Read Online Dead Hot Mama by Victoria Houston - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Victoria Houston
Ads: Link
could make it to my office by seven?”
Before Osborne could answer, Lew said, “Oops, here’s Ray now—”
“I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” said Osborne.
The door to Lew’s office in the old courthouse was wide open when Osborne got there. In spite of the new jail with its fancy offices and conference rooms right next door, Lew had opted to keep this spacious room with its white walls, dark wood trim, and high, old-fashioned windows for her private space.
Just entering the bright, cheery room for an early cup of coffee always lifted Osborne’s heart—especially when the reason for dropping by was to plan for a late afternoon’s angling. Winter changed that. Though the room and its occupant still radiated warmth on his arrival, the visits were less frequent. A fact that kept him focused on finding a way to change her mind about ice fishing.
She, on the other hand, had been coaxing him towards learning to tie trout flies—something he had no interest in whatsoever. Dead animal hair, fur, and feathers held little appeal for a man who loved the cool surfaces of porcelain, gold, and silver. As a boy, he’d been persuaded to turn his urge to sculpt towards dentistry, a significantly more lucrative career: While few people may have a driving desire for bronze figurines, most want to own a healthy set of teeth. Nope, he was not about to trade his love of line and form for something teensy, fuzzy, and furry. But he let her coax—the coaxing was fun.
As he had hoped, the coffeepot in the corner was still half full. The room was crowded, with Lew behind her desk and both chairs facing her occupied. Bruce sat in one, right leg crossed over his left, with the loose foot jiggling. Ray lounged in the other, right foot resting on his left knee as he leaned back, way back it seemed, and waved a coffee mug as he spoke. He looked wired.
“Morning, everyone.” Osborne grabbed a straight- backed chair from the corner and plunked it down between the other two men. Then he unzipped his jacket, tossed it onto an empty chair near the windows, and poured himself a cup of coffee.
“Morning, Doc,” said Lew, her dark eyes resting easily on his for a brief moment as he took his seat. She looked alert, rested, and happy. Even though the December sun shone only forty percent of the time these days, Lew’s face maintained a warm and healthy glow. More attractive to Osborne than the makeup so carefully applied by the female friends of his late wife. He’d sneaked a peek once into Lew’s medicine cabinet—the only makeup he could find was sunscreen.
“Ray was just telling us something I want you to hear. Start over from the beginning, Ray, would you please.” She flipped her long narrow reporter’s notebook to a new page.
“Doc,” Ray dropped his foot onto the floor and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, “I was telling these two folks that as I was dozing off last night, I remembered something I saw … night before last … on my way in from ice fishing.”
“On Loon Lake,” said Lew, anxious to fill in gaps and hurry him along.
“What time was that again?” said Bruce. “I don’t think I heard you right.”
“Around two in the morning.”
“I
did
hear you right. You fish at that hour of the morning?”
“I fish when the fish feed. And they were feeding after midnight so—”
“And then you get up early to plow snow and dig graves and—how do you that?”
“Well, we aren’t digging any graves right now … but I catch a nap in the afternoon.”
“We call it ‘Ray time,’” said Lew, rocking back in her chair. “Rhymes with ‘waste time.’”
“Thanks, Chief, nothing like appreciation.”
Lew chuckled, “You’re too easy a target.” Then she raised her hands. “Just kidding. Please, Ray, you have the floor.”
“Thank you. So there I was out in my truck on Loon Lake … the far side. I have four holes there, everyone knows they’re mine—”
“Ray, please. Save the fishing
Before Osborne could answer, Lew said, “Oops, here’s Ray now—”
“I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” said Osborne.
The door to Lew’s office in the old courthouse was wide open when Osborne got there. In spite of the new jail with its fancy offices and conference rooms right next door, Lew had opted to keep this spacious room with its white walls, dark wood trim, and high, old-fashioned windows for her private space.
Just entering the bright, cheery room for an early cup of coffee always lifted Osborne’s heart—especially when the reason for dropping by was to plan for a late afternoon’s angling. Winter changed that. Though the room and its occupant still radiated warmth on his arrival, the visits were less frequent. A fact that kept him focused on finding a way to change her mind about ice fishing.
She, on the other hand, had been coaxing him towards learning to tie trout flies—something he had no interest in whatsoever. Dead animal hair, fur, and feathers held little appeal for a man who loved the cool surfaces of porcelain, gold, and silver. As a boy, he’d been persuaded to turn his urge to sculpt towards dentistry, a significantly more lucrative career: While few people may have a driving desire for bronze figurines, most want to own a healthy set of teeth. Nope, he was not about to trade his love of line and form for something teensy, fuzzy, and furry. But he let her coax—the coaxing was fun.
As he had hoped, the coffeepot in the corner was still half full. The room was crowded, with Lew behind her desk and both chairs facing her occupied. Bruce sat in one, right leg crossed over his left, with the loose foot jiggling. Ray lounged in the other, right foot resting on his left knee as he leaned back, way back it seemed, and waved a coffee mug as he spoke. He looked wired.
“Morning, everyone.” Osborne grabbed a straight- backed chair from the corner and plunked it down between the other two men. Then he unzipped his jacket, tossed it onto an empty chair near the windows, and poured himself a cup of coffee.
“Morning, Doc,” said Lew, her dark eyes resting easily on his for a brief moment as he took his seat. She looked alert, rested, and happy. Even though the December sun shone only forty percent of the time these days, Lew’s face maintained a warm and healthy glow. More attractive to Osborne than the makeup so carefully applied by the female friends of his late wife. He’d sneaked a peek once into Lew’s medicine cabinet—the only makeup he could find was sunscreen.
“Ray was just telling us something I want you to hear. Start over from the beginning, Ray, would you please.” She flipped her long narrow reporter’s notebook to a new page.
“Doc,” Ray dropped his foot onto the floor and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, “I was telling these two folks that as I was dozing off last night, I remembered something I saw … night before last … on my way in from ice fishing.”
“On Loon Lake,” said Lew, anxious to fill in gaps and hurry him along.
“What time was that again?” said Bruce. “I don’t think I heard you right.”
“Around two in the morning.”
“I
did
hear you right. You fish at that hour of the morning?”
“I fish when the fish feed. And they were feeding after midnight so—”
“And then you get up early to plow snow and dig graves and—how do you that?”
“Well, we aren’t digging any graves right now … but I catch a nap in the afternoon.”
“We call it ‘Ray time,’” said Lew, rocking back in her chair. “Rhymes with ‘waste time.’”
“Thanks, Chief, nothing like appreciation.”
Lew chuckled, “You’re too easy a target.” Then she raised her hands. “Just kidding. Please, Ray, you have the floor.”
“Thank you. So there I was out in my truck on Loon Lake … the far side. I have four holes there, everyone knows they’re mine—”
“Ray, please. Save the fishing
Similar Books
