Dead Frenzy (24 page)

“Look around, Doc,” said Lew. “I can manage this fine.”

Osborne stood up and looked around the room. No windows, no opening. The gunshot had splattered blood and tissue and penetrated the wood floor but there was solid dirt beneath. The locked door was the only way out.

Lew checked her watch. “The roadblocks go up in ten minutes—”

“We can’t wait for someone to get all the way out here,” said Osborne. “Who knows how long that might take. If one of us can just get out…. ”

“Listen, everybody.” Mark’s voice was tight.

“Shh, Mark, don’t talk,” said Erin.

“No, I know about this stuff and they don’t,” he managed, tipping his head toward Ray and Osborne. “It’s just Sheetrock on those walls, like maybe an inch thick. If you got something sharp, you can cut a hole easy, push back the old siding behind it. That siding’s rotten.”

“Sharp? Duffy took our pocketknives, dammit,” said Osborne.

Lew’s eyes lit on Osborne. “Erin, you take over here.” Erin moved quickly and Lew jumped to her feet.

“Doc—your fishing vest. What’ve you got in there?”

Before he could answer, she had yanked down the straps on his waders and was reaching in for the long, narrow pocket running down the front of his vest. She pulled out the silver forceps he used to remove hooks.

Pulling it apart, she ran over to the wall and tried stabbing it into the Sheetrock. It penetrated easily. She tried slicing down, but the point kept sticking.

“Try the clippers, Lew.” Again, she broke the tool in half.

The cutting edge of the clippers was sharp like a knife—it worked. She handed the other half to Osborne.

“Don’t worry about cutting all the way through,” said Ray. “Mark thinks all you have to do is etch in deep enough, you can push it the rest of the way.”

They worked swiftly, slicing at the Sheetrock until they had an irregular rectangle about seventeen by twelve inches. It couldn’t have taken more than three or four minutes. Meanwhile, Ray and Erin kept the tourniquet and the pressure on Mark’s leg. Outside, they could hear motorcycles leaving, one after the other. Then a brief silence followed by the sound of an engine turning over.

“That must be the mail truck,” said Ray. “Think they’ll let ‘em through the roadblock, Lew? It’s either stolen or a good fake.”

“I don’t really care,” said Lew. “I just want to get Mark here to the emergency room.”

With one pound of Osborne’s fist, the Sheetrock caved in. Behind it was a vertical panel of siding as old as the barn. He hammered at a knothole with the blunt end of the forceps until he was able to get a good grip on the panel itself. He pushed. The damn thing buckled out but it wouldn’t come loose.

“Let me try,” said Lew. Osborne stepped back. Maybe she was stronger or maybe it was because she pushed up at an angle, but the board gave. Through the opening, they could see the drive running up to the house. Except for two bikes, it was empty.

Erin looked up from where she was holding Mark.

“Dad, I know I can make it through there easy,” she said.

Osborne changed places with her.

“Erin,” said Lew, “run down that driveway—the roadblock will be right where it meets Highway C.”

Mark’s face was dead white. Ray inched the belt tighter. Lew pressed.

Osborne held him in his arms.

“You’re not alone, son,” he whispered. “Please … hold on. You’re not alone…. ”

The
emergency room was hot, humid, and packed with summertime disasters: fishhooks attached to body parts, motorcycle road rash, jet ski collision concussions, a chain-saw gash, and spider bites.

Osborne sat next to Erin, his arm across the back of her chair, as they waited for news of Mark’s room assignment. The surgery had gone smoothly. Mark would be fine.

Right now, even though Osborne felt both exhausted and relieved, a dark hole had opened in his heart. A hole filled with dread over what could have happened. He knew it would be a long, long time before he would ever forget one moment of these hours. He knew he had made a grievous error for which he could never forgive himself.

“I feel so responsible for this,” said Osborne. “I should have said something when Lew told me there was a connection between that bike you two were buying and her investigation of Patty Boy Plyer. We just couldn’t risk red flags too early, but jeez Louise, Erin—what was I thinking!”

“Dad, don’t beat yourself up. How could you have known we would go out there early? Remember now, I had promised to wait for you.” She patted his knee reassuringly. “Look at it my way—it brought us closer together.”

“Erin, that’s dumb. Your husband could have died.”

“But he didn’t. This whole week—planning for the bike, talking about our lives—it’s been good. We know now what really matters to us. And maybe”—Erin punched him lightly in the shoulder—”we got ourselves a free motorcycle. That woman never did take our money.”

Osborne gave her a grudging smile. “If the police can’t trace it back to the original owners, you just may. What about school—you still thinking about a law degree?”

“Absolutely. I’m working on my applications this week. But we’re being practical. Mark’s going to continue with the Kasmarek law firm and hope something opens up with the city. He’d love to be back in the D.A.’s office—less money but better people.”

“That’s wise,” said Osborne. “If he hadn’t been working for Chuck, he’d never have heard of Patty Boy and he wouldn’t be here almost losing his leg.”

A group of EMTs strolled by, on break, from the relaxed expressions on their faces. Jessie Lundberg was one; she held a cup of coffee. She stopped when she saw Osborne and Erin and waved her colleagues on.

“Hey, Dr. Osborne. I hear Mark’s doing fine.”

“Yes, thank goodness. Erin, you know Jessie, don’t you?” Erin nodded. “Jessie, I saw you with Jennifer Steadman this morning. Do you know how she’s doing?”

“Yeah, that poor girl. Losing her father like that. You know, I was so surprised to see Edith Schultz. We were best friends in grade school. Hadn’t seen her in a long time.”

Jessie took a sip of her coffee. She had an easy, gentle way about her. As she stood, she looked around the waiting room, then back at Osborne. No one was sitting too close. She dropped her voice and leaned forward, like someone looking over a bridge at a dangerous current.

“What do you know about that woman?” From her tone, Osborne knew exactly whom she meant.

“Hayden?”

“Dr. Osborne, that woman is so horrible. I can’t believe she showed up here.”

“How do you know
her?”

“I know her from when her name was Harriet Carlson. She’s the reason I got out of television.”

Just then one of the nurses beckoned to Erin.

“I’ll wait here,” Osborne told his daughter. But when he turned back to Jessie, her eyes were dark and worried. “You have time for another cup of coffee?” She nodded. “Erin, I’ll be in the cafeteria when you’re ready.”

“I hope you don’t think I’m a gossip,” said Jessie as they walked down the hall. “But there are some things you and Chief Ferris should know, and someone needs to warn Jennifer Steadman.”

“We knew all about her before she got to
Outdoor America
,” said Jessie. “I was a senior producer and weekend anchor at the time and that little cable network was really taking off. It was a neat job.” She stirred her coffee. They were sitting at a table far enough away that no one could hear them.

“Television is a small universe. Everybody knows everybody—what jobs are open and why. So we knew Harriet got her first reporting gig at a small affiliate outside Portland, Maine, because she was sleeping with the station manager. When she moved up to the owner of the station, she got promoted to anchor.

“Now,” she smiled slightly, “to a certain extent, that is a tradition in the business, but Harriet was different. Creepy, really, which became obvious when Parker Steadman bought that station. She would find out when he was in town and hang out in the restaurant and the bar at his hotel. One day she grabbed the dry cleaning from the maid and delivered it to his room. And waited there.

“Here’s where it gets creepy, Dr. Osborne. She had not even met the man but she had already decided what she was going to do. Harriet didn’t sleep her way up so much as she
stalked
her way to the top.”

“She was waiting in his room and she had never even met the man?”

“She had a plan and she made it work. Harriet Carter was glued to Parker Steadman after that.” Jessie gave him a look, half-smiling, half-serious. “I’m sure you wouldn’t understand, Dr. Osborne, but Harriet, I mean Hayden, has special talents.”

“You’re right, Jessie. I haven’t a clue. Go on, this is very interesting,” said Osborne.

“It was shortly after they got together that he bought part ownership of
Outdoor America
and guess who arrived as part of his entourage. That’s when I met her.

“The day she arrived, she demanded an anchor position but she didn’t have the experience. Her audition was awful. The next thing that happened, everyone on staff had to deal with lies she told about us. Bald-faced, outrageous lies. She alleged that one of the news reporters molested children, that our executive producer was stealing money. Total lies. But management was so intimidated by Parker, they never really looked into the allegations, they just fired people.

“Anyone who crossed her ended up without a job. The more control Parker Steadman had, the more she had.

“It all came to a head for me one weekend when I was covering NASCAR. It was a big story: six cars crashed, two people killed. This was a story that would air nationally. She and Parker were at the track because he owned a NASCAR team that was racing that day.

“I was all miked and one minute from going on-air when she came running up, yanked me out of the chair, ripped off my mike, and said, ‘Move, I’m doing this.’“

“No one stopped her?”

“Nope. No one ever said a word. Two weeks later, she was promoted to anchor. That was it for me. I came home. Now I’ve got a nice little business of my own and I like being an EMT. A lot less pressure, no evil people. But I stay in touch with several friends who are still in television. That’s how I heard she was telling people they were married.”

“Isn’t her name Hayden Steadman? That’s how she introduced herself when we met.”

“No—he’s refused to marry her. I’m not sure why; he certainly hasn’t ended their relationship. But she’s such a snake, who knows what she’s got on him.” Jessie talked as if Parker were still alive.

Maybe it was just too much trouble, thought Osborne. He could see that.

“If her name isn’t Hayden Steadman, what is it?”

“Hayden
Sterling
—close enough that you might think you heard it wrong. You’ll notice she never corrects anyone either. She changed it about, oh … three years ago. Just before she got the anchor job.

“Dr. Osborne, you can see I hate her guts. But that aside, I sincerely believe that Jennifer needs to be careful. That woman is entirely capable of forging papers, telling lies. She’ll steal the business right out from under Jennifer. She cheated to get where she is; she’ll cheat to stay there.”

“Does Edith know all this?”

“She must. I’ve known about Edith’s work over the years, but we were never in the same place at the same time. She’s really made a name for herself in outdoor television. I’m sure she’s the reason the Fishing Channel is off to such a good start. It isn’t easy, you know. You think it’s tough to make golf interesting on TV? Try fishing, for God’s sake.”

Jessie stood up. “I better get back to work. If you see Edith, would you ask her to give me a call? I haven’t seen her since we all went off to college. I went to Marquette and she went to Northwestern. Oh, right—and that’s where Harriet says she went—Northwestern. I mean Hayden. I’ll bet she lies about that, too.”

Osborne got home at five-thirty, exactly twelve hours after he’d left. Poor Mike, the dog was beside himself. He let Mike into the house, fed him, then walked out onto the deck. Osborne leaned over the railing and let his eyes rest on the water. The western sun streaked across the lake, leaving paths of diamonds in its wake. Up on the deck, a light breeze dismissed the heavy heat of the afternoon.

What a day. He needed a nap, a long nap. He didn’t even check phone messages, just collapsed onto the redwood chaise longue and fell sound asleep.

“Doc?” A gentle hand shook his right shoulder. He knew that voice, dammit.

“Doc, sweetie, did you forget?”

Sweetie? His heart froze. He had a horrible feeling he was the victim of amnesia and was about to wake and find himself married to Brenda Anderle. Oh, dear God. Mike nudged from the other side, his nose wet on Osborne’s limp hand.

“Did I forget what?” Osborne forced his eyes open. The faces of three women hung over him. Two were miniatures of Brenda. Osborne blinked. “Brenda, what on earth?” He sat up.

The women were nicely dressed and made up, ready for an event of some kind. Each one held a round foil tray, filled with food and covered with Saran Wrap. He saw raw vegetables, a ring of shrimp, and bowls of what he imagined were dips of some kind.

“I left you a message the other day that my daughters were visiting this weekend and I thought we could have cocktails at your place and dinner at mine. I said to call if you had a problem with that. You didn’t get my message?” The poor woman was so stricken, Osborne felt like a heel.

“Brenda, I’ve been at the hospital—a family emergency.” Hastily, he dramatized Mark’s brush with death. By the time he had finished, all three women had tears in their eyes and everyone was off the hook.

“I understand completely,” said Brenda. “Your poor man.”

“Golly, Dr. Osborne.” The two younger women shook their heads in sympathy.

“Let me get everyone a cold drink. Brenda, what will you have?”

A quick dash into the bathroom to splash cold water on his face and Osborne was in full operating condition. He opened some soft drinks, grabbed the bottle of wine he had forgotten to return to Brenda earlier in the week, and hurried back to the deck. He wracked his brain for the names of the two daughters.

As he slid back the screen door to the deck, Brenda said, “Holly and Marsha are wondering if you’ve seen Harriet Carlson since she’s been in town. I hear Ray Pradt’s been working as her security manager. You know, the girls were all such friends that summer.”

“What summer was that?” Osborne poured Brenda a glass of wine, then set the bottle on the table near her elbow. He would make sure she took it home.

“That summer she was staying at Greystone Lodge. And now she calls herself Hayden. Hayden Steadman. An improvement over Harriet, most definitely. Harriet is so old-fashioned.”

“Sterling is her last name. She’s not married.” Osborne poured Coke over ice for each of the two younger women.

“Oh? Marsha thought she was. They’re the same age, you know. Marsha, weren’t you two pen pals for a while?” Brenda basked in her little bit of fame by association.

“Yes, Mom. Now you’re happy about that but you were so upset back then.”

“Of course I was. What mother wouldn’t be? That girl was something else.”

“What are you talking about?” said Osborne. He settled back with a glass of ginger ale.

“Oh, Doc. Come on,” said Brenda. “It was such a scandal. Harriet was fourteen that summer and she had an affair with the father of the family she was staying with. You know, that was the family whose baby-sitter was murdered. The Thorntons. The wife was an heir to the Kendall Boat fortune. I’ll never forget that day when your little Erin found the body—”

“I never knew about a girl named Harriet.”

“Well, you spent all your time fishing, that’s why. Mary Lee and the rest of us knew. We felt so sorry for his wife. Of course, we never talked about it in front of our children, but we knew what was going on. What those two did on the swimming raft—Millie still talks about what she saw.”

Brenda looked at her daughters and gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “Men—they never pay attention.”