Read Online Dead Hot Mama by Victoria Houston - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Victoria Houston
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details for later. I see Arne at eight, and we’ve got a lot to cover.”
“I hear you, Chief. So I’m driving back over to my place, and just as I got near my dock, I happened … to look south, down the snowmobile trail … way down. And I see these blinking lights …”
“By Kobernot’s?” asked Osborne.
“No, no, wa-a-y past their place. Down at the end where there’s an incline, a couple seasonal cabins up on the ridge, nothing else—you know that real rocky bay area.”
“Right,” said Osborne. He knew exactly the spot. “Someone just cut a road in past those cabins. Big house going up next spring.”
“So I see these lights blinking in a vertical line—one, two, three, four—like some kind of signal. I kinda thought about it, but it was two in the morning and I was pooped. I forgot all about those lights until … just as I was dozing off last night.”
“So that’s why I heard your truck so early this morning,” said Osborne.
“Yep. Couldn’t sleep thinking about ‘em, checked the weather radio, and decided I better see what I could see before that storm moves in. So … I get over there in the deep dark of the morning … shine a flashlight around the general area where I think I might have seen those lights and …” Ray paused and looked at his companions, his eyes narrowed. Osborne often wondered if the man knew how moments like this tempted the best of his friends to shoot him.
“And?” Bruce made a winding motion with one hand.
“Wasn’t a signal at all. Someone carrying a lantern tripped and fell down that hill. Someone in a hurry, because they left a few items behind … scattered all the way down to the lake …”
“Supposition. I’ll determine what happened,” said Bruce, now taking notes.
“I’m counting on you doing exactly that, Bruce,” said Ray with a wink. Then he leaned sideways to zip open a large duffel that was sitting on the floor beside his chair. Pulling on a pair of rubber fish gloves, he said, “Just so you know, everyone, I haven’t touched a thing without these on.” He held his hands up, fingers spread.
Then he reached into the duffel and pulled out a minnow bucket, which he set on the desk. “Note, brand new.” That was followed by a stainless steel ice scoop and a small electric lantern.
“You found these in the snow along with tracks from a vehicle,” said Bruce.
“Yes, and I was careful to walk up and down one side, so you can tell my footsteps from the others. Plenty of footprints leading down to the lake and back up, and no doubt that someone slipped and fell. I threw two tarps over most of the area, too, in case it snows before you get there.
“Also …” Ray stood up and walked over to the wall near the window—”I found this.” He held up a snow shovel that had been leaning there. “Brand new, too. Has its ‘Ralph’s Sporting Goods’ sticker on it still. Last thing … I could see signs of a plastic sled having been pulled down to the snowmobile trail and back—but … no sled.”
“Not unusual,” said Lew to Bruce. “Most ice fisherman who don’t have shanties will put all their gear in a big plastic sled and pull that out onto the ice. What’s different in what Ray found is that shovel. No one uses a shovel ice fishing. No one I know, anyway. Do you, Doc?”
“Never.”
“One other interesting thing, and you can check this out, Bruce,” said Ray. “The footprints in the snow? One individual, very petite. Not a guy, unless he’s got a hormone imbalance.”
“A woman, you think?” asked Bruce.
“A woman or a boy. And that’s a real nice ice scoop, too, doncha know. Cost twenty bucks or more. Which is why I think someone was in a hurry to leave. Why else would you leave all this good equipment behind?”
“So you think we can trace where they bought that stuff?” asked Bruce. “I’m sure we can get prints off it.”
“I dunno about that. It’s standard issue,” said Ray. “Everyone who ice
“I hear you, Chief. So I’m driving back over to my place, and just as I got near my dock, I happened … to look south, down the snowmobile trail … way down. And I see these blinking lights …”
“By Kobernot’s?” asked Osborne.
“No, no, wa-a-y past their place. Down at the end where there’s an incline, a couple seasonal cabins up on the ridge, nothing else—you know that real rocky bay area.”
“Right,” said Osborne. He knew exactly the spot. “Someone just cut a road in past those cabins. Big house going up next spring.”
“So I see these lights blinking in a vertical line—one, two, three, four—like some kind of signal. I kinda thought about it, but it was two in the morning and I was pooped. I forgot all about those lights until … just as I was dozing off last night.”
“So that’s why I heard your truck so early this morning,” said Osborne.
“Yep. Couldn’t sleep thinking about ‘em, checked the weather radio, and decided I better see what I could see before that storm moves in. So … I get over there in the deep dark of the morning … shine a flashlight around the general area where I think I might have seen those lights and …” Ray paused and looked at his companions, his eyes narrowed. Osborne often wondered if the man knew how moments like this tempted the best of his friends to shoot him.
“And?” Bruce made a winding motion with one hand.
“Wasn’t a signal at all. Someone carrying a lantern tripped and fell down that hill. Someone in a hurry, because they left a few items behind … scattered all the way down to the lake …”
“Supposition. I’ll determine what happened,” said Bruce, now taking notes.
“I’m counting on you doing exactly that, Bruce,” said Ray with a wink. Then he leaned sideways to zip open a large duffel that was sitting on the floor beside his chair. Pulling on a pair of rubber fish gloves, he said, “Just so you know, everyone, I haven’t touched a thing without these on.” He held his hands up, fingers spread.
Then he reached into the duffel and pulled out a minnow bucket, which he set on the desk. “Note, brand new.” That was followed by a stainless steel ice scoop and a small electric lantern.
“You found these in the snow along with tracks from a vehicle,” said Bruce.
“Yes, and I was careful to walk up and down one side, so you can tell my footsteps from the others. Plenty of footprints leading down to the lake and back up, and no doubt that someone slipped and fell. I threw two tarps over most of the area, too, in case it snows before you get there.
“Also …” Ray stood up and walked over to the wall near the window—”I found this.” He held up a snow shovel that had been leaning there. “Brand new, too. Has its ‘Ralph’s Sporting Goods’ sticker on it still. Last thing … I could see signs of a plastic sled having been pulled down to the snowmobile trail and back—but … no sled.”
“Not unusual,” said Lew to Bruce. “Most ice fisherman who don’t have shanties will put all their gear in a big plastic sled and pull that out onto the ice. What’s different in what Ray found is that shovel. No one uses a shovel ice fishing. No one I know, anyway. Do you, Doc?”
“Never.”
“One other interesting thing, and you can check this out, Bruce,” said Ray. “The footprints in the snow? One individual, very petite. Not a guy, unless he’s got a hormone imbalance.”
“A woman, you think?” asked Bruce.
“A woman or a boy. And that’s a real nice ice scoop, too, doncha know. Cost twenty bucks or more. Which is why I think someone was in a hurry to leave. Why else would you leave all this good equipment behind?”
“So you think we can trace where they bought that stuff?” asked Bruce. “I’m sure we can get prints off it.”
“I dunno about that. It’s standard issue,” said Ray. “Everyone who ice
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