Dead Boogie (20 page)

“Not until after we have something to eat,” said Lew, slipping out of her waders. Together they packed up, working swiftly but with care as fly rods were wrapped and slipped into cases, reels and gear restowed in the correct pockets of their fishing vests. When they had finished lashing the pontoon rig back to the top of Lew’s truck, she pulled out a small cooler and handed Osborne a sandwich: liverwurst on light rye with lettuce and Dijon mustard. His favorite. Also in the cooler were two bottles of water and a Ziploc of dried cranberries.

As they sat on the back bumper of the truck, wolfing their food, Lew said, “We’re in luck that the worst of the Country Fest traffic is over. I told Fern to have Todd get the police boat up to the public landing on Horsehead Lake. Work our way down to Lake Alice, where the Nehlson and Forsyth homes are. No public landing on their lake, of course. Wonder who they pay off to swing that?”

“I think you’re crazy, Lewellyn,” said Osborne. “That’s a twenty-six lake chain. We’ll be there all night.”

“I have no intention of checking every lake.”

“Every bar and restaurant?”

“I have no intention of doing that either.”

“Okay, I give up. What’s the plan?”

“You know there’s a lock between Lake Alice and the next lake in the chain …”

“Yes, but I’ve only been through there a few times. Why?”

“Well, I fished that chain quite often in my muskie days. I know the couple who operate the lock. We got to be pretty good friends. Jerry, the husband, knows every good fishing hole on the chain—though he won’t tell you unless he likes you. And Mildred, his wife, knows all the news.
All
the news. If Ed Forsyth took his boat out today—Mildred will know. Chances are she may know where he went, too.”

“How on earth—”

“What do you think those old folks are doing sitting out on their docks all day?”

The lake was calm, the moon high. A light breeze stirred the night air as the wide-bottomed police boat sped up the chain. Once in Lake Alice, Lew cut the inboard motor to a slow crawl as they passed a bog behind which loomed two dark shadows: the Forsyth and Nehlson lake houses. Only the driveways were lit.

One large pontoon boat was moored in a shore station next to the Nehlsons’ dock. But the lawyer was right—the shore station for Ed Forsyth’s dock was empty.

The lock that linked the Pickerel chain to the series of much smaller lakes, which included Lake Alice, looked like a contraption left over from the logging era. Jerry and Mildred Wright had been the caretakers for years and lived in a modest wood frame house located about fifty yards up from the lock. On seeing the lights of the police boat approaching, Jerry had walked down to work the lock.

“Hey, Jerry,” said Lew with a wave from where she stood behind the wheel of the boat, “is Mildred around?”

“Mi-l-l-dred,” he bellowed without looking back. The figure of a woman, backlit by warm light, appeared behind the screen door of their house. Like her husband, Mildred appeared to be in her mid-seventies. She wore dark slacks and a dark sweater, which she clutched closed with both hands.

At the sight of Lew waving, she opened the door and strolled down to the water. The full moon made it easy to see her coming. She was a tiny woman with straight gray hair cut short and tucked back behind her ears.

“Chief Ferris,” said Mildred, “what brings you out so late—and in the police boat? Something serious?”

“Not sure,” said Lew. She gave a quick description of the Forsyth pontoon boat and asked the couple if they were familiar with it.

“Oh yeah,” said Jerry, “he came through here today with two people aboard. That’s a hell of a big pontoon, too—you don’t see many that big on these smaller lakes. Yep, three people. Two men and a woman. Ain’t been back through. Bet they’re gettin’ snockered down at the Bayside—you know the bar on Little Pickerel. Doncha know they’ll wake me up in the middle of the night, goddammit.”

“You didn’t happen to notice what the people looked like on the pontoon?” “Oh yeah—”

But before Jerry could answer, Mildred interrupted. “It was that big blond woman who’s always with him and a little guy I haven’t seen before. They come through here weekends usually.”

“You’re sure you saw Dr. Forsyth?” said Lew.

“Sure I’m sure,” said Mildred. She shook a fìnger as she said, “You know, I’ve been waiting for something to happen. I told Jerry here—those two are up to funny business. Just wait and see if I’m not right.”

“Which two do you mean?” said Lew.

“The blonde and that Forsyth fella.” Mildred leaned forward as she said, “They’re not married, y’know. She’s married to someone else. But you only ever see her with her husband at the grocery store.”

“What do you mean—'funny business'?” said Lew.

“They’re real cozy. I’ve seen that pontoon of his anchored way out and they was up to no good.” By now Osborne was convinced that Mildred kept binoculars close by at all times.

“So you think they’re having an affair?”

“I know funny business when I see it. Why are you looking for them—his wife find out?”

“Dr. Forsyth isn’t married. I had a call from friends of his who haven’t been able to reach him and are worried that he may have mechanical problems with the pontoon boat. He’s been gone a good part of the day.”

“Oh.” Mildred’s face fell. She had been counting on something juicier than mechanical problems. Then she perked up. “But why send the police out? Why not someone from the marina? He gets that boat serviced down at Luther’s on Little Pickerel. Have Luther send one of his boys out.”

“Good point,” said Lew. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

“Want us to call you if they come back through here later?” said Jerry.

“Jerry, if you don’t mind, I would very much appreciate that,” said Lew. She jotted her home number on the card that she handed him.

twenty-nine

You cannot bring a hook into a fish’s mouth unless there is food on it that pleases him.

—Juliana Berners

The
sky was filled with flying saucers that Sunday morning: clouds like ivory disks with gray lids crowding one on top of the other against a pale blue sky. That was Osborne’s first impression as he stepped out into the yard behind the dog.

His level of guilt for leaving the black Lab alone these last few days was so high that he turned down an invitation to join Ray and Gina for pancakes and sautéed-in-butter bluegills. Mike needed some undivided attention. After twenty tosses of the saliva-slick tennis ball and twenty exuberant retrieves, Osborne did a little retrieving himself—he crossed the road to get the Sunday paper from the mailbox.

The air was warm under the gathering clouds, and the wind was out of the west. Ideal conditions for fishing muskie. And who knew? If the meeting at Peg’s went smoothly, he just might be able to get his boat on the lake for an hour.
Every day is planned.
He remembered Beebo’s words and shivered.

Back on his porch, Osborne settled into the forest green rattan easy chair with its matching ottoman that his daughters had given him one Father’s Day. It had become his favorite spot to sit and read in the summer. But before starting the paper, he sipped from his coffee mug and closed his eyes. The effects of the extra hour he’d spent with Lew before heading home lingered. He was in the midst of replaying the intimacy that had ended their evening when the phone rang.

“Hey, Doc.” Lew’s voice was soft, relaxed. “What are you up to?”

“Reading the paper.” He was too embarrassed to say what he had really been doing. “Yourself?”

“In the office, catching up with paperwork and getting ready for the meeting at Peg’s. Just got a call from the sheriff’s office. Earlier this morning two fishermen found Forsyth’s pontoon beached on one of those islands at the south end of Little Pickerel. Stuck between some boulders with the ignition on and out of gas. No sign of the owner.”

“Sounds like he went overboard.”

“He certainly went somewhere. I called his lawyer. He’s convinced Forsyth committed suicide, but I told him not to assume any such thing until we have a body. And do I have some questions for our Mrs. Nehlson when I see her.”

With all the lights on and the windows opened to the warm breezes, Peg’s house felt cozy in spite of a light drizzle that had started. Ray and Gina were in the kitchen, chatting in low voices as they made coffee and set out a selection of doughnuts.

Osborne leaned back against the fireplace mantel, hands in his pockets as he watched Lew pace from the living room to the screened-in porch and back again. Neither spoke. It was nearly eleven and the Nehlsons had not yet arrived, nor had Christopher.

At the sound of tires on the driveway, Lew motioned to Osborne to alert Ray and Gina. Seconds later, Parker Nehlson rounded the corner of the house. Lew opened the door before he could knock. “Joan refuses to come in,” he said. “She’s out in the car. Insists this kid is bogus.”

“But you’re here,” said Lew.

“Yes, I’m here and I’m staying.” He thrust his chin forward as he spoke and his fingers trembled as he took the mug of coffee offered by Gina. In his navy blue sport coat, expensive-looking tan pants, and dress shoes, he looked as if he was making an effort for the occasion.

“Good,” said Lew, then beckoned Gina forward, saying, “Parker, I don’t believe you’ve met Gina Palmer. She’s an expert on computer-assisted investigative reporting who’s been helping with our investigation of the murdered women.”

They all turned at the sound of a light knock on the door as a tall young man with a chubby baby girl in one arm and a diaper bag in the other poked his head through the doorway. He was neatly dressed in chinos and a black Polo shirt. His light brown hair was buzz-cut, and if he hadn’t had a child on his arm, Osborne would have guessed him to be a teenager.

“Hope I’m in the right place,” he said, looking surprised to see so many people standing there. “I’m Christopher Glendenning—”

“You certainly are in the right place,” said Lew. “I’m Chief Lewellyn Ferris, whom you spoke to on the phone. Come in, Christopher, and meet everyone.”

As she introduced Ray, she made a point of saying that he had been a close friend of Peg’s for years. It was during the introduction to Parker that a funny look crossed Christopher’s face, but he said nothing.

“My wife isn’t feeling well,” said Parker as he shook Christopher’s hand. “She’s resting in the car and may be down in a few minutes.”

“And this is my daughter, Violet,” said Christopher when Lew had finished. “She’s nine months old. I’m afraid my wife couldn’t make it this morning. She’s a nurse and they changed her shift at the last minute so she had to work today.”

“Oh, your little one is so cute,” said Gina, walking up with her arms out. “Can I help you with something? Hold the baby or your bag?” Christopher handed the little girl over, then spread out a baby blanket and a scattering of toys. After Gina set her down, the child, round-faced as a pumpkin, reached happily for one of her toys and shook it, her little face beaming.

“Everyone, please sit down—we have coffee and doughnuts if you’re hungry,” said Lew.

Christopher took a seat on the sofa next to Parker and gratefully accepted a mug of coffee from Gina. He took a sip, then gazed around the room. “So this is where my birth mother lived? On a lake?” The look on his face was one of amazement. Osborne could see that it was still sinking in that he might be the heir of a woman of property.

Half an hour later, after Lew had explained what was known up to now of the circumstances around Peg Garmin’s death, Ray took over. He didn’t skirt the reality of who Peg had been but he emphasized the kindness, the gentleness, of the woman who had been such a warm presence in his life.

“I wish I had had a chance to tell her that I had a good life,” said Christopher. “My adoptive parents were very good to me. They were older when they got me, so they’ve been gone awhile. But I’m a civil engineer and I have a good job—a great family, too. Can’t ask for more.” He hesitated before saying, “That’s what our meeting was supposed to be about today—to get to know each other …”

As they spoke, Osborne observed Parker. The man wasn’t taking his eyes off the little one. Several times he reached down to retrieve a toy she’d thrown and set it close to her pudgy little legs. She would chortle, grab the toy, and toss it back to him. Parker would chuckle and throw it back. He was a man falling in love.

In her bright yellow sundress with appliquéd ducks along the hem, Violet seemed a placid, happy little kid. She had eyes as blue as her father’s—and Parker’s. A face rounder than theirs and a dusting of light brown hair.

From his chair across the room, Osborne couldn’t help noticing similarities between the two men. Both had heads of an odd shape: a little large for their medium frames with round, slightly flat faces. Though Parker’s hair had begun to gray along the temples, it was the same shade as Christopher’s—and the baby’s.

“There is one matter we haven’t discussed yet,” said Lew. “I told you on the phone that the copy of Peg’s will that was found in her files here at her home named you as her heir. We also have copies of her correspondence with the agency that handled the adoption. But you will need legal documents, too.”

“I have my letters from my birth mother and copies of what the adoption agency gave me,” said Christopher, reaching for a manila file folder that he had tucked into the diaper bag. He opened the folder and looked down at the papers in front of him. Without looking up, he said in a calm, even voice, “I suppose that this will be unsettling for you, Mr. Nehlson—but you’re named as my father.”

Christopher turned to Parker, who was in the act of tossing a toy to the baby. Parker looked over at him and said so softly that Osborne could hardly hear him, “If they hadn’t told you, I was planning to.”

“You were?” said Christopher, as if he didn’t quite believe what he had just heard.

“I suppose you people are surprised by that,” said Parker, addressing Lew and the group. He seemed to sit taller and speak louder than he had since Osborne had met him. No one said anything to counter his statement.