Entitled to Kill

by ACF Bookens

  Mom tilted her head. “Maybe. You’d hope she’d have some loyalty to her father, or at least think about the potential escape that her husband’s arrest could mean for her and her girls.”

  I thought about that as we walked down the lane. “But what if he made her play the witness? What if she didn’t have a choice?”

  Dad rolled his eyes, but he didn’t say anything.

  Mom said, “Could be. Worth checking out, don’t you think?”

  I sighed. It was worth checking out, but the more we talked about this and the further we walked down the driveway of the Harris Ranch, the more guilty I felt. I was clearly breaking my promise to the sheriff, and yet, here I was having this conversation with my parents – the first, non-bickering conversation we’d had in a long time. I sighed and tried to think of other things besides my own guilt.

  As we approached Harris’s house, I wondered about whether they’d lived here when Miranda was a little girl. I could picture her running around the place, chasing chickens and climbing trees. It seemed like a nice place to grow up, especially if those oil pumpjacks weren’t running all the time when she was a kid. With each rotation, they made a series of mechanical clicks and then a whooshing whistle when the derrick rose up again. It wasn’t really a bad sound, but I thought it might wear on you after being around it constantly.

  “This is some place,” Dad said. “What exactly are we looking for?”

  I looked around. “I don’t really know. I just thought maybe something would become clearer if I came back in. Maybe I missed something the first time I was out here.”

  “On Monday, you mean,” Mom said.

  I looked over at her, expecting some snide look, but she was studying the house. “Someone is living there.”

  “Oh, I don’t think so, Mom. Harris was a widower. Miranda’s mom died when she was about twelve, Cate said. She didn’t have any brothers and sisters, and her dad never remarried. So I expect the house is empty.”

  “No, definitely not empty. Look at the porch. Someone’s been watering the geraniums in the window boxes. See the water on the deck boards?”

  Sure enough. There were little puddles under the planter boxes. “Well, Homer may just be watering the flowers, keeping the place nice.”

  “Homer?” Dad asked.

  “The caretaker. He’s running the operation until Miranda gets her feet back under her.” I told them about running into him the day before at the taco truck.

  “That’s nice of him. A place like this can’t be left untended, that’s for sure.” Dad whistled as he counted at least seven oil derricks in our view from the front of the house. “Too much temptation.”

  I nodded and wondered, randomly, how much a barrel of oil weighed.

  “I suppose he could just be caring for the flowers, but something about the way that house sits, it feels lived in.” Mom was staring at the front windows

  I followed her gaze. “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know exactly. The house just feels alive, I guess, like someone is opening and closing that screen door regularly.” She laughed. “Maybe I’m psychic.”

  I rolled my eyes this time just as my phone buzzed in my back pocket.

  “All set,” Stephen’s text said.

  “Be back in ten,” I typed before I turned to Mom and Dad. “Ready to head back?”

  “They’re done?” Mom asked.

  I nodded, and we started back up the driveway. As we walked, I looked out over the land around us. Most of it was just pasture with cattle grazing away, but just up by the road, I saw a golden brown field. I immediately thought of “America The Beautiful” and its “amber waves of grain.”

  “Winter wheat,” Dad said. “I’ve always loved it because it’s this vibrant green all winter and only turns brown like this when everything else is greening up again. Looks about ready to harvest.”

  I smiled. My dad with all his business background sometimes really surprised me. “It’s beautiful.”

  “Yeah, if you like dead things,” Mom said snidely. There was the Mom I knew and loved. I bumped her with my hip, and she giggled.

  Dad squeezed my shoulder again and then gave me a gentle shove through the bushes at the end of the road. As we turned onto 33, I heard a car start up behind us and I wondered if Homer had been there. I would have liked to have said hi, be neighborly. After all, he’d just lost a friend, too. At least I expected Harris had been at least a friend of sorts.

  * * *

  Mom and Dad spent the afternoon in the bookstore reading. Every once in a while, one or the other of them would get up and ask if they could help with anything. But I knew they loved to read – I’d gotten that right down the family tree – so I let them enjoy their books with Mayhem at their feet.

  Around six, Daniel stopped by, and Mom asked if the four of us could go to dinner together, their treat. I was not one to pass up a free meal, especially the kind of meal my parents liked, and when Daniel agreed, I led him to a corner and asked him to go pick up a dress from my closet. I needed something other than my jeans and sweater, and I hoped he’d also realize that coveralls might not work for him either.

  Sure enough, when he came back with my dress – and a thin chain from my jewelry box to go with it – he was in khakis and a button-down shirt. This man was amazing. I gave him a quick kiss as I scooted to the back room to change.

  I was just about to lock up when Max Davies came in. Daniel was in the café helping Rocky clean-up, and Mom and Dad weren’t back from the house yet after they ran home to change and drop off Mayhem and Taco for a canine hangout on the couch. I felt a little exposed in my black sheath dress and heels, and I hoped Daniel would come back quickly. Max didn’t scare me or anything, but I didn’t love the way he looked at me either – his eyes were just so hopeful.

  “Hi Max. We’re just closing up. What can I do for you?” I tried to make my voice sound casual while also looking desperately at the café as if I could send Daniel a telepathic message.

  “You look lovely,” Max said as he bent to take my hand and kiss it. “I’m glad I caught you.” He smiled, a sweet by slightly sad smile. “I know I may be very forward in asking this, but I wondered if perhaps some evening I could cook you a special meal for two in the restaurant.”

  I studied him for a second and said, “Oh, that’s very kind, Max. That would be lovely. Thank you.” It was only when an arc of sheer delight passed across his face that I realized my mistake. “You mean, a meal for Daniel and me, right?” I stammered.

  His delight only faded slightly. “Why would I do that? No, for you and I.” His voice was assured, profoundly so.

  I tried to keep my face composed, but I could feel my eyes widening. I took a deep breath through my nose and said, “Well, that’s very kind, Max. Really. But you know I am dating Daniel, right?”

  He nodded, unfazed. “I do, but I figured now was my chance. I think we could be a lovely duet, Harvey. I’d love the opportunity to impress you, perhaps steal you away from that mechanic.” He said the word mechanic like it was a euphemism for poop.

  I wasn’t tempted by his offer in the least, but I had considered the kindness of it until his mechanic line. Then, I was done. I could not stand snobbery of any sort, especially not about profession.

  I unclenched my jaw and said, “Thank you, Max, but Daniel and I are very happy. I hope you have a good night.”

  A hand slipped around my waist lightly, and I looked over my right shoulder to see Daniel smiling. “Nice to see you, Max. Have a good night.”

  Max’s face flushed a hue of red akin to a beet, but from embarrassment or anger I couldn’t tell. His emotions were made very clear, however, when he smacked the bell above the door and sent it rattling on his way out.

  “He took that well, I think,” Daniel said with a half-smile. “Thank you. We are very happy.” He gave me a soft kiss.

  When I pulled back, I looked up at him, “How long were you there?”

  “Oh, I sa
w him come in. He’s been asking all around town about our ‘status,’ so I figured he was up to something. I knew you’d handle it though.” He pulled me close.

  “I was sending you the telepathic bat signal of help,” I said as I looked up at him.

  “I’ll always be here, Harvey, but rarely will you actually need me. You’ve got this, all of it, well in hand.”

  I snuggled my head into his chest and sighed.

  10

  Dinner at the steakhouse in Salisbury with Daniel, Mom, and Dad was surprisingly delightful. It felt like we’d turned a corner, like maybe my parents would be a part of my life in a more significant way.

  When we got back to our house, Mom said, “It’s such a pretty night. Anyone up for a stroll?” Mayhem and Taco almost took her off her feet in their enthusiasm while we humans slipped on jackets and moved more calmly toward the door. As we walked, we talked about dogs since Mayhem and Taco were particularly insistent on sniffing and tripping us all up by wrapping us in their leashes again and again.

  It turned out my parents were looking for a dog. “One that is small and that we can train to travel,” Dad said. “And that likes to lie around with other dogs.”

  At first, I tried to talk them into a cat, pointing out that Aslan was a prime example of the self-sufficiency and lack of neediness that felines provided. I refrained from saying that my parents were really probably not up for a dog. But when Mom began a tirade about cat hair and litter boxes, I gave up that tack on the topic and grinned. “I could see you all with a French Bulldog.”

  Mom laughed. “They look like giant bats, very cute giant bats. But we were thinking a dog from a local shelter. Maybe one who is a bit older. Is your local shelter open tomorrow?”

  I looked at Daniel, and the surprise must have shown on my face because he smiled and said, “I think so. But if not, I know the animal control officer. I can get you in.”

  “Great. Then in the morning, we’re going dog shopping.” She furrowed her brow. “Maybe it’s not appropriate to say you’re shopping for a living thing.” She glanced at Dad and gave a firm, single nod of her head. “We’re going to get our new family member.”

  I am pretty sure I walked the rest of the way home with my mouth open. Who was this wonderful woman, and what had she done with my mother?

  * * *

  I woke up thinking about my parents as dog owners and settled down my hope, knowing that maybe it had been the wine talking. But when I got up, Mom had made steel cut oatmeal with strawberries, and she and Dad were ready to head out the door to the shelter so that they’d be there at ten, when they opened. I didn’t think the animal shelter was quite like a wedding dress sale at an exclusive boutique in New York City, but I didn’t want to damper their enthusiasm with tiny bits of reality.

  “So you’re serious?” I asked between bites of the gooey, delicious oatmeal.

  “Yep. It’s time we slowed down. Time we took stock of what matters.” She put her hand over mine and softened her voice the way she used to when she was about to tell me she and dad were going out of town and leaving me with my very kind, but very old, Aunt Louise. “Your dad and I want to run something by you.”

  I pulled my hand back. Now, they weren’t talking about Aunt Louise anymore, God rest her soul, but this was usually the place in the visit where the conversation about my chosen career came up, and I really didn’t want to go there. “Maybe we can just focus on the dog this morning,” I said a little more sharply than I intended.

  Mom shot Dad a look, and he gave her a quick nod. Something was going on, but I could wait to find out what. It wasn’t likely to be good news.

  When my parents left to pick out their new pet, Stephen and Walter were still sleeping. They’d gotten in late after a night of celebration in Annapolis. Their offer had been accepted on the house. I was so excited that we were going to be neighbors that I left them a bottle of champagne right next to a fresh jar of orange juice that I squeezed myself.

  Then, I finished getting ready and enjoyed the solitary walk into work with Mayhem. She was always a bit more subdued when it was just her and me, so we meandered our way through the streets of town and arrived at the shop just in time to see a silver pick-up pull away.

  I ran the last block, hoping against hope that my shop windows weren’t broken and that I didn’t see fire blazing behind the glass. But everything looked fine. Still, to be cautious, I texted the sheriff to let him know I’d seen the truck again, and he said he’d be over shortly.

  I let Daniel know, too, and asked Stephen and Walter to come in when they could. As I was finishing up my texts on the sidewalk, Rocky walked up, a plate of cinnamon rolls in her hand, and I let her know what had just happened.

  “You haven’t gone in yet, right?”

  “Nope. I didn’t want to go in alone, just in case.” I shrugged. “Feels a little silly.”

  “Not silly at all.” She took a hard breath. “Okay, let’s go.”

  I opened the door slowly, thinking of all those movies where bombs were triggered by trip wires and only took a breath again when the door was fully open and all three of us were inside without incident.

  That’s when I saw the note on the floor, written in magazine letters like some ransom letter. “Stay away from Miranda Harris if you know what’s good for you.”

  Then, I was very glad I’d asked the sheriff to come. A threatening note was not something I took lightly.

  “What in the world?” Rocky said. “First they threaten you in their car and now they leave a note. Don’t threats usually escalate.” She gave me a small smile. “I mean at this point, a note is a little anticlimactic, don’t you think?”

  “Good point. When I find out who is threatening me, I’ll remind him that he should be building the tension with his threats.” I gave her my most convincing “I’m not terrified” smile and told her I was fine waiting for the sheriff while she got the coffee going. “I’m going to need a very large latte though.”

  “On it,” she said as she and the cinnamon rolls head to the café.

  While I waited for Sheriff Mason, I studied the note as it lay on the register counter. I couldn’t tell anything about what kind of magazines the letters came from. They looked pretty generic to me. But I did notice that the author called her Miranda Harris, not Miranda Harris-Lewis. I wasn’t sure that meant anything, but it was notable.

  The sheriff arrived quickly, and I handed him the note that I’d picked up with a tissue. I always felt silly worrying about fingerprints and stuff, but too much TV had made me over-cautious.

  He slipped the note into a baggy with a red top – just like on the shows, I noted – and I asked if he could speak to Rocky first since she looked to have her opening process well in hand and I hadn’t even started mine. “Totally fine, Harvey.”

  I checked the floor and set up the register, turned on the neon sign, and just before ten the sheriff took my statement and then went to browse for a few minutes while I opened. We always had a few die-hards waiting to get in on Sunday – mostly for Phoebe Chevalier’s cinnamon rolls – and the sheriff was kind enough to try to blend in rather than cause a stir by being at the register, notebook in hand.

  After the first customers came in and took to their seats or got their gooey goodness, the sheriff came back. He’d been totally focused on the note – where it was, what I saw about the truck, etc. – when we’d spoken a few minutes before, but now, his notebook was away, and he was giving me a good stare down. “Harvey, have you been snooping?”

  “No.” I paused. “Not really. I mean it. Mom, Dad, and I were taking a walk yesterday, and we went down the driveway at the Harris place as we walked—“

  “Past the locked gate, you mean?” He didn’t look happy.

  “Yes.” I didn’t figure there was much reason to say more.

  “Harvey, you were trespassing.”

  I blushed. I hadn’t thought of it like that. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” I seemed to be saying
that a lot lately. “I didn’t really think of it out that way.” I told him how we’d been out to see Stephen and Walter’s house and really had just gone for a walk.

  “I hear you. I get that it wasn’t that you set out to do that, but still, you did it. Your intentions don’t really matter.”

  “Am I in trouble?” I suddenly had images of big fines and being unable to contribute to the mortgage, of losing my store. I had to take deep breaths to keep the panic at bay.

  He sighed. “No. Technically, it’s abandoned until Miranda decides what to do with it. So no harm done. But no more, Harvey. Stay away from everything to do with this case.” He practically wagged a finger in my face.

  I nodded. “Sheriff, my mom pointed out something while we were there. I just remembered when you said the place was abandoned. She noticed that someone was watering the flowers on the front porch.”

  “Hmm. I guess Homer could be doing that, or Miranda, although I’m not sure she has the energy to do much besides grieve and recover just now.”

  “Something else, too. I think I heard a car start as we were leaving. I didn’t see a car, but then I didn’t look too hard. Just felt like someone was out there.” I thought about what Mom said about the housing feeling lived in. “Does Homer live there?”

  The sheriff looked puzzled. “No. He used to, but Miranda asked that he move once her dad died. He goes out to check on the place each day, I think. Maybe it was him. I’ll ask.”

  I nodded. “Cool.” I looked down at my Birkenstocks. “I really am sorry.”

  “I know, Harvey.” He met my eyes when I looked up. “You’ve just got to think first. Take a moment. Make better choices.”

  I knew he was right. I was really impulsive, and sometimes, that was downright dumb.

  He hitched his belt up and said, “If you see this silver truck again, you call me on my cell. No matter what time.” He held up the note in the red-lined bag. “This is a serious threat, Harvey. You know that, right?”

  I looked again at the note and shivered. “I do. Thanks, Sheriff.”