by Sherry Lewis
“Nothing,” Douglas said with a shake of his head.
Silly question, Fred thought. If you’re busy accusing a man of stealing your ex-wife, you don’t waste time on small talk. He said only, “We didn’t exactly chat about his plans.”
“So he didn’t say anything to either of you?” Enos said, looking hard at Douglas before shifting his gaze to Fred.
Douglas shook his head again. When the boy lifted his cup, Fred noticed his hands were trembling. This must be harder on his son than he’d imagined. “It didn’t come up,” Douglas said.
Enos sighed and leaned back in the seat. “At least I found some evidence in Garrett’s office that might give us a place to look.
“Then you’ll solve the case quickly?” Margaret asked in a low voice.
“I expect to.”
“Good, Fred thought. The sooner Enos got this thing straightened up, the sooner Douglas could get on with his life. And putting his difficulties with Suzanne behind him ought to be his number-one priority. Any woman who’d accuse the man she’d been married to for over a dozen years, a man as gentle as Douglas, of killing someone . . . well, it didn’t bear thinking about.
The front door opened again and, almost as if Fred’s thoughts had conjured her up, Suzanne made an appearance. Even at a distance, she looked pale. With her lips compressed in a straight line and her dark eyes hooded, she looked troubled. For a second Fred wondered if she’d come looking for Douglas, but when her aunt Celeste followed her through the door, he changed his mind.
What were they doing here?
Every eye in the place had looked up to identify the new arrivals, and now they turned to Douglas for his reaction.
The two women claimed a table and Douglas’s eyes lit up. “What luck! It’s Suzanne.”
“Stay right here,” Fred instructed.
Douglas looked shocked. “No! I’ve got to talk to her.”
Had Douglas lost his mind? Had he lived in Seattle so long he’d forgotten what a small town like Cutler could be like? “Not here you don’t,” Fred warned softly.
Douglas slowly focused and looked around the café. “But she refuses to see me. She won’t even talk to me. I have to convince her I didn’t—” He broke off suddenly and stared wide-eyed at Margaret.
“Sorry.” She gave him a tight-lipped smile. “My foot slipped.”
“Didn’t what?” Enos looked from Douglas to Margaret and back again.
“Nothing,” Douglas said.
“Convince her you didn’t what?”
Sometimes Enos could stick his nose into family business in the most irritating way. Fred tried to think of a diversion, but just then Celeste spotted them and made a great show of her surprise. Patting Suzanne’s hand, she murderer something to her niece and sent a few meaningful looks in Douglas’s direction. She raised her arm to call Liz to their table and pointed with a clattering of jewelry toward a booth on the opposite end of the cafe.
Everybody in the place fell silent: no silverware scraping against plates, no ice tinkling against glass—even Elvis stopped singing.
Fred cringed. If he’d had any idea something like this might happen, he never would have asked Douglas to leave the house. Well, there was no sense making him stay any longer. With Suzanne and Celeste here, things could only get worse.
Scraping up and eating the last of his biscuit and gravy, Fred checked on Margaret’s progress. She hadn’t eaten much, and Douglas had done little more than push his omelet around on the plate. Well, it couldn’t be helped. “Ready?” Fred asked his children.
Margaret nodded eagerly.
Douglas shook his head and started to rise. “Not yet.”
Enos slid out of the booth. “You heading out?”
Fred made a grab for Douglas’s arm, but Douglas moved too fast. “Not until I’ve talked with Suzanne,” the boy said.
“If you see Liz on your way over, send her back this way with the coffee.”
Fred stifled a groan. This was not the time or the place for a conversation with Suzanne. If Douglas dreamed another attempt to talk with her would go smoothly, he must have his head further up in the clouds than Fred had imagined.
From the way Margaret watched her brother cross the room, Fred knew she felt the same sense of foreboding he did. But short of tackling Douglas and dragging him out the door by his collar, they couldn’t do a blasted thing. At least now Margaret could see how easily the situation last night had gotten out of hand. Once Douglas made up his mind, he was like a steamroller. Every one of Fred’s children had inherited that annoying stubborn streak from their mother—it just showed up differently in each of them.
Apparently oblivious, Enos settled back in his seat and rubbed his face with his palm. “I sure could use a cup of coffee. I’ve been up all night . . .”
Douglas was almost there. Suzanne looked up and spotted him. Fred tried not to wince at the anger on her face. He just waited for the explosion.
“Seems next to impossible to have three murderers here in Cutler in such a short time,” Enos was saying.
Celeste put a hand on Suzanne’s arm. She must have asked Douglas to sit down. Maybe there was hope.
“. . . Don’t like to think it was premeditated, really.” Enos went on. “Now if there’s been poison or a gun involved, it might be different. But there weren’t any signs of a robbery or forced entry, so Garrett must have let whoever killed him into the store.”
Douglas was talking. He tried to touch Suzanne’s shoulder, but she jerked away and said something. Fred could tell by the way her face twisted and the way Douglas looked as if she’d slapped him that her words hadn’t been kind.
“No, I haven’t found a murder weapon,” Enos said. “But I’ve got an idea or two. All Doc can say is that it was a blunt instrument. And whatever the killer used, he didn’t leave it in Garrett’s office . . .”
Enos’s last words pulled Fred’s attention away from Douglas and Suzanne. “Did you say you haven’t found the murder weapon?”
Instead of just answering the question, Enos scowled and got that funny look on his face. “You’re not getting involved in this, Fred.”
“I didn’t ask to get involved,” Fred snapped. “You’re sitting at my table. You’re discussing the murder with my daughter. And you said you hadn’t found the murder weapon. I’m simply trying to make polite conversation.”
Enos looked skeptical.
“What earthly reason would I have for wanting to get involved in your murder investigation,” Fred asked.
Margaret made a rude choking noise and Enos’s skeptical expression turned downright suspicious. “I can’t imagine,” he said. “That’s what worries me.”
Fred started to defend himself, but loud voices erupted on the other side of the room and cut him off.
Douglas. Again.
Fred slid out of the booth, but Enos shot up and made it across to Suzanne’s table before Fred even got upright.
“Stay away from me, Doug,” Suzanne hissed. “Don’t come anywhere near me again. And stay away from Alison too. The last thing she needs right now is you.” She threw down her napkin and snatched up her purse.
“Suzanne, please—”
“I mean it, Doug. If I see you anywhere near my house or my daughter, I’ll file a complaint.” She sailed toward the front door.
And she almost made it there before Douglas broke the shocked silence by shouting, “You can’t keep me away from Alison. No matter what you do, you can’t keep me away from my own daughter.”
Suzanne stopped walking and turned, her eyes spitting fire. “Why do you insist on hurting Alison like this?”
“I haven’t done anything that would hurt Alison,” Douglas insisted.
“What about Garrett? You’ve always hated him. Everybody knows that. And last night only made it worse.”
“I didn’t do anything—”
“Save it, Doug. Nobody else had any reason to kill him.” And then Suzanne stormed out of the door
, leaving a stunned audience in her wake.
And Fred could only stand by, helpless, as his world crumbled at his feet.
SEVEN
Shortly before noon, Fred wiped his feet on the mat and opened the door to the sheriff’s office. Enos sat behind his battered desk, his sandy head bent over his paperwork. Country music played softly from the clock radio at his side.
He didn’t even look up. “Don’t bother asking, Fred. You’re not getting involved.”
“I didn’t come here for that,” Fred assured him.
In spite of himself, Enos looked interested. “Really? What did you want, then?”
“I wanted to be sure you don’t believe what Suzanne said this morning,” Fred said as he claimed a chair for himself.
Enos lifted his eyebrows. “You worried that I might?”
Fred shrugged casually. “Not really.”
“Good.” Enos bent back over the desktop.
“It’s just that Douglas is letting Suzanne’s crazy accusations bother him. I was hoping you could tell me something that would put his mind at rest.”
Enos looked up again and leaned back in his chair. He studied Fred for a moment, tapping his pencil on a file. “Tell him I’m real careful about arresting folks based on the words of an angry spouse. Hell, if I did that, half the town would be in jail.”
Fred breathed a sigh of relief. “Would you tell him that? He won’t listen to me.”
Enos grunted his understanding and closed the file folder. Sliding it toward one corner of his desk, he reached for another from a small stack at his side. “What I wish is that the two of you could tell me something. I don’t have much to go on.”
“I thought you said you’d found some evidence.”
“One little button,” Enos said. “We found it on the floor near the body, but even if I knew who it belonged to, there’s no way to prove how and when it got there.”
“How about blood?” Fred asked. “If somebody crushed Garrett’s skull—”
“Crushed it, but didn’t break the skin. A little bleeding from his nose and ears, but that’s all.” Enos made a note in the file and tossed it aside. “No convenient bloody footprints leading to the alley, no chance of blood on the murderer’s clothing—nothing.”
“Fingerprints?”
Enos hesitated for a second and suspicion flashed across his face. “No. Or maybe I should say too many. There are fingerprints all over the place, but none we can use. Every person in a hundred-mile radius has probably been inside that store.”
“And still no murder weapon?”
This time Enos didn’t answer. He just fixed Fred with a no-nonsense look. “I know what you’re trying to do, Fred. I’m not saying another word.”
“I don’t want to get involved in your murder investigation,” Fred assured him. “I only want my son to stop fretting.”
“Uh-huh,” Enos said in that tone of voice that meant he didn’t buy it.
“Believe it or not,” Fred insisted.
“I tend toward not.” Enos pulled another file from the stack and made a great show of opening it.
“Did I ask to get involved?”
“Not yet,” Enos admitted, “but it’s only a matter of time.”
“Now look here, Enos—”
“Don’t bother. I remember what you did list time and I’m not letting you get away with it again. This is an official police investigation. Stay out of it. Do I make myself clear?”
For Douglas’s sake, Fred bit back his protest and nodded. “Absolutely.”
“Fine.” Enos turned his attention to the folder again.
Fred let him work in silence for a minute, but when it became clear that Enos wasn’t going to say anything else, he stood. “Guess I’ll run along then.”
“You do that.”
“I don’t suppose you’d tell me if you have any suspects in mind.”
“And have you race off trying to interrogate them? Not on your life.”
Very funny. Fred decided to ignore the comment and try a different approach. “Mind if I borrow your phone for a minute?”
Enos shook his head without looking up. “Go ahead.”
Fred punched in the first six digits of Margaret’s phone number, rocked back on his heels, and acted like he expected someone to answer. After the amount of time he figured several rings would take, he checked his watch and muttered, “That’s odd.”
Enos didn’t take the bait. He didn’t even glance up.
Fred disconnected and repeated the procedure. He waited again. “That’s strange,” he said a little louder. “I wonder where she’s gone.”
Enos turned his head a fraction of an inch. “Who?”
“Margaret,” Fred said as he disconnected again. “I promised I’d call her after I talked to you.”
Finally, Enos looked out from under his eyebrows. “She’s not home?”
Fred shook his head and tried to look worried. “Well, no matter, I guess. I just hoped I’d have something to tell her. Something that would make her feel a little better. You know how she is. I wish she wouldn’t worry about the family so much. Everything will be fine. You’ll do your job and arrest the killer soon enough.”
Enos checked his watch. “Isn’t it about time for the kids to come home for lunch?”
“And Webb too.” Fred gave the desktop a pat with the palm of his hand. “Yep. And Webb. Guess he was right after all.” He felt a flicker of guilt over the little white lie, but he shook it off. Maybe he hadn’t talked to Webb that morning. Maybe Webb hadn’t actually voiced an opinion about the sheriff’s department and Garrett Locke’s murder. But he’d had plenty to say about Enos over the years, so Fred didn’t let Webb’s comparative innocence this time bother him.
Enos’s eyes darkened. Anyone with half a brain could measure the man’s lack of regard for Webb against his long-time affection for Margaret. “About what?”
“He just said she’d be smart not to count on you to tell her anything. He thought you’d want to keep everything you know under your hat . . .” Fred hesitated then shook his head. “Never mind the rest.”
Enos flushed and Fred could almost hear his mind working. He’d never want Margaret to think she couldn’t rely on him, especially not if Webb suggested it.
Margaret had made a big mistake when she threw Enos over for Webster Templeton, and Enos had answered by rushing off and marrying Jessica Rich within six months. Fred liked to think that if Enos had waited a while, Margaret would have realized her mistake and things would have worked out between the two of them. As it was, he’d had to watch them mooning over each other from a distance for nearly thirty years. But every once in a while their mutual admiration came in handy.
Enos tossed his pencil onto the desk. “You tell Margaret that Douglas isn’t under any more suspicion than anyone else, and he won’t be unless I come across evidence so compelling I can’t ignore it.”
Fred tried to keep his face composed, but relief nearly overwhelmed him. “I’ll let her know. She’ll be glad to hear it.”
Enos nodded in satisfaction and picked up his pencil. “Tell her to call me if she has any other questions.”
“I’ll do that.” Fred crossed to the door, pausing with his hand on the knob. “And Enos?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks.”
Their eyes met and held for a moment before Enos nodded. “No thanks necessary. Like I said, I don’t arrest people on the word of angry ex-spouses.”
Fred turned, but had to sidestep quickly to avoid running into Ivan Neeley, Enos’s youngest deputy.
Ivan’s excitement radiated from his face and animated his stocky body as he pushed gently past Fred into the office. Ivan’s uniform looked as if it had seen better days, and his face was shadowed by a layer of whiskers he didn’t usually wear. “We hit pay dirt,” he announced with satisfaction. “Albán Toth saw somebody running from Locke’s last night. He was driving over to the Copper Penny to close up. He thinks he can
make a positive ID. Grady’s bringing him over so you can question him.”
Fred hesitated with one foot out the door. A positive ID? Surely knowing what Albán had to say would clear Douglas’s mind. Maybe he ought to stick around.
But before he could take a step back inside, Enos came around from his desk and escorted him out the door. “Not now, Fred. This is official business.”
As the door shut between them, Fred tried to convince himself it didn’t matter. Sure, he wanted to stay and hear what Albán had to say, but obviously he’d pushed his luck with Enos far enough for one day. And, really, he didn’t have any reason to worry. Albán wasn’t the type to accuse someone without good reason, so if he said he saw someone leaving Locke’s, the case was as good as wrapped up. Fred would just have to pretend to be content and wait for the news.
Trying to push aside his impatience, Fred crossed Main Street. Enos’s office sat at the west end of down, right where the street hit a dead-end by Spirit Lake. Since Fred lived only about half a mile down Lake Front Drive, this particular walk home was one of his favorites. He loved watching the lake through the trees and listening to the sounds of nature, but he hated the pallor Garrett Locke’s murder threw over the landscape. Nothing felt the same.
The weak March sun danced off the water’s placid surface and the air carried a hint of warmth. Within a few minutes, Fred slipped out of his coat and draped it over his shoulder.
Every year more people discovered the Spirit Lake region. With Rocky Mountain National Park only a few miles away and several ski resorts already in the area, growth was inevitable. The people of Cutler had managed to elude most of the tourists until recently, but Fred was afraid their quiet days were numbered. He hated to see expansion coming, but they were already experiencing the side effects. An element of violence had crept in from Cutler’s edges. Between the Cavanaugh murders a few months ago, and now Garrett’s murder, the total came to three violent deaths in less than six months. A chilling thought, that.
Fred tried to push aside the dark thoughts and concentrate on something more pleasant. If Cutler grew, he reckoned Douglas might find a job that would keep him interested for a while. That would be a plus. But Fred wasn’t going to hold his breath waiting for any career to tie Douglas down permanently. He’d be happy if the boy found a job that would hold his attention for a year or two.