by Sherry Lewis
“I don’t know.”
“Philip Aagard?”
“No.”
“Mitch Hancock?”
With her face in a tight frown, she stood. “Listen, Mr. Vickery, there might have been trouble at EnviroSampl, but if you want to know what happened to Adam, you’re looking in the wrong place.”
She crossed to the front door and jerked it open. “Now, I really have to ask you to leave. I have a thousand things to do.”
“Of course.” He moved slowly toward the door, but when he drew abreast of her, he stopped. He knew nothing more than he’d known when he got here, but he was convinced Charlotte had secrets she wasn’t sharing. “Why did you go to work so early the morning of the murder?”
Her face might as well have been carved of stone. “I often put in extra hours. We all do. There’s no way to get everything Philip expects done in eight hours.”
“And you weren’t surprised to see Adam’s car there?”
“Of course not. He’d been living there, remember? His car was always there.”
“And you knew about his appointment with Roy Dennington—”
Her eyes narrowed. “What’s your point?”
Fred shrugged and tried to look nonchalant. “Just trying to piece together everything that happened that morning.”
Charlotte’s thin face grew flushed. “Are you wondering if I killed Adam?” He didn’t answer immediately, so she rushed on. “Look, Mr. Vickery, I know you’re trying to prove that Nancy’s innocent, but nobody else had a reason to kill Adam. Honestly, I think you’re deluding yourself.”
He faced her squarely and held her gaze for a long moment. “You’re wrong. Seems to me the trouble is that too many people wanted Adam dead. And too many people are trying to protect themselves.”
She drew in a deep breath and her nostrils flared slightly. “Meaning me?”
“Maybe.”
“Well, good luck,” she said in a voice that suggested she wished him otherwise. “I hope you find exactly what you’re looking for. Now, if you’ll excuse me—”
Under the weight of her stare, he stepped outside and returned to his car. But he felt no better than he had when he arrived. Instead, he felt as if he’d been led in a perfect circle and had somehow ended miles from where he started.
TWENTY THREE
Fred drove back to Cutler as quickly as he dared, watching for speed traps and cursing himself under his breath. Maybe he had been chasing down the wrong track after all. Maybe he’d wasted time trying to tie Adam’s death to EnviroSampl. Maybe Adam had been killed because of Nancy and Kelley and the baby.
Fred glared at the road and tried to understand how he’d gotten so turned around. But by the time he reached the straight-away through Bergen’s Meadow, he still didn’t have any answers. Increasing his speed by a couple miles per hour, he tried to work through what he knew once more.
Nancy’s marriage had begun to suffer when Adam’s work demanded too much of his attention. She’d had an affair with Kelley Yarnell which resulted in a pregnancy, and because Adam couldn’t have children and would never believe the child was his, Nancy’d confessed the truth to him. Adam had insisted Nancy get an abortion, and when she refused he demanded a divorce.
No trouble so far. Everything fit.
So who killed Adam?
Was it Nancy? Of course not. Even considering the affair, the baby, the arguments and the abortion, Fred refused to believe that his niece could have killed her husband in cold blood.
Porter? It might be a little easier to believe that Porter had lost his temper and gone after Adam, but that didn’t make it any less painful.
Fred lifted his foot from the accelerator and rounded a curve in the road. Could Kelley Yarnell be the murderer? Again, Fred didn’t want to think so but he didn’t completely understand why. Did he honestly believe Kelley was innocent? Or did he just want him to be for Nancy’s sake and for the baby’s?
He pondered the possibilities as he drove into Cutler, but as he passed the Kwik Kleen, he had to admit that none of those options fit. As bad as Adam’s personal life had been, Fred was still convinced that Adam had been murdered because of something that was going on at EnviroSampl. He knew it—at least he believed it—but he couldn’t prove it. And because he couldn’t, Enos would end up dragging Nancy’s story out into the open—unless Fred could convince him to wait a little longer.
Still mulling everything over, he turned onto Lake Front and drove past the Kirkham’s big, ugly cabin. He followed the winding road half a mile, and pulled into his own driveway. Margaret’s Chevy was parked in front of the garage, but he didn’t know whether he should be irritated or grateful to find her there. He had to talk to Nancy right away, before Enos’s six o’clock deadline. Margaret might be able to reason with her, but Margaret didn’t know the whole story and Fred had promised not to tell her.
He parked beside Margaret’s car and waited for her to race out the front door demanding to know where he’d been. When several seconds passed without any sign of her, Fred began to worry. He climbed out of the car and headed up the front walk, wondering if something bad ad happened.
He pushed open the door and peered inside, expecting the room to be empty. But again he was surprised. Margaret sat alone on the couch, staring at her mother’s round oak table and the jumble of pictures on its surface. And that made her failure to accost him when he pulled into the driveway even more difficult to explain.
She didn’t turn around until he closed the door. Then she met his gaze with tear-swollen eyes and a trembling smile.
He hurried to the couch and lowered himself onto the seat beside her. If that husband of hers had done anything to upset her— Fred struggled to keep his voice steady. “What’s the matter, sweetheart?”
She took a second to pull herself together. “I’ve been talking to Nancy.”
He tried not to show the relief he felt at learning that her tears were for her cousin and not for herself. “About what? Has something happened?”
“She told me everything,” Margaret said softly. “About the baby, the baby’s father. About Adam—” She caught back a sob and met his gaze again. “Oh, Dad. I feel so bad for her. This is such a mess.”
A small word for such a big problem. “Where is she?”
“She went with Aunt Harriet a few minutes ago.”
“She left?” Fred hadn’t expected that. “Do you know when she’ll be back?”
Margaret shrugged. “She didn’t say.”
“Did she tell Harriet and Porter about the baby?”
Margaret shook her head. “No while they were here.”
Fred glanced at his watch and tried not to panic. He had less than two hours until Enos came looking for Nancy and he had no idea where she was. He had half a mind to go looking for her, but he couldn’t ignore Margaret’s tears. Never had been able to. And besides, he had no idea where to look. A wild goose chase wouldn’t solve anything.
He put an arm around Margaret’s shoulders and squeezed in his most reassuring manner. “Well, I’m glad Nancy told you the truth. At least it’s a step in the right direction.”
“Can you imagine what Aunt Harriet and Uncle Porter will say when they find out?”
“Nancy’s got a rough row to hoe, that’s for sure. But her parents are good people. They’ll be all right—eventually.”
Margaret shuddered and a few seconds of silence passed before she spoke again. “She said you’d met the baby’s father. What did you think of him?”
“He seems like a nice guy—honestly concerned with Nancy and the baby. Why?”
“Do you think he killed Adam?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
She breathed a sigh that might have been one of relief. “Then who do you suspect?”
For half a second he wondered if she’d staged this conversation to trap him into confessing that he’d been investigating Adam’s murder. He stu
died her face closely, but he couldn’t find an ulterior motive in her expression, so he relaxed a bit. “It could have been just about anybody,” he admitted sullenly. “Philip Aagard. Charlotte Isaacson. Brooke Westphal. Mitch Hancock. Roy Dennington.”
“But you don’t think it was Kelley?”
Fred leaned away from Margaret and looked deep into her eyes. “You’re not trying to trap me into something, are you?”
She almost smiled. “What? A confession that you’ve been out trying to solve this case?”
“Maybe.”
He expected a grin but she shook her head and frowned thoughtfully. “No. Tell me why you don’t think Kelley’s guilty.”
“It’s nothing more than a gut reaction. In fact, I was trying to figure out exactly why I believe he’s innocent on the way home.”
“And—?”
“And I decided I have to rely on my instinct—that Adam was murdered because of something at work.”
Her eyes burned with eagerness. “Like what? Do you know?”
Pressing his hands against his knees for leverage, Fred worked himself back to his feet and paced to the window. “Adam was altering the results of soil and water tests on Shadow Mountain. Best I can figure, Philip Aagard found out and called Adam on it.
He heard Margaret’s sharp intake of breath. “Are you sure Adam was doing that? It doesn’t sound like him.”
Fred turned away from the window to face her. “There’s a buyer interested in the property—a man named Roy Dennington. It could be that he killed Adam because he didn’t want Adam to blow the whistle on their deal and bring his involvement to light—but it still doesn’t feel right to me. Philip had already confronted Adam. The cat was already out of the bag.”
“Maybe Mr. Dennington was upset with Adam because he got caught,” Margaret suggested.
Fred gave that some thought, but he still couldn’t make the pieces fit. “I put Roy Dennington on my list, but I honestly don’t think he is a killer,” he said. “I’m missing something. I must be.”
“It doesn’t have to be complicated,” Margaret argued. “Maybe it was just the way you said. Maybe this Roy Dennington killed Adam to protect his own reputation. Have you told Enos what you suspect?”
“Some of it,” Fred said. “He’s coming by at six o’clock to question Nancy again unless I can convince her to take her story to him.”
Margaret’s brow furrowed. “How much does he know about that situation?”
“Not much. But he suspects there’s more to the story than we’re telling, and he’s determined to find out what Nancy is hiding.”
Margaret closed her eyes and sighed softly. “Poor Nancy. There must be something we can do before he gets here.”
Fred appreciated her concern, but he’d been over his options so many times, his head hurt. “Well if there is, I sure can’t figure out what. I’ve spent all afternoon trying to find the missing piece.”
“Have you talked to Brooke?”
Fred dropped into his rocking chair and nodded. “And Charlotte, Mitch and Philip. And Roy. And Kelley— I’m telling you, I’m at my wits’ end.”
Margaret paced away. “Well, there has to be something you haven’t done—some stone you’ve left unturned.”
Well, of course there was or he’d have found the murderer by now. But Margaret had never accepted his involvement in a case so easily, and he didn’t intend to ruin the moment by pointing out the obvious.
She paced back toward him, ticking silent markers off her fingers, glancing at him every few seconds as if verifying some aspect of his story. Finally, she perched on the arm of the couch and leaned toward him. “So you believe Adam’s death is somehow linked to Shadow Mountain?”
“Yes.”
“Because he was accepting kickbacks from this Roy Dennington, who wants to buy the place?”
Fred nodded.
“And you’re sure Roy Dennington’s offering a payoff even though he denies it?”
“There isn’t anybody else with a reason to want the test results altered.”
Margaret shook her head as if warding off his logic. “Who gains if the property sells? If it’s developed?”
“The buyer—the developer. Roy Dennington.”
“And the seller. Kate Talbot.”
Fred stopped rocking. After the murder of Kate’s sister last year she’d been named executor of the will, and now she held Shadow Mountain in trust for her niece Madison.
“But Kate wouldn’t—” Margaret began.
“No, Kate wouldn’t.” Fred interrupted and headed for the phone. “But she’ll know just how eager Dennington is to get his hands on the property.”
Margaret fell into step behind him. “Do you have her number?”
Fred nodded. “She wrote to me once after she and Madison got back to San Francisco. I think she gave me her home number and one for her office.” Snagging up his battered address book, he flipped through its pages and wondered where he’d managed to find a spot to add a new listing.
Margaret leaned her chin on his shoulder and studied the pages with him. After several seconds she thrust her hand forward and waggled her finger at a pencil scrawl in the upper corner of a page. “Is that it?”
Fred had no idea, but there were enough digits to be out‑of‑state numbers, and the notation beside them looked enough like “Kate” to satisfy him. He lifted the receiver, punched buttons, and waited for someone to answer.
“Hello?”
He thought he’d forgotten her voice, but she sounded as familiar as if he’d spoken to her just yesterday. “Kate? Fred Vickery here. How are you?”
“Fred? It’s really you?” She sounded almost glad to hear from him. “What can I do for you?”
She hadn’t changed a bit. Still wouldn’t spend a second on pleasantries if there was business at hand. Well, it wouldn’t hurt her to spare a moment. “How’s Madison?” he asked.
“She’s fine. Doing well.”
Had he imagined it, or was there a little warmth in her voice? He smiled. “And you? Motherhood suits you?”
“I don’t know how well it suits me, but she hasn’t died from my cooking or suffered any obvious damage yet.”
“I’m sure you’re doing fine,” he said, and when Margaret jostled his shoulder, he added, “Margaret sends her love.”
“Tell her hello.” There it was again, that slight softening of the voice. But it disappeared almost immediately. “So, what did you call for? Just to check up on my mothering skills?”
“Actually, I need to ask you a few questions.”
Kate chuckled. “About what? Are you solving another murder?” He didn’t share in the laugh and her voice grew serious. “Is that what you’re doing?”
“I’m just asking a few questions,” he insisted.
“Who died? Anyone I know?”
“I don’t think so. He was my niece’s husband.”
“All right, I can spare a minute or two, but I’ve got to pick up Madison from her play group, so make it quick. What do you want to know?”
“I’m curious about Shadow Mountain. Have you received any offers to purchase lately?”
“As a matter of fact, I have an offer on the table right now.” She sounded surprised by his question.
“Can you tell me anything about it?”
“I suppose so. It’s from a guy named Roy Dennington—” She broke off and hesitated for a second. “I don’t think I ought to go into details about financial arrangements.”
“I don’t think I need them. I just want to know whether the sale looks like it will go through.”
“Well, this Dennington looks good on paper. Sufficient liquid assets. Adequate financing. He’s anxious to build—which suits me fine, but I know how much you’ll hate it.”
He would, but now was not the time to discuss it. “It’s a good offer?”
“Very good. I’m seriously considering it for Madison. I’m not sure she’d ever want to go back there, consideri
ng what happened, but the sale would add a nice chunk to her trust fund.”
Fred figured she might be right about that. “Is Dennington anxious to get hold of the property?”
“Fairly anxious, I guess. Why?”
“Anxious enough to offer kickbacks if he could get the property to pass EPA standards?”
“Maybe, but there’s no need to do that.”
Her answer surprised Fred. “There’s not?”
“No. There’s a lot of reclamation that still needs to be done of course, especially around the quarries, but the other half of the mountain can be developed right away. If he builds wisely, he could bring in enough money to finance the clean-up on the rest.”
Fred had been so certain about the answer he expected, he had to stop and replay the one he actually got. “Are you sure he could build now?”
“Of course I’m sure. What in the hell’s going on up there, anyway? You’re the second person who’s called me about this in the past two weeks.”
“The second?” He tried to keep his voice steady, but every instinct told him he was just about to find his connection. He shot a glance at Margaret as if she could hear Kate’s part of the conversation, but she only sent back a confused look and leaned a little closer to the receiver. “Who else called?” he asked.
But Kate didn’t get a chance to answer. The telephone clicked in Fred’s ear and she sighed heavily. “Oh, hell. Hold on a second, Fred—” The line went dead for a few seconds before she came back to him. “Sorry about that. Now, what did you say?”
“Who else has been asking about Shadow Mountain?” He had to force himself to breathe while he waited for her to answer.
“A guy by the name of Adam Bigelow.”
TWENTY FOUR
The blood drained from Fred’s face in the wake of Kate’s announcement that Adam had called her with questions about Shadow Mountain. His heart pounded so hard, he was pretty sure the sound echoed through his living room. “Adam called? Are you sure?”
“Well, of course I’m sure,” Kate said with a laugh. “Why? Is that important?” She sounded distracted by her own concerns, and he could hear someone speaking to her in the background.
