"Yes, you've told me twice," Nick said mildly. "And I'm aware of Dee Fisher's possible involvement in all this. But I'm not here to talk to you about my suspects. I'm only warning you and Mr. Peyton that Alison and Lily might be in danger."
"And what about Natalie?" Viveca demanded.
"Natalie, too. She knows that. So will her father. Right now I'm trying to talk to you about your daughter."
Viveca looked at Alison, who still hovered in the doorway, thrumming with tension. "Dear, go into the other room."
"I won't." Alison's eyes narrowed. "You're all covering up about Eugene!"
"What about Eugene?" Nick asked.
"Nothing!" Viveca nearly shouted. "She knows nothing! Leave her alone!"
"I know everything'." Alison shrilled. "You all killed him and you'll all pay!"
Her body tensed. Viveca jumped up and rushed to her as she began to shake and her accusations dissolved into babbling. Her arms flailed. Viveca tried unsuccessfully to control her daughter. She looked helplessly at Oliver, who sat like a rock. Nick flew into action, wrapping his strong arms around the girl. Even then she continued to writhe with amazing strength.
"I'm calling the emergency squad," Lily said.
"I don't want her to go to the hospital!" Viveca wailed. "Everyone in town will know. The talk-"
"Oh, for God's sake, Viveca!" Lily erupted and dashed to the phone.
"No!" Alison screamed. "Not the hospital! I'll kill myself!"
She picked up a glass vase, broke it, and tried to drag it across her wrist. Nick wrested the jagged glass from her hand while Alison continued to howl.
"She means it," Viveca cried. "She will do something to herself. I have to get her home."
"She needs a doctor," Nick insisted.
"Not the hospital-"
"Viveca, will you let my dad see her?" Natalie interrupted.
"Andrew?" Viveca frowned, then looked at Alison. "Darling, may Dr. St. John visit you? You like him."
Alison slowly stopped shrieking. "Johnny? He was nice to me."
"Yes, darling, Johnny was nice to you." Johnny? Natalie thought in amazement. "If we go home, will you let him give you something to make you feel better? Please?" Viveca begged.
Alison's breath labored in her narrow chest. "Yes. Okay. But only Johnny. Do you hear me? Only Dr. Johnny. And not here. I want away from here. I want to go home.'
Natalie took the phone from Lily. No one answered at her house and she panicked. Then she thought of Ruth. Directory assistance gave her the number, and Ruth put him on the line. With as little explanation as possible Natalie told him Alison needed him and would be at Viveca's. "I'll go there immediately," he said and hung up.
Alison looked venomously at Nick. "I can't bear for strange men to touch me. Let go!"
He released her and she sagged. Lily came forward to help. Remarkably, Alison draped an arm over her shoulder as her eyes began to glaze. Mentally, she was no longer with them.
Three minutes later Nick and Natalie stood alone in the room. Lily had helped Viveca get control of Alison, who had begun to scream methodically and tonelessly. They led her out to Viveca's car. Oliver had tottered out behind them looking like a man in shock. Natalie felt chilled to the bone by the awful scene. She stared at Nick. "What in the name of God was all that about?"
"I don't know," Nick said slowly, "but I'm afraid if Alison Cosgrove isn't our killer, she just signed her own death warrant."
14
Nick pressed the doorbell for the second time. A lamp burned in the living room and another in an upstairs room. He heard faint sounds of a television rattling on. He looked at his watch. 9:05. Too early for most people to be in bed. He raised his hand to ring the bell again when the door flew open. A hawk-faced woman with white hair in pin curls glared at him. "Yeah? What is it?"
"Mrs. Fisher?"
"What if I am?"
"I'm Nick Meredith, the sheriff, and-"
"I knew it! What's she done now!" the woman demanded fiercely. "As if I don't have enough to worry about!"
"Ma'am, I wonder if I might come in and speak with you."
"You can talk from out there on the porch."
Mosquitoes and moths floated and fluttered around the porch light next to Nick's head. Besides, the woman looked ill and not too steady on her feet. He thought she needed to sit down. "Please, ma'am, I think we'd both be more comfortable inside-"
She began to cough violently. He reached forward, not knowing what to do besides pat her on the back, but she smacked his hand. "Night air," she choked out.
"Do you need a doctor?"
"I'm sick of doctors. I.D."
"What?"
"Show me some I.D. and you can come in."
Nick flashed his badge and photo identification. She nod ded and allowed him inside. She clutched a worn flannel robe around her scrawny body with one hand and coughed into the other. Nick stood watching, feeling alarmed and utterly useless. "Mrs. Fisher-"
She glowered him into silence. He watched uncertainly as she hacked for another minute, then trailed off into a series of gulps and snorts. Finally she slammed the front door behind him and motioned him into the living room. "You can sit down but I'm not turnin' off the TV," she announced in a grating, truculent voice. "This is my favorite show. It's a rerun of The Mary Tyler Moore Show. This channel shows all reruns. I don't like modern shows. They don't make any damned sense. What about you?"
"What do I like to watch?"
"Wo! What about you being' here? It's about Dee, right?"
"Yes, Mrs. Fisher."
The woman had sat down on the ratty armchair directly in front of the television. Nick started to sit on the plastic covered couch when she yelped, "Stop!" He halted halfway down. "While you're up, get me a beer. I drink right out of the can. No use dirtyin' glasses if you don't have to. Get yourself one, too. I don't care if you're on duty. I won't tell no one."
"I'm not on duty and I'd like a beer."
"Yeah, whatever," Mrs. Fisher said absently, transfixed by the character of Mary Richards wailing "Mr. Grant.' Nick went in the kitchen with its worn linoleum and myriad of handicrafts hanging on every available wall space. The entire lower shelf of the refrigerator held a cheap brand of canned beer. Nick removed two cans and carried them back to the living room. Mrs. Fisher took hers without looking at him. "Thanks. Nothing like a cold beer before bed, I always say."
"Yes, I enjoy an occasional beer in the evening myself." Nick wasn't sure why he sounded so prissy, but Mrs. Fisher cast him a suspicious look from behind her bifocals. To make up for it he took a hearty swallow and let out a loud, appreciative sigh. "Damned good!" Well, that was even worse. Mrs. Fisher cast him another dubious look. So far he wasn't off to a good start with her. It would be better to forge ahead bluntly rather than keep trying to play up to her. At this rate she'd throw him out.
"Mrs. Fisher, your daughter Dee lives here, doesn't she?"
"You know that or you wouldn't be here. What's she done?"
"Nothing." Mrs. Fisher emitted something between a burp and a disbelieving grunt. "I'm telling you the truth, ma'am."
"If she hasn't done nothin' then why're you here interruptin' my show?"
"I'm sorry about my timing. Dee isn't here now, is she?"
"What makes you think so?"
"Because I know you're not well but you came to the door."
Mrs. Fisher's thin mouth twisted. "Not well. That's a good one. Lung cancer. I'm dyin'. I got four months, tops."
"I'm sorry."
"My doctor bitches at me 'cause I smoked all those years. Well, I'll tell you same as I tell him. Them cigarettes was about the only joy in my life. Them and my beer."
"Not your family?"
"I had two husbands run out on me. Left me all alone with three kids, Dee being' the youngest by the last no-good. I tried with them three, but not a damned one turned out worth a grain of salt."