Dead Frenzy (21 page)

The
Steadman house was on Lake Consequence, choice shoreline that Parker’s family had owned since the railroads came through in the late 1800s. An old hunting lodge had once graced the site. For years, when the family wasn’t in residence, native Loon Lakers like Osborne would drive in to admire the historic structure with its time-blackened logs and river rock foundation. Now, of course, it was gone.

The new house was pitched high on the exact same spot, the point overlooking a deep bay ringed with old growth balsam, their spires etched black against a hot apricot-and-lavender sunset sweeping the sky.

“Views don’t get much better than that,” said Lew, trudging up the drive beside Osborne.

She wore a sleeveless black dress that circled her neck and fell to her ankles. A simple medallion of brass and silver nestled between her breasts. Gazing down at her as they walked, Osborne noticed how the setting sun gleamed in her hair and cast a soft glow across her face. Now
that,
in his opinion, was a view.

A wooden fence running along the drive was festooned with tiny sparkling lights, warm and festive even though it was not yet dark. A magnificent spray of the same announced the entrance to the imposing silver-white full-log structure. The lighting extravaganza continued, outlining the wide deck that wrapped the entire house.

“Hell of an electric bill,” said Osborne as they entered.

The interior caused them both to stop and stare. Hayden had kept her promise—the furniture was indeed upholstered in camouflage: green and tan accented with black. The walls of the vast living room, two stories high, sported dozens of dead animals. Mounts of species Osborne had never seen before were hung vertically, horizontally, and across the front of the massive stone fireplace anchoring one end of the room.

“A taxidermy outlet?” Lew was amused.

Equally hard to miss as she worked the room was Hayden. As if to match the furniture, she, too, wore camouflage, only she had forsaken her casual versions for a long, flowing chiffon gown with an extremely low neckline. Again the overdone face, the too-white teeth, and a manner as affected as a smiling spider.

“I’ll be interested in what you think of Mrs. Steadman,” said Osborne in a low voice.

Lew’s eyes traveled the room, then settled on their hostess. “First impression … she is very attentive to surfaces.” That was true and fair. Osborne liked that.

Together they made their way along the perimeter of the room. Twenty-some people had arrived before them. Osborne, looking around, recognized no one. Through French doors running across the front of the house and opening onto a wide deck, which faced the lake, he could see two large tables and one smaller one set with camouflage-patterned tablecloths. He was relieved to see the place settings were a solid color.

Parker Steadman stood just beyond the French doors, deep in conversation with a tall, thickset man. Looking up, he spotted Osborne and waved him over.

“Doc,” said Parker, “I want you to meet someone. Bruce Duffy, this is Dr. Paul Osborne, my former dentist and his friend…. ” Parker’s eyes went up inquisitively.

“Lewellyn Ferris,” said Osborne, beckoning Lew forward. “Mrs. Ferris heads up our Loon Lake Police Department—and she’s been instructing me in the art of fly-fishing.”

“Bruce here is ranked Number One in the tournament tomorrow,” said Parker. “And if he is one of the five lucky pros whose names are pulled in our lottery tonight, not only will he be the proud owner of fifty thousand dollars’ worth of the newest models in Ranger boats and Mercury motors—but he’ll have a shot at a first-place purse of one million dollars. This could be a big night for Bruce.”

With that, Parker raised the drink in his hand in a toast to the tall, burnished-looking man beside him. Then he turned his attention to Osborne: “What can I get you to drink, Doc? Mrs. Ferris?”

“Nothing at the moment for me, thank you,” said Osborne. Lew requested a Coke. As Parker signaled a passing waitress to bring the drink, Osborne put his hand out to greet the fishing pro, who extended a beefy mitt of his own. Even though Duffy’s face boasted a ruddy tan, his round cheeks were highlighted with patches of sunburn, which gave him a clown-like appearance. And he was tall, all right—a good six foot six or more. He made Lew’s healthy five feet eight inches look midget-size.

A shock of straight, jet black hair fell across his reddened forehead. Snappy black eyes looked at Osborne for an instant then seized on Lew. With a grunt he put his hand out as if to shake hers, but before she could, he had plunked it down on top of her head. He held it there, as if challenging her to squirm away. She didn’t move.

“You kiddin’ me, Shorty,” he said. “You really the sheriff?”

“No, my title is chief of police.”

“C’mon. Who you work for? Buncha wimps? You’re too short to be sheriff.”

Osborne and Parker stood there, speechless.

“Word around town, Duffy, you’re lucky you qualified for the tournament,” said Lew, not moving from under the man’s hand.

“What does that mean?”

“You know what I mean. Why weren’t you allowed to compete on the Bassmaster Tour last year?”

“Who the hell you been talkin’ to?”

“I get around,” said Lew. With a low curse, Duffy removed his hand.

He looked away from Parker, shook the ice cubes in his drink, then tipped it up, emptied it into his mouth, washed it through his teeth, and swallowed. He slammed the highball glass down on a table behind him, crossed his arms, and faced the three of them.

“The goddam competition lied and I was too busy to deal with it. I’m a professional and I get a lot of respect in my business. This broad doesn’t know what the hell she’s talking about. That’s what happens when you put goddam women in charge.”

Duffy’s large form weaved forward until he caught himself and lurched back. Now Osborne understood the redness in his cheeks: The joker had been drinking for hours.

Parker took a swallow from his own glass, as if to stall while he tried to figure a way out of the situation. Lew took charge.

“Say, Doc, take a look at this.” She pointed down at the coffee table, where Duffy’s empty glass rested. Under the glass top was laid out a collection of wooden fishing lures, each arranged for display alongside the lid of its original box. As Lew dropped to her knees for a closer look, Parker knelt on one knee beside her, either pleased that someone had noticed or intent on directing the conversation away from Bruce Duffy.

“Where did you find these? Some of these are one of a kind!”

“Believe me, she knows her lures,” said Osborne, observing from where he stood.

“My former brother-in-law is a dealer, specializes in antique fishing tackle,” said Parker. “He dropped these off the other day and Hayden was able to get her decorator to fix up two—there’s another table in my den. Come on, since you’re interested, let me show you the rest.”

Lew and Osborne followed him around the corner and into a small room. It was much quieter. An oak gun cabinet stood in one corner and a large, dark brown leather chair with an ottoman took up most of the room. Beside the chair was a lamp table with glass on top and lures beneath.

“No camo?” said Osborne, looking around.

“I don’t let her in here,” said Parker. “No camouflage, no decorating, not even a telephone. Peace and quiet. Sounds of the lake,” he added, pointing to the open windows. “I miss the old place,” he said to no one in particular.

“By the way, Mrs. Ferris, I apologize for Duffy’s behavior. Man’s under a lot of pressure. If he’s one of the five pros whose names are pulled in the lottery tonight, he gets a shot at double the purse—that’s a million dollars. I know his results were challenged two years ago, but he’s behaved himself since. And he’s very well known on the bass-fishing circuit. I need big names to get national exposure for our tour and our cable network. This industry is built on big names and big money.”

“And big fish,” said Lew with a slight grin. “Don’t worry, I’m used to it.”

“So you’ve stayed in touch with the Plyer family?” said Osborne, eager to change the subject.

“No-o-o, not me. Duffy ran into Patty Boy—at the Lake of the Torches Casino. They got to talking and Duff told him I had built this place so he got in touch. He’s been big in sporting goods antiquities for a while now. Knowing Patty Boy, I’m sure half are stolen. But hell, Doc—business is business.”

“Is that where you got all those mounts? You didn’t shoot all those, did you?” said Osborne.

“Those came with the decorator,” said Parker. “And they’re leaving with the decorator.” The three of them laughed. “Hayden is too much the city girl, I’m afraid. I had no idea those were going to be up there until I walked in this afternoon.”

“I knew Catherine when she was very young,” said Osborne, walking over to take a closer look at a set of framed certificates hanging on the wall next to the gun cabinet. A familiar pattern had caught his eye. “I didn’t know you went to Campion,” he said, noting the degree from the all-boy Jesuit boarding school.

“My condolences,” said Parker. “On knowing Catherine, that is. Yes, I did my time at Campion.”

“So did I. My father sent me there after my mother died,” said Osborne. “I was six years old when I left home.”

“At least you had six years,” said Parker. “My mother died in childbirth. The old man remarried but the wicked stepmother never wanted me around. That’s why I spent all my summers up here. My family may be from Chicago, but I call Loon Lake home.”

“Two motherless boys,” said Lew smiling over at them from where she stood examining the treasures in the lamp table. “Mr. Steadman—”

“Call me, Parker, for heaven’s sakes.”

“You must have paid a fortune for these lures. They are some of the finest I’ve seen.”

“Anytime you deal with a Plyer, you pay through the nose. But they are wonderful to look at, aren’t they?”

Osborne assumed he meant the lures.

Looking over the heads of the other guests, clustered in groups of three or four throughout the living room, Osborne spotted Edith, a camcorder in hand, off to their left. He motioned to Lew to follow him. They waited patiently as she completed a scan of the room, then switched off the camera. She gave Osborne a soft smile.

“Hayden will be very pleased,” she said. “I got the Bass Pro, Ranger Boat,
and
the Mercury people—good stuff. Candid footage always plays great during sales presentations.”

“Don’t you ever take a break, Edith?” said Osborne.

“Of course, I do—like right now.” She set the camera down on a nearby table. “You must be Chief Ferris,” said Edith, pumping Lew’s hand without a trace of shyness. “I’ve been anxious to meet you.” She was so forthcoming that Osborne was surprised. This was not the timid young woman he had seen in Ray’s kitchen.

“I must talk to you about my father. Ray told me that you and Dr. Osborne are reviewing the case? I hope you are because I know he did not kill that girl. I want his name cleared.”

Lew, caught off guard, stammered, “Well, I thought … Doc said you…. Edith, would you have time to sit down with us on Monday or Tuesday before you leave? I would do it sooner but we’re overloaded this weekend. I shouldn’t even be here tonight but Dr. Osborne insisted—”

“Of course. And there’s someone else you should know about—”

At that moment a loud bong rang through the house. Ray appeared in the doorway. Resplendent in his trout hat and a crisp white butcher’s apron, he carried a heaping platter of fish fillets high and in front as he marched into the living room. Positioning himself in front of the fireplace as the ringing faded, he announced, “Fresh-caught walleye, folks. Follow me … to the buffet.”

“Excuse me,” said Edith, reaching for her camera. “Parker plans to sign Ray for the show and I need footage of that tray of walleye before it’s served. Can we talk later?” She rushed off to the dining room.

Shaking his head as they followed her, Osborne wondered how it was that Ray always managed to take over the party. Jeez Louise.

When everyone had heaped their plates with sautéed fresh walleye fillets, French fries, potato pancakes, applesauce, and cole slaw, they took their places at one of the three tables, now lit with candles. Osborne and Lew chose the smallest table, which was situated off to the right of the others and closer to the house. A couple from Minneapolis, Parker’s stockbroker and his wife, joined them.

Ray remained standing until everyone was seated, then raising his hands as if he were the Pope, he said, “A blessing…. ” A few nervous looks were passed around but everyone politely bowed their heads as he prayed, “Bread feeds the body … flowers the soul … Amen.”

“Hear, hear,” said Parker from the first table, raising a glass of white wine.

“A toast—to the star of our newest feature on The Fishing Channel, ‘Ray’s Fish ‘n’ Fry,’“ said Hayden, saluting from where she sat at the second table.

As Ray sat down, a figure stepped through the French doors from the living room. The girl was very tall, her height exaggerated by a cap of wild white-blond curls. Wearing faded green shorts, a wrinkled black T-shirt, and a face identical to her father’s, there was no doubt who she was. She dropped a scruffy backpack onto the deck. It hit with a loud thud just as Parker and Hayden leaped to their feet.

“Jen!” Parker crossed the deck quickly to his daughter. “I had no idea you were coming—how are you, sweetheart?”

“Dead broke, Dad. Nice of you to ask.” Her voice quivered. Her body was thin but wide-shouldered, and even through the dusk, Osborne could see she was trembling. Lew gripped Osborne’s forearm. The entire dinner party was silent, forks in the air.

“What? Why didn’t you call?”

“I did. I’ve been trying to reach you for three weeks.
She
”—the girl pointed at Hayden—”wouldn’t put my calls through.”