by Sherry Lewis
Agitated, Fred pushed to his feet. “Did Adam ever argue with anyone at work? Did he come home angry or upset—especially recently?”
Nancy pressed her fingertips to her forehead. “I don’t know.”
Fred shot a glance at Margaret. She looked as confused as he felt.
She reached for Nancy’s hands and gripped them tightly. “Nancy, Enos thinks maybe you killed Adam. Or that Uncle Porter did. Please, think harder.”
Nancy’s eyes puddled with tears and she blinked furiously for several seconds before she pulled her hands away. “Look, I keep telling you, I don’t know anything. Adam and I were falling apart. We never talked any more, and things were really bad the last few months.”
Fred tried not to groan aloud. If Nancy’s marriage had been falling apart over time, it would make her motive look stronger than it already did.
Margaret didn’t seem to accept Nancy’s answer. She’d been struggling with her own marriage for too many years. “Listen, Nancy, I know how hard it is to communicate when things are strained, but even under those circumstances people say things. Little things. I’m sure if you think harder, you’ll remember—”
Nancy shot to her feet. “I don’t know. I don’t know what was going on at the office or what he was working on. I have no idea whether or not he fought with anyone. If you want to know what was going on at EnviroSampl, you’re going to have to ask someone else.”
“So he never discussed his work with you?” Fred asked, more to sum up the little bit of information Nancy’s provided than to dig for more. But she didn’t hear it that way.
“He never discussed the time of day with me.” She took a couple of jerky steps away. “He hadn’t even been living at home for the past few weeks. Before that, we hardly ever saw each other. And when we did, we fought. Telling Enos that isn’t going to help me or my dad.”
Her words faded into stunned silence. Fred met Margaret’s surprised gaze and struggled to take it all in. “You mean you were separated?”
Nancy looked down at her fingers and her shoulders drooped. “Yes.”
Well, for Pete’s sake. “I take it your mom and dad don’t know.”
“No.” She spoke so softly Fred almost couldn’t hear her.
“Why didn’t you tell them?”
“It was a trial separation. I didn’t want to upset them unless I had to.”
Margaret nodded as if she understood Nancy’s reasoning. “It would have upset them, I’m sure, but it’s a terrible burden for you to carry alone.”
“I thought we’d work things out,” Nancy said. “At least we weren’t fighting as much.”
“What did you fight about?” Fred asked.
“Nothing. Everything. We fought about the weather, about the way the living room was arranged. We fought about what I fixed for dinner and how much money I spent on a can of tuna. We just fought.”
Margaret left her seat and crossed to Nancy’s side. She wrapped her arms around her cousin and let Nancy collapse against her. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
Fred dropped into the rocking chair and stared at Nancy’s back. No wonder she didn’t want to stay with Harriet and Porter. But how did she hope to keep the state of her marriage a secret from them now?
“You’re going to have to tell them,” Margaret said.
“Why? It’ll just upset Mom and make Dad mad. What good will it do to tell them now?”
“If you and Adam weren’t living together, Enos will find out,” Margaret insisted. “It will be better coming from you. And you don’t want your parents to find out about it from somebody else.”
“She’s right,” Fred said. “So tell me, if Adam wasn’t living at home, where was he staying?”
Nancy pulled in a steadying breath. “At the office until we decided what to do. They have a couch and a shower in one of the back rooms. He came home every few days for clean clothes.”
Fred’s stomach tightened. “Who else knew about this?”
“I don’t know. I told a couple of my friends, but I have no idea who Adam told.”
“I think we can safely assume that everyone at EnviroSampl knew,” Fred said. “In such a small office, a secret like that would be hard to keep.
Margaret’s frown dragged heavily at the corners of her mouth. “What are you thinking? That whoever killed Adam knew he was staying in the office?”
Fred nodded, scratching absently at the bristle coming in on his chin. “Seems likely, doesn’t it? If they knew where he was living, they’d sure know where to find him at two in the morning. Then again, so would you, Nancy.” He was glad she’d come clean about the separation. He only wished it made her look less guilty.
Very slowly, enlightenment began to dawn in Nancy’s tired eyes. “You think he was killed by someone he worked with?”
Fred gave her an encouraging smile. He knew from experience how sluggish a normally quick mind could turn after a shock like the one Nancy’d had that morning. “I think so,” Fred said. He certainly hoped so, anyway.
Margaret jumped up and headed for the phone. “We’ve got to tell Enos about this.”
Nancy cried out and raced after her. “No, please. Not until I explain everything to my parents.”
With her hand hovering over the receiver, Margaret glanced at Fred as if asking him what she should do. Now that was a switch. He nodded almost imperceptibly and she pulled her hand back. “All right,” she said. “But we can’t keep this from Enos for long.”
Nancy worked up a thin smile. “I know. I promise I’ll tell them tomorrow.”
“Good.” Fred sat back and got his rocker moving again. But he didn’t feel a whole lot better. Whoever killed Adam must have known he was staying at the office. But so far, they only knew of one person who admitted that she who’d been aware of Adam’s arrangement, and that was Nancy, herself. Porter didn’t even know. And Fred didn’t want to take this news to Enos unless he had at least one other name to go with it. Someone else who knew about Adam’s living arrangements.
Margaret said something to Nancy and led her toward the kitchen, but at the door she paused and looked back over her shoulder. “You want a cup of herbal tea, Dad?”
In an effort to wean him from coffee, she’d brought him enough herbal tea to supply an army. Raspberry, lemon, orange—every flavor imaginable. His cupboard looked like a blasted fruit basket inside. He’d tried a cup once to keep her happy, and he’d actually managed to choke down about half a cup of the vile stuff. But he hadn’t made himself try it again, and he didn’t intend to torture himself tonight.
He made a face and shook his head. “I’ll pass.”
Margaret made a face back and disappeared into the kitchen. He watched her go, and tried hard to relax a little. But if he hoped to keep Nancy out of jail, he had to know what was going on at EnviroSampl. She might not be able to tell him, but somebody could.
Charlotte Isaacson could.
He slowed the rocker and smiled to himself. Charlotte might not want to talk to him again, but if he could get her alone for a few minutes, he knew he could get her talking and then, hopefully, he’d learn find something that would help his family.
Before Margaret came back into the room, he swallowed his smile and stared out the window. He loved his daughter, but he knew what she was like. If Margaret even suspected what he was planning, she’d try to stop him. She might be willing to let him discuss the murder with Nancy, but she’d draw the line at him talking to anyone else.
But Margaret didn’t understand how it felt to watch a child suffer—her own children were still too young. And Margaret had blind faith in Enos, which may or may not be entirely justified. So Fred would just have to make certain Margaret didn’t suspect his intentions. He’d bide his time tonight and visit Charlotte first thing in the morning.
EIGHT
Next morning, Fred walked as quickly as he dared around Spirit Lake. He followed the path from home, around the southern tip of the lake, past Summer Dey’s stil
l-dark cabin, and up the western shoreline to Doc Huggins’ place before he turned around and headed back. He wouldn’t dream of starting his day without his morning constitutional, but he wanted to head out in search of Charlotte Isaacson before anyone could stop him.
His feet kicked up dust and his mind churned as he walked. Though still early, the temperature had already started to climb above normal. It would be another scorcher today. Another in a long line of hot, dry days in a drought year. They needed rain desperately. As desperately as he needed to learn something about Adam’s death that wouldn’t make it look as if Nancy had killed him.
Fred had spent a sleepless night thinking about the murder, and his determination to help Nancy had grown with every hour that passed. It obsessed him now, to use Margaret’s word for his ability to focus on a problem. He couldn’t think of much else.
When he passed Summer Dey’s cabin on the way back, he noticed a light in the kitchen window. He thought about how willing Janice Lacey seemed to accept Summer’s so-called psychic nonsense and a shudder racked his body. If Summer saw him out here, she’d probably try to waylay him; she’d done it before. She’d rattle on about Adam’s aura, or some such nonsense. She’d say that she’d seen death around him for weeks before the murder, and she’d jabber about how Adam had to die to pay a debt to a past life. Fred had heard it all before, but he didn’t want to hear it today and he didn’t have time for a diversion.
He rushed past the open spot behind her cabin and kept going until the back deck of his own house came into view again. There he ducked off the trail and stole through the trees until he reached the side door of the garage.
He didn’t expect Margaret for at least another half hour, and Douglas probably wasn’t even awake yet, but Fred didn’t want to risk running into either of them. Or Nancy. He didn’t want to explain what he had in mind.
He lifted the garage door with as little noise as he could manage, and as he slipped behind the wheel of his Buick he fit the key into the ignition. It purred to life quickly, quietly, and Fred once again acknowledged the wisdom of starting the engine three times a week to keep it running well, whether he actually drove the car or not.
He backed onto Lake Front and sped away without even bothering to lower the garage door. He usually didn’t leave it wide open, but he couldn’t take the chance of disturbing Douglas and Nancy with it a second time.
Driving a little faster than usual, he made the trip to Mountain Home in just under an hour. At the first stop sign, he fished a deposit slip from his shirt pocket and double-checked the address he’d jotted on the back. The telephone directory said that C. Isaacson lived at 392 Twin Creek Drive, and he was taking a chance that “C” stood for Charlotte. If not, “C” probably knew where to find her.
He finally spotted Twin Creek Drive at the edge of town and followed the winding street into the dense forest for about half a mile before he passed a mailbox with number 392 painted on the side. The forest closed in upon the property and made it impossible to see the house from the street, so he drove a little past the mailbox and parked on the shoulder of the road.
Hoping he’d found the right place, he walked back and peered down the shaded drive. But he still couldn’t see anything.
He followed the gravel drive on foot for several feet and finally spotted Charlotte Isaacson’s white Celebrity in front of the house. Well, good. He’d found the right place.
Blinds covered the front windows, giving the house a sleepy look, but that didn’t bother Fred. He wanted to catch Charlotte off-guard. He’d wanted to get here before she left for work, figuring that she might hesitate to open up at the office. Here, in private, he had a much better chance of getting her to talk.
He climbed two narrow wooden steps, perched on a tiny front porch, and knocked on the door. Several seconds passed without an answer and Fred hoped he wasn’t too late. Maybe she just hadn’t heard his knock. Maybe she was still asleep. He rang the bell this time, and this time he was rewarded by the sound of someone moving around inside.
A moment later, the door creaked open and half of Charlotte’s thin face peeked out at him. “Yes? What do you want?”
It wasn’t a very friendly greeting, but he smiled anyway. “Good morning, Charlotte.”
Recognition dawned in the one dark brown eye he could see. “Mr. Vickery? What are you doing here?”
“I wondered if I could talk to you for a minute.”
A lengthy pause followed before the door creaked open another inch or two. “I guess so. Why?”
“I need to ask you a couple of questions.”
“What about? My tires?” She smiled as if she’d made a joke.
He smiled ack. “Not today. Would you mind if I come in?”
She hesitated so long he thought she’d refuse, but she finally pulled the door open the rest of the way and stepped aside to let him enter. “I guess not.”
She wore a white terry cloth bathrobe and, he suspected, not much else beneath it, which made him think she wasn’t planning to go anywhere for a while. Padding on bare feet across the hardwood floor, she led him into a wide living room with gleaming wood everywhere and furniture in shades of off-white.
Dropping gracefully into an off-white chair and motioned Fred toward the off-white couch and tucked a bookmark into an open paperback. She slid the book onto the table beside her and retrieved a mug with both hands. “All right. What can I do for you?”
Fred lowered himself onto the couch and sank so far into the cushions he wondered if he’d ever get out. He tried not to look uncomfortable . . . or old. “I’m trying to help Nancy find out what Adam was working on before he was killed. I thought maybe you could tell me.”
She stared at him. “Seriously?”
“Yes.”
“Why? She wasn’t interested in his work before he died.” Charlotte glared at him, daring him to disagree.
That wasn’t an argument Fred was prepared to have. He asked, “Why do you think that?”
“I don’t think it, I know it. Adam and I worked together for six years. I know just how much his wife cared about him and his work.”
Fred winced inwardly. “You don’t think she cared?”
“No,” Charlotte said with a cool smirk. “Besides, if she wants to know so badly, why isn’t she here?”
“She’s still very upset about Adam’s death.”
“I’m sure she is.”
Fred heard the sarcasm in her answer, but he decided to ignore it, at least for the moment. “So, what was Adam working on?”
Charlotte shrugged lazily. “I’m not sure I could tell you about his projects, even if I wanted to.”
“Why not?”
“We get a lot of government contracts for the Environmental Protection Agency. We often test sites that have applied for Superfund money. So much of what we do is confidential, I think it would be better to not talk about anything.” Her face settled into determined lines that warned him she wouldn’t go any further.
But Fred didn’t plan to leave until he got what he came for. “I understand you and Adam were good friends.”
Charlotte tilted her head to one side and shrugged again. “Yes, I suppose we were. We’d known each other for years.”
“Then this must be very hard on you, too.”
As if she’d suddenly remembered she should be grieving, tears filled her eyes. “It’s horrible. I’m okay when I’m here, but I don’t know what I’ll do when I have to go back to the office.”
“You’re not going to work today?”
She snorted a humorless laugh. “I called in sick today, but Philip will be furious that I did. I won’t be able to get away with it tomorrow.”
“Philip?”
“Philip Aagard. You know him, don’t you?”
Fred tried to place the name, but couldn’t. He shook his head.
“He owns the place.”
That didn’t help. “Local boy?” Fred asked, still trying to put a face to the name.
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Charlotte shook her head. “He grew up somewhere back east, I think. Went to school at Northwestern. He moved here shortly before EnviroSampl opened.”
That explained why Fred didn’t know him. “He might surprise you and be more understanding than you think.”
She laughed again. “Yeah. I’m sure.”
Interesting. Fred wondered if Philip was really a Scrooge of a boss, or if Charlotte underestimated him. “Tell me about Philip. Did he and Adam get along?”
Charlotte tucked a lock of dark hair behind an ear. “I guess so. I think Philip liked Adam as much as he likes anybody, but if he suddenly went into deep mourning, I’d be surprised. He’s not a very compassionate person.”
“It doesn’t sound as if you care for him very much.”
“Working for Philip is . . . interesting. He’s a tough boss in a lot of ways. He’d let us all work round the clock as long as we didn’t expect to get paid for the overtime, and he’s in a foul mood every time a holiday rolls around. Other than that, he’s a great boss.” She gave him a thin smile and went on with a sigh. “The truth is, Adam helped keep things tolerable. In fact, he’s the only reason I’ve stayed as long as I have. He’s the one who kept everyone from killing each other.” She flushed deep red at her unwitting choice of words and said, “I really don’t know what I’ll do now.”
Fred hadn’t expected her to be quite so forthcoming. “So you’re saying that Mr. Aagard had no real beef with Adam?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
Fred nodded slowly, mulling that over for a moment. “Tell me about the others at work,” he said. “Did Adam get along with everyone?”
He thought Charlotte looked almost reluctant to answer. “Yes.”
Or maybe he’d misread her. “Including Mitch Hancock?”
“Yes.”
“What about that other guy who was there yesterday—Roy Dennington?”
Charlotte sipped her coffee and narrowed her eyes. “Are you supposed to be asking me questions like this?”
“I’m supposed to be helping niece and that means I have to ask.”
