by Sherry Lewis
Digging a pad of paper and a pen from the miscellaneous drawer in the kitchen, he put on a pot of coffee and settled himself at the table to wait for it. “Here’s the deal,” he said to the empty kitchen. “Somebody killed Garrett Locke. Apparently, I’m not going to sleep until Enos arrests whoever did it. If that’s the case, I’d better make myself a plan, or I’ll never sleep again.” He smiled a little at that, even though Enos wasn’t there to hear.
He pushed himself away from the table and ladled two spoonfuls of sugar and a dollop of cream into his coffee. Pacing the floor, he started trying to pull the loose strands together, to make sense of the puzzle surrounding Garrett’s murder. What facts did he have?
Garrett was murdered. Hit in the head with a blunt instrument—an oak table leg. And it happened around midnight. What else?
Douglas admitted to being in the store that night. He admitted arguing with Garrett but claimed Garrett was still alive when he left. Fred believed that, so he chalked it up with the other facts. Douglas was innocent. Absolutely.
But who else had reason to kill Garrett? In his favorite television shows, where did the police look first? Family? The only family Garrett had was a sister down in Granby and an ex-wife and daughter somewhere between Cutler and Denver. Just because his family was small, that didn’t rule them out.
So what about Olivia?
She’d married Dan Simms several years ago, a real parasite if you asked Fred. Olivia must have realized it too because their marriage had ended a little while back. Since her marriage, Olivia’s lifestyle had never been on a parallel with Garrett’s. She’d done without a lot, so money as a motive for murder was a definite possibility.
But money brought him right back to Rusty Kinsella. He believed Rusty’s pathetic story, and his heart went out to the man. But the threat of ruin to himself and his family might have pushed him over the edge. Fred couldn’t exclude him from the list.
Were there any other employees with a grudge against Garrett? Fred couldn’t think of more than a handful of people who worked at the furniture store, but he ought to check them out. And women. Garrett had never lacked female companionship. Fred put down his coffee and wrote for a few minutes. Leaning back, he surveyed the list again and asked himself who else he should add. He drew a blank, but who knew what a few well-phrased questions might turn up?
He rewarded himself with a bowl of almond toffee crunch ice cream from the Tupperware container hidden under the frozen rhubarb, grabbed his new Deloy Barnes western from the bookshelf, and headed off to bed.
He might not be able to sleep tonight, but at least he had a plan for tomorrow. And having a plan made him feel a whole lot better.
The next morning, Fred led Douglas out the front door of the narrow brick county building and onto the sidewalk. He’d arrived a few minutes early for Douglas’s arraignment, hoping for a chance to say something to Douglas before they went into the courtroom. He’d been disappointed. Enos had brought Douglas into the building through the back entrance, cutting across the alley that separated the county building from the sheriff’s office. Fred hadn’t even seen his son until he entered the courtroom between Enos and Grady.
The way things had gone the last few days, Fred had half expected Judge White to deny bail. But after rambling on about justice and equity for an unnecessary fifteen minutes, old Bailey White had finally set an amount, which Fred had gladly paid.
Now he stopped outside the courthouse for a moment to let Douglas pull himself together. Enos and Grady had already disappeared and for a few blessed moments, he and Douglas were alone. Douglas breathed deeply, as if inhaling freedom. The sun brought out the golden highlights in his hair, but his skin still looked pale and his eyes were dull. These last few days had taken their toll.
With the arraignment behind them and bail posted, Fred hoped things would settle down for a little while. His first order of business was to get Douglas settled at home and to put a little color back into his cheeks. After that, he’d try to explain Suzanne’s request that he keep Douglas away from Alison. But it would be a sight easier to do that if he understood her request himself.
Deciding they’d waited long enough, and wanting to avoid the most curious of local residents, Fred started walking toward Main Street. “How do you feel?” he asked the boy.
Douglas gave a listless shrug. “Better.”
“Get some rest today and a good night’s sleep and by tomorrow you’ll feel better still.”
“I’m sure I will,” Douglas agreed. “In fact, I think I’ll run over to Suzanne’s before I go home. That ought to help.”
Fred glanced at Douglas quickly to see if he was serious. He was. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Fred said cautiously.
“Why not? I’ve got to talk with her.”
“No, you don’t.”
Douglas waved his arms broadly, a sure sign of his displeasure. “She’s the only one who can help. I’ve got to talk with her. I’ve got to see Alison.”
Fred kept walking. “Keep your voice down,” he advised Douglas, and then gave him the bad news. “She doesn’t want to talk with you, son. She’s not going to help you.”
Douglas’s expression drooped, but that didn’t stop him from arguing. “You don’t know that.”
“Yes I do. I saw her yesterday, son. She asked me to keep you away from the house for a while. And besides that, she doesn’t know anything.”
Douglas completely ignored the first part and argued about the second. “Yes she does. She knows more than she’s telling.”
A bud of hope sprang to life. “She does? What?”
“I don’t know,” Douglas admitted, “but she must know something. She was with Garrett the night he was killed.”
The bud of hope shriveled and died. “I’ve already asked her. She doesn’t know anything.”
“Then I’ll talk to her.”
“You can’t do that, son.” They rounded a curve in the road and Fred squinted into the sunlight.
“Why not?”
Fred didn’t like being in the middle of Suzanne’s argument with Douglas. He tried to think of a more tactful way to phrase it, but couldn’t. “She asked me to keep you away,” he said again.
Douglas stopped in his tracks. “That’s ridiculous. How does she think she can get away without talking to me? How does she think—?” His voice got louder with every word.
“Calm down,” Fred urged. “Getting all riled up isn’t going to do any good. First, let’s get you settled at home. Then we can talk about all this other business.”
“I don’t want to go home. I want to see my daughter. I want to see my wife.”
Fred couldn’t remember when he’d last seen someone who could match Douglas for stubbornness. He didn’t like having to stand guard over his son. He didn’t like the fact that Suzanne wanted Douglas to stay away, but maybe it was a good idea after all. He wasn’t going to let Douglas do something foolish. “I’m not letting you go over there.”
“You can’t stop me.”
“Now listen, Douglas. I’m just going to say this one time. You’re out of jail because I paid your bail. You were released into my custody. That means I’m responsible if you get yourself into trouble. Do you understand that? That means I call the shots. You’re not going anywhere near Suzanne or Alison unless I give you the okay.”
“Dammit, Dad . . .”
Fred slice a hand through the air and cut him off. “I don’t want to hear another word.”
Douglas threw his arms in the air in a gesture of futility and started walking again. “I can’t believe this.”
“I’m doing everything I can to help you out, son.”
“Yeah. I can see that.” Bitterness tinged Douglas’s voice.
Fred didn’t respond to it. He didn’t like this situation any more than Douglas did, but if Douglas didn’t listen, Suzanne would make trouble, and Douglas didn’t need any more trouble.
Nobody understood Douglas’s fears better
than Fred. Nobody wanted the answers more than he did, but he wasn’t convinced Suzanne had them.
Douglas lapsed into self-pity and they walked the rest of the way home without breaking the silence. Fred couldn’t say he would act differently if he were Douglas, and he believed Alison would benefit from spending time with her father, but he could see the wisdom of keeping Douglas and Suzanne apart.
It was time to move on. And Fred had made up his mind to move in the direction of Garrett’s family. He was determined to drop in on Olivia Simms and find out how she was feeling. If Olivia was a beneficiary in Garrett’s will—and Fred couldn’t see why she wouldn’t be—she had a motive for wanting him out of the way. People often did strange things because of money.
He rounded the last curve before his house and noticed Margaret’s car in the driveway right behind Douglas’s. She’d been waiting on the porch in Phoebe’s favorite chair, and she stood to greet them, smoothing the legs of her jeans and tugging her sweatshirt over her hips. She strode across the deep lawn toward them with the same easy grace Phoebe’d had in her youth. For a moment she looked enough like her mother to take Fred’s breath away.
When Douglas pushed past Margaret on his way to the house, her smile faded. She said something to him that Fred couldn’t hear, but Douglas kept going. He jogged across the lawn and stormed up the steps to the front door, apparently forgetting Fred locked the house these days to slow down Margaret’s unannounced raids on his kitchen.
Fred hid a smile at the petulant look Douglas sent him and brushed a kiss on Margaret’s cheek. “How are you, sweetheart?”
“Is he all right?”
He waved a hand toward Douglas, intending to downplay the boy’s anger. “He’s upset.”
Margaret squinted at her brother, as if she could see through him. “Well, he has a reason to be, I guess. But why is he angry with you?”
“He wanted to go see Suzanne and Alison after we left the courthouse, and I told him he couldn’t.” Fred touched her arm to keep her from rushing after her brother. “He’ll get over it. He’s upset about a lot of things right now and if he needs to take a little of it out on me, that’s all right.”
“It most certainly is not.”
“You’re not trying to protect me again, are you?”
She paused, considered, and shook her head. “That’s not it. He makes me angry, but I’m not protecting you.”
“What’s he done to make you angry?”
Margaret sighed. “He’s still trying to get back with Suzanne.”
“Seems to me that’s his business.”
“But he’s angry with you for trouble he’s brought on himself—” She broke off and her shoulders sagged.
Fred put his arm around her and led her up the driveway, but he didn’t see any need to belabor a point well made. “What brings you out this morning?”
She looked toward the house as if she wanted to be sure they were still out of Douglas’s range and kept her voice low. “I wanted to make sure he was all right.”
“He’s doing as well as can be expected, I guess. This isn’t easy for him.”
They reached the sidewalk that cut from the top of the driveway to the front door and Fred gave her shoulder a squeeze before pulling his arm away to search for the key.
Douglas watched with barely concealed impatience until the door opened, then brushed past Fred in his hurry to get inside.
“You want some breakfast, son?”
Douglas disappeared into his bedroom and slammed his door as an answer.
Obviously trying hard not to react, Margaret busied herself straightening things in the living room. She adjusted the crocheted doilies on the back of the couch, straightened the conglomeration of pictures on the old oak dining table Fred and Phoebe had never once used for a meal, and started on the pile of newspapers at the foot of Fred’s rocking chair.
Fred waved her away and picked up the morning paper as he dropped into his seat. Obviously, Margaret had something on her mind, but it looked like she’d have to let her thoughts stew for a while before she’d tell him what it was.
She moved back to the couch and plumped the cushions—twice.
Fred turned the page and scanned the stories there. “Looks like we’re supposed to have nice weather the rest of the week.”
“Really?” She didn’t look up and she didn’t sound particularly interested. She crossed to Fred’s bookcase and started pushing and pulling books until their spines lined up exactly.
Fred picked up another section of the paper and shook it out. “It says here the Nuggets will probably be going to the playoffs this year.”
She didn’t respond, but made quite a production of dusting the tops of the books.
He let several minutes tick by, waiting for her to speak. But she remained silent, and after what seemed an eternity he couldn’t stand it any longer. “I thought I’d go over and pay my respects to Olivia Simms in a little bit,” he said and watched Margaret over the top of the newspaper, waiting for her inevitable reaction. This time he got what he wanted.
She stopped working and snapped, “Why?”
He shrugged and gave the paper his attention. “There’s been a death in the family. Seems like the decent thing to do.”
She propped herself against the back of the couch and looked at him with narrowed eyes. “How well do you know Olivia?”
“Well enough, I suppose.” He folded the sports section and laid the paper on the floor.
“Well enough to pay her a personal visit?”
“Why not?”
“Because, Dad, you can’t.”
“I don’t see why not.”
“Then let me help you. First, you’re not concerned about Olivia and you don’t want to pay your respects. You just want to worm information out of her. Second—”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“You’re not supposed to do that. You’re supposed to leave everything to Enos.”
“That’s all well and good, but Enos’s son hasn’t been accused of murder.”
“But Enos is a trained law enforcement official—”
“Poppycock.” Fred set the rocker in motion and stared out the window.
“—and he’s warned you once already to stay out of this investigation—”
More than once, but who was counting? “That’s exactly what I’d do if he’d get himself in gear and investigate for himself.”
“He’ll find the murderer, Dad.”
He stopped rocking and locked eyes with her. “When?”
“Soon.”
“Not soon enough. Did you get a good look at your brother? This is destroying him.”
“Maybe so, but you getting involved isn’t going to help him.”
“It’ll help him a damn sight more than sitting here waiting for Enos to get around to it.”
Margaret crossed to him, sat on the ottoman at his feet and took his hands in hers. “Promise me you’ll stay out of it. Don’t go see Olivia.”
“I can’t promise that.”
“Did Douglas ask you to do this?”
“No.”
She looked skeptical. “You swear?”
“Of course.”
“Then let him fight his own battles.”
“This isn’t a battle. This is his life. I’d do the same thing for any of my children.”
Margaret dropped his hands, but left her own, palm down on his knees. “You’ve bailed Douglas out of every scrape he’s ever been in. This is just one more in a long string of rescues.”
He turned away so she couldn’t see the pain her words caused. He knew how troublesome Douglas had been over the years, and he knew how often Phoebe had urged him to step between Douglas and disaster. He’d done it willingly every time, even when he wondered at the wisdom of his actions. But this was different and he could distinguish between the annoyance of boyhood scrapes and the threat of a murder charge, even if Margaret couldn’t.
Pushing himself out of hi
s chair, he took a few steps away. “I didn’t know you felt that way.”
“We all feel that way. Joseph called me just last night—”
“And the two of you decided I shouldn’t help my own son?”
“We didn’t decide anything except that I needed to talk with you. You’re not being rational, Dad. We all want to help Douglas, but investigating Garrett’s murder on your own is ridiculous.”
He snorted and would have protested, but she held up her hand and continued.
“I know. You got involved in the Joan Cavanaugh murder and you came out of it okay. But it was luck. You don’t have the skills or the training—”
“How much skill does it take to ask a few questions?”
“Joseph says you might make matters worse. He thinks you should leave this to professionals.”
Fred thought Joseph had turned into a stuffed shirt, but he didn’t voice his opinion. Maybe Margaret couldn’t see how important this was, but he wasn’t going to sit around and listen to any more. He picked up his jacket and shoved his arms into it.
Margaret stopped. “Where are you going?”
“Out.”
“Out where?”
He shrugged. “The Bluebird, I guess.”
“Not to see Olivia?”
“No.” Not yet anyway. He’d let Margaret calm down a little first, or she’d be over there after him.
Margaret planted her fists on her hips. “What about Douglas?”
With his hand on the knob, he turned to her. “I’m not forgetting him.”
“I can’t stay here with him.”
“I don’t remember asking you to.” He stepped through the door, closed it behind him, and pulled in a deep lungful of air. After walking two blocks he began to feel better, and by the time he reached the Bluebird he’d almost managed to put Margaret’s attitude behind him.