Key to Love

by Judy Ann Davis

  “If there’s really money and Mike’s papers in there, and not tools,” Nick said.

  Lucas picked up the box, shook it, and looked at Nick with raised eyebrows as if to say, “Does it sound like metal tools?” Instead he said, “And here lies the problem, Nick. If we open this box, and there’s $100,000 inside, where do you stand?”

  Nick looked at him, confused.

  “I don’t want this reported back to the police until we nail Mike’s killer.” Lucas’s voice was low. Hard. Unyielding.

  “Lucas, I’m under obligation to report it to headquarters.”

  “Then take a hike, Nick. Walk out of here now.”

  Nick flushed red. “What are you implying?”

  “I’m implying there’s a leak somewhere in your department.” This time he didn’t try to hide his irritation. “And I don’t think we need to advertise drug money was found...if it’s really in this toolbox. It might stop whoever knows it exists from searching any longer, and maybe he is also the one who killed Mike. Mrs. Pedmo knew about the money, so did Jack Morrison, and it wouldn’t be a giant leap to think Meyer knew all the details as well. Hell, I thought undercover cops were supposed to be protected.”

  Nick looked at him warily. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Put a lid on it for a while,” Lucas admitted gruffly. “Let’s nail the killer.”

  Nick heaved a sigh and picked up the bolt cutters. “This could get me in a lot of trouble with the department. Whatever is in here, you have twenty-four hours before I say anything about this box being found, agreed?”

  “Agreed,” Lucas and Elise said in unison.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  It was just as Elise had hoped. She sat at the table with Lucas beside her and surveyed the contents of the toolbox spread out on the kitchen table: valuable papers, insurance policies, Todd’s health records, a will, banking information, and $50,000 of police money with a note stating the remaining $50,000 was in a Scranton bank in a safe deposit box. She peered at Lucas beside her. The only emotion she saw was one of relief as he stared at all the paper laid out before them. “This is good news, Lucas. Your brother’s name is finally cleared.” She patted him on the back. “I wonder why he separated the money.”

  Nick, who had just phoned the bank to verify the whereabouts of the other $50,000, put his phone back in his pocket. “It’s at the bank, all right. Agents often separate large amounts of money. They can have easy access to it and be assured it won’t walk away. There are a lot of sticky fingers when working undercover. A cop can’t be shaken down for any more money during a deal other than what’s on them, either.” He looked at Lucas with a serious expression. “I never doubted Mike Fisher was anything but an honest, clean cop.”

  Lucas nodded. “Twenty-four hours, right?”

  “You have twenty-four hours, correct,” Nick replied. After a perusal of the papers, he excused himself to take a shift for someone at the barracks who had called in sick.

  Elise sat silently for a few minutes, thinking Nick had been right. The toolbox had been hidden in a conspicuous place, just waiting for discovery. How many times had they walked past the doghouse? The only reason Mike hid Todd’s scruffy beanbag dog with the toolbox was because he knew his precocious son would hound them until they looked harder and located it.

  Elise unfolded the will and scanned it. It gave all of Mike’s belongings to Lucas, willed all of his money and property to him, and gave him legal guardianship of Todd.

  “Well, it should be pretty clear to everyone Todd is now your child to raise,” Elise said and watched Lucas’s sober face light up like a cookie at Eat ’N Park.

  “Yes, all I need is one more thing,” he said, and took her hand, caressing the top of it. There was a devilish look on his face.

  She stared at those smoke-colored Fisher eyes. “What?”

  “You, of course. We’re two lonely men in desperate need of a very special person to make us two very happy men.”

  “Oh, Lucas, things are so complica—” she said when the ringing of the phone interrupted her. She picked it up to hear Chuck Sanders’ voice on the other end.

  “Ready to come back to work?” he asked.

  “Well, hello to you, too, Chuck. And no, not yet. Although I hardly think you called to ask that question.” By the tone of his voice, she knew something was not quite right.

  “Actually, yes. It looks like Mort Levinson is trying to cut us out of the five-hotel deal. I understand he wants only you as the lead architect on his projects.”

  A set of alarm bells started ringing in her head. “He’ll change his mind once we get the first building started, and he sees all the work that needs to be done.”

  “Maybe, but with Lucas giving him a hefty sum as an investor, I’m guessing it won’t happen, at least with the Wilkes-Barre endeavor.”

  “Surely you’re kidding?” The warning bells pealed even louder in her head. She rubbed the back of her neck, feeling tension starting to rise between her shoulder blades.

  “No, Lucas Fisher’s money might have come into the project through a third party, but it’s Fisher Enterprises money, there’s no doubt. Paul is livid. Absolutely livid.”

  “I would imagine so.” She looked over to where Lucas was reading through Todd’s health records. “Listen, Chuck, can I call you back?”

  She pushed the button to end the call and heaved a weary sigh. “What’s this about Fisher Enterprises investing in Mort Levinson’s new venture?”

  “I was meaning to tell you.” Lucas’s face turned crimson. “J.B. told me we needed to invest some company money so I suggested he contact Mort Levinson. You said his idea was brilliant, right?”

  Elise shook her head. It was a brilliant idea, all right. It was a spectacular idea, in fact. However, the last thing she needed was for Lucas to get involved and make it look like his investments were sealing the deal, assuring she would be lead architect on the project.

  “Lucas, I can take care of myself. I don’t need intervention from Fisher Enterprises. Do you know how this looks? It looks like you bought me the position! How could you do this to me?” She stood up, irritated, disgusted, and unhappy with him.

  “Liz, please, listen to me.” He stepped toward her.

  She held up a hand to ward him away. “No, not now, Lucas. I need to take some time to think this through. I’m going for a drive and to finish some errands. I need to clear my head. Just stay away from me.” She whirled and almost ran out the front door.

  “Okay,” was the only response she heard as she bolted outside, the screen door banging shut behind her. She met Fritz and her father arriving just as she put her car into drive and checked the rearview mirror. Turning off the engine, she slipped out and walked back to Fritz’s car to help get their father out of the passenger seat and into the house. Anton Springer looked tired, but there was still a lot of gumption in the old man as he grumbled at Fritz, who was trying to persuade him to use his walker.

  “Get that blasted piece of metal junk out of my sight and get me my crutches!” Anton waved his spidery hand in the air. He turned to Elise. “And where do you think you’re going, Missy, with a look on your face like you just sucked on a bucket of lemons?”

  Elise sighed. “It’s a long story, Dad.”

  Her father squinted up at her and snorted. “Since I had to cancel my salsa lesson for today, I’ve got a lot of time for sitting and listening.” He pointed to the side of the house and twirled his index finger. “Grab a couple of those old lawn chairs under the oak tree around back and let’s sit outside, right here on the front lawn. A man should at least be able to enjoy the outdoors and his own farm even if he’s an old cripple.”

  Fritz and Elise started for the chairs together.

  “Is he always this ornery after therapy?” she asked her brother.

  “I can hear you,” Anton called out. “I have a busted ankle and leg. My ears are fine!”

  Fritz rolled his eyes, and they grinned
at each other. When they returned with the chairs and had positioned Anton Springer safely in his seat, Fritz dropped them both like hot potatoes.

  “I’ve done my duty with this cranky old coot. He’s all yours,” he said and, with a wave, hightailed it to his car to go back to his office in town. Together, Elise and her father watched Fritz’s car until it disappeared down the driveway.

  “Okay, Lizzie, my girl, tell me what’s eating you.” Anton winced, stretched out his injured leg, and laid the crutches beside his chair.

  Elise flung her hands in despair and jerked her head toward the house. “I just found out Lucas invested in Mort Levinson’s new project here in Wilkes-Barre. It looks to Winston and Sanders like he tried to buy me the lead architect position and cut them out.”

  “Oh, for the love of God! That’s a problem? Those two clowns in California should be happy the firm’s name is even associated with Levinson’s project.”

  Elise pursed her lips. “I think I need to fly back there, Dad, and see if I can straighten it out before my career gets pushed off a cliff and nosedives into a slimy pit.”

  “I’ll say you do,” Anton agreed. When she looked at him surprised, he continued, “And I’d tell those two buffoons exactly what you want. By the way, tell me, what is it you want?”

  “I’m in love with Lucas and Todd, but I’m also in love with my job,” she admitted, “and they’re separated by about twenty-eight hundred miles.”

  “Oh, Lizzie, don’t you know love can conquer the impossible?” He parted his arms and raised them toward the sky. “Love is the master key that opens the gates of happiness.”

  She looked at her dad, surprised again. “Oh my, that’s so sweet and poetic, Dad.”

  Anton grunted. “Yeah, Oliver Wendell Holmes thought so, too.” He resettled himself in the chair again. “Lizzie, you’re an accomplished professional. If you have to go back to California, do it. Get the next plane out. Tell those idiots you want both love and your job. Why don’t you offer to set up a satellite office on the East Coast here? You use their name to expand. After all, they’ve been using you, mind you, for the last seven years—and not in the right way!”

  She stared at her dad. When her father got on a tear, there was no stopping him, but she had to admit, the idea wasn’t so far-fetched. She could take occasional trips back to San Francisco when need be or do face-to-face meetings with video conferencing.

  “It might work,” she said. “You are amazing.” She leaned over and brushed a gentle kiss on his weathered cheek. “Please don’t say anything to Lucas until I can call Winston and Sanders and try to sort this out.”

  She stood up. “Oh, and to make matters worse, we’re still no closer to solving Mike Fisher’s murder even though we found the department’s money safely stashed along with all Mike Fisher’s important papers. Something just doesn’t jive. Somehow, I think Jack Morrison is involved, even if he has an alibi.”

  Anton pursed his lips and drew his eyebrows into a puzzled look before he spoke. “So nose around. Talk to some of the staff who are close to him. Someone knows something, Liz. No one is asking the right person the right questions. Throw your rope farther out and see what it catches.”

  Elise stood. “I guess I’ll have to. Do you need help getting into the house?”

  ‘Nah, I’m going to sit out here a while and listen to the birds and feel the sunshine on my face.” He pulled out a cell phone. It looked like one of the new models everyone was buying for the elderly at large discount department stores. “This is Lucas’s new gift to me.” He flipped it open to show her the keypad. “They must think all old people are blind or have big fingers. Take a gander at these gigantic numbers, will you? Won’t Lucas be thrilled when I make my first call to him from the front lawn of my own house and ask him to come out and help me inside?” The old man chortled and slapped his knee.

  Elise sighed and shook her head. Without another word, she headed for her car.

  Rosie’s Posies was doing a brisk business when Elise entered the shop an hour later. A tall thin girl wearing a green logo apron was working the counter, and a lanky boy in cargo pants and a green tee-shirt with the same logo was stocking coolers with flowers from a recent bulk delivery. The shop smelled heavenly of roses, gardenias, and moist moss and earth.

  Elise approached the girl, whose nametag said “Amy.” “I need some help,” she said. “One of my friends in Atlanta wants a bouquet just like the one Monique DuBois received a few days ago. Could you look it up?”

  The girl punched the keys of her computer for a few moments, stared at the screen, then looked up at her. “It was a mixture of pastel roses, lilies and wild flowers,” she said. “It’s called Springtime Medley.”

  “Can you tell me the name of the person who sent the bouquet?”

  The girl looked at her warily, but admitted, “It was paid for in cash.”

  Elise decided her only option was to lie. “Do you know what the person who paid for the flowers looked like? It seems the card was misplaced when they were delivered to Monique in Atlanta, and she has no way of thanking her admirer.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” the girl said.

  “It was a woman,” the boy said with his head still in the cooler. “I remember her well. A tall, thin woman with lots of rings on her fingers and flashy bracelets on her wrists. She smelled like she had just smoked a carton of cigarettes. She wore bright red lipstick, too.”

  Clarisse Fisher. Elise made the connection without much thought. Why would Clarisse be sending Monique flowers with Lucas’s name on them? Unless she wanted to get rid of Lucas by hoping Monique would lure him back to Atlanta? Unless she was involved with something that warranted keeping Lucas at a distance. Was she somehow involved in Mike’s murder? Elise headed for the door with more questions tumbling around in her head than she when she entered the shop.

  “Would you like to place an order?” the girl at the counter called after her.

  Elise shook her head. “No, thank you, maybe next week.” She tugged on the door handle. Outside she paused on the street and felt warm sunlight on her back. It cast shadows cutting the sidewalk in two. Farther up the street, the sweet smell of cinnamon, sugar, and yeast drifted from a bakery shop.

  Throw your rope out farther echoed in her ears as Elise opened her car door and realized her windshield was decorated with a parking ticket. She groaned, snatched it from underneath the wiper blade, slapped it on the dashboard inside her car, and turned the ignition. She needed to find someone to give her a better insight into Jack Morrison, and the only person she knew was Linda Cook at Child and Youth Services. She put the car into drive, maneuvered it through a coffee kiosk, and headed for the agency. She was glad to see Morrison’s car was not in the parking lot when she arrived. She called Nick from her cell phone before she went into the building.

  He picked up on the first ring. “Got good news?” he asked.

  “Can you tell me if there were any connections between Jack Morrison and Mike Fisher?”

  She could hear Nick rustling papers on his desk. “Fisher had Morrison in his sights. He thought maybe Morrison was selling marijuana, but could never pin anything on him. Mike was actually interested in bigger guys than an occasional pot smoker, but Morrison and he didn’t see eye-to-eye about foster care, as you well know, so Morrison was on his radar.”

  “Do you think Ted Meyer knew Morrison might be involved with illegal substances?”

  “I really don’t know, Elise.”

  “Okay, it’s a start, Nick. We have a connection. One more thing—we’ve checked Mike’s outgoing calls for that day, but did you check his incoming calls? I’m wondering if anyone of interest called him the day he died, either Morrison, Clarisse, or Meyer?”

  “I’ll look at the printout again. I’ll get back to you if I find anything.”

  “Okay, call me on my cell.” Elise punched the end button and slid out of her car.

  Linda Cook looked up suspiciously from her compu
ter when Elise entered the office minutes later and slumped down into a chair beside the desk, holding two cups of coffee.

  “Did you have an appointment with someone?” Linda asked and nervously scanned her appointment calendar, the pencil in her hand tapping away on her desk blotter like a nervous woodpecker. “I don’t have your name anywhere here.”

  Elise shook her head and set a cup of coffee on the desk in front of Linda. “You look like a cream and sugar gal, right?”

  Linda curled her hand around the offered coffee and waited.

  “I need some information about Jack Morrison,” Elise admitted. “I figured since you worked with him, you might help me.” She had Linda’s attention now and she knew it.

  “I don’t want to jeopardize my job,” Linda said, looking at her suspiciously.

  “You’re right, so I’ll ask the questions, and you can decide whether you want to answer or not.” Elise removed the cover on her coffee and blew on it. “You dated Jack at one time, didn’t you?”

  Linda nodded.

  “And didn’t you think it might jeopardize your job?”

  When Linda only stared at her with a raised eyebrow, Elise realized her mistake and quickly relented. “Never mind, you don’t have to answer.” She took a sip of coffee. “Do you know whether Jack owed any money?”

  “Probably,” Linda admitted with another nod of her head. “Jack was a big gambler. Gamblers lose money. Gamblers don’t always have money to cover their habit or their debts.”

  “Any big amounts?”

  Linda Cook shook her head. “I wouldn’t know about the amount.”

  “Did Jack know Mike Fisher?”

  Linda snorted. “Know? More like knew and disliked. Jack always had a gripe about Mike Fisher. Mike was the champion of the underdog. If there was a domestic dispute, Mike tried to get it worked out between the husband and wife, girlfriend and boyfriend, especially if children were involved. He wasn’t big on removing children from the home, being a foster kid himself. Jack said Mike Fisher was naïve and interfered with his ability to do his job.”