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running for her old man’s seat in the Senate.”
    The rocker stopped. “She fired me. Six weeks ago. Out of nowhere. JT stopped talking to me, told me to stay away from the house, keep my nose clean. Hired Choppy Pulaski to take over upkeep on the property. Choppy, of all people.” Kaye snorted. “Can’t keep his pickup running, much less a chainsaw. But I heard what she said. Haven’t seen her, spoken to her since.
    “When it comes to that campaign she’s running, all I can say is she’s got some beauts workin’ for her. Real beauts. But, hey it was bound to happen. You boys know what they say …”
    Ray was quiet. Osborne hesitated to breathe. He watched as Kaye pushed herself up from the rocking chair. She staggered slightly as she started to cross the living room. Setting her feet wide apart, she paused to get her balance. Lowering her big head to stare at Osborne and Ray, she repeated her words: “You know what they say—the goddamn apple don’t fall far from the tree. Dr. Osborne, you, me, and Ray here, we know: the woman’s a drunk. Just you watch—she’ll screw up.”
    At the look on Ray’s face, she raised a hand, “Don’t argue with me, kid. Takes one to know one.”
    The fierceness in Kaye’s demeanor sapped the room of the camaraderie that had warmed it.
    A heavy drinker, Jane’s father had been forced out of office after leaving the scene of a drunk driving accident in which a family of five was killed. He was spared a prison sentence only because of his influence and money, which bought an expensive but effective legal defense out of Madison.
    The senator was also an inveterate womanizer. One of Osborne’s coffee buddies, Ike French, had captured the senator’s habit succinctly as they commiserated over steaming cups of coffee at McDonald’s one winter morning. It was Ike who said (and had been quoted so often since that he worried it would be etched on his headstone): “Our esteemed leader has so many notches in his belt it’s amazing the damn thing can hold his pants up.”
    The remark got a rueful laugh, as more than one of the men sitting around the table that morning had wives, sisters, daughters, or nieces who’d been targets. And too often targets successfully seduced in spite of warnings. The late senator may have been a sinner, but a sinner who radiated charm.
    One day the charm ran out. Late on a cold November Saturday, after a University of Wisconsin football game (Wisconsin lost), his body was found in the gutter of a back street in Madison. It was rumored he had been with a prostitute when something went wrong. Cause of death was a stroke that had occurred approximately three hours before the body was found.
    On the plus side, as a leader in legislation benefitting the timber industry, potato farmers, and cranberry growers, Senator Rolf Ericsson III had represented Wisconsin’s economic interests well for over twenty years. And he contributed to the local Episcopalian church, which had redeemed him in the hearts of some Loon Lake residents.
    “I’m only living in this house because the senator deeded the house and the land it sits on to my mother after he bought our farm,” said Kaye with a growl. “No sirree, the candidate doesn’t want to see me, and I do not wish to discuss this further.”
    “Well,” said Ray, “I guess that means Doc and I don’t get a tour of the mansion, right?”
    Kaye glared, then melted. “Sorry, boys, not your fault you hit the wrong button. Get up and follow me to my workroom. Let’s see what we can do about this hat.” She opened a door off the living room that led to garage-like space with a low ceiling, concrete floor, and double doors opening off the far end. The room was divided into two areas. One side held an old ping-pong table with an industrial-type sewing machine bolted down at one end. On the other side of the room was another long table, which was supported by sawhorses. Along the wall behind that table were hung