Dead Angler (16 page)

“Sure,” her voice soft and agreeable as she reeled in her final cast, then sat down, knees spread, on a flat-topped boulder close to the bank. Leaning forward on her elbows, she gave a deep sigh, closed her eyes and lifted her face to the cool night air. She seemed reluctant to leave the raw beauty of the river and the moonlight.

“Well, Doc, nights like this will be in short supply soon. Thanks for coming.”

“Thank you for including me.” He waited, but she made no move to stand and leave.

“Are you going to the wake tomorrow?”

“Yes. Mallory and I will probably go over with Ray. His folks were good friends of family. Would you like to join us?”

“Oh, I don’t think that would be appropriate. I didn’t know the family. But I would very much like you to keep an eye on Peter Roderick,” she said in the same tone she had used to direct his cast to the deep hole under the cover.

“I plan to. I’ll certainly be talking to him at some point.”

“Be careful what you say, Doc. I don’t want him to know I’m aware he was staying at The Willows.”

“I guess you have to consider him a suspect?”

“Maybe … I find it difficult to imagine a motive. If we had the lovely Alicia in the morgue, yes. But a woman who was being kind and helpful? His own wife just inherited a ton of money, so what would he have to gain?” Lew shook her head. “Ask him how business is. Let’s see what he says.”

“Speaking of business, I’ve been meaning to mention something relative to Ben Marshall.”

“Oh yeah?” Lew stood up and together they swished through the water toward the riverbank. “You think the ex-husband did it?”

“I wouldn’t go that far. Though it’s crossed my mind he could have hired someone.”

“I’ve been thinking about that, too, Doc. But a man of Ben’s means—he wouldn’t be concerned with gold fillings.”

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” said Osborne. “I’m not so sure about that. I had this patient about twenty years ago, a resort owner who retired up in Manitowish Waters. Richard Campbell was his name. His wife had the softest teeth you can imagine. She had had years of gold work already, and I ended up putting even more gold in that woman’s mouth. In those days, once you started with gold, you stayed with it. But that was fine with Richard—they could afford it.

“Well, a couple years after they moved up here, Harriett died of breast cancer. Before the funeral, I got a call from Richard who asked me to meet him over at the funeral home. He wanted me to remove the fillings.”

“He did?” Lew looked at him in astonishment as she began to break down her rod.

“That was my reaction, but he was adamant. So I did what he asked. Then I had them melted down and sold on the secondary market for him.”

“Why on earth?” said Lew.

“He was one of those people—every penny counted. He was frugal.”

“To put it mildly.”

“People are funny, Lew. Ray has a great story about a family that forgot to remove the hearing aid from Grandma and made Ray dig her up so they could get the deposit back.”

“You gotta be kidding.”

“No-o-o I’m not,” said Osborne. “You know …,” he paused thoughtfully, “I’ve been mulling over the story about Ben Marshall and the moving van. What would a millionaire need with another VCR? What possesses a man to do that?” asked Osborne.

“Divorce does funny things to people,” said Lew. “I see it all the time. To me that break-in wasn’t about theft, not even anger. That’s rage, pure rage.”

“And rage can lead to murder.”

“Most definitely … you know, Doc. I watch Alicia. I see people’s reactions to her. I keep wondering if someone made a mistake and killed the wrong woman.”

Twenty minutes later they pulled into the Bruce’s Crossing gas station once more. This time for gas.

“My turn,” said Osborne, reaching for his wallet as he jumped from the truck.

“Thanks, Doc,” said Lew. “I’m going to call in quickly, see if I have to worry about anything tonight.”

“Don’t call—you need a good night’s sleep.”

“I know, I know, but it’ll be waiting for me at home if I don’t check now.”

“Big news,” she said as they climbed back into the truck minutes later. She looked at Osborne, raising her eyebrows and letting a grin play across her face. “The switchboard reports six hysterical calls from Alicia Roderick—Ben is flying in for the funeral.”

Then Lew laughed heartily, “What flaw in my personality makes me actually look forward to this?” She looked at Osborne, her eyes twinkling—”This job is always interesting, y’know?”

He smiled back, happy to be along for the ride.

At
eight
A.M.
Tuesday morning, the tiny Loon Lake airport bustled with tourists and camp kids in spite of a threatening, dismal grey sky. Osborne checked his watch as he leaned against a post near the empty baggage carousel. If Mallory’s United flight was on time, they would have a little over an hour to get to St. Mary’s for the funeral Mass.

A sudden bustle of activity over at the Northwest counter caught his attention: another commuter flight was arriving from Minneapolis. Osborne watched as the prop plane taxied up, swung around, and finally dropped its stairs for the passengers to descend. Down the shaky stairs came an elderly couple, taking each stair very slowly. Behind them, stepping patiently, came a man Osborne recognized instantly in spite of the tiny sunglasses sitting like black dots on his oversized face: Ben Marshall.

The wide pale Irish face capped with thinning white-blond hair stood out like a beacon in the grey morning. Ben was a big man, broad across the shoulders and tall, a good six foot four. Heading across the pavement toward the lobby, face inscrutable behind the glasses, a strapped Western-style leather briefcase swinging from his left hand, he walked the insouciant walk of a man with money.

He was dressed casually in Levi’s and a muted plaid short-sleeved shirt. The latter bulged slightly over a turquoise belt buckle so large Osborne could see it from where he stood. Ben had no butt to speak of, his figure tapering down from wide shoulders to skinny legs.

Osborne knew that physical type well—the result of too much rich food, more than a few cigars, and spare moments of exercise acquired by walking from golf club to golf cart. He might be dressed like a cowboy, but to Osborne he looked big city. Big city likely to experience at least one cardiac incident before age fifty. Ray liked to kid about the big city guys, describing a special “two-for-one” offer: a day of serious fishing with a cheap grave chaser. On more than a few occasions, he almost had a deal.

Ben paused before the lobby entrance, fumbling in his shirt pocket for a cigarette. He lit up, then looked back to wave at a small blonde woman headed his way from the plane. She wore tight white jeans and a black halter top. Gold gleamed around her neck and both wrists. Osborne pegged her to be in her late twenties and, like so many of the summer women, over-tanned and over-accessorized. As she beamed up at Ben, Osborne caught the flash of bright white teeth and wondered which whitening toothpaste she used. If she wasn’t careful, she’d scar the enamel.

Osborne straightened up, thrust his hands into his pockets and wondered if Ben would recognize him. The couple sauntered in behind the rest of the passengers. Without even glancing around, they drifted toward the luggage carousel. Ben set down his cowboy briefcase, inhaled deeply on his cigarette, and placed a casual hand on the right haunch of the blonde. She snuggled closer to stand touching him. Ben inhaled once more, then flicked the cigarette onto the industrial carpeting of the airport and ground it out with his foot. He hitched up his jeans absent-mindedly and looked around at the other travelers. That’s when he saw Osborne. He straightened up instantly.

“Dr. Osborne,” he left the blonde and walked over to Osborne, his hand out. “Good to see you, sir. What a sorry occasion …” He waited as if expecting sympathy returned.

“Hello, Ben,” Osborne shook the extended hand. “Yes, sad news about Meredith … how’s your family, Ben?” And with that he launched into the funeral patter he had perfected over the years of burying patients, good friends, and one wife. He decided to let Ben find out from someone else who discovered Meredith’s body.

Six years earlier, he had done an emergency root canal on Ben. Since that time the flat, round face had become etched with red-blue veins, especially around the nose. The pale brown eyes seemed weary and bloodshot. No parting a Chicago Irishman from his hard liquor, thought Osborne. Ben also sported a carefully trimmed white-blond mustache. He exuded the jaded, affluent, but genial manliness of a Northwoods weekender.

When they had run out of small talk, Osborne explained his presence: “I’m waiting for Mallory. She’s due in on the next flight.”

“I know,” said Ben, his voice husky, “she called me with the news yesterday. Tough to get flights up here. I had to fly west to get east.” He chuckled at his witticism. “See you at the church, then?”

He waved a hand, then stepped back toward the blonde and his brief case. With a nearly imperceptible nod to her as he walked by, he picked up the briefcase and moved to stand at a distance from the woman. When the baggage carousel finally rattled by, she grabbed her own garment bag and walked off without a glance at Ben. If Osborne hadn’t seen them earlier, he would never have known they were together. Ben caught Osborne’s eye to wave conspicuously as he left. Alone.

Just as he disappeared through the electric doors, activity picked up at the United counter. The two young women who had been checking in travelers left the desk and ran outside to greet the plane. When it stopped, one moved to unload the luggage, the other to fuel the plane. Finally one remembered to open the plane’s passenger exit. Mallory was the third person down.

From a distance, Osborne thought his oldest daughter looked good. Tall and slender, she wore an ankle-length, sleeveless celadon-green cotton dress. Simple and pretty. Her dark hair was cut in soft bangs and a youthful page boy, which she tucked behind her ears. Given they were the same age, Osborne thought it curious that Ben Marshall looked every inch a man in his late forties while Mallory appeared to have barely broken thirty. At least to her father. She picked up a soft-sided bag from the rack outside the airplane, slung its strap over her shoulder, and headed toward him.

“Dad,” she smiled slightly she came through the doors. Her serious black eyes always reminded Osborne of his own mother, who died when he was six. Her eyes and her wide, generous smile made Mallory the daughter who looked like her father. Osborne pecked her on the cheek and took her into his arms for a gentle, if distant, hug. A soft redness stippled the skin around her eyes and the end of her nose was chapped from sniffling.

“Any more luggage, kiddo?”

“No, this is it,” she said. “How are you doing, Dad?”

“I’m fine, Mallory. It’s good you’ve come.” Though he had the urge to keep his arm around her shoulders, he stood away from her. He always felt so stiff with this child. “How are you?”

Mallory looked up at him. She opened her mouth as if to respond automatically, then wordlessly her face crumpled, and she burst into tears. “Oh, Dad,” she sobbed. People standing near them tried to look away.

Osborne didn’t know what to do. He pulled her toward him again and slipped the bag strap off her shoulders. “There, there,” he tucked her face into his chest above his heart and patted her left shoulder blade. She felt fragile, bony under his hand. He could feel her rein in her sobs, trying for control. “There, there … take a deep breath.” He patted some more and the sobbing eased. “We have plenty of time, hon. We’re going to Erin’s so you can freshen up. Do you need to change before Mass?”

Mallory stepped away, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand and fumbling in her straw basket of a purse for Kleenex. “Yes, I’d like to, Dad. Sorry about this.”

“Understandable, kiddo. Say,” he dropped his voice, “Ben Marshall arrived on the flight just before yours.”

“Oh yeah? I’m sure Meredith’s sister will love that,” said Mallory. “Tell her it’s my fault. I called him after you called me. I knew she wouldn’t. I never thought he’d come.”

“Who’s the woman?”

“A woman? He brought his girlfriend?!” Mallory’s face freshened up at the news like a garden after a summer storm. “Dad, I don’t believe it. What an arrogant pig that man is. Actually, I do believe it, given everything else he’s done.”

Walking over to Osborne’s station wagon, Mallory peered into the empty crate resting in the back of the car: “Where’s my buddy? Where’s my favorite, Osborne?”

“Mike? He’s waiting for us in Erin’s backyard. He’s got his ball all slobbered up—just waiting for you,” said Osborne, relieved she was feeling better.

Moments later, as they pulled onto Highway Eight toward Loon Lake, Mallory said in a business-like tone as she adjusted her dress, “I’m leaving Steve, Dad.”

Osborne didn’t answer right away, but he felt something lift from his shoulders. It was Ray who put it best during one of their sessions behind the door with the coffee pot: knowing the terror defuses the tension. He was surprised and yet he wasn’t.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he said softly.

“Later.” Her voice was firm. He glanced at her. Her mouth was trembling. He thought of the slurred messages on the phone, their infrequent, clipped conversations over the recent months. Mallory was in trouble, but she wasn’t asking for help. So far, unlike her mother, she wasn’t whining.

She looked out the windshield at the gloomy sky, “Great day for a funeral, Dad.”

Osborne pulled the wheel to the left as he turned up Erin’s street. Great day for a funeral, great day to hear of the death of a marriage, great day for a chat with a killer. Heck of a Tuesday.

Ten
minutes later, Osborne parked his station wagon in front of Erin’s big white Victorian house. His heart lifted at the sight of the open porch with the bright yellow and green trim. Petunias, pansies, and fuchsia overflowed from hanging baskets and clay pots that crowded the stairs. His youngest daughter had a way of making everything around her seem sunny.

The house was the oldest Victorian in Loon Lake, and Osborne could never get over how much hard work had gone into restoring it—and how much of it Erin and her husband Mark had done themselves. He was always impressed with the energy level of his younger daughter. Wife, mother of three, president of the Loon Lake school board, gardener, cook, and furniture refinisher. And she taught part-time at the Rhinelander Montessori school.

They were close, he and Erin. They had breakfast together once a week, and he thoroughly enjoyed hearing about the frustrations of daily life in a small town, the kids in school, her husband’s law practice. He’d developed a strong friendship with this daughter ever since Mary Lee’s death. Through her he’d learned it wasn’t the money but the listening that counted.
She
was happy in her life. He knew that.

Erin stepped out the front door as they started up the sidewalk. She was dressed for the funeral in a fitted navy blue linen jacket buttoned over a softly gathered creamy skirt that reached to her ankles. Her long blonde hair hung down her back in a braid, and she balanced one-year-old Cody, Osborne’s first grandson, on her hip. While Mallory’s darkness reflected her grandmother’s Meteis bloodline, Erin’s fair skin and white-blonde hair was evidence of the Norwegian grandfather.

“Hurry on in before it rains,” she waved. “Come share the dregs of the coffee pot, you guys.”

They followed her into the long, airy living room. The sisters embraced. Osborne loved the picture he saw: his lively eyed, slender-bodied daughters plopping down on an old overstuffed sofa in a room full of interesting and colorful things. Not expensive, traditional stuff like Mary Lee had always wanted, but what Erin called “funky.” Old furniture and antiques, comfortable sofa and chairs, nothing young children couldn’t clamber on. The room was full of life. Erin was full of questions.

“You can change in a few minutes,” she instructed her elder sister. “We got thirty minutes until we have to be at the church. So tell me—do you think Ben killed Meredith? Why did they split anyway? Does he have another bimbo?”

“Hold on,” said Mallory, “first I get to hold Cody, then I get coffee, then I talk.”

“Okay, okay,” Erin jumped up, dropping her son on her sister’s lap. The child promptly rolled off in the direction of a wooden train set scattered across the rag rug under their feet. Erin returned immediately with two cups of hot black coffee. “Not really dregs,” she said, “just brewed in honor of your visit. So—talk!”

“Well, here’s what I know,” said Mallory, relishing her role as primary source.

“I remember when Meredith met Ben. They were still in school, and he was a cute guy. Much thinner, of course. And a real party animal. He liked her because she was blonde and she was pretty—”

“In that order?” interrupted Erin.

“Pretty much. Personally, I think she married him because he was cute and rich and…,” Mallory paused for effect, “… the first man she slept with.”

“Ah hah, the ‘good Catholic girl syndrome,’ “ said Erin.

“Tell me about it,” said Mallory, and the two sisters hooted in laughter. Osborne laughed along, so happy to be sitting and listening. He wasn’t often privy to these sisterly performances so he forgot they shared a directness and a ribald sense of humor that they certainly did not inherit from their mother. Where it came from he had no idea, but he loved it.

“They did fine until Meredith complained because he went on all these guy trips all the time with his buddies. You know, the usual hunting, fishing, gambling, and drinking rituals that go with being Irish and a commodity trader.”

“They go with being male and stupid,” said Erin.

“Do you want to hear the story or not?”

“Sorry.”

“So she goes back to school then gets diverted into the cuisine career, etc., etc.—you know all that, right?” “Right.”

“About five years ago, Ben makes some bad trades in the copper market and loses a lot of money. He then decides to make up for it by churning some family accounts. Unfortunately, he picks a brother and sister who find out what he’s doing, complain to the old man and—boom—Ben’s out of the family business.”

“I didn’t know this,” said Osborne, sitting forward in his chair. He pulled a pen and a small notebook from inside his sport coat. Mallory looked at him in surprise.

“Mal, didn’t you know Dad is a part-time cop these days?” said Erin.

“I knew he found the body,” said Mallory.

“He’s working this case,” said Erin, a broad grin spreading across her face as she added, “I think he has a crush on the police chief.”

“I do not,” Osborne protested, feeling silly.

“He doesn’t know it, yet,” said Erin. “Trust me.”

“Ooohh, Dad,” said Mallory. “We have to talk.”

“Hey, the good side is this could cut down his time with the stuffed minnow hat,” said Erin, referring to Ray. Both his daughters were edgy about his friendship with Ray, whom they considered a serious loose cannon.

“Back to Meredith,” said Mallory, glancing at her watch. “I have to change in a minute. After about six months, Ben finds another firm that will take him in, but he has to invest some of his own money to get the job. By this time, Meredith is making very good money on the restaurant and the book deals. Ben asks her to back him with her cash—and she refuses. I know this because she came to Steve for advice.”

“Why did Steve tell her not to?” asked Osborne.

“He’s never liked Ben. He thought the churning was a crooked thing to do, and he basically told Meredith to expect Ben to screw her, too. So she said no, and he got himself a girlfriend.”

“Did she know that?”

“Not right away. But she knew saying no would damage her marriage. She was ready to get out. Ben finally wheedled the money out of his mother.”

“If all this happened four years ago, why didn’t she leave him then?” asked Osborne.

“She was just too darn busy, Dad. She had two restaurants going, she had the books to write. But when her father got so sick, she realized she was going to have even more money, and she didn’t want Ben to get any part of it. And who knows? Meredith had a weird side to her, too. She told me that before they were married, Ben had a fling with Alicia.”

“Really,” said Erin, quietly. “Up here?”

“Yep, the first time Meredith brought him to meet her folks. I don’t know the whole story. All she told me was Alicia came onto Ben in the swimming pool at her place, and there was some kissing, but that was that. She was infatuated with him in those days so she let it go.”

“Funny she trusted Alicia to go into business with her.”

“Family meant everything to Meredith,” said Mallory. “In the long run, once she knew the real Ben, she probably thought it was all Ben’s fault.”

“Jeez,” said Osborne, “Alicia is what—fourteen, fifteen years older than Ben?”

“Dad,” said Erin, a tinge of disgust in her voice, “how many years do you have on Miss Police Chief?”

Osborne started to protest then quit. Time was running out before Mass, and he wanted to know one more thing—”Mallory,” he asked, “why do you think Ben would take a moving van and break into their house?”

“Control, Dad. She said she was leaving him, and he showed her he could walk back into her life anytime he wanted. He’s not a very nice guy. End of story—where can I change?”

“Use my bedroom,” said Erin, standing up. “By the way, how’s Steve?”

“Mr. Sunshine?” said Mallory, a teasing tone in her voice.

Erin’s room was just off the hall. She left the door open as she changed, calling out to her sister.

“C’mon,” Erin called back, “how often do I have to apologize for calling him that. He’s just a little dour sometimes, y’know.”

“He’s real dour these days,” said Mallory. “I filed for divorce yesterday.”

“Are you serious?” Erin threw a look of grave concern at her father.

“Quite,” said Mallory. “I’m going back to school. I start next week.”

“Mallory—why haven’t you called to tell me this?” said Erin.

“I don’t know,” said Mallory walking back into the room. She wore a tailored black silk short skirt and jacket. “It’s been a hard summer.” Her eyes suddenly brimmed with tears. Erin reached out to wrap her arms around her.

“Look,” said the younger sister, “I’ll send the kids over to Mark’s mom’s place tonight. Why don’t you stay here with me? Okay?”

“No,” Mallory shook her head, the tears rolling down her cheeks. “No, I want to stay with Dad. I have to talk to Dad.”

Oh my God, thought Osborne. Oh my God. Erin’s eyes caught his. She had been the daughter who forced the intervention that saved his life. The things that were said during that time had been so painful. The damage wreaked by Mary Lee and his inability to stop it had shamed him. Would he have to face the pain again? Erin’s eyes told him he must.