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

victim’s husband, and her daughter, Eleanor — ”
    “Blue, I go by Blue,” said the girl, stepping forward to grab Osborne’s hand with a grip so strong his knees nearly buckled. She was at least six feet tall, broad-shouldered and, if her handshake was any indication, a very strong young woman.
    “Dr. Osborne,” said her father, shaking Osborne’s hand with a grip as limp as his daughter’s was fierce. “The name is Andy — only the IRS knows me as Andrew,” he gave a weak smile as if embarrassed to be attempting humor but unable to resist, “so, please, call me Andy.” His voice was one of those male baritones — fuzzy, deep and so low Osborne could barely hear him.
    “I assume the victim is Mrs. Reece, and her first name is — ?” asked Osborne as he knelt and reached into his black bag for a notebook and pen. He stood up, ready to listen.
    “Nolan Marsdon Reece,” said Reece with a quick shove at his horn-rimmed glasses. “I was just telling Chief Ferris I cannot count how many times I warned my wife not to go down near the dock when there was lightning — ”
    “Andy thinks she was hit by a rogue lightning strike,” said Lew, maintaining a poker face familiar to Osborne: willing to listen, not likely to believe.
    “You know a guy out fishing on Lake Tomahawk last month was hit. Not a cloud in the sky,” said Reece. “Not a mark on him either until they opened him up — internal organs were — ,” the big eyes behind the dark glasses misted and the voice cracked as Reece said, “just. cooked.”
    “Well,” Lew cut him off before he could say more, “no need to get all upset about things until we know exactly what we’re dealing with here.”
    Osborne glanced down at the body lying on the sandy shore. As if wrung by giant hands, the woman’s wet, black clothing was twisted tight along the length of her body, outlining sizable buttocks, a torso of significant diameter and broad shoulders. The legs, in contrast, were long and surprisingly slim: the classic apple shape that Osborne associated with people prone to heart attacks.
    The corpse lay on its side, head turned away so he couldn’t see the face. Stiff breezes had dried the shoulder-length salt-and-pepper hair, which was fluttering in the wind — the hair as active as the body was still.
    “She was found in the water by Mr. Reece early this morning and he pulled her in to shore. She hasn’t been moved since,” said Lew, explaining the body’s position.
    “You tried CPR?” said Osborne to Reece. “Ah, no. It was pretty clear to me that, ah, it was too late for that.”
    “I helped Dad pull her in,” said Blue, stepping forward. “No question my mom was — ” Her voice faltered.
    • • •
    Dead is a difficult word to use. Osborne knew that. At the hospital the night Mary Lee died, he had placed the call to each of his daughters but had to hand the phone to Ray when it came to delivering the unexpected news. Ray, who had awakened from a sound sleep to answer Osborne’s frantic call for help in the middle of a raging blizzard; who had staggered through knee-high drifts to attach his plow to the pick-up and drive the Osbornes over snow-bound roads to the emergency room. Ray, whom Mary Lee had done her best to drive off his property because his trailer obstructed the views from the north side of her new deck, had not hesitated to help save her life. And it was Ray, one arm grasping Osborne’s shoulders, whose gentle, calm voice had been able to pronounce that difficult word.
    • • •
    “Doc, I have a sketch that indicates where Andy found the victim,” said Lew with a wave of her notebook.
    “Right there,” said Reece, turning to point towards the dock. “She was floating just this side of that shore station with the bassboat — and about four, maybe five feet out from the dock.” He looked at his daughter for confirmation.
    “Yes, that’s where we found her,” said Blue. “Our lake is so down that