Dead Water (33 page)

Hank’s face hardened as she spoke. “Yeah, that was a slip. But if Gina hadn’t opened the ATF files, you would never have caught that.”

“You also mailed a letter to Ashley using the postage meter at Ralph’s Sporting Goods. Very few people have access to that, Hank. He told me it was you who used the meter for the invitations to the T.U. banquet. It might have taken a few more days, but I would have found you.”

“Not until I was long gone. The minute I knew Ashley was heading this way, I made plans to leave. You’re just helping me on my way.”

“Bottom line here,” said Ray, still standing with his scoop of corn, “is Sandy Herre does someone a favor and gets her brains blown into the pine trees. Jeez.”

“Hey, you wanted to know,” said Hank. He walked toward the door but stopped at the long front window to look out. “Gina, Ray, out the door with that corn. I want to see you go out the door and walk slowly down the path to the deer feeder. I can see you every step of the way through these windows, so don’t think you can run for it.”

“Third feeder, right? The one way back,” said Ray.

“Funny,” said Hank. He cocked his head at Ray. “You don’t believe I’m as good as I am, do you? Okay, wise guy, third feeder. Now get going.”

Gina held her scoop full of corn in both hands. She was still trembling. Eyes on the floor, she whispered as she started for the door, “I’m sorry, everyone. I am so sorry.” Ray reached behind her to push open the door.

Then they were outside, the door slamming shut behind them. Osborne watched them pass by the window toward the feeder. Hank stepped nimbly across the room. He seemed lighter on his feet, as if ready to congratulate himself on a job well done. He paused to watch the two figures move down the path toward the feeders. He tucked the rifle stock into his shoulder. The scope was still below eye level.

He chuckled as he waited. “I have a name for this, you know….”

Osborne and Lew said nothing. Gina’s pistol lay on the floor between them, hidden from Hank’s eyes by the base of the desk. A quick glance from Lew told Osborne she was

going for it. Good, she was better with a pistol. He knew what he had to do.

In the next few seconds, he had to make the move that would divert Hank. He tensed, listening for the right moment. The second deer feeder was about 300 feet from the building, the third feeder another 100 feet. He could hear the footsteps move farther and farther away.

“I call this Northwoods Roulette,” Hank was saying. “Who do you think I’ll take out first—”

“No question,” said Osborne. “Ray.”

“You are so right.” Hank grinned and raised the scope to his eye.

“No!” Nick screamed, his body flying through the air just as Osborne shoved the conference table into Hank as Hank swung and fired at Nick.

Lew had the .38 up and firing. Hank went down.

Osborne leaped for Nick. So much blood was spurting, at first he couldn’t tell where the boy took the bullet. He pressed his fingers against Nick’s neck for a pulse. If only Nick had jumped one millisecond sooner or later. Hank had shot high and wide, stunned by Osborne’s move.

“Son of a bitch,” said Lew. She stood over Hank long enough to be sure he wasn’t moving. “He’s gone, Doc.”

“Good. I need your help here.”

Osborne looked up at her from where he knelt over Nick. The blood was gushing from his leg. Lew yanked her belt off and handed it to Osborne.

“Just lie still, Nick,” he said as he pulled it tight. “Don’t move.”

He heard Ray and Gina burst through the door. And in the distance, the sound of sirens.

“Ray!” shouted Osborne. “Get to that ambulance. Tell them to call ahead for an operating room. It’s an artery. Tell them we need a vascular surgeon.” Ray had stopped short at the sight of Nick, surprise and fear flooding his face. He turned and ran to do exactly as Osborne ordered.

Nick, still conscious but very pale, looked up at Osborne. “Is Ray okay?” he whispered weakly.

“He’s fine, son. Not another word.” Osborne held the belt tight.

“Nick,” said Lew softly, kneeling over him. “You’ll be okay but you must stay very still. Don’t you worry, kid. You’ll be okay.”

Though her voice was confident, her eyes searched Osborne’s for an answer.

thirty-seven

“A lake is the landscape’s most beautiful and expressive feature. It is the earth’s eye; looking into which the beholder measures the depth of his own nature.”

Henry David Thoreau

Ray
rode with Nick in the ambulance. Osborne, Zenner, and Gina piled into Lew’s cruiser. No one spoke as Lew took the lead, siren screaming. Cars pulled off on both sides of the road as they flew into town. Osborne and Zenner leaped from the car even before it had come to a complete stop at the emergency room entrance. They watched anxiously as the EMTs pulled Nick from the ambulance. He was still conscious.

As four pairs of hands shifted him gently from the stretcher onto the emergency gurney, Nick looked up at Ray. Osborne could barely make out his whisper: “Are you staying?”

“Better believe it, kid,” Osborne heard Ray say. “Don’t you worry, you’re gonna be fine. Now in you go with the docs here. I’m going to call your mother—”

“Ray.” Osborne stepped forward. “You stay with Nick. I’ll call Elise.”

“Doc,” said Lew, running over from where she had parked, “if everything is under control, I’ll leave you and Zenner here. I’m heading back to Wildwood. I have my hands full out there.”

An hour later, Ray walked slowly into the emergency waiting room. He walked so slowly that Osborne broke off his conversation with Gina and Zenner to watch his friend. Something was wrong. Ray’s shoulders were slumped more than ever. A slackness in his features made him look like he was about to cry.

“Ray? What is it?” asked Osborne. “I heard they stopped the bleeding, that his leg would be okay.” Zenner sat up straight in the chair beside him, silent and alarmed.

“Did something go wrong?” asked Zenner in a small voice.

“No. Yes. In a way,” said Ray. He sat back in one of the waiting room chairs and dropped his hands in his lap. Looking at the three anxious faces, he waved one hand weakly. “No, don’t worry about Nick. The bullet went through the calf muscle and nicked an artery. He lost a lot of blood, but he’ll be fine. The leg will be fine.” Ray rubbed his forehead. “He’ll be out of here in three days.”

Osborne leaned forward and extended his hand to pat Ray’s knee. “You’re not telling us something, Ray. What is it?”

“Nothing. I’m just tired. I’m wiped,” said Ray. He stood up. “I better check on the paperwork.” He started off toward the admitting desk. Osborne jumped up to follow him.

“Ray, wait.” He pulled him aside, dropping his voice so no one could hear. “Something is wrong. What is it?”

Ray paused. He looked at Osborne with a soft smile. “Nick needed a transfusion and you know how they always ask the family to give blood….”

“Right.”

“Well, Patricia Flynn was the nurse who hooked me up. Her brother is a buddy, y’know. I told her if they needed more blood right away, they could use mine because …”

“Right, because he’s your son.”

“But when she took the bag back to the lab, they told her that I’m Type O and Nick is …”

“No match.”

“You got it, Doc. And Nick has no idea. He, um …” Ray squeezed his eyes shut before continuing, “Doc, he held my hand and called me ‘Dad’ as they took him into surgery.” A tear drifted down Ray’s cheek. “So now what do I do, Doc? What the hell do I do?”

“First, consider the fact you flunk biology, Ray.” Osborne spoke gently. “It’s a common misconception but blood type is no proof of paternity. That’s why DNA testing is used today.”

At the look of relief on Ray’s face, Osborne knew he had to come clean.

“I have something to add to that,” said Osborne. “You may be very angry about this but Lew and I … well, we felt Elise was taking advantage of you so we arranged for a DNA testing of you and Nick.”

“You did? How?” Ray looked stunned.

Osborne told him.

“And the results?” asked Ray when he had finished.

“Not in yet.”

“You’ll call me when you hear….”

“Absolutely … I’m sorry if this upsets you.”

“Eh,” Ray waved a hand as he started to walk away, “I don’t know what I feel, Doc. I need to think about it.”

Saturday morning Osborne woke grateful. He lay still so as not to wake the dog, still snoring on the rug beside the bed. Sunlight and the scents of a young summer poured in through the open windows. A soft breeze was cool on his exposed shoulders, but the rest of his body felt cozy under the light quilt.

Like a delicate dry fly tripping along a riffle, pleasant visions drifted into his consciousness: Mallory smiling again, Erin flying a kite with her children, Ray grinning as he flipped the bird through the window of his beat-up pickup, Lew, her eyes eager and excited as her rod bent under the weight of the twenty-four-inch brown.
Yep,
thought Osborne as he inhaled softly so as not to wake Mike quite yet,
it is so nice to be alive. Thank you, God.

He lingered with the image of Lew … Lew changing into her fishing clothes, her breasts …

A sudden shrill from the phone beside his bed brought the reverie to a halt. Mike jumped to his feet, tail wagging and front paws on Osborne’s chest. “Down! Bad dog,” said Osborne, wishing he could sound more threatening than he did as he reached for the phone. Too nice a morning to get mad at Mike even.

“Hey, Doc,” said Ray, “I got … an idea.”

“That’s always dangerous.”

Ten minutes later, after Mike had peed and been fed, Osborne sat down at the kitchen table. Still in his boxer shorts and bare-chested, he studied the directions he had taken down while talking to Ray. He picked up the phone. First he called the Frahms, then he called the convent and then he called Lew. She had the results of the STR on the saliva samples. He called Ray.

Hospital visiting hours started at four that afternoon. Nick’s room was spacious and bright. Nick himself looked good: rested and with his color back. Sitting up against fluffed pillows, his leg was supported in a sling with a slight upward cant.

“You sure you feel up to this?” said Osborne, pausing as he walked through the door, his arms full.

“I feel great,” said Nick, shifting himself gingerly as he spoke. “I slept all morning and took a nap early this afternoon.”

Ray, his back to the door, was busy over by the windows on the far side of the double room. He turned to Osborne. “They’re sending him home tomorrow, Doc. The surgeon checked him over a couple hours ago and said he’s recovered in record time.”

“Yeah, I’m just fine,” said Nick, anxious to reassure them. “I feel pretty good.”

Osborne ruffled the hair on the boy’s head and patted his shoulder gently. “Oh, to be sixteen again.” Then he paused to give him a severe look. “Don’t you ever pull a stunt like that again, young man. When Ray and I tell you to stay put, you stay put. You hear me?”

“Yeah … okay,” said Nick with a sheepish smile. The boy seemed in good spirits but a little subdued, which didn’t surprise Osborne. He was, after all, just twenty-four hours out of anesthesia.

“Whoa!” came a loud voice as the door swung open, nearly hitting Osborne in the backside. Gina entered, pretending to stagger under the weight of a long white sheet cake. “Check it out,” she said, waving the cake beneath their noses. Lime-green muskies frolicked among blue-edged white frosting waves.

“Wowee, zowee,” said Nick in rave appreciation. “I get a slice with a whole fish on it, don’t I, huh?”

“You betcha,” said Ray.

“Where do I put this?” Gina bustled over to the windows.

Behind her came Joel and Zenner Frahm, their arms full of paper bags. “Party on,” said Zenner, popping open a can of soda before handing it to Nick.

“Okay, folks, everything comes over here,” said Ray as he spread a paper tablecloth across the top of the empty bed next to Nick’s. Reaching into a cardboard box on the floor, he pulled out a stack of paper plates and napkins. Moving aside a small wicker basket filled with plastic knives and forks, Gina made room for the cake. As she set it down, Ray studied the frosting intently. The muskies had bright-orange dots sprinkled across their bellies.

“Now who the hell did that?” he asked. “Somebody doesn’t know the difference between a muskie and a rainbow trout … or they’re trying to cover their ass.”

“Lew ordered it from Bernie’s,” said Gina. “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, you.” She gave Ray a quick peck on the cheek. “Yummy,” she said as she sniffed the air. “Do I smell fried chicken?”

Osborne glanced over at the wide sill under the windows. The nuns from Saint Mary’s, long the recipients of fresh bluegills from Ray, had been in the kitchen since his phone call earlier that day. Thrilled to contribute to the celebration, they sent over two heaping platters of crispy fried chicken. Along with the chicken had come a large hamper crowded with bowls of potato salad, coleslaw, and a casserole of baked beans crusted with slabs of bacon.

“Where’s Lew?” asked Osborne, twisting a can off a six-pack of ginger ale.

“On her way up,” said Gina. “She dropped me at the front door.”

Ray turned back to arranging the food and setting out the drinks. Osborne watched him. He looked happy, although, for Ray, a little more solemn than usual. Maybe even sad. The expression was fleeting, however. Osborne could see he was doing his best to hide whatever it was he was feeling.

Just then Lew walked in, still in uniform. “Hey, Zenner, hey, Nick,” she said, reaching to shake both boys’ hands, “Good show, fellas.”

“Is it true you nailed that guy with one shot in the heart?” said Zenner, ignoring the compliment.

“Well … yes,” said Lew, taken aback at the awe in his voice. “I couldn’t think of anything else to do.”

“Wow,” said Zenner.

Lew looked embarrassed. She blushed lightly. “No big deal. Women are better with pistols.”