Healing Grace (36 page)

“He has—had the company’s best interest at heart.”

“How long have you put up with him, anyway?” Judy asked.

“He wasn’t always like this.” Pancho’s cat door flapped in the mud room that led outside. Funny, Pancho seemed to take offense lately any time Harding’s name was mentioned. “For the past six months, he’s acted like a different person. Crawford made him get a physical and everything, but Harding swears—swore he was stressed, nothing else.”

“The company’s doing well, though, isn’t it? They aren’t going to announce lay-offs, are they? Why would your boss put off the debut of a new product?”

“InventivAg is holding steady. I suppose they worry the product might tank.”

“Your battery could never tank!”

Hart took a deep breath and went to hug his wife. She needed to watch the clock if she planned to get to work on time. So did he. “We’ll be okay, don’t worry.”

Judy leaned against him, the bulk of their baby resting between them. “Sorry. I’m just too charged by everything: the end of the school year, this program we’re doing next week, your job, the baby—”

“Shh.” Hart wrapped his arms around her and wished they could stay home. “I can’t delay time, but I can tell you to stop worrying. My job is safe. Bryce and I can go out on our own, even if InventivAg stops contracting with us. I will always take care of you.” He pulled back to soothe her stomach. “And this little girl.”

Judy responded to his continued teasing, which started the day they found out for sure they were expecting. “Boy.”

“You, however,”—he tapped her nose and held her firmly away—“should have taken some maternity leave. And we’ll see soon enough whether we have a Horace or a Hortense.”

“No way! Hildegard or nothing. And we’re fine. One more week of classes to go.” She put a hand on her back. “Could you hand me my bag?”

“Now Little Harriet’s keeping you from bending over?”

“Little, nothing! And, um… Henry’s keeping me from reaching the floor. So, your mom’s still planning to come next week, right?”

“Yeah. She’s excited by the program you were gabbing about.”

“Which reminds me! Imagine—Harriet Tubman come to life. There’s the only Harriet for you. The kids will have a good time and not even realize they’re learning something. This program will be a good finish to the year. You know we’ve been talking about U.S. history, expanding on the fourth grade Wisconsin curriculum.”

“Mmhmm.”

“The program brochure says she plays the character like she’s in her own time, so the kids have to interact with her and explain things in a way she would understand. You’re coming, right?”

“I plan to.”

“There! I think I’ve got—oh, wait, I need some more of those pencils, you know, the ones I give—”

“Yeah, right here.” Hart handed over the new package he had picked up for her the other day. He liked the way she looked in her flowered jumper, her soft brown hair flowing around her shoulders and her luminous gray eyes shining.

She accepted them while staring at him, a line between her brows. “Hart, what’s going to happen today?”

He kept his tone light. “Bryce, Tim, and I will meet with the sheriff’s people. Maybe with some of the home office staff who are coming up.” He grimaced, despite his attempt to tamp his emotions. “Damage control.”

“Oh, Hart, what can we do?”

“We can’t do anything yet. Hang in there until we hear the official report. You better get going. Try not to worry too much, and have a good day.”

“Thanks!” Judy stuck the pencils in her bag and kissed him.

He walked her out of the door to the garage. “See you this afternoon,” he said and bussed her freckled nose, hand lingering on their child. He watched until she waved and backed her green compact out for the drive into Robertsville.

What on earth would happen, he wondered, if he and Bryce had wasted the past three years on a project the company might scrap? His battery wasn’t the only thing InventivAg had on the drawing board, but considerable time and expense had gone into the design. He did not know how much longer his partner and mentor, Bryce, would go on working. Ardyth nagged her husband of four years to get good and retired already so they could travel before they got too old. May he and Judy feel the same way when they got within sniffing distance of eighty.

After cleaning up the kitchen he packed his case and drove the quarter-mile to the office. Bryce had already arrived. But whose car was parked behind his?

“Good morning again, father-to-be,” his white-haired colleague greeted him.

“And to you, sir,” Hart replied. “Who’s here?”

Bryce wrinkled his nose. “Crawford, with Maura Fergusson.

“Wow, boss got the company spokesperson up here quick, didn’t he? How bad does it look?”

“So-so. We’ll find out. How’s Judy holding up?”

“She’s worried. We all are. But she’s doing pretty well considering all the commotion. I can’t imagine having my insides kicked around by a baby. I’m glad Mom’s coming down tomorrow.”

“There’s a reason the good Lord did not bless men with that particular gift.”

“Do we need to talk to the boss and Maura ahead of time?”

“No.” Bryce stared at a fax.

Hart read over his partner’s shoulder. “What’s that?”

“Fax. I wonder why this was delayed two days. Look, Jacobs from assembly has this question.”

“Assembly?” Hart studied the pages. “So Crawford already talked about setting up production? And this is the final design. See? I told him about the new steel.” He looked at his partner. “Why did Crawford waste so much time on Harding’s complaints if he thought we were ready?”

Bryce put a hand to his chin while he stared at the fax machine. “I don’t know. We’ll have to ask him. But I assume everything’s going to be on hold during the investigation.”

“I wonder what Harding was up to, coming back here.”

“Hopefully we’ll be able to figure that out. Hart, I’m not going to bring this up, but in case anyone says anything, Ardyth drove back out this way last night.”

Hart’s mouth went dry. “Why?”

“She says she forgot her pan and wanted to make another pie. When she saw your lights were out, she thought she’d see if we still had one here in this kitchen.”

“Well. That sounds like Ardyth. I don’t think we need say anything, either. Are we still expecting the sheriff to come at nine?”

“I assume so. There was no message indicating otherwise, after we talked last night. Er, this morning. Ardyth insisted on coming to make coffee.”

Hart snorted. “That will put Judy’s nose out of joint, having to miss the interrogation.”

“It won’t be all that bad, now.”

“I meant, Ardyth interrogating the sheriff.”

Hart’s partner smiled. “What’s this I hear about Ellen coming?”

“Yes, she’s coming down tomorrow for a couple of days to help plan the baby’s room. And you know how she likes history, so she wanted to see Judy’s program at school.”

“How’s she doing, living with your brother in the big house, since your dad passed? It’s been what, two years?”

“That’s right. Mom’s getting along pretty well. Jim and Margie take good care of her. Or is it the other way around?”

Bryce laughed. “Well, I’m sure she and Ardyth will kick up some adventure. Best thing ever, those girls getting on like they do.”

“Made our wedding nearly as fun as yours.”

“We’d better get ready for the meeting,” Bryce said.

* * * *

Hart watched Ardyth bustle about the office kitchen, gathering napkins and mugs to set on a tray. She poured carafes of coffee and arranged a plateful of vanilla nut cookies that smelled like she had baked that morning. Knowing her, she probably had. Her only plaid today was her royal blue and red tennies, on which she trotted back and forth between the kitchen and the conference room. “When my grandson Bryan comes to visit after school is out,” Ardyth said, “Bryce and I plan to take him to visit the Dells and the capitol. He’s even got a friend.”

“That sounds nice, Ardyth,” Hart said. He saw her sneak a glance out the dining room window that faced the smoking ruins of the barn. Though she had never lived here, she and Bryce and Judy’s uncle had spent a lot of time together chumming around both places as kids. It must hurt to see the end of a great piece of family history.

“What’s that?” Ardyth blinked. “Sorry. I was just…thinking.”

Hart patted her shoulder. “That’s all right. This is all a shock.”

“And how.”

At five minutes to nine, Hart’s boss and the company spokesperson sauntered into the house. Hart had his mouth open, ready to ask about the assembly situation when the doorbell rang.

Bryce ushered in two sheriff’s deputies. Their uniforms were crisp, their black shoes shiny. The perpetually smiling one’s nametag read “Phil Hansen.” Phil’s partner stepped around him, after peering in the direction of the office equipment on the way into the room and giving the windows a once-over. He held out a hand to everyone, giving a precise jerk once up and once down. “Hilton Rogers.”

Hart remembered him from the investigation of Judy’s aunt’s death. He greeted them and showed them into the conference room they had made out of the house’s former dining room.

Deputy Hansen took charge of the meeting. Ardyth hovered in the background like a plaid parakeet, waiting for her babies to crack through the shell.

“Thank you for coming this morning. The first thing we’d like to do is talk about the events leading up to the fire,” Hansen said.

“We were together all day,” Crawford said. “After the morning’s work and demonstration, the team members returned to the motel until we went, all together, to the Wingate home for dinner. Afterward, we settled into our rooms.”

“But then that wicked man went back to Hart and Judy’s house,” Ardyth said.

Hansen’s head snapped up. “What was that?”

Hart winced. “What Ardyth meant, sir, was that Harding drove back to our house later in the evening.”

“Oh? Can you elaborate?”

“He said he was sorry for his behavior,” Hart said.

“And what was that?” Hansen asked.

Ardyth plunked the coffee carafe down. “He was an absolute boor—just a—”

“Ardyth,” Bryce said. “What my wife means is that Harding expressed some opinions about the nature of the work we were doing for the company.”

“Negative opinions?” Rogers asked, pen poised over his notebook.

“I can assure you,” Maura Fergusson said, “that InventivAg employs only the absolute top-notch engineering minds of the country, officers. All our products enjoy international renown. We’re known world-wide for our quality-assured equipment.”

“Harding was the leader of this fine team project,” Crawford said. “Well respected in his field. Everyone is—was—responsible to ensure a successful product.”

Rogers and Hansen each jotted a note. “What time did Mr. Harding return to your house, Mr. Wingate?”

Hart squinted. “Oh, everyone left about when, Ardyth? Eight? So, it was after that.”

“Do any of you have an opinion as to why he returned to the workshop?” Hansen asked.

“No, we don’t, officers,” Crawford said.

“What else can you tell us about the movements of the team members before the fire?”

“As far as I know, we stayed at the motel. If John went out, he must have returned quietly. He insisted on a room to himself, though the rest of us shared.” Crawford said. “The rooms are adjoining. Not very sound-proof.” He frowned. “I put in ear plugs.”

“So you don’t know when Harding left the motel? No? We’ll proceed to what we’ve been able to ascertain about the fire, then,” Hansen said.

“More important,” Fergusson said, “is that we keep this information contained. Officer, you must assure us we have full control over what gets to the press. The damages to InventivAg”—she swept her hand toward Hart— “to our people’s reputations, are of vital concern. We cannot allow company secrets, or detrimental reports of any kind, to be released to the media and perhaps fall into the hands of our competitors.”

Hart folded his arms. What was she trying to say?

Hansen dipped his head to her. “The fact there was a fire is already out,” he said. “The public information act ties our hands somewhat.” He cleared his throat. “Moving on, then. Mr. Wingate, I understand you had combustible material in the barn workshop?”

“Nothing that I didn’t contain properly,” Hart said. “And I never left the models out there overnight. The battery and panels are downstairs in this house right now.”

“But you had some material from your work—yours and Mr. Edwards’—out there?”

“Individual components only. Stored correctly and properly marked.”

Ardyth took the carafe of coffee around the table. When she got to Hansen, she asked, “Deputy, do you believe our fire has anything to do with the vandalism going on in Robertsville?”

Hart frowned. They had discussed the newspaper reports before dinner, but Hart had forgotten all those problems when bigger ones loomed. Trust Ardyth to reach for connections.

Deputy Rogers flipped a few pages back in his notebook. He scrunched his nose and squinted. “We have no evidence connecting the previously reported events with this one. Chief Hutchinson doesn’t support correlation. Quite often this time of year, graduating kids get nervous or cocky, and the chief can pick up suspects for the incidents he’s investigating. The chief said usually there’s a rash of this kind of thing, but there are no similar reports from anywhere nearby. We’ll certainly keep an eye open.”

“The fire simply doesn’t feel like an accident,” Bryce said. “And nothing was ever stolen, those times you found the doors unlocked.”

“Yeah, what about that?” Ardyth asked. “You ever find the culprit?”

“Ardyth, we’re not here to talk about our doors,” Bryce reproved his wife. Ardyth responded with her usual sniff.

“Going on, then. Unfortunately,” Hanson said, “fire trucks and all the activity in and out of the driveway erased any sign of tire tracks, but our people have photographed the site.”

Rogers went back to his notes. “Found in the debris was the presumed point of origin: shattered glass from what appears to be a lantern.” He looked up at Bryce. “Any idea how that got there?”