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

by Sherry Lewis

  Wanting to avoid her, Fred stepped off the boardwalk, checked for oncoming traffic, and caught a glimpse of Rusty Kinsella standing in the front window of Locke’s Fine Furnishings. Like a bolt from the blue Fred realized what he could do.

  In a town the size of Cutler, a man couldn’t just ignore another man’s death. Wouldn’t he be expected to offer condolences to those closest to Garrett? He knew he’d eventually have to visit Olivia, but as long as he was already here, he might as well stop by the store and pay his respects. And if he happened to get a chance, he’d try to get a look at Garrett’s office. He just might see something that would shed a little light on the subject.

  NINE

  Fred waited impatiently for Grandpa Jones to go by in his battered old truck then crossed the street. He checked over his shoulder to make sure that nobody—specifically Enos, Grady or Ivan—was watching him before slipping through the door into Locke’s.

  Rusty Kinsella turned from his sentry post at the window and offered a tiny smile. “Morning, Fred. What can I do for you?”

  Short and stocky with a ruddy complexion and even ruddier hair, Rusty Kinsella was probably somewhere in his early 40s but he looked much older. He’d lost one job after another for the past several years, but then just about a year ago he’d landed this one. It looked as if he’d finally found his niche.

  Fred moved into the interior of the showroom and looked around. No other customers. Good. “Thought I’d stop by and pay my respects,” he said. “How’s Eileen? And the kids?”

  Rusty’s smile warmed slightly. “Eileen’s fine but Kelsea and Andrea were exposed to chicken pox at a birthday party the other day, so we’re just waiting for things to fall apart.”

  It wouldn’t take long for that to happen, Fred thought. The six Kinsella children ranged from early teens all the way down to diapers, staggered about two years apart. Except for the oldest boy, they’d all turned out as red as Rusty. “Sounds like Eileen’ll have her hands full,” he said sympathetically.

  Rusty snorted a laugh. “Eileen’s always got her hands full.” He looked away, and when he turned back some emotion lurked behind his eyes. “Have you heard our news? We’re expecting again.”

  Fred’s heart sank when he recognized the anxiety in Rusty’s expression. The last thing in the world Rusty and Eileen needed right now was the burden of another child to feed and clothe with their strained budget. Rusty obviously knew it, but Fred suspected Eileen did not. “How soon?”

  “End of the summer.” Rusty shoved his hands in his pockets and tried to straighten his shoulders. “Eileen’s hoping for another boy.”

  “I’ll cross my fingers for her. Hope everything goes all right.”

  Rusty’s smile flickered. “Yeah.” This time he managed to straighten his posture. “So what can I do for you?”

  “I saw you in the window and thought I’d see how you’re holding up.”

  “I’m all right.”

  “I heard you’re the one who found Garrett’s body. It must have been quite a shock.”

  “Oh. Yes.” Rusty shuddered and closed his eyes briefly. “I can still see him lying there.”

  “In his office?”

  Rusty nodded. “Next to the desk.”

  “Why was he here? I mean, didn’t it happen in the middle of the night?”

  “Enos said they figured it was about midnight.”

  Fred tried to sound casual as he repeated his line of questioning. “Do you know why he was here at that time of night?”

  “Who knows? There wasn’t anything big going on. We had a defective shipment from a supplier in New York, but Garrett had already taken care of it and the replacement tables weren’t scheduled to come until next week.”

  Fred took a couple of aimless-looking steps toward the back of the store. “I guess Enos and the boys went over everything pretty thoroughly —?”

  Rusty gave a sharp laugh. “With a fine-tooth comb. They were in here this morning, and now they’re out back digging through the dumpster and searching the alley.”

  “What are they looking for?” Fred took another two steps. Knowing Enos and the boys were looking someplace other than Douglas’s bedroom brought him a little comfort.

  “The murder weapon, I guess. They figure it was a leg from one of those coffee tables we got in last week. Garrett had me take all the legs off and stack them in his office so we could package them up —” He shuddered and gave an embarrassed laugh. “Sorry, it still gets to me a little.”

  “Are you saying the legs are missing?”

  “One of them is. The rest are still here. Doc said something about having to measure and compare them to the mark on Garrett’s head.”

  The murderer must have grabbed the first thing he saw and used it to smash Garrett’s skull. Which meant the murder probably wasn’t premeditated, but whoever did it had been thinking clearly enough afterward to carry the weapon away.

  Fred skirted a flowered living room set and caught a glimpse of the door to Garrett’s office. It stood open, but yellow crime scene tape stretched across it and marked it off limits. Still, it couldn’t hurt to take a quick look —

  He moved closer and craned to see inside, but he couldn’t see much. After a second, he became aware of Rusty watching him in silence and he was aware of curiosity dawning in Rusty’s eyes. Fred turned his back on the office and scanned the showroom. “Who’s going to run the place now?”

  “I’d guess it’ll be Olivia. There isn’t anybody else left except his ex-wife and daughter. Garrett wouldn’t have left anything to Yvonne, he hated her. And Jenny’s so young—she can’t be more than thirteen. . .”

  “It’s early days yet,” Fred mused. “I guess Olivia hasn’t said what she plans to do?”

  Rusty laughed and looked away. “I’m the last person she’d discuss her plans with.”

  That was an interesting response. “I didn’t realize there were bad feelings between the two of you.”

  “Olivia and I aren’t exactly friends,” Rusty admitted, “but I wouldn’t say there are bad feelings between us. I just don’t think she approved of Garrett giving me this job, that’s all. But he was willing to take a chance on me and that’s all that mattered.”

  “She’s a lot like Garrett was,” Fred said.

  “At least Garrett had his money to make him happy—she doesn’t even have that.”

  Fred didn’t respond, but he couldn’t help thinking that if Olivia inherited anything from Garrett, she’d have money in her pocket soon. Maybe a great deal of it. Now that he thought of it, he really should pay that condolence call on Olivia. Sometime soon.

  A shadow crossed in front of the window and a second later Grady Hatch opened the door and ducked inside. When he saw Fred, he stopped walking and a puzzled expression crossed his face. “When did you sneak in, Fred?”

  Fred abandoned all hope of getting a look at Garrett’s office and tried to pull off a nonchalant look. “I haven’t been here long. I just wanted to pay my respects.”

  Grady raised an eyebrow and fixed him with a look of disbelief. “Enos said he thought you might come around here.”

  “Why would he think that?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Call it intuition.”

  Smart young whelp. “There’s nothing wrong with a man offering his condolences after someone dies.”

  Grady rolled his eyes. “Maybe not, but between you and me, it’s probably not a real good idea. See, Enos thinks you’re going to start poking around like you did with the Cavanaugh murder, and he’s a little worried about it.”

  That was a fine thing to say. Fred had done most of Enos’s work for him and he’d solved the murder to boot, and this was the thanks he got! “Well you can let him know he doesn’t need to worry.”

  Grady smirked and reached behind him and to pull open the door. “I’ll be sure to tell him. Now I’m sure Rusty appreciates you stopping by, but you’d probably be smart to catch up some other time.”

  If that
didn’t beat all. “Are you asking me to leave?”

  “Yep.” Grady kept his stance casual, but his shoulders tensed as if he expected Fred to argue.

  Not for the life of him would Fred let Grady think he had the upper hand. He shrugged casually and headed for the door. “Give my best to Eileen, Rusty.”

  Grady smiled and sketched a mock salute. “Good decision.”

  Ignoring him, Fred stepped outside and started for home. It looked like he might have to find some reason to stop by the Four Seasons again, after all. It might take a bit of imagination to come up with a believable story, but he’d enjoy the challenge.

  He stopped at the intersection with Lake Front Drive and looked back over his shoulder, not a bit surprised to see Grady standing in the sunlight, watching him. The visit to Locke’s hadn’t been wasted. He knew a lot more about the murder now, and every detail he’d learned reinforced his belief in Douglas’s innocence.

  Douglas might occasionally lose his temper, but he would never attack a man from behind. Fred could never prove it, but it gave his spirits a much-needed lift. Whatever Douglas was hiding from him, it wasn’t a guilty conscience.

  A couple of hours later Fred dug the garlic salt he kept in the salt substitute container from its hiding place at the back of the cupboard and sprinkled some over the chicken. He intended to apply a generous coat, but rapidly approaching footsteps warned him to ditch the evidence before he could finish.

  Sure enough, Margaret burst through the back door just as he closed the cupboard.

  “What in the hell do you think you’re doing?” she demanded as she slammed the back door. Her eyes glittered and her breath came in quick, shallow gasps the way it always did when she got angry. Grady hadn’t wasted any time getting to Enos, and Enos, apparently, hadn’t wasted a second contacting Margaret.

  Fred held up the package of chicken breasts for her inspection. “Fixing dinner.”

  “I’m not talking about that, and you know it. Enos just called to let me know you’re already snooping around in this murder.”

  “I’m not snooping around.”

  “You went to Locke’s today to ask Rusty Kinsella all sorts of questions.”

  “I only asked one or two.” He spooned flour into a bowl and added a little pepper.

  “Dammit, Dad—”

  His patience cracked. He dropped the spoon into the bowl and faced her squarely. “Did Enos also tell you he and Grady stopped by here this morning with a search warrant? Did he tell you how they searched your brother’s bedroom and took his jacket away as evidence?”

  “I know all about this morning, but that doesn’t give you the right to start sniffing around again.”

  “And what are you going to do if they arrest Douglas? What will you say then?”

  She hesitated for a split second. “Enos won’t do that.”

  “I certainly hope you’re right.”

  Margaret plowed her fingers through her hair and leaned against the door. “You’re changing the subject. Of course I don’t want Douglas arrested, but don’t you remember what happened last time you got involved in a murder? You almost got killed.”

  “This is different.”

  “How? You started off this same way—just trying to find a couple of answers.”

  He picked up the spoon and tried to focus on the flour and chicken breasts. “Nothing’s going to happen.”

  Margaret crossed the room and sat in one of the chairs at the table. She used her big brown eyes to their best advantage, letting them pool with tears and staring up at him. “Two people got killed last time, and you were almost the third. When I think how close you came—”

  “This is different,” he insisted but he tried to avoid making eye contact.

  She jerked the bowl away from him. “You keep saying that, but it’s not. You think it’s all some big game, don’t you?”

  “This is no game. Your brother’s in serious trouble. I can’t let him deal with this alone any more than I could if it were you.” He snatched the bowl back and finished coating the piece of chicken.

  She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “I wish somebody could make you see reason.”

  Fred tossed the chicken breast into the baking dish. “They think Douglas killed Garrett. Why don’t you tell me what you’d do if your son was in trouble?”

  “Let Enos handle it.”

  “Is that what you’d do? Sit in your rocking chair and let Enos handle it?”

  “Let him do his job.”

  “Answer my question, Margaret. What would you do if Benjamin was in the same boat? Or Sarah? Or Deborah? Would you bail them out, or watch them sink? Rely on someone else to get there in time, or swim after them yourself? And if you tell me you’d sit back and wait for help, I’ll know you’re lying.” He picked up another piece of chicken and stared at it, not quite certain what he needed to do next.

  “What do you want from me? You want me to condone this? I can’t. You almost got yourself killed last winter, and I’m not going to sit here and shut my mouth while you start the same thing all over again.”

  She looked so much like her mother Fred knew he wouldn’t stay angry for long. He’d been angry with Phoebe plenty of times during their forty-seven years together, but his anger had never lasted. It never lasted with Margaret either.

  He sent Margaret a teasing smile. “Shut your mouth? You wouldn’t be your mother’s daughter if you did that, now would you?”

  “You’re impossible,” she snarled, but the anger in her eyes faded a little. “How did Mom ever put up with you?”

  “I made her laugh.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you did.”

  “That’s what she said,” Fred insisted.

  “Well she wouldn’t be laughing now.” Apparently nothing was going to make her smile. “Where’s Douglas? Does he know what you’ve done?”

  Fred shrugged. “In his bedroom, I imagine.” He ignored the second question completely.

  Without another word she jumped up and disappeared into the living room, obviously searching for backup. But Fred doubted Douglas would be as concerned about this as Margaret. Douglas had other things on his mind.

  Knowing she’d be gone for at least a minute or two, Fred retrieved the garlic salt and sprinkled it generously over his dinner. Margaret knew he resented Doc Huggins’ suggested changes in his diet, but she didn’t know how often he rebelled. And her behavior tonight over a couple of innocent questions certainly didn’t encourage him to fill her in.

  He stashed the garlic salt in its usual place and closed the cupboard door without a sound. He listened for Douglas and Margaret in the other room, but couldn’t hear anything. Either Douglas was asleep, or he’d refused to answer his door, or they were whispering. He’d bet on the latter.

  He understood why Margaret was so upset. It hadn’t been smart for him to chase a cold-blooded killer last year, but it had been the only thing he could do. And he’d survived. He wasn’t as old and feeble and useless as Margaret wanted to believe.

  He’d never admit this to her—or to Enos for that matter—but he’d enjoyed getting involved and feeling useful again. Sitting in his rocking chair and watching the world go by had never kept him content, but after Phoebe’s death he’d almost fallen into the trap. He was no spring chicken, he moved too slowly, and his heart caused everyone a great deal of concern. And because of that he’d almost let himself turn into an old man. But now that he’d caught himself, he had no intention of letting himself slide again.

  Crossing to the door that separated the kitchen from the living room, Fred tried to overhear their conversation, but no sound carried through the heavy wood.

  He pushed the door open an inch or two. Nothing. They must be in Douglas’s bedroom.

  Margaret would tell Douglas, again, about how worried she’d been last year. She’d cry. She’d grumble about how close Fred came to dying. And she’d play up their responsibility to keep their aging father under control.

&nbs
p; Douglas would listen sympathetically. He’d nod his head a lot and look like he agreed. He’d make all the appropriate noises, and then he’d say something that would make Margaret laugh. He’d calm her down and argue, hopefully convincingly, that Fred didn’t require constant supervision—yet.

  Fred let the door close softly and went back to fixing dinner. No need to worry, he could leave this in Douglas’s hands. And maybe tomorrow he and Douglas could try the lunch menu at Albán’s Four Seasons. Fred’s treat.

  While he waited for his children to rejoin him, Fred finished coating the chicken, opened a can of green beans, and found some Rice-a-Roni in the cupboard. Measuring two cups of water into a saucepan, he let himself anticipate asking Albán a few questions. He measured the butter and added an extra dollop for flavor. He was so deep in thought that when the doorbell rang, he jerked in surprise and nearly burned his hand on the stovetop.

  He lowered the heat and headed into the living room to find that Margaret had beat him there. She opened the door just as Fred came into the room. Douglas had followed his sister, but obviously more slowly since he was watching from the hallway.

  Enos stood on the porch, hat in hand. His face was set in stern lines, his posture rigid. Fred knew at once that something was wrong.

  “Enos, what are you doing here?” Margaret chirped. She stepped away from the door with a smile that betrayed her delight. “Come in out of the cold.”

  “I need to see Doug,” Enos said, and the tone of his voice didn’t match the warmth in Margaret’s.

  Enos stepped inside, hesitating only slightly when he saw Fred, stiffening noticeably when he noticed Douglas. No doubt about it, something was definitely wrong.

  “I came here tonight by myself,” Enos said. “You know how I feel about all of you. I didn’t want the boys in on this.” He shifted his weight from foot to foot. Look, I—” His voice cracked and he paused. “Hell, Fred, Margaret, I’d give anything not to have to do this. But Doug, I need you to come to the station with me.”