Free Dead Deceiver by Victoria Houston Page B

worked in gold and silver extensively in my dental practice and that is quite the ring.”
    “Thank you,” said Charles, holding his left hand out for everyone to see, “I designed both our rings. No stones, just wide bands beaten with a special mallet that I like to use. It’s 18kt gold. The best you can get these days.”
    “Very handsome,” said Osborne. “I haven’t seen anything like it.”
    “Take a look at Patience’s ring next time. It’s wider and you can see the pattern better. I am quite proud of it.”
    “So, Lewellyn, what do you think?” asked Osborne when she had closed the door.
    “I think we listen and wait. It would appear that Dr. Schumacher is neurotic if not clinically paranoid—and that may be. If that is what it is, then all we have is an emotionally troubled person who needs professional help. But if that is not the case and she is being stalked and we do not listen, then we have a victim.
    “We could have a homicide—or, if someone is out to drive her crazy—a suicide. Patience strikes me as pretty darn fragile.”
    “In other words, why risk the worst?” asked Osborne.
    “Exactly. Though I sure as hell wish her timing was better,” said Lew. “Hey,” she said, turning her attention to the man still seated at the conference table, “Ray, what’s your impression?”
    “Huh?” Startled, Ray looked up from his cell phone, which he was checking for the umpteenth time. “She’s very tall.”
    “Thank you. That’s a big help,” said Lew. Her eyes narrowed as she said, “I would like to know more about those two. They seem rather an odd couple to me.”
    “I’ll ask around,” said Osborne. “I know I heard something not too long ago.”
    “Thanks, Doc. Meantime, you two, I have Roger and Todd interviewing the property owners with land within a three-mile radius of the Merriman Trails. I figure Kathy Beltner could not have gone much farther than that even if she decided to snowshoe off trail.
    “Ray, you will get out there now while the sun is out, won’t you? Those trails have been closed to accommodate us and I’ve already had two calls from the DNR. They have some upset skiers …”
    “Yep, I’m on my way. Got a trail map in the truck and I’ll cover as much territory as I can before the sun goes down. Doc, you coming?”
    “On the condition you tell me why you keep checking that damn cell phone.”
    “The producers of ICE MEN said they’ll call everyone who makes the first cut today. I’m hoping to hear.”
    An hour later, Lew’s cell phone pinged with a text message: “Got a minute? Charles.” She hit the “call” button and Charles Mason answered.
    “Is this an emergency?” asked Lew.
    “Hi,” said Charles in a tone Lew found seductive and alarming, “I thought we might talk some more about, oh, Patience and—”
    “If it’s not an emergency, Mr. Mason,” said Lew, enunciating each word, “I don’t have time.” And clicked her phone off.
    Lew pondered the call and her visceral response to the man. Once before in her life she had found herself attracted to a man like Charles—physically appealing and with a certain intensity in his eyes and manner. She almost married the guy, but a minor disagreement blew up between them, exposing the fact he was borderline schizophrenic. It was a hard lesson learned but she remembered it now.
    Could she be dealing with two disturbed units in one household? Time for background checks on Patience and Charles, especially Charles.

C HAPTER 12
    O sborne bent to strap on his snowshoes. He had had them for years and never failed to admire the workmanship in the handmade wooden frames with their varnished rawhide webbing. Some people—like Erin, who had outfitted all his grandchildren in aluminum snowshoes—pooh-poohed vintage models. They preferred modern versions: machine-generated with aluminum, plastic and vinyl fittings.
    But Osborne held fast to his antiques and enjoyed badgering his daughter with,