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

by Sherry Lewis

  With an annoying smile, Robert returned Fred’s license, registration and the ticket, and leaned over so he could see Nancy one more time. “You take care, Mrs. Bigelow. Let us know if there’s anything we can do for you.”

  “Thanks, Robert, but everything’s fine.” This time when she spoke, her voice sounded a little less brittle.

  Robert patted the side of the car and walked back to his Bronco and sent Fred an impertinent salute as he pulled away.

  Seething, Fred allowed himself a couple of seconds to calm down before he reached for the gearshift.

  Nancy shot out a hand to stop him. “I’m so sorry, Uncle Fred.” Tears lined her voice and made it soft and thick, the kind of voice that never failed to melt his heart.

  He looked at her just long enough to see that the tears had moved into her eyes as well. When his own eyes threatened to mist over, he jerked his gaze away.

  “You’re right,” she said. “I owe you the truth.”

  So much of his anger had evaporated in the last several seconds, he had trouble keeping the gruff edge to his voice. “Well, I think you do.”

  “I just can’t—” Her voice caught. “I just don’t want my parents to know.”

  “To know what?”

  She pulled in a steadying breath and twisted her fingers together. “Adam and I tried to get pregnant for the longest time, but it just never happened. We finally went to a specialist in Denver who told us we’d never have a baby—not naturally, anyway. Adam couldn’t. His sperm count was too low. There was a procedure he could have had, but it cost a fortune.” She touched two trembling fingers to her lips as if she could make her mouth form the words easier.

  Fred didn’t move, didn’t speak, almost didn’t breathe.

  “He knew how much I wanted a baby, but we didn’t have that kind of money. I begged him to ask his parents, or to let me ask mine, for a loan. I would have been willing to do anything for a baby. Instead, he started working more, staying later and later at the office. Not for money—he was on salary—but to avoid me. He even told me that.”

  She looked up at Fred and the pain he saw in her eyes wrenched his heart.

  “I hated him being gone. We fought about it all the time.” Her voice faded for a second and she drew a breath to strengthen it. “I started finding ways to occupy myself. Classes. Volunteer work. But nothing really helped.”

  A pause, a sideways glance, a deep breath before she rushed on. “And then I met Kelley Yarnell. We became wonderful friends. I could talk to him about anything. One night after Adam and I had a horrible fight, I went to Kelley, and. . .well. . .one thing led to another. We had an affair. It didn’t last long, just a couple of months. I loved him and I know he loved me, but Adam was my husband and I still hoped we could fix things between us. I didn’t want to lose him.”

  She paused as if she expected Fred to say something, but he couldn’t speak.

  “So I broke it off with Kelley and he ended up moving away to make things easier for me. I didn’t see him again until a couple of days ago. And suddenly, when I needed him most, there he was. Just like always.” She buried her face in her hands as if she couldn’t face Fred now that she’d confessed.

  Still unable to trust his voice, Fred reached across the seat and pulled her into his arms, but at his simple offer of comfort she began to cry even harder. He held her tightly and rocked her against his chest until her tears slowed and she pulled away to look at him.

  “I was so certain you’d hate me for what I did.”

  “People make mistakes all the time,” he said. “Rumor has it I’ve even made one or two.”

  Her lips almost curved into a smile. “I don’t believe it.”

  He patted her hand and smoothed the hair away from her wet face. “So the baby is Kelley’s, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “And Adam knew that. That’s why he wanted you to have an abortion?”

  “I didn’t tell him about Kelley until I realized I was pregnant. There was no way I could pass the baby off as his.”

  “No. And it’s a good thing. A lie might have smoothed things over for a moment, but it would have haunted you forever, and you would have had problems down the road.”

  “He told me there was no way he’d raise another man’s child. I begged him, but he said the only way we could stay together was if I got rid of the baby. He left home to give me time to think about it. He even called and made an appointment at an abortion clinic for me. All I had to do was go. A few minutes and it would have been over.” She sighed softly. “But I couldn’t do it. Not even for Adam.”

  “And when he found out you didn’t keep the appointment, he came to your parents’ house and demanded a divorce.”

  She nodded. “And then today, when Mitch said Adam was altering test results, and I realized he was trying to get money—” She ran her hands across her abdomen.

  “You think it was so you could have his baby?”

  “What else could he have wanted the money for?”

  With all his heart, Fred wished he could offer another suggestion. Instead, he felt as if another puzzle piece had just snapped into place.

  SEVENTEEN

  Fred had forgotten all about Harriet’s plan to visit Nancy today until he turned back into the driveway and caught a glimpse of her waiting for them on the front steps—which meant Porter had left her while he went to meet Fred at the Copper Penny.

  From Nancy’s quick intake of breath, Fred suspected she’d either forgotten or hadn’t known about her mother’s visit. She’d been crying intermittently all the way back from Mountain Home, and he wondered if she’d explain her red, puffy eyes or let her other assume she knew why Nancy had been crying. He’d put his money on the latter, especially since Nancy had managed to keep every other aspect of her life a secret.

  Fred thought it would be better to get it all out in the open. Then everybody could get on about the business of healing. But he doubted Nancy would agree with him.

  Putting on his heartiest smile, he jumped out of the car and strode toward the house. “Harriet, I’m sorry we kept you waiting.”

  It took her a couple of seconds to get to her feet from the step, testimony that age was trying to drag her down with the rest of them. In spite of the effort getting up cost, she smiled back. “Oh, that’s all right. I knew you’d be right back.”

  She had more faith in them than they deserved, and Fred wondered if he looked as embarrassed as he felt. But she’d spotted Nancy so she wasn’t paying attention to him any longer.

  She pushed past him and pulled Nancy into an embrace. “You look tired, sweetheart. Are you all right?”

  Fred willed the girl to tell the truth—even a piece of it. But she just nodded and closed her eyes when she leaned on her mother’s shoulder.

  “Maybe this isn’t a good time for me to visit. You’ve already been out—” Harriet led Nancy toward the front door while Fred worked with the lock and shot a glance back at the two women.

  “No, Mom,” Nancy said, sounding tired. “This is fine. Where’s Dad?”

  “Oh, you know your father. Off on some secret mission. Goodness knows he doesn’t tell me anything. He’ll be back soon, I’m sure.”

  Not too soon, Fred hoped. He didn’t want Porter to give up on him and leave the Copper Penny before he could get there.

  Inside, Harriet plunked down on the couch and patted the seat beside her. “So, where’d you two go?”

  Fred lowered himself into his rocker and made a production of adjusting himself in the proper position while he waited for Nancy to answer.

  Nancy sat beside her mother and shrugged in Fred’s general direction. “For a drive. Uncle Fred thought I needed to get out.”

  Harriet nodded and smoothed her pant legs with hands that looked too old to belong to her. “Well, he’s right. Maybe you and I should go somewhere tomorrow. I’ll bring my own car and we can drive down into Granby—unless that’s where you went today?”

  Na
ncy shook her head. “No, it wasn’t. Granby will be fine.”

  Harriet cocked her head at Fred as if he might be a better source of information. “So, where did you two go?”

  He kept his eyes trained on his footstool. “Nowhere special. Just up the mountain a bit.”

  Harriet’s shoulders squared up the way Phoebe’s had when she suspected someone of lying to her. She looked from Fred to Nancy and back again. “All right. What is it you’re not telling me?”

  Fred looked at Nancy, trying to signal her to start spilling the truth. But Nancy avoided his gaze and shot to her feet, walking to the old oak dining table that had once been her grandmother’s. She picked up one of the framed pictures Fred kept there, studied it for a moment, and then moved on to another.

  For a woman who looked ready to jump out of her own skin, Harriet showed remarkable patience. She must have been through this kind of thing with Nancy before.

  At long last, Nancy turned to face her. “We went to talk to a man Adam used to work with.”

  “Oh? Who?”

  “Mitch Hancock. I don’t think you know him. Anyway, he said some things about Adam that I’m having a hard time accepting.”

  Harriet’s eyes darkened. “Like what?”

  Nancy shrugged and looked to Fred as if she wanted him to answer for her. But he knew she didn’t. Not really. He’d say far more than she wanted him to so he just nodded some encouragement and kept his mouth shut.

  Nancy took a shaky breath and let it out slowly. “Mitch thinks that Adam was being bribed to doctor the results of some of the testing they were doing on Shadow Mountain.”

  Harriet laughed. “That’s ridiculous.” But when neither of them laughed with her, her face sobered almost instantly. “That’s ridiculous. Adam wouldn’t do that.”

  Fred wished he could agree with her.

  “Why would Adam do something so foolish?” Harriet demanded.

  Again Nancy looked to him for help, and again he kept his mouth shut tight.

  Nancy shook her head and looked down at her hands. “I don’t know, Mom. I don’t think it’s true, but I’m so upset about everything else—the murder and everything—it really bothered me to hear him say it.”

  “Well, it’s not true,” Harriet decided. As if to prove it, she stood and planted her fists on her hips. “It’s absolutely not true, and I think there ought to be a law to keep people from going around saying things like that.”

  She looked so much like Phoebe, Fred couldn’t help but smile. Her sister had had the same fierce determination to make life go her way; the same belief that once she decided a thing that made it so; the same fire in her eyes once she set about making something true.

  “I guess there probably is a law,” he said, breaking his silence.

  “Well, then, somebody ought to do something about it.” Now that she had that settled, her mind shifted direction with lightning speed. “Did you two eat lunch while you were out?”

  Obviously relieved by the change of subject, Nancy shook her head. “No.”

  “Well, you’ve got to keep your strength up. What have you got, Fred?” And without waiting for a response, she pushed open the kitchen door and marched through it.

  “I’ll go help her,” Nancy said.

  Fred struggled out of his rocker and checked his watch. He could still make it to the Copper Penny if he hurried. “Don’t make anything for me. I’ve got an appointment.”

  Nancy stopped mid-stride. “With who?”

  “It’s nothing you need to come along with me for,” he said. “The best thing you can do is stay here and keep your mother busy.”

  “Are you trying to protect me again?”

  “Of course not,” he lied.

  “We have a deal, remember? I’m going with you whenever you start asking questions about the murder.”

  “Of course I remember,” he assured her and brushed a kiss to her cheek. “Go on now, before your mother comes looking for you.”

  Looking only slightly appeased, Nancy followed Harriet into the kitchen. Fred slipped out the front door and hurried down the driveway.

  He reached the Copper Penny a minute before noon and scoured the parking lot for Porter’s car as he walked through it. He didn’t see the car, but he did see his son-in-law’s truck in its usual spot. At noon. On one of his busiest work days.

  Fred ground his teeth and battled his ever-growing resentment toward Webb. The guy was a half-hearted husband at best, and way too fond of the bottle. For some reason he couldn’t understand, Margaret wasn’t ready to give her husband his walking papers. Fred couldn’t help but wish the marriage had broken up long ago. Except for the kids. Sarah, Benjamin and Deborah were the light of Margaret’s life and the only good thing to come from her marriage. For their sakes, Fred usually swallowed his disapproval.

  But when he pushed open the bar’s door and Webb’s laughter rushed out to greet him, he lost the fight. He stepped into the bar and let the door creak shut behind him while his eyes adjusted to the shadows.

  Neon beer signs glowed on the walls and candles flickered at the tables. Whether because he hadn’t been sleeping well or because he’d just spent an emotionally wrenching morning, Fred marched past Albán Toth who worked the bar, past half a dozen empty tables, past the pool table, and came to a stop at Webb’s table.

  Webb sat with his back to the door, so he didn’t see Fred at first, but his companion did. Quinn Udy had been in trouble with Fred more than once as a boy and now he slid down on his tailbone and sent Fred a sheepish look Webb didn’t notice.

  The table already had one set of empty beer bottles on it, and a freshly delivered round waited for attention. With his hair tousled as if he hadn’t bothered to comb it all day, his moustache badly in need of a trim, and his shirttail hanging out, Webb looked every inch a loser, and Fred wondered for the millionth time what Margaret saw in him.

  Webb leaned back in his chair and kicked his boots onto the chair across from him. “—then she asked whether it might be the little starter thingie and I didn’t even crack a smile. I just said, ‘Lady, if your little starter thingie needs work, I’m your man.’“ He broke off with a suggestive chuckle that left no doubt as to his meaning.

  Quinn ducked his head and looked away.

  Fred leaned down to Webb and asked, “Did you work on it?”

  Webb dropped his feet and whirled around in surprise, but he recovered quickly. “Well, Dad Vickery. Fancy running into you in here.”

  “Fancy.”

  “Why don’t you pull up a chair and join us?”

  “No. Thanks. I just wanted to hear the end of your story. Did you work on the lady’s starter thingie?”

  Webb sent an amused sideways glance at Quinn and didn’t even have the grace to blush. “It turned out to be the distributor cap.”

  “So not the starter thingie at all?”

  “Nope. Sure you don’t want to join us? I’ll buy you a beer.”

  “I’m sure.” Fred made a point of checking his watch. “You been home for lunch yet?”

  Webb’s eyes shifted away and Fred felt a tug of satisfaction that he’d scored a hit. “Not yet,” Webb admitted. “But I’m leaving in a minute.”

  “Well, when you get there, tell Margaret I’ll be stopping by. I need to talk to her about something.”

  “Sure thing.” Webb kicked back and took another swallow of beer as if he intended to stay a while.

  “If I get there before you, I’ll be sure to tell her that funny little story about the starter. Now, how did it go again?”

  A chuckle escaped Quinn, but Webb scowled darkly and jerked a baseball cap from someplace under the table. Jamming it onto his head, he stood. “No need. I’ll tell her myself. I’m heading home right now.”

  Fred didn’t comment.

  With one last resentful look at Fred, Webb dropped a few bills to the table. “I’ll catch ya later, Quinn.” He lifted his arm to get Albán’s attention. “Hold that next round, Al
bán. I didn’t even notice the time.”

  Fred watched him leave and wished he could find some pleasure in the small victory. He might have won this skirmish, but he knew Webb was winning the war.

  He turned back toward the bar slowly and caught Albán watching him. Albán stood just under six feet tall and had the kind of face that would be distinctive as he aged—broad forehead, a fine straight nose, and an expansive smile. His hazel eyes carried their usual welcome, and his olive skin bore the unmistakable glow of summer.

  “Is everything all right?” Albán asked.

  “Just great,” Fred grumbled.

  Albán filled a glass with ice water, placed it on the bar in front of an empty stool, and jerked his head toward the door. “It’s a good thing you don’t make such quick work of all my customers.” His voice bore just the softest trace of an accent—an almost imperceptible V where a W should have been, the slight trill of an R—tribute to his Hungarian ancestry.

  Fred scooted onto the stool and took a healthy swig of water. “That one needed to go home.”

  Albán swiped at a spot on the bar with a towel. Someone, maybe the original owner way back when, had covered the surface with thousands of pennies and shellacked them in place, and Albán took great pride in keeping it polished.

  “That one is spending a little too much time here lately,” Albán said and scraped something off the shellac with a fingernail. “But enough of that. You’re here for lunch? It’s paprikás today. You’ll love it.”

  Fred took another mouthful of water and prayed that paprikás wasn’t as spicy as the last concoction of Albán’s he’d tried. “All right, I’ll give it a try. Have you seen Porter Jorgensen around?”

  “He was here a few minutes ago. Said to tell you he’d be back.” Albán pushed a bowl of peanuts in Fred’s direction and leaned an elbow on the bar. “So what’s up? You and Porter aren’t exactly regular customers.”

  “We’re just out for lunch.”

  Albán looked disbelieving. “Maybe. But you’re really here for some other reason. What is it?”

  Fred took a handful of nuts and popped a couple into his mouth. “He’s my brother-in-law and we wanted to get together. This seemed like a good place.”