Deadly Heritage

by Marissa Shrock

  Cal walked in the back door of my farmhouse while whistling “Brown-Eyed Girl.” He held two plastic grocery sacks. “Change of plans. I’m cooking for you tonight since we’re supposed to get snow.” Concern filled his blue eyes. “I hope you’re not disappointed.”

  “Nope. I’m thrilled when you cook.” I gazed up at my handsome boyfriend. I towered over a lot of men, so I loved that Cal had a few inches on me.

  He set the groceries on the bench in my foyer while he took off his black leather jacket. Gus, my yellow Labrador retriever puppy, nosed the sacks, and I snatched them away before he could do any damage.

  He’d developed a new quirk—digging in trashcans. Not even an entire container of cayenne pepper sprinkled all over the garbage had deterred that crazy animal. All of my bathroom trashcans now sat on the backs of the toilets, and my new kitchen wastebasket had a secure lid.

  “Hey,” Cal said in his sexy, resonant voice. “Come here, birthday girl.” He drew me into an embrace and gave me a gentle kiss on the lips.

  There’d better be more of that later. “What’re we having?” I smoothed his dark, windblown hair.

  He dimpled, and my heart skipped a beat. “Chicken and roasted vegetables.” He brushed some hair out of my eyes. “I’ll take you to Salvador’s another time for your birthday dinner.”

  “It’s fine. As long as we’re together.” Then I chuckled.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Six months ago, I would’ve rather been gagged than say something so sappy.”

  Sometimes it felt too good to be true that I’d met someone like Cal and that he liked me back. We headed into the kitchen, where I set the grocery sacks on the table.

  “Wow. I had no idea you were so cynical.” He arched an eyebrow. “I just can’t imagine that.”

  “Shut up.” I pretended to launch a sweet potato at him.

  He emptied the sacks and put the groceries on the counter in my 1980s kitchen—which was begging for an update that I hadn’t gotten around to. Maybe I was secretly fond of the linoleum flooring and pastel flower-basket print wallpaper in this house where I’d grown up.

  Nah.

  He stopped and looked around the kitchen. “Please tell me you have a cookie sheet.” He pointed to the groceries. “Because I’m making a sheet pan meal, and if you don’t…”

  I opened the cabinet next to my oven. “No worries.” I removed a set of three cookie sheets wrapped in plastic and displayed them like a spokesmodel. “Ta-da.”

  “How long have those been in there like that?” He found a knife in the drawer next to my sink and began rinsing and peeling sweet potatoes.

  I poked my finger through the plastic and ripped it off. “Since, this summer?” I squinted and pursed my lips. “Mom got them for me on sale, but as long as Brandi keeps me supplied with cookies, I don’t need to bake my own.”

  Unless he wanted a cookie-baking girlfriend and was disappointed that I never brought him homemade treats. But he didn’t have a big sweet tooth, so it shouldn’t matter, right?

  He chuckled. “Great excuse.”

  Time to steer the conversation away from my inadequacies. “You’ll find this interesting. Beverly told me Clara’s coming home for a visit tonight.” I set the largest cookie sheet on the counter and put the other two back in the cabinet.

  He stopped peeling. “Really. She say why?”

  “No.” I leaned against the island. “Why hasn’t she been home all this time? Beverly’s never talked about it.”

  “I have no idea.” Cal set a naked sweet potato aside and picked up a second one. “It’s always been a hush-hush topic in the family. My impression’s always been that Clara never quite fit in here.”

  Interesting. It wasn’t my business anyway. “How was work today?”

  “Fine.”

  “Have you been able to identify the body yet?”

  On Monday afternoon, a construction worker had unearthed skeletal remains in the woods while digging a foundation for a new house in the western part of the county.

  “Not yet. I hope we can give a family some closure soon.” He put down a sweet potato. “Did I tell you Marvin’s replacement started on Monday?”

  Marvin Kimball was the detective who’d worked with Cal—until he’d gotten himself in trouble with the law. “No. Nothing like jumping right in with a big case. Are you getting along?”

  “Yep. She’s nice. Name’s Vanessa Hawk. Grew up in Richardville, and she’s around your age. You know her?” He began chopping the peeled sweet potatoes into chunks.

  Gus’s claws clicked over the floor, and he stopped next to Cal.

  “No. I don’t know everybody in Richard County.” She. I swallowed. Don’t be stupid, Georgia. Is that why he hadn’t remembered to tell me? “What’s she like?”

  Here, fishy-fishy.

  I walked to the sink, squirted some dish soap on the cookie sheet, and scrubbed it.

  “She’s tough. Great instincts. Been with the department for about seven years.” He cut the second potato. “She’ll be good to work with.”

  “Is she married?” I kept my voice nice and casual.

  “Engaged.”

  I squeezed the dishcloth and hated myself for the “Hallelujah Chorus” playing in my head. I sneaked a look at him out of the corner of my eye. He hadn’t stopped chopping and seemed oblivious to the fact that I was having a moment. Good. The last thing I wanted was for Cal to think I was insecure about our relationship.

  As I rinsed and dried the cookie sheet, I thought of my late grandma Winston’s penchant for spouting off maxims and assigning them random numbers. After her death, her habit lived on in my head, and one of the most important principles throbbed in my mind.

  Life Lesson #15: Insecurity ruins relationships.

  “What else can I do to help?” I took in the red onion and the package of chicken sitting on the counter.

  He winked. “Relax and keep me company.” He wiped his hands on his jeans and looked around the kitchen. “I’ll be right back. I forgot to bring in your cake.”

  “Is it chocolate?”

  “Sure is.”

  “Perfect.” I tossed the dishtowel on the counter. “I’ll run out and get it. You keep cooking.”

  I needed a gulp of fresh air.

  Later that night, it still hadn’t started snowing, which didn’t break my heart because that meant Cal could stick around and watch Murder on the Orient Express. His dinner had been fabulous, and he’d purchased a cake in the shape of a gold clutch purse from Pastry Delight in Wildcat Springs.

  I’d snapped pictures of the cake, along with the red roses he’d gotten me yesterday for Valentine’s Day, to show my best friends Brandi and Ashley, but I wasn’t one of those women who felt the need to brag to everyone on social media. Although, I’d have plenty to say because of how good Cal was to me. I couldn’t ask for a better boyfriend.

  He’d even gotten me a silver necklace with a key-shaped pendant, which I’d put on immediately.

  We finished the movie and watched the eleven o’clock news to get an explanation as to why the snow hadn’t materialized. The meteorologist was in the middle of promising an inch of snowfall per hour when the wail of approaching sirens interrupted.

  Cal and I exchanged glances.

  “Those are close.” I tossed a throw pillow aside and shot off the couch. With Gus at my heels, I bolted to the front door, threw it open, and stepped onto the porch. Cal followed.

  A sheriff’s deputy’s car whizzed by. Down the road, blue and red lights flashed, and my heart dropped to my feet.

  “They’re at Beverly’s,” I whispered and grasped the porch railing.

  Lord, please help her.

  “Get your shoes and coat.” Cal was already back inside, putting on his jacket and stepping into his shoes.

  I slipped on the first pair of sneakers I could find, shut Gus in his crate, and tugged on my coat as I ran out the door. Cal was already waiting in his Jeep with the engin
e running.

  We traveled the short distance to Beverly’s house in silence, and when we arrived, two cars from the sheriff’s department and an ambulance were parked next to the house, along with a red hatchback that I guessed was Clara’s. A third car from the sheriff’s department blocked the driveway.

  My breath hitched. This was more than a health emergency.

  Cal parked his Jeep on the side of the road and left it running. “Stay in here.”

  I nodded, because a lump the size of Alaska had taken up residence in my throat.

  He jumped out and jogged over to the car at the end of the driveway as a few stray snowflakes swirled around him. A deputy emerged from the car and started talking and pointing at the house.

  I opened the window, but the gusting wind drowned out their voices.

  Cal’s shoulders sagged, and he ran his fingers through his hair. Then he turned and trudged toward me. Halfway to the Jeep, he stopped and answered his phone.

  “Perkins.” He listened, pain filling his expression. “Already here. I’ll be in shortly.” He disconnected and shoved his phone in his jacket pocket.

  My chest constricted.

  No. No. No! I balled my fingers into a fist. Please, God. Don’t let it be…

  Cal opened the passenger-side door.

  I swallowed. “What happened?” But deep down I already knew.

  He scrubbed his hands over his face. “Aunt Beverly was murdered.”

  Chapter Two

  Kittens.

  I didn’t consider myself a cat person, and I was recently a converted dog person, but all I could see were the kittens Beverly had given my brother Dakota and me when we were growing up. My favorite had been an orange and white one I’d named Peaches, though we’d had black, gray, and calico cats as well.

  “Georgia?” Cal leaned into the Jeep and grasped my hand. “Are you okay?”

  “Beverly used to give Dakota and me kittens. In fact, the cats out in my barn are their descendants. She gave us so many that when we went trick-or-treating at her place, Mom always warned us we’d better come home with just candy because Beverly could always talk Daddy into taking a kitten or two. Dakota always tried to get Mom to let us have a house cat, and—”

  “Georgia.” Concern lingered in Cal’s eyes as he rested his hands on my shoulders.

  I reined my thoughts back, unbuckled my seatbelt, and slid out. “How?” I whispered.

  “Gunshot wound to the chest.” He wrapped his arms around me.

  I closed my eyes and buried my face in his shoulder, and for a moment, he held me and stroked my hair while I inhaled the comforting scent of his cologne and leather jacket.

  I lifted my head. “Why?” I could barely say the word.

  “We don’t know yet, but it looks like she interrupted a break-in.”

  I shuddered. That’s what they’d said about my daddy—he’d interrupted a break-in.

  The sheriff’s department detectives theorized that when Daddy was on his way home from a school board meeting that night, he saw suspicious activity at the grain elevator. Because he was a good citizen, he stopped to investigate since there’d been vandalism there the week before. The robbers shot him and escaped. With no security cameras, the case was impossible to crack. Beverly’s late husband Bill owned the elevator, but she’d sold it after he died of a heart attack.

  “I’m sorry, but I need to go.” He stepped back and squeezed my hand. “Take the Jeep. I’ll pick it up at your house when we’re done here.”

  I nodded. “Are you okay?” He’d have to deal with the blood and gore.

  “Yeah. I’ll call you later.” He kissed my forehead and turned to go.

  “Cal?”

  “Yeah?” He faced me.

  “Check to see if Miss Peacock’s okay. Beverly loved that dog. I can… I’m willing to take her until I can find her a home. I don’t want her to go to a shelter. She’s old and might not get adopted.”

  He gave me a sad smile. “Will do.” He strode toward the farmhouse as the slow-to-arrive snow finally made its entrance with a vengeance.

  Taking a deep breath, I closed the Jeep’s door, walked around the vehicle, got in the driver’s seat, and gazed at the porch. My eyes fell on Beverly’s cheerful snowman—so innocent and out of place. I leaned back against the headrest and didn’t bother fighting the fresh wave of tears that blurred my vision and spilled over.

  Why hadn’t I taken more time with Beverly earlier? When she’d been battling cancer, I’d always been mindful that each conversation might be our last. I yanked my gloves out of my pockets and used them to dab my tears. Even though I only had to drive about half a mile, I didn’t want to move until I pulled myself together.

  Tap. Tap. Tap.

  Beverly’s and my neighbor, Earl “Old Man” Smith, tipped his Vietnam veteran’s baseball cap and waved. “Hey there, Miss Georgia.”

  I opened the window. “Hey.”

  He pointed toward the house. “What’s going on? I heard the sirens and walked down to check it out.”

  “Someone shot Beverly.” I sniffed. “She’s dead.” The lump in my throat threatened to choke me.

  His jaw dropped, and his large ears seemed to stick out even more. “You sure?” He grabbed a hold of the Jeep.

  “Yes, sir. Cal confirmed it.”

  Earl removed his hat and pressed it against his chest. Seconds ticked by, and he swallowed hard, as if he were trying to hold himself together. “Beverly was a fine woman. She and my Becky used to can green beans together every summer.”

  Earl had been a widower for at least twenty years, and I barely remembered his wife.

  He cleared his throat. “Stopped by and talked to her earlier this evening.” He glanced at the baby-faced deputy guarding the driveway entrance. “Had some old pictures she needed to give me,” he added quickly, even though the wind was drowning out our conversation. “Never dreamed tonight would be the last time I talked to her.” He put his hat back on.

  “Yes.” My voice sounded faraway, and I looked at the deputy. He eyed us as he got back in his car, but seeing as how we weren’t trying to breach the crime scene’s perimeter, there wasn’t any reason for him to shoo us away—yet.

  My desire to find justice for Beverly began to break through the shock of losing her, and Earl was clearly a wealth of information. Besides, I needed something else to focus on, so I didn’t start sobbing. “Hop in. I’ll give you a ride home.”

  “I’d appreciate that. My arthritis is acting up.” He ambled around the vehicle, brushed off the snow, and got in.

  Pushing away my sorrow, I focused on getting Earl to spill details. “Did you notice anything strange tonight?” Town lore had him yoked to a pair of binoculars that he used on a regular basis—a rumor I was mindful of every time I stepped outside into my yard.

  He scratched his chin. “About nine-thirty, I was letting my dog out when I heard a vehicle go by real slow-like, playing music so loud it scared old Boomer. I shooed him inside and walked around the house for a look-see. Little gray sedan with a couple of teenagers carrying on. They headed toward Beverly’s house but passed on by, so I didn’t think much of it.”

  I glanced toward Beverly’s house as I put the Jeep in drive. “Did you get a look at the plate?”

  “Nah. Don’t see too well. You think they coulda been casing Beverly’s place and come back later?”

  “Possibly.” I threw the Jeep into park. “You should report what you saw.” I reached into my coat pocket to retrieve my phone, so I could text Cal, but in my hurry to get to Beverly’s, I’d left it behind. I got out and walked over to the deputy guarding the scene. Earl trailed behind me.

  “Evening, ma’am,” he said. “I can’t let you past this car, but is there something I can help with?”

  I motioned toward Earl. “This gentleman and I are Beverly’s neighbors, and we were talking about what happened. Mr. Smith might have information that Detective Perkins would be interested in knowing. I’d text
him myself, but I left my phone at home, so could you call and ask him to come talk to us at his convenience?”

  “I’ll take care of it, Deputy Kerns,” a woman said.

  I faced her. Even though she wore a hooded parka, her pretty face and willowy frame made her look as though she’d be more at home in a magazine shoot than at a crime scene.

  She extended her hand. “Detective Vanessa Hawk.”

  “Georgia Winston.” I grasped her gloved hand and shook. My boyfriend had failed to mention his new partner was gorgeous. But why would he?

  Thank goodness she was engaged.

  She smiled, displaying perfect white teeth. “Cal’s girlfriend. Nice to meet you.” Then her expression grew serious as she turned to Earl. “Now what did you see, sir?”

  I stepped back and flailed my arms as I nearly lost my footing on the slickening pavement.

  Smooth, Georgia Rae.

  I gazed at Beverly’s house as Earl repeated what he’d told me. Cal was standing on the porch talking to a stocky woman with chin-length hair. She clutched Miss Peacock to her chest.

  She had to be Clara. Had she found Beverly? She’d said her daughter would be there this evening, so the timing would be right. My heart ached for her.

  Cal walked her to the deputy’s car at the end of the driveway and opened the door. Still holding the dog, she slid into the back seat. Was she a suspect? Were they taking her in for questioning? Surely not with Miss Peacock in tow.

  Cal strode toward us.

  Detective Hawk met Cal at the end of the driveway. “I’m so sorry about your aunt.”

  “Me too.” He made eye contact with me and then turned his focus back to Detective Hawk.

  “What do we know so far?” she asked.

  I moved a few steps closer and strained to hear Cal over the wind.

  “Beverly’s daughter Clara came for a visit tonight. They ate dinner, went to bed, and Clara woke up to the sound of a gunshot. She grabbed her gun and started down the stairs. When she rounded the landing, a masked intruder fired at her. Clara took cover and shot back. Grazed the shooter’s coat sleeve. When the intruder fled, Clara found her mother dead on the kitchen floor. Called 911.”