Dead Frenzy (9 page)

The small entry, floored in granite, opened to a full living room suite furnished with a curved sectional sofa and a matching armchair and ottoman—all upholstered in buttery, pale yellow leather. Scattered across a dark hardwood floor were several small Oriental rugs, giving the room a rich, expensive look. Gleaming brass light fixtures hung from the ceiling.

Osborne thought of Bert’s black pants. “Those guys not only do not own this, they don’t even get to
sit
here,” he said.

Lew chuckled. “Like I said—something isn’t right.”

She opened a door off to the left. It was the room that had been pushed out from the interior and it served as a bedroom. Clever design of a double Murphy bed along with a narrow table and one lamp made it easy to see how the room could fold in for highway travel.

A beat-up duffel, unzipped, rested on the floor beside the bed. Lew knelt and rummaged through it quickly. Pulling out a checkbook, she flipped it open—”Belongs to Mr. Bert,” she said as she paged through the check register. “Interesting—small deposits and just two days ago he put in six thousand dollars. Six thousand bucks?” She looked up at Osborne. “Bert? That’s a lotta loose change for a guy who looks like he can’t afford to get his clothes cleaned.”

She flipped back a couple pages. “Here’s another one—an eight-thousand-dollar deposit on June twelfth. Then ATM withdrawals drawing it down real fast … lives in Mercer, all right.” She shoved the checkbook back in the duffel.

Next to the duffel was a large cardboard box, the flaps folded closed. Lew pulled them open and peeked in. “Chrome parts of some kind, Doc.” She pulled one out. It was cased in clear plastic with a sticker on the outside: “Gear Shift Control Cover—for a motorcycle maybe?” She shrugged and put it back, then pushed around the contents of the box. “More of the same.”

“They must be delivering this RV for someone,” said Osborne.

“That makes sense. Let’s look fast before they drink that six-pack and head back here.”

Moving quickly to the back of the living room area, Lew opened a door leading into a small hallway. At one end was a stainless steel kitchen with a bar area for dining. A door off the hall before the kitchen opened into a bathroom, long and outfitted with ceramic tiles, gold-plated fixtures, a Jacuzzi, and a skylight. Bert’s dop kit sat on the counter along with a can of hair spray.

“This place cost money,” said Osborne. “Lots of money.”

“Listen.” Lew cocked her head.

A faint gurgling came from the rear of the RV. Opening a door at the back of the kitchen, they found another hallway with a door to a bedroom—this one also pushed out the side of the trailer and was furnished with collapsible twin beds and zoo patterns on the wall, obviously designed for children. A well-scuffed dark brown Samsonite suitcase, overflowing with worn socks and underwear, stood half open against the wall.

“Harold,” said Lew. Again, she rummaged through quickly. “Just clothes and these.” She held up two birthday cards. “Looks like Harold’s got a girl.”

“Or a mother.”

“No-o-o, not these cards.”

A small bathroom also opened off the hall, this one with a shower. Still, the gurgling noise continued to come from somewhere farther back in the bus.

“Don’t tell me they travel with a washer and dryer,” said Lew. A utilitarian-looking handle to what appeared to be a small closet was all that remained unexplored.

“You can try that,” said Osborne, “but that’s where the spare tires are usually kept. I’ll bet the noise is coming from underneath—sounds like an air-conditioning unit, doesn’t it?” Lew tried the handle. The door slid open easily.

“It’s a closet all right,” she said, “but these are the strangest-looking tires I’ve ever seen.”

The space behind the small door was surprisingly deep. Approximately four feet by eight feet, the room held two livewells running the width of the RV. Barely enough space was allowed at each end and between the two for an adult to squeeze through. The gurgling came from the tanks. Lew got between the two and lifted the lid on the first livewell. “Take a look, Doc.”

As he peered in, she opened the top of the second tank. “Same.”

“What do you figure?” said Lew, “about thirty fish here? Well over the possession limit of Wisconsin and Michigan combined.”

“Good-sized, too. I see a couple must be close to four, five pounds. You don’t find smallmouths much bigger than that,” said Osborne. He squatted to look under the tanks. “They’ve got a good aeration system going—that’s what we hear—and from the looks of the refrigerator coils running along the base of both tanks, they’re keeping them plenty cold.”

“Which means these fish will stay healthy for quite a few days, don’t you think?” Lew reached in and lifted one of the fish up by its gills. She examined it closely: “One hook mark, almost healed.”

Returning the fish to the tank, Lew stepped back to look overhead. Shelving above the livewells held rolls of chicken wire, a tool box, and an empty minnow bucket. Osborne pulled the minnow bucket down and peered in. One dead crayfish floated in a puddle at the bottom.

“Let’s check out the driver’s area,” said Lew. “Boy, would I like to know who’s taking delivery of a very expensive RV and way too many smallmouth bass.”

“Being driven by two guys who can’t afford the tires,” said Osborne.

“Right.”

“But who might plant a few fish for the right price.”

“Right again. ‘Course we can’t prove that, can we?” Lew shook her head. “They could always say they’re planning a fish fry. This is gonna be a rough week, Doc. I’ve never known anyone to cheat by planting fish during a tournament…. ”

“You’ve never had a national tournament in Loon Lake—much less one with so much money at stake.”

The door to the driver’s seat was also open. The interior was spacious, nicely appointed with wood and leather, and held two bucket seats spaced quite a distance apart. On a table unit between them, anchored under two oversized paper cups from Burger King, was a partially folded map. Clipped to one corner of the map was a handwritten note. Lew scanned the note, then handed the map over to Osborne. While he read the note, she reached for a vinyl briefcase jammed into a pocket on the door on the passenger side.

“Take Highway 47 south to Rhinelander,” Osborne read, “at the juncture with Highway 8, take Business 8 into town, take a left on Highway 17, and follow that past McDonald’s to the Best Western Motel on the right. Park the RV there, check in to Room 58, and let the desk know that the vehicle is with you. Harold—
be there by Wednesday noon
.” The last sentence was underscored. The note was unsigned.

“At least we know they didn’t steal it,” said Lew. “Check this out.” She held up one of the papers from the briefcase. He recognized the logo,
fishing hot spots.
It was a hydrographie map of the structure, holes, and other features found in a body of water. Someone had taken a pencil to mark various sites.

Lew sorted through the papers quickly. “Looks like they’ve got maps for all seven lakes that’ll be fished in the tournament.” She shoved the packet back into the briefcase and stuck the case back in the door. “Wish I had more time to see what they’ve marked on these and why, but I’d just as soon not be in here when they get back.”

“And there is absolutely nothing illegal about two dedicated fishermen planning ahead,” said Osborne.

“I almost wish I hadn’t lined Ray up on that other job,” said Lew. “He could come in quite handy with these two.”

“Maybe he’ll have a few minutes. Loon Lake is such a small town, I wouldn’t be surprised if he happened to run into those boys, would you?”

“Give him a call tonight, Doc? I’d love for him to chat up old Bert—enough to find out who he’s working for.” She backed out of the RV cab. “I guess when you own a rig like this, you can afford a professional driver, huh?”

“Last I heard you have to have a commercial license to drive one,” said Osborne.

“These razzbonyas? I’d be surprised if they had
a fishing
license.”

“I’m with you, but do you intend to press them on it tonight?”

“Not right this moment, and certainly not when I’m standing in another state. Nah, time to let some line out and see where old Bert and Harold run with it. That’s what I want to see. And I doubt I’m alone. I’m sure a certain game warden I know and the tournament officials will be very interested. Doc, let’s see if we can find the registration for this vehicle.”

“We better hurry,” said Osborne as Lew moved the paper cups and started to open the lid of the table between the seats. “Those boys may get lucky and be back here pretty darn soon.”

“You’re right.” She let the lid drop. “I’ll do a search on the license plate first thing tomorrow.”

Just
past ten-thirty Lew swung her truck into Osborne’s driveway. She had pushed the speed limit all the way back. For a brief moment, as they hurtled down Highway 45, Osborne considered inviting her to stay the night. But one look at her face and he thought better of that idea: She was all business.

Maybe she knew what was on his mind because she reached over to where his hand rested on the seat between them and gave it a friendly pat. “We have to talk,” she said. “Not tonight; I have too much on my mind. But soon.”

That was good enough for him.

“Doc, mind if I use your phone to check in?” said Lew, leaning toward him as he opened the door to get out. She had called in once already from a small gas station just over the state line. That was over an hour ago and the only news was that Roger was still at the hospital and that the girl had not regained consciousness.

“Go right ahead,” said Osborne. “Door’s open.” He grabbed his rod case and gear bag from the back of the truck and tucked the empty cardboard box under his arm. “I’ll see you inside. I’m going around to let the dog out.”

“Thanks.” Lew bounded up the stairs to his back door while Osborne let himself in the rear gate and hurried through the yard to open the dog run.

“Sorry, Mike,” he said to the hyperenthusiastic dog bouncing off the back of his legs, “I know you love me unconditionally but I need the Achilles. Sit.” He raised his right arm. The dog sat. “Good dog—heel.” Mike obeyed, tail wagging happily.

Running up the stairway in the dark, he flicked a switch on the outside wall that spilled light onto the deck behind him. As he did so, he heard a familiar scuttling in the bushes off to the lakeside of the deck. Mike gave a warning bark and Osborne turned toward the sound, but all he could see was the light reflecting off a foil-covered package set in the center of the patio table.

The parcel was safe from the inquiring nose of the black Lab—but only the dog. Some other critter had nosed its way under one edge of the foil. Osborne paused. He didn’t remember leaving anything on the table. Certainly not something that would draw raccoons.

“Well, Mike, what have we here?” As he lifted the foil, a toasty aroma floated up from a basket of golden fresh-baked dinner rolls: two, well-gnawed. They must have been set there still warm from the oven. No wonder that raccoon was hanging out. Now who on earth? Osborne shook his head. This was getting absurd.

Balancing the basket on top of the gear bag and backing his way in, he managed to elbow the patio door back far enough to let both himself and Mike through without dropping anything. Lew was already on the kitchen phone.

Osborne set his gear and rod down, then walked through the living room toward the kitchen, turning on lights as he went. He set the basket on the kitchen table. Just as he reached the door to the utility room where he kept Mike’s food, the headlights of a car swung across the kitchen windows. Erin?

She was out of the car and running before he could open the back door.

At the sight of Erin’s tearstained face, Lew excused herself from the phone conversation. With a quick wave of her hand, she indicated things were fine as far as Roger was concerned, then raised her eyebrows as if to ask if she should leave.

Erin answered for him, “No, Chief Ferris, please—don’t go. Dad, I’m sorry, I don’t mean to interrupt, but—” She pulled out a chair and plunked herself down at the kitchen table. Osborne finished scooping food into Mike’s dish, then walked over to his daughter. He put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently. He could feel her whole body trembling, like Mike with a face full of porcupine quills. Erin reached up, putting her hand over his. He sat down beside her.

“I told Lew what the situation is, kiddo,” said Osborne. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Oh, God, no, anything, anyone who can help me figure this out.”

Lew said nothing. Instead she crossed her arms and leaned back against the counter, her eyes fixed on Erin.

“Any news today?” said Osborne. “I tried to reach you earlier—”

“I was gone with the kids all morning. When we got back, I had a letter from Mark. He told me where he is, Dad. He’s at the hunting shack.”

“Thank God.” Osborne sat back. Only when he relaxed did he realize how tense he had been since Erin’s visit that morning. This sounded a hell of a lot better. Mark was hardly the first man to demand time out in the woods.

“And he’s
borrowed
twenty thousand dollars from our savings.”

“Twenty thousand dollars? You’re kidding.”

“To buy a motorcycle.”

“How can you spend that kind of money on a motorcycle?”

“A Harley-Davidson.” The expression on Erin’s face was a little too familiar.

“Better than another woman,” said Lew with a shrug. Osborne thought he saw a twinkle in her eye.

“You don’t think this is outrageous? That is money we have been saving for our children’s education,” said Erin, an edge of hysteria in her voice. She leaned forward on her elbows, both fists clenched.

An old bad feeling clutching at his chest, Osborne pushed his chair back from the table, away from his daughter. How many times had Mary Lee struck that identical pose? Angry with him, so
very
angry with him.

“Please, Erin, don’t be like your mother. Don’t do that to Mark.”

His daughter looked at him, stunned.

Osborne couldn’t believe what he had just said. Too late. She burst into tears.

“Oh my God, Dad. This is so bad. I’m really awful, aren’t I? My husband hates me, my kids hate me.” Face in her hands, she sobbed.

Lew reached for a box of Kleenex on the counter and set it on the table by Erin. She leaned back against the counter, crossed her arms again, and waited. She seemed quite unperturbed by the drama taking place around the table but then again Erin wasn’t her child.

“Now hold on a minute,” said Osborne. “No one hates you…. That’s not what I said.” He looked over at Lew for help.

“Erin,” said Lew, “how old are you?”

“Thirty, almost thirty-one,” said Erin, sniffling. She looked more like a tearful eight-year-old than a grown woman. She grabbed a hunk of Kleenex.

“How old is your husband?”

“Thirty.”

“How long have you been married?”

“Eight years.”

“Have you had blowups like this before?”

“Never.” As Erin spoke, she took a couple deep breaths. Her hysteria eased.

“So maybe all this is just a wake-up call—time to deal with things you’ve both been ignoring. Have the two of you seen a counselor or a therapist?”

“I did this afternoon.”

“And Mark?”

“He won’t, I don’t think. He said he knows all the shrinks in town because of his work and he hasn’t much respect for any one of them.”

Lew chuckled. “He’s got a point there.”

“And I know he’s been so stressed out at work, too.”

“I know a psychologist over in Minocqua who might be right for Mark,” said Lew. “A man. A northwoods type—he hunts, he fishes; who knows, he might even ride a motorcycle. Why don’t we try to get Mark an appointment with that guy? I’ll get you his name and phone number tomorrow. He does couples therapy, too.”

“Okay, if I tell him you like the guy, that might help. I know Mark has a lot of respect for you, Chief Ferris.” Erin wiped at her nose and her eyes. “Dad, why did you say that about Mom? That’s not fair. I’m not like her.”

Osborne looked at his daughter. “Do you want me to be honest?”

“Yes … I think.”

“Given that you grew up in this house, you got the best and the worst from both of us. So did your older sister.

Erin, your mother felt cheated. She always felt that I should have made more money, built a bigger house, had more things. Maybe she was right. The choices I made: to live in a little town, to go fishing on Wednesdays instead of scheduling more patients—”

“Dad, I know all that. I’m not that way. I wouldn’t be here if I was.”

“But you want a great deal from life.”

“What the hell is wrong with that?” Tears brimmed again.

Lew spoke up. “Nothing is wrong with that, Erin. Why don’t you take it easy on both you and your husband and just try to figure out what it is that each of you needs right now.”

“But a motorcycle?”

“Well, okay, when was the last time he went fishing?”

“He doesn’t fish.”

“Has he ever ridden a motorcycle?”

“Oh sure, he had one when I met him. He sold it to buy my wedding … oh … oh, my gosh.”

Osborne reached again for his daughter’s shoulder. “So maybe he finds on a bike what some of us find in the boat?”

“Maybe you’re right,” said Erin, sniffling. “Oh, Dad, and I was going to write a really angry letter.”

“I’ll bet you were,” laughed Lew. “But you didn’t, did you?”

“No, thank goodness,” said Erin.

“A Harley-Davidson can be a very good investment these days,” said Lew. “They sell for more used than new.” She saw the look of surprise on Osborne’s face. “Doc, I know these things. My son-in-law works in marketing for Harley-Davidson in Milwaukee.” She looked back at Erin. “You want some advice from a woman who’s been around the block a few times herself?”

Erin nodded.

“Start by making your mind up that whatever you do, whatever you say to your husband—you will be kind.”

“Okay … how do I be kind about a motorcycle?” Erin still had that set to her jaw. “How do I be kind about spending my children’s college money?”

“By not jumping to conclusions until you know the whole story, Erin. Maybe he has made a mistake or maybe he has a very good reason for doing what he’s done. Can you give this some time? Do you have to have all the answers right this moment?”

“No … I guess not.” Erin took a deep breath. She seemed to sit up a little straighter.

“The big rally in Tomahawk starts this weekend. Instead of criticizing Mark—why not ask if he’ll have the new bike in time for the rally. And would he be willing to take you on the back?”

“Whoa,” said Erin, her face brightening, “that would amaze our friends.”

“Did you ride on the back of his bike before you two got married?”

“Oh, yeah, that’s one reason I thought he was so sexy.”

“I rest my case,” said Lew, raising her hands, palms out, and smiling. She glanced at her watch. “Oh brother, it’s late. I have to be in Park Falls at eight tomorrow morning and I still need to stop by the hospital on my way home. I have got to go—”

Erin jumped to her feet. “I’ve got to get back, too. But hey, thank you, Chief, that’s a great idea. Dad, I feel so much better—this is like a positive approach. And you know”—she threw her father a wicked glance—”Mom would
never
have done anything like this.”

“C’mon, let’s walk out together,” said Lew, putting her arm around Erin’s shoulders as they headed toward the back door. She looked back at Osborne. “Don’t forget to call Ray. I hope it isn’t too late to try him tonight?”

“It’s never too late to try Ray.”

 • • •

As Osborne reached for the phone, he saw the blinking light on his answering machine: “Ray here. I’ll be by for coffee at six, Doc. And say, I need to borrow your car.”

That wasn’t the only message.

“Paul, this is Brenda.” The voice was breathy, excited. “I hope you like the rolls. Bye. I’ll be by for the basket in the morning.”

Oh no, thought Osborne. Please, God, not Brenda Anderle. He lifted the basket of rolls from the kitchen table and tipped them into the trash. Before making the call to Ray, Osborne went through the house closing curtains he seldom closed. He hated the sense of being watched.

An hour later, he was still awake. Awake and more content than he had felt in years. He loved this room. Yes, in some ways the house was still too much Mary Lee: too many decorative gewgaws and color schemes so tightly woven a room could look more like a magazine instead of a home.

But he never felt that way in the bedroom—
his
bedroom. After Mary Lee’s death, he had retired the expensive bedspread, replacing it with an old quilt made by his mother. Hand-stitched squares of patterned reds, blues, greens, yellows, lavenders, and oranges spilled across an ivory background like the dots of candy on Christmas cookies. The old quilt was as warm on top as it was underneath.

He had designed this room himself, giving it windows on the east and the west and placing his bed against the north wall. Since it was on the second floor, it was high enough that he could watch the sun rise and set and—he had double-checked—no one could see in. Tonight, with the windows wide open, the room was at its most pleasant. Breezes whispered off the lake and moonlit shadows danced on the walls, taking him back to childhood.

Childhood and confession. Osborne let his mind wander back to the moment that Lew unbuttoned her blouse and everything that followed. Vindicated at last.

It had started in fifth grade when Sam Gilbert arrived back from vacation with a small, thin booklet he had stolen from his older brother’s underwear drawer. The brother had left it behind after being home on furlough from an Army base overseas somewhere.

Osborne never knew what country the book came from but the story was set in early Roman days and, fortunately, was printed in English. He and Sam spent so many hours reading and rereading the pages that it fell apart and they had to tape it all back together. Unlike the tomes they were assigned for class, this riveting manual was chock full of adventures that made for tense Friday afternoons as the boys awaited their turns for the confessional.

“Father, forgive me for I have sinned … I have had many impure thoughts…. ” Osborne was always honest and the priest was wise enough or jaded enough not to inquire as to the exact source of the recurring misdemeanors. Following confession and with his psyche lightly slapped by an understanding Jesuit, Osborne would return to his pew and say the requisite Hail Marys required to cleanse his soul—until the next time he borrowed the little blue book from Sam.