Where Truth Lies
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“In kickboxing class. When you live in the city and work until late at night, self-defense becomes a necessity.”
“Do you have to defend yourself often?”
“Actually, this was my first time. Hopefully my last.”
“Are you all right? Lorraine at the café says that you spent the night in the hospital.”
News traveled fast in a small town. “I’m fine. Just some bumps and bruises.”
Denise sat on the stool in front of the desk, making herself at home. “You seem like a good person.”
“You can tell that after only a few minutes?”
“I’m a good judge of character. How about you? Are you a good judge of character?”
“I like to think so.”
“Let’s put you to the test. What do you think of me?”
Grace laughed. The woman was relentless, and yet, there was something about her that was endearing. “I think you’re very pretty.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“All right.” Grace sat down in the swivel chair behind the desk and put her arms on the armrests. “I think you’re honest—a little insecure, perhaps, but that doesn’t seem to interfere with your candor. And in spite of what you say, I think you’re very gutsy. The fact that you’re here proves it.”
“Hmm.”
“Am I right?”
“Pretty much. You and I could be friends, you know. God knows I could use a friend. As you’ll soon find out, I’m not the most popular person in town these days.”
“Because of your affair with Steven?”
“That, but mostly because of Fred’s arrest. The people in New Hope worship him. He was so much more than their police chief. He was their friend, their champion, their advisor. They could talk to him about anything. Fred was always there, ready to help. I can’t even tell you how many marriages he saved, just by making each couple talk to each other. The residents revered him almost as much as they do Father Donnelly, who’s pretty much of a saint in these parts. And now, Fred’s in jail and it’s all my fault.”
“Guilt is a heavy burden to carry, Denise. And it doesn’t change anything. All it does is make you feel bad.”
“I wouldn’t feel half as bad if Fred was guilty, but he isn’t. He didn’t kill Steven!”
There was a conviction in her voice as she spoke those words that made Grace pay instant attention. “I don’t understand. From what I heard—”
“I know what you heard. None of it is true. My husband did not kill Steven Hatfield.”
“Wasn’t his gun found outside the gallery? With his fingerprints on it?”
“Pft.” Denise gave a disdainful toss of her blond curls. “Do you think for one second that anyone with an ounce of intelligence would drop the murder weapon as he fled? Which is what Chief Nader says happened.”
“It does sound a little…”
“Sloppy. And Fred is anything but sloppy. That’s what I told Josh. The man worked with Fred since the day he got out of the army. He knows him better than anyone.”
“But you said there was an investigation.”
She rolled her eyes. “If you can call that an investigation. The little Josh did, he did for show.”
“What do you think happened?”
Looking restless, Denise stood up and started walking around the gallery, stopping to look at a painting every now and then. “It all started at Pat’s Pub, where Fred likes to stop for a beer every evening, you know, just to shoot the bull with his friends. That evening, he walked in on a conversation that sent him into orbit. Cal and Lou Badger, two hopeless morons, were talking about me and Steven, apparently in vivid details.
“Fred would have killed them with his bare hands if Eddie—that’s the pub’s owner—hadn’t stopped him. Then he stormed out, and because he was in such a rage, everyone assumed he was on his way here, to the gallery.”
“He wasn’t?”
“Fred isn’t the type to make a scene in a place of business. He’s much too decent to do that. He went home to wait for me.”
“So you can vouch for him? You can give him an alibi?”
“No.” Denise’s shoulders slumped. “I was working on a new line. I make jewelry,” she explained. “And I didn’t leave my shop until about seven. When I got home, the police were there, handcuffing Fred.”
“If your husband didn’t do it, then who did?”
“Take your pick.”
That was a strange comment. Steven wasn’t the type to have enemies. “What do you mean by that?”
“Steven had his share of enemies in this town, starting with Buzz Brown.”
“Who is Buzz Brown?”
“He owns a large farm on Route 232. Six months ago his wife became very ill. Buzz tried to sell his property to a developer so he could move Alma to Arizona, but Steven, who was a member of the township planning board, strongly objected to the developer’s plan to build three hundred single-family homes on the site.
“When the township residents heard that the subdivision would destroy the character of the area, increase traffic and raise taxes, they started attending the planning board meetings and voiced their concerns. As a result, the application was denied and a few weeks later, Alma died. Buzz held Steven personally responsible for his wife’s death. They never spoke after that.”
“Six months is a long time, don’t you think?” Grace asked. “Assuming that Buzz Brown was mad enough to kill, why didn’t he do it right away?”
“Because if he had, he would have been the number one suspect.”
Obviously, Denise had given the case a lot of thought. “You said that Steven had his share of enemies? Who are the others?”
“The dean of the local college, John Amos.”
“The same college where Steven taught an art course twice a week?”
Denise nodded. “As you know only too well, Steven was a hopeless womanizer. One of the coeds reported him for sexual harassment. The dean wanted to fire Steven on the spot, but the faculty intervened in his favor and he was allowed to stay. The dean was furious.”
“Why was he allowed to stay?”
“Why do you think? Steven’s mother stepped in, made a generous donation to the college, and that was that. John Amos is lucky he didn’t get fired.”
The incident must have been humiliating for the dean, but hardly a reason for murder. “Who else?”
“I can’t name anyone specifically,” Denise said. “But the way Steven flirted with the women here in town…” She rolled her eyes again. “They all loved the attention, but the husbands and boyfriends, well, that was another matter.”
“Was he sleeping with any of the women?”
For the first time, Denise’s gaze faltered. “No.” She looked away. “He wasn’t.”
Grace gave her a long look. The question had made Denise uncomfortable.
Perhaps sensing Grace’s doubts, Denise turned around. “If you think that I killed Steven,” she said, “forget it. I can’t shoot to save my life. Ask Carmine, who runs the shooting range. He’ll tell you. Fred took me target shooting a few times, before he finally gave up. Besides, like I said, I was at the shop. A lot of people saw me there.”
Like art, people were never quite the way they seemed. There were layers to be peeled and angles to study. Denise’s seemingly forthright manner had taken a different turn. She was hiding something, perhaps to protect herself, perhaps to protect her husband.
“I’m sure a competent attorney will unravel the mystery,” Grace said.
Another pft. “Miles sucks. I wanted to hire someone with clout, a seasoned lawyer, experienced in criminal cases, but Fred won’t talk to me. I haven’t seen him since they took him in.” She sounded resigned, and a little defeated.
Grace couldn’t think of anything adequate to say except, “I’m sorry.”
“That’s all right. I can put up with that. All I want is for Fred to go free. And now for the first time in a little over a week there’s hope.” Her expression brightened. “Matt is on his way.”
“Matt?”
“Matt Baxter, Fred’s son. Lucy—that’s my stepdaughter—called him. Fred didn’t want to bother him. He kept saying that Josh would come to his senses soon enough. When it was obvious that he wouldn’t, Lucy called her brother. He should be arriving today.”
“Does he solve murders?”
“He’s an FBI agent,” she said as if that statement required no other explanation. “One of the best. He and Fred are a lot alike—tough, stubborn, short-tempered, but very smart. Good people.”
Grace smiled. “You sound as if you care for your husband very much.”
“I love my husband,” she said, meeting Grace’s eyes. “I know that sounds weird, considering what I did, but it’s the God’s truth.”
“May I ask a personal question?”
Denise shrugged. “You’ve earned it.”
“Knowing what you knew about Steven, and feeling as you do about your husband, why did you have an affair in the first place?”
“For the same reason every female in this town went a little dopey whenever Steven was around—his charm. He oozed it, as I’m sure you know. And he truly loved women. He loved being around them, complimenting them, remembering their birthdays, or some other special occasion. When he talked to a woman, he made her feel as if she was the only person in the room. And no matter how bad you looked, Steven Hatfield could make you feel like a beauty queen. I was no exception, even though I was happily married. But Fred was always busy, helping someone through a crisis. As a result, there wasn’t a lot of time for the two of us to do anything fun. When Steven started paying attention to me, it went to my head.”
“Even though you knew his reputation with the ladies?”
“I wasn’t thinking about that at the time.”
Once again, the comment seemed to make her uneasy, and this time, Grace chose not to push it. “How old is your stepdaughter?”
“Nineteen.”
“Her father’s arrest must have been hard on her.”
“Terrible, but she’s coping. Fortunately, she and I are very close. We comfort each other.”
Grace couldn’t hide her surprise. “She’s forgiven you?”
Denise gave a slow shake of her head. “No, and I’m not sure our relationship will ever be quite the same as it was, especially if her father is convicted, but right now, she realizes that we need each other.”
She waved her hand, causing the bangles around her wrist to jingle. “That’s enough of me. I want to hear all about you.”
“I’m afraid I’ll have to get back to work,” Grace said. “There’s an awful lot to do, much more than I expected. And I still have to go to the cottage to unpack.”
“Okay, I’ll get out of your hair, but how about lunch?”
“Actually, I was planning on skipping lunch.”
“You can’t work on an empty stomach. I’ll make us a couple of sandwiches and we can eat while I give you a tour of the town. Everyone is dying to meet you, or at least have a glimpse of you.”
“How do you know?”
“Lorraine told me. She owns the Everything Goes Café and is the only person in town, except for Father Donnelly, who still speaks to me.”
Oh, what the hell, Grace thought. She could work on Steven’s books after lunch. And Denise did look like she needed a friend, even if the friendship would only last a week.
Six
Matt always had mixed feelings when he came back to New Hope. Not that he didn’t like coming home. On the contrary, after several months’ absence, driving down Main Street and waving to his old neighbors never failed to lift his spirits.
The downside was Josh Nader. No matter how hard he tried not to run into him, Josh was always there, his sixth sense as sharp as a hound’s nose. They would talk for a while, pissing each other off, the way they used to when they were teenagers, then one of them would walk away, tired of the game.
It would be different this time. With Matt’s father in jail and Josh calling the shots, the police chief would take full advantage of the situation and enjoy every minute of it. He was probably sharpening his tongue right now, waiting for Matt to show up at the jail so he could bust his balls.
Matt reminded himself to play it cool. Losing his temper at the first taunt wouldn’t help the situation, or his father.
It hadn’t always been so tense between him and Josh. In fact, there was a time when they had been close friends. In the first grade, Matt, Josh and George Renchaw had formed a bond that had lasted for years. They had called their little trio the Three Musketeers, not a very original name, but they were little kids and they looked up to anyone with a sword and a plumed hat. Together they had done their share of pranks and mischief. George kept them straight. Studious and levelheaded, he was the one who made sure his two buddies never went too far.
Then in eighth grade, everything changed. A new girl moved next door to Josh’s house and all three boys fell head over heels in love with her. When Mary Ellen Sanders chose Matt, George gracefully accepted defeat, but Josh declared war on Matt.
Long after Mary Ellen had left their lives, Josh’s animosity toward Matt kept on growing. Matt and George graduated from college at the same time Josh got his army discharge. That summer, another incident had pulled Matt and Josh even further apart. Matt’s former girlfriend, nineteen-year-old Felicia Newman, disappeared. When foul play was suspected and several young men were interrogated, Josh was quick to point the finger at Matt, claiming he had heard the couple argue. Fred Baxter, the chief of police at the time, had no choice but to bring his son in for questioning. A few days later, Dusty Colburn, a mentally retarded man with a crush on Felicia, was arrested, and Matt was cleared.
The unfortunate incident had left the town bewildered and unsettled, with a handful of people not completely convinced that the right man had been arrested. And while no one believed that the chief’s son was the culprit, Josh’s unfounded accusations had taught Matt one important lesson: New Hope wasn’t big enough for the two of them. When Josh announced that he was planning to join the New Hope police force, Matt decided he should be the one to leave. Two months later, he was entering the FBI Academy in Quantico, Virginia.
After his graduation from the FBI Academy, the news that a hometown boy was now a federal agent kept the town abuzz for weeks. Jealous of the attention Matt was getting, Josh, by then a rookie with the New Hope PD, applied for a job with Interpol, the international police force that specialized in global crimes. But although Police Chief Baxter gave the young officer a good report, it wasn’t good enough to be accepted into that elite organization.
Angry and bitter, Josh had nonetheless put up a good front, but Matt knew that deep down, he blamed Fred for ruining this unique opportunity. His animosity may have tapered off when Fred recommended him for the position of chief a year ago, but with Josh, it was hard to say.
George Renchaw had done equally well. A corporate attorney with a large New York City firm for many years, he had left his job and returned to New Hope, where he still practiced law while serving a second term as mayor. There were rumors that he was being considered for a higher office, but nothing had been officially announced. As for Matt, after twenty-one years with the bureau, he was now a special agent based in Philadelphia, where he headed the antiterrorism task force.
Flashing lights in Matt’s rearview mirror ended his trip down memory lane. He pulled to the side, slowing just enough to let the police cruiser pass, but the car slid behind him, lights still flashing.
Matt brought his Jeep Durango to a stop and glanced in the rearview mirror. Josh, looking fit in his dark-blue pants and shirt, got out of the car and walked toward the Jeep, taking his time.
“Great,” Matt muttered under his breath. And immediately reminded himself to be civil.
“Hello, Matt. Welcome home.” Josh tilted his hat back and smiled, bracing his big hands on the window’s edge. He looked the same as he had a year ago, when he had attended Fred’s retirement party—tall, fit and in control.
“Is this a personal welcome, Chief?” Matt said casually. “Or was I going over the speed limit?” Surely that was civil enough.
“Actually I’m tempted to ticket you for going under the speed limit. What’s the matter? The signs aren’t written big enough for you?”
Matt kept his smile pasted on. “I was just taking in the scenery. A year is a long time to be away.”
“Well, like I said, you’re always welcome here.”
Matt refrained from telling him that welcome or not, he didn’t need his permission to visit. “I’d like to stay and chat,” he said instead. “But I’m anxious to see my father. So if you don’t mind—”
“What makes you think that I’m going to let you see him?”
Matt took a breath and counted to five. “It’s his right to have visitors. Or haven’t you read that part of the manual yet?” He probably shouldn’t have said that, but dammit, the bastard had it coming.
“He’s been charged with murder one,” Josh said. “Which significantly alters his rights, but since I’m a good guy, I’m going to let you come and go as you please. For old time’s sake. And while you’re visiting your dad, tell him to do himself a favor and take a guilty plea. It’ll save the taxpayers money and get him a lighter sentence.”
“You can’t ask an innocent man to plead guilty.”
“He did it, Matt. You’ve got to accept that.”
Matt’s fists tightened around the wheel. “Are we done here?”
Josh moved away from the SUV. “For now. Just don’t abuse my kindness.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, Chief.”
Seven
Although Matt had prepared himself, seeing his father behind bars hit him harder than he had expected. The only comfort was Fred himself. At sixty-three, the police veteran had never looked better. He was leaner and more muscular, probably because now that he was retired, he had time to work out. And in spite of the confinement, he seemed totally relaxed as he sat on his bunk, his back against the dingy wall, one ankle propped on his knee and reading the Bucks County Courier Times.
“What’s the matter, Pop? You couldn’t stay away from your old stomping grounds, so you got yourself arrested?”
Fred looked up, his blue eyes lighting up instantly. He tossed the paper aside and stood up. “Hello, son.” He took in Matt’s tall, lean shape. “You’re looking good. And tanned. Been skiing?”
“You could say that.” Matt never discussed his assignments and his father knew better than to ask for more details.
The two men reached through the bars and clasped hands. “How come they haven’t transferred you to the county jail where you wouldn’t have to put up with Josh?” Matt asked.
“Haven’t you heard? Last month’s floods badly damaged the building. It looks like I’m going to be here for quite a while.”
“Not if I can help it, Pop.”
“Josh isn’t going to make it easy for you.”
“Josh is an ass. Why you recommended him for the job of chief, I’ll never know.”
“Nobody’s better qualified. He’s dedicated, fair—”
“You want to rethink the fair part, Pop?”
Fred shrugged. “He’s just doing his job, Matty. And he’s got to do it under extreme pressure—from the town, who wants me out of jail, and from the D.A. who wants to make sure I stay in.”
“Not if your new attorney has anything to say about it.”
“What new attorney?”
“Lucy wasn’t happy with Miles Stewart, so I contacted a friend of mine who used to be with the bureau and now practices in New York City. He’s one of the best criminal lawyers in the country. Unfortunately, he’s wrapping up a case and can’t be here until November twentieth.”
“I don’t need a fancy attorney, son.” He grinned. “I have a lot of faith in your abilities, even if I don’t approve of Lucy calling you.”
“I’m glad she did.”
As an afterthought, Fred asked, “You’re staying at the house, aren’t you?”
“Not this time, Pop. I checked into the Centre Bridge Inn.”
“Lucy will be disappointed.”
“I’ll talk to her.”
“Okay, but remember, my house is your house. Nothing will ever change that.”
“I appreciate that.” He leaned against the wall. “Now, how about you give me your version of what happened?”
Fred was silent for a long time. Matt folded his arms and just waited.
“You were right, you know,” Fred said at last.
“About what?”
“Denise. I shouldn’t have married her. She was too young, too energetic, too unpredictable.” He paused. “Neither one of us had any luck with the Newman sisters, did we? You were the smart one, though. You had enough sense to break up with Felicia before things got too far. I, on the other hand, allowed my infatuation with Denise to turn into something so powerful, I couldn’t have walked away if I had wanted to.”
“We don’t have to talk about that now.”
“Yes, we do. Your disapproval of Denise changed our relationship, and I hated that. The truth is, I was too blind to see her for what she was.”
“She made you happy.”
“That she did. Until I heard about her affair with Steven Hatfield. It’s true what they say, the husband is always the last to know.”
“Lucy said that you didn’t find out about Hatfield until last week. Is that right?”
Fred ran a hand through his gray hair. “Yeah. I had been visiting some friends in Doylestown, and on the way back I decided to stop at Pat’s for a beer. The Badger brothers were already there, drinking and telling dirty jokes. That’s when I heard Denise’s name being mentioned.”
“What did they say?”
“Something about knowing all along that she’d be a good lay, and maybe they’d have to ask Steven Hatfield just how good she was.”
“They happened to say that just as you walked in?”
“Yeah. I was too steamed at the time to think much about the timing. Later, I wondered the same thing.”
“What happened after you heard that remark?”
“I should have ignored them, but I didn’t. I was pissed off.”
“You picked a fight with them.” It wasn’t a question. Lucy had already told him about their sweet old dad trying to take on two men the size of Texas.
“Wouldn’t you have?” Fred asked. “If they talked about your wife that way?”
Matt made a mental note to talk to the notorious Badger brothers, two former little punks who had grown into bigger punks. “Probably, but go on.”
“Fortunately, Eddie split us up before we could do any real damage to his place. I stormed out and went home to confront Denise. She wasn’t back from the shop yet. Before you ask, no one saw me come home.”
“And everyone at Pat’s assumed you were going to the Hatfield Gallery.”
“What was I supposed to do? Carry a sign?”
“Why didn’t you just walk over to the jewelry shop?”
“Because I didn’t want to make a scene. I was never much for airing my dirty laundry in public. And while I was home, Steven was being murdered.”
“With your gun.” When Fred remained silent, Matt added, “Mind telling me how it ended up in the flower bed of the Hatfield Gallery?”
“If you mean, do I have an idea who could have planted it there, no, I don’t. And make no mistake, it is a plant, made to look as if I dropped it in my haste to get away. As if I would do a dumb thing like that.”
“Who knows where you keep your gun?”
“It’s no secret to those who know me well that I keep my guns locked up in the bedroom armoire.”
“So whoever framed you not only had the key to your house, but the key to the armoire as well? Is that what you’re telling me?”
“When I come home, I’m in the habit of dropping my keys on the kitchen hutch. The kitchen is where I read my paper and have coffee with my friends, or whoever feels like dropping in. It wouldn’t be hard for someone to make an impression of both keys at the first opportune moment.”
“Any idea who that someone might be?”
Fred shook his head. “Nope. Some weeks I can’t even tell you how many people stop by, especially now that I’m retired.”
He wasn’t exaggerating. Fred Baxter had been just as popular when Matt was growing up. The house was always filled with friends and neighbors who came to chat, to tell the chief their troubles, or to just play a few rounds of poker.