Dead Renegade (4 page)

The sight of Mason with her cap of dark brown hair and face tanned nut-brown by the summer sun never failed to remind Osborne of his own mother, who had died when he was six.

He kept a photo of Mason’s great-grandmother on his dresser—a picture taken by the man who had loved her. In the picture she sat, knees tucked under a light summer dress on a blanket laid for a picnic. Every time Osborne let his gaze linger on that photo—his mother’s easy smile, her even, white teeth, the strands of dark hair loosened from her bun to blow in a summer breeze—he saw the woman Mason would be someday.

Of all his grandchildren, she was the only one who had inherited the warm, brown skin and the black-brown eyes so similar to his own: evidence of his mother’s Metis heritage. Each year the high cheekbones and the broad forehead grew more pronounced in the young girl. Each year her grandfather let his hands rest longer on her shoulders. So long as he lived he would be there for her no matter her mistakes.

Right now, those shoulders were hunched as she leaned into the woman beside her. Leaned as if she would hide if she could. Well, thought Osborne, Mason
is
the one kid in Erin’s household you can count on for surprises. Wonder what the little rascal has been up to this time?

If he had to guess, he would bet she’d been caught setting off firecrackers—the tiny red ones kids always seem to find even though they’re illegal—but a quick scan of the sitting child indicated Mason had all her appendages, no obvious injuries and no blood in sight. Whatever it was couldn’t be too serious.

“Oh, jeez, Dad,” Erin muttered under her breath as she hurried along the sidewalk behind him. “What’s Mason done now?” In a louder voice she called out to the group on the porch: “Hey, sorry to be late, guys. I’ll have lunch ready in a few minutes. Beth, you keep an eye on Cody.”

Beth threw her mother a look of disgust, “M-o-o-m, what do you think I’ve been doing all morning.” The cell phone never left her ear.

As Osborne made his way up the porch steps—squeezing between Cody and Ben and hoping not to get a beach ball in the head—the young woman next to Mason got to her feet.

“Hi, I’m C.J. Calverson,” she said, brushing at strands of hair that had come loose from her ponytail before extending her right hand. The running shorts and tank top exposed the curves of an athlete: upper arms muscled, calves defined, a strong torso. Osborne guessed she couldn’t be much over twenty.

“Are you Mason’s father?” she asked, worry in her voice.

“No, I’m her grandfather, Dr. Paul Osborne. This is her mother,” said Osborne, beckoning towards Erin.

Mason burst into tears.

“Oh, golly, what’s wrong, kiddo?” asked Osborne, bending over to peer into the tear-stained face. Erin pushed her way in beside him.

“Mason,” said her mother, “Are you hurt? What happened?” Erin turned sideways. “Beth, what’s the story here? I left you in charge. Get off the damn phone!”

Beth shrugged and closed her cell phone. “They just got here, Mom. Mason wouldn’t tell me anything.”

“I found her hiding in my garage,” said the woman, extending her hand this time to Erin. “C.J. Calverson.”

“Erin Stiles,” said Erin, giving the woman’s hand a quick shake before turning back to her daughter. “
Hiding in a garage?
What on earth? Mason, tell me what happened.”

Osborne stepped up onto the wide porch area and out of Erin’s way. Mason shook her head ‘no’ as she kept sobbing.

“She’s been like this since I found her about an hour ago,” said C.J. with an expression as perplexed as Erin’s. “At first she wouldn’t even tell me her name or where she lived. I sure hope you don’t mind that I made her come in my kitchen and have a cookie and a glass of orange juice. I just wanted her to settle down a little …”

“Oh, that’s okay,” Erin said, as she stood up, pulled Mason to her feet and hugged her close before turning back to C.J. “Where did you say you live?”

“Right up the street,” said C.J. pointing off to the left. “We’re in the process of moving in to that house on the corner—the one kiddie-corner from the court house.”

“You mean the old Daniels’ place?” said Erin, “that large stucco with the cupola?”

“Yes. We have a summer home on Stone Lake, too. That’s where we’re staying right now. I had just come to town to pick up some boxes the movers left when I found your daughter.”

C.J.’s eyes took on the worried look again, “I tell you, this little girl was shaking she was so scared.” She reached over to pat Mason’s head. “I’ve never seen a kid so frightened. Took a while to get her to calm down enough to tell me where she lived.”

“Really,” said Erin, tipping Mason’s tear-stained face up to wipe at her cheeks with a Kleenex. “Mason, honey?” Erin grasped her daughter by the shoulders and tried to make eye contact, but Mason looked down and away. “Won’t you tell us what’s wrong? Something must have happened. You don’t just hide in people’s garages.”

“No, Mom, really,” said Mason, pulling away with a shrug. “I’m okay.” She took another Kleenex from her mother and blew her nose while Erin rubbed her shoulders.

“I can see you’re
okay
, hon—but that’s not what I asked,” said Erin. Mason swung her head back and forth, still refusing to answer. She handed the used Kleenex back to her mother and said, “Can I go play with Cody and Ben ‘til lunch?”

“Alright—but we are talking later. You hear me?”

“Um-hmm,” said Mason as she skipped down the porch steps and scooted towards the back yard with Cody and Ben right behind her.

“That didn’t sound too convincing,” said Osborne.

Erin watched her go then turned towards C.J. and Osborne. “Dad, you’ll stay for lunch, won’t you? And, C.J., how about you? Egg salad sandwiches …” Erin beckoned towards the front door.

C.J. checked her watch. “I’m afraid Curt is expecting me back at the lake—”

Erin gave her a quizzical look: “You don’t mean Curt Calverson, the CEO of Calverson Finance, do you? Is he your father?”

“My husband.”

“Oh!” Erin couldn’t hide the surprise in her voice.

“We’ve just been married a few months,” said C.J.

“Oh. Well, I’m sorry to sound so surprised but I happened to be reading about your husband the other day and I assumed—”

“Right, he’s a lot older,” said C.J. “We met last year. I was his personal trainer.” She gave a rueful grin. “Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“Hey, that’s okay, whatever works,” said Erin, suddenly so friendly Osborne knew she was up to something. “So you’re pretty new in town, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, gee, I’ve only been here two weeks. Except for the clerks at the grocery store, I really haven’t met many people.” The girl sounded wistful.

The slamming of a car door prompted everyone to glance back to the street where a long, lean figure in knee-length khaki shorts and a beard resembling an exploded spaniel was emerging from a battered blue pickup truck. “Yo,” called out a deep voice from somewhere within the beard, “don’t anyone move!”

He reached into the bed of the truck for an object that he stuck onto his head, then took a moment to check his reflection in the truck window. Satisfied with the jaunty angle of his headpiece, he reached into the truck bed once more. This time he straightened up with yet another prize dangling from his arm: a very long, narrow fish. Still twitching.

Walking around the back end of the truck with the fish held high, he started across Erin’s front lawn towards the porch.

“No, you don’t, Ray,” said Erin in a loud, firm voice. “You stop right there. That muskie is dripping blood all over the place and I do not want it on my porch.”

The man paused, chagrin on his face, “but this is a monster mount, Erin—fifty-one inches! I gotta show the kids—”

“Dr. Osborne,” said C.J. in a low whisper from where she stood beside Osborne, “what on earth does that man have on his head?”

CHAPTER
7

C
.J. giggled, cupping her right hand over her mouth as she tried to eat her egg salad sandwich without spitting. Osborne caught a glance from Erin that confirmed they were both aware that C.J.’s need to catch up with her husband appeared to have vanished with the arrival of a six-foot-six thirty-two-year-old wearing a stuffed trout on his head.

Osborne shook his head as he always did while watching Ray charm the females: who knew that a man who walked with the grace of an accordion folding and unfolding could be so attractive to women? Was it the little kid smile on the face of the grown man? A smile that made you think the sun had just come out—just for you and him? Or was it simply Ray’s delight in being alive at this moment?

Whatever it was worked on women of all ages, ethnic origins, sizes, and marital statuses—from bait shop clerks to heiresses to women of faith. Yep, even the nuns at St. Mary’s adored the guy.

“So where can I buy a hat like that?” asked C.J., wiping her mouth with her napkin, “I know somebody who’d love one.”

“Well … you can’t buy one,” said Ray as he reached for a handful of black olives and baby carrots from the relish plate that Erin had set in the middle of the kitchen table. “A friend made it for me. Margaret Taggert … a grand gal who passed away a couple years ago … and
that
is too bad. I’ve had l-o-o-ts of people ask me where they can get a hat just like mine. I tell ya … Margaret could have made a few bucks. “

The hat in question was currently resting just above eye level on Cody’s head, Cody having appointed himself the hat’s official custodian upon any visit of Ray’s to their home—an appointment that usually led to protests from Mason. But Mason had not objected today. Used to the kids’ bickering, Osborne found that odd.

At the moment, Cody sported the summer version of the worn leather cap: ear flaps tucked up so that the head and tail of the fish protruded so far over his ears that the hat was in danger of taking up an extra place at the kitchen table. Under the kitchen lights, the antique wood and metal fishing lure draped across the breast of the stuffed trout sparkled as brightly as C.J.’s eyes every time she stole a glance at Ray.

“So, Ray, just how old was Margaret Taggert before she passed away?” Osborne asked.

“Ninety-two. Both Margaret and old Ike were ninety-two. Margaret … died first and Ike … just twenty hours later. Hard to believe, y’know. But old Ike … he was in the nursing home when he was told she’d gone to heaven, and that was that. They were a pair those two—raised green beans, tomatoes,

Brussels sprouts and sweet peas right up until the end. A real love story …”

“Ray drove the Taggerts to town for all their doctor visits,” said Osborne in answer to the quizzical look on C.J.’s face. “Margaret came up with the idea for that hat all on her own—she knew what would make this razzbonya happy.”

“You drove two elderly people in that rattletrap pickup?” C.J. looked horrified.

“I wish,” said Osborne with a rueful grin. “Ray lives next door to me so when they needed a ride, he would borrow my car. The more I think about it—I’m the one who deserved the hat.” He gave Ray a look of mock anger. The conversation was lifting his spirits in spite of his concern over Lew’s millionaire homebuilder.

“All right, you two, stop the squabbling and finish up,” said Erin as she started to clear the table. “Cody, give Ray back his hat.”

“Hey, Cody,” said Ray as he reached for his hat, “what did the one wood tick say to the other wood tick?”

Cody grinned and shook his head, “I dunno.”

“Shall we walk or take a fisherman?” Cody gave Ray a blank stare. Mason giggled, Beth looked bored and C.J. stared at Ray for a long moment before chuckling.

“Oh-h-h, no,” groaned Erin. “You can do better than that.”

Lifting an eyebrow, Ray leaned sideways towards Beth. “So, young lady,” he said, “I hear you’re about to turn thirteen. I assume your mom has told you the secret to safe sex—”

“Ray …” Erin did not smile. “Do not be inappropriate.”

“You’re the one who wants a better joke.”

“Beth, Cody, Mason, leave the kitchen. Out!” said their mother. With reluctance, the kids got to their feet. A push from their mother got them out of the kitchen through the door to the backyard.