by Sherry Lewis
“It’s very important,” he told her. “Adam Bigelow was murdered last week.”
Her quick intake of breath told him he’d surprised her. “You don’t think it was because of the mountain?”
“I think it’s highly probable. Can you tell me what he asked you about?”
She muffled the receiver again and came back on the line sounding harried. “Can you believe this? Someone’s at the door. I’m going to have to go, Fred.”
“Wait! Don’t hang up. Tell me what Adam asked about.”
“He wanted to know about Roy’s offer, and he was pretty concerned about the reclamation.” She spoke quickly, almost in a whisper. “Apparently, Adam had been involved in testing the property for the EPA when it was originally tested. He said that a lot of it had tested clean then, but for some reason the tests this time came out showing the whole mountain contaminated. Adam wanted to know if I’d kept any of the old files.”
A chill crept up Fred’s shoulders and onto his neck. “And had you?”
“All of them. And he was right—like I said, there’s a good half of the mountain that can be built on right now.”
“So you verified Adam’s suspicions?”
She muffled another interruption. “Listen, Fred, I’ve really got to go.”
“No, wait.”
“I have to go, Fred. I’m sorry, but I’ve told you everything I know.”
Fred rubbed his eyes and sighed with frustration. “All right, then. Give Madison a kiss for me.”
“She’ll be delighted. She still remembers you.”
“I’m glad.”
“And, Fred—be careful.”
“Of course.”
Kate disconnected, and Fred replaced the receiver as he turned to face Margaret. Her eyes glinted with excitement. “So, what did she say?”
“I’ve had it all backwards.”
Margaret rolled her eyes. “I don’t want to hear your interpretation of the conversation. What did she say?”
He told her everything he could remember, adding, “So Adam wasn’t altering test results and nobody was offering him money. He was rerunning those tests because someone else falsified them in the first place.”
Margaret’s face paled. “Are you sure?”
“According to Kate, Adam was trying to uncover the corruption. That’s why none of the stories people have been telling me seemed to fit.”
“Who ran the first set of tests? The dirty ones?” Margaret asked, obviously confused. “And why?”
“I don’t know. But when I find out, I’ll know who killed Adam.”
The instant the words left his mouth, Margaret stopped collaborating with him. She shoved her fists onto her hips and gave him a stern look. “No, Dad. You’re not finding out anything else. We’re calling Enos right now and telling him what we know.”
“But we don’t know enough.”
Margaret backed away and nodded slowly. “Yes, we do.”
“Now listen, Margaret—”
“There’s absolutely no way I’m letting you take this any further,” she said, cutting him off.
“But we still don’t know why. Why would somebody falsify the new reports? Why would anybody want to stop Roy Dennington from developing Shadow Mountain?”
Margaret stared at him as if he’d suddenly sprouted another head. “Is that a serious question? You don’t want anyone to build up there—what’s to say somebody else doesn’t feel just as strongly about it.”
“Strongly enough to kill?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. But you’re not going to be the one who figures it out the rest of the way. I mean it, Dad—”
“One more visit to Philip Aagard,” he bargained.
Her eyes glinted with that peculiar golden light that had always signaled a fine temper in her mother. “No.”
“Just to find out who ran the original tests—”
“No.”
“A phone call—”
She turned her back on him. “I refuse to discuss it with you.”
That suited Fred just fine. He didn’t want to discuss it, either. Snapping his mouth shut, he started for the front door.
Margaret whirled back toward him. “What are you doing?”
“Leaving.”
“Why?”
“We’re not discussing it anymore.” He wrenched open the front door and stepped out onto the porch.
“You’re not going to EnviroSampl,” Margaret shouted, following him onto the front porch.
“Did I say I was?” He stormed down the front steps and headed toward the Buick, hoping she wouldn’t force him to actually lie to her.
She raced around him and tried to block his path on the sidewalk. “Then where are you going?”
He didn’t answer, he just met her gaze and held it until her eyes shifted away a smidgen.
“Are you going to see Enos?” she demanded, although Fred thought she sounded a little les belligerent now.
“Yes,” he said, keeping his tone gruff to make sure she remembered which of them was the parent. It wasn’t a lie, he told himself. He would go to Enos—eventually.
Margaret’s face relaxed a little more. “Good. Look Dad, I’m sorry but you know how much I worry about something happening to you.”
“I know all your reasons,” he growled, stepping around her so he could get to the Buick. “If you had your way, I’d wither away to nothing in my rocking chair.”
“That’s not fair!” she cried, still following. “Don’t be mad at me.”
He lifted his hand over his head to let her know he’d heard her, but he didn’t bother with a response. He felt her eyes on him all the way to the car, but he refused to look back. If he did, she might see something in his expression that would set her off again.
Dropping onto the car seat, he cranked the engine and shifted into reverse. Then he backed onto the road and sped away—before Margaret had a chance to realize that he’d never drive the short distance to Enos’s office and figure out where he was really going.
For the third time that day, Fred followed the highway toward Mountain Home and tried to put together the remaining pieces of the story. He thought about Philip Aagard’s argument with Adam, about Adam’s late-night testing, about Brooke’s part in those tests, and Charlotte’s phone call to Roy Dennington. He thought about the discovery of those tests and Philip’s claim that Adam had been altering test results. But everything refused to fall into place until he’d driven over halfway up the mountain. Then, all at once, he saw the whole picture.
Philip Aagard had argued with Adam, not because he’d discovered Adam’s deception but because Adam had discovered his. Obviously, Adam had figured out what Philip was doing and there’d been a confrontation. That must have been the argument Porter had overheard. That’s why Philip murdered Adam—to keep him from going public. And he’d used EnviroSampl’s files and records, his staff and the computers to turn the story around and make it look as if Adam was guilty. Roy Dennington had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time, making him and his attempts to buy Shadow Mountain a nice diversion.
For a moment Fred wondered if he should turn back, find Enos, and tell him what he knew. But if any evidence still existed that could tie Philip to the illegal testing, Fred wanted to keep him from destroying it. He’d have to find a way to contact Enos from EnviroSampl.
Battling the instinct to drive faster, Fred checked the sun hanging just above the western mountains. Shadows had already begun to stretch across the highway and melt into the dense forest on the other side. Wildlife would be coming out of the woods to feed as dusk fell. It certainly wasn’t the time to drive like a maniac. But how long would Philip stick around the office on a Saturday? Was he even still there?
Fred kept his eyes on the road and told himself he’d make it in time to catch Philip. He had to. He had no idea where else to look for him after hours.
But even before he reached the turnoff to EnviroSampl, his sixth sense warned him he was too
late. And when he pulled into the empty parking lot, his heart dropped.
Still hoping against reason, he cruised slowly past the building and scanned the windows for any sign of life, but they looked back at him blankly.
Now what?
He brought the car to a stop in front of the building and stared at the front door as if it could tell him where to look, but it gave nothing away.
Muttering under his breath, he pressed the accelerator slightly. He’d just turned back toward the highway when movement in his rearview mirror caught his eye. He stopped and watched as a man dressed in baggy pants and an untucked shirt backed out of a door near the back of the building, pulling a box behind him.
Mitch Hancock. What was he still doing here? Shoving the gearshift into “park”, Fred climbed out of the car and walked toward the open door. Though the sun was going down, the day was still unpleasantly warm, causing a trickle of sweat to inch down Fred’s back.
Mitch must have heard him coming because he dropped the flap of the box and whirled around. He had to squint into the sun, but when he recognized Fred he grinned and gave an embarrassed laugh. “Hey. Mr. Vickery, right? I didn’t know anybody was out here.”
“That makes us even. I didn’t know anybody was in there.”
Mitch hitched up his pants and studied the empty parking lot with interest. “I guess I’m the only one left. What are you doing here?”
“I’d hoped to catch Philip before he went home.”
“Sorry. You just missed him.”
Fred thought about confiding in Mitch, but something made him hold back. “Do you have any idea where I can find him?”
Mitch shook his head and hefted the box to his shoulder. “No idea. Sorry.” He carried the box toward a metal Dumpster a few feet behind the building.
Fred followed him, asking, “You don’t know his home address?”
“He lives somewhere on the way to Estes Park, that’s all I know. Look, he’ll be in on Monday. Why don’t I have him call you?”
“This can’t wait. You don’t have his home address inside, do you? Say, in a personnel file or something?”
Mitch seemed to consider for a moment, then shrugged. “Probably. Look, I’m just getting rid of some old samples to make room for a new contract we just got, but if you don’t mind waiting a few minutes I’ll be glad to look.”
Fred smiled gratefully and cut a glance at the Dumpster. “You’re tossing out old samples?”
Mitch’s mouth curved into a frown, but he nodded. “Philip insisted I stay late to get this done tonight.”
Were these from Shadow Mountain? If so, they had to be evidence Enos would need to tie the case together. “That’s a lot of work for one man.”
Mitch readjusted his hold on the box and pushed the carton inside the bin. Tugging at his waistband again, he jerked his head toward the door. “Not really. It’s more of a pain in the ass than anything. You might as well wait inside with me. It’s cooler in there.”
Fred trailed him into a large laboratory which was blessedly cool compared to outside. His eyes slowly adjusted to the lower lighting and he saw that the room consisted of several work stations and a large open vault at one end. A cluttered counter held test tubes, burners, glass beakers, containers of all sizes filled with soil and water samples, and countless other things Fred couldn’t identify. It looked like an overgrown high school science classroom.
Mitch nodded toward one of the work stations. “Have a seat at my desk. I’ll be done in a second.”
Fred perched on the edge of a swivel chair and planted his feet to keep himself from turning. Mounds of documents and multi-colored files teetered on the desk and he didn’t want to knock them over. “I didn’t realize you got rid of the samples when you finished a contract.”
Mitch stepped into the vault and called back over his shoulder. “Oh, yeah. They’re nothing special, you know. Just dirt and water. You can find that stuff anywhere.” He laughed at his own joke and tugged an empty box toward him. “So, why do you want to see Philip?”
Fred leaned an elbow onto the desk’s cluttered surface and disturbed one of the stacks of documents teetering near the edge. He pulled his elbow back and watched the stack to make sure it didn’t decide to fall over. “I have a few questions to ask him.”
“They can’t wait until Monday? You must be closing in on the murderer.”
“Closing in?” Fred laughed softly. “What makes you think I’m looking?”
“I’ve heard rumors about you. They say you solved a couple of cases before the sheriff did. So who do you think the murderer is?” Mitch sounded interested, but he didn’t take his eyes from the sample bottles.
Still, just in case, Fred tried for a confused look. “Well, I don’t know exactly . . .”
Mitch worked for a long moment in silence. “I’m betting on the black guy,” he said finally.
“Roy Dennington?” Mitch’s guess surprised Fred.
But Mitch didn’t seem to notice. “I figure that when Adam got caught cleaning up the test results, the black guy realized he’d lost his only way to pick up a piece of property in a nice place like this—” Mitch swept a row of jars into the box. “That how you figure it?”
“Close,” Fred said. No matter how convinced he was of Philip’s guilt, he didn’t want the grapevine to broadcast his theory before he shared it with Enos.
Mitch laughed shortly. “I don’t know why somebody like that would want to buy property up here, anyway.”
“Somebody like what?”
“Black,” Mitch said, scowling as if Fred were incredibly slow witted. “You know . . . colored. Why would a colored want to live up here?”
Fred tried not to stare at him, but the man’s prejudice left a sour taste in his mouth. It had been a long time since he’d heard anyone admit such blatant prejudice and he didn’t like thinking that Mitch expected him to feel the same way.
Mitch stopped packing the box and leaned an elbow on the shelf, but his expression had shifted subtly while his back had been turned. He looked hard. Cynical. Angry. “This is a good, clean area. It’s why I came here to live. We can’t start letting that element in or they’ll ruin the place.” And then, so quickly Fred wondered how it happened, the anger disappeared and a wide smile replaced it.
The abrupt switch made Fred almost as uncomfortable as the ugly words coming out of Mitch’s mouth.
Still grinning, the man picked up the box and stepped out of the vault. “Let me get rid of this box and I’ll find you that address.”
Fred tried to smile back, but his lips felt stiff.
With the box on his shoulder, Mitch started for the door. Once there, he tried to maneuver close enough to reach the knob, but his load made it difficult.
Intending to help, Fred swiveled in the chair and stood just as Mitch pushed open the door. “I’ll be right back,” he said, and disappeared into the fading sunlight.
As Fred turned back to his chair, his arm caught one stack of files and sent them skittering across the floor. Embarrassed by his clumsiness, he leaned down to pick them up.
One or two of the folders had fallen open, but even with the pages right in front of him, Fred didn’t immediately process what he was holding in his hands. When the realization that the files were full of test results, his breath caught. Were they all here? Including the reports for Shadow Mountain?
His hands trembled as he gathered the files into a pile and his blasted arthritis made it hard to pick up some of the thinner files. He shot repeated glances at the door as he checked the file labels, afraid that Mitch would return before he had a chance to look thoroughly.
Storm Valley. Deer Run. Paradise Canyon. He pulled one set of test results after another into his arms and restacked them on the desk. Silver Dale. Pine View. Sundown Peak.
And then, suddenly, there it was. A thick file folder labeled Shadow Mountain. He tore open the front cover and tried to make his fingers behave as he dug through the documents. Page a
fter page of double-talk and scientific jargon. But who’d done the tests?
Footsteps echoed outside the door as Fred reached the signature page on the first report. The knob turned, but he forced himself to look just before he dropped the file onto the desk. And there, on the bottom line, was the name he’d been looking for all this time.
Mitch Hancock.
TWENTY FIVE
Fred’s heart hammered in his chest but he managed to gather the rest of the files and shove them back onto the desk just as the door reopened. Taking a quick step away from Mitch’s desk, he pretended to be interested in a picture of Brooke Westphal on skis tacked to a bulletin board behind him. He struggled to keep his breathing steady and school his expression to hide his excitement.
Mitch stepped inside, smiling and obviously relaxed. “Well, that’s done. Come on, I’ll find you Philip’s address.” He crossed to a small, recessed doorway and pulled it open. “Ready?”
Fred tried to look as if he still wanted the blasted address, when all he really wanted was to get out of there and call Enos. As he turned to follow and his gaze swept the floor, a patch of bright blue caught his eye—one file folder that had somehow escaped his notice poked out from under the desk.
His mouth grew dry and he stepped slowly away from the desk. He was sure that if Mitch saw the folder on the floor, he’d realize that Fred had been looking into the files. If he’d killed Adam because of what Adam knew, Fred didn’t think he’d be inclined to grant an old man the benefit of any doubt.
To Fred’s relief Mitch didn’t notice the folder. He led the way into a darkened corridor, and Fred breathed easier once the door swung closed behind them.
A couple of ceiling panels offered dim auxiliary lighting, but most of the building was bathed in shadow. “Philip’s office is in the front,” Mitch said. “But you know that, don’t you? You’ve been here before.”
“Once or twice,” Fred said. His voice sounded too loud in the empty building. The sound echoed off the walls. “The building is bigger than it looks.”
It also looked different from this angle and in this light. Eerie. Threatening. How had Adam stayed here alone at night? Or hadn’t it felt threatening then?
