Don’t Close Your Eyes

by Carlene Thompson

  “I’m sure. I wonder what Lindstrom wanted?”

  “I wouldn’t know.” Nick looked at her intently and her gaze dropped. He had a feeling he was dealing with a discreet but scrupulously honest woman. “Well, that’s not quite true. I did overhear part of their conversation. I didn’t mean to, but I’d gone to the kitchen and from there you can’t help overhearing . . .”

  “I understand.” He took a sip of Coke. “I had a talk with Lindstrom once. He was pretty obnoxious.”

  “He was odious! Loud, rude. I didn’t catch every word, but he kept asking questions about Warren. Did Mr. Peyton know Warren was having an affair with Charlotte Bishop? Did Mr. Peyton believe Warren had murdered Tamara? Mr. Peyton was becoming extremely agitated when suddenly Lindstrom said—”

  She drew a deep breath, frowned, and looked down at her twisting hands. Don’t let her stop now, Nick implored silently. But he knew this woman would not respond to pressure. He continued to look at her with interest but not avidity.

  “Well, this has been bothering me,” Mrs. Ebert resumed slowly. “Lindstrom said something about exposure to Mr. Peyton.”

  “Exposure?” Nick repeated quietly as the word screamed in his mind. “I wonder what he meant by that?”

  “I haven’t the faintest idea. I don’t believe Mr. Peyton has any secrets. He’s an honorable man. He was devoted to Mrs. Peyton. That’s why I’m surprised by his involvement with Mrs. Cosgrove. She’s so different . . .” She was wandering and Nick wanted to shout, “Get back to the point!” Extreme will power stopped him. “I wondered and wondered what this Lindstrom character could have meant by exposure,” Mrs. Ebert went on. “And I think I have an idea.”

  Nick was leaning so far forward he nearly fell off the settee. He quickly grabbed the glass of Coke and drained it to hide his agitation.

  “Do you need another drink, Sheriff?”

  “No, I’m fine. You said you have an idea what Lindstrom meant by exposure?”

  “I wondered if it might have something to do with Alison. I thought possibly she’d been in some mischief and Mr. Peyton wanted to protect her for Mrs. Cosgrove’s sake.”

  “Alison? Mischief?”

  “I can’t think of anything else, particularly since I learned she’s been going to the Saunders house at night, dressing up, listening to music. It’s hard to tell what else she might have been doing.”

  “I see what you mean about Alison,” Nick said. “What happened after Lindstrom made this threat?”

  “Mr. Peyton told him to get out or he’d call the police. And Lindstrom left. Afterward I went in to see if I could do anything for Mr. Peyton, but he was quite sharp with me. The first time in ten years. But he was deeply troubled. He drank two snifters of brandy. Took them straight down. I’ve never seen him do that before.”

  “And then what?”

  “Then he slammed out of the house and drove off. Lily had come out of her room by then and she was terribly worried. She went out, too. Mr. Peyton didn’t return until near dawn. I know because I was too disturbed to sleep and I heard him come in.”

  “Where do you suppose he went?”

  “I don’t know.” She colored slightly. “Perhaps to Mrs. Cosgrove’s house. He often stays there quite late.”

  “And you didn’t see Lily again, either?”

  “Not that night.” Mrs. Ebert rubbed at a shallow vertical line between her eyebrows. “I feel that I’ve said far too much, but Mr. Lindstrom was a terrible person. The very idea of verbally attacking Mr. Peyton on the day of his daughter’s funeral! Not only that, but threatening him with exposure, of all things. It was distressing and ridiculous!”

  Nick was quite sure Oliver Peyton found the threat of ]exposure distressing. He was not at all sure the man found it ridiculous.

  V

  After downing another glass of Coke and a second plate of Ritz crackers with cheese, Nick gave up on Oliver Peyton. “Will you tell him I need to talk with him when he comes home?” he asked Mrs. Ebert.

  “Certainly. I can’t guarantee that he’ll contact you, though.” She looked at him regretfully. “He seems to be dodging people lately. All the stress.”

  “I understand. But this is very important, Mrs. Ebert. Would you give me a call even if he doesn’t? I won’t mention your name to him.” The woman looked as if she were going to refuse. “Mrs. Ebert, I’m trying to find Tamara’s killer.”

  “All right,” she said unhappily. “I’ll call.”

  He felt slightly ashamed as he walked back to the car. He’d enlisted the woman’s help by telling her he wanted to find Tamara’s killer. He knew Oliver Peyton didn’t murder his daughter. He wasn’t so sure Oliver Peyton had not murdered Jeff Lindstrom.

  He sat in the car wondering what to do next. He’s wanted to talk to Hysell about Dee, but Hysell wasn’t coming on duty until four because he’d been up all night dealing with the Alison Cosgrove attack, allowing Nick to go home for a few hours of sleep and some time with Paige. He’d talk to Hysell this evening. Now he’d make another attempt to see Dee.

  Nick braced himself as he pulled up to the Fisher home. His first two visits had been less than pleasant. He had a feeling his third could provoke an actual physical attack from the frail Mrs. Fisher. He noticed an old Volkswagen in the driveway that had not been there on his previous visits. Maybe it was Dee’s.

  His question was answered as soon as the front door swung open. A woman of around thirty with curly brown hair stood before him. She wore jeans on a sturdy frame, and her only makeup was a slash of bright pink lipstick. She looked exhausted.

  “Dee Fisher?” he asked.

  “The famous Sheriff Meredith. Ted talks about you a lot.” From her tone Nick guessed Hysell did not speak of him in glowing terms. “My mother has a lot to say about you, too.”

  “We’ve had a couple of conversations. May I come in?”

  “Why?”

  “Because I need to talk to you.” Dee continued to stare at him. “If you don’t want to disturb your mother, we could speak out here on the lawn.” He paused. “Or at headquarters.”

  “Headquarters!” Mrs. Fisher appeared behind Dee like a small, squawking bird. “I knew you’d gone and done somethin’ wrong, Dee. Can’t keep outta trouble. Just like your daddy!”

  She began to rasp, then to cough. She backed away from the door, hacking forcefully into one hand, swatting with the other at Dee when she came near. “Get away! You only make me worse!” Splutter, gag, snort. Dee turned to Nick, looking utterly hopeless and exhausted. “You’d better come inside. As you can see, I can’t leave her.”

  Nick stepped inside. He knew better than to suggest calling the E.M.S. Dee hovered over her mother who bent double, alternately coughing and cursing, until the siege began to subside. “I’ll get you some lemonade,” Dee said.

  “Beer!”

  “Mom—”

  “I said beer!” Mrs. Fisher quavered. “And get him one, too. He’s a beer-drink-in’ man. Might put him in a better mood.”

  “Lemonade for me,” Nick told Dee. “I’m on duty.”

  Mrs. Fisher glared at him. “Coward.”

  Off to another roaring start, Nick thought as he entered the small, stuffy living room. At least he’d pinned down the elusive Dee.

  She returned to the living room with a glass of lemonade and a can of beer. Mrs. Fisher motioned to the plasticcovered couch Nick had sat on the other night and planted herself on the armchair across from him. “Mrs. Fisher, it might be better if I spoke to Dee alone,” he said.

  Angry light flared in her eyes. “This is my house! Nothin’ goes on in here that I don’t know about and that includes conversations!”

  What must it have been like to grow up with this hostile, suspicious woman? Nick wondered. He wanted to order her from the room, but he knew it was no use. Dee was looking at him warily as she hovered near her mother’s chair.

  “I talked with your mother this morning,” Nick said. “She said she hadn’t
seen you since yesterday afternoon.”

  “I was out.”

  “He knows that!” Mrs. Fisher snapped. “Out doin’ what is what he wants to know, and me, too, for that matter, me here dyin’ and you not even botherin’ to come home all night.” She took a slug of beer from the can. “And don’t try to tell me you was with that deputy ’cause he called here for you this mornin’. I said you was in church. Hah! Bet he believed that one!”

  “Ma, please,” Dee said tiredly.

  Nick looked at Dee. “I would like to know where you were.”

  “What’s it matter? I don’t have to answer to you.”

  “What is the big secret?”

  “There’s no secret.” Dee tried unsuccessfully to laugh. “I just think it’s my own business where I go.”

  Nick stared at her steadily. “Normally I would agree, but you’ve heard what happened to Alison Cosgrove last night.”

  “I saw the paper this morning. She got attacked. What’s that got to do with me?”

  “Do you know what happened to Jeff Lindstrom?”

  Dee stiffened. “Who is Jeff Lindstrom?”

  “The man Natalie St. John found murdered in front of her house this morning.” He paused. “The man who’s motel room you were seen coming out of Thursday night.”

  “I knew it!” Mrs. Fisher exploded. “Knew it, knew it, knew it! Whorin’ around. He’s the one!”

  “I don’t know any Jeff Lindstrom!” Dee’s fists clenched. “What are you saying? That I killed this guy?”

  “I’m saying he disappeared Thursday and he was found murdered this morning. I’m saying you were positively identified as the woman who came out of his room at the Lakeview Motel Thursday night crying.”

  “The Lakeview?” Color faded from Dee’s face. “Who says they saw me at the Lakeview?”

  “The desk clerk. Wade Hanley.”

  “I don’t know any Wade Hanley.”

  “He and his father were in a car wreck two years ago. His father died. Wade spent some time in the hospital and met you. He remembers you.”

  “He made a mistake.”

  “Then you deny being at the Lakeview Motel Thursday night?” Dee stared at him defiantly. “Ms. Fisher, I have to tell you that you could be in some serious trouble.” Nick was stretching things. He had no evidence linking Dee to any of the murders, and only Wade’s word that she was in Lindstrom’s room, but he knew she was holding back.

  “Dee, what’s going on?”

  Everyone looked up to see Ted Hysell standing in the doorway. “What are you doin’ in here?” Mrs. Fisher demanded. “Nobody let you in!”

  “The door was open,” Hysell said. Nick knew this wasn’t true, but the deputy held Dee’s gaze. “Dee, I’m going to ask again. What’s going on? Were you seeing Jeff Lindstrom?”

  Dee’s mouth quivered. Finally a tear ran down her cheek. “Honest to God, I don’t know who Jeff Lindstrom is. I was at the Lakeview, though. Not just Thursday—a few nights. But it’s not what you think, Ted.”

  “Then what was it?” Nick asked.

  Dee sat down on the couch, her shoulders sagging, tears flowing freely. “Ted, you remember me telling you about my niece Maggie that ran away from home? The one that’s sixteen?”

  “Lou’s girl?” Mrs. Fisher asked. “I didn’t know nothin’ about it.”

  “I didn’t tell you. But I did tell Ted.”

  “I remember,” Ted said.

  “She got tied up with this older guy. Supposed to be her boyfriend, but after a few months he tried to put her on the streets. When she wouldn’t do what he wanted, he started beating on her. So she came here.”

  “Wantin’ money, no doubt!” This from Mrs. Fisher.

  “Wanting safety,” Dee said. “Her mother got remarried after her and Lou divorced and the new husband doesn’t like Maggie. He’s some big deal at a bank and thinks because she’s been in trouble a couple of times, she’ll ruin his reputation. Her mother let Lou have her. Lou is my brother, but he’s a louse.”

  “I’ll drink to that,” Mrs. Fisher said, gulping to prove her point.

  “That’s why she ran away in the first place, having to live with Lou,” Dee went on. “She didn’t have anywhere else to go but with this guy, this creep. When he tried to turn her out, she had to get away from him. I guess I was sort of her last hope, but she’d told him about me. She was afraid he’d come here looking for her, so I put her up at the Lakeview. You know, hid her away.”

  “What room number?” Nick asked.

  “Room number? Ten. Why?”

  “Because Lindstrom’s room number was eleven.”

  Dee frowned. “Was he about six feet, dark blond hair?” Nick nodded. “I remember seeing him. He gave Maggie the eye. I told her not even to talk to him.”

  If Dee was telling the truth, Wade’s surveillance wasn’t as keen as he claimed, Nick thought. He’d seen Dee coming out of the room next to Lindstrom’s.

  “So you were going to the Lakeview to see Maggie?” Ted asked, a trace of doubt in his voice.

  “Yeah. I put her up there a few days. Cost a pretty penny, although it’s the cheapest place in town. But I had to keep her safe till I could get something worked out for her. I wasn’t having much luck. Thursday night she said she was going back to the creep. I talked her into giving me just a couple more days, but I was so upset I thought I’d die. I’ve always loved that girl and I couldn’t bear thinking of her being a prostitute, maybe getting AIDS. I guess I was crying when I ran back to my car.”

  “Where have you been for the last twenty-four hours?” Nick asked.

  Mrs. Fisher leaned forward. “That’s what I’d like to know, me here dyin’ all alone and you traipsin’ around playin’ savior to some kid you barely know and what never done a thing for you, not like me, your own mother—”

  Dee said in a low, distinct voice, “Ma, shut up.”

  Mrs. Fisher recoiled, spluttering. “Well, well I never . . .”

  Dee looked at Ted. “I was trying to work out things with Maggie’s mother. She lives in Brantford, Canada. I went there to see her. It’s not that far, but far enough so I had to spend the night. Anyway, the husband finally caved in and Maggie’s mother came for her today. They’re on the way back to Brantford now.”

  “You realize we’ll have to check this out,” Nick said.

  “Yeah. I’ll give you the name and phone number. Could you wait until Maggie’s mom has time to get home, though? If her husband gets a call from the police, it could set him off again, make him change his mind about letting Maggie stay. They should be home in three or four hours.”

  Normally Nick would have been unwilling to wait so long to verify a story, but he thought Dee was a woman of limited imagination and her story was too full of details for her to have invented it on the spur of the moment.

  “I think you’ve answered all my questions for now,” Nick said, standing. “I would like to talk with you again, though. Maybe tomorrow.”

  “Talk to her about what?” Mrs. Fisher asked querulously.

  Nick’s eyes met Hysell’s and the answer hung in the air. Maybe Dee hadn’t murdered Jeff Lindstrom, but they still had four other victims on their hands, all children of people who had been instrumental in the destruction of a man Dee Fisher loved beyond reason.

  19

  I

  SATURDAY 8:45 P.M.

  “It’s your bedtime.”

  “I don’t have a bedtime,” Paige answered.

  Mrs. Collins put her hands on her hips and glared. “You do now, young lady. After all the trouble you’ve caused me, you should be glad I don’t put you to bed at six. And don’t think I don’t know your father is only keeping me until he can find someone else!” She drew a deep breath. “Well, I’ve told my friends I’m quitting this job because I won’t waste my time taking care of a disobedient little girl. You might have gotten away with your shenanigans before, but not now. This isn’t New York City, you know!”

  P
aige groaned. Mrs. Collins had been going on and on like this ever since what Paige now called “The Famous Saunders House Incident.” It wasn’t bad enough that the killer had seen her and that she’d been forbidden to even talk to Jimmy for a whole month. She also had to listen to Mrs. Collins carrying on all day long! She was almost glad to go to bed.

  “Come on, Ripley,” she said resignedly. “We’ll go read in bed.”

  “You’ll do no such thing! You will turn off the light and go to sleep immediately. Your father has spoiled you rotten, letting you get by with too much for too long,” Mrs. Collins harped, full of noble indignation. “I taught my daughter to behave. She would never have sneaked out in the middle of the night with a boy. Of course, she had a loving mother to watch over her!”

  The last statement was issued with an edge of reproach. When Paige turned a stricken look on her, Mrs. Collins realized her blunder. “Not that it’s your fault you don’t have a mother. It’s a tragedy. I could cry when I think of what happened to your mother. Shot by those hoodlums! No doubt she sits up in Heaven every day and weeps her eyes out over the little girl she had to leave all alone and will never see again until you die!”

  Paige’s face crumpled. Everyone else said her mother was in a beautiful place playing a harp (which she hadn’t known how to do in life) and singing and watching lions play with lambs in her spare time. Now Mrs. Collins claimed Mommy was unhappy and cried all day and would continue to cry until Paige came to be with her. It was awful. She suddenly felt guilty for being alive. Maybe she should die as soon as possible so Mommy could stop crying, but then Daddy would be sad and she would miss him and Ripley and Jimmy so much . . .

  Overcome, Paige broke into noisy sobs. Mrs. Collins went ramrod-straight, alarm flickering in her eyes. “Now you stop that! What if your father comes home?” She was appalled at the desolation she’d wrought, frustration turning up the volume of her voice. “What’s wrong? You don’t want to go to bed? All right, you can stay up until midnight, just stop that bawling. Lord have mercy, you are the most difficult child I have ever known!”