Dead Hot Shot (Loon Lake Fishing Mysteries) by Victoria Houston Read Free Book Online

ears of a wolf — he can hear a cloud pass by.” But she was only half right. Osborne knew that the driver of the battered blue pick-up with the walleye leaping off its hood could hear beyond the whispers in the sky. Tuned to the desperation than can cloud a heart, he was the person to whom Osborne owed his self-respect, if not his life.
    • • •
    As Osborne walked quickly past the blue pick-up, a long arm in a rust and green plaid sleeve waved from the window. “Doc, tell Chief I’ll be right there,” said the driver, pointing to the cell phone glued to his right ear.
    “I’d hurry if I were you,” said Osborne, wondering for the umpteenth time how it was that a guy who lived in a house trailer and dug graves when money was tight managed to own the latest in electronic devices: a cell phone that rang with the sound of birds twittering, an iPod stuffed with vintage rock’n’roll — and satellite radio in his bassboat! All that expensive gear even as Ray jury-rigged his plumbing to fertilize the roses planted by Mary Lee — an act that had so infuriated Osborne’s late wife that if she hadn’t died of a severe bronchial infection, apoplexy might have done her in.
    Osborne shook his head. He knew the source of Ray’s electronic surplus: women. The ladies he charmed, bedded and somehow managed to convert to “just friends” loved to shower him with gifts.
    “Now how the hell does he do that?” was a familiar refrain among men who might fancy themselves wealthier and wiser — but were never so lucky.
    • • •
    Osborne hurried down the drive, now steep and curving on its way to a large boathouse. Beyond the boathouse he could see a wide, dark green deck that narrowed to a dock that jutted out over the water. An ambulance was parked next to the boathouse, and leaning up against it, arms crossed as they chatted with Deputy Todd Martin, the younger of Lew’s two full-time officers, were two EMTs from St. Mary’s Hospital. Osborne gave a silent wave as he rushed by.
    Just beyond the deck and standing on the shoreline to one side of the dock was Lew Ferris, her back to him as he approached. She was engaged in conversation with two people — a tall, slim young woman with very short hair that stood stiffly on her head and a pudgy man of medium height who, in spite of the cold wind blowing off the lake, was wearing tan Bermuda shorts, a navy blue sweatshirt, black socks and sandals.
    A crumpled khaki fishing hat had been crammed onto his head and under the hat was a round face heavy with jowls. Thick-rimmed glasses magnified his eyes, making them appear larger and darker than normal. As he registered the man’s pudginess, the glasses, the shorts and the black socks — Osborne couldn’t help thinking he looked like a nerdy school kid out of a Far Side cartoon.
    The lanky girl standing beside the man, one arm tight across his shoulders and leaning forward as she listened to Lew, appeared to be in her early twenties. She was dressed for the weather in jeans, a black fleece jacket and hiking boots. It was the girl who spotted Osborne approaching and pointed his way.
    Only then, as all three turned towards him and Lew stepped back, did Osborne see the dark figure lying at their feet.

CHAPTER 8
    Oh, good, it’s you, Doc,” said Lew as Osborne walked up. She glanced down at her watch. “Say, you didn’t happen to see — ” “Yes, I did. He’s on his way down,” said Osborne. “Taking a phone call — I told him to hurry.”
    “Thank you. It’ll be dark in three hours and he needs to get started.”
    Osborne did not miss the grim resolve in her voice. Two years of assisting the Loon Lake Police Department on murder investigations had taught him Lew was convinced that “if you don’t find your best evidence within the first 48 hours, you may never find it.” Given that these late November days made for limited hours of good light, Ray better show up fast.
    “Dr. Osborne, this is Andrew Reece, the