Jeff Shelby - Moose River 01 - The Murder Pit

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Jeff Shelby - Moose River 01 - The Murder Pit Page 20

by Jeff Shelby


  By the time we found our way back inside, we were both pink and numb.

  “That was fun,” Jake said, wiggling out of his coat and rubbing his hands together in an attempt to warm them.

  “The couple that mortars blocks together, stays together.”

  “You probably should’ve done something, then,” he said, winking at me.

  The kids had cleared the paper plates and pizza boxes from the table but the surface was still littered with crumbs. I grabbed the washcloth from the sink and scrubbed down the table.

  “I found the hole,” I told him.

  Jake sank on to the couch and picked up the remote. “Detective What’s Her Face found the hole.”

  “Hmm. Well I remembered where it was.”

  He started to slow clap, but I shot him a look and he just grinned and turned on the television. The roar of a basketball game sounded and he sank back into the cushions, propping his feet on the ottoman in front of him.

  After quizzing Emily on her history chapter and supervising baths and showers for the other three, I finally sat down next to Jake and he turned the channel so the kids could watch the last hour of Night At the Museum. They’d seen it before but it was one of those movies they could watch over and over again. I kept my eyes on the screen, Grace chattering at me about the movie from her spot on my lap, but I was only half-paying attention.

  I kept going back to the holes in the house—what Detective Hanborn had shown me and what Jake had managed to seal up when we’d gone outside. I thought about his comments, how there were probably multiple holes in the exterior. Were there really other points of entry? Did we need to go around the property with some sort of infrared detector and see what lurked behind the exterior? There was a room in the basement that we hadn’t fully explored, a space with a dirt floor and stuffed full of old wooden shutters and screens. We’d promised to clear it out come summer time but now I wondered what was behind those haphazard stacks. My thoughts drifted to the attic, too. There were trees right on the property line, their thick, low-lying branches almost level with the roof of the house. We’d often heard squirrels scurrying and chittering and I thought about what else might use those branches to access the roof. And, if they could get to the rood, could they get inside the attic? We’d heard scampering feet in the space above our room and had chalked it up to mice. But what if it was something else? By the time the movie was over and I’d herded the kids up to bed, I’d convinced myself that our house had a neon ‘Open’ sign on every single side of the house, an arrow pointing to all the ways someone could get in, unannounced.

  “Did you watch any of the movie?” Jake asked as he pulled off his T-shirt and climbed into bed.

  “Of course.”

  “Which part?”

  I pulled off my socks and sweatshirt and got into bed next to him. “The part where the statues come to life.”

  He chuckled and pulled the blankets over himself. “That’s almost the entire movie. And entirely not specific. I think you may have been a little preoccupied about our newly discovered door.”

  “It’s a hole,” I said, correcting him. I sighed. “But it might as well be a door.”

  He nodded. “Be the right size for a raccoon. Or a midget.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “You aren’t helping.”

  “I sealed the cinder blocks!”

  “Some of them,” I reminded him. I shifted closer and tucked my feet under his calves. “You said yourself that you need to do it when it’s daylight.”

  He laughed again. “Daisy. No one else is coming in.”

  “That’s not what I’m worried about.”

  “Then what are you worried about?”

  I rolled closer to him. “How did whoever killed Olaf find that opening?”

  He thought for a moment. “I don’t have a good answer for that,” he admitted.

  “I mean, you couldn’t just walk into our yard and see it,” I said. “It wasn’t visible. You would’ve had to know it was there.”

  He nodded. “Yeah, suppose so.”

  “The only people who could’ve known about it were the owners before us,” I said slowly.

  “Or the owners before them…”

  I sat up straight. “So it has to be one of them.”

  Jake looked dubious. “I don’t know about that.”

  “How could it not?” I asked, smacking the pillow. “No one else would’ve known.”

  “You’re assuming two things,” Jake said. “One, that the previous owners knew about the opening. We’ve lived here for six months and didn’t know about it, so there’s no guarantee that they knew, either. And, two—which is a far bigger leap—that one of the previous owners had reason to kill Olaf and dump him here to make you look bad.” He raised an eyebrow. “That isn’t just a leap, Daisy. That’s like jumping across the Grand Canyon.”

  My excitement deflated like a popped balloon. He was right, of course. About both things. We’d met the previous owner, a lovely older woman who’d lived in the house for a couple of years before deciding to follow her son and his family to Arizona. I was fairly certain she wasn’t even in Minnesota anymore; and, even if she was, she didn’t seem like the person who would kill someone and then drag them through the snow and into a hidden coal chute.

  I sighed. “Yeah. Probably.”

  He pulled me toward him. “You’re obsessing way too much over this, honey. You need to let it go.”

  “What?” I stared at him. “How?” Telling me to let it go was like asking me to climb Mt. Everest.

  I couldn’t do it.

  He laughed. “Look, I’m aware that you tend to hold onto things and hyper-focus. But there’s nothing you can do here. It’s over and done with. You said the detective told you we were cleared, which was never really in doubt, anyway. But she stated it, so now it’s a fact.” He wrapped his arms tightly around me. “We’re safe. We’re fine. There’s nothing else to do, except finish with the rest of the cinder blocks tomorrow. Which I’ll do. I promise.”

  He was right. Again. We weren’t facing the threat of arrest. We were safe. The kids were safe. The opening was on its way to being sealed up for good.

  I pressed into him. I needed to let it go, to relax and be satisfied that the police were going to take care of it.

  I closed my eyes, prepared to do just that the next day.

  FORTY THREE

  I got the younger three kids up early the next day so that they were eating breakfast at the same time Emily was leaving for school. They sat at the table, slumped, wiping sleep from their eyes, forcing food into their mouths like zombies.

  “Why are we up so early?” Will asked, his eyes barely open.

  “Because you’re going down to the science museum,” I reminded him. “With the Witts.”

  That didn’t perk him up. “Oh. Right.”

  “Why aren’t you coming?” Grace asked.

  “It’s Trade Day,” I reminded her.

  Trade Day was something Brenda and I had come up with a couple of years ago. As much as we loved hanging out together and spending time with each other and our kids, we also never seemed to get much time on our own, a solo day without the kids in tow. So, once a month, we dropped off our kids with each other. There were no rules about how we spent our day—we could run errands or sit at home and watch soaps or go out to lunch with a different friend. It didn’t matter. What mattered was our kids got to spend some time together and we got a much-needed day off.

  They finished breakfast, got dressed, yelled at each other while they were upstairs and were just getting their shoes on when the Witt’s passenger van pulled up in the driveway. I was pretty sure the only reason they’d bought a vehicle so large was to accommodate my kids on Trade Day. I waved to Brenda out the kitchen door and hustled them the kids outside. I watched as they loaded themselves into the van, waving at them as they pulled back out on the street. Brenda lowered the passenger window.

  “I’ll have them home before dinner,�
�� she called.

  I nodded and smiled and closed the door.

  It was amazingly quiet when I was the only one home and, all of a sudden, I had a million things I wanted to do before the kids got home. Reorganize the kitchen and bake cookies and paint the three-season room attached to our bedroom and sand and stain the dining room table and…the list went on and on.

  I sighed. I knew none of those things were going to happen. Because I needed to use my Trade Day for something much more mundane: errands. Things like grocery shopping and a trip to the post office and a stop at the auto shop to get the oil changed since it had been six months and Jake was convinced the car was going to picket in protest at having dirty oil circulating through its engine for so long.

  So I drained my coffee and put on my winter gear and, grocery list in hand, headed out the door.

  It took me a little over an hour to load up on groceries for the next week, drop bills in the mail and stop for the 15-minute oil change. I’d just pulled into the driveway and was opening the trunk when a bright red Ford Taurus pulled in behind me.

  I shaded my eyes, the sunlight blinding off the snow.

  Helen Stunderson got out of the sedan and removed her sunglasses. She shook out her long hair, shut the driver’s door and walked toward me.

  I was totally caught off guard. Why was she at my house?

  I glanced toward the darkened house, quickly remembering that I was all alone at my own home. At least we were visible to anyone driving by.

  She must’ve sensed my uneasiness because she slowed and said, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to just pull up on you like that.”

  “What do you want?” I asked, fixing my keys so that they were in between my fingers in case I needed a weapon.

  “I need to ask you a question.” Her eyelids fluttered and she hugged herself to keep warm. “Did you kill Olaf?”

  I frowned at her. “No.”

  “Then why did they find him here?” she asked.

  I shook my head and sighed. “I have no idea.”

  Her mouth puckered into a tight ball and she looked down at the ground.

  “Did you kill him?” I asked before I could bite the words back into my mouth.

  She didn’t get angry and she didn’t stiffen in defense. She just stared at the ground for another moment before she looked up. “No. I didn’t.”

  I didn’t say anything because everything I’d learned told me that was probably a lie.

  “I got a call last night,” Helen said, her voice soft. I had to take a step closer to hear her. “From an insurance company. I was still the beneficiary on Olaf’s policies. He didn’t take me off after the divorce.”

  I wasn’t sure why she was telling me this. “Okay.”

  “Even after everything I did, he didn’t take me off,” she said. “I didn’t want the divorce and I made his life miserable and he still left everything to me.” She shook her head, a puzzled expression on her face. “So very Olaf.”

  It was the first time I’d heard those words out of her mouth. That she hadn’t wanted the divorce. During our previous encounters, she’d spent all of her time trying to convince me and anyone who would listen that she’d wanted the divorce and that Olaf had clung to her like a lovesick puppy. Now, she was admitting it had all been a lie.

  She leaned against her car. “I was embarrassed. I didn’t want him to leave me. So I told everyone that I wanted the divorce.” She brushed at a stray strand of hair near her ear. “I just didn’t want to be alone.”

  I sat down on the bumper of my car.

  “You were the only person he went on a date with,” she said, glancing at me. “At least that I know of. As soon as I heard that, I felt like I had to compete.” She paused, digging the toe of her boot into the snow. “So I joined that stupid dating website and started telling everyone I had men lined up at my door.”

  I felt a little guilty at that point for having broken into her Around The Corner account.

  “But I didn’t,” she said, shaking her head. “I didn’t. Which just made it all the worse.”

  “So you aren’t dating anyone?” I asked. “What about Elliott Cornelius?”

  Her cheeks flushed. “I was stupid. It was one night and it backfired on me.”

  “Backfired how?”

  She looked pained by the question. “I wanted to make Olaf jealous. It didn’t work. And I upset Elliott. Just…bad all the way around.”

  I nodded. At least she owned up to it. Part of me distrusted the fact that she was in my driveway, spilling her guts after our last couple of encounters. But the other part of was choosing to believe that hearing she was Olaf’s beneficiary had somehow unlocked something in Helen.

  “So there was no one else that you were involved with?” I asked.

  She made a face and waved a hand in the air. “Not that matters and not in the way I’ve told everyone.” She paused, squinted at me. “I was just being…me.”

  I shifted on the bumper, still unsure of why she was there. “Why are you telling me this?”

  She brushed at the stray strand of hair again with her gloved-hand. “Because when the insurance person called last night, I felt guilty. Like, I’ve been lying to everyone and Olaf apparently left me all of this money and I…I don’t know. It just bothered me that I was trying to make him look like the bad guy. Not that anyone believed me. But it just made me feel terrible.”

  I was still leery, but she was coming off less like a nut case and more like a confused woman.

  “So, yes, I did follow you to the library,” Helen admitted. “After I heard he’d been found here, I followed you to the library. I pretended to work there. I don’t really know why, which isn’t a good excuse. I wondered if you had killed him, but I realized that was absurd.” She pursed her lips. “Running into you at the plant was a coincidence, believe it or not. I know I reacted rudely and I apologize. If anything, I was jealous.”

  “Jealous?”

  She hesitated, then nodded. “Yes. Because you went out with him.”

  “Nothing happened,” I said. “It was a one time thing and there was nothing to it.”

  “I believe you,” she said. “I do. But you’re the woman he chose to go out with when he told me he was leaving me. I haven’t forgotten that.”

  If she was truly as hung up on Olaf as she claimed, then I could understand that. It didn’t excuse her behavior, but it might explain it. Women were awful when it came to jealousy, so if she thought I was some sort of threat or that I was interested in her husband, I could see where the ridiculous behavior might have come from. If any woman looked at Jake with a smile that was more flirtatious than friendly, my nails immediately turned into claws.

  “So I guess I’m just here to apologize,” she said, pushing herself upright from the car. “I got that call last night and I didn’t sleep. It was like it was Olaf’s way of chastising me for the way I’ve behaved.” She lifted her chin. “So I’m sorry for any grief I’ve caused you.”

  I stood from the bumper. “Thank you. For apologizing.”

  We both stood there awkwardly for a moment.

  “Can I ask you a question?” I said.

  She lifted her chin again. “Yes.”

  “The thing with you and Olga,” I said. “It seems like—”

  “Yes,” she interrupted. “We really hate each other. That wasn’t an act in any way. She’s a fat cow.”

  “Alrighty then,” I said, getting my answer. “And I don’t suppose you’d have any idea who’d want to hurt Olaf? Or why?”

  She thought for a moment, then shook her head. “No, I really don’t. Everyone liked him. I genuinely thought it was you because I couldn’t think of anyone else who might have something against him.” She shook her head. “So now I don’t have any idea.”

  That made two of us.

  FORTY FOUR

  Helen left and I lugged my groceries inside. I got them put away and was just pulling out the vacuum when there was a knock at the kitchen door
. I dropped the plug near the wall, hoping it was just a delivery person dropping off a package or asking me to sign for something.

  It wasn’t, though.

  It was Rex the inspector.

  He held up a hand in greeting. “Hi, Daisy. I was gonna get started on those vents if that’s okay.”

  It wasn’t—I didn’t want to be tied to the house on Trade Day just in case I decided to go out and do something fun and spontaneous—but I had told him he could come by without calling. I ran a hand through my hair. “Sure, of course.”

  He nodded. “Okay. Gonna get a couple things set up in my truck and then I’ll head downstairs.”

  “I’ll be cleaning,” I told him. “Just come and go as you need to.”

  He held up a hand in acknowledgement and hopped down the stairs, back toward his truck.

  I plugged in the vacuum and sucked up all the dust on the rugs as he hustled back and forth from his truck, carrying tools downstairs. I finished with the vacuum and slapped together a peanut butter sandwich for lunch. I downed it while standing in the kitchen, contemplating what home project I should do now that I was stuck there while Rex worked. I stared at the closed kitchen cabinets. I could reorganize them, I thought. Tear everything apart and pile stuff up on the dining room table and figure out a way to use the cupboards better so that the plates were next to the cups and the baking supplies were actually in the cupboard we used for a food pantry. I rinsed off my plate and opened the fridge to grab a can of soda. And found none.

  “Emily,” I muttered. She was always taking the last of the sodas—and she always conveniently forgot to restock them from the stash in the basement refrigerator.

  I headed down the stairs, intent on grabbing a soda quickly so that I wouldn’t disturb Rex and his work. I’d discovered the other day that he liked to chat and the last thing I wanted to do was waste the day hanging out in the basement, talking to him while he worked.

  Rex had an assortment of tools spread out on the floor, along with several power cords and measuring tapes.

  He was taking a drink from his coffee and cinching up his jeans at the waist when he saw me approach the refrigerator.

 

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