Victoria Houston - Loon Lake 14 - Dead Lil' Hustler by Victoria Houston Page B

at a crazy angle on Ray’s head was a miniature version of his hat with the stuffed trout.
    “Ray, how did you get back so soon?” asked Osborne.
    “One of the techs from the crime lab had to come back to town for supplies. I hitched a ride. Lew said to let you know she’ll call when they head back. And this”—he removed the fish from his head—“is a gift for your grandson.”
    He handed Osborne the hat, which was an exact copy of his, down to a shiny new fishing lure draped with care across the body of the trout. “Kaye made it up for me,” he said, referring to the elderly friend he kept supplied with fresh bluegills in return for the care and feeding of his precious hats (summer and winter versions).
    “Say, you jack pine savage,” Bud interrupted. “You still living in that crummy house trailer out on Loon Lake?”
    “Oh, golly, if it isn’t the talking boulder,” said Ray, his voice cheery as he batted back the remark. “Speaking of lifestyles, how’s that place of yours? The yard with the toy trees.”
    A confused look crossed Bud’s face. Osborne realized he was unaware that some residents of Loon Lake considered Nancy’s aggressively landscaped lawn to be as fake as her smile.
    “Come on, you two,” said Osborne with an attempt at a chuckle. “You know you love each other.”
    Bud shrugged. “So, Pradt, what do you suggest for crappies on a hot day like today? Might take my boat out later.” Getting to his feet, Bud hitched up the golf shorts he was wearing.
    “The Lil’ Hustler spinner baits have been working for me,” said Ray. “I change colors ’til I find ones they like. By the way, if you’re looking to invest some of those millions you got, I’m working on developing an app for muskie fishing. Got this teenager buddy of mine who’s a whiz of a developer. We’re putting in the best locations, size of fish caught and when, the baits used, even the time of day. Could be mega bucks.”
    “Now why would I throw money at a guy with a fish on his head?” asked Bud as he walked toward the exit. He paused and turned to look hard at Ray. Shaking a finger at him, Bud said, “You know what I think every time I see you in that stupid hat? If my son had lived, he would have made something of his life.”
    Before Ray could open his mouth Bud had disappeared.
    “Whoa, what was that all about?” said Ray after Bud was gone.
    “Not sure,” said Osborne. “But Nancy Jarvison is here recovering from shoulder surgery so I think he’s out of sorts a bit. I’m glad you walked in when you did. He was bugging me for information about Lew.”
    “Planning to hit on her, maybe. Wouldn’t surprise me—he’s getting a little long in the tooth for the young ones.”
    “I wouldn’t go that far,” said Osborne. “Old Bud may be a practiced adulterer but he knows his type and I doubt Lew is it. No, he was less interested in Lew than in what she was
doing
, what the two of us were—”
    “Dr. Osborne, sorry to interrupt,” said the woman sitting at the reception desk in the far corner. “I couldn’t help overhearing you and I thought you might like to know that Mrs. Jarvison went home yesterday.”
    “She did? Then why was he here?”
    “I assumed he was waiting for you,” said the woman. “Wasn’t he?”

Chapter Nineteen
    Lew sat on a fallen log, finishing up her notes while Bruce and a colleague worked their way around the body, scouring the shoreline and river shallows for evidence. “Chief, did Ray find anything when he walked the perimeter?”
    Lew glanced up. “No, no signs whatsoever. At least not yet. He thinks it was a rifle shot from quite a distance. I’ve asked him to take time tomorrow to walk farther out, a good half-mile if he can.”
    She turned to Jake, who was sitting on a stump a short distance away watching as his son’s body was slipped into a body bag for transport to the crime lab in Wausau. “Jake, you and Ray didn’t happen to see anything unusual