Dead Madonna Read Free Page A

cemetery—if we’re lucky he’s running the backhoe.”
    It wasn’t until forty-five minutes later, when Sharon was safe in her van and markedly more calm, that it dawned on her: Chief Ferris and Doc Osborne dating? Really.
    Her right eyebrow arched. She liked that thought. Sharon wasn’t single by choice and she had every intention of dropping another fifty or sixty pounds. If a woman like Lewellyn Ferris—strong, sturdy and so forthright (to put it mildly)—could attract a man as good-looking, as distinguished as Dr. Paul Osborne … Hmmm, maybe there was hope for Sharon Donovan. With that happy thought, she reached for her cell phone—time to let the Osborne sisters know she was on her way.

C HAPTER 4
    The rowboat rocked lightly on the wake generated by a passing jet ski. Seated with his legs akimbo, Paul Osborne speared the angleworm with an authority gained from thirty years of practicing dentistry—a profession geared to small spaces and sharp instruments.
    He did not work in solitude: Two sets of eyes were riveted on his fingers as he manipulated the angleworm—a premium specimen one-eighth of an inch thick and fired with the energy of a chipmunk. Mission accomplished, Osborne held up the worm, looped twice on a hook sized for bluegills, for his companions to examine.
    “The trick is to hide the hook but leave plenty of worm to wriggle and draw the fish in,” he said, twisting the hook so they could see both sides. Seated opposite Osborne in the boat was his youngest grandchild, Cody, who brushed a shock of straight, white-blond hair out of his eyes to study the doomed worm with the concentration of a research scientist. Cody’s older sister, Mason, her kayak bumping up against the boat, leaned so far forward to get a good look that she nearly tipped over.
    Steadying the kayak, she said with a pout, “Grandpa, I get to go fishing next, right? Not fair Cody gets to go and I can’t.”
    “Part of his birthday present,” said Osborne, his tone matter-of-fact. He refused to be bullied by a nine-year-old. Cody beamed and reached for the rest of his gift, which was connected by fishing line to the worm: a graphite fast-action St. Croix spinning rod outfitted with an Omega reel that needed only the pressure of a small thumb on its rubber button to shoot line without a hitch. Osborne might be out a hundred and twenty-five bucks for the rig, but he was determined to see Cody spend his sixth birthday fishing with the ease of an expert.
    Two days earlier, frustrated to the point of cursing, Osborne had trashed the cheap rod the boy had inherited from his non-fishing father. Together grandfather and grandson visited Ralph’s Sporting Goods where they tested rods for a good half hour.
    “Cody,” Osborne had counseled, “if there’s one lesson in life you need to remember, it’s this: never hesitate to put your money into good tools. You will never regret it.”
    Osborne certainly didn’t regret it. Money spent on good tools had changed his life. First, there was the reputation he earned over the thirty years of his dental practice, thanks to an excellent education, a love for his profession—and the finest instruments he could afford. Even as he retired, he held onto those instruments, refusing to bend to the demands of his late wife that they be sold with the practice. It was a decision that, four years later, would indeed change his life.
    Then, there was the money spent on fishing tackle: spinning rods and lures that were more than just tackle—they were a means of escape. Escape from his marriage to a woman who spent twenty-five years responding with the same three words on hearing his voice on the telephone: “Oh … it’s you.” No hiding her disappointment.
    Even the expensive fly rod that he purchased not knowing if he would enjoy fishing in water rather than on water had been a serendipitous investment. Though he didn’t have an opportunity to use it until after Mary Lee’s death, it really