The Fred Vickery Mystery Series: Books 1-3 (Fred Vickery Mysteries)

by Sherry Lewis

  Fred wanted her to run to him when she saw him, to pull him too quickly by the hand, to smile up at him with her honey brown eyes. He longed to hear her talk too fast and giggle when she tripped over a word. Instead, she perched on the edge of one of Celeste’s flimsy chairs and tried to avoid making eye contact.

  He hated the divorce for doing this to her. Her parents had been wrapped up in their own hurt and anger so long they couldn’t see what was happening to Alison. Multiply all of her frustrations over the divorce by the violent murder of a family friend, Suzanne’s wild accusations and Douglas’s arrest, and what you ended up with was one very disturbed little girl.

  He took a seat across from her, holding his breath until he satisfied himself the chair would actually hold him. “Did you go to school today?”

  She nodded.

  “How was it?”

  “Not very good.”

  “Why?”

  “Because.”

  “I guess there must be lots of talk—”

  She flicked a brief glance at him and nodded again.

  “So you’ve probably heard about your dad.”

  This time her eyes met his and she looked a little surprised. “Mom doesn’t want me to hear about it, but everybody’s talking about what happened.”

  Foolish, Fred thought. From everybody concerned. Why couldn’t people keep their big mouths shut? Then again, what good would it do to shield Alison? Fred thought it would be better to be open with her, tell her as much as she could handle and prepare her to deal with the rest. But if Suzanne wanted to bury her head in the sand, he’d have to watch his step or he’d ruin his chances to have any influence.

  He added some warmth to his smile. “Well, then, if that’s what your mom wants, maybe we’d better talk about other things. But first, you do know your dad is innocent, right?”

  She lowered her head and nodded. “I don’t like it when everybody stops talking just because I come in the room. I can tell what they’re talking about, but they think I don’t know.”

  “Maybe they’re embarrassed that you’ve caught them.”

  She almost smiled. “Maybe.”

  Pleased by that tentative smile, Fred leaned back in his seat, aware for the first time how quickly twilight had descended and how dark the room was. Half standing, he reached for the table lamp beside him and flicked it on just as the front door burst open.

  Celeste loomed into the room, her arms full of brown paper bags. The sudden glare from the lamp seemed to startle her and she stopped in her tracks. “Alison?” She squinted into the light and stretched her glossy pink lips into a wide smile. “What are you doing home—?” She broke off when she saw Fred and the smile slid from her lips. “What’s going on here?”

  “I stopped in to see Alison.” Fred pushed himself off the chair and started across the room to help Celeste with her bags.

  “Why?” Celeste’s voice stopped him.

  But before he could answer, Suzanne came inside, stomping her feet and exclaiming about the cold. She ran into Celeste and looked up. “Alison, honey, I thought you were at Ashley’s.” Her voice grew cold when she spotted Fred. “I didn’t know you were here.”

  He went the rest of the distance and reached for some of Celeste’s bags. Old habit, he guessed. “I would have called, but it was a spur of the moment decision.”

  Celeste relinquished two of her bags to him, but she seemed almost reluctant to let go. “You frightened me to death.”

  Suzanne stepped around them and headed for the kitchen. “Well, I think it’s wonderful. Alison needs a good relationship with her grandpa.”

  Her words sounded like music to his ears, and he suddenly realized how worried he’d been that Suzanne would try to keep him away. He turned back to Alison. But, almost as if she didn’t want to talk to him around her mother, she abandoned her chair, pressed a delicate kiss to his cheek, and disappeared into her bedroom at the end of the hall.

  With sinking heart, Fred watched her go then followed Suzanne into the kitchen and waited for her to tell him where she wanted the bags.

  Celeste wandered in a second or two later and leaned against the counter. She waved toward an empty spot. “Just put those anywhere. We can take care of them.”

  Fred complied eagerly. He’d never had any intention of unpacking them.

  “I’m sorry I snapped at you when I came in,” Celeste said. “I was surprised to see Alison had company.”

  Suzanne stretched to put two cans on an upper shelf and spoke over her shoulder. “Fred’s not company, Celeste. He’s family. And I’m thrilled that he was here with Alison.” She smiled at him. “I hope you’ll come and see her again. It’ll be good for her to have you around.”

  He definitely liked the sound of this. Suzanne’s new attitude boded well for Alison—and for Douglas. Maybe she’d finally come to her senses. “Does this mean you’ve changed your mind?”

  She turned to face him. “About what?”

  “Douglas.”

  Her smile faded. “I haven’t changed my mind about anything. But there’s no reason Alison has to lose you as well as her father.”

  “Now, Suzanne—”

  She held up a hand to stop him. “Don’t, Fred. Don’t defend him.”

  Celeste rattled one of the paper bags and sent Suzanne a look Fred couldn’t interpret. “I told you what I think.”

  Suzanne nodded, but she didn’t look inclined to discuss it.

  And if it was the same claim she made last night, Fred didn’t either. “All of this is disturbing Alison—”

  “Of course it’s disturbing her,” Suzanne interrupted. “Her father’s in jail for murder.”

  “He’s innocent.”

  “Is he?”

  “Of course he is, Suzanne,” Celeste insisted. “Your trouble is that you don’t know the difference between a good man and a bad one. If I’d ever been lucky enough to get a good one, you can bet I wouldn’t have thrown him away.”

  Scowling, Suzanne turned away. “You two go right ahead and believe that if you want to. I know how angry he was. I know—”

  “You know Douglas couldn’t possibly have murdered Garrett. He doesn’t have it in him,” Fred insisted.

  Celeste’s mouth pinched into a grim smile. “Everybody has it in them if they’re pushed far enough.”

  “Maybe,” Fred agreed. “But it’d take more than a little jealousy over Suzanne’s choice of dinner companions to do that.”

  “People have been known to commit murder over stranger things. Why half the murders you read about are over completely silly things.” Celeste’s pursed her lips and tiny lines formed around her mouth.

  Maybe in books, Fred thought, but this was real life. And he didn’t need Celeste’s interference. “This isn’t getting us anywhere, Suzanne. I didn’t come here to argue. Look, I know you and Douglas still have bad feelings about the divorce, but please don’t let that color reality,” he said softly. “Please don’t accuse Douglas out of spite.”

  Suzanne ran her fingers across her brow. “This has nothing to do with the divorce.”

  “Well, of course it does, darling,” Celeste interrupted. “If you were still married to Douglas, you never would have started seeing Garrett. If you weren’t still so upset—”

  Suzanne held up a hand to ward off her aunt’s next words. “Please, Celeste. Not now.”

  Clearly, Suzanne didn’t want to talk about the murder, but Fred was here and he had questions without answers. He wasn’t ready to drop the subject. “If you really believe that Douglas killed Garrett, why do you think he did it? Was it because the two of you were serious?”

  “Serious?” She chuckled without humor. “I wouldn’t say that.”

  “They weren’t serious,” Celeste insisted.

  “Why did Douglas feel so threatened by it, then?”

  She looked suspicious. “By what? Garrett?”

  Fred nodded. “And by your dinner together—your relationship.”

&nbs
p; “They did not have a relationship.” Celeste shoved a carton of milk into the refrigerator. “Garrett still saw Suzanne as the prize he never won. Douglas won her twenty years ago and Garrett never got over it.”

  Fred filed that away to think about later and asked Suzanne, “Do you know whether Garrett planned to meet anyone else that night?”

  Suzanne dropped onto a chair and propped up her forehead with the palm of her hand. “How would I know?”

  “I thought he might have told you—”

  “We didn’t have that kind of relationship.”

  “But you were seeing each other.”

  “Once in a while,” she conceded.

  “Did he ever confide in you?”

  Suzanne let out a sharp laugh. “Garrett never confided in anyone. He was a closed book.”

  “Please, Suzanne. I’m trying to find something that will help Douglas, and I think you know more than you’re telling me.”

  She looked up at him from under her fringe of hair and shook her head. “Everything I know can only make it worse for him, Fred. I wish you’d just let it drop.”

  He didn’t even give that suggestion serious consideration. Frustrated by her refusal to help, he asked, “Did Garrett bring you straight back here after dinner? What time did he leave? When did you last see him alive? And what did you do after he left?”

  Celeste slammed the refrigerator shut and glared at him. “Are you asking her for an alibi?”

  “I suppose maybe I am.”

  Suspicion colored Suzanne’s features. “Does Enos know you’re doing this?”

  “What? Visiting my daughter-in-law?”

  “Asking all these questions about the night Garrett died.”

  “If you were in my shoes, wouldn’t you do the same thing?”

  “Well, of course she would,” Celeste said. “We’re family. You don’t just look the other way when family is in trouble.”

  Suzanne sighed softly. “I suppose you’re right. And besides, you’re not going to give up, are you?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t plan to.”

  “Then if you must know, I was here, asleep, when Garrett was killed. He dropped me off right after that horrible scene at the restaurant and then he left. I didn’t invite him in. And I don’t know where he went or what happened after he left me.” She folded her arms on the table and faced Fred, determination written across her face. But Fred saw more than determination. He saw weariness and fear. “I don’t know why I’m even bothering to tell you all of this,” she said. “I’ve already told Enos, and I don’t want to keep discussing that night. Not with anybody, even you.”

  Fred studied the shadows under her eyes and decided that he’d pushed hard enough—for now. “I’d better not stay any longer. Wouldn’t want to wear out my welcome.”

  Suzanne nodded and looked relieved.

  Celeste gasped softly. “Don’t leave on an angry note.”

  Fred saw a glimmer of interest in her eyes and he didn’t like it one bit. “It’s time I got home.”

  “Oh, but you must stay. There’s more to talk about. Tell him, Suzanne.” Her eyes darted back and forth between them, pleading.

  Fred expected Suzanne to disagree with her, but she unfolded her arms and attacked another sack filled with groceries. “There is one thing I’d like to discuss with you before you go.”

  Fred agreed eagerly. Anything she said might help him prove Douglas innocent. “Sure. What is it?”

  “If Doug gets out on bail, I want you to convince him to stay away from Alison.”

  Fred’s eagerness dried right up. “You’re not serious? Even if I wanted to—which I don’t—how on earth do you think I could convince Douglas to stay away?”

  “She’s been upset enough by everything with the divorce and moving back here. It’s been hard enough on me and I’m an adult. She’s only seven. She doesn’t need this on top of everything else.”

  This, she said. As if saying Douglas’s name aloud would leave a bad taste in her mouth. “He’s her father.”

  “That’s why. Can you imagine how difficult it will be for her to go to school every day with this hanging over her? Can you imagine what the other kids are saying to her—about her? At least Ashley’s still her friend. But even with Ashley on her side, she came home from school this afternoon in tears. And it’s only going to get worse. I want to keep all of this ugliness as far away from her as I can. But if Doug comes around, he’ll make it impossible. He’ll make it worse for her.”

  Fred understood Suzanne’s concerns, but he didn’t agree with her solution for a minute. “Maybe she’d feel better if she saw him.”

  “No.”

  “It might be just what she needs. If she could see him, see that he doesn’t look any different, that he’s not evil—”

  “I don’t want him around her.”

  “Suzanne, honey, listen to Fred—” Celeste began.

  Suzanne’s face tightened. “I’m Alison’s mother. I have to do what I believe is right for her. I believe that spending time with Douglas will be bad for her. If I have to, I’ll get a restraining order. I’d hoped you’d want to avoid that.”

  Of course Fred wanted to avoid that. He wished they could avoid this whole ugly mess, in fact. He’d been pushed between a rock and a hard place. If he sided with Suzanne, he’d hurt Douglas. If he refused Suzanne’s request, he’d inadvertently hurt Alison by escalating the hostilities between Douglas and Suzanne. He didn’t want to hurt anybody, but he couldn’t see any way out. “I’ll do what I can,” he agreed reluctantly, “but only until Douglas is cleared. After that—”

  “You have to convince him,” Suzanne insisted. “Doug never stops to think about what he does. He just acts. I can’t let Alison be the victim of his impulsive behavior this time.”

  Fred didn’t say anything. He wanted to get his coat and hat and leave before Suzanne said something else he didn’t want to hear. She followed him into the living room and walked him to the door.

  He pulled it open and met her hard gaze. “Tell Alison good night for me. I’ll come again soon.” He ducked back into the cold and started down the sidewalk. But even the arctic air didn’t match the ice around his heart.

  He’d only gone a few feet when he heard Celeste calling him. She ran after him, waving her hands, glancing back toward the house as if she feared discovery. Drawing abreast of him, she hooked his arm with hers. “I just wanted to thank you for coming. I think that went fairly well, don’t you? Can you see what I mean about Suzanne and Douglas? Can’t you just feel it?”

  “No, I can’t.” He tried to tug his arm away.

  But she held fast. “You’re so good for her. I just know having you around is going to help her see reason. And you’ll be wonderful for Alison, too.” She ran her gaze over his face and her expression softened. “I hope we see much more of you.”

  If it hadn’t been for Alison and Suzanne, Fred would have set her straight. As it was, he could only mumble something noncommittal.

  “In fact,” Celeste said, and her eyes brightened considerably, “why don’t you have dinner with us tomorrow night?”

  Dinner? Oh. No! Fred shook his head and tried to back away. “I’m sorry, I . . . can’t.”

  “Can’t you see? It would be perfect! You could spend time with Alison, talk with Suzanne, put in a good word for Douglas— oh, it’s a splendid idea.”

  “No, I— I can’t leave Douglas—”

  “But we’d love to have you. I’d really enjoy your company.” Her eyes glittered with a look he hadn’t seen since he’d been courting Phoebe.

  He’d liked it then. Now, it racked him with a shudder. With renewed determination, he yanked his arm from her grasp and turned away. “I don’t think so.”

  “Now, Fred, there’s no sense in being shy. We’re both adults. We’re both lonely. What’s the harm in sharing a little companionship?”

  He stopped and whirled to face her. “I don’t need companionship.”


  “Now, Fred—” She pouted, pink-lipped, at him and tried to look beguiling.

  No doubt Phoebe would have found this amusing. She’d always maintained that jealousy was a lowly emotion and that if another woman found him attractive it only validated her good taste. And she’d had complete trust in him. Well, he wouldn’t violate it now. Especially for someone like Celeste Devereaux. “I’m not available for dinner tomorrow night.”

  “Then Friday?”

  “No.” He took a few quick steps away. Glancing over his shoulder, he breathed a sigh of relief to see that she hadn’t come after him. She looked disappointed. Well, he couldn’t help that. He just counted himself lucky to get away.

  FOURTEEN

  That night, Fred scrunched his pillow under his neck and stared at the ceiling where stray moonbeams danced in little patterns through the shadows of trees. His back hurt. His neck hurt. His head pounded.

  He closed his eyes, but Alison’s face and her sad eyes loomed large in the dark. He rolled onto his side and tried to ignore the twinge of pain in his knees.

  Reaching out one hand, he touched Phoebe’s pillow, imagining her beside him and fighting back the now-familiar ache in his heart. He forced his eyes closed again and saw Douglas, his back against the cell wall, his head down, his skin pasty. The boy’s despair made Fred’s eyes fly open once more.

  This had happened often enough in Fred’s seventy-two years for him to recognize insomnia, but he fought it. Just before the ten o’clock news, Enos had called to let him know the arraignment was scheduled for nine o’clock tomorrow morning. If all went well, Fred could get Douglas out on bail. Knowing that should make him feel better.

  It didn’t.

  Releasing Douglas on bail didn’t clear him of the murder charges. He wouldn’t be free. He couldn’t get on with his life. They’d all still be under this cloud of suspicion until the real murderer was caught.

  A vision of Rusty Kinsella, wife and children at his feet, floated before Fred’s eyes. He shook his head to rid himself of it and sat up and squinted at the clock beside his bed. Two-thirty. With a groan, he fell back onto his pillow.

  He tried to sleep for a few more unsuccessful minutes, but finally abandoned his efforts as a lost cause. He climbed out of bed, slipped into his robe and stuffed his feet into his slippers. Times like this, the house felt empty. Used to be it carried its own set of noises at night, comforting sounds of children asleep, Phoebe’s light rhythmic snore—all of it had soothed him. Now there was nothing but silence.