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

by Sherry Lewis

  Fred’s heart fell to the ground somewhere near his feet and Alison’s sweet, sad face floated in front of his eyes. He blinked back tears and tried to staunch the sudden overwhelming anger that swelled up inside him. “Alison?” he croaked.

  “Suzanne suspected it,” Yvonne said. “Alison had been acting strangely for several weeks. I guess Suzanne’s aunt came home early one day and found Garrett alone in the house with Alison.” Yvonne turned back toward him and her eyes were filled with sorrow. “I told Suzanne everything, of course. I have no reason to hide it. If I had my way, what he really was would have been tattooed on his forehead so there’d never be any question about what kind of man he really was.”

  Fred thought he might be sick. “Who else knew?”

  “Garrett convinced me to keep it quiet—and for Jenny’s sake I agreed at first. I saw later what a mistake I’d made. Other than his family, I’m not sure anywhere else ever heard about it.”

  “But his family knew?”

  “Yes.”

  “And Suzanne found out before he was murdered?”

  Yvonne nodded. “I urged her to take Alison in for counseling. To make absolutely certain she’d been molested. It if happened, Alison needs help dealing with it.”

  Fred knew that. He’d sensed Alison’s desperate need for help, but he’d blamed it all on the divorce. “How long before Garrett’s murder did Suzanne call you?” His voice was tight and clogged with emotion. If Garrett hadn’t already been dead, Fred would have been tempted to take care of it himself.

  Yvonne thought briefly. “Not more than a day or two.”

  “Do you know if she told Douglas?”

  “I don’t know what she planned to do. She reacted like we all do—we want to hide it at first. Sweep it under the rug and pretend it never happened. It’s an ugly, horrible thing to admit, but that kind of thinking is so destructive to the child. It makes them feel as if they’ve done something wrong—which, of course, they haven’t.”

  Fred nodded to show that he understood and agreed, but all he could think about was that Suzanne had known about Garrett, about the possibility that Alison had been sexually molested by a man she’d brought into her home. Suzanne knew. The words bounced around inside his head, smashed up against the wall, and flew back to hit him again.

  Suzanne knew.

  “Are you all right, Fred?”

  He met Yvonne’s clear blue eyes and nodded, but he wondered if he would ever truly be all right again.

  “Are you sure? Can I get you something?”

  With some effort, he pulled himself together and nodded again. “How is Jenny doing now?”

  “She was doing a lot better,” Yvonne told him. “Garrett’s murder has set her back a little, as you can imagine. But that’s what it’s like. Good days and bad days. We try not to let the setbacks get us down.”

  “Someone told me that Garrett was trying to see Jenny again just before he died,” Fred said.

  To his surprise, Yvonne laughed. “It must have been a woman. Garrett got a lot of mileage from the women in his life that way. Poor misunderstood Garrett. Mean old Yvonne. But just for the record, if he had ever asked, I would have refused.”

  “Are you saying he didn’t ask?”

  “He was sick, not stupid,” Yvonne said. “He would never have taken a chance on me going public.”

  Fred staggered to his feet and crossed the room to stand beside her. “Who do you think killed him?”

  She shook her head slowly. “I don’t know. There are so many possibilities. Garrett made enemies like some people make promises. He couldn’t even maintain a good relationship with his sister.”

  “Do you think Olivia could have killed him?”

  Yvonne gave her head another thoughtful shake. “They hadn’t spoken to each other in over a year when we got divorced. She got into a tight spot once when her husband gambled everything away in Central City. Garrett made a big deal about helping her out, but he really took her to the cleaners. He bought her out, but at about fifty cents on the dollar. She was pathetically grateful at first, but after she figured out what he’d done, she got pretty angry.”

  “So she could have killed him?”

  “Olivia? Sure she could have. Anybody could have.”

  “What about anyone else? You said he made a lot of enemies. Anyone in particular?”

  “Other than the women he dated, the parents of young girls, and his family?” A ghost of a smile flashed up at him. “No. That’s about it. He was an otherwise standup guy.”

  Fred patted her arm. “Thanks for talking to me. I know it wasn’t easy.”

  “It’s all right,” she assured him. “It just stirs up some bad memories.”

  She walked with him to the front door, but when he touched the doorknob, she covered his hand with hers. “You make sure Doug and Suzanne get that little girl some help. And Fred—talk to Alison about it, even when you don’t think you can stand to hear what she has to say. Don’t make her hold it all inside.” Her eyes brimmed with tears, and Fred could feel his own eyes stinging again.

  He nodded, but he couldn’t trust himself to speak. He felt her watching as he worked his way back down the steep stairs. But when he looked back at the house, the lace curtains hid her from view. Still, he waved to her, certain that she was there, before he reached his car and slid behind the wheel of the Buick. And he dragged his poor, old broken heart into the car with him.

  TWENTY THREE

  A million and one questions battered Fred, demanding answers. Why did Suzanne have dinner with Garrett the night he died if she knew what he’d done? He couldn’t imagine Suzanne willingly dating the guy if she even suspected him of molesting her daughter—or any other girl, for that matter. So why had she been at the Four Seasons with him?

  Driving as quickly as he dared, Fred followed the narrow road through the twisting canyon, but the thought that Suzanne had known about what Garrett had done wouldn’t leave him alone. Had she told Douglas? Or did she think she could hide the truth away like some shameful secret?

  Fred brought the car around a curve and found himself driving directly into the sun. He let off the accelerator a little, but the need to get back home outweighed his usual caution and the minute he drove out of the sun’s glare, he speeded up again.

  Douglas couldn’t have known. He would have said something. But Suzanne knew.

  Tears flooded Fred’s eyes and a lump formed in his throat when he thought of Alison. He pictured her laughing and running and talking too fast and dancing around, and he let the tears pour down his face. But when he remembered the changes in her, his tears dried. His hands tightened on the steering wheel, his grief burned out and rage ignited from the ashes.

  Suzanne knew, and she’d gone out with Garrett anyway. Why? There could be only one reason. She’d protected her daughter the only way she knew how—by killing Garrett. But afterward, anxious to protect herself, she’d been willing—eager—to let Douglas go to prison for her. And Douglas had no idea why.

  Fred waited in the green rocking chair by his front window for Douglas to come home. Too agitated to rock, too nervous to sleep, too angry to even pretend to read a book, he stared at his reflection in the glass and thought. Of Phoebe and what a thing like this would have done to her. Of Alison. Of countless innocent children abused by sick, perverted adults.

  Here in his house, memories of his own children danced around him. He remembered their blind faith in him, and raged silently because he knew how horrible the betrayal of that trust would have been. It had happened to Alison, and now Fred had to break the news to Douglas.

  When Douglas’s footsteps sounded on the front walk, Fred pushed himself up and crossed to the door. He opened it before Douglas even reached the porch.

  Douglas had been drinking, but he wasn’t drunk. He blinked his surprise and smiled as he passed Fred and came into the house. “I haven’t had anybody wait up for me since I was a kid.”

  “I need to talk to you
.” Even to Fred’s ears his voice sounded angry.

  Immediately, Douglas’s smile disappeared. “What’s wrong?”

  “I went down to Idaho Springs this afternoon, to visit Yvonne Locke.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Because I’m trying to help you.”

  “How? By visiting Yvonne?”

  “Why I went there isn’t important, Douglas. What I learned there is—”

  “Does Enos have any idea what you’ve been up to?” Douglas demanded.

  Fred snapped his mouth shut in confusion. He hadn’t expected this reaction. “Do you want to hear what I found out?”

  Douglas flushed an angry shade of red and turned away.

  And just like that Fred knew the truth. “You know, don’t you?” The words fell like an accusation between them.

  Douglas’s shoulders slumped.

  “You know about Alison?”

  Douglas nodded.

  “Why in blazes didn’t you tell me?”

  “We didn’t want to upset you—”

  “Upset me? What do you think this has done? How would telling me the truth upset me?”

  “Suzanne and I thought it would be best.”

  “You were wrong.” Fred turned away and struggled to pull himself together. “Why didn’t you tell Enos?”

  “We can’t tell Enos. Can you imagine what it would do to Alison to have this whole thing come out? To have people like Janice Lacey talking about her, or her friends whispering about her at school? She’s in second grade, Dad—”

  Fred whipped back around. “What do you think hiding the truth is going to do for her?”

  “You don’t understand how these things are—”

  “I’m not naïve, Douglas. I understand exactly how these things are. You’re acting like this is some shameful secret of Alison’s. She’s the victim, Douglas, she has no guilt. She has nothing to be ashamed of. Don’t make her think she has.”

  Douglas didn’t answer.

  Fred didn’t want to ask the next question, but he had to. The bottom had fallen out of his world and he needed to find solid ground again. “Did you kill him?”

  When Douglas looked up agony filled his eyes, but he shook his head. “No.”

  “Tell me what happened that night. And tell me everything. I want the truth this time.”

  Douglas paced for a few minutes and Fred nearly went crazy waiting for him to speak up. Finally, he let out a heavy sigh and said, “I went to see Suzanne after I left here that night. I didn’t know about Alison then, I was just crazy jealous. I wanted her back so bad I thought I’d die. We argued, and that’s when she told me about Garrett. She wasn’t sure that Alison had been molested then, but she suspected. She said she agreed to have dinner with Garrett so she could find out for sure.”

  “Did you believe that?”

  Douglas nodded. “At the time. I was so mad I couldn’t see straight. I was on my way to Garrett’s house when I saw the light on at the store. I confronted him and we fought. He came at me with that table leg and I grabbed it—I guess that’s why my fingerprints are all over it.” Douglas shuddered and met Fred’s eyes. “I wanted to kill him, Dad. I wanted to rip his head off. But I didn’t. Leaving him alive when I left that place was the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life.”

  Fred closed his eyes and silently thanked God. “What did you do then?”

  “Then I ran out. That’s when Albán saw me, I guess. I went back to Suzanne’s house, but she wasn’t there. Celeste was outside looking for her—she’d heard us arguing and she’d seen Suzanne run off after me. Celeste was frantic. I told her I’d try to find Suzanne. I tried, but I never did. The next morning, Doc came over to tell us about Garrett.”

  “And you figured that Suzanne was guilty.”

  Douglas nodded.

  “You were willing to go to prison to protect her?”

  Another nod. “I loved her.”

  “I loved your mother, but I’m not sure I would have gone to prison for her if I thought she’d murdered someone.”

  Douglas smiled bitterly. “Mother wouldn’t have let you. Suzanne’s not only willing to let me go, she’s been trying to get me there since the first day.”

  “Well, thank the good Lord you’ve finally realized that.”

  “Yeah, well, I didn’t come to it on my own. Webb’s the one who finally talked sense into me.”

  Two things Fred had to be grateful to Webb for? In one day? He didn’t know if he could stand it. “You realize we’re going to have to tell Enos what we know. . .”

  Douglas nodded. “This is going to kill Alison.”

  “Alison’s a survivor. She’ll be all right, but it may take some time. We just can’t treat her like she’s done something wrong. She won’t break, Douglas. She’s got us and we’ll make sure of it.”

  Douglas nodded, but his eyes held a terrible sadness. “I’ll go with you tomorrow.”

  Just after two o’clock the next afternoon, Fred pushed open the door to the Sheriff’s office, relieved to find it unlocked. Enos spent every Thursday morning cruising the highway between Cutler and Grand Lake, so they hadn’t been able to come any earlier than this. He often went home for lunch and stayed there to read while Jessica watched her favorite game show. He believed it helped their marriage, and since everyone in town knew where he lived, he didn’t feel any special urgency to hurry back. By two-thirty he’d be having coffee at the Bluebird, but Fred wanted to talk to him now. Alone. Not in front of half the town.

  Enos looked up when the door opened and pushed away a package of Twinkies he’d been studying.

  “Have you got a minute?” Fred asked. “It’s important.”

  “Sure. Any time.” But he checked his watch as if he had somewhere important to go. “What’s up?”

  “We know who killed Garrett.”

  “You what?”

  “I said, we know who killed Garrett.”

  Tilting back in his chair, Enos eyed Fred as if he’d grown something foreign where his head used to be. “Who?”

  “Suzanne.”

  Enos froze for half a second, then turned to Douglas. “Is he serious?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “Maybe you’d better fill me in.”

  With his face pale, his eyes dark-rimmed and his hair standing up from his forehead like he’d just pushed his fingers through it, Douglas spoke softly, hesitant to share his story. “Garrett was molesting Alison. Suzanne knew about it—she’s the one who told me. Apparently, he molested his own daughter. That’s why he and Yvonne divorced.”

  Enos’s face lost its color. “Are you sure?”

  Douglas nodded and tears filled his eyes. “That’s what we fought about when I found Garrett at the store that night. He came after me with that table leg, and I wrestled it away from him. But I swear I didn’t kill him.” He blinked his eyes clear and looked down at his hands. “I went back to Suzanne’s afterward, but she wasn’t there.”

  Enos rubbed one trembling hand across his chin. “Good billy hell,” he whispered. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

  Suddenly too weary to stand any longer, Fred lowered himself into one of the battered chairs in front of Enos’s desk. “They didn’t want any talk.”

  “Talk? That piece of scum was molesting girls and you wanted to avoid talk?”

  “For Alison’s sake,” Douglas insisted. “We just wanted to keep it quiet—”

  But Enos didn’t look convinced. “This happened to Alison because they kept it quiet after it happened to Jenny.”

  “I never thought—” Douglas began.

  “And chances are, Alison’s not the only girl he got to. Did you think of that? Who knows how many other girls he’s hurt?”

  Other girls? An unwelcome prickle of anxiety ran up Fred’s spine.

  “Hell,” Enos shouted, “we might not know for another twenty years how much damage he’s done.” He leaned over his desk dragging in deep breaths of air and struggling f
or control.

  But Fred could only think of other parents.

  “Where’s Suzanne now?”

  Douglas had been about to speak, but he snapped his mouth shut, then ventured, “I don’t know. Home?”

  Maybe Fred should bring up the thought that had just occurred to him.

  Enos grabbed the phone and punched in a number. “Grady? You got any idea what time it is? You planning to come back from lunch or stay home?”

  On second thought, maybe Fred should wait until he had some kind of proof to back up this new idea. No sense upsetting Enos for nothing. . .

  Enos’s face colored and he gave the telephone receiver a disgusted look. “You do that,” he snapped. “And while you’re at it, I want you to find Suzanne Vickery and bring her in. . . Now. No, for questioning. Criminy—” He shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Are you going to keep yapping at me, or are you going to do what I asked?” He slammed down the receiver and glared at it for emphasis.

  All at once, Enos’s anger seemed to cave in on itself and he looked up at Fred, his eyes bright with unshed tears. “How’s Alison doing?”

  “Too quiet. Withdrawn. Afraid of her own shadow.” Fred hesitated, then added, “Ashamed.”

  “You going to get her some help?”

  Douglas nodded eagerly. “Whatever it takes. We should have come to you, Enos. We just didn’t know. . .”

  “You didn’t know.” Enos repeated softly. “Hell, I don’t know what I’d do if it were my daughter, either, Doug. I just like to pretend I do. Get Alison professional help. I’ll get some names for you.”

  Douglas dropped into the seat beside Fred’s. “I just want what’s best for her.”

  “We all do,” Enos agreed.

  “Then let’s stop treating it like some sort of guilty secret,” Fred insisted. “Alison has nothing to hide. Professional help might be all right, but the way we react is even more important to her.”

  Douglas put a hand on Fred’s arm. “I agree with you, Dad, but I don’t see how telling the whole world the truth will help her.”