Dead Angler (Loon Lake Fishing Mystery)
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In Wisconsin's Northwoods, fishing is a way of life -- and when the muskies are biting, life couldn't be better. But when Doc Osborne catches more than he bargained for, he winds up in the middle of a murder mystery -- and only Chief of Police Lew Ferris can get him out of it.
teens, good-hearted youngsters but a little too familiar with the marijuana dealers out of Madison. Ray had managed to stay just an inch on the right side of the Loon Lake cops, possibly due to his generosity with strings of blue gills in the dead of winter, but Billy ended up doing time. These days he ran a used furniture store that was a front for an illegal pawnshop. Osborne’s McDonald’s buddies defined Billy as a good guy with a twisted sense of business ethics. His father had been an
assessed Wayne with a look that made it clear she had no intention of drafting him as a deputy. “Excuse me? Ray, this is official business I’m talking about.” “Oh, sorry, I forgot to introduce you,” said Ray, a tone of mild amusement in his voice. As always, he loved putting someone on. Especially someone with a low tolerance level for his humor: Lew. “Chief Lewellyn Ferris, meet Detective Wayne Harper from the Chicago Police Department.” Lew looked Wayne up and down again. “Oh yeah? Nice to
traffic heading our direction? Or am I supposed to find out the hard way when one of my officers gets wounded in a surprise drug bust that we may have staked out, too. We aren’t clueless, you know. How do you think I will feel if a drug bust goes down and I know nothing about it. I will be publicly embarrassed, sir. “Explain this to me, Detective. Or is your mission to teach us backwoods idiots how to do our jobs?” “Well … ah … I’m very sorry about that,” Wayne’s face had grown redder and
waders, and duffel were waiting for him on the grass. “That was Ray,” he said, leaning in the passenger door window. “I have to meet him at Thunder Bay.” “You don’t look so good,” said Lew. “What’s wrong?” “I don’t know. I guess Mallory is out there.” Osborne tried to resist a feeling of panic. He looked down at the ground, thinking. Then he looked up. Lew was watching him, concern in her dark eyes. “Get in,” she said. “I need to get in touch with Ray as soon as possible anyhow.” “I just
loaded with walleye boats. George Zolonsky was nowhere in sight. “Are you sure this is George?” Osborne parked the car. They got out and walked around the rig. “Tracker boats. Has to be. You stay here, Doc. I’ll see if he’s inside.” Ray ran across the parking lot to the main entrance of the casino. He was inside less than a minute before running back out. “Yep. It’s George all right. He’s at the blackjack table. Looks like hell. I’ll bet the guy hasn’t slept in days.” Ray walked around