Don

by Carlene Thompson

  Lindstrom, Lily," Natalie answered slowly. "His throat had been cut."

  "Like Tam's," Lily said without expression.

  "And Warren 's and Charlotte's and Alison's." Natalie waited for Lily to say something else, but she didn't. "Who do you think could have done this to him?"

  "You sound as if you honestly expect me to have an answer," Lily said edgily. "Do you think I know more about all of this than you do?"

  "No, I thought I was just asking if you had any ideas," Natalie said carefully. "I haven't talked to you since Nick found out Lindstrom was Eugene Farley's cousin."

  "His cousin!" This time Lily sounded genuinely shocked. "What on earth was he doing here?"

  "He told Nick he was gathering information to write a true-crime novel about the recent murders. Then Nick found out he was Constance Farley's nephew. When he spoke with Constance, she said she didn't know anything about a book and she was very upset that he was in Port Ariel poking around. Then he disappeared on Thursday."

  "The day of Tam's funeral."

  "Lily, did Jeff ever try to talk to you or your father about Tam and Warren?"

  "The only time I ever saw him was that day in the store. You heard the conversation. And I know if he'd tried to talk to Dad about Tam, Dad would have mentioned it. He had nothing to do with Jeff Lindstrom." Her voice rose. "Nothing."

  "Lily, what is wrong with you?"

  "What's wrong with you? You're asking me all these questions about someone who was murdered. You sound like you think my father and I know something. And what's all this with the sheriff? He's Nick now? Are you on the rebound from Kenny? Trying to score some points with the handsome young sheriff by doing his dirty work for him, badgering your oldest and supposedly dearest friends about murders?"

  "Lily, for God's sake, calm down!" Natalie was stunned by Lily's outburst. "I didn't mean anything-"

  "The hell you didn't! Just keep your suspicions to yourself, Natalie, before you do a lot of damage!"

  For the first time in their long friendship, Lily slammed down the phone on her. Natalie sat dumbfounded, holding the receiver for nearly a minute as Lily's words played over and over in her head: Just keep your suspicions to yourself before you do a lot of damage. But she couldn't keep her suspicions to herself, not when Lily sounded so jumpy, so frightened…

  She called police headquarters. Nick had just walked in. "What now?" he asked in a harried voice.

  "Hello to you, too."

  "Natalie, if you tell me you've found another body-"

  "Don't worry. I'm not setting foot outside this house unless it's an emergency. I'm calling to tell you I had a phone conversation with Lily. She'd heard about me finding a man's body this morning." Natalie paused, fighting down her sense of betrayal. Lily was her friend, but they were dealing with multiple murders. "She didn't know whose body it was and she didn't immediately ask, which was odd. When I finally told her it was Lindstrom, she didn't seem shocked. I asked if he'd questioned her about Tam. She said no and that she'd only seen him once, that day in her store. But when I asked if he'd talked to her father, she got really edgy. She denied it vehemently. She was nervous and belligerent." Natalie took a deep breath. "She didn't sound right, Nick. She's wary and she's scared. Really scared."

  SATURDAY 1 p.m.

  "Mr. Peyton isn't home. I don't know when he'll be back."

  A slender woman with salt-and-pepper hair and finely crinkled fair skin looked at Nick with startlingly beautiful, innocent violet eyes. "May I come in and wait, Mrs…"

  "Ebert. I'm Mr. Peyton's housekeeper." She hesitated. "I don't know. Mr. Peyton isn't really up to visitors. This is a very hard time for him."

  "Yes, because his daughter was murdered. But I'm the sheriff, Mrs. Ebert. I'm investigating Tamara's death. I must talk to him."

  Her hand fluttered to her chest. "Oh, no, has something else happened? Is Lily all right?"

  "Lily is fine. This concerns other developments, but it's very important. Please, Mrs. Ebert."

  He gave her his most ingratiating smile and she answered with a nervous smile of her own. "All right. After all, you are the sheriff and this is important. Please come in. Maybe I could get you something to drink? Tea? Coffee? A soft drink?"

  "A Coke or a Pepsi if you have it. It's getting warm out."

  "Oh, yes it is. Such a lovely day. Yesterday was so gloomy. Please make yourself comfortable in the living room and I'll be right back."

  Nick hadn't gotten a chance to study the room after Tamara's funeral. He didn't know much about antiques, but he knew these were valuable. The room was beautiful, although much too fussy and formal for his taste. Above the fireplace hung an oil portrait of Tamara and Lily done when they were about sixteen. Both had golden blond hair brushing their shoulders, both wore pale green dresses that highlighted their hazel eyes. Their bone structure was identical, but no one who looked into their eyes would confuse them. Tamara had a gentle, shy gaze. Lily's eyes looked at him boldly, twinkling with fun. A dove and a peacock. Both beautiful, but so different.

  Mrs. Ebert returned carrying a silver tray bearing a glass of Coke and a plate of Ritz crackers topped by thin slices of cheddar and Swiss cheese. "You have the air of a man who didn't have lunch," she smiled. "I could fix some soup if you like."

  "No thanks. The crackers are great. You're right-I haven't eaten since this morning." He sat down on a moss green settee, took a sip of icy Coke, then reached for a cracker.

  "I'll just go back to the kitchen while you wait-"

  "If you're not busy, would you keep me company?" Nick tried hard to look innocent.

  The woman hesitated. "No, I haven't anything to do. Mr. Peyton didn't even eat his breakfast and said he might be dining out."

  "He's getting back into the world."

  Mrs. Ebert sat down on a wing chair across from Nick. "No, I don't really think he has dinner plans. He simply doesn't want to eat." She crossed her long, shapely legs and pulled her navy blue skirt over her knees. "He's devastated, Sheriff Meredith. Those girls mean the world to him."

  "At least he still has Lily." She smiled. "And Mrs. Cosgrove." The smile vanished. "Don't you like her?"

  "I don't know her well," Mrs. Ebert said shortly.

  "About as well as you'd like, I imagine. I know Lily doesn't like her and from what I've seen, I wouldn't care for her, either. There's just something about her…"

  "She's overbearing," Mrs. Ebert said promptly. "She acts as if this house is already hers, redecorating, doing away with Mrs. Peyton's things."

  "You were fond of Mrs. Peyton."

  "She was an angel living on earth. Such a simple, unassuming woman. She considered having a housekeeper a wild extravagance, not to mention pretentious, but she really didn't have any choice because her multiple sclerosis kept her bound to the wheelchair those last few years. My first couple of months here were tense." She smiled again. "I was recently widowed and so lonely. When she realized that, everything changed. We became like sisters. She saved my life-my emotional life."

  Mrs. Ebert sighed and looked at the portrait of the twins. "I think she would be horrified by the idea of Viveca Cosgrove becoming the girls' stepmother. Of course there's just Lily now…" Her lovely eyes filled with tears. "I never should have talked so much about private matters. I had no right."

  "You have every right to your opinion," Nick said gently. "Of course, after what happened to her daughter, Mrs. Cosgrove won't be around here much."

  "Now I feel worse. That girl is very… disturbing, but she didn't deserve what happened to her. It's horrible!"

  Nick reached for another cracker. "But she's alive, not like Jeff Lindstrom."

  "Jeff Lindstrom?" she asked blankly.

  "His body was found this morning. He'd been murdered like Tamara and Warren."

  The violet eyes flew wide. "My God! He was so young!"

  Nick had mentioned Lindstrom without expecting to hit pay dirt. He tried to hide his surprise and excitement. "You knew Je
ff Lindstrom?" he asked casually.

  "I didn't really know him." Mrs. Ebert tucked a graying wing of hair behind her ear. "He came here once. He asked to speak with Mr. Peyton and I said Mr. Peyton wasn't seeing anyone, but then he got rather loud and Mr. Peyton came in."

  "When was this?"

  "Thursday night, after Tamara's funeral. Can you imagine the nerve? Lily was still here. She told her father not to speak with him, but Mr. Peyton did anyway."

  Lily had told Natalie she'd only seen Lindstrom once in her store. She'd lied. "He must have had something fairly important to say to insist on seeing Mr. Peyton at such a bad time."

  "I excused myself, of course. And then Mr. Peyton demanded that Lily go to her room. The girls' room is just as it was when they were teenagers. She argued with her father, but he was adamant. It was so upsetting!"

  "I'm sure. I wonder what Lindstrom wanted?"

  "I wouldn't know." Nick looked at her intently and her gaze dropped. He had a feeling he was dealing with a discreet but scrupulously honest woman. "Well, that's not quite true. I did overhear part of their conversation. I didn't mean to, but I'd gone to the kitchen and from there you can't help overhearing…"

  "I understand." He took a sip of Coke. "I had a talk with Lindstrom once. He was pretty obnoxious."

  "He was odious! Loud, rude. I didn't catch every word, but he kept asking questions about Warren. Did Mr. Peyton know Warren was having an affair with Charlotte Bishop? Did Mr. Peyton believe Warren had murdered Tamara? Mr. Peyton was becoming extremely agitated when suddenly Lindstrom said-"

  She drew a deep breath, frowned, and looked down at her twisting hands. Don't let her stop now, Nick implored silently. But he knew this woman would not respond to pressure. He continued to look at her with interest but not avidity.

  "Well, this has been bothering me," Mrs. Ebert resumed slowly. "Lindstrom said something about exposure to Mr. Peyton."

  "Exposure?" Nick repeated quietly as the word screamed in his mind. "I wonder what he meant by that?"

  "I haven't the faintest idea. I don't believe Mr. Peyton has any secrets. He's an honorable man. He was devoted to Mrs. Peyton. That's why I'm surprised by his involvement with Mrs. Cosgrove. She's so different…" She was wandering and Nick wanted to shout, "Get back to the point!" Extreme will power stopped him. "I wondered and wondered what this Lindstrom character could have meant by exposure," Mrs. Ebert went on. "And I think I have an idea."

  Nick was leaning so far forward he nearly fell off the settee. He quickly grabbed the glass of Coke and drained it to hide his agitation.

  "Do you need another drink, Sheriff?"

  "No, I'm fine. You said you have an idea what Lindstrom meant by exposure?"

  "I wondered if it might have something to do with Alison. I thought possibly she'd been in some mischief and Mr. Peyton wanted to protect her for Mrs. Cosgrove's sake."

  "Alison? Mischief?"

  "I can't think of anything else, particularly since I learned she's been going to the Saunders house at night, dressing up, listening to music. It's hard to tell what else she might have been doing."

  "I see what you mean about Alison," Nick said. "What happened after Lindstrom made this threat?"

  "Mr. Peyton told him to get out or he'd call the police. And Lindstrom left. Afterward I went in to see if I could do anything for Mr. Peyton, but he was quite sharp with me. The first time in ten years. But he was deeply troubled. He drank two snifters of brandy. Took them straight down. I've never seen him do that before."

  "And then what?"

  "Then he slammed out of the house and drove off. Lily had come out of her room by then and she was terribly worried. She went out, too. Mr. Peyton didn't return until near dawn. I know because I was too disturbed to sleep and I heard him come in."

  "Where do you suppose he went?"

  "I don't know." She colored slightly. "Perhaps to Mrs. Cosgrove's house. He often stays there quite late."

  "And you didn't see Lily again, either?"

  "Not that night." Mrs. Ebert rubbed at a shallow vertical line between her eyebrows. "I feel that I've said far too much, but Mr. Lindstrom was a terrible person. The very idea of verbally attacking Mr. Peyton on the day of his daughter's funeral! Not only that, but threatening him with exposure, of all things. It was distressing and ridiculous!"

  Nick was quite sure Oliver Peyton found the threat of exposure distressing. He was not at all sure the man found it ridiculous.

  After downing another glass of Coke and a second plate of Ritz crackers with cheese, Nick gave up on Oliver Peyton. "Will you tell him I need to talk with him when he comes home?" he asked Mrs. Ebert.

  "Certainly. I can't guarantee that he'll contact you, though." She looked at him regretfully. "He seems to be dodging people lately. All the stress."

  "I understand. But this is very important, Mrs. Ebert. Would you give me a call even if he doesn't? I won't mention your name to him." The woman looked as if she were going to refuse. "Mrs. Ebert, I'm trying to find Tamara's killer."

  "All right," she said unhappily. "I'll call."

  He felt slightly ashamed as he walked back to the car. He'd enlisted the woman's help by telling her he wanted to find Tamara's killer. He knew Oliver Peyton didn't murder his daughter. He wasn't so sure Oliver Peyton had not murdered Jeff Lindstrom.

  He sat in the car wondering what to do next. He's wanted to talk to Hysell about Dee, but Hysell wasn't coming on duty until four because he'd been up all night dealing with the Alison Cosgrove attack, allowing Nick to go home for a few hours of sleep and some time with Paige. He'd talk to Hysell this evening. Now he'd make another attempt to see Dee.

  Nick braced himself as he pulled up to the Fisher home. His first two visits had been less than pleasant. He had a feeling his third could provoke an actual physical attack from the frail Mrs. Fisher. He noticed an old Volkswagen in the driveway that had not been there on his previous visits. Maybe it was Dee's.

  His question was answered as soon as the front door swung open. A woman of around thirty with curly brown hair stood before him. She wore jeans on a sturdy frame, and her only makeup was a slash of bright pink lipstick. She looked exhausted.

  "Dee Fisher?" he asked.

  "The famous Sheriff Meredith. Ted talks about you a lot." From her tone Nick guessed Hysell did not speak of him in glowing terms. "My mother has a lot to say about you, too."

  "We've had a couple of conversations. May I come in?"

  "Why?"

  "Because I need to talk to you." Dee continued to stare at him. "If you don't want to disturb your mother, we could speak out here on the lawn." He paused. "Or at headquarters."

  "Headquarters!" Mrs. Fisher appeared behind Dee like a small, squawking bird. "I knew you'd gone and done some thin' wrong, Dee. Can't keep outta trouble. Just like your daddy!"

  She began to rasp, then to cough. She backed away from the door, hacking forcefully into one hand, swatting with the other at Dee when she came near. "Get away! You.only make me worse!" Splutter, gag, snort. Dee turned to Nick, looking utterly hopeless and exhausted. "You'd better come inside. As you can see, I can't leave her."

  Nick stepped inside. He knew better than to suggest calling the E.M.S. Dee hovered over her mother who bent double, alternately coughing and cursing, until the siege began to subside. "I'll get you some lemonade," Dee said.

  "Beer!"

  "Mom-"

  "I said beer!" Mrs. Fisher quavered. "And get him one, too. He's a beer-drinkin' man. Might put him in a better mood."

  "Lemonade for me," Nick told Dee. "I'm on duty."

  Mrs. Fisher glared at him. "Coward."

  Off to another roaring start, Nick thought as he entered the small, stuffy living room. At least he'd pinned down the elusive Dee.

  She returned to the living room with a glass of lemonade and a can of beer. Mrs. Fisher motioned to the plastic covered couch Nick had sat on the other night and planted herself on the armchair across from him. "Mrs. Fisher, i
t might be better if I spoke to Dee alone," he said.

  Angry light flared in her eyes. "This is my house! Nothin' goes on in here that I don't know about and that includes conversations!"

  What must it have been like to grow up with this hostile, suspicious woman? Nick wondered. He wanted to order her from the room, but he knew it was no use. Dee was looking at him warily as she hovered near her mother's chair.

  "I talked with your mother this morning," Nick said. "She said she hadn't seen you since yesterday afternoon."

  "I was out."

  "He knows that!" Mrs. Fisher snapped. "Out doin' what is what he wants to know, and me, too, for that matter, me here dyin' and you not even botherin' to come home all night." She took a slug of beer from the can. "And don't try to tell me you was with that deputy 'cause he called here for you this mornin'. I said you was in church. Hah! Bet he believed that one!"

  "Ma, please," Dee said tiredly.

  Nick looked at Dee. "I would like to know where you were."

  "What's it matter? I don't have to answer to you."

  "What is the big secret?"

  "There's no secret" Dee tried unsuccessfully to laugh. "I just think it's my own business where I go."

  Nick stared at her steadily. "Normally I would agree, but you've heard what happened to Alison Cosgrove last night."

  "I saw the paper this morning. She got attacked. What's that got to do with me?"

  "Do you know what happened to Jeff Lindstrom?"

  Dee stiffened. "Who is Jeff Lindstrom?"

  "The man Natalie St. John found murdered in front of her house this morning." He paused. "The man who's motel room you were seen coming out of Thursday night."

  "I knew it!" Mrs. Fisher exploded. "Knew it, knew it, knew it! Whorin' around. He's the one!"

  "I don't know any Jeff Lindstrom!" Dee's fists clenched. "What are you saying? That I killed this guy?"

  "I'm saying he disappeared Thursday and he was found murdered this morning. I'm saying you were positively identified as the woman who came out of his room at the Lakeview Motel Thursday night crying."