Free Dead Water by Victoria Houston

will you please shut up and listen?”
    Osborne was astounded at the anger that had flooded into his voice. Never in his professional career had he told another adult to shut up. But then never had he been treated so rudely.
    “I’m sorry.” Her tone changed abruptly. “Wait a minute, let me go into my office. I’m going to put you on hold, Doctor. Please, wait just a minute.”
    Osborne took a deep breath as he waited. Then he took another one. The blood still pumped in his ears.
    “All right.” The voice was softer. “Please, who are you trying to call, and what is this all about?”
    “A woman by the name of Ashley Olson has been shot and—” said Osborne.
    “No!” Gina Palmer shouted into the phone as if refusing to let herself hear him. “No no no no. No-o-o,” she keened. “Oh dear God, this can’t be.”
    “I’m afraid it is. She’s dead. I’m with the Loon Lake Police and I … We are sorry to have to call this way, but we didn’t know any other—”
    “It’s my fault. I knew this could happen. I just, oh God—” she stopped.
    Osborne waited a brief moment before asking, “Are you family?”
    “Umm. Kind of …” The woman’s voice trailed off, ending with a peculiar sound. Osborne recognized exactly what was happening.
    “Take your time,” he said, feeling his own throat tighten. A vivid memory of his calls to his daughters the night of Mary Lee’s death flashed suddenly: their silence, the choking, the quiet sorrow.
    “Gina … may I call you Gina?”
    “Of course.” The strident tone had disappeared. In its place was the voice of a little girl.
    “She gave your name when she registered at the Timber Lake Lodge bed-and-breakfast in Loon Lake, Wisconsin, this past Sunday….” He paused for several beats. “Before I continue … for our records, I need to know your exact relationship to Mrs. Olson. Are you next of kin?”
    “What makes you think she was married?” The question came at him like a pistol shot. Osborne held the phone away from his ear and looked at it. Just who was asking the questions here? From little girl to velvet hammer in a matter of seconds. Was the woman schizoid?
    “I’m sorry, Doc.” The voice calmed down. “I’m a reporter. I can’t help it. And, um, I’ve kind of been expecting something like this, so you better realize I feel pretty bad. Like I’m responsible in a way. But I’m upset with myself, not you.” She spoke with an easy directness that reminded Osborne of Lew.
    “I understand.” He didn’t, but he’d try.
    “You asked about Mrs. Olson … but it’s Miss Olson. Ashley wasn’t married. I don’t know why you thought that. But first, please … you must tell me how she died. Was she killed instantly? Did she suffer?” The woman didn’t even breathe between questions.
    “I-we-we’re not sure,” Osborne stammered, realizing he had no hope of controlling the conversation.
    “You’re holding back. Look, Doc, this conversation is off the record. Ashley was one of my closest, dearest friends. I am not going to report anything you tell me, okay? I don’t write the obit. But you have to tell me every detail, because I may be able to help you find the killer. See, Ashley has … had a penchant for the wrong kind of men. Like I said: I’ve been expecting this. Now, please. Tell me exactly how she died.”
    If Gina Palmer was good at anything, she was good at making you feel you had to ante up. And for reasons that went against his better judgment, Osborne felt compelled to answer.
    “My guess—and I’m a forensic dentist only, and a retired one at that—is that a high-powered rifle shot to the head may have killed her instantly.”
    “May have?”
    “I’m not absolutely sure of cause or time of death.”
    “Well.” The demanding tone rose in her voice again. “When will you know?” Her implication was clear: Not knowing meant someone wasn’t doing their job.
    “The police chief will get a report from the crime lab