by Sherry Lewis
Fred looked down at his buttons, matching them to the right buttonholes all the way up. “I don’t plan on getting into any more fights for a while.”
“Better make it for longer than that,” Doc warned.
Fred wasn’t about to make any promises. “I’ll be dipped if I’m going to turn into an old man just because I’m a few years beyond my prime.”
Doc opened his mouth to protest, but the sound of a car approaching stopped him. The car slowed.
Fred tensed and held his breath until he heard it turn into the driveway. “It’s Margaret!”
Without a word, Enos turned and ran heavy-footed down the hallway. Douglas followed, his footsteps light, urgent. Fred shoved his shirt-tail into his pants while Doc threw the rest of his medical equipment into his bag and snapped it shut.
“Where—?”
“Under the bed.” Fred lifted the bedspread for Doc to slide the bag into place. “Get into the kitchen.”
Doc trotted down the hallway and Fred spent a second smoothing his hair in front of the mirror before he followed. Halfway there he heard Margaret’s footsteps on the drive and he quickened his pace.
He pushed open the kitchen door and slipped onto the empty chair, pulling a stack of cards toward him as he settled into place. Douglas had some money in front of him. Three sticks of gum, some loose change, and several bills marked Enos’s spot. Enos shoved a small wad of bills toward Fred and Doc snatched up his own cards just as Margaret opened the back door.
She halted, surveying the room. “What’s this?”
“Just playing cards,” Douglas said.
She stepped inside and pushed the door closed behind her. “Cards? Since when do the four of you play cards?”
“We thought we might give it a try,” Enos said. “You know, a night out with the boys.”
“Really.” She looked deep at him, but he wouldn’t lift his head to meet her gaze.
She paced around the table, stopping behind Fred and looking at his cards. “How long has this been going on?”
Douglas looked up, remarkably innocent. He shrugged, sought confirmation from Enos, and looked back at her. “A couple of hours, maybe.”
“Really.” She took a couple of steps away.
Fred’s heart sank. She didn’t believe them. He studied his cards like he meant business. He held a Jack, a ten, two sevens and a four. Nothing to speak of except the pair of sevens. If he held this hand in a real poker game, he’d get rid of everything but the pair and pray for better luck on the draw.
Margaret took up a place behind Enos. “What did the county attorney say about Celeste?”
Enos put his cards on his lap. “We’ve got a confession, but she made it before I read her the Miranda Act. If they can get her to confess again, we’ll have the case sewn up.”
“And if not?”
“Then we’ll have to prove the case in court—without using a blasted thing she said to us.”
And Fred would have to testify and Margaret would know everything.
She gave Enos an admiring look. “I still can’t figure out how you knew she did it.”
Enos puffed up a little and glanced at Fred with a grin. “Just good old fashioned police work.”
Fred smiled back. “Oh, don’t be so modest, Enos. There wasn’t much to go on. It’d take someone pretty sharp to figure it out with so few clues.”
Douglas started to laugh, but when Margaret eyed him suspiciously he ended with a cough.
Margaret glanced at each of them in turn, her eyes wary, distrusting. Douglas and Enos both looked down and fiddled with their cards. Doc studied his hand and looked confused. Fred smiled at her in his most innocent manner.
She considered him for a moment. “Who’s winning?”
Fred looked at each of their piles of money. “I am.”
“So you’re having a good night? That’s nice. Especially after that fall you took earlier.”
Fred mumbled his agreement at the same time Doc, Enos and Douglas all put in their two cents worth.
“Did you ask Doc if he’d look at those scrapes?”
“No. I didn’t want to bother him—”
“I’ll bet he wouldn’t mind, would you, Doc?” She took a couple of quick steps toward the door. “Do you want me to get your bag out of your car for you?”
Doc shook his head vigorously. “No. He . . . I . . .” He stopped, flushed, and glanced at Fred’s face. “He looks fine.”
“You think so?”
He nodded. “Yes. Fine.”
“Oh.” She stepped away from the door and came closer to the table again. “None of you are drinking anything? That’s funny.”
Douglas scanned the table, then beamed at her. “I just cleaned everything away a few minutes ago.”
“Did you?” She locked her hands behind her back. “Well. Good for you.” She stepped slowly around the table and came to a stop behind Doc. “Who dealt?”
“Douglas,” Doc said.
“Yep, Douglas did it,” Enos agreed.
“I see.” She dragged a kitchen stool into place and perched on top of it. “Mind if I watch for a while?”
Every one of them murmured their assent at the same time.
“Well, then I—” Douglas began, but the ringing of the telephone interrupted.
Margaret was closest, so she snagged the receiver off the wall phone. “Hello?” Her face lit and her eyes danced. “I’m great, how are you? . . . You’re kidding? . . .”
It was Joseph. It had to be. Fred’s heart sank. He didn’t want to deal with Joseph right now.
“Yes . . . Yes . . .” Margaret tilted back her head and laughed like Fred hadn’t heard her do in months.
Maybe it wasn’t Joseph. Joseph was a fine boy, but he didn’t make anyone—not even Margaret—laugh like that. But the only person who did was sitting at the table holding a phony poker hand and watching her with a soft look on his face.
“You’re kidding?” she demanded again. “Yes. Of course. Yes.” She nodded eagerly, as if the caller could see her. But it didn’t matter. Her delight was evident in the sound of her voice. “That would be wonderful. I’ll talk to you Sunday, then. Here he is.”
Without warning, she thrust the receiver at Fred and, almost reflexively, he took it. “Hello?”
“Hello?” the voice on the other end repeated.
“Kenneth?”
“Dad?”
“It’s Kenneth,” he announced to everyone who might not have heard him. “How are you, son? How are Corinne and the kids?”
“We’re all fine, Dad. Corinne sends her love. I know you’re busy, but I need to talk to you about something.”
“Really? What?”
“I heard a vicious rumor earlier today. Thought I’d better call to confirm it.”
Fred’s delight faded a little. “What kind?”
“Well, it’s ridiculous, really. Hardly believable. I heard you were rolling around in the woods with some lady.”
“Now, just a minute. I—” He broke off when he saw Margaret staring at him with narrowed eyes. He cleared his throat and lowered his voice. “Where on earth did you—?”
“Doug called me earlier. He thought I ought to know what kind of behavior you were indulging in.”
“That’s not exactly right,” Fred said, trying to sound casual.
Kenneth laughed. “He said you’d chased this woman all over town just so you could jump her when you got her alone.”
Fred felt himself flush. “Kenneth—”
“He said she’d had the hots for you ever since she came back to town. And that you played hard to get until right at the end.”
“That’s absolutely not true.”
But Kenneth didn’t seem to hear him. “He said. . .” His voice dropped. “He said you saved his life.”
Fred smiled. “I don’t know about that.”
“No, he seemed pretty positive on that point. Are you all right, Dad?”
“I’m fine, s
on.”
“I take it Maggie doesn’t know yet?”
“That’s right.”
“And you really think you can keep it from her?”
“Absolutely.”
“Well, you’re a braver man than I am.” Kenneth laughed again. “You’re sure you’re all right?”
“Positive.”
“This isn’t the kind of thing men your age usually do. You’re aware of that, I suppose.”
“I am.”
“Good. I worry about you, you know. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
“I know.”
“Maggie’s worried about you. She thinks you’re going to hurt yourself.”
“I know that, too.”
“And when Joe heard you were trying to help Doug out, he called us both. Did Maggie tell you?”
“She did.”
“He thinks you’ve slipped off the deep end.”
“Well, I never did like swimming in the kiddie pool.”
Kenneth chuckled. “He wants me to talk some sense into you.”
“I see.”
“I said I’d talk to you.”
Fred didn’t say anything to that, he just waited for Kenneth to go on.
“So, tell me, Dad. Are you going to ever do anything like this again?”
Fred hesitated. He didn’t plan on it, but he couldn’t promise not to. And he didn’t want to actually lie. . . “Not unless it’s absolutely necessary.”
Silence burned up the airwaves while Kenneth digested his answer. “I see.”
He shouldn’t have said that. When it came right down to it, maybe Kenneth wasn’t any different from Joseph at all.
“Well, in that case, I just have one thing to say. . .”
Fred prepared himself for the lecture he felt coming.
“. . . Be careful.”
“What?”
“I said, if you insist on acting like a man half your age, just be careful. Okay?”
Fred grinned. “Okay.”
“And if you ever want a sidekick, call me.”
“I just might take you up on that.”
Kenneth laughed. “I love you, Dad.”
“I love you too, son.”
Fred stretched to hang up the phone and every muscle in his back ached. Struggling to keep his face impassive, he settled back into his chair. Across the table, Enos studied his cards intently. Doc’s confusion seemed to have grown, but Douglas grinned and tapped his cards on the table. “Everybody ready now?”
Fred fanned out his cards. “Kenneth said to tell you hello, Douglas. He said he hoped you were doing as well as the last time you called.”
Douglas’s smile slipped a little.
“He said you were telling him how you wanted to start getting up earlier in the mornings.”
The smile faded altogether. “I . . . uh . . . Yes, I guess I did say that.”
Fred pulled out all the cards except the sevens and dropped them on the table. “Maybe you’d like to go out with me tomorrow for my morning constitutional. It’ll get you up early, get your blood pumping, start the day out right—”
Douglas shrugged. “Sure. If you want.”
Enos pulled two cards from his hand and added them to the pile. “How about we get this show on the road?”
Douglas perked up. “Good idea. I mean, are we going to talk all night, or are we here to play cards?” He discarded one card and smiled up at Fred.
Margaret leaned forward and studied his cards for a couple of seconds. But when she couldn’t find anything wrong, she leaned back again. “Who did you say dealt?” she asked.
“Douglas,” Fred said confidently. “So you’re first Doc.”
Doc smoothed the wrinkles of confusion from his brow when he looked up, but they fell into place again immediately. He looked back down at his cards. “Okay,” he said.
They’d done it! They were going to pull it off. She’d never know. . .
Doc closed his hand, fanned it out again, and studied it for a moment longer. “Okay, Fred,” he said at last. “Give me all your threes.”
# # #
No Place for Death
A FAMILY FEUD
There had obviously been trouble between Adam and Nancy before, but Fred thought Adam acted like a man enraged over something new. Old anger looked different. Old arguments had a weary sound, but Adam’s words had held the edge of fresh pain.
Even so, Fred didn’t think Nancy had been surprised by them. Whatever had pushed Adam over the edge tonight, Nancy knew about it—Fred would have bet money on it.
He let himself out the back door and followed the uneven sidewalk to the gravel drive. He had a long trip home, and it would be dark in another hour. As he cranked the engine of his Buick to life, he glanced at Harriet and Porter’s house again. It looked different now. It was a house of anger. A house divided. And he knew from long experience that what the Bible said was true—a house divided could not stand.
All rights reserved
Copyright © 1996 by Sherry Lewis
http://www.sherrylewisbooks.com
This book may not be reproduced, in whole or in part,
by any means, without permission.
Publishing History:
Berkley Prime Crime edition, July 1996
Sherry Lewis Kindle edition, August 2015
For Gordon
This one’s for you.
Keep looking forward—
That’s where the adventure lies
ONE
Pleasantly full after a great meal, Fred Vickery followed his brother-in-law, Porter Jorgensen, from the Jorgensens’ kitchen into the living room. In the nearly fifty years since they’d each married out of T.S. Cooper’ daughters, they’d done this hundreds of times—a big meal in the kitchen, after which the men were shooed into the living room where he and Porter saved the world (in theory) while Phoebe and Harriet chatted and cleared the table.
In the early years, Fred had often tried to help but Phoebe had always sent him away. He’d finally given up after she explained it was her only chance to spend time alone with her sister and that the dishes provided a convenient excuse.
An air conditioner unit in one window churned out cold air and a fan whirred softly on the other side of the room, trying to take the edge off the hot August evening. Fred settled into an easy chair and listened to the clatter of silverware, the rush of water, and the low murmur of conversation in the kitchen. If he closed his eyes, he could almost believe nothing had changed. But the kids were all grown and out on their own now—except Douglas, who’d moved back home in the spring—and Phoebe was gone. Had been for nearly three years now. Fred had grown used to living without her—almost. But times like this brought the pain back so sharply, Fred wondered if he’d ever truly adjust.
The past three years he’d avoided Phoebe’s family almost entirely—four sisters, all too much like Phoebe in one way or another, one brother, and too many children among them all to keep an accurate count. Porter and Harriet lived closest to Fred, and he’d missed the times they used to spend together. So when Harriet called last Sunday with this invitation to dinner, he’d convinced himself he’d healed enough to make it through the evening without trouble.
He’d been wrong.
Stifling a groan, he patted his stomach and forced a smile. “Harriet sure hasn’t lose her touch with a meal.”
Porter grinned and dropped heavily into his easy chair. “Nope, I’ll say that for her. She’s still one of the best cooks in the county.” His ample frame provided silent proof of his words. His snow-white hair, once nearly jet-black, testified to how many years he’d been enjoying Harriet’s efforts in the kitchen.
He picked up the remote control from the TV tray beside him and almost instantly a picture popped onto the screen. With a satisfied grunt, he settled back in his chair as if he’d been watching the blasted thing all evening.
From the kitchen, a burst of laughter erupted and Fred’s heart twisted. But it wasn
’t Phoebe’s laugh. Tonight, Harriet and Nancy Bigelow, the Jorgensens’ youngest child, had joined forces and kicked the men out of the kitchen. The laughter drifted away, then erupted again before facing into muted conversation. Nancy’s voice blended with Harriet’s like Phoebe’s had. Both voices were soft and melodious. Both a little husky. Both pleasant and soothing.
Fred leaned his head against the chair and tried to push away the longing for the life he’d never get back. He’d had forty-seven years with Phoebe. Many people didn’t get that much time together. This year they’d have celebrated their golden anniversary, but no matter how much he longed for the past, he couldn’t bring Phoebe back. All he had was the here and now. He wanted to make the best of it.
Tonight he’d shared some pleasant company and had eaten a good meal for the first time in years. Obviously, Harriet and Phoebe had learned to cook from the same teacher. His daughter Margaret had cooked that well once, but lately she’d let her fear of fat grams and cholesterol chase all the taste from her food. The only flavor he got these days was what he snuck into his own recipes.
Cutting a glance toward the kitchen he said, “It’s good to see Nancy again. I didn’t expect her to be here.”
Porter grunted again and wiped a trickle of sweat from his temple. “We all thought Douglas would come with you, and she was looking forward to seeing him again.”
“I passed along the invitation,” Fred said, “but I can’t predict what Douglas will do now any better than I could when he was a boy.”
Porter nodded, no doubt remembering the younger Douglas and his tendency to leap from one interest to another without warning. “Did you say he’s working now?”
Fred’s mouth tightened into a frown. “He’s still looking.”
With an expression full of understanding, Porter leaned back in his chair. “If it’s not one thing it’s another, isn’t it?” He shot a quick glance at the kitchen door. “Nancy’s been on my mind a lot lately. She comes by more than she ought to, but that husband if hers spends all his time working, so she’d be alone if she didn’t spent time with us.”