Dead Angler (7 page)

“My stepmother. She died of cancer just after Pop retired. Meredith’s mother. She always dressed Meredith like a storybook doll. I’ll never forget: I would come home from school for the weekend and there would be this picture-perfect little kid, so pretty and so sweet. I was like her second mother.”

“So you were the big sister baby-sitter?”

“Not really. I would show her off to all my friends, but I didn’t baby-sit. Dorothy wouldn’t leave Meredith alone with anyone.”

“What do you mean when you say you came home on weekends. Didn’t you go to school here in Loon Lake?”

“Heavens, no.” Something in her tone made it clear Alicia couldn’t believe Osborne had not told Lew that she was one of the favored, one of the few to attend a prestigious private school. “I went to Holy Cross, the private Catholic girls school down in Merrill. Pop sent me from first grade until I went to college. He believed in quality education.”

Osborne let the remark go. Sometimes he couldn’t believe this woman. Honestly. Did that mean that sending his girls to Loon Lake High School meant he and Mary Lee
didn’t believe
in quality education?

“Did Meredith attend Holy Cross?”

“Heavens, no. Dorothy wouldn’t let her out of her sight. She was an obsessive mother. Of course, that’s probably why Meredith came back. She loved Loon Lake,” said Alicia, swirling her wine glass, a slight smile on her face. “She loved her friends from here, she loved our lake house. She was Loon Lake High Homecoming Queen her senior year,” said Alicia with quiet pride.

“She was also a National Merit scholar,” added Osborne.

“Yes, that too.”

“She sounds like an All-American, bright, happy young woman growing up.”

“Then she met Ben,” said Alicia, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Ben Marshall. Big man on campus—Northwestern. Merry was a freshman, he was a senior and, boy, did he change her life.”

“Really,” said Lew.

“Nothing was the same after Ben.”

“You sound … regretful?” “I think he killed her.”

Lew looked up from her notepad. She waited. Alicia’s statement hung in the air. Her eyes shifted from Lew to Osborne and back to Lew.

“In more ways than one, he killed her.”

“Tell me about it.” Lew’s voice was gentle, understanding.

“Ben’s a commodities broker on the Chicago Board of Trade. Winter wheat, pork bellies. He runs the family business. They married right after he graduated and moved into the family compound in Lake Forest. Big fancy Chicago Irish Catholic millionaires. At first, as long as Meredith took care of all his needs, it was great. That was the first five years.

“Then they find out they can’t have children. Bored out of her mind, Meredith wants to back to school, she wants to be a biochemist, which drives Ben mad. Takes wa-a-y too much time away from filling his needs.

“Ben, you see, is a big game hunter and a fly-fisherman only he has to go to South America, to Russia, to Africa. God forbid he ever fish in Wisconsin or Michigan. Meredith couldn’t take that kind of time off from school. So they compromised. She quit school and took up cooking.

“Cooking?!” Lew and Osborne exclaimed simultaneously.

“Don’t ask me where it came from,” said Alicia, “Dorothy was a lousy cook. But Meredith was a natural. French and Italian cuisine were her first loves. She went to France to study, to Italy. She became a superb chef. I’m not exaggerating. She was phenomenal. Pretty soon she was running her own catering business up and down the North Shore. She loved it.”

“And Ben?”

“This did not suit him. Also, by now Meredith is seeing a shrink and starting to stand on her own two feet. Then she decides she wants to open a restaurant.”

“How long ago is this?” asked Lew.

“About eight years ago.” Alicia set her wine glass on the table and crossed her arms over her chest. “She opens a restaurant in Evanston, then one in Winnetka. Within two years, she’s a huge success. Fortune Magazine writes her up as one of the top ten chefs in the country. And—
and—
she writes two cookbooks. The little wife has become big business.”

“I think I’m getting the picture,” said Lew.

“The magazine piece runs, the book deals come along, Meredith is thriving. She never looked better, she’s happy … when Ben drops his bomb.” The smirk on Alicia’s face was a giveaway.

Lew sighed, “I know what’s coming … the secretary?”

“Bull’s eye,” said Alicia pointing her finger at Lew. “The ‘personal assistant.’ Age twenty-six, blonde, honkers out to here, slimy little bitch named ‘Tiffany.’ Need I say more?

“Meredith took it on the chin. She took responsibility for it. She did her best to put their marriage back together. That’s when
she
learned how to fly-fish. She didn’t just learn, of course, she became an expert. She hired Joan Wulff for two weeks of private lessons. Then she and Ben took three months off to travel. Fishing, a safari, Paris and Rome. When they got back, she sold her restaurants. She loved Ben, she wanted to stay married to him. She forgave him. She also made a couple million selling those restaurants.”

“This is now—three years ago?”

“Right. But it was too late. Ben was still seeing other women. The final blow came when Ben left on a business trip. The next day the airlines delivered ‘Mrs. Marshall’s lost luggage’ to their home, only they were not Meredith’s bags. She wasn’t the ‘Mrs. Marshall’ he took on that trip. That was it. She told me she’s since heard from their friends he had dozens of girls. He’s a creep. A real creep.”

“Is Ben an attractive man?”

Alicia looked at Lew and gave her a sly grin, “He has money …” “Tall, short?”

“Oh, he’s good-looking,” said Alicia reluctantly, swinging her foot. “He’s a little on the beefy side these days, but tall, ruddy-faced. Real Chicago Irish with red hair, y’know? Yes, I’d say women find him attractive.”

“Have you met him, Doc?” Lew turned to Osborne who nodded that he had not. He saw Alicia’s eyes widen at the familiarity with which Lew addressed him but she said nothing.

“So no children, no heirs that you know of.”

“Well—that’s the interesting part,” said Alicia. “I don’t think that Ben knows the divorce was final last week. He thinks he’s her heir.”

“How could he not know it was final?”

“He was out of the country last week. Meredith was trying to reach him.”

“But if he has money, why—”

“First, she got a nice chunk of his assets in the divorce, then his company made a bad call in the copper markets. He told her the business was looking at Chapter Eleven. That’s why she was trying to reach him. Pop’s estate was settled a couple months ago, and Meredith had decided to take less money in the divorce. Actually, she wanted to do a trade.”

“That sounds pretty big-hearted, given what you’ve told us.”

“That’s Meredith. She has been so happy up here. She didn’t need the money. She told me she wanted a fresh start and no bad feelings from Ben. She was determined to set that whole chapter of her life behind her.

“But she wanted one thing from Ben. He kept a family heirloom of ours, a diamond brooch that belonged to our grandmother. Pop gave it to Dorothy, and Dorothy gave it to Meredith. Ben had it in the bank vault and refused to return it until the divorce was settled. I want that brooch, Chief. You can tell Ben for me I consider it stolen.”

“You don’t care much for Ben, do you?”

“Would you?” Alicia swung her foot harder. Suddenly, from the rear of the house, they heard a light bang as if a door had swung shut.

“What’s that?” Alicia looked startled, alarmed. She rushed from the living room. Lew and Osborne followed. They ran out of the living room, down the hallway to the kitchen and through another doorway into a rear laundry room. An inside wooden back door stood wide open exposing the outside screen door, which opened to the garden and garage.

“The screen door is unlatched,” said Osborne pushing against the outer door frame. “Was it locked?”

“I never lock my doors,” said Alicia. Then she looked at them, fear crossing her face. “What if it’s not Ben?” she said. “What if someone’s after both of us? Peter’s not here. I’m all alone.”

“No one came in,” said Lew looking down at the gleaming white ceramic tile that covered the kitchen and laundry room floors. Her eyes scanned the open shelving in the room carefully.

“With the mud and wet grass from the storm tonight, anybody trying to walk in here would leave plenty of footprints on this white floor of yours, Mrs. Roderick. This place is buffed clean. Maybe your door slammed in the breeze or blew something off one of these shelves. Maybe it was this mop that fell over.” Lew righted a sponge mop that had tipped over beside the washing machine.

“Do you have any reason to think someone might be after
you?”
asked Lew, backing into the darkened kitchen.

“I’m … I’m not sure …,” Alicia paused, looking down and thinking. “Something odd happened earlier this week. I didn’t think much about it at the time … I thought it was one of the neighbor kids …” She looked up. “I was in the garden weeding, on my hands and knees, when I was sure I heard the front door slam. I got up and walked in—sometimes a neighbor will stop by with iced tea or to chat, y’know. But no one was here. I know I left the front door open. Someone had to shut it. Slammed it shut.”

“The mailman?”

“No, it was late afternoon.”

“Where were you tonight around suppertime?” asked Lew.

“I went up to the country club with Carlyn Sandeman and her mother-in-law for cocktails and a salad. After that, we played bridge at her house. She lives next door,” Alicia gestured towards the garden that separated the two large houses.

“I better start locking my doors,” Alicia walked back to peer out the screen door towards the silent garden.

“I would if I were you,” said Lew briskly. “Until we get this cleared up, you should be careful, Mrs. Roderick. Particularly if many people know the kind of money you and your sister inherited. Some of these backwoods idiots we have around here might think you keep cash in the house.”

Alicia pushed the back door shut and slipped a deadbolt.

“You are so right, Chief Ferris,” she said. “I’ll be very careful. Are we finished?”

“Just another question or two,” said Lew. “I’m sorry to keep you up so late. Can we go back to the living room? I left my notes on the sofa.”

“Right now having you two here is all that’s keeping me from having a nervous breakdown,” said Alicia, “Please, however long it takes …”

“Did
your father have enemies?” asked Lew as they walked back through the hallway.

“I imagine,” said Alicia, “he ruled hundreds with an iron fist but Pop was retired over twenty-five years. He was ninety-two when he died. I doubt too many people from his era are still around.”

“Ah, so he was older when Meredith was born,” said Lew as she sat back down on the sofa.

“Yes. Dorothy was forty-two. She’d been Pop’s secretary,” added Alicia. “My mother was a Claywell from Farmington, Connecticut.” Osborne almost chuckled. Alicia’s inflections left no doubt as to her opinion of Dorothy. Poor Dorothy, thought Osborne, Alicia would have been serious competition even as an adolescent.

“What has Meredith been doing since her return?” asked Lew.

Alicia’s eyes brimmed with tears. She reached for one of the paper napkins she’d set out on the plate with the cheese and crackers.

“We…,” she bowed her head and crunched the napkin to her eyes, then she inhaled deeply and looked up, fighting back the tears. “We were business partners,” she said. “That’s how I know about the divorce and the final dates. We signed the incorporation papers this week after waiting until the divorce was final so Ben could have no claim against our business.”

“Which was—?” Lew’s voice held an edge of fatigue. Osborne didn’t blame her for trying to rush Alicia along. A glance at his watch had shown him it was nearly 3:30 in the morning.

“We’ve been catering for the last six months,” said Alicia. “A select clientele from Manitowish Waters and Land o’ Lakes. We planned to open a restaurant in early October. Meredith was the chef, the creative genius, while I am—was—the business manager.”

“So that’s why she bought The Willows?” asked Osborne, remembering now all the speculation by the McDonald’s crowd over Meredith Marshall’s purchase of the property. The old estate, built in the 1930’s by a Chicago mobster, was a mansion on a magnificent peninsula in Cranberry Lake that came with many legends attached. Legends and, according to Loon Lake lore, ghosts.

“Yes. Meredith has been remodeling the boathouse, turning it into The Willow Inn,” said Alicia. “Now … all our plans are … dead, I guess.” She emptied her wine glass and started to stand up.

“Was Meredith living at the Willows?” asked Lew. “She moved in two months ago. She didn’t close on it until last week.”

“I see,” said Lew, tapping her pen on her notepad. “Alicia, is there anyone besides Ben who might have had an unhealthy interest in your sister?”

“If you put that way, yes,” said Alicia. An odd expression crossed her face, an expression that struck Osborne as a mix of indecision and delight.

“She was dating—actually, she was intimate with this creep from the Lac Vieux Desert casino up in Michigan,” said Alicia, picking her words with ladylike care. “Supposedly he’s a gardener and she wanted him to landscape The Willows.”

“I take it you have your doubts about this fellow?” Lew’s pen worked busily across the page.

“I told her she was crazy to even talk to the jerk,” said Alicia, rolling her eyes in disgust. “But he has these cheap good looks. She thought he was cute.”

“He’s a landscaper?”

“He’s a waiter at the casino who says he’s a master gardener.

Frankly, he’s a gigolo,” said Alicia. “And his name, for the record, is Clint Chesnais.”

“French Canadian?”

“Indian. Off the res up there. Creep.”

“But what could he possibly get from your sister?” asked Lew.

“Money. She opened a landscaping account and put him on as co-signer,” said Alicia. “I told her not to but she did it anyway.”

“How much money is in the account?”

“I have no idea. That was her personal business, not connected to the restaurant.”

“Mrs. Roderick,” Lew stood up and flipped the narrow notebook closed, “If you are up to it, I would like to take a look at your sister’s house tomorrow.”

“I think that would be all right,” Alicia nodded, standing. The three of them walked back through the living room towards the front hall.

“Let’s meet at the hospital at nine for the identification, if that’s all right with you,” said Lew. “Then we can go to the house immediately afterwards.”

“Oh—could we do that later in the afternoon?” asked Alicia. “I have a doctor’s appointment at one and I’ll have all the burial arrangements …”

“I understand,” said Lew. “Would three o’clock work for you? At the Willows.”

“That’s fine.”

“Wait for me in the driveway,” said Lew. “And please, don’t enter the house if you arrive before I do.”

“Don’t worry,” said Alicia. “I won’t. See you tomorrow morning, Chief Ferris,” she said, shaking Lew’s hand as she opened the front door for Lew to leave. Then she turned to Osborne, brushing his shoulder lightly with her hand to stop him. She let the door close behind Lew, watching her as she went, then stepped back into the hall.

“Paul, you’ll keep some of what you heard tonight confidential?”

“Of course, Alicia, I’m deputized to work with Chief Ferris on this case. Everything is confidential.”

“Oh fine then,” said Alicia. She turned her face up to him with a tight little smile on her lips, “You know, someone should tell Mrs. Ferris that girls with bottoms that broad really shouldn’t wear khaki … know what I mean?” She winked as if Lew’s bad taste was to be a private joke between them.

“Good night, Alicia,” said Osborne curtly. “I am very sorry about your sister.”

“I just remembered something very interesting,” said Osborne as he opened the door of the cruiser, “Ray mentioned earlier tonight that Peter Roderick has been travelling a lot lately, but the last time Peter and I fished together, he told me he was retiring this summer.”

Osborne could hear himself talking a little too loudly and too fast, but he was hoping against hope that Lew had not heard Alicia’s snipe.

“You didn’t mention she was an old girlfriend of yours, Doc,” said Lew, not letting him off the hook.

“She’s not,” said Osborne, “what do you mean?” He was trying to figure out why he felt guilty as he spoke.

“I heard her through the open windows,” said Lew, pulling the car away from the curb. “She made sure to say it just loud enough.”

“Don’t take it personally, Lew. That’s Alicia. She’s always had that nasty side to her—”

“That was more than nasty, Doc, that was a warning to me: ‘hands off.’ “ Lew turned to him, a half-smile on her face, “you don’t get it, do you?”

“I guess not,” said Osborne, unsure if he could possibly feel more embarrassed.

“I may be a cop, Doc, but I’m also a woman. Women have signals. Unmistakable signals.”

Osborne said nothing. Little did she know how aware he
was
that she was a woman. Better she shouldn’t know.

“Wait until you hear how she talks to her husband,” said Osborne, anxious to change the subject. “You played her well, Lew. You played her like those brook trout you caught tonight.”

“Hah!” Lew snorted. He loved her snort—it said it all.

“What do you mean, Doc?” He knew she was fishing for the compliment.

“You know exactly what I mean, Lew,” Osborne looked out the window as he spoke. “You teased her in, you let her run, and you teased her again … The only thing missing in that living room was a double taper fly line running from the sofa to Alicia’s chair.”

Lew chuckled. “Actually, I needed thirty pound test, Doc. I felt more like I had a musky on the line.”

“You fish musky, too?”

“Oh sure,” she said, “right after trout season ends next month, I’ll be out row-trolling for that ‘ol’ shark of the north.’ “

“No kidding.” Osborne liked the sound of that. Ralph Kendall wouldn’t know beans about muskies. Osborne made up his mind, he would definitely invite Lew to fish his weed beds.

“But, Doc,” Lew interrupted his thoughts, “there’s a big difference between Alicia Roderick and a musky.”

“Oh yeah?”

They headed down Ojibway Drive again, this time towards the jail and Lew’s office where Osborne had left his car.

“Yeah. One
is
a shark. Something I don’t understand, Doc,” said Lew, “how can a woman be so pretty, have all that money and security—and be so damned unkind? Was her sister like that?”

“I don’t know. I’ll have to ask my daughter.”

Lew swung the cruiser around a corner. “What was it you were going to tell me about that front door of theirs?”

“Oh that. Right,” said Osborne, nodding happily, “That door was Alicia’s first and, possibly, most famous stunt as Peter’s wife. Now that you’ve met her, you’ll understand. Right after they were married, she ordered that thing from England. Never said a word to Peter until it was here and was hung. So he admires it, opens it, closes it. He finds out the damn thing is something like 250 years old. So he asks how much it is. Alicia tells him and he can’t believe she did it. He told her it had to go back.”

“Which it obviously did not.”

“That door cost $20,000 in 1964,” said Osborne. “Can you imagine spending that kind of money on a door?”

“Guess we know who’s boss in that family.” said Lew. “She seemed to think she was running the investigation for awhile there tonight.”

“I’ll tell ya,” said Osborne turning to Lew and shaking his head, “I know more about antique radios thanks to that go-dawful woman—”

“Now why’s that?” Lew glanced at him, “what on earth are you talking about?”

“Peter Roderick. He’s got this antique radio fetish—he drives hundreds of miles to find them. And if you have the misfortune to sit near him at a dinner party or the fish fry at the Pub, you will hear every detail. Which I have.

“Actually,” Osborne raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, “I have done so on purpose, Lew. You feel so sorry for the poor guy—the way Alicia takes him apart in public.

“I’m not the only one. A number of us go out of our way to listen to the man, strictly out of sympathy. He’s good-hearted, but brother can he be a bore. There are times, I tell ya, when I’ve been fishing with the guy, I’ve been desperate to get out of the boat. Between the minutae of the radios and those crazed dogs of his—”

“Say, Doc. What about the dogs? Where were they tonight?”

Osborne looked at Lew. “Good question. Now that’s odd, Lew. If Alicia’s so worried about someone breaking in? Why doesn’t she have the dogs around?”

“Back to Peter, Doc. So all these years he’s taken all this abuse? Been humiliated in front of his friends? Why would a guy do that? Why wouldn’t he just walk out?”

“Those of us who know Peter have speculated on exactly that issue for years, Chief,” said Osborne. “To the point that the one time he stood his ground, we gave a party. We all went out to Rick French’s deer shack for some poker to celebrate.”

“Really,” said Lew.

“Did you notice that mirror in the living room?” asked Osborne.

“You mean the mirrored wall,” corrected Lew.

“We call it Peter’s Revenge,” said Osborne. “Everyone knows it came out of an old brothel up in St. Germaine. He picked it up for about twenty bucks at the auction when they tore the place down, then he forced Alicia to hang it in the living room. Absolutely put his foot down. She fumed over that for years.”

“I’m starting to wonder if someone murdered the wrong sister.”

Lew angled the cruiser into a parking spot beside Osborne’s station wagon. It was still dark, not quite 4
A.M.
They opened their doors and got out.

Osborne fished his car keys out of his pocket and had turned towards his car when Lew’s soft voice stopped him. She stood behind his car, her briefcase swinging in her left hand.

“So, Doc,” she said, “I think it’s time we go home and get ready for bed, don’t you? I don’t know what your plans are. I thought I’d put on a little make-up, my best nightie, some hair-spray. Whadda think?”

Osborne stood in stunned silence, his car key in his hand. What on earth? Then the note of irony in her voice registered. “Lew. You’re right. I thought Alicia was looking pretty good tonight. It never occurred to me—”

“Of course not, Doc. It takes a woman’s eye.” Lew leaned back against the cruiser, cradling her briefcase in her arms. “When I followed her back to the kitchen, I could see she had that wine bottle with two glasses and the cheese and crackers already set out. She wasn’t happy that I walked in on her either.”

“Just who do you think she was expecting?”

Loon Lake was still dark when Osborne pulled his station wagon into his own driveway. He could hear Mike barking a wild welcome inside the house. He was such a good dog, Osborne was sure there had been no accident, even though he should have been back to let Mike out hours ago.

He hurried through the back porch and opened the kitchen door to let the bounding black Lab through. “C’mon, guy, let’s go down to the lake.” The dog rushed by. Osborne stepped into the dark kitchen to open the refrigerator. He reached for a can of ginger ale, poured it into a tall glass, added an ice cube, then turned to follow the dog down to the dock.

That’s when he saw the sheet of yellow note paper tacked over the sink: “Doc, I need you in the morning. The ESPN guys asked me to bring a client who can demonstrate while I talk walleyes—you’ll make me look good. Pick you up at nine. Love you forever, Ray.”

Stinker, thought Osborne. Ray knew darn well he wouldn’t be getting to bed much before dawn. On the other hand, it made him feel good Ray would single him out for the TV thing. It would be fun. Something to talk about at McDonald’s.

Osborne shut the screen door quietly behind him and followed the dog down to the lake. As Mike busied himself, Osborne sipped at his ginger ale. He looked west over the still-dark lake. The tall tamarack that ringed the eastern shore delayed the early light of dawn, especially in late August as the days shortened. Osborne didn’t mind, he loved the absolute stillness. A soft forest breeze drifted across from the far shore.

Life was so funny. In less than a year, he’d gone from being a man whose empty days and hours yawned like an abyss to someone whose life overflowed with friends and family and unexpected excitement. Poor Mary Lee was fast becoming a faded, rather crabby, memory. He was happier now than he’d ever been, he thought.