by CeeCee James
Charity pouted, but got up and left the room. I watched her leave and noted again how Charity was treated like a child.
“She has a right to know…” Kyle started.
“Not yet.” Ms. Valentine cut him off. “You weren’t here. You don’t know how she took things.”
“Things she wouldn’t have had to deal with if you all hadn’t sent Brian and I away.”
“How dare you come back to this house! You betrayed papa! He should have never taken you in,” Ms. Valentine hissed. Her hand trembled. She reached for her cane as if needing something to hold. Her eyes flamed as she stared him down.
Kyle ducked his head, shamefaced.
I wanted to speak up, ask so many questions that burned inside me, but I was afraid to remind them I was still there.
Ms. Valentine turned to me. “Charity has the mind of a child, and with Kyle, she’s always been like a love-stricken teenager. He got her pregnant and dumped her.” Ms. Valentine dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. “This is why we tried to protect her. When he panicked and ran, she tried to kill herself. I have given up my life to take care of her.”
“Why would she do that?” Kyle asked, looking horrified. “And what could I do? I was in Korea?”
“Because my sister couldn’t deal with the pregnancy. She didn’t understand that you weren’t coming back to marry her!”
“I was married to Marla,” Kyle said humbling. “It was a horrible one-night stand, one I barely remember, to be honest. The alcohol…”
“Please. As soon as Marla found out, she divorced you. You were never going to marry Charity. You know it’s true. Charity couldn’t take care of the baby when he arrived. She didn’t want him. Momma tried, and then she died.” Ms. Valentine gasped in grief. My eyes darted to the direction Charity had left in, hoping she didn’t hear this.
“And when Momma died, it was better for everyone to have you take the baby. We were nearly ruined because of what you and Charity had done. It was better for any part of your poisonous presence to leave our house once and for all, and to never return!” Her palm slapped the table. “Yet, here you are.”
“I know I wasn’t a good man.” Kyle shook his head. “But I didn’t mean for any of that to happen. Charity and I were never more than friends. It was the night before Richard and I were shipped off. You remember that big going-away party? Well, I got too drunk. Marla and I were fighting. Charity always had a little crush on me. Remember how she carved that heart with our initials on it? Well, that night I made a drunken mistake. One that I paid for with having Marla divorce me while I was overseas. I came back and tried to raise the child as best as I could. Alone.”
We sat in a stalemate of bitterness and grief.
“Well, I took care of the problem,” Richard said, startling me. He’d been so quiet I’d forgotten he was there.
No one moved. The unsaid meaning of his words roared through the room like ocean sounds hidden in a seashell.
Finally, Ms. Valentine spoke. Her voice cracked. “What do you mean, Richard?”
“I overheard that phone call. The one Kyle made to you all those years ago. I went and picked the boy up. The brat.”
“Why would you bring him here?” Ms. Valentine asked. Her eyes widened and she clutched at her throat.
“He had some jewelry that looked worth a lot of money. He said he’d give me more if I’d help him.” He wiped down the front of his face with his huge palm. “I figured I could squeeze him a bit and he’d help pay back all he took.”
“But instead—” Ms. Valentine prompted.
“Instead he started acting like a loon. Said he needed his fix and was making a huge ruckus.” Richard shrugged. “I smothered him with the pillow. End of story.”
I grabbed the door frame, reeling with horror. Kyle cried out, and even Ms. Valentine looked green.
“He was a product of sin. You live a life of filth, you die by the sword.” Richard glared at us, daring us to argue.
It was then I remembered the Bible scripture that had been highlighted by the picture of the baby. It had been Richard who’d done that.
Kyle began to cry, clutching his forehead as he leaned over. “It should have been me!”
“Yes, it should have.” Ms. Valentine responded, her voice cold. She had regained her composure.
There was a knock on the door.
I’d forgotten that the police were on their way.
The knock quickly turned into pounding. Ms. Valentine rose to answer it. She grabbed my shoulder on her way out. “Nothing good can come from the police’s involvement. What’s done is done. We’re going to agree that Richard thought there was an intruder, but it turned out to be a family friend who hadn’t gotten a response at the front door and was trying the back. Richard was just a startled old man trying to protect his sisters.”
I watched her go, my mind spinning. I felt bad about the two sisters being left alone. But my mind was made up. Richard had to be held responsible for his actions, something I didn’t think the Valentines had much experience with.
Ms. Valentine met the cops at the door. One of the cops was Officer Carlson. He was the same one who had come to my house, accusing me of being a bit “Hollywood” with my drama. He walked in and narrowed his eyes when he saw me. It was enough to tell me he was thinking he had been spot on with his assessment.
“Ms. O’Neil,” he said, with a nod. “We meet again."
Chapter 23
It was a rough next two hours. Charity cried with confusion. Ms. Valentine threatened everyone, thumping her cane and yelling, “This is outrageous!” One of the officers forced her to sit and cautioned her that the cane was about to be taken away.
Speaking of taking away, that’s exactly what they did to Richard. They turned him around to cuff him when his gaze landed on me. “I should have ran you off the road that night! I knew you were a no-good snoop!”
“Quiet,” warned the officer who was cuffing him.
I shivered and turned to face Officer Carlson. He’d been recording my statement, which really seemed to be asking the same questions over and over. He was so tall, my neck was starting to ache looking up at him.
He raised an eyebrow. “At least we know now who was chasing you. You are quite the case solver. That’s three in one day.”
“Three?” I asked. I staggered back a bit. I was feeling dizzy from all the adrenaline rushes. I needed a burger STAT.
He reached out a hand to steady me. “You okay?”
I nodded.
His gaze was filled with concern. Finally, he seemed to believe I wasn’t about to tip over and removed his hand. Talking to me like I was a toddler, he lifted a finger. “One, the mystery guy was chasing you. Two, who the skeleton was. And three, who shot Officer Benson after the jewelry store robbery.”
I glanced at Kyle, my cheeks hot with fear. It had been Kyle’s first time hearing what his son had done that day, all those years ago. He sat on the couch with his head in his hands, obviously devastated.
Officer Carlson went over the story one more time. I had to resist rolling my eyes in impatience. Finally, he held something out for me to sign.
I scribbled my name on it and handed back the pen.
“Okay, Miss O’Neil. You are free to go,” he said, after taking the paper from me. “You planning on staying in town?”
“Yeah.”
He didn’t say anything more, just moved to where his buddy stood taking pictures. I wondered why he asked. Was it because he might have more questions?
Kyle saw the cop leave and slowly stood up and walked over.
“How you doing?” he asked.
“Kind of exhausted. How about you?”
“Mutual. You heading out now?”
I nodded.
“Let me walk you to your car.”
I was vaguely relieved that he offered to walk me out. Now that things had settled down, I still had another burning question.
“When did you leave Morocco?”
I asked. His eyebrows rumpled together and he frowned, confused. I hurried to clarify. “Gaila Crawford. She mentioned you sent her something from Morocco.”
“Oh.” He nodded with a sad smile. “Years ago, I was a roadie with this Indie group. They played sort of middle eastern music and had exotic animals and things like that. I still keep in touch with a few of them. I sent one of my friends a letter to send her from there.” His sheepish response wasn’t answer enough.
“Why did you do that?” Then I flushed, realizing how rude that sounded. “I know it’s none of my business. But I can’t help but be curious. I’ve been up to my eyebrows in everyone’s history. Besides, she’s such a nice lady.”
“Yeah. You’re right, she is. So, it will probably come as no surprise to you that I had a thing for her years ago. We actually became friends after she married. I tried to be respectful of that, but still liked to keep in touch here and there.”
That reminded me of something. I reached into my pants where I’d stashed my new good luck charm. I glanced at it, wondering what reaction it was going to evoke out of Kyle. Slowly, I held my hand out.
He studied it for a second before a slow smile crawled across his face. “No way!” He reached out and took the squirrel. “Charity gave me this when I first started hanging out with Richard. Where did you get it?”
“From Mrs. Crawford. She told me it was a good luck charm that you’d given her years ago.” I chuckled. “She figured I might need it dealing with the Valentines.”
His thumb rubbed over the figurine. “I guess it brought you luck, then.”
I shrugged. I mean, I was still alive and the mystery solved. So I guessed it could be true.
His eyes had a dreamy look as he stared at the squirrel. “Charity used to get those all the time. They came in a tea box. My luck was never that great after I gave it away. Maybe I should have kept it.”
“You can have it back,” I said.
“Really? I mean, if Gaila….”
“Please! Keep it. I’m sure she’d want you to have it, too.”
He smiled. “Thank you. That means a lot.”
We’d arrived at my car by now. I reached for the handle and then hesitated. “You sure you’re okay? How was it to see Charity again?” I asked.
“Sad.” He stared at the house. “I wanted to talk to her about Brian, but she’s not… it seems like she never grew up. We’d never been more than friends, except for that one drunken night. But we had a son together. I thought she’d care about him, but it’s like she’s forgotten she ever had him or something. Maybe if she’d stayed in his life, things would have turned out differently. I don’t know.”
Awkwardly, I patted his arm. After all he’d been through, I really wanted closure for him. It might come, but I could tell it wasn’t going to look like he expected. “I’m sorry.”
He rubbed his neck, dark with a tan. “Life, man.”
“Confusing at the best of times,” I filled in. “Not to mention, people make their own choices. No matter how much we want them to make the right one, it’s still up to them.”
He nodded and slipped the figurine into his pocket.
As he did it, I asked, “What about Mrs. Crawford? She might like to hear from you.”
“You think?”
“Sure.”
His brow crinkled, and his eyes softened. “I might stop to say hi on my way out.”
“I think that would be a good thing.” I didn’t quite know how to say goodbye. I reached out and touched his arm. “I am sorry about Brian.”
He nodded. “It was a long time ago, but it will always haunt me. As will this house.”
His words tugged at my heart. “Take care of yourself.”
We said goodbye and I got in my car. I watched him in the mirror as he returned to the house, maybe to say his final goodbyes to Charity.
It was with a very introspective heart that I backed out of the driveway and drove home. Life was so strange, and wild, and unbelievably full of confusion, love, and beauty. It’s no wonder we, as humans, tried to box up our emotions to stay safe. It took a ton of courage to open up to all the craziness.
The sun stretched long golden fingers over the now-tilled fields. I flipped on the heat and bit at a hangnail.
Deep thoughts haunted me. Who was I in all of this mess?
I thought about everything that happened at the house. How I’d stood between a man and a gun. How I’d heard a father cry in regret.
I knew one thing. I wanted to be braver. I wanted to be known as a person courageous enough to be open to change. I wanted to live out my hopes without regret.
I thought of my great-great grandma. How she’d hidden away in hay stacks to escape from Hitler. How she’d taken refuge on a boat and petitioned for a new life in a country where she knew no one.
Courage.
My dad had said to remember that her blood ran through my veins. I nodded, making my decision. Ten minutes later, I flipped on the blinker and turned onto Baker Street.
The road was dirt and short. Too short, today. Tall trees that I still wasn’t sure of their names grew along the sides. Their sweeping branches touched overhead.
His driveway was to the left. My face flushed with nerves, but I didn’t chicken out. Not this time. I turned down it and parked.
The house was a white two-story. A pair of rocking chairs sat on the porch next to a small table.
I stood there in the dirt driveway and studied it for a moment. What it would have felt like had I done this sooner. Maybe even with my father as a little girl. Would I have come here for Christmas? Birthdays? Or would the door have always remained closed.
Would it remain locked tight now?
My heart hammered. I swallowed hard.
You can do this. You have the blood of a warrior woman in your veins.
Brave words, but my legs shook as I slowly stepped forward. I forced myself. I wasn’t going to back down now.
I knocked on the door. Through the dirty window, I spotted a fluffy rocket race, barking, down the hallway. A second later, a gruff voice yelled out, “Bear! Come back here! Confound it!”
My breath caught in my throat at the sight of a short man, with hair bristling out like cotton candy, appeared around the corner. He came down the hall after the dog, yelling up a storm. Perched on his nose were thick glasses. Plaid slippers scuffed against the wooden floor.
He opened the door with a scowl. My mouth felt dryer than a sawdust pile.
“Help you?” he asked, his voice sounding like he’d gargled gravel. His eyes narrowed behind the glasses as he studied me.
“Oscar O’Neil?” I started. My hands trembled, and I squeezed them together.
“Yes.” And then to the little Pomeranian hopping at his feet, he yelled, “Bear, stop it. Get down. Blast it! Peanut! Be good!”
As soon as he yelled out the name Peanut, the dog sat. Her butt wiggled on the floor and I saw that, even while sitting, her tail wagged. I smiled, and then looked back at the man.
“I’m Stella.” My voice caught in my throat, and I choked out, “Stella O’Neil.”
He stared at me for a moment as the words tumbled through his brain. Then his mouth dropped. “Stella?”
I nodded.
“My boy Steve’s little girl?”
I nodded again. A lump was in my throat. I didn’t think I could say any more.
He threw open his arms, throwing out the scent of cigars and Old Spice. “Come here. Let me—” He didn’t finish his request. I saw his eyes puddling up behind his glasses. Immediately, I fell into his arms.
He hugged me tight, and then I felt his chest heave. “Stella. I have missed you so much. Welcome home.”
I was teary myself, and my heart melted at the warm reception. I could never have imagined what this seemingly innocuous moment had in store in the future for me.
But I was about to find out.
The End
End Notes
Thank you for reading Mi
nd your Manors. There’s more! Be sure to catch Stella’s new adventure in—
A Dead Market
Home Strange Home
Duplex Double Trouble
MidCentury Modern Murder
With Killer Views
About CeeCee James
She is a two time USA Today Best Selling mystery author with her hands full with miniature dachshunds and grandkids. Her favorite hobbies besides writing include reading, painting and hiding rocks, crocheting, and making miniatures. Connect with her readers’ page on facebook, and follow her on BookBub and Amazon for flash sales and new releases.
A Dead Market
Copyright © 2018 by CeeCee James
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.~
*For my own family of flamingos~
Introduction
Stella O’Neil finally has her first listing! A cute cabin with a gorgeous lake on eighty acres of breathtaking land. There's just one tiny problem: the body floating in the lake.
If that weren’t unsettling enough, her phone rings off the hook with hundreds of potential buyers. In fact, the property is overrun with them! Stella digs out the truth that the lake is the obscure clue in an old legend that has been solved on the Internet.
But if only her troubles stopped there. She runs into one buyer who won’t take no for an answer. He seems to have way too much personal information about Stella herself, but the police refuse to take the threat seriously. As mishaps continue to develop, she’s certain that she’s being hunted by someone with some sort of grudge against her.
Stella has to solve the murder and figure out the riddle so she can untangle herself from this legal and personal mess… before things go too far.