Dead Hot Mama Read online

“The good news is Loon Lake will finally have a decent coroner. If I play my cards right with our city fathers, we may even get a professional.”

  “Careful, Lew. It’s still a political appointment.”

  “You’re right, Doc, but I’m thinking positive. Let me know if you have any thoughts on a good replacement. This catches me a little unprepared. And speaking of being prepared, I’m hoping the four of us—you, me, Bruce, and Ray—can go over a few things this morning before we all head off in different directions. Any chance you could make it to my office by seven?”

  Before Osborne could answer, Lew said, “Oops, here’s Ray now—”

  “I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” said Osborne.

  The door to Lew’s office in the old courthouse was wide open when Osborne got there. In spite of the new jail with its fancy offices and conference rooms right next door, Lew had opted to keep this spacious room with its white walls, dark wood trim, and high, old-fashioned windows for her private space.

  Just entering the bright, cheery room for an early cup of coffee always lifted Osborne’s heart—especially when the reason for dropping by was to plan for a late afternoon’s angling. Winter changed that. Though the room and its occupant still radiated warmth on his arrival, the visits were less frequent. A fact that kept him focused on finding a way to change her mind about ice fishing.

  She, on the other hand, had been coaxing him towards learning to tie trout flies—something he had no interest in whatsoever. Dead animal hair, fur, and feathers held little appeal for a man who loved the cool surfaces of porcelain, gold, and silver. As a boy, he’d been persuaded to turn his urge to sculpt towards dentistry, a significantly more lucrative career: While few people may have a driving desire for bronze figurines, most want to own a healthy set of teeth. Nope, he was not about to trade his love of line and form for something teensy, fuzzy, and furry. But he let her coax—the coaxing was fun.

  As he had hoped, the coffeepot in the corner was still half full. The room was crowded, with Lew behind her desk and both chairs facing her occupied. Bruce sat in one, right leg crossed over his left, with the loose foot jiggling. Ray lounged in the other, right foot resting on his left knee as he leaned back, way back it seemed, and waved a coffee mug as he spoke. He looked wired.

  “Morning, everyone.” Osborne grabbed a straight- backed chair from the corner and plunked it down between the other two men. Then he unzipped his jacket, tossed it onto an empty chair near the windows, and poured himself a cup of coffee.

  “Morning, Doc,” said Lew, her dark eyes resting easily on his for a brief moment as he took his seat. She looked alert, rested, and happy. Even though the December sun shone only forty percent of the time these days, Lew’s face maintained a warm and healthy glow. More attractive to Osborne than the makeup so carefully applied by the female friends of his late wife. He’d sneaked a peek once into Lew’s medicine cabinet—the only makeup he could find was sunscreen.

  “Ray was just telling us something I want you to hear. Start over from the beginning, Ray, would you please.” She flipped her long narrow reporter’s notebook to a new page.

  “Doc,” Ray dropped his foot onto the floor and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, “I was telling these two folks that as I was dozing off last night, I remembered something I saw … night before last … on my way in from ice fishing.”

  “On Loon Lake,” said Lew, anxious to fill in gaps and hurry him along.

  “What time was that again?” said Bruce. “I don’t think I heard you right.”

  “Around two in the morning.”

  “I did hear you right. You fish at that hour of the morning?”

  “I fish when the fish feed. And they were feeding after midnight so—”

  “And then you get up early to plow snow and dig graves and—how do you that?”

  “Well, we aren’t digging any graves right now … but I catch a nap in the afternoon.”

  “We call it ‘Ray time,’” said Lew, rocking back in her chair. “Rhymes with ‘waste time.’”

  “Thanks, Chief, nothing like appreciation.”

  Lew chuckled, “You’re too easy a target.” Then she raised her hands. “Just kidding. Please, Ray, you have the floor.”

  “Thank you. So there I was out in my truck on Loon Lake … the far side. I have four holes there, everyone knows they’re mine—”

  “Ray, please. Save the fishing details for later. I see Arne at eight, and we’ve got a lot to cover.”

  “I hear you, Chief. So I’m driving back over to my place, and just as I got near my dock, I happened … to look south, down the snowmobile trail … way down. And I see these blinking lights …”

  “By Kobernot’s?” asked Osborne.

  “No, no, wa-a-y past their place. Down at the end where there’s an incline, a couple seasonal cabins up on the ridge, nothing else—you know that real rocky bay area.”

  “Right,” said Osborne. He knew exactly the spot. “Someone just cut a road in past those cabins. Big house going up next spring.”

  “So I see these lights blinking in a vertical line—one, two, three, four—like some kind of signal. I kinda thought about it, but it was two in the morning and I was pooped. I forgot all about those lights until … just as I was dozing off last night.”

  “So that’s why I heard your truck so early this morning,” said Osborne.

  “Yep. Couldn’t sleep thinking about ‘em, checked the weather radio, and decided I better see what I could see before that storm moves in. So … I get over there in the deep dark of the morning … shine a flashlight around the general area where I think I might have seen those lights and …” Ray paused and looked at his companions, his eyes narrowed. Osborne often wondered if the man knew how moments like this tempted the best of his friends to shoot him.

  “And?” Bruce made a winding motion with one hand.

  “Wasn’t a signal at all. Someone carrying a lantern tripped and fell down that hill. Someone in a hurry, because they left a few items behind … scattered all the way down to the lake …”

  “Supposition. I’ll determine what happened,” said Bruce, now taking notes.

  “I’m counting on you doing exactly that, Bruce,” said Ray with a wink. Then he leaned sideways to zip open a large duffel that was sitting on the floor beside his chair. Pulling on a pair of rubber fish gloves, he said, “Just so you know, everyone, I haven’t touched a thing without these on.” He held his hands up, fingers spread.

  Then he reached into the duffel and pulled out a minnow bucket, which he set on the desk. “Note, brand new.” That was followed by a stainless steel ice scoop and a small electric lantern.

  “You found these in the snow along with tracks from a vehicle,” said Bruce.

  “Yes, and I was careful to walk up and down one side, so you can tell my footsteps from the others. Plenty of footprints leading down to the lake and back up, and no doubt that someone slipped and fell. I threw two tarps over most of the area, too, in case it snows before you get there.

  “Also …” Ray stood up and walked over to the wall near the window—”I found this.” He held up a snow shovel that had been leaning there. “Brand new, too. Has its ‘Ralph’s Sporting Goods’ sticker on it still. Last thing … I could see signs of a plastic sled having been pulled down to the snowmobile trail and back—but … no sled.”

  “Not unusual,” said Lew to Bruce. “Most ice fisherman who don’t have shanties will put all their gear in a big plastic sled and pull that out onto the ice. What’s different in what Ray found is that shovel. No one uses a shovel ice fishing. No one I know, anyway. Do you, Doc?”

  “Never.”

  “One other interesting thing, and you can check this out, Bruce,” said Ray. “The footprints in the snow? One individual, very petite. Not a guy, unless he’s got a hormone imbalance.”

  “A woman, you think?” asked Bruce.

  “A woman or a boy. And that’s a real nice ice scoop, too, doncha know.
Cost twenty bucks or more. Which is why I think someone was in a hurry to leave. Why else would you leave all this good equipment behind?”

  “So you think we can trace where they bought that stuff?” asked Bruce. “I’m sure we can get prints off it.”

  “I dunno about that. It’s standard issue,” said Ray. “Everyone who ice fishes uses the same type of lantern and minnow bucket … although … y’know, I just thought of something …” Ray bent down to pick up the bucket. He tipped it forward and back, pulled out the liner, and peered inside.

  “The purpose of the bucket is to carry minnows, right? But this was empty. No minnows tossed out or spilled on the snow, none down by the trail—”

  “Most people dump their minnows near where they’re fishing,” said Osborne. “You don’t haul them all the way back to your car.”

  “Most people I know don’t dump any minnows,” said Ray. “They’re good for a long time. Even so, I don’t see any trace of water in this bucket, not even a residue of water that might have frozen at the bottom. Look! There’s a label stuck inside here—this hasn’t even been used. Now why would anyone haul an empty minnow bucket out and back?”

  No one said anything.

  “If you ask me,” said Ray, “I think it is quite likely the party in question may have pulled poor Eileen onto the ice in the sled, using the fishing gear as a front.” He raised his palms as if to fend off an attack. “Just a theory, Bruce.”

  “I better get out on the lake,” said Bruce, looking out the window as he got to his feet. “It’s light, finally. All I get is eight hours and thirty minutes, too, so I better hustle.”

  “Less if the snow hits,” said Lew.

  “I’ll take care of the situation at the Kobernots’, then I’ll check this other out.”

  “Before you go, Bruce, anything Doc needs to know as he heads over to do the dental exams?”

  “Not that I can think of. Your man, Pecore, is the one to establish cause of death. You have two in the hospital morgue, Dr. Osborne, and if the coroner is on the spot when I get to the Kobernots’, we should have the girl sent in shortly.

  “Chief,” said Bruce, “I was hoping Ray might have a chance to stop by the site where the snowmobilers were found. He knows these lakes so well, he might see something I missed.” He pulled on his jacket, then reached down for his briefcase.

  “Ray, still no sign of their sleds,” said Lew. “Be nice to know which direction they were coming from before going through the ice.”

  “Happy to do it, Chief,” said Ray. “That’s not far from Thunder Bay Bar, and I’ll be starting there.” Lew nodded.

  “Other than that, the only significant finding I’ve got that’s changed since last night is this.” Bruce set his briefcase on the chair, clicked it open partway, and pulled out an object in a Ziploc bag, which he set on Lew’s desk. “A Palm Pilot—we found it on one of the snowmobilers. It’s double bagged because they had it in plastic, too.”

  Lew reached for the plastic bag, “I’ll take this.”

  “No,” Bruce put his hand on it, “I’m sending it down to Wausau, we’ve got a good tech guy—”

  “Don’t worry about it—I’ve got an excellent tech myself,” said Lew, placing both hands on the package. She was not going to give it up.

  “Okay, Chief, whatever you say. It’s your case, I’m just here to help out,” said Bruce, more than a little disgruntled.

  “That’s right, you are,” said Lew.

  After Bruce and Ray had left Lew’s office, Osborne checked his watch and walked over to refill his coffee cup halfway. “Lew, I’m curious, who’s this tech expert of yours?”

  “I don’t want Wausau getting their grimy hands on this.”

  “That’s not what I asked you,” said Osborne, chuckling. “Well?”

  Lew pulled open a desk drawer and pulled out a small red leather address book. She flipped a few pages, then picked up the phone. “Marlene, get me Gina Palmer at this number, would you please?” She read the number from the address book over the phone.

  “Gina? She’s in Chicago,” said Osborne.” They’re getting the brunt of the storm this morning.”

  “Then she’ll be happy to leave, won’t she? Especially when hears she better check out that property she bought on Loon Lake. We’ve had some burglaries in some of those seasonal cabins.”

  “It’s Christmas, Lew. I’m sure she has plans.” “Last time I talked to her she was quite interested in the activities of a certain fishing guide we know,” said Lew, giving Osborne a wink. “You want to put money on this?”

  eleven

  Fishermen are born honest, but they get over it.

  —Ed Zern, Field & Stream

  “Palmer!” barked the voice on the speakerphone.

  “Gina, Lewellyn Ferris.” Lew tipped back in her chair, grinning at the sound of Gina’s voice.

  Watching her prompted Osborne to remember the sight of the two women working side by side six months earlier, one with dark curls she constantly brushed back, the other with a sleek cap of black hair and never a strand that strayed. Where one was sturdy, strong, and of medium height, the other was small-boned, petite. One wore cop khaki, the other dressed in black. But they shared one unmistakable feature: grim determination. Only the foolish dared get in their way.

  “O-o-h,” Gina’s voice slowed and relaxed. You could hear her smile. “Hey, Chief, what’s up?”

  “Little holiday action. I need some high-tech assistance up here in the hamlet. Got plans for the holidays?” Lew’s eyes, alert with anticipation, caught and held Osborne’s.

  “Got a new job. First of the year, I start a fellowship with the IJNR—Institute for Journalism and Natural Resources. Think I can get Ray to come clean that he’s undercover for the DNR? Give me some good leads?”

  Gina’s speech pattern always ran at twice the speed of a normal person, which Osborne found amusing. Yep, the woman was an original—she might be tiny in stature, but she compensated with the eyes of a hawk and the voice of an auctioneer.

  “If you can get Ray to come clean on anything, why don’t you try getting him to stop hiding thirteen-inch walleyes under the liner of his minnow bucket,” said Lew, winking at Osborne.

  He had to hand it to her: Took less than twenty seconds for Ray’s name to surface.

  “What do you mean, Chief?” asked Gina.

  “I mean that the legal length is fourteen inches—and the legal limit is three. How many do you think Ray slips past our hardworking rangers?”

  “Some things never change, do they,” Gina laughed. “You’re giving me bad thoughts. I have a lot of cleanup to do down here.”

  “Yeah, but some problems you just gotta deal with in person, doncha know.” Lew leaned forward, her face close to the speakerphone. “Had some trouble out near your property, Gina. Some jabones from somewhere are driving over the ice and breaking into seasonal cabins to steal antique hickory furniture. I’m worried about yours. That place you bought has some very nice pieces out on the porch …”

  “Oh …” said Gina, radiating concern. Osborne knew she had overpaid for her cabin. Not only did she love the primitive little building and its prime lakefront location, but it had been put on the market fully furnished. While locals were ho-hum over the property, Gina was well aware of the value of the old furniture.

  The former owner, who had died leaving no heirs, was the last of three elderly ladies who had held everyone living on Loon Lake Road, including Osborne and Ray, hostage to a telephone party line. Once she died, the phone company could no longer refuse to provide decent service, and so, following the old lady’s funeral, Osborne and Ray got touch-tone phones—with private lines—and Gina got a hundred-year-old cottage packed with antiques. Everyone was happy.

  Now it was Osborne’s turn to wink at Lew. She had chosen the perfect lure: Gina could not bear the thought of a threat to her treasures. “Ray’s got a key—would you ask him to check for me?”

  “As soon as
I have a spare minute, Gina. Right now I’ve got several criminal cases that are problematic.” Lew gave Gina a quick rundown on the three victims, winding up with “… so I’ve got a Palm Pilot that was found on one of the bodies, and I have no idea what to do with it.”

  “You’re kidding,” said Gina, her voice taking on a new timbre. “My special projects reporters just teamed with the business desk to investigate an employee for a major manufacturer down here who was using his Palm to steal patent applications.”

  “See, I knew you’d know this stuff.”

  “At least you’ve got cell phones these days, right?”

  “And high-speed Internet connections,” said Lew. “Updated our computer system, too, since you were here last—it’s the expertise I don’t have.

  “Hold on a minute,” Lew motioned to Osborne to shut her door. Even with the door closed, she lowered her voice. “You know how I would hate to turn this case over to Wausau. The senior staff down there will put it on the back burner, and who knows when—or they’ll solve it and land a nice budget increase, while we get nothing …”

  “Let me think about this,” said Gina. “I know how you feel about those guys …”

  She was quiet on the other end, and Lew waited, saying nothing. “I promised my sister I’d spend Christmas with her and her husband in Evanston,” said Gina. “They’re having marital problems—fun, huh?”

  “You’ve got that snowstorm down there, too,” said Osborne. “Roads closed?”

  “They’re plowing,” said Gina. “Can you guys find me a place to stay?”

  Lew looked at Osborne, relief spreading across her face. “Motels are packed with skiers and snowmobilers,” she said. “Might have to bunk you on Ray’s sofa—or at my place.”

  “Oh, hey, if Ray’s got room—”

  “Gina, your meals and travel are on the department. How much time can you spare?”

  “I start with IJNR on the fourth of January. And I do need a day or two to clean out this office. Mind if I ask you what makes you so sure you’ve got something on that Palm?”