Killer Reads: A Collection of the Best in Inspirational Suspense

by Luana Ehrlich

  She stood slowly and moved to the nearby sink. The mirror above the sink reflected the marked improvement she had made since receiving part of Alexia’s liver. Her skin color, while still a shade of ochre, no longer placed her in the Great Pumpkin’s family.

  She heard a knock at the door and turned to see two elderly gentlemen in the doorway. She quickly made sure her derriere wasn’t exposed through her patient gown.

  “Yes?”

  The two men stared at her and she returned the glare, scrutinizing first the scrawny white-haired man in the wheelchair. Her eyes widened. Could it really be?

  “Betsy?”

  The voice, though frail, took her back decades.

  “Jim?” It had to be him, Jim Fleming.

  He nodded and she hobbled over to give him a hug.

  “Or should I say, it’s me, George.” He grinned. “You made me famous.”

  “Same old smile. Goodness, I never thought I’d see you again.”

  “Good genes. Aiming to hit the century mark next year.”

  “You certainly have come a long way, young lady,” the other man said. He looked roughly twenty years younger than Jim but stout and nearly bald. A long scar graced his scalp.

  “Sir?”

  “You don’t recognize me, do you?”

  “No, Sir, I’m afraid I don’t.”

  He extended his hand. “Thomas Mathews.”

  “Esquire,” added Jim.

  Myra took a deep breath and gasped. “I-I thought you died in a car accident. I …”

  “First, Judge Warren asked me to confirm you’re you.” He smiled. “So, what do you remember most about our very first meeting?”

  “The look on your face when I told you my story about my baby being taken by my father and sold.”

  “And …”

  “I was still lactating and you had your secretary check me to confirm that.”

  “Betsy Weston is back aka Myra Mitchell. As I said, you’ve come a long way. Backwoods Carolina to bestselling author. I feel honored to have played a part.”

  “But you … You were in a coma and I thought you died.”

  “As I recall, you had to leave town suddenly. And I didn’t even think of it when you came to Sally’s funeral. That week was such a blur,” said Jim.

  “I was nearly killed. Spent four months in a coma …” He pointed to the scar across his scalp. “… and another three months in physical rehab. It took me over a year after that to get back to work, and by then, the Umfleet trial was such old news I never heard or knew about it until now, with this story about you breaking all over the news. When I read about the old case, I was able to put the pieces together and I contacted Judge Warren.”

  Myra stepped around the wheelchair and hugged the aged attorney.

  “Please. Please come in and have a seat. I could use some company right now.”

  The next two weeks in the hospital evolved into a homecoming of sorts for Myra. Jim Fleming returned off and on with several of the “girls” from the Rest Stop that Betsy had known. The women had done Sally ‘Sweetie’ Fleming justice by becoming successful businesswomen, lawyers, and one, a gynecologist. All left the trade and never looked back. Those meetings were bittersweet in their memorials to Billie and Jennie.

  Judge Warren and a court stenographer came to visit and take Myra’s deposition. With Counselor Mathews’ testimony to back up Myra’s, she was assured that Curt Umfleet’s freedom was but days away.

  True to that assurance, Curt Umfleet’s conviction was overturned and his release date set. Myra sweet-talked, cajoled, threatened, and cried to get her doctor to release her for Curt’s prison release. Her doctors relented only enough to give her a day pass to attend the event. Alexia, now free of her hospital gown and staying with Oni and Angela at the motel, joined her roommates in picking up Myra at the hospital and driving her to the prison.

  As Curt emerged to a cheering crowd of Innocence Project volunteers and a strong press contingent, Myra stood from her wheelchair and walked up to him. Tears streamed from her eyes as she hugged him.

  “I’m so, so sorry this took so long. Can you ever forgive me?”

  “Never held it against ya. God allowed Joseph to go to prison and he became the second ruler of Egypt. Silas and Paul went to prison and God made the earth quake. The jailer and his guards came to know the Lord that day. I just figured He had a job for me there, so I made the best of it. I knew He’d take care of the needs of my children. Never had a doubt.”

  Curt’s son and daughter joined Myra and she held all three until the son tired of it and pushed away.

  “Curt, I’m forever indebted to you. I’ll make sure things are right for you,” said Myra.

  “Not necessary. God’s got everything under control.”

  Forty-eight

  **********

  “I’m nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.”

  Alexia laughed. “Cliché. You must be feeling better; you’re baiting me now.”

  Curt Umfleet’s homecoming party had been delayed until Myra’s discharge from the hospital. Oni and Angela had returned to Arkansas after Myra promised not to delay her return to Eureka Springs. Alexia had the wheel of the Mustang and played her role as chauffeur.

  “I haven’t been back to Frampton Corner since I left North Carolina.”

  “Then this trip is past due.” Alexia turned off U. S. Highway 64 at Cashiers and headed toward Frampton Corner. “So, this adventure is almost finished. Has God met your deepest desire?”

  Myra looked ahead down the road and didn’t answer.

  “On my last trip here, in this car, I almost turned back at this point.” Myra gripped the door handle tightly as she remembered that trip.

  A mile down the road, Myra suddenly said, “Next right. Take the next right.”

  Alexia jammed the brakes and slowed enough to make the turn safely. A sign said, “Frampton Cemetery – 1 mile.”

  Myra racked her brain to recall the directions to her mother’s grave. As they entered the gate, she noticed a new sign and directory listing family plots. “Here. Stop here.” She pointed to the directory. “Be a good girl and check the directory for the Cummings family plot. Elizabeth Cummings to be precise.”

  Alexia started to say something, but stopped and did as requested. A moment later, she maneuvered the car along the cemetery’s narrow lanes until she found the right spot.

  “Do you need any help?”

  “No. Thank you.”

  Myra exited the car and walked slowly toward her mother’s grave. She stood there silently for several minutes, fondling her great, great grandmother’s necklace that adorned her neck and trying to remember what her mother looked like. She couldn’t and that disturbed her. She started to turn away, but stopped to stare at the adjacent grave. “Rest in Peace – Amos Lloyd Cummings.” She was surprised to see that he’d died just two years earlier. The alcohol must have pickled him, she thought.

  Alexia joined her. “Your parents?”

  Myra nodded. “My mother died when I was a child.” She sighed. “You asked a while ago about my deepest desire. Well, for years all I thought about was having the chance to piss on my father’s grave for what he did to me. But I knew that unladylike act of public indecency would likely land me in jail. I settled for spitting on his grave when I got the chance. Now, I can’t bring myself to do it. Maybe I’ve finally forgiven him. In a way, he gave me a new life by letting me go and by saving my mother’s small inheritance for me. He could have spent it on drink. Probably wanted to, but he didn’t, and he made sure I got it.”

  “That was your deepest desire?” Alexia looked deflated as if she’d expected something grander.

  “No, but it was a desire.”

  Myra turned abruptly and walked back to the car. Alexia hustled to catch up. They drove past the old Post Office, the Sheriff's office, and the local courthouse. No different, but the old home across from the Sheriff had been “remuddled”
to someone’s idea of Victorian. A yard sign advertised antiques, but it looked as if the “Closed” sign had been permanently affixed to it. Hoping to capitalize on tourists’ love of the local scenery, several of the old homes were now boutiques, one a wine bar. Only the latter showed any signs of life, but it offered no temptation to Myra now. The changes failed to give the town any allure and Myra gave the revitalization effort a weak D-plus. Minutes later, they turned up that all-too-familiar road to the top of the mountain.

  Myra was surprised to see scaffolding surrounding the Umfleet home. Repairs had already been started. The new steel roof glistened in the sun as it awaited painting. A backhoe sat parked behind the house where a trench had been dug and footers poured for what appeared to be a new addition. Alexia parked near that backhoe.

  Curt was the first to greet them.

  “Looks mighty different, don’t it?” He hugged the women and took Myra by the hand. As they walked toward the house, he raised her arm and glanced at the forearm. “See, Mary told ya I did good work. Not much of a scar to be seen.” He smiled.

  Myra raised her other hand and swept it across from one end of the house to the other. Before she could say anything, Curt spoke up as if reading her mind.

  “House needed fixin’ up and with my comin’ home, we needed to expand.”

  Myra gave him a quizzical look.

  “The judge awarded me over a million dollars for wrongful incarceration. Gonna fix my house and get a couple of new cars. Then we’ll see who the Lord wants me to help next.”

  “Don’t forget, you got a strong civil case against Emory Albritton. He stole your land and –”

  Curt interrupted. “We’ll cross that bridge soon enough.”

  Myra and Alexia shot each other a glance that said, “cliché,” without having to verbalize the word. Myra smiled at her friend, a young woman who had become one of her dearest friends. She was literally a part of her now, Myra had joked. As usual, Alexia had put it biblically. Jesus said it, prior to being crucified, “Greater love has no one than this, that one lay down his life for his friends.”

  As Alexia had put it, her Lord had laid down his life for everyone, even Myra. If only she could believe that. Her deepest desire had not been fulfilled.

  Forty-nine

  **********

  On the drive up to the Umfleet’s, Myra had closed her eyes as they passed her father’s house. After fleeing all those years ago, she could never come to accept it as her old home, too. She didn’t want to relive anything that had gone on in that house. Yet, after an hour at the party, she felt an inexplicable curiosity to see the home. She approached Alexia.

  “Dear, would you be willing to leave this gaiety to help me walk down the hill?”

  Alexia furrowed her brow. Myra had shared some of what had happened to her at her father’s hand. These were stories even Oni and Diana had never heard.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Of course. It’s only a building, right? An inanimate object. The monster no longer hides in the closet.”

  “Tell you what, I’ll pull the car around and drive you down. That’ll make it easier to come back up here afterwards. You’re not to exert yourself, remember?”

  Myra nodded. That made sense.

  The first thing Myra noticed was the old shed, and all the junk, was gone. Only its foundation remained. The house was brightly painted like some Victorian “painted lady.” The color scheme wasn’t quite architecturally correct, but it sure livened up the old place. Myra climbed out of the car and looked up at the old kitchen window where she saw the face of a man staring out at her. She moved toward the front porch and she realized he was still staring, at her car.

  Myra climbed the two steps to the front porch and paused to stroke the wood railing and look about. The sun had started its descent behind the distant mountain and she stood as she often had as a teen, mesmerized by the beauty of the sunset. Only when the front door opened did the spell break.

  The front door opened and a man cleared his throat, but Myra continued to gaze westward. "Can we help you?" he asked.

  At that, Myra started and turned to face him. "Oh, oh ... I am sooo sorry. I'm trespassing, aren't I?" She turned back toward the valley. "Isn't it beautiful?" She paused, soaking in the beauty. "Oh ..." She faced them again. "I'm sorry. My name's Myra. I-I didn't mean to disturb you folks."

  A woman had joined the man on the porch and Myra overheard her whisper in his ear. "Be right back." She assumed them to be husband and wife.

  "You're right about that. Probably the best view in the whole county." He joined her for the dénouement. Dark would quickly follow. The woman emerged from the house holding something.

  As twilight lost ground to the night, Myra faced them. "Thank you for sharing your view. I should get going."

  "Would you like to have tea with us?" The man stared at his wife, apparently confounded by her invitation. "I mean, these roads are treacherous in the dark and --"

  "Thank you, but I've imposed enough." Myra turned to leave the porch. “I have someone driving for me, and we need to get back to the Umfleet’s.

  "Ms. Mitchell, please, we'd be honored." She held up the book in her hands. "We love your writing."

  The man snatched the book from his wife and compared the jacket photo with the woman standing before them.

  Myra stopped and edged back onto the wooden porch, unsure what to do. “I know. Not much of a resemblance, but the past few months have been rough.” She had a good vibe about this young couple, but did she want to go inside that house? Most memories from inside remained on the unpleasant list.

  She took the book and pulled a pen from her jacket pocket. "Umm, I don't usually –“

  “We understand,” interrupted the man. The woman’s eyes cast down.

  Myra looked at them. "Your names?"

  "I'm Jared Hilsing and this is my wife, Amy."

  Myra noted for the first time that the young woman was pregnant, and well along with her pregnancy at that. Myra autographed the inside of the book and handed it back to Amy. "I started to say, I don't make it a habit of accepting invitations from complete strangers. But, Amy, Jared, I guess we're no longer complete strangers. If it really isn't an imposition, I'll take you up on that offer."

  Amy's smile illuminated the gathering shadow. She elbowed her husband. "Go get her friend and I'll set the table."

  Amy opened the front door and motioned for Myra to enter. Myra hesitated. In her mind, her father waited inside. Would he be drunk and abusive or sober and tame? She forced herself through the doorway and, in that first glance of unfamiliar furnishings, remembered what she’d told Alexia just minutes before. The house itself held no negative energy, only the memory of a long dead past inhabitant. The interior was remarkably pleasant and bright, the furniture, homey and comfortable. No pretentious electronics. A floor to ceiling bookshelf, filled with a variety of authors, dominated one wall. She scanned the titles and found all of her books as well as those of many good friends.

  Jared and Alexia joined them and Myra introduced Alexia to Amy. Alexia eyed Myra nervously.

  “You’ve turned this place into a lovely home. Very cozy,” Myra stated as she sat down to her cup of green tea.

  “So, you were at the Umfleets?” asked Jared.

  Myra nodded.

  “We heard that he’d been exonerated and freed. What a shame he had to spend those years in jail,” said Amy. “We aren’t aware of any details, but I figure we’ll hear about them sooner or later, with them living so close and all.”

  Myra felt no need to say any more. She stood and looked up the stairs toward her old room. “This is the kind of house that needs a big brass bed and antiques. Do you like antiques?”

  “I guess.” Amy shrugged. “We already have a big brass bed. It came with the house 'cause no one could dismantle it without destroying it, and no one had the heart to do that."

  “May I see it?”

  A look of anxiety crossed the y
oung woman’s face, but she finally said, “Uh, sure, I guess. The upstairs is kinda messy. Please don’t look too closely.”

  Jared led Myra up the stairs and seemed surprised when she forgot to wait for him to lead the way and walked right to her old room. Other than a new mattress, new linens and a colorful wedding knot quilt, the bed had not changed. She looked at the side of that bed and recalled the day she awoke to find Jimmy Bob gone. She rushed from the room and down the stairs before her emotions broke free.

  “I’m sorry, Amy, but we need to go. Alexia.”

  “But, I …”

  “Your home is lovely dear and I am honored to be a guest, but I’m suddenly not feeling well and we need to go.”

  Alexia stood without saying a word, but her look was all too clear – “I didn’t think this was a good idea.”

  Fifty

  **********

  The following morning Myra picked at her food in the motel’s breakfast room. She’d been silent all the way back from Frampton Corner, and Alexia hadn’t pushed it. This morning, however, Alexia wouldn’t let it go.

  “So, what was that all about last night? You accept their invitation to tea and then we leave abruptly before finishing the first cup? Why?”

  Myra looked at the young woman, her heir apparent, destined to write her biography, and realized she hadn’t given her all the pieces. “I shouldn’t have gone up to my old bedroom. It proved too painful.” She then told Alexia the rest of her story, about Jimmy, her flight from Frampton Corner, her stay at the Rest Stop.

  “I’ve spent a quarter of a million dollars trying to find my son. I even had an attorney offer my father $100,000 to give up the information. He refused, still insisted that baby was stillborn, that he had no grandchildren. There were times I thought I was crazy, that I had indeed imagined bringing Jimmy home with me. That usually led to a binge, but the wine never erased the memory. The only thing I have left of him is a photo buried in a box, and it’s probably rotted away by now.”