by Sherry Lewis
Loralee Kirkham waved to Fred from her living room window as he passed their big, ugly cabin, and he stopped for a brief chat with Arnold Van Dyke, all dressed up and driving a new Ford Taurus. He knew everybody in town, and they knew him. That’s one of the things Fred loved about living in Cutler. It was funny how, when he loved the town so much, every one of his boys had bailed out of Cutler almost as soon as they could.
He rounded the last curve before home and stopped again, this time to scratch the bark on a willow to see if the sap had started to run. Phoebe’s garden would need the soil turned any day now. If she’d still been here, she would have circled a date on the calendar for him to aim for. Maybe he’d circle one for himself, for old time’s sake.
He started up the driveway, but hesitated at the sight of an unfamiliar car parked behind Douglas’s in the driveway. Who would come calling that he didn’t know?
Glancing quickly into the car’s interior for some clue—and finding nothing—Fred hurried up the drive and across the deep front lawn toward the house. He stepped onto the porch, and a woman’s voice floated out through an open window. When he opened the front door, Celeste’s perfume hit him and his confusion evaporated.
“Fred!” Celeste Devereaux bounded up from the couch the second he opened the door. “I’d almost given up on you.”
Douglas had claimed the other corner of the couch. He usually draped himself in some comfortable position wherever he landed, but today he sat upright, hands in his lap, shoulders slightly hunched.
Celeste clinked her way across the room, pressed a glossy pink kiss to the air near Fred’s ear, and took his arm. “I was just telling Douglas how sorry I am about what happened with Suzanne earlier. You know, sometimes I don’t understand that girl.” Celeste walked with him as he headed for his chair, and hovered while he settled in. “I don’t know what she’s thinking, accusing Alison’s dear father like that. ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ I told her. ‘Do you know how serious an accusation like that can be? You could ruin that dear boy’s life—’” She broke off and shook her head. “I’m sure she doesn’t have any idea what she’s done.”
Fred set his rocker in motion. “Don’t let it worry you too much, Celeste. She hasn’t actually done anything.”
“Oh, but she has. She’s practically accused poor Douglas of murder.”
Practically? She had accused him. Knowing that her bitter words couldn’t harm Douglas gave Fred solace and made him charitable. “Enos has it under control. He’s not going to be swayed by an argument between Suzanne and Douglas.”
Celeste lowered herself onto the couch again, looking uncertain. “You don’t think so?”
“Not for a second. Everything’s fine.”
Without shifting position, Douglas asked, “Are you sure?”
“Absolutely. No sense making a mountain out of a molehill. Let’s just try to put it behind us.”
Celeste sighed and smiled a little. “I can’t help feeling bad. I guess if it was anyone but Douglas—” She broke off and patted Douglas’s knee. A second later, she brightened and leaned forward, eager to gossip. “I can’t say I’m sorry about what happened to Garrett. When I came back and found out Suzanne had taken up with him again—” She waved a hand in front of her as if dismissing an unsavory thought.
With that sentence she’d strayed into uneasy territory, and Fred didn’t want Douglas to join her. “Ivan came in as I was leaving Enos’s office a few minutes ago. He said something about finding an eyewitness.”
Celeste had leaned back in her seat, but the news brought her upright again. “An eyewitness? You’re kidding?”
“I understand that Albán saw somebody running away from Locke’s about the time of the murder.”
“Who?” Douglas asked, but he didn’t look as relieved as Fred had expected him to.
“I didn’t stick around to hear. Good news, though. This business can’t go on much longer now.”
“Albán?” Douglas’s voice sounded harsh. Maybe he just didn’t comprehend what this meant.
Fred reached for a section of the paper where he’d left it on the floor that morning. “That’s right. And if Albán says he saw someone leaving Locke’s—”
“Albán?” Celeste echoed. “What was Albán doing there?”
“Ivan said he was driving over to the Copper Penny.”
Douglas paled.
Fred lowered the paper slowly and stared at him. “What’s wrong?”
Douglas shoved his fingers through his hair and walked toward the window. “I think I’m in big trouble, Dad.”
Fred didn’t like the sound of this. He didn’t like the way Celeste hung on every word. And he didn’t like the bloodless look on Douglas’s face.
“What is it?” His voice sounded as if it had traveled from a distance to reach him.
“I think Albán saw me.”
Fred could hear his heart beating in his ear, drowning out Douglas’s voice and almost smothering Celeste’s shocked gasp.
Douglas turned from the window to face him, eyes wide with anxiety. “I was at Locke’s the night he was murdered.” He hunkered down in front of the chair and gripped Fred’s hands. “I didn’t kill him, Dad, but I was there. And I saw a car as I was leaving. It must have been Albán’s.”
Celeste made a soft moaning sound and a second later Fred could tell she’d started to cry. He wanted her to leave so he could think. He wanted Douglas to let go of his hands, and he wanted to wake up and discover he’d only imagined Douglas in the middle of this mess.
But the increased pressure of Douglas’s hands forced him to admit he wasn’t dreaming. And the knot of anguish in his heart convinced him the nightmare had only begun.
EIGHT
Early the next morning, Fred pulled the living room curtains to let in the sunlight and lowered himself into his rocking chair. Douglas had spent the rest of yesterday and all last night in his room, refusing to eat dinner or to speak to anyone. They hadn’t heard from Enos yet, so Fred remained hopeful that maybe Albán’s testimony hadn’t been bad news. Douglas, on the other hand, seemed to believe it was only a matter of time before Enos arrived. Though he didn’t want to, Fred was beginning to agree.
He felt old this morning, older than he had in a long time. Not even his usual two cups of coffee had perked him up much.
Only the occasional flush of the toilet and the sound of mournful music from Douglas’s room assured Fred that he hadn’t disappeared completely. When sudden footsteps sounded from within the sanctuary, Fred held his breath to listen. He didn’t want to force Douglas out of his room, but he couldn’t let him mope around this way, either. And he couldn’t just sit here in his old rocking chair listening to the evidence of his son’s unhappiness.
If Douglas was in as much trouble as Fred feared, his only hope was to do something. Hiding away and moping wouldn’t accomplish a thing. The next time Douglas emerged for any reason, Fred intended to be at his door.
Footsteps sounded again, but this time they came from outside. Quick, heavy footsteps. Enos. Fred pushed himself up and started for the door. From the other side, muted voices reached him and realizing that Enos wasn’t alone made Fred’s apprehension grow.
He pulled open the door and came face to chest with Grady Hatch. Behind Grady, Enos stood at uneasy attention.
“Enos. Grady. Come on in, it’s cold out this morning.” Fred turned away, expecting them to follow him inside.
“Hold on a minute, Fred.” Enos’s voice sounded funny. “I’ve got to tell you first that we’ve come with a search warrant.”
Fred thought he was going to be sick, but he lifted his chin and said, “You won’t find anything here.”
Enos didn’t seem to hear him. “We’re looking for clothing that might match pieces of evidence we found in Garrett’s office. We’re also looking for a murder weapon. We have reason to believe we may find them here.”
“I said, you won’t find anything here. But come in and look around all
you want.”
Without answering, Grady held a folded piece of paper in front of Fred’s face.
Fred waved it away. “I’m telling you there isn’t any murder weapon here. But if you have it in mind to play it this way, go right ahead.” He stood away from the door and waited for them to come in.
Enos looked miserable. “I don’t want to do this, Fred, but I have an eye witness who places Doug on the scene at the time of the murder.” Dark circles rimmed Enos’s eyes and his shoulders looked like they carried the weight of the world. “And we have probable cause to think some of the evidence we found might match the clothes Doug wore that night. Enough to force me to check it out.”
Fred had been expecting this but the reality of it just about took his legs out from under him. He had to grip the doorknob for support.
Enos got a worried look on his face. “I knew we should have brought Doc with us.”
“You keep that old goat away from me,” Fred snapped. “I’m all right. Come on in and look around. I’ve got nothing to hide, and I’m getting too damn old to stand here in the cold all day.”
Grady looked back at Enos who pulled his ratty old black cowboy hat from his head and nodded. Without meeting Fred’s eyes again the two men passed into the house.
Once inside, Enos twisted his hat in his hands. “We’re going to need to look through Doug’s bedroom.”
Only the pain on Enos’s face kept Fred’s anger under control. He wanted to refuse, but if they had a search warrant, refusing wouldn’t do any good. And protesting would only make Douglas’s situation worse. Despite his misgivings, Fred led them down the hall and knocked on Douglas’s door. What this would do to the boy after Suzanne’s nonsense, he didn’t even want to guess.
It took Douglas only a few seconds to answer. His face hadn’t regained its color and his fingers trembled where they rested against the wall.
Stepping forward, Enos touched Douglas on the shoulder. “I’m sorry Doug, but we’re here with a search warrant.”
Douglas stepped aside and folded his arms across his chest. Without another word, Enos and Grady set to work systematically searching the dresser, the closet, and under the bed.
Fred watched in horrible fascination for several minutes before turning back to the living room. He needed to sit. They wouldn’t find anything—there wasn’t anything to find—but his insides churned with foreboding.
He rocked and looked out the window, but he didn’t see a thing. The steady creak of his rocking chair, the agitated beat of his heart, and the ticking of the clock echoed until he wanted to shout to break the tension. But he couldn’t force a sound out of his tight throat.
Before long Grady called to Enos, and Fred knew without being told he’d found something. Enos’s heavy footsteps crossed the room and for several minutes the deep rumble of Enos’s questions alternated with Douglas’s softer answers. Fred’s heartbeat drowned out the words and he could only wait, almost unable to breathe, until Enos came back down the hall.
Regret made Enos look old, more like Fred’s age than his own. “It’s here.”
“What is?”
“The jacket Doug wore that night. It’s missing a button, and the ones that are left match the one we found on the floor by the body.” He rubbed his face with his open palm and let his shoulders droop. “Good billy hell, Fred, I’d give anything not to have to do this.”
“You know he didn’t do it.”
“I hope not. But I can’t ignore the evidence.”
“That’s all you’ve got, right? A button?”
“No, it’s not all. But I don’t have a murder weapon, and I’m praying I won’t find it anywhere near Doug. Or that when I do find it, his fingerprints won’t be on it.” He rubbed his face with his hands. “Look, Fred, I don’t have enough evidence to force me to arrest him, so I’m going to leave him here with you. But you’d better not let him go anywhere until this is cleared up.”
Though a million separate emotions churned around inside him, Fred didn’t actually feel a thing. His hands and legs tingled. He could feel the hair on the back of his neck. But he couldn’t say a word about it or everyone would think he was having a heart attack.
He couldn’t bear thinking that Enos was this close to arresting Douglas for murder. It was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard.
“Promise me you’ll keep him here,” Enos insisted.
Fred nodded.
Grady reappeared with Douglas’s jacket in hand, and Fred somehow made all the appropriate noises as he let Enos and Grady out the door. He heard Douglas shuffle down the hall and come to a stop somewhere behind him, but he watched Enos and Grady cross the lawn and follow the driveway to the street before he forced himself to look at his son.
Douglas’s shoulders slumped forward in defeat and his face looked ghostly pale. He averted his eyes to avoid Fred’s gaze. That meant he wanted to keep something hidden.
But Fred would be damned if he’d let him. “Well—?”
“I didn’t do it, Dad. I swear.”
“You’d better tell me exactly what happened.”
Douglas dropped onto the couch and buried his face in his hands. “I was there—I told you that.”
“Why?”
“You know how upset I was when I left here. I wanted to make Garrett agree to leave Suzanne alone. He wasn’t the right kind of man for her—”
“What in the hell’s the matter with you?” Fred shouted, pounding his chair with his fist. “Why do you care who Suzanne sees? She’s not your wife any longer. Don’t you see what a mess you’ve got yourself into because of her?” Fred might not like divorce, but he also didn’t believe in begging a person to let you stay once they decided they didn’t want you around.
“None of this happened because of her.”
“It happened because you won’t let her go.” Fred raged. Douglas looked so miserable he dragged in a deep breath, brought himself under control, and tried again. “Let her go, son.”
“I can’t. I love her.”
Fred tried not to groan aloud. He hated seeing his children unhappy. Margaret’s life with Webb had always been tough. And now, watching Douglas agonize over Suzanne, Fred wondered whether it was his fault—his and Phoebe’s. Maybe because they’d had such a good marriage their children had grown up without realizing what hard work it could be. Fred’s other two boys, Joseph and Kenneth, seemed content, and he hoped they’d stay that way, but he didn’t like to take anything for granted.
“What happened when you got there? Did you go in?”
Douglas nodded. “I argued with him, but he refused to listen to reason. We got into a fight—that must be when he tore the button off my jacket. But that’s all that happened, and he was still alive when I left, I swear to God.”
“What about Suzanne?”
Douglas’s head snapped up. “What about her?”
“Did you see her?”
“No.”
“She didn’t—”
“She doesn’t know anything about this, and I don’t want her to.”
“Then why is she so adamant about accusing you?”
Douglas turned away. “I don’t know.”
Something didn’t feel right. Douglas wasn’t telling him everything. “Maybe I ought to drop over and talk to her—”
Douglas whipped back so fast he nearly lost his balance. “Don’t.”
“But—”
“Just leave her out of it, all right?”
Fred didn’t know if he could agree to that, so he didn’t answer. He couldn’t figure why Douglas insisted on leaving Suzanne alone when she was so busy pointing the finger at him. If Douglas was keeping secrets from Fred, chances were he hadn’t told Enos the whole truth, either. But would Enos see through Douglas’s story, or would he accept it at face value?
“Tell me what Albán saw,” he ordered.
Douglas shrugged. “I don’t know. Me leaving Locke’s and coming home, I guess.”
“Except
you didn’t come home until after two. So tell me again what he saw.”
Surprise flickered across Douglas’s features. “I walked around for a while after I left Locke’s, but I don’t remember where I went—I was upset.” He looked as if he thought that answer would satisfy.
It didn’t even come close. “What do you mean you don’t remember? How many places are there to go in Cutler?”
“I don’t remember,” Douglas insisted. “I walked around.”
Douglas didn’t really expect him to believe that, did he? In this early spring cold, Douglas would have been aware of every step he took. “Well you’d better start working on remembering.”
“I can’t.” Douglas got that same obstinate look on his face Fred remembered from the boy’s childhood, spun on his heel and left the room.
Fred watched him go, realizing only after Douglas slammed his bedroom door how tightly his own fists were clenched. And for the first time in more years than he could remember, Fred had to fight the urge to use them on some inanimate object to wipe out his anger.
He snatched his jacket from the coat rack and headed out the door. He could either spend the rest of the day arguing with his obstinate son, or follow his urge to do something.
He walked rapidly up Lake Front Drive, not wanting to admit how limited his options were. He couldn’t actually do anything.
But he could talk. He could nose around a little. He could visit Albán and find out what he saw.
Fred hesitated. Enos would have something to say about that. Fred and his boys had known Albán for years, but Fred didn’t frequent the Copper Penny, and he’d only been to the Four Seasons once. If he sought Albán out, Enos might get angry with him. And he didn’t want to tip the delicate balance out of Douglas’s favor.
So what could he do?
He reached the intersection with Main Street in record time and turned toward town. A block ahead he could see Janice Lacey washing the front window of Lacey’s General Store. He certainly didn’t need Janice poking her nose where it didn’t belong.
