Don`t Close Your Eyes

18

"Good God Almighty! What the hell! Is he drunk?" Gary blustered from the doorway. Harvey Coombs' wife Mary had materialized in the street. She took one look at the gaping neck wound, gagged, and ran for home. Natalie kneeled and lifted a wrist searching for a pulse. The arm was beginning to stiffen. Given the temperature, she would say Jeff had died about three or four hours ago. She glanced in the car at the congealing blood covering the cloth upholstery seat. So much blood. His throat had been slashed in the car where he'd been left to bleed to death.

All of this ran through Natalie's mind as she pressed lightly on his lids, closing his eyes. She knew she shouldn't touch the body, but she could not leave those sightless eyes open, vulnerable like Tam's had been.

She looked up. Gary still stood gaping at the front door. "Call the police," she yelled. He didn't move. " Gary, call the police! Ask for Sheriff Meredith or Ted Hysell. Tell them to get here immediately." Gary was frozen. " Gary, now!"

Gary jerked as if jolted by electricity. The young couple from the nearby house appeared on their front walk, dressed in identical red-white-and-blue running suits. Both were tall and blond and looked like brother and sister. The young man walked toward Natalie. "What's going on?" He circled around the front of the car, looked down at the bloody body and quailed, all color draining from his ruddy face. "Did you do this?"

The absurdity of the question snapped Natalie out of her numbness. "Do you think I'd cut this guy's throat, then leave him outside my house so I could stand over him, gazing at my handiwork?" she asked coldly.

The young man backed off, obviously considering more strongly the possibility that this loony woman had indeed killed the man. "I was only trying to help."

"I didn't hear any offer to help." Tears suddenly filled Natalie's eyes and she began to tremble. "Do you have a blanket we can throw over him?"

He turned and ran back to his wife. After a murmured exchange she exclaimed, "I'm not ruining one of my good blankets!" In measured strides they retreated to their house and firmly closed the door. In less than a minute their faces appeared at the front window.

"Love thy neighbor," Natalie muttered as she sank down beside Jeff's body, suddenly dizzy. Three times in one week she had stood guard over the victims of savage violence. It was absurd. It was horrible. She felt as if she'd fallen off the edge of the world.

Mary Coombs dashed out of her house bearing a blanket that she tossed over the crumpled form of Jeff Lindstrom. Then she sat down on the pavement beside Natalie and poured a cup of coffee from a Thermos. "Drink this, honey. You're shaking like it's thirty degrees out here."

The coffee was thick with cream and sugar. Natalie liked her coffee black, but she drank obediently. Mary put her arm around Natalie's shoulders, and slowly the shaking began to subside. "Did you know him?" Mary asked.

"Slightly. He wasn't a friend." She shuddered. "He was left here for me to find."

"Now, Natalie, you're just scared."

"I know what I'm talking about." She looked at the pleasantly weather-worn face of the woman who'd offered love and sympathy ever since Kira deserted her so long ago. "Mary, did you see his throat?"

"Yes, horrible. This is nasty business, Natalie, but it doesn't have anything to do with you. Not a thing in the world."

But it did. Natalie knew with sickening certainly that it had everything to do with her.

She wasn't sure how long she and Mary sat silently beside the white car before the first police car arrived. Nick Meredith emerged, his expression grim, his eyes surrounded by bluish circles. Natalie doubted if he'd gotten a full night's sleep since the murder of Tamara. He looked at the blanket, then at Natalie. "Know who it is?"

"Jeff Lindstrom."

He drew in a quick breath. "Okay, besides Natalie, how many people have trampled on the crime scene?" he demanded.

"Only me," Mary returned indignantly, "and I didn't trample."

"The guy who lives in the gray house was here," Natalie told him. "He didn't come within six feet of the body, though, and I didn't see him touch anything."

Nick looked around. "Pretty boy standing at his window clutching a woman?"

"Yes. Gary didn't come over."

"Who's Gary?"

"The locksmith gawking at you from the doorway of my house. He made the call after I found the body."

Nick turned to a deputy hovering nearby. "Get the tech team."

"Runnin' them ragged lately," the deputy muttered as he headed for the patrol car.

"And keep everyone else away from the area," Nick added. He pulled on a clear, latex glove and lifted the blanket. After gazing at the neck wound for a moment, he withdrew a wallet from Jeff's pants pocket. He flipped it open and read from the driver's license. "Jefferson R. Lindstrom. 2020 Madison Street, Cincinnati, Ohio."

Mary looked at him sternly. "Certainly you don't need Natalie to stay here and watch whatever you do with a body. She needs to go inside."

"She does indeed." Nick reached down and took Natalie's arm. "Let's go in and you tell me what happened."

Mary insisted on following, casting suspicious looks at Nick. He told Gary to go about his business, but Gary wasn't breaking any records. He worked slowly and quietly as he eavesdropped on Natalie's account of the morning up until she'd opened the door of Jeff Lindstrom's car.

As soon as she finished, someone began pounding on the front door and shouting, "What the hell is going on? Are those home invaders back?"

"Oh, Lord, it's Harvey," Mary groaned. "He was fine when he went out to fish, but it sounds like he got into the liquor before he came over."

"Would you mind taking him home, ma'am?" Nick asked politely. "We have all the confusion around here we need."

"Yes, I'll take him home," Mary said with suppressed fury. "If we hadn't been married since we were nineteen, I'd divorce him, the old fool."

She marched off and, after a brief but loud altercation on the front porch, Natalie heard her leading away a protesting Harvey. "Poor guy," she said. "He used to be brilliant and so charming."

"Last week he spent the night in jail," Nick told her. "I thought Hysell was going to cry when I arrested him, but I can't have him sitting out in his boat yelling to a crowd of tourists that he hid a bomb on shore."

Natalie smiled faintly. "I appreciate the effort, but you don't have to keep prattling about Harvey. It's not going to take my mind off Jeff."

"I know, but you're so pale I thought I'd give you a minute to recuperate." Nick sat down and to her surprise took her cold hand in his. "Where's your father?"

"At the hospital. He's always spent more time there than at home."

"Even when you were a little girl?"

"Yes." She looked at him. "He couldn't help it. He's needed."

"I wasn't criticizing. When I think of how little time I've spent with Paige lately… well, never mind. Are you all right?"

"I honestly don't know. I keep finding bodies. It's almost funny. I feel like a bloodhound." Abruptly she started laughing. The laughter lasted for thirty seconds until suddenly it turned to ragged sobs. "I just don't understand, Nick. I thought Jeff might have killed Tam, but now he's been murdered. I guess this blows Ted's theory. Lindstrom didn't have anything to do with Eugene Farley."

"Yes, he did," Nick said slowly. "His mother is Constance Farley's sister. Eugene was Jeff's cousin."

Natalie looked at him in disbelief. "His cousin? How do you know?"

"I spoke with Mrs. Farley. She was really upset when she found out he was here. She said he was, and I quote, 'an awful boy' and 'crazy.' "

"Crazy how?"

"She didn't elaborate, but she was adamant that I not cooperate with him. She was especially freaked out over the possibility that I might discuss her or Eugene with him." He smiled. "She wanted me to run him out of town."

"Tar and feathers?"

"I didn't suggest it, but if I had, she would have jumped at the idea."

Natalie wiped at the tears streaking her face. "What do you suppose he was really doing here?"

"I don't know. I considered the possibility that Mrs. Farley might have dispatched him to do her killing for her, but that seems too extreme. Then there's the possibility that he really was interested in doing a true-crime novel and in his investigation he found out more than I did. Maybe he thought he knew who the killer was."

"And?"

"And he made the mistake of confronting that person. He could have had plans to triumphantly drag the killer into the headquarters of the stupefied police. Or he could have had plans to blackmail the killer. Lindstrom was cocky as hell, Natalie. He was the type who thought he could outsmart, outmaneuver anyone." Nick looked into her eyes. "But maybe he met his match."

The door swung open and Mrs. Fisher looked at Nick belligerently. "What is it now?"

"I need to speak with Dee."

"I need to speak with Dee, too, but she's not here." The woman clutched her flannel robe around her. She'd combed out her pin curls and her white hair formed a thin, frizzy halo around her wizened face. "I haven't seen her since yesterday afternoon. No one to fix my dinner! No one to fix my breakfast! I could have died in the night and laid in my bed till I rotted'."

Her face reddened and Nick feared she was working herself into another coughing fit. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

Her gaze narrowed. "Always tryin' to get into this house, aren't you?"

Oh, God, not this again, Nick thought. "Mrs. Fisher, do you have any idea where Dee might be?"

"If I knew, I'd sure as hell tell you so you could drag her back by the hair to take care of me like she's's'posed to. Free room and board I give her! And for what?" Her pale eyes pinned Nick. "Why're you here lookin' for her? She's done somethin'. Don't try to fool me. What is it?"

"I don't know that she's done anything. I just want to talk to her."

"About what?"

"I can't discuss it with you."

"Well, to hell with you then!" Mrs. Fisher slammed the door.

Nick stood on the porch for a moment, thinking. Dee Fisher had been acting strangely for over a week. According to her mother she was often gone at night and had received a number of secret phone calls. Wade at the Lakeview Motel had seen her coming out of Lindstrom's room the night after Tamara Hunt's funeral. She was upset. Lindstrom was never seen again. And now he was dead.

And what about Alison Cosgrove? She'd been attacked around ten last night. Mrs. Fisher said she hadn't seen her daughter since yesterday afternoon. That left nearly twenty four hours unaccounted for. Twenty-four hours missing from the life of a woman who had loved Eugene Farley and never gotten over his death.

As much as he hated to do it, Nick knew he had to talk with Ted Hysell about the possibility that his girlfriend was a killer.

The paramedics had taken Jeff Lindstrom away over an hour ago. A couple of reporters prowled the street, but everyone had sequestered themselves in their houses, refusing comment. Just twenty minutes ago Natalie had spotted a particularly pushy female reporter for the local newspaper standing on the patio peering in the sliding glass doors at her. Natalie had drawn the vertical blinds with a crash and an expletive loud enough to be heard through the glass.

Now, numb from the shock of finding the body, she sat on the floor with her guitar and strummed absently, Blaine by her side. She hit ragged chords. Her voice quavered. She broke a string.

The phone rang. Kenny's disembodied voice floated from the answering machine. "Natalie, I know you're there, so pick up. I want to talk to you. Let's work this out. Natalie?" A pause. "Well, I love you, hon."

Nothing about having read of more murders in Port Ariel and being worried about her. Nothing about thinking of her sadness after Tamara's funeral. "Let's work this out." He was bored, temporarily at sea without her. And, "I love you, hon." Two weeks ago her heart would have beat faster at hearing those words. Now they sounded hollow. No feeling ebbed behind them. Had it ever? Or had she been nothing more to Kenny than the woman of the moment, someone convenient and eager to please?

She began to play and sing, launching into "I Can't Make You Love Me," by Bonnie Raitt. Tears were gathering in her eyes when the phone rang again. "Natalie, it's Lily." Natalie put down the guitar, swallowed to control her voice, and picked up the receiver. "What's going on?" Lily demanded anxiously. "You found a body?"

"Do we have a Port Ariel town crier?" Natalie asked. "How did you find out?"

"Your neighbors across the street called my father. Apparently they're afraid they're going to be dragged into something unsavory. They wanted to know if they needed representation and said they wanted the best."

"What a pair of self-involved idiots."

"Why didn't you call and tell me what happened?"

"I didn't want to upset you. I figured all hell was breaking loose in your world already considering the attack on Alison."

"I didn't know anything about it until this morning when I called Dad. He was just on his way to the hospital."

"He didn't go until this morning?"

"Apparently not."

"Viveca called here around one A.M. wanting my father to come. I wouldn't wake him because he was wiped out and sound asleep, but I talked with her for a while. She told me she'd asked your dad to come, but he said he had his own problems."

"You think he was unfeeling."

"To say the least. He's supposedly in love with Viveca."

"Well, maybe he's not as crazy about her as he thought."

"Last night was a fine time to decide that."

"What is it with you?" Lily asked sharply. "I didn't know you'd become Viveca's champion. And my father has been through a lot. He's nearly reached the end of his endurance."

"I didn't mean to offend you. It's just been quite a morning."

"Never mind." Lily's voice turned oddly fiat. "About this body you found. Who was it?"

Natalie stiffened. About this body you found. Who was it? Lily sounded like Natalie had found a stray cat on the porch. She'd gone off on a tangent about her father and Viveca before she even asked the identity of the body. "It was Jeff

Lindstrom, Lily," Natalie answered slowly. "His throat had been cut."

"Like Tam's," Lily said without expression.

"And Warren 's and Charlotte's and Alison's." Natalie waited for Lily to say something else, but she didn't. "Who do you think could have done this to him?"

"You sound as if you honestly expect me to have an answer," Lily said edgily. "Do you think I know more about all of this than you do?"

"No, I thought I was just asking if you had any ideas," Natalie said carefully. "I haven't talked to you since Nick found out Lindstrom was Eugene Farley's cousin."

"His cousin!" This time Lily sounded genuinely shocked. "What on earth was he doing here?"

"He told Nick he was gathering information to write a true-crime novel about the recent murders. Then Nick found out he was Constance Farley's nephew. When he spoke with Constance, she said she didn't know anything about a book and she was very upset that he was in Port Ariel poking around. Then he disappeared on Thursday."

"The day of Tam's funeral."

"Lily, did Jeff ever try to talk to you or your father about Tam and Warren?"

"The only time I ever saw him was that day in the store. You heard the conversation. And I know if he'd tried to talk to Dad about Tam, Dad would have mentioned it. He had nothing to do with Jeff Lindstrom." Her voice rose. "Nothing."

"Lily, what is wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with you? You're asking me all these questions about someone who was murdered. You sound like you think my father and I know something. And what's all this with the sheriff? He's Nick now? Are you on the rebound from Kenny? Trying to score some points with the handsome young sheriff by doing his dirty work for him, badgering your oldest and supposedly dearest friends about murders?"

"Lily, for God's sake, calm down!" Natalie was stunned by Lily's outburst. "I didn't mean anything-"

"The hell you didn't! Just keep your suspicions to yourself, Natalie, before you do a lot of damage!"

For the first time in their long friendship, Lily slammed down the phone on her. Natalie sat dumbfounded, holding the receiver for nearly a minute as Lily's words played over and over in her head: Just keep your suspicions to yourself before you do a lot of damage. But she couldn't keep her suspicions to herself, not when Lily sounded so jumpy, so frightened…

She called police headquarters. Nick had just walked in. "What now?" he asked in a harried voice.

"Hello to you, too."

"Natalie, if you tell me you've found another body-"

"Don't worry. I'm not setting foot outside this house unless it's an emergency. I'm calling to tell you I had a phone conversation with Lily. She'd heard about me finding a man's body this morning." Natalie paused, fighting down her sense of betrayal. Lily was her friend, but they were dealing with multiple murders. "She didn't know whose body it was and she didn't immediately ask, which was odd. When I finally told her it was Lindstrom, she didn't seem shocked. I asked if he'd questioned her about Tam. She said no and that she'd only seen him once, that day in her store. But when I asked if he'd talked to her father, she got really edgy. She denied it vehemently. She was nervous and belligerent." Natalie took a deep breath. "She didn't sound right, Nick. She's wary and she's scared. Really scared."

SATURDAY 1 p.m.

"Mr. Peyton isn't home. I don't know when he'll be back."

A slender woman with salt-and-pepper hair and finely crinkled fair skin looked at Nick with startlingly beautiful, innocent violet eyes. "May I come in and wait, Mrs…"

"Ebert. I'm Mr. Peyton's housekeeper." She hesitated. "I don't know. Mr. Peyton isn't really up to visitors. This is a very hard time for him."

"Yes, because his daughter was murdered. But I'm the sheriff, Mrs. Ebert. I'm investigating Tamara's death. I must talk to him."

Her hand fluttered to her chest. "Oh, no, has something else happened? Is Lily all right?"

"Lily is fine. This concerns other developments, but it's very important. Please, Mrs. Ebert."

He gave her his most ingratiating smile and she answered with a nervous smile of her own. "All right. After all, you are the sheriff and this is important. Please come in. Maybe I could get you something to drink? Tea? Coffee? A soft drink?"

"A Coke or a Pepsi if you have it. It's getting warm out."

"Oh, yes it is. Such a lovely day. Yesterday was so gloomy. Please make yourself comfortable in the living room and I'll be right back."

Nick hadn't gotten a chance to study the room after Tamara's funeral. He didn't know much about antiques, but he knew these were valuable. The room was beautiful, although much too fussy and formal for his taste. Above the fireplace hung an oil portrait of Tamara and Lily done when they were about sixteen. Both had golden blond hair brushing their shoulders, both wore pale green dresses that highlighted their hazel eyes. Their bone structure was identical, but no one who looked into their eyes would confuse them. Tamara had a gentle, shy gaze. Lily's eyes looked at him boldly, twinkling with fun. A dove and a peacock. Both beautiful, but so different.

Mrs. Ebert returned carrying a silver tray bearing a glass of Coke and a plate of Ritz crackers topped by thin slices of cheddar and Swiss cheese. "You have the air of a man who didn't have lunch," she smiled. "I could fix some soup if you like."

"No thanks. The crackers are great. You're right-I haven't eaten since this morning." He sat down on a moss green settee, took a sip of icy Coke, then reached for a cracker.

"I'll just go back to the kitchen while you wait-"

"If you're not busy, would you keep me company?" Nick tried hard to look innocent.

The woman hesitated. "No, I haven't anything to do. Mr. Peyton didn't even eat his breakfast and said he might be dining out."

"He's getting back into the world."

Mrs. Ebert sat down on a wing chair across from Nick. "No, I don't really think he has dinner plans. He simply doesn't want to eat." She crossed her long, shapely legs and pulled her navy blue skirt over her knees. "He's devastated, Sheriff Meredith. Those girls mean the world to him."

"At least he still has Lily." She smiled. "And Mrs. Cosgrove." The smile vanished. "Don't you like her?"

"I don't know her well," Mrs. Ebert said shortly.

"About as well as you'd like, I imagine. I know Lily doesn't like her and from what I've seen, I wouldn't care for her, either. There's just something about her…"

"She's overbearing," Mrs. Ebert said promptly. "She acts as if this house is already hers, redecorating, doing away with Mrs. Peyton's things."

"You were fond of Mrs. Peyton."

"She was an angel living on earth. Such a simple, unassuming woman. She considered having a housekeeper a wild extravagance, not to mention pretentious, but she really didn't have any choice because her multiple sclerosis kept her bound to the wheelchair those last few years. My first couple of months here were tense." She smiled again. "I was recently widowed and so lonely. When she realized that, everything changed. We became like sisters. She saved my life-my emotional life."

Mrs. Ebert sighed and looked at the portrait of the twins. "I think she would be horrified by the idea of Viveca Cosgrove becoming the girls' stepmother. Of course there's just Lily now…" Her lovely eyes filled with tears. "I never should have talked so much about private matters. I had no right."

"You have every right to your opinion," Nick said gently. "Of course, after what happened to her daughter, Mrs. Cosgrove won't be around here much."

"Now I feel worse. That girl is very… disturbing, but she didn't deserve what happened to her. It's horrible!"

Nick reached for another cracker. "But she's alive, not like Jeff Lindstrom."

"Jeff Lindstrom?" she asked blankly.

"His body was found this morning. He'd been murdered like Tamara and Warren."

The violet eyes flew wide. "My God! He was so young!"

Nick had mentioned Lindstrom without expecting to hit pay dirt. He tried to hide his surprise and excitement. "You knew Jeff Lindstrom?" he asked casually.

"I didn't really know him." Mrs. Ebert tucked a graying wing of hair behind her ear. "He came here once. He asked to speak with Mr. Peyton and I said Mr. Peyton wasn't seeing anyone, but then he got rather loud and Mr. Peyton came in."

"When was this?"

"Thursday night, after Tamara's funeral. Can you imagine the nerve? Lily was still here. She told her father not to speak with him, but Mr. Peyton did anyway."

Lily had told Natalie she'd only seen Lindstrom once in her store. She'd lied. "He must have had something fairly important to say to insist on seeing Mr. Peyton at such a bad time."

"I excused myself, of course. And then Mr. Peyton demanded that Lily go to her room. The girls' room is just as it was when they were teenagers. She argued with her father, but he was adamant. It was so upsetting!"

"I'm sure. I wonder what Lindstrom wanted?"

"I wouldn't know." Nick looked at her intently and her gaze dropped. He had a feeling he was dealing with a discreet but scrupulously honest woman. "Well, that's not quite true. I did overhear part of their conversation. I didn't mean to, but I'd gone to the kitchen and from there you can't help overhearing…"

"I understand." He took a sip of Coke. "I had a talk with Lindstrom once. He was pretty obnoxious."

"He was odious! Loud, rude. I didn't catch every word, but he kept asking questions about Warren. Did Mr. Peyton know Warren was having an affair with Charlotte Bishop? Did Mr. Peyton believe Warren had murdered Tamara? Mr. Peyton was becoming extremely agitated when suddenly Lindstrom said-"

She drew a deep breath, frowned, and looked down at her twisting hands. Don't let her stop now, Nick implored silently. But he knew this woman would not respond to pressure. He continued to look at her with interest but not avidity.

"Well, this has been bothering me," Mrs. Ebert resumed slowly. "Lindstrom said something about exposure to Mr. Peyton."

"Exposure?" Nick repeated quietly as the word screamed in his mind. "I wonder what he meant by that?"

"I haven't the faintest idea. I don't believe Mr. Peyton has any secrets. He's an honorable man. He was devoted to Mrs. Peyton. That's why I'm surprised by his involvement with Mrs. Cosgrove. She's so different…" She was wandering and Nick wanted to shout, "Get back to the point!" Extreme will power stopped him. "I wondered and wondered what this Lindstrom character could have meant by exposure," Mrs. Ebert went on. "And I think I have an idea."

Nick was leaning so far forward he nearly fell off the settee. He quickly grabbed the glass of Coke and drained it to hide his agitation.

"Do you need another drink, Sheriff?"

"No, I'm fine. You said you have an idea what Lindstrom meant by exposure?"

"I wondered if it might have something to do with Alison. I thought possibly she'd been in some mischief and Mr. Peyton wanted to protect her for Mrs. Cosgrove's sake."

"Alison? Mischief?"

"I can't think of anything else, particularly since I learned she's been going to the Saunders house at night, dressing up, listening to music. It's hard to tell what else she might have been doing."

"I see what you mean about Alison," Nick said. "What happened after Lindstrom made this threat?"

"Mr. Peyton told him to get out or he'd call the police. And Lindstrom left. Afterward I went in to see if I could do anything for Mr. Peyton, but he was quite sharp with me. The first time in ten years. But he was deeply troubled. He drank two snifters of brandy. Took them straight down. I've never seen him do that before."

"And then what?"

"Then he slammed out of the house and drove off. Lily had come out of her room by then and she was terribly worried. She went out, too. Mr. Peyton didn't return until near dawn. I know because I was too disturbed to sleep and I heard him come in."

"Where do you suppose he went?"

"I don't know." She colored slightly. "Perhaps to Mrs. Cosgrove's house. He often stays there quite late."

"And you didn't see Lily again, either?"

"Not that night." Mrs. Ebert rubbed at a shallow vertical line between her eyebrows. "I feel that I've said far too much, but Mr. Lindstrom was a terrible person. The very idea of verbally attacking Mr. Peyton on the day of his daughter's funeral! Not only that, but threatening him with exposure, of all things. It was distressing and ridiculous!"

Nick was quite sure Oliver Peyton found the threat of exposure distressing. He was not at all sure the man found it ridiculous.

After downing another glass of Coke and a second plate of Ritz crackers with cheese, Nick gave up on Oliver Peyton. "Will you tell him I need to talk with him when he comes home?" he asked Mrs. Ebert.

"Certainly. I can't guarantee that he'll contact you, though." She looked at him regretfully. "He seems to be dodging people lately. All the stress."

"I understand. But this is very important, Mrs. Ebert. Would you give me a call even if he doesn't? I won't mention your name to him." The woman looked as if she were going to refuse. "Mrs. Ebert, I'm trying to find Tamara's killer."

"All right," she said unhappily. "I'll call."

He felt slightly ashamed as he walked back to the car. He'd enlisted the woman's help by telling her he wanted to find Tamara's killer. He knew Oliver Peyton didn't murder his daughter. He wasn't so sure Oliver Peyton had not murdered Jeff Lindstrom.

He sat in the car wondering what to do next. He's wanted to talk to Hysell about Dee, but Hysell wasn't coming on duty until four because he'd been up all night dealing with the Alison Cosgrove attack, allowing Nick to go home for a few hours of sleep and some time with Paige. He'd talk to Hysell this evening. Now he'd make another attempt to see Dee.

Nick braced himself as he pulled up to the Fisher home. His first two visits had been less than pleasant. He had a feeling his third could provoke an actual physical attack from the frail Mrs. Fisher. He noticed an old Volkswagen in the driveway that had not been there on his previous visits. Maybe it was Dee's.

His question was answered as soon as the front door swung open. A woman of around thirty with curly brown hair stood before him. She wore jeans on a sturdy frame, and her only makeup was a slash of bright pink lipstick. She looked exhausted.

"Dee Fisher?" he asked.

"The famous Sheriff Meredith. Ted talks about you a lot." From her tone Nick guessed Hysell did not speak of him in glowing terms. "My mother has a lot to say about you, too."

"We've had a couple of conversations. May I come in?"

"Why?"

"Because I need to talk to you." Dee continued to stare at him. "If you don't want to disturb your mother, we could speak out here on the lawn." He paused. "Or at headquarters."

"Headquarters!" Mrs. Fisher appeared behind Dee like a small, squawking bird. "I knew you'd gone and done some thin' wrong, Dee. Can't keep outta trouble. Just like your daddy!"

She began to rasp, then to cough. She backed away from the door, hacking forcefully into one hand, swatting with the other at Dee when she came near. "Get away! You.only make me worse!" Splutter, gag, snort. Dee turned to Nick, looking utterly hopeless and exhausted. "You'd better come inside. As you can see, I can't leave her."

Nick stepped inside. He knew better than to suggest calling the E.M.S. Dee hovered over her mother who bent double, alternately coughing and cursing, until the siege began to subside. "I'll get you some lemonade," Dee said.

"Beer!"

"Mom-"

"I said beer!" Mrs. Fisher quavered. "And get him one, too. He's a beer-drinkin' man. Might put him in a better mood."

"Lemonade for me," Nick told Dee. "I'm on duty."

Mrs. Fisher glared at him. "Coward."

Off to another roaring start, Nick thought as he entered the small, stuffy living room. At least he'd pinned down the elusive Dee.

She returned to the living room with a glass of lemonade and a can of beer. Mrs. Fisher motioned to the plastic covered couch Nick had sat on the other night and planted herself on the armchair across from him. "Mrs. Fisher, it might be better if I spoke to Dee alone," he said.

Angry light flared in her eyes. "This is my house! Nothin' goes on in here that I don't know about and that includes conversations!"

What must it have been like to grow up with this hostile, suspicious woman? Nick wondered. He wanted to order her from the room, but he knew it was no use. Dee was looking at him warily as she hovered near her mother's chair.

"I talked with your mother this morning," Nick said. "She said she hadn't seen you since yesterday afternoon."

"I was out."

"He knows that!" Mrs. Fisher snapped. "Out doin' what is what he wants to know, and me, too, for that matter, me here dyin' and you not even botherin' to come home all night." She took a slug of beer from the can. "And don't try to tell me you was with that deputy 'cause he called here for you this mornin'. I said you was in church. Hah! Bet he believed that one!"

"Ma, please," Dee said tiredly.

Nick looked at Dee. "I would like to know where you were."

"What's it matter? I don't have to answer to you."

"What is the big secret?"

"There's no secret" Dee tried unsuccessfully to laugh. "I just think it's my own business where I go."

Nick stared at her steadily. "Normally I would agree, but you've heard what happened to Alison Cosgrove last night."

"I saw the paper this morning. She got attacked. What's that got to do with me?"

"Do you know what happened to Jeff Lindstrom?"

Dee stiffened. "Who is Jeff Lindstrom?"

"The man Natalie St. John found murdered in front of her house this morning." He paused. "The man who's motel room you were seen coming out of Thursday night."

"I knew it!" Mrs. Fisher exploded. "Knew it, knew it, knew it! Whorin' around. He's the one!"

"I don't know any Jeff Lindstrom!" Dee's fists clenched. "What are you saying? That I killed this guy?"

"I'm saying he disappeared Thursday and he was found murdered this morning. I'm saying you were positively identified as the woman who came out of his room at the Lakeview Motel Thursday night crying."

"The Lakeview?" Color faded from Dee's face. "Who says they saw me at the Lakeview?"

"The desk clerk. Wade Hanley."

"I don't know any Wade Hanley."

"He and his father were in a car wreck two years ago. His father died. Wade spent some time in the hospital and met you. He remembers you."

"He made a mistake."

"Then you deny being at the Lakeview Motel Thursday night?" Dee stared at him defiantly. "Ms. Fisher, I have to tell you that you could be in some serious trouble." Nick was stretching things. He had no evidence linking Dee to any of the murders, and only Wade's word that she was in Lindstrom's room, but he knew she was holding back.

"Dee, what's going on?"

Everyone looked up to see Ted Hysell standing in the doorway. "What are you doin' in here?" Mrs. Fisher demanded. "Nobody let you in!"

"The door was open," Hysell said. Nick knew this wasn't true, but the deputy held Dee's gaze. "Dee, I'm going to ask again. What's going on? Were you seeing Jeff Lindstrom?"

Dee's mouth quivered. Finally a tear ran down her cheek. "Honest to God, I don't know who Jeff Lindstrom is. I was at the Lakeview, though. Not just Thursday-a few nights. But it's not what you think, Ted."

"Then what was it?" Nick asked.

Dee sat down on the couch, her shoulders sagging, tears flowing freely. "Ted, you remember me telling you about my niece Maggie that ran away from home? The one that's sixteen?"

"Lou's girl?" Mrs. Fisher asked. "I didn't know nothin' about it."

"I didn't tell you. But I did tell Ted."

"I remember," Ted said.

"She got tied up with this older guy. Supposed to be her boyfriend, but after a few months he tried to put her on the streets. When she wouldn't do what he wanted, he started beating on her. So she came here."

"Wantin' money, no doubt!" This from Mrs. Fisher.

"Wanting safety," Dee said. "Her mother got remarried after her and Lou divorced and the new husband doesn't like Maggie. He's some big deal at a bank and thinks because she's been in trouble a couple of times, she'll ruin his reputation. Her mother let Lou have her. Lou is my brother, but he's a louse."

"I'll drink to that," Mrs. Fisher said, gulping to prove her point.

"That's why she ran away in the first place, having to live with Lou," Dee went on. "She didn't have anywhere else to go but with this guy, this creep. When he tried to turn her out, she had to get away from him. I guess I was sort of her last hope, but she'd told him about me. She was afraid he'd come here looking for her, so I put her up at the Lake view. You know, hid her away."

"What room number?" Nick asked.

"Room number? Ten. Why?"

"Because Lindstrom's room number was eleven."

Dee frowned. "Was he about six feet, dark blond hair?" Nick nodded. "I remember seeing him. He gave Maggie the eye. I told her not even to talk to him."

If Dee was telling the truth, Wade's surveillance wasn't as keen as he claimed, Nick thought. He'd seen Dee coming out of the room next to Lindstrom's.

"So you were going to the Lakeview to see Maggie?" Ted asked, a trace of doubt in his voice.

"Yeah. I put her up there a few days. Cost a pretty penny, although it's the cheapest place in town. But I had to keep her safe till I could get something worked out for her. I wasn't having much luck. Thursday night she said she was going back to the creep. I talked her into giving me just a couple more days, but I was so upset I thought I'd die. I've always loved that girl and I couldn't bear thinking of her being a prostitute, maybe getting AIDS. I guess I was crying when I ran back to my car."

"Where have you been for the last twenty-four hours?" Nick asked.

Mrs. Fisher leaned forward. "That's what I'd like to know, me here dyin' all alone and you traipsin' around playin' savior to some kid you barely know and what never done a thing for you, not like me, your own mother-"

Dee said in a low, distinct voice, "Ma, shut up."

Mrs. Fisher recoiled, spluttering. "Well, well I never…"

Dee looked at Ted. "I was trying to work out things with Maggie's mother. She lives in Brantford, Canada. I went there to see her. It's not that far, but far enough so I had to spend the night. Anyway, the husband finally caved in and Maggie's mother came for her today. They're on the way back to Brantford now."

"You realize we'll have to check this out," Nick said.

"Yeah. I'll give you the name and phone number. Could you wait until Maggie's mom has time to get home, though? If her husband gets a call from the police, it could set him off again, make him change his mind about letting Maggie stay. They should be home in three or four hours."

Normally Nick would have been unwilling to wait so long to verify a story, but he thought Dee was a woman of limited imagination and her story was too full of details for her to have invented it on the spur of the moment.

"I think you've answered all my questions for now," Nick said, standing. "I would like to talk with you again, though. Maybe tomorrow."

"Talk to her about what?" Mrs. Fisher asked querulously.

Nick's eyes met Hysell's and the answer hung in the air. Maybe Dee hadn't murdered Jeff Lindstrom, but they still had four other victims on their hands, all children of people who had been instrumental in the destruction of a man Dee Fisher loved beyond reason.