Her Brother's Keeper

by Sara Hoskinson Frommer

  Come to think of it, her parents would have had a lawyer who might have taken care of the actual work. What came back to her from that time was her shock and sadness, not the details of closing up their house, disposing of their possessions, or any of the many practical things she knew she had coped with.

  Fred opened the door to her when she arrived home. “Where’ve you been?”

  “Is it that late?”

  “Not really.” He looked a bit lost, and she could understand why. This whole mess—and he couldn’t even go to work and dig into it. He reached out his arms, and she walked into his embrace.

  She told him about her visit to the lawyer. “And oh, Fred, I found out about the trees! It’s not timber thieves at all. Dave had arranged for a forester to mark them for sale. They were ready to open the bidding. I told them they’d have to wait and why. So now it’s just routine. I need to be cleared of suspicion and appointed his personal representative, so I can pay his bills and deal with his estate even before I inherit it. I am cleared, aren’t I, Fred?”

  “I think so. But officially I don’t know a thing.”

  She laughed, and it felt good. “So how do I find out officially?”

  “You could ask Ketcham yourself. But in fact, even if he says your alibi holds up, being in the church and all, I don’t know that the courts would consider it official when it comes to inheriting from a murder victim. Not till someone else is convicted. Did you ask the lawyer that?”

  No, she hadn’t. “Guess I’ll start with Sergeant Ketcham.”

  “Any chance you’d start supper first?” Two hours later, her hands sunk in a sinkful of supper dishes and suds, she was feeling cheerful. After all, she knew she hadn’t killed her brother. It was only a matter of time before she’d be cleared of suspicion.

  But someone else had, and knowing that Dave had arranged for the trees to be marked didn’t mean the real killer was no danger to her or her children.

  “Are you all right?” Fred came up behind her.

  She gulped. “No.”

  “Sad again?”

  “Scared. Whoever killed Dave is out there.” She didn’t want to say the rest of it out loud.

  He held her tight. “You talk to Ketcham. Go ahead, call him tonight.”

  “I don’t want to be a bother.”

  “Believe me, compared to the people we deal with day in and day out, you don’t even come close.” He kissed the tears off her eyelashes.

  She could imagine. That didn’t mean Ketcham would want to hear from her when he was home putting his feet up.

  “Go on,” Fred said. “He’ll probably be glad to have a legitimate excuse to question you again.”

  She hadn’t thought of it that way, even if she couldn’t think of anything useful she could tell him. “Okay, I’ll call him.”

  As it turned out, she didn’t have to bother him at home. When she called his number at the police station, he picked up right away. “Ketcham.”

  “Sergeant Ketcham, this is Joan Spencer. Do you have a minute?”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  “See?” Fred said when she told him.

  “I’ll make some fresh coffee.”

  “You do that, but he’d probably rather have some of your apple pie.”

  She’d frozen it weeks ago, but that hadn’t seemed to matter when she’d finally baked it. Fred was right. Ketcham sat willingly at the old kitchen table and dug into a big slice as if he were starving. “So,” he said. “You wanted to ask me something?” “Well, yes, but I don’t know how much you can tell me when you’re still investigating.”

  “Can’t hurt to ask.” He licked his upper lip and washed his pie down with some of the coffee.

  “First, am I on your list of suspects?” She had to ask, even if he couldn’t tell her.

  “You? Of course not. Even if I didn’t know you better than that, you were stuck in the church at the time that matters.”

  That took care of one problem, but it didn’t touch her real concern. “That’s good. But I can’t help being afraid. Somebody did kill him, and whoever did it knows I’m here. Andrew, too, and it wouldn’t take much to track Rebecca down if you were really determined.”

  “You think someone has it in for your whole family.”

  “Wouldn’t you? Or do you know something?”

  “Not as much as I wish.” He passed a napkin across his mouth. “But we’ve checked out a few things. Bud Fleener, for instance, hasn’t been seen around Oliver for years. But he never quit being a bully. Did some real damage to a few guys, got in trouble for it. If he found a chance to get back at someone who showed him up, even that long ago . . . well, it’s possible. We’re looking for him.”

  He waited, and she thought. She’d have to trust him to keep looking. “When Fred and I found Dave’s trees marked—you know about that?” He nodded. Of course Fred had told him. “Well, that worried me till I found out Dave had arranged to have it done. I suppose someone could still have wanted his land, but that seems pretty far-fetched.”

  Ketcham was nodding again.

  “So why am I still so scared?”

  “I could say something dumb like you’ve got a cop in the house and shouldn’t worry, but that’s not going to help, is it?”

  She smiled at Fred. “Not much, even as big as he is.”

  “We’ll do our best. Nothing we’ve come across yet suggests anyone who’s got it in for the rest of you. After all, you’ve been in town for some years now, and until Dave showed up, you didn’t have any trouble. We’re checking out the people he ran into in prison. I gather he did have some run-ins there–the warden’s cooperating, but I can’t tell you anything at this point.”

  “Oh.” She thought of that fierce voice on the phone. No matter what Pete said about “Elmer Fudd,” the guy was scary.

  “And there are always the people he defrauded. They had legitimate reasons to be angry, especially once he was out. And some of them said things back then that sounded pretty threatening. Trouble is, we’re going back awhile, and it takes time.”

  She nodded.

  “We’re not giving up. There’s no question about the means—that knife was in the kitchen already. As for opportunity, they’d left the back door open and anyone could have walked in. There were plenty of tracks to and from the garbage cans and beyond them, so that’s no help. With just the two of them in the room when they found your brother, it’s only too bad Fred’s mother can’t tell us anything.”

  “You don’t think she killed him, do you?” If Helga’s dementia was changing in that direction, that was scary in a different way.

  “No. The autopsy showed he would have died even if she hadn’t pulled out the knife. And no one suspects her of doing anything worse than that.”

  “I wonder why the killer didn’t hurt her, too.” A new concern.

  “That’s what makes us think it was aimed at Dave personally. She’s just lucky the killer didn’t turn on her as a witness. Maybe he got out fast enough that she didn’t get a good look.”

  “Or he knew her?” Joan wondered. “Knew she wouldn’t remember?”

  “Seems unlikely. She’d just arrived, and unless they had time to talk, how would anyone know? Fred’s brother says she still has pretty good social manners.”

  “Hardly a social occasion.” But Helga might have welcomed anyone into the kitchen as if it were.

  “I don’t think we’re going to know how she acted,” Ketcham said. “Or even whether she actually saw it happen.”

  “Maybe he didn’t even see her,” Joan said. Was that possible? Fred’s face was stony. Time to stop talking about his mother. He had reason to be worried, too. At least Helga was safely out of town.

  She turned to Ketcham. “Thanks for coming over.”

  He brushed the last crumbs from his lips and stood. “Thanks for the pie. Sorry I can’t tell you more.”

  She didn’t think it was because he wasn’t supposed to talk to Fred.

&nb
sp; After he left, Fred asked her whether she’d found it helpful to have him come.

  “Kind of. He didn’t tell me much, but I’m glad he took me seriously about old Bud. And he did tell me I wasn’t an official suspect.”

  “You knew that.”

  “I didn’t think I was, but I was glad to hear him say so.”

  He put his arm around her. “You going to be okay?”

  “For now. I can’t seem to think very far ahead.”

  “I know the feeling.”

  They were still standing in the living room when she heard someone outside stomping on the porch. More than stomping, pounding.

  “What on earth?”

  Fred threw the door open, and there was Andrew, pounding the bottom of a fresh Christmas tree on the porch and leaving a mess where it hit.

  “I wanted to shake the needles off before I brought it in. We are going to celebrate Christmas, aren’t we? I mean, I wasn’t sure, but I wanted a tree.”

  “Oh, Andrew!” She hugged him, ignoring the cold and the tree’s prickles. “I’d just about forgotten Christmas.” She’d taken care of family gifts before all the wedding shenanigans started, but since then all her attention had been taken up with Dave’s murder.

  “Well, are we? I could leave it on the porch if you don’t feel like it.”

  “Bring it in. If you’ll help, of course we can have a tree.”

  This was the first year she could remember not having gone out with him, and Rebecca, too, when she still lived at home, to choose a tree. And now he’d done it himself.

  They spent the rest of the evening setting up the tree. Andrew and Fred got it standing firm and put on the lights. Joan helped hang the decorations, some from her childhood, some from Andrew’s and Rebecca’s, and some beautiful handmade glass ones she’d brought back from a gift shop in Bishop Hill. It was good for her spirits, even though it didn’t change a thing.

  But with Christmas that close, it was time to deal with the arrangements for Dave’s funeral. Pete wanted to come, and he could invite anyone else Dave knew there.

  “Do you think I ought to invite Ellen?”

  “Huh?” Andrew asked.

  “I’m just thinking out loud. Invite her to the funeral, I mean. The only people who knew Dave here were Ellen Putnam and her crew.”

  “Didn’t you say Alex Campbell was mad when you didn’t tell her what happened to him?” Fred said.

  “Oh. I suppose I could stand having Alex there. It would save me a lot of grief, wouldn’t it?”

  “And maybe Margaret Duffy? You told me she was supportive.”

  “She sure was. And Annie Jordan. Thanks.” She sat down and started making a list. “I think we ought to do it before Christmas.”

  “Sure, if that’s okay with the minister.”

  Joan thought back to the many times her family life with Ken had been interrupted by funerals. “I’ll ask him, of course, and we’ll have to work around the church schedule, but it probably will be easier before Christmas than afterwards. A lot of ministers take that next week off, get a guest preacher in.”

  She glanced at the phone, but it was too late to call for anything but an emergency.

  “How about Johnny?” Fred said.

  “Sergeant Ketcham? Sure, if he wants to come. But I don’t think he’d learn much.”

  “I meant as our friend.”

  “Why, Fred, of course. I wasn’t thinking.”

  “Then when you’ve set a time, I could call him.”

  Andrew spoke up. “And Rebecca.”

  Joan and Fred exchanged the kind of look that drove Andrew wild. “I’ll tell her, Andrew. But this is not the kind of thing she should take time off work for. It’s not as if it were your funeral. And weird as it is, what with the murder and their packing and moving, she’s on her honeymoon.”

  “Give her a choice, that’s all.”

  “I will.” Just barely, she thought. I certainly do not want Rebecca to tear up her life for this little observance of Dave’s.

  At least she knew what she needed to do in the morning. And the way she felt now, there was no reason not to do it from work.

  Chapter 23

  Joan arrived at work on Friday to minimal fuss. The excitement over Dave’s murder had died down; even Vernon Pusey had other things on his mind. Fine with me, she thought. She dealt with the mail, returned calls she had missed, and settled quietly into the routine of the center.

  It was midmorning before she had time to call the church. Eric Young answered the phone himself. The secretary was off sick, he explained.

  “Then it’s not fair to load one more thing on you,” Joan said.

  “I’ve been waiting to hear from you. Was Megan helpful?”

  “Yes, and thank you for getting me right in. But what I’m calling about now is a small, private service for my brother, as you suggested.”

  “Of course. When would you like to have it?”

  “Soon, if that’s possible. Would before or after Christmas be easier for you and the church?”

  “Joan, it will hardly matter. You’re not asking for a big affair with many ushers and a luncheon afterwards.”

  “Heavens, no. Just a quiet service for the people who need to say good-bye to be able to.”

  “Do you want me to say anything personal about him?” He’d already asked that, but she was glad he was giving her a chance to change her mind.

  “I hardly know anything personal. He was a good big brother—rescued me from bullies when I was little, and he was kind to Fred’s mother before he died. His employer in Illinois will be there. He says Dave was a good worker who organized the whole print shop. They miss him there. Pete knew him much better than I did. That’s not much to know about his whole life, except that he was a swindler who spent years in prison for it.” Her eyes stayed dry. I’m making progress, she thought.

  “Then I’ll stick to the basics. Read Ecclesiastes and such.”

  “Yes.”

  “How about music?”

  “Dave stuck his nose into the orchestra rehearsal when he first arrived. We were playing Mozart, and he admired it—I have no idea whether he meant what he said or was just flattering our conductor. He did that kind of thing. But he did name the composer.”

  “I could ask the organist to play some Mozart.”

  She nodded, even though he couldn’t see her over the phone. “Good. There won’t be enough of us to sing hymns.”

  They agreed on holding the service the very next day, Saturday, at one o’clock, to give Pete time to come and return home in the same day. That meant making more calls from work today to give people any notice at all, and it wiped out any possibility of Rebecca’s coming. Good, Joan thought. I’ll call her from home—right now she’ll be at work herself. At least the senior center is closed on Saturday. I’ve missed enough work.

  “Sure,” Pete said, when she called him. “You bet I’ll be there. The guy who’s taking over Dave’s apartment can hold down the fort for that long. And you’ll get to meet old Elmer and see he isn’t so bad after all.”

  Joan hoped he knew what he was talking about.

  Ellen was next. “Thank you for thinking of us,” she said. “I’ll come, and I won’t be surprised if Patty and Chrissy do, too. I don’t know about Laura—but she managed to go to her dad’s funeral, and she liked your brother. The big kids didn’t know him, but he was sweet to her.”

  “It’s hard to decide things like that, I know,” Joan said. “But it will be a brief, simple service, and there won’t be a casket.” For that matter, she didn’t know when his body would be released.

  “That might help. I’ll leave it up to Laura. If she doesn’t want to come, she can visit a friend.”

  Joan took a break from the phone calls to tell Annie she’d be welcome. “You’re so much a part of my life, you’re almost family.”

  “I’ll be proud to come,” Annie told her, and squeezed her hand. “Have you asked Mabel?”

  �
�No, but you’re right, I should. And I want to invite Margaret Duffy.” Not because of Dave, but for my own sake.

  “Good. They’ll both be here this afternoon—maybe they’re already here.” Annie would know. “Can I do anything to help?”

  “Thank you, Annie, but there’s nothing to help with. The minister will say a few words and the organist will play. That’s all.”

  Annie nodded and left the office, her back straight. Once in a while I get it right, Joan thought, watching her go.

  She’d told Annie the truth. There wouldn’t be much to do. She’d leave a check for the organist and give one to Eric, if he’d accept it. Ken never had taken money for funerals, but times were harder now. And of course he’d accept a donation to the church, even if he wouldn’t take money for himself.

  Only one more call. She girded herself. But when Alex answered, Joan hardly recognized the tyrant she knew. “Thank you, dear.” Joan sat back on her mental heels. Unheard of, for Alex to call anyone dear. “I knew you’d remember me.” Translated, that had to mean she was afraid she’d be left out. “I’ll be there. Would you like me to arrange some music?”

  “Thank you, Alex. That’s very thoughtful of you. But this will be such a brief service that the church organist will play only a little. The minister will ask the organist to play some Mozart. I told him Dave liked our Mozart.”

  “He did, didn’t he?” Alex glowed through the wires. “And he told me he liked Schubert. You brother had taste.”

  So they had at least talked again. Amazing.

  After Joan hung up, she turned to planning a winter program for the center, for the letdown that followed major holidays. She was concentrating so hard that at first she hardly heard the strident voice that broke into the peace of the morning. Silence fell among the card players and people at the craft tables. Then Elizabeth Graham marched into her office without so much as tapping on the door.

  “Where are they?” she demanded, her face a thunderstorm.

  “Elizabeth!” was all Joan could manage, but she stood to defend her turf.