Free Dead Tease by Victoria Houston Page A

knock, the front door swung open. Though he had seldom run into the woman in the years since her husband’s death, he could see at a glance that Gladys Daniels was proof some things never change.
    She had to be well into her seventies but the helmet of curls salon-pressed to her head remained ink black. Her face was still an unnatural white under a mask of foundation, the makeup flaking along the lines of her jowls. Her eyes, rimmed with mascara, were dark and hard as ever (“pinpoints of evil” according to his daughter Mallory, who had been at the butt end of Gladys’s gossip the summer after her junior year of high school), and the usual scarlet slash marked her lips.
    A buxom woman with spindly legs, today Gladys was wearing a dark purple blouse that reached to her mid-section where it hung over slacks of the same shade. Pale arms protruding from elbow-length sleeves held a small, yapping dog with long hair whose beady eyes, not unlike those of his mistress, peered out from below a topknot tied with a purple ribbon that matched its owner’s blouse.
    “Hello, Paul,” said Gladys without breaking a smile. She had a reedy, nasal voice pitched high—an echo of Cynthia’s shrill ultimatums Osborne had overheard while standing outside Jim McNeil’s office that morning.
    “Come in, you two.” It was less a welcome than a demand. The heavy wooden door swung wide.
    Gladys stepped back into a dark foyer while Osborne waited for Lew to enter ahead of him. “I imagine you’re the chief of police my daughter told me about?” Eyebrows arched, Gladys made it obvious both she and Cynthia had a hard time believing that to be a fact.
    “Yes,” said Lew, ignoring the put-down. “I’m Chief Lewellyn Ferris with the Loon Lake Police, and I understand you already know Dr. Osborne,” Lew gestured toward Osborne as she spoke, then said, “and we appreciate you’re taking the time to meet with us, Mrs. Daniels.
    “When we spoke with Dr. Daniels earlier, she indicated you were out walking yesterday and may have seen someone in the vicinity of the crime?”
    “About that in a minute,” said Gladys. “Of course I know Paul .” She managed to make his name sound as if it tasted bad. “Cynthia tried explaining why on earth he has to be here. I don’t understand what some … dentist has to do with this? And Paul of all people?” In spite of her ill humor, she pointed the way down a short, dark hallway.
    “Well, Gladys, Chief Ferris has deputized me because—”
    Before Osborne could utter another word, she interrupted saying, “Paul, I haven’t seen you since Marvin passed. Why is that?” She paused and turned to glare at him.
    “Well, I—”
    “Never mind.” Again a dismissive wave as she turned away. “Mary Lee was the only one in your family who knew the proper way to do things.” Resisting the urge to defend his daughters, Osborne said nothing—preferring to note that as she spoke, Gladys appeared to be squeezing the life out of the dog squirming in the crook of her left arm.
    They entered a cavernous, formal living room where the French windows along one wall were hung with drapes so heavy they allowed only a hint of afternoon sun. Walking behind the two women, it struck Osborne that while they might be the same height, that was where similarities ended.
    One was sturdy and muscular in her summer uniform of crisp khaki, the fabric of her shirt and pants defining the breasts and hips that he had come to know so well. Her skin was tanned and glowing beneath an untamed cluster of nut-brown curls. In the dim light of the stuffy room, Lewellyn Ferris was a breath of fresh air.
    Gladys, scuttling along in the shiny purple shirt, one skinny arm waving, brought to mind an insect: an iridescent beetle with spidery limbs. Unkind to think that, he knew, but Osborne couldn’t help it.
    “Sit down over there, you two.”
    Following orders, Osborne and Lew sat down, side by side, on a beige brocade love seat with