Her Brother's Keeper

by Sara Hoskinson Frommer

“Walt, can you take Mom to her room and help her clean up? We’ll get this apron off right now.” He pulled the blood-soaked thing over her head and held it out to Root, who slid it into another bag.

  “Sure,” Walt said, with amazing calm. “Come on, Mom.” He led her out of the room, unprotesting. Fred wondered how often Walt had to help his mom in less dramatic circumstances. Their roles seemed to come naturally to them both.

  Did she have any idea what she’d done? And exactly what had she actually done? Could she have reported that accurately?

  “Lieutenant, I know she’s your mother and all, but somebody’s got to talk to her,” Jill Root said. Not you, she clearly meant.

  “Of course. Ketcham can do it, unless Altschuler wants someone else. But you’re not going to get anything useful out of Mom. You could see how she is.”

  Root nodded. “Is she always that way?”

  “Pretty much. Up and down, not always the same. Stress makes her worse. I haven’t seen her since last year, so I’m not up to date. We’ll see what she’s like when Walt gets her changed, but I’ll be surprised if she can be much help. You call Ketcham yet?”

  “He’s on the way.”

  “Good.”

  The EMTs had turned the body over and were still working on it, but showed no signs of packing it up to transport.

  “You know who he is?” Fred asked, keeping out of their way. All he could see were the man’s feet, toes now pointing up.

  “Ellen said his name is Zimmerman,” Root told him.

  “Zimmerman! Dave Zimmerman?”

  “That sounds right.”

  Fred groaned. Now he had to see for himself. No longer worried about the EMTs, he went over for a close look.

  “You know him?” Root asked.

  “He’s Joan’s brother. Here for the wedding. He’s staying here, too.”

  “So why were they in the kitchen?”

  “No idea. You’ll have to ask Ellen. Where is she, anyway?” The only people he’d seen on the way into the kitchen were cops.

  “She called us and took her staff and kids to her private quarters. This is really going to cramp her style. She’s supposed to be putting on a big dinner here tonight.”

  “I know.”

  Root looked horrified. “It’s not—”

  “Afraid it is. In fact, they’re over at the church now, for the rehearsal. That’s where the dispatcher reached me.” What Ellen would do—what any of them would do—about the rehearsal dinner concerned him less than what he needed to do next. Should he go back to the church, break the news about her brother to Joan? Or would whoever would be in charge of the investigation want to speak to her first, see her reaction? No question about it, someone else would have to handle it.

  He was relieved when he finally saw Ketcham enter the kitchen.

  “What’s up?”

  “My wife’s brother just got himself stabbed.” Fred gestured to the EMTs, still working over the motionless body on the floor.

  “Alive?”

  “Don’t know. But when we came in, my mother was standing here, covered in blood and holding the knife.”

  Jill Root held up the two evidence bags.

  “So there’s no way I can deal with this one,” Fred said. “Did Altschuler put you in charge?” He hoped so. Ketcham was steady and competent. He knew his way around Oliver and how to handle people.

  “Yeah, but he didn’t say why. I’m not sure how much he knew. The dispatcher did say something about your family and a knife. That was enough to tell him he couldn’t leave it to you. So what did you learn so far? And where’s your mother?”

  “She’s not hurt. My brother, Walt, took her up to her room. She told me she had to take the knife out to save his life. But we all know how much that’s worth.”

  Ketcham knew about his mom. “Who else was in the kitchen?”

  “When Walt and I got here, only cops–Root, Terry, and Wampler.”

  Root said, “She wouldn’t let us come close. We were afraid she’d stab him again. Or us.” She looked apologetically at Fred.

  “It’s all right, Jill. She looked pretty fierce.”

  “Where were the staff?” Ketcham asked her.

  “When we arrived, Ellen had put them in her private quarters She directed us to the kitchen and then joined them. You’ll have to ask her who was here when it happened.”

  “I’ll do that.” Ketcham looked fierce himself.

  Fred didn’t envy him.

  One of the EMTs stood up. “He’s gone. We’ll transport him and keep up the CPR, just in case, but between you and me, he’s not coming back.”

  Ketcham checked his watch. “Was he breathing when you arrived?”

  “Nope. No heartbeat, either.”

  “And that was . . . ?”

  “I forgot to time it.” The man blushed. “Maybe ten minutes ago.”

  “More like fifteen,” Fred said.

  “The dispatcher logged the call half an hour ago,” Ketcham said.

  Fred had missed being at the station when it came in by mere moments.

  “You can go back to the church.”

  “And say what to Joan?” A decision he was glad to palm off on Ketcham.

  Ketcham looked at the blood on the floor, still not clotted. “She was probably at the church well before the call came in. No way was she involved. Still, we ought to go by the book, notify her ourselves. Maybe you’d better stick around. Or do they need you there?”

  “I’d better go back. I’m giving the bride away. I’ll keep it to myself.”

  Ketcham nodded. “All right, then.”

  “And what about the rehearsal dinner?”

  Ketcham looked blank.

  Fred pointed to the salads on the big kitchen table. Odds were good his mom had been helping make them. It explained the apron.

  “It’s here?”

  “Would have been. Now it’s a crime scene.”

  “We’ll do our best.” The EMTs had already contaminated the scene, of course. Ketcham didn’t need to spell it out.

  “Thanks.” So he didn’t have to tell Joan, and he could be there to comfort her when she found out. He could imagine Elizabeth Graham’s reaction to the news, though. All Rebecca would need was for her mother-in-law to blame her family for a stabbing. Or a murder, more like it. Time to face the music. They had to be wondering what had happened to him.

  “Tell Walt I went back to the church. Someone will have to let us know about the dinner.”

  “We’ll sort that out with Ellen as fast as we can. Let her call you. She know your cell?”

  “If she doesn’t, give it to her.”

  Chapter 7

  At the church, the rehearsal was thrown into disarray by Fred’s disappearance. Ruthie brought Fred’s note up to Joan, so they knew where he’d gone. At first, it was no problem. With the minister and Sally and Andrew, Rebecca and Bruce talked through the exchanging of vows and rings and what to do with the bouquet. But when it came time to walk through the whole thing, Rebecca insisted on waiting for Fred. Behind them, Elizabeth Graham was jangling her bracelets impatiently, but Bruce stood firm.

  “Don’t worry, Mom,” he said. “They’re not going to kick us out of here.”

  “Certainly not,” Eric Young said. “I haven’t met your mother yet, Bruce. You think you could manage an introduction?”

  Bruce obliged gracefully, introducing both his parents, sister, and brother to the minister, and then the other members of his family who had shown up for the rehearsal. Elizabeth had probably invited still more to the dinner.

  Joan wondered whether the dinner would be delayed by whatever emergency had dragged Fred over there. At least it was something to do with his mother rather than the kind of police emergency she’d hoped to be spared this weekend.

  Now Eric was doing a beautiful job of making the wedding party feel comfortable, asking them about their interests. Joan held her breath, but Rebecca clearly had no intention of mentioning her interest
in dress designing in this company.

  The bracelets were beginning to jangle again.

  At last Joan saw Fred running down the aisle toward them, breathless. “Did I make it in time?”

  Helga must be all right, Joan thought. Probably just scared to be in a new place.

  “Sure, Fred,” Eric said. “We’ve just been chatting. Okay, let’s get this show on the road. Places, everybody.”

  “Come on, Fred,” Rebecca said, linking her arm in his and smiling up at him as if he’d never left. Bless her heart, Joan thought. Having him run out on her like that and then Elizabeth’s reaction to the disruption–it all has to be hard on her. Fred didn’t smile back, but he patted her arm with his other hand.

  Bruce, Andrew, and the minister came in from the door near the front of the church to stand facing the center aisle, where Sally waited to precede Rebecca and Fred. Finally, the organist began the traditional march.

  “I know it’s corny,” Rebecca had said, “but I want to hear it like everybody else.”

  “If you want it, it’s not corny,” Joan had told her.

  But when Rebecca and Fred were a few slow steps down the /aisle, the organist suddenly switched into a very different kind of march, one Joan and her children knew just as well. Instead of “Here Comes the Bride,” Peter’s theme from Peter and the Wolf came bouncing down from the organ loft.

  Joan saw her daughter change from a solemnity that threatened to give way to tears to startled recognition and then open giggles. Rebecca’s eyes met hers, but Joan raised her palms and shook her head in innocence. Glancing back at the groom, though, she saw a sparkle in Bruce’s eyes that gave him away. Good for him!

  Rebecca murmured something to Fred. Holding hands like children, they skipped the rest of the way down the aisle, though Fred’s face looked incongruously grim. Ahead of them, Sally Graham, still trying to match the traditional hesitation step to Peter’s theme, barely beat them to the front of the church.

  Elizabeth Graham was glaring, but her husband’s eyes mirrored Bruce’s sparkle. That was encouraging. Joan didn’t know him yet, but she’d wondered more than once how he’d stayed married to the woman.

  Then Eric asked, “Who gives this woman to be married to this man?”

  Fred answered, handed Rebecca to Bruce, and came to join Joan in the first pew. Rebecca passed the frilly bouquet she’d made of wedding gift bows to Sally and turned to Bruce. Andrew patted his jeans pocket when it was time to produce a ring for his sister, coming up with a large pull-tab from a soft drink can, and Sally found a rubber washer in hers for Rebecca to give to Bruce. Eric gave them a few last instructions, and it was all over but the Mendelssohn.

  While Bruce and Rebecca led the march back down the aisle and general conversation broke out, Joan turned to Fred. “I’m so glad you got back. I would have hated for you . . .” But the look on his face stopped her. “Your mother. Did something happen?”

  “She’s okay. I left Walt with her.”

  “But?”

  He shook his head. “I can’t tell you the rest. It’s a police matter. But I’m afraid the dinner will be delayed.”

  “By a police matter? Oh, Fred, that’s terrible.” But she knew better than to ask him for more details.

  His cell phone rang then, and he saw Elizabeth’s head swivel around, even though it couldn’t matter now. “We’re still in the church,” he said. “Rehearsal’s just over. Okay, we’ll wait for you.”

  He stood up. “I have an announcement for all of you.”

  “Make it short,” Elizabeth snapped. “You delayed the rehearsal, and we’re due for dinner in just a few minutes now.”

  “That’s the announcement,” Fred told her. “The rehearsal dinner is going to be delayed by a police problem. We’re asked to stay right here for now. I hope that’s not going to cause any difficulty for the church,” he said to the minister.

  “No,” Eric said. “It’s warm in here. You wait as long as you need to.”

  “Is that it? A police problem? We’re supposed to take your word for it?” Elizabeth was working up a lather now. Joan wished again that Rebecca could have been spared Bruce’s mother.

  “No, ma’am,” Fred said. “Sergeant Ketcham is on his way over now.”

  “Hmph.” She turned her back on him.

  Joan wondered whether she even knew that Fred outranked the sergeant. She hoped not. Let Ketcham take the heat. She squeezed his hand when he sat down again, and he returned the pressure.

  The young people were visiting among themselves, but she and Fred sat together in silence. She hoped whatever had happened wouldn’t make him have to go back to work on the weekend. Clearly, he’d made a point of coming back for Rebecca’s sake, but from the way he looked, it had to be something serious. She wouldn’t even try to guess what.

  “There he is!” someone cried, and she turned to see Sergeant Ketcham coming down the aisle, followed by a tall black officer she’d met. Chuck Terry, that was his name. Rather than stop to speak to the whole group, Ketcham headed right for Joan and Fred.

  But he didn’t speak to Fred. Instead, he said seriously, “Joan, I need to talk to you.”

  “Please, sit down,” she said. What on earth?

  He sat beside her in the front pew and peered at her through his round wire-rims. “I’m afraid I have bad news.”

  “About the dinner?”

  “About your brother.”

  “Dave? What did he do?” She looked from him to Fred, who obviously knew.

  “It’s what someone did to him.” Ketcham looked her in the eye. “Your brother has been killed.”

  “Killed? Dave? I don’t understand.” It made no sense. Dave did things to people, not the other way around. “What happened?”

  “That’s what we’re sorting out. When did you last see him?”

  “I . . . I don’t know. Yes, I do. He was at our house for a while after supper last night.” What an awful way to remember him. “But Ellen Putnam said he was alive and well this afternoon. He was . . . he was helping her in the kitchen. What happened?” How could Dave be dead, just like that?

  “That’s what we’re sorting out.” Ketcham looked more relaxed now. Had he expected her to fall apart? “It seems someone killed him in the kitchen.” “I thought there was some problem over there with Fred’s mother, not Dave.”

  Ketcham turned on Fred. “You told her that?”

  “I left her a note when I went over. The dispatcher mentioned my family.”

  “Mrs. Lundquist was in the kitchen with your brother.”

  “But Fred said she was okay,” Joan said. “When he came back.”

  Again, Ketcham looked at Fred as if he’d told tales out of school.

  “That’s all I told her, Johnny.”

  He nodded. “She’s not injured.”

  “So . . . what?” She didn’t even know what to ask. He wasn’t telling her anything.

  “When did you arrive at the church?” Ketcham asked her.

  “Me? You think I’d kill my brother?” She could hear her voice rise, but she didn’t seem to be able to stop it.

  “Just tell him,” Fred said. “It’s a routine question. He has to ask you.”

  “I don’t even know. About ten minutes before you came, the first time.” She looked around her. The rest of the wedding party was staring openly. “Can anyone tell me when I arrived here?” she called to them at large.

  “You were late,” Elizabeth Graham said. “We were supposed to be here by five. Everyone else was here—well, almost everyone.” She glared at Fred.

  “Simmer down, Elizabeth. She walked through the door at five on the dot,” Dr. Graham said.

  “You’re sure?” Ketcham asked him.

  “Yes. Some clock outside was tolling the hour.”

  Joan no longer noticed the courthouse clock when it chimed, but she was glad this visitor had.

  “And she was the last to arrive?” Ketcham asked.

  “Except for her
husband.”

  Ketcham nodded. “That’s very helpful.” He turned to Officer Terry. “Take down the names and where they can be reached. Then they’re all free to go. I need to get back to Ellen’s.” Leaving Terry to it, he walked out of the church. Terry pulled out a notebook like the one Fred always kept in a convenient pocket and began making his way around the room.

  “Does that mean we can have the dinner now?” Elizabeth asked.

  “Elizabeth,” her husband said. “He’s just told Joan her brother was murdered.”

  “Murdered! How dare anyone murder anyone at a time like this!”

  Fred stared at her.

  Now he’ll know I was right about her, Joan thought. Then she wanted to kick herself for even thinking about Elizabeth. But Elizabeth had a point. Who knew how long it would take to sort out what had happened to Dave? Joan didn’t understand her own emotions. She felt guilty about celebrating a wedding, as if it weren’t fair to Dave, but Rebecca and Bruce had waited a long time. Their wedding was long overdue. And who wasn’t being fair, anyway? Dave, for coming to do some kind of secretive business in Oliver under the guise of attending the wedding? Had he gotten himself killed? What had all those phone calls been about? She’d have to remind Fred about them.

  “They’ll get word to you as soon as it’s possible to hold your dinner,” Fred told Elizabeth. “The police have promised to do whatever they can. They know about the wedding.”

  “What do you mean, they? Aren’t you in charge?”

  “No, with my family involved, I can’t investigate this time.”

  “I don’t see why—”

  “Elizabeth, hush,” Dr. Graham said, and to Joan’s astonishment, Elizabeth hushed.

  “I’m sure Ellen will know as soon as anyone when she can feed your guests,” Fred said. “You’ll want to be sure she knows how to reach you.”

  Dr. Graham nodded. “We’ll talk to her. Come on, Elizabeth.” It was an order. He took her by the arm and led her out of the church.

  “Come on, Joan,” Fred said, but more gently. “I’ll take you home.”

  “You go, Mom,” Rebecca said, holding Bruce’s hand tightly. “We’ll be fine.”

  “Do you want me to come with you?” Eric asked.