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

by Sherry Lewis

  Not Doc’s fault, she said, when any fool could have been able to see that Joan had been murdered, if he’d only looked hard enough. Any fool but Doc, that is.

  “Does Suzanne know?” Douglas asked quietly. “About Garrett? Has she been told?”

  Doc’s face softened. “I don’t know. Enos sent Ivan and Grady to notify the family, but I don’t know whether anyone’s planning to tell Suzanne.”

  Douglas shot to his feet. “Then I’ve got to tell her.”

  Margaret put herself in her brother’s path. “That’s not a good idea.”

  “But I have to tell her.”

  “Can’t you understand that she doesn’t want you hanging around? Let someone else tell her. Stay out of it.”

  Douglas shook his head. “I can’t do that.”

  Stubborn boy! “Margaret’s right, son. I think you should leave her alone.”

  “But I can’t. Don’t you understand? I have to keep trying . . . for Alison.”

  Margaret screwed up her face in a look of disbelief. “For Alison? Please!” She turned away, saying more with the set of the shoulders and the tilt of her head than with her words.

  “I have to let her know right away—before she hears it from someone else.” Douglas’s voice carried enough conviction to make Margaret look to Fred for backup.

  He agreed with Margaret, but Douglas did have a point. Someone ought to tell Suzanne, but it ought to be someone else. Fred didn’t want Douglas getting involved. Let sleeping dogs lie, that’s what he thought.

  He opened his mouth to say so, but Douglas cut him off. “I won’t be gone more than an hour.”

  Even Doc shook his head. “I have to agree with Maggie and your dad. Let me call Enos and have him get on the horn to Grady and Ivan. They can swing past Suzanne’s after they’ve talked with Olivia.”

  “Oh. Olivia.” Margaret dropped back into her chair. “How is she going to take it?”

  Olivia—that was the sister’s name. Same age as Margaret, if Fred remembered right. Well, he didn’t envy Grady and Ivan the task of telling her about Garrett’s death. She wouldn’t take it well. Who would, learning that they were the only member of the family left?

  Doc’s argument only seemed to rev Douglas up even more. “I have to tell Suzanne before Olivia gets to her.”

  Thinking about it that way, Fred had to agree. Olivia would know that Garrett had been seeing Suzanne. She’d probably call her as soon as the deputies left. Fred had heard Olivia say that she didn’t believe in sugarcoating things. What she meant was, she didn’t have an ounce of tact. As bad as Fred thought it would be for Douglas to break the news to his ex-wife, he thought that Douglas would be a better messenger than Olivia. “Maybe Douglas is right—” Fred suggested.

  “Absolutely not.” Margaret leaned up in her seat, her eyes bright and angry.

  “But we have to think about Alison,” Fred insisted. “We can’t let—”

  “Exactly!” Douglas pivoted toward the door. “That’s why I have to tell her.”

  “But I don’t think you should go over there.” Fred reached for the telephone and held the receiver out to Douglas. “You can say everything you need to over the phone. Later, when things have cooled down a little, you can see her again.”

  With a show of reluctance, Douglas too the receiver from Fred. But it took several seconds before he focused on the list of telephone numbers Fred kept beside the phone, and several more to locate Suzanne’s new number on the list. Under other circumstances, Fred would have given the boy some privacy for the conversation, but in his current state of mind, there was no telling what kind of fool thing he might say.

  It must have taken Suzanne several rings to answer, and Douglas looked just about ready to hang up when his face brightened. “Suzanne? Doug.”

  Almost immediately, his face fell and flushed with color, and he slowly replaced the receiver. “She hung up on me.”

  Fred should have expected as much. Suzanne wouldn’t be in any hurry to speak with Douglas after last night.

  “I knew I should have gone over there,” Douglas mumbled. “She couldn’t hang up on me then.”

  “No, but she could slam the door in your face,” Fred said as he reached for the telephone himself. “I’ll talk with her. Give me her number.”

  Douglas rattled it off and Fred punched in the numbers, half-convinced Suzanne wouldn’t answer a second call. Her tentative hello after the second ring surprised him. “Suzanne, it’s Fred. Now don’t hang up. This is important.”

  “What is it?”

  “Doc Huggins just stopped by with some news. We thought you ought to hear it right away.”

  “You mean about Garrett.” Her voice was low and flat and strangely unemotional.

  “You’ve heard?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well I’m glad you’ve been told. We didn’t want you hearing about it somewhere in town.”

  “That’s kind of you.”

  Fred couldn’t remember Suzanne ever sounding so controlled before. So devoid of feeling. “It wasn’t my idea,” he said. “Douglas was worried about you.” He might as well put in a good word. It couldn’t hurt.”

  “Worried? Why?” A trace of emotion Fred couldn’t identify tinged her voice.

  “Like I said, he didn’t want you to hear about it at the store or—”

  “Tell him I’m touched.” Sarcasm. Bitter sarcasm, that’s what it was.

  “He really is concerned.”

  “That was obvious last night.”

  Without warning, Douglas yanked the phone from Fred’s hand. “Suzanne? We’ve got to talk.” He paused to listen, but obviously didn’t like what he heard. “You can’t refuse to see me. I’m your husband.” Another long pause. “Maybe not, but I’m still Alison’s father. We can tell her together.”

  Fred could hear Suzanne’s voice over the phone. Her control was gone. Now she sounded shrill and tinny. A shout, then silence.

  Douglas slowly lowered the receiver to his lap. “She hung up on me again.”

  “Well at least she knows,” Doc said, hoisting his bag off the table. “Should I give you a quick checkup Fred?”

  Fred waved Doc away. “Not now. I feel fine.” He was far more concerned about the look on Douglas’s face. “What’s wrong, son?”

  Douglas turned his head slowly, revealing sharp panic in his eyes. “She thinks I did it.”

  “Did what?” Margaret took the phone from Douglas’s limp fingers and put it on the hook.

  “She thinks I killed Garrett.”

  Fred’s heart thumped once and then dropped to his knees. “Did she say that?”

  “That’s ridiculous!” Margaret said at the same time. She whipped around toward Fred, her face pleading with him to agree.

  Which, of course, he did. “Ridiculous,” he echoed. “If she actually said it. It’s just ex-wife talk, that’s all.”

  Douglas’s shock had frozen onto his face. “She really thinks I did it. How could she think that? She knows me.”

  Doc fumbled with the catch on his bag and pulled out his stethoscope. Fred waved him off again. He was fine, for Pete’s sake. Douglas was the one who might need attention.

  He gripped Douglas’s shoulder hard enough to make the boy raise his eyes. “She’s angry, son. Hurt and angry. And you have to stay away from her for a little while. Give her some time to calm down before you try to see her and Alison again.”

  The pain on Douglas’s face tore at Fred’s heart. He tried to imagine how he would have felt it Phoebe had ever thought him capable of something terrible. He knew it would have broken him.

  In spite of the divorce and the bitter feelings between them, Douglas obviously still loved Suzanne. If anyone else had said those things, Douglas would have laughed them off. But Suzanne’s lack of faith in him, her belief that he could have murdered a man, and her accusations that he’d actually done it, had staggered him.

  Margaret, bless her, wrapped her arms around her brother.
“Ignore her. We all know you didn’t do it. Everybody knows you didn’t do it.”

  “Suzanne thinks I did.”

  Fred couldn’t sit still and watch his son suffering. “Now just a minute,” he said. “Suzanne doesn’t really think you killed Garrett. She’s upset. She’s angry about the argument you two had last night. She’s embarrassed, and she’s going to say the first thing that comes to her mind that will hurt you back. That’s all it is.”

  For a moment, Douglas’s eyes flickered with hope, but just as quickly the hope died away. “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “For everything.”

  “Nothing to be sorry for,” Fred insisted, mentally glossing over all the things that could have been on that list.

  Margaret gave Douglas a gentle shake. “Don’t pay any attention to her, Doug. She knows what’s going to hurt you most. It happens when you’ve been together a while. And since the divorce, you can’t expect her to have any faith in you, or even to particularly like you.”

  Douglas didn’t look convinced. Fred suspected nothing they could say would make a lick of difference. Not now. In fact, he doubted that anyone except Suzanne could make a difference. And he knew that if Suzanne was angry enough to say such things to Douglas, she wouldn’t be ready to take them back anytime soon.

  Doc was still fussing around with his bag, making a nuisance of himself. Fred saw no reason for him to hang around any longer. “Why don’t you go on home, Doc? I’m fine.”

  Doc hesitated.

  “Do I look like I’m ready to keel over?” Fred demanded. “I’m fine. Besides, aren’t your grandkids coming today? Get on home and spend some time with them.”

  “They’ll be here for two weeks,” Doc said. “Charlotte and Ted and leaving them while they go to Mexico.” But in spite of his protest, he glanced at Margaret as if he needed her permission to leave.

  She gave it with a slight nod, and he repacked his bag and reached for his coat. “Things will blow over soon, Doug,” he said. “Your dad’s right. Just give Suzanne a few days to calm down and I’m sure she’ll come to her senses.” He gave the boy a pat on the shoulder and, with a curt nod at Fred, left them alone at last.

  But after Doc left, none of them spoke. Fred poured another cup of coffee, wishing its soothing warmth could help straighten out the humble in his mind. For Suzanne to even suggest that Douglas had killed Garrett was ridiculous. Nobody else would even think of something so absurd. But if they didn’t prove that to Douglas, he’d just mope around the house all day.

  Fred needed to get Douglas out and about. Over to the Bluebird, for instance. Around other people. Surely then his spirits would rise.

  With fresh enthusiasm, Fred slapped his palm on the counter. “Douglas, go get dressed. I’m taking us all out for breakfast.”

  Margaret shot him a look of confusion. “Out to breakfast?”

  “Out to breakfast,” Fred said again. He switched off the coffeepot and rinsed his cup. “What Douglas needs is a healthy dose of good old common sense. Get up, Douglas. Get dressed.”

  Responding obediently—for once—Douglas pushed to his feet and shuffled down the hall. When he returned a few minutes later, his hair was only half combed and he wore a pair of faded jeans and a ratty-looking sweater. No matter. He didn’t need to look like a million dollars. He just needed to get out and talk to people who could help him feel better.

  He’d see soon enough which way the wind blew. Fred was sure of it.

  SIX

  Fred pushed open the front door of the Bluebird Café. He took a deep breath of the heady aromas of bacon, sausage, fried eggs, and hash browns, mingled with the earthy scent of freshly brewed coffee. A real breakfast, the kind of meal Margaret would choke over and nobody wanted him to eat anymore.

  The Bluebird had been part of Cutler for almost as long as Fred could remember. The diner had always been called the Bluebird, but when Liz Hatch bought it a few years back she’d changed it considerably. She’d ripped the yellowed ivy-twined wallpaper from the walls and replaced it with white paint and posters of Elvis Presley young and old. She’d replaced most of the songs on the jukebox with the King’s greatest hits, and once an Elvis song found its way onto Liz’s jukebox, it never left.

  Now this was a restaurant. Liz did most of her own cooking, and one of her meals could stick to a man’s ribs all day. Looking forward to a decent breakfast, and knowing Margaret was too upset over Douglas’s troubles to argue much over his order, Fred led the way through the crowded tables to a booth at the back under the Girls! Girls! Girls! Poster.

  He’d just settled himself onto the bench beside Margaret when Liz approached and greeted them with a nod of her head.

  “Morning Liz,” Fred said.

  Margaret glanced up from a study of her silverware and smiled. “Good morning, Liz.”

  Liz nodded again then let her eyes light on Douglas. “Doug.”

  Douglas looked miserable but he tried to paste on a smile. At least you had to give him marks for effort. “How’ve you been, Liz?”

  She’d obviously reached the end of her conversational limit for the morning because she only nodded, as if to indicate that she’d been fine, and lifted the coffeepot with a silent question for them all. Without waiting for Margaret to do something silly like order a pot of decaf, Fred turned over his cup and settled it on the saucer, smiling his answer.

  Now this ought to help Douglas feel better, he thought. Just look at how warmly Liz had greeted him. From across the room Sophie Van Dyke gave them a little wave. George Newman turned in his seat at the counter and nodded, and several other friendly faces acknowledged them.

  As Elvis started singing “Moody Blue,” Fred happily settled back against the seat. He’d known this would do the trick. Within minutes, Douglas would have forgotten all of Suzanne’s foolishness and he’d be his old self again.

  Fred ordered biscuits and sausage gravy, earning little more than a scowl from Margaret, who ordered whole-wheat toast and cereal. Liz waited, pencil in hand and poised over her order pad, for Douglas’s order, but he didn’t seem to be aware of her.

  Fred prodded him gently with his foot. “Tell Liz what you want, son.”

  Douglas didn’t even bother to look up. “Nothing.”

  “You were starving a few minutes ago,” Fred reminded him. “What’s the matter? Do you need a menu?”

  “I can’t eat.”

  Liz stuck the pencil into her hair behind her ear and slipped the order pad into her apron pocket. “Must be all this murder talk upsetting him.”

  “What murder talk?” Fred knew better than to think the town wouldn’t be buzzing with the news, but he didn’t want to think that anyone else might share Suzanne’s opinion as to who was the guilty party.

  Liz didn’t answer. She merely picked up the extra cup and saucer and turned away. She’d said her piece. She’d let them know there had been talk, interrupted for the moment by their arrival. Maybe bringing Douglas out hadn’t been such a good idea after all.

  Fred shook off his doubts. If Douglas hid away at home, tongues would just wag more. This way he didn’t look as if he had something to hide. They’d done exactly the right thing. But Fred wished he could figure a way to get the boy perked up a little. His hangdog expression alone would cause speculation.

  Fred made an attempt or two at conversation, and Margaret made an effort to pick it up, but Douglas didn’t show any interest in talk about the kids, their school, Sarah’s almost-lead role in the musical, or the problems with Fred’s brakes. By the time Liz arrived with their breakfast, Fred welcomed the diversion. At least now they could turn their attention to food and have an excuse for the unnaturally strained atmosphere at their table.

  In spite of Douglas’s refusal to order, Liz had brought him one of her ham and cheese omelets with hash browns, toast, and raspberry jam—Douglas’s favorite meal. Whatever anyone else might think, Liz believed in Douglas. She always had, even when he was youn
g and getting into trouble. Leave the boy alone, she’d said time and again. And this morning, in her own way, she’d said it again.

  Smiling in gratitude for the support, Fred picked up his fork just as the front door opened. Amidst much stomping of feet and noise about the cold, Enos and his two deputies made their appearance.

  Beside him, Fred sensed Margaret straightening her posture a little. They might have been married to other people for over twenty years, but there’d always been something between Margaret and Enos, and Fred imagined there always would be. He didn’t for one minute believe they’d ever done anything about it, but the attraction was still there. If anything ever happened to Webb Templeton and Jessica Asay, Fred intended to see that Enos and Margaret got together.

  Shrugging out of his heavy coat, Enos surveyed the room. Fred watched him notice Margaret and then send the deputies to a table on the opposite side of the room.

  Enos crossed quickly to Fred’s booth and slid into the seat beside Douglas with a smile and a nod for everyone and a soft look in Margaret’s direction. “Morning everybody. Did Doc get by to see you?”

  “Yes, he dropped by.” Fred heard the sharpness of his own tone, but he couldn’t help it. He might think of Enos as a fourth son, but that didn’t mean he had to like everything the man did. “Why did you send him?”

  Enos glanced at Douglas out of the corner of his eye. “I had three calls last night about the argument at Albán’s place. Well-meaning citizens wanting the local officials to be aware of the hostilities. You know how it is, Fred. Happens all the time.”

  Fred knew, but he didn’t like it in this case. “You don’t think Douglas had something to do with the murder?”

  “Of course not. But I do need to ask the two of you some questions.”

  Douglas looked up, finally. “What about?”

  “So far, we have no real leads but I’ve got Ivan and Grady asking around. Maybe somebody saw something. I want to know if either of you heard Garrett say anything about meeting someone at the store.”