Snow Ordinary Family

by Wendy Meadows

  Sarah drew in a deep breath. “Speaking of violence...can we please talk about Mitchel Cochran—”

  “Oh, no you don't,” Abigail gently scolded Sarah, “my sisters and I are remaining silent.”

  “Indeed,” Betty said and folded her arms.

  “Indeed we are,” Martha agreed and followed suit.

  Sarah felt like drowning her head in a cold river. Instead, she walked to the office door. “I'm going to get a cup of coffee. You ladies can join me if you would like.”

  “Oh no,” Abigail told Sarah, “we only drink our own coffee that we make at home.”

  “We order our coffee straight from a coffee plantation way down there in South America,” Martha told Sarah in a proud voice. “My son knows many different kinds of people from his travels and began bringing me coffee years ago from a man he met in Colombia. We all drink it.” Martha patted Abigail and Betty's hands with love. “My sisters and I are very close.”

  “Indeed we are,” Betty smiled.

  “Indeed we are,” Abigail agreed and gently patted Martha's hand. “My sisters and I share the same heart. We're inseparable.”

  Sarah felt a very warm and loving feeling cover her own heart. The love Abigail, Betty and Martha shared for one another was more special than anyone could put into words—the love ran deep and long, back through years and years of life that had created a bond of love that today’s world could not and would never understand. Despite the strange events of the day, their love and loyalty touched her heart deeply. “Ladies,” she said, “I...I think I'll go get a cup of coffee.”

  “We'll be here when you get back, dear,” Abigail promised.

  Sarah nodded and left Conrad's office. She made her way through the deserted police station to the coffee machine, picked up a mug, and filled it with hot coffee. Then she leaned against the wood-paneled wall next to the coffee counter and listened to the storm howl and cry outside. “How did they possibly kill him?” she asked in a low whisper. “They’re too sweet. And possibly confused. His body showed no signs of violence...they said they killed him...but didn't touch him...poison?” Sarah spoke, tossing questions and concerns into the warm air. “Dr. Milton will tell me if Mitchel Cochran was poisoned...and if he was...” Sarah glanced toward Conrad's office. “How can I arrest those three sweet women? Murder is murder...but...” Sarah shook her head. “My goodness,” she said and sipped at her coffee.

  After Sarah finished half of her coffee, she filled her mug back up and walked back to Conrad's office and found Abigail, Betty and Martha still huddled together in a secret conference. “Well, ladies,” she said, “for now I'm afraid I'm going to have to place...all three of you...” Sarah paused. Three pairs of eyes looked up at her, wide and innocent and elderly and fragile. Arrest was such an ugly, hurtful, scary word. She wanted to use kid gloves and avoid causing the three sisters any unneeded stress. “Uh, what I mean to say is...you're going to have to stay overnight at the station in a...holding cell.”

  “Oh, just like Perry Mason,” Abigail told her sisters in an excited voice. “We're going to sleep in a room with bars.”

  “Locked up in the Big House,” Martha giggled.

  “Martha,” Betty exclaimed, “where did you learn such language?”

  Martha blushed. “I heard a man in a Perry Mason episode say that.”

  Abigail patted Martha's hand. “Goodness, dear. Leave the prison slang to the hardened criminals.”

  Sarah felt a smile touch her lips. Sure, she was a little aggravated, but she had to admit the three sisters were a kick. “Uh, ladies, while I'm waiting for Dr. Milton to arrive, do you mind if I ask you a question?”

  “We want to remain—” Abigail began to remind Sarah.

  “Oh, the question I have isn't about Mitchel Cochran,” Sarah promised. She eased over to the desk and sat down on the edge. “I was told that your family once had a feud with Mitchel Cochran's family. Is that true?”

  Abigail glanced at her sisters. Betty and Martha quickly placed their hands together and looked forward. Their faces became very stern and upset. “We don't talk about family matters with strangers,” Betty told Sarah.

  “Indeed, we do not,” Martha added in a strict voice.

  Abigail nodded. “That thieving Cochran clan…the less said the better. All I will say is that outsiders are not welcome to interfere.”

  Sarah bit down on her lip and tried to spot some wiggle room. “Ladies, Mitchel Cochran is dead, and your family was feuding with his family. A jury might find that very interesting.”

  “A jury?” Abigail asked. “What do you mean?”

  “Think about it,” Sarah said and regretfully added a little pressure. “You ladies admitted to killing a man, so you might have to stand trial before a jury of your peers in a court of law. Don’t you think a jury would find a family feud to be a motive for murder?”

  “Oh, just like on Perry Mason,” Abigail said and clapped her hands together.

  Betty and Martha glanced at each other, lost their stern expressions, and smiled. “This is just like television,” they exclaimed.

  “No, it's not,” Sarah tried to assure the three sisters. “Ladies, this isn't a television show. This is real life. A man is dead and you're going to...” Sarah sighed. “Let's see what Dr. Milton finds, okay? Now, I would love to hear about the feud—”

  “We don't talk about that,” Betty interrupted her. “Besides, it was long ago…”

  Sarah held up her right hand. “I understand,” she promised. “All I want to know is if Mitchel Cochran is the last living family member on the Cochran side. Do you know that much? You ladies may be the keepers of some important town history,” she said, trying to compliment them. “If he’s not the last living Cochran, does he have any children? I'm going to run him through the system in a bit and find out anyway, but you ladies can save me some time.”

  Abigail glanced at her sisters. “I suppose it wouldn't hurt to tell this nice lady that Mitchel was the last fox in the henhouse.”

  “I suppose not,” Betty and Martha agreed, their worry written plainly on their faces.

  Abigail looked at Sarah. “Mitchel Cochran was indeed the last living Cochran,” she explained. “He was never married and had no children. He was the last reminder of…what happened.”

  Sarah nodded. “Thank you,” she told Abigail and made a few mental notes. Then the telephone rang. It was Amanda. Dr. Milton had finally arrived. “I have no choice now,” Sarah told Amanda when she heard. “Tell Dr. Milton I'll be a few minutes.”

  “Hurry,” Amanda pleaded.

  Sarah hung up the phone and looked at Abigail. “I'm afraid I'm going to have to put you three ladies in a cell...for now,” she added in a quick voice.

  “Sisters,” Abigail said excitedly, “let's be brave.”

  Betty and Martha stood up. “We're ready,” they said and marched out of Conrad's office with their wrists crossed in front of them as if expecting genuine handcuffs.

  Sarah hesitated and gently grabbed Abigail's arm before she could leave the office. “You have no purses with you. Surely you didn't walk to town?”

  “We did,” Abigail stated in a proud voice. “The walk is less than half a mile.”

  Sarah was impressed. The old-timers were certainly tough. “I assumed you must have. I recognized all the trucks that are parked outside.”

  “My sister Martha drives us when needed. But on a morning like this we decided to walk. We so enjoy our walks in the snow,” Abigail explained. “The snow keeps us young.”

  “I love taking walks in the snow, too,” Sarah told Abigail. She felt a kind of friendship between them. Out of the three sisters, Abigail was the most talkative and took the most interest in what Sarah said. “I...wish you could talk about the murder with me. I have so many questions.”

  “We remain silent, dear,” Abigail smiled at Sarah.

  “Of course,” Sarah sighed. “Uh...do you need me to get you anything? You might be here a while. Do you
or your sisters need medicine or—”

  “My sisters and I only take a daily aspirin, a spoonful of cayenne pepper mixed with honey in a snoot of whiskey,” Abigail proclaimed. “That and a daily vitamin. We have never been to a doctor and never intend to. Our Papa died when he was a hundred and five and our mother died when she was a hundred and four. My sisters and I have many good years left and don't need some doctor interfering with our health.”

  “Wow,” Sarah said, running her mind back to Los Angeles. She saw herself eating Chinese food and donuts on long stakeouts and dragging her feet for her yearly doctor exams. Suddenly she felt very unhealthy.

  “Proper sleep, plenty of walking, and beans,” Abigail told Sarah and patted her arm. “Cayenne pepper and honey and whiskey helps the body, too. But the one thing that keeps a person alive is the heart, dear. When the heart grows old, so does the body. When the heart stays young, so does the body.” Abigail smiled and patted Sarah's arm again. “Love is the key ingredient.”

  Sarah stared into Abigail's eyes and saw a beautiful, wise woman who had much wisdom to give. She wanted to hug the woman but instead looked down at her hands. “Sometimes I'm afraid I’ll lose the love I have,” she said.

  “I know,” Abigail told Sarah and gently lifted her chin. “Dear, I can read your eyes like I can read the sky. I see goodness in you...but much fear, I'm afraid.” Abigail softly let go of Sarah's chin. “You're very afraid to love and be loved except by a rare few that you trust. But the one that you’re scared of the most is your husband, am I right? You're afraid he might stop loving you.”

  “How do you know that?” Sarah begged.

  “Because I'm a woman and I was married once, too, dear,” Abigail explained with a gentle chuckle. “My husband and I were married for fifty-five years before he wandered off into the woods and met up with a very angry bear.”

  “I'm so sorry,” Sarah told Abigail. “I didn't mean—”

  Abigail touched Sarah's arm. “Dear, my husband was a very hard man to love. He had a lot of goodness in him that he rarely showed. He spent his time with the land and not people. He understood animals more than he understood his own children. That's just the way he was, and I accepted that. When he was killed, I let him go. That's what a wife does. But,” Abigail said with a gentle smile, “the heart never forgets the love that was once shared.”

  Sarah felt a tear fall from her eye. “My first husband...betrayed me. I'm remarried now to a good man...I'm so afraid to lose him.”

  “I know,” Abigail promised Sarah and gently hugged her. “Don't be afraid to express your fears to the people you love the most, because the love they have for you is a healing light,” she whispered and walked out of the office to join her sisters in the hall.

  Sarah watched Abigail leave the office, wiped at her tears, and then drew in a deep breath. “I can't put them in a holding cell,” she whispered in a pained voice, “and they don't deserve to be treated like common criminals...but what choice do I have?” And then Sarah suddenly realized she did have a second choice. “This is Snow Falls, after all, and not Los Angeles.” She hurried out into the hallway. “Ladies,” she said, “what I'm about to propose is against the rules, but I feel that in this case the rules can be broken.”

  “Broken, dear?” Abigail asked.

  “Yes,” Sarah explained. “Instead of keeping you here at the station, I want the three of you to go home and promise me you'll stay there. Consider it...a house arrest.”

  “House arrest?” Betty asked in confusion.

  “Yes,” Sarah replied gently. “You can't leave your house…cabin…until I say so. I’ll have more questions for you. You may miss your walks, but doesn’t that sound better than sitting in a drafty old cell with bars?”

  Abigail looked at her sisters. “I suppose we're being offered a kindness,” she said. “Papa always taught us to never look a gift horse in the mouth.”

  “And it is getting near lunch,” Martha added.

  “Indeed it is,” Betty agreed and looked at Sarah. “You're a very kind woman. We'll accept your offer.”

  “Thank you,” Sarah replied in a relieved voice. “Now, I'll go get my truck.”

  “We walked into town and we'll walk home,” Abigail told Sarah and held her chin high. “Sisters, let's go home.” Betty and Martha stuck their chins up into the air and followed their sister out into the storm, tugging their hats down on their heads and their coats flapping again in the wind. Sarah smiled from ear to ear. The three sisters, she thought, were amazing—and hopefully, she thought to herself, innocent of murder.

  3

  Sarah walked into her coffee shop, shook snow off her hat, coat and boots, and then walked over to a very tall and very thin man standing next to Mitch Cochran's body. “Dr. Milton, thank you for coming,” she said.

  Dr. Milton looked up with weary eyes. He was a kind man but very stern by nature. At the age of fifty-nine he had become the type of man who spoke very little, tended to his patients, wife and cabin with care, and minded his own business. However, minding his own business was difficult when Sarah was present. The woman had a knack for luring trouble into her path. “Did I really have a choice?” he asked.

  “No, I guess you didn't,” Sarah replied, spotting Amanda walking out of the kitchen carrying a cup of coffee. Amanda shot her a he's-in-a-mood look. Sarah winked at her.

  “Here is your coffee.”

  He did not even look at the body at the table. Dr. Milton removed a heavy gray coat, tossed it down onto a nearby table, stomped more snow off his brown boots, took his coffee from Amanda, and looked at Sarah. “You girls are due to have your blood drawn tomorrow. How are you feeling? Not that I should ask, because you always give the same response.”

  “Dr. Milton, I feel fine,” Sarah promised. “I honestly believe the hot springs burned that awful virus out of our systems.”

  “Do you?” Dr. Milton asked in a sour voice. “Are you a doctor now, Mrs. Spencer?”

  Being called Mrs. Spencer made Sarah feel warm inside. “I'm not a doctor, no. But I know my body.”

  “Me, too,” Amanda carefully eased in. “Our blood tests always show that we're fine and very healthy.”

  Dr. Milton took a quick sip of coffee. “Too strong,” he complained.

  Amanda rolled her eyes. “We always brew a strong cup here,” she replied with patience.

  Sarah stared at Dr. Milton. The man reminded her of a backwoods Jimmy Stewart, hardened yet handsome in an aged kind of way. “Dr. Milton, we need to focus on Mitchel Cochran.”

  Dr. Milton sighed. “Mr. Cochran isn’t going anywhere. Andrew told me that he put you in charge. The man should have his head examined... However, I reckon your reputation as a detective is…known.” Dr. Milton peered at her over the rim of his cup as he took another sip of coffee. He cleared his throat, business-like. “I examined the body. I see no signs of physical injury. In my medical opinion, he died of a massive heart attack or an aneurysm. Only the autopsy will tell. But there’s no external indications of assault.”

  Sarah looked over to Amanda, curious about what had transpired before her arrival. Amanda shrugged her shoulders. “I didn't say a word to him, Los Angeles.”

  Sarah nodded. Dr. Milton knew nothing about the O'Healey sisters’ involvement yet. “I saw the ambulance parked outside.”

  “Need to haul the body to the hospital, Mrs. Spencer. Would have brought my truck but the wife had to keep it to run chores. Ambulance will work fine.” He seemed uncomfortable at having to speak so many words about the matter and began edging close to his jacket, eager to head out into the cold as soon as possible and get on with his work.

  Sarah lowered her eyes down to the body. “Dr. Milton...please don't think I'm being too pushy, but I'm going to need—”

  “An autopsy performed as soon as possible. Yes, Mrs. Spencer, I realize that,” Dr. Milton snapped and fought with his scalding hot coffee as he set it down on the table with force. “If it isn't a silly man fa
lling off his roof and breaking his leg—” Dr. Milton glanced at Amanda in order to remind the woman that her own husband had enacted the same catastrophe, “it's a dead man in a coffee shop. I moved to Snow Falls to rest, not be bothered all the time.”

  “Dr. Milton—” Sarah began to speak.

  “And you,” Dr. Milton told Sarah, “all you've done is bring trouble to this poor town—” Dr. Milton realized he had spoken more words in a matter of moments than he usually did in an entire month. He looked down at his coffee and shook his head. “Please forgive me...I'm feeling very poorly this morning, myself. My wife and I found out that our son has made...some very bad investments and now says he will have to file for bankruptcy unless I loan him the money he needs to secure his debts.”

  “I'm very sorry to hear that,” Sarah said to Dr. Milton and then dared to add: “I have...plenty of money. I would be more than happy to help. I may be a newcomer here, but I care about the people of Snow Falls. Always have, always will.”

  Dr. Milton looked up into Sarah's caring eyes. Guilt and pain struck his heart. “I'm sorry I was so rude, Mrs. Spencer. I was out of line. While it may be true trouble follows you like a shadow under a dog’s tail at high noon, that doesn’t change the fact that you are a decent woman and a good citizen. Your offer to help a man in need humbles me. I should not have spoken so hastily.”

  “Then you will accept my offer?”

  “No,” Dr. Milton shook his head. “In truth, I must allow my son to file for bankruptcy and face the consequences of his bad decisions. That is the most difficult part about being a parent...helping your children mature even when they are already in their thirties. Now, let's focus on Mr. Cochran, shall we?”

  “Okay,” Sarah agreed. “I believe Mr. Cochran might have been...poisoned.”

  Dr. Milton drew in a deep breath. “Dare I ask why?” he ventured.

  “Love, you better tell Dr. Milton about those three crazy old bats,” Amanda told Sarah.

  Sarah agreed and carefully explained to Dr. Milton all about Abigail, Betty and Martha O'Healey. When she finished, Dr. Milton looked at her as if she was insane. “Are you out of your mind?” he asked Sarah. “I've known the O'Healey family for a very long time. Those three women wouldn't harm a pantry moth.”