Dead Boogie (21 page)

“I was nineteen and engaged to be married to my wife, Joan, when I got Peg pregnant.” He gave a rueful laugh. “Christopher, someday when we know each other better, I’ll tell you more. But let’s just say that my late mother-in-law was a woman on a mission and she was not going to see anything get in the way of our wedding. She took care of everything.” His tone was bitter.

“I did not know, until after her death, that Peg had been able to find you.” Parker’s lips were trembling. “I’m glad she did.” He gestured toward the child but didn’t say more. He looked as if he would burst into tears if he did.

Lew got up from her chair and walked over to take the file from Christopher’s hands. “Well, Christopher,” she said, “it’s time you know that your birth mother intended for you to inherit her share of the Garmin estate. Forty-eight million dollars.”

Taking in the stunned expression on the young man’s face, she said, “These papers are important, Christopher. They underscore your mother’s intent, though you should know that her share of the estate is being contested by Joan Nehlson—her sister and this man’s wife.” Lew nodded toward Parker.

“Joan’s challenge to her mother’s will is a waste of money. It’s just not reasonable,” said Parker. “It’ll take some time to resolve, but if you want my opinion—she has no valid claim on the money. My wife, frankly, is doing things that make no sense.”

“Chief Ferris,” said Gina, who had been sitting quietly beside Ray, “do you mind if I ask Mr. Nehlson a question?”

“How do you feel about that, Parker?” said Lew.

“Go right ahead. I feel like a man with no secrets for the first time in what—thirty-three years?” He looked at Christopher.

“Thirty-four,” said Christopher.

“How much
do
you know about your wife’s finances?”

“I think I know everything I should. We file separate tax returns because of various business interests, such as my family trust and a few investments that each of us has made, but I think I’m pretty well informed. Why?”

“Are you aware of the extent of her gambling debts?”

Parker looked taken aback. “I doubt she has any. All Joan does is play a little poker in the ladies’ league on Wednesdays. I’m a regular at the casino myself. In fact, we had dinner there last night. But I arrive with a thousand bucks, and when it’s gone, I’m gone.
I
can assure we have no significant gambling debts.”

“Chief Ferris has a daughter who is a CPA and is good friends from their school days with the woman who runs the business office at the casino where you and your wife play. I checked with her and was told that your wife’s losses are so severe that the casino has a lien on your lake property. Did you know that?”

“No, I did not.”

“How much do you know about your wife’s involvement with Dr. Forsyth’s clinic?”

“I know she’s been handling the clinic’s public relations and she has invested a significant sum of money in the clinic. But that’s her investment, not mine.”

“Did you know Dr. Forsyth has been accused of insurance fraud and the clinic was shut down yesterday morning? If your wife was involved with the recruitment of their patients, she may be charged with fraud as well.”

Parker heaved a sigh. “Friday she learned there were problems at the clinic. She swore to me that she knew nothing about it until she heard from our lawyer. But I guess that would explain why …” His voice trailed off.

“Why what?” said Lew.

“Joan’s been so upset the last few days. Well, I can see that my wife and I need to have a talk,” said Parker. He had the look of a man resigned to a bad afternoon.

thirty

The charm of fishing is that it is the pursuit of what is elusive but attainable, a perpetual series of occasions for hope.

—Anonymous

Christopher
packed up the toys and the blanket. Then, with Violet perched again on one arm, he slung the diaper bag over his shoulder and started to leave. “This has been quite a day,” he said. “My wife is not going to believe it. Forty-eight million dollars?” He shook his head in disbelief. “I do wish I had met my birth mother. She sounds like a complicated, interesting woman.”

“That she was,” said Ray,
“and
very beautiful. So when the estate issues are settled and you own this cottage, I hope you’ll let me take you fishing—we’ll talk about her some more.”

“I would like that,” said Christopher, giving Ray a hearty handshake. “I am so glad to have met all of you.” He shook hands around. When he came to Parker, the man reached to give him a clumsy hug then stepped toward the door.

“Parker,” said Lew. “Don’t leave quite yet. Ask Joan to wait for me, please? I need to check a few things with her.” “Will do,” said Parker.

“Your wife is in that black SUV in the driveway?” said Christopher. “Should I introduce myself?”

“No!”
was the chorus from all five people. He grinned and gave a wave with the diaper bag as he opened the door to follow Parker. Lew put out a hand to stop him.

“Wait,” she said. “There’s something you might want to have. Hold on while I get it.” She ran into the second bedroom. When she came out, she was holding the box of photographs that had been under the bed. She handed it over to Christopher.

“These are Garmin family photos—including some good ones of your mother as a child. Someone needs to see that they aren’t lost or destroyed. Maybe I’m doing the wrong thing giving these to you, but they may help you understand her better.”

“You mean—understand why she gave me away,” said Christopher. He studied the inscription on the box: pictures of people who hurt people.

He looked up, puzzled, “Do I really want these?”

“She’s not here to tell you herself,” said Lew. “These may help.”

As Lew walked with Christopher to the door, she handed Osborne an envelope. It was the envelope with the picture of the injured seven-year-old girl, the envelope with words scribbled in pencil that read “Peg O’ My Heart.”

While Gina picked up the coffee mugs and what remained of the doughnuts, Osborne pulled out his wallet and reached for the note with Joan’s instructions to the logger. Now he knew why it had looked so familiar: The writing style was identical to the words jotted on the envelope with the photo.

Lew waited for the sound of Christopher’s car pulling out. “Doc, you want to come along? Might be good to have a witness if things get tense.”

“Sure,” said Osborne, tucking the envelope and the note into his shirt pocket. As they rounded the corner of the house, they bumped into Parker, hanging back under the eaves and smoking a cigarette, which he tossed into the wet grass as they approached.

He gave them a sheepish look. “Bolstering myself for the rest of the day,” he said. “What I really need is a stiff one.”

“I can imagine,” said Osborne.

A light mist hung in afternoon air. Joan, sitting in the driver’s seat, lowered the window as the three of them approached.

“I refuse to give that man any credibility,” she said. Her voice had the tremor of someone speaking through gritted teeth.

As Lew approached the window, Parker hung back. His head was down, studying the gravel, and he had thrust his hands deep into his pockets.

“I didn’t know you were
working
for Dr. Forsyth, Joan,” said Lew. “Mind if I ask when you last saw him?”

Joan turned her face away. “I’m not answering any questions without my lawyer present.”

Lew nodded. “Okay,” she said and started to walk away, then stopped to say, “Something else puzzles me, Joan. If I remember right, the first time we met you said you hadn’t seen your sister in months—but wouldn’t you have seen her at the clinic? And you left a message on her answering machine here at the house. I thought it was Peg at first, but the few times you and I have talked on the phone tipped me off. I know it was you.”

Joan didn’t answer. She turned the key in the ignition. “Parker! Get in.”

“I suggest you get in touch with that lawyer of yours if you haven’t already,” said Lew.

“My lawyer is my business and I’ll take care of it at my convenience.”

“Tomorrow morning. Nine. My office. With or without your lawyer.” said Lew, her words clipped but clear.

The Lincoln Navigator swung around and up the driveway so fast, it almost hit a woman walking on the road who watched as the car gunned its engine and drove off. She waved at Lew and Osborne to wait, then hurried down the driveway. Mild-faced and wearing glasses, she was in jeans, tennis shoes, and a light jacket. Her eyes behind the glasses were worried.

“Chief Ferris,” she said, “I’m Cheryl Montgomery and I live next door. I was thinking of giving you a call. Then when I saw all the cars here today …” She faltered.

“It’s okay, Cheryl,” said Lew. “Is something wrong?”

“Well, I know that Peg was murdered and I’ve been worried about something I saw happen over here. She had a bad habit of not locking her doors so I took it on myself to keep an eye on her place. I worried about Peg, y’know. About ten days ago—one of the nights she stayed in town—that big car pulled in here.”

“You mean the Lincoln that just drove out?”

“Yes. It was dusk and I was working in my yard.” She pointed off to the right. Even though the properties were a good distance apart, it was easy to see through the birches and aspen to the front yards. “I saw that car pull up and a blond woman get out and run in. Peg wasn’t home and I had never seen that car there before—so I thought it was a little strange.”

“That’s her sister’s car,” said Lew. “You never saw it here before?”

“No and I’m retired. I see just about everyone who drives down our road. But if it was her sister—that would be okay, I guess. Sorry to have bothered you.” The woman started to walk away, then stopped. “Funny, I’ve talked to Peg so many times and she never mentioned having a sister.”

“They weren’t close,” said Lew.

“Then why did she barge into her house like that?” said Cheryl. “She was in there a long time, too—at least an hour.”

“Good question, I’ll look into it.”

Back in Peg’s living room, Osborne pulled out Joan’s note and the envelope. He set them side by side on the desk for Lew to see the similarities in the writing style. “This could be what Joan was up to the day the neighbor saw her,” he said. “You remember how that envelope had been shoved between the photos?”

“And the box was only halfway stored under the bed as if someone was in a hurry,” said Lew. “Someone who alleges she had minimal contact with her sister but was compelled to enter her home and leave something that could only cause pain. If I were in Peg’s shoes, finding that picture would bring back awful memories. It would ruin any of the good memories she might have found in there.”

“But what’s the point?” said Osborne. “How would she even know if Peg was likely to look in that box given what she wrote on it?”

“Very likely she would have,” said Lew. “When I was going through Peg’s correspondence from the lawyer handling her mother’s estate, the photos were mentioned. The lawyer said Mrs. Garmin wanted Peg to have the photos and that they had been sent under separate cover. That would have been about a month ago. Joan was copied on the letter so she would have known the box was here—somewhere. I’m sure it took her a while to find it.”

“I still don’t understand,” said Osborne.

“Anger … hate … emotions that go all the way back to childhood,” said Lew. “What I find curious is that Joan must have known Peg wouldn’t be home. That may be why we have her voice on the answering machine—she was making sure her sister wasn’t here.”

“All she had to do was drive by Harold Westbrook’s,” said Osborne, “and see if there was a blue convertible parked out front. Or have her handyman George do it. His house is five minutes away.”

“Speaking of George—what time is it, Doc? Let’s see if that guy has Sundays off.”

thirty-one

Fly fishing twists fate like a dream and, together with wilderness, makes anything possible.

—Ailm Traveler

Osborne
spun the wheel on the shore station holding his fishing boat. Just as the Alumacraft hit the water, he heard the phone ring. Dashing up the walk to the porch, he reached the kitchen just as the ringing stopped. He waited to hear a message on the machine but no one spoke. Instead the phone rang again.

“Doc—”

“Yeah, Ray—was that you that just called?”

“That was Lew. She asked me to call you. They got a 911 from people down the lake from the Nehlsons. They’re hearing gunfire coming from that direction. Lew’s on her way and asked me to pick you up and meet at the intersection of 51 and 47. We’ll decide what to do from there.”

“Be ready in two minutes. Just have to pull my boat back up out of the water.”

“Bring your twenty-gauge just in case.”

“Got it.”

So much for perfect conditions for muskie, thought Osborne, as he spun the boat back up and latched it down. He hated to take the time but the sky was dark enough that a good wind could blow up. Then he grabbed his shotgun and a box of shells: intended for grouse but enough to slow down a predator of any size.

The afternoon had ended innocently enough: George Buchholz was nowhere to be seen when he and Lew drove by his house. She decided to go home and try to get in baking the bread and cinnamon rolls that she hadn’t been able to get to on Saturday. Osborne took Mike down to the lake for a swim, finished the Sunday paper, grilled himself a cheeseburger, and had the vain hope he could squeeze in some fishing.

Lew was pacing outside her police cruiser when they pulled into the parking lot of a bait shop near the highway intersection. “I have Todd and Roger going in by boat,” she said, leaning into the window of Ray’s truck on Osborne’s side.

“One of the neighbors paddled a canoe close enough to confirm that the gunfire is definitely coming from an area near the Nehlsons’ house—though it could be from Forsyth’s, too. They were instructed not to get too close. I’m afraid if we take the road in, we could end up in the line of fire.”