Dead Madonna (25 page)

“According to Gwen, it’s at the bottom of Mirror Lake. She dropped it off the canoe. That is one time I do believe her.”

“We’ll never know, I suppose, but I’ve been wondering if she came upon us last night when we were at the barn? I thought I heard someone and then I saw a canoe paddling away,” said Osborne. Noticing the jeweled rings on Gwen’s fingers as the EMTs moved her body had caused him to remember the flash of light he’d seen outside the barn window.

“Say,” interrupted Ray, “forgot to mention—my buddy Gunders and I—we found your kayaks with the fly rods still inside, you lucky dogs. A couple of soggy fishing vests, too.

The life jackets floated quite aways but everything else landed pretty close by, believe it or not.”

“My camera?” said Osborne, remembering Lew taking the photo of his trophy brown trout.

“No camera, Doc, sorry.”

“Not to worry, Doc, we’ll fish that stream again,” said Lew, “with helmets.”

“The big question I have,” said Osborne, passing the maple syrup around the table to Mallory, “is where’s the money? Where’s all that cash that Hugh Curry withdrew from the banks?”

“Well, that was Gwen’s doing, too,” said Lew. “Seems Wisconsin is the fourth state in which the Currys ran their scam so a number of banks and companies have been after them. No one has been able to find a money trail because they laundered it right away. They would take the cash, use it to purchase electronic goods of all kinds and Gwen would resell them on eBay. It didn’t bother them if they bought at retail and sold at a discount because they got cash no one could trace.

“Nifty for them but it leaves our Loon Lake Police Department and three local banks with an old barn full of iPods, cellphones, computers, video games and who knows what.”

“Mason will be heartbroken when she hears the truth about her hidden treasure,” said Osborne. “I may have to buy her an iPod for her birthday.”

“What
will
you do with all that stuff? Sell it on eBay?” Ray spoke as if that was the last thing anyone would do.

“Wait a minute!” said Mallory. “That’s not a bad idea. Chief Ferris, the banks could hire Sharon Donovan to handle that. Even if they pay her a commission, they could get most of the money back. Cool stuff like that moves fast online.”

“It’s a good suggestion, Mallory,” said Lew. “I have no idea how much red tape will be involved given that all the banks are sure to want a say in what happens to the goods.”

Osborne pushed his plate away. “This was delicious.”

“And deserved,” said Lew. She gazed around the table and Osborne was sure he saw tears glisten as she said, “I … um … I have to thank you all for being there for me.” She straightened up and cleared her throat. “Ray, who knew you would save my life with that crazy video thing of yours.”

“FawnCam,” said Ray. “Thank your resident wolf—we were all hoping to see him—”

“Or her,” corrected Mallory.

“And Gretel,” said Lew. “I feel so bad I kept putting off meeting with you …”

“Guilt is a great sales tool,” said Gretel. “Not to worry, I’ll be back next month.”

“Really,” said Ray, “will you let me know when you’re coming?”

“On one condition …” said Gretel.

“I know, I know—the jokes,” said Ray. “I promise I’ll put a lid on it.” Mallory snorted.

Lew couldn’t sleep at her place for at least another day.

“State law,” Osborne had been pleased to remind her. “Last I heard someone died there under less than natural circumstances. Given how isolated your place is, Lewellyn, I’ve been wondering if you would consider moving in here … with me.”

“I don’t know, Doc. I love my place, even though what happened there leaves me feeling it’s been violated. Why don’t you give me … oh, six months to think it over?”

Lying beside her after they had decided to take a well-deserved afternoon nap, he smiled. “That’s a nice way of saying ‘no.’” Though all the windows were open, the day was hot and still. They had thrown both sheet and blanket off. Mike snored from his cushion near the door.

As Osborne was admiring what the glow of a summer afternoon does to a woman’s body, Lew leaned over to kiss him … hard and harder.

An excerpt from
DEAD HOT SHOT
the ninth Loon Lake Mystery
by Victoria Houston
due out from Bleak
House Books
Spring 2008

Nolan Reece stumbled down the flagstone stairs. She stopped midway. One hand on the wood railing, the other holding the wine glass high, she wobbled in place, searching for balance. High up over her left shoulder an owl hooted. She swung around, eyes searching, but black clouds streaking overhead shut out the moon. No wonder she couldn’t see.

Should’ve skipped the champagne, you silly, she thought. Wine sloshed across her right foot, soaking the toe of one of the velvet slippers that had cost four hundred goddamn dollars but what the hell: this was her night. The owl hooted again —the great horned owl that she had glimpsed only once in her forty-seven years of running up and down these stairs. Nolan made a mental note to try to remember to ask her secretary to find out how long owls live. Could it be the same one she saw when she was twelve?

Swaying against the railing, she turned to look up and back towards the top of the stairs. Lights shone from every window in the big house. Casement windows custom designed to replicate the tall, narrow lines of the majestic pines that swept up and up and up.

God, what it had cost to keep those trees, to force the architects to find a way to nestle the house into the hill without cutting a single one of her trees. Worth every penny and every hour of argument. Hell, it was the beauty of the house hidden among the trees that first caught the eye of the writer from ARCHITECTURAL DIGEST. That and the amazing circumferences of the logs she’d had shipped down from Canada. Well … also the soft silver glow of the wood that had required six coats of stain before she was happy. And Andy had fought her on every decision. What was he thinking? It wasn’t even his money.

Though the November air was cold and crisp, the windows facing west were half open letting the heat of the party—laughter, voices pitched high in friendly argument, a caterer’s clatter of pots and glassware—flow towards her. Nolan took a sip from her wine glass, then held it high: a toast to the people behind the windows. It had been a perfect party.

Well, almost perfect. Blue had arrived an hour late. An hour late for her own engagement party? That was more than a little odd. If the guests hadn’t all arrived and needed her attention … well, she’d deal with Blue in the morning. All she had to do was remind her: in my house you follow my rules or I change the terms of your trust and you see no money until you turn forty. Got it?

What was the girl up to anyway? First she had insisted on staying in the guesthouse instead of her own lovely suite in the big house. Nolan herself had chosen the fabrics, the furniture, the antique doll collection—oh, those priceless dolls from the Civil War era! Then, when Nolan had called on the intercom to hurry her down because Jere and his parents had arrived, there was no answer. Not even Jere knew where she was.

I’ll get to the bottom of this. Nolan set her jaw as she turned towards the lake. If Blue is so stupid as to be fooling around with that Barton boy again … She took a sip of wine, then started down the stairs. She’d bet anything that was it.

Foolish girl. Here’s Jere, the perfect guy for her to marry. Dartmouth, Harvard Business School, an athlete, good-looking, a family business that could pay for Blue’s extravagances. His parents are bearable. Nolan herself couldn’t have picked a better man for her daughter. Another sip of wine. And, of course, she had. Picked Jere for Blue that is. Years ago.

The kids were still in high school when Nolan got the idea. Right before she’d had to send Blue away. And then, four years later, they finally met up again at Christmas last year. She was surprised at how it all fell into place so easily. Until tonight.

Another wave of laughter from above and Nolan turned away, determined to tackle Blue in the morning. Aside from Blue’s late arrival, the rest of the evening had gone precisely as Nolan had planned: the food was excellent and the new caterers quite competent, the two college boys tending bar were absolutely darling, Andy managed to be more sociable than usual. Even Frances and Josie seemed to do okay. The new clothes helped and Nolan had made sure they were introduced around. When the young ones had skittered down to the media room to play pool and horse around that had been fine. She had planned that, too.

Reaching the slick, forest green platform that fronted the long dock, Nolan heard a scurrying in the brush off to her right. She paused to listen. A crackle of leaves and sticks. A deer? More likely that muskrat that had carved its den in the roots of the big red pine beside the dock. A bear had been spotted on their peninsula—but a bear would make more noise, wouldn’t it?

She stepped up and onto the dock, walked out over the black water and lifted her head high, hoping to find the Milky Way overhead. “Now make a wish and kiss the moon goodnight,” her grandmother had said so many years ago, prompting Nolan into a daily performance that she missed only if she was traveling, if there was lightening or if the wind chill hit below a minus twenty. It was her way of ensuring that life would never hold too many surprises: you can always kiss the moon goodnight. Not even Andy and Blue rolling their eyes on the overcast or rainy, snowy nights could keep her from that sacred moment. Always the wine, always the wish.

Lifting her wine glass, she searched for the moon but could see only a shadow behind black, rushing clouds. Not even the lake could gather enough light for a reflection—the surface so dark she could hear rather than see the water.

Again that scurry in the woods. Had one of the dogs gotten loose? As Nolan turned the sun exploded in her eyes. She felt herself falling back, back into the black water. Something immovable landed on her, holding her down. As she refused to breathe, she wondered if the water would ruin the Armani evening pants and the Japanese tunic that was worth over five thousand dollars.

Still no chance for breath.

“I can’t die, I have to write the check for the caterer,” she tried to push back but her arms didn’t answer the urge. The dark of the sky and the dark of the water moved closer, closer. She knew better: she refused to breathe. Until she couldn’t refuse any longer.

“Mom looked pretty tipsy to me,” said Blue as she stood with Jere in the doorway saying goodnight to the guests. “But she’s left dinner parties before and just gone to bed.”

Andy nodded in agreement. He’d managed to find Nolan’s purse with the house checkbook and pay the caterer. Nolan wouldn’t be happy about that. Now he knew how much she had spent on this affair and he was appalled. When the last guest had departed and Blue and Jere were on their way up in the guest house, he poured himself a glass of milk, got one of the leftover dessert pastries, let the dogs out one last time, then walked slowly up the stairs.

At door to Nolan’s bedroom, he paused. Balancing the pastry and the glass in one hand, he gave the doorknob a slow, silent turn and nudged the door open a crack. The room was dark. He listened. Quiet. She wasn’t snoring. He knew better than to wake her—that could only lead to thirty minutes of harangue for something he did wrong tonight. Oh well, deal with it in the morning, he thought and pulled the door closed.

At six a.m. the next day, a crisp, clear Thanksgiving morning, Andy followed the two golden retrievers down to the dock. Nolan was waiting. Though Loon Lake has dark water, it’s quite shallow. Only three feet deep where his wife lay slumbering beneath gentle waves—arms still reaching for the sky.

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Published in Electronic Format by
TYRUS BOOKS
an imprint of F+W Media, Inc.
4700 East Galbraith Road
Cincinnati, Ohio 45236
www.tyrusbooks.com

Copyright © 2007 by Victoria Houston

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

This is a work of fiction.
Any similarities to people or places, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

eISBN 10: 1-4405-3157-9
eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-3157-6

This work has been previously published in print format by:
Bleak House Books
a division of Big Earth Publishing, Inc.
Print ISBN: 978-1-932557-39-8