Altered to Death

by Christina Freeburn

“She was released. There wasn’t anything to hold her on. The prosecutor believes Sierra is a victim of domestic abuse and doesn’t want Sierra facing consequences for an issue Hank forced her into.”

  No, I didn’t want that either. The boys needed their mom more now than ever.

  My phone pinged. A text from my grandmother. They were closing the store today because of snow.

  Snow? I looked out the window. Heavy flakes were falling to ground, sticking to the trees, and two inches rested on the ground. The clouds were heavy. The storm wouldn’t be letting up soon.

  “The weather forecast predicts eight to ten inches by the time it’s over.”

  “I hope we have enough supplies to wait out the storm.” I cupped my hands around the mug of coffee, drawing warmth from it.

  “We will soon. Garrison went to the store and will stock up on essentials. He’s also going to rent some movies.”

  “I hope the power doesn’t go out.”

  “If it does, we’ll stay warm since Ted has a fire place.”

  There was a loud knock on the door. Bob excused himself and answered it.

  I sipped at my coffee, wishing the melancholy wrapped around me would leave. Maybe I needed to give myself a break. Yesterday was horrific. It was natural to be devastated by my friend’s betrayal. I sniffed back some tears.

  “What?”

  I jerked upright at the shock in Bob’s voice. My phone pinged again. Sierra. I went to delete the message when the words stopped me. Henry ran away. Please help.

  Wyatt was standing on the porch. His eyes widened when he saw me. “Faith, have you heard from Henry.”

  I shook my head. “Sierra just text me that he ran away.”

  Wyatt nodded. “Left a note and everything. Said he’d fix everything so everyone stopped being mad. It also said he was sorry for what happened to Miss Faith. He didn’t mean for it to happen.”

  Tears welled in my eye. My heart ached. “It’s not his fault.”

  The letter. Sloppy—child’s handwriting. The crack in the porch railing. Henry stood on it to put the envelope in my mailbox. The poor kid. Henry had commented to me that no one was nice to anyone anymore. The ten-year-old was out in the snowstorm trying to save his family. Silently, I cursed Sierra and her husband. How could they do that to their children? Why hadn’t she left?

  My heart ran cold. Those were the similar thoughts people had about Ollie Harbaugh and why no one was concerned he had left. He was no good, so it was best he just disappeared, and Edward took advantage of that, killing his friend to lay claim to what he thought would be a fortune later in his life. By the time Edward thought he’d be able to claim the Everton mansion and all that came with it, he died—getting away with murder.

  And now his young grandson was suffering the consequences.

  “I’ll help look.” I grabbed my coat from a rack.

  “You should stay here.” Bob had tugged on his coat and was sending Garrison a text.

  “No. Henry knows me. He likes me. He tired confiding in me, and I didn’t get it then, but I understand now. I have to help.” Henry was desperate to put his family back together.

  “Chief Moore has split the town into areas.” Wyatt held up a map he was given. “There are a few places that still need coverage. I have the area near the Everton place.”

  “Do you think he would’ve gotten that far?” I asked. That was a good twelve miles from Sierra’s house. “How long has he been missing?”

  Wyatt shrugged. “No one knows for sure. He was at his grandmother’s house, and she doesn’t remember seeing them after Matthew brought them over. He had been watching them because Hank and Sierra were on a date.” The last word caused Wyatt to choke, and he sent a frantic look in my direction.

  What else were they going to say? They were on a mission to assault Sierra’s friend. I pushed down the ugly, scary feeling churning in my gut. Henry was a child. He was innocent. He needed me. “Let’s go. We’re wasting too much time.”

  Sierra was weeping in the chief’s office, Harold and Howard both clung to her, the youngest in her lap.

  Chief Moore explained the dire situation. Every able-bodied man, woman, and teen were at the station, faces showing their determination in finding Henry.

  “He’s been gone for a few hours now,” Chief Moore said. “We have blanket and warming packets for every search team to take with them. If you find any evidence that can be linked to Henry Brodart, notify the station immediately so we can have medical personnel headed in your direction.”

  The snow was coming down faster. We were nearing the predicted minimum, and the day had just began.

  Please let us find Henry soon, I sent the prayer out.

  Chief Moore’s phone rang. He gestured for everyone to remain silent and still. “Are you sure, Detective? That’s a large area.” The chief’s face looked grim. He hung up. “All right, everyone. Footprints have been found on Chesterfield Road near the overflow catch. The boy could be anywhere in the wooded area.”

  That was about a mile from the Everton house and the hunter’s shack. Henry was trying to prove his father was innocent. That was how he was going to make everything all right. The woods were dense. He could get lost in there for hours.

  The snow swirled down, making it hard to see the vehicles parked right outside.

  Please Henry, go home.

  Instead of ATVs, Wyatt and I took an old farm truck and headed for the old hunter’s shack. In the bed of the truck, we had boxes of food, wood, and a weatherproof box with blankets. The Chief thought it was best for us to stock it in case we didn’t find him and Henry made his way to the shack. I’d wait for him there.

  I wanted to argue that it was better for every able person to search the woods, but I realized this was the best plan. Henry was scared. Confused. Seeing someone he knew and liked might encourage the young boy to remain safe in the cabin rather than venture back out into the snow.

  It was slow going as visibility was reaching nil. The windshield wipers slung themselves back and forth, flinging off the snow that threated to coat the window in the few seconds the wipers paused.

  Panic built in me. No one knew what Henry was wearing. Had he worn a hat and gloves? A coat. Please let him at least have on a thick, winter coat. My heart hammered. Nausea rose in me as images bombarded me. Breathe in. Breathe out.

  “We’re here.” Wyatt stopped the truck a few feet from the cabin. “I’ll get a fire started then head out. I’ll tie a rope to the tree near the pen and the other end around me. If you need something or he comes back tug on me. This snow is likely to muck up cell service.”

  “Is your rope long enough?”

  “I’m just heading to the creek right now.”

  The creek was two hundred yards passed the house. It would be freezing. If Henry had slipped in—no, no I couldn’t think that. Henry would be fine. He’d be safe and regretting his hasty decision.

  Wyatt patted my shoulder. “I’m just going to look. We don’t know if he went there. Just better to check.”

  In a few minutes, Wyatt had the cabin toasty warm. I placed a kettle of water on the wood burning stove and put the tub of hot chocolate mix on the table. All I could do was wait. I hated it.

  How much worse was it for Sierra and Georgia? Harold and Howard. Even Hank. He was in jail while his son was freezing in a snow storm.

  Would Henry find this place? I peered out. The snow had let up a little. The sun had broken through and was blinding off the unmarred snow. I went outside. A message. I’d leave a message so that Henry would know we were here to help him.

  I shuffled my feet to create a ditch in the snow near the shack and made my way to the pig pen.

  Snowflakes stuck to my face. I wiped them off. A skittering sound came from a clump of bushes. Henry! I ran to the sound. A heavy object slammed across my shoulder and
back, knocking me into snow. The snow muffled my scream. I rose on my elbows, scrambling away. A man snatched me to my feet. His face was covered with a stocking cap, his hands encased in black gloves.

  I kicked the man and screamed. He grunted and let go of me. I ran. I jerked back. My scarf tightened around my neck. He had a hold of it. I spun toward him, in the direction I hoped loosened it. He wound the end around his hand, blocking off more of my air.

  I gasped, throwing wild punches and kicks. The world tilted and became fuzzy. The fight was going out of me. My legs gave out. I slipped to the ground.

  The pressure around my neck eased. Breath rushed into my lungs. The dizzy feeling remained. The man grabbed me around the waist and was hauling me toward the back of the house.

  Wyatt, I tried screaming. My throat was raw, and I only managed a loud groan. Branches scratched at my face. Rushing water reached my ears. In the distance, lying face down in the chilly water of the creek was Wyatt.

  No! Oh, God, no. Tears ran down my face. I slapped at the man. My feeble blows didn’t elicit a reaction from him.

  The man headed down the slight hill, tugging me toward the cold water. I reached for branches. They were dead, snapping off the moment I gripped them. I went limp, forcing him to drag me. I grabbed at pebbles, throwing them at my captor’s face and hoping they’d reach his eyes.

  We reached the bottom. He dragged me into the cold water. I’d freeze to death. I gathered up all the strength I had left and punched at the man, raining blow after blow on his face and shoulder. He raised an arm to block a blow and let me go.

  I fell into the water. The cold seeped into my jeans. I immediately began shivering. I fought the pain of the cold and struggled to my feet.

  He grasped my arm, pulling me back. I attacked again, scratching at his face. My nail tore and snagged on the mask. It slipped. Matthew Brodart.

  Matthew slapped me hard across the face. “You could’ve stopped this.”

  The blow stunned me, bringing tears to my eyes.

  He wrapped his arms around my waist. “Just gave Hank what he asked you for. That stupid wife of his.”

  I twisted, reaching up and slapping at his ear. Matthew lifted me from ground then slung me into the water. The cold penetrated my cotton gloves, seeping into my coat. I rolled over, pushing myself up on my hands and knees. My arms shook. My energy depleted from fighting Matthew.

  “Hank has probably told the detective everything.” He stood over me, pushing a foot onto the small of my back. My legs gave out, submerging my stomach into the water. “Dad mailing out those letters to us. Wanting to clear his conscience before he died.”

  Slowly he moved his foot up to my shoulders. My muscles strained as I fought to keep my head out of the icy water. “You gave away the diary pages. Stole away the property from us. The town was ours.”

  A sob escaped me. “Just a house.”

  “It was more than a house. I told Dad to burn the diary. He decided to hide it. Even as he lay dying, he refused to tell me where those last pages were.”

  “It was just a house.”

  “Not just a house. It’s our name. You told the world my dad was a murderer.” The toe of his boot tapped at my neck. “It’s all over for us. I’ll be in prison. You’ll be dead.”

  My head went into the water. The coldness bit at me, nearly causing me to pull in a deep breath. I flailed, pushing at his foot. My body was growing numb.

  I heard something. Not sure. The water sounded like it was whooshing by me. That was impossible. The water was still except where I touched it. The light grew dimmer. The storm was coming back.

  Bang. Bang. Even with my head in the water, I heard the sharp report.

  The pressure left my neck. I tried crawling away. My muscles and brain weren’t synching. I rolled onto my back so I breathed air and not water.

  The icy water seeping deep into my bones, all I managed was shivering and turning my head to look at Ted. He had his gun drawn. Finger on the trigger.

  I turned my head. Matthew was in the water. Bleeding from his chest.

  Ted holstered his gun and ran toward me.

  Twenty-Five

  A nurse draped another warm blanket over me. A machine kept track of my body temperature and blood pressure. Both were back to normal. Ted sat by my bed side, my hand clasped in his. He kissed it. The doctor had pronounced me healthy. A little bruised and battered, but I’d be fine. I fared better than Wyatt, who had a concussion. Henry had been found hiding in the attic of the Everton mansion.

  Matthew was in surgery. The doctors weren’t sure he’d make it. Chief Moore and Officer Mitchell were at the hospital to handle the case. Ted was on administrative leave pending an investigation into the shooting. I didn’t think it was fair. Ted had told me it was the rules, and he wanted them abided by.

  “Are you okay?” I whispered, squeezing his hand tight.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Remember we share.”

  Ted’s devastated gaze meet mine. He had no choice but to shoot. I knew it. He knew it. And even though Matthew had tried to kill three people, he was still a human being Ted was forced to shoot. Ted hated having to make that decision.

  “I know, darling. I’m just not ready yet.”

  There was a knock on my hospital room door. The door inched open, Georgia stuck her head inside. “May I come in? I must speak to you.”

  Ted’s back stiffened.

  I weaved my fingers through Ted’s. He was my priority. Not Georgia or her family. “Now’s not a good time.”

  “Please, Faith, I’m sorry. I didn’t know all of this would happen. Hank showed me his letter the other day. I never knew.” Tears ran down her face.

  “I’m advising you not to say anything else,” Ted said. “Whatever you say in front of me, might be used against you in court.”

  “Court?” Georgia stepped into the room, hand fluttered to her chest. “I didn’t do anything.”

  “Exactly,” Ted said. “And that might turn into a problem for you.”

  “Edward never told me. He told the boys.” She shook. “How could he tell the boys but not me?”

  “Edward knew he was dying and want to clear his conscience,” I said.

  “You tell a priest,” Georgia said. “Not your sons and burden them.”

  No, you didn’t. Of course, if you didn’t kill someone there’d never be a man’s life resting on your conscience. “When you found out, why didn’t you tell the police then? You could’ve stopped this.”

  “My sons said they’d fix everything. No one would have to know. I didn’t know they meant like this.” Georgia waved her hand around, gesturing toward the monitor I was hooked up to.

  “What did you think they meant? Hank was reacting violently,” I said.

  “Because you kept pushing.” Anger shook her voice.

  Ted stood, becoming a blockade between me and Georgia.

  “Hank told me it was an accident. That was what his dad said. Edward had been holding a shovel and lost his temper. Ollie told him all about him being an Everton. He’d be rich. He’d take me from Edward. Ollie said he was now the better man. My husband lost it and swung without thinking, hitting Ollie in the head. Ollie fell into the ditch. Edward jumped down, telling Ollie to get up and fight. He realized Ollie was dead. He called his father, and they buried Ollie and moved the pipes without changing the plans.”

  “That’s what Edward was upset about that day,” I said. “Ruthann told him the renovation was going forward.”

  “Edward sent the letters a month before he died. The boys didn’t want him to spend his last few days in jail.”

  “Why should he?” Bitterness crept into my tone. “All he did was take decades off someone else’s life. Steal a father from his sons.”

  “Ollie wasn’t a good man. He wouldn’t have been a good
father to those boys.”

  “At least he never murdered anyone. Or taught his sons it was okay to try and do the same thing.” I reached for the call button. “I want to go home, Ted.”

  “Sweetheart, the doctor said—” Ted’s brow furrowed with worry.

  “That I’d be okay and was here for observation. You can observe me at home. Garrison’s a doctor, he can. Heck, you, Garrison, Bob, and my grandmothers can all observe me at home together. I don’t want to be here. I want to be away from the Brodarts.”

  Hurt flashed on Georgia’s face, slowly replaced by anger. “You think you’re better than my family.”

  “No,” my voice shook with repressed rage. “Your family thought they were better. Edward killed a man. He and his father hid it. Then your sons, and you, stayed quiet because you didn’t think Ollie deserved to live.”

  “How dare you judge us.” Georgia’s mouth twisted into an ugly sneer. Her gaze rested on Ted.

  I could almost read her mind. Frantically, I scrambled to my knees, preparing to beg her for forgiveness, anything to stop her hateful words. It was too late.

  “Detective Roget, your fiancé, tried to kill my son. Are you judging him the same? He thought you deserved to live more than Matthew.”

  Ted narrowed his eyes. “Your son was given two warnings. I can guarantee he didn’t give Faith, Wyatt, or Donald Lucas one.”

  I gaped at her. Was she serious? Had Georgia Brodart lost her mind? Did she really see Ted trying to stop her son from killing me was the same as Edward killing Ollie in a fit of rage?

  The door was pushed open. Karen stepped in. “Is anyone interested in giving me a quote?”

  Georgia spun toward the door, nearly colliding into Karen. The hospital was turning into the least restful place for me. Instead it was where all the people I’d least like to see showed up.

  Karen held a notepad and pen. I wasn’t in the mood for an interview. I tugged the blanket over my face. “Make her leave.”

  “I’m not here to see you,” Karen said.

  She was here to talk to Ted. A protective urge surged through me. Not going to happen. I flipped the blanket back from my face, rising to my knees. I glared at her. “Get out.”