Lake of Lies

By Clark Haberman

Two teenage boys on a deer hunt in northwest Iowa watch as a trophy buck flees before either can release an arrow. Something in the crumbling cellar frightened the animal away. Curious to know what disturbed the deer, they open the shelter door, and hell erupts.
The sudden failure of an outstanding student, his fiancée’s new job opportunities, and a personnel action weigh heavily on CJ Hand. To add to his troubles, his daughter calls with news about his former wife, and a painful past leads him back to Lincoln, Nebraska to confront these new demons. At semester’s end, on an icy and snowy day, his life would change once again.
Dr. Trisha Baker becomes a hunter with the intent to destroy a predator. She seeks revenge for her friends and herself, and to erase the painful memory of losing her fiancé.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Clark Haberman
• Release date: Nov 24, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463633649

Clark Haberman

C. G. Haberman retired in Nebraska after teaching twenty years with twenty years of professional environmental work sandwiched in between. His science-teaching experience covered secondary, community college, and four-year liberal arts institutions. His environmental work spanned three States over twenty years and involved enforcement work.

Book preview

Acknowledgments

To Evon and Jan, thank you for caring about your friend. Thanks, Suz, for your helpful comments on the book cover. To my daughter, who is the light in my life. Thanks, M.

About the Author

C. G. Haberman is the author of

CJ Hand Mystery novels:

Dead Man’s Run

Mill Creek Malice

Deadly Circles

Historical Novels:

The Naturalists A Historical Novel of the Hayman Family

Volumes 1, 2, and 3

C. G. Haberman lives in Nebraska.

Excerpts from the previous novels, samples of his photography,

and more information at cghaberman.com

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

Chapter 66

Chapter 67

Chapter 68

Chapter 69

Chapter 70

Chapter 71

Acknowledgments

About the Author

~Chapter 1~

DR. TRISHA BAKER switched the small cell phone to her left ear, holding it in place with her shoulder as she typed her Mill Creek State University user ID and password. I haven’t the slightest idea of his whereabouts. She concentrated on the screen as the icons slowly drifted into view. Damn technology. I swear it gets worse every year. She leaned back to admire the landscape painting of New Mexico she purchased after graduating from the university. Her frustration level rose with the hiccupping technology designed to save her time. Trisha’s left hand paused next to her silver hoop earring, hoping the system would load the final software.

Through his Bluetooth headset, Dr. Roland Polioni listened to Trisha’s uncensored words of frustration. He patiently sat, watching the red and yellow leaves float and spiral past his office window. Outside the Health Sciences Building the campus lawn, trailing toward the north-west Iowa horizon had turned into a natural-colored maze. He laughed at Trisha’s expletives, echoing from her office in the Psychology Center, all aimed at the university computer systems.

He’s not one to miss such an important appointment, Trisha said after her rant, we arranged to meet in my office and amble over to the cafeteria for a turnover … if I know you … it will be two.

Dr. Roland Polioni, or Roly Poly, as his students fondly called him, rested pudgy hands on his ample belly. Each deep breath created small gaps between the shirt buttons. His bald head glistened in the fluorescent light. No surprise, because Roly perspired at twenty degrees below zero.

Speaking of two, how are you and Brewster coming along, Dr. Baker? Roly’s brother-in-law, Brewster, became a pivot in the relationship between him and Trisha Baker during the uncertain time they tracked down the geocache madman. He could hear her still swearing at the university’s old software.

Finally, the familiar university homepage filled the screen. Trisha answered, Thee … Mr. Chockwith is doing fine … any reason you ask? The hesitant response betrayed her concern. Dr. Polioni, do you know something I don’t … or something I should? Her fingernails nervously picked at the small, Property of MCSU #255, tag on the desktop.

Roly turned away from the window. Tut, tut, my dear, I asked out of curiosity, I've not heard from him in the past month. He usually gives me a courtesy call when he jets in to see his favorite flame. A wide grin filled his ruddy face.

Roly, damn you, are you playing with me? She realized the egregious statement. I take that question back. She held the small phone away from her ear to soften his loud guffaws. Damn, men, you all have dirty minds. A noise at the door made her look away from the twenty-four-inch monitor. Speaking of dirty old men … one just appeared in my doorway. She listened to Roly’s reply. Sure. I’ll kick his derriere. Ciao. She clicked off and motioned CJ to sit. Where the hell have you been?

No excuses. I’ve been ogling the new librarian. CJ settled his lean torso into the chair alongside her desk.

Yep … I count you as another … dirty old man, Mr. Hand.

CJ coyly grinned at his favorite psychology instructor. They first met and worked together in Nebraska on a case that involved a complex of deadly politics and crime. You can’t deny the addition to the library is a pleasant occurrence. He scanned the paper piles on her desk. Plus, she’s very bright, articulate, and helpful.

So … you noticed she has other attributes?

I did.

Speaking of bright, well-spoken, and helpful … how’s Dee?

He felt a sense of well-being whenever talking or thinking about his fiancée. She’s progressing well, thanks to you … and many others. Dee had recently suffered an onset of the Guillain-Barre syndrome, a disorder of the body's immune system. Her attack, by the immune cells, caused serious nerve inflammation that weakened an arm and leg. Her muscle strength is back to normal, we hope.

That’s super. Give me a minute to check my email, and then we can trot over to the cafeteria to meet Roly. She scanned the monitor and quickly tapped out two messages. Trisha switched to her cell phone and speed-dialed a number. We’re on our way. She stood and slipped on a light-weight sweater.

The walk to Roly’s favorite campus building, because it housed the cafeteria, usually took a few minutes. Today they took their time, enjoying the mild temperature and vivid fall colors that followed the recent cold snap. The modest northwest breeze stirred the remaining leaves on the oak and maple trees. Bronze, red, and gold chrysanthemums filled flower beds outside the campus services building. Burning bushes, in bright-red clumps of threes, kept true to their name with the brilliant anthocyanin pigments. River birch trees put an exclamation point on the college landscape.

Roly cruised back and forth along the fresh-baked pastry aisle, assessing the numerous sugar blasts. He resembled a bowling ball rolling along the glass-fronted cases.

CJ and Trisha stood in the doorway, observing Roly’s difficulty in deciding which of the largest delicacies would best satisfy his craving. What do you bet he opts for his usual? CJ asked Trisha.

No bets, you know Roly loves turnovers; he's gone back to two again, cherry and apple.

Feeling watchful eyes, Roly looked up. He turned from the workers behind the cases, and his left middle finger eased up so the cafeteria help wouldn’t notice. He grabbed a tray, quickly placed two turnovers on it, and marched to the coffee urns.

His hesitation in front of the spigots brought a laugh from Trisha. Wanna bet … French vanilla?

CJ shook his head. You have to give him credit. He does take his time executing all-important decisions.

Dr. Polioni reached for a ceramic mug. He pointed to CJ and then to the cup, demonstrating his environmental astuteness. Roly placed it under the French vanilla spigot, filled the mug, picked up the tray—smiled at the two in the doorway—and sidled over to the cashier. He loudly said, Please place this on Mr. Hand’s tab.

CJ nodded when the cashier looked at him. Roly won this round. He motioned Trisha ahead to pick up a tray and select her treat.

Dr. Polioni breezed to their usual table positioned against a pillar. They often met at this exact spot for coffee, lunch, or spontaneous meetings. He removed the turnovers and napkins from the tray and looked directly above the table to study the ever-changing student artwork. Roly sat and ravenously dove into the cherry turnover, chewing the sweet, flaky pastry while pondering the artwork meaning, if any. Abstract art intrigued Roly, a few maddened him.

Trisha slid her coffee and cinnamon roll past the cashier. The usual bagel and cream cheese accompanied CJ’s black coffee.

That’ll be twelve fifty, Mr. Hand. She looked over at Roly’s gotcha grin while CJ pulled a ten and a five from the clip retrieved from the stone-colored slacks.

Keep the change, Edna. It’s good to see you back.

Thanks, Mr. Hand. She smiled a toothy grin. It’s good to be back now that my husband’s health improved. She took the bagel from his tray. I’ll toast this and bring it right over.

Thanks, you’re a dear. He patted her on the shoulder and followed Trisha to the table where Roly finished the first turnover.

Sure, I can’t get another one for you, big fella? CJ chided.

Roly’s middle finger uncurled from the hand holding the ceramic mug. Yeah … and tell my wife, so I live the next week in misery. His wife, Reggie, a tall, handsome woman—the mother of the five Polioni children—wanted him to lose weight, but her loving encouragement failed.

Trisha smirked and said, C’mon, Roly, she treats you like a king.

She should treat me as such, Roly sniped back. He winked at CJ. Speaking of royalty … how’s Dee?

Better each day, Roly, thanks. CJ slathered cream cheese over the toasted bagel halves Edna delivered.

Roly moved the empty plate and dove into the second pastry. Who do I owe … for this fricking fall-break meeting?

Trisha forked in a piece of cinnamon roll and pointed at CJ.

Thanks for the pastries. Roly’s eyebrows danced over his thick-lidded, brown eyes. What’s the question … or concern?

I’ve wanted to talk about my concern for a few non-traditional students. Trisha took another bite of the roll and waited. Roly sipped his coffee. CJ continued. There’s a disturbing undercurrent. I’m having a hard time understanding the cause.

Whaddaya mean? Roly bit off one end of the turnover.

They seem frightened of success in class.

With your teaching, I can understand, Roly flippantly blurted.

They kicked around several ideas. Some of the discussion helped but didn’t conclude why some students took a grade nosedive. The poor marks appeared spontaneously, which baffled them.

Roly stood, patted his tummy, and sighed, Sorry for not being more help. He peered at Trisha. When’s Brewster jetting in?

Soon, I hope.

Whew! Poor Brew. He wickedly grinned. How about you, CJ?

How about me … what? CJ said.

Roly shrugged and pointed at CJ. Figure it out. Ciao.

~Chapter 2~

THE ROADS TO Yankton, South Dakota from Drumlin, Iowa never became routine or boring for CJ. He was ever watchful for teaching ideas to use in his ecology and botany field classes. CJ tried to vary the routes going and returning on what had almost become every weekend trip.

Minute dust particles emanated from the corn and soybean harvest, floating and eddying in the October evening air. The harvest frenzy—to beat the first snowfall—reminded CJ of ground squirrels that scurried about, devouring seeds before their hibernation clocks clicked on for the winter.

This time of the year—on a farm-to-market route—the inevitable bibbing would occur. The bibbed catchphrase originated when CJ worked his consulting job out of Lincoln, Nebraska. Simply taken, it meant a farmer wearing bib overalls would pull onto the road ahead of the oncoming traffic. The bibber’s speed would average twenty miles an hour at a stretch where the bibbees could not safely pass. At first, it tested CJ’s patience, but with his anger management routine over the past year, he learned to enjoy the leisurely pace.

His fingers tapped the steering wheel to the beat of a Kenny Chesney song while appreciating the relaxing respite as he cruised behind the old, faded-gray grain truck. CJ’s cell phone chirped, and with a glance, he noticed the unknown number. He lowered the radio volume and answered after the third chirp.

Hello.

CJ, it’s good to hear your voice. I hope I didn’t interrupt what you’re doing. She paused. Are you alone?

It took him a moment to recognize the caller. What I’m doing, he chuckled, is following a grain truck, and soaking in the solitude of rural America. He smiled as he pictured DOJ’s tall, intelligent lawyer, Sara Wright.

I wish this were good news, but I felt it necessary to update you regarding the infamous Tom Vaughn.

CJ felt the muscles along the back of his neck tighten. What? His foot lifted off the gas pedal. He relaxed his clenched jaws. Tom Vaughn news can only be bad news.

The parole board released Vaughn with the condition he wears electronic surveillance. She paused while he swore. As part of his release, he’s obligated to the ankle device for two years from the date of his leaving prison. He now resides in Lincoln, Nebraska.

Shit! I can’t believe a parole board would be so asinine.

C’mon, CJ, Sara said, you know as well as anyone how politics can play out.

Release after two years, damn. He glanced in the rearview mirrors—all clear. CJ accelerated around the grain truck. He needed to serve time for the teeny-bopper sexcapades. The corn rows flew by as he accelerated west on the rural Iowa paved road.

I agree, Sara sighed, signaling her irritation with the system, but Vaughn has more than one or two close political allies.

It’s maddening to hear about bastards like him getting off, even though I knew it would happen … still, I didn’t expect his release so soon. CJ waved at a fly, dancing on the inside the windshield, trying to guide it to the half-open side window. He glanced in the rearview mirror to check on the grain truck, which rapidly faded from sight.

I’m going to add to your seething frustration, Sara said after a brief pause. I’ve notified his former wife to stay alert.

Donette could be in trouble? CJ asked.

Yes. We got word from the feds, at the imprisonment site, Vaughn swore to get even, but he never named names.

You think that asshole would bother her, again?

CJ, I don’t know, the microwaves broke for a second, … but … wouldn’t put it past him. He’s a sick-o.

He added, A dangerous sick-o … what was Donette’s reaction?

Surprise, Sara said, she remained calm after learning about Vaughn and his revenge statement. I did not detect a concern about Vaughn’s residing in Lincoln—

She’s one smart individual. I’m sure Donette planned for this.

Sara continued after the interruption. Look, if you get the chance … call her, will you? Her voice held a command-like tone.

Uh … sure, I can do that.

C’mon, CJ, there are no secrets in the DOJ.

Whaddaya mean?

Let’s leave it at that. He heard her sigh. Okay?

CJ carefully thought about what he wanted to say, then dropped the thought and line of questioning. I’ll call her first chance. You know I have an upcoming wedding, I think.

I do, she laughed, wrong way to answer. You have the exact date?

I’m going to know within the next few hours.

From what Tom tells me, Dee is an articulate, intelligent, and beautiful woman, and that you’re damn lucky.

I know. He watched another truck pull onto the concrete strip. I promise that I’ll give Donette a call. He wiped the image of his buddy Tom Thies from his veiled thoughts. CJ slowed for another grain truck that entered the farm-to-market road without stopping.

Thanks, CJ.

Corn grains peppered his gray Jeep and the roadside as he pulled close to the lumbering, overloaded truck. He passed the rusty International with ease, waving as he pulled back into the right lane. The old truck driver, from behind the cracked windshield, returned the gesture with a raised index finger.

A sudden rush of uneasiness gripped CJ and quickly passed. These instinctive moments began shortly after starting work for the Department of Justice. The most innate moments settled on him after he took leave of the criminal investigator position. It was during his return to the prairie, from Olympia, Washington, and while living in the small town of Webster, Nebraska, that he felt something, something tugging at him. To this date, he never pushed the moments aside and always paid them close attention.

The solitude of rural America and the country music twang ended with another incoming call.

Yo, I know who call-eth? What voice through yonder western glow breaks? The lingering dust particles deepened the red glow of the fireball slipping below the rolling farmland. The orb transmitted its powerful rays through the uninterrupted prairie atmosphere, a scene that never lost its inspirational effect.

Romeo, where art thou … Romeo? Her gleeful tone rode the microwaves oscillating above the agricultural gold and green patchwork.

Crossing the Iowa State line, he slowed for a curve, and where is the Juliet I know? He accelerated after crossing the Big Sioux River, rising to the South Dakota flatlands.

She’s running late. Will my Romeo be here before the deepened dark of night?

In the dwindling Dakota sunlight, he quickly checked the odometer. You betcha, he said.

I have a surprise waiting, she said, her voice husky.

His foot pressed down on the gas pedal. From Hudson, he opted for County Road 152 that took him over I-29 to Centerville and south to Route 46 that passed through Irene—population 420—the small town nestled in the corners of three different counties. He was less than thirty minutes from Yankton.

~~~

The maple-colored entry door to the brick and frame townhouse slowly opened on his first ring. Oh my, he whispered.

Correct answer. Dee provocatively stood in the dim-lit entryway wearing a stunning off-white dress. Under the spaghetti straps, her skin glowed in the waning solar radiance. She turned. The dress dipped below her shoulder blades, revealing a well-tanned back. The four-inch high heels emphasized finely sculpted calves. Dee turned to face him. Good, I needed your approval.

Holy-moly, he gasped as his nostrils flared, you smell of Aphrodisia. He slid the backpack from his right shoulder.

Damn it, CJ, kiss me, Dee said.

He eased the computer case to the floor from his opposite shoulder and took her in his arms. Her body against him never failed to bring the oh-so-good feeling. When he broke the lingering kiss, she put her head on his shoulder. CJ noticed a small tremble while she clung to him.

What’s wrong?

She leaned away and looked up. Marry me tomorrow?

He kissed her again, lightly this time. You want to?

Oh … CJ, it is sooo difficult waiting.

It’s not more than ten weeks; waiting makes it better, isn’t that the cliché?

If you insist. She took his hand and led him to the couch, but we can sit and talk for a while. No? As they sat, she said, You remember the first time we made love?

Forget? I’m worn out from that night. He noticed her sly smile.

Dr. Fairady said I should have no concern about resuming sexual activity. She noticed his questioning expression.

He’s sure?

She wrapped an arm around his shoulders, placed her lips against his ear, and whispered, He’s sure. We had a trial run with no adverse reactions.

He leaned away from her and sputtered, You … did … what?

We had a trial run. She smirked.

Silence hung in the room. Dee started to shake with laughter. You should see your expression. She abruptly stood. I’ll be back.

His heart rate slowed. As Dee walked away, he began laughing. How did I earn that?

I wanted to show you my sense of humor returns.

What else returns?

We shall see.

She disappeared into the small kitchen and quickly returned with a bottle of red wine and two glasses. California red, she held the bottle at an angle to read the label, Sonoma Valley Merlot, and placed the bottle and glasses on the table in front of them. Please open.

While he leaned forward to uncork the bottle, she rubbed his back. Ummmm, feels so good. How much would you like? She indicated two inches in the glass. He poured and handed it to her. I’m filling mine. We can talk while I imbibe. Maybe get a little drunk.

No, you’re taking me to dinner. He cocked his head. Yes, I’ve reserved a table for two at Minerva’s, she lifted her glass, to our forthcoming wedding … December 28th.

Aha, you planned this announcement long ago.

I did. We can visit more after I finish my wine and change clothes.

Oh, good, you’ll need help, I presume.

Ah, ah, she cautioned him. We must wait.

Sheesh, just when I was getting hopeful.

While she changed clothes, CJ gathered his to grade papers from the backpack and piled them on the small desk he had found at a garage sale in west Yankton. The second bedroom, painted in pale green, acted as a den, and his sleeping room since Dee returned home. The small closet housed his going-out clothes for the times they ventured to places where Dee felt he needed something more than blue jeans, a casual shirt, and sandals.

He stripped to his skivvies and stood in front of the closet, trying to select from three outfits. CJ plucked clothes from the closet rod. They were the ones he wore when they celebrated their engagement. A small whistle sounded from behind. I take it this is the right choice? He turned. She held the impish grin he loved.

You are correct. I must say that I made the right choice too. Her eyes crinkled at the edges as she admired his abs and lean body.

Your dress perfectly matches my slacks and shirt. He held them up.

Not what I meant, Mr. Hand. Several meanings, one being how I needed time away from you nearly two years ago, remember?

He thought about the hell that broke loose in Elm Creek Valley. I do, and I’m damn glad you decided as you did.

Do you ever wonder about the businesswoman in Lincoln?

I’ve not, at least not for well over a year. Why? He ducked the conversation with Sara Wright.

Did you know I was jealous?

I suspected such. But that is the past—onward and forward.

She sidled up to him as he finished buttoning the soft-colored shirt. CJ Hand, I’m madly in love with you. I don’t want to lose you.

You won’t … I promise. He held her close. Let’s enjoy the evening.

~Chapter 3~

DURING THE MEAL, they discussed the wedding plans Dee had outlined. Dee jotted notes on specifics such as guests, location, and a honeymoon trip. The rustic restaurant had become a favorite place to dine. The high-backed booths, low noise, excellent service, and eclectic menu kept them coming back. After agreeing on the wedding plans, they exchanged the latest in their work lives.

Have you talked to the hospital administrator about our plans? He paused to watch an old couple dodder past. Do you suppose that might be us in thirty years?

She shook her head. I’ll keep you limber. His face flushed. I’d better switch back to your question.

David Thomas, the hospital CEO, and I sat down this past week. He asked just that. She held the coffee cup with both hands and sipped. He wanted to know if I planned on leaving anytime soon.

Strange question, wasn’t it?

I thought so, Dee said, but he clarified it. A board member from Webster County Hospital called and asked permission for their search committee to talk with me. CJ’s facial expression made her wait for a beat. My former boss, Will Elliot, is leaving Red Cloud to take a chief administrator’s position somewhere in southeast Kansas. A Webster County Board member recommended contacting me to seek my interest.

Would you be happy there? he asked while leaning back against the padded backrest. It seems like it’s a step back.

CJ, we could live in Webster. You could teach at the community college in Hastings. Her soft reply held a confident air.

He reached across the table and touched the engagement ring. I go where you go. He took her hand in his. One small item, there has to be a job opening at the community college. From her smile, he knew the surprise would follow.

Your friend and mine is a member of the community college board. A call came to David’s office this week. South-Central Community College wants someone to teach healthcare administration.

Wait a minute. Our friend David Thomsen sits on the community college board? He never said anything about such a position. CJ sat deep in thought. It can’t be David Thomsen; he teaches there. His face lit up, and he said, Richard Fallon. Dee’s wide grin left no question.

He knows you, your work ethic, Dee said, and your teaching abilities, the latter from talking with David and Julie. She paused long enough to allow him to mull the news. We could live in any one of the college district’s cities.

I need time to digest this, he said, a weak smile followed a pronounced swallow. "My mind’s spinning with this entire scenario, especially with a return