Dead Bull Dawg, page 2
part #19 of Loon Lake Series
* * *
Though the question was directed to him, Osborne was speechless at the sight of Mallory’s new friend. Later he would confess to Lew that he had been taken aback at Josh’s apparent youth, so much so that at first he hadn’t known what to say.
“Lewellyn, the guy has to be fresh out of college. And, good grief, Mallory is over thirty years old, divorced and vice president of a large public relations firm. What is she thinking? What is he thinking?”
“Mind your own business, Doc,” Lew had said.
* * *
Tackling Osborne’s befuddled silence, Lew spoke up, saying, “Friday night fish fry, Josh—an iconic event here in the northwoods where beer-battered fish is less a menu option than a ‘must-have,’ though you can choose between cod, perch, or walleye. Oh, and potato pancakes are also mandatory: no potato salad. Right, Cody? Becky?” The kids nodded happily.
“Sounds good to me,” said Josh with an eager look in his eye. “I’ll have what you and Dr. Osborne have.”
“Good,” said Lew, “now that we have that settled, tell us what you do, Mr. Garner.”
“Sure, but only if you call me ‘Josh,’ ” said Josh with a smile. “Call me ‘Mister’ and I won’t know who you’re talking to. I’m an investigative reporter, Chief Ferris. I work for a news team that syndicates stories on state or national issues across the country. Mallory and I met when I was covering a data security breach affecting a financial institution in Chicago, which was one of her firm’s clients. . . .”
Before he could say more, a surge in the noise level caused everyone at the table to look toward the front of the restaurant. A lanky figure in khaki cargo shorts and a black T-shirt emblazoned with neon green letters reading EXCITEMENT, ROMANCE AND LIVE BAIT: FISHING WITH RAY was ambling their way. At least he was headed in their direction before he kept stopping to chat at one table after another—so many times that Suzanne rolled her eyes at her mother.
“Honestly, is there anyone in Loon Lake Ray Pradt doesn’t know?” asked Suzanne of everyone seated around her.
“If there is, I haven’t met ’em,” said Lew, buttering a roll.
Mallory, watching the man on whom she’d had a crush for years before they segued from an ill-advised intimacy into a friendship bordered with respect, understanding, and a large dose of self-deprecating humor, said to Josh, “Get ready. Ray is our neighbor at the lake and one of my dad’s closest friends. He considers himself an expert on muskies, women, and the best weed on the market. Right, Dad?”
“Come on now,” warned Osborne, throwing a glance toward Lew.
* * *
Mallory shrugged. She had been kidding, as she was well aware that while Ray might appear overly fond of cannabis, he was, in fact, a trusted source who kept Lew and the Loon Lake Police aware of changes in drug use among the people he knew: people who lived down roads with no fire numbers, people with no tax IDs, people who were the first to know when something new, exciting, and lethal became available. Whenever variations of dangerous drugs were introduced to the northwoods, Ray was often the first with an anonymous tip for law enforcement.
Did her father know that Ray was a key source for Lew? Mallory wasn’t sure, but she had decided long ago to keep that information to herself. More important was that Ray had been instrumental in introducing Osborne—and herself—to the meetings held weekly behind the door with the coffeepot on the window. She had no intention of jeopardizing a friendship that had saved both their lives.
* * *
“Well, well, Suzanne, how are you? Haven’t seen you in ages,” said Ray, searching for space under the table for his grasshopper legs, “and you know Mallory, right? You heard about her new job? She’s a Walmart greeter.”
“Thank you, Mr. Pradt.” Mallory did her best to sound wounded, but the twinkle in her eye gave her away. “Like you to meet my friend Josh Garner. He’s hoping you might have room in your boat tomorrow to show him some muskie water.”
Ray gave Josh a long look. “Maybe . . . but I don’t think you’ll need a fishing license, guy.”
“Why not?” Josh looked confused.
“If you’re under twelve—”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake, Ray. Just shut up.” Mallory tried to sound lighthearted, but she was irritated. Definitely irritated.
Listening to their banter, Osborne saw his friend give a quick glance down toward his phone, a worried glance that vanished the minute he looked up. Osborne made a mental note to check with him after dinner. So seldom did Ray worry about anything that Osborne wondered if one of his parents might be ill.
A bare male arm appeared without warning, draping itself across Mallory’s shoulders. The owner of the arm bent over to nuzzle her ear even as Mallory twisted away. “Stop it, Bill,” she said, grimacing. “Jeez Louise, you’re like a human mosquito. A married human mosquito might I add.”
“Aw, you’re no fun,” said the intruder with an eager smile as he nodded at everyone seated at the table. “Just trying to be social. Hey, Doc, Chief Ferris . . . So, Mal honey, when did you get back in town?”
The man named Bill continued to squeeze Mallory’s shoulder while ignoring Josh seated next to her. Watching the proceedings, Osborne waited for Bill to get the message and move on, which couldn’t happen soon enough for Osborne.
Bill Kimble was notorious for paying too much attention to women, a habit he’d had since he was a teenager, a habit Osborne and his staff, which had included Bunny, the receptionist, and Miriam, the dental hygienist—knew too well. The problem was that Osborne’s dental clinic had been located next door to Bill’s father’s real estate office.
This precipitated a daily ritual of teenage Bill stopping by the clinic after dropping off athletic gear he was too lazy to carry home or hitting his dad up for cash. At the time Bunny was an attractive blonde in her midforties who was skilled at entertaining the young guy for five minutes then shooing him out the door.
“I swear that kid was born a ladies’ man,” she once exclaimed to Osborne, sounding flattered but exasperated. While most men grow out of the flirting stage after marriage, Bill never matured past flirting, developing instead into a notorious womanizer.
Genetics made it easy for him: he was born good-looking, a natural athlete who played football one semester for the University of Wisconsin and was gifted with a natural, friendly charisma that made him both “a guy’s guy” and a heartthrob to too many ladies.
Yes, he married his high school sweetheart, Evelyn Martin, who had been the prettiest girl in the school, and, yes, his parents died early in a car accident, leaving him millions of dollars in prime real estate—adding to his charm. That he was running through the money ridiculously fast and serially violating his marriage vows only made him more attractive to the lovely, cold, and calculating. One of these days, Osborne liked to think, the jerk would find himself way out of his league. But it hadn’t happened yet.
* * *
After stroking Mallory’s shoulder a minute too long, Bill turned his attention to Suzanne. She was ready and cut him off with an abrupt comment that she had just heard he’d lost money on a real estate investment in her hometown of Green Bay.
“Is that true?” she asked, feigning disbelief. Bill looked uncomfortable, waved good-bye to everyone, and slunk off.
Ray, watching him go, turned to Suzanne and said, “You know to be careful around that bastard, don’t you?” Suzanne nodded with an expression on her face that implied she was well informed.
“Mallory Osborne.” A loud female voice pierced the buzz of the room.
Looking up, Mallory met the eyes of a woman she had hoped never to see again.
CHAPTER FIVE
The astonishment on Mallory’s face caused Osborne to look around for the source. A tall spider of a woman loomed over his daughter. Osborne had to blink twice to be sure he was seeing only two long, bony arms—arms that the woman held akimbo on her hips as if she were giving orders.
“Oh my gosh, Judy, how long has it been?” asked Mallory as she pushed back her chair to stand and embrace the woman.
“Seventeen years to be exact, and the name these days is Judith. Different last name, too—Kerr. But there’s no Mr. Kerr. He’s history.” The woman gave a tight smile as she emphasized the correct pronunciation of her first name.
It wasn’t until he heard the querulous edge in the voice that it dawned on him: he was looking at someone who, along with her mother, had lived next door to him back when he and Mary Lee and their girls had lived in town. This was little Judy Kopicuski. Chubby little Judy Kopicuski. She may have dropped the baby fat, but she’d clearly held on to the whine-like voice of a constant complainer, a trait she shared with her late mother.
Had she married to rid herself of a four-syllable last name? Or in an attempt to improve her mood? Osborne chided himself for being so critical.
As he listened to the exclamations being shared by the former childhood friends, he hoped their excitement at finding each other wouldn’t go on too long, since a waitress had finally shown up to take their orders. He caught Lew’s eye and could see she was thinking the same thing. She must have given up because she motioned for the waitress to go ahead and take the kids’ orders.
“. . . and where have you been all these years?” Mallory was asking. “I don’t remember seeing you at our class reunion five years ago and I missed this year’s gathering of our classmates.”
“I made the recent class reunion, but that’s the very first one I’ve been to,” said Judith. “These past few years I’ve been out of the country. Until a month ago I was working in military intelligence at the highest level in the federal government. But”—again the grim smile—“right now I’m taking three months off while I change jobs. . . .”
“Sounds impressive,” said Mallory. “But you were always a smart kid. Can I ask what’s next or is that top secret?”
Osborne knew his daughter well enough to spot the irony hiding in her question, which a casual listener would find flattering. He kept his smile to himself.
“Same old story for those of us who do well in the spook biz,” Judith was saying with an airy toss of her head. “Bottom line? I’m being dragged into the private sector. Dragged.” She grimaced as she spoke. “But when you’ve been offered over a million bucks for a year’s work, it’s tough to resist. For the moment, though, I’m planning to enjoy a three-month hiatus. Or as I told my new bosses: ‘This girl is taking the summer off, goddammit.’ ” Again the tight smile.
As she spoke Osborne recalled that even as he had often felt sorry for her as a kid, he had found her difficult to like. Based on what he was hearing now, he was pretty sure he wasn’t going to like her as an adult, either.
“But enough about me,” said Judith. “How about you, Mallory, what are you doing? I didn’t know you were back in Loon Lake.” No one listening was going to miss the condescension in her voice.
“Hey, she has a great job,” said Ray, his voice booming across the table from where he had been listening to every word. “She’s a Walmart greeter.”
“Really.” Judith oozed sympathy.
“No,” said Mallory, spitting out the word. “Honestly, Ray, that joke’s getting old.” She threw a dirty look across the table. “Don’t listen to goofball over there,” she said. “He thinks he’s funny.” She made a face in Ray’s direction before turning back to Judith.
“I am not living in Loon Lake. Just here for a visit with my dad. I live in Chicago, where I’m VP of a public relations firm that has offices in New York, San Francisco, and Los Angeles. Coincidentally, Judith, our client list includes several high-tech companies that specialize in cybersecurity, which makes me wonder what firm you’re joining? Who knows? Could be a client of ours. . . .”
“Oh, I can’t say anything yet,” said Judith, adopting a haughty tone. “The work I do is all very top drawer. In fact, we may have to keep my role confidential.”
With that, Josh, who had been listening intently to the two women, stood up and reached to shake Judith’s hand. After introducing himself, he said, “Excuse me for interrupting but were you with the NSA or the CIA? I’ve covered both agencies in my work and I’m familiar with quite a few of the experts. . . .”
Judith stared at him for a long moment before saying, “The NSA, but I cannot share details, not even names. Sorry.” She turned back toward Mallory, leaving Josh standing.
After a brief pause, he got the hint and sat down.
As he listened to the women and Josh, Osborne couldn’t help but wonder how it was he was hearing the acronym NSA twice in one day—and in Loon Lake, a town so far from Washington, D.C., that most people wouldn’t know what NSA stood for.
“Judith, if I weren’t here for such a short time, I would suggest we get together,” said Mallory. “Why don’t I let you know ahead of time when I’ll be back and we can catch up?”
“Good idea,” said Judith. “By the way,” she added, “do you see quite a bit of Bill Kimble?”
“Not really,” said Mallory, sounding taken aback by the question. “He’s married to Evie Martin, you know.”
“I guess I did know that,” said Judith in a spritely tone. “Well, yes, let’s get together. I’ll give you a call or a text.”
“Sure, let me give you my number for your phone,” said Mallory. After exchanging numbers, Judith walked around the table to stand next to Ray. “You look familiar. Aren’t you one of the Pradt kids?”
“Yep,” said Ray, “I’m Ray, the one who never grew up. I was a year behind you in school.”
“Of course,” said Judith, “and are you a doctor or a lawyer like your siblings?”
“Nope,” said Ray. He got to his feet, grabbed the front of his T-shirt, and held it so she could read the slogan. “This is me,” he said, “ ‘Excitement, Romance and Live Bait: Fishing with Ray.’ Just your standard-issue fishing guide.”
Looking him up and down, Judith said in a coy tone, “Really? You don’t look too standard issue to me. Maybe I should get your number, too?”
“If you’re looking to fish? By all means,” said Ray. “I’m your man in the boat for muskie, bass, or walleye.” With that, he gave her his phone number and watched as she punched it into her phone.
When she had finished, Judith slipped her phone into a purse slung over her shoulder and said, “One thing I’ve been planning to do while I’m up here is learn how to fish. Never did as a kid. So I’ll definitely give you a call. Can I assume you rent fishing gear?”
“I have everything you’ll need.”
Mallory snorted, and it was Ray’s turn to look irritated. But only for a second.
“Anyone mind if we order now?” asked Lew, beckoning toward the waitress, who’d been waiting patiently.
“Oh, I am so sorry. Please, people, order,” said Judith. “I’ll be calling you,” she said, pointing an index finger at Ray before turning to walk off into the dining room.
Mallory waited to be sure she was out of earshot before saying, “That was a surprise. Sorry, everyone, for holding up our dinner.”
“Wasn’t your fault,” said Josh. “We all know that a ‘top drawer’ person has to come first. Right?” He grinned. “An old friend, I take it?”
“Well, not exactly a friend,” said Mallory. “I’ll tell you more later.”
Osborne, in spite of his initial shock at Josh’s apparent youth, began to reconsider. He just might like the young man after all.
CHAPTER SIX
Osborne lingered so he could walk out of the restaurant behind Ray. Once they were on the sidewalk, he pulled Ray aside. “What’s wrong? Are your parents okay? You seemed preoccupied all through dinner.”
“Everyone in my family is fine,” said Ray, his eyes serious. “It’s Lillian Curran. She called me two days ago and asked me to drop by today with a dozen bluegills. She said she was planning to eat half and freeze half. But when I went by her house, no one was home, and, well, Doc, that’s odd. So I went by her place once more before coming here but she was still gone.”
“C’mon, Ray, our old friend Lillian is as eccentric as they come. You know that,” said Osborne. “How about last fall when she took off without telling a single soul—not even the post office—that she was flying to a Buddhist monastery on top of some mountain in Japan for a month? Now that’s odd.”
Ray managed a smile. “True. She is a character, for sure.”
“That’s an understatement,” said Osborne, who knew the elderly lawyer well.
* * *
Lillian Curran had been a patient of his for over a decade. She was a retired criminal defense lawyer who became famous early in her career for defending two young brothers who had kidnapped the daughter of a lumber baron. After they were caught—and they had not harmed the young woman—Lillian took on their defense in hopes of saving them from life in prison or a death penalty.
“I talked to those boys, Doc,” she had told Osborne, “and I could tell that growing up, they had never gotten a break. Sure they did wrong, really wrong. But I knew they could be rehabilitated.
“Their only hope was to be represented by a woman—back in the day, that fact alone would surprise people. Who could better persuade a jury that they were not the devil incarnate? And that girl they kidnapped? Her testimony about how kind they had been to her—well, I didn’t have to say much more.”
When Lillian won twenty-year sentences for the boys, she won national news. She also made sure that while they were imprisoned, they got trained to work on dairy farms and when they were released in their early forties, she helped them get jobs.
“I did the right thing, Doc,” she told Osborne. “They worked hard, they raised families, and they made me proud.” The only problem from Lillian’s point of view was that she outlived them.
After retiring from the bar, Lillian had moved to a small cottage on the western shore of Loon Lake where she became an avid birder and an outspoken—to put it mildly—advocate for birds of prey.
Though the question was directed to him, Osborne was speechless at the sight of Mallory’s new friend. Later he would confess to Lew that he had been taken aback at Josh’s apparent youth, so much so that at first he hadn’t known what to say.
“Lewellyn, the guy has to be fresh out of college. And, good grief, Mallory is over thirty years old, divorced and vice president of a large public relations firm. What is she thinking? What is he thinking?”
“Mind your own business, Doc,” Lew had said.
* * *
Tackling Osborne’s befuddled silence, Lew spoke up, saying, “Friday night fish fry, Josh—an iconic event here in the northwoods where beer-battered fish is less a menu option than a ‘must-have,’ though you can choose between cod, perch, or walleye. Oh, and potato pancakes are also mandatory: no potato salad. Right, Cody? Becky?” The kids nodded happily.
“Sounds good to me,” said Josh with an eager look in his eye. “I’ll have what you and Dr. Osborne have.”
“Good,” said Lew, “now that we have that settled, tell us what you do, Mr. Garner.”
“Sure, but only if you call me ‘Josh,’ ” said Josh with a smile. “Call me ‘Mister’ and I won’t know who you’re talking to. I’m an investigative reporter, Chief Ferris. I work for a news team that syndicates stories on state or national issues across the country. Mallory and I met when I was covering a data security breach affecting a financial institution in Chicago, which was one of her firm’s clients. . . .”
Before he could say more, a surge in the noise level caused everyone at the table to look toward the front of the restaurant. A lanky figure in khaki cargo shorts and a black T-shirt emblazoned with neon green letters reading EXCITEMENT, ROMANCE AND LIVE BAIT: FISHING WITH RAY was ambling their way. At least he was headed in their direction before he kept stopping to chat at one table after another—so many times that Suzanne rolled her eyes at her mother.
“Honestly, is there anyone in Loon Lake Ray Pradt doesn’t know?” asked Suzanne of everyone seated around her.
“If there is, I haven’t met ’em,” said Lew, buttering a roll.
Mallory, watching the man on whom she’d had a crush for years before they segued from an ill-advised intimacy into a friendship bordered with respect, understanding, and a large dose of self-deprecating humor, said to Josh, “Get ready. Ray is our neighbor at the lake and one of my dad’s closest friends. He considers himself an expert on muskies, women, and the best weed on the market. Right, Dad?”
“Come on now,” warned Osborne, throwing a glance toward Lew.
* * *
Mallory shrugged. She had been kidding, as she was well aware that while Ray might appear overly fond of cannabis, he was, in fact, a trusted source who kept Lew and the Loon Lake Police aware of changes in drug use among the people he knew: people who lived down roads with no fire numbers, people with no tax IDs, people who were the first to know when something new, exciting, and lethal became available. Whenever variations of dangerous drugs were introduced to the northwoods, Ray was often the first with an anonymous tip for law enforcement.
Did her father know that Ray was a key source for Lew? Mallory wasn’t sure, but she had decided long ago to keep that information to herself. More important was that Ray had been instrumental in introducing Osborne—and herself—to the meetings held weekly behind the door with the coffeepot on the window. She had no intention of jeopardizing a friendship that had saved both their lives.
* * *
“Well, well, Suzanne, how are you? Haven’t seen you in ages,” said Ray, searching for space under the table for his grasshopper legs, “and you know Mallory, right? You heard about her new job? She’s a Walmart greeter.”
“Thank you, Mr. Pradt.” Mallory did her best to sound wounded, but the twinkle in her eye gave her away. “Like you to meet my friend Josh Garner. He’s hoping you might have room in your boat tomorrow to show him some muskie water.”
Ray gave Josh a long look. “Maybe . . . but I don’t think you’ll need a fishing license, guy.”
“Why not?” Josh looked confused.
“If you’re under twelve—”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake, Ray. Just shut up.” Mallory tried to sound lighthearted, but she was irritated. Definitely irritated.
Listening to their banter, Osborne saw his friend give a quick glance down toward his phone, a worried glance that vanished the minute he looked up. Osborne made a mental note to check with him after dinner. So seldom did Ray worry about anything that Osborne wondered if one of his parents might be ill.
A bare male arm appeared without warning, draping itself across Mallory’s shoulders. The owner of the arm bent over to nuzzle her ear even as Mallory twisted away. “Stop it, Bill,” she said, grimacing. “Jeez Louise, you’re like a human mosquito. A married human mosquito might I add.”
“Aw, you’re no fun,” said the intruder with an eager smile as he nodded at everyone seated at the table. “Just trying to be social. Hey, Doc, Chief Ferris . . . So, Mal honey, when did you get back in town?”
The man named Bill continued to squeeze Mallory’s shoulder while ignoring Josh seated next to her. Watching the proceedings, Osborne waited for Bill to get the message and move on, which couldn’t happen soon enough for Osborne.
Bill Kimble was notorious for paying too much attention to women, a habit he’d had since he was a teenager, a habit Osborne and his staff, which had included Bunny, the receptionist, and Miriam, the dental hygienist—knew too well. The problem was that Osborne’s dental clinic had been located next door to Bill’s father’s real estate office.
This precipitated a daily ritual of teenage Bill stopping by the clinic after dropping off athletic gear he was too lazy to carry home or hitting his dad up for cash. At the time Bunny was an attractive blonde in her midforties who was skilled at entertaining the young guy for five minutes then shooing him out the door.
“I swear that kid was born a ladies’ man,” she once exclaimed to Osborne, sounding flattered but exasperated. While most men grow out of the flirting stage after marriage, Bill never matured past flirting, developing instead into a notorious womanizer.
Genetics made it easy for him: he was born good-looking, a natural athlete who played football one semester for the University of Wisconsin and was gifted with a natural, friendly charisma that made him both “a guy’s guy” and a heartthrob to too many ladies.
Yes, he married his high school sweetheart, Evelyn Martin, who had been the prettiest girl in the school, and, yes, his parents died early in a car accident, leaving him millions of dollars in prime real estate—adding to his charm. That he was running through the money ridiculously fast and serially violating his marriage vows only made him more attractive to the lovely, cold, and calculating. One of these days, Osborne liked to think, the jerk would find himself way out of his league. But it hadn’t happened yet.
* * *
After stroking Mallory’s shoulder a minute too long, Bill turned his attention to Suzanne. She was ready and cut him off with an abrupt comment that she had just heard he’d lost money on a real estate investment in her hometown of Green Bay.
“Is that true?” she asked, feigning disbelief. Bill looked uncomfortable, waved good-bye to everyone, and slunk off.
Ray, watching him go, turned to Suzanne and said, “You know to be careful around that bastard, don’t you?” Suzanne nodded with an expression on her face that implied she was well informed.
“Mallory Osborne.” A loud female voice pierced the buzz of the room.
Looking up, Mallory met the eyes of a woman she had hoped never to see again.
CHAPTER FIVE
The astonishment on Mallory’s face caused Osborne to look around for the source. A tall spider of a woman loomed over his daughter. Osborne had to blink twice to be sure he was seeing only two long, bony arms—arms that the woman held akimbo on her hips as if she were giving orders.
“Oh my gosh, Judy, how long has it been?” asked Mallory as she pushed back her chair to stand and embrace the woman.
“Seventeen years to be exact, and the name these days is Judith. Different last name, too—Kerr. But there’s no Mr. Kerr. He’s history.” The woman gave a tight smile as she emphasized the correct pronunciation of her first name.
It wasn’t until he heard the querulous edge in the voice that it dawned on him: he was looking at someone who, along with her mother, had lived next door to him back when he and Mary Lee and their girls had lived in town. This was little Judy Kopicuski. Chubby little Judy Kopicuski. She may have dropped the baby fat, but she’d clearly held on to the whine-like voice of a constant complainer, a trait she shared with her late mother.
Had she married to rid herself of a four-syllable last name? Or in an attempt to improve her mood? Osborne chided himself for being so critical.
As he listened to the exclamations being shared by the former childhood friends, he hoped their excitement at finding each other wouldn’t go on too long, since a waitress had finally shown up to take their orders. He caught Lew’s eye and could see she was thinking the same thing. She must have given up because she motioned for the waitress to go ahead and take the kids’ orders.
“. . . and where have you been all these years?” Mallory was asking. “I don’t remember seeing you at our class reunion five years ago and I missed this year’s gathering of our classmates.”
“I made the recent class reunion, but that’s the very first one I’ve been to,” said Judith. “These past few years I’ve been out of the country. Until a month ago I was working in military intelligence at the highest level in the federal government. But”—again the grim smile—“right now I’m taking three months off while I change jobs. . . .”
“Sounds impressive,” said Mallory. “But you were always a smart kid. Can I ask what’s next or is that top secret?”
Osborne knew his daughter well enough to spot the irony hiding in her question, which a casual listener would find flattering. He kept his smile to himself.
“Same old story for those of us who do well in the spook biz,” Judith was saying with an airy toss of her head. “Bottom line? I’m being dragged into the private sector. Dragged.” She grimaced as she spoke. “But when you’ve been offered over a million bucks for a year’s work, it’s tough to resist. For the moment, though, I’m planning to enjoy a three-month hiatus. Or as I told my new bosses: ‘This girl is taking the summer off, goddammit.’ ” Again the tight smile.
As she spoke Osborne recalled that even as he had often felt sorry for her as a kid, he had found her difficult to like. Based on what he was hearing now, he was pretty sure he wasn’t going to like her as an adult, either.
“But enough about me,” said Judith. “How about you, Mallory, what are you doing? I didn’t know you were back in Loon Lake.” No one listening was going to miss the condescension in her voice.
“Hey, she has a great job,” said Ray, his voice booming across the table from where he had been listening to every word. “She’s a Walmart greeter.”
“Really.” Judith oozed sympathy.
“No,” said Mallory, spitting out the word. “Honestly, Ray, that joke’s getting old.” She threw a dirty look across the table. “Don’t listen to goofball over there,” she said. “He thinks he’s funny.” She made a face in Ray’s direction before turning back to Judith.
“I am not living in Loon Lake. Just here for a visit with my dad. I live in Chicago, where I’m VP of a public relations firm that has offices in New York, San Francisco, and Los Angeles. Coincidentally, Judith, our client list includes several high-tech companies that specialize in cybersecurity, which makes me wonder what firm you’re joining? Who knows? Could be a client of ours. . . .”
“Oh, I can’t say anything yet,” said Judith, adopting a haughty tone. “The work I do is all very top drawer. In fact, we may have to keep my role confidential.”
With that, Josh, who had been listening intently to the two women, stood up and reached to shake Judith’s hand. After introducing himself, he said, “Excuse me for interrupting but were you with the NSA or the CIA? I’ve covered both agencies in my work and I’m familiar with quite a few of the experts. . . .”
Judith stared at him for a long moment before saying, “The NSA, but I cannot share details, not even names. Sorry.” She turned back toward Mallory, leaving Josh standing.
After a brief pause, he got the hint and sat down.
As he listened to the women and Josh, Osborne couldn’t help but wonder how it was he was hearing the acronym NSA twice in one day—and in Loon Lake, a town so far from Washington, D.C., that most people wouldn’t know what NSA stood for.
“Judith, if I weren’t here for such a short time, I would suggest we get together,” said Mallory. “Why don’t I let you know ahead of time when I’ll be back and we can catch up?”
“Good idea,” said Judith. “By the way,” she added, “do you see quite a bit of Bill Kimble?”
“Not really,” said Mallory, sounding taken aback by the question. “He’s married to Evie Martin, you know.”
“I guess I did know that,” said Judith in a spritely tone. “Well, yes, let’s get together. I’ll give you a call or a text.”
“Sure, let me give you my number for your phone,” said Mallory. After exchanging numbers, Judith walked around the table to stand next to Ray. “You look familiar. Aren’t you one of the Pradt kids?”
“Yep,” said Ray, “I’m Ray, the one who never grew up. I was a year behind you in school.”
“Of course,” said Judith, “and are you a doctor or a lawyer like your siblings?”
“Nope,” said Ray. He got to his feet, grabbed the front of his T-shirt, and held it so she could read the slogan. “This is me,” he said, “ ‘Excitement, Romance and Live Bait: Fishing with Ray.’ Just your standard-issue fishing guide.”
Looking him up and down, Judith said in a coy tone, “Really? You don’t look too standard issue to me. Maybe I should get your number, too?”
“If you’re looking to fish? By all means,” said Ray. “I’m your man in the boat for muskie, bass, or walleye.” With that, he gave her his phone number and watched as she punched it into her phone.
When she had finished, Judith slipped her phone into a purse slung over her shoulder and said, “One thing I’ve been planning to do while I’m up here is learn how to fish. Never did as a kid. So I’ll definitely give you a call. Can I assume you rent fishing gear?”
“I have everything you’ll need.”
Mallory snorted, and it was Ray’s turn to look irritated. But only for a second.
“Anyone mind if we order now?” asked Lew, beckoning toward the waitress, who’d been waiting patiently.
“Oh, I am so sorry. Please, people, order,” said Judith. “I’ll be calling you,” she said, pointing an index finger at Ray before turning to walk off into the dining room.
Mallory waited to be sure she was out of earshot before saying, “That was a surprise. Sorry, everyone, for holding up our dinner.”
“Wasn’t your fault,” said Josh. “We all know that a ‘top drawer’ person has to come first. Right?” He grinned. “An old friend, I take it?”
“Well, not exactly a friend,” said Mallory. “I’ll tell you more later.”
Osborne, in spite of his initial shock at Josh’s apparent youth, began to reconsider. He just might like the young man after all.
CHAPTER SIX
Osborne lingered so he could walk out of the restaurant behind Ray. Once they were on the sidewalk, he pulled Ray aside. “What’s wrong? Are your parents okay? You seemed preoccupied all through dinner.”
“Everyone in my family is fine,” said Ray, his eyes serious. “It’s Lillian Curran. She called me two days ago and asked me to drop by today with a dozen bluegills. She said she was planning to eat half and freeze half. But when I went by her house, no one was home, and, well, Doc, that’s odd. So I went by her place once more before coming here but she was still gone.”
“C’mon, Ray, our old friend Lillian is as eccentric as they come. You know that,” said Osborne. “How about last fall when she took off without telling a single soul—not even the post office—that she was flying to a Buddhist monastery on top of some mountain in Japan for a month? Now that’s odd.”
Ray managed a smile. “True. She is a character, for sure.”
“That’s an understatement,” said Osborne, who knew the elderly lawyer well.
* * *
Lillian Curran had been a patient of his for over a decade. She was a retired criminal defense lawyer who became famous early in her career for defending two young brothers who had kidnapped the daughter of a lumber baron. After they were caught—and they had not harmed the young woman—Lillian took on their defense in hopes of saving them from life in prison or a death penalty.
“I talked to those boys, Doc,” she had told Osborne, “and I could tell that growing up, they had never gotten a break. Sure they did wrong, really wrong. But I knew they could be rehabilitated.
“Their only hope was to be represented by a woman—back in the day, that fact alone would surprise people. Who could better persuade a jury that they were not the devil incarnate? And that girl they kidnapped? Her testimony about how kind they had been to her—well, I didn’t have to say much more.”
When Lillian won twenty-year sentences for the boys, she won national news. She also made sure that while they were imprisoned, they got trained to work on dairy farms and when they were released in their early forties, she helped them get jobs.
“I did the right thing, Doc,” she told Osborne. “They worked hard, they raised families, and they made me proud.” The only problem from Lillian’s point of view was that she outlived them.
After retiring from the bar, Lillian had moved to a small cottage on the western shore of Loon Lake where she became an avid birder and an outspoken—to put it mildly—advocate for birds of prey.
