by Sherry Lewis
“And he drove thirty miles to meet you?”
“No, he brought Harriet down to see Nancy.”
Albán cocked one eyebrow and chuckled. “And you’re meeting him here. Not likely. You might fool a lot of people around here, Fred, but you don’t fool me for a second.”
Fred met his gaze with a smile. “I don’t try to fool anyone.”
“No, of course you don’t.” A shaft of light split the darkened room and Albán looked toward the door. “Here’s your lunch date.”
Porter blocked the sunlight in the open door, looking uncertain and uncomfortable. Fred waved him over and the door swung shut behind him, bathing the bar in semi-dusk again.
Advancing on Fred like a man with a mission, Porter hitched himself onto the next stool. “Well, I’m here. Let’s get this over with.”
Fred gave the room a once-over to make sure nobody had moved in too close. “I told you I went to EnviroSampl yesterday.”
Porter nodded and accepted a glass of ice water from Albán, but he waited until the other man moved away again before he spoke. “Yeah. And?”
“And like I said, the receptionist told me you’d argued with Adam a couple of days before he died. What about, Porter?”
Porter gulped half the glass of water and scooped up a handful of peanuts. “It’s a family matter.”
“I am family.”
“Immediate family.”
Fred pushed the bowl away. “Don’t you understand what serious trouble you could be in?”
“I’m not in any trouble.”
“Dammit, Porter, your son-in-law wound up shot to death less than twelve hours after your fought with him—your second fight in twenty-four hours, by the way. Who in the hell do you think the sheriff considers his prime suspect?”
Porter pulled the peanuts back toward him again. “I didn’t kill Adam, and you know it.”
“Blasted fool. Of course I know it. But does Enos? Or have you made yourself look so guilty he won’t look any further once he finds out what you’ve done? Now what did you argue with Adam about?”
Porter checked behind him. “That woman.”
“What woman?”
“Brooke What’s-her-name.”
“Westphal?”
“That’s the one. I saw the two of them together one night. Late. I wanted to know just what the hell was going on.”
“And?”
“He said nothing was going on, the lying sonofabitch.”
“I guess you didn’t believe him?”
“Hell, no, I didn’t believe him.” Porter reached across the bar for a bowl of pretzels. “I saw them together.”
“Maybe it wasn’t what it looked like.”
“Of course it was. Adam had no business being out so late with a woman who’s not his wife. Whispering in her ear—” Porter broke off in disgust.
“Maybe it was business. They did work together.”
Porter chewed thoughtfully, but after a few seconds he shook his head. “No.”
“It could have been.”
Porter stopped chewing. “What do you know that I don’t?”
Fred didn’t have the time, the inclination, or the authority to recite the whole list. “I’ve heard one or two things.”
“Such as?”
“I talked to Brooke Westphal. She claims that she and Adam were just working together.”
Porter barked a laugh. “That’s what he tried to say.”
“Well?”
“Well, what? Isn’t that what you’d say if you got caught cheating?”
“I suppose so,” Fred said, taking a pretzel for himself. “But it’s also what I’d say if it were the truth. Yesterday you said you thought Philip Aagard killed Adam. Why do you think that?”
Porter motioned Albán back by lifting his glass for a refill. “While I was there, Philip came in. Started shouting at Adam, accusing him of all sorts of things, including using the office for unauthorized activities—and we all know what that was, don’t we?” He nodded his thanks at Albán and swigged another mouthful. “Anyway, Adam tried to say he’d been working, but Philip said, then why didn’t the computer show him logged on? And he warned Adam the funny business had better stop.”
Fred’s pulse flickered. “How did Adam explain that?”
Porter snorted. “He said it was a misunderstanding. That Philip didn’t know what he was talking about. Now, I ask you—” He broke off without asking a thing.
“Nothing else?”
“Nothing. Then, the next night, Adam barges into my house and demands a divorce from my daughter. And the next thing I know, somebody’s shot him. So what would you think?”
“You’re sure about what Philip said?”
“Yeah. Why?”
Fred tried to fit this piece into the puzzle in his head. Philip must have found out about Adam’s late‑night lab work. But would he kill Adam because of it?
Maybe. Fred supposed stranger things had happened.
Porter checked his watch. “You going to get something to eat here?”
Fred nodded. “Figured I’d better. It’s paprikás day.”
“Really? Sounds good.” Porter looked interested for a few seconds, then his face drooped. “But I promised Harriet I wouldn’t be gone long. What were they doing when you left?”
“Fixing lunch.”
“Then she’ll have made me a sandwich. And one for you, too.”
Fred shook his head. “I told Nancy not to bother.”
Porter wrapped both hands around his glass and grinned. “That doesn’t mean anything. You mark my words, there’ll be a sandwich there for you. And the way Harriet’s been acting lately, I’d better go eat mine.”
Good. The Jorgensens could use some time together. Fred smiled. “Tell Harriet I’ll be along in a bit.”
Porter opened his mouth to say something else, but just then the outside door jerked open and Margaret stormed inside. He clamped his lips together and shot a look at Fred. “Looks like you’ve got trouble.”
Fred watched her approach. Her eyes glinted, she held her posture rigid, and she clenched her jaw in fury. No doubt about it—something had upset her.
He pushed away his glass and cursed himself silently for confronting Webb. He might have known there’d be repercussions, and he should have suspected that Margaret would be the one to pay the price.
EIGHTEEN
Margaret stopped long enough to kiss Porter’s cheek before she hopped onto the stool beside Fred. “What are you doing here?”
“Talking. Ordering lunch.” Fred looked to Porter for backup.
Porter’s nodded enthusiastically. “Paprikás day.”
Albán slid a plate in front of Fred that held a concoction Fred he assumed must be paprikás, a mound of thinly sliced cucumbers that smelled suspiciously like vinegar, and those tasteless little dumplings Albán had made him try once before.
Margaret still looked disbelieving. “The two of you are having lunch? Here? How nice.” She pulled in a deep breath as if struggling for control, obviously lost it, and turned on Fred. “You’re doing it again, aren’t you?”
He didn’t bother to ask what she meant, and he didn’t bother to answer. He didn’t want to actually lie.
She didn’t appear to notice his silence. “I ran into Doc this morning. He asked whether you’d been sleeping any better.”
Fred made a mental black mark next to Doc’s name.
Margaret’s face darkened. “If you’re not sleeping, it means you’re obsessed with something. And let me guess what.”
Fred chewed another pretzel, but he didn’t like her tone of voice. Not one bit.
“Where else have you been today? I dropped by to see you earlier, but nobody was home.”
He reached for the peanuts. “Nancy and I went for a ride.”
“To Mountain Home?”
The speed of her information network amazed him. “Yes, to Mountain Home.”
She dropped her head into her hands an
d her voice lost a note of its anger. “Oh, Dad. When Enos called me, I thought he was joking. At least, I hoped he was. What were you doing up there, and how did you get a speeding ticket?”
Porter’s eyebrows shot up. “A speeding ticket?”
Fred added Robert Alpers and Enos to the list of people he was currently out of sorts with. “It was all perfectly innocent, Margaret.”
“I might have known you’d say that. It’s always perfectly innocent.” She reached for one of his hands and held it in hers. “You’re not supposed to do this kind of thing. You know what Doc said about getting overly excited.”
“But I’m fine.”
“Yes, for the moment. But what if something happens to you while you’re off chasing murderers?”
“Nothing’s going to happen.”
“You have heart trouble—you can’t pretend you’re all right.”
“I feel great.”
“You’re not great.”
Fred shifted on his seat and held her gaze. “Margaret, if something was wrong with me, I’d know it. If I felt bad, I’d slow down.”
She made a noise and tried to turn away.
But he put his hands on her shoulders and made her look at him. “I’m not going to sit in my rocking chair and stare out the window like some old man for the rest of my life.”
“Which won’t be long if you don’t stop.”
Porter leaned forward and reached across the bar to get her attention. “I’ve got to agree with your dad, honey. Don’t try to put him out to pasture yet.”
“I’m not trying to put him out to pasture,” she insisted. “I’m trying to keep him around. I’ve already lost my mother, I don’t want to lose him, too.”
“Can’t imagine what good you think I’ll be in my rocking chair,” Fred muttered.
Porter shot him a glance designed, he supposed, to shut him up. “Just do me one favor, Margaret. Ask yourself what it is you love most about your dad. Figure out why you want to keep him around. Frankly, he’s so blasted ornery, I don’t see it.” He slapped the counter, amused by his own joke, and slid from his stool. “I’ve got to go before I have Harriet to deal with,” he said, reaching into the peanut bowl again.
Somehow, Porter seemed to have gotten through to Margaret. She looked at Fred sadly but she’d stopped arguing with him. Fred supposed he might owe Porter a thank you. He let go of her shoulders, ready to hear her admit that Porter was right and prepared to accept her apology graciously.
She slid from her stood and looked at him.
He smiled his encouragement.
From behind her back, Porter nodded at Fred. Obviously, he could feel a concession coming, too.
Margaret shot a glance at each of them, but settled on Porter last. “That was the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard you say, Uncle Porter. I can’t believe you’re encouraging him.”
“Now listen, Margaret—” Fred began.
“You two are like peas in a pod.” Exasperation put a crisp edge on her words. “I have half a mind to give up on both of you.” Whirling away, she stomped across the bar and out the door.
Porter watched until she’d disappeared and the door closed behind her. He looked at Fred with raised brows. “Something bothering her?”
Fred nodded slowly. “Sure looks like it.”
“Something wrong at home?”
Porter obviously recognized the symptoms. Fred just nodded.
“I guess we shouldn’t hope the son-of-a-bitch drops dead—”
Fred knew Porter meant his words as a joke, but it was a stupid thing to say out loud even though Fred understood why someone might want to do away with an unsatisfactory son-in-law.
Porter patted his back. “Look, Fred, I’ve got to go. I don’t want Harriet going up in steam.” He cast another glance at the door as if anticipating a repeat attack.
Fred shook his head. “No, you don’t. Go on. I’ll be along.”
Porter looked a little reluctant to leave, but his concern for Harriet and Nancy finally tugged him away.
Fred took an experimental bite of paprikás and signaled Albán for another glass of water. To his surprise, the food tasted much better than it looked. A little spicier than he usually liked, but he’d eaten worse. Still, he didn’t expect paprikás to replace chicken fried steak on his list of favorites.
Glancing toward the door, he took another bite. Every time Margaret’s life at home got out of control, she tried to exert more control over him. And if giving in wouldn’t cost him his own happiness, Fred might give in to her a little more often.
He took another bite and pushed his plate away. No appetite. No sleep. He’d better get to the bottom of this mess soon. When he stepped out of the Copper Penny a few minutes later, Fred had to wait at the door until his eyes adjusted to the sunlight. But he needed a few seconds to pull himself together anyway.
It looked almost certain now that Philip Aagard had found out about Adam’s illegal testing and confronted him with it. But if that happened the day before the murder, why would Philip sneak back the next night to kill him? Seemed to Fred, tempers would have cooled a bit by then.
Maybe Adam refused to stop. But then why not turn him in to whatever authorities had jurisdiction over that sort of thing? Why not fire him? Fred scratched his chin and stared up Main Street as if it might give him the answers.
Finally, adjusted to the bright sunlight, Fred stepped up onto the boardwalk. His confrontation with Margaret made him long for a little solitude, but he wouldn’t find it at home. Besides, he wanted to give Nancy time with her parents.
He walked aimlessly, uncertain where he wanted to go. He’d almost reached the corner of Aspen Street when heavy booted footsteps approaching from around the corner brought him up short. It sounded like Enos.
Well, good. He wanted to discuss that blasted speeding ticket, anyway. He planted himself where he knew Enos would have to stop to avoid hitting him, and waited.
A second later Enos rounded the corner and pulled himself up short. His broad face registered surprise and maybe even a little irritation. “Good billy hell, Fred. You scared me out of a year’s growth.”
Fred yanked the speeding ticket from his pocket and waved it at Enos. “I want to talk to you about this.”
Enos chuckled and wiped a trickle of sweat from his cheek. “I heard about your trip through Mountain Home this morning.”
Fred scowled at him. “Sounds like word’s gotten out. Somebody in the sheriff’s office must have a big mouth.”
Since he couldn’t deny it, Enos obviously chose to ignore Fred’s observation. “I don’t suppose you want to tell me what you were doing up there?”
“I don’t suppose it’s any of your business. Now what are you going to do about this?”
“Not a blasted thing. Tell me who you know at the Sprucewood Condominiums.”
“What were you doing? Following me?”
Somehow Enos managed to look innocent. “One of my men just happened to be driving by when you came out.”
“Which one? That overly excited young whelp?”
Enos shook his head. “No, it was Grady. So? What were you doing there?”
“What in the Sam Hill was Grady doing up there?”
“Grady was doing his job. Now, quit trying to change the subject and tell me why you were there.”
Fred supposed there was no harm in telling Enos part of it. Maybe it’d make him feel better. “I took Nancy to visit someone.”
“Mitch Hancock?”
For tar sakes. “If you know so blasted much, why do you even bother to ask me?” Fred started across the street.
As if they were somehow attached, Enos matched his stride. “You know you’re interfering in a police investigation. Again.”
“I’m not interfering in a doggone thing.”
“I almost wish I could believe you. But you don’t just happen to visit somebody connected with a murder. You went to Mitch Hancock’s because you expected him to tell you
something. Now, what was it?”
That was backwards praise if Fred had ever heard it, but he decided to accept it anyway. He paused half a beat just to keep Enos wondering, then said, “I expected him to tell me why he fought—or argued—with Adam the day before the murder.”
Enos looked impressed. “And did he?”
“Yep. But he claims they argued a lot. Over almost everything. He says Adam’s work had been slipping the last little while, and since his work affected Mitch directly, he and Adam argued regularly.”
“What else?”
Fred didn’t answer immediately. Not because he didn’t plan to tell Enos what he knew, but he didn’t want to just blurt out his suspicions. No sense making Adam look like a crook unless he had to.
Apparently Enos interpreted his silence as a refusal to answer because his scowl darkened. “You’d better not hold anything back, Fred.”
As if he’d ever held anything back when Enos needed to know it. “I’m not hiding anything from you,” he snapped. “Just trying to figure out how to phrase it, that’s all.”
“Why don’t you just tell me?”
Fred stopped under the shaded overhang of the Kwik-Kleen and glanced around to make certain they wouldn’t be overheard. “All right. It looks like Adam might have been changing the results of certain tests they ran in the lab at EnviroSampl.”
Enos’s face puckered. “Where’d you hear that?”
Keeping his voice low, Fred explained what he knew, taking care to step around any mention of Nancy, the baby, the abortion, or the medical procedure Adam apparently wanted to have. If somebody proved Adam was altering test results, Enos would need to know why, but that story wasn’t Fred’s to tell.
When he got to the end, Enos shoved his hands into his pockets and looked away. His jaw worked for several seconds before he managed to speak. “I can’t believe it.”
“Well, I certainly don’t want to—”
Enos shook his head vehemently and took a couple of agitated steps away. “I absolutely don’t believe it. Adam wasn’t that kind of guy.”
“People have been known to do surprising things,” Fred said reluctantly.
Enos whirled back to face him. “Are you trying to tell me Adam needed money so desperately he’d do something like that?”