Dead Hot Mama by Victoria Houston Read Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Victoria Houston
for his pension, and that was three long years away. Until then, Lew could grouse all she wanted: Pecore and his dogs were nonnegotiable.
Lew walked over to the flat white tent that cocooned the victim. She unzipped it and knelt down. Their interest piqued, Osborne and Bruce edged over. Terry was right. With the snow swept away to expose the entire length and breadth of the victim’s nude body, the effect was startling.
“Still no sign of blood or a wound,” said Lew.
“Her head is tucked down so tight, she looks like she fell asleep reading,” said Osborne.
“Yeah, Pecore tried tipping the head back, but she’s froze solid,” said Terry. “He said he couldn’t tell anything about cause of death until they thaw her out.”
“Doc,” said Lew, straightening up slowly, “you know what I’m thinking?”
“I know exactly what you’re thinking. I’d have Ray take a look. He’s familiar with that crowd.”
The four of them huddled on the ice below Kobernot’s dock to wait for Ray, their backs to the wind off the lake. Osborne brushed at his cheeks with his leather mitts. They were numb. Not even the glow of the full moon helped.
“This wind has to be blowing fifteen to twenty,” he said to no one in particular as he hunched deeper into his parka, pulling the collar up to close the gap near the ear flaps on his racoon hat. “I’ll bet the wind chill is twenty below right now.”
“Feels like a hundred goddam below to me,” said Terry, stomping and slapping at his upper arms with his gloved hands. “Chief, I hope you told Pradt to hurry.”
Lew snorted. “We did our best. He’ll be here in a minute with a setup that’ll keep you warm, I promise.”
“Let’s hope he didn’t get a phone call,” said Osborne.
“O-o-h, Doc, don’t say that,” said Lew with a shiver.
“Speaking of phone calls, I called my wife, and she’s bringing me some sheepskin mitts and a down comforter,” said Terry. As he spoke, the wind gave a long howl through the tops of the pines guarding the shore, and Terry burrowed his chin deeper into the collar of his jacket. “I told her where I keep the will in case I freeze to death.”
Lew gave him a sympathetic pat with her mitt. “Terry, it’s a tough job, and you’re low man on the totem pole. Sorry about that—but you’re doing great.”
Osborne looked around as they waited. The young deputy had been busy over the last hour. Lanterns were lit around the rink and five hundred feet out onto the lake, lighting the way so snowmobilers had plenty of time to stop before reaching the wooden barricades that closed the trail. A detour routed them around the site.
The tent covering the victim was anchored with spikes driven into the ice, and sand-filled pails rested on the spikes. Police tape cordoned off the entire area, including the dock and stairway up to the Kobernot home as well as around the utility shed where the ATV was parked.
“Pradt’s got something in that old heap of his that’s going to keep me warm?” Doubt crowded Terry’s voice at the sight of Ray’s battered blue pickup rocketing towards them across the ice. And rightly so. The only feature of recent vintage and in decent shape on the truck appeared to be the eighteen-inch walleye leaping off the hood, its rainbow hues flashing in the moonlight.
“Patience,” said Osborne. “He’s letting us borrow a prized possession, so be careful what you say.”
Fifteen minutes later and just short a pair of flannel pj’s, Ray had Terry all cozied up for the long winter’s night. The portable ice shanty was a bastardized Alaskan Guide tent jerry-rigged into a vertical shape and sporting foldout walls that could expand to accommodate as many as four fishermen. The whole thing unfolded from an eight-by- four-foot locker that fit flat in the bed of his truck along with a portable generator and two metal boxes.
“Welcome to my chamber of delight, folks,” said Ray, holding the entry flap aside.
Lew walked over to the flat white tent that cocooned the victim. She unzipped it and knelt down. Their interest piqued, Osborne and Bruce edged over. Terry was right. With the snow swept away to expose the entire length and breadth of the victim’s nude body, the effect was startling.
“Still no sign of blood or a wound,” said Lew.
“Her head is tucked down so tight, she looks like she fell asleep reading,” said Osborne.
“Yeah, Pecore tried tipping the head back, but she’s froze solid,” said Terry. “He said he couldn’t tell anything about cause of death until they thaw her out.”
“Doc,” said Lew, straightening up slowly, “you know what I’m thinking?”
“I know exactly what you’re thinking. I’d have Ray take a look. He’s familiar with that crowd.”
The four of them huddled on the ice below Kobernot’s dock to wait for Ray, their backs to the wind off the lake. Osborne brushed at his cheeks with his leather mitts. They were numb. Not even the glow of the full moon helped.
“This wind has to be blowing fifteen to twenty,” he said to no one in particular as he hunched deeper into his parka, pulling the collar up to close the gap near the ear flaps on his racoon hat. “I’ll bet the wind chill is twenty below right now.”
“Feels like a hundred goddam below to me,” said Terry, stomping and slapping at his upper arms with his gloved hands. “Chief, I hope you told Pradt to hurry.”
Lew snorted. “We did our best. He’ll be here in a minute with a setup that’ll keep you warm, I promise.”
“Let’s hope he didn’t get a phone call,” said Osborne.
“O-o-h, Doc, don’t say that,” said Lew with a shiver.
“Speaking of phone calls, I called my wife, and she’s bringing me some sheepskin mitts and a down comforter,” said Terry. As he spoke, the wind gave a long howl through the tops of the pines guarding the shore, and Terry burrowed his chin deeper into the collar of his jacket. “I told her where I keep the will in case I freeze to death.”
Lew gave him a sympathetic pat with her mitt. “Terry, it’s a tough job, and you’re low man on the totem pole. Sorry about that—but you’re doing great.”
Osborne looked around as they waited. The young deputy had been busy over the last hour. Lanterns were lit around the rink and five hundred feet out onto the lake, lighting the way so snowmobilers had plenty of time to stop before reaching the wooden barricades that closed the trail. A detour routed them around the site.
The tent covering the victim was anchored with spikes driven into the ice, and sand-filled pails rested on the spikes. Police tape cordoned off the entire area, including the dock and stairway up to the Kobernot home as well as around the utility shed where the ATV was parked.
“Pradt’s got something in that old heap of his that’s going to keep me warm?” Doubt crowded Terry’s voice at the sight of Ray’s battered blue pickup rocketing towards them across the ice. And rightly so. The only feature of recent vintage and in decent shape on the truck appeared to be the eighteen-inch walleye leaping off the hood, its rainbow hues flashing in the moonlight.
“Patience,” said Osborne. “He’s letting us borrow a prized possession, so be careful what you say.”
Fifteen minutes later and just short a pair of flannel pj’s, Ray had Terry all cozied up for the long winter’s night. The portable ice shanty was a bastardized Alaskan Guide tent jerry-rigged into a vertical shape and sporting foldout walls that could expand to accommodate as many as four fishermen. The whole thing unfolded from an eight-by- four-foot locker that fit flat in the bed of his truck along with a portable generator and two metal boxes.
“Welcome to my chamber of delight, folks,” said Ray, holding the entry flap aside.