“Not here. My dad had a student up in Michigan go after him once with a railroad spike, or something he thought looked like one, anyhow. Kid he flunked. Dad showed up at home with a bandage on his head, blood all down his shirt, and a big smile on his face. They’d treated him at the university hospital. Scared Dave and me. Mom was cool about it, though, once she saw he was okay.”
“You know anything more about that student?”
“No, but there might be records at the university. You could ask the anthropology department, where Dad taught.”
Ketcham nodded and made another note. “Let those memories keep coming. No telling what will turn out to matter, so don’t hesitate to call me if you think of something else, or something more about Bud and his friends.”
“I will.”
Fred walked Ketcham out. “Good job,” he told him out on the porch.
“Thanks. That finger . . . someone will remember him. I almost do myself.”
“It’ll come, then.”
“He’ll probably turn out to be long dead, but we can hope.”
“And that business about the student who went after their father in Michigan,” Fred said. “And all the years Dave lived there. Joan was thinking of people to tell he’d died. I was wondering who up there already knew all about it.”
“Yeah.” Ketcham jammed his hat on his head and his hands into his gloves.
“Keep me posted.”
Ketcham met his eyes. “When I can.”
“And Ketcham, thanks for holding them off her yesterday.”
“Sure. How’d the wedding go?”
“Not bad, all things considered. I gather you gave my family permission to take Mom home.”
“No point in keeping her here. And we don’t know whether she saw it happen, or just found him on the floor and pulled the knife out. Even with her memory as bad as it is, she could seem like a threat. She’s safer out of here.”
“Thanks.”
They both knew she could be hauled back, but Fred knew Ketcham was doing everything he could to keep that from happening. It wouldn’t make a bit of sense, and it might indeed put her in danger.
“You think they’ll get her diagnosed now?” Ketcham asked, drawing with the toe of his boot in the snow on the porch.
“If I have anything to say about it,” Fred said, wondering how much he would have to say.
“Might make her happier, if they can treat it, even for a while. My aunt’s on Aricept and another one now, Namenda. Didn’t stop it, but it helped some at first. They say it’s better if you don’t wait too long.”
“Yeah.” Would they listen to that?
After Ketcham left, Fred felt useless. He might as well get out the snow shovel.
“You mind if I desert you to clear the walk?” he asked Joan.
“Oh, please. Do next door, too, would you?”
“Sure.” The old guy on the corner was long past it, and they routinely included his sidewalk with theirs.
It was a relief to move his muscles, clearing the walk and the steps up to the porch, but he found the snow wetter and heavier than he’d expected, and he rested on the shovel a few minutes before starting in next door.
“Okay, my turn.” It was Andrew, finally awake, trotting down the front steps.
“I wondered when we’d see you.”
“I wasn’t in any hurry to get up, but Mom said you were out here, and I couldn’t let you get the best of me.”
“You’re welcome to it.” Fred passed him the shovel. “What time did you take those girls home?”
“Sally left early with her folks, but I hung out pretty late with Kierstin. She can sleep on the way home.”
Fred had been pushing the heavy, wet stuff ahead of the shovel, but Andrew was tossing it over his shoulder.
“You still like her?”
“She’s all right. A kid.”
Fred smothered a smile. “Thanks, Andrew. For the shoveling, but also for showing her a good time.”
Chapter 15
Joan felt relief at having told Ketcham about her childhood tormenter. Odds were good the man was long gone, but the memory of how Dave had come to her defense back then cheered her, rather than increasing her feeling of loss at his death. You weren’t all bad, she told him. I’m glad you came, even if you didn’t get to see Rebecca married.
He may have protected Helga from being attacked in the kitchen, she suddenly thought, but surely that would have occurred to Ketcham. It wasn’t something she needed to tell him, especially since she didn’t really know what had happened in that kitchen. Telling how he protected me from Bud, though—that was something he couldn’t figure out on his own.
Bud . . . no matter how she tried, she couldn’t make the rest of his name come, if she’d even known it. She was glad she’d remembered the critical detail about that finger.
Comforting as Ketcham had tried to be, she couldn’t help wondering whether Bud, or whoever had killed Dave, if it was someone out of their past, would come after her next. At least Rebecca would be a long way off, hidden in the big city, whether she changed her name to Bruce’s or not. But Andrew was right here in Oliver. Ketcham would think of it, too, and Fred was here to protect them. But could he? Could anyone?
She heard Fred now, stamping the snow off his boots on the front porch. He came in and shed them by the door.
“Andrew’s doing the neighbor’s walk.”
“Good for him. I was hoping you’d remember.”
“I did, but that stuff’s heavy. I was glad to see him.”
He hung up his jacket and hugged her, rubbing his cold hands and nose against her warm cheeks.
“It’s early still,” she said. “Are you up to a walk after all that work?”
“Why not?”
“I’ll hang up the phone again. Let ’em leave messages.”
They bundled up and set off. With so few walks shoveled and no traffic to dodge, they walked in the street, where the snow plows had left a smooth single lane.
“Want to go over to Ellen’s, be sure your folks got away?”
“Not unless you do.”
“Good.” She had no desire to revisit the scene of her brother’s murder. Tucking her arm in the crook of his elbow, she followed his lead. She wasn’t surprised when he eventually headed for the park. The path through it wouldn’t be cleared, but it wouldn’t matter where they walked. Anywhere ought to be beautiful.
Sure enough, snow crystals glistened on every twig, and it took no skill at all to follow the little footprints of rabbits and squirrels throughout the park. But she was surprised to see deer tracks, too.
“Look!” She pointed. Then she felt his hand on her chin, turning her head. “Ohhh,” she breathed. Three deer, their heads bent to the ground, seemed to think themselves invisible behind a single leafless tree. She supposed that before the tornado the trees in the park had been dense enough to provide cover.
Standing still, they watched the deer until something startled them, and they bounded off, grace itself.
“I didn’t know we had deer right here in the middle of Oliver,” Joan said.
“They wander in from time to time to forage in the park.”
“I suppose they’re safe here from hunters.”
“I wouldn’t count on it. They’re a nuisance, and some people in town think we ought to go after them.”
The cops ought to know, but even that grim thought failed to lessen her pleasure at knowing there were deer grazing on her way to and from work every day. She’d never again walk through the park without half expecting to see them.
Nothing that happened the rest of the day came close. They walked awhile longer, but after they went home to warm up, the rest of the day was routine. The telephone was blessedly silent.
Joan caught up on laundry and other chores. She cleared out the clutter she’d told Rebecca not to worry about leaving in her room, most of it recyclable packing from gifts that had been mailed to them. In one corner stood a s
tack of gifts she’d promised to send Rebecca and Bruce in a few weeks, after they’d had time to decide which of their old furniture and other belongings would go into the apartment they were going to live in. Joan had been interested to hear that they had chosen to give up both their old apartments and set up joint housekeeping in a place new to them both. A good sign for the marriage, she thought, but it had to make more work than if one of them had simply moved in with the other on a permanent basis. She wasn’t surprised they hadn’t found time before the wedding to decide and deal with what they weren’t keeping.
What did people in the big city do? Hardly a garage sale, she thought.
She’d carefully kept her mitts off their decision making, but she could only imagine Elizabeth Graham’s intrusiveness. Hang in there, Rebecca, she thought. The wedding was only the beginning.
Still, Rebecca had managed well. So far, so good. And watching Don Graham’s quiet authority had reassured Joan. He could control Elizabeth. Joan suspected Bruce would follow his father’s lead when necessary to protect his wife.
Late in the day, she finally remembered her promise to Ketcham and went back up to Rebecca’s room to dig into the box in which she kept old records and important papers. The wills would be there, she knew, as she sat on the floor in front of the box. But nestled against the wills she turned up an old family photo. There stood her parents, glowing with health. And there she was in front of them, still too young to go to school, much less worry about bullies. Her brother stood beside her, already so tall he had to lean down to hold her little hand.
The tears came. Tears for her parents, tears for Dave, tears for herself. Holding the picture in her hand, she wept without trying to stop.
I’m the last of the family, she thought when the tears finally slowed. There’s no one else left. I’m all alone.
“Mind if I join you?” Fred said and sank to the floor behind her. He held out a clean handkerchief, and she took it and blew her nose.
“Thanks, Fred.”
“Andrew wanted to come up, but I pulled rank on him.”
She laughed.
“How’re you holding up?”
“Better, now you’re here.”
“Ketcham’s a good man.”
“I know.”
“He’ll get him.”
“I hope so. I can’t live scared like this.” She held out the wills and the photograph. “Here are the wills. And here we all are.”
Ignoring the wills, he took the picture. “That’s you and Dave?”
“Hard to believe, isn’t it?” Now she could smile.
“And your folks. You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen them.”
“Really? Somewhere in a closet up here I have some old albums. I should bring them down. Andrew won’t remember them, either.”
“Sounds like fun.” He looked down at the wills. “You want to give those to Ketcham? You can do it yourself, you know. I’m not in on this case.”
“I know.” He was right, she thought. With him not in charge, she should act like a grown-up. “Okay, I’ll call him.” She slid the wills into her pants pocket and went down to make the call from her favorite spot in the living room.
“I’ll be right over, if that’s all right,” Ketcham said.
In her corner of the big sofa, Joan assured him that it was. Then, for the first time in years, she read her father’s will again, knowing that her mother’s was the same in everything that applied after they both had died. Sure enough, in addition to leaving her the house and its furniture, they had left Dave a sizable piece of land some miles from Oliver. She had a vague memory that her father had hoped to find something there of interest. Would he have told Alvin Hannauer about it? It was Alvin whose research had brought him to Indiana in the first place, and they’d worked together during her dad’s sabbatical. She could ask him when she saw him at the senior center. But from the phone calls Dave had made, he must have been planning to sell it, maybe to timber it first. He’d probably used up his share of their parents’ savings, though there hadn’t been much in the bank. At least they’d owned the house and the land free and clear.
When Ketcham arrived, she invited him in.
“Can’t stay this time, I’m afraid,” he said, but he came inside to let her shut out the cold.
Joan pointed out the relevant passages in the will.
“All right if I borrow this?” he asked.
“Sure. It’s long since probated—I already have the house. Dave’s land is the only part that matters now. It’s probably all he owns–owned—that amounted to anything.”
“Did he have a will?”
“I have no idea.” It had never occurred to her. She wondered who his lawyer was, and where.
“You might inherit.”
“I don’t want to!” It burst out of her. Her fear returned. “You think someone might have killed him for that property? If he left it to me, I’d be next, and then my children! They inherit from me.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself.”
It wasn’t much comfort. She let him out and then started worrying all over again. What if that awful man Dave had called went after him for his land? And now he’d come after her? Instead of a blessing, would their parents’ gift to Dave be a curse to them all?
Maybe she needed to talk to the minister after all. Sunday evening shouldn’t be too terrible a time to call him. Before she could back out, she picked up the phone again.
“Of course I’ll come,” Eric said.
“Would you rather have me go to your house? I wouldn’t mind.”
“You would when you got here. The kids are wild today.”
“And they don’t need to be shushed,” she said, remembering times when she’d had to keep Rebecca and Andrew out of the way when some parishioner had shown up to consult their father about a personal problem.
“Well . . .” He wouldn’t say it.
“That’s fine. You come here, whenever you’re ready.”
Chapter 16
Eric Young rang their bell at half past eight.
“Hope I’m not too late for you folks,” he said when Fred let him in.
“Of course not. I’m glad Joan called you. It’s been a little hard to know how to support her. Take your coat?”
“Thanks.” Shrugging it off and giving it to him, Eric looked around the little house. “I’m sorry it’s taken something like this to make me pay a pastoral call.”
Joan came downstairs from Rebecca’s room. “I thought I heard the doorbell. Thank you for coming, Eric.”
“Joan, how are you holding up?”
She took the hands he held out to her. “Amazingly well, most of the time. Then I fall apart. I never know when it’s going to hit me. Please, sit down.” When she curled up in her usual spot on the sofa, he sat in the comfortable chair she was pointing to.
Fred joined her on the sofa, glad to see that she wasn’t playing hostess for a man who might be able to help her as he didn’t know how to do. He hesitated to reach for her hand. Better follow her lead.
“You made it through the wedding,” the minister said.
“I did, didn’t I? But that was for Rebecca. Now she doesn’t need me anymore.”
“And you’re all right about that? Some mothers find that a loss in itself.”
Fred looked at her. Her face was serious, but her eyes were dry.
“No.” She smiled. “Maybe that was Elizabeth Graham’s problem, but I’m glad Rebecca and Bruce found each other.”
Eric nodded. “Mrs. Graham likes to get her way. She give you a hard time?”
“She tried.”
“And you held your own.” It wasn’t a question.
“I had other things on my mind.” Now her voice wobbled, and the tears threatened. Changing his mind, Fred took her hand. She smiled up at him.
“How can I help?” Eric leaned toward them.
“I don’t know what to do next,” Joan said. “I suppose we ought to have a funeral, but I
don’t know what I have to do. It’s not like a normal death. And we weren’t close. But I’m the only family he had left.”
“Have the police released his body?”
“Not yet. But I was thinking of cremation anyway. I don’t want his body there.”
“So we can hold a service anytime. Before or after.”
“I don’t even know who’d come. The man he was working for wants to be there. That’s all I know. Maybe some of our friends. And gawkers, because it was in the paper. They probably won’t stop with one article, either. Not to mention radio or TV.”
Fred was glad she’d thought of it. He’d hated to warn her, but he knew it was true.
“You could have a small, private service,” Eric said. “Invite the man he worked for, any of the family and friends you want, and stop there.”
“Could we do that?” The relief showed on her face. “I suppose Ellen and her gang, too. They might need to come. To find some peace, since it happened in their kitchen.”
“It’s up to you.”
“I doubt Dave ever went to church. And we’re not exactly regular.”
“That’s all right.”
“I don’t want to drag Rebecca and Bruce back, and Fred’s family have enough to deal with.”
“You could put ‘private service’ in the obituary and not say where or when. Then tell the people you want to tell. You can let your distant family know that you don’t want them to make the trip.”
Fred felt her body relax against his.
“Do you need help with the obituary?” Eric asked.
“Not if I can keep it that simple. I don’t know much about him anyway, not that I’d want to see in the paper. The bad stuff will probably be analyzed to death, but I don’t want to put it there.” Raising her eyes to his, she said, “He served time in prison.”
“Uh-huh.”
It was in today’s paper, Fred thought. She’s already blocked it out.
“Can I just put in when and where he was born, who our parents, were, and when he died? Everyone’s going to know the rest before long anyway.”
“Sure. You could add where he went to school and where he worked. And name yourself and your family. Or just you, and say a niece and nephew also survive him.”
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