Past Forward- A Serial Novel: Volume 5

by Chautona Havig

  Confused, Chad glanced around the room again, trying to find some reason that Kari would have a tub filled with concrete. He lifted the lid of the toilet tank, opened the cupboards, and pried open the medicine cabinet. An envelope sat on the middle shelf. Dread filled his heart as he lifted the flap. The glue, deteriorated by age, gave no resistance. After reading the first few words, Chad looked up at Luke.

  “Oh, no. Oh, oh, no.”

  Chapter 157

  Ryder glanced up from his work as she entered. “Hey. I think I know which one we should get—want to see?”

  “Yep. Exactly why I came out here.” Honesty forced her to add, “And to get away from the deconstruction zone in there.”

  “You’re not excited to see what’s back there, are you?”

  The words hovered between them. “Actually, I don’t think that’s it as much as I’m not excited for more change in my home.”

  “Change like another baby?”

  The unease in Ryder’s tone shook her out of her funk. “No, change like a wall not looking the same as it always has. So much has changed in there—fences around the stove, another couch, Mother’s concordances gone, and baby toys everywhere. It’s not a bad difference; it’s just a difference.”

  “That’s funny. My mom changes our house with the seasons it seems. We get new furniture, new paint, new everything so often that I could probably walk into someone else’s house and not realize it wasn’t ours until I went up to my room.”

  “I don’t understand that. Where is the tradition—the memories? How can you point to something and say, ‘This is from when we’… whatever it is that we did?”

  “Mom just doesn’t care about those things. She cares about looking good,” Ryder added glumly. “It’s why when Chelsea came and said she was pregnant, my first thought was, ‘They just have to adopt the baby. They’ll care more about the kid than how the kid makes them look.’”

  “Oh, I don’t think—”

  “Maybe not,” he interrupted, “but I know. I live it.” Ryder slid the catalog across the counter. “This one. Look how it allows for growth. I think we want this one.”

  “I’ll order it tomorrow.”

  She stepped outside the door but Ryder’s voice stopped her. “Willow?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Maybe instead of seeing the wall as changed, maybe it would help if you saw it as restored.”

  “Thanks, Ryder. Make a list of what I need to order.”

  She stepped out of the greenhouse and went to sit on the porch. Maybe she would feel less unsettled if she listened to progress. Ryder’s words tried to soothe an agitated spirit, but failed. Change hurt—Willow had no doubt that the hunt for the hidden room would bring more. Wallpaper ruined, a door where there had always been smooth wall—more of her home less like she’d known it for the majority of her life. Yes, change hurt.

  Three seconds after she sat in the porch swing, the sound of a saw sent her from the porch and out into the yard. Her eyes roamed toward her mother’s grave. Would it be overly sentimental to spend the time out there? She glanced back over her shoulder at the front door. It would hurt Chad. That wasn’t worth it.

  Instead, she strolled around the back of the barn to the swing tree. Seated there with Liam growing heavy in her arms, she prayed for strength and peace. It would be good. Her life had resettled into a new routine. She liked it. Yes, there would be a door in a wall. Did that really matter in the great scheme of things? There were two barns now and she didn’t ache over the missing dirt. Why should it matter?

  As she pushed the swing with one foot, allowing it to sway and twist as it chose, Willow gave herself a good scolding for being a little ridiculous about things that really didn’t matter. Chad had always hated that there was only one bathroom. If there was another one back there, it would make cleanup so much easier—and much cheaper than Marianne’s suggestion of a mudroom added to the back of the house. As lovely as it sounded on rainy days, the changes had made her want to weep. Even Chad had protested.

  The sounds of saws and drills ceased. Only the sounds of Liam’s jacket brushing against hers and Portia’s whimpering at her feet interrupted the cold March morning. Was that a shout? Did it mean that they did find something or that something went wrong? Lucas—

  What an absurd idea. Chad wouldn’t let anything hurt the boy. He was probably jumping up and down at the sight of porcelain sinks and another toilet for her to clean. She’d present him with a toilet bowl brush tied with a ribbon for St. Patrick’s Day. That would teach him.

  The screen door slammed shut. Willow sighed. She didn’t want him to come quite yet. She pulled off her glove and touched Liam’s cheek. It was cool but he seemed warm enough. A little longer, Lord, she pleaded. I’m not ready.

  Chad and Luke appeared much sooner than her idea of “longer.” Luke’s face, rather than Chad’s, told her something had gone horribly wrong. “Lucas—” She stared at the boy in Luke’s arms, but nothing seemed off.

  “Is fine,” the quiet man assured her.

  Hesitantly, Chad passed her something. “You need to read this, lass. I’m so sorry. I wish I didn’t have to—”

  Willow unfolded the paper and read the note, penned in her mother’s familiar handwriting, and dated the summer she’d turned two.

  August 4th

  To Whom It May Concern,

  I, Kari Anne Finley, confess to the murder of Jason Rosser, a man with physical characteristics that are remarkably similar to Steven Solari Jr.

  Mr. Rosser appeared at my door two days ago, on August 2nd, and tried to get me to talk to him. When I first saw him, I assumed he was Steven Solari Jr. and reacted on instinct out of fear for my life and the life of my daughter. I grabbed my shotgun and killed him. When I went to move the dead man, I realized that I had shot the wrong person. For this, I am deeply sorry.

  I would have confessed my actions to the police, but I believe that my daughter’s safety depends on no one knowing she’s alive. This would certainly have made the news. I cannot risk that. The man’s driver’s license, credit cards, and vehicle registration are all in the envelope with this confession to help you notify Mr. Rosser’s family. Please extend my apologies for what I’ve done. I know I cannot be forgiven, but I am so deeply sorry.

  If it is not clearly evident, you’ll find Mr. Rosser’s body in my bathtub of this bathroom. I foolishly thought I could cover him with the concrete to prevent the stench of decay and then transport him out of the house with a dolly, but I wasn’t strong enough to move it. I will wall up the room, and I assume (and pray) I’ll be dead before this is found.

  Mr. Rosser’s vehicle is buried at the back corner of the east pasture just inside the tree line. There were no trees there when I rented the backhoe and dug it out, but I planted a row of birch diagonally across that section to make it easy to find.

  Kari Anne Finley

  Tears poured down Willow’s face as she read the letter. Things that had seemed extreme in the light of her life of the past few years made a little more sense to her now. She now understood, in a way she never could have before, why her mother met strangers in the yard with a shotgun before they could even come close to the house. Even Mother’s refusal to allow the animals in that east corner of the pasture, and a few ambiguous journal entries were no longer ambiguous. The discovery they’d made the week before Thanksgiving now made sense. The journal entries regarding her destroying their life and being just as guilty—heartbreakingly clear.

  “Now I know why she didn’t write about the hassles of climbing the stairs while pregnant with me. She didn’t.”

  If the stunned looks on Chad and Luke’s faces meant what she suspected it did, that was the last thing they’d expected her to say. Chad knelt beside her, saying in that ultra-gentle tone he used when he thought she felt especially fragile, “I have to call the chief, lass. He’ll probably have to call the sheriff.”

  “Why? Can’t you take this letter and the papers and us
e your Internet thing and find the family that way?”

  “Willow,” he tried again as gently as he could, “our bathroom is technically a crime scene.”

  “No, that would be our porch. The journal said that Mother shot him on the porch.”

  “She put the body in the bathroom. It is also part of the crime scene as is the east pasture. They’re going to have to dig up that car.”

  “Why? It won’t run anymore, it can’t tell them anything Mother didn’t… why ruin our pasture—”

  “It’s the law.”

  “It’s a stupid law that infringes on my rights as a property owner. It benefits no one and damages my property. I understand the bathtub. They should get to take that and bury it properly, but to tear up a field for something worthless is ridiculous.” A new thought came to her. “What if I offer to purchase the car from the family? I could pay whatever is reasonable; they could sign over the deed—”

  “Title,” he corrected automatically.

  “Yes, title, and then my field won’t be destroyed by machinery and a gaping hole.”

  He shook his head even as she spoke. “It can’t be done, Willow. We’ll do what we can, but we have to follow the law. This isn’t your fault, but the family deserves that closure.”

  “Can we keep the newspapers and television people out of here?”

  “You can keep them off the property, but not away from the road.”

  Willow’s head snapped up. “They’re going to say terrible things about Mother, aren’t they?”

  Luke’s pained eyes answered her before Chad ever raised his head again. “Yes.”

  “And me too, I suppose.” She took a deep breath. “I want you to arrest anyone who sets foot on this property, touches our fences—anything. It’s trespassing and I won’t have it.”

  Shoulders slumped, Chad turned and walked toward the house, pulling out his phone. Luke stared down at Willow still seated on the swing with a sleeping Liam in her arms. “Willow?”

  “Yes?” She hardly glanced at him, still fighting the overwhelming desire to sob.

  “Think of Chad a little as you deal with this. I know it’s hard on you, but politically speaking, this might just be the death of his dream of becoming sheriff around here.”

  “Why? He did nothing wrong. I did nothing wrong. Why should this hurt him?” The idea seemed preposterous.

  “Because people don’t think in terms of a person’s actions. They think in terms of what that person is associated with. They’re going to hear Chad’s name, remember that a body was found in his house, and they will recoil. It’s what people do.”

  “I think people should start thinking in terms of wise decisions instead of irrational emotions. I would think they would want a man who found a body and did all the proper legal things to take care of it, even at the expense and inconvenience of his own family and property.”

  She stood, shifted Liam over one shoulder, and gave Luke a one-armed hug. “Thank you for telling me, Luke. I would never have imagined that this could be that kind of a problem. It’s ridiculous. We’ll find a way to fight it when that time comes. Chad always says that public opinion follows whatever those in power spin it to be. We’ll have to find a way to be the spinners that time.” Willow shook her head. “I can’t believe how fickle people are sometimes.

  Chapter 158

  The nightmare began before she could put the children down for their naps. Chief Varney, sirens blaring, barreled up the drive as fast as he could in the slushy mud. Willow stood at the window, arms crossed over her chest, as Chad and Luke met him in the yard, pointing to the house. They’d be coming in soon. Her eyes roamed the room—filthy. Was she allowed to clean it or not? As long as she stayed out of the bathroom, it should be safe, shouldn’t it?

  Her eyes slid toward the opening in the wall—a perfectly smooth place with a nice doorjamb—her heart sank. She knew where the door was for it. She’d used it as a play table as a child. As Chad stepped in the room, her eyes jerked away from the offending opening. She still hadn’t managed to allow herself to look inside.

  “Can I clean up in here?”

  “I’ll do it, lass.”

  “No, my question is, ‘Am I allowed to clean up this mess or is it somehow part of the investigation?’”

  “Let Martinez get pictures first, and then you can have at it, Miss-rs. Tesdall. Still not used to you being married to this lug.”

  Feeling dismissed, she crooked her finger at Chad and strolled into the kitchen. Once he stepped in the room, she kissed him. “I love you. I’m sorry about this. I just wanted you to know that I love you.”

  “Aw, lass…”

  “And the minute they’ll let you, I would appreciate it if you’d get the door out of the attic and put it up. I’m not ready to look in there yet.”

  He held her. Whether he tried to draw strength from her or infuse her with his, Willow didn’t know. She gave him a weak smile and added, “Should I get Chief Varney the new journals—the ones that mention this?”

  “I’ll get them.”

  “Good, then I think I’m going to work on something else—like starting a roast for dinner. That’d be a good idea.”

  He turned to leave the room as she reached for her coat. She had almost shut the door behind her when his voice called out to her. “Lass?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I know. So am I. We’ll get through it, though. I trust you.”

  Outside, she strolled to the barn, trying to feel as nonchalant as she looked, but Ryder stepped into the summer kitchen behind her. “Is everything okay? Why is—”

  Fresh tears fell down her face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think to tell you. It’s—” She stifled a sniffle, reaching into her pocket for a handkerchief. “Proof that these are better,” she muttered, waving the fabric square. “Chad’s boxes are never handy like these.”

  Ryder patted her shoulder awkwardly. “Do I need to go home?”

  “No, that body was cemented long before you were born. You can’t possibly know anything about it.”

  “Body? Cement? It sounds like something out of one of those old mobster movies. What are you talking about?”

  “In the bathtub,” she said. “Mother buried someone in the bathtub in the house.”

  “Um, I’ve seen—oh in the closed off room.”

  “Yep.”

  “It probably wasn’t your mother, Willow. I mean, come on. She’s not—wasn’t—”

  “She wrote out a confession and left it in the medicine cabinet.” Willow snickered, almost half-crazed with new and uncomfortable thoughts. “It sounds like one of Miss Hartfield’s novels.” She stared at him. “Why does everyone call her Miss Hartfield?”

  “Because it’s her name.”

  “But she’s—” Willow decided perhaps the question was better saved for Chad. How she’d never thought to ask before, she didn’t know. “Anyway, I’m going to make a roast.”

  “Proof that you are part Solari.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” Willow glared at the boy and then sighed. “Oh, because I have a body in my house and my grandparents were both murderers.”

  “Because,” Ryder clarified, “your answer to a horrible problem is to cook food. Sounds awfully Italian to me.”

  Observed, heckled, and bombarded by the press as he did it, Chad screwed a large “No Trespassing” sign to the end of the drive. Microphones were thrust into his face, but he ignored them, shaking the sign for strength from the wind before he strode back up the driveway. Once out of sight, he allowed his shoulders to slump and kicked himself as he made his way back to the house.

  Had he not gotten carried away with the idea of improving the house, Chad would have realized that Kari would not have walled up a room without reason. The idea simply did not fit her character. Although occasionally irrational when motivated by fear, Kari had always made very deliberate decisions, hadn’t she? Some now made sense in ways they never had
before finding that note.

  “Lord, she feared being caught for an accidental murder more than the Solaris. Somehow, she transferred that fear to their name—understandably so—but I see why the isolation now. It wasn’t just to hide from them. She was hiding from her own actions. How terrifying.”

  A new thought hit him. The family. What if they sued Kari’s estate? Could they? Wrongful death suits could be expensive. Then again… no, there was no then again. Bill would know.

  Chad pulled out his phone and scrolled through contacts until he found their friend/financial advisor. “Bill—Chad here. Look, have you seen the news?”

  Bill’s negative answer preceded a wary, “Do I want to?”

  “No, but you’d better. What do you know about Kari and a man she shot?”

  “Kari shot a man?”

  Chad nodded illogically as he added, “Yeah. We found the body today.”

  “That’s disgusting. Where was it?”

  “Downstairs bathroom.” Chad waited for the protest. It came quickly.

  “There is no down—oh wait. Oh. Hmm…”

  “What?”

  “I just remembered a visit—one of the first.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I came in and had to go to the bathroom, but Willow was in there. Kari didn’t say, but I got the idea there was something about bad cramps or whatever.”

  What that had to do with anything, Chad couldn’t imagine. “Okaaay…”

  “Well, anyway, I told her that she should build a bathroom downstairs behind the stairs. It looked like enough room for one to me. She nearly bit my head off for suggesting it.”

  “Extreme,” Chad muttered.

  “I just took it as Kari going overboard. She often did.” Bill murmured something to someone on the other end of the line and then said, “Look, Chad. I’ve kept my thoughts to myself for quite a while, but since you asked…”

  “Just spit it out.”

  “There’s been quite a bit of—oh, I don’t know the word I mean. Willow has kept her mother on a pedestal. To some degree it’s warranted, but I’ve always felt like Kari kept one step ahead of encroaching instability.”