by Sherry Lewis
She left him to draw his own conclusions. Pushing herself to her feet, she nodded toward Madison. “That Joan’s little girl?”
“That’s right.”
“Looks just like her mother, don’t she?”
Fred agreed that she did, but he was agitated again and water wasn’t going to make anything better. Maybe it was time to leave Cutler and move someplace larger, someplace where the people wouldn’t care if he had a cup of coffee. Someplace where nobody would feel the compulsion to babysit him. Where they wouldn’t worry about answering to Margaret if they accidentally treated him like an adult.
Liz smiled gently at Madison. “Cute little thing, isn’t she?”
Madison accepted Liz’s attention solemnly. She held her water glass in two hands and tried to lift her mouth high enough over the rim to take a drink. Water dribbled down her chin.
Liz chuckled and patted the table. “All right, Fred. Let me know when you’re ready to order.”
“I’d be ready now if you’d give me what I want.”
“Sorry. Some other time.” She walked away, not even looking back.
If there had been any other place to go in town, he’d have taken his business there.
Madison turned her big brown eyes in his direction. “Where’s Kate?”
“Back at my house. We’ll go back in a minute.”
The child nodded. “Are you mad at her?”
Fred smiled. “No. I just wanted to take a walk.” And to get away from his own house.
Madison kicked her short legs and pondered his answer. The straw in her water glass distracted her. She dribbled water across the table, before she spoke again. “I don’t like people to be mad.”
“Neither do I,” he said absently. Sometimes, though, a man just couldn’t help but be mad. Sometimes a situation called for anger.
“Everybody was mad at Mommy.”
Fred swiped at the water on the table with his napkin. He didn’t want to be angry with Margaret or Enos, but he had to do something.
Madison pulled her straw out of the water again. “Mommy didn’t like people to be mad either. It made her cry. I want her to come back and I want everybody to not be mad at her anymore.”
Fred took the straw away. What could he say to Margaret that would make her understand? Slowly, Madison’s words cut through his foul mood and he stopped feeling sorry for himself so he could give the girl his full attention.
“How did you know everybody was mad at your mommy?”
“’Cause I heard ‘em. I don’t like people who get mad and I don’t like people who make Mommy cry.” She picked up her spoon and walked it across the table. “Do I have to go back to my house?”
“Don’t you want to?”
“No.” She picked up her fork and made it dance with the spoon.
Fred took the fork away so she wouldn’t poke herself with it and left the spoon dancing by itself. “Why not?”
“I just don’t.” The spoon stopped dancing. “He maked my mommy cry and then he taked her away and I don’t like him anymore.”
Fred’s pulse stuttered for a moment. How much did she know about what happened to her mother? What was she—four? five?—old enough to be aware of what was going on in her home. But did she understand that someone had killed her mommy?
“Who took your mommy away?”
“A very bad person.”
“Do you know who it was?”
After a moment’s hesitation, she shook her head.
“Did somebody tell you that?”
She nodded.
What idiot would tell a small child something like that? And what effect would it have on her? Would she carry scars forever? Would she have trouble adjusting? Be a rotten teenager?
In his day, people always said kids were resilient, that they could bounce back from anything. These days, people thought kids couldn’t handle a blasted thing. Every time he turned on the television or the radio, some “expert” had something to say about it. About how every little thing you did around a kid affected their life somehow. Fred wasn’t sure what to think about this situation, though. Losing a mother to a violent death wasn’t the same as, say, losing a soccer game.
Madison leaned up and reached across the table for her fork. “Can we eat now?”
Chalk one up for the old-timers. She seemed normal enough and she’s probably stay that way, as long as she had someone in her corner and people stopped filling her head with horror stories.
He turned in his seat, intending to signal Liz that he was ready to order. The window behind Madison looked out over the street. Through it, he saw someone moving around. He focused slowly.
Brandon’s BMW was parked in front of The Frame-Up again—as bold as brass. While Fred watched, Brandon got out of the car, glanced around furtively, and disappeared into the store. What was he doing? Having another clandestine meeting in full view of the entire town?
Just as well Kate hadn’t come with them. She’d have bolted out of her seat if she’d seen this. Fred’s eyes rose to the second-story window. He couldn’t see anything from here, but he wondered whether Brandon and Winona had gone up there again. Not that they needed to. They had his entire house at their disposal. They could carry on their affair there.
A minute later, the front door of the store opened and Brandon emerged carrying a box. He paused once or twice on the way to his car to catch his breath, leaving Fred thinking that whatever he had in the box was fairly heavy.
Brandon checked up and down the street cautiously, then balanced the box against the car while he opened the trunk and put it inside. He hurried back into the store and a minute or two later he reappeared carrying another box. What on earth were they doing over there? Clearing out?
With Brandon out of jail, he would probably come after Madison next. But Fred didn’t want to return Madison to Brandon’s custody. Not until he was convinced she’d be safe.
Determined to put off the inevitable, Fred reached behind Madison and pulled down the blind, both to shield her from Brandon’s view and to prevent her from seeing her father on the street. For the first time since he’d stormed out of the house, he wished Kate was with him, but as quickly as the thought came, he buried it. For what he had in mind, she would have been in the way.
He wanted to know what Brandon and Winona were doing, but he couldn’t find out as long as he had Madison with him. He couldn’t take her to Margaret. There wasn’t time. Winona and Brandon might leave any minute. Fred didn’t even have time to call her and ask her to meet him.
George Newman sat at the counter, hunched over a plate. Fred knew George and trusted him, but he wasn’t going to thrust an already frightened four-year-old at him. It wouldn’t be good for either of them.
The song on the jukebox changed and the opening stanzas of “Suspicious Minds” blared from the speakers. The frantic music only increased Fred’s sense of urgency. What should he do? Obviously, Brandon and Winona were removing things from The Frame-Up. Maybe it was perfectly legal, and maybe it wasn’t. He couldn’t let them load up and drive away without even trying to find out what they were up to.
Liz was his only option—but where had she gone? She must be in the kitchen. He cautioned Madison to stay at the table and hurried toward the back of the café. He found Liz behind the swinging door, her hands in a sink filled with soapy water.
“I need a favor,” he said.
She waved a rubber-gloved hand in his direction. “Get out of the kitchen, Fred.”
“I need to check on something, but I can’t do it if the girl is with me.”
Liz eyed him in silence for a moment.
“It’s important, Liz. It might even be a matter of life and death.”
“Call Enos. Or Grady.”
“I will, just as soon as I know what to tell them.”
She sighed and then jerked her chin toward the street. “Go on. I’ll keep my eye on her.”
“I won’t be long.”
“Go! Befor
e I change my mind.”
He turned to go and then remembered his promise. “I told her she could have ice cream,” he said. “Will you give her some?”
“Get the hell out of my kitchen,” she grumbled, but she was already reaching for the freezer.
“Don’t let her go with anybody.”
“Don’t worry, she’ll be all right.”
“I mean anybody—okay?”
“I got it.”
And this is why Fred stayed in Cutler. “Thanks, Liz.”
She waved him away with a scowl.
He quickly returned to the table where Madison waited for him, her eyes wide and trusting. “Liz is going to bring your ice cream,” he told her. “I need to run outside for just a few minutes, but I’ll be right back. Stay right here and wait for me, okay?”
Madison nodded, but her eyes reflected uncertainty.
He hugged her quickly, hoping to reassure her. Her little lip quivered but she . He hugged her again and only when Liz started toward the table with a dish of strawberry ice cream, did he let himself leave the restaurant. Behind him, the music faded away as he crossed the street.
Maybe he should try to call Enos, but what would he say? That Brandon had gone to see Winona after Enos released him? So what if he had? There was no law against that. He could say that Brandon had loaded two big boxes into the trunk of his car, but that didn’t mean anything. Or he could say that the whole thing gave him a bad feeling. But Enos would just hang up on him.
He crossed the street and ducked into the shadowy doorway of the shoe repair shop just as the door to The Frame-Up opened again. He hoped Brandon hadn’t seen him from the window, but Brandon seemed preoccupied and Fred only had to wait a heartbeat to see why. This time Winona followed Brandon into the street.
Brandon was carrying another heavy box to the car and he spent a minute or two arranging the trunk while Winona watched, hands on hips. Twice she lifted her gaze and studied the street and Fred pulled back deep into the shadows, hoping she wouldn’t see him hiding there.
When Brandon had arranged the boxes to his satisfaction, he closed the trunk. He took Winona into his arms and tenderly kissed her forehead. “Do you need to do anything else?”
“Not a thing.” Winona twined her fingers through his hair. “I can’t believe this is finally happening.”
Brandon kissed her again, but when he let her go Fred thought he looked worried. “Darling,” he hesitated and reached one hand out to trace her lips with his finger. “I’ve decided to leave Cutler right away.”
“Six more months, sweetheart, and then we can leave. By then, everything will be done on the mountain and they’ll be ready to start construction. They won’t need us here for the first few months.”
“No,” he turned away from her. “I mean that I want to leave—now. I’m not going to finish Shadow Mountain.”
Winona flinched as if he’d hit her in the face. She recovered after a moment, smiled and wrapped her arms around him. “You scared me. Don’t do that, I thought you were serious.”
Brandon held her hands and pushed her away from him. “I am serious. This project just isn’t worth the trouble it’s causing. I’ve decided to cut my losses and pull out. You understand, don’t you?”
Winona didn’t move for a long time. Long enough for a cramp to develop in Fred’s shin and the cold to start numbing his fingers. Brandon’s words registered slowly and Fred watched the smile slide from her lips. Her brows knit in confusion, as if she was still trying to convince herself that Brandon was joking.
At last, anger replaced confusion. She slapped him so hard the sound echoed. “You bastard!” Brandon tried to pull her into his arms again, but she pushed him away roughly. “After all we’ve been through? After everything we’ve done?”
“Trust me,” he said. “I know what’s best for us. I’ve found another property in Phoenix. It’s wonderful. A dream come true. Wait ‘till you see it.”
“This is my dream come true,” Winona spat out. “This is what I’ve worked toward for the last two years. I’m not going to let you throw it all away just because things are a little difficult.”
Brandon looked over his shoulder, as if checking to make sure they hadn’t been overheard. He smiled, but even in the dim light Fred the anger boiling below the surface was barely concealed. “I can do anything I want. I’ve put up with women telling me what to do for the last fifteen years of my life and I’m not going to take it from you now.”
“You’re pathetic,” Winona snarled. “You disgust me.” She pivoted away and ran back toward The Frame-Up.
Brandon ran after her, grabbing her by the shoulders and turning her toward him. “Don’t play games with me. You’re in this as far as I am. You’d better be grateful I’m getting rid of the books before someone tries to prove what happened to those paintings.”
“Let go of me,” Winona warned Brandon. “Get your hands off me.”
He slowly released her and Winona ran inside, slamming the door behind her. Brandon stood in front of his car, red-faced. He clenched and unclenched his fists repeatedly.
So they’d been right about Winona and Summer’s paintings. She’d stolen the “art” and made it look like Joan was to blame. And Brandon had known about it all along. But had they killed Joan because of it? Fred still didn’t know.
He tried to rub the cramp out of his leg, but his back and knees ached and the doorway wasn’t big enough for him to move more than an inch or two. His back and knees ached and he needed to take the load off his feet. He wanted to go home and get warm. He wanted to forget about Enos and Kate and Margaret and murders and suspects and illicit love affairs and Shadow Mountain and art theft, but he couldn’t. He knew that he’d think about it all night. He wouldn’t sleep. By morning, he’d be a wreck.
He waited impatiently for Brandon to get into his car, but just as Brandon looked like he was going to do just that, a shout from behind stopped him. Letting go of the car door, Brandon stepped away and out of Fred’s sight.
Fred leaned forward as far as he dared, trying to see who Brandon was talking to. A thick pair of legs, shiny black leather shoes, gray trousers with a crease . . . Logan Ramsey. Now this was an interesting turn of events.
Fred strained to hear their conversation, but they stood too far away. He could hear only a few words, but it was enough to know they weren’t having a friendly conversation.
Brandon stepped backward and Ramsey followed, stepping into Fred’s view for the first time. His arms gestured wildly near Brandon’s face. His mouth moved rapidly, angrily, stretching wide as the words tumbled out.
Brandon shoved Ramsey with both his hands and turned away. That was a mistake.
Ramsey exploded. His face twisted in fury and he rushed Brandon, hitting him just as Brandon reached the BMW. The two men fell heavily against the car and Ramsey used his bulk to keep Brandon there.
“You’re not going to get away with this, Cavanaugh,” he warned.
Away with what? Had Brandon told Ramsey that he was backing out of the Shadow Mountain deal?
Brandon might have been able to get away if it had been a fair fight, but Ramsey was so much bigger, Brandon didn’t stand a chance. Fred could only see the back of Brandon’s head. If either one of them was talking, Fred couldn’t hear them. After what felt like forever to Fred, Ramsey released Brandon and straightened unsteadily.
“Tonight, then,” Ramsey shouted. “And you’d better be there. If you’re not, I swear to God. . .” And then he turned, disappearing as suddenly as he’d appeared, leaving Brandon alone.
Brandon ran his fingers through his hair, slid behind the wheel of his car and drove away.
Fred’s mind raced as he watched Brandon drive away. He didn’t want Winona to come outside and catch him, but it took much too long to get his stiff joints moving again. Whatever happened to Joan, Fred suspected that Brandon was right in the middle of it—and he was in a heap of trouble. Winona was mad at him. Tony had turned h
im into the sheriff. Kate hated him, and Logan Ramsey had just threatened him.
Unfortunately, Fred still didn’t know whether Joan had been killed because of the stolen art or because of Shadow Mountain. Everything he heard, everything he saw, turned him in a different direction. He suspected first one neighbor, then another.
He walked slowly back to the Bluebird, pondering, questioning, trying to piece together the puzzle. He had plenty of pieces, but he still didn’t know how they fit.
Tempers were still running high, and Fred suspected that whatever had brought about Joan’s death wasn’t over yet. He felt uneasy, apprehensive. Like watching storm clouds roll across the mountains and watching the sky darken and not being able to do anything to stop it from coming.
twenty two
From somewhere in the night, a rhythmic pounding roused Fred from a sound sleep. Blinking to clear his eyes, Fred sat up but it was so quiet, he wondered if he’d only imagined it. He glanced at the clock beside his bed. Only two-fifteen, but he’d probably never get back to sleep now. He rolled onto his back and closed his eyes.
The pounding came again, and this time he stumbled from his bed and down the hall, barely awake enough to get his arms into his robe. He couldn’t tell where the racket was coming from, so he glanced first into the kitchen to make sure all was quiet, then hurried to the front door and switched on the outside light just as the third knock came.
Under the harsh white glare of the porch light, he saw Enos waiting impatiently, his breath visible in the icy night air.
Fred opened the door and drew his robe tightly across his chest. “What on earth . . . ?”
Enos barged inside, the scent of the night on his clothes. “Where’s Kate?”
“It’s two o’clock in the morning. Where do you think she is?”
“You need to wake her up.”