Jeff Shelby - Moose River 01 - The Murder Pit

by Jeff Shelby

  She narrowed her eyes and opened her mouth but I cut her off. “And I went to dinner with Olaf one time. That was all. There was nothing to get excited about over that night at Lotto’s.”

  “Interesting,” she said, tapping her fingernail to her lip, her eyes locked on me. “I heard…other things.”

  “Well, you should know how stories get twisted,” I said, pasting a smile on my face. “Like how you told everyone that Jake and I were making out during Grace’s play practice?”

  Grace had a role in a community production of The Wizard of Oz—she was a Munchkin—and Jake and I had attended most of the rehearsals. Not just because we’d had to get her there but because we helped paint the sets for the play. Jake and I were an affectionate couple no matter where we were and I was sure we’d hugged or kissed a few times during the two weeks of evenings we spent painting the set. Because, after twenty years of having no attraction to a man I’d married and his feelings apparently being mutual, it was unbelievably awesome to be touched and kissed and looked at like I was beautiful. So we were affectionate.

  Connie, however, had exaggerated our public displays a little bit when discussing us with her denizens. By the end of the play, I was pretty sure most people thought we’d had sex on the yellow brick road we’d painted on stage while Dorothy and the Munchkins cheered us on.

  Connie was not my favorite person.

  She waved a hand in the air. “Oh, that. You know how people get carried away.”

  “Yeah. I do.”

  “So,” she said, tilting her head toward me. Waves of perfume rolled off of her and I fought back the urge to sneeze. “Olaf. What happened?”

  “I have to go, Connie,” I said, covering my nose with my gloved hand. I sneezed loudly. “Nice seeing you.”

  “Was Jake jealous?” she called after me as I pushed past her. The Wal-Mart greeter, an elderly lady with bluish curls, eyed both of us suspiciously. “Was that it? Did something happen there?”

  “Goodbye, Connie,” I said over my shoulder.

  I guided the cart out to the frozen entryway and the cold air assaulted my nostrils as I hustled to the car.

  I made a mental note to send the kids in for groceries from then on.

  SEVEN

  “I’m expecting kids in here tonight,” Jake said, stretching out under the covers. “So you should probably keep your hands off of me so they don’t see anything inappropriate.”

  “I’ll do my best,” I said, sliding into bed next to him.

  He’d turned the electric blanket on while I read a bedtime story to Grace and the warmth enveloped me. My eyes were heavy and my body felt like I’d just run a marathon. The whole day had been draining, mentally and physically, and the only thing on my mind was sleep. Even a bed full of little people creeping in at various hours wouldn’t keep me awake. I was certain of it.

  I threw my arm over him and snuggled against his chest. His skin was heated from the blanket and I felt the warmth of him through the thermal long-sleeved shirt I was wearing. “Still mad at me?”

  He wrapped his arm around me and pulled me close. “I was never mad at you,” he said. “I was jealous.”

  “You don’t say.”

  “I do say. I’m able to admit my flaws. And I’m a jealous person.” He pressed a kiss to my forehead. “You know that.”

  “I honestly never thought to mention to you a single two-hour date with a person I never thought about again,” I told him.

  “I know.” He looked at me, smiling. “I just like giving you a hard time, too.”

  “Probably could have picked a better time,” I said. “I was pretty sure you were ready to join the force so you could arrest me.”

  He chuckled and squeezed my shoulder.

  “Some things never change,” I said, yawning.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You teased me incessantly in high school.”

  “I’ve told you this a thousand times. Boys tease girls they like. It’s like written in the Guy Code somewhere.”

  I smiled. Jake and I had been friends all through high school and had dated for a few months during my junior year. He was one year older and we’d easily transitioned from a friendship to a romance. After a string of loser boyfriends, I thought I’d found a guy I could be serious about. I could talk to him and laugh with him and there was definite chemistry with the blue-eyed basketball player who always had a smart ass remark or teasing comment for me.

  “Do boys also break up with the love of their lives? Is that written in the Guy Code, too?”

  “You’re never going to let me forget that, are you?” he asked.

  With my free hand, I pulled the comforter closer. “Nope.”

  “Good,” he whispered. His lips dusted my hair again. “Don’t ever let me forget what an idiot I was for breaking up with you. For letting you walk out of my life.”

  “Oh, I won’t,” I promised. “I also won’t let you forget that I was the one who brought us back together.”

  “Really?” he asked, arching his eyebrow. “And here I thought it was Facebook…”

  I dug my elbow into his side and he groaned. Part of me hated that we fit the cliché of being one of those couples reunited through social media. It sounded so…lame. But it was exactly what had ended our twenty years of non-communication. It wasn’t like I’d forgotten about him after he broke up with me and graduated and went off to college. But I’d started dating someone else and, in the days before social media, I couldn’t exactly engage in any stalker-like behavior to keep up with what he was doing as the months turned into years.

  But then I saw him through a mutual friend on Facebook. And my heart had hiccuped, staring into those blue eyes, registering that smile that was so achingly familiar. I’d hesitated to contact him. It had been twenty years and I wasn’t sure how he was going to respond to me, if he’d even remember me or want to reconnect. After an argument with Thornton about child support, I’d downed a stiff rum and Coke, sat down with my laptop, and fired off the friend request.

  Three days later, he accepted it and the rest was history. We’d chatted—about what we’d been doing the last twenty years, about time in high school, and, finally, about our personal lives. He was in the middle of a divorce, too, and after a few more weeks of messages, he decided to come to Minneapolis for a weekend visit. The rest really was history because, less than two years later, he’d uprooted his life, gotten full custody of his daughter, and we were all living in a century old house in the middle of Moose River. Together.

  And that’s what we were doing and despite all of the crap with the house, I was happier than I’d ever been.

  At least until they pulled Olaf’s body out of the coal chute.

  “How would he have gotten here?” Jake said, his arms tight around me.

  I yawned again. “I have no clue. We weren’t even living here when I met him. It was two years ago.”

  “So weird.”

  “Weird and creepy. It makes me think he was watching me or something,” I said, shuddering against him.

  “What creeps me out is how he ended up in there,” Jake said. “Pretty sure he wouldn’t have gotten in there on his own. Be interesting to see how he died.”

  I nodded. I had so many questions. Why Olaf? Why in my house? When? Who?

  Too many interrogatives.

  “Just relax,” Jake said, squeezing me again. I loved how solid his touch felt. “It’ll be okay. It’ll all get worked out. We’re safe and the house is fine. But you gotta relax.”

  “It’s like you don’t even know me,” I said. “How am I supposed to relax?”

  “I was hoping I could catch you in a moment of weakness,” he said.

  I snuggled in tightly against him. “You should know better.”

  “You’d think.”

  The door swung open then and the two youngest girls burst into the room. Sophie wore a Hello Kitty nightgown that barely covered her thighs and I wondered why she h
adn’t turned into a Popsicle in the drafty bedroom she shared with Grace.

  “Mom!” Grace said, her hands on her hips, a frown plastered on her face. “Will says there is probably another ghost here now.”

  I didn’t want to tell her that I had contemplated the same thing. Olaf.

  “He says it’s going to be a mean ghost,” Sophie added. She’d taken off her glasses for the night and her blue eyes were wide. “Because…well, I don’t know why. But that’s what he said.”

  “Is there?” Grace asked, scrambling on to the bed. Her knee caught Jake in the stomach and he groaned. “Is there another ghost?”

  “No,” Jake said. He picked her up and shifted her off of him. “There is not.”

  I scooting to the side, making room. “Probably not, no.”

  Grace settled in between us. She was like a pixie, small and compact. Sophie followed her up and sat cross-legged between us. I glanced at her exposed legs; not a goose bump to be seen. I shook my head and pulled the comforter tighter to me.

  “He says we live in a haunted house,” Sophie said. “But we don’t. Right?”

  “We do not,” Jake said.

  Her lip quivered and she nodded, like she was trying to believe her dad.

  “Will! Get in here!” I yelled.

  Footsteps bumped slowly in the hallway. Will stuck his head around the door. “What?”

  I stared at him. He was also sparsely dressed, clad in thin pajama pants and a Vikings t-shirt. My eyes traveled the length of him. The pants were only two months old and were already sitting above his ankles. At the rate he was growing, he’d be taller than me by spring.

  “Are you telling them there’s another ghost in this house?”

  “Well…no,” he said, looking everywhere but at me. “Not exactly.”

  “Then what exactly?”

  “Well,” he hedged. “I said it was possible.”

  “No, you didn’t!” Grace yelled in my ear, pointing at him. “You are a Pinocchio!”

  Jake covered his mouth to hide the smile on his lips.

  “You’re a Pinocchio,” Will retorted. His eyes finally met mine. “Isn’t it? Possible?”

  “Yes, it’s possible,” I conceded. “But this probably isn’t the best topic of conversation before bed, is it?”

  He made a face. “I guess.”

  “I hope the ghost sleeps in your room,” Sophie said to him, her expression a mirror of similar looks I’d seen on her dad’s face.

  “Enough,” Jake finally said. “All of you. And all aboard that’s coming aboard.” He looked at Will. “You in or out?”

  Will hesitated, then sprinted for the bed. “In.”

  The three of them squirmed in between us until they’d each claimed their own space in our king-sized bed. Grace snuggled into me and Will pressed against the other side of me and I was the middle of a kid-sized sandwich. Sophie had bedded down on the other side of Jake. I reached above their heads and found his hand. He squeezed gently, then reached over with his free hand and turned off the light. Darkness engulfed the room and Grace sucked in her breath and burrowed closer. If she’d been a joey, she would have climbed right back into mama kangaroo’s pouch. No doubt.

  “I sure hope the new ghost doesn’t try to get in this bed,” Jake whispered.

  All three tiny bodies stiffened.

  “Kidding,” he said. He chuckled and squeezed my hand again.

  I laughed and shook my head.

  The happiest I’d ever been.

  EIGHT

  “Are they gonna be here all day?” Will asked.

  It was the Monday morning after Olaf was found in the chute and we were headed to a 4-H meeting. The police and whoever else was involved in the investigation were just arriving as we trudged through the snow, making our way to the dilapidated, detached garage and the SUV that was parked inside.

  The bitter cold had abated just a bit, a blanket of clouds providing a thin layer of insulation, but we were still fully outfitted for the elements, even for the quick drive to the church where our meeting was. Coats, hats, boots and gloves, all in various colors. We looked like a walking rainbow.

  “Why are they staring at us?” Sophie asked. Her face was barely visible under the pink hat perched on her head.

  I glanced at the group of people gathering in our yard. Sure enough, several sets of eyes were trained on us. Detective Hanborn was already there, a cup of coffee in her hand as she barked orders. She caught sight of us and lifted her to-go cup in our direction as a sort of greeting. I nodded my head primly and kept walking.

  “They’re staring because we’re not in school,” Grace announced. Her coat was a hand-me-down from Sophie and was still a couple of sizes too big.

  “No, they’re not,” Will said. “Lots of people homeschool.”

  Our family stood out in Moose River for a number of reasons. The old house. The blended family. We we were one of a handful of families that didn’t belong to a church. And we homeschooled our kids.

  Well, three of them. After ten years at home, Emily had decided that she wanted to go to high school and enrolled at a local charter school. She was having a great time and I was trying not to miss having her at home, but I was glad that she was getting what she wanted out of school. Not the academic stuff: she wanted more friendships and boys and a more complicated social life. She was getting it.

  But the other three were home with me during the day. Jake worked in management at our local recycling plant and although his schedule could be a little flexible, it was usually just me and the younger three hanging out together. Sophie had gone to public school in Texas but had jumped right into the homeschooling after saying she wanted to try it when she and Jake moved. If anything, she’d energized all of us because I felt like she’d come to it with fresh eyes and I didn’t want to let her down.

  So when we were at the grocery store in the middle of the day or at a museum or at the lake during warmer weather, we were used to the raised eyebrows and the unasked questions on the lips of people we encountered. As mainstream as homeschooling had become in recent years, there were still naysayers who felt the need to stick their noses in when it came to our kids’ education. I ignored them. We liked our lives and we’d carved out a great community of friends and families who also homeschooled.

  “Then why are they staring at us?” Grace asked loudly.

  Will frowned. “Uh, because they found a dead body in our basement?”

  “No, they didn’t,” Sophie pointed out. “Daisy and Dad did.”

  “Which meant they had to come and check things out,” Will told her. “So, technically, I’m right.”

  “Well, I like them,” Sophie announced as I wrestled with the garage door.

  “Why would you like them?” Will asked.

  “They seem nice,” Sophie said. She climbed into the open passenger door and climbed into the car. “One man waved to me through the window.”

  “He waved to me, too,” Grace said. She made a face. “I stuck my tongue out at him.”

  “Excellent,” I said, hoisting myself into the driver’s seat. “That should win us some brownie points.”

  “Brownies?” Grace’s ears perked up. “You’re making brownies?”

  I just shook my head and adjusted the seat warmers to high. The inside of the car was so cold, we could see our breath. I let the engine warm up for a few minutes, just enough so that the needle on the temperature gauge moved a fraction of an inch. I turned the heat on and the air that blasted from the vents was finally a little warmer than the interior. I shifted the car into reverse and backed out of the garage.

  We made the five minute drive on the freshly plowed roads to one of the local churches. I parked and the kids vaulted out of the car and hustled into the building, anxious to both get out of the cold and to see their friends. I was glad to see they were still excited about their normal routine and not focusing on what was going on at the house.

  “There’s a dead man in our
house!” Grace screamed as we got to the door of the meeting room.

  All heads turned in our direction. So much for not focusing on what was going on at the house.

  We shrugged off our coats and hung them on the pegs on the wall and the kids disappeared into the crowd of kids, no doubt to explain Grace’s announcement.

  “Fun weekend?” Carol Vinford asked.

  “I’ll just assume everyone knows already?” I asked, sighing.

  Carol smiled. I’d met her shortly after Thornton and I moved to Moose River from Atlanta. We weren’t close friends but she was always sweet and helpful, the epitome of Minnesota Nice. She was one of the 4-H club leaders and her girls, Megan and Sara, sandwiched Emily in age.

  “Pretty much,” she admitted. Her brown eyes were full of empathy. “You know how it goes.”

  I nodded.

  “Plus, if anyone didn’t know, pretty sure Grace has now informed them,” she said, nodding her dark head toward the group of kids. I couldn’t even see mine, tucked in the center of the throng of kids, but I could hear Grace. Her eight year-old voice could move mountains, it was so loud.

  I chuckled. “Good point.”

  “You and Jake okay?” Carol asked. “I was going to call last night, but I figured you had enough going on.”

  “We’re fine,” I told her. As fine as we could be with an active crime scene in our house, I thought. “Thanks for asking.”

  She patted me on the shoulder. “If you need anything, let me know.”

  She stepped away and started organizing the kids so they could start the meeting. I had no doubt that if I’d told Carol I was too stressed out to cook, she would’ve had a month’s worth of dinners organized in fifteen minutes flat. If I’d said I was so busy with the investigation that I couldn’t get my kids to their next activity, she’d arrange for transportation, no questions asked. It was how most people in our tiny town were—eager to offer a helping hand to any stranger who needed it.

  But friendships? Real, true friendships? Those were hard to come by.