Dead Angler (20 page)

“When does Ray expect him with the boats? I want to be included in the welcoming party.”

“But why would Zolonsky—?”

“Who knows what a creep thinks.”

Suddenly, through the kitchen window, he heard his phone ringing. “Oops, I’ll bet that’s Erin and Mallory wondering where I am.”

“Answer it, Doc,” said Lew. “I’ll get your gear out of truck.”

Osborne dashed through the back door to grab the phone.

“Doc,” Ray’s voice was on the other end, shouting over the blare of rock and roll music. “Where’ve you been?”

“Fishing,” said Osborne. “Where are you?”

“Me and Wayne are up here at Thunder Bay,” said Ray. “Time for you to join us.”

“You’re kidding,” Osborne wasn’t amused. “I’ve had a long day, Ray, and the girls are due back here any minute.”

“We-e-ll, I dunno know about that, Doc. Doesn’t look to me like she’s moving too fast.”

“What do you mean?”

“I … mean … she’s … here.” Ray always delayed his delivery when the news was hot.

“Who’s where?” Osborne didn’t believe what he was hearing.

“You know who … at Thunder Bay. Hey—Doc—we’re talking on a party line …” Ray’s voice grew serious.

“I’ll be right there.” Osborne hung up the phone, checked the dog’s water dish and ran back out to the drive where Lew had gotten back into her truck. His rod, waders, and duffel were waiting for him on the grass.

“That was Ray,” he said, leaning in the passenger door window. “I have to meet him at Thunder Bay.”

“You don’t look so good,” said Lew. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know. I guess Mallory is out there.” Osborne tried to resist a feeling of panic. He looked down at the ground, thinking. Then he looked up. Lew was watching him, concern in her dark eyes.

“Get in,” she said. “I need to get in touch with Ray as soon as possible anyhow.”

“I just don’t know …,” he started to say, struggling to understand why on earth Mallory was at the most notorious stripper bar in the Northwoods.

“We won’t know until we get there,” said Lew. “She’s a big girl, Doc.”

“She is and she isn’t,” said Osborne, “and I don’t understand her. Any better than I ever understood her mother.”

He didn’t realize he was tapping the fingers of his left hand nervously on his knee until Lew reached over to cover his hand with hers.

“She’s a big girl,” she repeated, “and you can only do so much.”

“I know she’s been drinking too much,” he said, as if excusing whatever they would find. Turning away, he stared out his window, a hot flush of tears pressing against the back of his eyeballs. He blinked, set his jaw, and they drove silently into the night.

The
last place Osborne had expected to find himself that Tuesday night was on the road to a rendezvous with Ray and his older daughter at the Thunder Bay Bar. Beside him, silent as she drove, was the one person who had been with him on his only other visit to the place. Lew accelerated into the darkness. Watching the fog drift into the windshield as they flew down back roads, Osborne wondered where on earth his life was going.

The little fishing truck followed the curve of the narrow road running parallel to the backwaters of the Wisconsin River. A final dip and curve, and the neon lights of Thunder Bay Bar came into view.

Tuesdays are not the most social nights around Loon Lake. Plus it was still early, not quite nine. The club was less than half full, though the music was pounding away. Osborne spotted Ray and Wayne immediately, sitting at the far end of the nearly empty bar, chatting with the bartender. Ray was still in his sport coat and slacks, looking handsome. Wayne, in T-shirt and sunburn, looked like he’d been out in a boat all day. No sign of Mallory.

Ray, cigarette in hand, waved his right arm, beckoning Osborne and Lew in his direction. As they neared, he threw a guarded glance back off to his right. Osborne stopped to look in that direction. Lew walked on into the bar.

Thunder Bay Bar was, in fact, a bar and a dance hall. The room with the bar was spacious with a jukebox, a pool table, and a small area for dancing. Through a wide doorway to Osborne’s left was the second room, which held a small stage surrounded by formica-topped tables of varying sizes and stages of cleanliness. More than a few needed to be cleared of empty beer bottles, overflowing ashtrays, and crumpled napkins. Wooden chairs, kitchen chairs, and shaky folding chairs were scattered between the tables.

At first, all Osborne could see through the dim smoky haze was a dancer writhing on the small dance floor, dollar bills tucked into strategic sections of her costume. Five men at a nearby table were keenly interested. A couple of other tables held clusters of men in twos or threes, most talking among themselves. As Osborne’s eyes adjusted, he could make out two other women, sitting among the tables and dressed to perform. At least he assumed they weren’t planning to visit Wal-Mart in their pasties and G-strings.

Tucked back into the far corner of the room, he saw who he had come for: Mallory. Deep in conversation with Randy Nuttle. Randy must have said something funny. Mallory leaned her body into his, laughing, then gave a mock punch to his chin. He caught her hand affectionately. A little too affectionately for Osborne. He could see Mallory was hanging on every word Randy was saying, a loose grin on her face. Pulling her hand away from Randy’s, Mallory took a deep swig from a mug of beer.

“Don’t stare,” Lew nudged him from behind. He obeyed and took a bar stool two down from Ray and Wayne. “Ray said Zolonsky is due to deliver those boats sometime tonight. Now don’t you worry about that, Doc. I’ll catch up with him in the morning. You take care of your daughter.”

“How long has she been here?” Osborne asked.

“She was here when we arrived an hour ago,” said Ray. Old Mal is one shnockered unit, Doc,” said Ray, “but I’ve got it under control.”

“Really, Ray,” said Lew, sliding onto the bar stool between Ray and Osborne, “how’s that?”

“You’ll see.”

“All I see is that Mallory and Lew are the only women in here not working,” said Osborne grimly. “I’ll tell you something else—I don’t like what I see. I don’t like my daughter being seen here, particularly with Nuttle.” Osborne was well aware that everyone knew of Randy Nuttle’s career path, which had included showing pornographic films to high school boys, five dollars each. This was at another crummy bar Nuttle owned over on Clear Lake. “And I really don’t like Mallory drinking so heavily.”

“None of this is anything you can do much about, Doc,” said Lew.

Ray tipped back on his stool, the warm bar lighting giving his face a healthy glow. “So, Doc, I got a duck joke.”

“I’m not in the mood, Ray.” Osborne was curt. Wayne raised his eyebrows and shook his head. Apparently, he had already heard the joke.

“What’s the difference between eroticism and pornography?”

“Ray …” Osborne’s tone was one of warning.

“Eroticism is when they use one feather, pornography the whole bird.” Ray chuckled heartily. “Not bad, huh?” Osborne gave him a dim eye.

Lew had taken the stool between them. Osborne lowered his head and leaned to talk into her ear, “Now
why
does he tell a joke like that? This is hardly the appropriate moment.”

“C’mon, Doc,” Lew muttered back with a slight grin. “Does Ray do anything at the appropriate moment?”

“The man’s got problems, Lew.”

“Anyone who spends half the year with a fish on his head isn’t normal.”

Osborne had to chuckle.

“On the other hand,” said Lew, “he’s not stupid.”

Ray leaned around in his chair to study the two figures in the back corner. The music from the other room had stopped pounding as the dancer took a short break.

“One small detail,” said Ray to Osborne and Lew, “Randy does have a wife.”

“That’s supposed to make me feel better?” said Osborne.

“She works the ten o’clock shift. Means we don’t have much time.”

Osborne gave a great sigh and rubbed his forehead. He had no idea what to do next.

“Let Ray handle it,” said Lew calmly. “That look in his eye—he has a plan.”

Ray smiled in appreciation. He stubbed out his cigarette.

Both hands extended in front of him, Ray swung away from the bar.

“Here’s what I think, Doc. Ol’ Wayne here knows how to find his way home. My vehicle is outside,” the first two fingers of each hand gestured gracefully as he spoke. “You will return to your place with the good Chief, and I will give Mallory a ride to my place.”

“Your place?” Osborne almost choked on his words.

“Where you will join us,” added Ray. “I have thirty-seven blue gills filleted and waiting. We’ll sober the kid up.”

“But how do we get her out of here?”

“Just you watch,” said Ray, raising his eyebrows and a finger. “Trust me, Doc.”

Osborne tried to. He was well aware of the many times Ray had given him excellent advice. Upstairs, behind the door with the coffee pot, he’d given good counsel on basic human survival. Sitting on Osborne’s porch as the sun set over Loon Lake, he had changed Osborne’s twenty-year mindset on musky fishing. The funny thing he had noticed over the two years of their deepening friendship was that Ray’s fingers articulated the air identically, distinctively, regardless of whether he was dispensing advice on how to change your life or your lure.

At the moment, the same fingers were scooping up quarters from the bar. Coins in hand, Ray unfolded his lanky frame from the bar stool and ambled over to the jukebox. Without even looking at the selections, he punched in a combination. The voice of Frank Sinatra singing “I Did It My Way” filled the bar. Ray walked into the other room toward the back table.

Osborne sipped from the plastic cup of water the bartender had placed in front of him, staring straight ahead. After a few moments, Lew poked him with her elbow. He turned his head slightly to the right. Ray was dancing with Mallory, holding her close, dipping and swaying to the lyrics but keeping her back to Osborne. He gave a quick nod. Osborne, with Lew close behind, stood up, skirted several newcomers to the bar and left. Mallory never saw him.

The fishing truck snaked back along the river toward Loon Lake. Lew had taken a short cut north of town on their way out, now she passed the turn-off and continued straight toward the highway.

“Going through town?” asked Osborne.

“If you don’t mind,” said Lew. “Looked to me like Ray might be a few minutes behind us.”

Several turns later, they were heading down Ojibway Drive towards the Rodericks’ house. Lew slowed as they came up on the school and leaned over to look past Osborne. “Lights on. Good.” She pulled over to the curb to study the building. All the classrooms on the second and third floors were lit up.

“What are you thinking?” asked Osborne. “Ed Raske is the janitor. He was a patient of mine.”

“So you know him? I’ve been wondering if he’s noticed anything unusual around the neighborhood recently.”

“I haven’t seen Ed since I retired. Nice enough fella. Golly, he’s been the janitor here for as long as I can remember. C’mon, let’s go in, I’ll introduce you.”

“No, Doc. You have to get over to Ray’s.”

“I can take ten minutes. To be perfectly honest, Lew, I am not looking forward to the next hour of my life, and a ten-minute delay is quite welcome. Anyway, it’ll give Ray time to set the table and shake those blue gills in a little seasoned flour.”

Lew was already out the door of the truck.

They had to bang hard on the side doors to get Raske’s attention. When the old man finally pushed the doors open, he had a look of severe irritation on his grizzled face until he saw Osborne. Dressed in dark brown cotton pants and a long-sleeved shirt to match, the old man couldn’t have been more than five feet tall. With the bright lights casting shadows across his bony features and watery, red-lined eyes, he looked like he had been cleaning the school floors since the turn of the century.

“Dr. Osborne,” he said in surprise, “I thought youse were a buncha kids tryin’ to make my life miserable. What—do you need to use a phone or somethin?”

“Ed, this is Lewellyn Ferris, our local Chief of Police. We were hoping you could take a minute for us to ask you a few questions.”

“You mean them kids that broke into the computer room? All I know is what I told Mr. Adams.” The old man backed off nervously.

“No, no, nothing like that,” said Lew. “I noticed you work evenings quite a bit, and I’m not sure you’re aware there’s been a problem in the neighborhood.”

“Oh, sure,” the old man nodded, relaxing, “I know. My wife was telling me jus’ today. You mean Mrs. Roderick’s sister getting killed. That’s the Roderick house over there, y’know.” He pointed behind Lew to where the Roderick house stood on the other side of the lilacs and the street.

“I was wondering if you saw anything unusual around there recently,” said Lew. “Mrs. Roderick told me she thought someone tried to break into her house the other afternoon, late afternoon.”

“Oh she did, did she?” A sly look stole across the old man’s face. “She tol’ ya that, did she? Ain’t she somethin’ huh?”

“Don’t keep me in suspense, Ed,” said Lew, half kidding but anxious to urge the old man along.

“Depends on how you look at it, I guess,” said the old man. “Breaking in is all a matter of who owns what in my book.”

“Ed, you lost me,” said Osborne.

The old man stood bent over in the bright hall lights, arms swinging loosely at his sides as he said, “You know Mr. Roderick?”

“Yes …”

“He’s the one. He’s been hangin’ around those bushes almost every night for the last month. Lookin’ in his own windows, for Chrissakes. I noticed he’s drivin’ a different car, see. Parks it over in the Pizza Hut parking lot, then walks over to spy on his own house. I’m always walkin’ down there for my coffee, see. He doesn’t notice me, of course. I’m just a little ol’ man, y’know.”

“Why do I get the impression you don’t think much of Mrs. Roderick?” said Lew.

“Hell,” said the old man, “nothin’s right for her. She’s complained ‘bout where I park my truck because she can see it out her window. She don’t like how the lilacs are trimmed. I have to carry the trash barrels all-l-l the way ‘round the building thanks to her. Wasn’t any problems before she moved in. I been here nearly forty years, y’know. Had to change all my ways to suit her.”

“So what do you think is up?” asked Lew.

“Only one reason a man ever has to spy on his own wife,” said Ed. “Anybody here don’t know what that is, I sure ain’t gonna tell ‘ya.”

“Food for thought,” said Osborne walking back to the truck.

“Yep,” said Lew. “I’m beginning to think that for such an organized woman, Meredith Marshall left quite a mess behind her.”

“Now, Doc,” said Lew as Osborne got out of her truck eight minutes later. “You be careful what you say to your daughter tonight. She’s likely to listen to you.”

“Thank you, Chief. Is that spoken as a mother or a police officer?” Or, he thought but did not say, as a woman who can see I’m having a hard enough time trying to figure out my own life.

Lew gave him a tired but sympathetic smile. “Just think before you talk. You men think you have to have all the answers. You don’t.”

She waved and he shut the door. Before walking down to Ray’s trailer he took two minutes to finally check his phone messages. He had three from Ray calling in from Thunder Bay and one other message. Cynthia Lewis wanted to see him or Lew at their earliest convenience.