Dead Hot Mama (10 page)

“Lauren, put your rod down and get over here,” said Ray, keeping his voice low.

Everyone was quiet, watching as the line moved slowly from one side to the other then back again. “Okay … coax it … coax it … you’re undergunned with that two- pound test,” said Ray, “but she’s yielding…” The eight humans stood, reverent and waiting. Another swirl and a roll of the magnificent back … then the hook pulled and the fish was gone.

Ray whistled. “Man, that is the
largest
muskie I have seen in my …
lifetime.”

“You’re shaking,” said Nick.

“You bet I’m shaking. That … that fish was fifty inches—maybe larger. Holy cow.” Ray sat down onto Nick’s pail with a thud. Mallory handed him a mug of coffee. “Holy cow.”

“I think he ate your Hot Mama,” said Nick.

“It’s a she. We’re lucky she didn’t eat the rod. Look at me, I’m still shaking. I tell ya, Nick, if you had landed that fish? You’d have had to quit school and take a full time job just to pay the taxidermist.”

“That big? Whoa! Wait till I tell the kids at school. Darn, I wish I didn’t have to go to my grandmother’s. That fish will be here tomorrow, right?”

“That fish will be here next summer, Nick,” said Osborne. “I’ll bet you anything you hooked my ‘shark of the north.’ I’ve been hunting that girl for over thirty years.”

“C’mon, Doc,” said Ray, “if you’ve been fishing her thirty years—that fish would have to be fifty, sixty years old.”

“Prime of life, my boy,” said Osborne. “Prime of life. Takes that long for a muskie to grow that big. You know that.”

Nick looked at the two of them. “How do you know it’s the same fish?”

“When you’ve fished as many years as I have,” said Osborne. “You just know.”

Twenty minutes later, as Cody and Mason began to complain about the cold, the adults decided to call it a night. This time Osborne and Mallory rode in the bed of the pickup with Lauren and Erin, letting the youngsters and Nick enjoy the blast of Ray’s heaters in the front seat.

“So, Lauren,” said Mallory, “what was it Nick said about Ray that he didn’t want you to repeat?”

“Yeah,” said Erin. “What did Nick say?”

“Actually, he told me this while we were waiting to board in O’Hare,” said Lauren. “We were talking about our families, like how many times our parents have been married and stuff. Nick said he wished his mom had married Ray. He keeps hoping she will someday.”

“That’s a long shot,” said Mallory.

“Why? Nick said Loon Lake feels like home. I like Ray’s trailer,” Lauren grinned. “It’s so happy.”

Osborne
tiptoed through the house, making sure all the lights were off. Plunging through the cold snow along with all the excitement of catching fish had put Mason and Cody in the mood for bedtime. Tree trimmed or not, when their mother said it was time to go home, they didn’t argue.

After they left, Mallory hung some of the more delicate bulbs on the upper branches. Then she, too, was ready to crawl under warm blankets. Osborne was pretty tired himself. And a little disappointed that Lew hadn’t come by. He decided the tree could wait.

Spotting one last box of ornaments on the floor, he set it up on the mantel over the fireplace, where Mike wouldn’t be tempted. Ever since the dog had eaten the remote control for the TV, Osborne had known better than to leave anything small, shiny, and electronic within chomping distance.

“Right, fella?” Osborne reached down to scratch behind Mike’s ears. The dog had been padding softly behind him, making sure to hoover every crumb dropped by Cody and Mason. “At least
you
love me, doncha, guy.” Mike lifted soulful eyes. Oops. Osborne headed for the back door. Someone had scored too many chocolate Santas.

Just as he opened the door to let the dog out, headlights swept across the driveway. Mike bounded out barking. A few seconds later, Osborne heard the soft slam of a car door and the crunch of boots on the snow.

“Doc? What are you doing up?” Lew let herself in through the gate. “I was sure you’d be asleep. I was planning to leave this on the back porch.” As she walked towards him, she held up the shopping bag she was carrying in her right hand.

“Heavens, no, Lew, I was just reading. I’ve been hoping you’d stop by. Why don’t you turn the car off and come on in. Have you had anything to eat?”

“Bruce and I grabbed a burger at the Pub. But Doc, it’s so late. Golly,” she checked her watch, “it’s almost eleven. Really, I should get going.”

“Can’t you come in for a few minutes?”

“Okay.” He knew right then she wanted to.

“Hot chocolate? I can microwave it—takes two minutes.”

“I would love a cup, thank you.”

Lew pulled off her parka and draped it over the kitchen chair. She reached into the shopping bag to pull out a small, flat box. “These are for your tree. The way things are going, I didn’t think I would have time to drop by tomorrow.”

Then she pulled out another box. It was long, narrow, and wrapped in silver and gold striped paper, with a big silver bow anchored to the top. “This goes
under
the tree for Christmas morning—but this little one I want you to open now.”

“Marshmallows?”

“You betcha.” While Lew walked into the darkened living room to slip the wrapped package under the tree, Osborne stirred the cocoa mix into the hot water. Was this the moment to deliver his own surprise? No. It wasn’t even wrapped yet—and he would much prefer to have a time when they wouldn’t be rushed. On the other hand, he did want her to have it for Christmas. Still … he decided to wait.

Osborne set the two mugs on the kitchen table. Lew sat down, then handed over the small box. Inside were four handmade wooden ornaments, each a little different version of Santa Claus.

“You made these, of course.”

“Yes,” she said. “These are my new designs. Just four, but I’m pretty pleased with how they turned out. I burned out on angels. I like these better.” She gave him a warm smile.

He knew she loved woodworking. Winter evenings she spent in her workshop, carving walking sticks from aspen and pins from walnut in the shapes of eagles, grouse, and trout. Her work was sold in one gift shop up in Boulder Junction, and the money stashed in a savings account to be spent on fishing equipment for her grandchildren.

At Osborne’s urging, she had recently begun to make miniatures of herons and beaver and cattails, securing them to pieces of driftwood. If he was lucky, the long box might hold one of her dioramas.

“Lewellyn, you look tired.”

“Tired? I’m beat.”

She collapsed back into the kitchen chair. “But we got a lot accomplished tonight. Bruce was able to get one of the lab pathologists up here by six, and the two of them finished up a little while ago. So I don’t have that hanging over my head. Interesting results, too.” She took a sip of her hot chocolate.

“Arne hiring Bud may be a mistake, but I sure am glad Pecore’s out. He would have delayed this investigation seven ways from Sunday. At least now I’ve got an expert autopsy right out of the gate.”

“So what’s the story?”

Osborne sipped from his own mug, enjoying the sparkle in the eyes of the woman across from him. Why was it with Lew it always felt so good to talk shop? He had never discussed work with his late wife—and if he had, Mary Lee would have been bored to death.

“For starters, the preliminary results indicate that both male victims had significant levels of flunitrazepam, which is a drug I’ve never heard of—”

“It’s a tranquilizer.”

“You’re right. Doc, similar to valium but more potent. Bruce said they’ve been seeing a lot of it in Milwaukee and Chicago. The street name is “roofie,” and it’s been a popular date rape drug for the last year or so. The pathologist spotted it right away since he’s seen so much of it recently. I won’t have a final toxicology report for a couple weeks but he’s certain he’s right. What’s odd is they don’t usually find it in men. And both had some water in their lungs.”

“So they drowned”

“We-e-ll, they’re not so sure about that. Bruce has arranged for detailed testing down in Wausau. Cause of death for one of the two, maybe both, appears to be a heart attack. Both victims showed evidence of laryngospasm.”

“Heart attacks? Those are young men, Lew.”

“Right. And in good physical condition. Bruce thinks they were drugged, then submerged in very cold water, which could cause the larynx to close and restrict the amount of water reaching the lungs. Then severe hypothermia, followed by irregular heartbeat and cardiac arrest. No one survives thirty minutes in water temperatures of thirty- five degrees and that’s what we have around here.”

“So he thinks they were dropped into a lake or a river?”

“Yes.”

“And what about the mutilations?” asked Osborne, hesitant to know more. This case was taking the glow off the holiday.

“The pathologist is convinced the limbs were severed after death—
soon
after. Additional testing will confirm that. Bruce is of the opinion that the bodies were then put back in their clothing and shoved under the ice with the idea being that they would stay down until spring.”

“By which time it would be assumed they had gone through by accident.” Osborne was quiet, thinking. “And because everyone would assume an accident, there would be no autopsies.”

“Highly unlikely. We talked about that tonight. The cost of an autopsy is prohibitive these days—over three thousand dollars. Loon Lake is not going to spend that kind of money unless we have good reason to suspect foul play. Same for the families. If you remember, Doc, I had three riders go through the ice last year. No autopsies. We assumed that any damage to those bodies was caused by natural predators. Why should this be any different?”

“Did you tell Bruce about Bud?”

“I did. He was pretty taken aback. He said if he had known, he would have applied for the job.”

“Really,” said Osborne, surprised.

“And I mentioned Bud’s little revenue scheme, too. Bruce found that idea pret-ty darn ridiculous. He said Bud’s been watching too much TV.”

“I have to say I agree with him on that. But what’s his take on why those bodies were mutilated?”

“Oh, Bruce is adamant on that. He said it’s a calling card and he’s seen it before. The legs were severed as a signal that someone has trespassed—whether that’s literally or figuratively, who knows. As far as the young woman and the fact that her tongue was cut out? According to Bruce it’s very simple: She said the wrong thing to the wrong people.”

“Does he think the girl’s murder is related?”

“No, he doesn’t, but he didn’t rule it out either.”

“Drugs?”

“Could be, but I haven’t had any reports of major drug traffic in the region since we shut down those couriers last summer. The only contraband that’s been coming across the Canadian border in recent months has been five-gallon toilets.” She gave a soft laugh. “I’m not too worried about that. If I had a new house and one of those new low- flush—”

Lew set her mug down quickly. “Y’know, I just thought of something. All this antique furniture that’s been disappearing from the seasonal cabins and that big resort up in Eagle River? Whoever is breaking in is entering the properties from the lakeside, over the ice. And they certainly know antiques, which means someone is fairly well- educated.”

“Not only that, Lew. The antique trade is sophisticated,” said Osborne, “middle to upper middle-class, and you would need to be trusted in those circles to move your merchandise. You’ve got two victims who are certainly middle-class individuals, judging from the quality of their dental care and the fact they were in good physical condition and expensively dressed. Could be a connection. I’m curious—any estimate how much money is involved?”

“A lot. The appraisal from the resort that was robbed came in over a hundred thousand dollars. And the appraisers said that if the antiques made it to the east coast, they would be worth two to three times that much.”

“So the money is there.”

“Yeah,” said Lew. “But going back to the victims for a minute. Whoever killed those men must have flunked physics.”

“Because the bodies surfaced so soon.”

“Right. Whoever dropped them should have known enough to leave the clothes off. Those snowmobile suits are terrific insulators. Not only are they resistant to wind and water, but they float.”

“And they dropped them too close to shore,” said Osborne. “Worse yet—too close to a spring near the shore. Everyone knows underwater springs make for a very thin ice cover. So whoever did it got the exact opposite of what they wanted: They wanted anchors, they got human bobbers.”

Lew swallowed the last of her hot chocolate. “Which knocks out our locals. I don’t know an ice fisherman around who isn’t aware of the potential for open water or thin ice, especially along shorelines.”

“On the other hand, the same is true for snowmobilers like your victims. Too many take foolish chances.”

“And,” Lew said as she walked over to set her mug in the sink, “the ones who get into trouble are from the cities.”

A distant drone from the lake caused both of them to turn their heads towards the windows in Osborne’s living room. “That’s a short list,” said Lew with a snort, “like every driver out on the lakes at this moment—a few hundred at least.

“Enough of this, Doc, it’s late,” she said, pulling on her parka. “Did I tell you Bruce is interested in learning how to fly fish?”

“Really. And how did that subject come up?” asked Osborne, trying not to sound disgruntled. It was beginning to sound like Bruce was moving in.

“I was explaining to Bruce about underwater springs and how they affect the ice. He wanted to know how I know so much about it. That got me on the subject of spring ponds and brook trout and fly fishing. You know me, Doc. One thing led to another, and he asked me if I’d take him fishing some time.

“Hey, you, don’t pout.” She punched him lightly with her gloved hand. “You can come, too, of course. You’ve never fished a spring pond with me.”

“I suppose Bruce is in your office tomorrow?”

“No, he’s off until after Christmas. I promised to call him if Gina finds anything on the Palm Pilot.

“You know,” said Lew, “Bruce is very professional, but he’s squirrelly. He had Marlene pull that Palm Pilot for him when I was gone. After I specifically told him that I was handling that end of the investigation. Said he had to test it for fingerprints.”

“That makes sense, Lew.”

“I know, I just don’t like how he takes control when I’m not in the office.”

That made Osborne feel a little better. He walked her out onto the back porch. “Any news from Gina?”

“Shoot!” Lew slapped her hand against her forehead. “That’s what I forgot—I was supposed to check with Ray and see if she could stay at his place. And I need to know if he was able to get any information on that young woman from the girls out at Thunder Bay.”

“I don’t think he had a chance,” said Osborne, giving her a quick rundown on Nick and Lauren’s unexpected arrival. “At least he didn’t say anything to me about it.”

“Come along, Mike,” said Osborne as he headed for the bedroom, his heart light with the memory of Lew’s goodnight kiss.

Mike hesitated in front of his own bed, a round plump pad covered with fake sheepskin that Osborne had put through the washing machine that morning. Before curling up, the dog gave a good long back roll, anxious to spread his scent and reclaim his territory.

Clyde stood on the porch of an old wooden house. Beaver pelts hung from the rafters. The old man’s eyes burned with anger. As if they were six shooters, he held a knife in each hand, blades pointing at Osborne, “What did I say? If they come this way again, I’ll shoot ‘em. This is
my
territory.”

Osborne humored the old man. “C’mon, Clyde, let’s go fishing.”

The old man let the blades drop. His face cracked a wicked wink. “Hell with fishing, let’s go to Thunder Bay.”

Osborne woke with a start. The dream had seemed so real he needed to make sure he was home in his own bed. He was and the dog was. Mike was snoring.