Her Brother's Keeper

by Sara Hoskinson Frommer

  “Uh-huh,” Ketcham said.

  “Ellen said he was good over there, too. He was good with Laura Putnam when he met her; I saw that myself.”

  “We’ll talk to Ellen.”

  She nodded and paused. “I almost don’t want to mention it, but . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “Two things happened yesterday.”

  Ketcham waited without looking impatient. He’s good, Fred thought.

  “First, only I didn’t find out about it till later, when Andrew told me, Dave made a bunch of long-distance calls from our phone. That would be no huge deal, but he lied to Andrew, said I’d told him I didn’t mind.”

  “When you did?”

  “When he hadn’t asked me.”

  “Andrew say what the calls were about?”

  “No, he didn’t hear. Just long enough numbers he could tell they weren’t local. Dave did tell me he was going to be doing something about what our parents left him in their will.”

  “You know what that is?”

  “I don’t remember, if I ever knew, but I have a copy of the will somewhere. I can look.”

  “I’ll help her find it,” Fred promised.

  “Okay with you if we check your phone records?”

  “Yes,” she and Fred said in unison. They could get a court order, Fred knew, but permission would speed up the process.

  “We’ll look into them.” Now Ketcham did pull out a little notebook like the one Fred used and made a brief note. “This was yesterday, you say?”

  “At least. You probably ought to check the whole week.”

  He made another note. “Okay. And the other thing? You said there were two.”

  For the first time, she looked away. Fred resisted the temptation to take her hand. Ketcham just waited.

  “Last night he was teasing Rebecca. At first that’s all it was, teasing. He made her laugh, and she needed it.” Now she met Ketcham’s eyes. “She’d gone all nervous about Bruce and the wedding.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Then he kissed her. That doesn’t sound like anything, but what started out as gentle teasing turned into the kind of kiss you wouldn’t want your daughter’s uncle to give her.”

  Ketcham nodded.

  “She ran upstairs to get away from him. I couldn’t believe it. Right there in our living room, right in front of me, what did he think he was doing, anyway? I gave him what-for.”

  Ketcham waited.

  “Then I followed Rebecca. When I came down, he’d left. Today Ellen said he was helping in the kitchen. When I got over there, someone told me he and Fred’s mother were making salads together. I didn’t go in the kitchen, didn’t want to confuse Helga. I never saw him again.” Now the tears came, and she fumbled for a handkerchief and blew hard. “Before he got here, I worried that he was coming. After yesterday I was worried all over again. How could I trust him if he’d lie? And make Rebecca feel like that? What else would he pull? You saw Gary here—the kid we hired to watch the gifts. I told Andrew to watch them while Dave was here and I was at work, too. Felt silly about it till last night. Then I was glad I had.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Fred said.

  She looked up at him. “I don’t tell you everything. Besides, you didn’t take it very seriously.”

  “No, I didn’t. I’m sorry, Joan.”

  She took his hand. “It’s okay.”

  Ketcham looked around. “Andrew here?”

  “No,” Fred said. “I think the kids are hanging out tonight. He’s with my niece, probably. And maybe Bruce’s sister and brother, unless their parents dragged them off to wherever they’re staying.”

  “Yeah, we got that.” Ketcham patted the pocket where he’d stashed the notebook. He looked at Joan. “Anything else? Anything I should have asked you but didn’t think of?”

  “I don’t know. It’s all a jumble to me.”

  “You know how to find me. Anytime, day or night. He may have been an ex-con, but we’re taking this as seriously as if he were one of us.”

  “Thank you,” she said, and her smile lit up the room.

  No wonder I fell in love with her, Fred thought. Now he did pat her hand. “I’ll see Johnny out.”

  Ketcham stood and held out his hand.

  Joan took it. “Thank you,” she said again.

  “You call on me for anything they’ll let me do,” Fred said at the door.

  “You bet,” Ketcham said.

  And he was gone. What an odd feeling it was, to be on the other side like this. Fred went back to Joan.

  “You know Helga didn’t do it,” she said.

  “I know.” Almost. Who knew what his mother was capable of these days? And how would they ever sort it out, when she’d been holding the weapon and was covered with blood herself?

  He sat down by her, checked his watch from force of habit.

  “It’s not even ten yet,” she said. “Feels like midnight. But I couldn’t possibly go to sleep. Way I feel now, I’ll never sleep again.”

  Another night, he might have made a suggestion, but tonight he hardly dared touch her.

  “Take me for a walk?”

  “Sure, if you want. You’ll have to wrap up. It’s supposed to hit zero tonight.”

  “And Fred? Hold me tight?” She reached up to him, the tears flowed freely, and they didn’t need the walk after all.

  Chapter 10

  Joan smelled the coffee first.

  “Rise and shine. Big day today.”

  Groggily, she rose to consciousness and opened her eyes. There stood Fred, holding a mug of his good coffee just beyond her nose. She propped herself on one elbow and then slid up against the head of the bed.

  “Thank you.” She reached for it.

  “Careful, it’s hot.”

  “Mmm.” Sipping, she was glad he’d warned her. “What time is it?”

  “Almost nine. Rebecca’s still upstairs.”

  “I never did hear her last night.”

  “She rolled in around one. Andrew didn’t beat her by much. He and I have been sitting in the kitchen, talking. I think he’s going up pretty soon to drag her out of bed.”

  “She’ll love that.”

  “He said she asked him to.”

  “I’d better get my shower in now, then, before she takes over.” She sniffed again. “Is something baking?”

  He nodded. “Sweet rolls. Thought I ought to do something to celebrate the day. Andrew’s been asking for lessons, so he helped.”

  By the time she’d showered, thrown on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, and braided her wet hair, the rolls were out of the oven. She was enjoying her first one when Rebecca, still sleepy-eyed, came down in pajamas and robe.

  “Andrew told me he was baking sweet rolls. Is that true?”

  “You don’t have to eat any,” he said. “Leave more for the rest of us.”

  Fred poured Rebecca’s coffee and held out the basket of rolls. “It’s true.”

  She bit into a roll. “Andrew, I take back every mean thing I ever said or did to you.”

  The roll in Joan’s mouth lost its sweetness. The last thing she’d ever said to her own brother had been hateful. She saw Fred looking at her with a gentleness she could hardly bear.

  “I’ll be back,” she said, and she managed to escape to her room before the tears erupted again.

  “Is Mom okay?” she heard both her children ask.

  “Let her be,” Fred said. But a few moments later, she was grateful to feel his arms supporting her.

  “It’s all right,” he told her. “They’ll understand if you weep in front of them.”

  “But I don’t want to cry on Rebecca’s wedding day!”

  “All mothers cry at their daughter’s wedding. It’s expected. Tradition.”

  She managed a wobbly smile. “I suppose.” He had a point. The wedding guests who didn’t know about her brother would think she was dripping tears about losing her daughter.

  When she rejoined them in
the kitchen, Rebecca gave her a big hug.

  Andrew held out his rolls. “Try another one, Mom.”

  “They’re great. It wasn’t your baking, before.” She took one and this time was able to enjoy it.

  Rebecca was humming something that sounded almost familiar, but Joan couldn’t place it.

  “What’s that?” she asked.

  Rebecca actually blushed. “Just something Bruce plays for me to tell me he loves me.”

  “What are the words?”

  “I don’t know that there are any. It sounds a lot better when he plays it.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.”

  “You making cracks about my singing?” But Rebecca clearly didn’t mind.

  “He plays for you, but not for his mother. That says something.”

  “More about her than about me. Can’t you just imagine what it must have been like to grow up in that house? Tom’s glad to be in college, and Sally can hardly wait to leave.”

  “You were like that, too.”

  “I was, wasn’t I? But that was me, not you. You never gave us a hard time. You were great, Mom, don’t you know that?”

  Joan’s eyes stung again, this time for a good reason. “Rebecca, that’s the nicest thing I think you’ve ever said to me.”

  “High time,” Andrew said, and Rebecca socked him on the shoulder. They might have been ten—at most, no older than fifteen.

  “What’s the schedule today?” Fred asked.

  “The wedding’s at five,” Rebecca said. “The women will go over at four, four-thirty to dress. The men dress at home, so all you have to do is show up before five. Well before five, please, or I’ll have a heart attack.”

  “I’m meeting Bruce at the church about half past four,” Andrew said. “Check the ring and all that.”

  “Ellen’s feeding a light lunch to whoever wants to eat with the Lundquists. Will the Grahams go?” Joan asked Rebecca.

  “I doubt it.”

  “Kierstin will be there, though,” Andrew said. “And I promised her I would.”

  “That’s why you dragged in so late last night,” Rebecca said. “You two serious?”

  “Nah, she’s just a kid.”

  “That’s not how it looked last night. She likes you a lot, Andrew. Don’t set her up and dump her.”

  Joan and Fred exchanged a wordless conversation across the table from each other.

  “How long do people have to be married before they can pull that off?” Andrew asked.

  For the first time since hearing about Dave, Joan laughed.

  “It comes with the vows,” Fred said deadpan. “Sometimes even before. But only in a good marriage.” His eyes crinkled at her.

  “You watch your sister and Bruce the next time his mother makes one of her cracks,” Joan said.

  Andrew nodded. “I’ll do that.”

  “Want to come up and help me with the wedding gifts?” Rebecca asked him. “I have to write the notes, but there are some I haven’t even unwrapped.”

  “Sure.” Snagging another couple of warm rolls, he followed her upstairs.

  Joan heard the mail slot in the front door flip open and the day’s mail hit the floor. Now that the responses to the wedding invitations were no longer flooding in, the mail was back to its usual puny quantity. Puny if you didn’t count bills and junk mail.

  “I’ll wash the dishes,” Fred said. She knew he hated to open mail.

  “Thanks.” She bent down to pick up the messy pile inside the front door and quickly sorted out the few pieces that needed opening instead of recycling, mostly bills. “Would you believe it, here’s one more response to our invitation?” Opening it, she was relieved to see “regrets” checked on the response card. She took it over to her little desk at the far end of the living room and tucked it into the others of its kind after checking off the name of one of the few people who hadn’t yet replied.

  Then she pulled out her checkbook to pay the bills. The gas and electric weren’t as high yet as they would be in January, when the cold and dark hit hardest. But the phone bill was unusually high. Flipping down the itemized calls, she suddenly realized why.

  “That was quick,” she said.

  “What was?” Fred said, drying his hands on the dish towel.

  “It’s only Saturday, but this bill includes calls from Thursday.”

  He looked over her shoulder.

  “Fred, those are Dave’s calls, the ones Andrew told me about.”

  “The ones we gave Ketcham permission for,” Fred said.

  “Uh-huh. If he doesn’t have them yet, we could let him copy the bill.”

  “It might save time.” Fred picked up the phone. “Ketcham in? Lundquist here. Tell him we have our phone bill. If he still needs to see those calls, he can copy it.” He listened for a moment. “Okay, then.”

  “What did they say?”

  “They’ll tell him. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

  “But . . .”

  “No buts. Leave that job to the pros.”

  He had a point, but she muttered under her breath while she wrote the check for the bill. She tucked it into its envelope, stamped it, and set it on the little table by the front door to put out for pickup on Monday. After writing the check number on the bill itself, she stuck it into her jeans pocket with the others to file upstairs.

  The filing cabinet was in Rebecca’s normally empty room. Joan knocked at the open door. “Mind if I come in?”

  Rebecca looked up from her notes and stretched. “Any excuse for a break.”

  “What happened to Andrew?”

  “He opened the last of them. Left kind of a mess.” She pointed to the floor. “I had to stop him before he separated the cards from the gifts. I would have been thanking people who sent us our good stainless for a cookie jar shaped like a violin.” She pointed to it.

  “Do you mind doing it?”

  “Not really. I didn’t expect so many people to care. Of course, a lot of them are friends and relatives of the Grahams. People I don’t even know.”

  “Are they coming?”

  “Some of them. But I don’t expect to remember them after today. If I write now, they won’t expect me to know them yet. I say I look forward to meeting them at the wedding.”

  “I’ll mail them first thing Monday.”

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  Joan started filing the bills, but her hand stopped before she could slide the phone bill into its folder. “Rebecca, may I borrow your cell phone?”

  “Sure, why?”

  “This phone bill lists the calls Dave made the other day. I was worrying how to find out who his friends were, so I could invite them to whatever service we decide to have for him. I’d like to try those numbers, see what they answer, but I don’t want anyone with caller ID to see my phone number, just in case.”

  “In case the calls are connected to what happened to him?”

  “Exactly. You have a Manhattan number, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.”

  “What are you looking for?”

  “Well, he said he was working for a friend who owned a print shop.”

  “So you’re looking for the print shop.”

  “Yes.”

  “And if you find it?”

  “I haven’t thought that through yet. I suppose I could tell them my daughter’s getting married and ask for their price on invitations. At least that’s something I know enough to talk about.”

  “Is it in Manhattan?”

  “No . . . oh, I see your point. I’ll think of something.”

  “And if you get someone else, not the print shop?”

  “Wrong number. But I’ll write down what they answer.”

  “What does Fred say about this?”

  “Fred doesn’t know, and you’re not going to tell him.”

  “You be careful, Mom.”

  “I will.” She knew what Fred would say if she told him. Don’t, that’s what. He’d have a point. B
ut with Rebecca’s phone burning a hole in her pocket, Joan was sorely tempted to make a few calls.

  It’s not as if I were going to talk to anyone about Dave, she thought, and went downstairs to sit on the sofa.

  “You going in to work?” she asked when Fred came out of the kitchen, drying his hands on his jeans.

  “Captain said to take the weekend off. Why, don’t you want me here?” He bent over the back of the sofa and nuzzled the back of her neck.

  She reached up and stroked his unshaven cheek. “Of course I do. But I’ll be fine, Fred. I’m not going to fall apart again. You don’t have to watch over me.”

  “I’m not. Just enjoying a little rest before I have to make like a father again.”

  She looked up at him. “You were very sweet with her yesterday. Skipping down the aisle, for goodness sake.”

  He blushed as only a blond Swede can. “It was her idea.”

  “I know. That’s what I mean.”

  He wasn’t budging, and cell phone or no cell phone, the house wasn’t big enough to make those calls with him around. She could, of course, go up to Rebecca’s room, but on her wedding day? It didn’t seem fair. The calls could wait, even if she had to use a phone that would betray her location. She looked at Fred again. He probably knew exactly what was going through her head. Without saying a word, he would stop her from going through with it. But who said she had to stay home?

  “Maybe I’ll take a little walk. Rebecca doesn’t need help right now, and with Ellen doing lunch, I can’t just twiddle my thumbs.”

  “Sure,” Fred said. “Mind if I come along?” She caught the twinkle in his eye.

  She sighed. “You know, don’t you?”

  “I have a fair idea. Might as well give her back her phone, and let’s go walk it off.”

  “Were you listening?” “Didn’t need to. I know you so well.”

  “Uh-huh.” It was second nature for a cop to listen, and she didn’t remember closing Rebecca’s door. “I give up. Here, you take it to her.” She held it out.