Dead Rapunzel (12 page)

Judith shrugged him off as if he were a mosquito.

“To answer Kenzie's very good question,” she said, “we start by cooperating with Chief Ferris.” She looked over at Tim. “Which means you now have every reason to change those flights.”

Ignoring her comment, Tim turned on his heel and started for the kitchen. Midway, he paused in front of one of the armchairs to stare down at Kenzie, who hunched her shoulders, cowering as she avoided his eyes. Without a word, Tim continued into the kitchen, with Vern following behind him.

Osborne knew he was being unkind, unfair, and unprofessional, but two words popped into his mind every time he looked at Tim Tomlinson:
malevolent bastard
.

“Thank you, Judith,” said Lew, getting up from the sofa. As she stood up, she bumped Osborne's right elbow, causing him to spill coffee from the cup he had just picked up.

“Uh-oh,” said Osborne. “Kenzie, paper towels? Afraid I just spilled coffee on your wood floor.”

“Under the sink, Dr. Osborne,” said Kenzie, who had walked over to Mallory and Judith as soon as Tim left the room. She was holding an iPad and Osborne heard her say, “Judith, I want to show you something. I posted this great picture of me and Greg from our wedding—it's on Facebook. It's got all our family in it and I've tagged everyone . . . ”

While she was talking, Osborne hurried to the kitchen. When he got there, the room was empty. Vern and Tim had stepped outside onto the deck where Vern was having a cigarette. Though their voices were muffled as if they were deliberately keeping them low, he heard Vern say, “Goddammit, Tim, I thought you said your lawyer succeeded in reversing the terms of Philip's trust.”

“That's what he told me,” said Tim. “Two weeks ago he said it was a done deal, that we'd get it all back.”

“Doesn't sound like it this morning.”

“Maybe laws in Bonaire are different,” said Tim. “Maybe he's still working on it.”

“Maybe it's too goddamn late,” said Vern, spitting out the words. He threw his cigarette into the snow. As he yanked open the back-porch door, Osborne knelt to search under the sink where he grabbed a roll of paper towels.

The two men walked back into the kitchen, both looking down as they stomped the snow off the their boots. Neither paid attention to Osborne as he stood up with paper towels in hand. “Coffee spill,” he said, excusing his presence.

Twenty minutes later, as Osborne, Lew, Judith, and Mallory went to their cars, Lew stopped Judith. “So, you
do
have life insurance, don't you? I've been worried that you might be our next victim.”

“Oh, I hadn't thought of that . . . Yes, I see what you mean. Since I've known for weeks now that Rudd's money would go to the museum, I never thought anyone would think that
I
was her heir. Pretty weird assumption if you ask me.

“But now the entire family has an incentive to cooperate with your investigation, so who knows what will surface. I couldn't mention anything about the trust last night because I didn't know for sure that as executor I would have the authority to sign it over. Then early this morning I had a call from the lawyer with the trust division. He gave me that assurance.”

“Judith, Doc and I are going over to the house right now. I have Bruce Peters from the crime lab due to meet us there. My hope is that we can finish our investigation of the property and the main house by late today. I know you would appreciate being able to work from there. It shouldn't take too long.”

Minutes later, as he climbed into Lew's cruiser, Osborne said, “I heard something interesting when I went into the kitchen to get paper towels, Lew.”

“The whole morning was interesting,” said Lew as she turned the ignition, then looked over at him while the engine warmed up. “Doc, what do you call a cluster of spiders? A coven?”

“That's witches.”

“Close enough,” she shrugged. “What a crew. So, Doc, what did you hear?”

“Tim and Vern were having a cigarette out on the back porch and Vern was upset,” said Osborne.

“Vern? If anyone should be upset it's his daughter-in-law. That rude remark of his to Kenzie was uncalled for. Poor girl.”

“Vern accused Tim of lying about the estate. Apparently Tim had told him that he'd hired a lawyer who could challenge the terms of Rudd's inheritance and return the entire Tomlinson estate—money and land—to the family. Until this morning, Vern thought that was the case. But either Tim never got the bad news from his lawyer or he neglected to tell Vern that it wasn't going to happen.”

Lew snorted. “What's the old joke? Have you ever heard a lawyer say they couldn't win a case?”

Osborne chuckled as she pulled onto the road heading back toward Rudd's home.

“Still, that's very interesting, Doc. Vern and Tim, huh. Makes you wonder what they're up to.”

Glancing into her rearview mirror, Lew saw a black Jeep following her cruiser. It looked like one of the cars that had been parked in front of Kenzie and Greg's home when they had arrived earlier. But Loon Lake had a lot of black Jeeps, so she didn't think twice about it.

As Lew punched the code to the gate at Rudd's driveway, her cell phone rang. Raising it to her ear, a sudden movement in the rearview mirror caught her eye. The Jeep had pulled in right behind her. Tim Tomlinson was behind the wheel.

“Yes, Todd?” Her cell phone to her ear, Lew turned off the ignition and waited.

“Chief, we got an ice fisherman missing. I've called in the county dive-rescue team, but I think you need to know who it is—Chip Dietz.”

“Uh-oh,” said Lew. “Todd, Doc Osborne is right here with me. I'm putting you on speaker.”

“Sure,” said the officer.

“You mean that young kid who washes dishes at the Grizzly Bear Café?”

“His mom reported him missing late last night when he didn't come home from fishing. She said he fishes every night after work, but he likes to be home by nine o'clock. She didn't call dispatch until this morning, kept hoping he'd spent the night at his girlfriend's, but when he didn't show up for work—”

“Hold on, Todd, I've got someone waving at me here.”

After motioning for Osborne to stay in the car, Lew opened her door and said, “Mr. Tomlinson, hold on a minute, will you? I'm dealing with an emergency.” She closed the door before saying, “Okay, Todd. So the dive rescue guys are working this?”

“Yes. I'm here with them on Moen Lake—over by the big boulder with the flag marker—you know, the spot where everyone fishes off the sandbar. No sign of the kid, but all his gear is here. We're pretty sure he fell in.”

“Fell?”

“Yeah, slipped on the ice maybe?”

Osborne saw doubt cross Lew's face. He shook his head. This did not sound good.

“I'll call the minute I know more,” said Todd.

“Probably too late with all the divers there, but do your best to secure the area, will you? I don't think for a minute that the kid fell in.”

“Gotcha, Chief.”

Lew closed her phone and stared straight ahead as she said, “How is it that the only witness who saw someone who may have pushed Rudd Tomlinson has just disappeared? When was the last time an ice fisherman fell through the ice, Doc?”

Osborne and Lew got out of the car. “All right, Tim. What is your problem, because we have work to do here before I have time for you—”

“That's not why I'm here,” said Tim, shivering in his sweater as he gestured toward the winged entry to the Tomlinson house. He had left Kenzie's house without pulling on a jacket.

“I have a box in there. It would have been delivered two days ago and it has all my recent paintings. I need it for my trip so I'll just run in and pick it up—”

“No,” said Lew. “I thought I made it clear that nothing leaves this house until it has been thoroughly searched. That includes garbage and mail. I have your cell number and I will call you when we're done.”

She turned to walk toward the entrance, with Tim following like an anxious dog. “But it's
my
box.” It had been a long time since Osborne had seen a grown man about to cry.

“Is it addressed to you?”

“No, but Rudd knew I was sending it in her care. She said the museum might have a gift shop and she would consider carrying my paintings in the shop. Now I need to pack those for my trip.”

While Tim was talking, two vehicles entered through the open gate and pulled into the driveway beside Lew's cruiser: Ray's battered blue pickup with its rusty winter topper on it and Bruce Peters's white SUV with Wausau Crime Lab lettered along the sides.

“Hold on, Ray,” said Lew as Ray jumped from the pickup and hurried toward where Lew and Osborne were standing. “Taking care of an issue here. Do you know Tim Tomlinson?” She gestured toward the shivering man.

“Yo, man,” said Ray, “haven't seen you since my dad and I went fishing with you and your old man back in the day. How's it goin'?” Tim shrugged off the question with a fierce look at Lew.

“Now, Tim, since I've recommended that you change your flight—getting the box back later shouldn't be a problem.”

Tim's face reddened. He turned and started back to the Jeep, slipping sideways on the icy surface. Reaching to open the car door, he paused and turned around. “Something you should know, Chief Ferris. Kenzie pushed our mother down the stairs—that was no accident.”

Lew studied the man's face for a long moment before she said, “Thank you, Tim. I'll check the police report on your mother's accident. I wasn't on the force then, but I'm sure our former chief conducted a comprehensive investigation.”

“You won't find it in the report. Kenzie was the only one in the house when Mother fell. And she lied. She's always lied. She's schizophrenic, you know. She does weird stuff. Always has.”

“We'll discuss that later. Right now Dr. Osborne and I have official business to take of, so
please
—go back to your family.”

“Hey, now,” said Ray, watching as Tim spun the tires on the Jeep. “There's a guy looks like he strangles deer.” Lew shook her head and unlocked the front entry to the house.

Over the next three hours, Bruce took sets of fingerprints throughout the house as well as photographs of the interior—rooms, shelves, closets, and the kitchen cabinets. The fingerprints would be analyzed to see if there were any that did not match people, like Rudd Tomlinson, who were expected to be in the house on a regular basis.

During that time, Ray explored the property right around the house, checking for any signs of attempted entry or unusual patterns of footprints. He also shot photos of the interior of the four-car garage and lawn storage shed.

Starting on the second level, Lew and Osborne went through Rudd's personal belongings as well as all the contents of the master bedroom and bath, the three unused guest bedrooms, the library, a den that was used as an office, and the kitchen and living room areas. They kept an eye out for anything that seemed out of place, especially in Rudd's office.

“Well, so much for that,” said Lew as the afternoon wound down. “If there is anything to be found we don't seem able to do so.”

All that remained to be searched at that point was the large, four-foot-by-four-foot cardboard box that was so important to Tim. With help from Osborne, Lew sliced open the box, pulled the flaps back, and peered in. She could see what appeared to be picture frames protected with Bubble Wrap and neatly stacked side by side.

“Before we pull these out, I'd like to have Judith take a look,” said Lew. “Since she's familiar with the plans for the museum, she may know Rudd's reason for having Tim ship his paintings to her. It doesn't sound right to me.”

“And he's so worried about it,” said Osborne.

Twenty minutes later, Judith and Mallory walked into the foyer of the house just as Ray and Bruce finished their searches.

“Ah, if it isn't my Picture Lady,” said Ray with one of his most engaging grins. Uh-oh, thought Osborne, who had watched more than one intelligent woman, Mallory included, succumb to Ray's charm. He knew what was coming next . . .

Sure enough, Ray curled the upper-right corner of his lip and let go with a soft trill ending in ‘tyeep.' Judith blushed. Mallory rolled her eyes.

“I know that one—spring robin!” said Bruce, bushy eyebrows bouncing with delight. Bruce might have been masterful at scouting crime scenes, but the tall man with the hyper eyebrows, full head of curly black hair, and black moustache to match, was a kindergartner at heart.

Osborne swore there were two reasons Lew could always lure Bruce north to help with an investigation: one, he wanted her expert advice on his casting; two, he could never get over how a man wearing a fish on his head could get hired as a deputy by the Loon Lake Police. Bruce also knew not to ask too many questions.

For Lew, giving advice to a budding and overly enthusiastic fly-fisherman was a welcome relief from dealing with his superiors. “Dear Lord, please spare me those Wausau boys” had been her lament before Bruce joined the crime lab. The director had openly sneered when Lew was promoted to chief.

“Women do not belong in combat or on patrol,” the jerk had said to Lew's face the first time she had to work with him. “I'll do what I have to for your officers, but don't expect me to excuse your mistakes, Lewellyn.”

To this day, Lew was sure he was chagrined that she had not made any awful “mistakes.” And he had no clue as to how she succeeded in snagging Bruce to help on her cases. The answer was easy: fly-fishing. As long as she supplied Bruce with insight and casting tips, his cooperation was guaranteed. Not even winter with its hard water got in the way, as Bruce was learning to tie his own trout flies, and again he needed the same advice from Lew that an aspiring cook needs from a blue-ribbon chef. Today would be no different.