He could’ve had a long, fulfilling life, but he chose to live for Linda instead of himself. Mothers are supposed to be on call for their children, not the other way around. We’re supposed to give them the skills to move on, not tie them to our own dysfunction.
Meg put the last bag in the trunk and looked toward the carport. The bike!
As she pulled out of the lane to the main road, Meg was thankful for her late-model car and the ability to give verbal commands to make calls without touching her phone. Modern technology never ceased to amaze her. She made several calls to let people know she was on her way, plus a call to Hendrix to ask her to return the bike she’d left across the road to the carport.
Dorie assured her she was hours away from delivery, being monitored in a comfortable room, and the nurses said all was well. That news gave Meg some comfort, but she was still anxious to get to the hospital.
Meg had a lengthy conversation with Jean after talking with Dorie. “You were partially right. Linda was involved, but her son, Jeff, admitted he struck the fatal wounds. It’s a tragedy all the way around.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Jean said. “It’s always tragic, isn’t it? We just kind of judge the murderer as the bad guy and don’t always consider what the rest of the family has to go through. It just goes to show you, you never know what’s going on behind someone’s eyes or in their homes.”
“You’re right, Jean. The best intentions sometimes go astray. I learned it’s hard to have a rational conversation with someone who’s emotionally bound to another, like Jeff and his mother. His behavior was so frightening. I couldn’t see his eyes in that dark room, but I imagined they were wild. I could hear it in his voice. During the previous times I’d seen him, I wouldn’t have believed he could snap like he did. Others said the same thing about him.”
“I’m so glad you’re headed home. Call me when you get to the hospital. I’ll bring some chicken salad sandwiches for you and Michael.”
Five hours later, Meg walked into the waiting room. Tom was seated next to a giant teddy bear monopolizing an entire chair. He looked up and smiled. “Jean called me,” he said. “I hear you’ve been going in closets again.” He stood, stooping to give Meg a peck on the cheek.
She laughed. “I guess I’ll never learn.”
By the time Jean arrived with a picnic basket full of chicken salad sandwiches and lemon pound cake, they were all standing at a glass window, waving at Mikayla Margaret, eight pounds and two ounces.
Meg had tears in her eyes as she sat down next to Tom after visiting Dorie and the baby in her room. “They’re asleep. I have a feeling I’ll need to take a nap before they come home, or I won’t be good for anything.”
“So the murder’s been solved?”
“Yes, Hendrix called me just as I was approaching the city limits. They have signed statements from everyone, including Linda and Tony. Linda’s son, Jeff, an officer involved in the investigation, inflicted the fatal blows, but Tony and Linda both were also responsible, there at the scene, and tried to cover it up. They’ll be charged.
“Echo fought for her life. Jeff was trying to protect Linda, but also trying to keep information from his fiancée and girlfriend—two different people, by the way.”
“Well, as usual, nothing is as it seems in the real world,” Tom sighed.
“You’re telling me.” Meg yawned.
“What will your granddaughter call you?”
“I haven’t even thought about that.” She looked at him with wide eyes.
“Well, I guess you have a good excuse. You have been otherwise occupied. However, I’m surprised you haven’t given it some thought. I never told you this before, but my grandmother’s name was Margaret, and everyone called her Meg.”
“Really?” Meg cocked her head. “What did you call her?”
“She was always ‘Mo’ to her five grandchildren. Eventually my grandfather started calling her that as well,” Tom said with his boyish grin.
“I like that. Maybe that’ll be my new name. It’s certainly easy to spell.” Meg smoothed the pockets on her tunic and wiped at her moist eyes. “I have no history on my mother’s side of the family to tell me what their pet names were.” Her eyes wandered as she considered that blank in her past. She caught her mind wandering too and looked back to Tom. “What are you doing here anyway? You didn’t need to come.”
“I’ve taken a liking to Dorie and Michael. We’ve spent some time together while you were on the island. I missed you, too. And I brought you something. It came in today’s mail and I signed for it. It’s a registered letter. I thought it might be important.” Tom reached into his shirt pocket and handed Meg the envelope.
“What in the world?” She stared at the front of the envelope, noting the return address was a law firm in Corpus Christi, Texas. She opened the letter and began reading.
Meg sniffed, holding her hand under her nose as she looked up at Tom. “Well I’ll be. I get a new grandchild and a ranch all on the same day. I’ve just inherited some land, a house, livestock, and other things from my mother’s brother. I never even knew she had a brother, never met him.”
“Well, that is something,” Tom said, rubbing his palms together. “Does this mean you’re rich?”
“I’ve been rich all my life, young man. This means I have another road trip in my future. You want to go?”
Other Books by Phyllis H. Moore
A Dickens of a Crime, Book One of the Meg Miller Cozy Mystery Series
Sabine, Book One of the Sabine Series
Billy’s Story, Book Two of the Sabine Series
Josephine’s Journals, Book Three of the Sabine Series
Secrets of Dunn House, Book Four of the Sabine Series
Opal’s Story
Tangled, a Southern Gothic Yarn
The Ember Months
Birdie & Jude
The Bridge on Jackson Road: An Anthology
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Pelican Beach Murder Page 19