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

by Sherry Lewis

  “For Pete’s sake, what’s gotten into this family? I suggested that you lie down because you’ve been locked up in jail, and you act like I’m trying to pull something on you. And you—” he turned to Margaret. “—I don’t know why you’ve been acting the way you have, but I’m warning you this constant bickering has got to stop. I won’t tolerate another minute of it in my house.”

  Douglas jumped up and faced him, but Margaret stepped in front of her brother. “Now look what you’ve done. You know Dad’s not supposed to get upset. You know—”

  “You act like I’m the only one upsetting him,” Douglas shouted. “Why don’t you get off my back and look what you’re doing to him?”

  “That’s it—pass the blame on to somebody else, just like you’ve always done.”

  “The blame for what? Upsetting Dad? I’m not the one who’s charging around here acting holier-than-thou—”

  “—so now it’s all my fault?” Margaret’s face turned a dangerous shade of red.

  Douglas pushed his fingers through his hair and leaned over his sister. “I won’t take the blame for something I didn’t do—”

  “Margaret. Douglas. That’s enough.”

  “—nothing but trouble ever since you came back home. And poor Dad—”

  Had they even heard a word he said?

  “Dad’s upset because somebody murdered Garrett. Well, it wasn’t me. Or are you going to blame me for that, too?”

  Fred walked slowly to the table and picked up his keys. He wanted Phoebe here. She would have known what to do. She’d have known what to say that would calm them both down and restore harmony.

  “There you go, twisting everything around just like you always do.”

  Forcing his aching knees to turn him, Fred faced his children. “Stop!” he thundered in a voice he hadn’t used with any of his children for a good twenty years. They both stopped speaking and turned toward him, eyes wide. Well, well, well. Look at that. It worked.

  “Both of you listen to me. I don’t understand what’s going on here, and I don’t know that I want to. But I’ll tell you this just once more—I won’t tolerate this sort of behavior in my house. Do you understand?”

  Margaret nodded. Douglas shoved his fingers through his hair again and let his shoulders sag.

  “I’m going out for a little while. Douglas, you stay here.”

  Douglas nodded.

  “I mean it. You step one foot outside this house and I’ll let Enos take you back to jail. I won’t put up with you hot-footing it all over town. You got that?”

  Douglas nodded again.

  “Margaret, come with me.” Fred started toward the door.

  “Where?”

  “To see Olivia Simms.”

  SIXTEEN

  “Olivia?”

  Fred stopped and faced Margaret with his hand on the doorknob. “Yes, Olivia. Whether you like it or not, I’m going to talk with her. She likes you, and I figure I can use your help.” Margaret would argue with him, of course, and he steeled himself for it.

  But to his surprise, she said, “What about Webb?”

  “Tell him to add a little mayonnaise to some tuna and put it on bread. It’s not that difficult. I’ll wait for you in the car.” He opened the door and nearly stepped outside, but instead looked back over his shoulder to make sure she wouldn’t launch into the argument with Douglas when they were alone.

  He was pleased to see that Douglas had already started toward his bedroom and Margaret had the receiver in her hand.

  Less than five minutes later, she slid into the front seat beside him and strapped herself in with the seat belt. She didn’t look happy, but she didn’t speak until long after they’d left Cutler’s city limits and he didn’t push her.

  Granby was less than fifteen miles away. In bad weather, the drive on the narrow, winding highway could be treacherous, but on a good day like today they had an easy drive. Fred let a little air in through an open window and looked at the remains of snow in the shadows of the trees, wondering how many weeks it would be before it all melted.

  “Dad? I’m sorry. About arguing with Douglas, I mean.”

  He saw no need to carry on about it, so he merely nodded.

  She stared out the window and sighed, several for several more minutes before she spoke again. “Sometimes I wonder why the boys all left Cutler.”

  “They had their careers,” Fred said. “A small town doesn’t offer the same opportunities a city does. But their personalities had a lot to do with it, too. Joseph would have been miserable here. You know Jeffrey—he could survive anywhere, but he’s happier away.” He slid a look at her and smiled. “Douglas would have gone crazy.”

  “I’m not sorry I stayed,” Margaret said softly. “I wouldn’t give up the years I had with you and Mom for anything, but sometimes I resent it when the boys come back home. Every time I talk to Joseph, he tells me everything I’ve done wrong and what changes I should make—how I should treat you, what I should have done for Mom.” She put her chin in her hand. “Now all of a sudden Douglas quits another job and shows up on your doorstep expecting to be treated like the prodigal son. And all he does is make trouble for everybody.”

  “Douglas didn’t make the trouble,” Fred pointed out.

  “If he hadn’t argued with Garrett over Suzanne, nobody would have accused him of murder.”

  “But he didn’t commit the murder.”

  Weariness seemed to settle over her. “I know. I’m not saying he did.” She shifted in her seat until she faced him. “I’m so angry with him I can hardly think straight, and I’m not even sure why.”

  Fred patted her knee but didn’t bother offering meaningless platitudes. If she’d been content in her own life she wouldn’t have felt this way. Her anger at Douglas—at all her brothers—was a symptom of her own unhappiness.

  She touched his hand and sighed deeply. “Maybe I’m just tired of having to be everybody’s mother. Ever since Mom died it seems like I have to take care of everyone.”

  “Well you can stop mothering me.”

  She hesitated only a second before she laughed.

  “I’m serious, Margaret. I don’t need you to take care of me and neither do the boys. You’ve got enough on your plate without taking on extra.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t—”

  “Don’t tell me that’s not what you mean,” Fred interrupted. He decreased the speed of the car as they entered Granby’s city limits. “We never talk about your marriage, but I know there are times when you’re unhappy.”

  She didn’t answer, but he didn’t expect her to. She rarely discussed Webb with him.

  “I just wish you could have found the kind of partner I found in your mother.”

  “You and Mom were special. Not many people have the kind of marriage you had.”

  He waited for a white pickup to pass before he turned left onto sycamore. “Well, you’re right about that. But good marriages are possible.”

  She turned away again and straightened her shoulders, studying the houses as he drove slowly down the narrow street. When she spoke again her voice was all business. “Olivia’s place is about two blocks east, but I still think you’re making a mistake coming to see her.”

  “I’d be making a mistake if I didn’t.”

  “Enos is going to have your hide.”

  He nodded his agreement. “I know it. But I can’t worry about what Enos thinks. Douglas is my first concern.”

  They drove the rest of the way in silence, not breaking it even as Fred pulled up in front of Olivia’s small frame house. It hadn’t been painted in a while, and the yard looked in need of attention. In front, a patchy winter-brown lawn straggled across a plot of dirt enclosed within a sagging chain-link fence. A blue Toyota shared the driveway with an orange Pinto station wagon that didn’t look road worthy. When Dan Simms bailed out on Olivia last year, he obviously hadn’t left her with much.

  Olivia answered the door almost immediately,
and Fred suspected she’d been watching as they arrived. She wore faded jeans, battered tennis shoes, and a T-shirt with wording that had long since worn away. Of medium height with a medium build and medium coloring, Olivia wouldn’t stand out in a crowd. But let her open her mouth and you’d never forget her.

  “What do you want?” Her voice was husky, as if she’d smoked too many cigarettes or shouted too much.

  Fred took a step toward the open door, hoping to finagle his way inside. “We came by to pay our respects.”

  Olivia blocked him. “Well that’s kind of you, but I’m not up to having company just now.” She never had been one to beat around the bush.

  Fred decided on a more direct approach. “I know it’s probably not a good time, but I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

  “Questions?” She looked from him to Margaret and back. “What kinds of questions? And who said you could ask questions in the first place?”

  “As far as I know, there’s no law against talking,” Fred said. “You know they arrested my son Douglas.”

  “Yeah. So?”

  “So I need to prove that Douglas didn’t kill your brother.”

  Olivia barked a laugh. “How are you going to do that?”

  “That’s what I’m hoping you can help me with.”

  “Why would I help you? As far as I’m concerned, they’ve caught my brother’s killer. You want my honest opinion? I’m disgusted they let Doug out on bail. Everybody remembers how much he and Garrett hated each other, and obviously nothing’s changed.”

  If Fred kept running into that attitude, Douglas wouldn’t stand a chance.

  Olivia stepped back and would have shut the door, but Margaret pushed her way forward and held it open. “Olivia, please—”

  “I have nothing more to say.” Olivia tried again to shut the door, but Margaret still didn’t budge.

  “Just let us talk with you for a minute. We know how it must look to you, but Douglas didn’t kill Garrett, and you’re our only hope of proving that.”

  Fred groaned inwardly. Margaret shouldn’t have said that. He didn’t want to give Olivia that kind of power against them.

  But to his surprise, Olivia actually looked interested. She surprised him again when she gave an elaborate shrug and moved away from the door. “I guess it can’t hurt.”

  Making a mental note not to question Margaret’s tactics, Fred followed Olivia into a narrow living room with inadequate lighting. He perched on the edge of a gold and green crushed velvet sofa, probably left over from the early seventies. Margaret settled herself beside him and Olivia chose a blue leather recliner close to her ashtray and cigarettes. The room smelled of stale tobacco smoke and something else he couldn’t immediately identify.

  Olivia pulled a cigarette from the pack and dragged deeply as she lit it. “So what did you want to ask me?”

  Fred resisted the urge to wave away the smoke she blew toward him. “Tell me how you and Garrett got along.”

  She blew smoke from her nostrils and narrowed her eyes. “Why?”

  Margaret nudged him with an elbow. “What he means is, were you close? Close enough to know if anyone was angry with him?”

  “Angry enough to kill him? Besides Doug?” Olivia took another deep drag and shook her head. “No one.”

  “So you were close?” Fred asked. “You would have known if Garrett had any enemies?”

  “Yes.”

  Well that told him a lot. “What did you think of him dating Suzanne again?”

  That question seemed to surprise Olivia. “What should I think? Why do you even ask that?”

  Fred shrugged lightly. “I heard that you weren’t happy about it.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “Does it matter? My source told me said they’d heard it from someone else.”

  Olivia snorted a laugh. “Your source. That’s cute, Fred.” She settled back into her chair and studied the ceiling.

  Fred waited patiently for a few seconds, until it became clear to him that she wasn’t going to say anything else. “Look here, Olivia—” he began.

  Margaret put a restraining hand on his arm and leaned forward slightly. “After everything that happened in high school between the three of them, I wouldn’t have blamed you if you were upset.”

  Olivia crossed her legs and smiled. “You want to know the truth? I couldn’t have cared less who Garrett was dating. He was a grown man. He didn’t need me to approve or disapprove of the women in his life.”

  “So it didn’t bother you that Suzanne and Garrett were back together?” Fred asked.

  “No. But I’m not even sure they were ‘back together.’ I know they saw each other a couple of times, and I think Garrett wanted something to come of it, but I’m not sure Suzanne was as gung ho as he was. He probably would have been able to talk her into it eventually. He usually got what he wanted.”

  Fred thought he heard a tinge of bitterness in her voice, but before he could follow up, Margaret sighed and nodded and made some sympathetic noises, all of which seemed to please Olivia. And since Margaret had been more successful with Olivia than he’d been, he sat back and let her take over.

  “That’s probably why he and Douglas never got along,” she said softly. “Douglas is exactly the same way. But I thought Suzanne was interested. She certainly seemed to be to me.”

  Olivia shook her head and rolled her eyes. “I didn’t say she wasn’t interested. I said she wasn’t as interested as Garrett. But when it comes right down to it, Suzanne would have been a lot better for him than that Paula ever was. I wasn’t sorry he gave her the brush-off when Suzanne came around.”

  That brought Fred straight up in his seat. “Paula who?”

  Olivia looked uncertain for half a second then shrugged. “Guess it doesn’t matter if I say. Paula Franklin, from down in Winter Park. You might not know her. She hasn’t lived up here long.”

  Paula Franklin. The name didn’t sound familiar to Fred, but he’d find her soon enough. A second love interest might bear looking into.

  Margaret led the conversation off track, discussing funeral arrangements, flowers and the after-service family meal, which seemed a moot point since Olivia was all the family Garrett had.

  He let them wander for a few minutes, but when they didn’t get back to business he said, “Do you know what you’re going to do with the store?”

  Olivia blinked her surprise. “The store? I don’t think that will be up to me.”

  “Oh? I thought maybe you’d inherit from him.”

  Olivia crushed out one cigarette and immediately lit up another. Her brows knit in concentration and her forehead furrowed. “I assume everything will go to Jenny, but I guess we’ll find out after she and her mother get here, won’t we?”

  She must be talking about Garrett’s daughter. Fred had almost forgotten he’d had a child.

  “I didn’t realize Yvonne would come back for the funeral,” Margaret said. “After the divorce and all, I just thought she’d skip it.”

  Olivia waved her cigarette in the air and sent smoke drifting toward them. “I don’t think she wants to, but he was Jenny’s father, after all.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “I’d do the same thing if I had kids and Dan keeled over,” Olivia said. “I’d lug them to the funeral, let them say good-bye, see if the no-good bum left them anything. Wouldn’t you?”

  Margaret nodded slowly. “Yes, I guess I would. And it will be good to see Yvonne again. I always liked her.”

  Surprisingly, Olivia’s face softened. “So did I. Sorriest thing that ever happened to Garrett was when she left him. He brought it all on himself—I’m not excusing him for one minute—but I don’t think he ever really got over her.” Without warning, her face crumpled and tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. She stabbed out her cigarette and buried her face in her hands, giving reign to her grief.

  Margaret crossed to her and perched on the arm of her chair. She wrapped her arms around O
livia’s shaking shoulders and murmured soothing words. Fred was awfully glad he’d brought Margaret with him. If he’d been here alone, the job would have fallen to him.

  The two women sat like that for a while, Olivia sobbing and Margaret consoling, until at last Olivia lifted her tear-streaked face. Anguish contorted her features and she wailed, “Oh, Maggie, I just can’t believe he’s gone.”

  Fred couldn’t do anything but watch, helpless and uncertain. He’d been convinced he’d find answers here. Instead, he’d found more confusion. Even stretching his imagination to its limit, he couldn’t picture Olivia as Garrett’s killer.

  Every turn he took led to a dead end and all the trails he’d explored led right back to Douglas. But he absolutely refused to believe that his son was a killer. There had to be proof of Douglas’s innocence. He just had to keep digging until he found it.

  SEVENTEEN

  The next morning Fred pushed the shovel into the soft earth beneath Phoebe’s lilac bush in the corner of the yard. He turned the soil the way he always had every spring—and he missed his wife.

  Each year, the pain in his soul diminished a little more. Each season passed easier than the last. But with spring, Phoebe’s memory always returned sharply, probably because it had been her favorite season. Everything about it made him think of her—the texture of the air, the spongy soil underfoot, the first blossoms in the garden, and especially the lilacs.

  He mopped his brow with the sleeve of his light jacket and watched Douglas on his hands and knees pulling dead weeds from between the bleeding hearts near the front walk. It was hard now for Fred to do the low work. His knees bothered him too much. A morning spent weeding could make him ache for a week afterward. Last year his grandson Benjamin had helped out. This year, the basketball team claimed too much of Benjamin’s attention.

  Fred was glad of Douglas’s company this morning, but he was also aware that half the reason he found such pleasure in it this morning was because Douglas’s mood suited his own. Margaret had been a great help during his visit to Olivia Simms yesterday, but by this morning she’d have regained her equilibrium. She’d be ready to fight him on the subject of a visit to Paula Franklin, of that Fred had no doubt. But when she dropped by and found him innocently working in the yard, she’d relax, leaving him free to slip away later and drive down to Winter Park.