Dead Spider Page 16

  For Lewellyn Ferris, each hour of the day seemed to stretch on forever. When Osborne offered to cook dinner, she accepted with relief. “Anything to make time pass faster, Doc. Oops, sorry, I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

  “Not to worry, I feel the same way,” he said, happy to share the lemon chicken and cheesy potatoes he had just slipped into the oven. Lew arrived at his place an hour later. Though he had closed the door to the room filled with her birthday surprise, she paced the house with so much nervous energy he found himself watching her as closely as he watched ground cover when hunting partridge. God forbid she open the wrong door and ruin his surprise.

  Late that evening Bruce called with the results from the crime lab. “Chief Ferris,” he said, “thanks to a pushy phone call from the office of our concerned governor, the lab techs moved us to the front of the line. Once again it’s helped that Chuck Pfeiffer was one of his biggest donors.”

  “Just the news, Bruce, just the news, please,” said Lew.

  “Oh, all right,” said Bruce, pausing to relish the moment. “And . . . ”

  Lew listened. She exhaled. “Thank you, Bruce. And thank your lab team for rushing this through.”

  Turning onto her side to face the man in bed beside her, she said, “Set the clock for six, please. I need a warrant for the arrest of Harriet McClellan and I plan to be first in line to get that.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  At nine thirty Wednesday morning, chief of police Lewellyn Ferris and Dr. Paul Osborne walked into the Northern Lights Nursing Home and asked to see Mrs. Harriet McClellan. The receptionist called the room number listed for Harriet, announced their arrival, and hung up. “She’s expecting you. The hospice wing is down the hall and to your right.”

  “The hospice wing?” Osborne whispered to Lew as they walked down the hall.

  “S-s-s-h, we’re here.”

  Lew knocked and a reedy voice said, “Come in.”

  Harriet was alone in the sunny room. Resting against a bank of pillows, she was wearing a white nightgown with lace filigree surrounding the neckline. A tiny silver heart gleamed against the folds of pale skin around her neck. Her arms and hands lay still on top of folded bedclothes.

  “Good morning,” said Harriet with a welcoming smile. Osborne sensed a stillness about her that he had never seen before. Nor had he ever witnessed the genuine smile with which she greeted them. Smile aside, she was watchful, her eyes calculating as Lew approached the bed with the evidence case she was carrying.

  Only when Lew opened the case did Harriet look down. “My gun. You found it.” A bone-thin hand reached for the revolver. Lew didn’t stop her. The old woman fondled the weapon. “This was a gift from my husband sixty years ago. He wanted me to have it for self-defense. That was never necessary. I got darned good with it, too, but all I ever used it for was to shoot gophers until . . . ”

  “Until you shot Chuck Pfeiffer.” Lew’s tone was even.

  Harriet smiled again. “Yes, until I murdered the man who robbed me of all that was precious in my life.” She couldn’t have said, “I just won the lottery” and sounded happier.

  The old woman’s eyes met Osborne’s. “You tell her, Paul. Chuck ruined Martin. Ruined him as a man, ruined his marriage and stole our business. He left my son crippled physically and emotionally. Martin was never the same after that . . . ” Harriet’s voice trailed off and she looked off as if the past were as vivid as the sunlight in the bedroom.

  “Paul, help me sit up a little higher, will you please?”

  Osborne plumped the pillows behind the bird-like shoulders and Harriet gave him a grateful smile.

  Lew looked bewildered. What she had expected to be a tense confrontation had become a celebration. Harriet did not seem worried in the least by Lew’s intent to arrest her for murder.

  As if she could read Lew’s mind, Harriet said, “You find this hard to believe? Don’t.

  “Years and years ago—I am eighty-seven, you know—I made up my mind that if I was ever diagnosed with a terminal illness that I would make it my mission to destroy Chuck Pfeiffer.”

  Again the smile of satisfaction, of genuine happiness. “And I have.”

  “I did not know you were ill,” said Osborne.

  “No one did. Not even the people here and I swore my doctor to secrecy. I was diagnosed with liver cancer five years ago but it went into remission until recently. Now, it’s over. I’ve refused treatment and they give me three weeks at the most.

  “But for those five years I watched and waited for my chance. When I saw that every year Chuck Pfeiffer attended that tournament and sat where he sat—every year the same spot. That’s when I hoped I might have my chance. I never expected it to be so easy though.”

  “You were there in the Senior Center booth, right?” asked Osborne. “We’ve been watching a video Chuck’s company was making and I thought I saw you there.”

  “Yes, I’ve gone with the group since the tournament started. Just watching and waiting. Two years ago I went over toward the Pfeiffer booth to see how close I could get. Chuck might have seen me but he didn’t recognize me. I mean, it had been years since he saw me last. I’ve changed, you know. I am an old, old woman.

  “Men like Chuck don’t notice old ladies like me. This time when I snuck over to his booth, thinking I might have to fire from a few feet or so, all I had to do was reach over the railing and give him the old hug like I saw someone else do—and, what do you know? I was close enough to . . . ”

  Harriet held up her right hand and pointed her index finger—“Boom.”

  The room was quiet. Then Lew spoke: “Mrs. McClellan, you don’t seem very ill.”

  “Good drugs,” said Harriet, “but I’m failing. I can feel it.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Lew, sounding uncertain as to what she should say.

  “I’m not.” It was the old Harriet: chin thrust forward, head high, eyes contemptuous.

  “You spit on him,” said Lew.

  “I did. Waited years to spit in that man’s face but I missed. Got the top of his head but so what.” She gave a shrug of her emaciated shoulders. “What happens now, Chief Ferris? I have to go to jail, don’t I? May I take this hospital bed? I promise not to be there long.” Osborne swore he saw her wink.

  Lew gave a slight smile. “We don’t have a hospice wing. But I will have to arrange for a guard outside your door. A formality of the law.”

  “Ah, you think I might try to escape,” Harriet chuckled. Osborne thought it might be the first time he had ever heard her laugh—a real laugh.

  “Dear people,” she said, “if I have learned anything in this long life of mine, it’s this: You can’t cheat death.” Her eyes narrowed. “But you can settle accounts.”

  As they rose to leave the room, Osborne saw Harriet’s eyes flicker and close. She was ready to sleep: exhausted but satisfied.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Dani looked up in surprise as Lew and Osborne rushed into her office. “Oh, thank goodness,” said Lew on seeing the video monitor was still in place. “I was worried you might have taken the monitor down.”

  “No, I haven’t,” said Dani, “and I’m sorry. You told me yesterday that you might be finished with it but I’ve been trying to catch up with department records—”

  “Not to worry, but can you help us with that third video again, please? Start with the time stamp we have for that period during which we were pretty sure that Chuck Pfeiffer had been shot.”

  “I know just where you mean,” said Dani, speeding through the earlier scenes. She paused the video at the one forty-five mark then let it continue in real time. Lew and Osborne leaned forward in their chairs watching, waiting.

  The figure in black appeared, entering from the far side and to the right of the busy walkway. “Yes! She was over in the Senior Center’s booth,” said Lew. “Doc, did you see her start to walk over?”

  “S-s-s-h,” said Osborne, “I’m concentrating.” He watched a
s the figure moved in a diagonal line through the crowd and down toward the Pfeiffer booth. Her back was to the camera as she neared Chuck Pfeiffer, only the back of his head visible.

  “I don’t know if he even saw her coming,” said Lew. “He didn’t turn to look at her, did he?”

  The figure they now recognized as Harriet McClellan turned slightly to her left as she neared Chuck Pfeiffer, her wide-brimmed hat obscuring her face from the video camera. For a second, Osborne caught sight of the canvas bag slung across her chest under a large black binocular case. Her right arm was not visible—she must have been holding it under the bag and out of sight of any one walking nearby.

  Clad in a black sleeve, the left arm reached across Chuck’s shoulders and the head under the hat leaned over as if to congratulate him on the success of the tournament. Chuck’s head tipped back for a second in a move that appeared to be an acceptance of the accolade. Now the person in the hat faced him. To smile? Or to spit? Only the chin was visible as she gave his hair a friendly ruffle—an intimate gesture from an old friend—and moved on, disappearing into the horde heading for the dock to watch the awards ceremony.

  “Doc, I’ll bet you she was holding that revolver under her bag the entire time she walked toward Pfeiffer and no one even noticed.”

  “The binoculars are what caught my eye,” said Osborne. “And the sound of the fireworks would have masked the gunshot.”

  “Patience was right,” said Lew as she motioned for Dani to back up the video. “We see what we want to see. We walked in here this morning knowing what we should see—and now we do. Frustrating. No wonder they say the worst witness is an eyewitness.”

  “Ironic, isn’t it?” said Osborne, relaxing against the back of his chair. “Chuck’s people set out to make a flattering corporate history only to have it be a record of what can happen when you cheat the wrong person.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  “Dad, wasn’t it Henry James who said the two most beautiful words in the English language are ‘summer afternoon’?” asked Erin as she helped Osborne finish mixing the potato salad for the picnic. Lew and her daughter’s family would be arriving soon and he wanted everything ready beforehand.

  “I think so,” said Osborne, slipping the bowl his daughter had decorated with white and yellow slices of hard-boiled egg into the refrigerator. “Good, that’s ready. Ray has promised to arrive early to sauté the walleyes he caught this morning and Lew insisted on baking her own three-layer chocolate cake even though it’s her birthday. We’re set.”

  Father and daughter walked down to the sandy shore by the dock where they had set up his picnic table. The blue and white checked tablecloth held paper plates, plastic cups, and napkins. The cooler with soft drinks and plenty of Lew’s favorite Leinenkugel’s Original beer was heaped with ice. In the center of the table was a wooden tray holding wedges of cheese surrounded with crackers.

  “Looks perfect, Dad,” said Erin. “Mark promised to be here by five with Cody and Mason.”

  Beth had come early with her mother and was back up at the house, sitting on the porch swing with a book. “She’s been so quiet ever since we got her home. I’m worried,” said Erin. “The whole experience had to be so frightening for her. The only benefit I see in all she had to go through is that she’ll have a damn good story to write up for her college applications.” Osborne gave his daughter a hug.

  “Beth will survive,” said Osborne. “She’s got a good head on her shoulders. Like her mom. But that reminds me I want to have a chat with her before the others arrive.” Osborne headed back up to the house, leaving Erin to shoo away a chipmunk with a taste for gourmet cheese and crackers.

  With Beth beside him, they walked down the stone stairway to the bench on the landing where he had sat just days before, hoping and praying she would be found safe.

  “Sit closer, young lady,” said Osborne, pulling her into the crook of his arm just as he had when she was younger.

  “Are you going to read to me, Gramps?” she asked with a grin. “Like you used to?”

  “Not exactly.” Osborne reached down for the gift he had wrapped and hidden under the bench that morning. “I have something for you.” He handed her the package.

  She unwrapped the book and held it in both hands. “Oh gosh, Gramps . . . The Wind in the Willows. My favorite.”

  “This is my copy,” said Osborne, “the one my father said my mother got for me before she died. The same one I read to you. It’s yours now.”

  She looked up at him. “But why—”

  “Because. Just . . . because.” Beth leaned her head against his shoulder. They sat quietly watching the lake. An eagle flew through the tops of the pines along the shore. In the distance a car door slammed.

  Ray strode into the kitchen and set a plastic bag of fish fillets in the kitchen sink. “Got a surprise for you, Doc,” he said as Patience Merrill came through the back door behind him. “Look who drove over from Neenah early this morning.”

  “Well,” said Osborne, “looks like I better set an extra place at the table. That is if you are planning to eat with us?”

  “I am,” said Patience, helping Ray unpack his butter and flour and the paper bag holding the “secret ingredients” that he shared with no one and made his walleye fillets “more . . . special . . . than . . . the Good Lord’s.”

  Osborne wasn’t all that surprised to see her. Was there ever a woman his neighbor hadn’t charmed? At least for a while.

  “Doctor Osborne, I’m willing to give fish a chance,” said Patience. “After what Ray told me about trees, I started thinking about the food I do eat—chicken, some beef, and pork.”

  “Cows have feelings, too,” said Ray, rinsing his fillets under cold water. “And who knows how lettuce handles life.” Patience gave him a dim eye, then laughed.

  After Lew’s chocolate cake and the French vanilla ice cream had been eaten, Ray asked Lew, “Chief, how did the Pfeiffer family take the news about Harriet?”

  “Once Doc and I laid out the history between the McClellans and Chuck Pfeiffer, his family could understand Harriet’s motivation but they continue to be surprised that she had the strength to carry it out.”

  “Hey, we all know the adrenaline rush that makes it possible for a mother to lift a car off her child who has been run over,” said Erin. “On behalf of my family and our need to have a dad at the dinner table, I’m relieved that case is closed.”

  “Don’t be too quick to close the books on the Pfeiffer clan,” said Lew. “Watching and listening to Charlotte makes me wonder what’s going to happen when that will is read. If Rikki Pfeiffer ends up with the controlling interest in the company and decides to move Jerry aside for her son, all hell could break loose.”

  “Oh, yeah,” said Ray, “life in the Northwoods. Can I have another piece of cake, please?”

  Osborne walked Lew to her daughter Suzanne’s SUV. He had already arranged for his birthday surprise to be delivered in privacy after all the family members had departed. “Date night tomorrow, right?” he asked.

  “You’re up to something, aren’t you, Dr. Paul Osborne. Do I have to wait?”

  “You sound like a little kid, Lewellyn. Yes, you have to wait.” She gave a playful grimace.

  Pleased with himself, Osborne returned to the kitchen to finish cleaning up.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Sunday lasted too long. Osborne had the new room ready by noon, leaving him with nothing to do but putter. First, he walked the dog up and down Loon Lake Road. Then he busied himself paying bills. Every half-hour he went downstairs just to be sure he hadn’t forgotten anything but it all seemed just the way he wanted.

  He had placed the fly-tying desk in front of the window overlooking the lake. A tall arborvitae shrub outside the house shaded the window from the sun, allowing dappled sunlight to stream in. On the desk was the Regal Vise, which had an imposing presence of its own. On a cabinet to one side of the desk he had set the Ty Wheel where Lew could arrang
e her tools alongside the epoxy dryer. The remaining shelves of the cabinet were empty—ready for fly-tying supplies.

  The room felt open, spacious, welcoming. The fifth time he checked, he started to get nervous. What if he had been all wrong in thinking his idea would please her? What if she felt pressured instead?

  He took the dog for another long walk.

  Lew arrived shortly after six. “Since you insist on taking me out to dinner this evening, I brought dessert. Hope you don’t mind leftovers,” she said with a sheepish smile as she handed him a plate. “It’s the last two pieces of my chocolate cake.”

  “There won’t be any left over after tonight,” said Osborne, taking the foil-covered plate from her. “Ready to go?”

  “Really? Dinner already? I thought you were going to give me my present first.” She sounded like a recalcitrant first grader.

  “I guess we can do that,” said Osborne. “But I forgot my wallet downstairs. Do you mind getting it for me while I call the dog in? Should be on the dresser in Erin’s old room. I was making the bed up for Mason to use when she has a sleepover next week.”

  “Sure.” He listened as Lew bounded down the stairs and walked to the room. He heard the door open. Silence.

  “Doc. Come down here.”

  Hoping against hope, Osborne hurried down the stairs.

  “Heck of a bed, you old man,” she said, her eyes glistening with tears. “What are you thinking?” She walked into the room and ran her hand across the birch and cherry desk. “This is too much and too expensive,” she said, touching the vise. Her eyes landed on the Ty Wheel and epoxy dryer. “Honest to Pete, what are you thinking?”

  She stuck out her lower lip. “Please tell me you’re not talking marriage again.”

  “No,” said Osborne, “I know how you feel about that. What I am thinking is how ’bout this winter you spend four nights here instead of two. Won’t this,” he waved his arm around the room, “make it easy? Bring your own tools and supplies and work here?”