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slicing his femoral artery. The girl panicked and ran home. She told no one about the accident until the next morning when Nancy started calling Christopher’s friends because he wasn’t answering his cell phone. He had bled out.
    “Thanks for your concern, Bud,” said Osborne. “I remember your loss but I’m sure you’ll understand this is hard for me to discuss right now.”
    Bud reached over to pat Osborne’s knee. “Of course. Was it Chief Ferris who found your grandson?”
    “Gosh, no,” said Osborne. “I brought him in. Since I started helping out as coroner when Pecore isn’t available, Chief Ferris has become a family friend. She stopped by to see if she could help.”
    “Oh?” asked Bud. He paused as if expecting Osborne to say more.
    “Dad,” said Erin, walking into the waiting room. “Can we talk for a minute?”
    “If you’ll excuse me,” said Osborne to Bud as he jumped to his feet.
    • • •
    Bud watched Osborne leave the room, his eyes thoughtful. He decided to increase his visits to his wife over the next few days. He would like to know more about Doc’s “family friend.”
    The days when he could call one of the Loon Lake police officers for information on people of interest to him had ended when the Ferris woman became chief of the Loon Lake Police Department. Was this a chance to get back in the loop?

Chapter Seven
    As Osborne drove home, he reflected on how the death of a child can change a marriage. When it came to the Jarvisons, it struck Osborne that the loss of Christopher seemed to drain all that was good from that relationship. A certain sourness tainted it from then on. Nancy grew more strident while Bud skirted the edge of boorishness.
    Nancy moved on from bullying the women in her bridge club and the Loon Lake Garden Club to engage in ruthless maneuvering to become president or chairperson of every organization that hinted of prestige: the county library, the hospital, one of the Jarvison banks—even the Loon Lake Food Pantry. It was obvious to Osborne that she chose to fill the hole in her heart with people, people, people.
    In his way, Bud did the same though he retired from day-to-day management of the new bank-holding company. As chairman, he attended the board meetings but those were sandwiched between full days on the golf course, more hours at the rifle range, fishing trips to Canada, and at least six weeks at deer camp for both bow and rifle seasons.
    The few times the Jarvisons appeared together at social events or joined other couples for Friday fish fry they seemed determined to avoid each other. Osborne commented to his late wife that he would see them sit across from one another, turn their gazes in opposite directions, and never say a word to each other across the table.
    Within a year of Christopher’s death Nancy changed her style, too. From a woman who had always worn what Mary Lee called “tailored clothes,” she began to dress more seductively. It was no secret that she worked out with a personal trainer almost every day, which led Osborne to theorize she was simply trying to capitalize on her own good health. That was until one fateful day in his office.
    Nancy was in the dental chair for a final polishing of a crown that he had made for her when he happened to glance down and see that the white paper bib pinned to protect her clothing had slipped to one side. The shirt below had been left unbuttoned to expose the landscape of her torso from neck to navel. Osborne was so stunned that for a long moment he sat without moving. Unsure as to whether or not the bib had been deliberately positioned, he gave a nod to his dental assistant and the two of them excused themselves from the room.
    “Do you see that?” he asked the young woman assisting him.
    “I sure do. I’m assuming you got us out here to give her a few minutes to rearrange herself, Dr. Osborne.”
    “That is exactly why we are here,” said Osborne. “Now if we go back and that bib is