by Sherry Lewis
“A bit too much of him,” Kate agreed, but she laughed softly. “I don’t know, Fred. I hate him, you know.”
“I know.”
“I don’t want to see him again and I told you up front I never wanted to talk to him.”
“You’re the one who broke that rule. I didn’t drag you into The Frame-Up this morning. Look, I know it will be difficult, but I’ve already talked to him on my own and didn’t get much out of him. I think we’ll get a whole lot more if you do the talking. Besides, he won’t refuse to speak with me if you’re there.”
“I don’t like it.”
“I never asked you to like it.” He stopped and took her by the shoulders. “Listen, Kate, we’re going around town asking questions because we say we want to know who killed Joan—or that we want to understand about Shadow Mountain. Well, there’s just no way to do that if we keep tiptoeing around Brandon. So do you want to find out who killed Joan, or do you want to keep fiddling around?”
She glared at him. “You’re pushy, you know that?”
“It’s one of my better qualities.”
She laughed without humor. “And if I refuse?”
“I’ll keep pushing you. You know as well as I do that you have to do it some time.”
She walked away from him, but her step held little conviction. He followed at a discreet distance, knowing what her answer would be but content to wait until she knew herself.
After several minutes, she stopped and faced him. “All right. But I have a terrible feeling I’m going to be sorry.”
nineteen
A little before five, Fred pulled into the Cavanaugh’s gravel drive and parked in front of the garage. Margaret’s car wasn’t there, so Fred figured that she’d already gone home for the evening. Kate had been fidgeting the whole way up the mountain. She seemed so nervous Fred felt a little bad for her. As soon as he parked, he noticed Enos climbing out of his truck and strolling toward the Buick. He looked sullen and he tapped on the window, motioning for Fred to roll it down.
Muttering under his breath, Fred lowered the automatic window. “What are you doing here?”
Enos bent to look into the car, leaning his elbows on the door and nodding a brittle greeting to Kate. “I’m working. What brings you two up here?”
Kate’s face composed itself in stony lines and she managed, somehow, to look offended. “I want to speak with my brother-in-law, Sheriff. I asked Fred to come with me. Is that a problem?”
Enos pushed back his old black hat and looked surprised. “Well, now, that’s a change of tune for you, isn’t it? Why do you suddenly want to talk to him?”
“My sister was murdered in this town and my only living relative happens to be Brandon’s daughter. In order to see her, I have to see him.”
Her tone was so abrupt, Fred smiled sheepishly. “Don’t let her bother you, son. She’s upset. This has all been hard on her. She just wants to make sure Madison is taken care of before she leaves town. We’ve heard one or two things that kind of worry her about the child.”
Enos looked skeptical. “I wish I could believe that was all you had in mind.”
Somehow Kate managed to look down her nose at Enos even towered both of them. “Have I ever given you reason to doubt my word, Sheriff?”
Enos tipped the brim of his hat. “No ma’am. But Fred—well, he’s a horse of a different color, so to speak.”
Stung by the insult, Fred opened the car door and shoved it against Enos’s legs. “I’ve never lied to you and you know it. I’ve tried to talk to you about this case, and you won’t listen.”
Enos stepped out of the way with a nod. “I guess that’s true. But you do forget to tell me things. And you forget the things I tell you. I’ll bet you already forgot that I told you to keep your nose out of this investigation.”
Fred took a deep breath of clear mountain air, too thin and cold to give him a good lungful. “Speaking of the investigation, what did you find when Ben took you over to Summer’s? Anything interesting?”
Enos patted his jacket, searched his pockets and came up with a piece of Doublemint. “Plenty,” he said around the gun, “but nothing I’m going to tell you about.”
Kate climbed out of the car and slammed the passenger door. “Are you ready, Fred?”
Enos’s answer had grabbed Fred’s attention, so he waved a hand at her “Give me a minute,” he said. Turning back to Enos, he said, “That’s where it happened, isn’t it? That’s where Joan was killed.”
Enos shoved his hands into his pockets and walked toward the edge of the parking area. He stood still for a moment, looking over the treetops toward town. Fred followed slowly. He wanted desperately to know what Enos had learned, but he also knew Enos wouldn’t confide in him if he felt pressured.
Craning his neck, Fred looked out over the scene that stretched out below. The lake glittered like jewels in the winter sunlight. Heavy, dark pines capped in white stood guard on its shores. An occasional wisp of smoke marked the location of a house, but the forest still grew thick enough to cover the evidence of civilization.
What would happen to this place if Shadow Mountain became a reality? Fred visualized other once-remote mountain areas that now teamed with life. Six and eight-lane freeways sliced through the mountains, condominiums scrabbled over the hillsides. People—everywhere the people wanting and hungry with greed—buying up every parcel of land until the locals, whose families had lived in one spot for a hundred years, could no longer afford the taxes or the cost of living in their own homes.
How long would it be before they devoured this forest? He sighed and Enos glanced at him. The sadness in the younger man’s eyes convinced Fred that he’d been having similar thoughts.
“It’s going, Fred,” Enos said. “Someday this will all be gone, and I don’t think there’s a blasted thing you or I can do to stop it.”
Fred squinted into the sunlight, lifted his face and reveled in its fragile warmth. He could hear Kate moving around behind them, could feel her anxiety growing. This was one of the things she couldn’t understand; the luxury of standing still in the sun for a minute. He didn’t think she felt any joy in nature or in the act of living itself. She felt only the pressure of the moment and the need to accomplish—to excel. From achievement she derived her pleasure. But once her ability to achieve diminished, so would her happiness.
“Are you coming, Fred?” she called. He recognized the tension in her voice and responded. Patting Enos lightly on the shoulder, Fred turned back toward the house.
Kate waited for him near the porch as patiently as she knew how. Deep furrows creased her forehead, a frown puckered her mouth. Fred didn’t look back at Enos; he would follow in a minute.
They climbed onto the deck. Tension flowed from Kate, making every movement precise. Fred knocked and almost immediately the door flew open. He had expected Brandon, maybe Tony, but Madison caught him off guard. She held the doorknob in both hands and stared at them with doe eyes, big and dark and wounded. Her tiny face puckered in a frown.
Kate gasped audibly and Fred put out an arm to steady her.
They stared at one another, the child and the woman, taking each other’s measure. Fred watched Madison, but remained acutely aware of Kate standing at his side.
When it became apparent that Kate would not speak, he broke the silence. “Hello, sweetheart. Is your daddy here?”
Madison’s dark eyes turned to him. She nodded solemnly.
“Can we come in and talk to him?”
She shrugged and turned to Kate. “You look like my mommy,” she said softly and her little voice wavered slightly. She didn’t wait for a response, but turned and ran down the hall. In the distance, Fred could hear her child’s voice calling for Brandon.
Kate stared after the child, her breath shallow, her eyes wide. He’d known how she would react once she saw the child. Madison’s wide brown eyes and long blonde hair created a startling effect. But more importantly, she looked almost exactly like J
oan. He’d believed that if he saw it, Kate would, too. She had. It had shaken her.
He listened to the interior of the house, silent now. Even the sounds of Madison’s voice had faded. Enos climbed the steps and joined them, but Kate barely seemed to notice. She still looked stunned when heavy adult footsteps approached the door and Brandon greeted them.
He gave no hint of embarrassment at their last meeting. Leading them into the living room, he grinned easily. “What’s this Enos? I didn’t know you’d joined their little group. Is it the Three Musketeers now?” He chuckled at his own joke and then looked around the room. Piles of papers littered the coffee table. Someone had unpacked several large crates in the middle of the floor and exposed the backs of two large framed paintings. Packing material littered the floor, other artwork of various sizes leaned against chairs and the sofa.
Fred hadn’t seen such a mess since they’d visited Summer Dey’s art studio. In fact, the longer he stared at the mess, the more familiar it looked. “Aren’t some of these Summer’s work?”
Brandon smiled. “Ah, I see you’re a man of many talents. You’re an art expert on top of everything else.”
Enos held his hat in both hands and looked at one of Summer’s drab splatter paintings. “Why do you have these up here?”
“I wasn’t aware there was any law against purchasing art,” Brandon smiled broadly, but something dark hid behind his eyes. “These are just a few paintings Winona suggested I look at to begin my collection.”
Enos looked up sharply. “Those?”
“They don’t look like much, do they? But I’m told they fetch quite a price in Boston.” Brandon chuckled. He seemed to be greatly amused.
Enos gave the paintings another look. “You’re kidding?”
“Not your style?” Brandon sat with a groan. “Not really mine either, but I’m looking for an investment and Winona says people are willing to pay through the nose for these things if they’re marketed right.”
Though he couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to spend more than a few dollars, if that, Fred asked, “How much would these go for?”
Brandon scowled at him. “Why? Do you want to buy one?”
Before Fred could answer, Enos stepped forward, coming effectively between them. “Are you buying them from Winona?”
“Well, of course. That way everybody’s happy.”
Kate raised her eyes to Brandon’s. “Are these some of the paintings Joan stole from Summer?”
A frown tugged down on the corners of Brandon’s mouth. “Joan never stole anything from Summer Dey. She, darling Kate, is crazy as a loon.”
“Summer is quite convincing,” Kate said.
“Why would Joan have stolen anything from her? It’s not like she needed the money or anything. But that crazy woman wouldn’t believe it and she damn near destroyed my dinner party when she came up here that night. It was all we could do to get rid of her.”
Brandon watched Kate with an expression that seemed almost greedy. It sent a shiver of apprehension up Fred’s spine. If Brandon’s interest disturbed her, she gave no sign.
Enos scratched his head, bemused. “You say Summer’s crazy but you’re going to buy her paintings. Why?”
“Because Winona says they’re valuable, and when it comes to art, I trust her judgment.”
Winona. Everything kept pointing back to Winona and to Summer. Had Summer killed Joan because she believed Joan had stolen the paintings? Or had Winona killed her because Joan discovered what Winona was doing? Or were the paintings really unimportant? “When did you get these?” Fred asked. “They weren’t here last time I stopped by.”
Brandon’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. “I don’t remember,” he said. “And it’s none of your concern anyway.” He hadn’t liked that question, but why not?
Kate moved toward a stack of paintings against the window and Brandon’s eyes followed her every move. Fred wondered if he still felt an attraction for her or if it was some other emotion that clouded his features. “Is this why you came to see me Kate? To check out my art collection?”
Kate ignored him and turned to Fred. “Do you think these are the ones Summer accused Joan of stealing?”
“Could be,” Fred said. “I wouldn’t know.”
“How much does Winona claim these would bring you if she sold them?” she asked Brandon.
He shrugged and named an outrageous figure. Fred let out a low whistle. Even Enos looked startled. Fred had never imagined a simple picture could be worth that much money. One or two sales would have made Summer—or someone else—very comfortable for a long time. No wonder she was upset by the art theft.
“If Joan didn’t steal the paintings, then who did?” Kate demanded. “Winona? Did Joan find out what Winona was doing? Is that why Winona killed her?”
Brandon looked bored by her outburst. “Ever the dramatic, aren’t you Kate? Just what is it you think Joan found out?”
“Besides the fact that you were cheating on her? I just told you! That Winona was selling these paintings and pocketing the money.”
“There’s nothing illegal about collecting a commission when you act as an agent.”
“But she stole these, didn’t she? And she made it look like Joan was responsible.” Fred interrupted. “And when Summer found out about it, she thought it was Joan who’d stolen her work.”
Enos folded his arms over his chest. “I think you’d better fill me in, Brandon. Tell me what you know.”
Brandon looked away from Kate with some effort. “Joan figured it out herself when Summer came to her that day. She came home upset and angry with Winona and threatened to force her out of town. Winona promised to make everything up to Summer, and eventually Joan calmed down about it. But she never felt the same about their partnership after that. Joan blamed herself. She felt responsible for Winona, like she owed her something—not money exactly, but something. She knew it was the money that drove Winona to steal the paintings.
Joan believed that if she could give Winona something, set her up with her own business, she’d either stop or she’d run herself into the ground. That’s when she signed the store over to Winona. She said she didn’t want anything to do with it any longer. I thought Winona had taken care of everything, but when Summer showed up here at dinner the night Joan died, I realized she still didn’t know the truth. After Summer finally left, Joan and Winona had another one of their arguments. Joan took off and that was the last I saw of her.”
“And in spite of that,” Fred said, “you still tried to claim that she committed suicide? Why?”
“I thought she had! There were the pills and—”
“—and your affair with Winona?” Kate said. “How did she find out about that?”
Brandon let out a defeated breath. “Winona told her about it. I don’t think Joan believed it at first, but later . . .” He stood and crossed to the fireplace, resting an arm on the mantle and letting his head droop. He certainly looked the picture of dejection, but Fred wasn’t buying it. His reaction was a little too polished.
“When did Winona tell Joan about your affair?” Enos asked.
Brandon shrugged and lifted a tired-looking face. “I don’t know. A few weeks ago, maybe.”
“Not the night she died?”
“No, it was before that.”
“You’re sure?” Enos looked thoughtful. “I don’t think that’s exactly right. Think about it again, will you? I don’t think Winona ever told Joan about your affair. I think Joan found out for herself when she went to The Frame-Up and found the two of you together. She was shocked and angry, wasn’t she? She came home and you followed her. When you got here, she told you she wanted a divorce.”
Brandon shook his head, but Enos pressed on. “You argued with her and then you struck her, didn’t you? And later, somehow, when your guests were all being entertained, you slipped out and killed her.”
Brandon’s eyes had widened with fear. “No. No, it wasn’t like that at all.”
<
br /> “I’ve got a witness who will testify that you and Joan had a violent argument here on the night she died.” Enos said.
A hushed stillness settled over the room as Enos’s words died away. From behind them all, a voice broke the silence. “I had to tell them the truth, Brandon. I’m sorry, but I had to.”
Fred turned in what seemed like slow motion and found Tony in the doorway, his face twisted with emotion.
“Joan was terrified that night,” Tony said. “Everyone in the house could hear you two. I stayed with Madison—you know how she hated it when you argued. Afterward, when you came downstairs, so upset about Joan and what would happen to Shadow Mountain, I got worried. I talked to Joan after dinner. I’d never seen her so upset. That’s why I believed she’d killed herself. Especially when I found the bottle of sleeping pills . . .” His voice broke over a choked sob, and then without warning, he sprang from the doorway and rushed Brandon. “You son of a bitch! You killed her, didn’t you?”
Enos reacted quickly, but not quickly enough. Tony hit Brandon in the stomach, and Brandon doubled over with an Oooph! He came up swinging, connecting with Enos’s jaw. At that, Fred sprang into action, grabbing Tony’s arms and pinning them behind his back. The younger man twisted and fought, but Fred ground his teeth and held on. He just hoped his strength would last long enough for Enos to get the situation under control.
At first he thought Kate was helping him, but after a few seconds, Fred realized she had rushed past him. While Enos grappled with Brandon he tried to fend off Kate’s blows which, though aimed at Brandon, fell with disturbing regularity on Enos’s head and shoulders.
Fred didn’t know whether he should hang onto Tony or try to get Kate under control so Enos could do his job. He decided to stay with Tony, reasoning that Enos could handle two people better than Fred could. Before he knew it, Kate had settled down and Enos had Brandon in custody. Tony finally stopped struggling and, gratefully, Fred released him.
“I’m taking you in, Brandon, on suspicion of murder,” Enos said. “We’ve located the spot where Joan died and we’ve found tire prints outside that match those on Joan’s vehicle. We have witnesses who heard the two of you arguing and who will testify that you struck your wife the night she died. We know about your involvement in Shadow Mountain and about Joan’s threat to pull her money out of the deal. We know about your affair with her sister. The only thing I don’t know yet is how you managed to kill her in the middle of the party, but I’m gonna figure that out too.”
