Crime Times Two

by Julie Howard

  She wiped at Jamie’s mouth, then lifted Atticus from the table. “If you eat any more, you’ll blow up.”

  “Bl’up,” he agreed. “Bl’up, bl’up.”

  “Just wait ’til you taste my sweet pumpkin pie, little one,” Honey offered.

  The five-year-old eyed the turkey slices still left on the large platter. “Can I take some turkey home instead? We don’t get to eat meat at home anymore.”

  “Jamie.” Meredith’s tone was warning and her face reddened. “Don’t be rude.”

  Honey tsked, though her expression was pleased. “I’ll make up a package for all of you. There’s more than plenty left over.”

  Egan stood and stretched, rubbing his stomach. “Why do all you gals always want to be vegetarians? I don’t get it.”

  Her lips went thin. “We’re not trying to go vegetarian.”

  She stopped. Why should she explain to everyone how meat was pricey and she needed to cut back on expenses? She made sure her growing children consumed plenty of protein; no one in her house was starving or being deprived. There was no reason to share her financial problems with anyone. In any case, eating more fruit and vegetables was healthy.

  “I’d never go vegetarian.” Gemma smiled up at Egan as she spoke, twisting the ends of her hair, and he gave her an approving nod in return.

  Meredith stacked plates and marched off to the kitchen. The turkey sat like a lump in her stomach, weighted down by mashed potatoes and green bean casserole. She parked herself at the sink and sunk her arms up to their elbows in dishwater. The clatter of dishes meant she was saved from having to talk to anyone. She scrubbed, rinsed, and stacked, taking her rage out on the cranberry and gravy stained plates piled high around her.

  Honey was at her shoulder, her voice low. “Here’s a secret. Mushrooms. Chopped fine. In the stuffing.”

  She swung around, thinking of the moist delectable stuffing. “What?”

  Honey gave a broad smile. “Surprised you, huh? No one ever guesses. It adds a nutty flavor and a little texture. Plus, there’s good protein in mushrooms. Chop ‘em fine, add them to just about anything and no one knows. Just a thought if you’re cutting back on meat with those growing kids of yours.”

  Meredith wrinkled her nose in distaste. “I don’t like mushrooms.”

  “You never knew what you were eating though, did you? They’re easy to sneak in without anyone knowing the difference.”

  Honey settled in next to her, drying the dishes and then bustling around to tuck them away in cupboards. Without any warning, the woman launched into what happened in Twin Lakes. “I read somewhere it isn’t unusual to have deaths go in threes. I just can’t get it out of my mind, a person dying right there in a confessional as though he were struck down for his sins. And then a priest too.”

  “And Brian,” Meredith added in a low voice.

  “Or…” Honey drew out the word and then fell silent.

  Meredith withdrew her hands from the dishwater and yanked out the sink stopper. “Or what?”

  “Hard to know whether your husband was the first, or Jacob was the first in a run of three,” Honey mused. “There’s either one more or we’re done, depending on how you count. Course, this is all speculation and superstition. Doesn’t mean another death is on the horizon.”

  “I’m not superstitious,” she responded, although this wasn’t entirely true. Hadn’t she felt haunted by Brian?

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if that lazy Jacob Burns got himself murdered,” Honey prattled on, scrubbing at her stove top. “Letting his wife be the breadwinner with an important job, growing his hair over his ears and down his neck, at his age. He was asking for something bad to happen.”

  Sometimes it was difficult to know when Honey was serious or just provoking a reaction. Meredith grabbed a dishtowel and began drying the silverware. “You don’t murder someone for being laid off.”

  Honey’s face was hidden as she hunched over the stove, still scrubbing. “There’s lots of reasons for killing someone. You may well have considered something similar yourself,” she said, making Meredith glance around to make sure they were alone. “We all have those thoughts, but thank goodness most times, they go away. Some people get those thoughts and can’t get them out of their mind; so, they do it.”

  From the first time she’d met her, it seemed Honey could see inside her mind. Brian debased her, abused her and cheated on her. In the months leading up to his murder, fantasies about killing him filled her mind. After his murder, she worried, somehow, she killed him while under the influence of sleeping pills. In the months since, she convinced herself she never would have actually killed him. But who could say for certain what was down the other fork in the road?

  “Murder’s a pretty big step to take, regardless.”

  Honey shrugged. “You never know what’s in someone else’s mind.” She spoke lightly, and assessed her now spotless stove, wiping an invisible speck off the top.

  Once more, she wondered if her friend had anything to do with Brian’s murder. Had Honey persuaded someone else to kill Brian to protect her granddaughter? Meredith glanced behind her to where Honey was gathering more items from the dining table and whispering something to Gemma.

  Gemma would have known if Brian carried a gun in his car. She could have told Honey about his whereabouts, and Honey could have shared this information with someone unstable enough to commit murder.

  What if, what if, what if, she thought. In the end, someone else pulled the trigger. He was in prison. Wasn’t this enough?

  As though conjured by these thoughts, Gemma lugged in the final dishes and sidled up next to her at the sink. A scent of flowers and ginger filled the kitchen. “This is just as difficult for me, you know,” the girl said with a pout. “Don’t act like it’s all on you.”

  Meredith gritted her teeth in frustration. Would this Thanksgiving never be over? “Don’t talk to me.”

  “Gram said having you all over was the neighborly thing to do, since you don’t have a family.” Gemma said the words lightly but the words hit home as intended. “I understand you never had a father at all.”

  She whirled to face her. It hadn’t occurred to her Brian would have told this girl the personal details of her life. The alcoholic mother and absent father, her nomadic existence, and how grateful she was when Brian gave her the first stability she’d ever known. It was galling to have Gemma view her with pity. A smirk crept into the girl’s face as Meredith visibly fought to control her emotions. If her friend was manipulative, this granddaughter of hers was cunning.

  Honey stopped behind them, holding a turkey baster and handful of silverware. “Gemma was so grateful you sent her money, to pay Brian’s debt on the house. Weren’t you, dear?”

  The girl paused and to Meredith’s surprise, obediently replied, “Yes, Gram.”

  “It’s not so easy to find a buyer way out here. Especially for a house so run-down. Meredith has done wonders. We really like having you here. Don’t we, dear?”

  The girl sounded chastened. “Yes, Gram.” She skulked off to the living room to join the others.

  “She has some growing up to do.” Honey sighed. “Teen age years are such a worry.”

  Meredith darted a look at Honey, then turned back to the sink to hide her expression. Teen age. “How old is she?”

  “Nineteen, last week, and thinks she knows everything.”

  She swallowed thickly. “She was barely seventeen then? When Brian started up with her?”

  Honey shook her head in disgust. “Men preying on underage girls. He wouldn’t have stopped, you know.”

  She’d known the girl was young…but how could Brian do such a thing. He’d been thirty-two then, nearly twice his teen age girlfriend’s age. Just when Meredith believed she was on the road to recovery from that part of her life, the life she had with Brian and then his murder, something arose to drag her straight back into the old murky pit.

  She toweled off the final dishes and drie
d her hands. Her stomach churned and rolled. “Thank you for a wonderful dinner, Honey. It’s time for us to go.”

  ****

  They finally got out the door, but not until Honey wrapped up a dessert tray to go, along with a large foil package full of turkey and stuffing. Jamie carried the foil container to Curtis’ truck, nose tucked close to the packet, her expression one of supreme contentment. The topic of baby goats wasn’t broached, at least not in her hearing, and Jamie seemed to have forgotten all about them.

  The tension in Meredith’s body didn’t ease until Curtis pulled up in her own driveway and she’d unloaded her daughter and Atticus from his truck. It felt good to be back at home, this house she’d hated in the beginning. The run-down place became a home at some point in the past eight or nine months. Despite the peeling kitchen linoleum, the lime green toilet, the leaking roof. Even the landscape, once viewed as empty, was in continual flux with the seasons and movement of wildlife.

  She stood at the driver’s side of the truck, not yet ready to say goodbye. They’d hardly had a chance to speak to each other at the Thanksgiving dinner. He helped her on and off with her coat, and they sat platonically next to each other at Honey’s table. After the night before, she could hardly stand not touching him. She wanted nothing more than to lead him into her house to her bedroom, but there were her children to consider.

  “Thank you. I couldn’t have survived today without you.”

  Curtis made a sound of frustration. “Honey is a stubborn woman,” he said. “You handled the situation as good as anyone could have.”

  Jamie and Atticus disappeared through the front door of the house. This is the best moment of the day. This moment alone with Curtis and with my kids safe at home. Don’t get greedy for more.

  She couldn’t help herself. “Stay for a bit? We can eat Honey’s pumpkin pie.”

  Curtis’s answering smile warmed her to the core and she felt ridiculously happy.

  ****

  Curtis lingered after pie, waiting while she tucked Jamie and Atticus into bed. Her daughter popped up twice, first wanting a glass of water and then complained she wasn’t sleepy. When she was finally settled and all was quiet, Meredith set their cups on the kitchen table with a sigh.

  He wasted no time in drawing her into his arms for a long moment. The aggravations of Honey and Gemma slipped away, her fears about bills disappeared, and the specter of death pursuing her ceased to exist. There was only Curtis and his warmth, the tugging of his fingers to lift her sweater and his lips covering hers.

  “Mommy?” Jamie stood in the kitchen doorway.

  They broke away from each other. Meredith stumbled backward against the table and an excuse bubbled to her lips, but no words emerged. Heat rose to her face. She needed to talk to her daughter about Curtis and his role in their lives. What if starting something new was too soon after Brian’s death? The girl had adored her father.

  “It’s snowing in my bedroom.”

  Meredith noticed for the first time Jamie’s hair was wet and she shivered. “What?”

  Curtis headed down the hallway with Meredith a half step behind. From the doorway to her daughter’s room, they stared as flakes drifted down through a gaping hole where the roof opened up. A soggy wood shingle swung loosely above the torn ceiling that surrendered to expose the darkening sky.

  The good part of my life is going to have to wait a bit longer. My house is tumbling down.

  Part Three

  Some say “accidents happen.”

  Others say there’s no such thing as an accident.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “I can patch the roof after the storm passes. I guess I didn’t catch all the bad shingles up there this summer.” Curtis’ doubtful tone betrayed his words.

  They stared at the hole above them, watching as large flakes fluttered down to melt on the carpet, the bed, the dresser. Pieces of ceiling, soggy insulation, mouse droppings and disintegrating wood shingles were in the middle of the floor. Meredith rubbed her arms against the icy chill and was thankful her five-year-old hadn’t been below the roof when it collapsed. She scooted Jamie to the bathroom to towel off her hair and then settled her in her own bed for the night.

  Years of rot and neglect were catching up to her roof with moisture from snows and rains seeping farther inside every year. She pictured water dripping through the shingles and puddling in the attic space above their heads, turning her ceiling into mush. There had to be bigger problems brewing than one or two roof shingles. More of the ceiling would come down, either piece by piece or in one swift grand finale.

  “The problem’s bigger than just a few shingles. I can’t afford a new roof. Or a new ceiling. Or any of the rest of it. This house is falling apart faster than I can deal with it.” She spat out the words in frustration. “I just need a bulldozer. But I can’t afford that either.”

  Curtis bowed his head. Meredith waited for him to contradict her, to protest the roof was a minor repair and the rest of the house solid. The seconds ticked away before he answered, staring at the soiled carpet. “You know, demolition’s not a bad idea.”

  She stared at him, aghast. “You expect me to knock down the only house we have? Then what? Pitch a tent? Build an igloo?”

  He chewed his lip. “This house was built piecemeal from scraps and then left to rot over the years. My parents have a trailer I’m sure you could use. You could park it on your property.”

  Tears sprang to her eyes. This was the only house she ever lived in. She’d swallowed her pride and paid Gemma the money Brian had cheated her out of for the deed to the house. She fought to stay there, in spite of everything, to give her children a secure home. She hung curtains and painted walls, scrubbed years of grime off the floors, and washed windows. No one knew how much having a home of her own meant to her. How could she have it destroyed? Not to mention living in a trailer with two young children through an Idaho winter was unthinkable.

  “This is my house,” she whispered.

  “Meredith. I’ll build you a new one. A better one.”

  She gaped at him, watching as he grew more animated as the idea took hold in his mind.

  His gaze roamed around the room, assessing. “I’ve been playing around with plans for another house. Bigger. Better than mine. High ceilings with open beams, cedar closets, a real cook’s kitchen. I can do construction on weekends and evenings. You can help.”

  “What are you talking about? I can’t afford…I couldn’t let…”

  Curtis broke in. “You can’t afford to keep this house the way it is. You have to do something. I can use some of the materials from this house, maybe. The windows. Some of the wood planks from the floor.” He stopped there and grabbed her hand. “Meredith, let me do this. Let me build a house for you.”

  His eyes were bright and he was excited about the idea of building a house, any house at all. Of course, he knew she couldn’t afford to pay much of anything; she scarcely had enough money to live and keep up with bills. She paid Gemma for the house, all the money she could afford, and now it was falling down on their heads. No wonder the girl let the house go for a pittance. How could she let Curtis do something so big, so impressive for her? It was impossible. Her mind swirled and she forced herself to focus on one thing: the snow coming into Jamie’s bedroom. She would take her problems one step at a time, just as her meditation book advised.

  She turned away from him so he wouldn't see her face. “I need to cover the hole.”

  She felt his excitement ebbing into disappointment. They stood there for a moment, each glum in their own way. He gazed at the broken ceiling. “I can get up there with a tarp, keep the damp out for now. It’s not safe in here tonight. Not until the roof is fixed.”

  She nodded. “Jamie can move into Atticus’s room.” She paused and flickered a glance at him. “I’ll think about your offer. Okay?”

  As he studied her face, his lips made a slight curve. “Okay.”

  ****

  She stare
d at the ceiling above her bed for hours that night, next to a kicking Jamie, wondering if the entire roof was going to come down on them while they slept. Every once in a while, she rose and walked through the house searching for any trace of collapse or water stains. Could it be possible Curtis had no idea how destitute she was? He had a stable well-paying job, family backing and minimal expenses. Perhaps he took it for granted when you needed money, ready funds just appeared from somewhere.

  She read a storybook as a child where a woman had been given three wishes. There were likely more important wishes requested and granted, but Meredith only remembered one: a purse that never emptied of gold coins. A magic wallet would be my wish right now, she thought.

  Even if Curtis labored for free, she couldn’t buy an entire house worth of materials. The wood, walls, a roof. There were two options: stay or go. If they stayed, she needed a full-time job and a way to repair the existing roof. She needed enough money to keep repairing problems continuing to crop up from this old house. It would be a constant drain, a money pit.

  If they relocated again, as she should have after Brian’s death, she could put the house up for sale as-is. Someone else might buy the place for the land and have the money to knock the house down and start over. She would be free to look elsewhere for a job that would cover expenses. For a moment, this possibility gave her hope, a way to make things work for her children.

  In a flash, she was back in Curtis’s arms and the memory was painful. It was a glimpse of what could have been, but no longer. She couldn’t let another man take over her life and liberty, not after Brian.

  It was becoming clear she wasn’t destined to stay in Hay City. The world kept laying down signposts telling her to leave ever since she arrived. Brian’s murder. Gemma’s baby. Lack of a real job. A disintegrating house. Some people had an easier life than others. Her road had been difficult since the beginning, but she’d gotten tougher. She was young, healthy, and determined. Lots of people were just starting out at age twenty-four, launching successful careers and lives. There were plenty of people who thrived without a college degree. This wasn’t the end, just a new beginning, she encouraged herself. This was the road she was meant to travel.