Deadly Heritage

by Marissa Shrock

  Chapter Eleven

  After my conversation with Jack, I went home, ripped open a package of M&Ms, and stood in front of the blank chalk wall in my dining room. I had to make sense of everything I’d learned. I’d made a quick call to B.J.’s Sports Bar to confirm Jack’s alibi, and the manager confirmed Jack had told me the truth. Now that Jack had been ruled out, I had to consider other people.

  I shoved a few candies in my mouth.

  With a piece of yellow chalk, I scrawled Denise’s name along with the words losing half of inheritance and access to a gun. I didn’t know if she had an alibi, but with Jack staying at a hotel, she’d probably been alone that night. And since her husband sold guns, she would’ve had access to them. It wouldn’t have made sense for him to take the guns to a hotel.

  I set aside the M&Ms and considered Wanda. While she might’ve been the mystery person at the museum, and she owned a gun, I’d yet to uncover a reasonable motive. However, she hadn’t wanted to tell me what she’d been doing the night Beverly was killed. I didn’t write Wanda on the board because I couldn’t have Grandpa coming in here and seeing his fiancée’s name.

  I added Clara’s name and put details about what I’d learned so far. Secret reason for leaving Wildcat Springs. Friendship with Fiona Sylvan. Did she know about changes to her mother’s will?

  Then there was Fiona. Though she and Clara had kept in touch, did Fiona know the real reason Clara had left town? Could Fiona have held a grudge against Beverly for helping put an end to her affair with Jack? Like Denise, she could’ve used her relationship with Jack to get easy access to a variety of guns. I’d have to see what I could find out at my hair appointment on Saturday morning.

  I stared at the board and tried to piece everything together, but nothing was adding up. I tossed the chalk back in the basket and spent the afternoon cleaning my house—a task I didn’t do often enough.

  A few hours later, I paced in front of my closet, debating about what to wear for my dinner with Cal and his dad. Gus wandered in and dropped next to my bed with a moan.

  “I hear you, boy.”

  A rock made itself at home in my gut every time I thought about our dinner plans. Get a grip, Georgia Rae. Cal had met my mom and stepdad. Now it was time for me to meet his family.

  After trying on several outfits, I decided on a red tunic sweater that Cal had complimented me on a couple of weeks ago when we’d gone to a movie. I paired it with skinny jeans and boots.

  After all, I needed to make a good impression on his dad.

  Cal lived in an above-the-garage apartment that he rented from an elderly gentleman. When I’d first met him, he expressed interest in purchasing a small hobby farm in hopes of having a relaxing pastime. Now that we were dating, he’d stopped looking for a farm, and I interpreted that as a positive sign about the future of our relationship.

  I took a deep breath as I climbed the wooden steps to Cal’s apartment. Getting acquainted with his father would be a good test run for meeting his mom, which I dreaded ten times more.

  In addition to the whole future-mother-in-law issue, I wasn’t sure what kind of woman she was since she’d left Cal’s dad for another man. The most I’d been able to learn about her from Cal was that she was a retired homicide detective who’d inspired his law enforcement career.

  Cal’s parents had divorced, and his dad, a former fire inspector, had moved from Cleveland to Florida where, according to Cal, he was playing the field in the retirement community where he’d purchased a house.

  After Grandma Winston died, one of Grandpa’s friends had tried to get him to retire and move to one of those neighborhoods. Grandpa refused, saying the whole concept of living with a bunch of other seniors freaked him out and that he’d be content to stay in Wildcat Springs with people of all ages.

  “Hey.” Cal said as he opened the door. He wore the camo-print apron I loved.

  I stepped inside the apartment where butter, garlic, and warm air filled the compact space. While my kitchen was 1980s retro, Cal’s took us back to the 1960s and 70s with the yellow floral wallpaper and brown appliances.

  “Dinner smells great.” I hugged him, and he gave me a quick peck on the cheek.

  Cal’s dad stepped forward with his hand extended. “Darrell Perkins.”

  When he smiled, I noticed Cal had inherited his dimple—but not much else—from his dad. Darrell was shorter than his son and had gray hair that he’d puffed up to try to disguise the thinning. He’d clearly taken advantage of the Florida sun—or a spray tan booth.

  I clasped his hand. “Georgia Winston. Nice to meet you.”

  “Go ahead and have a seat, and I’ll dish everything up,” Cal said.

  Darrell chuckled. “Don’t have to tell me twice. My son gets his cooking ability from his mother. I need directions on how to boil water.”

  “I’m not very adept in the kitchen myself.” I sat across from Darrell at the dented table next to the door so I could make a quick exit, if necessary.

  “My son tells me you’re a farmer. How’d a pretty gal like you get into that?” He leaned back and crossed his arms.

  Yikes.

  “Family. My grandpa farms, and my dad did before he died. I was going to be a music teacher, but when Daddy died and Grandpa started talking about selling the farm, I stepped in. Most people don’t think of girls taking over for their dads, but I love it.”

  “Money’s better than teaching, right?”

  I blinked.

  “Don’t answer that, Georgia.” Cal set a plate filled with chicken, rice, and brussels sprouts in front of me. “Dad, are you kidding?”

  “What? All you talked about the last two years in Cleveland was moving to the country and buying a hobby farm. It’s awfully convenient you’re taking up with a farmer.” He cracked open a can of Diet Coke and poured it into a glass.

  My appetite performed a vanishing act, and though I’d had Cal’s brussels sprouts before and liked them, eating them now was going to take a major effort.

  Eating anything would take effort.

  Was my farm the only reason Cal was dating me? Not once had that ever entered my mind, but apparently it should have since he lived in this outdated apartment.

  How naïve was I? Is that what’d been bugging me lately? The sense that I was being used? I rearranged a few brussels sprouts.

  Cal slapped Darrell’s plate in front of him. “Why is it convenient, Dad?”

  Did we need to hear Darrell say it out loud? His implication had been clear.

  “Come on, son. You like nice things. You more than proved that during your time playing pro ball. Living large. Impressing women.”

  “Stop!” Cal’s eyes blazed.

  I gazed at his handsome face. Why wasn’t Cal denying his dad’s accusations?

  Darrell raked his gaze over me. “Has he not told you about how he got used to all the dough? How he was a big spender? Why do you think he has to live in this old rat trap?” He emitted a chuckle that belonged to a villain in a cheesy movie. Was he seriously that bitter about his own life that he needed to come and ruin his son’s?

  No wonder Cal’s mom had split.

  I bit my tongue, so as not to dignify Darrell’s questions with answers. I’d been farming for years and had never even seen myself as someone to be desired because of her profession—or land ownership. I’d always figured it was a turn-off since a lot of men around here had dreamed of being farmers when they were kids, and I was living their little-boy dreams.

  Kerthud.

  Cal’s fist rested on the table. “That’s enough!”

  “Fine.” Darrell spread his napkin in his lap and cut into his chicken as if nothing had happened.

  “Let’s pray first,” Cal said.

  “Go ahead.” Darrell’s fork and knife clattered against his plate.

  When Cal was done blessing the food, I couldn’t bring myself to meet his eyes as the silence grew.

  I had to say something. Anything to get through thi
s meal and to keep me from bolting out the door. “I’m sure Florida’s nice in the winter. I know a lot of people around here who are snowbirds, and they love it. My mom’s parents used to have a place in Fort Myers, but they’ve both passed away. My other grandpa’s getting married on Saturday, and he and his fiancée Wanda are going to Disney World for their honeymoon. Isn’t that the cutest thing? They’re so excited. Well, as excited as my grandpa gets about that stuff. Wanda’s been good for him, and she reminds me of my grandma because she brings out the fun side of him. You know my grandma was quite the talker. They say I get it from her, and I miss her because she had a wry sense of humor. Did you know any of my family from your visits to see your aunt Beverly?”

  Darrell gaped at me as if it took him a minute to register that I’d paused to ask a question that required him to respond. He blinked. “No. I only visited a few times as a kid. Not much though because my grandparents died fairly young.” He cut another piece of chicken. “Mom always thought Wildcat Springs was the best place on earth.” There was no mistaking the edge in his voice. “Guess that rubbed off on her grandson.”

  “Well, I’m glad. Because your mom was right.” I popped a sprout in my mouth, flashed Darrell a tight-lipped smile, and silently prayed God would get me through the meal.

  “My dad can be a jerk.” Cal shoved a skillet in the drawer under his stove and straightened up.

  Can be a jerk? More like was a jerk.

  “And I’m not dating you for your farm.”

  “I know.” Fortunately, the words came out with more conviction than I felt, because how could I be sure?

  “In spite of what my dad said, I have enough money to buy my own place. I’m waiting for the right one to come along.”

  “But you were a big spender?” Underneath the soapy water, I scrubbed the life out of a serving spoon before rising and handing it to Cal.

  He swallowed. “I blew money on a fancy house and cars.” He dried the spoon and tossed it in a drawer. “Dad makes it sound like I squandered everything, but I didn’t. I have plenty saved for retirement—and that farm.”

  I nodded. “There were a lot of women?” I opened the drain and watched the suds swirl away.

  “Yeah. When you play pro sports, women throw themselves at you.”

  I cringed and squeezed out the dishrag. “Not sure why I’d never thought about that.”

  “Because you don’t know me as Cal-the-Baseball-Player.” He opened a cabinet and put a stack of plates inside. “Look, I didn’t take advantage of all the women because I was so focused on my career that I didn’t want the distraction.” He tossed the towel on the counter and wrapped his arms around me. “I thank God every day that I didn’t.” He lowered his head and kissed me as if he could make me forget the whole evening.

  It almost worked.

  Chapter Twelve

  Tuesday morning, I woke up dreading the day’s main event—attending Beverly’s funeral. After dealing with Cal’s dad the night before, I had no desire to encounter him again, so I waited until the last possible minute to slip into the back of the sanctuary at Wildcat Springs Community Church while the pianist played “How Great Thou Art.”

  Beverly’s favorite hymn.

  My throat thickened, so I distracted myself by studying the crowd. Cal and his dad sat near the front with Beverly’s extended family. Grandpa and Wanda were a few rows in front of me. I’d never seen Earl Smith in a suit, but he’d donned one for the occasion and was sitting with his daughter Mallory and her husband, Tyler Morris.

  The far sections on either side of the auditorium had been roped off, so people would fill the middle two sections of the church. Most of the people in the back were church members, and as I caught their eyes, we exchanged sad, half smiles of greeting.

  A closed casket covered in a blanket of pink roses stood in front of the steps leading to the stage, and at least ten flower arrangements flanked each side. The flowers’ fragrance permeated the chilly air, and I wished I hadn’t hung my coat on the rack in the foyer. My black jersey dress hadn’t been the best choice for this icy day—though I had no plans to go to the cemetery.

  The pianist finished playing, and Pastor Mark Williams rose and walked to the clear podium that stood in the middle of the stage.

  “It’s my joy and privilege to welcome you to this celebration of Beverly Alspaugh’s life. Last year, when she was first diagnosed with cancer, Beverly made me promise her funeral would be a celebration of her homecoming in heaven.” He paused and looked around the room. “We rejoice because Jesus Christ died for our sins—and our sister Beverly accepted Christ’s gift to her. Now she’s spending eternity with Jesus, free from pain and sorrow.” He pressed his lips together, as if to collect himself.

  Tears sprang into my eyes. My nose burned, and my tears spilled over.

  “Please stand and sing with me the first hymn Beverly chose for this service.”

  As we rose, the pianist burst into the opening chords of “I’ll Fly Away.” I tried to sing, but I couldn’t form the words.

  When we were seated, the lights dimmed, and Beverly appeared in the video playing on the screen. I swiped my cheek with a tissue. Sitting in her favorite recliner, she wore her curly gray wig, and Miss Peacock cuddled on her lap. Recent pictures of Jack and Denise with their children and first grandchild were arranged on the end table next to her. Clara’s high school senior picture stood next to them.

  “Hello friends and family. If you’re watching this, the Lord has decided to call me home.” She stroked her dog’s head. “I know this’ll give some of you a start, but I don’t care. The doctors say my prognosis is good, but the Lord has been after me to make this video in case they’re wrong. The truth is, none of us knows how long we have, and cancer might not even be what takes me.”

  A soft murmur fluttered through the crowd. Had Beverly sensed she didn’t have much time left?

  “Thank you, Pastor Mark, for showing an old woman how to record this. I’m getting better with technology—even learning how to text with those emoji things. It’s never too late to learn new skills.”

  I made a mental note to ask Pastor Mark when Beverly had made the recording.

  “Every one of you listen carefully, and then you can get back to the funeral and say what you want about me—or maybe you won’t have anything to say at all.” She released a squirmy Miss Peacock. “Some of you don’t know Jesus. You’ve been living to please yourself without a thought for where you’re going to spend eternity. I know because I was once a rebel.”

  Beverly a rebel? That was hard to picture.

  “I was sassy to my parents and was always doing what I wanted. One day, a traveling preacher came to town and held a tent revival. They were popular back when I was young and pretty.”

  A few people chuckled.

  “That night, I went with my sister Dana to hear the preacher. When he was talking about sin, I knew he was speaking to me.” She smiled. “God used that preacher’s words to get my attention. Loved ones, Jesus died for your sins. Repent. Turn to him before it’s too late, because I want to see you in heaven.” She pointed at the camera.

  The screen went black, and Pastor Mark continued with the funeral.

  That afternoon while I was in my office analyzing our crop data from the previous year and ordering fertilizer for the upcoming season, Pastor Mark returned the call I’d made to him earlier.

  “I see you’re investigating again,” he said.

  I stood and stretched. “Just asking questions to help out my boyfriend. No big deal. I like to think one of my spiritual gifts is curiosity.”

  His laughter boomed, and I put my phone on speaker and set it on the desk.

  “Nice try, but I don’t think the Bible mentions that one.” he said. “Now how can I help?”

  “When did you help Beverly make that funeral video?”

  “Let me check my calendar.” The sound of flipping pages came through the line. “February eighth. She’d just boug
ht a used smartphone and was getting accustomed to the change. After I took the video, I gave her some tips. She was most interested in the voice recording and note apps.”

  Weird. A week later, Beverly had been using her old phone when she got the call at the bridal shop. “Did she say why she upgraded? I thought she was happy with her old phone.” I walked to the kitchen and opened a bag of cheese crackers. Gus followed along, so I tossed him one.

  “My impression was that she wanted to learn something new. But she planned to stick with the old phone until she was comfortable using all the features on the smartphone.”

  “I see. Thanks for your help. So how are your grandkids?” He filled me in before we disconnected.

  I nibbled a cracker, glad I’d followed my hunch. Perhaps I should take everything at face value. God led her to record her testimony, and she’d wanted to improve her technological skills.

  My gut screamed otherwise.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Wednesday morning, I made good on my promise to Wanda that I’d help Grandpa finish packing and cleaning his house. Grandpa lived about three miles northwest of me, and as I drove the short distance, the cloudy skies made me long for spring. I turned into his driveway and wound through the woods, a wave of sadness rushing over me at the sight of the limestone house he and Grandma had built on the land he’d inherited from his father.

  Grandma had wanted a new house, so in the 1970s, she and Grandpa had built her dream home.

  Every so often, a memory of Grandma Winston would surface, and I’d find it hard to breathe. The same was true with Daddy, but today, remembering how Grandma used to pull pranks on the family—she had a plastic mouse that made appearances in the most inopportune places—caused my eyes to sting.