Bullet in the Night Page 6

“Sorry, not sure where that came from. I’ve been holding everything in for so long, it just sort of broke out, I guess.”

  “No problem. The tension of the last few days has to be incredible. Get some rest. I’ll be back.” I’d wanted to ask more questions, but he appeared wiped out.

  I stood and motioned the guard over. He appeared at Kirk’s side immediately to lead him back to his cell.

  If Kirk had been acting, he was Oscar material.

  CHAPTER TEN

  The rest of the day, my brain bounced like a ping-pong ball between serving clients and focusing on the shooting. If Kirk hadn’t shot Lenora, who had? The question reverberated over and over.

  My computer database skills were minimal but sufficient for me to perform a basic search on the web for T. Hartford. An hour later I had no success, although I was sure the information was there somewhere.

  Frustrated, I called Nick and asked him to arrange for his firm’s investigator to locate the phone listing. A couple of keystrokes on his part, and I’d have it. Time was critical. Until the person who attempted to kill Lenora was behind bars, my friend wasn’t safe.

  I prayed for her again, refusing to think Lenora might never get off the ventilator and be able to provide clues to her assailant.

  My cell phone vibrated within the hour. Nick.

  “Hon, just e-mailed you a list of T. Hartford phone numbers and addresses.”

  “Good man. Thanks. It would have taken me half a day to do a thorough search and probably still produce nothing. Use all competent help available is my philosophy.”

  “That’s why you married me. See you at home around six. You can give me my reward then.”

  “A go-between and you still expect a reward?”

  “Of course.”

  I smiled as I put down my phone.

  Before I examined the names, I called the hospital. The nasal-voiced ward clerk transferred me to the ICU waiting room. Luckily I caught Tucker.

  “How is she?”

  “Good news. Her blood gases are improving. They hope to begin to ease her off the ventilator.”

  “Great.”

  “They don’t guarantee it will work. I’m afraid to be optimistic.”

  “Nick and I will be praying fervently. May it happen.” I shut my eyes briefly. “Do you have another minute?”

  “Sure.”

  “I’m sorry to bother you, but I need to ask you about a name I saw in Lenora’s appointment book.”

  “Who?”

  “T. Hartford. Does that ring a bell?”

  A brief silence followed. “Yes, I recognize the name. Is he important?”

  “So it’s a man. I think Lenora was supposed to meet with T. Hartford the day before she was shot. What can you tell me about him?”

  “I’ve never met him, but I know of him. Just a minute, please.”

  Murmured conversation droned in the background.

  Tucker came back on. “The doctor just walked in to give me an update. What I have to tell you about Hartford is a long story. Can you meet me tomorrow for breakfast around seven at Barry’s in Lake Geneva? I’ll fill you in then.”

  He hung up before I could say fine. I assumed he knew I’d be there.

  * * *

  “You’re quiet tonight, honey. Tough day?” Nick talked to my back. We’d just finished dinner. He sat at the table checking evening TV listings in the paper while I cleaned up.

  “Just tired.” I wiped the counter, clearing away the last particles of food left behind from dinner preparations.

  “Let that go for a few minutes. Come sit with me.”

  “These microbes will hatch into something deadly if I miss them.”

  “Not a chance with you at the helm of this home. Want some help?”

  “No, you cooked.” I sighed. “Cleaning is a mundane job—life is filled with ordinary tasks, tedious and soothing at the same time. It’s weird how straightening up things at home relaxes me. I only wish I could straighten out people’s lives so easily.”

  “Like Kirk’s? Tell me about your visit.” Nick put down his newspaper.

  “Where are the kids?”

  “In their rooms doing homework, I think.”

  “Good. I can give you the details while the kids are out of earshot. They don’t need to hear. The laundry can wait. Let’s sit in the living room.”

  We settled side by side on the sofa. I slipped out of my faux suede slides and lifted my legs onto the coffee table. “Kirk seemed nice, after he loosened up. To start with, he acted like a zombie. I think because he was so scared. When he realized I sincerely wanted to help, he relaxed a bit and started talking.”

  “What’s his story?”

  “Says he never would have hurt Lenora. Her kindness made a huge impact on him. She’s like a holy angel in his mind. He assured me she was his prison savior.”

  “How?”

  “Softened him up, opened his eyes to opportunities around him. Got him to attend Prison Fellowship meetings that really benefitted him. Claims he made a decision to let Jesus transform him and he sees life differently now.” I heard Jenny whoop with glee in the background. She must have finished her schoolwork.

  “Good for him.”

  “I agree. If it’s for real and Kirk seriously made a commitment to Christ, he’s a brand new creation. Let’s hope he’s not using Christianity as a shield.”

  “Don’t you think he’s genuine?” Nick’s question plunged into the recesses of my mind.

  “I don’t know. He seems sincere, but how can I be sure without knowing him better?” I ran my fingers across my forehead. “He’s still a strong suspect. I read the notes Lenora had made for his job performance eval—pretty severe.”

  Nick’s eyes widened. “What were his issues?”

  “Not enough compassion. Lenora wanted him to convey more caring when he spoke to fellow ex-cons. Apparently he came across as rather judgmental and harsh.”

  “Makes sense his reformation would be a process.” TV noise exploded from the family room. “Turn it down,” Nick yelled before resuming, “and included would be forgiving himself for his former lifestyle.”

  “Well, if he didn’t shoot Lenora, there’s no shortage of potential suspects. Those regular editorials she wrote on prison conditions pushed buttons. Hopefully, Tucker can come up with actual hate letters she received if she kept them—which is doubtful.”

  “And if they’re as severe as he stated.” Nick leaned back, stretching his arms overhead. “People don’t usually shoot you because they disagree with you.”

  I blinked. “No? Watch yourself, Nicholas Trevor. I expect perfect agreement at all times about everything.” I playfully pounded his shoulder.

  He yelled, “Husband abuse!”

  I giggled. “Thanks. I haven’t laughed all day. It feels good.”

  Nick wrapped his arms around me and squeezed “I know another way to make you feel good.”

  “Show me.”

  And he did.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The next day I awoke at six and, while still reclining in bed, made a silent morning offering of thoughts, words, and deeds of the day to God. I prayed His protection on Nick and the children. My morning routine, down to a science, took twenty minutes including a quick shower, three minutes to apply makeup base and my favorite coral lipstick and blow dry my whip-it-and-go hair. I dressed in a beige linen suit with a white silk shell, dressier clothes than usual because I was scheduled to give a presentation to the Rotary Club on family mental health at noon.

  I caught my image in the full-length mirror on my closet door. Too drab. I hunted for my blue, green, and beige scarf and draped it across my shoulders then rummaged in my jewelry drawer for a gold circle pin to hold it in place.

  My movements were stealthy so as not to awaken the children. Today was one of my twice-a-week early-exit days while Nick reluctantly got the kids off to school. Playing Mr. Mom wasn’t his favorite role. I was out the door for my meeting with Tucker
before he and the children woke up.

  Lake Geneva, our upper crust resort town of seven thousand people, has a gorgeous spring-fed lake at its center. The population swells like a pregnant woman every nine months to ten thousand-plus. Fontana on Lake Geneva and Williams Bay are Geneva’s saucy little lakefront sisters, equally charming on a smaller scale.

  I drove past the lake’s vibrant waters that seemed to mysteriously slide into the sky at the horizon. Never did I tire of seeing this natural exquisite beauty. I often praised the Divine Artist who blends the colors of our world with such precision.

  I parked halfway between the rustic Frank Lloyd Wright prairie-style library and the public Riviera Ballroom still touted as the place where big bands appeared during the war. The building now housed shops on its lower level. Together these structures assured continuing public access to the lakefront for locals and visitors.

  My eyes roved the beach where resident ducks hunted for breakfast. There couldn’t be a better place in the world to live. I breathed in the delicious air as I strolled toward Barry’s café, following the smell of coffee.

  Inside the packed restaurant I spotted Tucker in a rear booth. The thick aroma of bacon and eggs brought back memories of my deceased aunt’s kitchen. She lived down the block as I was growing up and fed me every chance she got. How I loved her big breakfasts.

  Tucker sat immobile, staring at an unopened morning paper. His left hand absently rubbed his coffee cup like a genie’s lamp as I slid in across from him. The vinyl seat chilled my legs beneath my short skirt.

  When he looked up his mouth curved partially into a semblance of a smile. “Thanks for meeting me this early. I don’t want to miss seeing Lenora’s doctor when he makes morning rounds. I need to be there by eight thirty.”

  “No problem. How did Lenora’s day go yesterday?”

  “She’s still not out of the woods. We get more test results back today.”

  I searched his eyes, which remained expressionless. “It must be horrible seeing her so helpless—such a vivacious woman.”

  “Yes. Plus going home to an empty house without the energy her presence brings to it is like nothing I’ve ever experienced.” Tucker cracked his knuckles. “I’ve always been okay alone at our Illinois apartment during the week because I’m busy at my job, but I’m not accustomed to being in our Wisconsin house without Lenora.”

  A harried teenaged waitress scurried over, balancing carafes of decaf and regular coffee near each hip. “Coffee, ma’am?”

  “Decaf please.” I slid my cup and saucer closer.

  “Refill?” the waitress asked Tucker.

  He set his palm over his cup. “I’m good, thanks.”

  As a semi-health food devotee, I ordered oatmeal, a bran muffin, and juice, fighting my urge for bacon. I sipped my coffee.

  “Jennifer, it occurred to me yesterday that perhaps the bullet was meant for me.”

  I gulped, swallowed wrong, and coughed. “Does someone have a vendetta against you?”

  Tucker lifted his shoulders to his ears and dropped them. “Not that I’m aware of but I can’t understand why anyone would want to hurt Lenora.” He sounded bewildered and angry at the same time. Who wouldn’t be with a spouse on the precipice of life or death?

  “I agree it doesn’t make sense. Hopefully, she’ll be responsive soon and able to tell us why someone would want to shoot her.”

  “If only… I so long to hear her voice.”

  I rested my elbows on the table, cradling the steaming coffee cup under my chin with both hands. My questions about T. Hartford could wait a few minutes. Brimming with sympathy, I asked Tucker, “Would you like to reminisce about her? I’m a good listener. I know very little about your history together. You met at the university, right?”

  He nodded. “I was one of her students, although I’m five years older. When I came into her class, we connected instantly. Lenora had opened her home several evenings a week to students. I went every time and often stayed until the early hours of the morning. We had great discussions about similar interests. We both loved nature and the arts and dabbled in politics.” Tucker looked up with wide, smiling eyes. “Did you know my wife was a radical feminist before she became a Christian and tamed down?”

  “Radical? The label doesn’t fit the Lenora I know—levelheaded, strong-willed, conservative is more appropriate.” I added more sugar to my refilled coffee and stirred it.

  “Lenora’s early writings reflect her extreme positions. I respected her for her boldness.” Tucker’s conversation became more animated. “She weeded out students who didn’t agree with her philosophy. Every topic somehow became a feminist issue to her. She was one tough lady.”

  He paused as the waitress set my breakfast platter in front of me. The smell of American fries at a nearby table made me wish I’d ordered potatoes too.

  “Anything else I can get you?” the gal asked.

  “Not right now, thanks.” I resisted temptation and returned my attention to Tucker. “Did her strong feminist views make waves on campus?”

  “Some. Certainly the rigid standards for academic performance she imposed on her students did. You asked me about T. Hartford.” His chiseled mouth formed a rueful smile.

  “Yes, you said you recognized the name.”

  “He was one of two male students who never finished their master’s program on Lenora’s watch.” Tucker paused and rubbed one cheek. “Lenora was the person who recommended dropping them from the program. A couple of years later, she regretted the hoopla from that decision.”

  “Why were these two men excluded by her?” My words turned sharp, demanding. I wanted details. Motive was stamped all over his words.

  “As a matter of routine, private interviews were held with each student. Lenora’s standards were strict. She said she didn’t believe Hartford had the compassion and patience necessary to be an effective counselor and refused to advance him for a practicum or even for continuance in the program. Fact is, she didn’t like that he was an out-spoken macho male. Her decision bore weight. Unfortunately, there were hard feelings.”

  That sounded like the Lenora I knew—very principled, whatever her beliefs might have been at the time. My antenna perked up. “How do you know this?”

  “Lenora was quite vocal about it. She said he complained to the dean. After his expulsion, he made a formal appeal to be reinstated and wanted her removed.”

  “What happened?”

  “As a tenured professor, Lenora was safely entrenched. To question her rejection would have reflected poorly on the administration’s endorsement of her as an instructor, so the chairperson supported her.”

  I leaned forward. “And Hartford...how did he respond?”

  “Got rather squirrelly about it. Followed Lenora around and made threats. The police gave him a severe warning. That was the end of it, as far as I know.”

  “What about the other guy?”

  “He never made a fuss. Didn’t seem to care as much.”

  “How long ago was this?”

  “Seven years, maybe eight. Shortly after we married, she went into private practice, and we moved up here and never heard from either man again as far as I know.”

  I pulled out a tiny notebook and pen from my purse. “Do you recall his first name? T. Hartford is all I have.”

  Frowning, Tucker took his time before answering, “Terrence, Tyler, Thomas...Hartford…yes, I believe Thomas was his first name.”

  “Thanks. I’ll check this out. If he’s still vindictive, we have another person with a motive. Unresolved bitterness can grow stronger over the years. I’m assuming they had some kind of meeting since his name is recorded in her appointment book. Have you told the police about Thomas Hartford’s past stalking?”

  “I’d forgotten about him until you asked. No need to bring him up anyway.”

  “I’m surprised they didn’t check this out. They must have seen his name in her book just as I did.”

  “Why should th
ey probe further when they have Kirk right at the scene with a clear motive?”

  “I understand and certainly don’t want to dredge Hartford up unnecessarily, but I’m not convinced that Kirk is Lenora’s enemy. I’ll see if I can come up with something more specific linking her former student with Lake Geneva. No sense dragging up the poor man’s pain for nothing. While we’re on the subject, is there anything else in Lenora’s past that might be of concern?”

  I would have sworn a shade dropped over Tucker’s eyes before he answered. “Not that I’m aware of.”

  “Did you know Lenora’s first husband?” I asked nonchalantly, trying to stay cold and logical.

  “No. She was divorced before we met.” Tucker waved the waitress over. ”I’m ready for more coffee now, then the bill, please.” He waited while she filled his cup then he added, “I gather from what she said, he was the argumentative sort. Although knowing Lenora, I’m sure she could hold her own and then some. Her first husband’s alcoholism and infidelity were hard on her, but you probably know about that.”

  “Lenora and I lost touch for several years when I went into private practice. Soon after their divorce I understand her husband died in a drinking-related car accident. I never knew much about him, even though I’d asked her.”

  “How did she answer?” His big eyes scanned me like a laser.

  “I still remember her words, ‘Whatever’s true, noble and good, I choose to speak of. He was none of those.’” I leaned back and pressed my fingers into my neck while contemplating her words. “She’d become a Christian by then and didn’t want to rehash her past. I get that.”

  “Sounds like my wife. Lucky for me, she was willing to risk marriage again.”

  I looked up sharply. “Before you, she’d been quite against it. You must have been quite persuasive.”

  Red, the color of beets, flooded Tucker’s face visible around his beard. I worked at buttering my muffin to avoid staring. He’d always seemed too distant and crotchety for my taste. What had Lenora seen in him? The man’s usually granite features would have fit nicely on Mt. Rushmore. Maybe he was her rescue and fix-up project. I recalled her happiness during their private wedding ceremony. She hadn’t verbalized any problems since. To each his own? I squared my shoulders.