Dead Loudmouth Page 7

  With a sigh, the woman stepped back and held the door open. “I guess. Please come in.” They followed her into a small but tasteful living room with a brocade sofa and matching armchairs facing a stone fireplace. “You can sit there,” she said, pointing to the straight-backed sofa.

  Lew leaned forward with her elbows on her knees, her eyes intent on the woman’s face. “I deeply regret having to tell you that your daughter, Tiffany, died in an apparent accident either last night or early this morning.”

  “Where?”

  “Here in Loon Lake near the Deer Creek Fishing and Hunting Preserve in a club called Buddy’s Place. We do not yet know the cause of death because we have to have an autopsy done.”

  “Why? How much will that cost me?”

  The question caught Lew off-guard. “Well because I said an ‘apparent accident,’ there is a question that it may be a double homicide.”

  Irene Niedermeier gave Lew a calculating look. “A double homicide? How does that happen? You can only die once.”

  Her comment was so sarcastic that Osborne couldn’t help himself. “You don’t seem too upset, Mrs. Niedermeier.”

  “Oh, golly.” The woman looked off to her right and out a side window before saying, “I’m sure you think I’m cruel and unfeeling, but I have been expecting this news for years . . . years . . . years.” Her voice ran up and down as she repeated the word years. She glanced down at her hands, which were in her lap. “I imagine I have to explain myself, don’t I?”

  “Only if you feel you can,” said Lew.

  “Tiffany was born mean,” said her mother. “Don’t ask me how that happens but she was mean as a baby, mean as young girl. Just plain mean.”

  “Is she your only child?” asked Osborne.

  “No. She had a sister, Claudette, who was three years younger. When Claudette was five and learning to ride her bike, she was killed in a traffic accident. Right out there in front of our house.”

  Irene stood up as she talked and walked over to the window that looked out at the street in front of the house. She pointed as she said, “Right there. I was in the kitchen frosting her birthday cake. My husband, Per, had walked back to the garage for a minute or two. He was helping Claudette get started. She had training wheels and everything when somehow she ended up out in the street in front of an oncoming car.”

  “Was her sister nearby?” asked Lew, sensing she knew the answer even as she asked the question.

  “Oh yes. She was right there. You don’t need to ask me how I think it happened.”

  Lew and Osborne sat silent.

  “I would like details from you if that’s okay,” said Irene. “Was Tiffany in a car accident or—”

  “Nothing like that,” said Lew with a quick look at Osborne.

  “Grim as it is, I would tell Irene everything we know,” said Osborne.

  With that Lew gave her a description of what had been discovered on the piano early that morning. She made no mention of the footprints but she did say that Chet Wright was separated from his wife and had been experiencing financial difficulties.

  “I don’t know if it helps you folks,” said Irene when Lew had finished, “but you should know that Tiffany ran away when she was sixteen. Before her father died, he hired a private detective so we were able to learn that she was working as a stripper and a call girl in Las Vegas.

  “That was in her twenties. She would be thirty-seven now. Anyway, the man we hired reported that she had a drug problem and had been dealing drugs, too, until things went wrong and she got beat up. Badly. The last we heard was she got out of the drug dealing but I don’t know that for sure.

  “Her father died five years ago. He never gave up hoping she’d at least call, but only time I heard from her was two years ago when she was destitute. She wanted money.”

  “Did you send her any?” Lew’s question hung in the air.

  “No. No, I didn’t. Can you imagine how it feels to a parent to have a daughter who dances in strip joints? Really, can you?”

  “Actually,” said Lew, “I can. When my daughter got out of high school and needed money for college, she got hired to dance out at the Thunder Bay Bar. I was doing my best to help her finance her education but I was working as a secretary at the mill and going to school nights myself so money was really tight.”

  “Where is she today?” asked Irene.

  “Milwaukee. Suzanne got a degree in accounting and today she runs her own accounting firm.”

  “Do you ever wonder how she avoided the dark side of that business?” asked Irene.

  “First, I was supportive. I knew she could make better money as a dancer than waiting tables or working a call center. And we were struggling together.”

  What Lew didn’t add was that she loved Suzanne with all her heart, that she had confidence in her daughter that together they could make it through the hard times, and she made sure to tell her that. Often.

  “I’m glad life works out for some people,” said Irene with a heavy sigh. She attempted a smile.

  “I need to ask you a few questions for the death certificate,” said Osborne, “but before that Chief Ferris and I would be happy to call a friend or another family member to help you handle this today. Maybe a priest or a minister?”

  “Oh no, I’m fine,” said Irene. “You must understand: Tiffany’s death is a relief. I used to have nightmares that she might crawl in a window some night and, well, you know . . .”

  Osborne did not know. He didn’t want to know.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Shortly after two that afternoon Osborne found himself driving crosstown from Irene Niedermeier’s house to his daughter’s. Even though he hadn’t had lunch yet, he’d decided to stop to be sure that Mason had her waders and was ready to head out to his place. She didn’t have to be at Ray’s for another hour or so but if she was home and ready, it would save him an extra trip into town to pick her up.

  “He-l-l-o, anybody home?” he called through the front porch screen door of the old Victorian where Erin’s family lived.

  “In the kitchen, Dad. Door’s open, c’mon back.” Erin, the younger of his two daughters, was leaning over the old oak table where she was rolling out a pie crust. “Rhubarb pie, Dad. Come for dinner later?”

  He watched his daughter as she bent forward, arms working. One long blonde braid hung down in front of her right shoulder so close to the top of the flattened pie dough that Osborne reached to hold it out of the way.

  “Thanks, Dad, you arrived at a critical moment,” said Erin with a grin as she rolled the pie crust onto the rolling pin, then unrolled it onto the heap of fresh rhubarb slices glistening in the pie plate and stabbed it with a fork to let steam out as it baked. “God forbid I commit a food felony and leave a hair in my pie. Hold on while I shove this sucker in the oven.”

  “I stopped by to pick up Mason if she’s ready,” said Osborne. “She needs to be at Ray’s by three thirty. She can hang out at my place until then.”

  “Right. I need to talk to you about that. I’m not sure this is such a good idea.”

  “Why not?” Osborne was taken aback. “If you ask me, the kid’s thrilled about it. He is paying her, you know.”

  “Did she tell you what the schedule is? Ray wants Mason to meet him and those boys at the dock at five in the morning and again at eight thirty at night until who knows how late.” Erin had picked up a tea towel and was wiping off her hands.

  “Oh . . . ,” said Osborne with a pause, “I didn’t know the schedule. But I see Ray’s thinking: have the boys fish as early and as late as tournament regulations allow. Makes sense to me. Best times to go after muskies.”

  “Well, it’s not a good time for eleven-year-old girls who need their sleep. Plus I have to drive Cody down to Madison for a soccer camp and Beth wants to tour the campus so I’m taking all three kids and we’ll stay overnight with my friend, Bridget. You remember Bridget?”

  “Erin,” said Osborne, “you are going to break t
hat child’s heart.”

  Erin threw her towel on the counter. “C’mon, Dad, be reasonable. She’s a little girl. Plus who knows what kind of language those college boys use. Not only that: Mason told me Ray wants her to help pick out rap music for them to listen to on the boat. Have you heard rap music? Dad, it’s full of . . . of . . . bad language.”

  “It’s only three days, kiddo, and I’ll be right there. Why don’t we have her stay overnight at my place? I’ll take her over in the mornings and I will be waiting when the boat comes in at night. How about that?”

  “Umm.” Erin struggled with his suggestion. “Well . . . okay, Dad. But on one condition—she has to keep her phone with her all the time. Okay? That way she can call you if they’re running late or something.”

  What she didn’t say but Osborne knew was her worry was that Ray might get into some of his usual mischief and forget he had a young girl nearby. Osborne had to agree with her concern: two college boys plus Ray Pradt? That could be a recipe for bad behavior.

  On the other hand, Ray had been quite pleased to have been selected as one of the team coaches. If his college team won or placed in the top five, he stood to make good money, plus the boat company sponsoring the boys would be likely to hire him again. Osborne was confident his good friend and neighbor was not likely to screw up. Not this time anyway.

  “Are you sure about her keeping the phone with her all the time? She’ll be right next door . . .” He had been surprised at Mason’s birthday party when her parents gave her a smartphone worth several hundred dollars. He didn’t say anything at the time but he thought it pretty indulgent for an eleven-year-old.

  “I’ll loan her one of my waterproof cases,” said Osborne. “I can just see that phone going in the water.”

  “Still, Dad, I’m not sure about this . . . Wait, I have an idea. Why don’t you make it a point of helping Mason out? That way you could be with her while she’s down at Ray’s. That would make me feel a whole lot better.”

  “And I wish I could but I can’t—and I think you’ll understand why,” said Osborne. “You have to keep what I’m about to tell you confidential until it’s official, but Lew got quite the nine-one-one call this morning. Pecore hit a deer on his way out to the scene so Lew deputized me to help with the death certificates and . . .”

  He gave Erin a quick description of the macabre tableau at Buddy’s Place, ending with, “. . . so it’s still too soon to know if it was an accident or homicide but Mark’s office will be notified ASAP if it’s the latter.”

  It had been a year since Erin’s husband, Mark, had been elected district attorney after a brief, frustrating year in private practice. Erin liked to joke that he preferred genuine crimes over the imaginary ones cited in contentious divorces.

  Erin whistled. “Wow. Chet Wright, huh. This will make the Chicago papers. And Tiffany Niedermeier? Well, that doesn’t surprise me.”

  “You know her?”

  “Who doesn’t? But that’s because I’m married to the DA. We hear all the good stuff. Yes, I know about Tiffany, though I’ve never met her. Word is she’s an expert on the bedroom ceilings of men with money. Loon Lake money, that is.

  “But, Dad, if you’re going to be working with Chief Ferris on a case that big, will you be able to keep an eye on Mason?”

  “Of course. I’ll make sure that I’m around when she needs me. Come on, Erin,” said Osborne, reaching for his daughter’s hand to give her a reassuring squeeze, “you know that kid will be so disappointed if you put the kibosh on this.”

  “Well . . . all right then.” With that Erin shouted up the stairway in the direction of the kids’ bedrooms for Mason to pack an overnight bag and get ready to leave with her grandfather.

  • • •

  “So Ryan and Jake, have you heard the story about the genie and the two muskie fishermen?” asked Ray with a wink at the two college boys who were anxious to get their marching orders for the fishing tournament. Osborne had arrived with Mason fifteen minutes earlier and decided to listen in on the meeting with the boys. He wanted to be sure that Mason would not be asked to do more than she could handle.

  At the moment, however, he was worried that Ray was about to go too far with one of his off-color jokes. Those might be fine for college boys but not his granddaughter.

  Mason was perched at one end of the long picnic table where Ray had set out the gear approved by the tournament officials. She looked tiny beside the two boys, who had to be at least six two or three and so muscled that Osborne suspected they spent hours at the gym.

  Add Ray to the picture with his six-foot-six height and booming voice and Mason was dwarfed. On the other hand, she was glued to every word Ray said with such serious eyes that Osborne knew it would break her heart if he were to say she couldn’t be the “gofer” for the crew. Still, this joke might be a deal breaker even if it was Ray’s technique for bonding with his team.

  “. . . So the genie . . . appears to the fishermen and tells them . . . it’s their lucky day. They get to have . . . one wish come true.” With the promise of good news to come, Ray’s voice grew louder as he said, “So . . . the two confab for a minute before one says . . . ‘We want a lake full of beer.’”

  Ryan and Jake chuckled. “‘Done,’ says the genie and waved his magic wand.” Ray demonstrated the genie’s action and his audience, including Mason, leaned forward in anticipation.

  “Sure ’nough,” said Ray, “the two fishermen found themselves . . . in their boat . . . bobbing . . . on a lake full of beer. ‘Bad news, though,’ said the genie . . .” Ray raised his right index finger and paused even longer than usual as the two boys and Mason waited for the denouement: “‘Now you have to pee in the boat.’”

  Oh jeez, thought Osborne, listening to the boys guffaw along with Ray. Mason had an uncertain grin on her face and her cheeks reddened. Osborne shot Ray a warning look: this better be the last one or you lose Mason.

  “Not to worry, Doc,” said Ray. “Not to worry, okay?” With that, he dropped the comedy act and—with no hostage-taking pauses—laid out the plan for the next three days.

  “Okay, boys, I’m your coach and Mason here is our manager. Got that?” Mason’s shoulders straightened up. “Among other things, she’s going to keep our tackle clean and organized. So, Mason, tell the boys what lures they’re going to be using.”

  “Sure,” said Mason standing up. With that all five feet four inches of Osborne’s granddaughter seemed to gain more height as she reached for three lures that had been set out on the table. “Coach Ray wants you to use exclusively this Rizzo Tail.”

  She held it high so they could see it. “It’s solid white with a brass blade and that’s because you’ll be fishing on stained water. Any questions for Coach?”

  Both boys nodded. “My dad fishes Rizzo Tails, too,” said the boy named Ryan.

  “Then there is this one, the Double Cowgirl.”

  Mason held up a lure Osborne had never used. It had ten blades and looked heavy. Good thing the boys were well muscled.

  “And the last one is the Loudmouth.” She held up a small chartreuse and brown–colored bait.

  “But that’s for bass,” said the second boy, Jake. “Why will we use that?”

  Mason turned to Ray who said, “Trust me, guys. It works for muskie and very few fishermen know how good it is. See, this plastic body is filled . . . filled . . . with steel shot. Damn thing makes so much noise. Hell, it’s the loudest lure out there. Makes fish want to attack.

  “Thank you, Mason. So Mason will be ready if we need her for lures, food, anything. While we are fishing, she will be on shore here or, if the weather turns bad, inside my place.”

  He pointed over to his house trailer, which was painted neon green, the head of a giant muskie anchoring one end with its mouth open wide to expose a row of needle-like teeth. The teeth, executed by an ex-girlfriend of Ray’s, were highlighted with a silver paint that glowed menacingly in the afternoon sun. Ray took great prid
e in the tears of toddlers frightened by the sight of his masterpiece.

  Continuing his instructions for the tournament, Ray said, “Mason will watch over the gear we can’t fit into the boat, she’ll keep track of our snacks, and . . . she might just pick out some tunes for us to have in the boat. Sound good to everyone? Any questions?”

  Mason looked so proud and in charge that Osborne gave up any thought of telling her she couldn’t take the job. He refused to be guilty of causing heartbreak.

  “So, guys, you’re next—Ryan, Jake. Here’s the deal, we are going to do what the rest of our competitors won’t do: we are going to fish early and fish late. By that I mean real early and real late. I want us on the dock here at five o’clock tomorrow morning. We’ll break midday for lunch. Then back on the dock here at one thirty and we fish until eight.”

  Spotting the look on Osborne’s face, he said, “Now, Doc, I don’t expect Mason to be here every minute all day. But if she can have us set up by five thirty, once we head out, she’s done for the morning. Evenings I expect she’ll be home by nine, nine thirty at the latest.”

  “That’s okay with me, Grandpa,” said Mason, turning to him with eager eyes.

  “Fine,” said Osborne. “I have no problem with that schedule.”

  “Good, we got that set then,” said Ray. “Now, boys, here’s the big deal: no shore beating for us, no weed patches, not even reeds. We are going for suspended muskies.”

  Confusion crossed the boys’ faces. “That’s because those big girls hunkered down deep are the biggest fish in this lake.

  “Well, with one exception.” He pointed to an offshore reed bed running a good 500 feet from end to end parallel to the shoreline. “We got old Buster right in there somewhere. She’s fifty-plus inches and God knows how many pounds but no one has ever caught that mother. She’s eaten more leaders and lines than you’ll buy in your lifetime.”

  Mason raised her hand. “Honey, just speak up,” said Ray. “You’re the manager here. Yeah, what is it?”