Dead Hot Shot (Loon Lake Fishing Mysteries) (14 page)

Mike ol’ boy — life doesn’t get much better than this,” said Osborne as he lounged in his easy chair with the wool plaid blanket from Father’s Day across his lap. He had on his favorite slippers and the ottoman tucked under his legs just right. The logs in the fireplace crackled and spit as they burned and Mike, curled up on his round sheepskin bed, snored away. Ice pelted the windows, but man and dog were warm and cozy.

After sending Gina off with Josie’s laptop computer, Lew had let Osborne know she planned to put in a good three hours on paperwork before heading out to her place — hopefully ahead of the snowstorm. He’d offered to cook dinner — takeout pizza — but she had declined with a swift kiss and a squeeze of his arm.

“I have got to catch up on my sleep, Doc — may I take a rain check?” And so he had picked up a small pizza for himself, which was now baking in the oven, and settled in to enjoy the solitude. He started to page through the first of three fly fishing catalogs that he had been saving: time to decide what to buy Lewellyn Ferris for Christmas. Certainly something other than panty hose.

Turning the pages, he grew perplexed. To the best of his knowledge, she owned every piece of fly fishing gear that caught his eye. Then he saw something intriguing. Given the need to travel by horseback out in Jackson Hole, what about an Orvis “Safe Passage Complete Chest Pack”? The catalog described a rear backpack with room for a poncho or a jacket and lunch — and a front pack similar to a fly fishing vest. Now that could be terrific for the ride. He knew Lew was concerned about trusting all her best fishing gear to a pack mule. He marked the page.

A blast of wind against the windows and the chattering of ice reminded him it might be wise to bring in a few extra logs before the weather got worse. He decided to flip through a few more pages before moving — it was just too comfortable sitting where he was at the moment.

He opened to a page of trout flies designed to lure salmon and steelhead with their gaudy colors and large hooks. A slash of purple tipped black with a big red eye caught his attention. The description of the leech-like trout fly said the Hot Shot was guaranteed to “writhe in the water like a crippled lamprey.” Wasn’t a Hot Shot the lure that Nolan Reece had insisted Ray use that last day that he had been willing to guide her? No wonder he had felt so frustrated by the woman — Northwoods lakes don’t have salmon and steelhead. What was she thinking?

Osborne snorted. That’s right — now he remembered. Ray had said Nolan Reece was one of those Illinois transplants who have so little sense of why a fish takes a bait that they think it makes sense to match the color of their lures to the color of their boats — as if fish recognize a fashion statement. Is there a blue Hot Shot or was Ray exaggerating? After all, that fancy bassboat in the Reeces’ shore station was not purple — it was blue.

It was blue. Osborne started up in his chair. He reached for the cordless phone on the table beside him and dialed. “Ray — what are you doing?”

The sleepy voice on the other end of the line said, “Napping, which is exactly what you should be doing, Doc. Snowstorm bio-rhythms, doncha know.”

“I’m going to swing by and pick you up in five minutes,” said Osborne. “The Wausau boys told Lew that Nolan Reece had slivers of blue marine paint beneath her fingernails. I just remembered that boat in the shore station beside their dock — the one near the pontoon? It’s blue.”

“You’re right,” said Ray, more alert. “See ya in a minute.”

• • •

During the short time he was parked in front of Ray’s trailer, waiting for him to pull on some warm clothes, ice began to coat his car. He had to turn up the defroster and chip away until the ice fractured in thin sheets and slid down the windshield. He honked, hoping Ray would hurry so they could get to the Reeces’ before that long driveway of theirs turned into a toboggan chute.

At last Ray appeared and none too soon for conditions. They drove into a deepening dusk where dense fog had knit acres of barren aspen into a soft grey afghan, the hills defined only as folds of black. Nestled against that blackness, the Reece house glowed like a holiday lantern. Andy came to the kitchen door within seconds of their knocking, both dogs barking behind him.

“Blue’s not here,” he said, “she’s at her AA meeting with her friend from up the road — I’m hoping they get back any minute. The roads have to be treacherous.”

“We’re not here to see Blue,” said Osborne.

“Oh, dammit!” said Andy. “You need me right now? I’m smack in the middle of a fantasy fishing challenge that could win me five million bucks.”

“Five million for sitting in a chair in front of your computer? I can’t believe it,” said Ray. “Am I in the wrong boat or what — man!” “You gotta get into this stuff, Ray,” said Andy. “See, right now, if you register before December twenty-first and pick the top seven anglers of any tournament — ”

“Andy, can we discuss this later?” said Osborne. “Ray and I stopped in to check your boats one last time. The crime lab needs a few details. Do you mind?”

“Oh, no,” said Andy. “Help yourself. Here — ” he hit a switch on the wall of the mudroom by the back door, “that’s the light for the boathouse and you can turn more on when you get down there. I had Jake winterize and hang the boats this morning — just in time, too. Go right ahead.”

• • •

Osborne and Ray made it down the icy stairs to the boathouse without slipping and falling, though Osborne wasn’t sure how. The boathouse was well-lit plus they both had heavy-duty flashlights. Given the good light and the fact the boats were suspended on chains from the boathouse rafters, it was easy to examine the undersides of each.

They headed straight for the glittering blue bassboat. Ray ran a beam of light across the exposed hull, which had the classic V-bottom with a flat pad running along the length of the boat, a feature designed to increase speed. At a point mid-center of the hull, the pad was marred with deep scratches. “Whoa,” said Ray, “if I didn’t know better, I’d say some animal had been clawing at this — ”

“An animal named Nolan Reece,” said Osborne in a grim tone. He held out an evidence bag while Ray used the tweezers on his pocketknife to remove slivers of paint from the scratched area on the hull.

“I better call Lew,” said Osborne when they were done.

“Tonight? What can she do about this tonight, Doc? She looked so tired this afternoon. You sure this can’t wait until tomorrow?”

“She’ll want to know — ”

Ray’s cell phone rang. He checked the number and handed the phone to Osborne, saying, “You better start carrying your own goddamn phone, Doc. You get more calls on mine than I do.”

I was on the phone with Gina when she said someone was at her door,” said Lew, her voice tense. “She said she’d call me right back. But she hasn’t, Doc. I’ve tried back half a dozen times but the phone just rings busy. I know she doesn’t have dial-up Internet so it can’t be she’s online. Thinking she might be on a call with one of her students, I had an operator try an emergency interrupt but she reported no one on the line.

“Couldn’t tell me more than that. The phone company’s repair service has a recorded message saying they’re having trouble on the lines in the region due to weather so it sounds like it’ll be awhile before they can get out to Gina’s and see what the problem is. I’m very concerned.”

“Gee, Lew,” said Osborne, “with the ice buildup on the tree branches, I’ll bet the phone wires came down. That’s a landline phone she has at her place, isn’t it?”

“You could be right. They’ve reported power lines down in Tomahawk. What worries me though is who was at the door? It’s not like Gina lives here year ‘round and has friends who drop in. Except for you and Ray, I doubt she even knows her neighbors. And with this weather, most people are hunkered down inside. If Ray is with you, who could it be that was at her door?”

“Where are you right now, Lew?”

“I’m still in town. I’ve been so worried I haven’t left the department yet. Where are you two?”

“At the Reeces’. I was thinking about those scrapings under Nolan Reece’s fingernails and remembered that one of the boats docked over here was blue — that big bassboat. Ray helped me get some paint scrapings off the hull pad, which, by the way, is badly scratched. Could be rocks or — ”

“Let’s deal with that later,” said Lew. “Tell you what — I’m going to drive over to her place and make sure she’s okay but I’d feel a heck of a lot better if I had back-up. Can’t use Todd or Roger — one’s handling a rollover on Highway 17 and the other a fender bender in the parking lot at the Loon Lake Market.”

“We’re heading back to my place right now,” said Osborne, waving Ray towards the entrance to the boathouse. Meet you there but take your time — the roads are icy and getting worse by the minute.”

“I’m well aware of that.”

Osborne handed the cell phone back to Ray. “Gina’s not answering her cabin phone — ”

“It’s the ice,” said Ray. “Bet you we lose service, too.”

“Well, they were talking on the phone when Gina heard someone at her door and said she’d call back but Lew hasn’t heard from her since. Lew’s tried calling but all she gets is a busy signal. She got an operator to try to break into the call but the operator said no one was on the line. Lew tried the phone company repair service and got a recorded message.”

“I still think it’s ice,” said Ray, “but worth checking out if it helps everyone relax. Given her place is on that point and exposed on three sides, we’ll know the minute we drive in if she’s alone or not.”

“Unless they walked over.”

“On this ice?” said Ray. “I doubt that.”

• • •

Lew’s cruiser was in Osborne’s driveway when they got back. She had let herself into the house and was standing in the kitchen. She turned as they entered. “I tried calling out on your phone, Doc. This line’s not down. You guys ready to go?”

“Take it easy, Chief,” said Ray. “I’m sure there’s an easy answer — ”

“I hope you’re right but. Gina had called to say her student was able to crack the passwords protecting those files,” said Lew. “The files are full of personal credit card data. Now whether it’s Josie or Jake we don’t know, but one of the two has been siphoning the credit card numbers stored off the computer in Mildred’s shop.

“Gina was in the midst of telling me that she has her students checking the contents of the laptop’s files against the database they have of stolen cards when whoever it was knocked on her door. What if Jake Cahak learned from Josie that Gina has possession of that computer.”

“I hear you,” said Ray. “Let’s drive down in my truck as if I’m picking Gina up for dinner — which I am supposed to do, but not for another hour. The road in to her place has a turnaround where we can check to see if any other cars are there — without our being seen. Okay with that?”

Lew nodded. “Let’s hurry.”

• • •

Ray bumped down the drive that was quickly disappearing under the snow and yanked the wheel sharp to the left behind a dense stand of young balsam whose branches were beginning to droop from the weight of ice under a thickening blanket of fat, heavy snowflakes. It was less a turnaround than just enough space to pull in, back out and reverse without being seen from the cabin’s porch, which was several hundred yards away.

“Wait,” said Ray as Osborne started to push on the truck’s door. “No one’s wearing blaze orange, right?” They checked one another out. No bright colors — they’d blend.

Osborne heaved a shoulder at the passenger-side door, wishing for the umpteenth time that Ray might discover the miracle of silicon spray. After three attempts, the door opened at last with only the slightest creak. Since the other door had been frozen shut for as long as Osborne had known Ray, all three got out on the passenger side. To minimize noise, Ray, the last one out, left the engine running and the door ajar.

“Be very careful,” cautioned Osborne in a whisper as they moved forward, “it’s glare ice under this snow. Please, don’t anyone fall and break a bone.”

Just as they crept up behind the balsams, the door to the screened-in porch banged open. Windows from the interior of the cabin threw enough light for them to see Jake Cahak step down two stairs, a rifle in both hands as he swung to the left, then to the right.

“Damn, he’s got an AK-15,” said Ray, voice low.

“I don’t see anybody,” shouted Jake back to someone inside. “Enough snow out here I’d see tracks if there was. You’re hearing things. Probably just a car going down the road. Hey, ask that woman how much longer for those damn files to load. This snow’s turning into a blizzard. I want outta here, pronto.”

A female voice from inside hollered back, “Twenty minutes she says. Thirty at the most.”

“Josie!” Lew and Osborne whispered simultaneously.

“Shit,” said Jake, swinging from one side to another once more before stepping back inside the door. He lingered on the porch, a dark figure barely discernable against the wood paneling.

Whispering, Ray put out a hand to restrain Lew, who had pulled her Sig Sauer from its holster. “Don’t even think about it, Chief. That’s a black rifle he’s got. Comes with a magnifier on the scope that will make you look like you’re two feet away.”

“But we’re in the dark — and he’s got light behind him — ”

“And a flashlight attached to the barrel that won’t shatter when he fires. Against that gun of his, yours is no match. Whatever you do, don’t shoot. Let’s think about this — ”

“We better think fast,” said Osborne. “Sounds like all we have is fifteen or twenty minutes to figure it out.”

The three of them stood in the darkness, the only sound their breathing as they studied the outside of the cabin. Snow continued to fall — fat, heavy flakes softening the outlines of the small building.

“Maybe there’s a deer trail off to one side that I could follow in towards — ”

“No,” Lew cut Ray off with a harsh whisper, “not in this snow — no way to hide your tracks. And with the ice, you’re likely to slip and fall, and then what? Doc, Ray — I don’t think we can get there from here without being seen.

“If I call for back-up, that’s at least a half hour before someone gets here given the hazardous road conditions and other emergency calls. If we confront Jake, I worry that we risk Gina’s life not to mention our own lives — and Josie’s. Dammit! Why did Gina have to buy a place so exposed anyway?”

Even as she spoke the snowfall lightened momentarily, throwing the cabin into sharp relief with only the trees behind it — lakeside — offering any cover.

“I know,” said Ray, “Let’s circle ‘round and come in from the back across the channel. Chances are there’s maybe fifty feet of open water, we can pull on shore and stay behind the trees that run along the lot line up to the cabin. We’ll come in the back way and surprise them.”

“It’s an option, but who’s got a boat?” asked Lew.

“Mine’s trailered and ready to go,” said Ray. “I was planning to drop it off at the storage locker before picking up Gina. Take me two seconds to hitch up the trailer and we’ll circle ‘round easily on a logging trail that crosses the Gudegast just north of Gina’s place.”

Lew looked first at Osborne, then at Ray. She made up her mind: “Okay, but let’s move fast and hope that whatever Gina’s doing, she takes her time.”

• • •

Ray bent down, struggling to get the trailer hitched as fast as possible. In his rush he slipped, sliding feet first under the back of his truck and landing hard on his back.

“Oh, gosh, are you okay?” asked Lew as she and Doc grabbed both arms to pull him out and up.

“Yeah. I’ll feel it in the morning but I’m fine.” With a few quick swipes, Ray brushed the snow off his butt, then hooked the chain onto the trailer hitch and motioned for them to get back in the pick-up. It was snowing so heavily now that they were driving in whiteout conditions, barely able to see more than twenty feet, if that, ahead.

Ray pulled the truck and trailer onto Loon Lake Road heading east to the stop sign where, wheels spinning, he swung onto the county highway. He continued over a bridge then skidded through a left turn onto a town road that appeared to come to a dead end. But an opening between two tall Norway spruces turned out to be a rough logging lane.

“Only Ray could find this,” muttered Lew as if questioning her decision to try the back way. The truck banged along until they reached a dirt-covered culvert that served as a bridge. Just past that was a clearing with a portable sawmill, its stack of uncut logs and fresh-hewn planks wrapped in tarps. Ray kept going.

He pulled to a stop behind tag alders lining the shore. The snowfall was so heavy they could barely make out the lights of Gina’s cabin across the way. But the trees were there — the border of mature shrubs that Ray had promised ran like tall soldiers along one side of her place. Osborne noticed the ice on the channel extended a good fifteen feet, then thirty feet or more of open water all the way to the opposite shore, thanks to the current from the Gudegast. He was relieved. The open water was what they needed to cross in just a moment or two.

He and Lew got out of the truck so Ray could back it around and drop the boat trailer onto the ice along their side of the channel. He moved fast to slide the boat off the trailer and, with help from both Osborne and Lew, scoot it over the ice until the stern broke through. Thinking it had dropped into water, Ray gave one more shove. It went nowhere.

“What the hell?” he walked over the ice, his boots breaking through to hit sand. “Oh no,” he said. “The water is so low, the boat’s still on sand.” The three of them pushed again but the boat budged barely an inch.

“Maybe we can walk across?” said Osborne. “We’re wearing boots.” Even as he mentioned the boots, he was sorry he was wearing gloves and not mitts. His hands were freezing. Lew grabbed a moment to zip her parka so that the collar and hood left only her nose and eyes exposed. The wind was strong from the north, biting their faces.

“Sorry, Doc, even with low water there’s a drop-off of nearly ten feet right through the center there,” said Ray. “But I got an idea — just wait.” He ran back to the truck, slid across to the driver’s seat and drove off, the trailer clattering along behind him.

Lew looked at Osborne and shook her head. “Another idea? What is that man up to? I am so worried. Doc, we ran out of time ten minutes ago.”

The defeat on her face was more than Osborne could bear. He pulled her to him and wrapped his arms around her, held her for a long moment. “Don’t give up yet,” he said into her hair. “Ray’s not stupid.”

Lew stepped away, clapping her gloved hands together to keep them warm. “I know. It’s just — this seems impossible — ” Just as she checked her watch for the tenth time they heard the clatter of the trailer before they saw the truck. Ray hit the brakes and jumped out saying, “Hey, you two, grab those logs and let’s roll ‘em out over the sand. But first, help me yank this boat back onto the ice.”

• • •

He had thrown half a dozen logs, five feet long, into the bed of the truck. He grabbed one, Lew and Osborne another and they rushed across the ice to lay the logs parallel and horizontal to the shoreline. Back and forth they ran until the log surface extended the extra feet needed to get past the sand. Pulling the boat sideways, they pushed it stern-first over the logs, which were as slick as the ice. This time the boat dropped into water.

“Get ready,” said Ray, as they all three clambered into the boat. He had the oars moving before Osborne had both feet in and it seemed like less than thirty seconds before they were bumping against the far shore. Boat pulled up, they paused to listen. Voices could be heard from inside the cabin. They started forward, Ray in the lead.