Dead Jitterbug (12 page)

To Ed’s credit, in spite of the red moving up his neck, he remained calm.

“Now why would you do that, Kitsy?” he asked, clearing his throat. “For heaven’s sakes—what do you think Chief Ferris must think of you? Less than twelve hours since we learned that your mother is dead—murdered. And you’re scrambling for a will? How thoughtless can you be?”

“Cut the riot act, Ed,” said Lillie, her voice thundering through the room, as she moved closer, circling. “I’m here to put you on notice. No funny business. Not one item in this house or one piece of property held by the McDonald Trust is to change hands without my knowledge. I am the executor of Hope McDonald Kelly’s estate. Do you hear me?”

How could he not? For a woman in her eighties, she had amazing volume. As she spoke, her full cheeks waggled and her black eyes glared from under tufts of white-gray brows.

Lillie Wright—the shape of her skull, the set of her eyes, the extraordinary thrust of her thick brows—had always reminded Osborne of the great horned owl that hunted the woods around his home. But unlike the owl who relishes its victim’s brains, Lillie was famed for leaving her prey bloody and eviscerated on the courtroom floor. She was in the vanguard of women to practice trial law in Wisconsin.

She was also a longtime patient of Osborne’s, dating back to when she had arrived in Loon Lake, which was soon after he had opened his own practice. Every year for the last twenty, she would announce her retirement but never quite get around to it.

“Having too much fun, Doc,” she would say. “In a small town like this, a lawyer can’t specialize so much as adapt to what happens to your clients. Keeps my office busy, I tell you. I got divorce cases, civil suits, probate—work up the wazoo. Next year—that’s when I’ll retire.”

Then she would laugh a rolling, throaty, thunderous laugh. Over the years, Osborne had hired her twice. While he admired her expertise in the courtroom, he was more impressed with her wisdom and kindness in advising him. She was one of those rare lawyers who committed both mind and heart to the service of her client.

If she thought Ed was up to no good, chances were she was right. Right now, as if to avoid her stare, he was fidgeting with some papers in a long, flat leather wallet that he had pulled from the inside pocket of his suit coat. Kitsy had folded her arms across her chest and appeared more composed. Lew, notebook open, stood waiting.

“This is too much for me,” said Ed, clearing his throat and slipping the leather case back into his pocket. “I am grieving for my wife. Would you excuse me, please?” He started out of the room, but Lillie blocked his way.

“Hoold
up there, big boy. What’s this I hear about you selling a parcel of Hope’s land—two acres on the channel?” she said in a voice that sounded like tires on rough gravel.

“Whaat!
No one is selling anything. I granted an easement to a conservation group,” said Ed. He turned to Kitsy. “This is your doing, isn’t it. You dummy. You always do it. You open that big mouth of yours before you have any idea what’s what.”

Kitsy glared at him. “You don’t have the right to grant an easement.”

“I have power of attorney,” said Ed.

“That does not mean you can sell property,” said Lillie. “Not when it comes to the McDonald Trust. Hope and I went over those papers last month.”

“Before or after my wife’s diagnosis? Nothing she did in the last few weeks will stand up in court, Lillian.”

“We’ll have plenty of time to discuss that later,” said Lillie, stone-faced. “Kitsy, if you want to come by my office later this afternoon, I’ll have that copy of the will for you.”

“It will be challenged,” said Ed, trying for a second time to get past Lillie. She moved aside. At the doorway, Ed raised his glass as if to offer a toast. “Excuse me, everyone, I’m taking that walk down to the lake.”

Kitsy plunked herself onto a wicker loveseat, dropped her face into her hands, and gave a deep sigh edged with a sob. Lillie leaned over to rub her shoulders. “Kitsy, shush, shush.”

“I hate that man,” said Kitsy wiping at her face. “I love him, and I hate him.”

Lillie glanced over at Osborne and Lew. “Chief Ferris, Dr. Osborne—what are we trying to do here?”

“I need to have a short conversation with Kitsy, clarify a few details. You do know that Hope was murdered,” said Lew.

“That’s what Kitsy said when she called. Shot in the face.”

“Yes. Many times. Unfortunately, that’s as much as we know right now. No evidence of a break-in, unless the Wausau boys found something in the last hour. You are welcome to stay while Kitsy and I …”

“I’m afraid I have another appointment within the hour,” said Lillie, checking her watch. “Kitsy, should we ask Chief Ferris to do this later?”

“No,” Kitsy said, “I want to get it over with. I just needed your help with Dad. If he takes everything over—”

“He can’t, and he knows that now,” said Lillie. “But the man has always been difficult—a bully and an idiot. Who knows what’s going on in his head.”

Kitsy gave a sad giggle and said, “But he can’t sell any of our land, right?”

“No, he cannot. Now we’ll talk later,” said Lillie. “Are you okay?” She leaned forward to look closer at Kitsy. “What’s that around your eyes, child?”

“A makeup thing. I had eyeliner tattooed on—that way I don’t have to put it on every day.” Lillie shook her head.

“But you look so puffy, are you feeling alright?”

“Considering the circumstances, I’m okay. I just—I had some work done on my face, and it still hurts. Nothing serious.”

Lillie straightened up. “Well, all right.” She turned to Osborne. “I take it the good chief here has you working forensics again, thank goodness. Pecore is worthless.”

“I deputized Doc to do a dental ID,” said Lew. “The victim’s face was in very bad shape, and I wanted to be sure we knew exactly what we had to work with—how many bullets she took.”

“Good,” said Lillie. “Dot every
I
and cross every
T
on this one.”

“And since he’s known the family over the years, I’m including him in my preliminary inquiries.”

“Chief note-taker is what I am,” said Osborne.

“You know, I miss you, Doc,” said Lillie with a smile. “You retired! What were you thinking?”

“Lillie,” said Osborne, “we don’t all have your stamina.”

“Don’t kid me,” she chortled, “you needed an excuse to go fishing every day.”

Lew smiled at Lillie, then asked, “I assume you’re representing Kitsy?”

Lillie reared back in surprise. “Not unless she needs me. Kitsy called me this morning because I’ve been the lawyer for the McDonald Trust since Hope’s father was still alive. That’s why I moved up here in the first place—had a client to pay the overhead, and a beautiful place to live.”

She made a move to leave, then stopped. “Kitsy, call me later, would you please? And let me know if you need anything.”

“Lillie,” said Lew, “before you leave, I have a question. Since you’ve been the lawyer for the family trust all these years—I’m curious to know what you think may have happened here.”

Lillie paused and cut her eyes towards Kitsy. “I’ve been thinking that over.” She stared at Lew. That was as much as she was going to say.

“What’s your schedule like this afternoon?” asked Lew. “Might be wise to sit down with you sooner rather than later.”

“How about three o’clock?” asked Lillie.

Kitsy’s answers to Lew’s questions held no surprises. She confirmed that her mother’s behavior had undergone a dramatic change over recent months. “At first, I wasn’t sure what was going on, especially when she insisted upon moving up here in March. She always used to wait for warm weather.”

“I understand, from your father, that your parents haven’t lived together in years,” said Lew.

“That’s right, not that my dad has lacked for female companionship,” said Kitsy.

“Current girlfriend?” asked Lew.

“I don’t know who he’s seeing now. He ended a ten-year relationship with a woman last fall. A woman five years younger than me.” Kitsy’s face was grim. “You know, we’re not close. I don’t discuss anything personal with him if I can help it.”

“I understand,” said Lew. “Think anyone on your mother’s staff will know who the current friend is? And I’ll want to check with the former girlfriend, too.”

“Sheehan might. She knows where the money goes….”

“Your father said that you will be taking over your mother’s column?” asked Lew.

“Yes.”

“So you will need to work together, won’t you?” asked Lew.

“No more than he and my mother ever did. I’ll do the writing, he’ll do the selling—what little of that there is to handle. We have Sheehan and a publishing director, so he just puts in face time, if you know what I mean.” She broke a slight smile. “We may be dysfunctional, but we function.”

“I have as possible evidence two sets of paperwork from your mother’s office that appear to be letters and columns,” said Lew.

“You should have found a set of the columns that I was working on,” said Kitsy. “I wrote those, then left them for Mother to look over and edit. The letters will be new material sent up from Madison.”

“I’m having copies made, and everything will be returned to you shortly.”

“That’s fine,” said Kitsy. “I won’t be in the mood to work for a few days anyway.”

“I’m surprised there are so few letters,” said Lew. “I was expecting to find more.”

“That’s what the office sends us,” said Kitsy. “About thirty every six weeks. We only run two or three in a column.”

“What about personal mail?”

“Whatever you found in her office unless … sometimes she left stuff on the kitchen counter.”

“Speaking of the kitchen,” said Lew, “every cupboard is crammed with potato chips. This entire house is full of potato chips—shoved under the furniture, and crumbs everywhere. What has been going on here?”

“She wouldn’t let anyone in for the last couple months. She fired Bunny who cleaned for her for years. She wouldn’t let me touch anything. And, of course, Mother has never had to clean up after herself. I didn’t know about the potato chips.”

“But her office is in perfect condition—did you straighten it up?”

“No. I haven’t been here for the last couple weeks….” Kitsy’s eyes teared and she raised both hands to her cheeks. “How great do I feel about
that
now. But, you know, she was acting so nutty—”

“When was the last time you talked to her?”

“Last Thursday. She called me that night and told me to call her the next morning at nine. No earlier, no later. So I did, and I asked her why she wanted me to call. She said she didn’t know—and hung up.”

“Do you know the name of the man who’s been on the property recently? An older man that the neighbors across the road saw doing some repairs around here.”

“I know who you mean, but I don’t know his name. Bunny will, I’m sure.”

“And I’ll find Bunny at your place?”

“Yes. She has her own apartment over the garage. I’ll let her know you need to talk to her.”

“Were you at home Sunday night?”

“Yes. Then the last two days I attended a fishing clinic with Ray Pradt. Dr. Osborne was there.”

“She’s got an alibi for Tuesday, all right,” said Osborne.

“Anyone who can confirm your whereabouts Sunday—and Saturday?”

At the look on Kitsy’s face, Lew raised her pen. “This doesn’t mean that you are a suspect in your mother’s death. I’ve had to ask your father exactly the same.”

“I’ve a friend visiting who’s been here since last Friday,” said Kitsy. “We’ve been doing stuff together. Julia Wendt is her name. She’s at my place now.”

“That gun you carry in your backpack—do you have a license to carry it?”

“Yes.”

“Why do you carry a weapon, Kitsy?”

“Umm, I was seeing a man a couple years ago who, when I said I wanted to break up, started stalking me. He would show up at my place late at night. He broke into my car. That’s when I got the gun. I’ve just kept it since. I—this sounds dumb—I like the holster, it’s cute.”

“We’ll need to check it out.”

“Sure, it’s in my backpack in the car. What kind of gun was used to kill my mother?”

“Not sure yet,” said Lew. “Last question, Kitsy …” Lew’s voice softened. “Do you have any idea who might have murdered your mother? It could have been an accident….”

Kitsy’s shoulders sagged, she looked sad and defeated. “I’m sure my dad told you he thinks I did.”

“Why would he think that?”

“Because I killed my brother.”

eighteen

It is just possible that nice guys don’t catch the most fish. But they find far more pleasure in those they do get.

—Roderick Haig-Brown

“That’s
what he likes to believe anyway. And I’ve no doubt he’ll find a way to blame me for this, too,” said Kitsy.

“So what you’re saying is your father
accuses
you of killing your brother.”

“Yes.”

“But did you in fact?”

Kitsy shrugged. “It’s all in how you look at it.”

“When was this?” asked Lew.

“Long time ago. I was five and Brian was two and a half. My parents were having a party here at the summer house, and my little brother and I were playing down by the lake with our baby-sitter.”

“That was Sandy Biermier,” said Osborne. “I used to fish with Sandy’s dad, so I certainly heard their version of what happened.”

“That’s right, our sitter’s name was Sandy,” said Kitsy. “I remember the day was really hot, and Brian and I were playing in the sand near the dock. We had our swimsuits on and were doing what little kids do on hot days. You know, splashing in the water, then running on the beach. The grown-ups were all up on the deck with their party.

“Except my dad came walking down to the dock with some people. They were all talking and drinking beer. Dad finished his, handed the bottle to Sandy and told her to run up and get him another one. So she left. Then he walked back up to the house with the people, leaving Brian and me in the sand. My little brother was filling a bucket full of sand and he wanted to mix some water in it, so he went out on the dock.