Dead Creek (19 page)

Julie excused herself from the table just then to use the ladies’ room. With her gone, it was the first time since the airport that the three of them could talk alone.

“She’s got quite an agenda,” said Lew, bending low to take a sip of her coffee the minute Julie was out of earshot. “I’d sure like to know what it is.”

“What makes you think it’s any different from ours?” asked Ray, picking at the parsley that rested between his cheeseburger and the French fries. “Don’t we all want the same thing?”

“Her reaction to the body was a little stronger than she wanted us to think,” said Lew. “She’s being very professionally casual, but I have to believe that we have something beyond the usual client/lawyer relationship here. She hid it well, but I saw it in her hands. She was trembling during that ID. She almost lost it.

“And why did she get up here early and not call us? That’s very strange. Given that she’s a lawyer and knows better—it’s inexcusable. No, she’s got something going on, and I want to know what it is before we share any more information.”

“For all we know,” said Ray thoughtfully, “she may have had something to do with the murders. I mean, we don’t know who she is beyond what that reporter told you, Doc, right?”

“The reporter seemed to trust her,” said Osborne, wiping his face with his napkin. He felt an unreasonable urge to support Julie. He paused, thinking over every word that had been said in the calls to Kansas City. “He described her as being quite feisty and very sure that Bowers had been murdered. You two may be judging her a little harshly.”

“Sssh.” Ray looked over Lew’s shoulder. “Here she comes.”

Julie slid into the booth beside Dr. Osborne. All she had ordered was a bowl of chicken noodle soup, and it was steaming in front of her. But she made no move to pick up the spoon. Instead, keeping her eyes on the table and avoiding theirs, she crossed her arms and began to talk.

“I, um, I need to tell you something.” She pressed her lips tightly together as if steeling herself. “It’s very, very confidential and something that I haven’t shared with people back in Kansas City.”

She inhaled and exhaled deeply. “In fact, only my parents know. Robert and I were to be married.” Even in the bustling little pub, her words managed to carve a huge circle of absolute silence in the air above their table.

Finally, Lew lifted her fork, cut into a canned peach resting on the plate in front of her, and asked softly, “That was going to be a little difficult to consummate, wouldn’t you say?”

Osborne resisted shaking his head. Why did he always find himself around women who went straight to the point? He caught Ray’s eye and saw a clear signal to keep his mouth shut. It was Lew’s turn to pass or fumble.

“As I told you, I have known Robert for many years,” said Julie. “In doing business together, we found our way back to the relationship we’d had as kids. We found that we shared a lot of the same ways of looking at things, that we really were the best of friends. That a deep, close friendship may be … what we all want most out of life.

“So …” She sighed again. “That may explain to you why I must know how and when he died and if he suffered. I must know these things.”

Julie looked down, then away at the bustling room for a brief moment, then back to the three of them.

“To answer your question, Lew …” Her hands rested palms down on the table as she looked directly into Lew’s eyes and Lew stared back at her. “I firmly believe, I know from experience, that marriage is about many things between two people. Sex may not always be first on the list.” Her voice had faltered ever so slightly as she spoke.

“You see, Robert had all this money and no family. All he really wanted in this world was love and light and life—not money. He would gladly have traded every nickel of his wealth just to have family. He wanted children. We planned to adopt. Alone, he would find it difficult; together, we could have a real family. I wanted this, too. We had all these plans…. Then, when he disappeared, I thought maybe he’d just changed his mind and didn’t have the heart to tell me.”

Suddenly, the hands that had been resting on the table dove into her lap for her paper napkin and brought it swiftly to her eyes. Pressing the napkin against her eyes with both hands, she gave a soft sob.

What happened next just broke Osborne’s heart. The sob gave way to weeping. A weeping from so deep inside the woman that he wondered if Julie had cried at all before this.

“I think she truly had hoped she might find him alive,” he said to Ray later. Osborne knew he was right. He knew now that she had stayed at the B-and-B, hoping that Robert was hiding out close by.

But at that moment in the Loon Lake Pub, all that Osborne, Lew, and Ray could do was sit there dumbfounded. Five minutes passed. During that time, Lew would periodically tear a bunch of paper napkins from the metal container and pass them across the table to Julie. When people at a neighboring booth glanced over curiously, Lew returned their glances with a stony stare. Finally, the storm eased. Julie wiped her nose and smiled wanly. “I’ll be okay,” she said.

“All right, dear,” said Lew, in a motherly tone. “You need to finish your soup. Everyone—eat lunch. We’ll talk about all this later.”

Relieved, Osborne bit into his first French fry and discovered he was famished.

As
the four of them walked out the front door of the pub after lunch, Osborne could feel his French dip sandwich hit his drowse button. That plus the fact it was nearly two, the usual time for his thirty-minute nap. Nor did it help that the April day had turned heavy and gray, a dismal bank of slate-hued clouds spreading their bad humor across Main Street, making the modest little shopping district look like a dingy used car lot.

They all paused, pulled their jackets tight to keep out the chill, thrust hands into pockets, and looked blankly at one another. Then Julie, whose color had improved one hundred percent since finishing her soup, piped up that she wanted to meet old Herman the German.

Ray immediately offered to drive her out to McNaughton to see him. “C’mon, Doc, you too.”

“Okay, okay, I know I better join you.” Osborne agreed reluctantly to go along, torn between the urge to nap or to see Herman and Marie, a sight much more significant now that he knew the history behind their relationship. He was curious to see if there was any physical resemblance between Marie and the corpse. “But I want to leave Mike in Erin’s backyard. If you don’t mind following me over there, I’ll drop off my car and drive with you.”

“Me, too,” said Julie. “Shall we take my car out to Herman’s?”

“I’d rather not,” said Ray. “If you don’t mind getting squashed in my pickup, I think Herman will be a little more relaxed if he thinks you two are with me and we just dropped in while scouting some good fishing spots. Whenever he thinks he’s helping me make a good impression on future guiding customers, he’s always a little more forthcoming.”

“Ray’s right,” said Osborne. “We should keep everything looking as normal as possible. Not,” he added, “that I think Ray’s one-door special is normal.” He winked at Julie. “You realize anyone who rides with Ray enters his truck through the window—unless he grants a special dispensation and lets you use his door.”

Lew nodded in agreement with their plan and said she needed to get back to her office to return phone calls and prepare for the meeting with Judith Benjamin at four.

“I’ve got to call the mayor after that,” she said. “We’ve got a board meeting this week, and I’m up to my ears in paperwork now that I have a confirmed ID on the Bowers body.”

“I’m planning to stay in town for another few days,” said Julie. “I have to set up some meetings with lawyers and bankers here to settle details of the estate properties located up here. How can we all best stay in touch?”

“Call me anytime,” said Lew. “Lucy on the switchboard will patch you through to wherever I am. Let’s all meet tomorrow morning back here at the pub … around eight?”

Lew motioned to Osborne as she started to walk away, and he stepped over so she could talk to him privately. “Doc, I’d like to meet with you and Ray after I see Judith Benjamin. Think you two would mind stopping by my office around seven this evening?” Osborne nodded. He found it interesting that Lew was putting a few controls on how much she wanted Julie to know.

They pulled up in front of Erin’s house, Julie and Ray following Osborne in their respective cars.

“Wow,” said Julie, stepping out of her rental car, “what a house!” She stopped and looked up, exclaiming to no one in particular: “Look at the detail in those wooden arches above the front porch and along the roofline—it’s so delicate.”

Ray overheard her as he walked toward them. “I like all the shades of cream and white,” he said, then pointed, “See how the lighter colors offset the shades of yellow and green lining the windows and the porch railings?”

Julie nodded admiringly.

“I’m glad you like it,” said Ray. “I painted all that.” “Another one of your odd jobs? In between graves?” Julie grinned.

“Yep. Last spring. I painted all the trim, and I was personally responsible for gutting the three bathrooms,” said Ray. “With some help from Erin and Mark,” he hastily added, bowing to Osborne who was about to protest, remembering well the long hours all three had put in on the project. Ray did have a talent for exaggeration, thought Osborne with some irritation. But Ray seemed to sense Osborne’s criticism, as he also said quickly, lest Julie think he was taking any other credit for the loveliness of the house, “I may not be the best carpenter, mason, or plumber around, but I can sure take a place apart.”

“I’m impressed,” said Julie. “This home is as authentic and as pretty as any I’ve ever seen in San Francisco!”

Osborne’s fatherly heart warmed at her praise but, at the same time, he was finding it a little odd that Erin had left her front door wide open. Leaving Julie and Ray to wait on the sidewalk, Osborne locked Mike into the side yard and ran up the front porch stairs. He knocked on the open door, saying loudly, “Hel-l-o-o, anybody home?”

He stepped into the living room. Cool afternoon breezes had chilled the house. But neither Erin nor the baby responded. His two elder grandchildren were in school, he knew. Their father was sure to be at his office.

“Erin?” he called again, but there was no answer. Osborne gave up. He ran back down the stairs, made sure the gate in the fence was secure, and left the dog barking in the backyard, confident Mike would quiet down after they drove off.

Julie asked about Lew as the truck bounced the back roads toward Herman’s place. Since Osborne was sitting against the door and had closed his eyes in obedience to the overwhelming sense of drowsiness that had crept over him again, Julie’s questions were directed to Ray.

“She’s one smart cookie and a hell of a fly-fisherman, not bad when it comes to muskies either,” he said to Julie. “Tough to get much past old Lew. She may know more than I do about everyone in Loon Lake.”

“I didn’t know Lew was that good a muskie fisherman,” said Osborne, surprised, even in his semialert state, at the compliment Ray paid the older woman.

“Oh-h, yes!” Ray’s eyebrows went up four notches. “She won the Hodag Muskie Festival over in Rhinelander about eight, maybe ten, years ago. Doc, you didn’t know that? Hey, she’s the one talked me into that surface Bobbie Bait doctored up with red nail polish. She swears by it! I’ve been disappointed she’s been so into fly-fishing for the last couple years. Jeez, Doc, I never told you but three, four years ago, she was one of my best leech customers for walleye. Don’t you ever tell her I said so, but Lew may be one of the best bait fishermen I’ve come across.”

“And you’re the expert,” offered Osborne with a wink at Julie.

“Damn right,” said Ray. With that, he reached behind Julie’s head for his trout hat and crammed it on his head, the top of it grazing the roof of the cramped cab.

“Ray’s the name, muskie’s my game,” he said to Julie. Osborne recognized Ray’s lead into a lengthy discourse on muskellunge and its kin, so he closed his eyes again and tried to nestle into the lumpy truck door for a quick, hopefully unnoticed, snooze.

“I know a little about fly-fishing, but muskie?” he heard Julie ask. “Aren’t those pretty big fish? What’s the biggest
you’ve
caught, Ray?”

“Fifty-two inches, thirty-three pounds. Nice fish. Mounted and manages the household.”

Julie laughed. “If I’m up here for a few days, think you’d have the time to take me out to try it?”

“How ‘bout tonight?”

“Oh. Isn’t it a little too cool and wet?” Julie’s enthusiasm suddenly grew tentative.

“This is quintessential muskie weather,” said Ray. “A little coolness in the air up top pulls the mothers up from the thermocline.”

“The what?” asked Julie.

“The thermocline—the band of water sandwiched between the upper layer, which warms during the day, and the very bottom of the lake, which remains quite cold and dark,” explained Ray. “That middle layer, the thermocline, that’s where the big boys hang out.”

“Do muskies attack people?” asked Julie.

“Once in a while,” said Ray, leading her on.

“Not in twenty years,” offered Osborne dryly from his snooze position. “Even then, the story they tell of some woman tourist dangling her toes over a diving raft and getting pulled under is an urban legend. Never happened.”

Osborne looked over Julie’s head toward Ray’s smiling, relaxed face. He wondered if this little tease over big fish could be the start of something between the two.

And then he thought of Lew’s nut-brown, intense eyes and imagined her standing tall in his fishing boat, flipping her wrist expertly as her lure arced high and far, cutting sweetly through the air, then landing with a whisper on the water.

How very interesting that she didn’t tell him she was an experienced muskie fisherman. Was this her way of letting him lead for a change? He hoped so. It was a dance he knew he would enjoy. Now he would make sure to take her out in his boat—and soon.

He wondered if she had such expert control that she could be reeling in even before that lure hit. Now, that would be something. A woman with that kind of control? He doubted she was
that
good. On the other hand, given Ray’s opinion and her fly casting technique … you never know. He’d better get some practice in before he got her in the boat. Getting upstaged in the trout stream was one thing, he’d grant her the edge there. But over his own weed bed? No sirree.

The truck sped toward Herman’s. Osborne closed his eyes against the glare of the late afternoon sun, letting the murmur of Julie’s and Ray’s voices lull him into a hazy daydream of Lew on a lake, casting, reeling, and casting again.

In the dream, Lew’s bait is taken suddenly and pulled deep, deep into the water. He watches her play the line out, then jerk her rod to set the hooks deep in the muskie’s jaw. She shifts her feet and hunches her shoulders for the fight. He’s in the boat with her, gaff and net ready. They work together: he steadying the boat as she plays the big fish. When the fish is close enough to thrash along the side of the boat, he readies the gaff to hook it with his left arm, net it with the right. “Yours!” cries Lew. The moment is right, and he stands to reach forward—

“Well, I’ll be, Herman’s expecting us.” Ray’s voice shook Osborne from his daydream as they pulled into the ruts beside Herman’s cabin. The old man was indeed standing out in the grassy area that passed for a yard. The clouds and the towering white pines that hung over Herman’s beat-up old shack made the day seem darker and later than it was. Hunks of fabric hung in his windows, and a rusted old bicycle rested against the outside wall near the front door. Osborne had first seen this shack thirty years ago, and he didn’t think a single detail had changed. Same old bike, same old raggedy curtains in the windows. Same old Herman.

Herman waved and walked slowly toward them as they piled out of the truck. It always struck Osborne whenever he first saw the old man that his skin was as black brown as the tree trunks around him. Black brown and creased even blacker.

Herman’s wasn’t a dirt like the soiled, grimy surfaces caused by food and lack of cleanliness. His was the black dirt of tilled soil from his vast truck garden. It was the dark dust that floated up from ditches that he drove through on his ancient tractor. It was a dirt permanently imbedded in his skin, maybe even his veins. Mary Lee used to threaten their kids saying, “If you don’t rub that washcloth hard, you’ll stay as dirty as old Herman the German.” It never occurred to her that Herman seemed rather happy in his dirt.

And he looked happy today, though hunching and shuffling toward them under the weight of the blackened old brown tweed overcoat he wore winter and summer, it struck Osborne the odd figure might fit Julie’s image of Rumplestilskin—or an overdressed crab. Under the grimy, green plaid Scottish golfer’s hat that he’d worn for all the years that Osborne had known him, the grizzled, rough-bearded face parted in a smile. Of course, he wasn’t wearing his teeth. Osborne grimaced and said what he always said when he greeted Herman: “All that time and money, Herman, all that time and money.”

Julie was charmed. She extended her hand to shake Herman’s and gave him a warm smile. Then she stepped back as Ray leaned down to put his arm around the old man’s shoulders.

“Herman, you old coot. You never told me you adopted Marie. I thought she was your natural daughter.”

“Hmm, ymmm.”

Ray could understand him, but Osborne couldn’t. As Herman and Ray exchanged friendly mumbles, Osborne walked Julie over to Herman’s vegetable garden. The long, raised beds had been freshly tilled, and the soil was a deep, deep black. Osborne whistled at the sight.

“You don’t see rich loam like this very often, Julie.” He knelt to grab a handful and rubbed it between his fingers. “See how fine it crumbles? Herman’s been working leaf mold into this for fifty years, I’ll bet. A number of years ago, back when I made his bridges for him, he offered to pay me in fresh corn, tomatoes, raspberries, little tiny new potatoes, and pumpkins for five years. Best deal I ever made,” said Osborne, keeping an eye on the conversation between Ray and Herman. He reached for another handful. “I’ll tell ya, this soil is pure gold.”

“This is good country, isn’t it,” said Julie quietly. Then the two of them stood and waited in silence, their hands thrust into their pockets and a crisp wind blowing against their faces.

Finally, Ray turned toward them and hollered, “C’mon, he’s gonna take us out to Marie’s place so Julie can meet her.”

They followed the old man down a well-worn path that took them west across his front yard where they passed a decrepit shed with its roof caved in. On the far side of the shed, a wooden canoe, turned upside down, rested on sawhorses. That struck Osborne as a little strange: He knew of no water close by, and the old man’s battered truck wasn’t going to pull a trailer of any kind. Someone appeared to be working on the canoe. It looked as though it had been hand-sanded and given several coats of varnish.

Now, that was very interesting: Osborne could see the boat was an antique.
Antique and valuable,
he thought, keeping his opinion to himself.