Dead Hot Shot (Loon Lake Fishing Mysteries) - Plot & Excerpts
Happy Thanksgiving,” said Osborne, eager to hear the voice of the woman who made his day every time she turned her sparkling dark eyes his way. “Doc, where the hell have you been? I’ve been calling all over for you. Don’t you answer your cell phone?” Ouch, maybe the eyes weren’t sparkling. Snapping, perhaps? “Sorry, Lew. I was out for birds this morning so I didn’t think to take the phone.” • • • That wasn’t exactly the truth. Given that it had been less than a year since Osborne had been able to have his own landline — a standard home phone that didn’t have two elderly ladies listening in as he took his calls on their shared party line — the cell phone remained a novelty. And a novelty less than reliable: not only does Loon Lake exist in the peripheral vision of cell tower developers, but trees, hills and wooded shorelines conspire to block the few cell signals available. Just last month he and Lew had been heading west towards a trout stream only to pass a woman standing on the roof of her Toyota sedan.
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