“I have an official title.” It was better than suspect, but person of interest was probably usually upgraded to alleged killer.
“That’s one way to put it. Don’t panic.”
“I’m not panicking.” Not yet. I was upset. I hated being a suspect. Who wanted to buy Christmas gifts and décor from an alleged murderer? And I’m sure your mother being a suspect in her ex-husband’s murder wasn’t a career boost for a police officer. Now Raleigh, she’d find a way to work it to her benefit.
“Traffic is bad. I’d rather not talk even using the headset. I’ll call you as soon as I speak to the judge who presided over your divorce.”
“I can meet you there.”
“No. I want to get information about Samuel’s behavior and he might be more forthcoming without you present.”
Or in case he had a few words to say about me. “Maybe that’s not the right angle. Why prove Samuel was horrible to me? He’s dead. It does no good.”
“You need a defense.”
“I didn’t do it.”
“Sometimes that’s not the best one.”
“How about proving who the real killer is? I found a photo album that might have the truth hidden in it.”
“What are you talking about?”
I told him about the album I found in Helen’s attic and the missing photos. “The first picture that was gone was on a page with Samuel and other girls. I bet this picture is of him and a girl. I just have to find out who she is.”
“No, that’s not what you need to do.” He cursed. “I hate this traffic. It’s not going to give me time to swing by your house first.”
“You don’t need to come here first.”
“I don’t want that album in your possession. I’m coming to get it. Maybe I can push back the meeting with the judge.”
“I can’t give it to you. I promised Helen I’d take care of it.”
“But—”
“I’m not going to argue with you, Brett. I won’t give it to you. It’s important to Helen. These are the only pictures she has of Samuel’s time in college. She’s never even seen them before.”
“He hid them from his mom?”
“Yes. That’s why I think the missing photos are important to this case.”
“Merry, someone was murdered. If you really believe this book has a clue to the identity of the person responsible, it needs to be turned over.”
“To the detective who believes I did it? He’ll bury it.”
“He can’t if I turn it over to the local police. There will be a record of it. It’s not safe for you to have evidence in a possible murder.”
“Because it makes me look guilty?”
“Because a killer needs it to stay out of jail.”
Brett’s words dumped a whole lot of ugly reality onto me.
“I don’t want to scare you, Merry. I want you to be cautious. Please let me and the police handle this.” He hung up.
I stared at the photos, putting my backlog of orders onto the do-later list. Who was missing? And who got rid of them? Samuel? The easiest way to narrow it down was finding out about his friends in college. Considering I married the man, one would think that I knew the answer. Samuel and I had lived in the now, the current years, our pasts were ours alone. It worked for us. For me, it was because I didn’t find my past all that interesting to share, for Samuel it appeared he had something to hide.
There was a chance Cassie knew some of the people in the photo or heard stories about her dad’s time at WVU. I called her cell. It rang a few times before the call disconnected. She was mad at me about the RV. There was one way to get her attention. Before I talked myself out of it, I typed: I think I found the ticket. Wasn’t it for an event though?
Closing one eye, I hit sent. My conscience immediately scolding me for lying to the teen to get information I wanted. I had a feeling I’d regret it later. Like when Cassie came over to get her ticket. She wouldn’t be so forthcoming with information when she discovered the truth.
Maybe I should text back and make up the type of ticket I found. Back out of the mess before it was created.
I’ll be over. Cassie responded. Too late to back out now.
Ok.
It won’t be until like two or three hours from now. Must stop at the funeral home. Dad needs a casket and I want to check the clothes Bonnie dropped off. I want Dad to be dressed like Dad. Not like how Bonnie wanted him to dress.
I felt even worse. I was a Grinch. Maybe I could find out what I needed on my own instead of forcing Cassie to come here on false pretenses. Though, I still had to think of a ticket I had meant. Was there a concert coming up that she’d liked and still had tickets available? I could buy one and play it off like her dad must’ve hidden it as a Christmas gift for her.
I opened Facebook and popped onto Samuel’s page. On the left-hand side of the page, it listed his studies: Communication Studies at WVU and Ceramics.
Ceramics? Why hadn’t he mentioned that to me? We had crafting in common. I’d have loved it and might have considered some of his ideas for my business. The man was so analytical and money focused, I didn’t think he understood the heart side to the crafting business. Our wares were bought as much on emotion as cost. The products I created weren’t necessities to run a household, but filled emotional needs of the customers. Celebration. Remembrance. A piece of happiness to brighten their or someone else’s day.
I poked around some more on his page, coming up with nothing but more frustration and anger toward Samuel. There were more instances of him vague bragging about his win, not only on his page, but on others. My heart hurt that his taunts might have very well caused his death. But who would benefit? Cassie? Bonnie?
Me?
There was only one way to pull myself out of the gloom and refocus on work. Christmas. I needed to have some Christmas cheer in my house, and a way to pass the time until Cassie came, and it wasn’t late enough to visit my mother. Tuesday morning was her spa day: hair and mani-pedi. After yesterday, my mom needed some pampering and I didn’t want to interfere. I had hoped on waiting until the weekend to decorate because my children would be down for Thanksgiving and I’d have help, but the weather wasn’t planning on cooperating. The forecast predicted four inches of snow by the weekend. Lovely for holiday pictures, created a great ambiance, but not great for putting lights on the roof. Yesterday’s snow hadn’t accumulated much, so today was a good day to get it started.
If I wouldn’t have too many neighbors complaining, I’d have decorated the outside right after Halloween. I wasn’t much of a Thanksgiving decorator so it would’ve been easy to go from my tame, non-scary Halloween décor to overabundance, glittery Christmasland. While I was knee-deep in Christmas cheer, I’d figure out a good explanation of why I have now misplaced a ticket or was mistaken about finding one.
After donning my all-weather jacket, I tugged on my leather gloves and shoved my phone into my pocket, zipping it up so the cell didn’t tumble to the ground. Even with an OtterBox case, I didn’t think the phone could handle a two-story plummet.
I opened the garage and a strong wind rattled the door as I pushed it up. With the wind blowing, I opted to put up the icicle lights and wreath, leaving Santa and his team of reindeer for another day. There was no way I was lugging those up the ladder.
The closer I was to the metal shelving units holding the boxed lights, the more I felt like bugs were skittering along my skin, picking at my nerves like they were guitar strings. The icicle lights weren’t on the second shelf. I always stored the lights in the order I placed them, leaving the top shelf for items I rarely used. I had to remind my son that lights didn’t go on the top shelf.
I wrangled the ladder to the right-hand side of the house. It was the easiest spot to climb onto the roof and then work my way over to the center to hang the wreath. The hanging of the wreath
was the most dangerous part of today’s holiday decorating plan. The wreath went on the flat portion of the box gable roof. The walkway near that section of the roof was crumbling and the feet of the ladder weren’t leveled. Another item on my to-do list.
I tested the ladder by bouncing on the first rung. I wasn’t big on heights, but I adored Christmas lights and the only way to get them up was doing it myself. There wasn’t much that would keep me from having the magical Christmas season I planned. I tied one end of a ten-foot rope around the wreath and the other around my waist, making sure the rope dangled behind me. Next, I looped the strands of icicle lights around my torso, crossbody purse fashion.
Since I wasn’t putting everything up today, I hoped I heard less complaints from Cornelius. You’d think with such a Christmassy first name, he’d be on board with decorating for the holiday, but he loathed the Christmas season and he bombarded all of Season’s Greetings with his reasons.
The main theme of his hatred of the season was people. He thrived on being a hermit and too many people were interested in his well-being during Christmas time. People brought over food, invited him to meals, sang carols from the sidewalk, delivered presents and all other sorts of goodwill, which he despised. No one expected anything from him and yet when the air started to chill, his normally congenial and dismissive disposition turned sour. Even more Grinch-like than the Grinch himself.
When I reached the roof, I scooted on my behind to the center and leaned over, using the grabber to lower the wreath the last few inches I needed. Singing “Jingle Bells” to calm my nerves, I lowered the grabber and the wreath. It took me a couple tries to place the wreath onto the hook.
The next mission to Christmasify the house: hanging the icicle lights, an easier task since Scotland had left the tabs in the gutter. I had the icicles on the right side of the house placed in record time. Keeping my arms out to stabilize my balance as I walked up the pitch of the roof, I headed for the other side. As I started the descent on the slope, my left foot shot out, skidding on a small icy patch.
Screaming, I fell stomach first onto the roof and grabbed the top edge, stopping my skidding and nearly wrenching my shoulder out of joint. I rested on the roof, choking back tears and waiting for my heart rate to slow. I pulled myself to my knees and sat on the roof, catching my breath. I didn’t want to kill myself and thereby ruin my children’s Christmas forever.
A gust of wind slammed into me. Once again, I grabbed hold of the roof, hanging on for dear life. The lights would have to wait until later. I righted myself, sitting firmly on the roof, and bracing my feet onto the slope. I should’ve brought the rope with me and latched myself to the structure.
How in the world would I get back to the other side? I rested my hand on my coat pocket. The fire department didn’t need to waste their resources plucking a woman with a hare-brained idea for hanging up Christmas lights the day after a snowfall.
I could shimmy my way to the end of the roof and jump to the tree. I wasn’t sure how good I was at jumping anymore. The last time I tried making a six-foot leap I was eighteen-years-old and trying to escape a dog—and soon some parents—chasing me. I was almost twenty-eight years older now, and my physical conditioning hadn’t got any better. The dog had left some teeth marks in my ankle until I was rescued by the owner—Brett.
That was the first and last time I ever agreed to a dare. My mother hadn’t been too happy when she received a call about my breaking and entering the house of a rather important family. I hadn’t been trying to break into the house, but out of it, as Brett’s parents returned home unexpectedly and I wasn’t allowed to be there. I should’ve gone with my instinct of going out the front door and claiming to be a pizza delivery person. Maybe there was a good reason Brett’s parents weren’t overly fond of me.
The wind picked up and I was getting cold. The roof wasn’t icy on the other side. I could crawl toward the ladder. It was the safest of all my plans. I pulled myself up and over then reached the ladder. Or at least where I had placed the ladder.
Open mouthed, I stared down at my ladder tipped onto the grass. Now what? Tears filled my eyes. Mother Nature had it in for her. I blinked away the tears, the small amount already staining my glasses and dotting a few points of my vision. If I cried, I’d still be stuck, and my face would freeze. How in the world would I get down now?
Jump? Nope. I needed all limbs working to craft and finish decorating my house. I sat down on the roof, the cold seeped through my jeans. Cupping my chin in my hands, I braced my arms on my raised knees, and heaved out a sigh. I had no choice. I had to call for help.
I tugged out my phone. A muffled bang floated to me. I paused with my finger on the home button. I remained still and quiet. What was that noise? Bang. It sounded like it was coming from inside my house. Ebenezer was running loose but he wasn’t big enough to knock over anything that loud.
My eyes widened. Someone was in my house! The ladder hadn’t fallen over. It was placed on the ground. “Get out of my house! I know you’re in there. I hear you. I’m calling the police.”
The back door opened and closed.
I scrambled on my hands and knees to the other side of the roof. A figure wearing a down jacket jumped up and grabbed the top of the fence. An orange cap was pulled low on their head. There was a flash of bare ankle as their sweat pants pulled up. I fumbled with my phone, trying to activate the camera and take a picture. The phone slipped from my hand, cartwheeled down the roof and smacked onto the ground.
I didn’t have a picture of the culprit.
Or a way down.
Twenty-Two
Now what? I gingerly sat on the roof and contemplated my situation. Was there a way I could get Cornelius’s attention? The surefire way was to turn the Christmas lights on as he was a stickler for rules, but the plug was near the ground and if I could reach the plug, I wouldn’t be in this predicament.
Next plan? I squished myself into a tight ball, trying to stay warm. No other bright, or even not so bright ideas sprung into my mind. I shivered. The wind was cutting through my jacket. A strong gust blew. I braced my hands on the roof, and hunched over, praying a crosswind didn’t catch me. This was getting worse.
Brett would be calling me back. I could rely on that and the fact that if he didn’t reach me, he’d come to see what I was up to. Cassie should be coming by soon and she’d put the ladder back. Unless, she was the one who knocked it over and snuck into my house to find the ticket herself. There went finding out who Samuel was eliminating from his college years. Samuel was raised here. Lived here his whole life. Everyone knew him, heck even my attorney—that was it. Milton. Milton had been friends with Samuel from toddlerhood until their junior year of college. He’d know who was missing from the photos.
“Are you all right?”
I scooted to the edge of the roof. Paul was looking at me.
“Yes. The ladder blew over. I was trying to figure out a way down.”
“I heard over the scanner that some crazy woman was crawling across a roof.” Paul placed the ladder close to me and held it steady.
Could always count on Cornelius’s dislike of Christmas. “In this instance, I’ll let being called a crazy woman slide.” I started down the ladder.
“When I heard the address, I figured you were putting up the Christmas lights. I called the dispatcher and said I’d stop and check it out since I was in the vicinity. The weather this weekend will be terrible, and I knew you wouldn’t want to put it off until the following weekend when it cleared. Why didn’t you call for help? Scotland told me you were the independent type though this seems to be taking it too far.”
A rock formed in my stomach. I wasn’t sure how I felt about my son talking about me to his friends. Had my boy disliked Samuel so much he was trying to find me a better suitor?
“I dropped my phone.” I stepped off the last rung and bumped into Paul.
/> He placed a hand under my elbow, steadying me. “Careful, I’d hate to see you get hurt.”
His voice was low, intimate. My face heated. I moved away from him, deciding it was best not to acknowledge the comment as I was confused by his tone. “Thanks for your help. I need to locate my phone.” And peek in my attic. The bare ankles of the intruder had an idea rooting into my brain: Cassie was living in my attic. How many people walked around with no socks in winter?
“I’ll help you.”
“That’s all right. I’m sure you have more important things to do.” I wanted to check out my suspicions on my own. If it didn’t appear Cassie had taken up residence in the attic, I’d call the police.
“I know Scotland would appreciate it if I stuck around to make sure you found the phone and it worked. With everything that has happened the last few days, he’d be upset that I left you without a means to call for help.”
Paul was right. No need to act stupid because I wanted to protect Cassie. From what? Who would care that she was staying in my attic? Because you’re afraid she knows something about her father’s death. The truth was like a punch in the stomach. Deep inside, I still suspected Cassie and I tried ignoring it. I didn’t want to believe it was true.
It was better I had someone with me. “Okay. But first I need to check the attic. I’ve been hearing noise up there and I saw someone jumping over my fence.”
Paul’s eyes widened. “Merry, we have to call the police.”
I shook my head. “I think I know who.”
Understanding flashed in his eyes. “Does Cassie have a key to your house?”
“I never gave her one, but it would’ve been easy for her to lift it at some point and make a copy.”
“Do you want to check the attic first or look for your phone?” Paul patted his coat pocket. “I have my phone if that makes a difference.”
Warmth rushed through my heart and head. I wasn’t sure why I was so pleased that Paul was asking me what I wanted to do. It was a small thing, yet it made me extraordinarily happy. “The attic first. If I’m wrong, I don’t want the person to have enough time to come back and either hide evidence or…” I trailed off, not wanting to voice aloud any alternatives. None of them were pretty. I opened the front door and Paul followed me inside.
NOT a CREATURE WAS STIRRING Page 19