Dead Deceiver (11 page)

She didn’t strike Osborne as an academic—someone adept at the sketchy politics of university life—though he knew she had talents unique in the world of journalism. Gina was one of few journalists mathematically inclined to design the software needed to support database-driven investigative reporting. From workman’s comp to illegal processing of human tissue, she could tackle innocuous-appearing data and distill patterns both informative and damning.

“Yeah, well, I made one big mistake two months ago,” Gina’s voice came through the speakerphone, her signature staccato that made you feel like you were running to catch up instead of listening. “My appointment ran out end of December and for some crazy reason I accepted an offer to teach for another two years. I have a terrific team of grad students and our department just won a big grant from the federal government to continue developing investigative software for the FBI, CIA and NSA. Fun stuff. What are you folks up to?”

Lew waited before answering, not sure if Gina really was ready to listen—but it was a legitimate opening

“Hey,” said Lew. “If I can squeeze a few bucks out of the budget, I sure could use help from you or your students on a case I have. The FBI should have taken it—computer fraud—but they’ve blown me off saying it’s small potatoes and they’re too busy. The situation is that we have a new tech college at the mercy of a hacker or team of hackers rampaging through their system.”

“Tell me more,” said Gina.

“Thank you,” said Lew with a sigh of relief. “I would very much appreciate your feedback.” She described the disturbances Patience Schumacher was experiencing with the computers in her home and at the college. “Sound like anything your team might help us with?”

“Help you? Tell you what,” said Gina, sounding excited, “I’ve been looking for a case study like this to complete my dissertation. “Let me talk to my students—we’re meeting later today—and see what I can round up. Meantime, why don’t you see the computer tech on site at the college, someone we can coordinate with.”

“Can you let me know the approximate cost when we talk next?” asked Lew.

“Maybe nothing,” said Gina. “This could be considered research under the grants we just got. But I’ll see. Hey, I got a small favor to ask. I got the utility bill for my cabin and it is way up. Could you ask Ray to check and see if the furnace is going crazy—or maybe the pump for my well has run amok? Something is out of whack—it’s two hundred bucks over last month’s.”

“I’ll ask Ray to check it out,” said Osborne, leaning into the speakerphone.

“Thanks, Doc. Talk to you folks later.”

Setting the phone down, Lewellyn Ferris beamed up at Osborne as she said, “Case study for a dissertation? I want to see a case study that shows the goddamn Wausau boys
and
the Feds a thing or two. This may be the last time they blow me off.”

“As far as paying for Gina and her team,” said Osborne. “I’ll bet Patience Schumacher would be more than happy to subsidize their work.”

Lew’s eyes widened with happy speculation, “Doc, you are so right. I’ll touch base with Patience this morning before I try squeezing another penny here. If she’ll come through, the mayor will love me.”

Ray’s voice on Osborne’s cell phone sounded far away if not slightly slurred. “Ray, you there and okay?”

“Yeah, what?”

“I’m in Lew’s office and we just got off the phone with Gina Palmer. The last utility bill on her cabin was very high. She was hoping you could check her place out and see if something has been left on—the furnace, the water pump, something is not working right out there. Think you have time to check on that later today?”

The sound of bed covers rustling. “Doc, did you say Gina Palmer?”

“Right. Lew’s got her helping out with a computer glitch out at the tech college—we’ll be talking to her later. The sooner the better if you can manage it. Ray.”

“Lemme get over to her cottage and shee what I can do.” Again the worrisome slur.

“Thanks, hold on a second.” Osborne covered the phone with his hand as he whispered to Lew, “Think of something. I’m worried he’s drinking again. I could be wrong but—”

“Dinner. Invite him to my place for dinner tonight. Suzanne arrives this afternoon. No kids. She’s feeling pretty low. Might help both of them to know they aren’t the only one suffering. Sometimes sharing someone’s else’s pain helps you gain some perspective on your own life—know what I mean, Doc?

“And you know how Ray loves helping people out—let’s put Suzanne on his radar and see if that might change his focus a little.” Lew grinned. “It’ll certainly change hers. Those two were just a few years apart in high school and I remember at least one of Suzanne’s girlfriends had a crush on Ray. At the very least we’ll have good food and a chance for pleasant conversation that may get both their minds off their respective problems for a short time.”

“Good idea,” said Osborne, taking his hand off the phone. “Ray, Chief Ferris would like for you to come to dinner at her farm this evening. Her daughter, Suzanne, is driving up from Milwaukee and she thought it would be nice to have a few friends over. Are you free?”

“Sure.” Ray sounded surprised. “Want me to bring some walleyes?”

“Want him to bring walleyes?” said Osborne to Lew.

“No, just his gorgeous self.”

Osborne repeated the instructions only to hear Ray say, “Then I’m bringing dessert. I have an apple pie in the freezer.”

Clicking his phone off, Osborne said, “That helped. He started to sound a little better.”

“Secret to a happy life is planning ahead,” said Lew. “Now get out of here. I have things to do and places to go, Doc.”

C
HAPTER
16

O
sborne was midway through the loaf of garlic bread that he was under orders to slice and butter when the kitchen door banged open. Knocking the snow off her boots with two swift kicks as she stayed huddled in her down coat, Suzanne Ferris-Meyer barged into the room. She slammed the door shut behind her and collapsed back against it.

“O-o-o-h, Mom, it is so freezing out there,” she said pulling off her gloves. “I must be nuts to drive all this way when it’s so damn cold. I’m such a wreck.” Her shoulders slumped as she spoke. “My boss said to take a couple days off and—oh, hi,” she said suddenly spotting Osborne, who was standing near the stove and half-hidden by a pot rack hanging in the middle of the room.

She acknowledged his presence with a hint of embarrassment. She might be a grown woman but she was sounding like a little kid who needed her mother. Osborne wondered if he shouldn’t leave the room.

“Well, I am very happy you made it, and right on time for dinner,” said Lew in a cheery voice. “Coat goes on a hook right behind you on the porch. Leave your boots there, too.” She gave Osborne a glance that instructed him
not
to leave the room.

Waving her daughter towards the back porch, Lew continued tearing the lettuce for the salad, then leaned sideways to check on a large pot of water, which was close to boiling and sending tendrils of steam into the warm, well-lit kitchen.

“Sweetie, things are almost ready. We’re waiting for one more guest for dinner,” said Lew, dropping the last leaves of lettuce into a bowl and wiping her hands on her apron. “Come here, you,” she said, opening her arms to embrace the young woman.

Osborne had met Suzanne only once before. Slimmer than her mother, Suzanne was about the same height with the same coloring. But where her mother had an unruly cap of dark curls, Suzanne wore her hair long, straight and pulled into a ponytail. Her intense, dark eyes also matched Lewellyn’s, with the exception of red blotches surrounding the sockets that hinted of unrelenting tears.

She was wearing black jeans and a soft black turtleneck sweater that set off the healthy glow of her skin. In spite of the blotches around her eyes and a nose reddened from sniffles, Osborne found her to be a very attractive young woman.

“Doc, you’ve met Suzanne, haven’t you?” asked Lew, stepping back from their embrace.

“Last summer, briefly. Good to see you again, Suzanne. How are you doing? How was your drive?” Osborne set down the bread knife and extended his hand in welcome only to realize he had just said the wrong thing.

“O-o-o-h, M-o-o-m-m-m,” Suzanne wept. She dropped her overnight bag onto the floor next to the kitchen table before burying her face in her mother’s shoulder. “I’m not … I’m not …” She mumbled into Lew’s shirt.

“All right, hon, let’s step into the other room for a minute,” said Lew, patting her back.

Lew had warned Osborne to expect some drama: “But I want her to get over feeling sorry for herself. She’s done many things right in her life—but if her husband wants to leave and refuses counseling … Well, she needs realize you can’t change other people so get over it. I survived under worse circumstances so I know she can.”

“Easy to say, Lew, but I remember trying to help Mallory when she was going through her divorce. Nothing I said seemed to work.”

“I know, I know,” Lew had said with a heavy sigh. “I’m just hoping Suzanne can find herself a good therapist and a good lawyer: just be a good businesswoman and get through this with no bitterness. She’s got a well-paying job that she likes and two lovely children, she ought to be able to manage this.”

While the two women commiserated in Lew’s bedroom, Osborne finished buttering the bread, checked the pasta water to see if it was boiling yet and was happy to hear Ray stamping his feet out on the porch.

“Yo!” called a familiar voice, “anybody home? Whoa, smells like an Italian whorehouse in here. Need bread for that garlic?”

“Hurry on in and close the door,” said Osborne, feeling a rush of icy air as Ray poked his head into the kitchen. “Lew’s daughter, Suzanne, just got here. She’s in with her mother for a few minutes. Why don’t you hang your jacket on the porch and we’ll wait for the ladies.”

“Ladies with a plural? I like the sound of that.” Ray’s good spirits were a relief. He looked good, too, in a cable-knit Irish sweater the color of oatmeal and comfortably worn dark brown corduroy pants. Losing the trademark beard may not have been a bad thing as his well-shaven face emphasized his strong features and the humor in his light brown eyes.

Ray ambled over to the counter just as Lew and Suzanne returned to the kitchen. There was a moment of silence but before Osborne could open his mouth to make the introductions, Suzanne had spun around to run back towards the bedroom.

“I think she wants to freshen up a bit,” said Lew with a wink. Sure enough, minutes later Suzanne reappeared having worked some magic around her eyes: the red was gone and a nice pink flush colored her cheeks.

“Suzanne, you know Ray Pradt, don’t you?” asked Lew. “Weren’t you two in high school together?”

“I think you were two years ahead of me,” said Suzanne as she shook Ray’s hand. “I knew who you are though. We have friends in common. What I remember is you making that final basket to win the state championship. Do you remember me?”

“Umm, I’m not sure,” said Ray, studying her face. “I’ll bet you’ve changed since then.”

“Jeez, I sure hope so,” said Suzanne with a laugh. “I certainly do hope so.”

That had to come as a relief to Suzanne, thought Osborne. Lew had told him that right after graduating high school, when the paper mill had laid off workers and jobs were hard to come by in the Northwoods, to earn money for college Suzanne worked a summer as a stripper and waitress at the notorious Thunder Bay Bar. It was a job that paid well but did little for a girl’s reputation.

“Ray’s had a bad week, too,” said Lew, dumping handfuls of linguine into the pot of boiling water. “Doc and I thought the two of you might do well with a good meal and an easy evening among friends.”

Suzanne gave Ray a measured look before furrowing her brow and saying, “So, your marriage is in the toilet, too?”

Lurching back in surprise, Ray said, “Hell, no. I’m not married.”

“Then what’s your problem?” Suzanne picked up a celery stick and crunched it between her teeth. Osborne could be mistaken but she seemed to have brightened up since returning to the kitchen.

“I’d rather not discuss it,” said Ray. “Just a … bad … week.”

“Oh, okay,” said Suzanne.

“Tell you what, you two,” said Lew, “Doc and I need space here in the kitchen. So why don’t you help yourselves to something cold from the fridge and go chat in the living room until dinner is ready.”

What Lew called a “living room” was less a room than a nook: a small but warm and cozy area right beside the kitchen that held an old oak-framed leather sofa, one Mission-style rocker and a gas fireplace at the far end. Colorful rag rugs were scattered across the wood floor.

Following her mother’s suggestion, Suzanne reached into the fridge for a beer and stepped back to let Ray choose a drink. He, too, reached for a beer. Suzanne gave him a funny look then led the way to the next room.

“So, c’mon, tell me what’s haywire in
your
world,” she said as they sat side by side on the leather sofa, “I might enjoy having a partner in misery.”

Lew and Doc locked eyes, eyebrows raised. Apparently they would have no difficulty overhearing the conversation.

“No big deal,” said Ray. “I just … I didn’t get a job that I’m perfect for is all. I’m thirty-two, I’ve been working my ass off, I have no health insurance, no retirement and now no job. That’s all.”

“I see. And so why did you get that beer?”

“What difference is it to you?”

“I said I knew who you are. And I have certainly heard about your drinking. You dated Ashley Smith a few years ago—she’s a good friend of mine. She and I had lunch recently and she said she heard you’ve been recovering, going to AA and stuff. She’d like to hear from you, you know.”

“That’s not what I asked you,” said Ray. “I asked what the hell you care if I have a beer or not. You don’t know me.”

“No, I don’t. But I grew up with a dad who drank and it’s no fun. Thanks to booze, my brother ended up dead after a bar fight. You may be thirty-two with no job but you look great and—”