by Sherry Lewis
They were treading dangerously close to territory Fred didn’t want to enter. He clapped a friendly hand on Enos’s shoulder. “Look, maybe it’s not true. Maybe Adam didn’t slater test results. Maybe he had another reason altogether for working late.”
Enos looked miserable. “Well, I hope so.” He gave an embarrassed laugh and shot a glance at Fred. “You know, I’ve heard some things I thought I didn’t want to hear on this case, but I’d almost rather find out Adam and Brooke were having an affair than this.”
“That makes two of us.” Fred leaned against a rough wood post and stared out onto the street. “So what’s next?”
“For you? Nothing. Honestly, Fred, I can’t let you race around the county like some hot-shot private investigator. You’re going to get hurt one of these days, and if that happens, Maggie’ll never forgive me. Hell, I’ll never forgive myself.”
Fred figured Margaret would eventually forgive Enos anything, but he didn’t waste breath pointing that out. “I’m not going to get hurt asking a few questions.”
Enos laughed. “All you ever do is ‘ask a few questions’, and you’ve already managed to get yourself into some pretty deep trouble that way. Or has that slipped your mind?”
Fred pushed away from the post. “I’m here, aren’t I? Nothing’s happened to me.”
“Yeah, but not because of anything you’ve done.” Enos’s face softened just a tad. “Look, Fred, I wouldn’t be happy to have anybody poking around one of my investigations, but considering your health—your age—”
“My health is fine,” Fred snapped. “And my age shouldn’t have a blamed thing to do with it.”
Enos looked a little sheepish. “Maggie worries about you,” he said, as if that explained everything.
“Let her find something else to worry about.” Fred started down the boardwalk again, hoping that would put an end to a painful topic.
But the invisible string between them jerked Enos after him. “Well, that’s just great. You’ve got a daughter who loves you and worries about you. And what do you say?”
“She wants to chain me to my rocking chair and turn me into an old man.”
“She wants to keep you alive.”
“Like a bird in a cage. What kind of life is that?”
“Maggie doesn’t want to put you in a cage,” Enos said in a voice that sounded as if he was dealing with a slow-witted child.
“Humph,” Fred said. Arguing wouldn’t get them anywhere. They’d been through it too many times already.
Apparently Enos obviously enjoyed sounding like a broken record. “I don’t want to put you in a cage, either—” he began, but just then the door to the laundromat opened and Summer Dey stepped outside clutching a basket full of black clothes all heaped together.
Blessedly, Enos snapped his mouth shut on the rest of his argument.
A smile lit Summer’s face when she saw them standing there. She wore hiking boots, socks, shorts, and a T-shirt—all black, as usual. Fred had never seen her in any other color. She claimed that only by staying depressed could she successfully produce her paintings. And that wearing nothing but black helped keep her spirits low.
Fred had seen her work and thought a wardrobe change might improve it, but she apparently sold enough of the silly things to keep her in the black.
“Ah, Fred,” she said. “You did come. My spirit guides told me you would.”
It had already been a long, hard day, and Fred didn’t want to deal with Summer or her guides. But he worked up a smile anyway. “Afternoon, Summer.”
“I’m so glad to see you. I’ve been waiting for you to come ever since Janice Lacey told me you wanted a reading.”
Fred’s smile evaporated. “I never said I wanted a reading—“
Summer reached out a hand to stop him. “Your higher spirit self knows what it needs.”
His higher spirit self knew what it didn’t need, too. It didn’t need any of Summer’s psychic poppycock.
Enos grinned as if he’d heard a grand joke and spoke before Fred could frame another response. “You want a reading? You know, that might not be a bad idea.”
“Absolutely not—”
“Get a little direction for your troubled soul.”
“I know who’s causing the only trouble my soul is experiencing,” Fred said with a pointed glance toward the troublemaker himself.
Enos pretended not to notice. He turned a serious face back to Summer. “You don’t have time to do it right now, do you?”
Fred backed away a step. “Can’t do it. Not now.”
But Summer tucked a hand beneath his arm and held fast. “My next appointment canceled. The way has been opened for you to receive the direction you crave.”
The only direction Fred craved was a way out. He shook his head and pulled his arm away. “Can’t stop now. I’ve got to get home to Nancy.”
Summer looked concerned. “She still has a long way to go, but she is much better. It’s your soul that’s seeking enlightenment.”
Enos struggled to keep a serious look on his face. “Then by all means, let’s enlighten it.”
Summer tilted her head as if somebody in the treetops were whispering to her. “Yes. You want to know about Adam Bigelow’s murder.”
All at once, Enos’s face grew serious. “Now, I don’t want you to encourage Fred in that direction.”
“Adam caused his own death,” she said with a dazed smile. “He found the truth, and the truth killed him.”
Fred’s heart tap danced high in his chest at Summer’s words. What truth? The truth about Nancy and her baby? About Kelley Yarnell?
Enos shoved his hat back on his head and looked every inch the sheriff. “What truth, Summer? If you know anything about Adam’s murder, you’d better tell me right now.”
“I know only what my guides have shared with me. What Adam has communicated through my guides.”
“Have you seen anything? Heard anything? From real live people?” Enos demanded.
Summer’s eyes snapped down from the trees and her face filled with color. “My spirit guides are as real as you and me.”
“Do you know anything?”
“I only know Adam was killed because he learned the truth,” she said and turned back to Fred. “The truth was hidden beneath a mountain of lies. And you’re so close to that truth you must watch that you don’t step over it.” She broke off and studied him for a long moment. “You aren’t coming for a reading, are you?”
“I’m afraid not.”
She gave him a forgiving smile and touched his arm gently. “No matter. One day you will. I feel it.” She lowered her voice to a near whisper. “Watch for the place where truth and delusion meet. That’s where you’ll find Adam’s killer.”
As if she’d flipped a switch, her eyes seemed to focus and her smile to brighten. With a toss of her head and a hitch of the laundry basket, she walked off toward The Cosmic Tradition.
Too stunned to speak, Fred watched until she’d crossed the street. Enos must have been equally affected because he kept his mouth shut until she’d gone a full block.
Finally, Enos dragged in a breath. “What in blazes do you think she meant?”
“I think you’re a blasted fool if you even worry about it,” Fred said.
“The truth and delusion?” Enos mumbled. “What delusion? Who is deluded?”
Fred snorted and turned away.
Enos fell into step beside him. “Why aren’t you curious? Do you know something you’re not telling me?”
“Probably,” Fred said. “I’m a lot older. I’ve seen more.”
“You know what I mean,” Enos snarled.
“What I know is, I don’t believe any of that hogwash Summer dishes out.”
Enos sighed heavily and spoke in the tone of voice that suggested he’d said this a dozen times or more already. “Listen Fred, you can’t keep information from me that might have a direct bearing on this case.”
“If I find out anything th
at has a direct bearing, you’ll be the first to know.”
Enos planted himself smack in front of Fred and looked him square in the eye. “Oh, no, you don’t. You tell me what you suspect and let me check it out.”
If it weren’t for Nancy, Fred would have shared a few things with Enos. No doubt about it. But he’d made a promise and he wasn’t about to break it. A man was only as good as his word. “What I suspect and what I know are two different things.”
Enos grew red in the face. “I’m trying like hell to be patient with you, but you’re not making it easy.”
Fred didn’t like upsetting Enos. It made him feel guilty. “I’m a man of my word, son. I can’t talk about certain things, even with you. But I can go to the person who confided in me and convince them to talk to you—or at least give it one helluva try.”
Enos studied him for a long time. “You have to be talking about Nancy. Nobody else could have gotten you to agree to keep your mouth shut.”
Fred tried not to react to the man’s guess. He didn’t like the way Enos’s mind jumped to conclusions, accurate or not, and he really didn’t like being so all-fired easy to read.
“It’s Nancy, isn’t it?” Enos demanded.
Fred still didn’t answer.
With a noise that sounded like a growl, Enos said, “All right. I’ll give you your own way this one time, but I don’t like it. You bring Nancy in before I leave the office tonight. Otherwise, I’m coming to your place.”
Fred glanced at his watch. “Just until six o’clock? That doesn’t give me much time.”
“It’s all I can offer, Fred. I’m trying to catch a murderer, here. Take it or leave it.”
Fred nodded slowly. “I’ll take it.”
With a satisfied dip of his head, Enos turned away.
Fred knew he’d pushed Enos further than usual, but he really had no choice. And in spite of Enos’s short-sightedness when it came to Fred’s ability to help, he had backed down a little. Fred cleared his throat and called after him. “Enos?”
The younger man turned back. “Yeah?”
“Thanks.”
Enos didn’t answer. He just sketched a tiny salute using two fingers and the brim of his hat before he crossed the street.
NINETEEN
With only a few hours to convince Nancy that she needed to talk to Enos, Fred hurried down Lake Front Drive and let himself into the house through the front door. The living room was empty and silent. No sign of Nancy. No sign of Douglas. No sign of Harriet and Porter.
He glanced into the kitchen and found nothing but a note from Harriet telling him where to find his sandwich, so he headed toward the bedrooms. Three doors stood open, but the one to Margaret’s room—the one Nancy was using—was closed.
Leaning his ear against the door, he listened for sounds of movement. Nothing. He knocked softly, but when she didn’t answer, he opened the door and peeked inside. Nancy lay on her side facing the wall. Her back rose and fell so rhythmically, Fred knew she must be asleep.
He debated waking her, but she’d looked so worn out when they came back from Mountain Home, he decided to let her rest another hour. He’d just have to be his most persuasive when she woke up.
Tiptoeing back to the living room, he settled into his rocking chair with his reading glasses and the Denver Post. But his mind refused to concentrate on the newsprint. Instead it danced around the clues he’d gathered since Adam’s death.
Why had he let Summer Dey’s suggestions affect him? Was he starting to believe her nonsense? No. Of course not. Still, he spent several minutes reassuring himself he hadn’t slipped over the edge of common sense, and that Summer’s suggestion—meaningless words chosen at random—had simply tapped into his own fears that Adam had discovered the truth about Nancy and Kelley.
Glancing at his watch again, he suppressed a groan. Only five minutes had passed, but it felt like an hour. Maybe he should wake Nancy after all. They had to talk about Adam, the baby and Kelley Yarnell before Enos showed up on their doorstep.
He pushed to his feet and walked halfway across the living room before he stopped himself. He had plenty of time, and she’d been through hell already today. She needed her rest.
He walked back to the front window and stared out over the yard, wishing in vain for someone he could talk it all over with. Someone who could inject a note of reason into his thought processes. Someone like Phoebe. She would have known just what to say.
Feeling at loose ends, he crossed to the door and stepped out onto the porch. He lowered himself to the front steps, just the way he always had while Phoebe’d dug in the flower beds. He could almost see her there on her knees, smudges of dirt on her nose and chin, her hair wisping out from under a broad sun hat.
He pulled in a deep breath of fresh air and closed his eyes. He imagined her sitting back on her heels with a scowl and asking if he didn’t have anything better to do than stare at her. He’d have told her he couldn’t imagine there was anything better to do. She’d have pretended to think him foolish, but her lips would have curved into a smile and she’d have gone back to work while he talked.
Half expecting to see her there in reality, he blinked his eyes open, but the flower beds were empty and untended, evidence that even his best efforts to keep them up were insufficient. Pushing back to his feet, he stepped into the yard, checked the height of the grass, turned on the hose and used his finger over the water stream to spray the bleeding hearts and lupine Phoebe’d planted under their bedroom window.
And he thought. Of Margaret and Webb. Of Nancy and Adam. Of the baby on its way into a muddled up world, and of Kelley Yarnell.
Kelley Yarnell. The father of Nancy’s baby. By her account, a kind man. Considerate. There when she needed him. But hadn’t Adam also been—until he learned about her affair?
Fred turned the spray onto the lilac bush at the north edge of his property and wondered how he would have reacted under similar circumstances. If Phoebe had confessed to taking a lover, to carrying another man’s child. He wouldn’t have reacted with kindness and understanding. He’d have been furious. He’d have felt betrayed.
So had Adam’s reaction been out of line? Or simply the reaction of a man who loved his wife? Try as he might, Fred couldn’t fault Adam for his anger or for his refusal to raise the child. Given time, Adam might even have changed his mind about that.
Fred studied the rest of the yard and decided the clump of scrub oak and aspen in the front corner looked dry. Tugging the hose a little further, he sprayed them and released the nutty, mossy forest smell of the dirt and the trees.
And his thoughts turned back to Kelley Yarnell. He seemed like a nice young man. Honestly concerned about Nancy. Why, even the morning of the murder, he’d been right there—
Fred let his finger off the hose and stared into the trees. Even the morning of the murder?
If Kelley had moved away from the area to make life easier for Nancy, what was he doing here the morning of the murder? And how had he found out about it so quickly? Fred let the water run into the dirt as he considered, replaying their conversations in his head and hoping he’d missed something.
Finally, he hurried across the lawn and turned off the water. Slipping back inside the house, he grabbed his keys and scrawled a quick note to any one of the kids who might find it. Less than three minutes later, he pulled out of the driveway.
He just hoped Nancy would sleep for a while longer because he didn’t think she’d find any comfort in what he expected to learn at the Columbine Inn.
Less than half an hour later, Fred turned into the parking lot and found an empty space outside the lobby. The Columbine Inn sprawled across the lot in a U shape, with one set of rooms looking over the center court and the lobby, and another larger set opening off the back.
With sinking heart, he realized there must be a hundred rooms or more. His chances of finding Kelley Yarnell were dismal, but he refused to let that discourage him.
He climbed out of th
e car and searched the parking lot for Kelley’s car on his way inside. He didn’t see it, but maybe he’d parked around back. Or maybe he’d gone out somewhere. Fred refused to even let himself think he might already have checked out.
Inside the lobby, a tall red-haired boy of about twenty-five smiled from behind the front desk. “Can I help you?”
“I’m looking for one of your guests. A Kelley Yarnell. Can you tell me where to find him?”
“Sure thing. What’s the room number?”
Fred leaned on the counter and tried to look trustworthy. “I was hoping to get that from you.”
The boy’s smile slipped. “Oh, I’m sorry sir. I can’t give that information out.”
“It’s important.”
“Yeah? I still can’t. Sorry.”
Fred gripped the edge of the counter and tried to remain patient. “Can you tell me if he’s still here?”
“Yes, sir.” The boy pounded at a computer keyboard for a couple of seconds and nodded. “He’s still registered.”
Well thank the good Lord for that. “But you can’t tell me his room number?”
“No, sir.”
Fred battled frustration for a second. “What do you do if someone calls for one of your guests?”
“Generally speaking, they know the room number.”
“But what if they don’t?”
“Then we can put the call through, but we can’t tell you the room number.”
“So if I step outside and call you from a pay phone, you can put me through to his room?”
The young man nodded.
“What if I asked you to just call his room and tell him I’m here? Could you do that?”
The boy looked hesitant. “Well, I—” Then a little more confident. “Well, I guess that would be all right.”
“All right, then, let’s do that.”
The boy picked up the telephone and dialed. “Mr. Yarnell? This is the lobby, sir. I have someone here who’d like to speak with you, but he doesn’t have your room number.” A pause while he listened, then he looked back at Fred. “What’s your name?”