Bullet in the Night (8 page)

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 they 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.

Tucker sighed audibly. “We’ve had a great marriage. Moving to this area was her idea and a super one. Until now.” He diverted his gaze from me to the copper kettles strung along a black iron rack suspended from the ceiling, then reached for a paper napkin to blow his nose.

I pushed my empty plate aside, giving him a moment to deal with his emotion. “What about your background. Anything there you’d like to share?”

Tucker shot me a surprised look. “Not much to tell.” He refolded his newspaper. Perhaps he didn’t like the question. Finally he offered, “I’d been married once before, too.”

My eyebrows lifted. “I thought you were a bachelor when you and Lenora married.”

His eyes held a sheen. “My wife ran off three months after the wedding. Left a note saying she didn’t want to settle down after all. I guess being married to a stuffy research professor was too boring. Looking back, it was for the best. We had little in common. As an analytical researcher, I’m probably not the world’s best communicator.”

I gazed down and smoothed the vinyl cloth that had lifted at the table edge, holding back my agreement.

To my relief he didn’t seem to notice my lack of response. “With Lenora, that changed. We wanted the same things out of life.”

I imagined her excellent counseling skills drawing him out. “Was it okay with you that Lenora changed from being the strong-minded atheist feminist you first knew to a strong pro-life Catholic convert?”

He shrugged. “People change. I make jokes about her ‘do-goodism,’ but she knows I’m proud of her generosity to anybody in need. I’ll admit though, she’s more trusting than I am.”

No surprise there. Lenora deeply loved God’s people. “So you didn’t share her enthusiasm for her foundation?” I could see into the open kitchen from our table. My eyes fixated on the one-handed egg crack of the counter chef adroitly preparing scrambled eggs.

“I approach life on the practical level. Change, like what Lenora believed happened to Kirk, well, I’m skeptical. And now with good reason.”

Out of nowhere came a niggling wish. I longed to have Lenora’s personal assurance that things were okay in her marriage, but that wasn’t possible.

I checked the rooster clock on the wall. “I’ve got to run. Thanks for the info about Hartford. I’ll let you know what I find out.” I rose. “One more thing. Can I get a list of all the convicts Lenora has worked with this past year plus any who requested help that she had to turn down?”

“You’re wasting your time, but I’ll get the names. I’ll double-check the list, based on my recall, to be sure it’s accurate.”

My head jerked up surprised. How would he know and why wouldn’t it be correct?

“I don’t want to email or fax such sensitive data. Stop by later.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

I whipped together a spaghetti dinner for my family of five with the help of my personal chef, Ragu. Afterwards, with the children absorbed in homework, I tracked down Nick in front of the TV. “I need to run over to Tucker’s place.”

“What for?”

“To pick up Lenora’s counseling notes on the gals I’ll be seeing now that I have their permission.”

“You want me to go with you again?”

“Thanks. I’ll be okay.”

Tara pranced into the family room exuding teenage oblivion to anyone but herself. Her sun-streaked brown hair held enough mousse to stick straight out an inch from her scalp.

Without pausing to check if we were in the midst of a conversation, she announced, “I need a ride to Ellie’s. We’re working on school stuff. Her mom will drive me home if one of you takes me over.”

Nick pointed at me.

Tara shifted full focus in my direction. “Please, Mom.”

Our girl could be sweet as honey when she wanted something. I doubted the schoolwork needed immediate attention, but Tara liked flitting about. I’d get an onslaught of reasons to oblige her in Nick’s inherited persuasive style if I said no.