Dead Rapunzel (20 page)

“Sounds good to me,” said Mallory. “If you're convinced we can move forward with the plans for the museum—”

“Without a doubt. The sooner you live here, the better, though I know you want your own place.”

“I do, but I'm cramping Dad's style, so moving in here for a short time works great.”

“Hey,” said Judith with an embarrassed grin, “before you leave, tell me if this outfit looks too dressy for having dinner at Ray's. He's cooking the fish that Bruce and I caught today. Isn't that nice of him?”

Mallory raised her eyebrows before answering. “He's cooking your goose,” is what she wanted to say. But she pushed that thought back. Instead she gave Judith's outfit the once-over: designer jeans, a ribbed black sweater with a cowl neck, black Sorel boots. “You look good, Judith.”

“Thanks,” said Judith, swirling around as she reached into a closet for a quilted coat.

“Do you know what you're doing?” Mallory could not resist the question. “I mean, Ray Pradt could not be more inappropriate . . . ”

Judith sat down on the nearest chair. “Are you still in love with him, Mallory? You told me you had a fling with him right after your divorce.”

“It wasn't much of a fling. And I was not in the best shape emotionally—so that's my excuse. No, I am not in love with Ray, but I have great affection for the guy. I mean, how could I not? But he is not the kind of man I want to spend my life with.

“On the other hand, Judith, much as I like both you and Ray, I don't want to see you hurt.”

“Please. I am at least fifteen years older than the guy,” said Judith with a wave of her hand. “I am not interested in getting married. This girl just wants to have fun. You know? A little fun.” Judith gave Mallory a beseeching look. “Does that sound so awful? As far as our age difference, look at all the guys with women much younger . . . ”

“Okay, then,” said Mallory. “You'll have fun all right. Just don't complain to me when—”

As Mallory reached for the door to the foyer, Judith interrupted, “You know, inappropriate men are not all bad. I've learned from every one, though there have only been two others. Still . . . ”

“I am guilty, too,” said Mallory with a laugh. “We're going to get along, I can tell.”

“Move in this weekend?”

“You bet.”

“Sorry I'm running late,” said Ray, welcoming Judith into his trailer. “Had to stop by Happy Hookers and ended up chatting too long.”

“
WHAT?
”

“Don't worry. It's a bait shop. I needed waxies.” Judith's heart slowed.

An hour later, after raving over Ray's sautéed walleye and wild-rice casserole, she asked, “Did you ever find out what those weird pipes were? The ones Kenzie and I found under the logs?”

“We did. Bruce and I spent some time with one of the engineers working on the sand mines that are being developed in this area. He agrees with Bruce that someone was doing some soil testing in that vicinity. Did Rudd ever mention that she had been approached by one of the mining companies?”

“No . . . but now that I think of it, I do remember something to do with the land in that area. It was over the holidays. She said that Vern Steidl had asked to buy a strip of land in the field west of her home. He swore Philip had once promised to sell it to him.”

“Probably before Vern was fired years ago,” said Ray drily. “You heard that story—how he colluded with Tim to steal Philip's fishing boat?”

“No. Are you are kidding me? When was that? Philip didn't share much about his early years with Rudd.”

“Gosh, it was back when Tim was a teenager, so that had to be about twenty years ago. So you think Vern approached Rudd on a land purchase recently?”

“She mentioned it in passing when we were sitting in front of the fire one evening. She turned him down and didn't say more about it.”

“Excuse me, Judith,” said Ray. “If you can wait a moment for my famous lemon-meringue pie, I need to make a quick phone call to Chief Ferris.”

Judith listened as Ray apologized for interrupting Lew's evening but he thought she should know that Vern Steidl had shown an interest in the property. “Very interesting,” said Lew when he had finished. “Not much I can do about it this evening, but I know how I can follow up in the morning. Go back to your dinner, Ray, and have fun.”

“I will.” And he did.

Lew put her cell phone away and turned back to Bruce, who had just asked her how to fish a nymph like the Rapunzels he'd seen at Rudd's home. “Bruce,” she asked, “have you tried fly-fishing with wet flies?”

“No, only dry flies so far. But I want to learn—”

“The difference is the wet fly needs to sink below the surface of the water. To make that happen, I use a weighted nymph, which will sink to the bottom. Also, you attach a strike indicator to the line so you can check the speed as it moves with the current. When you see the slightest change—you strike!

“Bruce, it's not the easiest technique, but once you get it down, it can be deadly.”

“No kidding,” Bruce grinned through his moustache. “Sounds fun. Chief, I have another question. Couple guys I know who fly-fish were talking about ‘mending' the other day. I know I can look it up, but I thought you could maybe show me how you do it?”

“‘Mending' is moving your fly line against the current while you fish your fly, that's all. Maybe they were talking about ‘aerial mending,' which is moving your fly line as part of your cast
after
you do the forward power snap that I taught you but
before
your line lands on the water. A simple mend is made with an overhand semicircular move in the upstream direction. Does that make sense?”

“But how wide is the semicircle? Like this?” Leaping up from his chair, Bruce raised his imaginary fly rod and, flinging his right arm back and to the side, managed to knock a tray of water glasses out of the hands of the waitress passing by.

“Oh, jeez, I am so sorry!” Embarrassed, Bruce bent to help the young woman.

When the water had been mopped up and pieces of broken glass disposed of, Bruce sat down at the table.

Before he could open his mouth, Lew said, “Next spring. In the trout stream. Bruce, I promise to take you out on the Prairie River and give you a lesson on mending, aerial mending, and nymph fishing, but only if you sit still right now and finish your meal. No more flailing of body parts.”

“You promise, Chief?”

“I do. I'll ask Judith if we can have a couple of those Rapunzels, too. Looked to me like she and Rudd had several dozen that were tied by their instructor.”

“I'd like to learn to tie a few myself,” said Bruce. “How 'bout you, Doc? Interested in tying some of those trout flies?”

“No,” said Osborne. “As a dentist I spent too many years working in small spaces with tiny objects. I will be very happy if you and Lew tie the flies. I'll cast 'em.”

Hours later, as they lay in Osborne's bed, Lew tossed and turned, unable to sleep. “Doc,” she said after twenty minutes of trying to nod off, “this may sound foolish, but my search for Rudd Tomlinson's killer reminds me of the old saying about a rising fish:
so close yet shy of the surface
.”

“You're convinced the truck driver saw someone push her.”

“I've interrogated that guy five times now—and his story has never changed. I just wish he hadn't been so distracted by the sight of Rudd falling that he didn't get a clear view of the killer.”

“Any chance you can let go of this long enough to get a good night's sleep, sweetheart?”

“I don't know. But I am happy to be here, Doc. Your place is warmer than mine on blustery nights like this.”

He could feel her smile in the dark. “Good.” He laid his arm across her and was happy as she snuggled in the curve of their bodies. “I like this. Sleep tight.”

“I'll try.” Seconds later he heard a light snore. Moonlight, silvery and silent, filled the room. He slept.

Shortly after seven the next morning, Greg finished his third cup of coffee, pulled on his parka, and headed through the door leading down into the garage. Kenzie would be sleeping for hours and wouldn't need the car until later that morning. He had plenty of time to change the tire.

He popped the lid on the trunk and looked down, ready to remove the scrap of carpet covering the chamber where the tire tools were stored. He jumped back.

Staring up at him from hollow eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses were the slack features of an old man.

“Oh, God,” he breathed. “Oh, my God.” He staggered over to the stairs leading up to the kitchen and sat down. He dropped his head into his hands. “It can't be. Why . . . how . . .” He thought he knew his wife and yet it seemed so obvious that she had to have been the one to push Rudd. But . . . it didn't make sense.

Everything he had heard Kenzie say about her stepmother had been so positive. She had even sounded pleased when her father told her he was planning to marry Rudd—
thrilled
even. Greg thought back through all the years since childhood that he'd known Kenzie.

Yes, he had known her to be manic, depressed, hysterical at times, but that was before the psychiatrist had prescribed the right meds. One thing she had never been was violent. Heck, she was so kindhearted he'd had a difficult time convincing her that mousetraps were a more reasonable solution than live trapping the little stinkers.

Taking a deep breath, he tried to think back over the details of the morning Rudd died. Funny how little he knew about the accident. He checked his watch. He hoped Judith was an early riser. He rushed up the stairs into the kitchen, grabbed his jacket, and shoved the keys to the pickup into his pants pocket.

Before leaving the house, he stopped to check the bedroom. Since Kenzie hadn't gone to sleep until after midnight, he expected her to be zonked out still.

“Hey, honey,” he whispered. No response: she was sound asleep. He tiptoed over to the chair near her side of the bed where she had carefully laid her jeans, sweater, and lingerie before climbing into bed the night before. He reached into the back pocket of her jeans. His fingers touched the slip of paper with Chief Ferris's cell phone number. Good. He plucked it from her pocket and crept out of the room.

Judith, still in her bathrobe, opened the door to the foyer with a look of mild surprise. “You're moving early, Greg. What's up? Wait,” she held up a cautionary hand, “before you say a word, can I offer you a cup of coffee? I have a full pot brewing. I was out late last night so I'm a little bleary.”

“I would appreciate a few minutes of your time if you don't mind, Judith,” said Greg as he stomped his feet to knock the snow off his boots.

“Sure,” said Judith. “Mallory just got here, too. She's upstairs on a phone call so I've got plenty of time—though I have to get dressed one of these days. Have a seat, Greg.”

“Chief Ferris and Dr. Osborne were over late yesterday with questions for Kenzie and me. After they left, I realized I don't know the details of what happened on Tuesday. I'm hoping you can fill in some gaps. Might make my wife feel better.”

“Of course. I'm happy to tell you what I know, though it isn't much.”

“Thank you. I thought . . . I was hoping you might remember what time the . . . um, accident occurred. Was it early morning? Lunchtime? Maybe early afternoon?”

Judith set a mug of coffee in front of him. “Do you take cream or sugar?”

Greg shook his head no.

She sat down across the table from him. “I know approximately when it happened because I had tried returning a call from Rudd from the road that morning. This was just before nine o'clock. When I couldn't get through after three tries, I assumed that my cell service was spotty so I gave up. In retrospect that must have been right about the time she was hit.

“As far as
officially
hearing about Rudd's death—I got the call from Dr. Osborne just before eleven. Greg, I'm sure Chief Ferris can tell you more.”

“I didn't want to call her so early.”

“You do know that the driver of the logging truck says that he saw someone push Rudd?”

“Yes,” said Greg. “Chief Ferris also told us that the dishwasher at the Grizzly Bear Café said he saw an old man running in the direction of the street.”

“That's what I've heard, too. And Ray Pradt was told by a man who lives on the street behind the café that there had been a red sedan parked in front of his house right about that time.”

“A red sedan.”

“Yes. But that's as much as I know, Greg. Is any of this helpful?”

“Oh, you have no idea,” said Greg, pushing back his chair. “Gotta go.”

“But you haven't finished your coffee,” said Judith, standing up as he ran from the room.

Mallory appeared on the second-floor balcony just as the door closed behind Greg. “What was that all about?”

“I'm not sure,” said Judith, taking a sip of coffee and staring at the door Greg had slammed behind him.

Out in his truck, Greg punched a familiar number into his cell phone. “Dad? Are you still home?”

“Yeah . . . ” said Vern, his voice thick with sleep. “I'll be in by ten. Had a few too many beers with Tim last night.”

“Small emergency here. Kenzie locked her keys in her car with the motor running. We're hoping you might have a spare from when you borrowed her car a few weeks ago.”

“Yeah . . . I do. Got it on my key ring right here.”

“Great. Be by in a few.”

Greg's first impression was relief that Kenzie had not, in one of her OCD moments, informed her father-in-law that they kept a set of spare keys for all their vehicles on a hook by the door leading to the garage. But then, Vern never did pay much attention to anything outside his own world.