Murder in Madden
Page 1
Murder in Madden
Raegan Teller
Copyright © 2016 by Raegan Teller
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.
Pondhawk Press
Columbia, SC
www.PondhawkPress.com
Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Murder in Madden/ Raegan Teller 1st ed.
ISBN 978-0-9979205-0-5
Dedicated to my mother, who taught me determination.
Dora Bryant
(1911–1997)
“It's impossible," said pride.
“It's risky," said experience.
“It's pointless," said reason.
“Give it a try," whispered the heart.
―Unknown
Table of Contents
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
CHAPTER 42
CHAPTER 43
CHAPTER 44
CHAPTER 45
CHAPTER 46
CHAPTER 47
CHAPTER 48
CHAPTER 49
CHAPTER 50
CHAPTER 51
CHAPTER 52
CHAPTER 53
CHAPTER 54
CHAPTER 55
CHAPTER 56
CHAPTER 57
CHAPTER 58
CHAPTER 59
CHAPTER 60
CHAPTER 61
CHAPTER 62
CHAPTER 63
CHAPTER 64
CHAPTER 65
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CHAPTER 1
Ten Years Ago
Rose Marie Garrett studied her reflection in the mirror and smiled with the realization that today could change everything. She examined her makeup and then wiped the dark eyeliner from her eyes with a wet washcloth. The soap stung and she blinked several times until the image of her young face appeared again. She wanted to impress the man at the insurance agency, not seduce him. Somehow she had to convince him she would be a hard worker and that she desperately needed the money.
She went to her closet and pulled out the step stool she kept hidden in the corner behind her winter coat. Rosie got the wool coat for her seventeenth birthday a few months ago, but she had never worn it. Winters in Madden were mild. Rosie stepped onto the stool and stretched overhead to reach a wooden panel that opened to the small attic. She pushed the flimsy square of plywood to one side and stretched as tall as she could until she recognized the familiar feel of the wooden box. She tugged at the corner of the box until she could get a grip on it.
The top was covered in dust, and she brushed it off carefully so she wouldn't soil her dress clothes. She laid the box on her bed and shut the bedroom door. After taking the cover from the box, she gently removed a worn envelope and pulled out two handwritten pages of a letter. The creases were nearly torn through from repeated use and age, but Rosie didn't want to put tape on the precious paper. That might ruin it. She read the letter slowly, as though this were the first time she had seen the familiar words. She refolded the letter and returned it to the box. A small roll of mostly dollar bills was in the corner of the box. She took the rubber band from the roll and counted the money. And then she counted it again. Not enough to get her to Mississippi, even on a Greyhound. She rolled the bills and put the rubber band back around them, but the rubber had become brittle and snapped.
She folded the bills and tucked them in the bottom of the box, and then pulled out another envelope. Rosie gently opened the one-page typewritten document and ran her trembling finger across the information typed in the blanks near the top of the page. She sighed and returned the envelope to the box with the letter, her meager cash, and a few other items, touching each one reverently. Myra would be in soon to tell her she was going to be late, so she stepped on the stool and stretched to return the box to the small dark hole in the top of her closet.
Rosie was brushing some dust from her hands when Myra knocked on the door and walked in. "You're going to be late." Myra held out her hand. "Here's a few dollars in case you need them." She continued to hold out her hand toward Rosie. "Are you sure you don't want me to take you?"
Rosie reached out and took the money. "I got a ride."
"With who?"
Instead of responding, Rosie put the money in her small purse and walked out the bedroom and down the hallway.
"Just remember to be polite and answer Mr. Barton's questions," Myra called out.
Rosie threw up her hand in acknowledgement and walked out the front door, slamming the screen door behind her.
Myra walked out onto the porch and watched Rosie walk away until the big evergreen bushes growing at the edge of the neighbor's yard blocked her view. Myra said a silent prayer for Rosie's soul and asked God to forgive and protect her.
Myra turned to open the screen door to go back inside, and a gust of wind tugged it from her hand, knocking the screen against the house. She pulled the screen shut and looked at the sky to see if a storm was coming. Even in the late-summer humidity, Myra shivered as a chill came over her.
CHAPTER 2
The Present
Enid tapped her hand on the stacks of paper on her desk trying to find her vibrating cell phone. She longed for the days when her co-workers popped into her office to ask a question instead of texting her. She pulled the phone out from under a file folder and read a text from Jill. She was being summoned to the boss' office. Enid had been expecting this conversation because the bank was going through yet another reorganization. The office buzz was that at least half of their jobs would be eliminated when they merged with the larger bank that had acquired them.
Enid walked the short distance down the hallway and tapped on Jill’s partially opened door.
"Come in," said Jill. The tall willowy blonde in a navy pantsuit motioned for Enid to have a seat in the chair across from her large glass and metal desk. "We’re both busy, so I'll be brief." She leaned forward and locked eyes with Enid. "You're one of my best employees, and I want you here. But, I've got to be honest and tell you that your job is being eliminated."
Enid started to speak but was interrupted.
"Before you say anything, let me finish." Jill walked over to the office door and shut it. Sitting back down, she continued, "There’s another job I want you to post for. A promotion. It will require you to travel a good bit, but it's a great opportunity for you." She handed Enid a typed docume
nt from her desk. "Here's the new job description and requirements."
Enid skimmed the job posting. "Thanks. I’ll read it more thoroughly tonight."
"You'll need to make a presentation before the selection committee next Monday. I'll be glad to give you some tips on what they're looking for." She stood up and walked to the door, holding it open for Enid to leave. "This is the promotion you've been working for. I know everyone here is nervous about all the changes, but this is a big break for you." She smiled, showing a perfect set of teeth. "I've already put in a good word for you."
* * *
Enid sat in her BMW SUV on the sixth floor of the concrete parking deck. Dozens of workers swarmed from elevator doors and scurried to their cars. Most of them were checking their cell phones for messages and hurrying home or to wherever they would spend their brief time away from the office.
Enid ran her hand across the smooth leather seats. A few months ago, buying a BMW seemed like a reward for her hard work and a way to forget her mother's protracted, agonizing death. Now the long-term loan was a huge stone around her neck.
Enid sat in the car, listening to the hypnotically repetitive click-clack of the metal expansion joints in the parking deck as cars drove over them. One by one, the cars filed out until there were only a few left. Enid wiped away the tears that spilled down her cheeks and drove toward the red exit arrow.
At this time of day, the roads in Charlotte, North Carolina, were congested with irritated, impatient commuters. Charlotte was an exciting, growing city, but the congestion made the three miles from her office at the bank to the grocery store a thirty-minute ordeal. By the time Enid finally pulled into the grocery store's parking lot, she was irritable, just like everyone else.
Inside the Harris Teeter supermarket, a young man in tan slacks and a golf shirt nudged her aside to grab a ready-made salad, while talking on his cell phone. Enid was familiar with the weekday ritual of quick take-out meals, checking messages, and then several hours of work before going to bed and starting all over again early the next day.
Enid walked back to the seafood section and got a pound of large shrimp. The price of seafood was exorbitant, but tonight she needed to talk to Cade, and she wanted him in a good mood. Maybe his favorite shrimp and grits dish would do the trick. After picking up a bottle of Chardonnay and a bunch of fresh flowers, she got in line at the checkout counter. She never thought of these things as luxury items, but the money she had spent taking care of her mother had depleted their savings. More than once, she had assured Cade she would rebuild their nest egg. He hadn’t complained, but things between them had changed, and she felt guilty.
As she swiped her credit card to pay for the groceries, Enid tried to shake off the sense of doom that had fallen on her after the conversation with Jill. In a loud voice, the young female cashier told her the card had been declined. Enid glanced over her shoulder, embarrassed to think that someone might have overheard.
"I forgot we canceled that card," said Enid. She pulled out two twenty-dollar bills that had been tucked away in her wallet to pay for the dry cleaning items several weeks overdue for pick-up. The grocery clerk handed her the change and shifted her attention to the next person in line.
* * *
At nine thirty that night, Enid blew out the candles and put away the unused dishes and silverware. The shrimp and grits, now congealed to a solid clump in the pot, went into plastic storage containers in the refrigerator. She cleaned the kitchen and poured the last of the Chardonnay in her glass. After checking the doors to be sure they were locked, she glanced at her phone once again to check for messages from Cade. He had not returned her calls.
Before getting into bed, Enid ran her hand across the framed photo of her mother on the nightstand. The picture was taken in her mother's younger, healthier days. "I love you," she said aloud. She wanted to take comfort in the fact that her mother was no longer in pain and withering away, but the cloud of those final days darkened her memories.
As she lay in bed, waiting unsuccessfully for the wine to put her sleep, the squeak of the front door opening startled her. Regretting that she had left the alarm off, Enid tiptoed to the bedroom door and peered down the dimly lit hallway. She peeped around into the kitchen and was relieved when she recognized Cade's profile in the light of the open refrigerator door. There were many things she wanted and needed to say to him, but tonight wasn't the time.
Thirty minutes later, Enid was still awake and staring at the ceiling when she heard the guest room door shut.
CHAPTER 3
The next morning, Enid was making a second cup of tea when Cade came up behind her and put his arms around her waist. She stiffened and remained silent. Cade released her and sat down at the small glass table at the window overlooking the backyard.
"I'm sorry about last night," he said.
"I was worried about you. Why didn't you return my calls?"
"I was with some of the guys. I should have called."
Enid sat down in the chair beside Cade and stared into her teacup, wondering if the few stray leaves in the bottom held any answers for her. "I wanted to talk to you about a decision I have to make.”
Cade sat down beside her, a look of concern on his face. "Are you okay? What's going on?"
"I want to quit my job." Enid continued to stare at the bottom of her cup and could feel Cade looking at her.
"Quit your job? I thought you loved it."
Enid spoke louder than she intended to. "No, you love my job. I hate it."
“What do you want to do? Work for a different bank?”
“I want to write again,” she whispered. And keep the promise I made to Mother.
“Write? You mean like a book? Or do you want to be a journalist again?” Cade put his hand on her leg and stroked it gently. "Look, babe, I know your mother's death has you confused about your own life. You've been through hell. But, don't make any hasty decisions you might regret." Cade pulled his hand away and sat up straight. "Besides, we've got to stay focused on the big picture." His tone was sharp.
Enid turned to look at him. "What does that mean?"
"It means I may lose my job, that's what." Cade stood up and walked to the kitchen for another cup of coffee. When he returned, he said, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped at you."
"Is this another downsizing?" asked Enid. "Pretty soon there won't be any investigative reporters left in the country."
"That's the excuse they're giving me, but in reality, I pissed them off on the senator’s bribery piece."
"I thought they told you to drop that story." Enid ran her hand through her hair, and sighed. "But you didn't, did you?" She reached out and took Cade's hand. "I can’t be upset when you're doing what we said we would do as journalists." When Cade didn't respond, she withdrew her hand. "The timing is bad, that's all."
Enid got up to put her cup in the sink and went to the bedroom. She was putting her makeup on when Cade came in. "I'm sorry about all of this. Really, I am. We'll figure something out." He kissed her cheek and turned to leave. From the hallway, he called back to her. “Oh, I forgot. We're going to Mother's for lunch Sunday." She heard his footsteps on the hardwood floor. “We'll talk more later. Love you," he called out.
After Enid heard the front door close, she sat back down on the bed and buried her face in her hands.
CHAPTER 4
The smell of a perfectly roasted hen engulfed Fern Blackwell's house. No doubt, the woman could cook a great meal.
"My baby boy!" said Fern as she walked from the kitchen and gave Cade a big hug.
"Hello, Mother," said Cade, gently holding her at arm's length.
"Well, you look comfortable today," Fern said as she surveyed Enid head to toe. "But then I guess there's no point in dressing up on Sunday if you're not going to church." In contrast to Enid's slacks and casual top, Fern wore her typical Sunday uniform: a navy sheath that showed off her trim figure and a beloved set of pearls, a gift from her late husband.
The dining table had been set with the formal china, a Victorian rose pattern Enid detested for its prissiness. A pressed white linen napkin was beside each plate, along with seven pieces of flatware at each setting. She never understood Fern's formality for family meals. Enid tried to imagine Fern eating a messy tuna salad sandwich, with mayo and pickle juice dripping down her arm while standing over the kitchen sink. But the image wouldn't materialize.
The usual small talk accompanied lunch, mostly about the weather and the ladies garden club activities. "You need to eat more if you want to stay healthy," Fern announced to Enid, while playing with the meager bits of food on her own plate.
Enid didn't bother to reply. Over the years, she had learned to pick her battles with her mother-in-law.
Fern didn't expect or wait for a reply and began talking about Reverend Adams’ sermon that morning, which apparently centered on idle hands being a straight pathway to hell.
Fern turned to Cade who was busily putting butter on a hot roll. "So, what are you going to do if you lose your job?"
"I haven't decided yet." Cade glanced at Enid. "Enid and I haven't decided yet, I meant."
“I just don't understand why you kept pursuing that story about that old senator, even after your boss told you to let it go. You always were hard-headed, even as a boy," said Fern.
"I think you should be proud of Cade for not giving up on the story. After all, journalism is about searching for the truth," said Enid.
"Well, the truth doesn't always set you free," said Fern. She looked at Enid. "Pass the salt, please. I try to avoid salt in my cooking since you and Cade think salt is as evil as sin, but I just think these green beans need a bit, don't you, dear?"
"Mid-thirties is a bit late for me to become a doctor or a lawyer, if that's what you're hoping for," said Cade. "I'm going to start looking around, and then we'll decide what's best for us." He avoided looking at Enid.
Fern dabbed the corners of her mouth with the napkin and smiled tightly. "Yes, of course you will. Anyone ready for coffee and a slice of coconut cake?" she asked, rising from the table.