by Sherry Lewis
Nancy nodded reluctantly.
“We have to talk about the night of Adam’s murder. It’s important.”
She scooted even further down on her chair and pursed her mouth. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”
Under other circumstances, Fred might have backed off. But was too much at stake. “What were you doing at Adam’s office just before he was killed?”
She snapped back up. “Who told you that?”
“Apparently Mitch Hancock went back to the office and heard you there.”
Nancy began to tremble and buried her face in her hands. “What a nightmare.”
Fred sat beside her and touched her hand, less for comfort than for attention. “We have to talk about this, Nancy. Enos isn’t going to arrest you yet, but the only reason he’s holding off is because of the baby.”
Her head shot up again. “How does he know about that?”
“That’s not important. Now, what I—”
“How do you know about it?”
“This is a small town,” Fred reminded her. “It’s not as big a secret as you think.”
“Apparently not.”
“So, what were you doing at EnviroSampl that night?”
“Fighting with my husband. Isn’t that what Mitch told Enos?”
Fred nodded. “It is. But why?”
“Why? Because Adam didn’t want this baby, that’s why. He wanted me to have an abortion.”
Fred’s heart twisted. “Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure. It’s why we separated. Why he wanted the divorce. He wanted me to have an abortion, but I refused. He didn’t want the baby, and he didn’t want me anymore.”
Fred touched her shoulder tentatively, but when she flinched he pulled his hand away. “Doc told me you’d been trying to get pregnant. That Adam was thrilled.”
“Doc doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”
At a loss for words, Fred folded his hands together and studied them for several seconds. In the end, he could only manage to croak out, “I’m so sorry.”
She flashed a tearful glance at him and shoved herself away from the table. “Just don’t tell my mother. Please.”
“You can’t keep it a secret, Nancy. Secrets don’t help.”
“You’re wrong, Uncle Fred. It’s the truth that doesn’t help.”
Fred hated to hear such a sentiment from someone so young. He shook his head and tried to understand where her bitterness had come from, but he couldn’t comprehend any of it. “Why did Adam want you to get an abortion? That seems so unlike him.”
She shot to her feet and her face colored with anger. “Why do you say that? Adam was a good man, but he wasn’t a saint.”
“I didn’t say he was.” Fred reached for her hand and held it gently. “Tell me what happened between the two of you.”
She jerked her hand away. “I can’t.”
“I know it’s hard to talk about, but if there’s anything you can say that will shed some light on Adam’s death—”
“You think Adam was killed because of me? Or the baby?”
“I didn’t say that, either.”
“Maybe you think I killed him.”
Fred stood and met her gaze. “If I thought that, you wouldn’t be here now. I’m trying to keep you out of jail. Trying to get to the bottom of this mess, but you’re not making it easy for me.”
She didn’t say anything, but her stare faltered just a little.
He put his hands on her shoulders and made her face him. “Was Adam having an affair?”
She stiffened, but she didn’t try to pull away. “What makes you think that?”
“I can’t think of any other reason he’d want you to have an abortion. Maybe he was in love with someone else. Maybe he left you for her, but then you found out you were pregnant. Maybe he resented the baby—even thought you were trying to hold him with it.”
“Stop it—” she barely breathed the words. “Don’t say any more.”
Fred’s heart sank. He hadn’t liked the idea of Adam cheating, but her reaction convinced him. “Do you know who she was?”
She twisted away from him and shook her head almost frantically. “No.”
But he didn’t believe her. She knew more than she was telling him. “You can’t keep the truth hidden any longer, Nancy. A man is dead—your husband is dead—and we have to find the person who’s responsible.”
“I don’t know anything,” she insisted, but her expression convinced Fred she knew quite a lot.
“Was it Brooke Westphal?”
Nancy’s jaw tightened. “No. You’re way off base, Uncle Fred. You don’t know what you’re talking about.” She backed a few steps toward the living room. “I— I don’t feel well all of a sudden. Maybe I ought to lie down again.”
“You can’t run away from the truth.”
“You’re not even close to the truth,” she said.
“Then tell me—
But she turned away.
“What about your car?” he shouted in desperation.
She pushed open the door. “I can get it later.” And before he could say anything else, she let the door swing shut between them.
Fred stared after her for a long time, battling his emotions and sorting his thoughts. He hadn’t intended to upset her, he’d only wanted to get to the truth.
He sighed heavily and poured himself another cup of coffee. He needed it now more than ever.
He still couldn’t imagine Brooke Westphal as the ‘other woman.’ But she had some role to play and maybe she even had the answers he needed. He wanted to talk to her right now—this minute—but he’d have to wait until evening, when Douglas was home and could stay with Nancy. It would be better then, anyway, he told himself. The questions he wanted to ask needed to be asked when she was alone. With any luck, he’d learn the truth about a few things.
He stared out the kitchen window and took a healthy swig of scalding coffee. And he prayed that Nancy would forgive him for bringing the truth to light.
THIRTEEN
Fred waited until after dinner that evening to bring up his idea. He bided his time until Nancy had eaten and disappeared into her room to rest. Until he’d cleared the table and Douglas had run the dish water.
He carried a couple of plates to the sink while Douglas rinsed a bowl and stacked it in the drainer, casually asking, “What are your plans tonight, son?”
Douglas washed another bowl, rinsed it, and shrugged. “I’m driving Alison down to Denver in the morning for an appointment with Dr. Shriver, so I think I’ll hit the sack early. Why?”
“You don’t mind staying here for an hour or so with Nancy, then?”
Douglas looked up at him. “Where are you going?”
“Out.”
“That’s all you’re going to tell me? Out?”
“Out.”
Douglas grinned. “Either you have a hot date, or you’re digging around in something that Enos isn’t going to like.”
Fred went back to the table for the glasses they’d used at dinner. “Well, I don’t have a date.”
“I didn’t think so. You’re trying to figure out who killed Adam, aren’t you?”
“I’m trying to help Nancy stay out of jail.”
Douglas leaned one hip against the counter, ignoring the dishes so he could look squarely at Fred. “And Enos knows what you’re doing?”
“He suspects.”
“What about Maggie?”
“She confronted me with her suspicions this afternoon.”
Douglas’s grin widened and he shook his head as he turned back to the dishes. “You’re one of a kind, Dad. I suppose you want me to cover for you.”
“I don’t want you to lie to anyone,” Fred said, “but you don’t have to volunteer anything if one of them calls.”
“All right,” Douglas bargained. “You got it—on one condition.”
Fred didn’t like the idea of bribery, but a man had to do what a man had to
do. “What’s the condition?”
“You tell me the truth. Where are you going?”
He supposed there was no harm in telling Douglas about his plans. “To visit Brooke Westphal.”
“Brooke? You’re kidding? Why?”
“You know her?”
Douglas nodded. “I went to school with her oldest brother, and I see her at the Copper Penny once in a while.”
Fred dried a plate and put it away in the cupboard. “Tell me about her. I haven’t seen her since she left high school.”
“She’s a nice kid,” Douglas said with a shrug. “We’ve talked once or twice, and she bought me a beer one night.”
“She bought you a beer?” Times certainly had changed since Fred was single. “Does she have a boyfriend?”
“I don’t know. We didn’t talk about it.”
“Have you ever seen her with anyone?”
Douglas pondered for a second. “No. Not that I remember. Why?”
“Rumor has it that she and Adam were having an affair.”
A plate slipped from Douglas’s hand and dropped into the sink with a splash “Are you serious?”
Fred nodded. “Unfortunately.”
Douglas found the plate and checked for cracks. Apparently satisfied that it was okay, he scrubbed it clean. “I don’t believe it. She’s not that kind of girl.”
“I certainly don’t want to believe it,” Fred told him.
“But you do?”
“I’m beginning to. Anyway, that’s why I want to talk to her tonight. I figure I’ll either confirm the rumor or blow it out of the water.”
Douglas loaded dirty glasses into the water almost absently. “Does Nancy know?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Oh, man—she must feel like hell.”
“I think that’s putting it mildly.” Fred dried another dish and stacked it in the cupboard, and tried to send Douglas an eye signal to wash a little faster.
Instead, Douglas added more hot water to the sink. “Do you think Brooke killed Adam?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.” Fred stacked another dry plate and shook his head. “No, I guess I really don’t. Not unless she’s changed a lot.”
“Do you think she knows who did?”
“I don’t know.” Fred was getting fidgety now, wanting to get on the road and find out the truth.
Douglas must have noticed. He stopped washing altogether. “Listen, Dad. Why don’t you just go? I’ll finish the dishes.”
“We’re almost done, aren’t we?”
“It’ll take me less than five minutes, and you’re chomping at the bit to get out of here. Go now, and maybe you’ll be back before Margaret calls.”
Fred didn’t have to be prompted twice. He tossed his dishtowel over the back of a chair and snatched his keys from the counter. “Keep an eye on Nancy, I’m worried about her.”
“Don’t be. I know what she’s going through.”
Fred squeezed the boy’s shoulder. “I know. And thanks, son.”
“Just don’t get me in trouble with Maggie.”
Fred opened the back door and stepped outside. “You can always claim I snuck out when you weren’t looking.”
Douglas pretended to scowl at him. “Are you kidding? Then I’d be in trouble for not keeping a better eye on you. Just hurry back.”
With one last smile to cement their conspiracy, Fred closed the door and hurried to the garage. Less than a minute later, he pulled out of the driveway and started up Lake Front toward town. And within minutes, he was following the highway toward Mountain Home for the fourth time in three days.
The sun had settled on the mountain peaks and pools of shadow drenched the highway. Most of the time dense forest filled his vision, but every mile or so he drove out of the trees. Where meadows lined the roads, he could see distant wildlife taking advantage of Mother Nature’s feeding time.
He drove slowly, aware that deer or elk could bound out of the trees at any moment. Bear and moose were a little less likely, but not impossible. He’d driven these roads for many years as he’d crisscrossed the school district. They were like second nature to him now, and for that very reason he never made the mistake of thinking he knew what he’d find around the next bend.
He felt exactly the same way about life. He wouldn’t have pictured Brooke Westphal and Adam Bigelow together in a million years, but apparently. . .
He just hoped he wasn’t on a wild goose chase, that he’d find Brooke home. Maybe he should have made an appointment with her, but he hadn’t wanted to put her on guard. Still, the closer he got, the more anxious he grew.
If Adam had left Nancy for Brooke and then Nancy announced her pregnancy and refused to get an abortion, Enos might think Nancy killed Adam because he refused to come back to her. Or that Brooke killed him because he’d agreed to go back because of the baby. Fred didn’t like either choice.
He reached Mountain Home as dusk settled and found Brooke’s small blue house without trouble. It sat near the road, one of a long line of similar cottages nestled into the mountainside like kittens against a mother cat. A light burned in one of the front windows, and Fred’s hopes kindled. With luck, he’d get to the bottom of this tonight.
He parked on the street and followed the sidewalk to the front door where he rang the bell. The door opened and Brooke scowled out into the dark.
The last few years hadn’t dulled her looks or diminished the life that burned in her eyes. Light spilled over her shoulders and through her shoulder-length blonde hair. When she recognized him, she smiled as if she’d seen him just yesterday. “Mr. Vickery. What are you doing here?”
“I need to talk to you. Have you got a minute?”
“Sure.” She stepped aside and let him enter, then shut the door and led him into the living room.
The room looked like her, tiny and bright, friendly and comfortable. Pink and yellow, green and blue tumbled over each other throughout the room—flowers on the couch, plaid on the throw pillows—none of the furniture had escaped the color. Tables were draped with it, walls splashed with it, picture frames lined with it. And somehow, with Brooke standing in the midst of that riot of color, the room looked exactly right.
She gestured toward an easy chair, then folded herself into a corner of the couch. “What do you need?”
“To ask you a few questions.” He fit himself into the chair. It was wider, deeper, and sturdier than it looked. He settled in eagerly.
“About what?” Brooke asked.
“About Adam Bigelow.”
Her smile faded a watt. “What about him?”
“How well did you know him?”
“Very well. Why?”
Somehow the rumors were even harder to believe in her presence. “I’m trying to help Nancy find out why he was killed.”
Brooke’s expression didn’t falter, not even for a split second. “What do you think I can tell you?”
“Who do you think did it?”
She looked thoughtful. “I’ve been wondering that ever since it happened. To tell you the truth, I don’t know.”
“Surely you must have an idea, a suspicion—?”
“No. I can’t think of anyone who’d want him dead.” She tossed back her hair and knit her brows together. “Isn’t it possible it was a stranger? Maybe someone broke in to the office and Adam surprised him—”
Fred shook his head. “I don’t think so. I think either the murderer had a key or Adam let him or her inside.”
“Which would make it someone he knew.” She sounded incredibly sad.
“I’m afraid so.”
She got up and walked slowly to the window. Pulling back the curtain, she peered outside as if she’d find some answer there.
“Tell me about your relationship with him,” Fred prompted after several minutes of silence.
She leaned her forehead against the wall, and when she spoke again, her voice drifted softly across the room. “There isn’t a lot to tell.”
&
nbsp; “You were friends?”
“Yes.”
“More than friends?”
Her head whipped around and her eyes darkened. “No. Absolutely not.”
The intensity of her answer set him back a pace, confused him, and made him forget his next question. “No?”
“What made you think we were?”
“Well, I—someone told me they’d seen you together. Alone.”
Brooke laughed, but she didn’t seem amused. “That doesn’t mean anything. You and I are alone together right now.”
She had a point. “It was more than that. The person I spoke with mentioned phone calls, secret meetings, that sort of thing.”
She laughed again, but this time she was amused. “You must have talked to Tiffany Scott.”
“Well, yes.”
“That explains it. She has the most vivid imagination of anyone I know.”
“Then it’s not true?”
“No.”
Fred rubbed his forehead as if it would help order his thoughts. He’d been so certain. Even Nancy believed the rumor—didn’t she? Or had he misread her reaction and jumped to that conclusion?
“So you didn’t meet Adam away from the office?” he asked.
Brooke’s smile slid from her face. She strode back to the couch, dropped onto it, and leaned forward with her elbows on her knees. “The truth is, we did meet a couple of times, and we probably made a few phone calls that sounded kind of secretive. But it wasn’t because we were sleeping together.”
“Then would you mind telling me what you were doing?”
She shoved her hair out of her face, but it tumbled right back. “We were working.”
“If that’s the case, why meet in secret?”
“There wasn’t anything secret about it. A couple of times we worked late on a test or something, but we didn’t try to hide it from anyone.”
“I didn’t think Adam worked in the lab.”
“He didn’t, that’s why he asked me to help a few times—when he had a special test to run.”
“Why you and not Mitch or Charlotte?”
“I don’t know. I guess because Adam and I were friends. We’ve known each other since we were kids, and I was willing to help him when he needed it.”
“The others weren’t?”