The Fred Vickery Mystery Series: Books 1-3 (Fred Vickery Mysteries)

by Sherry Lewis

  To his surprise, tears suddenly filled her eyes. She turned away quickly, but not fast enough. She dashed away the tears away using the back of her hand. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice husky.

  “For what? For being human? Take all the time you want.” He handed his handkerchief to her, but as his icy fingers brushed hers, she jerked away. When she met his eyes again, the steel had returned and her moment of vulnerability had passed. But she looked half frozen.

  “All right,” she said in an icy tone. “You want me to go to the damned art store? Fine. Let’s go.”

  He had half a mind to head right down there before she could change her mind, but he didn’t want her to die of frostbite. “Great, but I think you ought to buy a coat first. It’s going to get colder throughout the day. Probably snow tonight.”

  Kate sighed deeply. “I don’t need one. I won’t be here that long.”

  “You’re going to catch your death of cold.”

  “Don’t push it, Fred!”

  He considered his odds of winning the argument, decided he needed a change of tactics, and stuffed his hands in his pocket. “Fine, but I have to stop at the store for a minute before we go. All right with you?”

  Kate threw her hands up in the air and looked exasperated. “Fine. Let’s just get this over with. I don’t have all day—literally.”

  Quickly, Fred led her toward Lacey’s General Store. Their breath painted the cold air as they walked. Half a block away, Enos stepped out of his office, stopped to watch them, and raised his hand in greeting. Fred waved back cheerfully. Kate scowled.

  Lacey’s store was puny by city standards, but Bill and Janice Lacey kept it stocked with everything a person could want in a town this size; cold remedies and cowboy boots, bread, bologna and buttons. Kate would turn her nose up at it, but it suited Fred just fine.

  It felt almost too warm inside to Fred, but Kate let out a sigh of relief as they entered and he knew he’d done the right thing. The air carried a fragrant, spicy scent, as always; like warm cookies or Phoebe’s pumpkin pie.

  Barely nodding at Janice Lacey—a plumpish woman of around fifty with curly salt-and-pepper hair who stood behind the front counter—Fred led Kate deep into the store. Truth to tell, he’d hoped Janice wouldn’t be working this morning. She liked to talk and when she opened her mouth, there was no telling what might come out. Anything you didn’t want the rest of the town to know, you didn’t share with Janice.

  He stopped in the headache remedy section and nodded toward the back of the store behind the paper towels and aluminum foil where the clothes hung on racks. “You could just check out the coats while I look around here for a minute.”

  Kate frowned at him. “I don’t need a coat.”

  He shrugged and concentrated on the boxes in front of him. “It’s going to snow before the end of the week.”

  “I won’t be here.”

  George Newman came into the store and lumbered toward the heartburn remedies, nodding a greeting. Bill Lacey called out to Fred from behind the pharmacy counter. Janice waited for them behind the front counter, giving every appearance of being completely engrossed in the morning newspaper. But Fred knew better.

  Kate stood there, arms folded across her chest, practically breaking her neck to avoid looking at the coats. If that didn’t beat all. Fred gave up the fight and picked up a bottle of aspirin as if he actually needed to buy it. Let Kate freeze, if that’s what she wanted. He’d never met such a stubborn woman in his life.

  As they approached the counter, Janice put aside the newspaper with a great show of reluctance and dimpled at them again. “How are you, Fred? Feeling better today?”

  Fred hated it when people treated him like an invalid, and he especially hated when Janice started nosing around. Folks had only started acting this way since Doc announced he had heart trouble. Wasn’t there some rule about doctors keeping their big mouths shut about their patients? “I’m just fine,” he assured Janice. “Couldn’t be better.”

  Janice smiled sweetly and turned to Kate. “This must be that niece of yours from Michigan I’ve heard you mention.” Her voice was sweet as honey but her eyes blazed with curiosity.

  Kate returned the smile. “No, I’m not.”

  “Oh? Really.” Janice said. She began to scribble on an invoice. “Are you just passing through our little town?”

  “Yes.”

  Janice studied Fred’s bottle of aspirin. “What brings you to Cutler? Family?”

  Kate bristled and smiled stiffly. “I guess you could say that.”

  “Oh?” Janice glanced away from the bottle and skewered Kate with a curious look. “Who are your people?”

  Fred watched the two women square off and take each other’s measure. Kate might be made of stone, but Janice Lacey always got her way when she set her mind to something, and she’d obviously decided she wanted to know all about Kate. No surprise there.

  George Newman came shuffling toward the counter clutching an industrial-sized bottle of Pepto-Bismol. He settled in to wait, clearly unbothered by the delay.

  Kate didn’t even blink, but at last she said, “I’m staying with Fred for a few days.”

  Predictably, Janice’s eyes almost bugged out of her head. “At your place? Really. Hmmm…” A little hum of disapproval emanated from her. “By the way, Fred, Maggie was in here a little bit ago. That’s his daughter,” she said to Kate, “but I suppose you already know that?”

  Kate didn’t say a word.

  Fred picked up an issue of Field & Stream and thumbed through it with an unconcerned air. “She generally comes in every day, doesn’t she?”

  “She stopped by to get some things for the kids,” Janice informed him. “Said she was going up to the Cavanaugh’s.” She head bobbed in affirmation of something only she knew. “She’s going to help out with that poor little girl for a few days. What will happen to her now that her mother’s gone, I’m sure I don’t know. It’s a tragic situation—just tragic.”

  And then, apparently for Kate’s benefit, she leaned across the counter and confided, “One of our local young women, a young mother of all things, killed herself here two days ago.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Absolutely tragic is what I say. Left that poor little girl up there with those two men, and neither of them knows the first thing about raising a child. Of course, her husband is the child’s father, but I don’t think he’s much of one.”

  Janice looked at George as if inviting him to agree.

  George cleared his throat and obliged her. “Terrible business.”

  “You just can’t imagine.” Janice abandoned all pretense of writing up the sale. “Maggie’s going to have her hands full up there, that’s for sure. He’ll take advantage of her. Expect her to be up there all the time. . . You’d better warn Webb to watch her.”

  “Margaret can watch herself,” Fred snapped. “She’s not likely to be caught off guard by Brandon Cavanaugh.”

  George harrumphed in the background and held out his Pepto-Bismol to Janice who ignored him and turned back to Kate. But before she could say anymore, the front door flew open and a tall young man blew in, all legs and arms with a stick body. The boy stomped his feet and then looked up into the faces of the adults clustered around the counter. “Hey, Grandpa!”

  Benjamin. Fred loved all his grandchildren, sometimes overwhelmingly, but this boy touched a chord somewhere deep within him that the others didn’t. Probably because he reminded Fred of himself at that age.

  Fred beamed. The boy was full of energy, high spirits and enthusiasm, and Fred’s own spirits rose just looking at him. “What are you doing out of school?”

  “Got out early. I promised Summer Dey I’d help her out around her place this afternoon and I wanted to get started before it gets dark.” He removed his hat and revealed a sheaf of thin blonde hair.

  Janice leaned toward Kate and whispered, “That’s Ben—Fred’s grandson. Bright boy. Good kid.”

  She was right on both
counts. Ben always had some new plan he was excited about, but he didn’t like this one. He didn’t want Ben working for Summer Dey. She lived on her own out there at the lake and spent all her time painting. She looked like a throw-back to the 1960s. A flower child. He didn’t like her. He didn’t trust her.

  As if he could read Fred’s mind, Ben loped across the floor and threw an arm across his shoulders. “I know you don’t like her, Grandpa, but she needs me. Says she’s scared!. . .” he danced away from Fred and wailed eerily.

  George chuckled. “That’s a good boy.”

  Ben’s grin faded and he moved close to Fred again. “She said she saw somebody hanging out around the lake the night Mrs. Cavanaugh died. You know how weird she is, right? She told me that she’s worried that somebody’s going to kill her next!”

  nine

  Dead silence filled Lacey’s in the wake of Ben’s announcement. The boy’s eyes rounded out with awareness that he’d said something he shouldn’t, and he turned them on Fred in a silent plea for help.

  Though Fred wished Ben had chosen some other spot besides Lacey’s to make his announcement, at least the boy knew he’d made a mistake. But honestly! Of all people to say something like that to, Janice had to be the worst. Fred jerked his head toward the back of the store and Ben beat a hasty retreat, but the damage was done.

  Janice puffed up like a peahen, full of self-importance. “Well. Can you imagine that? I always said she was a strange one—didn’t I always say that, Bill?”

  Her husband, still behind the pharmacy counter, didn’t even look up from his clipboard. “That’s what you always said.”

  “She’s probably told half a dozen people that story by now and no telling what it’ll do to folks.” Janice smoothed her hands across her apron and gave her head a concerned shake. “Can you imagine what Emma Brumbaugh will do if she hears that? She’ll be on the phone to Enos half the night. She’ll be imagining she hears something next. I declare—”

  Once Janice got started it was almost impossible to stop her, but Fred took his wallet out of his pocket and tried anyway. “It’s a shame. How much do I owe you?”

  Janice figured the total quickly, but she didn’t share the results with Fred. “Of all the irresponsible things to do. It’s a good thing Ben’s the one out there working for her—at least he has a level head on his shoulders. Can you imagine what would have happened if she’d told the Johnson boy? I shudder to think . . .”

  “The total, Janice?” Fred waved a bill in front of her.

  “. . . You don’t suppose we ought to let Maggie know what’s going on, do you? She might want to keep an eye on Ben and make sure he isn’t bothered by that crazy woman’s notions. . .”

  “I’m sure Margaret knows already,” Fred assured her. “Can I get my change?”

  Janice reluctantly took his money and handed him the change, which Fred pocketed before leading Kate by the elbow to the door.

  “Someone ought to let Enos know what Summer is saying. At least that way he can be prepared,” Janice ranted. “There’s bound to be a commotion when this gets out. You know, George, some people just can’t keep their mouths shut . . .”

  The door closed behind them. Kate’s lips twitched.

  With a sigh, Fred folded the sack holding his aspirin into the pocket of his jacket and pointed Kate in the direction of The Frame-Up. “I’m going to have to explain a few things to that boy.”

  This time, he could have sworn Kate almost smiled.

  Five minutes later, they stood in front of a small building wedged between the barber shop and Alan Lombard’s insurance office. A simple hand-painted sign hung on a wooden shingle above the door. Though two large display windows fronted on Main Street, Fred had never paid much attention to the shop. He knew of it simply because Phoebe bought two paintings from Joan when the store first opened.

  He pushed the door open for Kate and above their heads a bell tinkled merrily. From inside, the pungent odors of turpentine and oil paint hit him. Kate hesitated for a moment on the threshold, almost unwilling to cross it.

  Winona Fox emerged from a room at the back carrying a box of supplies. She gave a brief nod to acknowledge their presence, then placed the box carefully on the floor and started toward them, a thin smile stretching her carefully painted lips.

  Tall and slim with a headful of unruly red hair, she dressed in expensive clothes, usually in strange combinations of vivid colors. Today she wore green slacks that fell in soft folds against her slim legs, a simple white blouse of a soft-looking material and a purple jacket. Her face reminded Fred of a cat, mysterious and slightly foreign. Her eyes, clear golden-brown and tilted upward on the outside edges, made her look like a hungry animal.

  It took her a moment to cross the long, narrow room, probably because she seemed determined to make an entrance. The store was elegant and graceful, and something of a surprise to Fred. He wondered briefly whether it would be acceptable to speak aloud.

  Near the front, an ornate, antique-looking table acted as a natural stopping point for customers, but papers, magazines, catalogs, invoices and an open can of Diet Coke littered its surface.

  Winona stopped behind the table. “Won’t you come in? I wasn’t expecting much business and I must say you’re a welcome break.” She turned her smile on Fred. “How are you feeling, Mr. Vickery?”

  Fred assured her that he was in excellent health and introduced Kate.

  Winona turned her cat eyes on Kate, studied her for a heartbeat, then smiled brilliantly. “Well! Kate Talbot. Is it really you?”

  Kate seemed startled. “I’m sorry. Have we met?”

  “Met? No, I don’t think so. But I’ve heard Joan speak of you so often I feel like I know you.”

  Kate’s forehead creased in confusion, and Fred wondered if she was surprised to hear that her sister had spared a thought for her.

  He jumped in to fill the awkward silence. “Kate has a few questions she wants to ask you—that is, if you have a minute.”

  Winona smiled pleasantly. “Of course. Please, won’t you both come into the back? I have some chairs and we could be much more comfortable.”

  She turned away without waiting for an answer, leaving them no choice but to follow. She led them through the curtain to a small storage room where a number of old chairs scattered around the room held up boxes and clutter. There was no place to sit but Winona swept three of the chairs clear and lowered herself onto the one nearest the door. “I hope you don’t mind if we stay down here. The office upstairs is much more comfortable, but I ought to stay close in case any customers wander in.”

  Kate perched gingerly on the edge of a chair. “To tell the truth, I’m a little surprised you’re open. It hasn’t even been a week since Joan died.”

  Winona lowered her eyes. “I know it’s probably not in the best of taste, but if I don’t keep busy, I’ll go crazy.”

  “Yes. Well. Tell me, who authorized you to open the store today?”

  Winona’s delicately arched brows puckered. “Authorized? I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I mean that Joan is dead, but her estate isn’t settled. I’m wondering who authorized you to open her store today. Who gave you the authority to transact business? To alter the estate prior to probate?”

  Fred had to hand it to Kate; she got right down to business. And that’s what seemed to interest her most.

  Winona still looked confused. “Alter the estate? I think you must be confused. The Frame-Up has nothing to do with Joan’s estate.”

  Now it was Kate’s turn to look confused. “I understood you and my sister were partners.”

  “Well, we were up until about six months ago. But Joan decided to move on, I guess. She decided to dissolve the partnership.”

  “So you bought her out?” Fred asked.

  Winona lifted one shoulder. “Not exactly. She signed her share over to me in settlement.”

  “In settlement of what?” Kate asked.

  “That’s
the first I’ve heard of it,” Fred said. “I thought she still owned the store.”

  Winona tilted her head and eyed Fred almost coyly. “It was a personal matter.”

  Which didn’t actually tell them anything. “I guess the two of you were close?”

  “Very.”

  “And that’s why she gave you this business?” Kate asked.

  Winona’s eyes narrowed and when she spoke, her voice sounded venomous. “You misunderstood me. Joan didn’t give me the store, she signed over her half as part of the dissolution of the partnership.”

  “I’m confused,” Fred admitted. “When exactly did the two of you become partners?”

  “Joan made me a partner about six months after I came to town. Later, she decided to get out. I didn’t have the money to buy her share, but she realized my contribution was significant enough to be worth her half of the business and the Frame-Up became mine. It was all legal and above-board.”

  Kate looked suspicious. “Just what was your contribution?”

  “Contacts across the country and an insider’s knowledge of the industry. I also helped turn the place into a store with class and distinction, instead of the quaint little country store Joan started out with. The only reason this store made any money at all was because of me.”

  Kate’s eyes narrowed. “You’re telling me that you were so close to Joan, that you added so much to the business, that Joan just signed it over to you?”

  Winona smiled softly in response.

  Fred shook his head, trying to sort through the pieces of the puzzle. Was Winona telling the truth, or lying to cover up some secret? Would Joan have signed over her half the store if she’d heard rumors about Brandon and Winona? Or had she only heard the whispers after she gave up the store? “You were at the Cavanaugh’s party on Sunday night,” he said. “Tell me why Joan and Brandon were arguing about you the night she died?”

  If he hadn’t been watching closely, Fred might have missed Winona’s reaction, the slight pulling back, the almost imperceptible narrowing of her eyes. A blink and she’d recovered. “Were they? Where did you hear that?”