Dead Spider Page 11

  She froze. Did something move behind those birch trees? Bordering the court on her right was a stand of five mature birches, leaves swaying like a bright green scarf against the white trunks, which were slashed with horizontal black stripes.

  Alert and worried, Beth turned to her left as if she was about to serve then quickly dropped her racket to turn around. Yes, there was a figure in black standing very still among the birch trees: Pete Bertrand.

  Unnerved, she checked her watch. Twenty minutes until coach arrived. Maybe, she hoped, a parent will drop a kid off early. She decided to pretend she hadn’t seen anything and continue to pick up the tennis balls. If he moved toward her, she would run across the field to the high school entrance where she might be able to find a janitor.

  Ducking her head as she punched balls into the hopper, Beth didn’t look up again. She didn’t want to see the man hiding in the trees. She didn’t want him to know she had seen him.

  It wasn’t until she had hurried up to the shed to drop off the hopper that she dared to look back. No movement by the birches. He was gone.

  Oh my god, she thought. I should tell my parents . . . but I can’t. If I tell them who he is, they’ll want to know how he knows me and I’ll have to confess that I lied to that girl and that’s why he thinks I could sell stuff for him. And that would be so embarrassing. They’d think I’m really dumb.

  Things were bad enough at home already: Everyone doted on Cody just ’cause he’s a boy and they think he’s so cute. Well, he’s not that cute—he’s a pain in the butt. Then there’s Mason—such a little jerk always fussing with fishing poles and pretending she’s some great sportswoman like their mom. Next thing you know she’ll brag she can shoot and dress a deer.

  No one cares about her tennis or her dance classes. And now she’s supposed to tell them she lied? Beth wanted to cry.

  A block down the road, Pete Bertrand climbed into his Jeep pleased with what he had just seen. What a beautiful girl! And she was interested. Why else would she have shown up this morning? He didn’t want to come on too strong until he had a plan. But this was cool: She had seen him and she did not get angry or fake anger like she did yesterday. That was just a cover ’cause that coach guy was walking up.

  All he had to do now was to dump Wendy. God, he was tired of her. But she just pulled off a great job for him—all those guns and the drugs. He better think this through. But so far, whoa, life is going well. He reached back into the wooden box behind his seat for one of his favorite little white pills and cranked up the radio. Hoo-haa, man, is this day off to a great start.

  “Gosh, Doc, I didn’t know what to say,” said Ray. “Patience told me she hates people who fish.” He was cradling his coffee cup, which Osborne had just refilled for the third time and it was only six thirty in the morning. Lew had been up and gone for over an hour. The knock on the back door from his neighbor had come shortly after six. And Ray was beside himself.

  “She told me she read this book What a Fish Knows and discovered fish have all these feelings and memories and—bottom line—I’m committing murder when I catch fish. Oh, and she refuses to eat ’em, too.”

  “Sounds to me like she hasn’t given your sautéed walleye a chance,” said Osborne. He chuckled.

  “It’s not funny, Doc. She means it.”

  “In that case, you aren’t meant for each other. Sounds pretty straightforward to me.”

  The expression on Ray’s face was morose. “But, Doc, she’s one of the most interesting women I’ve met in years. And as pretty as a forget-me-not. Doc, I don’t want to let this one go.”

  “Spoken like a true fisherman. Ray.” Osborne leaned forward to emphasize his next words, “She is not the woman for you. You fish, you love to fish, you love to eat fish. You are an expert muskie fisherman—give it up.”

  “Maybe I can find us a compromise . . . ”

  “Sure, catch and eat small children instead.”

  “This isn’t funny, Doc.”

  “I’m sorry but wise as she might be helping us with the videos, I’m not sure Patience lives in the real world. Or our real world anyway. What did she order for dinner last night?”

  “Squash ravioli.”

  “Hmm. Have you told her flowers talk? She should consider the feelings of squash blossoms.”

  “Now you’re screwing with my head, Doc.”

  “Yes, I am. Look, Ray, I respect the woman and her point of view. After all, Lew has taught me the importance of catch-and-release. But she sounds like she carries her concern for fish to an extreme.”

  “Wait,” Ray raised his right index finger, which Osborne had learned long ago signaled an important thought. “Doc . . . that is . . . the answer.”

  “Not sure I know what you mean.”

  “I . . . will instruct Ms. Patience Merrill . . . in . . . the art of . . . catch-and-release.” Ray’s face lit up. “That’ll do it. I’m sure. But, um, remind me of the basics.”

  “Sure: Keep the fish wet. You want to land a fish in the water and hold it in the water or close to the water with wet hands. If you have to net a fish, use a rubber net as they have the least impact on a fish. Once you catch a fish, always use forceps to remove the barbless hook to minimize handling the fish.”

  “I like this: ‘Catch-and-release’ here I come.” Ray looked so hopeful, Osborne hated to ruin his morning.

  “Okay, but that doesn’t sound to me like a ‘catch in a skillet.’ And you are all about eating fish whether it’s walleye, bluegill, or muskie. Plus, you can’t possibly land a muskie using a barbless hook. Ray, no matter how smart and lovely the lady is, I don’t think you can change who you are.”

  Ray’s eyes clouded. “I’ll keep working on this . . . ”

  “That said, we’re due to review that video starting at nine this morning,” said Osborne, glancing up at the kitchen clock. “See you there.”

  When Osborne walked into Dani’s office at nine that morning, everyone was waiting. Everyone except police chief Lewellyn Ferris.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  It was seven fifteen Wednesday morning and Lew was intent on getting through the paperwork that seemed to be multiplying like loaves and fishes since Chuck Pfeiffer’s death. The fact that the bulk of the documents were computerized didn’t make life any easier. Just as she decided to take a short break and refill her coffee cup, Dispatch rang her desk phone.

  “Chief, just got a 911 call from the Northern Lights Nursing Home and EMTs are on their way—suspected drug overdose. Thought you should know.” Lew hung up and checked her cell for Elizabeth Herre’s number.

  “Chief Ferris, I’m on my way to the emergency room,” said the woman in a brisk voice.

  “Can you tell me more?” asked Lew.

  “All I know is one of our CNAs, Wendy Stevenson, was found unconscious in her car in the parking lot about ten minutes ago. She had arrived at work at six, right on time, but about a half-hour later she said she needed a break. One of my nurses on staff this morning said she didn’t look good when she arrived and seemed disoriented. Sorry, I’m pulling into the hospital parking lot.”

  “I’ll meet you there,” said Lew.

  Pulling into the parking area for the emergency room, Lew saw the EMTs unloading a gurney. Standing nearby and watching was Elizabeth Herre. “Do we know more?” asked Lew, walking up and following her into the emergency waiting room.

  “Yes, they found two pill containers in her car. Not only did she take oxycodone but the containers are two of the ones stolen from our pharmacy.”

  “Do we know how she got those?”

  “No idea yet. But I have her purse, which she left in our building. One of my nurses grabbed it so we can see if there’s any information on her family. Who to call and let them know she’s in bad shape.”

  “You don’t have that on file?”

  “We thought we did but the name and phone number for the close relative that she put on her application form doesn’t work. Got a message that t
he phone number is invalid. I hope she’s going to be okay . . . ”

  Lew walked up to the receptionist at the emergency room desk and showed her badge.

  “Yes, Chief Ferris,” said the young woman manning the desk. “I’ll let Dr. Reich know you’re here. He’s the doc on duty and he’s with the patient right now. I’m sure he’ll be out to speak with you soon.”

  Lew sat down next to Elizabeth who was rifling through a tan vinyl bag covered with studs and fringe. She brought up a worn red wallet, a pair of loose sunglasses, a lipstick case, two tubes of mascara, a set of car keys for a Toyota, and another ring with seven keys on it. Elizabeth studied the ring of keys then reached into her own purse and pulled out an identical ring. She held them side by side on her lap so Lew could see.

  “They match,” said Elizabeth quietly. “This one is a master key that works in the doors to all our apartments, this opens the front entrance deadbolt, and these four work for the kitchen, our supply room, our nurses’ private bathroom, and the computer room. But this one,” she held up one key that was smaller than the others, “this is the key to the drug cabinet in the pharmacy.”

  “Marcie called me during the night to say she remembered Wendy borrowing her keys several weeks ago. Are you sure these are identical to yours? I’m going to have them double-checked.”

  Elizabeth handed her the ring of keys. “I’ll be very surprised if they aren’t. She must have run out and had Marcie’s keys copied.”

  “Or someone was waiting near your building and ran off to copy them for her.”

  The emergency room physician emerged from the ICU unit and beckoned them to join him in a small room off the waiting area. “She’s very confused and hallucinating but her vitals are stable,” he said. “We’ll be able to release her in about four hours or so.”

  “I’ll have Officer Roger Adamczyk here to keep her under surveillance until then,” said Lew. “Once she is released, we’ll be putting her under arrest.”

  The physician nodded, then said, “She’s lucky her reaction was as treatable as it is. The EMTs were able to give her Narcan, which is an overdose antidote.”

  It was nine thirty when Lew finally made it to Dani’s office. The room was darkened and quiet with everyone watching the video projected overhead. Seeing Lew walk in, Patience hit the pause button and said, “Good morning, Chief Ferris, we’re reviewing the two-hour video that shows people moving past the Pfeiffer booth. If it is okay with you, we’ll keep moving forward. I’ll pause it every few minutes for us to discuss what we are seeing. I’ll be starting it over, too.”

  “Any news, Chief?” asked Bruce before Patience started the video.

  “We’ll be arresting one of the nursing home staff for the thefts yesterday. She arrived at work high and with what appears to be keys to all the rooms in the place including the drug cabinet in the pharmacy. And she had some of the stolen drugs on her.”

  “That was easy,” said Bruce.

  “Let’s hope it’s as easy as it sounds. I’ve sent Todd Martin out to search her apartment for the missing drugs and guns and everything else she took. Assuming we find everything—then I can relax.”

  “Are you ready for me to play the video?” asked Patience.

  “Before you do,” said Lew, glancing around the room, “is there anything new that you’ve all seen so far? Any sign of Jim Nickel?”

  “No sign of Mr. Nickel but I got an update on the guy you might find interesting,” said Ray, tipping back in his chair. “Hanging out late last night at the Pied Piper Tavern and who walked in but Buddy Drummell, my best bass guy. Haven’t seen that joker in months and now I know why: He’s been in the slammer.”

  “What does that mean—‘bass guy’?” asked Patience.

  “Oh, that’s right, you don’t fish,” said Ray. “I have clients who want to fish bass and Buddy knows right where to find smallies. And they are the best fighters, those smallies. I got a client from Detroit all he wants to fish are smallies and—”

  “Fine,” said Lew, interrupting. “What’s the deal with Buddy Drummell? Why has he been incarcerated?”

  “Well, Buddy’s not the sharpest knife in the drawer and he sort of forgot to tell the IRS that his folks had passed away—forgot for three years and kept cashing their Social Security checks.”

  “That’ll do it,” said Lew. “And?”

  “So he’s just out of the halfway house over on Dahl Street where Jim Nickel has been living these last three months.” The room was quiet. “Turns out Jim’s got a regular visitor—Miss Rikki.”

  “Mrs. Pfeiffer, you mean,” said Lew.

  “Yes. She’s been dropping by every couple weeks with his favorite lemon meringue pie.”

  “Really? She doesn’t strike me as a woman who cooks,” said Lew.

  “I have no idea if she made ’em or not,” said Ray, “but Buddy said she would drop in with pie for the guy. And turns out that when they were all chewing the fat, Jim let it be known that once he was out that he’d be back in the game big time.”

  “Back working, you mean?” asked Lew.

  “Yep. Told the boys in the house that his kid had a big job with the Pfeiffer Corporation and he’d be finding a place for the old man.”

  “That’s interesting,” said Lew. “Very interesting.”

  “There’s more. He said that old man Pfeiffer had an aortic aneurysm that could blow any time. And when it did who knows what could happen—”

  “Meaning he could be helping his son run the show?” asked Lew.

  “Buddy got that impression, but like I said: Buddy isn’t the brightest.”

  Osborne decided to ask the question: “What if Jim Nickel got tired of waiting for the aneurysm to blow?”

  “Doc has a point,” said Lew. “What we haven’t considered—what I haven’t considered is this: We know Jim Nickel is not the most upstanding citizen. Correct?” Everyone nodded. “We know he is recently out of prison, and white collar or not, it is still prison. Given that he may be in the position to make money soon—”

  “Wait,” said Ray, “in a position to have an ex-wife with a LOT of money baking him pies . . . ”

  “Why not hire someone to do his dirty work?” Lew’s question hung in the air. “All right, folks, time to watch closely.”

  As Lew spoke, Patience gave Mike a nod to start the video running. Two minutes into the video, Ray said, “Do you believe how much ice cream there is in our world? It’s a wonder some of these people don’t weigh four hundred pounds.”

  “Between ice cream and bratwurst, you’d think we were watching Food Network Northwoods,” said Osborne. “I’m beginning to regret giving up my practice. After what I’ve seen this morning, Loon Lake’s dentists will be besieged with cavities.”

  “Yeah, in people of all ages,” said Ray. “Whoever said they came to watch kids fish? Hell, they came to pig-out. Wait, I think—Mike, can you back the video up a minute or two?”

  “Sure.”

  Lew wondered what he had seen because she hadn’t caught anything unusual. Thanks to bright sunshine on the morning of the tournament, the images on the screen were well lit and colorful making it hard to miss much. And Ray had made a good point: Everyone walking by the booth—parents, little kids, older kids, middle-age couples, people walking, kids on bikes and trikes—everyone was either licking an ice cream cone, cramming popcorn into their mouths, or finishing off something in a hot dog bun.

  Aside from people inhaling food, the camera caught Chuck Pfeiffer’s head and shoulders from the back. Lew could see that he had rested his right arm on a small table just inside a knee-high curtain framing the booth. Even though his face couldn’t be seen, his body language was that of a man relaxed and happy to watch the people passing by. When the occasional passerby waved or said something to him, he responded with nods and waves and appeared to be enjoying himself.

  She could also see action in the booth off to the far right, which was run by the Lions Club and where hot dogs,
bratwurst, and popcorn could be seen being delivered from one set of hands to another. Directly across the way was a large booth run by the Senior Center.

  As they waited for Mike to back up the video, Lew realized that during her first viewing she hadn’t paid attention to the people in the booths. Now, determined to look beyond the faces of people passing by, she recognized several residents of the Northern Lights Nursing Home.

  “Wow,” she said to no one in particular after Mike had backed the video up, “I had no idea there were that many people over in the Senior Center booth.”

  “What you really mean is how many people you missed seeing before,” said Patience, sounding pleased to prove her point.

  “It’s quite something once you really look,” said Osborne. “I see half a dozen people I know.”

  As he spoke, Mike zoomed in on the distant booth where people in the booth were up and moving to position chairs and wheelchairs while handing binoculars back and forth. “They’re getting ready for the awards ceremony,” said Mike. “We’re about five minutes from the end of this video because I turned the camera off while we were taping Rikki handing out the awards.”

  “Wow, those folks came equipped,” said Bruce.

  “You better believe it,” said Osborne. “This tournament is a highlight of the summer for some of the old folks. Between cameras and binoculars they weren’t going to miss a moment—especially if they were watching their grandchildren—”

  “Or great-grandchildren,” said Dani with a laugh.

  As they watched, Lew saw a surge in the number of people passing by. “Why do I see so many more people walking past Chuck Pfeiffer all of a sudden?” she asked no one in particular.

  “They’re moving down to the dock area to watch the awards being handed out. I asked Mr. Pfeiffer if he didn’t want to move, too, but he said he’d just sit where he was and watch the video later.”

  “There! See that?” Ray jumped to his feet as a trio of men in black leather jackets moved along in the crowd. “That’s Jim Nickel right there.” Ray pointed.