Fred Vickery's fourth foray into the world of murder and mayhem,
No Place for Tears, is set for re-release on November 17. I thought I'd celebrate that by offering an excerpt from the third book in the series today.
If you haven't yet met Fred, he's 70-something, a widower, and retired from his job as Buildings and Grounds Supervisor for the school district in his rural Colorado county. Fred has four adult children whom he loves, even if they do make him crazy at times. Fred's a family man through and through, and that's what readers seem to love about him.
So, for your reading enjoyment, Chapter One:
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(copyrighted material)
ONE
Pleasantly full
after a great meal, Fred Vickery followed his brother-in-law, Porter Jorgensen,
from the Jorgensens’ kitchen into the living room. In the nearly fifty years
since they’d each married out of T.S. Cooper’ daughters, they’d done this
hundreds of times—a big meal in the kitchen, after which the men were shooed
into the living room where he and Porter saved the world (in theory) while
Phoebe and Harriet chatted and cleared the table.
In the early
years, Fred had often tried to help but Phoebe had always sent him away. He’d
finally given up after she explained it was her only chance to spend time alone
with her sister and that the dishes provided a convenient excuse.
An air conditioner
unit in one window churned out cold air and a fan whirred softly on the other
side of the room, trying to take the edge off the hot August evening. Fred
settled into an easy chair and listened to the clatter of silverware, the rush
of water, and the low murmur of conversation in the kitchen. If he closed his
eyes, he could almost believe nothing had changed. But the kids were all grown
and out on their own now—except Douglas, who’d moved back home in the
spring—and Phoebe was gone. Had been for nearly three years now. Fred had grown
used to living without her—almost. But times like this brought the pain back so
sharply, Fred wondered if he’d ever truly adjust.
The past three
years he’d avoided Phoebe’s family almost entirely—four sisters, all too much
like Phoebe in one way or another, one brother, and too many children among
them all to keep an accurate count. Porter and Harriet lived closest to Fred,
and he’d missed the times they used to spend together. So when Harriet called
last Sunday with this invitation to dinner, he’d convinced himself he’d healed
enough to make it through the evening without trouble.
He’d been wrong.
Stifling a groan,
he patted his stomach and forced a smile. “Harriet sure hasn’t lose her touch
with a meal.”
Porter grinned and
dropped heavily into his easy chair. “Nope, I’ll say that for her. She’s still
one of the best cooks in the county.” His ample frame provided silent proof of
his words. His snow-white hair, once nearly jet-black, testified to how many
years he’d been enjoying Harriet’s efforts in the kitchen.
He picked up the
remote control from the TV tray beside him and almost instantly a picture
popped onto the screen. With a satisfied grunt, he settled back in his chair as
if he’d been watching the blasted thing all evening.
From the kitchen,
a burst of laughter erupted and Fred’s heart twisted. But it wasn’t Phoebe’s
laugh. Tonight, Harriet and Nancy Bigelow, the Jorgensens’ youngest child, had
joined forces and kicked the men out of the kitchen. The laughter drifted away,
then erupted again before facing into muted conversation. Nancy’s voice blended
with Harriet’s like Phoebe’s had. Both voices were soft and melodious. Both a
little husky. Both pleasant and soothing.
Fred leaned his
head against the chair and tried to push away the longing for the life he’d
never get back. He’d had forty-seven years with Phoebe. Many people didn’t get
that much time together. This year they’d have celebrated their golden
anniversary, but no matter how much he longed for the past, he couldn’t bring
Phoebe back. All he had was the here and now. He wanted to make the best of it.
Tonight he’d
shared some pleasant company and had eaten a good meal for the first time in
years. Obviously, Harriet and Phoebe had learned to cook from the same teacher.
His daughter Margaret had cooked that well once, but lately she’d let her fear
of fat grams and cholesterol chase all the taste from her food. The only flavor
he got these days was what he snuck into his own recipes.
Cutting a glance
toward the kitchen he said, “It’s good to see Nancy again. I didn’t expect her
to be here.”
Porter grunted again
and wiped a trickle of sweat from his temple. “We all thought Douglas would
come with you, and she was looking forward to seeing him again.”
“I passed along
the invitation,” Fred said, “but I can’t predict what Douglas will do now any
better than I could when he was a boy.”
Porter nodded, no
doubt remembering the younger Douglas and his tendency to leap from one
interest to another without warning. “Did you say he’s working now?”
Fred’s mouth
tightened into a frown. “He’s still looking.”
With an expression
full of understanding, Porter leaned back in his chair. “If it’s not one thing
it’s another, isn’t it?” He shot a quick glance at the kitchen door. “Nancy’s
been on my mind a lot lately. She comes by more than she ought to, but that
husband if hers spends all his time working, so she’d be alone if she didn’t
spent time with us.”
Fred heard the disapproval
in Porter’s voice and saw it on his face. Fred empathized with his
brother-in-law. He knew how it felt to disapprove of a son-in-law, but Phoebe
hadn’t liked him to voice his opinion of Webb in front of Margaret, and he
figured Harriet would feel the same way about Nancy’s marriage. Besides, Fred
had known Adam Bigelow since childhood. He’d watched the boy grow up as he went
through school, and he’d always kind of liked the kid. For all those reasons,
he tried to keep his voice neutral. “What’s Adam doing now? Does he still have
that government job?”
“He’s a
subcontractor,” Porter said. “Soil and water testing, that sort of thing. What
it amounts to is he plays in the dirt and mud all day.” Porter made a noise at
something on the television and leaned forward slightly. “For hell’s sake—” he
muttered, then dropped back again and shook his head. “So are you and Douglas
coming to the picnic on Labor Day?”
“I don’t know,”
Fred admitted. “Douglas could have found a job and left town by then.”
“The real question
is, what about you?” Porter asked. “We’ve missed having you around.”
Fred appreciated that,
but he didn’t want to make a promise he might not keep. “I don’t know,” he said
again. “There are lots of memories in this house. More than I expected.”
Porter’s chins
waggled as he studied the living room. Maybe he thought he could see the
memories if he looked hard enough. “Well, I suppose there are reminders here,
and I’m sure it’s tough. But you can’t make yourself a hermit forever. Phoebe’s
gone, sure, but that doesn’t mean you’re not part of the family anymore.”
“I know that.”
“You should have
been at Bev’s for the Fourth of July,” Porter went on. “We had quite a party,
and everybody asked about you.”
Phoebe’s eldest
sister, Beverly, had long ago claimed the Fourth of July as her exclusive
bailiwick, but Fred hadn’t joined them at once of her parties since Phoebe
passed on. It just wouldn’t be the same. But he knew the others wouldn’t
understand so he just nodded slowly and said, “Margaret told me.”
Porter chuckled at
some picnic memory and adjusted his shirtfront over his ample stomach. “Viv
brought a date—did Margaret tell you that?”
Vivian, the sister
between Phoebe and Harriet, had divorced her husband more than twenty years
earlier. Every year or so she’d date someone new. Nothing serious had ever
developed with any of her callers, but her descriptions of the dates kept the
family in stitches.
Fred smiled,
realizing that he’d missed hearing Vivien’s stories. “Do I need to run out and
buy a wedding gift?”
Porter snorted in
reply. “No, not yet. She called the next week and said the guy turned out to be
the Date from Hell.” He changed the channel on the television and went back to
ignoring the program. “So what about Labor Day? I’ve got to warn you, Bev said
that if you didn’t show up this year she’d drive down and drag you up here by
the seat of your pants.”
Fred grinned at
the image. Beverly had been a year ahead of Fred in school, so he knew she had
to be at least seventy-four, but he had no trouble picturing her carrying out
her threat. “Labor Day’s still over two weeks away, “Fred said. “I’ll think
about it and let you know.”
In the other room,
water shut off and chairs scraped against the floor. Porter jerked his head in
the direction of the kitchen. “Sounds like they’re coming. You know Harriet’s
not going to let you rest until you give her the answer she wants.”
Before Fred could
respond, footsteps clattered on the hardwood floor and a moment later Harriet
and Nancy burst into the room. Harriet still wore her apron, and she’d left a
kitchen towel draped over one shoulder. She had lighter hair than any of her
sisters, but there was no mistaking which family she came from.
Nancy followed her
mother, carrying a tray loaded with steaming mugs of coffee. She must have been
about thirty, Fred calculated—give or take a year or two. The only girl out of
the Jorgensens’ five children, she had her mother’s light hair, but her eyes
were honey brown, just like Phoebe’s had been. Those eyes, inherited from a
maternal grandmother, had marked the family connection through several
generations.
Harriet beamed at
them and waved Nancy toward the coffee table. “Well, here we are. Anybody want
coffee?”
“It’s not decaf is
it?” Fred asked.
She handed him a
mug and jerked her head toward her husband. “Are you kidding? Porter would
divorce me if I tried to give him decaf.” She perched on the edge of the couch
and let her gaze linger on Fred as he sipped cautiously. “So, did he talk you
into coming for Labor Day?”
Fred smiled and
shook his head. “He asked, but I don’t know—”
Harriet put a hand
on his knee. “Please, Fred? We’ve missed you. Holidays aren’t the same without
you.”
“They’re not the
same without Phoebe,” he said.
He half expected Harriet’s
eyes to grow misty, but in her typical bullheaded way she refused to let the
emotion take hold. “No, they’re not. But we can’t change that, can we? This is
ridiculous, Fred. We live less than thirty miles apart, but we’ve hardly seen
you in the past three years.”
“I’m here
tonight,” he pointed out.
“Yes you are,”
Harriet admitted. “And it’s a good thing, too. I’ve just about reached the end
of my patience with you.”
Nancy grabbed a
mug and wedged herself into a corner of the couch. “Come on, Uncle Fred. Admit it. You’ve missed
us too.”
He had. No denying
it.
As if sensing his
hesitation, Harriet touched his knee again. “Dorothy’s bringing that casserole
you like so much—”
Against his will,
a laugh escaped. “Now you’re fighting dirty.”
Harriet pushed at
his knee and chuckled. “The best way to win you over has always been with food.
Why do you think Phoebe spent one whole summer learning how to bake? We all
thought we’d die in that hot old house before you got around to proposing.”
Porter flicked through
another couple of channels. “You might as well give up, Fred. You don’t stand a
chance. They’ve been plotting against you all summer, planning a menu with all
your favorite dishes and who knows what else.”
Fred laughed, but
before he could reply the front door slammed open and cut off what he’d been
about to say. Nancy’s husband, Adam Bigelow, stood in the doorway, his chest
heaving from exertion or emotion, Fred couldn’t tell which, and a stream of hot
summer air swept into the room with him.
As just about six
feet tall, Adam wasn’t a small man. He had the broad-shouldered build and
weathered complexion of a man who worked outdoors, and now that he’d reached
his early thirties, he had a fine sprinkling of fray in his dark hair and
beard.
Pausing only a
second to get his bearings, Adam stormed into the living room toward Nancy. His
dark eyes glinted and his breathing was ragged.
Nancy’s smile
faded. “Adam? What are you doing here? What’s wrong?”
He jerked his head
toward the door. “I want to talk to you right now. Outside.”
A flicker of
uncertainty crossed Nancy’s face, but she put down the mug she was holding and
stood to face him. “Now? Adam—”
“Right now!” The
angry look he gave her made Fred uneasy.
“For Pete’s sake,
boy—” Porter snarled.
“Don’t get
involved, Porter,” Harriet interrupted. “Let the kids work out whatever it is.”
Nancy looked at
each of her parents and managed a weak smile in Fred direction. “I’m sorry—”
“I said now.” Adam grabbed her arm roughly and
tried to pull her toward the door.
Nancy jerked away
from him. “Let go of me.”
Porter struggled
to his feet and tried to step between them. “Whatever you’re upset about,
there’s no need to get pushy.”
Adam ignored his
father-in-law and grabbed for Nancy again. This time she managed to sidestep
him.
Harriet scrambled
for Porter’s remote and aimed it at the television. But when she turned up the
volume on the first try and changed the channel on her second, she tossed it
aside with a cry of irritation.
“Are you coming
with me?” Adam demanded.
“Not while you’re
acting like this,” Nancy said with a toss of her head. She was trying to look
brave, but Fred could see anxiety in her eyes.
He wondered if he
should leave. He’d recently seen Douglas through a divorce and he didn’t have
the stomach to hear more angry accusations and bitter recriminations. But a
quick glance around the room told him that it wouldn’t be easy to slip out. Harriet
was blocking the door to the kitchen and Adam was standing between him and the
front door. Leaving right now would call more attention to himself than he
wanted so he sat back in his chair and tried to make himself invisible.
When the
television show gave way to a commercial, the volume jumped again. Growling in
frustration, Porter marched toward the set and turned it off manually. “You’re not going anywhere with him, Nancy.
Not until he calms down.” He turned on Adam with an angry scowl. “You have some
nerve barging in to my house like this.”
Fury contorted Adam’s
face. “This isn’t your concern, Porter.”
Harriet fluttered
her hands toward the couch. “Why don’t you sit down, Adam? I’m sure you two can
work out whatever’s wrong.”
Adam laughed
bitterly. “I don’t know what I’m thinking. There’s nothing to work out. I’m talking to an attorney first thing tomorrow.”
It had gone this
far, then. Fred sure hated to see it. He knew how deep the wounds of divorce
could cut.
Harriet cried out
as if Adam had struck her. “What? Oh, Adam, you don’t mean that.” She turned to
Nancy and grabbed her arms. “He didn’t mean it, sweetie.”
Nancy’s eyes
filled with tears and her face crumpled in pain. “Yes he does, Mom.”
“No,” Harriet
insisted. “You’ll see.” She reached a pleading hand toward her son-in-law.
“Maybe you and I should talk about it, Adam.”
Nancy tugged her
backward. “No, Mom. Adam’s right. This is between him and me—”
Adam barked
another angry laugh. “If that were true, we might have a chance. But it’s been
a long time since things were between the two of us, hasn’t it?”
Harriet let go of
Nancy and began to wring her hands. Adam took advantage of that to grab Nancy’s
arm and jerk her toward the door. He must have gripped her too tightly or
pulled too roughly because she cried out in pain.
That’s all it took
for Porter to lose his temper. Red-faced and breathing hard, he lunged toward
Adam. “You hurt her again and I’ll take you apart.”
“Please don’t,
Dad,” Nancy begged, trying in vain to pull away from Adam.
Adam refused to
let go and jerked her toward the door again. “Now, Nancy. I’m not waiting all
night while you milk your parents for sympathy.”
Embarrassed to
witness the argument and concerned for everyone involved, Fred wished they
would stop. That they’d go their separate ways tonight and discuss it later,
when their emotions had cooled. If they let this go on too long, it would be
hard to repair the damage later.
Nancy bit her lip
as if Adam had hurt her again, and Porter’s round face turned even redder. “Let
go of her, you little son of a bitch—”
Adam finally let
go of Nancy, but only so he could get in Porter’s face. “Stay out of this,
Porter, unless you want to hear things you’d rather not know about. Nancy can
tell the whole damned lot of you about it later. . .” His mouth twisted into an
ugly smile. “. . .if she wants to.”
As if she’d
suddenly regained control, Nancy snarled at her husband. “Stop it, Adam. You
want to talk? Fine. We’ll talk. But leave my parents out of this.”
At least she was
willing to talk, Fred thought. Maybe they’d discuss it rationally—whatever it
was—when they were alone.
And they might
have if Porter hadn’t rushed after Nancy shouting, “You’re not going anywhere
with him. Not unless he calms down.”
Adam’s face turned
to stone. He leaned too close to Porter and when he spoke his voice came out
low and frighteningly controlled. “If you had any idea. . .”
“All right, you
want a divorce?” Nancy shouted. “You’ve got it. Just get out of here before you
do any more damage.”
Harriet looked at
Fred as if she thought he should do something, but he stayed put. Much as he
hated watching this scene play out, he had no intention of getting involved.
He’d learned his lesson with his own children. He worked hard not to interfere
in their lives, and he wasn’t about to walk into the middle of his niece’s
troubles. Besides, he was no match for Adam physically and he doubted Adam
would listen if Fred tried to calm him down.
“Before I do more damage?” Adam demanded. He
laughed bitterly. “You’re something else, you know that?”
Nancy turned away
from him and Harriet started to say something, but Porter put one arm around
Harriet’s shoulders and spoke before she could. “You heard her. Get the hell
out.”
Adam’s lip curled.
“That’s the way you handle everything, isn’t it? Can’t even think about telling you the truth about
any of your precious children because you wouldn’t believe the truth if it hit
you in the face. Well they’re not the angels you think they are, Porter.”
As if Adam had
given him an idea, Porter shot out his fist and connected with Adam’s face. Blood
spurted from the boy’s nose and all hell broke loose. Nancy cried out in shock.
Harriet ran toward her husband shouting something, and Adam answered with a
right hook to Porter’s stomach and a quick left to his jaw.
Too late, Porter jerked
to cover himself too late, groaning when Adam’s fist knocked the wind out of
him. Belatedly, Fred realized that maybe remaining neutral was the wrong
decision. He worked his way to his feet, a lot slower than he wanted to. He
still didn’t think he could restrain Adam, but he had to do something before
someone got seriously hurt.
Before he could
cross the room, Nancy threw herself between her father and husband. Harriet
shouted and Adam tried to hit Porter again, but because Nancy had planted
herself between them, he struck her arm and shoulder instead. She cried out and
gripped her arm with her free hand.
Porter pulled
himself upright, still trying to catch his breath. “Call the sheriff, Harriet.”
Harriet said
something Fred couldn’t quite hear, and Nancy sank onto the couch, burying her
face in her hands.
Adam let his gaze
wander over Nancy slowly, and Fred saw bare hatred there. “Congratulations,”
Adam said softly. “You’ve got what you wanted. I don’t ever want to see you
again.”
“Adam, no!”
Harriet cried and tried to grab him.
He shrugged her
off and slammed out the door.
Harriet caught
back a sob and rounded on her husband. “Now look what you’ve done. Go after
him.”
“The hell I will,”
Porter snapped, his angry red face a sharp contrast to his snowy white hair.
“And neither will anyone else.” He dropped heavily into his chair and rubbed
his jaw gingerly. The look on his face left no doubt that he meant what he
said.
Harriet looked
just as angry as her husband. “You’ve ruined everything. The kids could have
worked things out if you hadn’t jumped into the middle of their argument. Did
you hear what he said to her? Did you hear?”
“I heard, and I
say good riddance to bad rubbish.”
Harriet shoved her
hands onto her hips. “You’ve going to have to apologize to him tomorrow, you
know.”
Porter glared at
her. “I’m not apologizing. I’m not a bit sorry for anything I said. Or did.”
Harriet stared at him for one long moment as if
she couldn’t believe her ears. “One of these days, you’re going to go too far,”
she said. And without another word, she walked out of the room.
(copyrighted material)
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Ruth is an interesting protagonist--a normal sort of woman who carries a few extra pounds and who doesn't always do everything exactly right, which is why I relate to her. She has self-doubt that rings true to me, as opposed to the made up kind of self-doubt you find in so many books. The character needs a flaw and the author provides one, but it never really rings entirely true. Ruth is a forensic archaeologist who is frequently consulted by the police on cases. Her relationship with DCI Harry Nelson and his wife is interesting and, again, truthful. Griffiths' writing is clean and precise and evocative and it transports me into Ruth's world with every single book.
