FM for Murder (3 page)

“Me?”

“Yeah,” he said, “because of all your experience working with the police.” He said this last part between clenched teeth. “You’re the murder expert in the family, you know.”

Chapter 4

Previous week--Tuesday, December 11

Daniel Bridgewater sat in his office on the second floor at the Bridgewater Carpet Company’s office building. He was at his large marble-topped desk but he was turned away, facing out a large bay window that overlooked the Bridgewater manufacturing plant across from the office parking lot and the circular entrance drive which surrounded it, the beautiful Bridgewater fountain still busily pumping water even though the December temperatures were hovering in the 40’s. It was good that the weather never really got cold enough this far south to freeze the water, thought Daniel. His father Charles had built the fountain for his mother years ago in memory of their honeymoon, and it was one of Daniel’s favorite parts of the office compound—an otherwise bland and stuffy structure.

He clutched his coffee cup and held it to his lips even though he had finished the brew inside hours ago. He was trying to make sense of conflicting signals. His father had seemed so much better this morning—more talkative, more cheerful. Yet, when he had spoken to his father’s personal physician, Dr. Knowles, the prognosis seemed even bleaker than they had previously thought. Charles Bridgewater, 76, founder and head of Bridgewater Carpets, was suffering from congestive heart failure. Had been for quite a while. He’d been on numerous different medications which had seemed to be working—at least they had to Daniel. His father was in the office daily, and although Daniel had officially taken over the reins of the company several years ago, Charles still kept his hand in the pot and that was fine with Daniel. He enjoyed his father’s company and their regular sparring. Daniel was still learning the in’s and out’s of the carpet business—he probably would still be learning for years—the carpet manufacturing business was a world unto itself—at least in the United States. Most of it was centered in Dalton, Georgia, but several large companies—such as Bridgewater--had set up shop in neighboring states and were actually successful.

How could his father seem so much better when Dr. Knowles seemed to think he was getting worse? And that was exactly what Knowles had said to Daniel when he left his father’s bedroom earlier in the morning. Tests showed that his heart capacity was declining. When Daniel mentioned this discrepancy to the doctor, the physician had replied that Charles was probably struggling to appear normal. Lord, thought Daniel, I don’t want him to overexert himself just to pretend to me that he’s feeling better. But what could he do about it? Daniel tipped his desk chair back and forth as he followed the bursts of water from the fountain. The three cupids in the center each held curved horns and the water jets shot from each in beautiful curves. The fountain was based on a fountain in Italy that Daniel’s mother had fallen in love with when she and Charles had gone there on their honeymoon. When Elinore had died 12 years ago in a car accident, the fountain had taken on even greater meaning. Now, it appeared Charles would follow his beloved wife in death. At least, according to Knowles, his father didn’t have much time left. How much time, Knowles wasn’t willing to say. Daniel knew he should be doing something constructive, but right now he was frozen with indecision. His father was dying. He didn’t know how long he had; it might be only a few weeks—even days. He wasn’t really worried about the business, because Bridgewater Carpets was doing well—even in the present poor economy. People still needed carpeting, at least enough people did. Theirs was a fairly stable business. Daniel had learned the ropes well and he had a support staff that helped him run the place so that he could concentrate on catering to his father at this difficult time. No one would miss him if he spent much or even all of his time at home by his father’s bedside.

No, the business wasn’t his main worry now. That wasn’t what was causing Daniel to gnaw on the edge of his coffee cup and stare morosely out at the fountain in the circle. No. I probably should just go back and sit by his bedside, he thought. Forget anything else. Just let well enough alone. Why stir up a hornet’s nest? He turned his desk chair around and placed his coffee cup back on his desk. He picked up a large maroon and gold embossed photograph album that was lying on the left side of his desk. The album was thick and photographs were sticking out from the crinkled pages inside. Daniel placed the album in front of him and opened the cover. He slowly turned to the first page.

A buzz sounded from the intercom to his right.

“Yes, Bernice?”

“Mr. Bridgewater, Mr. Vickers is here to see you.”

“Fine. Send him in.” Drumming his fingers on the first page of the album, Daniel closed the cover and placed the large book to his left.

“Daniel,” said a gray-haired man entering, “Bernice told me about Charles.” He grabbed Daniel’s hand in half shake and half embrace. Daniel motioned for him to be seated in one of the two green leather chairs situated in front of his desk.

“I don’t understand it, Harold,” said Daniel to the man, “he seemed better to me this morning. Yet, Knowles said his heart is getting worse.”

“If I know your father, Daniel,” replied Vickers, “he’ll fight to the end. He’d never want anyone to think he was hurting.” Vickers leaned back in his chair and unbuttoned his suit coat. The lawyer looked at home and well he should as he had served the position of family and company attorney since Charles had founded the business.

“You think that’s it?”

“I think he’s a fighter. I think he’ll hold on as long as he can.”

“I wish I knew how long that was,” said Daniel, forming a tent of his fingers and leaning his chin on them.

“Just enjoy being with him—and let him enjoy you for as long as you’ve got,” said Vickers, gesturing and sighing audibly. Vickers’ grey hair was worn slicked back. He looked elegant, but his manner was down to earth.

“That’s not enough.”

“What more can you do?

“You know.”

“God, you aren’t contemplating that fool idea again, are you?” Vickers’ chiseled features reddened.

Daniel scowled at the man; he picked up the album and flipped through the first five or six pages, stopping at a page and focusing his attention on a small photograph on the left page.

“This is the last picture we have of him.”

“So?”

“So, I want to find him.”

“Why now?”

“Because…” Daniel stared at the small photograph, seemingly lost in thought.

“Because your father is dying?” Vickers asked. When Daniel failed to respond, Vickers stood and grabbed the album from his hands, closing it at the same time.

“We went through this years ago, Daniel. You wanted to find him and I explained to you that your father did not want him found. David doesn’t want to be found. You’re the only one who seems to care where he is. Why would you bring this up now?”

“Because Father has a right to see David before he dies.” Daniel rose and slammed his palms on his desk. Vickers strode around the office, speaking as if he were addressing a jury.

“Right? What right? He doesn’t care; he’s not interested. You’re the only one who’s ever been at all concerned about what happened to David. David has shown no interest in contacting you. Maybe he’s not even alive. Have you ever thought of that?”

“Yes, which makes it even more important that I find him. They call it closure, Harold. My father needs to know and he needs to know soon.” Daniel remained standing at the desk, staring at the attorney.

“I think you’re totally misreading what will and what will not make your father’s death easier for him.”

“I’m his son. I ought to know.” Vickers crossed to Daniel and put his hands of the young man’s shoulders. “Yes, but I’m his lawyer; I’ve known him longer than you have. Charles Bridgewater is not sentimental—with the exception, of course, for Elinore. That I never did figure out. As far as business goes, he’s as ruthless as they come. He will die peacefully because he knows he’s leaving the company in good hands—your hands. That’s all you need to worry about. Take care of the company and you’ll make your father’s last days happy. Don’t try to pull some crazy stunt that will just lead to heartbreak for him—and probably for you.” He walked back to the green leather chair in front of Daniel’s desk and sat.

“It’s not a crazy stunt. Listen, Harold. I’m determined to do this whether you like it or not,” said Daniel, walking around his desk and sitting on the edge, where he spoke to Vickers in close face-to-face contact. “Knowles says Father doesn’t have long. I’d leave now and go out on my own to track him down, but I really feel I need to stay here and be close to Dad. I know you know people who can help me with this—who can investigate this discreetly. I’d appreciate you putting me in contact with one of them. Will you? Or will I have to go track down some fly-by-night PI on my own from the Yellow Pages?” He leaned over Vickers and stared until Vickers literally blinked.

“Okay, okay, Daniel,” replied Vickers, breaking eye contact and forcing Daniel to stand and return to his desk chair. “If you are determined to pursue this little project, I’ll find you someone responsible and reliable.” He rubbed his palms together, shaking his head, “but I think this is extremely unwise. I want to go on the record.”

“Consider it recorded, Harold,” replied Daniel, sitting in his desk chair. “Just send me an investigator I can trust. Now, have you seen Father today?
“I have. I just came from the house.”

“And?”

“I agree with the doctor,” replied Vickers, crossing his legs and leaning back in the chair. “He seemed in the worst shape I’ve seen him in ages.” His voice softened and he was noticeably pained to say this last item.

“That bad?” Daniel slumped in his chair as he fixed his eyes on the man across from him.

“Yes. I think he’s presenting you his best face.”

“I don’t want that.”

“Consider it one of the obligations of parenthood.” Vickers set his jaw. Daniel was like a son.

Daniel bent over his desk, head in hands. “What can I do to get him to relax?”

“Daniel, I think if he relaxes, he’s gone. Let him have this—this desire to impress you. It’s keeping him alive. Oh, and a plan to get you married off to Margaret Millwood’s daughter.” He crossed his arms and gave Daniel a sideways smirk.

Daniel looked over his shoulder. “Oh, no, not that again.” Then, looking directly at Vickers and then sideways at the album, he said, “Forget that. Just get me that investigator and quick.”

Vickers started to say something, then nodded, and exited without a word. Daniel remained seated, head in hands. He reached into his suit jacket pocket and brought out his iPhone. Quickly he tapped in a number.

“Hi, Sweet, how are you?” He listened for the answer which caused him to smile warmly. “He seemed better to me, but the doctor said he’s worse. Knowles says he doesn’t have much time left…. I don’t know….Father? He was very talkative … giving orders…running my life—just like normal. He’s planning to marry me off to some society woman’s daughter he knows. No? I thought you’d laugh at that.”

While he listened in response to his call, Daniel leaned back in his chair and put his feet on his desk. He rocked the chair back and forth rhythmically as he responded with frequent “um’s” and “yes’s.” The intensity of the recent discussion with the lawyer had morphed into a gentle, chat.

“Vickers was just here. He thinks Father is doing worse. I’m afraid I believe him. I have to believe what the doctor says. Anyway, I’m having Vickers get me an investigator—to find David. I know. It’s probably a hopeless cause, but I need to find him before Father dies.”

Chapter 5

Present --Sunday afternoon, December 16

Silverton Hall was one of the tallest buildings on the Grace University campus, five stories. Rocky’s office was on the top floor. Just two buildings away from Pamela’s Blake Hall, home of the Psychology Department, Silverton housed the much larger English and Foreign Language Departments. As Pamela followed her husband in the side entrance, she found herself huffing to keep up with her mate.

“Slow down, Rocky,” she panted.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, not missing a beat as he peered over his shoulder at her. “I thought you’d been working out at your gym. Weren’t you bragging the other day about the number of reps you could do or something?” He rounded the corner and entered the stairwell. The old building echoed. It was obviously quite deserted on a Sunday afternoon.

“I am. I can,” she replied, following him as he easily took two steps at a time. “Jeez, Rocky! It’s not a contest.”

“Okay, okay,” he answered, sighing and slowing noticeably as he backtracked and took her elbow in mock concern. “Do you need help, Grandma?” Pamela snatched her arm from him, annoyed. It was evident how Rocky stayed in shape even while eating his own marvelous cooking. If she had to trudge up and down five flights of stairs every day, she’d be in great form too.

“Isn’t there an elevator in Silverton?” she asked, snarling and looking at him sideways.

“Sure,” he responded, “at the other end of the building. I never use it.”

“So I can tell.” She traipsed ever slower as they finally rounded the last landing before the final floor. She could see the hallway and the office doors ahead. She had been to Rocky’s office only a few times—as he had to hers. Their home was neutral ground, but she was well aware of much of what went on in the English Department as they enjoyed sharing tales of woe (and triumph) about their own academic areas.

The couple walked about halfway down the main hallway and then turned down a long barren side hallway with a sign indicating “Faculty Offices, 520-530.” Rocky’s office was directly across the hall from Trudi Muldoon’s. Trudi was an Associate Professor and technically outranked Rocky, but the two were about the same age and had similar outlooks on life, so they frequently found themselves standing outside their office doors chatting.

When Pamela and Rocky arrived at Trudi’s office, they could tell she was inside because her door was open and light spilled out into the hall. Rocky walked to the doorway and peeked inside. Pam remained behind him.