by Sherry Lewis
Nancy considered his answer. “What did he and Mitch argue about?”
“I’m not sure. I haven’t talked to Mitch yet.”
“Are you going to?”
“I plan on it.”
She nodded and studied the tops of the aspen trees. “When?”
“I haven’t decided yet. Soon.”
“Who do you think did it?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “The more I learn, the more confused I get.”
“But you don’t suspect me?”
“No, I don’t.”
She smiled, just a gentle curving of her lips but relief and gratitude burned in her eyes. “What about Mitch?”
“It’s a possibility, I suppose. There are half a dozen possibilities, but nothing adds up. Mitch claimed he was at the office early on the morning of the murder to deliver test samples to Adam. Of course, it’s possible that he was lying. But even if he is, what possible motive could he have for concealing the truth? And why would he want to get rid of Adam?”
Nancy shrugged. “Then how about Brooke? She’s lying about having an affair with Adam—why would she do that?”
“Actually, she denies it. I heard the rumor from someone else.”
Nancy’s brow furrowed and a flush stained her cheeks. “Who?”
“Pete Scott’s wife. She works at EnviroSampl, you know.”
Nancy groaned. “You heard it from Tiffany? If she’s talking like that, half the county will have heard about it by now. What about Charlotte Isaacson? What did she say when you talked to her?”
“She’s the one who made me wonder if Mitch was lying about the tests. She claims the results go straight to Philip, so Mitch wouldn’t have gone to work early to deliver tests to Adam. According to Brooke, Charlotte and Mitch have been seeing each other the past few months. But it looks like Adam was doing some work off the books, so I don’t know what to think. Charlotte could be lying to cover for him somehow. Did Adam ever mention anything about Charlotte and Mitch to you?”
“Not really, but Mitch could have been the boyfriend I heard Adam talking to Charlotte about.” She looked thoughtful. “You know, I don’t think Adam liked Mitch very much.”
“What makes you say that?”
“I remember him complaining about Mitch being closed-minded. About the way he kissed up to Philip. It drove Adam crazy.” She smiled at some memory. “Adam believed people should earn what they get. Apparently, Mitch thinks you can manipulate the system. He likes to get all buddy-buddy with Philip, figuring he can get special treatment, better jobs . . . stuff like that.” She stared into the trees for a minute before she shook herself as if to bring herself back to the present. “Brooke. Mitch. Charlotte. Anybody else?”
“A man named Roy Dennington.”
“Who’s he?”
“I saw him at EnviroSampl the day of the murder, and I know he’s a land developer. Other than that, I don’t know a blasted thing.”
“Is he a black man?”
Fred nodded. “Why? Do you know him?”
“No. But I remember hearing that a black man was trying to buy Shadow Mountain.”
“The man’s race was an issue?”
“I don’t think so. In fact, I don’t even remember how I knew that.” She took a couple of steps away as if trying to remember something, then turned back eagerly. “Listen, Uncle Fred, I just had a great idea. Let me help you.”
“Help me what?”
“Find out who killed Adam.”
Fred shoved his hands into his pockets and shook his head. “But I’m not investigating Adam’s death. I’m just trying to make sure you don’t end up in jail.”
She shivered with apprehension, but she looked skeptical. “If you say so. Anyway, whatever you’re doing, I want to help.”
“I’ve asked a couple of questions, that’s all.”
“Then that’s what I want to help with.”
Fred didn’t want Nancy to hear unfounded rumors and speculation—not in her condition. “I don’t think it’s a good idea. Not with the baby—”
She frowned. “You mean you want me to stay behind because I’m pregnant?”
“Well. . . yes.”
Storm clouds filled her eyes. “You think I’m too delicate?”
Obviously a bad choice of words. “Not delicate, exactly—”
“Believe me, I’m no more delicate then you are.”
“I know that—”
“And I’m not so stupid I’d do anything to hurt the baby.”
“I never said you would.”
“Not in so many words, but I know what you’re thinking.”
He humphed and walked a few steps away.
She danced after him, acting more like herself than he’d seen in days. “I’m serious, Uncle Fred.”
“So am I.”
“If you can do it, so can I.”
“No.”
She grabbed his arms and made him face her. “Look, I spent the last two days lying in bed and feeling sorry for myself, but that’s not going to help me, it’s not going to help Adam, and it’s not going to help my baby.”
He shrugged away from her, but he liked hearing the life in her voice.
“Let’s talk to him. Right now.”
“Who? Mitch?” Fred shook his head. “He’ll be at work.”
“It’s Saturday,” she argued. “And I’m going with you.”
“No you’re not.”
“I’m not asking for permission.”
“What if he’s the killer? What will you do then?”
“Then I’ll make sure nothing happens to you,” she said, but her eyes danced at her joke.
He humphed again. “Your mother would have my hide.”
Her eyes grew serious. “I need to do this. Please.” When he didn’t agree right away, she upped her ante. “Look,” she argued. “I’m not hysterical, and I’m not going to flip out if you let me come along. I loved Adam, but we weren’t in love with each other anymore. I’ve made a lot of mistakes the past few months. If he’d lived, maybe I could have made some things up to him, but the only thing I can do now is make sure his killer doesn’t get away with it.”
“Your mother will have my hide,” he repeated.
Nancy grinned. “And Margaret will have mine. But I won’t tell if you won’t.”
He looped an arm around her shoulder and led her back onto the path. “I’ll think about it.”
She sighed heavily, but she stopped arguing. Maybe because she knew Fred was eventually going to cave.
They walked past Doc Huggins’s house and turned around just before the Kilburns’ place. Fred pointed out places of interest and changes in the scenery, Doc’s new toolshed and Mary Kilburn’s new car. He named trees and undergrowth, made sure Nancy saw the poison oak a few feet off the path, and stopped to listen to a woodpecker doing its job.
Nancy pretended an interest in the toolshed, admired the color of Mary’s car, paid strict attention to the poison oak and made appreciative noises over the woodpecker as if she suspected he was testing her.
Fred didn’t mention Adam or the murder again until the back deck of his own house came into view. Then he stopped and faced her with the most solemn expression he could muster. “I guess I can’t talk you out of this foolish idea.”
She shook her head.
“If I let you come along, you have to play by my rules.”
“Absolutely,” she promised.
He growled low in his throat as if he hated conceding the victory. “First things first,” he said. “First, coffee. Then we’ll talk about paying a visit to Mitch Hancock.”
FIFTEEN
For the second time in as many days, Fred drove slowly down Mountain Home’s Main Street, but this time he wasn’t alone. While he watched the traffic, Nancy scoured road signs for the one marking Sprucewood Lane. According to her, it would lead them straight up the mountain to the Sprucewood Condominiums where the telephone book said they’d find Mitch Hancock.<
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Time was, Fred knew his way around this town. He still knew the basic layout but, like everything else, Mountain Home had changed in the past couple of years. Now, unfamiliar streets curled off the main drag like pencil shavings and there was no rhyme nor reason to the way they’d been placed.
Fred frowned over at Nancy, frustrated by the search. “How much further?”
“It’s right around here somewhere,” she said slowly, and a second later she jerked forward and wagged a finger at the windshield. “There it is. Over there—see? Sprucewood Lane.”
Fred inched to the center of the street and flicked on his left turn signal. He waited while an old blue Chevy pickup crawled past, then he followed the narrow road until it ended in the parking lot of the Sprucewood Condominiums—a scrabbling, gray collection of buildings that had been stuck together at odd angles on the side of the mountain.
The minute he cut the engine, Nancy pushed open her door and jumped out of the car. When he didn’t immediately follow, she looked back at him. “What’s wrong?”
“You can learn a lot about people from the place they live, but I never could figure out what kind of person would want to live in a place like this. They’re the ugliest things I’ve ever seen.”
Nancy looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. “Are you kidding? They cost a fortune.”
He grinned at her. “Now that’s a solid recommendation.”
“Have you ever been inside one of the units?”
“Can’t say that I have.”
“They’re really nice,” Nancy said with a wistful sigh. “All hardwood floors, huge plate-glass windows, and the views are incredible.” She sounded as if she expected her list to impress him.
It didn’t. He clearly remembered Phoebe’s elation when they’d finally carpeted the living room, and all the hours she’d worked trying to make the windows sparkle. “You have neighbors on the other side of your walls,” he groused as he climbed out of the car. “And not a speck of privacy.”
Nancy ran a hand alone one leg of her jeans and stepped onto the sidewalk with a wry grin. “You’re impossible, you know that? You don’t like anything to change.”
“That’s not true,” he said. “I don’t mind change, but I don’t think new automatically means better.” He took a second to get his bearings. They needed unit S-103. When he saw the building with a large metal “S” on its side, he struck off toward it.
Nancy matched his stride. “I hope Mitch is home. I still think we should have called first.”
“If we’d called, we couldn’t catch him off guard. And we’ll get more out of him if we surprise him.”
She looked doubtful. “What do you expect to get out of him—assuming we catch him off guard?”
“The truth.”
“And you think we’ll recognize it when we hear it?”
“Absolutely.” He slowed his step and looked over at her. “We’ll certainly know if we don’t hear it.”
She cut a skeptical glance at him. “I hope you’re right.”
“Look, sweetheart, we know Mitch and Adam fought before Adam died. We need to know why. And whether Mitch lied about delivering test results to Adam before regular business hours. And what either of those things have to do with the murder.”
“Maybe nothing,” Nancy said with a frown.
“And maybe everything,” Fred said optimistically. “Mitch is the only person we know of besides you and your dad who fought with Adam. We can’t afford to ignore this lead.”
“Do you really think Mitch killed Adam?”
Fred dragged to a stop. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Why? What possible motive could he have?”
“The tests on the Shadow Mountain property,” Fred told her. “There’s something off there I just don’t know what. Brooke says that Mitch was determined to be Philip Aagard’s number one man. If Adam found out he was making mistakes in his work. . .” When she made a face, he broke off with a shrug. “Okay, it’s a weak motive, but we’ll never know what was going on unless we talk to him.”
Nancy plunged her hands into her pockets and tried to look determined. “Then let’s go talk to him.”
“Good. But we follow my rules, remember?”
She nodded. “I remember.”
“That means I do the talking.”
“I know.”
She sounded so much more cooperative than his own children would in similar circumstances, Fred studied her face to see if she was lying to him. He saw nothing but genuine anticipation, so he took her elbow and set off down the sidewalk at a brisk clip. They passed several recessed doorways, rounded a sharp curve, and found themselves in front of number 103.
Its front door peeked out from a shadowed alcove but a narrow patio set off to one side managed to capture the morning sun. A table with umbrella and several padded lawn chairs held center stage. The patio door stood open, but Fred could see no sign of Mitch.
Remembering Brooke Westphal’s claim that Mitch and Charlotte were keeping company, Fred tried to imagine Charlotte here. He had no trouble. Like Nancy, she’d be impressed by this place. But Charlotte would also be impressed by anyone who owned it.
Doing his best to keep one eye on the open patio door, Fred stepped into the shadows and rang the bell. Within seconds, heavy footsteps sounded on the other side and Mitch Hancock opened the door.
One glance convinced Fred all Mitch’s charm lay in his worldly possessions. He wore blue corduroy shorts but no shirt, and his soft belly hung over the waistband of his pants—fertile ground for the crop of wheat-gold hair growing there.
He smiled when he saw Fred, but his eyes widened in surprise when he saw Nancy. “Nancy? What are you doing here? What’s going on?”
“We’d like to ask you some questions,” Fred said. “If you have the time.”
Mitch didn’t even hesitate. “Sure. Come on in. Can I get you something? Coffee? Ice water?”
Though coffee sounded tempting, Fred didn’t want to turn this into a social call. “Nothing for me, thanks.”
Nancy shook her head, obviously taking her vow of silence seriously.
Mitch led them into the living room, a long, narrow room with Nancy’s beloved hardwood floors, a fireplace set into one wall, and an incredible view of the condominium unit across the way. A large blue couch stood in front of an open window, and several easy chairs clustered nearby. Mitch gestured vaguely toward the furniture and dropped into a chair beside an end table that held a coffee cup and an ashtray brimming with cigarette butts.
Fred waited until Nancy claimed one of the chairs, then lowered himself into one that didn’t look too low.
Mitch leaned back in his chair and sent Nancy a sad smile. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am about Adam. Are you doing okay?”
She managed a trembling smile in return. “I’m all right.”
“God, what a mess. I still can’t believe it. Have they figured out who did it?”
Nancy shook her head. “Not yet.”
“Do they have any ideas? Any leads? Any suspects?”
“Not that I know of. But then they’re not telling me very much.”
Mitch shook his head slowly. “This is the damnedest thing, you know? One day you’re working right alongside the guy, and the next—” He broke off suddenly and his face flamed, obviously embarrassed by the direction he was taking. “Oh, man. I’m sorry.”
When Mitch paused to light a cigarette, Fred scooted forward in his chair. “It’s always a shock when someone dies unexpectedly. We’re trying to find out why Adam was killed.”
Mitch exhaled a cloud of smoke and looked confused. “What about the police? Aren’t they still investigating?”
“Yes, of course they are.”
“Well, then, I don’t understand.” Mitch looked from Fred to Nancy several times. “Why are you trying to figure it out? And why come to me?”
Fred didn’t want to put him on guard, so he smiled. “Actually, we’re just trying to
clear up a couple of things that are a little confusing.”
“Like what?”
“Well,” Fred leaned a little closer. “We’ve heard that you and Adam had an argument the day before he died.”
If Fred’s announcement had any impact, Mitch didn’t show it. He dragged deeply on his cigarette and looked thoughtful. “We might have, I guess.”
“What about?”
Mitch shrugged. “I don’t remember.”
This was the second time in as many days Fred had heard someone say that, and he didn’t believe Mitch any more than he’d believed Porter. “How can you not remember? If I’d fought with a man who was murdered less than twenty-four hours later, I’d remember.”
Mitch stared at him for half a beat, then chuckled as if he’d suggested something amusing. “First of all, we didn’t fight, we argued. And I don’t remember because Adam and I probably had half a dozen arguments every day.”
Fred shot a glance at Nancy to see if that answer surprised her as much as it did him, but she didn’t give anything away. He turned back to Mitch. “What did you argue about?”
Another shrug. Another puff. “You name it. Look, Adam and I worked closely together. Everything he did impacted me directly. If he was half a day late getting me samples, my tests were half a day behind schedule.” Mitch readjusted his position on the chair and leaned forward in his eagerness to explain himself. “If I start the tests late, the results are delivered late and Philip climbs all over me.” He dragged again and stubbed out the cigarette. “I don’t mind eating trouble when I’m the one who screws up, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to take the blame for somebody else’s mistakes.”
“Like Adam’s,” Fred suggested.
Mitch looked satisfied with Fred’s ability to understand. “Yes. Like Adam’s.”
“And it happened often?”