Double Forté, page 19
part #1 of LeGarde Mystery Series
The car slipped coming out of the driveway, but I managed to gain traction when we’d reached level ground at the roadside. The snowplows hadn’t been by in a while, and the tracks they made earlier were disappearing rapidly. I slowly turned the old brown Volvo east up Route 21 toward Church Street, the shortcut that merged with Goodland Hill Road. The descent was steep. I kept the car in second gear, and crept along, sliding sideways every few minutes but fortunately able to correct our direction each time.
Visibility was no farther than ten feet by the time we reached the summit of the ridge. My hands were cramped from gripping the wheel so tightly, and drops of sweat trickled down the side of my face. Thankfully, Johnny had fallen asleep.
Siegfried peered through the frosty windshield.
Tombstones loomed from the eighteenth-century cemetery on our right. Only four miles to go, I thought, grateful we’d made it through the worst part of the climb. A red fox darted across the road in front of us. Siegfried looked at me, concern for the animal written all over his face.
I tapped the brakes to slow the heavy car, pulling the wheel to the left. But the car skidded in the same direction. The fox made it and disappeared, leaping lightly over a stonewall into the white-blanketed forest beyond. I got us back on track.
Siegfried exhaled, a grim half-smile crossing his face. “She made it.”
The inside of the windshield was freezing in sheets of frost, making it difficult to see. Siegfried chiseled the buildup with a small ice scraper and I polished the windshield with my right coat sleeve.
What was I thinking? This is nuts.
The road dipped down and then back up again as it followed the natural contour of the ridge. When we rounded a sharp curve two bright headlights appeared in the distance. A yellow light winked through the white onslaught.
A snowplow. Thank God.
As the plow moved closer, I saw it had crossed over to our side of the road and was sliding straight toward us.
I cranked the wheel to the right and stomped hard on the brakes. We headed into a spin. I tried to rhythmically pump the brakes, fighting the steering wheel. On the second tap, the pedal shot straight to the floor. The brake pressure was gone and the Volvo sailed toward the hillside as the snowplow grazed us on the left rear fender. Siegfried braced himself against the dash and looked back at Johnny in alarm. We slid down the steep hillside. Tree branches slapped the windows. Our bodies were thrust against the restraints of the seatbelts. The last thing I saw was Johnny in the rear view mirror, his eyes blinking awake in fright. In a dizzying spiral, we tumbled downward.
Chapter 47
I woke to the sound of crying. The interior of the car came slowly into focus. The Volvo was upright, but tilted at a thirty-degree angle with the passenger side shoved tight against a large tree trunk. I shook my head a few times and rubbed my eyes. My left temple throbbed. I reached forward and turned off the engine.
“Opa!”
I turned to see Johnny, still snugly buckled into his car seat. His cheeks flamed red from crying in the cold air.
My muddy brain wondered how long we’d been sitting there. Siegfried moaned and tried to shift away from the door with a useless right arm.
“It’s okay, Johnny. Opa’s here. We’re gonna be okay, little man.”
I grabbed his mittened hands and gave them a squeeze. He snuffled a little and nodded. “Why you do dat, Opa? The car went bump, bump, bump.”
I grimaced, grabbed a Kleenex from the dispenser, and gently wiped the moisture from his cheeks. “I’m so sorry, honey. It was an accident. Are you okay?”
His mouth turned down, but he nodded slowly.
Twisting back to the front, I looked at Sig’s arm. “Are you okay, Sig? Is it broken?”
The color drained from his face as he forced a smile. “Ja, I think it is broken, Professor.”
I smiled grimly at my friend and patted his shoulder. “Hang on for a minute. Let me see if the door still works.” I shoved open the heavy door, got out, and immediately sank to my knees in snow.
Shouts came from the top of the hill. I waved up to the snowplow operator and he skidded down to our position, swinging from sapling to sapling until he reached us.
He shouted, expelling a long plume of frosty air. “You guys okay?” An orange wool cap covered his head. He ducked down and leaned into the car, looking at Johnny and Siegfried with worried gray eyes. I opened Johnny’s door and checked him. Aside from the horror of the experience, he seemed to be in one piece.
“I guess we’re okay.”
“Can you fellas walk?” He looked at Siegfried and then peered into the car again at Johnny.
Siegfried slid over to the driver’s side, trying to maneuver over the stick shift without banging his broken arm.
I reached in to help him.
I held his good arm and helped him steady himself once he got out. He was slightly off balance at first, but then seemed to find his center and he stood unaided. Siegfried exchanged a few words with the driver about his broken arm.
I opened Johnny’s door. “Could you give us a lift?”
He blew his nose into a red handkerchief, then turned back to us. “Sure. No problem.”
I unbuckled my grandson.
“Up,” he said in a little voice.
I gathered him into my arms and held him tightly to me, kissing his cold little cheeks and mumbling comforting words. I felt responsible for both traumas my dear little friend had undergone in the past twenty-four hours. I wondered if he’d ever be able to forgive me, deep down in his little-boy heart.
He pushed back and looked at me intently. “Opa?”
“What is it, sport?”
“I hungry.”
A brief laugh barked from my lips, tinged with relief and near-lunacy. I collected myself and shifted him onto my right side. “It’s almost time for supper, isn’t it? Let’s get out of here.”
The driver introduced himself as Pete. He held Siegfried’s good arm, helping him climb, apologizing all the way up the hill. “I don’t know what happened. I just started sliding out of control. There was nothing I could do. There must’ve been a big patch of ice under the snow. Been driving this rig for thirty-five years and never saw the likes of this.”
We managed to drag ourselves up the hill, struggling through the deep drifts. I carried Johnny, who clung to me fiercely with his face buried in my neck. When we reached the plow, Pete climbed inside. I lifted Johnny up to him. After helping Siegfried up to the passenger side, I pulled myself up and we all squeezed onto the black vinyl bench seat.
It was an old rig. Stuffing poked out from splits in the fabric and insides of the side windows were coated with a yellow, smoky glaze. I found the middle lap belt in the crack between the seat and back, amidst empty packs of tobacco and gum wrappers. I helped Siegfried buckle up.
Siegfried stifled a moan of pain when Johnny accidentally knocked against the broken arm. I lifted him up and placed him on my lap to give Siegfried more room.
He forced a weak smile in my direction. “Danke,” he whispered.
I lengthened my seatbelt and buckled my grandson in with me. I realized that even if I’d brought the car seat up the hill with us, it wouldn’t have fit. The driver slowly turned the vehicle around to head back up the hill.
The truck smelled strongly of wet wool and pipe tobacco. My feet were numb and soaked and small balls of snow clung to my gloves and pants. The heat blasted out of the vents and started to warm us. I reached up and rubbed the tops of my ears, which felt hot and tingling. Johnny leaned his head against my chest and sighed. It was the sound of a baby who had seen far too much in his short little life. My heart ached for him. As the cab warmed, I pulled back his hood and I stroked his damp hair. We talked of home, Max, and comforting things.
Pete made his way slowly toward Sullivan Hill, and almost didn’t make it through the mountain of snow at the edge of our driveway. After several scooping motions to move the pile to the side, he finally pushed through and drove us up to the back porch. We thanked him and waved goodbye, disembarking for our warm hearth and the healing powers of Mrs. Pierce’s hot chocolate.
Chapter 48
The plows worked around the clock to keep the roads passable, and the snow finally stopped at six. Freddie wrapped Siegfried’s arm until we could find an orthopedic doctor the next morning. We’d decided that an attempt to make it to the E.R. in the aftermath of the storm would have been more dangerous than leaving Siegfried’s arm uncast for one night. Harold had not returned, and had not called. It was a new low, even for him.
The next morning, after much finagling and a personal call from Doc Mattson, we finally got an appointment and Siegfried’s arm was set. We had just returned from the orthopedic surgeon’s office, when Siegfried’s face went white. He stood looking out the window, his arm hanging heavily in the sling. The cast reached all the way from his wrist to his elbow.
“Professor?” he said.
I looked up from the pile of mail I’d been sorting. “Yes, Sig?”
His eyes widened in alarm and he collapsed onto the chair nearest the window. “I have a bad feeling—”
I joined him at the window and glanced down the driveway. Two police cars screeched to a stop, their lights flashing rhythmically. Uniformed men poured out of them. I didn’t recognize any of the officers, but was surprised when Harold emerged from the back seat of the second vehicle with Detective Sweeney from the Rochester Police Department. He stomped resolutely up to the front porch, followed by the group of four men.
The kitchen door slammed against the wall. Four officers and Detective Sweeney followed Harold into the great room and stood for a moment, glaring at Siegfried. “There he is! There’s the retard. He’s your man.”
He emphasized the word “retard.”
I stood rooted to the spot, trying to figure out what was going on.
One of the men began to read Siegfried his Miranda rights. I tried to intervene, but Sweeney pulled me aside, holding me back.
Siegfried looked confused and nervous, seeking me out among the slew of people. “Professor?”
The officer continued to recite the routine words.
“It’s okay, Sig. We’ll figure this out,” I yelled over Sweeney’s wiry body.
He pushed me into the dining room. “Do you want to be charged with interference, LeGarde?” he sneered and shoved his hand hard against my ribs.
I stopped and caught my breath, staring at him. “What in God’s name are you doing?”
Sweeney narrowed his eyes and lifted the corner of his mouth to a faint smirk. “What do you think we’re doing? We’re arresting the monster who murdered Bob Perkins.”
I looked past him. An officer attached a pair of handcuffs to Siegfried’s good arm and then scratched his head, wondering how to proceed.
“What are you talking about?” I whispered fiercely.
He pulled a transparent bag from his pocket and waved it at me. “Recognize this?”
I took the evidence bag from him and turned it over, recognizing it immediately. It was the wristwatch Elsbeth had given her twin brother twenty years ago. I blanched, examining the bag, and turned it over to read the inscription to Siegfried. “Where did you find this?”
He took the bag back and stuffed it back into his pocket with a smug look on his face. “Where do you think? Under the body of Bob Perkins, right out in your very own back woods.”
Chapter 49
One of the officers tossed Siegfried’s coat around his shoulders and led him out the front door. The rest of the officers trudged after them.
Harold watched with a grin on his face, then opened the refrigerator and took out a beer. He twisted off the top and took a long, thirsty gulp.
“Where is everyone?” He spoke as if nothing had just happened.
I stood frozen to the spot, clenching my fists, dying to smash them into his face. It was the first time Harold had been home since Friday morning. Instead, I answered his question, fury burning through my words.
“Mrs. Pierce and Johnny are at the grocery store. Your wife—” I said, emphasizing the word wife, “is at the clinic. She’s been worried sick about you. The question we all had for you is where have you been for the past three days?”
Harold took another swig of beer and walked up closer to me. He hadn’t shaved in several days and his eyes were bloodshot.
“For the past twenty-four hours, I’ve been at the friggin’ police station,” he said through gritted teeth.
I noticed that he didn’t explain Friday and Saturday night. I didn’t bring up Johnny’s disappearance, knowing full well that he’d turn it all around and blame Freddie or me for leaving the child unattended.
“Go on.” I glared at him.
“When they found Bob’s body Saturday night, they hauled me in for questioning Sunday morning. Some jerk up there dug up information about our practice’s financial status and got it into his big head that I’d done him in to cash in on his share. Stupid idiots—”
He walked over and ripped open a package of Fritos, tossing a handful into his mouth, chewing on them hungrily. I waited for him to elaborate.
“They finally sorted through all the objects that were found at the scene this morning and came up with that goon’s watch.” He smiled at me with great pleasure. “I knew he’d been responsible all along. He’s just one big, psychopathic loony tunes, anyway.”
I stepped toward him, itching to shove his unworthy carcass across the room. “What did you tell them, Harold? Did you lie about Siegfried?”
He barked with a short, derisive laugh. “They tend to believe lawyers up there. Not sure why, but I just told them what I thought about that demented misfit. You know, things I’d observed around the house. The way he’s always hanging around my son—”
Anger boiled up like volcanic lava, flowing and threatening to spew. I shoved past Harold, knocking him into the side of the kitchen table. He tripped and fell, growling.
I hovered over him, ready to smash my fist into his face. With a disgusted sigh, I stopped myself. “Damn it, Delano. You aren’t worth my time.”
I grabbed the phone from the wall and dialed Freddie’s number.
Harold got up and rubbed his side, glaring at me. “Better watch out, LeGarde, or you’ll have a suit against you, too.”
He walked quickly past me and up to the bedroom, slamming the door behind him.
I heard my pulse pounding with a staccato beat in my ears.
“Conaroga Veterinary Clinic, Carol speaking.”
“Carol? I need to speak to Freddie. It’s an emergency.”
“Is that you, Professor? Okay, hold on just a minute. She’s doing a consultation right now, but I’ll go and get her.”
I waited for thirty seconds. My blood boiled while I waited.
“Daddy?”
I launched right into the subject without sugar-coating it. “I need your help, honey. Your uncle’s been arrested for the murder of Bob Perkins. They just took him away.”
She laughed. “You’re joking, right? Dad?”
“Harold has been spewing all kinds of nasty talk about him, Freddie.”
“Harold was in the police station? Good God. Why didn’t he call me?”
“I don’t know. But they had your husband in for questioning for the past twenty-four hours. And—and they found your uncle’s watch with the body.”
“That’s impossible. Totally impossible. He came directly home and spent time with us after he dropped Bob at the office. Besides, he hasn’t worn that watch in years. Remember? The band is too small for his wrist now. He kept it in his box of treasures, remember?”
“Of course I remember,” I said impatiently. “I just wanted to find out what time he got home that night. I was over at Camille’s, if I’m remembering right.”
She didn’t skip a beat. “That’s right. I remember because Sig and I watched a program together that night. You called around nine-thirty from her house, didn’t you?”
“Right.”
“Well, we’d just finished watching Tom Hanks in Big on cable. You know, with all those annoying commercials. I remember thinking that we should buy the movie, so that we could watch it straight through. Anyway, it ran from seven-thirty to nine-thirty, and I’d just brought Johnny up to bed when you called. Siegfried got home about fifteen minutes before we started the show, which made it around six forty-five. It would’ve taken him at least an hour to get home, because the roads were bad, remember?”
I nodded into the phone, glad she had such a clear memory. “That means he had to have dropped Bob at the office around five forty-five or six. Do you remember what time Bob called him for the ride from the airport?”
She thought for a moment. “He called our phone line because Siegfried was still with us after dinner. You had just left to go to Baxter’s house. I remember the call coming in when you drove out of the driveway.”
“It was at five. I left at five, Freddie.”
Her mind worked quickly. “Then he’s safe, Dad. There’s no way in the world he could’ve made it up to the airport and back, murdered Bob, and dragged him all the way out to the woods that night. That’s at least a half hour walk up and back. Then he’d had to dig the hole, bury the poor man, and come back here. He’d have to change, because when he returned he was clean as a whistle, and had the same clothes on that he left in. There’s no way. They don’t have a case.”
I knew there was never a question of Siegfried’s guilt, but I’d been concerned the legal system might be blind enough to react to a piece of planted evidence.
I relaxed slightly. “Good. Now I just have to get hold of Joe Russell, and maybe a lawyer. We have to get Siegfried out of there, honey. He won’t be able to handle it.”
“I know. I know. Let me call Sue Vanderstein while you call Russell, okay? She’s an excellent attorney. I’m closing down the office and I’ll be on my cell phone. I should be there in a half hour.”
I cleared my throat. “There’s one more thing, Freddie.”
