neutrals. The dyed ones run a couple hundred or more. Whatever the market can bear is what we charge.”
“On that note, please excuse me while I get dinner on the table,” said Osborne. “Kenton, did you mean that about not eating fish? I have peanut butter and eggs.”
“Great,” said Kenton, “a peanut butter sandwich would be just fine.”
“Ray,” said Osborne with a jab of his finger, “you’re with me. Someone has to fry that fish.”
Chapter Seven
Lew watched Kenton lean far forward in his chair as he checked to be sure that Ray and Osborne had made it to the kitchen and were out of earshot.
That’s curious
, she thought.
I wonder what it is he doesn’t want them to hear?
When he appeared satisfied that he could speak in confidence, Kenton turned his attention back to the women sitting with him on the porch. “Help me out here,” he said. “During our drive up from Chicago, Mallory filled me in on her family and friends here in Loon Lake. She talked about Ray and how his family was prominent—his old man was a doctor, and his mother was in the Junior League before they moved up north from Milwaukee. Right?”
Mallory, nodding as he spoke, said, “So?”
Kenton ignored her question, saying, “And she said that his brother is a hand surgeon and his sister has recently made partner in a prestigious Chicago law firm. Am I correct?”
Again Mallory nodded. Christina had relaxed back on the swing, which moved back and forth with a low swish.
“So what the hell happened to him?” Kenton’s words hung in the air.
“If you’re referring to Ray,” said Mallory, “I think you need to realize he doesn’t just fish. He’s got lots going on—”
“Like his vending machine project,” said Christina, sounding eager to defend her date.
“And he harvests leeches for local bait shops, which is not easy and pays well,” said Mallory. “Leeches are prize bait up here. Not many people know where and how to find them. Plus you’ve got his photography, which is excellent. Right, Christina?” asked Mallory with a hint of desperation.
“He has a great eye,” said Christina.
“Ray is always busy,” said Mallory. “Even when the things are slow. Like he helps out at St. Mary’s … um … the cemetery.” Knowing she had just said the wrong thing, Mallory tried to swallow her words.
“You mean he digs graves,” said Kenton with a cackle.
“People still pass away, you know,” said Mallory in a small voice. Christina had stopped pushing the swing and sat silent, listening.
“R-i-i-ght. Plenty of job security there,” said Kenton. “Can’t argue that.” Mallory’s face reddened.
“On a serious note, Kenton,” said Lew, keeping her tone brisk, “and one which you as a former investigative reporter will appreciate: Ray Pradt is the best tracker in the northern region. He’s what we call ‘a man who can track a snake across a rock.’ The Loon Lake Police Department, our county sheriff and his deputies, game wardens—
and
the boys from the Wausau Crime Lab—we all rely on Ray when we need help apprehending a perpetrator, finding a missing person, or investigating an outdoor crime scene.
“Christina mentioned his ‘great eye.’ Well, Ray is the only man I know who can tell from the sign on a forest trail if a person or an animal has been there, and for how long. And, Kenton, by ‘sign’ I mean the tiniest evidence such as a broken twig or a patch of disturbed pine needles on the forest floor. Ray can read the sign and tell you if it was a human being, a deer, a bear, or some other critter that had passed that way. Now,” Lew paused, “I’m not sure how that talent—and it is a talent—would translate to a desk job.
“I’m not finished,” said Lew, with a wave at Kenton, who had opened his mouth to interrupt. “Twice he has saved my life—and Dr. Osborne’s—in situations when he could have been wounded or killed. And these were situations where he had a
“On that note, please excuse me while I get dinner on the table,” said Osborne. “Kenton, did you mean that about not eating fish? I have peanut butter and eggs.”
“Great,” said Kenton, “a peanut butter sandwich would be just fine.”
“Ray,” said Osborne with a jab of his finger, “you’re with me. Someone has to fry that fish.”
Chapter Seven
Lew watched Kenton lean far forward in his chair as he checked to be sure that Ray and Osborne had made it to the kitchen and were out of earshot.
That’s curious
, she thought.
I wonder what it is he doesn’t want them to hear?
When he appeared satisfied that he could speak in confidence, Kenton turned his attention back to the women sitting with him on the porch. “Help me out here,” he said. “During our drive up from Chicago, Mallory filled me in on her family and friends here in Loon Lake. She talked about Ray and how his family was prominent—his old man was a doctor, and his mother was in the Junior League before they moved up north from Milwaukee. Right?”
Mallory, nodding as he spoke, said, “So?”
Kenton ignored her question, saying, “And she said that his brother is a hand surgeon and his sister has recently made partner in a prestigious Chicago law firm. Am I correct?”
Again Mallory nodded. Christina had relaxed back on the swing, which moved back and forth with a low swish.
“So what the hell happened to him?” Kenton’s words hung in the air.
“If you’re referring to Ray,” said Mallory, “I think you need to realize he doesn’t just fish. He’s got lots going on—”
“Like his vending machine project,” said Christina, sounding eager to defend her date.
“And he harvests leeches for local bait shops, which is not easy and pays well,” said Mallory. “Leeches are prize bait up here. Not many people know where and how to find them. Plus you’ve got his photography, which is excellent. Right, Christina?” asked Mallory with a hint of desperation.
“He has a great eye,” said Christina.
“Ray is always busy,” said Mallory. “Even when the things are slow. Like he helps out at St. Mary’s … um … the cemetery.” Knowing she had just said the wrong thing, Mallory tried to swallow her words.
“You mean he digs graves,” said Kenton with a cackle.
“People still pass away, you know,” said Mallory in a small voice. Christina had stopped pushing the swing and sat silent, listening.
“R-i-i-ght. Plenty of job security there,” said Kenton. “Can’t argue that.” Mallory’s face reddened.
“On a serious note, Kenton,” said Lew, keeping her tone brisk, “and one which you as a former investigative reporter will appreciate: Ray Pradt is the best tracker in the northern region. He’s what we call ‘a man who can track a snake across a rock.’ The Loon Lake Police Department, our county sheriff and his deputies, game wardens—
and
the boys from the Wausau Crime Lab—we all rely on Ray when we need help apprehending a perpetrator, finding a missing person, or investigating an outdoor crime scene.
“Christina mentioned his ‘great eye.’ Well, Ray is the only man I know who can tell from the sign on a forest trail if a person or an animal has been there, and for how long. And, Kenton, by ‘sign’ I mean the tiniest evidence such as a broken twig or a patch of disturbed pine needles on the forest floor. Ray can read the sign and tell you if it was a human being, a deer, a bear, or some other critter that had passed that way. Now,” Lew paused, “I’m not sure how that talent—and it is a talent—would translate to a desk job.
“I’m not finished,” said Lew, with a wave at Kenton, who had opened his mouth to interrupt. “Twice he has saved my life—and Dr. Osborne’s—in situations when he could have been wounded or killed. And these were situations where he had a
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