by Sherry Lewis
TWELVE
Fred dragged the Buick into action for his trip to the Four Seasons. As he cruised up Lake Front Drive to the junction with the highway, the soft promise of spring slipped into every breath and shimmered between the still-bare branches of the trees, casting thin shadows over the pavement.
The Four Seasons sat almost five miles outside Cutler, beyond Spirit Lake and Snow Valley, on the narrow southern shore of Winter Lake. Fred made the trip in less than fifteen minutes. Scanning the parking lot, he breathed a sigh of relief at its relative emptiness.
Albán Toth had invested in the Copper Penny a few years ago when Sam Waters left town. He’d turned it from a so-so beer joint into a decent sort of place, if you liked bars. But he’d always said he wanted to open a restaurant where he could feature European food, mainly Hungarian dishes made the “real” way, and he’d been wise enough to wait for the right location. On the shore of the lake, he’d do four times the business he would have done in any town. People would pay extra just to look out his windows.
Albán must have seen him pulling in, because before Fred could get to the front door he was waiting with his hand extended. “I’m impressed, Fred. You’re here twice in one week. We must have done something right the other night.”
At just under six feet, Albán wasn’t a tall man. He had the kind of face that would be distinctive as he aged—broad forehead, a fine straight nose, and an expansive smile. He wore his thin blond hair cut slightly longer than Fred’s generation ever considered and his hazel eyes always carried a warm gleam of welcome. His skin had a slight olive tint, the kind that tanned easily winter or summer and made him look healthy all year round. His voice bore just the softest trace of an accent, an almost imperceptible V where a W should have been, scarcely noticeable to those who’d known him long. Once in a while Fred heard someone ask Albán where he’d been born, and the question always took Fred by surprise.
Albán tugged open the heavy door. “Are you here for lunch?”
“No.”
“I didn’t think so. We got the new dining room finished yesterday—let me show it off a little and I’ll buy you a cup of coffee. Then you can tell me why you’re here.”
Leading the way through the main dining room Albán talked quickly, tossing directions to members of his staff, pointing out a new vase here, a newly acquired antique there. Albán loved fine things, appreciated food and wine, art and music. He’d have been as genuinely pleased to see a fine piece of art in Fred’s home as his own, and his habit of showing friends his latest acquisition stemmed from a desire to share his pleasure, not to show off his good fortune.
Albán ordered a tray sent into his office then paused at a panel of sliding doors. Smiling broadly, he pushed them open with a flourish. “What do you think?”
He had removed the back wall and replaced it with huge windows so that the entire restaurant felt as if it floated on water. Behind the glassy gray surface of the lake, the Rocky Mountains shot to the sky, layers of granite unsoftened by foliage.
“Magnificent—’huh?”
“To say the least.”
Albán smiled. “I’m glad you like it. It cost me a fortune.” He turned and put a hand on Fred’s shoulder. “But enough of that. You want to talk about Doug.”
“Yes.”
“We’ll do it in my office. There’s enough gossip without my adding to it.” Albán closed the doors and led Fred down a narrow corridor to a large room with windows framing a miniaturized version of the same view. “You know how bad I feel about all of this.” The look on his face showed vividly how true this was.
“I know.” Fred lowered himself into a comfortable chair and accepted coffee.
“I wish I’d known why they were asking—” Albán broke off and smiled grimly. “But, then, my answer would have been the same anyway.”
“I know that, too. Listen, Albán, I wouldn’t want you to tell Enos anything but the truth. Douglas was there, but Garrett was still alive when he left. What I want to know is whether you saw or heard anything else—anyone else—that night.”
Albán’s brow furrowed and he closed his eyes as if he were replaying the scene in his mind. Finally, regretfully, he shook his head. “If there was anyone else around, I didn’t see them. But I was on my way to the Copper Penny to close out the till, and I’ll admit I wasn’t paying much attention to what was going on around me.”
“So someone could have been there.”
“Could have been, I guess. I was upset. I was thinking about that fight Doug and Garrett had. To tell you the truth, I’d had it with Garrett. It was the second argument he brought into one of my places that day. I was trying to figure out how to eighty-six him without alienating the entire town. I suppose I might have missed something, but I saw Doug plain enough. If anyone else had been around I probably would have noticed them, too.” He spread a cracker with something creamy and passed it to Fred. “Try this. You’ll love it.”
Fred took a bite and a fishy taste exploded in his mouth. He had nothing against fish—in its place. But its place was not in cheese. Choking the tidbit down, he shook his head at Albán’s offer of another. “Tell me what you saw.”
“That night?” Albán perched comfortably on the edge of his desk. “I was heading down Main Street when I saw him. I’d come up the highway and turned onto Main by the sheriff’s office. I saw someone running down the street and figured he’d probably stayed at the bar too late and was hurrying home before he got into trouble. But after a few minutes I realized he wasn’t running easily. You know what I mean? He was . . . stumbling, I guess.”
“Doug?”
Albán nodded. “Like he was tired or hurt or something. Anyway, I didn’t see who it was until I got even with him, and I still wouldn’t have known except he ran past the Laundromat and the lights were still on so of course I saw his face. I pulled over to offer him a ride, but he ducked between a couple of buildings before I could say anything. I don’t know where he went after that.”
For the hundredth time Fred reminded himself that whether or not Albán saw Douglas on Main Street didn’t matter. Douglas admitted that. “And you didn’t see anyone else?”
“No one. I wish I could say I had.”
Fred pushed himself up and patted the younger man’s shoulder. “I know. And that means a lot.” He turned and walked slowly away, almost reaching the door before something Albán had said earlier hit him. He turned back to clarify. “You said it was Garrett’s second argument in here?”
“Not in here. But he had one in the Copper Penny earlier that night.”
“With who?”
Albán looked up and frowned. “With Rusty Kinsella.”
Well now. That was interesting. “Did you overhear any of it?”
“No. That place gets pretty noisy when we’ve got a crowd. Rusty was already there when Garrett came in. He’d been looking upset anyway, drinking more than usual, that sort of thing. Rusty’s a pretty mild guy, so I was surprised when they started arguing.”
“What happened?”
“It calmed down quickly enough—it was over before I even got around the end of the bar. Rusty took off almost immediately after that, but Garrett stayed a while longer and looked pretty pleased with himself. I figured he must have won.”
“And this was the night he died?”
“That evening. Probably right around six after Garrett closed his store.”
This was the first good news Fred had heard in days and he could barely contain his excitement. “Albán, my friend, thank you.”
As he hurried to his car, he tried to decide just what this new bit of information might mean to Douglas. Rusty Kinsella had argued with Garrett Locke the evening of his murder, and he’d found Garrett’s body the morning after.
Fred liked Rusty. He didn’t want him to be involved in Garrett’s murder. But he couldn’t allow personal preference to make him ignore what could be a key piece of information. Another visit to Rusty Kinsella was d
efinitely in order.
Fred drove slowly past Locke’s Fine Furnishings and checked the lay of the land. It didn’t look busy. It didn’t even look open. But the Open sign was in the window and Rusty Kinsella’s beat up old station wagon was in its usual place at the end of the block.
After pulling into a parking spot half a block away, Fred took his time walking back. Talking with Rusty again might upset Enos, but he had to take the chance. It might have been wishful thinking on Fred’s part, but Rusty’s argument with Garrett was too convenient to be coincidental.
Wriggling his fingers into his pockets, he tried for an aimless look and whistled a little ditty his father had taught him long ago. When he reached Locke’s he glanced around quickly and stepped into the recessed doorway.
Rusty had been working at a small desk near the front of the store, but he stood up the minute Fred entered and closed the book he’d been writing in. “I wasn’t expecting to see you this afternoon.”
“I wasn’t planning to stop by until a few minutes ago.”
“I heard about Doug. How’s he doing?”
“About as well as you’d expect.”
Rusty ran his fingers over his chin and stared out the window. “This whole thing is so unbelievable. You know, I keep expecting Garrett to walk through the back door or call me back into his office—” He broke off and sent Fred an embarrassed look. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry on my account. Douglas is innocent.”
Rusty busied himself straightening the papers on the desk. “Yes, well, I—”
Fred lowered himself into a low chair by the desk and watched, silently, until Rusty fumbled with a stack of papers and Fred knew his interest made the other man uneasy. “I wanted to ask you about something.”
“Really? What?” Rusty picked up the paper clip dispenser and studied the desktop as if debating where to put it.
“Tell me about the argument you had with Garrett at the Copper Penny the night he was killed.” For just a second, Fred thought Rusty would drop the paperclips.
Instead, he replaced the dispenser with studied casualness and tried to look confused. “Argument?”
“Just after closing, wasn’t it?”
Rusty tried even harder to look confused. “I saw Garrett after work, but we didn’t have any disagreement.”
“Think about it again. I heard from a pretty reliable source that you’d been drinking more than usual before Garrett arrived and that you left right after the argument.”
A laugh escaped Rusty’s tight lips. “I don’t remember anything like that.”
“You don’t remember.” Sarcasm bit at the edges of Fred’s words. “How can you not remember? There are witnesses who saw it. . .” He paused, letting his implication sink in, and waiting for Rusty to reconsider.
After a lengthy pause, Rusty shrugged. “I guess I do remember.”
That was more like it. “What did you argue about?”
“Business. Nothing important.”
Fred leaned forward and placed his hands, palm down, on the desk. “Now listen, Rusty. My son is sitting in jail right now waiting for Ivan to get back with a warrant for his arrest. He’s going to be charged with murder. But I don’t intend to let that happen. I intend to find out what really happened to Garrett, and right now you’re my number-one suspect. I know you argued with Garrett the evening he was killed. I know that after you left the Copper Penny, Garrett looked smug and satisfied. He obviously thought he’d won. So tell me what it was about.”
Rusty stiffened for a second then seemed to collapse in on himself. His red face paled and when he tried to rub his chin again, his fingers shook. “Who saw us?”
“I’m not naming names. What was it about?”
“Business. He . . . um . . .” Rusty lowered himself into his chair and made a visible attempt to pull himself together. “He found some discrepancies in the books and he thought I might know something about them.”
“And did you?”
“Yes.”
“You were stealing from Garrett?”
Rusty’s head snapped up and his eyes widened. “Don’t say it like that.”
“Were you?”
He folded in on himself again and his ruddy coloring came rushing back. “Yes.”
“For Pete’s sake, Rusty. Why? This job was the first thing you had going your way in a long time.”
“He was paying me a lousy eight bucks an hour. Eight bucks! You ever try making ends meet on that? With a family the size of mine? You don’t know what it’s like. I go home every night and they’re all staring at me, expecting me to take care of them. Six of them. And in a few months, it’ll be seven. And with the added medical expenses for the baby, and the doctor insisting on a deposit up front—”
“Doc Huggins?”
Rusty deflated even further. “No. A specialist Eileen’s mother found for her. Eileen had trouble when Mackenzie was born, and her mother didn’t want us taking any chances this time.”
“So you skimmed money off the top of the books and Garrett found out?”
Rusty nodded. “I wasn’t going to keep it—I just needed a loan for a little while. I would have put it back.”
On eight dollars an hour? With six—almost seven children? Wishful thinking, if you asked Fred. And Garrett had probably seen it that way, too. “What happened when he found out?”
“He fired me.” Rusty looked away, unable to even meet Fred’s eyes. Defeat hung heavily on his shoulders and reflected from his face. “He fired me,” he repeated dully. “I came in early the next morning to talk with him before the rest of the crew got here and that’s when I found him. Dead.”
“If he fired you, what are you doing here now?”
“I figured if nobody knew—” He broke off and shook his head.
“—you’d just go on as if nothing ever happened,” Fred finished. “I take it Garrett never told anyone else?”
“I don’t think so. At least, nobody’s said anything yet. And I figure they would have by now.” He met Fred’s eyes and held them, his own pleading. “I didn’t kill him. I swear,” he moaned, then buried his face in his hands. “Oh, God, what have I done? This is going to destroy Eileen. And my kids—” He choked off the rest of his sentence.
Those poor kids. They’d suffer the most, paying triple any penalty Rusty would earn for such a stupid act.
Fred rubbed the palm of his hand across his forehead, as if he could still the pounding that had started there. He should take this straight to Enos. But he wouldn’t. Not yet. For some reason, he believed Rusty’s story. Right down to the part where Rusty didn’t kill Garrett. And until something else came along to convince him otherwise, or until he could reconcile his conscience with the faces of those six Kinsella kids and the unborn baby, he wouldn’t say anything.
It was always the same old story—children paying for the sins of their fathers. Even Alison. She’d suffered enough already because of the divorce. Now gossip and accusations would demand an even bigger price of her.
He pushed himself to his feet and placed a hand on Rusty’s shoulder. “Give those kids an extra big hug when you get home.”
Rusty looked up, disbelief written all over his face. “You’re not going to turn me in?”
“I’ve got two reasons. First, I don’t think you did it out of greed. It was a damned stupid thing to do, but you don’t need me to tell you that. And I don’t think you’re stupid enough to do it again. And, second, those kids of yours.”
Rusty’s eyes filled with tears again. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
Fred patted his shoulder and started for the door. “Well, don’t thank me yet. If it turns out you had anything to do with Garrett’s murder, I won’t keep any secrets from Enos.”
He turned back at the door and took one last look at Rusty. The man had certainly made a mess of things, and Fred could only hope he’d find a way to fix it—for his kids’ sake.
Once outside, he looked toward the
lake and almost started home. But after taking only a couple of steps, he turned in his tracks and walked quickly toward Estes Street, giving in to the almost overwhelming urge to see Alison.
THIRTEEN
Fred reached Celeste’s house just as fingers of early-evening shadow began to stretch across the brown lawn and paint the windows gold. He knocked and waited. Nothing. He was just about to knock again when the door creaked open a few inches and Alison peeked up at him.
“Hi, Grandpa,” she said, but she made no move to open the door wider.
Fred smiled down at her. “Hi sweetheart. Got a hug for me?”
She hesitated for only a second before she threw the door open and fell against him. She’d grown tall enough to hit him mid-section, but before he could even tighten his arms around her she’d backed away again.
Disappointed, Fred struggled to keep the smile on his lips. “How are you, Alison?”
She lifted her thin shoulders. “Okay, I guess. You want to see mommy?”
“Sure, but it’s you I came to see. I just want to make sure it’s okay with your mother. Is she here?”
Alison shook her head.
“What about Aunt Celeste?”
“She’s not here either.
Fred didn’t like the sound of that, especially with a killer on the loose. “Don’t tell me you’re here all alone.”
Alison gave another shrug. “I was at Ashley’s, but then I came home. Maybe they went to the store.”
“Well, then, I’ll just come in and sit with you until they get back. You don’t think mommy would mind if I did that, do you?”
Alison gave that some thought. “I guess it’ll be okay.” She turned around and led him into the living room, but her hands were tightly clenched, her tiny shoulders tensed. That wasn’t like Alison at all.