Dead Renegade Page 3

  “Oh, jeez, Dad,” Erin muttered under her breath as she hurried along the sidewalk behind him. “What’s Mason done now?” In a louder voice she called out to the group on the porch: “Hey, sorry to be late, guys. I’ll have lunch ready in a few minutes. Beth, you keep an eye on Cody.”

  Beth threw her mother a look of disgust, “M-o-o-m, what do you think I’ve been doing all morning.” The cell phone never left her ear.

  As Osborne made his way up the porch steps—squeezing between Cody and Ben and hoping not to get a beach ball in the head—the young woman next to Mason got to her feet.

  “Hi, I’m C.J. Calverson,” she said, brushing at strands of hair that had come loose from her ponytail before extending her right hand. The running shorts and tank top exposed the curves of an athlete: upper arms muscled, calves defined, a strong torso. Osborne guessed she couldn’t be much over twenty.

  “Are you Mason’s father?” she asked, worry in her voice.

  “No, I’m her grandfather, Dr. Paul Osborne. This is her mother,” said Osborne, beckoning towards Erin.

  Mason burst into tears.

  “Oh, golly, what’s wrong, kiddo?” asked Osborne, bending over to peer into the tear-stained face. Erin pushed her way in beside him.

  “Mason,” said her mother, “Are you hurt? What happened?” Erin turned sideways. “Beth, what’s the story here? I left you in charge. Get off the damn phone!”

  Beth shrugged and closed her cell phone. “They just got here, Mom. Mason wouldn’t tell me anything.”

  “I found her hiding in my garage,” said the woman, extending her hand this time to Erin. “C.J. Calverson.”

  “Erin Stiles,” said Erin, giving the woman’s hand a quick shake before turning back to her daughter. “Hiding in a garage? What on earth? Mason, tell me what happened.”

  Osborne stepped up onto the wide porch area and out of Erin’s way. Mason shook her head ‘no’ as she kept sobbing.

  “She’s been like this since I found her about an hour ago,” said C.J. with an expression as perplexed as Erin’s. “At first she wouldn’t even tell me her name or where she lived. I sure hope you don’t mind that I made her come in my kitchen and have a cookie and a glass of orange juice. I just wanted her to settle down a little …”

  “Oh, that’s okay,” Erin said, as she stood up, pulled Mason to her feet and hugged her close before turning back to C.J. “Where did you say you live?”

  “Right up the street,” said C.J. pointing off to the left. “We’re in the process of moving in to that house on the corner—the one kiddie-corner from the court house.”

  “You mean the old Daniels’ place?” said Erin, “that large stucco with the cupola?”

  “Yes. We have a summer home on Stone Lake, too. That’s where we’re staying right now. I had just come to town to pick up some boxes the movers left when I found your daughter.”

  C.J.’s eyes took on the worried look again, “I tell you, this little girl was shaking she was so scared.” She reached over to pat Mason’s head. “I’ve never seen a kid so frightened. Took a while to get her to calm down enough to tell me where she lived.”

  “Really,” said Erin, tipping Mason’s tear-stained face up to wipe at her cheeks with a Kleenex. “Mason, honey?” Erin grasped her daughter by the shoulders and tried to make eye contact, but Mason looked down and away. “Won’t you tell us what’s wrong? Something must have happened. You don’t just hide in people’s garages.”

  “No, Mom, really,” said Mason, pulling away with a shrug. “I’m okay.” She took another Kleenex from her mother and blew her nose while Erin rubbed her shoulders.

  “I can see you’re okay, hon—but that’s not what I asked,” said Erin. Mason swung her head back and forth, still refusing to answer. She handed the used Kleenex back to her mother and said, “Can I go play with Cody and Ben ‘til lunch?”

  “Alright—but we are talking later. You hear me?”

  “Um-hmm,” said Mason as she skipped down the porch steps and scooted towards the back yard with Cody and Ben right behind her.

  “That didn’t sound too convincing,” said Osborne.

  Erin watched her go then turned towards C.J. and Osborne. “Dad, you’ll stay for lunch, won’t you? And, C.J., how about you? Egg salad sandwiches …” Erin beckoned towards the front door.

  C.J. checked her watch. “I’m afraid Curt is expecting me back at the lake—”

  Erin gave her a quizzical look: “You don’t mean Curt Calverson, the CEO of Calverson Finance, do you? Is he your father?”

  “My husband.”

  “Oh!” Erin couldn’t hide the surprise in her voice.

  “We’ve just been married a few months,” said C.J.

  “Oh. Well, I’m sorry to sound so surprised but I happened to be reading about your husband the other day and I assumed—”

  “Right, he’s a lot older,” said C.J. “We met last year. I was his personal trainer.” She gave a rueful grin. “Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

  “Hey, that’s okay, whatever works,” said Erin, suddenly so friendly Osborne knew she was up to something. “So you’re pretty new in town, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah, gee, I’ve only been here two weeks. Except for the clerks at the grocery store, I really haven’t met many people.” The girl sounded wistful.

  The slamming of a car door prompted everyone to glance back to the street where a long, lean figure in knee-length khaki shorts and a beard resembling an exploded spaniel was emerging from a battered blue pickup truck. “Yo,” called out a deep voice from somewhere within the beard, “don’t anyone move!”

  He reached into the bed of the truck for an object that he stuck onto his head, then took a moment to check his reflection in the truck window. Satisfied with the jaunty angle of his headpiece, he reached into the truck bed once more. This time he straightened up with yet another prize dangling from his arm: a very long, narrow fish. Still twitching.

  Walking around the back end of the truck with the fish held high, he started across Erin’s front lawn towards the porch.

  “No, you don’t, Ray,” said Erin in a loud, firm voice. “You stop right there. That muskie is dripping blood all over the place and I do not want it on my porch.”

  The man paused, chagrin on his face, “but this is a monster mount, Erin—fifty-one inches! I gotta show the kids—”

  “Dr. Osborne,” said C.J. in a low whisper from where she stood beside Osborne, “what on earth does that man have on his head?”

  CHAPTER 7

  C.J. giggled, cupping her right hand over her mouth as she tried to eat her egg salad sandwich without spitting. Osborne caught a glance from Erin that confirmed they were both aware that C.J.’s need to catch up with her husband appeared to have vanished with the arrival of a six-foot-six thirty-two-year-old wearing a stuffed trout on his head.

  Osborne shook his head as he always did while watching Ray charm the females: who knew that a man who walked with the grace of an accordion folding and unfolding could be so attractive to women? Was it the little kid smile on the face of the grown man? A smile that made you think the sun had just come out—just for you and him? Or was it simply Ray’s delight in being alive at this moment?

  Whatever it was worked on women of all ages, ethnic origins, sizes, and marital statuses—from bait shop clerks to heiresses to women of faith. Yep, even the nuns at St. Mary’s adored the guy.

  “So where can I buy a hat like that?” asked C.J., wiping her mouth with her napkin, “I know somebody who’d love one.”

  “Well … you can’t buy one,” said Ray as he reached for a handful of black olives and baby carrots from the relish plate that Erin had set in the middle of the kitchen table. “A friend made it for me. Margaret Taggert … a grand gal who passed away a couple years ago … and that is too bad. I’ve had l-o-o-ts of people ask me where they can get a hat just like mine. I tell ya … Margaret could have made a few bucks. “

  The hat in
question was currently resting just above eye level on Cody’s head, Cody having appointed himself the hat’s official custodian upon any visit of Ray’s to their home—an appointment that usually led to protests from Mason. But Mason had not objected today. Used to the kids’ bickering, Osborne found that odd.

  At the moment, Cody sported the summer version of the worn leather cap: ear flaps tucked up so that the head and tail of the fish protruded so far over his ears that the hat was in danger of taking up an extra place at the kitchen table. Under the kitchen lights, the antique wood and metal fishing lure draped across the breast of the stuffed trout sparkled as brightly as C.J.’s eyes every time she stole a glance at Ray.

  “So, Ray, just how old was Margaret Taggert before she passed away?” Osborne asked.

  “Ninety-two. Both Margaret and old Ike were ninety-two. Margaret … died first and Ike … just twenty hours later. Hard to believe, y’know. But old Ike … he was in the nursing home when he was told she’d gone to heaven, and that was that. They were a pair those two—raised green beans, tomatoes,

  Brussels sprouts and sweet peas right up until the end. A real love story …”

  “Ray drove the Taggerts to town for all their doctor visits,” said Osborne in answer to the quizzical look on C.J.’s face. “Margaret came up with the idea for that hat all on her own—she knew what would make this razzbonya happy.”

  “You drove two elderly people in that rattletrap pickup?” C.J. looked horrified.

  “I wish,” said Osborne with a rueful grin. “Ray lives next door to me so when they needed a ride, he would borrow my car. The more I think about it—I’m the one who deserved the hat.” He gave Ray a look of mock anger. The conversation was lifting his spirits in spite of his concern over Lew’s millionaire homebuilder.

  “All right, you two, stop the squabbling and finish up,” said Erin as she started to clear the table. “Cody, give Ray back his hat.”

  “Hey, Cody,” said Ray as he reached for his hat, “what did the one wood tick say to the other wood tick?”

  Cody grinned and shook his head, “I dunno.”

  “Shall we walk or take a fisherman?” Cody gave Ray a blank stare. Mason giggled, Beth looked bored and C.J. stared at Ray for a long moment before chuckling.

  “Oh-h-h, no,” groaned Erin. “You can do better than that.”

  Lifting an eyebrow, Ray leaned sideways towards Beth. “So, young lady,” he said, “I hear you’re about to turn thirteen. I assume your mom has told you the secret to safe sex—”

  “Ray …” Erin did not smile. “Do not be inappropriate.”

  “You’re the one who wants a better joke.”

  “Beth, Cody, Mason, leave the kitchen. Out!” said their mother. With reluctance, the kids got to their feet. A push from their mother got them out of the kitchen through the door to the backyard.

  “All right, what’s the punch line of this bad joke?” Erin asked, leaning against the kitchen counter with her arms folded, a testy look directed at Ray.

  “Make sure the car doors are locked.”

  “Honestly, Ray, that isn’t even funny.”

  With a grin, Ray shrugged. “I tried.” C.J. laughed and he winked at her. Then he got to his feet to help Erin move dishes to the sink.

  “So I’ve got some interesting news,” he said. “You heard Loon Lake is going to host the North American Ice Fishing Circuit Championship this winter, right?”

  “I didn’t know that,” said Osborne. “Right here on our Loon Lake?” He nodded at CJ. and said, “Wisconsin has fourteen Loon Lakes.”

  “Yep, but you had to qualify last year.”

  “Oh. Guess that means none of us can fish it?”

  “Well, yeah, but that’s not all bad. I got three calls this morning from pros asking me to help ‘em learn the honey holes. I’ll charge good money for that, too, doncha know.”

  “Like how much?” asked Erin, reaching for the plate in front of C.J., who refused to take her eyes off Ray. Osborne had to admit his neighbor was looking particularly good in crisp khaki shorts and a dark green T-shirt. But it wasn’t until he carried the kids’ milk glasses to the sink that they could see the orange lettering across the back of the shirt, which read: “Why are men are like ceramic tile? If you lay ‘em right, you can walk over ‘em for years.”

  “Did Mrs. Taggert make your shirt, too?” asked C.J.

  “Ah, no,” said Ray, turning around with a chuckle. Osborne suspected it was a gift from a former girlfriend. Ray chose to answer Erin’s question instead: “Oh, I’m thinking a hundred bucks an hour or so. What do you think? Erin? Doc?”

  “That’s a lot of money for a guy who makes ten bucks an hour digging graves,” said Erin.

  “You dig graves?” said C.J., her eyes widening.

  “Only … when the fishing is … slow,” said Ray, sitting back down in his chair, thrusting out his long legs and settling into a speech pattern he knew would drive Osborne and Erin nuts. “I … happen to have multiple … pursuits and my … cemetery responsibilities’ … are likely to come off my list this year.

  “That is …” he waved an index finger, which Osborne recognized as the Ray Pradt signal that he was about to deliver words of wisdom, if not national importance, “… if a … par-tic-u-lar new opportunity works out … as … I believe it will. Could be … I’ll end the winter … ahead so to speak.”

  “And that new opportunity—is that the guiding?” Osborne asked, checking his watch. It was nearly time to head back to Nystrom’s for the meeting with Lew.

  “O-o-o-h-h-h, no,” said Ray, each vowel elongated for maximum impact. “Ice Men is what it is.” Sitting up and splaying his hands across the kitchen table, he dropped the slow cadence to say, “a new reality show that is going to be shot up here. Auditions are being held here next week and …” he lifted both eyebrows as he grinned, “I’m all signed up.”

  “You mean you could be on TV?” said C.J.

  “I surely could. On the Sportsman’s Channel, no less. And that …”—another wave of the index finger—”is a gig made for me.”

  “A jig, did you say?” said Erin, teasing. She tipped her head towards C.J., “You fish walleyes with a jig. Ray’s a walleye expert—aren’t you, Ray?”

  “You heard me, Erin. I’m not kidding—a gig is what I said. Paid work … fame … fortune … all the good stuff. Seriously,” said Ray, leaning forward on his elbows, “this could be my big break.”

  “Wow!” said C.J. “That is s-o-o-o exciting.” The expression in her eyes had to make Ray’s day. Osborne repressed a smile as she checked her watch, “Oh gosh! I better get going. Curt is going to wonder …”

  “Before you leave,” said Erin, “tell me how I can reach you. I am so worried about Mason. If I can get her to talk about whatever it was that scared her this morning, I might have a few questions for you.” She handed C J. a piece of paper for her to write down her number. Erin turned to her father, and frustration clouded her face. “Dad, would you see if you can get her to talk? She tells you more stuff*than she ever tells me or her dad …”

  Til do my best, Erin,” said Osborne, “but it’ll have to be after I help Lew with the situation at Bart Nystrom’s place. I’ll stop back around four or so—take her for ice cream.”

  “Doc,” said Ray, “aren’t you going to the class reunion with Chief Ferris tonight? I heard they’re having pizza and beer out at Smokey’s for the early arrivals. Can’t believe you’re not going.”

  “I wasn’t invited.”

  “Oh. Sorry I mentioned it.” A look of chagrin crossed Ray’s face.

  “So that’s why you’ve been so glum,” said Erin, “I could tell something was wrong.”

  “I’m not glum,” said Osborne. “Reunions are of interest only to the people who went to school together. You know that.”

  Ray and Erin stared at him.

  “Believe me, it’s not an issue,” said Osborne with a wave of his hand. “Lew has lots of old friends
to catch up with and she doesn’t need to be bothered with me.”

  “Right, okay,” said Ray, sounding less than convinced.

  “Hey, I have an idea,” said C.J. from where she stood in the doorway, not quite having left yet. “Dr. Osborne, why don’t you bring Mason out to our lake house this afternoon? I’ll take her tubing and we’ll have some fun. Maybe that’ll change her mood a little—who knows?

  “How ‘bout you, Ray? Would you like to join us? I’d love you to meet my husband—he’s been looking to hire a good fishing guide …”

  CHAPTER 8

  Pulling onto the street, foot heavy on the gas, Osborne headed south. He was determined to get back to the Nystrom Antiques Emporium by two, if not earlier. If he was lucky, Lew might have a few extra minutes to chat. With that in mind, he decided to think positive: what if she changed her mind and decided it would be nice to have him tag along this evening?

  The thought was not out of order. After all, how many afternoons had she surprised him with an unexpected phone call: “Doc, I’ve got two deputies on duty right now and the day is too glorious to work. Let’s go fishing!”

  His mood brightening, Osborne was four blocks down from Erin’s house and slowing for the stoplight when he happened to glance off to his right at a squalid matchbox of a house. A shambles of peeling paint, warped shingles, crumbling eaves caved in over a back porch and a rusted out, once-white pickup in the driveway, it was a house and a truck he had seen a million times. But today another vehicle was parked behind the pickup. A vehicle he knew too well.

  The house was typical of others in Loon Lake that had been built in the early nineteen hundreds for workers employed at the once-thriving paper mill: each a squared-off single story home with an average of five rooms. The largest room would be a kitchen, opening to a small living room that had doors leading to a couple bedrooms and one bath.