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have had
seven
cars ahead of me at the light on Main and Davenport. When’s the last time that happened?” Reaching for Osborne’s empty plate, Ray stood up to walk over to the sink. “Anyway, it’s August—the water’s too warm for trout. Too warm for any fish right now.”
    Ray sounded glum, and Osborne sympathized. Ray’s clients, the fishermen who came north from Chicago and Milwaukee, expected to get big fish, like muskies. And if they didn’t hook a monster, they might never re-book. Such was the peripatetic life of a Northwoods fishing guide.
    “You’re right about the water being too warm for fly fishing. I’ll run it by Lew this evening and see what she says. She’s bringing dessert.” Crumpling his napkin and tossing it onto the table, Osborne glanced over at Ray. “Mallory really wants her to meet Kent … Kenton … whatever his name is. Thinks Lew’s a good judge of people.”
    “You’re kidding,” said Ray as he poured half a cup of coffee. “I would seriously,
seriously
question that, given the old coot she hangs out with.” The twinkle in Ray’s eye caught Osborne off guard. He blushed.
    Any mention of his relationship with Loon Lake Chief of Police Lewellyn Ferris had the potential to embarrass him, perhaps because he could never be sure if she cared as much for him as he did for her.
    Osborne’s world had changed one night in a trout stream when “Lou,” a fly fishing instructor recommended by the owner of Ralph’s Sporting Goods whom he had booked sight unseen to give him a beginner lesson in casting, had turned out to be “Lew.” The recommendation had been sound—Lew was indeed an expert with the fly rod—but Lew was no guy. Nor was she just a fly fisherman.
    For Loon Lake Police Chief Lewellyn Ferris, that evening had proved just as valuable when she discovered her student’s expertise in odontology. Teeth and dental records remained the gold standard for identifying bodies even when they have been burned beyond recognition. However, since the Loon Lake Police Department had to rely on the Wausau Crime Lab, which did not employ a full-time odontologist, it was often difficult to identify victims of suspected homicides in a timely way.
    Osborne might have retired from his dental practice, but a post-grad stint in the military coupled with an enduring academic interest in dental forensics made him an expert the Loon Lake Police could use … and save money doing so.
    Lew also saw Osborne as the solution to a more subtle in-house dilemma: the local coroner, Pecore, brother-in-law to the mayor of Loon Lake, was secure in his position thanks to family connections, but he was so habitually over-served that heaven forbid anyone in Loon Lake pass away after the cocktail hour. Too often, the cause of death certification had to wait until Pecore registered 0.04 on the Breathalyzer. But not if Chief Ferris deputized Osborne to step in as “acting coroner.” Time saved. Money saved. Stress relieved.
    To Osborne’s delight, a friendship sparked with an unconventional exchange—lessons in a trout stream traded for assistance with the forensics of death—had evolved to become a part of his life that he treasured. Over time, the fishing had led to morning coffees shared daily, evening meals together several times a week, and to frequent cozy nights at his place or hers. It hadn’t taken long for Osborne to find himself so happy around Lew that when she left a room, he was lonely.
    Sipping his coffee, Ray asked, “How serious is this with Mallory? Like, is she thinking Husband Number Two?”
    “All I know is Mallory seems pretty interested in the guy. They’ve been dating for almost six months. She’s anxious for me to meet him. You, too.” Osborne pulled the bowl of raspberries toward him. He popped two into his mouth. “Funny she wants our opinions. You and I aren’t exactly experts when it comes to relationships, are we?”
    “No, but we’re good with guys, Doc. The