuming her garage.

  “What a relief to know we have the killer, though who would have ever expected George Zolonsky. I feel so badly. I feel so responsible. After all, I hired him after he did such a fabulous job on our kitchen here.” She gave a deep sigh, “Peter and I are still reeling from the news—but then, life goes on, doesn’t it.”

  “Yes, it does,” said Lew briskly. “As does paperwork. I have a few details we need to review. Could we step inside, Alicia?”

  “Really? Right this minute?” said Alicia, obviously reluctant to take much time with them. She checked her watch. “I’m due at Cecile’s for a golf brunch in half an hour. “How long will this take?”

  “O-o-h, not long I should think,” said Lew.

  “All right then, come on in,” she motioned for them to follow her into house. She led them through the back entrance into the kitchen. “Anyone for a cup of coffee?”

  “Where is your husband?” asked Lew as they followed her.

  “Who knows? I think he went to one of those dumb flea markets of his,” said Alicia, voice dripping with disdain. “I keep telling him I don’t want any more of his junk around here.

  “Cream or sugar anyone?” she asked as she hastily pulled down two china cups, banging them unceremoniously onto saucers. She reached for the half-full coffee pot, touched it and poured. Though the coffee was tepid, she made no effort to heat it up. Alicia was making it very clear that she had an important engagement pending, much more important than wasting time with them.

  “Nothing for me,” said Lew. As she reached with her left hand for the cup and saucer, her right hand pulled the narrow reporters’ notebook from her back pocket. The card from Winick Farms, which had been tucked into the notebook, dropped face up onto the white tile floor, the green rooster hard to miss. Lew stooped swiftly to grab it. Alicia made no reaction.

  “Black for me, too,” said Osborne. “Aren’t you having any, Alicia?”

  “No, I already drank half that pot. Speaking of coffee, excuse me one second while I use the restroom, won’t you?” She flashed a gracious smile and walked quickly into the outer hall before they could respond.

  “Go right ahead into the living room, it’s nice and cool in there,” called Alicia as she ran up the stairs.

  They waited for her in the shadowed silence of the long room, sitting at opposite ends of the leather sofa in front of the ornate French mirror, exactly where they had sat the night they informed Alicia of her sister’s death.

  Alicia returned immediately, checking her watch as she strode quickly across the room. Just as she had before, she took her place in the green armchair across from them, crossed her legs, slipped her hands into her pockets, braced her head against the back of the chair and fixed her eyes on the two of them. She did not smile. Her right front foot bounced impatiently.

  “This will just take a minute,” said Lew briskly, a ballpoint pen poised over her notepad. “Did you know Clint Chesnais is the chief beneficiary on a million-dollar life insurance policy taken out by your sister less than a week before her death?”

  Anger mixed with shock transformed Alicia’s face. “What!” Her eyes widened. She leaned forward, uncrossing her legs. “Say that again,” she demanded. The expression on her face at this moment was identical to the contained fury Osborne had seen in the family photos. Lew repeated herself.

  “Damn,” said Alicia, sitting back slightly, a grim steeliness in her tone. She seemed suddenly preoccupied. For a brief period, it was as if she forgot they were there. Then her gaze shifted back, moving between the two of them, unsmiling. “It’s obvious. He and George planned this together,” she spoke curtly. “That money belongs in the estate.”

  She picked at a piece of lint on her shorts, “I am sure, between us, we can find proof they planned this together.” She crossed her legs again. Again the right foot bounced.

  “Alicia …” Lew leaned forward, elbows resting on her knees, the closed notebook palmed between her hands, her eyes drilling into the woman seated across from her.

  “Why did you lie about Meredith driving out to Starks?”

  Alicia’s eyes cut to the side swiftly, then shifted back to meet Lew’s, direct and unsmiling. The foot stopped bouncing.

  “You think I lied?”

  “I know you lied,” said Lew, her voice quiet and deliberate. “I know you were out there, too. A number of times. Buying chickens and eggs from that fella that runs Winik Farms … and I know you and George and Meredith stopped there, together, the day she died. I know you forged those checks in your sister’s checkbook after she died. To pay George off?”

  Alicia looked over their heads as if an entire new landscape existed in the mirror, one that didn’t include Osborne and Lew.

  “I know, Alicia. Now why don’t you tell me the whole story.” Lew’s voice was firm, ready to understand.

  Alicia’s hands slid from her pockets. The barrel of the small revolver gleamed in the soft morning haze that lit the room. Right fist rested on the left. “I know how to use this.” A sly smile crept across her face.

  “I can see that,” said Lew.

  “George taught me. He said I’m a natural. Now move slow and place your gun on the floor at your feet, Ferris.”

  Lew did as she was told. Alicia stood to nudge the gun towards her with the heel of her right foot. Then she kicked it back under the chair where she had been sitting.

  Then a smirk crossed her face, an evil little twist of a smile. Maybe it was the need for someone to appreciate her brilliance, maybe it was as simple as relishing this moment of complete control over two lives, but she decided to sit back down in her chair. She held the gun in one hand now, the legs crossed, the foot bouncing again.

  Osborne shifted ever so slightly. Her eyes let him know she was watching. He waited. Each minute she took gave them a chance to find a way out. Only he did not see a way out. He knew only he did not want to die, most certainly not at the hands of a woman he despised.

  How life changes, he thought. Just eighteen months ago, right after Mary Lee died, he would have welcomed death. Trying to find it in the bottle, he thought his life had ended then. But he was wrong, habits had ended. Now he had new habits, a new life. His children were new to him, his grandchildren. Lew. He refused to die.

  Adrenalin surged in his gut making him acutely aware of every object around him, every sound and silence, every angle, every opening.

  “I hated Meredith. I hated her the day she was born,” Alicia spoke flatly, honestly, without emotion. “You have no idea what it was like to grow up with that spoiled brat. My father gave her everything. Everything. Never once did he have a pleasant word for me. He didn’t even see me.”

  Osborne heard her as if from a great distance, wondering as she spoke if he been as cruel to Mallory. He had to live if only to change his daughter’s life. It was not too late. He refused to let it be too late.

  Eyes focused on Alicia, without movin
g his head he explored his peripheral vision, checking to the right and to the left. Was there anything he could knock over to distract her? Could he take a bullet without being killed? That would give Lew time to tackle the woman. One thing he knew for sure, Lew would not let this end easy. But with no lamp table at his end of the sofa, the only close object was foot-tall jade Buddha on the coffee table at his knees.

  “She got everything I ever wanted. A handsome husband even if he was a dolt. Money. Fame. Every damn thing. Loved by everyone,” she sneered.

  “Even my idiot husband drooled over her.” Now the face changed, eyes narrowed into slits glittering with hate. “But Dad leaving her all that money was the last straw. She got everything.

  “Every … damn … penny. Until I got smart.” The rage that twisted her face was so raw, Osborne felt panic low in his belly: she could not be stopped. Nothing would stand between her and the money. Not him, not Lew, not reason.

  The muzzle of the gun did not shift. All that moved was her right foot in a steady rhythm, up and down. Osborne watched the foot. When it stopped, she would pull the trigger.

  The anger had transfromed her, reminding him of a rabid raccoon, fur standing on end, wild eyes hobbling, that had stalked him in his own backyard. The animal had cornered him by his car until he made a frantic dash, barely making it through his back door in time. Osborne wondered if this fierce female was what Peter Roderick faced every morning.

  “Can you imagine my humiliation?” her voice a low growl. “You know, Paul, you know how people in this town think.”

  “But, Alicia, I heard your sister was planning to give you some of that money.” To buy time, Osborne risked saying the wrong thing.

  “I don’t need some of that money,” she mimicked him, “I need it all. Every penny.”

  “Why did you kill George?” asked Lew quietly.

  “Hah!” Alicia shook her head in disbelief. “He was an accident waiting to happen. Believe me, George was the right man for the job but after that—a liability. Would you want an alcoholic drug addict whom you paid to kill someone running loose? I’m not stupid, Ferris.

  “Just look what he did taking those gold fillings. I never asked him to do that? Who the hell needs a few gold fillings? God knows what else he was doing. I had to stop him before he hallucinated some night and spilled his guts.”

  “The fillings closed the case for Wausau,” said Lew, “tied him irrefutably to the body.”

  “An accident and a bonus. I had planned for Meredith’s death to look like a drowning. George told me he had perfected his swing so he could snap her neck. Instant death. Then, poof, we let her float away. Everyone knows the Prairie is a dangerous river. Only he hit her too hard. Then he told me he could hide the body without anyone seeing. That was the last I knew until you two arrived.”

  “You would have fooled me,” lied Osborne. “Those missing fillings were the only reason I suspected foul play.”

  “I had a back-up plan,” said Alicia with a tight little smile.

  “Don’t tell me,” said Lew. “Blame it on Clint Chesnais, and if that didn’t work … your husband?”

  “There you go, Ferris. See, the secret to success in life is to know what you want and have faith you’ll find the way to get it. You must be alert to opportunity.”

  “Like George,” said Lew, nodding in appreciation.

  “George was Mister Opportunity,” said Alicia. “I hired him to work on my kitchen here. He taught me how to win at blackjack. We went to the casino a couple times. George and I … well, we had other things in common. Didn’t take long, he would do anything I asked him to. Anything.

  “So I offered him a percentage, and he decided to take the risk. He did quite a nice job, too. Aside from the mess it made, one blow was all it took.”

  “Oh, that afternoon was something,” said Alicia, her voice appreciative of her own cleverness. “It was piece of cake to get her out there. I asked her to give us casting lessons. She was so proud of her technique. As if I really cared, you know?”

  “Very smart,” said Lew. “No one fishes the Prairie mid-afternoon.”

  “I knew that. I knew we had a window from morning until five o’clock. So there she was in that damn river, going on about tippets and leaders and all that baloney, fussing over her stupid trout flies. I will say she knew her stuff. She raised a fish in spite of the flat light and the heat. She got so excited playing a big brown, she never even saw George behind her. Merry never knew what hit her. She’d still be under that damn log if it weren’t for you, Paul. Nope, George was great until he became such a pest.”

  “He wanted more money?”

  “He wanted more money, and he wanted me,” said Alicia. “Ugh,” she shivered, “he couldn’t get it through his stupid head he was just a tool. Right now I miss him—I could use his help with you two.”

  “I imagine you’ll figure it out,” said Lew drily.

  “I have,” said Alicia, her foot stopped at the height of its bounce. She uncrossed her legs and stood up, “we’re going to take a little walk now, back through the kitchen and down the basement stairs.”

  A door slammed suddenly off in the direction of the kitchen.

  “Don’t move,” she hissed, her eyes fixed on Lew and Osborne, the pistol unwavering.

  “Peter?” Alicia’s voice took on a shrill note as she called out, “Peter! Would you please run to the store for some dog food? Right away, we’re all out. Hurry, hon. Chief Ferris and I are still busy with some paperwork.”

  “Howdy, howdy,” Ray came loping around the corner into the room from the hall, a sheepish look on his face and his hands high in the air. Peter Roderick was right behind him with a shotgun aimed at his back.

  “What the hell—?” Alicia backed away as Ray walked through the living room as if pushed. Alicia gave a slight wave of the revolver, indicating an antique wooden chair to Osborne’s right, “Pull that close to the sofa next to Paul and sit down,” she ordered.

  “He told me he had to let his dogs out of the back of the Rover, next thing I know it’s target practice,” muttered Ray in a low voice as he followed orders. You never mentioned he keeps a twenty-gauge in the back of that hog he drives.”

  “My fault, Ray,” said Lew. “Sorry.”

  Peter Roderick had stopped just inside the room. He held the shotgun high as he studied the group. “I’m sorry, but this is my home. You don’t shut me out of my own home. Whatever you have to say to my wife, you can say to me.”

  “Mr. Roderick,” said Lew. “Let me explain—”

  “When I’m finished,” said Peter, his face flushed a dangerous dark red, cheeks swinging as he spoke in a hoarse, strained voice. Osborne expected him to have a heart attack any second.

  Keeping her revolver trained on the three sitting on the sofa, Alicia turned slightly, in the direction of her husband. “Peter—just what the hell do you think you are doing? Move over here where I can see you.”

  “No, dear. I heard everything you said. I thought I understood you … but I don’t even know you, Alicia. All these years and I do not know you.” Peter’s voice cracked. “Why? Can you tell me? Why?” Osborne saw him looking over their heads, searching to meet his wife’s eyes in the mirror.

  “Oh Peter, shut up.” she said derisively.

  “I loved you so much. We could have had a good life. I was putting it all back together. Together we—”

  Facing the mirror, Alicia rolled her eyes in disgust, “I do not need—”

  “Stop,” said Peter softly.

  Before she could finish, the shotgun blast tore through the room.

  The twenty-gauge didn’t carry a slug. The impact carried Alicia towards them, a look of total surprise on her face as she flew forward, knocking over the coffee table. She hit the floor and did not move.

  Nor did Osborne and Lew, they sat perfectly still in stunned silence. Ray lowered his hands to his knees.

  “Pete, old man,” he said softly. “We are friends
.”

  “Stay where you are.” Peter walked over to look down at Alicia’s still form. He fired again.

  Then he reached into his pocket for two cartridges. He loaded the shotgun.

  “Yes, you are friends,” he said. “Please, I am not going to shoot anyone.” He waved one hand weakly as he sat down heavily in the chair where Alicia had been moments earlier, the butt of the shotgun on the floor, the barrel pointing to the ceiling.

  Peter looked at Ray and Osborne, “No grave, boys. Cremate both of us. I don’t care what you do with her. Me?” He breathed deeply. “Me, I’d like to blow in the wind by our deer shack, Doc. Maybe you would take me back by the blue heron rookery?”

  “I can do that for you, Pete.” Osborne didn’t raise a hand to wipe the tears rolling down his cheeks.

  “Pete, c’mon,” Ray’s voice was soft, “you don’t have to do this.”

  “It’s my call, Peter,” said Lew. “Justifiable homicide.”

  “No,” Peter shook his head slowly, a deep sadness in his voice, “it’s my call. I call it ‘nothing left to lose.’ Please, all of you. Leave the room.”

  Before they could enter the hallway, they heard the gunshot.

  Twelve hours later, they sat at the Loon Lake Pub. It was nearing midnight after the long, long day. Even though a lively Saturday night crowd buzzed around them, no one at their table of three had spoken since ordering. Now they sat staring at their dinners: luscious cheeseburgers, cooked medium, buried under slabs of Wisconsin Cheddar Cheese.

  “I reached Wayne’s mother,” said Ray. “It wasn’t easy. I told her he felt no pain. Maybe that helps.”

  “Thank you, Ray,” said Lew. “I’m sure you handled it well.” She sighed, “I’m relieved the crew found him as quickly as they did. Did I mention the Wausau lab called late this afternoon? They estimated the time of death for Meredith Marshall between two and five P.M. Sunday.”

  “What did they say when you told them about the Rodericks?” asked Osborne.

  “I didn’t yet. The weekend team was on duty. I’m saving my report for Monday morning—and making sure it arrives on more than one desk.”