Dead Hot Mama (16 page)

“Sorry about that crack Mallory made a minute ago,” said Osborne, hanging back with Theurian as he flicked off the lights and locked up the ice house. “She doesn’t know about your late wife … she didn’t intend anything in bad taste.”

“No offense,” said Theurian, “but I don’t get what she’s talking about.”

“My neighbor is a man with an unusual career path,” said Osborne, anxious to keep Ray’s professional profile unblemished. “Even though he is considered by many to be the best fishing guide in the northwoods, it can be tough financially in the off-season or during spells of bad weather—so he takes on odd jobs.

“He shoots nature photos for a local calendar printer, traps leeches for several bait shops, runs a snow removal service during these winter months—and he helps out with a backhoe at the Catholic cemetery in Loon Lake.”

“Oh, yeah? Digs graves? How the heck do you do that in weather like this?” asked Theurian, hurrying along in the cold air. He was not wearing a jacket.

“It’s a challenge,” said Osborne. “But Ray doesn’t seem to mind. He made enough last summer and this fall from his grave-digging operation to buy a new ice shanty. Not quite the home away from home you’ve got, but state of the art for the average guy fishing hard water.

“You know, you really ought to come down with your daughter and let Ray fry up that fish she caught,” said Osborne. “You haven’t tasted walleye til you’ve tasted Ray’s.”

“I’d like to do that,” said Theurian, causing Osborne to nearly drop his teeth. “I’ll get directions before you leave tonight. Just myself and Lauren. She’s right, I’ve neglected the poor kid. It’s been hard since—”

“I know all about it,” said Osborne, giving Theurian an understanding pat on the shoulder as they caught up with the group nearing the dock. “I lost my wife three years ago.

“Lauren,” said Nick, as he hopped up onto the dock, “could we … would your dad mind if I took one more look at those amazing snowmobiles?”

“‘Course not,” said Lauren, veering towards the garage. “Dad, we’ll be right there.”

“I’d like a better look at those, myself,” said Ray, following the two teenagers. “Me, too,” said Osborne. “Do you mind, Dave?”

“Be my guest, boys,” said Theurian, trudging up the path towards the main house behind Lew and Mallory. “Don’t take too long, Lauren, I have friends I want you to meet.”

“Doc, you know how much these muscle sleds cost?” said Ray, rocking back on his heels in front of the Yamahas. “Take a guess.”

“Five, six thousand?” said Osborne.

“Try eighty-five hundred each. Now multiply that by four, add two Hummers and a brand-new SUV, and I kid you not—Dave is loaded big time.” Osborne wanted to poke him. Lauren was standing right there.

“Yeah, well, you think my dad spends money? She spent twenty-five thousand decorating that ice house,” said Lauren. “But I have to show receipts for every pair of jeans I buy.

“See this,” she yanked at the sleeve of an electric blue jacket hanging from a hook behind her. “She dropped fifteen hundred on this snowmobile suit and another five hundred so she could have a stupid matching helmet.” Everyone stared at the offending blue helmet resting innocently on a shelf beside the suit. “Yep, five hundred dollars for that goofy thing,” said Lauren.

“Hey, Lauren, you’re not the first person with this problem,” said Ray. “New step-people never get along. It takes time.”

“She hates my guts.”

“A machine like this will do one-twenty easy,” said Ray, pretending not to hear Lauren’s remark. “But don’t you let me catch you two going that fast. Chief Ferris’ll shove you in the slammer if you do over fifty.”

“On the lake? Can’t you go faster out there?” asked Nick. “I swear I see guys doing a hundred on my grandmother’s lake.”

“Lauren, will you be riding one of these?” asked Ray. The girl shrugged, a petulant look on her face. Osborne had a hunch she was more interested in dissing her stepmother.

“If you two take these out, I want you to be very careful,” said Ray, looking both Nick and Lauren in the eye. “Just because that lake is wide and the ice is thick does not mean it’s safe. Two cardinal rules every ice fisherman knows: One, the only vehicle you take on the lake is the one that belongs to your rich uncle—and two, whenever you do drive on ice, be sure you have your doors unlocked and your windows open.

“Same goes for snowmobiles: extreme caution.
Under all circumstances stay away from wet cracks
. If you’re going too fast to avoid one, be sure you cross at a ninety- degree angle. Better yet—stay at least thirty feet away. You hear me, Nick?”

“Even when it’s this cold? I thought everywhere was safe right now,” said the boy, disappointment vivid in his eyes.

“Not true. And of course you know to stay away from the shoreline, right? That’s where the springs are. You hit a patch of thin ice over a spring, and you’ll be minus one eighty-five-hundred-dollar Yamaha and v-e-e-r-y cold.”

“But if you do hit some wet stuff—and we all have,” said Osborne, “gun the engine. Do not slow down whatever you do, or your machine will freeze in place. Worst case is you sink, best is you can’t move. Not fun when it’s freezing cold in the middle of the night and you’re miles from help.

“I know I sound like an old geezer, kids, but the best policy is to stay on the trail. And that’s still fun.”

Lauren shivered. “I’m not riding one of those ever.”

“Oh, c’mon,” said Nick, “I was hoping you’d invite me out tomorrow.”

Lauren giggled, then her face turned serious. “I was hoping you would stay over tonight, Nick. I’m-I’m just so …” she dropped her face into her hands.

Osborne had had it. Raising two daughters had taught him a few things. He rested a hand lightly on the girl’s shoulder. “Lauren, are you doing okay?”

The girl burst into tears. Keeping her face covered, she wept deep, heaving sobs.

“Come on now, it can’t be that bad.” Osborne pulled her close, his arm around her shoulders, her face against his jacket as she sobbed. Nick and Ray looked on, speechless. Then, as quickly as she had broken down, the girl stopped weeping.

“I was in the ice house earlier than I said I was,” she managed between sniffles and fumbling in her jacket pocket for a Kleenex as she pulled away from Osborne. “My stepmother came in with this guy … she’s having an affair on my dad … I hid in the closet by the front door. She doesn’t know I was there. That’s why … that’s why I didn’t want to go to the dumb party.”

She wept again. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know—should I tell my dad? She hates me so much, she’ll say I just made it up. I know he’ll believe her. Not me.” Lauren’s hands were trembling as she wiped the tears from her cheek.

“Are you saying you saw them?” asked Ray.

Lauren nodded.

“Doing stuff?” asked Nick.

Again she nodded. “Yeah. I don’t know who the guy is—never saw him before. From the way they talked,” Lauren sniffled, calmer now, “he must do some work for her, too.”

“Lauren,” said Osborne, “if I’ve learned one thing in life, it’s that you don’t have to rush the tough decisions.”

“Doc’s right,” said Ray. “Take your time with this. It’s Christmas Eve, tomorrow’s a big day. Why don’t you just let this go until … oh, next Wednesday.”

“And don’t say anything to Dad?”

“Not until you know the right thing to say,” said Osborne. “It might help to talk it over with someone who has experience with situations like this. Chief Ferris might be able to help.”

He decided not to mention that dealing with domestic upsets and violence was the one part of her job that Lew hated. “Would you like me to arrange for you to have a chat with her?”

Lauren nodded and wiped at her nose.

“Hey, you razzbonyas!” They looked out the open garage door. Lew had stepped onto the deck and cupped her hands around her mouth to shout across the parking area towards them. “Hurry up, you’re missing the party.”

“Who
knew cutting down a Christmas tree could be life threatening?”

As Osborne strolled into the party, he heard his daughter’s voice. At the center of a group of young men and women, including Mitten Theurian, was Mallory regaling everyone with a step-by-step replay of their confrontation with Clyde.

“So there we are in the middle of nowhere, and this old guy shoots my dad in the back of the head.”

“Now Mallory,” said Osborne raising his mug of hot cider, “don’t exaggerate. Clyde knew he was far enough away that the worst I’d feel was a scattering of pellets. He had no intention of really hurting anyone.”

He smiled down at Lew who had just walked over to stand beside him. “We don’t need a good friend of Ray’s arrested for high-speed lead poisoning.”

“Arrested for
what
?” said Mitten, looking confused.

“Another term for shooting,” said Osborne.

“Oh.” As Mitten turned her head back towards Mallory, Osborne was surprised to see that even though she held a drink in one hand, she was chewing gum—not just chewing but cracking her gum with her mouth wide open.

Osborne was stunned. He could not believe this drop- dead beautiful woman with her expensive jewelry and lovely clothes would ruin it all chomping away on a hunk of junk that couldn’t cost more than a nickel. Jeez Louise! What does that tell you about a person, he thought. Jeez.

“I don’t care if he was far enough away not to hurt someone,” said one of the men listening to Mallory. “I can think of safer ways to warn someone off your land.”

“We weren’t on his land, were we, Dad? We were on state property.”

“So what the heck made him shoot at you in the first place?” said someone else in the group.

“He thought we were a couple of snowmobilers who’ve been riding down the streambeds and wrecking his beaver traps. Some blond woman cursed him out when her sled got stuck. He’s making sure it doesn’t happen again.”

“So he shoots first and asks questions later?” said one of the men. “Sounds like the Wild West out there in McNaughton.”

“Yeah, tell us again where this happened,” said one of the men. “Just so I know where not to ride. Last thing I need is a buckshot haircut.”

“Back in by Little Horsehead Lake,” said Mallory. “But the day had a happy ending. Dad survived, and we got a great tree. And old Clyde knows to be more careful. He promised Dad next time he’ll wait until he’s sure it’s the blond.”

“Well, that’s good to know,” said Lew. “Clyde and I better have a little chat.”

“Does everyone know Chief Ferris, head of the Loon Lake Police Department?” Mallory asked the people standing around.

“Sure, Chief Ferris, you won the muskie tournament a few years back,” said one of the men. “I buy my lures at Ralph’s Sporting Goods—he told me you’re more into fly fishing these days. That so?”

“I’ll never give up fishing on water,” said Lew, “but I do love the trout stream. Which is why I’ll argue Clyde’s method but not his intent.

“I don’t want snowmobiles off-trail in that region. That’s next door to my favorite spring pond where I’ve caught some magnificent wild trout thanks to Clyde. Trapping is the only way to keep those beaver from backing up the stream and muddying the pond.”

“You catch wild trout in a pond?” asked an older man who had just walked over to join the conversation. “By the way, Paul, good to see you. Been a while.” He shook Osborne’s hand, then Lew’s. “Herm Metternich.”

Osborne had been surprised to see how many people at the party he knew, most of them well-to-do retirees who had had occasion to drop into his office when needing dental work during their summer vacations. Apparently they all attended the same church: affluent, proper Episcopalians. Mitten had better restrain her gum cracking if she wanted to fit in with this crowd. Maybe she should consider chewing with her mouth closed.

“A spring pond,” said Lew, answering Metternich’s question. “It’s a headwaters for one of the better trout streams. I caught a nineteen-inch brookie last time I fished it.”

“Nineteen inches
? Whoa, I haven’t heard of a brook trout that big caught in this neck of the woods since the 1940s,” said Metternich. “I know better than to ask for directions—but may I ask what you caught it on?”

“Certainly,” said Lew. “It was mid-September, there was a midge hatch that day, and I was using a size 18 Griffith’s Gnat.”

“Nineteen inches, huh. That is hard to believe.”

“So is the fact that Wisconsin has more indigenous trout than any state in the country, thanks to spring ponds—but let’s keep that a secret.” said Lew with a grin. She sipped her cider and looked up at Osborne. “Doc, we really should head back.”

“Okay, I’ll find a place to put this,” said Osborne, indicating his mug, “and round up Ray and Nick.”

He walked over to a nearby table, looking for a good spot to set down his empty mug. The Theurians had put out a spread indeed. Cheeses of all kinds, baskets of crackers, plates of cookies. A platter of sliced tenderloin with tiny egg rolls and horseradish looked tempting, but he was still full from dinner. He found a tray of empty glasses off to the side and set down his mug.

“Doc Osborne? What the heck are you doing here?” asked a familiar voice. Osborne looked around to find himself face-to-face with Craig Kobernot, his wife at his side. Craig wore his usual jovial grin. Not Patrice; she looked tense. Osborne wondered if they had been arguing. But then he remembered. Patrice always looked unhappy.

“Howdy, Mrs. Kobernot, someone spike your cider with an anchovie?” Ray had walked up and wasn’t about to let Patrice’s dark mood go unnoticed. Osborne ducked his head so she wouldn’t see him smile.

“Well, I’ll be,” said Craig. “What’s the Loon Lake contingent doing up here?”

“Enjoying Wisconsin River highballs. And a Merry Christmas to you, neighbor,” said Ray, clinking his glass of ice water against the drink in Craig’s hand. “So Patrice, did you hear what happened to our milkman the other day?”

Patrice couldn’t have looked less interested.

“One of our lovely neighbors ordered thirty quarts of milk for her milk bath. And when the milkman asked her if she wanted that pasturized, she said ‘Oh. no—just up to my neck.”

“That’s an old joke,” said Patrice without cracking a smile.

Craig found it pretty funny.

“Do you folks go to the same church as the Theurians?” asked Osborne, anxious to divert Craig’s interest in why he and Ray were there. Since they had driven up immediately after Nick’s call, they were still in their dinner party clothes, so they looked like they belonged. He decided it would be just as well to let the Kobernots assume they had been invited.

Before Craig could answer, Mallory rushed up to grab Ray and pull him across the room into a conversation with their host. “Come over here, Ray, I’ve been telling Dave about your Hot Mama. He said he’s been looking to invest in a company that makes fishing lures.”

“Are you serious?” said Ray, following her like a lab puppy. That’s curious thought Osborne, less than an hour ago when Lauren had tried to interest him in the lure, the guy couldn’t be bothered.

Lew walked over as they left, and Patrice’s eyebrows just about hit the ceiling. “Mrs. Kobernot,” said Lew graciously. “You probably don’t recognize me out of uniform but we met the other day. Lewellyn Ferris. Nice to see you again.”

“You, too,” said Patrice, slamming a swallow from her wineglass as if she needed fortification.

“So what do you think of our new Three Lakes residents?” asked Osborne, making small talk. “Nice addition to the community.”

Patrice gave him a strange look. “What do you mean?”

“I understand Mr. Theurian is launching a new enterprise, which the town can certainly use, and Mitten is quite an attractive woman,” said Osborne.

Patrice looked like she was about to gag. “Mitten? That’s a good one.
Mitten.
You and that Ray Pradt, honest to Pete. You think you’re so damn funny.” She slammed her wineglass onto the table and huffed off.

Osborne looked at Craig. “What did I say wrong?”

“They’re sisters,” said Craig. “Around those two, trust me, you can’t say anything right. Who knows what upset her. This is a command performance for us—Patrice did not want to come in the first place.”

Osborne could guess why: Patrice was one of those women, like his late wife, who coveted things. One look around this huge, beautifully decorated lodge room, the centerpiece of what must be a million-dollar contemporary home, and it was obvious which sister had acquired the most material goods. That would rankle a woman like Patrice.

“Excuse me a moment, Doc,” said Lew. “I’m going to find a ladies’ room.”

When she was gone, Craig raised his hand and pointed his drink in the direction of Ray holding court across the room. Osborne got a whiff of whiskey.

“I don’t understand Ray Pradt,” he said, slurring his words. “Look at the jerk. His old man was an excellent physician, his brother’s a hand surgeon, his sister’s a bigshot lawyer in Chicago—they’re all successful. What the hell happened to him?”

Osborne studied the physician weaving back and forth on his feet. “I’m not sure what your point is, Craig. Ray made his choices. I know him to be a happy man. Hell of a lot happier than some people I know.”

Osborne had had enough of Craig. He wandered over to where Mallory and Ray were in a heated discussion with Dave Theurian.

“I’ll tell you, I do
not
understand ice fishing,” said Theurian with an enthusiasm that had been missing earlier. “Why go out and freeze your butt?”

“Whaddya mean ‘freeze’?” said Ray. “You’ve got a fully heated house out there.”

“You know what I’m talking about. I used to come up here with Lauren’s grandfather, and he’d make me go drill those damn holes, scoop that freezing water, stand out there when it’s forty below zero. Shoot, every time you catch a fish your fingers fall off. That’s no fun.”

“Anybody
can fish when it’s seventy degrees and sunny,” said Ray. “Ice fishing’s a challenge. Some of us enjoy doing things the hard way. Sure, it can be a little uncomfortable—but worth it. The fish taste great. The air, the landscape, it’s just … pure. You come back after a cold night on the lake, the stars are brilliant, the moon so high and full. You crawl under those warm blankets, let your dogs cuddle in. I tell you winter is heaven.”

“You sleep with your dogs?” Mallory was appalled.

“Well, they aren’t all dogs,” said Ray with a wink. “So, Dave, what’s this new business of yours?”

“Cement,” said Theurian.

“Oh,” said Ray, “construction?”

“Basically,” said Theurian. “Would you excuse me, I need a refill.” He walked off just as Nick appeared.

“Ray, Doc, c’mon downstairs. You’ve got to see the setup Lauren’s old man has for deer hunting. It’s unbelievable.”

“Another time, Nick,” said Osborne. “Chief Ferris is due back in a minute, and we have to get going.” The boy’s face fell. “Well, okay, we can take two minutes,” said Osborne.

The room they walked into was long, narrow, and bright with fluorescent lighting. Sliding glass doors opened to the outside along one wall, two long steel tables were situated down the center of the room, and a series of drains were set into the dark ceramic tile floor. Opposite the sliding glass doors was a wall of industrial refrigerators and deep, steel-sided sinks.

The room resembled a veterinary clinic. It smelled of antiseptic and something else that Osborne couldn’t quite place.

“A hunter’s delight,” said Ray, pulling open a drawer in one of the long tables. Knives gleamed under the fluorescent lights. “With a setup like this, I bet I could skin and butcher a deer in fifteen minutes.”

“We’ll have to compete,” said a throaty voice from the doorway. Mitten Theurian stood there, drink in hand, still chewing away.

“What’s your name, anyway,” she said to Ray as she sauntered into the room. “I noticed you earlier. And where did you get those gorgeous finger-in-the-socket curls?”

Ah, the woman can flirt and chew simultaneously, thought Osborne. Now that takes talent.

Ray walked over to peer outside, then stared down at the floor. “You bring the carcass in through here, I take it.”

“Right through those doors,” said Mitten, snapping her gum. “Dave got an eight-buck over Thanksgiving. We had friends up who shot two doe and a small buck—butchered, wrapped, and frozen before supper.”

Ray headed towards the wall of refrigerators. Mitten stepped forward just as he reached for one of the door handles, causing his hand to brush across her bosom instead of grasping the handle.

“Ohmygosh—excuse me,” said Ray turning bright red. For all his bad jokes, Ray was not a total boor.

“Excuse
me,”
said Mitten, “my fault.” She positioned herself between Ray and the refrigerators. “We keep our venison over here,” she gestured towards one long unit, “and the other I use for my berries.”

She snapped her gum. “I l-o-o-ve to pick berries. This fall I put up blackberries, strawberries, blueberries.”

“Any thimbleberries?” said Ray, his face shading down slowly.

“No, I’ve never picked a thimbleberry. Maybe you’d take me … and Dave sometime.”

“We could do that,” said Ray.

Mitten turned to Nick and Lauren, who were standing behind Osborne. “Lauren, honey, you tell me next time you want to bring your friends down here. Will you? I try to keep it locked. This is my special little workroom, and I don’t always have it quite so neat and clean. I don’t know why it was unlocked tonight.”

“We have to get going,” said Osborne. “Very nice meeting you this evening, Mrs. Theurian.” As they headed towards the door to go back upstairs, Mitten took up the rear, pausing near the door to open a small garbage can with her foot and spit out her gum. Holding the lid of the can open, she reached into a pocket in her skirt for another stick of gum, unwrapped it, and shoved it into her mouth.