His brutal honesty brought a flash of pain to Lucas’s eyes. Even if Fritz’s intent was to point out the truth and keep them from chasing flimsy leads, Elise wished he would be more tactful. She touched Lucas’s arm gently. “He has a point, Lucas, but we’re not giving up. I’m going to visit Dad at the hospital. Perhaps he can help us piece some of this together. It’s worth a shot. Dad knows half the people in the county, so maybe he knows something about your family connections.” What she didn’t tell him was she planned to stop at the state police barracks and see Nick Peters. She had a hunch the last database on the disk was somehow connected to Mike’s work.
“You’d better call Chuck before you leave,” Fritz warned Elise. “When I spoke to the guy last night his parting shot was if you didn’t get back to him pronto, he was a dead man. I asked him if he’d wanted to take out a life insurance policy, but he declined.”
Elise laughed. “I’ll do it before I leave.”
****
“You have to come back to San Francisco right now,” Chuck Sanders pleaded. “I’m serious, Elise, the biggest contract of our lifetime is about to go down the drain.”
“I can’t, Chuck,” she said, changing hands and ears with the cordless phone. She stood next to her drawing table in her bedroom and flipped through the blueprints for Lucas’s showroom, already under construction. Beside a pile of notes, more paperwork was stacked high and screaming for her attention. The cottage was almost completed, except for a few cosmetic changes to the kitchen and bath. “Paul and you promised me this next week.”
“Elise, listen to me. Levinson agreed to all five contracts. All five. The only stipulation is you manage them. All five. Is the signal getting through? He wants to meet with us as soon as possible.”
“Hold him off. Give him some kind of excuse. Tell him I’m still in Scranton.”
“I told him, I told him. The man is not civil to any of us. You know how he hates Paul. It’s a no go unless he’s able to deal directly with you. He’s adamant about this.” He lowered his voice, and Elise knew he was struggling to disguise the strained and frantic tone he had earlier used. “Here’s how it works, kid. It’s not every day an architect lands designs for five major hotels. You do it and you’re on your way to national recognition as an architect. We have to think of your future here.”
My future? Elise felt her stomach do a quick summersault. “Wait, you never said they were my designs.”
“What do you think we’ve been talking about? I showed him the plans you created for Simson and Associates. You know, the ones they discarded and we tucked away in the dead files? The one with the lounge placed directly in the center of the recreation area, so parents can relax, read, and still watch their kids play video games, use the equipment room, swim, play ping pong, whatever.”
“I don’t get it,” Elise said.
“I didn’t either until I realized Levinson’s plan is not just to build a chain of hotels. Anyone can do that. He wants to build family-oriented ones. He wants to create an atmosphere in each hotel geared to enticing businessmen who want to travel with their families. That’s when I showed him your designs. It was like the merging of two intellectual wave lengths.”
“What am I going to do, Chuck?” Elise asked. She pinched the bridge of her nose and drew in an exhausted breath. She had made a promise to her father and she was committed to helping Lucas. How could she just pack up and leave? And what about Todd? How would she ever explain it to him?
“Get back here. Now.”
“If I don’t?”
“We lose the contracts.”
“And I lose my job,” she said exhaustedly. “It hardly seems fair, Chuck.”
She heard a long silence over the phone. “Elise, try to remember Paul is my partner.”
“Well, at least you’re honest,” she said, juggling the phone to her other ear again as she searched for a pen. “Give me Levinson’s number.” She quickly jotted it down and said, “Maybe I can stall him. Can you deal with Paul?”
“I’ll try. You have forty-eight hours starting tomorrow. That’s all I can promise you, kid. Would it help to say I’m sorry?”
“No,” she said as much to herself as to him and hung up.
****
Anton Springer looked happy and robust for a man who had just spent his last week in a hospital. Elise found him sitting in the lounge with his crutches, reading the latest copy of USA Today and chatting with Mrs. Pedmo.
He looked up and smiled. “I was just telling Twila about your job in San Francisco.”
As if Mrs. Pedmo sensed Elise’s need to be alone with her father, she rose.
“You needn’t rush off,” Anton said apologetically.
“We could stay here all day and trade stories about our kids and the good ol’ days, Anton, and we’d never finish. I’ve paperwork to do.” She smiled at Elise. “Your father and I were reminiscing about all those childhood pranks our kids used to play. I especially like the one where Fritz and Lucas let the air out of the tires of old Sam Meyer’s police car.”
Elise groaned. “Oh, great, I’m sure you now have a terrific impression of Lucas Fisher.”
“Lucas Fisher was no easy kid to raise. But behind his bad attitude, there was a kid with brains and the willingness to work hard.” She patted Anton on his hand and picked up her purse and briefcase. “I’ll stop by again and see how you’re doing.”
“I’ll walk you to the elevators,” Elise offered, rising and following her through the lounge door. She punched the down button. “It’s really nice of you to stop and see Dad. He really enjoys your company.”
“And I enjoy his,” Mrs. Pedmo replied. “When I lost my husband, I thought there was nothing else left besides work until people like your father convinced me I could have a life again, once the healing process began. Even Todd will eventually readjust after the initial shock of his father’s death has passed and he has stability back in his life. It’s funny, kids seem to go through the process so much quicker than older folks.”
“Can you tell me why Jack Morrison recommended Todd Fisher be sent back to New Castle?” Elise asked.
Mrs. Pedmo paused for moment, pursing her lips. “Jack Morrison is a decent caseworker, Elise. Maybe not a rocket scientist, but as good as he can be, realizing his shortcomings. One, he’s never had any children, and two, he has never known the poverty or loneliness so many of our economically disadvantaged kids have experienced. When Jack recommended Todd be sent back to New Castle, his intent, I believe, was to place the boy back in familiar surroundings near friends and neighbors so he could better adjust to his father’s death. You realize Mike had only moved to Scranton a little less than a year before the accident.”
“But why couldn’t he have waited until Lucas arrived?”
“Until your dad spoke up and suggested it, Jack was going with what seemed the most logical and appropriate approach for the immediate needs of a grieving child.” She looked across the room where Anton was seated. “I must say, your father is a very imposing, stubborn man when the need arises.”
“You’ll get no argument from me.”
****
Anton Springer set his newspaper aside on the coffee table in front of him. The lounge was deserted except for the two of them.
“You might as well tell me, Elise. You have that God Almighty, horrified look about you like the world is coming to an end.”
Elise slumped into a chair opposite him. “Chuck Sanders called this morning. I have a shot at cinching the designs for a five-hotel deal, but I have to go back to San Francisco.”
“How soon?”
“Looks like Wednesday unless I can stall them.”
“And you don’t want to?”
“No, not exactly.” Elise blew out a breath. “If I go back, Paul Winston will never let me return.” She related her phone call with Chuck Sanders in capsule form. And I don’t want to leave, not yet. Not right now.
“But you have vacation due you.”
“I also have a job,” she reminded him. “I’m also knee-deep in helping Lucas Fisher. Then there’s Todd to think about.”
“Ah ha,” Anton Springer said.
“And just what does ‘ah ha’ mean?”
He smiled. “I guess I should say it means nothing, but from what your brother tells me, there might be something.”
“Fritz talks too much.”
“He always was the household jabberwocky, wasn’t he?” Anton Springer laughed heartily.
“Dad!” She watched him settle back in his chair and raise his injured foot to rest on the coffee table.
“Have you spoken to this Levinson fellow?”
Elise shook her head. She had been dreading making the call and was actually thankful it was Sunday. “I guess I wasn’t sure what to say. I was looking for an excuse so believable the man would cave and agree to a postponement.”
“Lizzie, Lizzie.” Anton Springer held up a silencing hand. “For crying out loud, you’re telling me the woman who is known as the greatest manipulator of the human race, your brothers and me included, can’t come up with a way to deal with a man who wants, no craves, your expertise?”
Stunned, Elise stared at him. “Dad, you don’t understand. He’s our major client. I can’t go ordering him around. The man’s a multi-millionaire.” She sighed.
“So’s Lucas Fisher, and from what I hear you’ve got him standing on his head and wallpapering. And not just wallpapering—wallpapering with Fritz! I’m enormously disappointed I missed that.”
She smiled. “It was rather amusing. They used so much paste we’ll have to blast the wallpaper off when we need to redo the room.”
“You were lucky they didn’t eat it.”
She laughed, but her mood grew serious as she walked to the window and looked out at the trees already dressed in full spring green. “Dad, John Fisher showed up the other night and told Lucas he wasn’t Mike’s father. Do you think he was telling the truth? Or was it just a way to try to hurt Lucas?”
Anton Springer drew in a deep breath and blew it out. “Whew, I honestly don’t know, Elise. If your mother was living, she would have probably been able to tell you. If Lucas’s grandmother confided in anyone, it would have been her. Does it really matter?”
“I don’t know. Fritz says it doesn’t.” Elise stared at the sky, a clear bright blue. She hated the thought of going off on a wild goose chase. “I do believe it matters to Lucas.”
“Let me think on it,” Anton said. “Right now you’ve got enough to muddle through.”
Chapter Sixteen
Surrounded by shrubs in need of pruning, the Meyers’ small ranch house sat back from the road with a gravel driveway ending at a double-car garage where Mary Jo’s beat-up blue Mazda was parked inside. A weed-filled lawn extended from front to back, the rear portion encircled with a battered wire fence. A rusty swing set occupied a corner of the enclosed lot along with a huge tire filled with muddy sand. Three-wheeled plastic Big Wheels lay abandoned, their colors fading in the bright sunshine.
A tired-looking Mary Jo greeted Elise and Todd at the front door, and shortly thereafter three noisy children, ranging in age from ten to five, barreled up behind her.
“Take Todd around back to play,” Mary Jo instructed the children. She hugged Elise warmly, ushering her into the small foyer. “Let’s go to the kitchen,” she suggested, “and have some coffee.”
She stopped on the way to pick up a stuffed animal and rubber ball and throw them into a laundry basket doubling as a toy chest. At one time, she was a tall, slim woman with vibrant hair the color of lemons, but three pregnancies had added twenty additional pounds and faded her hair to the color of a dull penny.
“How’s your dad?” she asked.
“Much better. In fact, I was at the hospital earlier this morning,” Elise said.
“Good to hear he’s getting better.” Mary Jo removed two mugs from the cupboard, poured them each a cup of coffee, took them to the table, and slid into a seat. “Whenever you want to visit him, I can watch Todd for you. He’s familiar with my kids. Sometimes when Mike Fisher’s sitter had other obligations, he would drop Todd off here.”
So that explained why Mary Jo’s name was in Mike Fisher’s address book, Elise thought with a welcome sense of relief.
“Actually, we hired Cindy Peters to help with Todd and also Dad when he comes home,” Elise told her. She sat forward and crossed her hands on the table. “So tell me, Mary Jo, what’s been happening in your life?”
Mary Jo shrugged. “Kids keep me busy. I’m working with a committee to purchase new equipment for the playground at our elementary school. Pretty soon your poor father will be bombarded by kids selling candy, cookies, and candles to help raise money.”
Elise sipped her coffee and studied Mary Jo’s face. “Why don’t you get a few local businesses to donate some money? They like to help with community and educational projects.”
Mary Jo bit her lip and looked away. Her face clouded with uneasiness. “No, Ted doesn’t want me bothering the local businesses. He feels they’d be obligated to give because I’m a police officer’s wife.”
“So get someone on your committee to ask.” Elise watched an anxious look appear on Mary Jo’s face and she could see Mary Jo was not comfortable with any suggestions, so she changed the subject. “Did you know Mike Fisher?”
“Yes. Why do you ask?”
Elise shrugged. “Just curious. Just wondering what he was like.”
Now Mary Jo’s face looked almost pained. “I didn’t know him real well, but he seemed like a kind man. A good father. He adored Todd. I’ve heard he was a good cop. He didn’t appear to have the hard edge that seems to be part of Lucas’s nature, if you know what I mean.”
“Do you think he was capable of stealing a hundred thousand dollars of undercover money?”
“Oh, no.” With eyes cast downward, Mary Jo nervously fidgeted with the handle on her cup. “Well, at least he...” she paused and stammered, “he, he didn’t seem to be.”
Elise pursed her lips and watched her friend with a keen eye, saying nothing more. She seemed tense, almost fearful. Was she telling the truth about Mike Fisher? Did she know him better than she cared to admit? Or was there something she was hiding?
Outside, a car pulled up, tires crunching on the gravel driveway. Mary Jo stood, moved to the kitchen window, and parted the sun-faded curtains. “Oh…oh, it’s Ted. He must have noticed your car and is dropping by to say hello.”
Word travels fast, Elise thought. Only Jack Morrison knew she was driving a new Corvette convertible. The community gossip network was alive and functioning.
Ted Meyer came into the kitchen through the side door.
“Hello, Ted,” Elise said, smiling. “Sorry about last night, but Nick Peters was going my way. He had to pick up his sister.”
Grunting noncommittally, he went to the cupboard, took out a cup, and poured himself some coffee. “So tell me, how fast does the silver streak out there go?” he asked, eyeing her above the rim of the cup.
Elise considered the question a moment and laughed. “I don’t know. I haven’t pushed the pedal to the floor yet. Tell you what, I’m willing to take it out sometime and find out, but only if you’re game to ride shotgun. No way am I going to risk getting a ticket from the local police department.”
“Smart girl,” he said, cracking the barest of smiles. “You and Mary Jo fall into the reminiscing trap yet?”
“Almost. I was about to ask her whether she knew anyone who knew Mike and Lucas’s grandmother.”
A furrow creased his brow. “Why do you need to know?”
“So I could get a better insight into who Mike Fisher was,” Elise said. It wasn’t a lie. If it would help her to understand Todd better, she would do whatever was necessary. Any information might help her while the little boy was still recovering from the loss of his father. She made a mental note to pick up a book on children and the grief process at the bo
okstore.
“A cop. What’s there to know about cops?” Ted Meyer asked, then snorted.
He seemed piqued, and Elise was glad when Mary Jo’s oldest child, a girl with big brown eyes, came racing into the kitchen.
“Cookies,” she said breathlessly. “Everyone wants cookies and we’re thirsty, Mom.”
“Not now, Rachael,” Ted Meyer said to her. “Can’t you see we have company and we’re talking?”
“Please?” the little girl asked.
“I told you, get back out there and play!” Ted barked and pointed to the door.
Fear was all Elise could think as she watched the girl’s eyes widen as her face and posture froze. She shrank back toward the door, her eyes skidding to her mother.
“Go on, do as your father says,” Mary Jo said softly. “I’ll bring a tray out in a second.” She shooed her daughter out the door with a wave of her hand.
The door banged shut.
“Damn, Mary Jo, when are you ever going to teach those kids to shut a door properly?”
Before she could answer, Elise interrupted, hoping to defuse what might be an ensuing argument. “So fill me in, Ted. What’s new in the old neighborhood?”
“I guess right now, Lucas Fisher. I didn’t know he was staying at the farm.”
“Until the cottage is restored.”
“How long will it take?”
“A couple of weeks.”
He frowned. “People are starting to talk.”
“About what?” Elise smiled, amused. She knew exactly what they were talking about.
“What do you think?” He grunted. “You and him.”
Elise shook her head in disbelief. A decade later, and the old neighborhood hadn’t changed. Everyone had a voracious curiosity to know everyone else’s business.
“If you get a chance to offer some news to the local grapevine, Ted, you might remind everyone Fritz is there most of the time and so is Todd.” She had promised herself she would ignore comments like this, but the need to defend Lucas was almost overwhelming. She found herself more annoyed than angry. “You might want to add we’re both over twenty-one and self-sufficient. We make our own way in the world. Oh, and my father is well aware of who is staying at his house.”
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