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

by Sherry Lewis

  “I suppose you have a real good explanation for why you’re still here,” he said as soon as he got close.

  “As a matter of fact—” Fred began.

  “Spare me the excuses,” Enos interrupted.

  “I’ll have you know, I didn’t approach those people,” Fred snapped in self-defense. “I was getting in my car when Charlotte Isaacson came over here and talked to me.”

  Enos narrowed his eyes in suspicion, but he nodded slightly as a signal for Fred to go on.

  “Then that guy—Mitch what’s-his-name—came over to tell her that Roy Dennington was getting restless, and we exchanged a couple of words. Before I knew it, you were standing there glaring at me as if I’d committed murder myself.”

  Enos looked slightly mollified. “Did anyone say anything interesting?”

  Feeling a little better, Fred shook his head. “Not really. But I wondered if this car with all the clothes in it is Adam’s, and I was trying to figure that out when Charlotte came up and accosted me.”

  “As a matter of fact, it is Adam’s.”

  “Well? Have you looked at what’s in there? Whether you can find some sort of clue?”

  “No.”

  “Are you going to?”

  “Fred—”

  “You never know what you might find—”

  Enos put on his long-suffering look and sighed heavily. “I know my job, Fred. Now let me do it.” He paused and looked back at Nancy. “Look, since you’re still here, would you mind taking her home? I don’t think she should drive herself.”

  “I’d be glad to.”

  “Thanks. But do her a favor. Don’t badger her with questions on the way home. She’s pretty shook up.”

  “Well, of course she is. I know that. I’d never badger her.”

  “Good. And don’t get any ideas about getting involved in this case, Fred. I mean it.”

  Drawing himself up to his full height, Fred met Enos’s gaze squarely. “You must think I have nothing better to do than to think of ways to irritate you.”

  “Oh, I know you better than that. You only get involved out of the best of intentions. But don’t tell me you don’t enjoy it. Just look at you—Adam hasn’t been dead twelve hours, and here you are.”

  “For the record, I’m here because my family needs me, not because I think poking around in murder is fun.” Fred reached for his door handle and whipped open the car door. “You know what I think? I think this job is warping you.”

  Enos chuckled. “That might be, but I still call the shots. And I don’t want you involved. Period. Nothing more to discuss.” He nodded toward the car. “Wait there. I’ll go get Nancy, and then you can leave.”

  Fred slid behind the wheel and waited. He tried to pull his temper back under control, but the morning’s events and Enos’s accusations left him seething. Well, it didn’t much matter what Enos said in the long run. Fred had made up his mind to help. He’d do whatever it took to keep Harriet and her family from suffering, period. Nothing more to discuss.

  When Nancy opened the passenger door and climbed in beside him, he smiled his most reassuring smile. “How are you doing? Holding up okay?”

  The smile she sent back trembled a little. “I guess so,” she said softly, but her eyes filled with tears.

  He patted her hand and started the engine. “Go ahead and cry, sweetheart. I know how hard it is to hold yourself together at times like this, and you don’t have to worry about it in front of me.”

  She nodded and leaned back against the car seat as he drove, and he left her alone for the first several miles. But he finally had to interrupt her thoughts to ask, “Do you want to go home, or to your mom and dad’s house?”

  “Neither,” she said quickly, then looked a little embarrassed. “I love my parents, you know that. But I can’t stay with them right now. I’m just not sure I want to be alone, either.”

  “Maybe you should stay with them. Just for a few days.”

  But she shook her head firmly. “No. I can’t.”

  “Then where do you want me to take you?”

  She didn’t answer for a long time, and when she finally did he could barely hear her. “I don’t know.”

  He didn’t want to push, but he couldn’t just drive around aimlessly. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  She shook her head and stared out the window. “I’m just tired, and I guess I’m in shock.”

  “Of course you are.”

  “And I wish I could turn back the clock.”

  “Because of the argument you had with Adam?”

  She nodded. “He’ll never know how much I loved him.”

  “He knows.”

  “No, he doesn’t. The last time I saw him everything was so ugly. He doesn’t know. He—” She broke off and began to cry in great, gulping sobs that shook her slender frame and broke Fred’s heart. “Oh, Uncle Fred, it’s all my fault.”

  He reached over and took her hand, and he squeezed it hard enough to be sure she felt him there. “Now you listen to me, Nancy. Adam’s dead, but no matter what happened between the two of you last night, his death isn’t your fault.”

  She didn’t answer, but she didn’t argue, either. Sighing softly, she squeezed his hand. “Now I remember why you’re my favorite uncle.”

  “Flattery will get you anything you want,” he said in an attempt to make her smile, if even for a moment.

  “Really?”

  “Absolutely.”

  She stared at him, as if trying to decide whether he was telling the truth. And then as if she’d decided to test him. “Can I stay with you?”

  Surprised at her question, he glanced away from the road just long enough to see if she meant it as a joke. She didn’t.

  “I’d be delighted. You can stay as long as you want. But let’s stop by and let your mom and dad know you’re okay first.”

  “All right.” She turned back to the window, more relaxed than he’d seen her all morning. “Thanks.”

  With a smile, he leaned back in his seat and watched the countryside roll by. Porter and Harriet could relax, knowing Nancy was with him. And he’d be close enough to sense any shift in the direction of Enos’s investigation.

  He couldn’t have set it up more perfectly if he’d tried.

  FIVE

  Not even an hour later, Fred reached out for the mug of coffee Harriet was holding. They’d stopped at Nancy’s house so she could pack a bag and then, in spite of Nancy’s objections, swung by Harriet and Porter’s so Nancy could tell her parents how to find her. Fred didn’t want them to worry, but the look on Harriet’s face was making him rethink his decision.

  Instead of handing the cup to him, Harriet slammed it onto the kitchen table and sent nearly half the coffee sloshing over the sides. “How could you do this to me?” she demanded.

  Fred jumped to one side to avoid the hot liquid. “Do what?”

  Harriet jerked her head toward the living room door through which Nancy and Porter had disappeared a few seconds earlier. “She needs to be here. With me. I’m her mother, for heaven’s sake. Why is she staying at your house?”

  “I’m only trying to help,” Fred said. “You asked me to help.”

  Harriet looked at him the way she’d looked at her sons when they were young. “Yes I did, Fred, but this isn’t what I wanted you to do.”

  Fred shrugged. “I know it’s not what you had in mind, Harriet, but it’s what Nancy wants.”

  His sister-in-law’s eyes narrowed and her face flushed dark red. “I don’t believe that.”

  Fred didn’t want to upset her or make things worse for the family, so he tried back-peddling. “All right. It’s my fault. I offered to let her stay, and she seemed to like the idea.”

  Harriet snorted as if he’d just proved her point.

  “I was concerned about how much rest she’d get here,” he went on, holding up both hands to ward off the argument he sensed coming. “Not because of you and Porter, but . . . well, the neighbors.
You know how people are.”

  Harriet pulled her head back and glared, but at least she didn’t snap at him.

  “I know you and Porter will do everything you can to keep people from bothering her, but she’d still hear the phone ring. Still hear the doorbell.”

  Harriet still didn’t say anything, but she looked a little less ready to strike.

  “I figured my place would be the next best thing to home. Nobody has to know she’s there—except the two of you, of course . . . and Enos. But she’ll be away from prying eyes and curious questions, but still close enough for you to come down to see her. And she can drive up here any time.”

  That seemed to help a little. Harriet lost some of her steam.

  “I know how you are, Harriet,” Fred went on. “You’re a proud woman. You don’t like asking for help. Phoebe was exactly the same way. I admire that, but I didn’t want that to prevent you from asking me when you decided Nancy needed another place to stay. If I jumped the gun a little, I’m sorry.”

  Shaking her head now, Harriet dropped into a chair. “No. You did the right thing.” She laughed, but it came out brittle and embarrassed. “I shouldn’t have fired back at you.”

  It seemed to Fred she’d fired first, but he didn’t think he ought to point that out.

  “We’re all a little edgy, I guess,” she said.

  Fred grabbed a dishcloth from the sink and mopped up the spilled coffee. “It’s all right.”

  She twisted her fingers together and studied them as if she’d never seen them that way before. “Oh, Fred— What’s going to happen?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, but he suspected things wouldn’t get any easier for a little while.

  “I just can’t believe Adam’s dead. Gunned down right there in his office. Who could have done such a thing?”

  “I imagine Enos will find a few people with motives. Then he’ll have to figure out which one actually did it.”

  Her head jerked up and she looked at him as if he’d crawled out from under a rock. “No matter what you saw here last night, Adam was a good man.”

  “I know that,” Fred assured her. “But even the best of us make other people angry. Most of us know better than to act on our anger, but sometimes a person steps over the line and acts on what they’re feeling. We just have to wait for Enos to figure out who it was.”

  “I want him to figure it out right now. Today. I don’t think I can wait.”

  “It’s hard to do,” Fred agreed.

  “I’ll bet you waited patiently when Douglas was in trouble,” Harriet said, but a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth and Fred thought she sounded sarcastic.

  “It was hard,” he said, “but I did my best.”

  She laughed outright. “I can just imagine. Everybody knows you’re the very soul of patience.”

  He tried not to take offense at that. He could be very patient when the occasion called for it; he just didn’t like to wait when something needed to be done. And he didn’t procrastinate like some people he knew.

  Harriet covered his hand with hers. “I haven’t thanked you.”

  “There’s no need,” he said, and got ready to drop back into his seat. Before he could start the process of bending his stiff knees, something outside the window caught his attention. From where he stood, he could see across the side yard and down the long gravel drive to the highway where a dark colored sports car slowed on its way past the house. It stopped on the shoulder of the road, stirring up a cloud of dust. After the dust cleared, a tall young cowboy complete with hat and boots climbed out of the car, glanced both ways checking for traffic, and jogged across the highway toward the house.

  “Who’s that?” Fred asked.

  Harriet half-stood to take a look. A deep scowl wiped away her mouth and she shook her head briskly. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen him before.” Before Fred knew what she was thinking, she shot out of her seat and dashed outside.

  Maybe it wasn’t any of Fred’s business, but knowing that Harriet was on edge convinced him to follow. He hobbled after her as quickly as his arthritic knees would let him, meeting up with both Harriet and the young man halfway up the drive.

  Their visitor looked about thirty-five. Slim. Handsome. Sandy hair and moustache, and a friendly sort of smile. He hooked a thumb into the waistband of his jeans and tipped his hat with the other hand. “

  “What do you want?” Harriet demanded.

  “I’m a friend of Nancy Bigelow’s,” the young man said. “I just came from her place and thought I’d take a chance on finding her here. Is she? Here, I mean?”

  Fred knew just about everybody in the tri-county area, but he didn’t recognize this young man. He must have been new to the area.

  Harriet raked a look over the young man. “What do you want to see her for?”

  Her curt tone and frigid expression set the cowboy back a pace. “I heard about her husband. I just wanted to pay my respects.”

  That seemed harmless enough to Fred, but the young man’s expression of sympathy didn’t thaw Harriet. “I don’t know who you are, do I?” she demanded.

  “No, probably not.” He smiled, but he didn’t offer his name.

  Fred didn’t want to overstep his bounds—he was teetering on the edge of Harriet’s good graces already—so he contented himself with watching, and being ready to step in if Harriet needed him. If she didn’t need help, he’d keep his mouth shut.

  “Well, I’m sorry,” Harriet said. “Nancy’s resting and she can’t be disturbed.”

  Nobody could call the conversation Nancy was having with Porter ‘restful’ but Fred didn’t say so aloud. He did say, “I’ll be happy to tell her you stopped by.”

  The young man hesitated for half a beat, then shook his head. “Thanks, but I’ll just try to catch her later.” He turned and walked away quickly, and Fred didn’t know if he was running from Harriet or just anxious to cross the street before another car came.

  “Wait a minute,” Harriet called after him, but he pretended not to hear. She watched him closely, her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “I don’t like the looks of him.”

  Fred put a reassuring arm around her shoulder. “He looked like a nice young man. Must be a friend of Adam’s and Nancy’s.” He tried to steer Harriet back toward the house, but she wouldn’t budge until the cowboy had turned his car around and passed the house again.

  As he drove by, Fred noticed Nancy framed in an upstairs window, and he could tell by the direction of the young man’s glance that he’d seen her, too. That didn’t disturb him. But the way Nancy raised one hand to the glass and followed the car with her gaze did.

  When the cowboy disappeared from view, Harriet relaxed. And Fred tried to follow suit. He’d obviously started seeing things that didn’t exist. His imagination must be working overtime.

  But no matter what he told himself, he couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that there was more going on here than met the eye.

  Later that afternoon, Fred quick-stepped down his driveway to Lake Front and turned toward downtown Cutler. He’d left Nancy asleep in Margaret’s old room and Douglas in front of the television. He’d told Douglas he needed coffee and a quiet spot to gather his thoughts, both of which were true. He didn’t intend to let anything stop him from getting both at the Bluebird Café.

  The summer sun beat down through the tall pines, filling him with energy as he walked. Surrounded by the forest and the sounds of home, he could almost forget this latest horror.

  He turned east on Main Street and followed the boardwalk to the far end of town where the Bluebird had taken up a corner as long as Fred could remember. He’d been coming here almost every morning since he was a young man.

  Then, he’d stopped in to refill his thermos with coffee as he tracked problems from one school building to the next throughout the district. Now, he occasionally got a decent cup of coffee—if Doc Huggins or Enos or Margaret weren’t there. If they were, Lizzie Hatch gave him decaf. Fred figured
you might as well not even drink coffee if you had to have decaf.

  Pushing open the front door, he wiped his feet on the mat and scanned the room for an empty table. Since it was lunchtime, every stool at the counter held someone, but Fred’s favorite corner booth hadn’t been claimed. He nodded to George Newman and Grandpa Jones who took up the first two stools, and quickly crossed to his own table.

  When Lizzie Hatch bought the Bluebird a few years back, she’d ripped down the ivy-twined wallpaper that had been there since the beginning of time and replaced it with posters of Elvis Presley at various stages of his career. Over time she’d built a collection of the King’s records on the jukebox and now it held so many Elvis hits there wasn’t room for much else. She allowed about five current hits, over which she retained rights of approval, a few country western songs, and a handful that appealed to Fred’s generation—Frank Sinatra, Rosemary Clooney, and Bing Crosby.

  Lizzie saw him come in and lifted the coffee pot in his direction, a silent signal that Doc had come and gone and Fred was free to enjoy real coffee. He smiled and turned over his cup, savoring the smell of something wonderful coming from the kitchen. Lizzie featured chicken fried steak with country gravy as the special on Thursday. One of his favorites. Maybe he’d have lunch, too.

  Lizzie brought the coffee, filled his cup, and set the coffeepot on the table. She pulled out her order pad as if she’d read his mind. “Busy morning, I hear.”

  Fred nodded. News always sped through town, but Lizzie usually got early wind of the goings-on at the sheriff’s office from her son Grady.

  “Is Nancy okay?”

  Fred took a bracing sip. “She’s doing all right. It’s rough on her.”

  Lizzie nodded as if she agreed it must be, and poised her pen over the order pad. She liked having people around her, but she didn’t waste much time talking. “You want the special.” It wasn’t a question.

  “With mashed potatoes and ranch dressing on the salad. And extra gravy.”