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

by Sherry Lewis

  Robert piped up before Fred could even open his mouth. “Nothing. At least not if he’s asking questions about Adam Bigelow’s murder.”

  Philip’s eyebrows rose a fraction. “Questions? What kinds of questions?”

  Robert pushed his glasses up on his nose and grinned at Fred as if they shared a great joke. “What kinds of questions, Mr. Vickery?”

  The young whelp couldn’t be more than about twenty-five, and he had a lot to learn about respecting his elders. Fred ignored him and smiled at Philip. “Can you spare me a minute or two?”

  Robert hitched his duty belt again and tried to look tough. “You should know Sheriff Asay has authorized me to take anyone into custody who interferes with our official investigation.”

  Though Enos had threatened to lock him up before, Fred had never worried about it much. But this eager young whipper-snapper just might take Enos seriously. “I don’t plan to ask any questions at all about the murder.”

  “Good. Then you won’t mind if I sit in.”

  Fred did mind. A great deal. But he shook his head and smiled as nicely as he could. “I don’t mind at all. How about you, Mr. Aagard?”

  Philip looked even more confused. “I don’t mind. Why don’t we go into my office?”

  Fred nodded and followed Philip. Robert brought up the rear, closing the door behind them.

  The room wasn’t large, or well-furnished, or impressive in any way. But Philip Aagard presided over it as if it were the Oval Office. He gestured grandly toward the chairs in front of his desk and took his place only after Fred and Robert sat.

  Folding his hands on the desk, he smiled benignly at them. “Now, Mr. . . . Vickery? What can I do for you?”

  Fred had no idea. He couldn’t ask the questions he’d come to ask, but he’d be dipped if he’d let Robert know he’d caught him. He tried a friendly sort of smile on his host.

  Philip smiled back.

  Encouraged, Fred said, “I appreciate you taking the time to see me. I know how busy you must be, especially with Adam’s untimely death.”

  Robert made a warning sound deep in the back of his throat.

  Fred ignored him. He’d promised not to ask questions about the death, but it seemed unnatural not to mention it. “I don’t know if you’re aware that Adam’s wife is my niece.”

  Philip’s smile wavered. “Then let me offer my condolences.”

  Fred lowered his eyes and accepted Philip’s offer, stalling for time and wishing he had some acceptable reason for wanting to be here.

  “How is Nancy holding up?” Philip asked.

  “Not real well,” Fred said. “It’s pretty rough on her.”

  Philip looked sympathetic. He nodded as if he understood how rough it probably was, refolded his hands on his desk, and waited.

  “I’m trying to help her,” Fred explained.

  “She’s lucky to have you, I’m sure.”

  A trifle impatiently Robert shifted in his chair and cleared his throat. He widened his eyes at Fred in a silent signal to get on with it.

  “I wonder,” Fred began and then hit on an idea. Relieved at coming up with a direction, he went on. “I wonder how soon you’ll let Nancy clear Adam’s things out of his office.”

  Philip looked surprised. “I don’t think that’s up to me.”

  “Oh. Whose decision would it be?”

  “The sheriff’s, I think. The room’s still sealed off and they’re still investigating in there—” He broke off and looked to Robert for direction.

  Robert tried hard to look official. “I can check with Sheriff Asay and let you know.”

  “Fine. Well, then, I won’t take up any more of your time.” Fred stood and held out his hand for Philip to shake.

  Looking a little confused, he shook. “Give my best to your niece.”

  “Of course, and thank you.” Fred started toward the door, pleased with himself for pulling this one off but still anxious to get away.

  Robert bounded up, obviously a little disappointed at not being able to take Fred into custody.

  But Philip hurried around him and reached the door first. “And if there’s anything we can do to help her, I hope you’ll let us know.”

  “I will. Thank you.” Fred crossed back into the reception area with Robert a step behind, and Philip closed the door quietly but firmly behind them.

  Robert reached the front door in three steps, tugged it open, and looked back at Fred. “You coming?”

  Feeling benevolent now that he’d come through without an arrest on his record, Fred gave the boy one of his kindest smiles. “I need to call home. I thought I’d see if I could call from here. You’ll have somebody let me know about Adam’s things?”

  “Yeah. Sure.” Robert stepped outside, and with one last untrusting look at Fred, he let the glass door swing shut behind him.

  Tiffany had been watching their exchange with interest, and now she pointed toward a door that led into a small conference room. “You can use that phone over there.”

  Fred thanked her and started toward it, but before he’d gone ten feet, she jumped up from her desk and chased after him.

  “Mr. Vickery?” she called softly. “Will you give Nancy a message for me?”

  “I’d be happy to.”

  “Will you please tell her I’m sorry about Adam? I really liked him . . . in spite of everything.”

  “In spite of everything?”

  She nodded and looked a little embarrassed. “Well, you know, the thing with Brooke and all.”

  Fred’s good mood evaporated. “About that—do you know if Nancy knew about the thing between Adam and Brooke?”

  “She must have,” Tiffany said. “Her dad came in here a couple of days before Adam died and they got into a horrible fight.”

  Fred’s heart sank like a stone in a pond. “You’re talking about Porter?”

  Tiffany nodded.

  Fred felt his stomach turn over. Neither Nancy nor Porter had mentioned a previous argument with Adam and Fred didn’t appreciate being blindsided this way. “During this argument, did either of them mention Brooke?”

  Tiffany shook her head. “Of course the door was closed and I couldn’t hear much, but I don’t think so.”

  “Then what makes you think either Nancy or Porter knew?” Or suspected. Fred was having a hard time accepting the story that Adam had cheated on Nancy, but maybe that was just wishful thinking on his part.

  Tiffany gave him another bug-eyed look. “I heard Porter tell Adam that he wouldn’t let Nancy suffer just because Adam couldn’t keep his pants up.”

  Fred bit back a groan and made a mental note to add Porter’s name to his list. You’d think Porter could have mentioned that. What in blazes was the fool thinking?

  “Of course, I’d already seen Adam and Brooke together, so I knew what he meant.” Tiffany averted her eyes and sighed. “It all seems so tragic—especially now.”

  Fred tamped down his irritation with Porter. He could deal with that later. “Why especially now?”

  Tiffany checked the room behind her as if she didn’t want to be overheard. “I know it’s supposed to be a secret, but I kind of overheard Adam on the phone the other day talking to Dr. Huggins. But I haven’t told anyone, I promise.”

  “You haven’t?”

  She shook her head and looked solemn. “Not a soul.”

  “I’m sure Nancy will appreciate knowing that,” Fred said, but he had no idea what Tiffany was talking about.

  “Like I said, I’ve always really liked Adam. But I don’t know what got into him at the end.”

  “It’s a real mystery,” Fred agreed, wondering what Tiffany, Janice Lacey and Doc knew that he didn’t.

  “Anyway,” Tiffany said with a tight smile. “I don’t know whether it’s appropriate to say congratulations or not. But will you tell her I’m glad she still has the baby?”

  Fred didn’t know what he’d been expecting her to say, but it hadn’t been that. Nancy pregnant? He forced him
self to breathe evenly and tried not to show his surprise—or his dismay. Nancy had enough to deal with right now—the separation, Adam asking for a divorce, and now his death. Adding a baby on the way would make it all harder on her.

  Besides, Fred didn’t want Nancy to be pregnant. Not now. Because if everything he’d heard today was true; if Nancy was pregnant, if Adam was having an affair, if he’d left Nancy and demanded a divorce she didn’t want, his turning up dead looked bad for her. Very bad indeed.

  TEN

  Under normal circumstances, Fred would never have driven to Doc Huggins’ place. He didn’t drive anywhere his two legs could carry him. But if he took the car home just now, he’d most likely run into one of the kids and they’d find a way to keep him from doing anything else worthwhile.

  So he drove through the side streets of Cutler, avoiding Lake Front altogether, and pulled up in front of Doc’s a little after eleven. With relief, he spotted Doc’s car in the garage, which meant the old coot must be around. Fred left his car in the driveway, as if he were paying a social call rather than a professional one, and followed the gravel path to Doc’s office.

  Years ago, when he first started practicing medicine, Doc had built his office onto the back of his house. It consisted of a small reception room, two examination rooms, one small room for his equipment, and another for baseline lab work. Doc said he liked to keep his operation simple and friendly. That he liked people to feel at home when they came to see him. But Fred never felt at home sitting on an examination table while somebody poked around places that were no one’s business but his own.

  He pushed open the office door and peered inside. Empty. Good. He wanted to talk to Doc about Nancy but he didn’t want to run into anyone else while he was here. Even one other patient could mention his visit to someone else, and that would start people wondering if his heart was acting up again.

  When he stepped into the reception area, his legs crossed a light beam and set off a buzzer somewhere in the front of the house. A few seconds later Velma Huggins rushed down the hallway wiping her hands on a towel attached to the front of her apron.

  Fred had known Velma all her life. She was a few years younger than him, but she had almost as many grandkids as he did. While gray had replaced nearly all the brown in his hair, Velma still took great pride in her auburn curls. And nobody with a lick of sense ever questioned where the auburn came from these days.

  When she saw him standing there, her step faltered. “Fred? Is something wrong?”

  “No,” he assured her. “I’m fine. I need to see Doc for a few minutes, though. Is he in?”

  Velma nodded, but she didn’t take her eyes from him. “Bernard’s in the kitchen, pretending to be working on his billing. Let me go get him.”

  “Fine.”

  “You’re sure you’re okay?”

  Exactly the reaction he’d expected. More determined than ever to minimize the risk of running into someone else from town, he pointed toward the first examination room. “Do you mind if I wait for him in there?”

  “Of course not. Go on in.” Velma turned away, but not before Fred saw the worry in her eyes. She’d rush back to her kitchen and convey her fears to Doc, and while Fred didn’t like knowing that, at least it meant he wouldn’t have to wait long.

  He closed the door of the examination room behind him and settled into a molded plastic chair, the kind that was manufactured with the assumption that everyone’s backside was built exactly the same way. Making himself as comfortable as he could under the circumstances, he scanned the titles of a few of the medical brochures Doc kept around. AIDS, breast feeding, and skin cancer. Smoking, diabetes, and glaucoma. Not exactly light reading.

  For the umpteenth time he thought about forgetting this step and going straight to Nancy. But if she wanted him to know about the baby she’d have told him already. She knew how to keep secrets, he’d give her that. He was almost certain that Harriet and Porter were in the dark about the baby. If she hadn’t told them about her marriage falling apart, she probably hadn’t confided in them about her pregnancy either.

  In spite of the fact that Doc had blabbed about Fred’s personal health issues to nearly every person in town, the old goat usually maintained strict confidentiality. That meant that getting the information he wanted out of Doc would require tact. Finesse. He couldn’t just start demanding answers. Which was why he’d formed a plan. A bit drastic, but he figured the end justified the means.

  Not three minutes later the door opened and Doc rushed into the room. Doc shared none of his wife’s pretensions of youth. He’d allowed most of his hair to fall out of the top of his head, and the fringe he had left was almost completely silver. Only his moustache and eyebrows still bore a trace of color. He’d packed on too many extra pounds over the past five years, which only made his restrictions on Fred’s diet harder to tolerate.

  Frowning with concern at Fred, Doc stuffed his stethoscope into his ears. “What’s wrong? Your heart?”

  “Nothing’s wrong,” Fred assured him. “It’s just been a while since my last check-up, and I thought I’d beat you and Margaret to the punch.”

  Doc removed the earpieces and squinted at Fred as if he thought Fred was up to something.

  “Seriously,” Fred said, trying to sound hale and hearty. “I feel fit as a fiddle. I just want to hear you agree with me.”

  Doc still looked suspicious, but he nodded toward the paper-lined table. “You want to hop on up there?”

  Fred didn’t, but he hopped anyway and unbuttoned his shirt so Doc could have easy access to his chest.

  Doc took his temperature, then wrapped the blood pressure cuff around his arm. “Have you been having any unusual pains?”

  “No.”

  “Are you sleeping all right?”

  The cuff tightened on his arm, so Fred kept his mouth shut while Doc counted and turned the valve to release the pressure. Little by little, his circulation started again, but by then he’d waited too long to answer.

  Doc scribbled some numbers on a notepad and unwrapped the cuff. “You’re not sleeping?”

  “Dozing,” Fred admitted.

  Doc’s eyes narrowed. “How much are you dozing a night?”

  “A few hours, on and off.”

  Doc reinserted the ends of the stethoscope into his ears and plunked the cold end right on Fred’s chest. “Take a deep breath for me.”

  Fred breathed and Doc listened, first to his chest, then to his back before he pulled the stethoscope away.

  “Everything sounds fine. Maybe we ought to run another EKG.”

  “I am fine, Doc. I don’t need you to hook me up to that blasted machine again.”

  Doc stared at him for one long minute. “Then what’s troubling you?”

  “I’ve got my niece staying with me. You know Nancy Bigelow, don’t you?”

  Doc’s expression changed from concerned to sympathetic in the blink of an eye. “I know her very well. Is she doing all right?”

  “I think so. I guess you’ve probably heard about Adam.”

  Doc nodded. “Enos called me to the scene. Terrible tragedy. Such a fine young man with so much to look forward to.”

  Fred let Doc ponder the tragedy and perform his medical wonders for a bit longer, then he spoke again. “To tell you the truth, I’m worried about her.”

  “Why? What’s wrong?”

  “Nancy seems a little. . .” Fred let his voice trail off and searched for the right word. Upset? Too weak. Emotional? Well, of course she was.

  “It’s a terrible tragedy,” Doc repeated and shined a light into Fred’s ears so he could look inside.

  Fred tilted his head to give him a better view. “She’s having a rough time.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “She’s a patient of yours, isn’t she?”

  Doc nodded. “Since the day she was born.”

  “Has she been in to see you since Adam’s death?”

  “No, and I really ought to d
rop by and check on her.” He nodded toward Fred’s shirt, a silent signal that he’d finished.

  Fred rebuttoned and slid from the table. “I don’t think she’s feeling up to par.”

  “I imagine she’s not,” Doc said, ripping off the paper Fred had been sitting on and relining the table.

  Fred tucked his shirttail back in and tried to keep his voice casual. “You know, Phoebe and I had the four kids, and I watched Margaret carry her own three and go through that one miscarriage.”

  Had he only imagined it, or had Doc tensed up? “I know this sounds crazy, but I’ve been wondering if Nancy might be pregnant.”

  Doc’s jaw set and his eyes hardened. “Is that why you’re here?”

  “I told you why I’m here. To get a clean bill of health before Margaret decides to drag me in. So—did I check out okay?”

  Doc’s face didn’t soften. “Why don’t you ask Nancy if she’s pregnant? Why come over here and pull a stunt like this to find out?”

  “I’d rather not ask her just yet,” Fred said. “Is she?”

  Doc managed to look affronted. “I can’t believe you’re asking me that question. The patient-doctor relationship is privileged.”

  “It’s certainly supposed to be,” Fred agreed. “But you didn’t show any such qualms about sharing my condition with anyone who’d listen.”

  “If I thought for one minute you’d take care of yourself without help, I wouldn’t have breathed a word.”

  Fred humphed to express his opinion.

  Doc humphed back. “And as far as Nancy goes, I couldn’t tell you, even if I wanted to—which I don’t.”

  Fine. Fred figured he already had his answer. Nancy must be pregnant, otherwise Doc wouldn’t refuse to answer. “How far along is she?”

  Doc crossed his arms and clamped his lips together.

  It wasn’t exactly proof, but Fred knew Doc well enough to read his body language. “She can’t be very far since she’s not showing yet.”

  Doc glared at him.