Dead Deceiver by Victoria Houston Page A

Osborne gazed at her across the kitchen table, Lew wolfed down the rest of her dinner. It was past two in the morning and he had been pleasantly surprised when she said she would follow him home: “I have to, Doc, I left all my clothes for tomorrow at your place—oh, it is tomorrow. Oh well.”
    Soon after they slipped into bed. Osborne was careful to take his side, knowing she had to be exhausted. He turned out the light on bed table beside him. Outdoors, the snow had finally stopped. A haze of moonlight lit the room.
    Lew moved against him in the dark.
    “Are you sure?” he said.
    “Doc,” her voice was soft, “it’s one way to remind ourselves that every minute counts.”

C HAPTER 10
    S itting at the conference table in front of the west windows in Lew’s office, Osborne sipped from his coffee mug as he checked through his notes from the night before. He wanted to be sure he had covered everything that he had observed from arriving at the trailhead to leaving three hours later.
    This afternoon, he and Lew would compare notes. It wasn’t unusual for each of them to see or hear different things. More than once observations that seemed insignificant at the time grew in importance as an investigation progressed.
    Setting aside his notebook, he opened the folder holding the death certificate for Kathy Beltner, then checked his watch and considered whether or not to call Rob. Osborne needed Rob to find his wife’s birth certificate in order to confirm the name of the hospital where she had been born. It was shortly after nine and while it might be early to call, Osborne doubted the poor guy had slept much anyway. Sympathy for the younger man swept over Osborne: he knew too well that for Rob Beltner, life would never be the same. For his two children, news of their mother’s death must still seem like a bad dream.
    “More coffee, Doc?” asked Lew, glancing over from where she sat at her desk working on the computer.
    “Sure. I’ll give Rob Beltner a call in a minute. This death certificate is almost complete—then I’ll get out of your hair.” After handing Lew his mug, he scanned the document one last time, making a mental note to put the name and address of the hospital where he had been born somewhere easy for his daughters to find when it was his turn to go—naturally or otherwise.
    “You are not in my hair,” said Lew, giving his shoulder an affectionate squeeze and setting the refilled mug down on the conference table. “Take your time, Doc, I like having you around.”
    No sooner had she settled back into her chair when the phone on her desk rang. “Yes, Marlaine,” said Lew to the switchboard operator, stationed at the department’s front desk. “Oh? Oh … sure, send her in. And I’m expecting Ray Pradt to arrive sometime soon as well. Please send him right in when he gets here, okay? Thank you.”
    Rolling her eyes, she put the phone down and said, “Doctor Patience Schumacher is here and demanding to see me ASAP.”
    “Doctor, hmm,” said Osborne, the title warring with his memories of a much younger Patience Schumacher. Well, Lew, you’ve been expecting this.”
    “Yeah, well, nice of her to call ahead.”
    “Time for me to skedaddle,” said Osborne getting to his feet. “If the daughter is anything like her old man this won’t be fun. That gentleman was one demanding sonofabitch. He’d be up from Chicago for the summer, have a toothache all day but not call the office until after I’d left and then torture my poor receptionist until she would give him my home number.
    “Twice I opened the office after hours for him. And wouldn’t you know—that jerk would take a year to pay. In fact,” said Osborne tilting his chin up in thought, “there was one year he never did pay. And the man was worth millions. I got so tired of that razzbonya, I sicced him on poor Doc Metternich.”
    “Ha!” said Lew with a snort, “that is exactly why you are going to sit right back down, Deputy