Key to Love (23 page)

“Fritz talks too much.”

“He always was the household jabberwocky, wasn’t he?” Anton Springer laughed heartily.

“Dad!” She watched him settle back in his chair and raise his injured foot to rest on the coffee table.

“Have you spoken to this Levinson fellow?”

Elise shook her head. She had been dreading making the call and was actually thankful it was Sunday. “I guess I wasn’t sure what to say. I was looking for an excuse so believable the man would cave and agree to a postponement.”

“Lizzie, Lizzie.” Anton Springer held up a silencing hand. “For crying out loud, you’re telling me the woman who is known as the greatest manipulator of the human race, your brothers and me included, can’t come up with a way to deal with a man who wants, no craves, your expertise?”

Stunned, Elise stared at him. “Dad, you don’t understand. He’s our major client. I can’t go ordering him around. The man’s a multi-millionaire.” She sighed.

“So’s Lucas Fisher, and from what I hear you’ve got him standing on his head and wallpapering. And not just wallpapering—wallpapering with Fritz! I’m enormously disappointed I missed that.”

She smiled. “It was rather amusing. They used so much paste we’ll have to blast the wallpaper off when we need to redo the room.”

“You were lucky they didn’t eat it.”

She laughed, but her mood grew serious as she walked to the window and looked out at the trees already dressed in full spring green. “Dad, John Fisher showed up the other night and told Lucas he wasn’t Mike’s father. Do you think he was telling the truth? Or was it just a way to try to hurt Lucas?”

Anton Springer drew in a deep breath and blew it out. “Whew, I honestly don’t know, Elise. If your mother was living, she would have probably been able to tell you. If Lucas’s grandmother confided in anyone, it would have been her. Does it really matter?”

“I don’t know. Fritz says it doesn’t.” Elise stared at the sky, a clear bright blue. She hated the thought of going off on a wild goose chase. “I do believe it matters to Lucas.”

“Let me think on it,” Anton said. “Right now you’ve got enough to muddle through.”

Chapter Sixteen

Surrounded by shrubs in need of pruning, the Meyers’ small ranch house sat back from the road with a gravel driveway ending at a double-car garage where Mary Jo’s beat-up blue Mazda was parked inside. A weed-filled lawn extended from front to back, the rear portion encircled with a battered wire fence. A rusty swing set occupied a corner of the enclosed lot along with a huge tire filled with muddy sand. Three-wheeled plastic Big Wheels lay abandoned, their colors fading in the bright sunshine.

A tired-looking Mary Jo greeted Elise and Todd at the front door, and shortly thereafter three noisy children, ranging in age from ten to five, barreled up behind her.

“Take Todd around back to play,” Mary Jo instructed the children. She hugged Elise warmly, ushering her into the small foyer. “Let’s go to the kitchen,” she suggested, “and have some coffee.”

She stopped on the way to pick up a stuffed animal and rubber ball and throw them into a laundry basket doubling as a toy chest. At one time, she was a tall, slim woman with vibrant hair the color of lemons, but three pregnancies had added twenty additional pounds and faded her hair to the color of a dull penny.

“How’s your dad?” she asked.

“Much better. In fact, I was at the hospital earlier this morning,” Elise said.

“Good to hear he’s getting better.” Mary Jo removed two mugs from the cupboard, poured them each a cup of coffee, took them to the table, and slid into a seat. “Whenever you want to visit him, I can watch Todd for you. He’s familiar with my kids. Sometimes when Mike Fisher’s sitter had other obligations, he would drop Todd off here.”

So that explained why Mary Jo’s name was in Mike Fisher’s address book, Elise thought with a welcome sense of relief.

“Actually, we hired Cindy Peters to help with Todd and also Dad when he comes home,” Elise told her. She sat forward and crossed her hands on the table. “So tell me, Mary Jo, what’s been happening in your life?”

Mary Jo shrugged. “Kids keep me busy. I’m working with a committee to purchase new equipment for the playground at our elementary school. Pretty soon your poor father will be bombarded by kids selling candy, cookies, and candles to help raise money.”

Elise sipped her coffee and studied Mary Jo’s face. “Why don’t you get a few local businesses to donate some money? They like to help with community and educational projects.”

Mary Jo bit her lip and looked away. Her face clouded with uneasiness. “No, Ted doesn’t want me bothering the local businesses. He feels they’d be obligated to give because I’m a police officer’s wife.”

“So get someone on your committee to ask.” Elise watched an anxious look appear on Mary Jo’s face and she could see Mary Jo was not comfortable with any suggestions, so she changed the subject. “Did you know Mike Fisher?”

“Yes. Why do you ask?”

Elise shrugged. “Just curious. Just wondering what he was like.”

Now Mary Jo’s face looked almost pained. “I didn’t know him real well, but he seemed like a kind man. A good father. He adored Todd. I’ve heard he was a good cop. He didn’t appear to have the hard edge that seems to be part of Lucas’s nature, if you know what I mean.”

“Do you think he was capable of stealing a hundred thousand dollars of undercover money?”

“Oh, no.” With eyes cast downward, Mary Jo nervously fidgeted with the handle on her cup. “Well, at least he...” she paused and stammered, “he, he didn’t seem to be.”

Elise pursed her lips and watched her friend with a keen eye, saying nothing more. She seemed tense, almost fearful. Was she telling the truth about Mike Fisher? Did she know him better than she cared to admit? Or was there something she was hiding?

Outside, a car pulled up, tires crunching on the gravel driveway. Mary Jo stood, moved to the kitchen window, and parted the sun-faded curtains. “Oh…oh, it’s Ted. He must have noticed your car and is dropping by to say hello.”

Word travels fast, Elise thought. Only Jack Morrison knew she was driving a new Corvette convertible. The community gossip network was alive and functioning.

Ted Meyer came into the kitchen through the side door.

“Hello, Ted,” Elise said, smiling. “Sorry about last night, but Nick Peters was going my way. He had to pick up his sister.”

Grunting noncommittally, he went to the cupboard, took out a cup, and poured himself some coffee. “So tell me, how fast does the silver streak out there go?” he asked, eyeing her above the rim of the cup.

Elise considered the question a moment and laughed. “I don’t know. I haven’t pushed the pedal to the floor yet. Tell you what, I’m willing to take it out sometime and find out, but only if you’re game to ride shotgun. No way am I going to risk getting a ticket from the local police department.”

“Smart girl,” he said, cracking the barest of smiles. “You and Mary Jo fall into the reminiscing trap yet?”

“Almost. I was about to ask her whether she knew anyone who knew Mike and Lucas’s grandmother.”

A furrow creased his brow. “Why do you need to know?”

“So I could get a better insight into who Mike Fisher was,” Elise said. It wasn’t a lie. If it would help her to understand Todd better, she would do whatever was necessary. Any information might help her while the little boy was still recovering from the loss of his father. She made a mental note to pick up a book on children and the grief process at the bookstore.

“A cop. What’s there to know about cops?” Ted Meyer asked, then snorted.

He seemed piqued, and Elise was glad when Mary Jo’s oldest child, a girl with big brown eyes, came racing into the kitchen.

“Cookies,” she said breathlessly. “Everyone wants cookies and we’re thirsty, Mom.”

“Not now, Rachael,” Ted Meyer said to her. “Can’t you see we have company and we’re talking?”

“Please?” the little girl asked.

“I told you, get back out there and play!” Ted barked and pointed to the door.

Fear was all Elise could think as she watched the girl’s eyes widen as her face and posture froze. She shrank back toward the door, her eyes skidding to her mother.

“Go on, do as your father says,” Mary Jo said softly. “I’ll bring a tray out in a second.” She shooed her daughter out the door with a wave of her hand.

The door banged shut.

“Damn, Mary Jo, when are you ever going to teach those kids to shut a door properly?”

Before she could answer, Elise interrupted, hoping to defuse what might be an ensuing argument. “So fill me in, Ted. What’s new in the old neighborhood?”

“I guess right now, Lucas Fisher. I didn’t know he was staying at the farm.”

“Until the cottage is restored.”

“How long will it take?”

“A couple of weeks.”

He frowned. “People are starting to talk.”

“About what?” Elise smiled, amused. She knew exactly what they were talking about.

“What do you think?” He grunted. “You and him.”

Elise shook her head in disbelief. A decade later, and the old neighborhood hadn’t changed. Everyone had a voracious curiosity to know everyone else’s business.

“If you get a chance to offer some news to the local grapevine, Ted, you might remind everyone Fritz is there most of the time and so is Todd.” She had promised herself she would ignore comments like this, but the need to defend Lucas was almost overwhelming. She found herself more annoyed than angry. “You might want to add we’re both over twenty-one and self-sufficient. We make our own way in the world. Oh, and my father is well aware of who is staying at his house.”

“Listen, Liz, I’m trying to be your friend here,” Ted Meyer said gruffly. “I’m just passing on what I heard. He’s always been a wild sort of guy, known for his reckless side, fast cars, and one-night flings.”

She refused to take his bait. “Listen, Ted, if you don’t see it with your eyes, don’t invent it with your mouth. I dislike vicious rumors.”

“I’m just telling it like it is, Liz. You asked.” His face reddened. “Hey, I gotta go.” He hitched up his pants and left abruptly, the side door creaking as he went outside.

“Don’t mind Ted,” Mary Jo said in a low voice. “He’s a little cranky from working overtime. One of his buddies is off sick with the flu and everyone is covering his shifts.”

“Are you happy?” Elise asked suddenly, the words spilling out of her mouth before she had a chance to analyze her thoughts. It was heartbreaking to see a woman as bright as Mary Jo give up everything to live such a squalid existence.

“I adore my kids,” Mary Jo said. “I don’t know what I’d do without them.”

Elise grimaced. She hadn’t said she adored or loved Ted. “Did you ever think of going back to school and getting your degree? You were thinking about elementary education, and you’d be a natural, Mary Jo.”

The woman’s eyes grew distant. “Ted and I talked about it, but right now the money just isn’t there. Did I tell you we’re saving to buy a small cabin and some land outside Scranton? Ted wants a hunting camp, and it would be perfect for the kids.”

“You could always take out loans, ask your parents for one, or check into scholarships,” Elise persisted.

“Ted’s pride would never allow it.” Mary Jo shook her head and paused a moment. Then, as if coming back to reality, she rose and slapped her hand lightly on the table. “Anyway, enough about me. Tell me what little Lizzie Springer has been doing while I get these kids something to eat and drink.”

****

Dressed in street clothes, Nick Peters sat at his work station, which looked more like a garbage heap than a state trooper’s work area. Cardboard cups, candy wrappers and a day-old bologna sandwich fought for room with pencils, books, and a group picture of his eight brothers and sisters in a simple wooden frame. The man was clearly overworked.

“Is this creative clutter?” Elise asked when he hopped up to clear a pile of papers from the chair beside his desk.

“No, this is actually tidy and rather organized for me,” he admitted. “Cindy and I only share our dad’s features. Our work habits are at both ends of the spectrum. This office drives her crazy every time she stops in. She wants to dive in and clean it up. So what can I do for you?”

From her purse, Elise withdrew the flash drive with a copy of the database. “There’s a database of Mike Fisher’s on here I can’t read. I was thinking perhaps it had to do with work.”

Nick Peters turned to his computer beside him and inserted the flash drive. After a series of faulty tries, the screen filled up with information. “Looks like a copy of Mike’s logs and reports for work. You couldn’t get it to work because it’s software specific.”

“What kind of logs?”

“His work schedule, cases, notations. He must have checked out a laptop to do some work at home. This is routine stuff we usually try to get done in the office, but it’s not always possible. This is the original flash drive, right?”

She stared at him, trying to decide whether to tell the truth. He turned to her and waited for her response. There was a long silence as each waited for the other.

When it was evident she was not about to lie, he laughed and said, “Okay, that was a dumb question, even for a cop. Don’t answer it, and I won’t have to get a search warrant. It’s not going to do you any good without the program-specific software. I guess I should remind you, it’s confidential information.”