Deadly Heritage

by Marissa Shrock

  She’d been strong after losing her son, but she’d never fully recovered. I couldn’t recall her pulling a prank during the last years of her life after Daddy’s murder.

  I parked next to a dumpster Grandpa had rented for purging his life’s belongings and ran around the side of the house. I entered through the kitchen door. “It’s Georgia!”

  “Come on in!” Grandpa shouted. “I’m upstairs heading to the attic!”

  A few boxes sat on the dining room table, and all the family pictures had been removed from the paneled walls. I tromped up the floating stairs and found Grandpa in Aunt Rhonda’s bedroom.

  At seventy-seven, he was a heart attack survivor who fought to stay healthy and active. Today he sported a back brace over his denim shirt and jeans, and he had on his usual Rowe’s Seeds cap to cover his bald head.

  “You may be sorry you agreed to help.” He opened the door to the walk-in attic, pulled on the string hanging from the ceiling, and when the bulb illuminated the space, I peered around him. A small pathway was lined on either side with boxes and old furniture stacked to the ceiling.

  I closed my eyes. “Merciful heavens.”

  “Amen.” He rested his hand on my shoulder. “You see anything you want, take it. I’m donating the furniture and anything else that’s useful. Everything else is going in the dumpster.”

  I clapped my hands once and feigned perkiness. “Let’s do this.”

  A couple of hours later, we had the attic’s contents removed to the garage where we could sort everything. I claimed an antique dresser and a milk glass lamp for one of my guest rooms, and I sent pictures of end tables and headboards to Aunt Rhonda, Dakota, and my cousins Michelle and Eric to see if they wanted them.

  While Grandpa went into town to get sandwiches from Pizza Heaven, I opened boxes to see if there was anything we needed to keep. Since Grandpa would have to be the decision maker for most of the contents, I moved quickly until I came to a box labeled Ray’s Room in Grandma’s neat cursive.

  I missed seeing envelopes with Georgia Rae scrawled on the front in her handwriting.

  I lifted the lid and sorted through the contents. There were some old comic books, cassette tapes, a couple of novels by Louis L’Amour—Westerns were Daddy’s favorites—and an album with newspaper clippings from his high school football and baseball games. I added the album to my growing salvage pile and turned back to the box.

  When I removed a copy of the novel, Ride the Dark Trail, an unopened envelope slipped out. I picked it up, turned it over, and examined it. Addressed to Daddy, the postmark was dated July 2, 1985, and Clara’s name was on the return address.

  I plopped on the concrete floor, rested my back against Grandpa’s tool cabinet, and stared at the letter. Why had daddy never opened it? From the date, I guessed it was because he and Mom had been about to get married a couple of weeks later.

  Even though I would’ve been curious if I had received such a letter, I had to admire him for putting it away and focusing on his upcoming wedding. I tapped the letter against my leg.

  Should I open it or toss it in the dumpster? Truthfully, I wasn’t even sure why I entertained the question. I’d known the minute it’d fallen out of the book that I planned to read it.

  I carefully ripped it open and withdrew a piece of stationery with a daisy basket in the lower right-hand corner. Clara’s loopy cursive was a tad sloppy, as if she’d hesitated about writing and wanted to finish before she could change her mind.

  Dear Ray,

  Congratulations on your upcoming marriage. I’m happy for you and Jill, and I’ve heard good things about her.

  I’m writing to apologize for the way I left town after my graduation. Even though you’ve moved on, I want you to know my leaving had nothing to do with you. I’m sorry I let my family think that, but at the time, blaming you was the easiest solution. I’m even more sorry your reputation suffered because of rumors about me being pregnant. You didn’t deserve that.

  If she’d felt bad, then why hadn’t she come back and set the record straight? Besides, she’d been communicating with Fiona Sylvan. Couldn’t she have let her know there was no truth to the story? Fiona cut the hair of half the women in town, so that rumor could’ve been shut down easily.

  I wish I’d listened to you and never gone to that after-party on prom night. I did some drugs and got drunk. I went into the bedroom with a couple of different boys. Then I passed out and don’t remember anything until the next morning except for hitting a deer on the way home. After that night, I was too ashamed to face you since you were right about the party being a mistake, and I figured you heard plenty of talk.

  If Fiona had been there, that could be why she hadn’t bothered to squash the rumors. She didn’t want everyone knowing she’d been a part of a wild party, so she’d let Clara take the heat.

  Please know that, in spite of the way things ended, I have happy memories of our time together. I wish you and Jill all the best.

  Sincerely,

  Clara

  “Whatcha got there?” Grandpa stood next to me, holding a sack from Pizza Heaven.

  I jumped. How had I not heard him come in the side door? Or smelled the sausage sandwiches. What kind of detective was I?

  “This was in a box of daddy’s things.” I showed him the letter. “It was from Clara Alspaugh. I probably shouldn’t have opened it, but with everything that’s happened, I couldn’t help myself.”

  “Don’t blame you.” He leaned closer to examine the letter. “I thought Nancy burned that blasted thing years ago. What’s it say?” He patted his shirt pocket. “Don’t know where I put my glasses.”

  I got up, and we went into the kitchen. I read the letter aloud while he found two tumblers from the nearly empty cabinets and filled them with water.

  “Hmph. I told your grandma not to meddle and let Ray decide if he wanted to read it or not.” He sat at the table. “The letter came right before your parents were about to get married, and your grandma was afraid Clara was trying to stir up trouble. I reckon she squirreled it away and forgot about it.”

  I joined him and set the letter aside. “Why would Grandma have assumed Clara was trying to stir up trouble?”

  “Nancy never liked Clara.” He removed our sandwiches from the bag and handed me one. “Thought she was trouble and would lead Ray down the wrong path. I didn’t disagree, but I told her we needed to let Ray come to his own conclusion. That was hard for your grandma.”

  Clearly, difficulty minding one’s own business was hereditary.

  “Did you ever hear rumors about Clara—besides what everybody was saying about Daddy getting her pregnant?”

  He squinted as if he were trying to remember. “That was a long time ago. I don’t recall.”

  “Would it be okay if I sent a picture of the letter to Cal in case it can help him figure out Clara’s past?”

  “It’s not going to bother me any. My son didn’t do anything wrong.” He unwrapped his sandwich.

  I snapped the picture. The letter might not be significant, but if it was, Grandma’s meddling might turn out to be a good thing after all.

  “Thanks for the picture of that letter,” Cal said later that afternoon. He’d called after I returned home from Grandpa’s house to get ready for Wanda’s bachelorette party.

  “Do you think it could be important?” I picked up my blush brush from my bathroom counter and swiped my cheeks.

  “We’ll see. Vanessa and I are digging into Clara’s background.”

  Sometimes I hated his non-answers. “Have you asked Clara about the letter?”

  “We will.”

  Was it my imagination, or was there a hint of annoyance in his tone? Did he think I was trying to do his job for him when I was just trying to help? “Good.”

  Silence.

  I ran my finger over my makeup brush. “I know it seems like I’m upset about the other night since I avoided you at the funeral, but I was just staying away from your dad, and—�
�

  “I understand. We can talk later. I need to get back to work. Have fun at the party.” He disconnected, and I stared at my phone on the counter and tried to ignore the ripple of uneasiness in my stomach.

  I’d detected weariness in his voice, so he was probably tired because of his caseload at work.

  Or was he tired of me?

  Chapter Fourteen

  Aunt Rhonda grabbed my arm and ushered me into Mallory Morris’s spacious kitchen away from the crowd of women in her living room. A black and gold Sputnik chandelier shone on the finger foods displayed on the massive island. Chips, salsa, sandwiches, fruit, a veggie tray, and a slow cooker filled with meatballs, judging from the tangy smell.

  “Am I going to get to meet your boyfriend on Saturday?” Aunt Rhonda whispered as if we were on a clandestine mission instead of at a bachelorette party.

  It had originally been scheduled for the previous Saturday, but after news of Beverly’s death, no one had been in a party mood. Even now it was a stretch, but Mallory had insisted on going ahead.

  “Yes. Cal’s coming with me.” As far as I know.

  Aunt Rhonda—from whom I’d inherited my height but not my curves—clasped her hands and squealed. “I can’t wait. Do you think he’s the one?” She looked me up and down with her piercing eyes as if she could detect the answer through telepathy.

  “I hope so.” I smiled. “We’ll see.”

  “You’d make a beautiful June bride.”

  This June? How many times was I going to have variations of the same conversation? “There’s no sense in rushing things.”

  “I wouldn’t be so certain. I was done having kids by the time I was thirty-one. Those eggs of yours aren’t getting any younger.” She patted my abdomen.

  I covered my tummy with both hands. Jesus, please return for your church now because I’m ready for Heaven. When no trumpet blast heralded the Lord’s appearance, I cleared my throat. “I could always have my eggs harvested and frozen.”

  “That’s never seemed like a good idea to me.” Aunt Rhonda knit her brows. “Fresh is always best.”

  Aaannnddd there’s Life Lesson # 2706, ladies and gentlemen.

  I strolled to the opposite end of the island to inspect the desserts, and my mouth dropped. “What in the world?” I pointed to the twin pink mounds of cake with dark pink gumdrops in the middle of each.

  Aunt Rhonda rolled her eyes as she ladled punch into a cup emblazoned with the words Bride Tribe. “I told Mallory to keep things classy, but she said since we weren’t serving alcohol or hiring a stripper, we had to have something naughty.”

  “That’s a little shocking for a dignified principal.”

  “Trust me.” Aunt Rhonda took a sip of punch. “That woman has the sense of humor of a teenager. I guess that’s what happens when you spend all that time in a high school.” She chuckled and walked back into the living room.

  I followed her toward the chatter. Mallory had decked out the room with pink streamers and silver balloons.

  As I settled into a folding chair next to the couch, Wanda stood and clapped her hands. She wore a black sash with Bride-to-be written in gold script. A fuchsia feather boa adorned her neck, and a tiara nestled in her hair. “Thank you for coming tonight. As most of you know, I lost my dear friend last week.” She fished a tissue from her sweater sleeve. “Beverly was looking forward to celebrating my newfound happiness with Ron, and I wasn’t sure we could go forward without her. But Mallory convinced me that she’d want me to have my party, so here we are.” She dabbed her eyes. “I’ll pray for our food, and then we can eat.”

  After the prayer, the hungriest women followed Wanda into the kitchen. Normally, I’d be in that crew, but I hung back and admired a painting of a chestnut-colored horse running through a field.

  Carol Powers rested her hand on my arm. “Nice to see you again, Georgia.”

  “Hello, Mrs. Powers.” I had a momentary flashback to junior English—and our grammar workbook. Oh, how Mrs. Powers adored grammar. My high school best friend Laura and I had called her Mrs. Grammar Guru behind her back, which in hindsight, she probably would’ve taken as a compliment.

  “Are you okay? I know you thought highly of Beverly.” Behind her glasses, her gray eyes filled with sympathy.

  I nodded. “It’s been a tough week for everyone.”

  “It’s horrible. I taught with her for twenty years, and then we worked together at the museum. We were prepared that we might lose her to cancer, but…” She twisted the turquoise beads hanging around her neck and looked around the empty living room. “I’m not certain Beverly died because she interrupted a burglar,” she whispered.

  I did my best to look shocked even though I agreed. “Why?” No sense in leading her with my questions.

  She tugged her denim jacket closed. “Beverly was very secretive about something before she died.” She stepped closer. “And it wasn’t because Clara was coming home after all these years.”

  “What was it?”

  “I’m not sure, but last Thursday morning, I went to the museum office to pick up my work schedule for March and found Beverly looking at microfiche. She didn’t hear me come in, and she murmured something about ‘prom night’ into her phone.”

  “Her flip phone?”

  “No, no. A smartphone. After a few seconds, I cleared my throat, and then she acted flustered when she realized I was there,” Mrs. Powers said.

  “What was she looking at?” Way to end your sentence with a preposition, Georgia Rae.

  Mrs. Powers shook her head, apparently not noticing my error. “She turned off the power before I could see.”

  “What did she say?”

  “Something like, ‘Don’t mind me.’ She even took the film off the reader and concealed it under a pile of papers she was holding.”

  I rested my hand on Mrs. Powers’s shoulder. “You should talk to Detective Perkins or Detective Hawk with the sheriff’s department as soon as possible. What you witnessed could be important.”

  “I will.” She nodded. “Thank you for listening.”

  “No problem. One more thing. Did you have a hair appointment with Fiona Sylvan at three-thirty last Wednesday?”

  She patted her pixie cut. “I did. Why do you ask?”

  “A source of mine overheard Beverly talking to someone at the museum on Wednesday afternoon, and I’m talking with everyone who volunteers there in case they know something, especially now that you’re telling me Beverly was hiding something.”

  “Fiona and I are each other’s alibis.” She laughed and then elbowed me gently. “Now let’s get some food before it’s all gone.” She headed for the kitchen.

  Before I could make it out of the living room, the front door swung open, and Hamlet burst inside. A large box covered his torso, and it had a picture of bubbled paint and a scraper pushing the paint away, revealing bare wood underneath. The words Take it Off were printed in block text above the photo. A hat, made to look like a plastic cap, perched on his head.

  He toted a portable speaker, flashed a broad grin, wiggled from side to side, and waved his wiry arm above his head.

  “Hello, Georgia Rae.”

  Sweet baby chickens in a barnyard.

  The edge of my mouth twitched, and I wanted to laugh but was afraid of encouraging him. “Ladies, the stripper’s here!”

  Hamlet strutted over to me. “Where’s the guest of honor? I have a special dance prepared.”

  Was he wearing a sweater vest under that get-up?

  I pointed to the entrance to the kitchen where a cluster of grandmas stood—filled plates in hand—gaping at Hamlet.

  “Is this the acting job Mallory hired you for?” I asked.

  He pressed his index finger over his lips. “A gentleman never reveals his secrets.” He winked, set the speaker on the end table, and tapped his phone. Square dance music filled the room.

  The ladies parted as Mallory guided Wanda to the front of the crowd while Hamlet did a routin
e that began with the Charleston, transitioned to the sprinkler, moved to a flurry of bell kicks, and ended with a lasso and horse-riding combo move. All while remaining in costume—except for the bottle-cap hat, which he plunked on Wanda’s head.

  “Whoo-hooo!” Wanda twirled her feather boa as I snapped a picture for posterity—though I’d never, ever be able to erase the mental picture for as long as I lived.

  Later that night, I sat in Daddy’s leather recliner with Gus at my feet while an episode of Psych played on DVD. I couldn’t focus on Shawn and Gus’s antics that usually made me laugh.

  I’d left a message for Cal, telling him he needed to talk to Carol Powers about what she’d witnessed.

  He hadn’t called me back.

  I shut off the TV and closed my eyes. Had Beverly uncovered a secret from her daughter’s past that’d gotten her killed? I needed to talk to Clara again to see if she’d open up to me.

  I threw aside the blanket covering my feet, found the packet of pictures Beverly had given me, and headed for my dining room. If Mrs. Powers was right about Beverly researching prom night, then I needed to take a closer look at the pictures.

  I sat at the table and sorted through the photos, dividing them into categories. I grouped Daddy’s football, prom, and his farming and family pictures.

  The farming and family pictures were the most special and least helpful, so I set those aside along with the ones from his football days.

  One by one, I looked at his pictures with Clara, paying close attention to the prom photos. I’d overlooked a couple of the group shots from prom night. One photo had been taken at Beverly’s house, because I recognized the fireplace. Daddy and Clara were in the picture with Fiona Sylvan and a guy I didn’t recognize, and Tyler and Mallory Morris.

  I didn’t know Clara had been friends with Tyler and Mallory.