Dead Frenzy (19 page)

She set the boots down and walked to the back of the van. Pulling open the doors, she grabbed an open cardboard box and set it down on the driveway. She stepped back with a pleased look on her face. Chrome spirals caught the late-day sunshine.

“Thunderstar Custom Wheels, man. Nine hundred bucks retail, but I get ‘em for free—so don’t you worry.” She had seen the look of protest on his face. “Where’s your bike? Let’s see if they’re the right diameter.”

The bike was parked inside the building, right in front of Lew’s cruiser.

“Oh, Cheryl, I’m sorry. It’s in my garage at home. I had a friend ride it over this morning. You saw me today, I’m sure as heck not ready to ride that big bike.” Osborne paused, then said, “Cheryl … why are you giving me all this?”

“You deserve it, man, for getting back on that bike. I wouldn’t have, you know. I would’ve freaked. And,” she added, looking up at him, “I think you’re class. I like you.”

It dawned on Osborne that behind that churlish, tough façade was a sweet, likable young woman. “Well, Cheryl,” he smiled, “I like you, too. Thank you.”

The moment embarrassed her and her voice turned gruff. “Now you take these with you and check ‘em out, okay? Didn’t you say you have a Dyna Wide Glide?”

“No, an Electra Glide Classic.”

“Oh, shit, then you need a different wheel size.” Cheryl’s face fell.

But as quickly as it had fallen, it brightened again. “Hey, man, I got an idea. You come to the party we’re having, kind of a big swap meet on Sunday. Know where Hagen Road is? You ride that new bike out there and I’ll see you get outfitted. I’ll give you directions in class tomorrow.”

Minutes later, he ushered her into the UPS customer service area. At the sight of the two damaged boxes, a funny look crossed Cheryl’s face. Osborne could swear she looked frightened. She reached into a pocket of her vest and pulled out a cell phone.

“Excuse me, I’ll be right back—I need to check and see how they want me to file the damage report.” Cheryl stepped back outside to make her call. It was obvious she wanted privacy.

When she entered again, she looked shaky. “Can you tell me what happened?” She held the phone in her hand in such a way that Osborne assumed someone else was listening.

“We had a problem with the conveyor belt here when the last truck unloaded. The safety broke and a number of boxes piled one on the other. I used packing tape to secure the outside of these,” said Osborne. “I didn’t see any damage beyond what you see on the outside. I sure hope nothing too valuable was crushed.”

“So you put this tape on here? Did you check inside the boxes?”

“I’m sorry, Cheryl, I just didn’t have the time. But I can assure you that any damage is fully insured according to the shipping agreement.” The color came back into her face as he spoke.

“Anyone else handle these boxes?”

“I’m the only one working tonight,” said Osborne. “I usually have someone here to help me but she asked for the night off—her husband is ill. That’s where the problem started. Another pair of hands and I could have prevented those boxes from piling off like that.”

When Cheryl had driven off with her thirteen boxes, which barely fit into the van, he hurried back into Lucy’s small office. Lew was waiting.

“Did you hear her invite me out to a party on Sunday?” said Osborne.

“I did. That’s good, Doc. Ray called today, too. He wanted us to know he heard the announcement on
Help Your Neighbor.
They read an ad saying bikes and boats for sale due to an out-of-state move. The address they gave is the same one we just saw on all those boxes—Webber Tackle on Hagen Road and the time is noon to six.”

“Lew, that’s where Erin and Mark are due to pick up his new motorcycle.”

“Hmm,” Lew snorted. “Why am I not surprised? When did you hear that?”

“On my way over here.”

“I hope you didn’t say anything. Does Erin know about this investigation?”

“Absolutely not. She thinks I’m helping you with crowd control during the motorcycle rally.”

“Good. I need to think about this.”

“Lew…. ”

“I know, I know, we have to keep them out of there.”

According to the agreement with Lucy, Osborne was required to stay at UPS until eight. Lew had to get back to the jail to take care of some frisky early arrivals for the fishing tournament, which was just as well since he was dead tired. But it wasn’t until he was on his way home that he realized he had forgotten to mention that he’d dropped his bike.

He was reliving that experience as he pulled into his driveway. Mike leaped at the gate as he approached, so excited and happy to see him. Osborne felt bad about that. He hated leaving the dog alone for a full day. Letting him in through the back door, Osborne smelled the surprise before he saw the note on the door: homemade lasagna and Italian bread warming in the oven.

A place had been laid for him at his kitchen table. My god, the woman was invading his cabinets! Saran Wrap covered a bowl of green salad. And a glass of red wine had been poured, the bottle set nearby with the cork lying beside it. Obviously she had no clue he was a recovering alcoholic. At least he had one secret from her. Jeez.

Osborne picked up the wineglass and walked over to the kitchen sink. He corked the bottle and put in the refrigerator. He could return it tomorrow—after he locked his doors. A light blinked on his answering machine. Two messages, the first from Brenda, of course. The sound of her voice so chilled the air that he inadvertently canceled her message before she had finished. Oh well, enough was enough, dammit.

“A-a-ny chance you can help me out tomorrow morning, Doc?” Ray’s voice was next. “I’m taking the girls out at six and we’ll be wrapped by eight. I really need you there; I think I’ve convinced them to do some B-roll at my place.”

Osborne picked up the phone and left a message for Ray. Yes, indeed, he would be there. A perfect opportunity to ask Edith a few questions. He just hoped she wouldn’t find it too disturbing.

Half an hour later, as he slipped under the quilt, he remembered the boots in his back seat. Motorcycle boots, chrome wheels, and homemade lasagna—could this be one and the same problem? Oh, dear God, he hoped not.

Osborne
woke just as the alarm went off. He fed Mike, showered, and laid out his motorcycle leathers. On a hunch, he skipped breakfast. Instead, he reached for the St. Croix spinning rod, heavier than his fly rig and his favorite for bass, threw a couple bass poppers in the smaller of his two tackle boxes, and ambled out the door to the deck.

Leaving Mike in the yard, he decided to take the lake path over to Ray’s. As he headed down the hill toward the shoreline, a stiff breeze off the water felt cool against his face. Ray would be pleased: “West is best,” he liked to preach when persuading a nervous client to fish on a windy day. This might be just a breeze, but it had promise.

Two loons cruised toward the center of the lake. Squirrels chucked as they scuttled across the pine boughs over his head. Felt like a good day. Even Henry and Mollie were out early, feet working the paddleboat as they inched along about fifty feet out from shore. They waved and Osborne waved back. Silence—no one wanted to break the spell.

His hunch was right: An aroma of bacon frying filled the air around Ray’s place. The Mini Rover was parked beside Ray’s pickup and the morning sun sparkled off the neon muskie welcoming guests to the house trailer. Osborne stopped to examine the lurid fish. He could swear Ray had glued on some sequins.

“Hey, old man.” Ray waved a spatula at him as he opened the screen door. “Grab some coffee.”

Hayden acknowledged his arrival with a quick nod from where she sat at the kitchen table sorting through a stack of photos. Ray made a few extra bucks shooting winter scenes for a local calendar printer and it appeared he was holding her hostage to his art form. As Osborne poured himself a cup of coffee, he could hear Hayden making cooing noises.

He had to admit she had presence. With her long legs, large head, and solid figure, she seemed to occupy a good half of the table. Still wearing camo, too, although the morning’s featured garment was a tight-fitting T-shirt that emphasized the fact she did not believe in underwear, at least on the upper level. And while she had opted for simplicity when it came to her shorts—they were plain khaki—her face was pure Kabuki. Osborne couldn’t recall the last time he’d seen a woman wear so much makeup so early in the morning. Poor fish, they’d die of fright before they were hooked.

It wasn’t until he turned around with a full mug of coffee in his hand that he realized someone else was in the room. The girl with grave eyes: Edith. She sat against the far wall, hunkered down behind Hayden as if trying to fade into the background. Hair pulled back from her face, she wore no makeup whatsoever. Once again Osborne was struck by the supplicant look on her face: the look of someone too anxious to please, too quick to apologize, too vulnerable.

He took the chair next to Edith. As Hayden chattered at Ray, Osborne grasped that the order of the morning was to give her a private lesson in bass fishing. “We’re going out in your boat, Ray?” asked Osborne as a steaming platter of scrambled eggs, crisp bacon, and triangles of buttery toast was handed around.

“Homemade thimbleberry jelly from the good nuns at St. Mary’s,” said Ray, plopping down an open jelly jar. “Berries from up around Lake Superior—picked ‘em myself. Nope, I borrowed the pontoon from Henry and Mollie, Doc. They’re tickled pink that we’ve got a TV star on Loon Lake.”

“Ah,” said Osborne. “Wondered why they were out together and so early.”

“The pontoon boat gives us a steadier platform for taping, Dr. Osborne…. May I call you ‘Doc’?” said Hayden, waving her fork. She pointed the fork at Edith. “You got the equipment ready, right?” Edith responded to the brusque directive with a gentle smile.

“Doesn’t your cameraman do that kind of thing?” said Osborne, feeling an inexplicable urge to defend Edith.

“Rob’s shooting Parker this morning. Big get-together with all the pro-am teams as they start the qualifying rounds. No, Edith shoots B-roll.” She could have said “Edith does all the work” and Osborne would have believed her. Jeez, the woman was irritating.

“Oh.” Osborne took a sip of his coffee.

“Listen up, folks—I have a ma-a-a-velous idea,” said Ray, bringing his own plate to the table and sitting down with a look of sublime satisfaction on his face, obviously convinced everyone would be as pleased as he was with his brilliance. “I will … call the publisher … of the
Loon

Lake Daily News
and ask him to send a reporter out to do a feature story on … our expedition this morning.”

“Right now?” said Hayden. “Isn’t it a little early?”

“When we get back with our catch. It’s just doggone high time they do something on our Edith here. Think about it. We’ve never had a Loon Lake girl hit the big time in TV. Here she is shooting B-roll on little old Loon Lake. I’ll twist that jabone’s arm, doncha know. I guarantee we’ll get front page.”

Ray crunched a piece of bacon as he dug into his pile of eggs, blissfully unaware of the silence in the room.

“Edith?” Hayden looked like she’d swallowed a pickle whole.

“Excuse me, everyone,” said Edith, jumping to her feet. “I’m going down to the boat and get set up. Thank you for the thought, Ray, but I think maybe we should do that another time, okay?”

She darted a look at everyone around the table as if needing permission to leave. Again something in her expression stirred Osborne. Was it her eyes? Avoiding contact, betraying the look on her face. Black around the edges.

He shuffled his chair up to the table so she could pass. As she did, she laid a hand on his shoulder. He could have been mistaken but he thought he felt a squeeze. It was slight but a squeeze nevertheless.

When she was out the door, he looked over at Hayden, who sat with her arms crossed, a pout on her face. It might be wise to change the subject, decided Osborne, maybe generate a little sympathy for a change? Not that he expected Hayden would understand. Some people led charmed lives.

Sitting forward in his chair, elbows on the table, Osborne assumed the authoritative tone he had learned to use when informing a patient they needed teeth extracted and dentures.

“Is Edith experiencing any difficulties with her return to the area? I believe this is her first time back in years.”

“Not that I’m aware of,” said Hayden, looking uninterested. “Why? She saw her sisters last night and seemed okay with that. Why do you ask?”

“Well, the circumstances of her father’s death, you know.”

“Oh … right.” A sharp look flashed across Hayden’s face. Her features tightened and she sat up a little straighten Ray busied himself picking up plates. “Fill me in on the details, Dr. Osborne. Edith says very little. I’ve always wanted to know more.”

“I’ll know more in a few days, Hayden. Our local police chief, Lewellyn Ferris, has just reopened the case. Since I have a smidgen of forensic experience from my student days when I served in the Korean War, she’s asked me to consult. The family doesn’t know this yet, so I’m speaking to you in confidence.”

“I’ll respect that,” said Hayden.

“Edith’s father, Jack Schultz, committed suicide. He had been accused of murdering a young girl who was baby-sitting for a family up from Chicago.” Osborne swiveled in his chair and pointed toward Ray’s driveway. “They found the victim right up the road there—my younger daughter and a friend discovered the body.”

“Your
daughter found the body?” said Hayden, sounding more surprised by that coincidence than by the fact the murder may have occurred so close to where they were sitting at the moment.

“A tragedy for Edith’s family. I don’t know that anyone ever heard Jack’s side of the story aside from what the authorities said at the time. It all happened so fast. Some people feel he may have been falsely accused. I’m one of them. So I’m planning to ask her—”

“Oh, no, I would not do that, Dr. Osborne. Definitely not. You see, one condition of her employment with us is that we not bring up the subject of her background, of her family.”

“How’s that?” said Osborne, feeling himself start to vibrate with irritation. What the hell made this woman think she could give
him
orders?

“Edith came to us two years ago with an excellent résumé—except for the previous year. She was honest, she told us she had been hospitalized with severe depression and other emotional problems. We agreed to hire her on the condition that she continue with her medications and her therapy. We also mutually agreed not to discuss any family history or issues unless we were in the presence of one of the psychiatrists treating her.”

“That was very good of you to be so understanding.”

“Selfish, really,” said Hayden with an arch smile. “Parker insisted we hire Edith because of her years of experience with the competition—you know, the other outdoor sports channels. But please, we have so much on the line with this new Fishing Channel, I cannot risk having her upset or disturbed right now. She’s our nuts and bolts, Doc. Without her, nothing happens.”

“So you’re saying I should wait until the tournament series is completed.”

“Oh, at least. Frankly, I think you should drop any thought of reopening those horrible emotional wounds. Don’t you?”

“Hayden,” Ray interrupted, “we’re ready to go. Do you need to use the rest room? No facilities on board.”

Ray was busy on the pontoon stowing away fishing gear, more coffee and soft drinks. Edith had been fiddling with her videocam and battery pack. Then, deciding she needed extra batteries, she ran back up to the Mini Rover. Osborne, meanwhile, lingered on the dock. He would be the last to board and untie the boat.

In her heavy-footed way, Hayden came charging down the path from the trailer. Behind her by about fifty feet came Edith. Osborne watched as Hayden jumped onto the pontoon, forcing it, even with Ray on the opposite end, to swoon under her weight.

“Get
that
on tape,” he whispered with a grin as Edith passed by. And for the first time since he had seen her at the airport, Edith’s eyes lit up. She turned aside to give him a smile. That smile and the look in her eye told Osborne everything he needed to know.

“Oop, oop,” said Ray, coaching Hayden, who had just cast out over a rock bar. He had her using a Ninja Jig tipped with a small plastic crawfish. “Let that jig fall right down the side of that big boulder you see. When it hits the next shelf of rock, let it sit for just a second, then let it fall down to the next rock. As soon as you pull that jig off the shelf is when you’ll get hit.”

He stepped back and adjusted his fishing hat against the sun. Hayden cast again. She was not a graceful woman and the lure thunked into the water without gaining much distance. Edith was taping, back to the morning sun. Osborne sat on a padded bench, feet up and another cup of coffee in hand. The light was crisp and the lake could not have been lovelier. He said a quick Hail Mary in gratitude. He took nothing for granted these days.

“How do I know when I have a bite?” asked Hayden.

“What do you mean?” said Ray. “Don’t you fish with Parker? Haven’t you caught a fish before?”

“Actually,” Hayden laughed, “not if I can help it. I’m anchor talent, not a fishing pro.”

Anchor talent, huh. Osborne could think of another spin for that phrase. He banished the thought; too nice a day to be so mean-spirited.

“Just flip the jig against the rocks and hold the rod perfectly still as the bait falls. When one bites, you’ll know it. No, stay by the rocks, Hayden; you lose the rocks, you lose the fish.”

An eagle spun high, high overhead, then dove. The women gasped. “Ray taught him how to do that,” said Osborne.

“Oh sure,” said Hayden.

“I’m only half-kidding. Most of us who’ve fished for years can sight fish pretty darn well—but Ray’s got the eye of an eagle, he can see fish you never knew were there.”

“Damn,” said Hayden as her next cast plopped short again.

“Okay, Hayden,” said Ray, “relax, don’t work so hard. I want you to learn to think like a bass. Here’s an assignment for when you’re back in the city. Rent some snorkel gear, then jump in a pool and have someone reel lures over your head…. ”

“Forget that, you’re putting me on.”

“I kid you not,” said Ray. “The pros do it.”

“Screw the pros. I’m getting too much sun.”

Hayden wiped the sweat from her forehead, then set down the rod and took a seat under the pontoon’s awning. Osborne poured her a mug of coffee as Edith turned off the camera. Putting her feet up on the opposite bench, Hayden leaned back. She gazed across the lake at the shoreline that ran along Osborne and Ray’s property. To the north of Ray’s trailer, a small orange-yellow cottage blazed with light from the morning sun.

“That’s one of the Greystone Lodge cabins, isn’t it?” said Hayden.

“Yep,” said Ray. He bent down to reach for another lure in his tackle box and let his foot nudge Osborne’s. “When were you there?”

“Never,” said Hayden. “I just heard about it. You know, from friends when I was growing up.”

“Yep,” said Ray, “pretty well known hereabouts. Edith, your turn.” He held out the spinning rod that Hayden had set down.

“Oh, no,” Edith protested.

“Edith,” said Ray, “did I ever tell you that when I was just seven, eight years old, your father showed me some of the best honey holes for bass? I’m still fishing ‘em today. Actually”—Ray looked over at Osborne—”I think old Bert and Harold are fishing ‘em.”

“No,” said Edith, “he did? I used to fish with my dad a lot.”

Hayden turned away to look hard at Osborne. Her eyes drilled his: Hadn’t Ray gotten the message?

“Yeah,” said Ray, “my dad was a surgeon, never had time to fish. Didn’t really like it. I learned from a lot of folks, but your father was a re-e-al fisherman. I remember he’d be out before dawn and long after dark. Here—” Ray pushed the rod at her. “Give it a try.”

“Oh, okay then.” Edith stood up. “Would you mind terribly if I used Dr. Osborne’s instead. His is just like the one my dad gave me.” As she picked up Osborne’s rod, he opened his tackle box.