by Sherry Lewis
He reached the intersection with Main Street and looked for Enos’s truck on the street, but his friend’s usual parking spot gaped empty. Fred should have known. Enos figured since everybody in town knew where to find him, it didn’t make sense to show up before breakfast. Most mornings, Enos didn’t get to work until around ten. After breakfast and coffee and chewing the fat with the regulars at the Bluebird Café. Because of the murder, Fred had expected today to be different.
Maybe, he told himself, Enos had walked to work, although that was unlikely. Maybe his truck was broken down and Jessica, his wife, had driven him to work. Or maybe, because the murder had taken place on the other end of Enos’s jurisdiction—over forty miles away—he’d come in early and gone out already. But in that case, he’d have left one of his deputies in charge. A deputy could set Fred’s mind at ease as well as Enos could. Maybe better.
Deciding to take his chances, Fred crossed the street and climbed onto the boardwalk. Fred pushed open the office door and looked around, hoping he’d find Ivan Neeley and not Grady Hatch. Grady had shown an annoying lack of patience with Fred’s questions when one of the local business owners was killed earlier in the year. Ivan might be a little more receptive to Fred’s inquiries this morning.
When he stepped into the sheriff’s office and found Ivan sitting in Enos’s chair, feet up, hands linked behind his neck, Fred’s spirits lifted. He smiled and closed the door behind him.
Ivan was in his twenties, of medium height, with ruddy cheeks and light brown hair. He sat up slowly when he recognized Fred and lowered his feet to the floor. The ruddiness in his cheeks deepened, probably because he’d been caught with his feet on the boss’s desk.
“Mr. Vickery. What can I do for you?”
“Morning, Ivan,” Fred said. “I just heard the news. It’s terrible.”
“It sure is,” Ivan agreed, but he didn’t sound very eager to discuss it.
Fred lowered himself into one of the battered old chairs in front of Enos’s desk. “I thought I’d better come by right away.”
“Oh? And why is that?”
“Well, I was one of the last people to see Adam alive,” Fred said. “I figured Enos would want a statement.”
Ivan leaned back in his seat and tapped the end of a pencil on the desk. “He might. Tell you what, I’ll let him know you stopped by. One of us can give you a call when he’s ready for you.”
That didn’t help Fred at all, but he nodded as if it sounded like a good idea. “I guess Enos is probably out investigating—?”
“Yep.” Ivan said, dropping the pencil and kicking his feet back onto the desktop.
Fred gave his feet a pointed look, which Ivan ignored. “Any idea who did it?” he asked, dragging his attention away from the soles of Ivan’s boots.
“Nope.”
Apparently, Ivan wasn’t going to be any help at all, but that didn’t mean Fred was ready to stop trying. “I heard Adam was killed at his office. That’s that little place up on the highway just outside of Mountain Home, isn’t it?”
“Maybe.”
Fred took that as a ‘yes’. “Guess there must have been trouble there.”
Ivan didn’t answer. He was as close-mouthed this morning as Grady had become lately, and Fred knew why. Enos had probably warned both of them not to discuss the case with Fred.
Not to be deterred, Fred crossed an ankle over his knee and gave Ivan a friendly smile. “Guess this’ll keep you boys busy for a while.”
Ivan shrugged. “I’m just making a few phone calls. Grady and Enos are up there with Robert.”
Ah, yes. Robert Alpers, Enos’s man-on-the-spot in Mountain Home. When Robert and his wife divorced, he’d quit his job with a police department somewhere in Utah, pulled up stakes, and moved to Colorado. Enos had snapped him up the second his application for the newly created deputy sheriff position arrived. Since Mountain Home was even smaller than Cutler, the young man probably spent most of his time writing traffic citations and settling family squabbles, but he’d no doubt been first on the scene of this morning’s tragedy.
One of Ivan’s feet began to jiggle restlessly and Fred thought he detected a bit of jealousy in his expression. Well, of course Ivan would feel left out. Relegated to manning the phones while Enos and the others investigated the murder—Fred knew he wouldn’t like it one bit.
He tried to look supportive. “Seems to me Enos could use your help out there in the field.”
Ivan didn’t say anything, but he seemed to like that.
“After all,” Fred pointed out. “You’ve been through this before. You know what you’re looking for.”
Ivan nodded. “That’s the thing, see. Sometimes you can tell more by what’s not at a crime scene than what is. It takes a while to learn that.”
Fred looked understanding. “I’m sure it does. Still, I suppose Enos thinks Robert knows what he’s doing.”
Ivan made a noise that sounded like disagreement. “This is a lot different than what he’s used to.”
Fred could have pointed out that Ivan’s first murder investigation hadn’t been so long ago, but instead he tried to look sympathetic. “Well, it does seem to me Enos would want to use his best men on a case like this.”
Ivan stared at him for a long moment and then slowly, his lips curved up at the edges. “What do you want, Fred?”
Distrustful young buck! Fred looked magnificently innocent. “What do I want? I told you, I want to give my statement.”
“Right.” Ivan laughed and sat upright again, feet on the floor. “You want me to tell you something. What is it?”
Fred hesitated. If Enos and the boys didn’t suspect Nancy already, Fred certainly didn’t want to give them ideas.
Since Fred didn’t answer right away, Ivan stood and tried to look intimidating. “Let me think. You’re here because Adam was married to your niece—”
“That’s no secret,” Fred said, cutting him off. “Has Enos notified her yet?”
“That her husband is dead?” Ivan shook his head. “I’m working my way through a list of friends I got from her mother. Nothing yet.”
“So she doesn’t know,” Fred said, thinking aloud.
“Not that we know of. ‘Course, she might—” Ivan broke off without finishing his thought, but the implication was clear enough.
“I could help you look for her,” Fred offered. “The news might be better coming from family.” Ivan shook his head and opened his mouth to protest, but Fred didn’t let him. “Give me half your list. I’ll make some calls and free you up so you can get out there on the scene.”
“You never give up, do you?”
Not if he could help it. Follow-through was one of his best qualities. “I’m just offering to help.”
“Look, Mr. Vickery, I can’t stop you from calling people, but I sure as hell can’t give you half my list and put you to work on the case.”
“Then tell me who you’ve called already.”
“Can’t do that, either.”
Stubborn whelp. Here Fred was with an offer of help, and the blasted fool couldn’t see what it would do for him. Fred shrugged and tried to look as if he didn’t care one way or the other. He didn’t like wasting time on the telephone, anyway.
He pushed to his feet and crossed to the door. “Can’t blame a man for trying. You’ll tell Enos I came by?”
Ivan grinned. “Absolutely.”
Frustrated, Fred stepped outside and started back down the boardwalk toward the intersection. If he were Nancy, where would he be? With a friend? Obviously not one Harriet knew. Family? All her brothers lived too far away to think she’d gone to see them. And though she had other aunts and uncles, none lived close enough for Fred to think she’d gone to them. So where?
Forced to admit that he didn’t know enough about her to have any ideas, he started back down Lake Front, walking slowly and pondering. Had Harriet been right? Had Nancy been hurt? Or killed?
No. Adam was killed at his office,
so the murder probably had nothing to do with Nancy. And she was fine. She had to be.
Fred supposed he should go back home and wait to hear from Harriet again, but he didn’t want to wait. He hated waiting. He passed the Kirkham’s’ cabin and waved to Loralee, and he wondered how Harriet was holding up.
Maybe she’d already heard from Nancy. If so, she’d be fine. If not, she was probably worried sick, and Porter wouldn’t offer much comfort. If Phoebe had still been here, she would have insisted on rushing to Harriet’s side.
When that realization hit him, Fred almost missed a step. Of course that was where he needed to be. With Harriet, offering moral support. Finding out what Harriet knew about Nancy’s habits. Helping to track her down. After seventy-three years, he knew the area better than most people. He’d known half the town all his life and watched darned near everybody else grow up and pass through school right under his nose. And, if he did say so himself, he had a way with people.
He walked a little faster, anxious now. Of course he’d check with Douglas first to make sure he hadn’t heard from Harriet again—or from Nancy. Then he’d drive up to Harriet’s and offer to look for his niece.
And maybe he’d swing by EnviroSampl on his way up the mountain—just to make sure Nancy wasn’t already there. No use spinning his wheels.
Pleased with his decision, Fred turned his face into the warm summer sun and walked home. Enos would probably argue with Fred for wanting to help find Nancy, but he couldn’t stop him. No siree.
Knowing he must be getting close to the small office building that housed EnviroSampl, Fred let off the accelerator. He’d noticed the place before—one of dozens of similar warehouse-like buildings huddled in the trees along the highway—but he’d never paid particular attention to it. He just didn’t want to overshoot the turnoff and have to double back, because he’d have trouble explaining that to Enos.
He rounded a curve and the road straightened for several hundred feet ahead. Bright orange cones partially blocked one lane and flares burned near the side of the road. The flashing blue lights of an ambulance contrasted sharply with the dark green forest. It looked like he’d the found place.
Grady Hatch, tall and slim in his deputy sheriff’s uniform, stepped toward the car and pumped his hands up and down as a signal to slow even more. Grady had to be around thirty, but Fred still saw him as the gangly twelve-year old who’d shot up faster than any other boy his age. At well over six feet, he still towered over almost everyone.
Recognizing Fred’s car, Grady frowned and lifted one hand as a signal for Fred to stop. With his eyes narrowed, he approached and waited for Fred to lower the window. “What do you want?”
Fred gave him a little smile. “Just passing by. Is Enos still here?”
Grady looked wary, but he nodded. “Yes.”
“Where?”
The young man squinted into the hot August sunlight and looked toward the building. “Inside.”
“I need to see him.”
Grady shifted and stared into the interior of the car again. “I can’t let you go near the building, Fred, and you know it. What do you want?”
“I need to give him my statement. He probably doesn’t know I was with Adam for a while last night.”
Grady seemed to hesitate for a split second, but his thin face tightened and his eyes narrowed. “I can’t let anyone near the murder scene, especially you.”
“What do you mean, ‘especially me’?”
Grady’s frown deepened. “I mean you have a habit of getting yourself in the middle of official police business, and Enos doesn’t like it.”
“I’m here to give him a statement. What’s wrong with that?”
This time Grady didn’t refuse outright. He squinted at the building again and looked back at Fred. “He can get it from you later.”
Fred leaned back into his seat with a shrug. “I might be able to tell him something that would help him find Nancy.”
Grady hesitated and made a few noises of protest, just to assert his authority, but Fred kept smiling until he finally weakened. “All right, I’ll check with him.”
“Wonderful.”
Grady stepped away from the car and hunched over his walkie-talkie for several minutes. Someone official-looking rushed from the front door of the building and disappeared into the back of an emergency vehicle. A woodpecker attacked a tree and somewhere nearby a chipmunk voiced his opinion of all the ruckus.
Gesturing broadly with one hand, Grady spoke into the radio and looked back over his shoulder as if making sure Fred hadn’t sneaked past him. Distrusting soul.
Fred settled back to wait, but less than ten seconds later the front door of EnviroSampl’s small aluminum building burst open and Enos stormed outside. He charged across the parking lot wearing a very unhappy expression.
At nearly fifty, Enos still had the stocky build of his youth. Broad shouldered, round faced and sandy complexioned, he walked with a quick heavy step Fred never mistook for anyone else’s. “What in hell’s name are you doing here?” he demanded even before he reached the car.
“Like I explained to Grady—” Fred began.
“Save it. What are you really doing here?”
Fred struggled to keep his patience in check in the face of this unwarranted attack. “I’m really here to give you a statement and to offer my help.”
“Your help?”
Fred nodded. “Finding Nancy.”
“Have you heard from her?”
“No. But—”
“Then I don’t need your help. Go home.”
“I can’t.”
“Well, you can’t stay here.”
“Did I ask you to let me stay?”
Enos rubbed his face with one big open hand and glared at him. “I don’t have time to play games, Fred.”
“I’m not playing games.”
“Then go home and wait there in case Nancy calls.”
“Douglas is there.”
“Well, I’ll bet he’s real happy about that. Look—I don’t want Nancy to hear about Adam through the grapevine, and it’s going to be damned hard to keep it quiet for long. But I don’t need your help finding her.”
When Enos stepped away, Fred caught sight of a small group of people clustered beneath the trees on one side of the building. “Who’s over there?” he asked, and nodded toward the group.
“Employees, business associates—people who belong here. Nobody who concerns you,” Enos snapped, but curiosity got the better of him. “Why?”
“Just wondering.”
“What are you up to?”
Why in the world did everybody accuse him of being “up to” something when he only wanted to help? He scowled to show what he thought of that. “I’m not up to anything.”
Enos barked a laugh. “I wish I could believe that, but I’ve got a real sick feeling you’ve got something up your sleeve. What is it?”
Fred raised his hands in self-defense. “Nothing. I just came by to offer my statement.”
Enos pushed his hat back and scratched his head. “I was under the impression Ivan had already talked to you about that.”
Fred frowned. The young whelp certainly hadn’t wasted any time. “He did.”
“So I’ll get your statement later.”
“Well, all right,” Fred conceded. “But it beats me how you can investigate such a serious crime without talking to a key witness.”
Enos rolled his eyes. “I suppose you plan to keep pestering me and my boys until I hear what you have to say?”
“Probably.”
Enos sighed heavily, but he looked resigned. “All right, then. Let’s get it over with. But I’m right in the middle of something, so you’re going to have to wait a couple of minutes.”
“Fine.”
“And you’re blocking traffic. Pull into the parking lot and wait there.” Enos pointed one thick finger at Fred. “But don’t get out of your car.”
Now they were getting somewhere.
Fred tried not to resent the way Enos was bossing him around. “You’re too suspicious, you know that? It can’t be good for you.”
Enos readjusted his hat and worked up a thin smile. “Well, I’ll agree with you there. It’s probably not. But if you didn’t keep sticking your nose where it didn’t belong, I wouldn’t have to be that way.” He patted the hood of Fred’s car and jogged back across the dusty lot.
Fred drove into the lot and looked for an empty spot near the group of employees and business associates. The parking lot wasn’t large, but he wanted to find a good place to park—one where he could keep an eye on everything. Luckily, he found a space near the front of the building between a red Mustang and a white Celebrity.
He studied the group for a few seconds. About ten people, some of whom looked familiar, some of whom didn’t. He recognized the Barker boy who’d been on the basketball team at Paradise Valley High a few years back and Pete Scott’s new young wife.
But the one who caught his eye was a reed-thin woman of about twenty-five. Charlotte Isaacson. Short dark hair. Red puffy eyes. She’d obviously been crying. A lot. She stood between two men Fred didn’t recognize.
One, a man of about thirty-five kept one hand on her arm and whispered to her every few seconds. They stood at equal height—probably about five-ten. The man’s pants hung below his stomach and his shirt pooched out around his middle. He had a soft build—the sort that would probably make all his clothes look sloppy. His blond hair had thinned almost to baldness on top, and he darted continuous, anxious looks at the building and at the deputies.
On Charlotte’s other side, a tall, black man stared at her as if he wanted to argue. She seemed to be ignoring him. He wore an expensive-looking business suit that seemed out of place around the more casual attire of the rest of the crowd. He scowled at Charlotte, said something Fred couldn’t hear that brought a flush to her thin face, and paced a few steps away. At the edge of some imaginary boundary, he pivoted and paced back. He repeated the process a few times, looking irritated and anxious to get away, but not personally affected by Adam’s death.
