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“I need his permission to do that,” said Lew, “so let’s see what he says first.” She placed a call to the number she was just given and a younger-sounding male voice answered.

  “Hello, this is Hugh Aronson.”

  Again Lew identified herself and gave a brief description of the reason for her call. She did not mention Chuck Pelletier’s death but only that she was interested in background information on a Gordon Maxwell: “He’s running a large company up here and several residents have complained about some recent real estate negotiations. . . .”

  She cited Lorraine’s allegation that she had been persuaded to sell for too low a price. When she had finished, the man on the other end chuckled. “So our boy is up to shenanigans way up north?”

  “Maybe,” said Lew, “but we don’t know much about him other than that he is the CEO of this multi-million-dollar resort development up here. I’d like to know what you know.”

  “Sure. I’ll e-mail up half a dozen stories I did on the guy three years ago. Let me point out, however, that he is slippery. The guy has never been indicted, but he is a career criminal. You’ll like my stories. They lay it all out, and I don’t mind mentioning that I won awards for several of them. My only regret is that Maxwell left this town and disappeared before anyone could indict him.”

  “Do you mind telling me a little more? And is it all right for me to tape this conversation?”

  “Go right ahead,” said Hugh. “What Maxwell did was capitalize on all the condo development happening down here. He specialized in kickback schemes targeted at small companies desperate to make a buck. And old people—he was great at charming elderly ladies into loaning him cash from their 401Ks with the promise he would invest it for them. Which, of course, he didn’t.

  “By the time people caught on to what he was up to, he was long gone and any witnesses to his crooked deals had been paid off. Oh, be aware he is quite the ladies’ man, too. He always has one on his arm and she’s suckered in to provide alibis when he needs ’em. Quite the operator.

  “Of course, what the ladies never know is he has a wife and three kids in Kentucky. Or had—she divorced him after my stories ran.

  “But, like I say, he slipped away from the authorities down here real easy. Given what you’ve told me, you’ll appreciate my articles.”

  “I have one last question,” said Lew, “how does he get hired by people like the hedge fund that owns the development company up here?”

  “Oh, hey,” said Aronson with a note of derision, “they’re smart guys. They went to Harvard Business School. They have confidence in their assessment of his résumé, his lies. You think they’d run a background check? Hell, no, they know what they’re doing . . . until it’s too late.” He chuckled again.

  “Look, I’m late for an editorial meeting. Be about an hour or two before I can check my backup hard drive for those stories. May take me until tomorrow morning but I’ll get ’em to you. Does that work?”

  “I can’t thank you enough,” said Lew and gave him e-mail addresses for herself and Dani. She set the phone down and said, “Wow. I’m stunned. I think it goes without saying that we’re on to something.”

  “Wow,” echoed Osborne and Dani together.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Osborne walked through his living room, rearranging for the fifth time the two bowls he’d set out holding a mix of nuts, raisins, and cranberries. Lew strolled out of his bedroom, where she had changed from her uniform into tan slacks and a soft cream-colored long-sleeved pullover, and paused to watch.

  “Nervous, Doc?”

  “Not sure if I’m nervous, worried, or just getting old,” said Osborne with a slight smile. “What do you say to two young women who just lost the most important person in their world? ‘Sorry’ is hardly adequate.”

  “Given what you’ve told me about their dad, I have a hunch they’re pretty strong individuals and handling this better than you might expect. I would say just give them room to do or say whatever feels right to them.”

  As a knock sounded at the door off the mudroom, Osborne hurried past the kitchen to open it. “Is this the right door?” asked Molly. “Should we be going around to the front of the house?”

  “Heck, no,” said Osborne. “No one ever uses the front door. Come right in.” He stepped back as Molly walked in, followed by a slender, shorter girl, whose long wavy hair was so blond it was almost white.

  “And you must be Jessie.” Osborne put out his hand. Beckoning toward Lew, who was standing behind him, he said, “Molly, you met Chief Ferris earlier today. Jessie, this is Loon Lake’s chief of police, Lewellyn Ferris. She is also one of my close friends.”

  “And she’s working on Dad’s case,” said Molly, turning to her sister. “Dr. Osborne is helping with the investigation, too.”

  “We can talk about that later,” said Lew as she shook each girl’s hand. “More important is to hear how the two of you are managing. This has got to be difficult.”

  “Lew’s right,” said Osborne. “Let’s all head for the living room.” He pointed the way. “Dinner is pretty basic tonight, I’m afraid—pizza. But it’s our favorite from the Birchwood Bar, which is halfway between here and Rhinelander.”

  “Works for me—I haven’t eaten all day,” said Molly with a grateful smile.

  The girls walked past him to follow Lew into the living room, and Osborne noticed again that they were as different in appearance as his own daughters. If he’d met them under different circumstances, he never would have guessed them to be sisters. Molly, dark-haired, strong-boned, and stalwart, was not unlike his daughter Mallory, while Jessie, so slim and fair, reminded him of Erin.

  He was struck by how composed the two sisters seemed. At least that was true of Molly, though her eyes were ever so slightly red-rimmed. So he was surprised when he saw Lew stop, put an arm around Jessie, and ask the younger woman, “Are you okay? You’re shaking. Here, sit down and take it easy. You’ve been through a lot over the last twenty-four hours. We understand.”

  “No, that isn’t it,” said Molly, hovering over her sister. “She just had a really bad scare at the airport.”

  “What?” Lew and Osborne asked in unison.

  “Yeah,” said Molly. “I told Jessie to meet me over in the hangar where I was checking on my plane and some guy walked up and grabbed her. Grabbed her and kissed her.”

  “Wait, wait—start over, please,” said Osborne. “Say that again? A stranger grabbed you, Jessie?”

  “Yes, please,” said Lew, echoing his concern. “What hangar, what plane, and who—?”

  “Didn’t Dad tell you I’m a pilot?” asked Molly. “I fly for Delta. And I have my own plane—a Piper Comanche. That’s how I got here.”

  * * *

  As she spoke, Osborne remembered now how Chuck had bragged about Molly’s career in a field traditionally male. He had pointed out that she had followed in the footsteps of her maternal grandfather, an aeronautics engineer, who taught her to fly when she was only ten years old.

  “She and that old man were inseparable,” Chuck had said with pride. “Jessie, on the other hand, is the opposite of her sister—quiet, artistic. She’s a graphic designer like her mom. And she’s happy, too. They’re both doing what’s right for them.” Chuck had been so proud of both girls.

  * * *

  “So Jessie knew I would be over in that hangar where private planes are kept,” Molly was saying. “She was on her way in to catch up with me when this guy walks by her, stops, turns around. . . . Jess, you tell them.”

  The young woman’s hands were visibly shaking as she spoke. “This guy walked by me and he, um, he turned around, I guess, and walked back in the other direction to grab me and, um, kiss me. Like, hard. Right on the mouth. Then he walked off without saying anything—just grabbed me, and . . . I mean, he didn’t really hurt me. It was so fast, so weird. I’ve never had that happen before.” She looked ready to cry.

  Sitting down beside Jessie, Lew put an arm around her sh
oulder and said, “Tell me what this person looked like.”

  “You know, all I can say is he was wearing a business suit, he’s not very tall and he’s got this weird hair—like wiry and stiff. But it all happened so fast, I didn’t get a good look at his face. I, um, blanked it out, I think.”

  “And this happened in the hangar, not over in the terminal?” asked Lew.

  “Yeah, in the hangar. Down the back hall by the restrooms. I had just come out of the ladies’ room.” Jessie calmed down as she spoke.

  “Let me get you something to drink,” said Osborne. “A beer, glass of wine, a soda?”

  “Just water, please,” said Jessie, with a nervous toss of her long hair. “I’m still kind of upset.” She gave a weak laugh.

  “You girls will be here for a few days, won’t you?” asked Lew. “I’ll pull together some photos of men who have been arrested for crimes against women. We’ll see if you can identify the individual who accosted you.” Jessie looked uncertain.

  “He didn’t really do anything bad.” She spoke hesitantly.

  “I’ll decide that,” said Lew. “Grabbing someone and kissing them without their consent is not allowed. But enough of this right now. On a better note, I thought you’d like to know that your father’s body was released from the Wausau Crime Lab morgue late this afternoon. You are free to make your funeral arrangements.”

  “Yes, I had a call from the funeral home,” said Molly. “Jessie and I plan to have a brief service the day after tomorrow. Just his secretary, that man he worked for, maybe you folks? After that, he’ll be cremated and we’ll take his ashes back east to bury near our mom.”

  Aware that she hadn’t mentioned Patti, Osborne said, “And you’re including your stepmother, of course. . . .”

  “She doesn’t want to come. She thinks Jessie and I are crazy that we want a memorial service and an open casket.”

  “It’s a tradition in our family,” said Jessie, chiming in. “For Molly and me, it’s our way of finding some closure. We had an open casket for our mom and our grandparents. See, whatever or however our dad died, the important thing for us is to see him at peace. For people who knew him to see him that way. We really, really want that.”

  “But Patti doesn’t. She told me she can’t bear it,” said Molly. “But what the hell? She knew our dad for all of two and a half years. We’ve known him all our lives. Our decision, don’t you think?”

  Molly caught Jessie’s eye. “There’s another reason we’re keeping her out of this. I know it sounds awful, but we’re not . . . close. My dad shared some things with me in the last month or so that made me so angry with that woman that the less I have to deal with her, the better.

  “Do you know that without asking my dad, she sold all our mother’s jewelry? Took it out of his bureau drawer without asking and sold it!”

  “It wasn’t hers to sell,” said Jessie in a soft voice. “It was ours. Dad didn’t even know it was gone until he looked for it a couple months ago. He was planning to give me this wonderful necklace for my birthday. He and Mom bought it in China years ago. She loved it. Wore it all the time.” A tear slipped down Jessie’s cheek.

  “Plus she was always gone from the house whenever he would go home for lunch,” said Molly, her voice rising. “He told me she doesn’t have any women friends so he wondered where she was, but she insisted she was working out. Like four hours working out? Give me a break. Dad didn’t say as much but I think he thought she might be fooling around.”

  “He told me he knew she was pretty disappointed when they moved here and he didn’t want to socialize,” said Jessie. “Patti loves parties. She loves to cook for people—”

  “Are you kidding? Don’t tell me you’re apologizing for her,” said Molly, turning on her sister.

  With a shrug Jessie wilted. “Not really, just saying, you know?”

  The fury in Molly’s eyes sparked a change of mind for Osborne. Earlier he had decided not to mention Chuck’s early-morning phone call and his accusation. But listening to Molly’s and Jessie’s stories about Patti changed his thinking. It must have done the same for Lew because she caught the look in his eye and gave a slight nod of agreement.

  “Not trying to change the subject, Molly and Jessie,” said Lew, “but what, if anything, did your father tell you about a man he has been working with—Gordon Maxwell?”

  Both girls shook their heads. “Not much,” said Molly, “only that when it came to the finance stuff he thought the guy was in over his head. Like he didn’t really know what he was doing. That’s all. But our father never really talked business with us.”

  “I was hesitant to share this earlier,” said Osborne, “but Chief Ferris and I think it would be wise for you to be aware of some . . . disturbing information.” Again Osborne saw approval in Lew’s eyes. He plunged ahead.

  “Very early the day your father was killed, he came here to my house and told me that earlier that morning as he walked up the driveway after getting his mail, Gordon Maxwell came at him in his SUV and tried to run him over.”

  The girls stared at Osborne.

  “Chuck felt sure it was deliberate.”

  Molly glanced off to one side. “I don’t know . . . there’s that one curve where you absolutely cannot see who’s coming. . . .”

  “Did anyone else see it happen?” It was Jessie who asked the question.

  This time Lew signaled for Osborne to say no more. Too late—Molly had seen Lew catch his eye.

  “Why do you ask?” said Lew.

  Jessie shrugged. “I just . . . well . . . Okay, Molly didn’t go to the wedding when Dad married Patti. Just me—”

  “They decided last minute and I was scheduled to fly that week,” said Molly, “or I would have.”

  “But I did go,” said Jessie. “And during this little reception they had, two women who knew Patti took me aside to tell me to keep an eye on her. They said she was very ‘clingy’ around men. They said they’d always made sure to keep her away from their husbands because she was so . . . clingy. It sounded to me like they thought she was after their husbands so they were happy she was married and moving away.

  “So ever since my dad has been sounding so unhappy on our phone calls these last couple months I’ve been thinking that something was wrong at home, you know?”

  “Jessie was my dad’s favorite,” said Molly. “He always told her more than he ever told me.”

  “So, I am wondering, you know?” Jessie gave a shrug of her shoulders as she spoke.

  “You should tell them, Doc,” said Lew. “I’ve heard enough that I think it’s important the girls know what we know.”

  “Your father told me he saw Patti in the car with Maxwell. That’s what he said. Now that is all we know. I wanted him to drive into Loon Lake right then to tell Chief Ferris what had happened but he insisted on going to his office first . . . for a conference call.”

  Osborne put his head down, pressed the fingers of his right hand against his eyelids, and took a deep breath. “For a goddamn conference call . . . he never came back.”

  A hand patted his shoulder. He glanced up into Molly’s face. “It’s all right, Dr. Osborne. Please, it’s not your fault. Dad always did things his way.”

  “Yeah,” said Jessie, “like marrying that bimbo.”

  “Look,” said Molly—it was her turn to put an arm around Jessie—“he was so lonely after Mom died. Patti was there. She cooked great meals for him. I think, I mean, I know he didn’t realize the kind of friendship he and Mom had in their marriage was unique. You know?” She looked around at Lew and Osborne. “It’s not easy to find that in a person. Friendship, I mean.”

  “Tell me,” said Osborne, thinking of his thirty years with a woman whose face fell whenever he opened his mouth to speak.

  * * *

  But now at least, even though I have so few years of life left, mused Osborne to himself, as he often did these days, now I am well aware how fortunate I am to have stumbled onto Lewell
yn Ferris even if it was in a trout stream. He would grin to himself at the memory. Yep, Lew is a treasure—her warmth, her willingness to share, and the ongoing mystery of who she is. The sheer fun of knowing her even if she does catch more fish than I do.

  * * *

  “We weren’t going to mention what your father told Dr. Osborne that morning,” said Lew, “but it has significant bearing on my investigation. I’ve shared it with Bruce Peters, one of the Wausau boys whom Molly met earlier today.”

  “ ‘Wausau boys’?” asked Jessie.

  “The forensic experts from the Wausau Crime Lab,” said Lew. “I call them ‘the Wausau boys’ for short.”

  “Dr. Osborne, Chief Ferris,” said Molly, “now that I know you’re interested in that Maxwell guy, there’s something else you should be aware of. When I was at the airport checking on my plane, I walked by one in the same hangar that really needs some repairs. I mentioned it to the guy there who gives flying lessons and he agreed.

  “He said it’s a shame how the owner doesn’t take care of it. He lies about the inspections and is sloppy when it comes to required maintenance. He said the plane, a Beechcraft Bonanza, is an accident waiting to happen—and guess who owns it? Gordon Maxwell.”

  “That must mean he’s back in Loon Lake,” said Lew. “How interesting. He was supposed to call the station the minute he returned. I’ll check with Bruce. Maybe he’s heard something.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Osborne and Lew woke to a sunbeam streaming through the open bedroom window. It was only 5:00 a.m. but the sunlight bouncing off the top of the bureau was so promising Osborne couldn’t help feeling better than he had in the last two days.

  “Coffee, dear?” Climbing back under the light summer quilt, he grinned as he handed a warm mug of black coffee to his bedmate. Lew pushed herself up against the pillows and with a grateful smile reached for the cup.

  “Did he really say a twenty-two-pound brown trout?” she asked Osborne as he climbed into the bed beside her. “That is impossible.”