by Sherry Lewis
As he cranked the engine of his Buick, he glanced once more at Harriet and Porter’s house. It looked different to him now. It was a house of anger. A house divided. And he knew from experience that what the Bible said was true—a house divided could not stand.
When the telephone rang at nearly ten o’clock that night, Fred dropped the Denver Post onto the floor beside his rocking chair and pushed to his feet. It had to be Margaret calling to check on him. She was the only person he knew who’d call this late.
He crossed the room and caught up the receiver on the fourth ring, barking a gruff, “Hello?” as he answered.
“Fred? Did I wake you?” Even across the wire, Harriet’s voice sounded unsteady.
Surprised to hear his sister-in-law’s shaky voice, Fred clutched the receiver tightly. “Harriet? What’s wrong?”
“Oh Fred,” she wailed, and for several seconds the only sound he could hear was her muffled crying.
She’d called for sympathy, he decided. To talk to him about the argument the way she used to call Phoebe. Of all Phoebe’s sisters, Harriet most often asked for a listening ear or a shoulder to cry on. Fred knew that about her, but he wasn’t comfortable providing the ear tonight. That had been Phoebe’s area of expertise.
He had to say something, so he asked, “Are you all right?” even though the answer was obvious.
Harriet sniffed loudly and pulled herself together enough to cry, “Oh, Fred. What am I going to do?”
Fred didn’t want to get involved in the Jorgensens’ family issues. He’d told Phoebe a thousand times that nothing good ever came of getting in the middle of a family squabble—especially someone else’s family. He opened his mouth to tell Harriet so, but the image of her face, swollen and tearful and so like Phoebe’s in distress, flashed though his mind and the words wouldn’t come. He could only say, “What’s wrong?”
“Porter and I had the most dreadful argument,” Harriet cried. “He took off out of here in a rage and I’m afraid he’ll do something stupid.”
A valid concern, in Fred’s opinion. Being married to Porter probably gave Harriet more than her share of reasons to need a listening ear. Porter tended to get worked up fast and cool down slow, and Fred didn’t like the idea of Porter in a temper roaming the countryside any more than Harriet did. “Do you have any idea where he’s gone?”
“No. He’s in one of his moods—you know how he gets. He said he wasn’t going to stay here and be insulted, and he left.”
“What did you say that made him think he was being insulted?”
“I didn’t say anything insulting,” Harriet snapped. “You know me better than that.”
Fred knew her, all right, but he didn’t correct her.
“All I said was that he’d been a darned fool to step in between Nancy and Adam. You know as well as I do, Fred, those two could have worked things out if Porter hadn’t stuck his big nose in where it didn’t belong.”
Fred wasn’t so sure. There was something seriously wrong between Adam and Nancy. But he was smart enough not to correct her on that point, either.
“Porter does the same thing with the boys,” Harriet fumed. “He’s never learned to let go. Still thinks he needs to call all the shots. But he’s much worse with Nancy.”
Fred knew she was right. He’d seen Porter meddle plenty of times over the years. But it didn’t seem right to listen while Harriet gave him an inventory of Porter’s weaknesses. “Well, you know how it is with fathers and daughters.”
“I know how it ought to be. Especially after the daughter’s all grown up. Did you ever see anything so ridiculous as that old fool starting a fist fight with a man half his age?”
Fred couldn’t see what age had to do with anything. “Well, now—” he began.
But Harriet was too worked up to listen. “What earthly good did he think interfering would do? That’s what I want to know. Did he think he could force Adam and Nancy to stay together? I’m telling you, he should have kept his nose out of it.”
Fred took a deep breath and tried to inject a note of reason. “I don’t think the idea of a divorce was what really set him off.”
Harriet kept right on as if he hadn’t spoken. “No! The silly old fool had to punch his son-in-law right in the nose and then kick him out of the house. I can’t even imagine what’s going to happen now. And to make matters worse, I just tried to call Nancy, but she’s not home. I have no idea where she is, either. Have you heard from her?”
“Me? No. Why should I?”
“Well, you were here this evening. You saw everything that happened. I thought she might stop by to talk to you.”
Fred hoped she wouldn’t. He was already more involved in this family argument than he wanted to be. “She’s probably at home but not answering the telephone,” he suggested.
Harriet sniffed her disapproval. “She’d be a fool to go home tonight.”
“Well, maybe,” Fred hedged. “But if she thinks her marriage is in serious trouble—”
“It’s not in serious trouble. At least it wasn’t before her father got involved.” Harriet’s footsteps shuffled across her kitchen floor and the sound carried through the wire. Pacing. “Tell me, Fred, what makes a man act like that?”
After over forty years of marriage, Fred would have thought she’d be used to Porter and his ways. Even he knew Porter well enough to not be surprised by tonight’s events.
“You wouldn’t have done anything so foolish.” Harriet said.
“Well, you never know. I might have.”
“Nonsense. You’re too level-headed.”
He grinned and wondered what Margaret would think if she heard that. Harriet certainly knew how to swing support in her favor, he’d grant her that.
She sighed softly. “I hope Nancy’s all right.”
“I’m sure she is.”
“You don’t think Adam would hit her again—?” She hesitated, then stated more firmly, “No, I’m sure she’ll be fine. Won’t she?”
“Of course she will,” Fred assured her. “There’s nothing to worry about.”
“I hope you’re right.” Harriet’s tone begged reassurance, but Fred was beginning to see that nothing he could say would provide it. In a minute, she’d start rehashing, but Fred had no intention of going through it all again. “No doubt you’ll hear from her in the morning,” he said.
Harriet dragged in a deep breath. He could picture her standing in her big old kitchen with her robe drawn up to her chin and a hairnet covering her faded blonde curls. She’d be staring out the kitchen window into the side yard as if she could see something that would help. “I can’t believe this,” she said. “I don’t know what’s happening to this family lately.”
“Same thing that’s happening to all of our families,” Fred said. “Kids grow up. Personalities clash. It happens.”
“But Nancy’s been acting different lately, and tonight—” she broke off as if she couldn’t stand to go on.
He tried using his most reassuring voice. “I’m sure you’ll hear from her as soon as she and Adam work everything out.” He hoped he sounded more convinced than he felt.
“If that darned fool husband of mine keeps his nose out of their business, they might,” Harriet snapped, but at least she sounded a little less shaky. She drew in a steadying breath. “Well, I suppose I ought to let you get to bed, but thanks for the listening ear, Fred.”
“Promise me you’ll go upstairs and get some sleep yourself.”
“I will,” she vowed.
But he didn’t believe her. Still, she did sound grateful and reassured, and it hadn’t required much from him after all. Feeling suddenly generous, he said, “Call if you need anything else.”
Smiling, he replaced the receiver and snapped off the living room light. And he told himself there was nothing to worry about. By morning, everything would be fine.
Early the next morning, Fred pulled open the kitchen blinds to let in the morning light and shoved the coffee pot un
der the cold water tap. He had a lot to do today—his morning constitutional around Spirit Lake, a tune-up and oil change on his car, and an overdue visit to his grand-daughter Alison.
He worked to separate a coffee filter from the stack in the box, but his fingers wouldn’t perform this morning. Blasted arthritis. Dragging in a breath, he battled the filter again. He didn’t understand why somebody couldn’t make the silly things so they’d come apart easier.
The telephone’s ring broke the early morning silence, startling him into dropping the whole stack on the floor. Irritated, he glanced at the clock on the wall and noted that it was a little before eight—a bit early for a social call.
Stooping slowly, stiff-kneed, he picked up the filters as the telephone rang again. It must be Margaret, but why would she call this early? She didn’t usually check on him before she got the kids off to school.
From down the hall, he heard his son Douglas stumble around in his bedroom. Earlier than usual for Douglas to get up, too. Fred straightened, hating how slowly he moved, tossed the filters onto the table and snagged the receiver from the hook.
Before he could even say hello, he heard the sound of hysterical sobbing and a few incoherent words. “Harriet? Is that you?”
She stopped wailing long enough to croak, “Fred? Have you seen Nancy?” Then she broke down again.
He felt a twinge of sympathy for Harriet and a surge of anger toward his niece for not letting her mother know where she’d gone after the scene last night. “No. She hasn’t called?”
Fred could hear Porter talking in the background, but he couldn’t make out a word. At least he’d gone home so Harriet wasn’t alone.
“We were hoping maybe she’d gotten in touch with you,” Harriet said. She made a few attempts to quiet Porter, then pulled in a ragged breath. “Listen, Fred. We’ve got to find her—immediately!”
“Why? What’s happened?” Probably nothing, he told himself. This was most likely the result of a sleepless night and an overactive imagination. He waited patiently while Porter rumbled in the background again and Harriet pulled herself together.
“A couple of deputies from the sheriff’s office were just here,” she said at last. “Oh, Fred, I still can’t believe it.”
“What happened? Did Porter punch Adam in the nose again?”
She didn’t laugh. “No. Adam’s been shot.”
Shot? Fred’s pulse beat an uneven rhythm. “How bad is he hurt?”
A pause, then she said in a too-quiet voice, “He’s dead.”
Fred dropped onto a kitchen chair and struggled to draw his next breath. “What happened?”
“Somebody shot him in the back of the head,” Harriet cried. “One of the people he works with at EnviroSampl found him at his desk when they opened the office this morning.”
Fred’s stomach tied itself into a painful knot. “Do they know who did it?”
“No.”
“Any suspects?”
“They’re looking for Nancy, that’s all I know.”
Fred’s fingers numbed and his blood ran cold. “Surely they don’t think Nancy did it?” She might be young and spirited and occasionally unwise, but Nancy wouldn’t purposely hurt another living soul.
“No! Of course not. But I don’t know where she is! What if something’s happened to her?”
Fred’s kitchen door bounced open. Startled, he twisted toward it and found Douglas standing there. His dark hair tufted all around his head, and his lean face looked puffy from sleep. He scowled at the telephone for waking him and shuffled toward the coffeepot.
When he saw the pot empty and the filters on the table, he set about making it himself. Good. Fred could sure use a cup.
He gave Douglas a weary smile and turned his attention back to Harriet. “I guess Enos has already checked Nancy’s house?”
“Of course he has,” Harriet snapped. “But she’s not there and I’m worried sick that something’s happened to her.”
Porter must have moved closer to the telephone because his voice rumbled, “—told you a dozen times already, Harriet—”, before he faded out again.
Porter didn’t sound worried, and neither was Fred. Not about Nancy’s safety, anyway. He couldn’t let himself seriously consider the possibility that she’d been killed. No, he worried that with Adam dead and Nancy nowhere to be found, people would begin to speculate about her part in it.
Douglas ran his fingers through his hair and leaned one hip against the counter, obviously interested in Fred’s conversation.
“If you hear anything, you’ll let us know, won’t you?” Harriet pleaded.
“Of course,” Fred promised. “And don’t worry. I’m sure she’s fine.”
“She has to be, Fred. I don’t know what I’ll do if anything’s happened to her.”
The telephone changed hands and a second later Porter’s voice boomed at him. “Sorry to bother you, Fred. You’ll let us know?”
“Of course,” he promised again.
“This is the damnedest thing.”
Fred couldn’t argue with that. “Is Harriet all right?”
This time Porter lowered his voice. “She’s nervous as a cat, but she’ll be all right once we find Nancy.”
“Keep me posted.”
“You bet. And Fred? Thanks for everything.”
When Porter disconnected, Fred replaced the receiver slowly and turned toward Douglas’s curious stare.
The boy paused in the act of spooning sugar into a mug. “What’s up?”
“Nancy’s husband’s been murdered.”
Douglas let the spoon clatter against the ceramic. “No kidding? Adam? Why would anybody want to kill him? He’s about the most harmless man on earth.”
Before last night, Fred would have agreed with Douglas, but the angry Adam he’d seen last night had been like a different person.
At thirty-seven, Douglas was the closest in age to Nancy and Adam of any of Fred’s kids, and the news of Adam’s tragic death had obviously rattled him. He shook his head slowly, trying to make sense of it. “Adam’s a great guy. Everybody likes him.”
Obviously, someone didn’t like him, but Fred didn’t point that out. Instead, he said, “Enos will find whoever did it.” And he tried to believe it.
Fred trusted Enos Asay. Absolutely. He was as good a sheriff as they’d had in Cutler in the past forty years. But he did have an annoying blind spot that kept him from seeing the truth at times. Because of it, he’d arrested Douglas for murder a few months ago, and Fred couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that he might do something equally misguided in this case.
Douglas dropped two slices of bread into the toaster and started rummaging through the refrigerator. “Did Uncle Porter or Aunt Harriet say anything about Adam at dinner last night?”
“No, but he stopped by for a minute after.”
Douglas found the tub of margarine and straightened. “How did he look? Okay? Upset? Frightened?”
“Angry.” Fred tried to ignore a rising sense of dread. Surely Enos had enough common sense not to suspect Nancy. Didn’t he?
“About what? Work?”
Fred wished that were the case. “At Nancy.”
Douglas frowned and Fred could see the boy reaching the same conclusions he’d drawn himself. When the toast popped up, Douglas buttered it generously and ate it in speculative silence.
Fred poured a cup of coffee to soothe his nerves, but snatches of the argument at Harriet and Porter’s echoed through his mind and the image of Adam’s angry face refused to fade.
At last, unable to fight it any longer, he dumped the rest of his coffee into the sink and rinsed his cup.
Douglas frowned up at him. “Where are you going?”
“The sheriff’s office.”
“Why?”
“I was one of the last people to see Adam alive. I might have information they need.”
Douglas looked skeptical.
“I have a civic duty to report everything I know to th
e authorities,” Fred argued as he crossed to the back door. And he had a personal duty to set his mind at ease.
Douglas didn’t look impressed by his argument. “Or you could be trying to get involved in the investigation.”
“But I’m not.”
Douglas’s lips curved in a disbelieving smile. “No, I’m sure you’re not.”
Fred yanked open the door and glared at him. “I think you’ve been spending too much time around your sister.”
Douglas laughed. “Yeah. Probably. But don’t tell me I’m wrong, because I won’t believe you.”
Fred didn’t answer. He just pulled the door closed behind him. Forcefully.
He marched up Lake Front toward Main Street, angered by Douglas’s accusation, but more annoyed at its accuracy. He told himself he didn’t want to get involved. He only wanted to reassure himself that Enos didn’t suspect Nancy or Porter of killing Adam. Once he did that, he told himself, he’d let Enos do is job. Just like he always did.
THREE
Halfway to town, Fred began to calm down a little. With the morning sun warming his shoulders and reflecting off the lake’s surface like tiny silver mirrors, he couldn’t remain agitated for long. The half-mile walk to town was just long enough to calm him.
Fred loved mornings. Always had. He loved the way the sun painted the sky with its pastel brush. And he loved the way the scent of the forest always seemed more distinct. Earthy. Mossy. Fresh. He could almost smell the dew.
Cutler sat in the bottom of a narrow valley surrounded high in the Colorado Rockies. The town nestled on the shores of Spirit Lake, surrounded by a dense forest. Even in its most densely populated section Cutler felt more like a nick in the timber than a town. Lodgepole pines towered over most of the buildings, aspen trees shimmered in the high mountain breezes, and the chatter of forest creatures broke the silence almost as often as sounds of human life.
With the nearest large city over a hundred miles away, Fred had always felt safe here. This was a good place to raise a family. A good place to call home. Lately, however, the anger that seemed to be infesting society everywhere had invaded Cutler, too. Fred didn’t feel safe here anymore. Not the way he used to.