by Sherry Lewis
Fred abandoned his bowl and went to sit on the empty stool beside her. “Mind if I join you?”
She shrugged and exhaled in his direction. “Plenty of room, I guess.”
Albán settled Olivia’s food in front of her, walked back to Fred’s original seat, and returned with his bowl. Criminy! He thought he’d escaped it.
Olivia stubbed out her cigarette and ladled up an oversized spoonful of the stuff. She put the whole thing in her mouth and spoke with her mouth full. “This is wonderful, as usual. When are you going to give me the recipe?”
Albán grinned. “When you learn how to pronounce it.”
She raised her spoon toward Fred. “Great, isn’t it?”
Great—for paint thinner. He moved his head in a way he hoped Albán would take as a nod. It must have worked because Albán pushed through the swinging doors into the kitchen, humming as he walked.
Fred leaned a little closer to Olivia. “I met Roger Franklin the other day,” he said confidentially. “You didn’t mention that Paula was married.”
“Didn’t I? Must be because you didn’t ask.”
“What do you know about her?”
Olivia eyed him for a long moment. “You still playing Sam Space?” She gulped beer from the bottle, ignoring the glass Albán had given her, and used the back of her hand to wipe her mouth.
A real lady.
“What can you tell me about her relationship with Garrett?” Fred asked.
Olivia scooped up another bite of lecsó. “Nothing.”
“How long did they know each other? How long did they see each other before Suzanne came back?”
Olivia shrugged. “Who knows? A few months maybe? Garrett never lasted very long with anybody.”
“Was Paula in love with him? Was she upset when he started seeing Suzanne again?”
“How would I know that? She and I weren’t friends. She didn’t confide in me. Why don’t you ask her all these questions?”
“I will.” Fred promised. He stirred his lecsó, but his lips were still tingling so he didn’t eat any. “I couldn’t help but notice you and Suzanne in the parking lot a few minutes ago.”
Olivia lowered her spoon. “Really?”
“What were you arguing about?”
“For hell’s sake, Fred—”
“You might as well tell me. I’ll ask her, and I know she’ll tell me.”
“What makes you think we were arguing?”
“Oh come oh, Olivia. It would have been obvious to anybody. You’ve never minced words before. Why start now?”
Olivia sighed heavily, but she shrugged and said, “Okay. Fine. We were arguing. But why is none of your damned business.” She tried to look nonchalant, but her eyes flashed and her shoulders tensed, and Fred suspected that if he pushed too hard, she’d walk out on him. But somehow this was all connected to Garrett. He just knew it was. And everything about Garrett was his business as long as Douglas was accused of murder.
“Okay,” he said, holding up both hands in surrender. “Maybe it isn’t any of my business. Maybe you’re right. Sorry I bothered you.”
Her eyes cleared a little and her shoulders straightened as if she’d been vindicated. She spooned a chunk of tomato into her mouth.
“And it might not even come up when I’m talking to Enos,” Fred said, sliding from the stool and straightening his sleeves as if he was about to leave.
Olivia stopped chewing and looked at him warily.
He patted his pockets, pulled out his wallet, and extracted a bill. “He probably won’t even think it’s important—the sister and girlfriend of a murder victim having an argument.”
Olivia carefully placed her spoon on the bar and leaned one elbow on the counter.
“You’re right not to give it a second thought,” Fred said.
She brushed a stray lock of hair away from the corner of her mouth. “Where’d you learn to do that? Your kids must have a hell of a time getting away with anything around you.”
Fred smiled. “Will you tell me about your argument?”
Olivia didn’t speak for what seemed like a very long time. So long, Fred almost gave up hope. But just before he turned away, she cleared her throat and said, “Suzanne called me this afternoon. She asked me to meet her here. I was curious, so I came. When I got here, she was all wigged out about Garrett. She feels responsible for his death.”
Fred’s heart gave a little leap. “Suzanne feels responsible?”
“Yeah. But that’s ridiculous. Like I told her, she can’t blame herself for anything that happened.”
“But why does she feel responsible? Did she say?”
Olivia rolled her eyes and looked away. She picked at the label of her beer bottle for a few seconds before she spoke again. “Because of the whole thing with Doug. She thinks that if Doug hadn’t seen her with Garrett, Garrett might still be alive.”
Fred’s elation faded.
Olivia glanced back at him and flicked pieces of the torn label onto the bar. “You and Maggie are probably the only ones in town who don’t think Doug’s guilty. I feel sort of bad for you, Fred. You guys shouldn’t have to pay the price for his mistakes.”
He opened his mouth to protest Douglas’s innocence, but he stopped himself. He sounded like a broken record lately, and words alone weren’t going to help his son. “Why didn’t you tell me the truth about your relationship with Garrett?”
“Excuse me?”
“Why didn’t you tell me about the hard feelings between you and Garrett over the store?”
“Because there weren’t any.”
“Not even when he cheated you out of your share?”
Olivia pushed her bowl away and lit another of her infernal cigarettes. “Garrett didn’t cheat me out of anything.”
“I heard differently. So what happened?”
“That’s family business,” she said. “Certainly not any of yours.” Her voice sounded calm, but the cigarette trembled slightly in her fingers.
“Why did Garrett end up with the store, a big house, and a pile of money, while you got nothing?”
“I got my share.”
“Oh. So you’re still part owner of the business?”
“No.”
“So Garrett did get it all.”
Olivia took one last pull from her beer bottle and slid off her stool. Dragging a bill out of the pocket of her jeans, she dropped it on the counter beside her empty bowl and headed for the door.
Fred didn’t intend to let her get away so easily. She was hiding something. He was certain of it. He followed her outside, but he stayed behind her as she started through the parking lot. “I figure you just might wind up with a bundle of cash now that Garrett’s gone,” he said. “And for a woman who’s been on the low end of the stick as long as you have, that must look pretty good.”
Olivia didn’t respond.
“I imagine Enos will figure it all out soon enough.”
She started walking faster.
It hurt his knees to do so, but he kept up with her. “I don’t suppose you want to tell me where you were the night he was killed?”
She stopped so suddenly, Fred had to brace himself to keep from plowing into her. “Are you suggesting that I killed him? Shit, Fred, he was my brother.”
“Stranger things have happened,” he pointed out.
“Don’t be stupid!” She took two steps away, changed her mind and whipped around again, her face flushed and angry. “When Garrett bought me out, it was the best thing that ever happened to me. Sure, he ended up with the business, but he deserved it. That worthless sonofabitch I married gambled away everything I owned. Everything! I’d already lost my car, and the bank was ready to foreclose on the house. I know it doesn’t look like much to you, but it’s all I had. Garrett offered to give me the money, but I wouldn’t let him. So he bought me out—gave me cash. If it hadn’t been for him, I’d be on the streets.”
With trembling fingers, she tossed the cigarette to the ground
and smashed it viciously. “You want to help Doug, look somewhere else. But leave me alone.”
This time Fred made no move to stop her when she walked away. Part of him wanted to believe her, but part of him resisted. Olivia had been down for a long time. Garrett might have helped her once, but it hadn’t been enough to lift her to another style of living. And considering the differences in their lifestyles, Fred doubted Garrett’s help equaled Olivia’s half of their father’s estate.
He’d let her cool off a little before he approached her again. In the meantime, maybe he could check with Rusty Kinsella to see if Garrett had kept any personal records at the store. If he could find a record of Garrett’s transaction with Olivia, maybe he could convince Enos how much she had to gain from Garrett’s death.
He turned toward home once more and the weariness he’d felt at the Copper Penny hit him hard. Olivia Simms and Rusty Kinsella. He didn’t want to believe that either of them was guilty of murder. But who else could have done it? Roger Franklin? A definite possibility. Or maybe Paula. He hoped it was one of them. He didn’t like thinking the murderer was someone he’d known for ever. He didn’t like thinking that at all.
TWENTY
Morning sunlight streamed through tree branches as Fred walked slowly along the lake path. He’d gotten a later start on the day than usual, but yesterday had worn him out more than he liked to admit. But nothing, not even tired bones, would keep him away from Garrett’s funeral later that morning.
He planned to get to the church early and find the best seat in the house. He’d watch everybody who came in and study their reactions. Somebody somewhere had killed Garrett, and that person would slip up sometime. Fred wanted to be ready when it happened.
He rounded a curve in the path at the southern tip of the lake and stopped in his tracks. His granddaughter, Alison, sat at the water’s edge, head lowered, shoulders slumped.
“Alison?”
She whipped her head up and surprise flicked across her young features. “Grandpa?”
“What on earth are you doing out here alone?”
She shrugged. “Just thinking.”
“About what?”
“Stuff.”
“Stuff, huh? Stuff like dolls? Or more serious stuff?”
She shrugged again. “Just stuff.”
Gritting his teeth against the stiffness in his knees, Fred hunkered down beside her then gave a little laugh. “Getting down here was probably a foolish thing to do. You might have to help me up.”
Alison tried to smile, but her face wouldn’t cooperate.
That wasn’t like her at all. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”
“Nothing.”
“I might be an old man,” he said gently, “but I can still recognize a sad young girl when I see one.”
She didn’t say anything to that.
“Is it something so bad you can’t even tell Grandpa about it?” He put his fingertips on her chin and tilted her head up until her eyes met his. “I hope nothing’s ever so wrong in your life that you can’t talk to me. Why, helping you figure stuff out is what I’m here for.”
This time she smiled a little. “I’m just confused, Grandpa.”
He stretched out his legs and sat on the cold ground beside her. He’d worry about stiff joints later. “Well, then, maybe I can help.”
She looked out over the lake, but didn’t say anything. Fred forced himself to wait, knowing that if he pushed, she’d probably run off.
After a long time, she sighed and lowered her head again. “Everything’s gone wrong.”
His heart squeezed. “Like what?” She probably meant the divorce and the rift between her parents, but Fred didn’t want to make assumptions.
“Like coming here and leaving all my friends in Seattle. Like living in Aunt Celeste’s yucky old house and going to this dumb old school. Like having my mom go out on dates with men. And having my dad thrown in jail. And listening to my mom say mean things about him all the time.” The words tumbled out of her mouth so fast he suspected they’d been dammed up inside for a long time.
Fred waited until she ran out of steam before asking, “Anything else?”
“Why doesn’t my dad come to see me?” Her voice quivered and tears pooled in her eyes.
Fred didn’t want to create more problems with Suzanne, but lying to his granddaughter wasn’t even a consideration. “Your mother asked him not to.”
“Why?”
“She doesn’t want you to be upset.”
Alison made a derisive noise and looked away. “She doesn’t care if I’m upset.”
Fred put an arm around her shoulder. “Of course she does, sweetheart. You know, the saddest part of growing up is finding out that your parents aren’t perfect. They’re human and they make mistakes—”
“If my dad cared about me, he’d come to see me.”
“It’s not that easy,” Fred said. “He’s respecting your mother’s wishes.”
“If he loved me, he’d come and see me anyway.” Alison jumped up and took a few steps away from him. “He’d find a way, and he wouldn’t care what she said.”
Groaning in spite of his best effort not to, Fred worked his way back to his feet. “When this is over, when Enos finds out who killed Mr. Locke, things will get back to normal.”
The girl met his gaze steadily for half a second before she looked away again. “No they won’t.”
“Okay,” Fred conceded. “Maybe not normal. Your mom and dad might not get back together, but you’ll be able to see your dad again. And after a little while we’ll all get used to way things are. I understand how you feel, sweetheart, but sometimes when parents get divorced, they’re so hurt and angry themselves they don’t realize how bad their kids feel.”
“They know,” Alison shouted. “They both know, but they don’t care. Now my mom’s talking about moving again. And you know what? I don’t care either.”
Fred reached for her, wanting to offer some kind of comfort. “Allison—”
“Don’t!” A sob escaped her and she twisted away from him. “I don’t care. I hate it here.”
Before he could stop her, she ran down the path toward town. He watched her disappear, unable to move quickly enough to catch her, unsure whether he should try even if he could.
She needed attention from her parents. This self-indulgent battle they’d been fighting had to come to an end. No matter what they thought of each other, Douglas and Suzanne had to work together to help Alison before it was too late.
Fred knew Suzanne feared that Douglas’s arrest would create some harmful side-effect for Alison, but the separation from her father was clearly causing Alison some very real damage already. Suzanne needed to learn how to tell the difference between reality and fantasy.
Was she really talking about moving again? What good did she think that would do? She’d run here after the divorce and now, at the first sign of trouble, she wanted to run away again. Well, she couldn’t spend the rest of her life running from her problems, and Fred didn’t want her to teach Alison to do it, either.
Suzanne had to put her grievances with Douglas aside and help her daughter through this. And as Alison’s grandfather, he had to make Suzanne see that.
He turned away on the now empty path and continued his walk. Going back wouldn’t accomplish anything. Alison was far away by now, and if he stopped walking too soon after sitting on the cold ground, he wouldn’t be able to move for days. He had a funeral to go to and a killer to find. He couldn’t afford to be laid up in bed.
Three hours later, Fred shifted the flowers in his hand and stepped carefully between headstones as he made his way down the hill to the place he hated more than any other—Phoebe’s grave. Within that cold earth lay the remains of his beloved. The remains. What an insufficient term.
He forced away the tears that always burned the backs of his eyes when he came here and bent stiffly over the flat headstone to wipe away a couple of moldy leaves from the carved letters.
>
Phoebe Cooper Vickery
1925 – 1991
He came on her birthday every year—September 19. He came on Memorial Day because she’d made him promise once, when they were young and carefree, that he wouldn’t let a year go by without putting flowers on her grave. But that was in the days when neither of them thought they’d ever die. Back when they were immortal. He couldn’t stand to come any more often than that. Phoebe wasn’t here, and he derived no particular comfort from visiting her grave.
But he’d come today because, after seeing Alison at the lake, he’d been overcome by the need to bring Phoebe flowers. He placed them carefully beside her name and pushed against his knees with his palms to straighten his back. He’d have to head over to the church soon, but he still had a few minutes before the funeral.
He grimaced at the flowers he’d brought. They weren’t much, just a couple of carnations he’d found in the cooler at Lacey’s. But Phoebe’d always told him that she’d rather have him give her a scraggly old tulip because he wanted to than a dozen roses because he thought he had to. And she’d meant it.
He cleared his throat and almost turned away, but a gentle breeze shifted along the ground and ruffled the petals of the flowers. And for an instant, he thought he felt Phoebe beside him.
He waited, letting the feeling warm him, wanting it to go on for a while. “We got us a little girl in trouble, sweetheart. And our boy . . . I don’t know. I’m doing my best to get him out of this mess, but I don’t know what to do for Alison. You’d have known though. You always knew.”
He was conscious of how funny he must look, talking to no one, but a quick glance around assured him the cemetery was still empty. So he lingered. But the breeze faded away and left him alone. He didn’t know what he’d expected—maybe some fanciful bit of nonsense like Phoebe sending him a message on the wind. But he didn’t get one. And when a car pulled up in front of the cemetery and the Laceys spilled out of it, he decided he ought to go.
His being here would only ignite Janice’s imagination. She’d whisper to everyone that he was beside himself because of Douglas’s current troubles. That he’d taken to coming to church for comfort in this time of travail. She’d have used that word, too—travail. It was just dramatic enough to suit her.