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

by Sherry Lewis

  “I don’t think Adam ever asked. Mitch is a nice enough guy, but he’s not the type to go the extra mile for anyone else. And Charlotte—” She broke off and smiled coldly. “Well, Charlotte probably would have gone the extra mile if Adam had let her.”

  Now there was a new twist to the tale. “What makes you think that?”

  Brooke just shook her head and gave an embarrassed laugh. “Forget it, I’m just being catty. Charlotte’s okay, I guess. She’s eager.” Brooke definitely didn’t mean that as a compliment.

  Fred tried to remember anything about his conversation with Charlotte that might make him believe what Brooke was saying. She’d been crying both times he’d seen her since the murder, he remembered that. “Tell me what Adam was working on when he died,” he said. “Was there anything special or unusual?”

  Brooke shook her head again and curled her legs beneath her on the couch. “Not really. We just got a couple of new contracts, and I know he wasn’t satisfied with the results of his latest project. We went back into the lab a couple of days before he died to rerun the tests.”

  “I don’t understand. I thought the test results were sent directly to Philip Aagard. How did Adam know what they were?”

  “Adam always requested a copy of his test results from Philip. He was very thorough.”

  “Did he get them before they were sent to the EPA, or after?”

  “I don’t know. Why?”

  “If he saw them before, I can understand why he’d want to run a second set of tests and make sure the right results were sent out. But if he got them after. . .” he shrugged and let her draw her own conclusions.

  She obviously reached the same one he had. “He must have gotten them before, or it wouldn’t make sense to gather new samples and rerun the tests.”

  “He gathered new samples?”

  She nodded. “That’s what he told me.”

  “I still don’t understand why he had you working on it after hours. How many tests did you perform?”

  “A couple. Three. I don’t know. Not very many.”

  They sat in silence for several minutes until a new idea occurred to Fred. “Did you rerun tests that you performed originally?” he asked.

  She met his gaze steadily, as if she’d already made that connection. “No.”

  “Whose tests did you redo? Charlotte’s or Mitch’s?”

  “I didn’t know whose they were. I only know they weren’t on any property I’d tested already.”

  “How did you know that?”

  “Adam told me.”

  “So he brought in new samples and got you to give him a second opinion? Did he ever ask one of the others to retest your results?”

  “Not that I know of. But, then, I don’t think they knew that I checked theirs.”

  Fred shifted in the chair, trying to make himself more comfortable. He thought about Mitch’s story that he’d been delivering test results to Adam the morning Adam died, and he wondered if Mitch had been telling the truth after all.

  Half an hour ago he’d been almost convinced that Adam had been killed because of something in his personal life. Brooke had just handed him a lifeline, but he wasn’t sure what to do with it. “Why did he want the tests rerun?” he asked. “What did he hope to find?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What property did you run the tests on?”

  She shoved her fingers through her hair in a jerky, agitated motion. “I don’t know. I wish I did.”

  Fred didn’t believe her. He was almost positive he’d struck a nerve. “Did anybody else know you were working nights?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

  “If you had to pick one of the two—Mitch or Charlotte—which would you think Adam was double-checking?”

  “I’m not sure. Mitch is terribly competitive, determined to be the best in his field. But I wouldn’t put it past him to cut corners if he thought it would get him somewhere. Charlotte tries to be careful, but the quality of her work has always been inconsistent, and it’s gotten worse since she and Mitch started seeing each other.”

  Fred’s breath caught in his throat. “Did I hear that right? Charlotte and Mitch are dating?”

  “Sure. Let’s call it that.”

  It took almost a full minute for her meaning to hit him, but when it did Fred’s face flamed. “Weren’t you curious to know which property you were testing?”

  “A bit, but it was pretty clear that Adam didn’t want to tell me.”

  For the second time Fred had the feeling she wasn’t telling the whole truth. This time he didn’t let it pass. “But you knew, didn’t you?”

  She stared at him for several long seconds before she nodded. “All right. Yes. I saw the files.”

  “Which property was it?”

  “Shadow Mountain.”

  Fred pulled back in surprise. “Shadow Mountain? Why did you run tests on that place?”

  “Somebody must be interested in buying it.”

  “But there’ve been people interested in developing the property before now, and I’ve never heard about trouble with the EPA. I didn’t think the property was contaminated.”

  “Maybe they were thinking about a different kind of development,” Brooke said. “All I know is the original tests on the tailings, the quarries and the sinkhole around that old mine came out showing a lot of contamination. It’d take a fortune to clean the place up enough for any kind of development and I never could imagine anyone willing to put that kind of money into it. But some of the tests Adam had me run came out clean.”

  Fred blinked in surprise. “Are you sure?”

  She nodded soberly. “Yes. It surprised me, too.”

  “Is it contaminated or not?”

  “It is,” Brooke said firmly. “No matter what the second set of tests showed.”

  None of what he’d heard made any sense to Fred, but he was convinced it was important. “Why the difference?”

  “I have no idea—unless the second set of tests weren’t on Shadow Mountain property.”

  “Maybe that’s it,” Fred said. “Did you see any other files?”

  “No, but that doesn’t mean Adam wasn’t working on something else.”

  Fred pondered that for a few seconds, but he was more confused than ever. “Who wants to buy Shadow Mountain?”

  She shrugged an I-don’t-know.

  He dragged in a deep breath and tried to shuffle all the pieces into place. He felt as if he were in the middle of an old nightmare. The Shadow Mountain property had been at the center of the very first murders he’d been involved with. Now it looked as if it might be connected to Adam Bigelow’s death, as well.

  “Who ran the original tests?” he asked.

  Brooke met his gaze steadily. “I don’t know. Really, I don’t. But I always kind of thought it might have been Mitch because he stopped by the office late one night and found us there in Adam’s office, and the next day he and Adam got into a terrible argument. I assumed he’d figured out what Adam was doing, and that he didn’t like it. But that’s just a guess on my part. Believe me, if Mitch killed Adam, I want his butt in jail—he’s not my favorite person at EnviroSampl. But if it’s all my imagination, I don’t want to get him in trouble.”

  Fred put a hand on her shoulder and worked up a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry. I’ve never known Enos to arrest somebody on speculation. What else can you tell me?”

  Relief flitted across her face, but she shook her head. “Nothing. Honestly.”

  Fred waited a few seconds, hoping she’d think of something else, but she shook her head again. “I’m sorry.”

  He pressed her shoulder. “You’ve been a big help.”

  She stood and smiled tentatively. “Do you think this is why Adam was killed?”

  “I honestly don’t know,” he admitted. “We can’t assume anything.”

  “I can’t imagine anyone killing Adam because of some reworked tests— I mean, it sounds ridiculous.”r />
  It did to Fred, too. But he knew he didn’t have the whole story—yet. “If you think of anything else, will you let me know?”

  “Of course I will.” Walking slowly, she led him to the door and flipped on a light to guide him back down the path. “Be careful driving home.”

  “I’m always careful,” Fred assured her and hurried through the shadows to his car. He slid behind the wheel, swamped by sudden exhaustion and bothered by the ache of arthritis in the cool night air. He had a long drive home—plenty of time to think things through.

  Longing for the comfort of home and the warmth of his bed, he drove out of town and started back down the mountain. He wished Brooke hadn’t mentioned Shadow Mountain, because thinking that old mine might be connected to Adam’s death left him with a very bad taste in his mouth.

  FOURTEEN

  When the sun came up the next morning, Fred slid open his closet door as quietly as he could and reached inside for his boots. After the trip from Mountain Home, he’d fallen into bed exhausted, but he hadn’t slept well. Too many things battled for his attention: too many ideas, too many possibilities, too many concerns. So when the first rays of sun peeked through his curtains, he’d abandoned all pretense of sleep and climbed out of bed.

  He wanted to take his morning constitutional early. Walking around the lake would help him pull his straggling thoughts together. But he wanted to get outside without waking Nancy. In her condition, she needed all the rest she could get.

  Pulling the laces tight on his boot, he looped one end around his finger. His blasted arthritis wouldn’t let his fingers form the laces into a bow. With a growl of frustration, he abandoned his first effort and started again.

  When he heard footsteps in the hallway, he glanced at the clock beside his bed. It sounded like Douglas getting ready to drive Alison to her appointment with Dr. Shriver.

  But a moment later someone knocked on the door and Nancy called softly, “Uncle Fred? Are you awake?”

  Leaving his boot untied, he slopped across the room and pulled open the door.

  She was already dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, tennis shoes and a baseball cap. A shy smile curved her lips. “Good,” she said with a glance at his clothes. “I didn’t wake you.”

  “Is something wrong?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “No. Everything’s fine. Are you going to take your walk this morning?”

  “Of course. I never miss it.”

  “Would you mind if I came with you?”

  The question surprised him, but it also gave him hope that she was on the mend. He stepped into the hallway and worked a stiff arm around her shoulder. “I can’t think of anything I’d like more. Let me get the coffee started before we leave—I like to have a cup when I get back.”

  She glanced at his untied boot and smiled. “Why don’t you finish getting ready while I do the coffee?” And when he opened his mouth to protest, she held up a hand. “I can do the coffee. It’s decaf, isn’t it? Margaret said that’s all the doctor lets you drink.”

  He kept his face blank as he nodded. If Nancy wanted decaf, that’s what he’d serve—but only because of her baby. And he’d make sure he got to the Bluebird later for a cup of the real stuff. He needed his mind sharp today, and decaf wouldn’t cut it. “Just be sure to use the coffee in the canister.”

  She started away, then looked back over her shoulder and raised her eyebrows as if he’d said something suspicious. “Okay. Are there other choices?”

  “I’m not allowed other choices.”

  Her lips twitched. “I see. I think I’ll use the coffee in the canister.” With one last smile over her shoulder, she disappeared into the kitchen.

  Fred went back to his boots, pleased that this time his fingers didn’t freeze up on him. By the time he’d tied his boots, Nancy had the coffeepot ready and the automatic timer set.

  He led her out the back door and through the yard to the trail. They walked in silence for the first several minutes. Dust puffed from their feet as they followed the path toward the southern tip of the lake. As a girl, Nancy had often stayed overnight with Fred and Phoebe, and she’d often joined him for his morning constitutional. Fred had always enjoyed her company—her chatter had cheered him, her smile had warmed him, and her eagerness to see, feel, and smell everything they passed had sounded a chord deep within him.

  Unlike the past, today tension radiated from her. She didn’t mention the sunrise or the way the lake’s placid surface glittered or the mossy fresh smell of the forest. She walked quickly, eyes straight ahead, shoulders back.

  Fred matched her pace and wondered why she’d wanted to join him. Since she obviously didn’t have much to say, she probably just wanted company.

  He let the silence stretch between them until they rounded the tip of the lake. Then he could stand it no longer. “The lake sure is low this year—did you notice?”

  She spared it a glance. “It is, isn’t it?”

  “It’s getting late enough in the year, we ought to start getting some afternoon rain,” he speculated.

  She tried to look interested. “Yeah. I guess so.”

  “Only problem is, we’ll start getting thunderstorms. And with the forest this dry, the lightning could spark fires.”

  Her brows knit together, attempting to look concerned. “I hope not.”

  Obviously, he hadn’t kindled much interest in small talk, so he fell silent again and let the forest work its magic. Chipmunks chattered at them as they passed and birds called down from the treetops. Aspen leaves shivered in an almost invisible breeze, and waves melted softly on the shore of the lake.

  When they reached the narrow spot on the path, Fred held back and let Nancy go first. She marched through the brush, head held high, until the back of Summer Dey’s cabin peeked through the trees at them.

  She looked over her shoulder with a half-smile. “Does that cute guy with the Doberman still live here?”

  Fred stepped over an exposed root and shook his head. “The Holbrooks moved away a few years ago. The lady who lives here now is an artist—Summer Dey.”

  Nancy laughed. “You’re kidding? That’s her name?”

  “As far as we know.”

  She waited for him to close the narrow distance between them, then took his arm and leaned her head on his shoulder. “You know what? I’ve missed taking walks with you.”

  “There’s no reason you can’t still join me once in a while, even if you have grown up.”

  “I know.” She sighed as softly as the breeze. “Sometimes I wish I hadn’t. Sometimes I wish I’d always stayed three or four.” She sighed again as he guided her under a low branch. “I’ve made such a mess of things, Uncle Fred. Of my marriage. My life. I never planned for it to turn out this way.”

  Regret served no useful purpose and Fred hated hearing it in her voice. “We all make mistakes, sweetheart.”

  “You’re trying to make me feel better, aren’t you?”

  “I’m just telling you the truth.”

  She shook her head and pulled away slightly so she could look straight into his eyes. “Where did you go last night?”

  “I had some business to take care of. Douglas didn’t leave you alone, did he?”

  “No, he stayed there all evening.” She looked troubled. “I hate being such a bother. I know Margaret’s concerned, but you really don’t have to babysit me.”

  “We care about you. We’re not babysitting, and you’re not a bother.”

  “You almost make me believe it.” She worked up a smile. “I really appreciate you letting me stay with you.”

  He squeezed her hand and smiled down at her. “You’re family, Nancy. You’re right where you belong.”

  They walked several more feet before she spoke again. “Margaret thinks you’re trying to figure out who killed Adam, did you know that?”

  “I know she’s got her suspicions.”

  “Is it true? Are you trying to figure it out?”

  He sco
wled. “Are you spying for her?”

  “No. I’m curious.”

  He studied her face, touched by the serious look in her eyes. “All right then, it’s true,” he said.

  “Have you found out anything yet?”

  “A little. Not much.”

  “Like what?”

  “Nothing concrete.”

  “Like what?” she demanded.

  “I don’t think—”

  She stopped in her tracks. “Please don’t, Uncle Fred. I have the right to know. He was my husband, after all. And Enos won’t tell me anything.” The frailty that he’d seen in her two days ago had been replaced by something stronger, and Fred was glad to see it.

  “I asked you yesterday whether Adam was having an affair. Was he?”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  “You’re sure about that?”

  “Positive.”

  Fred wished he could share her certainty. “What do you know about his relationship with Brooke Westphal?”

  He could tell he surprised her with that question. “What relationship with Brooke Westphal?”

  “According to Brooke, they often worked late together.”

  Nancy shook her head. “That’s not true—at least it wasn’t before we separated. I don’t know what he did after.”

  “So they could have worked late the last couple of weeks?”

  She nodded reluctantly. “I guess so. You don’t really think he was having an affair with her?”

  “I think it’s a possibility.”

  “Well, he wasn’t.” Nancy took a step or two away and studied a chokecherry branch as if she’d never seen anything more interesting.

  “How can you be so certain?”

  She didn’t answer for several seconds, and when she did her voice came softly. “Adam had strong feelings about infidelity. He didn’t approve, and he would never have cheated on me.”

  “He wouldn’t be the first person to do something he disapproved of in theory.”

  Nancy shook her head with grim determination. “Not Adam. Not that. Not ever. If they were working late, they were working. What else have you learned?”

  “Apparently he had an argument with Mitch Hancock just before he died. And one with your dad.” He purposely left out Nancy’s visit to the office. She was doing well this morning and he didn’t want to upset her. “And he got a telephone call on the night of the murder, and then he made one, but I don’t know who he spoke to either time.” As he told her what he knew, he realized all over again how few facts he’d managed to pick up. He shrugged and stopped talking.