Killer Reads: A Collection of the Best in Inspirational Suspense

by Luana Ehrlich

  In the waning light, she discovered the shovel she’d used earlier was no longer where she’d left it. That, in itself, was not suspicious. Her pa used it regularly. She moved further into the deep of the building, groping for similar handles, looking for the same or another digging implement. Reaching behind yet another household relic, she suddenly felt a sheering pain in her forearm and cried out in pain.

  She pulled her arm back and held it up for inspection. She couldn’t see it in the dark but felt a warm fluid trickling down to her elbow. The coppery aroma of blood caught her. The pain was nothing like labor, but matched nothing else in her experience. She moved to the front door for a better look. The gash was three, maybe four inches long, deep, and bleeding profusely. She forced her forearm against her blouse to provide clean compression. That’s when she heard his voice.

  “Who’s out there? Who’s in m’shed?”

  Her scream had alerted her pa, but it had also scared something else. Two old barn cats scampered around her and bolted from the door.

  Blaamm!

  The old man’s shotgun echoed across the valley.

  “Blasted cats! Git outta here!”

  Another retort followed.

  Alice froze just inside the door, unable to make herself peek through the opening. All she could hear was her heart and her breathing. She tried to hold her breath, to stop hyperventilating before she passed out, but fear commandeered her brain for the next few minutes. Finally, she focused on noise outside the shed and realized she heard no approaching footsteps. She forced a quick peek out the door and saw no one.

  “Gotta go for it.” she whispered to herself. She grabbed her suitcase with the good arm, held her injured arm tight to her abdomen, took a deep breath, and bolted from the door. She had no options. No way could she reclaim her inheritance now, but under no circumstance would she even contemplate waiting another day. It was time to leave – forever.

  As she rounded the corner of the building, her pa’s voice rang out. “Alice, you come back here. You need your medicine.” She heard him huff. “You got nowheres to go, girl! Alice! What’d you see? Get back here, girl!”

  Fear turbocharged her legs. Just what kind of medicine did he have in mind? Something lead-based? She wasn’t about to find out as she raced into the woods.

  Again, she found her mind deluged with “what ifs.” He no doubt had seen the suitcase in her hand. The only logical way out was down the mountain, so she would head up. She would climb to the very top and walk down the other side if that’s what it took.

  Only one other residence stood between her and the top of the mountain. Curt Umfleet, his wife, Mary, and their two children lived in a home more decrepit than her own. He worked as a janitor at the area high school, while she tried selling Avon, and baked goods, and anything else she could do from her home. Their youngest, the son, had some sort of mental retardation, or learning problem, or something. She knew for a fact that Mary disliked and mistrusted her pa. Maybe her motherly intuition had clued her into the reality that nothing good happened in the house below them. Plus, the whole town knew of the bad blood between Curt and her pa after Curt caught him poaching on Umfleet land. Now, after what she’d overheard, if Curt knew about her pa heading up the moonshiners, there’d be hell to pay. She didn’t want to involve them in this, but did she have any other choice?

  Alice found her breathing getting hard and her head getting light as she neared the Umfleet home. She began to wonder if she could make it to their house, much less over the mountain. She struggled to carry the suitcase and her pack without the benefit of her one arm for balance, but every time she pulled her arm away from her belly, the bleeding resumed. The front of her blouse and a good portion of her jeans seemed soaked in that vital fluid.

  She could see the building now. Lights were on in the front room and a single, bare bulb lit up the front porch. She stopped to catch her breath and gazed at the house. Could she trust them to help her, and not turn her back over to her pa? Did she have any other option but to try?

  With reservation, she moved to the front porch and heaved her suitcase onto the bare planks making up the floor before climbing its three wobbly steps. The noise must have alerted the occupants because before she could knock on the door, it opened and Curt Umfleet stood there looking down at her broken body as she sat on the top step, breathing deeply.

  “Somethin’ wrong?” His voice held no pleasure in seeing her.

  “I-I need some help,” pleaded Alice.

  “Who is it, Curt?” Mary Umfleet’s voice floated from inside, sounding as feeble as Alice felt.

  “Alice.”

  “Well, for God’s sake, ask her in. Where’s your manners, man?”

  Curt nodded his head toward the door as his invitation, but as Alice stood his eyes widened at the sight of her blood covering the front of her clothes. “Omigosh. Here, here, let me help. What happened? I heard gunshots. What …”

  He assisted her to the nearest chair, a hardbacked, handcrafted Windsor of hard maple, and eased her down. Alice watched as he rushed back to the porch, took a quick look toward the road, and retrieved her bags. Only then did she glance about the room. The children’s bedroom door stood closed and Mary lie in a small bed near the hearth, a fire blazing for the room’s only warmth, her head and back propped up by pillows. The woman looked pale and anorectic. Alice’s injury seemed minor compared to whatever that poor woman was going through. She wondered if the woman would even make it through the night.

  “Lord in heaven, child, what happened?” asked Mary. “Where’d all that blood come from?”

  Alice slid her forearm away from her belly and displayed the laceration, which again began to drip. “I-I cut myself in our shed.” She saw no sense in wasting these peoples’ time. “I need to get away. I was trying … I c-cut it on something sharp. The last bus leaves at 7:30. Do you have some Band-aids? I think I can still make it.”

  Mary shook her head. “Needs more than that.” She gave Alice a stern, quizzical look. “Where’s the baby?”

  At that, Alice broke down. “H-he …” She started to repeat the story she gave the Sheriff but remembered his response and changed her tack. “What do you know about my baby?”

  She saw Curt reenter the room carrying what looked to be an old military ammo box. He motioned for her to join him at their dining table. As she hesitated, Mary nodded and said, “Go on. He was a medic in Nam. He can either fix it, or patch it up to get you to a doctor ASAP.”

  At the table, Curt opened the metal box and pulled out gauze, sutures, and more. To Alice, the tabletop soon looked like a mini-hospital. He handed her a pad of gauze. "Here. Hold this tight to the wound." He went to the kitchen and washed his hands for what seemed like forever, and then returned and gently took her arm, more gauze ready should the bleeding resume.

  “As for your baby, Alice, I know what I heard in the market and I know what I hear at home. The gossipmongers say your baby were stillborn, but I know a baby’s cry when it drifts up the mountain on the wind currents. Sure don’t sound stillborn to me; so what happened?”

  Alice winced at the pain from the man’s strong hand compressing her wound as he prepared to cleanse her forearm.

  “Sorry. Some good direct pressure should stop the bleedin’,” said Curt.

  As Alice told the Umfleets everything about the baby, the death of Jimmy’s father, and her own father’s claim of selling her son, she saw anger energize Mary. She told of her flight from the house and her encounter with the Sheriff. She ended with her rushed departure from the shed. The only aspect of the story she held back was that of her “treasure” chest and the proof within. Despite the help they offered now, she didn’t trust these neighbors enough to divulge that information. Anyone digging up the "proof" she needed would also reveal her inheritance, money left to her by her grandfather.

  Mary rose up and sat on the edge of her bed. “I don’t like admitting this to you, Alice, but I never have liked or trusted
your father. I-I don’t think I can physically help much myself, but we, uh, Curt can help somehow, I’m sure. If it’d help, I can tell the Sheriff that I’ve heard your baby crying and he sure didn’t sound stillborn.”

  “First things first,” he said. “This needs stitches, but I don’t have any numbin’ medicine. Think you can put up with six, seven stitches?”

  Alice shut her eyes and gulped in a big breath, before nodding. She fought back the tears every time the needle went through her skin, arguing with herself that altogether they didn’t hurt as much as the initial laceration did.

  “All done,” announced Curt.

  Alice opened her eyes and gathered the courage to inspect her forearm. She was amazed at the man’s workmanship. She’d seen no better by the doctor in town and she’d had plenty of friends requiring such services over the years. She held it up for Mary to see.

  “Told ya he could fix it.” The woman smiled, but briefly. “The clock there tells me there’s no way you’ll make it to the bus on time, even if Curt drives you down there. Plus, that’ll be the first place your father might be waitin’.” The woman paused in thought. “The bus stops next in Cashiers, right? Curt will drive you there. You should be able to beat the bus.”

  “I can’t ask you to –”

  “You didn’t ask. We’re offerin’. No, tellin’ you. But first, you need some clean clothes. One look at you and the driver’ll be calling the Highway Patrol in Brevard.” She looked at her husband. “Curt, get that big box marked for the church. She should find some things that fit. Lord knows I won’t be getting back up to her size again.”

  Alice started to weep. “I-I don’t know how to thank you.”

  “No need. The Lord is our provider. He always sees fit to meet our needs.” Mary reached behind her bed and pulled up a purse. She removed an envelope and handed it toward Alice. “Here, take this, too. You’ll need it.”

  Alice took the packet and opened it. Five hundred dollars in twenties and fifties stared back at her. “I can’t take this,” she declared.

  “Surely you can,” answered Curt as he returned to the room. “If’n it helps, consider it a loan, no interest.” He opened the box and pulled some things out. “Take a look and take what you need. You can change in there.” He pointed to a door to his right.

  “How … how could I ever repay you?” She sat there, incredulous. This family had less to spare than her "family," yet they gave everything to help her.

  A few minutes later, Alice emerged from the bathroom in clean clothes. Nothing stylish, but they fit well, were in great condition and would serve her purpose. She held the bloody clothes daintily from one hand, and Curt took them and walked toward the back of the house. To the trash, Alice presumed.

  While she’d been changing, Curt had given Mary the box and she had spread several items across the bedcover in front of her. “Don’t know what you have packed in that case of yours, but take these, too. You might need something like them for job interviews.”

  Alice picked up a princess seamed short-sleeved, floral dress, a couple of simple A-line skirts and half a dozen complimentary tops. A quick check confirmed they would fit and she placed them, neatly folded, into her suitcase. She scurried back to Mary and gave her a gentle hug, unsure whether the woman could hold up to anything heartier.

  She stood erect and, with Curt again present, addressed both of her benefactors. “I don’t know what to say or how to thank you. I’m going to get settled in Asheville and then I’m going to start looking for my son. And if you’d talk to the sheriff, that’d be a great help.”

  “When you find him, let us know. Please. It would mean the world to us to know we helped reunite you somehow. In the meantime, I’ll call the sheriff in the mornin’ and keep my ear to the grapevine here. Any number of ladies from church just love to come by and keep me posted on the town’s comings and goings. The busybodies. And you know for sure if a new baby just shows up out of the blue in a home around here, everybody’s gonna hear about it. Doubt that’ll be the case, but you never know. Anyway, make sure you get us a way to contact you.”

  Alice nodded, but for the first time that evening, she noticed Mary grimace in pain. The gesture was subtle, but undeniable. Alice wanted to understand, but was afraid to ask what the problem was. Mary must have seen the question on Alice’s lips.

  “Breast cancer. It’s already spread to several places. The doctors don’t offer any hope.” Then Mary smiled more brightly than Alice had seen all night. “But Jesus is my hope. If He sees fit to heal me then I will continue to serve him here, and if I go home to be with Him, I know and trust He will take care of my family. Now, get going you two, or Curt might well have to drive you to Asheville.”

  Alice hugged Mary once again, more vigorously this time, and gave her a kiss on the cheek. The woman in turn handed her a slip of paper with a phone number written on it in a terse block style. Curt had already gone outside and poked his head back in the door.

  “Coast is clear. Let’s go.”

  He picked up her suitcase, and Alice followed to the old Ford pickup at the side of the house. A minute later, they were driving down the road. Well before passing her driveway and house, she ducked down to avoid any chance of discovery.

  “Don’t see anyone outside,” said Curt. “… but your pa’s truck is there. That be a good sign, yes?”

  Alice shrugged. She wasn’t so sure. Once down the hillside, they still had to drive through town and past the reservoir to get to the road that would shortcut them to Cashiers. She wouldn’t breathe easily until they were well out of town. They passed Shorty’s and the hardware store. As they passed the Sheriff’s office, the other deputy, Mike Albritton, emerged from the building. She ducked – her heart racing and her mind unsure whether she’d been seen. A minute passed. Then two. Then five. No car in pursuit. Maybe, just maybe, she would make it. Escape. Freedom. A new life. Hope. She would find her son, and they would succeed together.

  They traveled on for another fifteen minutes in silence. Curt broke the quiet. “Alice, I know once you get to Asheville, you’re gonna start to think ‘bout how to repay us. Please don’t worry about it. I got some family land we rent out, so we’re not hurtin’ financially as much as it might look. Been our choice to live frugally and use our money for God’s work. As a single woman, you’re gonna face enough hurdles. I know; my sister’s been there. We helped her, too. Focus on your goal. Find your son and create a good life for the both of you.”

  Alice mulled over his words. In her heart, she knew his advice to be sound. Yet, no matter what money they had, she would repay them. Somehow. She would be indebted to them forever.

  Ten minutes later, they entered the town limits of Cashiers and saw the bus as it came to a halt at the covered bench of the bus stop. The bus would wait ten minutes before departing, so Alice relaxed. They had made it. She had made it.

  She leaned across the seat and kissed Curt on the cheek. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”

  He smiled and nodded. As she opened the door, he placed his hand on her shoulder. “Got one more piece of advice, if you’ll take it.” She looked him in the eyes. “I’ve seen your writin’ and your artwork, on the display boards at the school. It’s a God-given talent. Don’t waste it.”

  Alice was surprised at this comment. No one had ever complimented her on her work before. “I, uh … thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.”

  She stepped out of the truck, paid her fare, watched the driver load her suitcase, and climbed aboard the bus. At the driver’s suggestion, she took the seat right behind him.

  Ten minutes later, the bus pulled out of the stop and she caught a glimpse of the Umfleet pickup in the driver’s side mirror as it shrank from view. She’d never forget them. Her new life started right then. Only Jimmy could bring her back to Frampton Corner. Otherwise, to the people there she might as well be dead.

  Three

  (Present day)

  **********

 
Myra Mitchell tore off another sheet of paper from the yellow legal pad on her lap, wadded it up, and tossed it toward the already overflowing trashcan. Her muse had abandoned her, disappeared, left her behind, vamoosed. She struggled for ideas and that bothered her. She never struggled to come up with ideas.

  She doodled on the next clean sheet, trying to relax her mind, to let her usual creativity flow. Yet, Myra could barely keep her eyes open. Where had her stamina disappeared to over the past six months? Had it eloped with her muse? She closed her laptop to put it to sleep, so she could do the same. The clock informed her it was only 9 p.m. Once upon a time, just a year earlier in fact, she could have stayed up all night writing. She had the first several chapters of this story worked out in her mind, but the middle wasn’t just sagging, it hadn’t left the floor. And her body felt just like the story.

  She took her glass of wine to the deck overlooking the waters off Carmel. The shorebirds had retired to their nests. A raft of sea lions looked like rocks dotting the sand as they collected in the dusk, preparing to sleep under the protection of the group. The surf pounded the shoreline in its usual rhythm. A soft breeze lifted off the water, bringing with it that distinctive smell of the ocean.

  As she sipped the last of her wine, she mentally listed her upcoming calendar. Four more days at home, then she would drive to Beverly Hills for three events. Unlike most A-list authors, she loved the limelight. She had attended all four previous movie premiers based on her books, insisting on walking the red carpet, even if no one paid attention to her. She enjoyed the coverage she received in People magazine and US Weekly, even if it did highlight her more rambunctious side. She was after all, the “Diva of Disaster.” And the coverage helped book sales, sales that made her the number-one selling author in the English-speaking world. Well, number-one now that J.K. Rowling and her pesky boy wizard no longer competed for the title.

  The day prior to the premiere, she had a book-signing event scheduled. After the premiere, she had to attend a Meet’n Greet for the new Ph.D. students selected to the Creative Writing Program at the University of Southern California. Myra sat on the program’s Board of Advisors and was one of the visiting faculty members. The group would be small, as the program was small, but she always enjoyed the annual gathering.