Dead Water by Victoria Houston Read Free Book Online Page B

his pockets. A tall, slender woman in equally dusty jeans, a washed-out pink polo shirt, cowboy boots, and long, straight honey-blond hair hurried behind him. Neither looked happy.
    “Chief Ferris, I’m Bert James, and this is my wife, Helen.” The man extended his hand to Lew. “We found the body. These people”—Bert waved at the others standing in the road—“are guests of ours at Timber Lake Lodge. We run a bed-and-breakfast over there.” He jerked a thumb behind him. “So is she.” He nodded toward the body that lay on its side, slightly curled, about twenty feet away. His eyes shifted to look behind Lew.
    “Dr. Osborne?” Bert raised his eyebrows as if to question why his former dentist had arrived on the scene.
    “Doc’s a deputy,” said Lew. “He’ll do a forensic ID. I got the coroner out working up another case. Step over here a minute, you two. I don’t need all of Loon Lake to hear us.”
    Lew pulled the husband and wife off to the side of the grassy lane that ran along a perimeter of meadow edged with forest. “Tell me exactly what happened.”
    “Let me,” said Helen, stepping out from behind her husband. “I found her. I was out looking for blueberries—”
    “When was this?” Lew had her notebook open.
    “About ninety minutes ago. We’ve been waiting for you for quite a while.”
    “Busy morning,” said Lew.
    Helen continued, “So I had walked over in this direction. We have a trail here that leads to our deer feeder….” She pointed into the forest behind them.
    Behind her was a wide meadow. Looking across, Osborne could see the roofline of a log home about a quarter mile away. The trail they were standing on was a grassy lane that snaked west, detouring off the main driveway, which was entered from the highway. He knew the James place by reputation only. The couple had moved to Loon Lake from New York City seven years earlier, built a drop-dead expensive log home, and was now trying to make ends meet by running a B & B. At least that’s what the locals said. Murder would not be good for business.
    “Ashley went for a run late yesterday afternoon—”
    “Ashley?” asked Lew.
    “Her name is Ashley Olson. She’s from Kansas City,” said Helen.
    “Good,” said Lew. “So we know who this is.”
    “Yes,” said Helen. “I don’t know how she heard about us, but when she registered, she did give a name and number in case of an emergency. I’ve got a call in. It’s some woman in Kansas City. I assume that’s all right?”
    “Fine. I’d like to be the one to talk to her, but right now just tell me exactly what has happened so far.”
    Helen took a deep breath. “Last night … well, see, I thought she left the house to go out last night. No one saw her return from her run, but we didn’t worry. I just assumed she came back to change while I was in town shopping and then, maybe, went to dinner with friends. I mean, we don’t keep track of our guests’ activities….”
    “Of course not,” said Lew. “You’re not running a scout camp.”
    Helen heaved a sigh of relief. It was clear she was feeling very guilty that she had not noticed her guest’s absence.
    “What friends would she have planned to see?”
    “Now, that we don’t know,” said Bert. “We were talking about that before you got here. When she arrived Sunday, she spent some time looking in the telephone book, and I asked if I could help her find someone, but she said she had what she needed. She was gone for a while yesterday morning, but she didn’t say where she went or what she did. She was a very pleasant woman but quite private.”
    “Right.” Helen nodded. “Some of our guests tell you their whole life story, but not this one. It was almost like she had something on her mind.”
    “So she didn’t seem happy.”
    “I wouldn’t go that far,” said Helen, “more like she was preoccupied. No questions on where to rent a bike or a kayak, didn’t ask about fishing guides, not even