Free Dead Tease by Victoria Houston

extending a hand, and smiling at his own joke. “What’s your last name, son?”
    “The boys’ clinic is over in the junior high gym,” said Beth, jumping in a little too fast.
    “Harry Gardner. We … um … Beth and I have to get back for afternoon practice but we thought maybe it was all right to have our sandwiches out here?” His voice rose, leaving his question hanging in the air.
    “Sure,” said Osborne. “I don’t mind but will you kids let the dog into the house before you leave? I’m going to make myself a quick bite to eat and skedaddle. Beth, did your mother bring your things by?” Osborne wondered why he felt awkward.
    “Yes. She left a note for you on the kitchen table.”
    “And when do you get out of practice this afternoon?”
    “Um … four o’clock?” This time it was Beth’s voice ending on a high note. “But Harry and I—we—we’re going to bike the Bearskin for an hour….”
    “Really? Aren’t you going to be exhausted after basketball practice?” asked Osborne. “I don’t mind if you go for a bike ride, but don’t overdo it in this heat, young lady.”
    “I won’t, Grandpa. The coaches want us to either run or bike an hour a day before or after practice.”
    “Your mother didn’t mention that.”
    The two kids stared at him. Osborne backed off. “Okay, that’s fine. Just so you’re back here by five-thirty. Maybe you and I will go out in the boat? Lew might join us. Harry, you look like a fisherman—want to come along?”
    “You bet I would,” said the boy. “I know this lake—my dad fishes it with a buddy of his. You got trophy muskies in here, Dr. Osborne.”
    “You’re right, we do,” said Doc. “See you two later, then.”
    Walking back up to the house, he wondered if Beth appreciated the fact his trophy muskie lake might lure a boy or two. His granddaughter was an attractive girl, but let’s be real: big fish count too, doncha know.
    The thought made him happy in spite of the dread he had felt ever since Lew asked him to join her in questioning Gladys Daniels.
    Gladys Daniels: one of the few people in Loon Lake who frightened him.

Chapter Eleven
    A lush lawn, mowed with precision, swept along Bobcat Lane, all the way from where it turned off the county road to where it ended in a circle drive fronting the brick and stone mansion owned by the Daniels family. Buttery daylilies in full bloom filled the center of the circular drive, the blooms bouncing off one another in the summer breezes.
    A pitched roof of dark gray shake shingles guarded the front entry, and a granite chimney anchored the far end of the house. Along the right side of the lane a wall of stately pines fended off inquisitive neighbors.
    Built in the early 1900s as a summer home for a dairy magnate from Chicago, the house was a landmark coveted by the wives of Loon Lake’s professional men—including Osborne’s late wife. Gladys Daniels had scored quite a coup when she and her husband bought the property from the widow of the retired boat manufacturer who had owned the home.
    According to Mary Lee and her bridge group, Gladys had cheated her way into ownership by convincing the soon-to-be bereaved widow that she would be short of money unless she sold the home to Gladys and Marvin before her husband’s death—a transaction that Gladys swore would allow the family to avoid tens of thousands of dollars in real estate taxes.
    She had exaggerated the tax issue—or as Mary Lee put it: “She lied !” But that didn’t surface until months after the purchase had gone through. Everyone knew it was Gladys, not Marvin, behind the scheme. The ladies took their revenge: she was banned from the bridge table, and it was a decade before she was allowed back into the Loon Lake Garden Club.
    Gladys could not have cared less. Shoulders back and smile fixed, she was mistress of one of the most elegant homes in the Northwoods. That was all that mattered.
    Before Osborne could raise his right hand to