Dead Jitterbug Read online

  Osborne leaned back against a tree, eager to watch Lew directing the media. She had set eight-thirty sharp for the general press conference. At the moment, she was instructing reporters from the Loon Lake Daily News and Rhinelander’s only television station, Channel 12, to take chairs in the front row.

  “How does it look, Dad?” Osborne jumped at the sound of Erin’s voice.

  “What are you doing here, kiddo?”

  “Chief Ferris called early this morning and asked me if I’d help set up this press conference. We’ve been running around like crazy to get these chairs, the podium—even got a press release ready. Not bad for ninety minutes’ notice, doncha think? Oh, here she comes … shush.” Erin held a finger to her lips as Lew stepped up to the mike.

  She opened with a brief statement of fact: Darryl Wolniewicz, a Loon Lake resident, had confessed to an alleged “accidental” shooting of his employer, the internationally known advice columnist Hope McDonald.

  “Loon Lake is as saddened as her readers worldwide must be at this time,” said Lew, “but as Chief of the Loon Lake Police, I must emphasize that her death appears to be the result of a tragic accident. An inquest will be held and details will be made available at that time. Thank you.”

  For another few minutes, Lew took questions from the two local reporters. She then referred the remaining twenty-plus members of the press to the information in the press release. Half a dozen hands shot up but Lew shook her head, refusing to answer any more questions. “If you need additional background, you can work with the local reporters,” she said, “or you can reach Hope McDonald’s husband, Ed Kelly, at the Claridge Inn in Rhinelander. He ought to be awake by now.”

  She gave a room number and a phone number—upon which at least a dozen reporters punched numbers into their cell phones as they raced for their vehicles. Osborne could swear he saw a twinkle in Lew’s eye.

  “Now if you’ll excuse me,” she said, “I have other work to do. Thank you.” She exited to a chorus of shouted questions.

  “Darn it, Dad,” said Erin with a thrust of her lower lip. “I told her to take questions from the national media—she could have been on CNN tonight! You know, I have to wonder if she really wants to be somebody.”

  He was inclined to agree with Erin. What was Lew thinking? How many people turned down the chance to be on national television? How many people running for office turn down television? He was beginning to think she meant it when she said she was dropping out of the race.

  “Lew, I was flabbergasted not to see Ray out there working the media,” said Osborne half an hour later. It had not been difficult to talk Lew into a quick cup of coffee given that her day had started at dawn. “He must be losing his touch—he’s usually first in line to offer local color for what he likes to call B-roll.”

  Lew laughed. “I didn’t think about that. I sent Ray and Roger up to the casino early this morning. They’re due back any minute with what I hope is a couple million in cash of the tribe’s money. I need to be here when that walks in the door.”

  “So Barb was telling the truth,” said Osborne.

  “She’s been very cooperative. Said we’d find a key in Carla’s purse, and we did—but not until late last night. I drafted Ray first thing this morning—”

  “Good thing he didn’t know you’d have national TV—not just the locals.”

  “Ouch, I didn’t think about that,” said Lew. “He’ll never forgive me.”

  “Well, Lew,” said Osborne, raising his coffee mug in a mock toast, “you should be very pleased. Can’t get much better than being able to tell Ed Kelly and his daughter what happened to Hope—not to mention getting a few dollars back for the tribe. Two cases resolved in one day—that has to be a record.”

  “Luck. Sheer luck.”

  “C’mon now. You know that old saying; ‘fortune favors the prepared mind.’ You know what Erin said about you when you decided to run for sheriff? She said, ‘Dad, Lew can win. She’s the kind of person that makes things happen.’ ”

  Lew’s expression changed. Relaxed and happy a moment ago, she now seemed tense. She took a final swig of her coffee and reached for a stack of papers on her desk. Osborne could see it was time for him to be on his way.

  What on earth did I say wrong? Osborne asked himself as he left the office. He was still shaking his head as he pulled into his driveway.

  thirty-six

  Heaven seems a little closer in a house beside the water.

  —Anonymous

  Though Osborne had scored miserably on his pop quiz as to why the women in “Fishing for Girls” wanted to fish, Ray made good on the thimbleberry pies. Delicious. And everyone around the table agreed: his piecrust was out of this world—flaky, buttery, toasted to a golden brown perfection. As Ray basked in the compliments, Osborne stretched his legs, leaned back in his chair, and glanced over at Lew, contentment in his heart.

  He had decided at the last minute to host a potluck picnic on his deck. Knowing Lew would have spent the day mired in paperwork, he called her first. Then Lillie, who accepted with enthusiasm, saying she knew that Molly, too, would appreciate a break from dealing with the legalities surrounding O’Brien’s death. Molly might be safe from Jerry, but their marriage made her his closest relative, even in death. Ray, he knew without asking, could be counted on.

  Perhaps because the evening air was a balmy seventy degrees, his company had arrived early. Lew brought cheese and crackers—a three-year sharp Wisconsin cheddar—then volunteered to help him grill venison burgers. Molly and Lillie picked up two quarts of the Loon Lake Market’s “homemade recipe” potato salad. And Ray, the perfect pies.

  “That Ed Kelly,” said Lillie, holding court as Molly and Ray cleared the table. “I got hold of the state’s attorney general today. They’ll put a lid on that no-good son of a gun.” Again her fierce righteousness triggered an image of the great horned owl perched high in the pines overhead: both relished the taste of blood.

  “What was he planning to do with that land he stole from Darryl?” asked Ray. “I’ve been so busy with the fishing clinic that starts tomorrow, I didn’t hear the latest. By the way, Doc, hope I can count on you for some assistance with this new group of gals.”

  Osborne gave his neighbor the dim eye. “Surely, you jest. I need a year to recover from the last one.”

  “Ah, you old razzbonya—you’ll come ‘round,” said Ray with a dismissive wave of his hand. He gave Molly a smile and a wink. She glowed.

  “I’m serious. I wouldn’t count on it,” said Osborne. He was already planning to give Erin a hand with Lew’s brochures. Time was running out to reach voters beyond the Loon Lake town limits.

  “Ray—you want to hear this or not?” asked Lillie. “Listen to me now because you might know some other folks who’ve been approached by these people. I’m talking about the Conservation Foundation.”

  “Madam, you have my full attention,” said Ray. “But the Conservation Foundation? Are you sure? Last I heard they’re into protecting the environment— setting up nature trails, that kind of stuff.”

  “Ah, ha!” said Lillie, turning a triumphant eye to Lew. “Didn’t I just tell you? Those stinkers. They even got Ray conned.”

  “Oh, no!” said Ray, grimacing in mock confusion. Molly pulled her chair closer to his. Osborne thought he saw their hands graze one another between the chairs. “Might I need to be rescued?”

  “You can kid all you want,” said Lillie, “but this is serious. What they’ve been doing is approaching elderly people who own premium property up here, and saying that if the original owners will sell what they call an ‘easement’ to the foundation, the foundation will take it over and see to protecting the wildlife with nature preserves and so forth. However, once a landowner agrees to the easement, that property now belongs to the foundation to do with as they please.

  “What they neglect to mention is they have the right to deny public access and to resell the property to private individuals. Tho
se new owners then have the right to build whatever they want and make any changes they wish in order to have—and this is in the contract language—enjoyment of views.

  “So what you’re saying is the word easement really means an out-and-out land sale. Is that right?” asked Ray.

  “Right. But it gets more interesting when you look at the new owners. And, by the way, I got this information from an investigative reporter down in Madison who’s been looking into the foundation’s activities in the southern part of the state.

  “The new owners aren’t people like you and me: they’re wealthy people on the foundation’s board. They scout the land they want, then have the foundation approach the owners, make the deal, and resell it for much less money to the interested board member. The board member pays a much lower price, a fraction of what the foundation paid, then makes a donation to the foundation to cover the gap and takes a tax deduction for the donation!

  “Up until yesterday, Ed Kelly thought Darryl’s land had been sold to the foundation for $600,000 and was in the process of being resold to a certain party in Madison for $100,000. That party was planning to make a donation of half a million—and take the half-million-dollar tax break. Neat, huh. So happens the ‘certain party’ was Ed himself using a straw buyer.”

  “Let me guess,” said Osborne. “The straw buyer was Julia Wendt?”

  “Yes, indeed,” said Lillie. “The girlfriend. He also had a handy-dandy list of friends, all on the foundation’s board, who were working through Carla and Barb to get their mitts on some other choice properties in the town of Newbold and a couple places up in Boulder Junction. But Ed’s goal was to, piece by piece, sell parcels of land from the McDonald Trust—and buy them back through his straw.

  “But it’s all on hold now. And if I have anything to say about it, you won’t see the Conservation Foundation operating in this state ever!”

  “Remind me never to be the object of your ire,” said Ray. Lillie laughed her throaty laugh.

  “Mr. Pradt, you stick to your pies and fishing, and we’ll get along just fine. To be perfectly honest, I’m sitting here feeling lucky tonight. Ed knew the one loophole in Hope’s will. The McDonald Trust has long supported conservation, and the so-called easement was worded in such a way that he might have gotten away with it for a good while. No more. Not only that, Hope rewrote her will so he gets next to nothing from her. Everything goes to Kitsy.”

  “Isn’t it amazing how human nature has a way of tripping people up?” asked Lew. “Take Carla. There she is not getting around to registering the deed for Darryl, when Ed shows up and makes her an offer she can’t refuse. If she hadn’t been so greedy, neither of them might have been caught.

  “You know,” said Lew, looking around the table, “you have to ask yourself what possesses a woman, who has three million dollars in unmarked bills hidden away in a duffle bag, to spend a lousy three thousand bucks that look funny. Why take the risk? Why not just throw those bills away?”

  “Why refuse to pay your old man the two hundred and thirty-two dollars you owe him for working nights to paint your office?” asked Ray. “Jeez Louise.”

  “Greed and sheer meanness,” said Lillie. “Takes ‘em down every time.”

  “Poor Darryl,” said Ray.

  “He’ll do okay,” said Lillie. “I’m taking him on pro bono like I always do. Got an excellent precedent in a case down in Kansas City with a similar situation. Man shot his stepbrother in the midst of a flashback memory from childhood—got off on temporary insanity. Worth a try, I think.”

  “What about Barb?” asked Ray. “She needs a good lawyer.”

  “I can’t help her,” said Lillie, “though I did give her the names of some lawyers to call.”

  “She doesn’t have any money,” said Lew. “Maybe, since we found close to two million dollars in the duffle, which has been returned to the tribe’s insurance company, she’ll benefit from having helped with that. Not financially, just a shorter sentence.”

  “It’s a high-profile case,” said Lillie. “Some young lawyer will take it.”

  “How is Kitsy doing?” asked Ray. “I need to give her a call. She wanted me to take her out for a day and show her how to use all that fishing equipment she’s planning to buy—”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t count on that, Ray. That was before everything happened,” said Lillie. “She’s up to her ears taking over her mother’s column—and the business. Kitsy stopped by my office this morning to discuss some estate matters. She said that the response from readers has been overwhelming. The office in Madison is overflowing with flowers, and they’ve received thousands of letters and e-mails. Early signs are that the readers and the newspapers all want her to keep her mother’s column going.”

  “Does she know her father was seeing Julia?” asked Osborne.

  “Oh, yes. While she’s not moving too fast, I believe Ed will find himself spending all his days on the golf course. If he can afford it. You can’t divorce a father,” Lillie leaned forward, her cheeks waggling, “but you sure as hell can fire him.”

  “Doggone,” said Ray. “I mean, I’m happy for Kitsy but, jeez, I thought I was gonna make some real money for a change. Now I even got that pontoon back. Gotta sell that all over again.”

  “Wait just a minute,” said Molly. “I need a new rod, some lures—and you can sign me up for an advanced clinic. Play your cards right—maybe I’ll buy the pontoon.”

  Everyone around the table burst into laughter. Osborne shook his head. Ray was right: Molly happy was as pretty as a forget-me-not.

  “You know,” Molly said, “my divorce papers were still on Lillie’s desk, so the bulk of Jerry’s estate is mine. And it’s a lot of money. I want to use some to establish scholarships for students on the reservation. In memory of that kid who was wrongly accused. Some small way of giving back.”

  “Molly,” said Ray, patting her hand, “do that first. Then we’ll see about the pontoon.”

  “Well, folks,” said Lillie, setting both palms on the table. “Time to go home. It’s been one hell of a week.” She got slowly to her feet. “Chief Ferris, I have something for you.” She reached back for her purse, opened it, and pulled out a check. “A donation to your campaign.”

  “Hear, hear,” said Osborne, standing up and raising his can of Coke. “I’ve been waiting to make an announcement myself. I have some news about the campaign that Lew doesn’t even know yet. Been waiting for the right moment.

  “Erin called this afternoon to say that the tribe is so pleased with the efforts of the current chief of the Loon Lake Police Department that they are making a contribution earmarked to buy a week of television ads. You know what that means, Lew—less time you have to spend shaking hands!”

  Lew looked down at her hands in her lap, then up to meet Osborne’s eyes. “Doc, everyone, I’ve decided not to run. I’ll announce Monday that I’m dropping out of the race. No,” she added, raising a hand as Osborne started to protest, “I have two very good reasons.”

  “And the first is …?” asked Lillie with a challenging waggle.

  “The first is how I feel about how the McDonald case has turned out. Ed Kelly is the person most responsible for Hope’s death. He’s the one who should be in jail—not Darryl Wolniewicz. He knew how ill his wife was. She should never have been left alone.

  “And Julia Wendt lying about Kitsy? Thank goodness the housekeeper was able to document cars coming and going because I was this close,” Lew crooked her thumb and index fingers, “to arresting Kitsy. Given her emotional state, that could have pushed her right over the edge … you know?”

  “What are you trying to say, Lew?” asked Osborne. “That you did a bad job? Some things are beyond your control.”

  “Beyond your responsibilities within the law,” said Lillie. “You think you feel bad about Hope McDonald. I ask myself every morning why I didn’t demand she have full-time care out there.”

  “Chief Ferris,” said Ray, “may I remind you of
the old Loon Lake proverb….”

  Lew cut her eyes towards Ray. “This better be good, guy.”

  “Perfect is the enemy of good enough.” “So, Lew,” Osborne asked, “what’s the second reason?”

  “If I’m elected sheriff, I become an administrator. An inside-the-office-all-day-every-day desk jockey. And, yes, Lillie is right—this was a hell of a week. But, you know, I love my job. I don’t want to give this up. I don’t want an office over in Rhinelander and seven reports—or whatever the hell it is.

  “I want to work here, I want to be able to play hooky when I need to. Go fishing when I want….”

  No one chose to argue that point.

  “I have a question for you, Lillie,” said Lew as she and Osborne walked the lawyer to her car. Molly and Ray had left for Ray’s and a moonlight ride on the pontoon. “You’ve seen so much crime in your career. What drives a person like Jerry O’Brien? I don’t mean the fact that he was gay or the cross-dressing. It’s the other, the cold-blooded killing.”

  “How the hell would I know?” asked Lillie, sliding onto the car seat. “As often as I’ve been able to predict what was going to happen, based on years of observing human behavior, I can’t tell you why. Wish I could. The only person I really know is myself. And I’m not sure I always know why I do some things.”

  “You put yourself in grave danger yesterday,” said Lew.

  “For that, I have no regrets. He had it coming. And I left nothing to chance.”

  “What do you think she meant by that?” asked Lew as Lillie drove off.

  “Exactly what she said,” said Osborne.

  “So, Lewellyn,” said Osborne as they finished up in the kitchen, “you have a birthday coming up….”

  “Doc, my age is an unlisted number—so is my birthday.” She put her hands on her hips and tried hard to give him an angry look. “Who told you?”

  He crossed his arms and leaned back against the counter with a satisfied grin on his face. “I have it in my office files from years ago.”