Fruit of All Evil

by Paige Shelton

  “Hurry, get the knife from my hands, Becca. I’m about to drop it.”

  I caught it just as it came out of his grasp. I hurried through the ropes around my chest.

  “Good. Now, Becca, get out of here and get some help. I’m not sure I can walk. Hurry.”

  “Not a chance in hell I’m leaving this barn without you.” I cut the ropes around his wrists and his chest. I hadn’t noticed it before, but his ankle was swollen to about three times its normal size, and his right arm hung limp once he was free.

  “Really, Becca, this isn’t a good idea. You can’t carry me.”

  “If I have to, I will. Shut up and do what you can to help me. Can you move your left arm?”

  “Yes.”

  “Put it around me, and I’ll lift you up.”

  He did as I commanded, and somehow I got him to a sort of standing position. His legs buckled once, but then he stabilized.

  “I can’t go far with this ankle. Get out of here. Get some help.”

  “Your ankle just needs to hold long enough to get us out to the road,” I said.

  We were both silent for a moment. The road might as well have been a million miles away. It was going to be a long journey, but we didn’t have a choice.

  “Come on, Sam,” I said.

  We didn’t have time to waste, but suddenly, we were both caught in the moment. With his good arm around my shoulder, he pulled me close and kissed the top of my head. There was nothing romantic about the gesture, but there was something that seemed bigger than that— stronger, perhaps. I couldn’t define why, but I didn’t want him ever to let go.

  “You’re okay, Becca. We’re okay. Let’s get out of here.”

  We hobbled toward the back doors of the hay barn. On the other side were the pasture, the cows, and the road; the world and safety.

  But we weren’t quick enough.

  A noise sounded from the front of the barn.

  I turned just as Alan flew through the doors. He landed on his gut and rolled as though he’d rehearsed the move. In the next instant, he noticed us and his eyes widened.

  “Run if you can,” he said, just before the boom of the gunshot rattled my teeth and all the bales of hay, and I dropped the knife into a small pile of straw.

  Twenty-seven

  We tried to do as Alan said, but didn’t get far. We didn’t even make it to the back doors before Mid stopped us. He pointed Sam’s gun at us. “Get back here,” he said calmly.

  I looked at Sam’s face. Blood had dried and crusted thickly on the right side of his forehead and his cheek. He was unrecognizable except for his blue eyes that could be friendly one moment and iced with anger the next. I was now scared, but one look at his icy blues told me that he wasn’t scared. He was angry, to the point that I was worried he’d do something stupid, like put himself in the line of fire. I placed my hand on his arm and hoped my expression told him not to be rash.

  We turned and hobbled toward Mid, Sam making sure he was slightly in front of me, his body protecting mine.

  “Mid, put the gun down. You haven’t done anything yet that we can’t work out,” Sam said. I was surprised at the evenness of his voice.

  Mid laughed. “Right. We’ve assaulted a police officer. Thought you were dead, but I guess not”—he looked at Shawn—“and my brother coldcocked her.” He flicked the gun. Sam leaned even more in front of me.

  “We’re okay. Alan’s okay. Let us go, and we’ll get you some help,” Sam said.

  “Help? You want to get me some help?” Mid laughed. The maniacal tone in his voice made me swallow hard.

  “Maybe they’re right,” Shawn said as he came through the opening. “We’ve caused enough harm. Let’s talk about this, Mid.”

  “You killed our aunt. I don’t think you’ll get off that easily,” Alan said. He was still on his side on the ground. I cringed at his timing. Even though he’d told us to run, I still didn’t like him.

  Mid walked over to Alan and kicked him hard in his back, probably right on a kidney. Alan made a horrible noise that sounded like an exhale mixed with a groan, and then curled into the fetal position.

  “Mid, stop,” Shawn said. He looked at Sam, and his expression seemed to plead for help or mercy. Sam couldn’t do much, but I didn’t point that out.

  Clearly, it was all of us against Mid. Even Shawn wanted his brother to stop, but Mid had the gun and that made him more powerful than the rest of us combined, unless we could come up with a way to get it away from him. And that didn’t seem very likely. Sam, Alan, and I were addled, and Shawn didn’t seem to the have the guts or influence of a goldfish.

  “You could have helped, Alan,” Mid said, but Alan was in too much pain to care what Mid said. “You didn’t have to let her see the letter. We should have killed you, too.”

  “No more killing, Mid,” Sam said. “Listen to me—no more killing. We can still work all of this out. If you kill anyone else, we won’t be able to help you. Okay?”

  Mid looked at Sam, and though he held the gun and had pretty much admitted to murder and to wanting to kill again, a wave of sorrow rolled through my gut. It mixed with fear and anger, and again I wanted to throw up. I tried to swallow the huge lump in the back of my throat.

  “Mid,” I said, surprised my voice still worked. “What happened? Why did you have to kill your aunt?”

  For a moment it seemed as if he wasn’t going to answer. He moved into his own thoughts, and his eyes became glazed and distant. I thought he might actually be tearing up. He lowered the gun.

  Shawn noticed, and stepped toward him as though he might try to take the gun. But Mid recovered too quickly, as if remembering where he was and what was going on. His eyes cleared, he took a step away from Shawn, and raised the gun again.

  “She set us up. She gave us the dairy and made sure we’d fail.”

  “No, Mid, she didn’t make sure you’d fail, she just knew you would,” Alan said.

  “Same thing, isn’t it?” Mid spit out the words. “Then she wouldn’t help us. We’d lost almost everything, had been losing so much for years. She could have given us money, but she refused—said that we should have run the business better, said that the family had run it successfully for years and that we should have been able to handle it. She gave us the dairy and made it so we’d fail. She did it because we didn’t ‘appreciate’ or love her enough. She admitted as much right before I . . .”

  “Why didn’t you just sell the farm?” I asked.

  Mid laughed. “She’d have bought it and given it to Drew or someone else in the family, and then given them the help to make it work. If she’d just given us a little money, if she’d just helped us . . .”

  “Why didn’t you go to another bank?” I asked. How had Madeline’s hold been so strong on these men?

  Mid laughed and then wiped at the spit at on the corner of his mouth. “She had us blackballed. Even Sally, our own sister, couldn’t get her bank to help us.”

  I wanted to ask why they didn’t just walk away from the dairy and their family, but somehow I already knew the answer—that just wasn’t an option. Somehow the hold that Madeline had on them was strong, too strong. It came from their childhood when she “rescued” them. In her mind, they hadn’t treated her as she deserved to be treated, so she punished them with the full force of her power. Sally had worshipped Madeline, and she was now an emotional wreck. Shawn and Mid hadn’t worshipped her, and they had become homicidal. “Dysfunctional” only scratched the surface when describing this family.

  “I don’t get it, Mid. Why the fake foreclosure letters?” I asked.

  “We wanted to ruin her. When she wouldn’t help us—her own family, for God’s sake—we knew we had to ruin her. I stole the stationery from her desk. It was so easy, too easy.” Mid laughed and then sobered as he looked down at Alan. “And then he figured it out. He figured out we were doing it.”

  “I wasn’t going to tell anyone, Mid. I just wanted the two of you to stop. Even when I thou
ght you’d killed Madeline, I wasn’t going to tell anyone. I just wanted you to stop,” Alan repeated.

  Mid looked at Shawn. “You told me Alan was talking to the authorities.”

  “I told you they’d contacted him,” Shawn said, anger now beginning to thicken his voice. “I was concerned that he’d have to talk to them. I didn’t ever say that he had. You haven’t really been listening, Mid. Come on, listen to me now. Put the gun down.”

  Mid looked at me. “Alan called today and told us you’d seen the letter in his desk. We knew we’d been caught. We were going to just leave, but you showed up.” Mid looked at Sam.

  “But I didn’t, Mid. I didn’t see the letter. I have no idea what it said. Alan came back to the desk too quickly.” I shifted my weight and Sam’s weight to my other foot. We were both becoming increasingly heavier. I wouldn’t be able to prop us up much longer.

  “I told you she might not have seen it,” Alan said.

  Suddenly, regret filled the barn. Whatever was in that letter must have been the final straw, so to speak. It was clear that if Mid and Shawn hadn’t thought I’d seen its contents, none of what was happening would be happening.

  Mid looked at Shawn, who ran his fingers through his hair and then looked away.

  “Idiots,” Alan said. His timing once again made me question his intelligence. Of course, Mid kicked him.

  “Why did you kill your aunt, Mid?” Sam asked. “Sounds like she was doing everything she could to make your lives difficult, but why did you have to kill her?”

  “I went to her house early to try one more time to see if she’d give us some money. I snuck in and went up to her room. She flew into a rage. She couldn’t believe I had the gall to keep begging.” Mid shook his head. “She was so arrogant and so self-righteous. She said that we’d ruined the family name, and probably her reputation. I just wanted her to shut up about it, but she wouldn’t.”

  “So you choked her with an old shirt?” I asked, disgusted. I was getting more tired and aggravated by the second.

  “It was a gift for her. I thought she’d be in a good mood. I took her one of our old delivery shirts and a stupid butter stamp. I wanted her to reminisce about the old days, I wanted her to remember the good times.

  “But she was so angry. So very angry. I had no choice, don’t you see? She was going to take everything from us.”

  “I understand,” Sam said. “You were pushed to kill her. You had no choice.” His voice was slurring. He was getting too heavy, and if he passed out, I’d drop him.

  Shawn took another brave step toward his brother.

  “Oh, no, step back. I need to think,” Mid said. Shawn stepped back and to the side.

  “It’s all right, Mid, we understand,” Sam continued.

  “No.” Mid raised the gun and aimed directly at Sam.

  I tried to maneuver Sam backward, but I couldn’t move either of us.

  “Mid, come on, put the gun down. Let’s talk about this some more,” Sam said.

  Mid raised the gun and took perfect aim at Sam’s head. I pulled my shoulder out from under Sam’s arm, and he fell to the ground. I crouched next to him. I knew I’d hurt him. Mid, now even angrier, aimed the gun at Sam again. There was nowhere for us to go, unless the earth could open and swallow us to safety.

  I paid attention to my breathing because I thought I was about to take my last pulls of oxygen, ever. Mid would shoot Sam and then me. No one would stop him, and because they were cousins, together they’d figure out how to cover up their crimes.

  “Becca,” Sam said, “please try to run.”

  “No way.”

  Sometimes things just don’t work out.

  But sometimes they do.

  We’d managed to calm Mid’s anger just long enough. Suddenly, one of the barn doors swung open and hit him in the back. The force of the blow caused him to fire the gun, but his aim was directed away from Sam. Later, I would swear that I didn’t hear the gunfire until after I felt the searing pain hit my arm. After the pain and the noise, I was flat on my back, wondering what I’d missed.

  A scuffle must have ensued, because I heard yelling and confusion as I stared up at the rafters and tried to guess how many pieces my arm must be in.

  “She’s going to be okay.” Sam was sitting up next to me. “We need to try to stop the bleeding and get her to the hospital. Put some pressure on the wound.” He looked at the person who was on my other side. I turned my head slightly and focused my eyes.

  “Allison?” I either thought or said aloud, I wasn’t sure which.

  “Hey, Sis.” Her brown eyes were wide, and her olive complexion had gone green. “You didn’t call me back. I called Vivienne Norton. Every police officer from Monson and the surrounding counties is here. I’m sorry I got you shot, though.”

  I knew she was, and I knew that if she was there, I’d probably be okay. Probably.

  Twenty-eight

  I was down an arm and loaded with painkillers, but there were enough helping hands to compensate.

  It was only a suface flesh wound, even though it hurt like more. It would leave an interesting scar, but no real damage. My arm was in a sling, but I wasn’t going to let something like a little gunshot wound ruin a perfectly good wedding. Plus, apparently it had once again been medically confirmed that I have a hard head. I had no concussion to go along with the lovely bruise on the side of my face. I’d covered facial injuries with makeup before, though, so I’d been able to handle the task.

  “How about these, Becca?” Abner asked as he held two of the most colorful and beautiful bouquets I’d ever seen.

  “Perfect. She’ll love them.”

  “Good. I’ll take care of them until she gets here.”

  “Thanks, Abner.”

  Hobbit stood at my side as I looked around the tent.

  “Looks good, huh?” I asked her.

  She nudged my leg in agreement. She sensed I was hurt, and I knew she wouldn’t leave my side until she knew I’d be okay.

  Everyone had their game faces on and were busy doing their parts to make Linda and Drew’s wedding memorable. Abner had decorated the tent and the arbor with hundreds of his wildflowers. I was sure that Stella had been up all night frosting the Navy-themed wedding cake. She was still fussing over the ribbon topper. Allison was everywhere, making sure everything looked perfect. Herb was practicing his violin. His face was pinched, and little beads of nervous perspiration had popped out on his temples, but he sounded great.

  Barry, decked out in a suit, was beginning to guide guests and vendors to their seats.

  “Second time I’ve seen you in a dress,” a voice said from behind me.

  I turned. “Sam! They let you out of the hospital?”

  Sam’s ankle was a “mess,” according to the same doctor who took care of my arm. One shoulder had been dislocated, and that arm was now in a sling that matched mine. His head was wrapped like a mummy’s, leaving him no opportunity to slick back his hair. He was in a wheelchair being pushed by the biggest muscles in town.

  “No, we escaped,” Officer Norton said. “Sam wasn’t going to miss the wedding.”

  “We didn’t escape. I got permission, but I have to go back to the hospital right after the wedding,” Sam corrected her.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” I said.

  We looked at each other for a long moment.

  “I’m sorry I was so careless,” Sam apologized. “I should never have gone to the dairy alone. If I’d taken someone, another officer, I doubt either of us would have been hurt.”

  So that’s why he came. For some reason I’d never completely understand, Sam felt guilty for putting me in the line of fire of a maniacal killer.

  I bent down and kissed his cheek gently. “We’re both alive and we’re both going to be fine. I know I’d be dead if you hadn’t brought yourself back to life. Thanks for doing that.”

  We were interrupted by other vendors who wanted to talk to Sam. I stepped carefully away from th
e growing crowd.

  It wasn’t until long after I’d been taken to the hospital that Allison told me what Sam told her. Sam was searching the dairy when he was hit in the head from behind. He didn’t see who’d done it, but Shawn confessed to being the one. Sam was glad he was the one who’d done it. He probably saved Sam’s life by telling Mid that he was dead.

  Shawn had hit me, too, but not hard enough to cause permanent damage. Oddly, I felt gratitude for what had happened. Other than hitting Sam and me, Shawn hadn’t done anything very criminal. Mid had stolen the letterhead, written and mailed the letters, and killed Madeline by himself. But Shawn and Alan were both being charged with aiding and abetting. Sally had done nothing criminal, but she wouldn’t be at the surprise wedding; she was with her brothers in their “time of need.” She was a mess, and it wasn’t going to be an easy road for her. I promised myself to check in with her every now and then.

  Oh, and Shawn had done one other thing.

  He’d written a note to Alan. Shawn knew that Mid had killed Madeline and that Mid was losing whatever was left of his sanity. The failing business had taken Mid to dark places that scared the entire family. Shawn handwrote the note that Alan put in his desk the day I was at the bank. It said simply: If something happens to me, Mid was involved. He’s out of control.

  He didn’t say that he knew Mid had killed Madeline. He didn’t mention anything else, but it was enough for Alan to know—know who’d killed Madeline, know who’d been sending out the fraudulent letters. When Alan thought I’d seen the note, he called his cousins to tell them. Shawn told Mid that he written the note. After the two hours passed, Alan thought I’d probably call the police if I hadn’t already. He felt he should drive out to the dairy to make sure Shawn and Mid were okay. Plus, he hoped to get the full story about what happened with his aunt. He never expected to see me there.

  “Hey,” Allison said as she moved next to me, “you okay?”

  “Yeah. I’m glad Sam’s here.”

  “Me, too, but he should be in his hospital bed eating Jell-O and watching bad television.”